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'Tell me, what do you want to do?' Dracula stared intently into Nicolas Flamel's eyes. 'I hardly think that luring a small Voldemort would require the actual Philosopher's Stone.'
Dracula truly was not interested in the Philosopher's Stone; he would not even bother picking it up if it were tossed in front of him.
However, if the world's only Philosopher's Stone were threatened, he would instead do everything in his power to protect it. Because it was Nicolas's very means of survival.
'Relax, Albus will definitely be able to help me protect the Philosopher's Stone,' Nicolas said with a smile. 'I am not at all worried about entrusting the Philosopher's Stone to him.'
'What's more, I have prepared plenty of Elixir of Life. Even if something were to happen to the Philosopher's Stone, I should still have ample time to handle things properly.'
Hearing this, Dracula frowned deeply.
'You trust Dumbledore so much, then why prepare extra Elixir of Life?' he asked.
Flamel's words faltered. His gaze avoided Dracula's, pretending to admire the play, turning his eyes towards the stage.
Dracula followed his gaze to the opera house's spacious stage.
The stage setting was very simple—just a country road and a tree, the lighting like a dim dusk.
Under the tree, 2 old vagrants were bored and impatient, seemingly having lost interest in life. So one of the vagrants took off his belt and hung it on a tree branch, preparing to hang himself.
'So, you were already prepared for the possibility of not getting the Philosopher's Stone back?' Dracula asked softly, watching the 2 old vagrants who were so bored they were attempting to hang themselves.
Nicolas sighed softly.
'As long as the Philosopher's Stone exists in this world, it will always be coveted. This time it is Voldemort, and Albus is there to fight against him. But next time, will there be an even more powerful villain? And will there be someone like Albus to guard the Philosopher's Stone then?'
'Brad, you should understand my feelings. A long life is just too boring. And I really am old. Like this play—it tells us that life is an endless and hopeless wait. The world is absurd, and people suffer.'
Dracula's words of persuasion were stuck in his throat for a moment. He knew the torment of boredom in a long life—otherwise, he would not have made finding pleasure his lifelong pursuit.
'If you and Perenelle are gone, I will not have any friends left in this world,' Dracula said slowly after a long silence.
'You will have better friends,' Nicolas said with a smile. 'I do not have the vampires' innate advantages. My muscles and limbs are no longer healthy. Besides, I have lived for so long, I have done everything I should and should not have—I have no regrets.'
Dracula was silent, absentmindedly watching the 2 vagrants' ridiculous performance on stage.
The vagrant who had just taken off his belt to hang himself placed his neck against the tree. But the old belt was too brittle and could not bear his weight; it snapped in response.
The old vagrant failed to die.
The audience below laughed appropriately.
Seeing this scene, Dracula chuckled as well.
'Old man, it is not that easy to die,' he turned to Nicolas. 'If I said I am willing to help you protect the Philosopher's Stone, at least half of those excuses you made would be invalid.'
'As for saying that life is boring—there is no need to worry. In a few years, the magical world will definitely be in chaos. And then, where can interesting people and things not be found?'
Dracula unconsciously smiled at the corner of his mouth when he thought of the scene he saw in the Mirror of Erised.
'Besides, do you not really want to see the 21st century—that scene spanning a thousand years?'
Nicolas looked at him blankly, then laughed out loud.
'Today's play is really fitting,' he laughed happily, the wrinkles on his face fully relaxed.
The vagrant on the stage picked up his trousers and said to his companion, 'Shall we go?'
'Let's go.'
The curtain slowly fell, and enthusiastic applause rang out.
Dracula and Nicolas applauded together.
'What is the name of this play?' Dracula asked.
'Waiting for Godot,' Nicolas said. 'Now that I think about it, if you look at this play from another perspective, life is not just an endless and hopeless wait. It can be understood as—as long as there is hope, there is still the motivation to move forward.'
'That is right, the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor you recommended to me is quite promising,' Dracula said with a chuckle.
'Then why do you not hurry back to Hogwarts and do your job properly, Professor Dracula?' Nicolas teased.
Dracula nodded lightly, transforming into a dark moon, disappearing in place with a group of bat silhouettes.
The next moment, Dracula appeared on the windowsill of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom.
He leaned against the edge of the window, sitting casually on the windowsill. A breeze blew, and the black-and-red cloak and silver hair swayed gently.
At this time, Quirrell was still stumbling over the text.
The young wizards under the podium were either drowsy, playing their own little games, or thinking about ways to trick Quirrell.
In the whole class, it seemed that only Hermione Granger was still listening attentively, taking notes from time to time.
Ron was already lying on the table, half asleep and half awake. Harry, on the other hand, was distracted, looking absently at the furnishings in the classroom and the scenery outside the window.
Just then, he glanced out the window and inadvertently saw the silver-haired figure sitting on the windowsill.
'Professor Dracula!' Harry exclaimed in surprise.
The other young wizards were not sleepy when they heard Harry's shout, and they all looked up at the window.
Dracula smiled slightly when he saw this and waved to Harry. Then, he walked towards Quirrell on the podium.
'P-Professor Dracula, how… how did you suddenly come back?' Quirrell asked tremblingly.
'I originally just came back to see how well you were teaching,' Dracula said. 'But I really did not expect you to turn the class into this. Was the lesson plan not written quite well?'
Quirrell trembled and stammered for a long time without saying a word.
'Forget it,' Dracula shook his head helplessly and casually threw Quirrell out of the classroom. 'Go wash your troll clean—wash it until there is no smell—and give it to Dumbledore to put in the position below the barrier.'
After instructing Quirrell on his work, Dracula adjusted his smile towards the young wizards and said pleasantly,
'Students, I apologise for letting Quirrell substitute for you,' he said. 'Next, I will bring you a real Defence Against the Dark Arts class!'
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