It was a dark and stormy night at Hogwarts. The trees crowding the narrow gravel road swayed. Wind churned the fallen leaves and leaden clouds skidded across the black night sky. Thunder rumbled in the distance. At the end of the lane, lights flickered in the derelict house that the kids from town insisted was haunted. Lightning flashed. The air smelled of rain.
And blood.
The tall, golden-haired, shockingly handsome and gorgeously attired vampire lifted his head from his victim's throat and glanced up at the sky. He frowned, creasing his marble white forehead slightly, then nudged his pouting companion.
"We'd better get going. I just bought this suit. I don't want it to get ruined. It's so hard to get creases out of velvet once it gets wet."
"I told you to wear something more practical."
"But I look really good in it! I'd say fabulous, even."
The dark and petulant vampire sighed, gracefully rose from his seat on the hood of the convertible Volkswagon beetle, and fluffed out his cape. He eyed the passengers, a young teenage boy with his pants half open and a half-naked, big-breasted, bleached blonde, both lying drained and quite dead in the back seat.
"I'm tired of the all-you-can-eat moron buffet. Why do we keep coming here? We're vampire's for christ sake. We can eat anywhere we want."
"I told you why, Harry."
"I wanna go to Paris," Harry whined. "You promised. I want to learn new things, see new places. You just don't understand. I'm in despair, here. Nobody understands what a torment it is to be forever young, hauntingly handsome, and disgustingly wealthy."
The blonde vampire struck a pensive and quite hauntingly beautiful pose and then nodded. "I know. I do understand, Harry. It's all my fault. I feel so guilty. If it weren't for me you'd be old and poor and ugly. How can I ever forgive myself?"
As Harry merely brooded handsomely in response to the question, another shadowy figure appeared from the dark woods to the side of the lot where the Volkswagon was parked.
"Harry, who is that?" the devastatingly beautiful blonde vampire asked, indicated the shadowy figure with a flick of his lace- festooned wrist.
"I don't know. But he's mortal, I can smell the blood!" Harry answered, distracted for a moment from his glum state by the prospect of fresh food. He raised his seductive voice and called out to the newcomer. "Who goes there? Why don't you come closer, show us your pretty face?"
The figure did as was requested and moved out of the shadows so that it stood in the eerie orange pool of light of the only street lamp in the area. The blonde vampire and Harry both hissed and flinched in revulsion at the sight of the young boy. He was wearing a tattered black suit that was a good three sizes too small for his frame, with a cheap plastic cape tied around his throat. There was a set of false vampire teeth clattering about in his mouth, and his face, pock- marked by pimples, was painted bone white.
The boy faltered for a moment before spreading his arms out at his sides for dramatic effect and pronouncing in his best faux Transylvanian accent, "I vant to SUCK yore BLOOD!"
"Who the bloody hell do you think you are?" Harry asked, indignant. The blonde vampire merely chuckled silently.
"I am DRACO! Most powerful of the Dark Ones! Bringer of the Dark Gift!"
This seemed to finally upset the blonde vampire, who then floated majestically down from his perch atop the car and landed silently just a step away from the boy.
"YOU are Draco?" he asked, his low voice as smooth as the velvet suit he wore. The boy nodded, nervous sweat beading up on his oily forehead. "You, claim to be Draco, and you have the audacity to where such...such...TACKY clothing? I should cut your heart out with a spoon and throw it to the dogs, for surely I would not stoop to feast upon such a foul LIAR!" And with that, he shoved the boy over and onto the wet ground. The boy didn't even see the move, as the vampire's preternatural speed was too fast for human eyes to follow.
"You're Draco then?" the boy asked from his sprawled position on the ground.
"I am," the blonde vampire stated simply, fists on hips for dramatic effect.
"I was sent by my Master to deliver a message to you," he continued to speak out.
"Who is your Master?" Draco asked, amused now more than anything. Harry remained silently watching the proceedings from within the car, where he sat gnawing absent-mindledly upon one of the dead girls' ankles.
"The King."
Lightening shot across the sky, followed immediately by an awe- inspiring clap of thunder. Draco took a step backwards in shock, the ruffles of his shirt blown by the wind that had kicked up suddenly. Harry sat slack-jawed, the girls' ankle now dangling precariously from a lone canine.
"You lie! The King is dead! Or at least, I was led to believe that he had retired!" Draco insisted, after finally regaining his composure.
"Oh no, he's very much alive and well. He told me to find you and tell you that he would like very much to meet with your Master. He means to kill her, once and for all, to secure his place as the Supreme Master."
The very ground seemed to shake at the words. Draco's face would have turned red in anger, were it not more inclined to remain a flawless, ivory mask. He leaned in close to the boy on the ground and drew a finely filed nail across the boys' exposed throat.
"No one DEMANDS to see with Anne, do you hear me? NO ONE!"