Blood fell enthusiastically from Herido's arm, which hung limply from his beaten body as he was carried towards Hogwarts castle by a man shrouded in shadow.
"Heri!" Hermione froze with everyone else when the dark stranger glided closer. A terrifying smirk breaking through the gloom that shadowed his face – even with his hands full carrying Heri, this man wasn't a bit intimidated by the group of eleven students aiming their wands at him and that was making the children nervous. He also had an aura about him that screamed at them to run and hide.
For the first time in a long time they were glad when Dumbledore appeared and stepped before them. The headmaster's own power flared out angrily and left them feeling pathetically helpless in the midst of these two apparent titans. Yes, they were grateful for his presence, but not entirely relieved, because although defensive and battle ready, Dumbledore's stance also told of his obvious apprehension, and anything that could make the fearsome Leader of the Light anxious couldn't be good – not when that thing was holding the broken body of their friend.
"Lord Dracula." Dumbledore greeted, never once dropping his defence in favour of conventional etiquette. In reaction to his words the strangers smirk broke into a wide maniacal grin and great winds suddenly swept around him, throwing the hood from his head and revealing the creature's face.
Heri's friends gasped as one and took a step back. Even if the name hadn't been enough, there was no second guessing who this man was. Muggle and wizard literature alike painted a surprisingly accurate picture of the Vampire Lord who was feared throughout the world, even by his own kind, who he ruled over viciously and without mercy. Dracula's skin was bone white, and appeared almost translucent in the moonlight, but still managed to create a perfect canvas for the jet black hair that framed his face and the deep blood red eyes that peered out at the children with something like glee. He was impeccably dressed in red and charcoal, though the fedora threw them a little.
Dracula's reputation for cruelty was legend, and everyone present – the headmaster included – feared for the safety of Herido Addams.
"Albus Dumbledore, what a pleasure it is to meet you." The demon's voice was cold, but impossibly smooth and alluring and sent shivers down the spine.
"What brings you here this night?" Albus asked in as emotionless a tone as he could muster to hide his racing thoughts: even if he could somehow save Addams and send the Vampire Lord away without any more students being hurt, how the hell was he supposed to explain to Herido's parents that he'd allowed their son to be harmed so? And what would the consequences be of said explanation?
Instead of answering, Dracula's head cocked to one side and his glowing eyes darted to the far left. There was another gust of wind, shorter this time, and before anyone could blink McGonagall, Flitwick and Snape were lying winded in the space between Dracula and Dumbledore. A giant, ferocious black dog bounded towards them, leaving Dumbledore less than a second to summon all three teachers towards him, before throwing them in quiet desperation to where his students stood wide eyed with fear. Though shaken, the staff members understood his intentions and stood, staying back to guard the children.
Albus' eyes turned to steel as he watched the horrifying hellhound disappear into the shadows around his vampire foe. "You could have killed them." He voice was dangerously low, but Dracula merely let out a bark of laughter.
"'Could have'?" He shook his head and tsked. "Would have!" He promised slyly. "Should you allow your pets to attack me, I am more than happy to have my own take their lives… eventually." Albus tried not to gulp: He was fairly confident he could see off an attack from this presumed immortal creature, but knew the casualty count from such an endeavour would be catastrophic, so fighting with Dracula here at Hogwarts was to be avoided.
"They are professors." Dumbledore countered as he tried to defend without escalating. "It is their duty to defend the school. So I ask again: why have you come here?"
"Why else would I come to a school?" Dracula returned easily. "To teach." He watched as the aged wizard drew a breath to spout words of objection and continued. "And if you prevent me from carrying out my duty; if you continue to stand in my way…" His mouth stopped moving, instead lighting his face with that awful grin, but Albus felt another presence behind him and spun his head to find Minerva's face an inch from his own, wearing a sickening copy of that grin. "I will tear my way through your barricade before taking my fill of the young wizard blood within these walls." Her lips moved, but it was the monster's voice.
He needed to think, but knew that Dracula's patience had run out. Before he was forced to make a decision, Herido (of all people!), saved him.
"Enough!" His voice was weakened by injury, but still rang with commanding clarity. Albus watched as the boy he'd thought to be unconscious lifted his head to frown at him – as though Albus was being a bother! "Enough. Take me inside." Confusion shook those present as the creature of such immense power moved to heed Herido's command, though Albus remained in place: surely he couldn't allow Lord Dracula into the school?
Heri felt the vampire's power gathering as he got ready to follow his direction to take him into the school by removing the great obstacle on his path. He sighed. Dracula was doing this on purpose – he was excited about the opportunity to fight such a dangerous enemy.
"I'd appreciate you letting us pass, headmaster. As you can see, I require attention, and I can assure you that Dracula will do no harm to those inside."
"Little Master, you spoil my fun!" The vampire chided merrily.
"You can have fun on your own time." Heri returned without care, while the headmaster wondered how he had once again underestimated the Addams child. He supposed he'd simply gotten used to him, strange as that felt. But still, this was beyond oversight. Dracula was rarely even seen in public any more, and the general consensus was that he'd fallen into one of his great slumbers. Just how deep did the Addams influence and power truly go?
In the end he had decided to let them in, but followed the dark creature all the way to the Slytherin dorms, where all but Heri's little gang fled. He kept a firm grip on his wand but only spoke again when Dracula filled a golden goblet with his own blood and handed it the suffering boy.
"You mustn't drink that Herido!" He advised sharply, but Heri just gave him an unnerving smile. Really, Albus thought, there was no telling what the blood of the Vampire King would do!
"You worry too much." Heri said lightly before downing the blood in one. Most of his friends looked away in disgust, while Ron looked away in jealousy and the rest watched with morbid fascination.
"Herido, you haven't allowed him to drink your blood, have you?" Dumbledore's night was just getting worse.
Heri ignored the old man and instead closed his eyes. The rush of power flowing through his veins was euphoric. He could almost feel his body regenerating. It was much too delicious a feeling to be ruined by quarrelling adults.
"I can't see how that would be any business of yours, Dumbledore." Dracula stood beside Heri's bed like a guard.
"While at this school, he is my responsibility!" The argument did nothing to dim Dracula's grin.
"Hmm, I was under the impression he had much to fear whilst under your care. Do you truly have the arrogance to claim your actions are in his best interest, when you hire teachers who attack young master Addams, and deny entry to those seeking to heal him?
"And why was he injured to begin with?" Dumbledore tried to brush off the other man's challenge, mostly because he had no response.
"I was coaching him, but human bodies are so very weak." Heri suddenly grumbled something, and though no one could understand the boy who was only semi-conscious, Lord Dracula gave a low nod in his direction. It was as though he was respectfully conceding a point. "He will learn." Was all he said.
"You're teaching Heri?!" Hermione called out in awe, but quickly ducked her head and stepped away when those laughing crimson eyes turned to her, seeming to pierce her very soul in an instant.
"What happens at this school is my business, Lord Dracula, and I will not permit you to teach any of my students while they still attend Hogwarts." He wanted to add that any parents who didn't feel the education provided here was enough were welcome to withdraw their child, but he had enough to deal with without saying something that might be perceived as an attack on the people who'd recruited Vladimir Dracul to the position of tutor – it was unbelievable, and even more worrying was the fact that he appeared to be deferential to a boy who – no matter how powerful and fearsome he was for his age – he could surely quash like a bug.
The more he learned of the Addams', the more he wished he hadn't.
"Very well." He did a double take at the vampire's words. 'Very well'? Was that really all it took? He shook his head, deciding it was a good thing and he would therefore simply accept it for now. The Addams' never seemed to be needlessly inconsiderate, so maybe they had asked Dracula to be similarly courteous when working on their behalf.
"And will you answer my previous question?" He pushed. "Have you partaken of Herido Addams' blood?"
For the first time Dracula's grin fell, and morphed into something more aggressive as his upper lip pulled back slightly to show a glint of fang.
"You're an ignorant fool!" He hissed quietly, so as not to disturb his young charge. "I am covered in young master Addams' blood! I have carried him far, all the while watching it fall to the ground! You are blind! It is agony of the purest kind to be surrounded by such blood, having it fill my senses and yet restrain myself; a cruel torture to watch such blood fall to waste! Do you really believe he would be here if I could have taken it?"
Dumbledore and those students present thought they'd long overcome the dread that came with hearing the name Addams, but listening to the immortal's vehement tirade the old fear returned with force.
"Sure…" The headmaster noticed the quake in his voice and pulled himself together. If Dracula was talking, he could use the opportunity to learn more of the mysterious family. "Surely you're not suggesting the boy's blood is more valuable than your own?" It was common knowledge that Dracula did not give out his blood easily – he made people prove themselves worthy of it, he made them plead for it.
Any hope Dumbledore had of getting answers died when the wide grin returned, though now a little subdued.
"You are an ignorant fool." The powerful creature repeated, "And you will die an ignorant fool."
The memory ended, and for a moment all was still.
'Interesting.' Heri clenched his jaw at Tom's response. He had decided to share the memory of last week in the hopes it would encourage Tom to be more open himself. The boy should have been impressed, as his other friends were. Heri thought it would help Tom realise the rumours around his family were well founded, and that he should be careful about playing games with a member of that family, however Tom seemed as collected as ever. He was thinking about burning the Diary…
After endless conversations Heri was still no closer to actually getting what he wanted from the Diary. Knowing he had in his hands the answers to so many of the questions he'd had since learning of the Dark Lord but not being able to access them was infuriating. He'd considered ways of torturing the Diary, but at the end of the day it was a book, with no sensory receptors, nerve endings or even a physical brain –which made psychological torture difficult as well. The Diary was Tom Riddle's domain. He'd tried writing children's poems and nursery rhymes, page after page – it was a method inspired by what he'd been subjected to in the summer, so he knew just how painful it was. But still, the only response he got was that ghastly hollowing-out feeling and he was trying to avoid that, mostly because he was getting used to it even though he knew it was probably dangerous.
He wondered whether he was simply too invested and had considered handing it over to Wednesday during winter break: his darling sister had perfected the mental discipline of staying detached, no matter the situation – in fact it was her default setting. He could also ask Grandmamma to teach him any methods she knew of soul manipulation, but he'd really rather not damage the Diary unless absolutely necessary: it would be like planting a rose garden in a swamp, it would be a crime.
No, he wouldn't ask for help. He still felt as he did when first trying to research his own Horcrux; that it was something personal and almost intimate and he didn't want to share it with anyone else.
'Have you vampire blood? Vampire ancestry?' The young Lord pulled him from his thoughts.
'No, not a drop.' He replied.
'Then how are you able to learn their techniques?' Tom was intrigued, but it was less about Heri and more about how he could go about also learning vampiric magics.
'Well, the power of the vampire was originally gifted by Infernus, so…' Heri pulled back his hand as he thought: it was just a journal at the end of the day, Tom could hardly share Heri's secrets as long as he retained ownership… and wasn't that what journals were for anyway – for keeping those dark secrets that can't be shared… The quill in his hand snapped in two, cutting into the tender flesh of his palm, though Heri merely took a steadying breath before taking up another and continuing. 'That compulsion charm really sneaks up on you doesn't it?' Admiration and rage battled for dominance again.
'Come now. You can share a little of yourself.'
'I've shared plenty! It's your turn.'
'Nonsense. You know of my greatest secrets, it's only fair I should know yours.' Heri snorted to himself as he pondered that Tom was being purposefully annoying in an effort to force Heri to pass the Diary along to someone more easily manipulated – someone Tom could use to complete his work. He'd refused when Tom asked outright, and that was the only time he'd asked, but Heri still felt he was being pushed to comply.
'I thought you would know better than to expect fairness from the world.'
'Indeed. Then how about a small wager?' Tom goaded, and though he wanted to kick himself for it, Heri was interested. 'If I manage to find myself in the hands of an innocent before the end of the school year, you have to share with me your greatest secret.'
'That's foolish of you. Surely you realise I won't allow that to happen.' Heri's mind searched for risk, but the outcome of this bet was entirely in his hands, literally, and he was confident that no one would be able to take it from him.
'Then you have nothing to worry about.'
'And if I win? What will you give me?'
'A truth.' He glared at the now bank page: Tom Riddle was an utter bastard.
'Deal.'
The stone walls of the Slytherin common room had seemed darker lately, the green glow of the place casting eerie shadows that didn't seem quite right, not quite natural, sinister even. It was as though the environment itself was responding to Herido Addams. Beyond the sanctuary of the castle a low fog had persisted for weeks now, and the swirl of raging storm clouds threatened, but never seemed to break, instead leaving the world below devoid of sunlight and with a permanent chill that was cutting, even for a Scottish winter.
Draco, Blaise and Hermione sat on the lush rug before a roaring fire in the common room.
"That's it." Draco declared as he watched the nearby students pulling their thick cloaks tighter, but not caring that he and his friends were blocking much of the fire's warmth from reaching the rest of the room. "I'm going to have father take us somewhere warm over the holidays."
Blaise grunted. "I'll join you." It was getting late, but they knew that the second they left the fireplace to make the short journey to their dorms they'd be left shivering.
"Nott, Bulstrode," Heri suddenly called from his usual arm chair. "Why don't you go make sure the beds are adequately warmed?" It wasn't a suggestion and everyone knew it. Over the course of the last school year, the whole student population had shifted and moved with Herido's moods, and after he killed Quirrell the last of the resistance in Slytherin had started to dry up. Since the incident with the Carrow twins they had all been filled with a sense of dread at the idea of upsetting the infamous boy. And well, after the visit from Dracula many tried to avoid so much as meeting his eye.
It annoyed Heri that everyone was so fidgety and cautious around him because that made life dull, although he was starting to see the benefit of having so many servants at his beck and call. There had been no uprising on his part; he'd never said anything about being in charge of Slytherin House and made no attempt to dictate rules or interfere with everyday activities, and yet they had all started to mind him, to take notice of his affect and as it had darkened over the last month or so they were all exceptionally wary around him. No one wanted to be his outlet. He often mused that one day he'd have some fun discovering just how deep this new found 'respect' ran – what he could make them do. Besides he still had the rest of the school to play with, as they weren't quite as subdued as the Slytherins.
After clenching his teeth at being ordered around and to brace himself from the chill, Nott stood and made his way to the second year male dorms, whist hoping his assumption that Heri wouldn't want his own bed attended to was correct, because there was no telling what would happen if he so much a touched those drapes. Tracy Davies made her way to the female dorms to tell Millie she'd been called upon. Heri hadn't even noticed the heavy set girl wasn't present – hers was simply the first name that came to mind.
"Aster too." Came a sleepy voice from his left. He glanced across to see locks of soft blonde hair poking out from a bundle of blankets that filled the adjacent sofa.
He frowned as he considered Daphne, and then glanced around to his other friends. He valued them all, he truly did, but they had been grating on him lately. Taking a large scorching sip of his henbane tea his mind wondered to the Diary in his pocket – the Diary that had been a wonderfully aggravating thorn in his side since he first laid his hands on it. He disliked the young Voldemort for the same reason he disliked Dr Lector: he was too clever and far too insightful, especially for a boy not much older than him.
He heard Draco call out to direct the Carrows to attend to Astoria's bed, and though the words barely registered they did draw his attention back to his friends. Tom had been challenging him about them: it seemed that anytime he got close to finding an answer young Voldemort would find a way to get under his skin.
Even deep below the castle, the great claps of thunder were clearly heard, but still, no rain fell.
He and Tom had been deep in discussion about the latter's hatred for muggleborns when Tom had suggested that Heri's emotions had clouded his judgement, and that he shouldn't lower himself to befriend any of the 'lesser' beings around him, which made Heri feel obligated to defend the strengths of his friends. It was only during this argument that he truly took time to appreciate them. Some things were obvious: The twins' sadism, Ron's aggression, Blaise's sly calculating mind, Draco's strength and drive, and Hermione's impressive scholastic aptitude and willingness to push herself.
Neville was a mental rock: once he'd pushed past the timidity he was one of only a few children their age who knew for certain who they were, and who they wanted to be. He was surrounded by the Dark Arts and all the temptation and peer pressure that went along with that, but always remained firm on how far he would go in participating, that he would give nothing more of himself in order to get stronger and so focused on defensive and healing magics. He took advantage of the darkness of his friends, but never crossed the line himself, for example, he accepted the left over 'meat' Ron provided to feed his man-eating plants, but never killed personally.
It was during his comprehensive defence of Daphne that Tom had suggested he had feelings for her. That wasn't a problem for Heri, because in his family feelings and emotions were embraced as great strengths that enriched life, not to mention being incredibly powerful. Heri wasn't the romantic or needy type and hadn't given much thought to the relationships that seemed to consume the rest of the school to the point of obsession. In fact, he hadn't had a girlfriend since Wednesday had dated the Invisible Man's son when she was six, and he was curious to see if he was missing out on anything – he wasn't. Lately however it had crossed his mind once more: Wednesday had briefly dated an unfortunate boy they met at camp, and Pugsley was obviously taken with Hermione. His family were perpetually impressed that the usually guarded Herido had managed to forge so many friendships while at school, but the decision to expose himself to a relationship beyond that would be a risk – mostly to the recipient of those feelings.
After his initial description Tom had called Daphne a hare-brained doll, to which Heri had countered that he didn't see the problem with that either; that if one was presented with a living breathing doll, it would be positively immoral not to appreciate its beauty. But more than that though, she was ruthless; she was known as the Ice Queen long before Heri had met her and was generally the epitome of pureblood grace and superiority – something he thought Tom might appreciate. She wasn't a sadist by any stretch, but she also had no problem with his own sadistic nature, which left Heri wondering if she wasn't a little psychopathic. He hadn't forgotten that she'd also thrown herself before him to try and protect him from the 'Shade' last term and was good to her friends and family, so knew she wasn't ice through and though. She also never lost sight of herself during their exploration of the dark. However the thing that made Heri pause to think was that she was the one who most challenged him: he could see the fear in her eyes when she did, but even so, she was the one who most stuck to her guns, even when they set her in direct conflict with him. She was the one who had somehow convinced him to take her to a weeklong fashion show and who made it her life's mission to ensure their group was immaculate no matter how late or bloody their activities, and was often able to slice through their objections with an icy glare.
In many way's she was like his mother: caring, but ruthless; loving, but cold; the member of his family least inclined to participate in violence, but willing to watch on with a smile and effortlessly capable when the need arose; completely unashamed of who she was and what she enjoyed, even when it jarred so obviously with those around her… Heri realised he was comparing Daphne to his mother and of the Freudian field day Dr Lecter would have with that one, and stood. He needed to clear his head.
Complications aside, Heri did indeed value his friends, but over the last several weeks they weren't helping to convince him that Voldemort was altogether wrong.
Draco had stopped asking after the Diary after the first two weeks, though Heri could tell his friend was still anxious to get it back. No, now all his friends seemed to think it was their place to advise him to about the amount of time he spent 'researching' the Diary – apparently it was making him… irritable. He took no notice.
As his thoughts rounded back to Voldemort once again he started to make his way to the exit, planning to call his siblings.
"Are you going to talk to him again?" Hermione asked, concerned. After seeing his glare she sighed. "Heri…"
"You know I heard Snape talking about surprise end of term tests…" He hadn't said it nastily, but the desired effect was immediate.
Hermione looked lost for a moment before she pulled herself together and cut him off. "What?! Why didn't you tell me before?"
"If he'd warned you you'd never know where your weakness lay, or what you needed to work on." Blaise tried to reason, but she was already standing to make a quick dash to the dorms.
"I'd prefer not to have any weakness at all!" She declared before leaving. Normally Herido would have applauded her attitude, but this time he used the distraction to make his own getaway.
After making his way to the forest he worked on his shadow travel – a technique he'd been trying to practice for a year but was only recently having any luck with. It would be an invaluable asset once he had it perfected, and in the meantime it was pleasantly exhausting. He practiced for hours until he finally found himself in an unfamiliar part of the forest, though it seemed the local wildlife knew him, for as he got comfortable on the hard cold ground, leaning against the rough yet damp bark of nearby oak, the avian inhabitants of the tree flew from his proximity. They'd been that way since his friends ran amok last year, which he found a little unfair, though he was not the sort to grumble about such things.
He didn't know why he'd decided not to call home, but assumed it likely had something to do with the book that sat like a rock in his robes – the book he was fighting himself not to open again today. Taking out a cigarette in the hopes of diverting his thoughts, he mused that maybe he simply had an addictive personality and therefore didn't want to be convinced to walk away from the power of the Diary – consuming though it was.
Before he truly knew what he was doing, he had the Diary in his hands, biro at the ready.
'Good night, Voldemort.' He respected the boy's wish to be called by his chosen name; after all, Heri wouldn't appreciate people calling him Harry.
'Back so soon Herido?' Heri tried to ignore the mocking intent and pressed on, deciding for once to just cut straight to the point. He could already feel the intrusive presence of the Diary, just waiting to take his power. He knew Tom was trying to drain him, but played the game anyway. He tried not to give anything of himself to the diary after figuring out that was what opened him up to and made easier the process for the young Voldemort. However the Diary was damn tricky and most conversations ended when Heri was starting to feel drowsy
'I wanted to ask you something.'
'Indeed?'
'Do you really believe in pureblood dogma? Did you believe in it even back when you were so young.' He asked. He wanted some insight into how the young Dark Lord thought and this was pretty basic stuff. If he could at the very least discern the man's true motivations, maybe he could use it against him when they next met…
It was going to be a long night.
Please don't freak out at me about pairings. Herido is only twelve and I've left several options open, so he will probably date a few people along the way lol.
Also I hoped you liked the Dracula appearance ;)
xx
