Here you have it, another chapter of Heir of Dracula! In this chapter, we skip closer and closer to the end! I hope you'll like it. If you don't... well, that kinda sucks...
–
–1996–
"And where do you think you're going?"
Harold froze as he stood on at the edge of the Forbidden Forest in June nineteen ninety-six. Slowly, he turned around to see none other than High Inquisitor Dolores Umbridge standing there, pointing her disappointingly short wand at him. She looked triumphant, somehow.
"You'll be expelled for this, Potter," Umbridge whispered triumphantly as her eyes almost glowed with the glee she was feeling. "The Forbidden Forest is exactly that. Forbidden."
"Very true, but I need to go to the Ministry of Magic," Harold said calmly, "so I thought I might just go in there and borrow one of the school's thestrals. And don't call me Potter."
"But it's your name, isn't it?" Umbridge asked. "Before you became an inferior being, you were once a wizard named Harry Potter, were you not?"
"I think you will find, Professor Umbridge, that it is you who are the inferior being."
Umbridge narrowed her eyes at Harold. "Walk, Potter," she ordered.
"What?" Harold asked, his elegant eyebrow rising slowly.
"You heard me, Potter, I said walk," Umbridge repeated, moving up to Harold and jabbing her wand into his chest. "We are going to have a little talk, you and I, before I take you back to the castle to expel you. I am going to teach you to show me the respect I deserve."
Harold gave a small chuckle as he turned around and started walking into the forest.
"So, you have an even crueler side to you than I first suspected," he said, a vicious grin appearing on his face, unseen by Umbridge. "How interesting."
"Shut up and walk, Potter."
They walked for a good ten minutes, deeper and deeper into the forest, until all they could see through the trees around them was darkness. The air was a bit colder in here, and a deep mist had rolled in. Umbridge didn't know this, of course, but Harold had manipulated the weather as best as he could during their little walk, summoning the mist.
"This is quite far enough, I think," Umbridge said, and Harold spun around to face her, to see that sickly sweet smile once more on her face. "Oh, I am going to enjoy this, Potter. Cruci-"
There was a flash of silver, and the red glow that had built up at the tip of Umbridge's wand died down as her hand was separated from her wrist.
Umbridge's eyes widened at the sudden loss of her hand, and she seemed to be in too great a shock to scream from the pain. The sword that had materialized in Harold's hand flashed again, and this time, her foot was separated from her leg, this time actually making her scream as she collapsed to the ground, the blood pouring from her wounds.
Her screams were sweet music to Harold's ears, and the sword vanished in a cloud of blood red mist. Harold walked over to her, grinning widely.
"What's wrong, superior being? Why don't you stop me? Summon up your familiars! Regrow your limbs! Fight me!"
"Y-You... You monster!" Umbridge shrieked, clutching at her stump of an arm. "HELP ME! HEEELP!"
"You took us far into the forest..." Harold whispered, his grin widening. "So that no one could hear me scream. Well, the same goes for you. No one can hear you scream in here... No one will come to your rescue..."
"W-What a-are you going to do?" Umbridge asked fearfully, but Harold didn't respond. Instead, he just lunged at her, sinking his teeth into her throat and greedily devouring her blood, ignoring her screams for help.
Once she was completely drained, Harold didn't stop. He grabbed Umbridge's arms and pulled, tearing her arms right off the shoulders, then threw them away. Next, he grabbed her legs, and tore them off as well, before finally grabbing her head and ripping it off her shoulders, squeezing the neck to get the last drops of blood out of her.
"And don't call me Potter," Harold hissed as he glared down at the remains, dropping the head to the ground.
Come morning, the remains would be devoured by the thestrals, and all the evidence would be gone. Harold would just blame the acromantulas.
Smirking, Harold spun around. "I thought the smell of blood would bring you here," he spoke.
Standing between two trees, their eyes gleaming eerily, were two thestrals, watching him as though they understood what he was saying, and from Harold's experience with thestrals, they did.
No fewer than six or seven thestrals made their way into the clearing now, and Harold walked up to the closest one, patting it once before getting up on it, lodging his knees behind the wing joints.
"Ministry of Magic, visitor's entrance, London," Harold whispered to the thestral. He then jabbed his heels into the thestral's sides, and the wings on either side extended, the horse crouched slowly, and then rocketed upward so fast and so steeply that Harold had to get a new grip on the creature's mane to make sure not to fall off. He ducked his head as they burst through the topmost branches of the trees and soared out into a blood red sunset.
Harold had only ever moved so fast the last time he was on a thestral. The thestral streaked over the castle, its wide wings hardly beating. The cooling air was slapping Harold's face. Eyes screwing up, he bent as low as possible into the neck of the thestral to protect himself from its slipstream.
He was over the Hogwarts grounds, he had passed Hogsmeade. Harold could see mountains and gullies below him. In the falling darkness, Harold saw small collections of lights as he passed over more villages, then a winding road on which a single car was beetling its way home through the hills...
Twilight fell: The sky turned to a light, dusky purple littered with tiny silver stars, and soon it was only the lights from the Muggle towns that gave him any clue of how far from the ground he was or how very fast he was traveling. Harold's arms were wrapped tightly around the horse's neck.
On they flew through the gathering darkness. Harold's face felt stiff and cold, his legs numb from gripping the thestral's sides so tightly, but he didn't care. He didn't care that he was deaf from the thundering in his ears, or that his mouth was dry and frozen from the cold night air. He was just looking forward to another brush with Voldemort, who had tried to trick him into going to the Ministry of Magic. He didn't need a trick to do that...
The thestral's head suddenly pointed to the ground, and he actually slid forward a few inches along its neck. They were descending finally...
And now, bright orange lights were growing larger and rounder on all sides. He could see the tops of buildings, streams of headlights like luminous insect eyes, squares of pale yellow that were windows.
The thestral landed softly like a shadow in an alley in London, and Harold slid from its back, looking around at the street where an overflowing dumpster stood a short way from a vandalized telephone box. From what Sirius said, that was the visitor's entrance.
"You can go back to Hogwarts and feast," Harold told the thestral, which took flight again.
Harold made his way over to the telephone box and went inside, dialing six-two-four-four-two as he brought the receiver to his ear.
"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic," a cool, female voice sounded inside the box. "Please state your name and business."
"Harold Dracula, here for a late dinner," Harold spoke into the receiver, grinning widely. He still had dried blood around his mouth that he had yet to wipe off.
"Thank you," the cool female voice said. "Visitor, please take the badge and attach it to the front of your robe.
A shiny silver badge slid out of the metal chute where returned money usually appeared. Harold took it and glanced at it.
HAROLD DRACULA
Dinner Guest
"Visitor to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium."
The floor of the telephone box shuddered and the pavement rose up past the glass windows of the telephone box. Blackness closed over his head, and with a dull grinding noise, he sank down into the depths of the Ministry of Magic...
–
S. P. T. to A. P. W. B. D.
Dark Lord
and (?) Harry Potter
"There it is," Harold whispered, standing in a cathedral-like room, which had hundreds upon hundreds of high shelves stacked with millions of glowing glass orbs. Slowly, Harold stretched out his hand and closed his fingers around the dusty orb's surface. He had expected it to feel cold, but it did not. On the contrary, it felt as though it had been lying in the sun for hours, as though the glow of light within was warming it.
Right from behind him, a drawling voice said, "Very good, Potter. Now turn around, nice and slowly, and give that to me."
A grin slowly spread on Harold's face. "Malfoy," he whispered as he slowly turned around. Black shapes were emerging out of thin air all around him, blocking his way left and right. Eyes glinted through slits in hoods, a dozen lit wand tips were pointing directly at his heart.
"To me, Potter," the drawling voice of Lucius Malfoy repeated.
"Tell you what, I am in a particularly good mood tonight, Lucius, so I will forgive you for calling me Potter," Harold said, his grin slowly widening. "That is, of course, provided that you allow me to let loose properly tonight..."
"Do you truly think you can fight us, boy?" a harsh female voice asked from the midst of the shadowy figures to Harold's left. "You must be out of your mind!"
"Well, we'll just see about that, won't we?" Harold asked, and he saw Malfoy's eyes widen in fear through the slits in his hood.
Without another word, Harold lunged to his right, sinking his teeth into the throat of the closest Death Eater, hearing a gurgled scream from underneath the hood. Then, displaying amazing strength and using only his mouth, he vaulted the man over himself and, ripping off his head in the process, threw him into the crowd of Death Eaters.
Giving off a menacing laugh, Harold pocketed the prophecy, then threw open his cloak, and from the darkness within it came five wolves made out of blood red mist charging out of it, rushing at the Death Eaters, who all scrambled out of the way. The wolves lunged at three of the Death Eaters, clamping their jaws down around their throats and knocking them to the ground, tearing them to pieces.
Harold ducked under three Stunners and grabbed the closest Death Eater, sinking his teeth into the man's throat and spinning him around, intercepting five Stunners with the man's body, which he drained completely of blood. Harold paused for a moment, holding the man's body up with nothing but his jaws as he gazed over the remaining Death Eaters, who were frozen in shock, their wands pointing at him.
Harold opened his mouth, and the body dropped to the floor. Then, he blew into the air, and the Death Eaters' wandlights went out as though he had just blown out a candle. Panicked noises came from the Death Eaters as all the light they had were the dull lights coming from the orbs on the shelves. Harold burst into mist and Malfoy was heard yelling, "Retreat! Run!"
Harold's menacing laughter echoed through the cathedral-like room as his arm reformed, holding his wand, and fired off a Reducto, which smashed into the knee of one of the running Death Eaters, blowing his leg off.
Harold materialized on top of the Death Eater, who was screaming for help from his running allies. Harold gently, almost lovingly removed the hood of the Death Eater, revealing none other than Antonin Dolohov. Harold grabbed the man's face and stared into his eyes, squeezing, as a bloodthirsty grin made its way onto his face.
"Another one down," he whispered, before biting down on Dolohov's throat, greedily drinking the man's blood.
Then, Harold exploded into mist again, and followed the retreating Death Eaters.
They reached the door out of the Hall of Prophecy, which slammed shut after one of them got through. Malfoy tugged at the door, and Harold materialized behind them.
"It won't open," he whispered, and the Death Eaters all spun around, firing Stunners and Killing Curses, but Harold just went back into mist form and charged forward, materializing in mid-flight and grabbing two Death Eaters' heads, smashing them into the wall and crushing their heads like grapes. He grabbed another Death Eater and savagely twisted the man's head one hundred and eighty degrees, accompanied by a sickening snap from the man's neck.
Just two of them left...
As Malfoy stood by the door, shivering, the other Death Eater gave a panicked cry and charged Harold with his fists raised. Fighting like a Muggle, eh? Harold thought with a grin, raising his hand and catching the man's fist, before violently ripping his arm off. Then, he bit down on the man's throat, draining him of his blood.
"P-Please... Please!" Malfoy begged, and Harold could smell urine leaking from the man. "D-Don't! I'll do anything you want! J-Just don't kill me!"
"Now, now, Lucius, such behavior is unbecoming of you," Harold chided softly, blood dripping from his face. "Face your death like a man!"
With that, Harold charged forward and punched his hands into either side of Malfoy's chest. He gripped the man's lungs and lifted him into the air, before pulling.
Malfoy gave a strangled cry of pain as he was torn into two pieces straight down the middle, showering Harold in his blood. Harold dropped the two pieces to the floor. Then, he laughed, loudly, a laugh that he was sure would have even made Voldemort pause...
With all the Death Eaters in the Hall of Prophecy now dead, Harold opened the doors and slowly walked out, smelling the woman's scent and following it calmly. In her panic, the woman seemed to have gotten lost in the Department of Mysteries, because the scent zigzagged here and there, as though she was unsure where to go.
He reached the large, circular room with all the doors, and could smell that she had been weaving from door to door, trying to find the right one. Following the scent to the latest door, Harold opened it, to see her close the grilles of a lift at the other end of the dark corridor, which jangled and banged its way upward. Harold laughed as he transformed into mist and charged forward, following and passing the lift up to the Atrium, where he materialized again, and waited.
When the lift came banging into view, he saw that the woman had removed her hood, revealing herself to be Bellatrix Lestrange. Bellatrix was leaning against the wall of the lift, her eyes closed, panting in what seemed like relief. When the lift stopped, Bellatrix wrenched open the grilles and charged out, only to come to a stop when she saw Harold, completely drenched in blood, standing right in front of her, a menacing grin on his face.
"Hello, Mrs. Lestrange," he said calmly, his voice the very opposite of the look on his face, which looked quite feral and crazy.
Bellatrix stared fearfully into his eyes. Then, she looked past his shoulder, and her fear seemed to bleed away, to be replaced by confidence. Harold raised an eyebrow, then saw him.
Lord Voldemort was standing in the middle of the Atrium, gazing coldly at Harold, who grinned.
"So, you have killed my Death Eaters, Potter?" Voldemort asked, narrowing his eyes. "You are more powerful than I thought. I am afraid I cannot let you live."
"Haven't we been through this before?" Harold asked, raising an eyebrow as he turned around and slowly started walking toward Voldemort. "You cannot kill me."
"And you cannot kill me," Voldemort said confidently. "I am immortal."
Harold laughed as he paused in his walk. "There is no such thing as an immortal, Voldemort, we both know that. Everybody dies at one point of another. It's the only constant in this universe... death... Eventually, it comes for us all, some later than others."
"For you, it will come tonight!" Voldemort said as he pointed his wand at Harold. A sickly purple light, a curse, flew at Harold, who easily dodged. The spell hit the security desk, which started to melt.
Voldemort flung curse after curse at Harold, who skillfully dodged. He had memorized Voldemort's tactics, and could easily predict the curses he would fling next, and how to dodge them.
Killing Curse... Bone-breaker hex... Acid Curse... Harold dodged them all, and with every dodge, he moved an inch closer to Voldemort, who hadn't even noticed until he was within reach of Harold. Voldemort's eyes widened, and a nanosecond later, a punch had smashed into his face, which sent him flying.
When Voldemort slammed into the ground, Harold threw out his cloak and summoned five blood wolves, which charged at Voldemort, who summoned a snake made of fire. The snake smashed the wolves back into mist, and headed straight for Harold, smashing right into him.
Harold was burned to a crisp, but just like last time, he slowly reformed, a mad grin on his face. He was no longer covered in blood, but looked insanely happy nonetheless.
"You are even more powerful than the last time we met!" Harold said, laughing. "This is great! A proper fight! Very well then, I'll fling some spells of my own!"
Whipping out his wand, Harold flung a Killing Curse at Voldemort, whose eyes widened as he dodged. The two exchanged spells at at amazing speed, a speed that any normal person would have trouble keeping up with.
All around them, fires roared to life, and Ministry workers started arriving to go to work, only to stop when they saw the duel in front of him. Harold grinned. No one would ever call him a liar again now! This was perfect!
Voldemort seemed to notice as well, as he pointed his wand at Harold and yelled, "Accio Prophecy!"
The prophecy orb made its way out of Harold's pocket and soared toward Voldemort, but Harold flicked his wand, and the orb was sent smashing down into the floor, smashing it to bits.
From within the orb, a pearly-white figure with hugely magnified eyes rose into the air, and all movement ceased when it started speaking...
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."
Harold and Voldemort stared at each other for a second. Then, Voldemort disappeared.
"He was there!" a scarlet-robed man with a ponytail shouted, pointing at the spot where Voldemort had just stood. "I saw him, Mr. Fudge, I swear, it was You-Know-Who, he grabbed a woman and Disapparated!"
"I know, Williamson, I know, I saw him too!" Fudge gibbered, wearing pajamas under his pinstriped cloak and gasping as though he had just run miles. "Merlin's beard, here... here! In the Ministry of Magic! Great heavens above... it doesn't seem possible... my word... how can this be?"
"Do you believe me now, Minister?" Harold asked, raising an eyebrow at the Minister, whose eyes bulged as he spotted Harold.
–
HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED RETURNS
In a brief statement Friday night, Minister of Magic
Cornelius Fudge confirmed that He-Who-Must-
Not-Be-Named has returned to this country and is
active once more.
"It is with great regret that I must confirm that the
wizard styling himself Lord... well, you know who I
mean... is alive and among us again," said Fudge,
looking tired and flustered as he addressed reporters.
"It is with almost equal regret that we report the mass
revolt of the dementors of Azkaban, who have shown
themselves averse to continuing in the Ministry's employ.
We believe that the dementors are currently taking
direction from Lord... Thingy.
"We urge the magical population to remain vigilant.
The Ministry is currently publishing guides to
elementary home and personal defense that will be
delivered free to all Wizarding homes within the
coming month."
The Minister's statement was met with dismay and
alarm from the Wizarding community, which as recently
as last Wednesday was receiving Ministry assurances
that there was "no truth whatsoever in these
persistent rumors that You-Know-Who is operating
amongst us once more."
Details of the events that led to the Ministry turnaround
are still hazy, though it is believed that He-
Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and a select band of
followers (known as Death Eaters) gained entry to
the Ministry of Magic itself on Thursday evening.
Albus Dumbledore, newly reinstated
member of the International Confederation
of Wizards, and reinstated Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot,
was unavailable for comment last night. He
has insisted for a year that You-Know-Who was not
dead, as was widely hoped and believed, but recruiting
followers once more for a fresh attempt to seize
power. Meanwhile the Boy Who Lived...
"So, I am the Boy Who Lived again..." Harold said as he sat in the dining room of Castle Dracula, chuckling to himself. At the table sat Hermione, Draco, Ginny, and the latest addition to his group of friends, Luna, who was reading her Quibbler upside down and apparently not taking in a word Harold was saying as he read out of the Sunday Prophet. "I hope you don't mind that I brutally slaughtered your coward of a father, Draco."
"Of course not," Draco said, holding his head high. "He was a sniveling coward and a weakling. All he had going for him was his money, which is now mine."
"Do they say anything about the Death Eaters?" Hermione asked, and Harold hummed, turning the page.
"Well, they are confirming that I am a vampire, and that that is how I beat them. This is, however, mere speculation on their part. The Ministry refuses to comment as to what happened down there. It should be embarrassing for them, that not only I, but also a group of Death Eaters and Lord Voldemort himself managed to get into the Ministry."
"It's only a matter of time before the prophecy leaks out, and everyone starts looking to you to lead them," Draco said, interlacing his fingers in front of him.
"Question is, will you?" Hermione asked, making Harold scoff.
"After this school year of being called a liar? I could care less about those fools. If Voldemort wants to come after me, I'll let him, but I cannot bring myself to care if he goes after magical Britain."
"I thought you'd say that," Draco said, nodding. "But why do you say that?"
Harold smirked. "It will cause a nice amount of chaos. I do so love chaos... bloodshed... panic... fear... It is quite intoxicating."
Everyone, save for Luna and Draco, was staring at Harold in shock.
"You've changed this year," Ginny said timidly.
"What did you all expect?" Draco asked with a sneer. "He is the Dark Lord Dracula, the King of Vampires. Did you expect him to run around babying humans?"
"If any of you wish to leave my ranks, I shall, of course, not object," Harold said, looking around at his friends. "However, we will no longer be friends, and I shall forevermore consider you my enemies."
"I..." Hermione said, hesitating. Then, she stood up. "I will not leave you, Harold. You have always been my friend, even when no one else wanted to. I will follow you to whatever end."
"Me too," Draco said, also rising. Ginny rose as well and wordlessly nodded.
Luna finally put down her magazine and smiled her distant smile, looking quite out of it.
"I'm saying what Hermione said, only without actually saying it," she said dreamily. "Plus, this all seems rather interesting, and I wouldn't mind becoming a vampire if that's what it takes."
"No one said anything about turning anyone into a vampire," Harold said with a smirk, "but if you really wish it, I shall take your wish into consideration."
"I also wouldn't mind sharing a bed with you, Harold," Luna said, smiling dreamily, and Harold blinked.
"Thank you, Luna..."
Once everyone had been sent back to Hogwarts, Harold sat down on his throne in his throne room, and was joined by Fleur.
"I 'ave been talking to Marishka," she said, looking thoughtful. "And she told me zat ze last Dracula 'ad all four of zem as mistresses. I wonder, will you be taking any mistresses?"
"Without a doubt, I will. We vampires are on the same level as veela when it comes to sex drive, after all," Harold said as he rose from his throne and moved over to Fleur, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close, staring deeply into her eyes. "I trust you have no objections, my love?"
"Not at all," Fleur said breathlessly as they kissed. "As long as it is someone I approve of."
"Like Hermione?"
"Oui."
"And Luna?"
"I don't really know 'er, but from what I 'ave seen, she doesn't appear to be ze kind of girl 'oo would try to steal you from me."
"The Devil himself could not separate us, my love," Harold said, kissing her again.
–
As Harold boarded the Hogwarts Express on September the first, nineteen ninety-six, he drew quite a few looks as he found an empty compartment and sat down, soon joined by Ginny, Draco, and Luna. Hermione had dropped in to say hello, but had to go to the prefects' carriage before she could come join them. Harold had decided against going to the prefects' carriage this year.
"The time is drawing closer, my friends," Harold told his friends as the train started moving. "Eternal life is almost within your reach."
He saw greedy looks on Ginny and Draco's faces, while Luna just smiled her dreamy smile.
"Sounds good," she said, before opening her latest copy of the Quibbler and burying her face in it, humming softly to herself.
"Finally. Took you long enough to decide to turn us," Draco said, crossing his arms. "I've grown tired of waiting."
"Draco, so impatient. You will have to lose that trait when I turn you," Harold said, smirking softly. "You will have all the time in the world, after all."
"By the way, You-Know-Who gave me a mission about a week ago," Draco said, scoffing. "I honestly think it's just some sort of punishment for my father's failure. He has ordered me to kill Dumbledore."
"Dumbledore?" Ginny asked with a laugh. "You-Know-Who himself is afraid to face Dumbledore, and he expects you to kill him? What a fool."
"Like I said, I don't think he actually expects me to kill him. I think he just wants an excuse to kill me as a way of punishing my father for his failure, since he's not alive to be punished himself."
"That's odd, I never expected Voldemort to need a reason to kill someone," Harold said thoughtfully, putting a hand on his chin.
"Perhaps he thinks there is the odd chance that you may succeed?" Luna suggested from behind her magazine without looking at them. Everyone looked at each other and shrugged. There was always that possibility.
"By the way, have you heard?" Ginny asked, snickering. "The 'Chosen One,' they call you now. How's that for a nickname?"
"At least they aren't calling me a boy," Harold reasoned with a smirk. "I guess the Ministry hasn't disclosed the brutal nature of my stopping the Death Eaters in the Hall of Prophecies."
"I suppose they don't want the people to have to worry about another Dark Lord," Draco reasoned. "They're in enough of a panic as it is, don't you think?"
"Are we still doing DA meetings this year, Harold?" Luna asked, detaching a pair of psychedelic spectacles from the middle of The Quibbler.
DA was the 'study group' Harold had formed the previous year, where the purpose was to learn defensive magic in an act of rebellion against Umbridge. DA stood for Dracul Armata, which meant Dragon Army.
"That was just an act of rebellion against Umbridge," Harold said. "There is no point now that she's gone."
"You mean dead, right?" Draco asked with a smirk, which Harold returned.
"A lot could have happened in that forest... Like I told Dumbledore, the acromantulas attacked us, and we got separated. I have no idea what happened to her."
"Sure you don't," Ginny said, snickering. Ever since her possession at the hands of Voldemort, Ginny had become steadily darker in nature. She didn't seem to mind bloodshed now as much as she did in her third year. "So, how did you two do in your OWLs?"
"All O's, naturally," Harold said, his smirk widening. Draco crossed his arms and clicked his tongue.
"I got all E's and O's, but it's not like it's going to matter, is it? I mean, I won't have to get a job once I move into the castle, will I?"
"Very true," Harold said with a nod.
Within minutes, Hermione arrived, followed closely by a breathless third-year girl, who stepped inside with her.
"I'm supposed to deliver this to Harold D-Dracula," she faltered, as her eyes met Harold's and she turned scarlet. She was holding out a scroll tied with a violet ribbon. Arching an elegant eyebrow, Harold took the scroll, and the girl stumbled back out of the compartment.
"What is it?" Hermione asked as Harold unrolled it.
"An invitation."
Harold,
I would be delighted if you would join me for a bite of lunch in compartment C.
Sincerely,
Professor H. E. F. Slughorn.
"Who's Professor Slughorn?" Hermione asked, sounding perplexed, and Harold shrugged.
"My father told me about him. He was Potions teacher before Snape," Draco said. "He was supposedly very good, although he had a habit of 'collecting' students in something known as the Slug Club, a group of successful students that were bound to be great. Guess he's found a new recruit. Wonder why he didn't invite me, though..."
"Maybe he's not interested in the children of Death Eaters?" Ginny suggested with a raised eyebrow, and Draco nodded as Harold stood up.
"Well, I had better go see what he wants with me," Harold said, making his way toward the door. "We shall discuss your turning when I return."
–1998–
"The war is not going well, my Lord," Draco Malfoy, recent graduate from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry said as he knelt in front of the throne belonging to Harold Dracula. "Not well at all. The Order of the Phoenix is suffering heavy losses, as is the Ministry of Magic. Both sides are weakened, but the Light is the most weakened."
Harold hummed as he played with a silver ring on his finger, adorned with an ugly, black stone.
"Indeed?" he said in amusement. This whole war, all this bloodshed, all this carnage, all this violence... it was very amusing to him. "And how goes the search for my castle."
"I have dropped enough clues in Voldemort's lap that he should be able to find you soon, unless he's dumber than I give him credit for."
"Then there is a chance that I am in for a longer wait then expected..." Harold muttered, narrowing his eyes. "I am growing bored, just sitting here. If it wasn't for the fact that it would take all the fun out of it, I would remove the wards keeping this castle hidden from view..."
"Then, my Lord," Draco hesitated slightly, gulping, "why... why don't you join the frontlines?"
"I have no intention of aiding those who dared call me a liar," Harold said simply. "Besides, there won't be a Light or Dark soon. Voldemort's pawns are already inside the Ministry. It is only a matter of time before it is taken over."
"Harold!" came Sirius's voice as the man came running into the throne room. "I bring news from the frontlines!"
"What is it?" Harold asked, arching an eyebrow.
"Dumbledore is dead," Sirius spoke, making Draco go wide-eyed, while Harry just made an interested noise. "He was just beaten in a duel against Voldemort, who took his wand. Some say he can't be beaten now."
"Hm..." Harold hummed in thought as he sank deeper into his throne, interlacing his fingers in his lap. "I think... I changed my mind..."
"You will help the Ministry, then?" Draco asked, his eyebrows rising in surprise.
"Not at all," Harold said, rising from his throne. "I think it is time for a third party to join this war for Britain."
"Ah," Sirius said, a smirk appearing on his face. "So we're against everyone, then?"
"Indeed we are," Harold said as he grabbed his cloak and put it on, wandering down the steps from his throne. "Come, my friends... Let us wage a bloody war that will be spoken of for ages to come..."
Harold raised his wand and pressed it to his throat. With a whispered, "Sonorus," his voice became loud enough to carry through the entire castle. "This is your master, Harold Dracula! All inhabitants of Castle Dracula, prepare for war! Sharpen swords, spears, and axes, shine the armors, arm yourselves! Go to war! Leave none standing!"
All throughout the castle, skeletons rose out of piles in the dungeons, zombies woke from their long slumber, the giants sounded the drums of war...
The entire castle, which had been silent for so long, so dark, was now alight with torches and furnace fires. The ring of hammer on steel was heard through the castle as swords, shields, axes and spearheads were being forged, along with armors for both skeleton and giant alike.
The trees around the castle were fed into roaring furnaces... molten metal poured into casts... red hot metal, beaten by skeleton blacksmiths... armor and weapons were forged from the great furnaces.
"You're really going through with this, aren't you?" Draco asked, his arms crossed three days later as Harold put on his overcoat and strapping a longsword to his hip.
"I am."
"Even if you were to go to war, it would take a number beyond reckoning to bring win it!" Sirius said as Harold walked off, Draco and Sirius following.
"Tens of thousands," Harold responded, nodding.
"But, my Lord, there is no such force!" Draco said as they came out onto a balcony of the castle. Draco suddenly saw and heard the enormous armies laid out below in neat rows and was astounded and awed. He gaped at the vast army below. Tens of thousands of skeletons, zombies, giants, manticores, all manner of wild beasts and demons were down there, armored and armed to the teeth, the humanoid monsters pounding their chests in salute to Harold.
A horn was sounded, signaling the appearance of Harold, and a cheer was heard from the army. Harold raised a hand.
"A new power is rising. Its victory is at hand!"
The army cheered and roared, thumping their long pikes into the ground.
"This night, the land will be stained with the blood of Scotland! March on! Leave none alive!" Harold ordered, raising his hands into the air. "TO WAR!"
The army cheered and roared even louder.
And so, the army marched, appearing and spreading out from John O'Groats to Thurso and Wick, slaughtering all in their way. The Muggles were helpless against them with their Muggle weapons. Headed by Harold, who bit and drained whoever he came across, the army carved a bloody path through Scotland, leaving nothing but bodies impaled on spears, spikes, flagpoles, fences, anything that was sharp. The Muggles called in the military, but against the giants, they stood no chance.
"Zere was a time when seeing such a sight would 'ave sickened me," Fleur Dracula said as she sat at a small table with Harold. They were sitting in the middle of the coastal village of Stromeferry, dining at a small table outside a cafe. All around them, pikes and spears had been jammed into the ground, and people had been impaled on all of them. The streets were literally bathed in blood from man, woman, and child alike.
Yet still they sat there, eating as if nothing was out of the ordinary, watching as the soldiers enjoyed themselves by feasting on the rare few who hadn't been impaled.
"I must be a good influence on you," Harold said with a smirk, sipping a glass of wine. Fleur laughed as she drank her own wine.
"I'd say zat jading me to ze sight of such a gruesome scene would be considered a bad influence."
"Depending on your point of view, of course."
"Sir!" one of the vampires that the quadruplets had turned, serving as a Corporal in Harold's army, said as he ran up to Harold. Three men stood behind him, carrying a flailing teenager, who was crying and screaming for his mother.
"This had better be good, Corporal, you are interrupting our dinner."
"Sir, we have run out of pikes and spears to impale people with."
"Then use wood," Harold said, waving him off.
"We... We are out of wood, sir," the Corporal said, and Harold sighed.
"Well, use flag poles."
"All the flagpoles have been used, sir, even the horizontal ones on the building sides."
Harold grunted and wiped his mouth with a napkin, then looked around. He pointed to a street sign.
"See that sign pole, Corporal?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Off with the signs, use the pole."
"Will do, sir! Any preference for the show, sir?" the Corporal asked, and Harold chuckled, turning to Fleur.
"My love?"
"Vertical," Fleur said with a smirk. She had truly succumbed to her darker instincts in a delightful way.
They watched as a giant was called over. The giant ripped the sign of the metal pole sticking out of the asphalt, grabbed the teenager from the three men, and forced the boy down on the pole, which went straight up through his anus, into his gut.
Together, still dining Harold and Fleur watched as the boy slowly sank down on the pole, screaming the whole time.
"Pity Hermione wasn't here to see this," Harold mused as he bit into his bloody steak, and Fleur nodded in agreement.
If anyone had changed after their turning, it was Hermione. She had become cruel, extremely dark, and got along fabulously with Eleesia. She was back at the castle, waiting with Eleesia to interrogate any prisoners that may be sent back. She had taken to torture like a fish to water. She would have enjoyed seeing the trail of impaled bodies they left behind in their wake.
"We shall wait here, Corporal," Harold told the Corporal after he finished his dinner, rising from his chair. "Send word back to the castle. We need more pikes and spears."
"Yes, sir!"
"Fifty-eight million people in the United Kingdom," Harold said, humming. "We are going to need a lot more pikes..."
–
Scotland was burning...
Five million people (a third of them having fled the country, one left in the wake of the Dark Lord Harold Dracula's armies, which were growing every second), comprising the last third of the country's population, were impaled on pikes. Villages had been taken over, and furnaces had been set up to keep churning out spikes, pikes, and spears for Harold to use to impale his enemies, harmless people who had never done a thing to hurt anyone, let alone him...
Ronald Weasley stood with what remained of the Order of the Phoenix, amidst the impaled bodies of the Scottish population. Vertical, horizontal, they were all impaled in various manners, seemingly each one impaled in a different way. Some had had their guts slashed open, so their entrails were littering the ground beneath them.
Crows had already flocked, feasting on thousands, tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands of maggot-infested, rotting corpses, tearing out eyes and tongues. This was what remained of Edinburgh: Not a single thing... Buildings had been torn down to make room for more pikes...
It was like something taken out of a nightmare. The fires colored the sunset blood red, the silhouettes of the impaled corpses stretching on as far as the eye could see, crows feasting like there was no tomorrow... Blood was dripping from the corpses like rain from a cloud. Strange thing, Ron would have thought that after a day or two, the blood would have already been drained from their bodies. He supposed he was wrong...
It amazed him how much blood a human body had. This was truly sickening... It really was like rain. He dared not walk any closer to Edinburgh than this, lest he be drenched in it. One corpse closest to them had been flayed, a woman by the looks of it, her skin lying in a pile underneath her, which was currently covered in ants and maggots. A crow poked its head out of the woman's gut, drenched in blood. It swallowed the chunk of meat in its beak, cawed at them, then flew away.
The smell was sickening. That horrid, rancid, odorous stench... It made the bile rise in Ron's throat, and behind him, he heard that a few of the Order members hadn't been as good at controlling themselves as he was. Blood, bile, feces, urine... it was all too much. Ron held it in for another second, and then he vomited.
"By the gods..." he heard a panting Neville whisper behind him, and he looked back, wiping his mouth, to see that Neville was one of those that had vomited as well. "Monster... He's a monster..."
Somewhere amidst the bodies, a groan was heard here and there... Some of them were still alive... This alone made Ron vomit again. To be left like this, slowly sinking down on a pike, left to die all alone with nothing but the crows to keep you company... It had to be horrible, so terrifying, so painful... Yet Ron couldn't move to help them. No one could. They were rooted to the spot, frozen in their horror, hearing the caws, groans, and moans...
"Steady, lads," Moody growled from next to Ron, glaring out at the horror scene with an unflinching gaze. It seemed to only strengthen his resolve, whereas everyone else's morale went out the window at the sight.
–1999–
Thomas Collins had not expected this when he woke up that morning. For days now, Scotland had been dark. Rumors had spread of a plague threatening it, and some had whispered about a ghost army that couldn't be killed. Bollocks, Thomas had said. It was just pure bollocks. He had stopped believing in ghost stories a long time ago.
Yet there he was in Carlisle, firing upon an army, headed by what appeared to be giants, of all things! Leading the army of armored skeletons, giants, and bloodied soldiers was a man, wearing a black overcoat and a cloak that made him look like something right out of Bram Stoker's novel. The man was slowly walking toward the military blockade that had been set up in Carlisle, taking fire. Everyone was firing at him, the bullets tearing chunks of flesh off the man's body.
Yet he didn't stop.
The man just wouldn't go down! He just kept walking, no matter what they fired at him! His body was torn to shreds, but right before Thomas's eyes, he seemed to somehow heal, clothes and all. A grenade exploded, blowing the man's lower body to shreds, but the man just kept crawling, slowly growing out his legs, before he got up and started walking again.
The man's face didn't even twitch from pain. He just kept walking, the very image of calmness, and showing a complete lack of emotion. Thomas screamed from fear as he kept firing, hearing his comrades screaming as well.
Not only were bullets useless against the man, but the bombers that had been called in couldn't get through to them. Apparently, there were creatures in the sky, intercepting the planes and crashing them.
The army behind the man had stopped, and it was only the man approaching now. His eyes locked with Thomas's, and Thomas felt as though a hand, with icy fingers, gripped at his heart, trying to squeeze it until it could no longer beat.
The army was now stomping the ground, and a chant was steadily building up, sounding over the gunfire from the soldiers, a chant that sent shivers down Thomas's spine.
"Sulita! Sulita! Omor, omor, cu sulita! Sulita! Omor, omor, cu sulita! Sulita!"
Now, Thomas knew Romanian, due to the fact that he had a Romanian wife, so he knew what that chant meant. It meant "Impale! Impale! Murder, murder, impale! Impale!"
"Such futile resistance..." The man had reached Thomas now, and Thomas froze in fear. The man lashed out, grabbing Thomas around the throat and lifting him into the air easily with a single arm. "After all, an ant with pincers is still just an ant..."
With that, the man sank his teeth into Thomas's throat, making him scream in pain.
The army seemed to take this as their cue, as they charged at the blockade with the giants in the lead.
As the man pulled his head back, and Thomas felt his life leaving him, drained of his blood, he saw it: a wide grin on the man's previously emotionless face. As the army began slaughtering Thomas's friends, he heard a laugh coming from the man, loud and strong, and full of amusement. The laugh of a monster...
The laugh of the Devil.
Thomas was dropped to the ground, and he watched helplessly as his friends were slaughtered, and the man just kept laughing, now running straight into the gunfire... Thomas's eyes closed, and he knew no more...
–
Harold laughed loudly and coldly as he tore through the enemies in Carlisle. The military was sending in more and more troops, and they just ended up getting slaughtered like the rest. The planes carrying bombs were stopped by his manticores, harpies and gargoyles throwing themselves into the planes.
On the ground, the giants roared with joy as they grabbed cars and tanks, swinging them around like clubs. The skeletons and vampires all used their swords, rifles, axes, rocket launchers, etcetera, to destroy anything in their way, impaling their enemies on their pikes and hoisting them into the air, walking with the pikes in their hands and continuing their chant, thoroughly terrifying the enemy.
Harold weaved back and forth through the soldiers, tearing them apart and draining whoever he could. They would be fed blood later on by the other vampires, and would become vampires themselves.
Harold's army grew as the enemy's army shrank. Their casualties became his soldiers, either zombies, ghouls, or vampires. But only if they were somewhat useful to him, like these soldiers. The civilians would be left impaled, a message to any passerby of the cruelty of the Dark Lord Harold Dracula the Impaler.
Satellites were useless against them, because of the gathered mass of magic, which blotted out their location to any satellite, according to the Scottish General Harold had turned. So the military had nothing to go on but the word of the soldiers. Any camera crew that tried to make its way to them was slaughtered before they could start filming. Wouldn't do to have England prepare to face an undead army, after all...
–
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