The Dark Lord carefully opened the letter, gently prodding the parchment as though it might bite him. Knowing the sender, it very well may have. It read –

"My dearest friends,

I appreciate your decision to include myself and my compatriots in your current struggle. Indeed, to combine forces, to use the cliché, and fight together seems the most worthwhile and honorable deed I could participate in."

He-Who-Should-Be-Hyphenated glowered evilly. Soon, the vampires would join his legion (of a measly 20 or so members. More club than legion, really.) and then he could truly be the most feared wizard of all time.

"However,"

Oh shit.

"I am not known for my honor. Therefore, it is with the utmost affection, that I must decline your invitation."

Ohshitohshitohshit.

"With warmest regards,

Abigail Boadicea Dementia."

Voldemort's eyes glowed blood-red. Anger surged through his veins, stirring a chant of red hot anger and ra- wait. Was her name seriously Abigail Boadicea Dementia? What was she, fourteen? He scoffed, as much as an evil being could, and skimmed the end of the note.

"PS – I have also taken the liberty of enclosing a charm to tell me whether or not your dunderheaded messenger read our correspondence."

Ah. So that's why Wormtail's face was purple. Well, at least the color suited his hair.

Voldemort glared and relaxed back into his theatrically evil chair. It was bloody hard to be an evil overlord these days.

Meanwhile, in the Headmistress' study at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry...

Lupin opened the letter and read it to the assembled Order of the Phoenix. He had taken the liberty of writing to the leader of the vampires in a last-ditch attempt to secure their loyalties. She was supposedly very fair-minded, and he hoped that her presence would be enough to dissolve some of the dark fear that most of the world now held dear.

"In regards to the letter I received the 12th of June..."

Remus wondered whether Victorian formality was a prerequisite of being a vampire, or if that was just a show.

"I support, wholeheartedly, your efforts on behalf of 'the light and goodness of humanity'. However, I cannot pledge the support of my people without having some sort of security about our future. Thus, it is with deepest sorrow,"

He mentally gagged.

"That I must withhold my pledge until these securities are provided.

With sincerest affection,

Abigail Boadicea Dementia."

There was a murmur that rumbled around the crowded table. Some were disappointed, some were confused, and most simply didn't care all that much.

"Is that really her name?" Tonks boggled in her usual tactful manner. "It sounds like she should prance around in heavy eyeliner and write dreadful poetry."

"The vampires like to put on a bit of a show," Remus explained. "They feel it's expected of them."

"What's all this about securities?" Demanded a grouchy portrait . "Back in my day, there was none of this 'benefits' shite. They helped us or we killed them. None of this union stuff. Don't even try to reason with the bloodsuckers, just threaten to stake 'em if they refuse to cooperate." Some of the other portraits harrumphed in agreement.

"Well," sighed Kingsley, sitting toward the back of the room, "we really do need the vampires on our side before You-Know-Who can get to them. So, plan B? We could send an envoy or two, offer them their securities."

The room was quiet for a moment. And then erupted with a chorus of "NOT IT!"

Author's note: I will be writing more of this soon, I promise. If you have any suggestions for who you would like to see go, please review (or e-mail me!). Thank you for reading!