A/N: Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling and her associates. Please support the official release.

Altus London was a special place. A holy place, to most vampires. A place of refuge, and safety, and perpetual darkness.

A place they could call home.

But that was not what made Altus London so special. No, what truly set it apart from most other cities in the world, was the fact that it existed entirely within a parallel dimension.

Now, most wizards would probably turn their noses at the very mention of such a ridiculous concept, but it was the truth. Altus London was a full-fledged city, existing in perfect parallel to normal London. Because of this, its features were nearly identical in every way, at least upon first glance. Its tall and proud buildings stretched high towards the skies, which was plunged in eternal darkness. Nighttime was a constant here, making it a natural haven for vampires.

But that was not the only thing that deviated from the usual. Across the skies, a gargantuan spiderweb of pure white ran in jagged lines, crisscrossing the blackness with curves of luminosity. As if some giant hammer had collided with the very fabric of reality, creating a network of cracks on its surface.

These were the seams holding the parallel dimension of Altus together – remnants of the monumental spellwork performed to create this impossible pocket of reality.

Another difference between Altus London and the human world's equivalent was the placement of Lumen Castle at its apex. The enormous structure towered above all else in the city, situated as it was in the middle of the urban sprawl. This was the official seat of the High Table in England, and represented the very peak of Vampiric society, wealth, culture and more.

Sadly, the famed city had certainly seen better days.

Lord Voldemort's resurrection had inadvertently triggered something of an avalanche in the vampire world. Old rivalries had blossomed anew as influential families cast their lot in the competition – some with the Dark Lord, some against him. While many were eager to capitalize on the opportunity presented by the return of such a powerful wizard, others still remembered the cost they had paid in the previous war. Being on the losing side was never beneficial, after all, and many a vampire had gone down with the ship when the Dark Lord had perished at the hands of an infant.

Because of this, the current situation in Altus London could best be described as a metaphorical powder keg standing just a couple feet shy of a raging inferno. One unfortunate gust of wind blowing sparks in the wrong direction, and the entire thing could go up in flames.

And so naturally, Maximillian was doing his best to feed the fire.

Arriving at his intended location, he took a moment to appreciate the manor's rustic beauty. It was by no means as grand as the Tarwen mansion in Ascot, but it was still a sizeable house in a well-off district. Any property here was sure to cost several million, and was not something your everyday vampire was likely to ever afford. If nothing else, it spoke to a rich legacy spanning several centuries and multiple continents.

However, for all its magnificence and beauty, there was something distinctly wrong with the building in front of him.

Its front doors had been kicked down.

Guess there's no point in ringing the doorbell then, Maximillian thought to himself as he stepped inside the darkened hallway beyond.

At once, a familiar scent assaulted his nostrils. It came gushing forth from the innards of the building, wafting at him like a wave of fragrance. Judging by the intensity and variance of the smell, there could be only one conclusion – there had to be multiple bodies somewhere inside the house.

One look at the interior was all he needed to confirm this suspicion.

Broken furniture and shredded wallpaper littered the floor, mixed with what looked like scorch marks and signs of spellfire. For a moment, Maximillian lamented the loss of a grand Persian rug that had been meticulously measured to cover the length of the hallway, now ripped and torn in several places. It was nothing that could not be replaced, of course, but it was still regrettable to see such beautiful craftsmanship reduced to tatters.

Traipsing further into the building, Maximillian soon came upon the ravaged corpses of two men, laying scattered amongst the rubble. One of them had had his throat ripped out – the other, his eyes. Both had their mouths frozen open in silent screams, making plain the last emotion to course through their veins – sheer, unadulterated terror.

The first two, Maximillian noted to himself, sidestepping the pools of blood coagulating on the floor. Now where's the rest?

Ascending a grand teak staircase lit by an antique chandelier, he arrived at the second floor, only to be greeted by a third body, sitting slumped over with its back against the wall. This one seemed to be in one piece – the only abnormality being the ashen-grey sheen of its skin. A closer look revealed two medium-sized puncture wounds in its neck – the telltale signs of a vampire having feasted. Needless to say, there was little blood left in its veins.

I suppose they call him the Bloodletter for a reason.

That was the only thought Maximillian offered the drained husk of a man, as he continued walking past it.

Beyond the dead body, Maximillian finally laid eyes on his target – a hulking form of a man, sitting on the second-floor balcony, the glass panes separating the inside from the outside stained with blood-splatter and viscous liquid.

The dark-skinned vampire on the other side was covered in it as well– no doubt the result of the rampage he had gone on. His lavish and tasteful nightgown had been completely drenched in crimson, and Maximillian was pretty sure he could see bits of flesh stuck in the material as well.

Not that the sight bothered him much. He'd seen plenty of carnage in his time, and been responsible for his fair share of it, so this was hardly anything new.

"Evening, Rahim," Maximillian said as he stepped outside, greeting the vampire with a nod. "I see you've had a busy night."

"Aye," the vampire responded, lifting a blazing cigarette to his blood-specked lips. "Fuckers came to convince me to join the Dark Lord. Didn't work out so well for them."

"An unfortunate decision on their part," Maximillian acquiesced, walking up to the railing to rest his weight against it. "A little more research, and they would have realized that Rahim the Bloodletter is not so easily persuaded."

"Yeah, well… Death Eaters aren't known for being particularly clever," Rahim breathed, a healthy cloud of smoke following the exhale. "Thought a simple Imperius curse would be enough to get me, once I rejected their initial offer. Never occurred to them that I might have taken steps to prevent myself from being manipulated in such a way."

"As is to be expected," Maximillian remarked. "No self-respecting vampire in our position would allow himself to be caught off-guard by something as simple as that."

"Their short-sightedness became their downfall," Rahim confirmed, using his free hand to brush back a lock of brown hair that had come loose from his ponytail. "Anyway, I doubt you came here just to play catch-up. What's the angle, Maximillian?"

"No angles, my friend," the Tarwen heir smiled. "Just a casual visit. I wanted to hear if you were ready to move forward with the plan."

"Sure," the burly-looking vampire shrugged. "Not like I have any other choice, now that I've killed the Dark Lord's envoys."

"Precisely," Maximillian nodded. "The others have already given me the authority to speak on their behalf in the negotiations. Will you do the same?"

"Never thought I'd see the day where I'd trust a Tarwen," Rahim sighed. "But yeah. I'll give you my blessing, and whatever else you need. So long as I don't have to deal with any more Death Eaters showing up at my house."

"Consider it done," Maximillian said, before turning to stare out at the scenery in front of them. The lush residential district appeared almost serene in the nighttime silence, pockmarked with soft light that clashed against the unyielding darkness. At a glance, it was impossible to tell that this was a city on the brink of collapse.

"God, this place has gone to the dogs," Rahim said, taking a heavy drag of his cigarette before flicking it over the railing. "And to think I spent a fortune on property here."

"Anyone who's anyone has spent a fortune here," Maximillian remarked. "It's Altus London. Where else would you settle down?"

"Well, I've heard Altus Paris is quite nice," Rahim speculated. "Might go there once this is all over."

"Fair enough," Maximillian said. He'd been to Altus Paris on several occasions, but never really felt much of a connection with the place. It was beautiful, to be sure, but so was Altus London. And all of his biggest contacts were here, in England.

But who knows? Maybe a change of scenery would be nice, he thought to himself. Once I'm done turning the vampire world on its head.

"Either way, I think I'll go take a bath now," Rahim sighed, rising from his seat to face the house again. "Mind calling in some cleaners for me? I'd do it myself, but… well, I've had a long night."

"No worries, my friend. I'll handle it," Maximillian smiled. "Go take your bath."

"Much appreciated," Rahim nodded, before disappearing past him, and into the darkened interior.

Yes… Maximillian breathed, closing his eyes. Just leave it to me. I'll handle all of it. Every little detail.

Room of Requirement

It wasn't before the late hours of the evening that a thoroughly exhausted and comprehensively beaten Harry Potter came stumbling through the trapdoor leading down to his shared bedroom with Hermione. His hair was in a state of complete disarray, even more so than usual, and his robes were in tatters. Red bruises could be seen welling up in the spots where the dark fabric had been torn.

An exhausted sigh escaped him as he fell face-first onto the floor, and remained there, like a flattened pancake.

"So… I take it you've had an interesting day," Hermione Granger commented from her seat at one of the two mahogany desks lining the wall. She was hidden from view by a veritable mountain of books, so much so that Harry hadn't even noticed her when he made his entry. A steaming cup of what smelled like coffee rested at the very top of the collection.

"Ugh," Harry groaned. "Don't even get me started." He rose from the ground on shaky arms to massage a particularly tender spot on his neck. "Nicolas had me doing reflex exercises," he explained, his tone dry and devoid of enthusiasm. "Whilst under heavy spellfire."

"Sounds like him," Hermione replied. "He seems particularly fond of tough love."

"If by tough love, you mean literal torture, then yes," Harry shuddered. "I can still feel the metal balls on my skin…"

"Metal balls?"

"Don't ask."

"Uh… Alright," Hermione blinked, leaning back in her chair so she could better talk to him. It spoke to the sheer magnitude of books on her desk that she even had to do that in the first place. "I won't."

"Good," Harry nodded. "Anyways, what've you been up to? Feels like I haven't seen you in weeks, despite the fact that we sleep in the same bed every night."

"That's probably because Nicolas and Perenelle are running us ragged every waking moment," Hermione noted as her gaze went to the massive collection of books. "And so by the time we get back, we're both so exhausted that we just pass out on the bed and sleep until morning, at which point, the cycle repeats itself."

"It's a wicked, wicked thing," Harry lamented. "I haven't even been able to kiss my girlfriend properly in four days!"

"Well, if you want, we can kiss right now," Hermione said, though her eyes yet lingered on the topmost book of her stack. "But if you don't mind, I'd really like to finish this one chapter first…"

Letting out a sigh, Harry reluctantly admitted defeat. He had long since realized that, when it came to Hermione, he'd never measure up to literature. Damn you, the written word!

"Ahh… No worries, we can get to it later," he said, somewhat downtrodden, before shaking off the momentary loss of romance. "Either way, back to my original question… What are you working on?"

"Well, Perenelle has me looking into the theory behind spell creation," Hermione explained, gesturing with her hand to the coffee cup above. It promptly came floating down to her waiting digits. "As you can tell, it's quite the complicated subject."

"No kidding," Harry whistled, shooting the mountain of reading material a tentative look. "That's more books than even we normally consume. And that's saying something."

"Tell me about it," Hermione sighed, pulling a grimace. "My back hurts from being hunched over these tomes for the past three days. I could go for a nice massage."

"Well, have you learned anything new, at least?"

"Loads. Did you know that, despite the standards imposed by the Ministry of Magic, which dictates the use of an incantation that is "enabled" through the medium of a wand, the real catalyst for spellcasting lies solely within the mindset of the spellcaster?"

"Uhh… no," Harry said. "I had no clue."

"Well, it's the truth," Hermione continued, taking a sip from her mug before letting go of it completely. For a second, Harry was sure it would drop straight to the floor, as was standard practice whenever fundamental rules of nature such as gravity was involved. But instead of doing that, the cup merely continued floating, as though held aloft by some invisible hand. "And what's more, the only constant within the process of spellcasting is the witch or wizard themselves, leading us to the conclusion that pretty much all of the processes involved in modern spellcasting in Great Britain are completely unnecessary."

"So why bother with the theatrics at all, then?" Harry asked, eyes still fixed on the magic coffee cup. "Why not just ditch the incantation and silly wand movements?"

"Because the incantation and the wand movement helps control the spell, and further define it in a safe and systematic way," Hermione said. "So while it is true that the vast majority of the incantation-wand-spell system is purely cosmetic, it is still useful as a form of self-hypnosis in order to condition one's mindset to be capable of executing a spell."

"Ah… I see," Harry replied, as he tried to wrap his head around this newfound revelation. "So… when Professor Flitwick taught us to imagine the effects of the spell, and then recite the incantation Wingardium Leviosa with a swish and a flick of the wand, he was essentially tricking us into thinking that the incantation and the wand movement was the thing that made the spell work. And then when we successfully cast the spell following this exact formula, we all started thinking of the movement and the incantation as the key to its success. At which point, the entire class essentially became one big, self-fulfilling prophecy."

"Pretty much," Hermione nodded.

"… Damn."

"Yes, yes, it's all very interesting," Nicolas suddenly interjected, having seemingly materialized out of thin air.

"Uaeh!" Harry jumped, before scowling and turning to face his teacher. "You gotta stop doing that! … When did you even get here?"

"I didn't," Nicolas replied, most helpfully. "Anyway, think fast."

A vial of crimson-tinted liquid immediately went flying as the man finished his sentence, having been tossed from his hand moments prior. Luckily, Harry just about managed to catch it before it could collide with the floor.

"What is this?" he asked, eyeing the viscous liquid inside with a healthy level of skepticism.

"A potion of my own making. I call it Ambrosia, after the food and drink in Greek mythology," Nicolas explained, a proud smile playing at his lips. "Go ahead – take a swig. It'll fix those bruises of yours right up, you'll see."

Shooting his mentor a dubious look, Harry slowly pulled off the stopper, and gave the opening a tentative sniff. Immediately, an intense wave of spice assaulted his sinuses, and a deep cough forced its way up his throat.

"Merlin's beard! What have you put in this?!" he croaked, fighting back tears.

"Oh, you know," Nicolas shrugged. "A little bit of this, a little bit of that. Some African red pepper, some Re'em blood. A tiny drop of the Elixir of Life."

"The… Elixir of Life?" Harry blinked, ceasing all movement. "As in… the real Elixir, the one that requires a Philosopher's Stone to make?"

"The very same," Nicolas confirmed. "Albeit in such a small and diluted quanta that it'll hardly have much of an effect on your lifespan."

He didn't need to say any more than that to convince Harry to drink it. He lifted the vial to his lips, and downed its contents in three hearty mouthfuls.

"How was it?" Hermione inquired, following their conversation with interest.

"… Actually not that bad," Harry noted with some level of surprise. "It tastes a lot better than I thought it would."

Indeed, the potion had a rather pleasant aftertaste to it that vaguely resembled that of dark chocolate.

"Of course it does!" Nicolas puffed. "Did you really think I would design a foul-tasting potion on purpose? Especially one that I myself were to drink quite regularly?"

"No, I… I suppose you wouldn't," Harry said. "I just wasn't expecting it, that's all."

"Yes, well… things are not always as they seem," Nicolas remarked, before shooting the rest of the room a disinterested look. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some… other business… to attend to."

And just like that, the man was gone again. Quite literally vanished from view in the span of a micro-second. As if God himself had suddenly reached out and deleted him from existence.

Hermione promptly broke down into a fit of giggles.

"I need to learn that trick at some point," Harry sighed, having witnessed it first-hand on several occasions already. "Bloody useful, that is."

His better half gave no reply, busy as she was cackling her lungs out.

Hogwarts Library

"Tracey."

"Yes?"

"You're doing it again."

"Nu-uh."

"Oh yes."

"You have no proof."

"You literally just did it two seconds ago, I don't need proof!"

"No evidence means no case. Innocent until proven guilty!"

"This is not a court of law, it's the library!"

"Doesn't matter. Same rules apply."

"Oh for Merlin's sake, will you two just zip it already?"

Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis promptly turned to send the third member of their little study group an aggrieved look.

"No!" they answered in unison.

"Haaah… Should have figured," the third member, Theodore Nott, sighed in exasperation. "I'll… just go sit over there, then."

Collecting his books, he took one last look at his (now prior) seat, before shaking his head and moving off. Daphne immediately switched to send Tracey a knowing stare.

"You were totally tapping your foot again," she said, before adding on a second addendum. "And you've got to reject him soon." The discontent was palpable in her tone.

"I knooooow," Tracey pouted, crossing her arms. "It's just… he's such a sweetheart!"

"Tracey," Daphne deadpanned. "He's a blood supremacist. His entire family are Death Eaters."

"Mrghh…" the girl grimaced. "But I can change him! I know I can!"

"Said every teenage girl ever," Daphne continued, refusing to back down. "Come on, you know better than this! He's not going to change."

"Oh yeah? How did he develop a crush on me then, huh? If he wasn't willing to change?" Tracey shot back. "He knows I'm half-blood! And yet he's still pursuing me!"

"W-Well…" Daphne frowned, racking her brain for an answer. In truth, she knew she wouldn't find one. Theodore Nott's obsession with Tracey Davis made no logical sense to begin with. By all accounts, the boy should be as disgusted with her very existence as Draco Malfoy was. But, in reality… well, he apparently found her intoxicating. Maybe it had something to do with the Forbidden Fruit effect? That we all secretly desire that which we can't have?

"See?" Tracey grinned. "You don't have a good comeback. That means I win!"

"No, I-… I… Ugh, fine," Daphne eventually sighed. "Go on then – run to your Prince Charming. Ride off into the sunset with the blood supremacist."

"Oh, come on, that's not fair," Tracey scowled. "He hasn't even asked me out on a date yet! We're far from doing anything like that!"

"Yes, well… Give it time," Daphne said, rolling her eyes before shifting focus back to the task at hand again. She wanted to finish this Potions assignment before dinner, and would be damned if she let her love-struck nitwit of a friend distract her from it any longer.

"Besides, it's not like I'm the only one with a crush," Tracey continued, seemingly oblivious to Daphne's academic wishes. "A little birdie told me that Miss Greengrass has her eyes on a certain boy as well. And one from a different House, no less!"

"Shut it," Daphne growled. "That's a lie, and you know it."

"Oh, is it now?" Tracey beamed, sliding closer to her friend with a mischievous smile on her lips. "No lingering butterflies? No sparks? No sneaky glances in the hallway?"

"Absolutely not," Daphne scoffed, refusing to look at her. "And I would appreciate it if you kept such deceitful libel to yourself."

"Secret's safe with me," Tracey snickered. "Don't you worry about that."

"You're such a blockhead," Daphne complained. "And, you know… even if I, in some hypothetical universe, happened to be interested, he's already got someone."

"You mean Granger?" Tracey asked.

"Yes, of course I mean Granger! Who else?!" Daphne exclaimed, before realizing her mistake and clamping her mouth shut. She'd momentarily forgotten that they were still in the library, and said that last part with a little too much gusto.

"Well, it's not like they're married," Tracey started, a sage-like smile on her lips. "You know what they say… No fun in scoring if there is no goalie!"

"Okay, first of all, no one says that," Daphne sighed. "And second, they might as well be! From what I've heard, they've already moved in together, to a secret room somewhere in the castle. My contacts in Ravenclaw tell me he hasn't been seen sleeping in the dorm for months, and neither has she!"

"Your… contacts?" Tracey grinned, wagging an eyebrow. "So you have been keeping an eye on him!"

A violent blush exploded across Daphne's cheeks.

"N-No, it's… it's not like that! He's just… a potential ally! Yes, that's it! Someone I'd like to scope out… for political reasons!"

"Uh-huh," Tracey said, making plain just how believable she found that argument.

"Just… shut up already! Salazar, you're such an idiot!"

The Greengrass heir promptly shoved her face even deeper into her textbook, indicating that the conversation had come to an end. Tracey had hit a nerve, and she knew it.

"Hey, it's okay! I don't judge!" Tracey backtracked, holding up her hands in a show of abdication. "Now personally, I find him infuriating, rude and disrespectful, but you do you, girl! I suppose he could be seen as somewhat attractive… in a ghoulish sort of way."

"Can we please stop talking about this?" Daphne groaned from behind her book.

"Alright, alright. I'll back off," Tracey smiled. "In any case, I'm just messing about. It's not like I seriously believe you'd go for him, after all. I mean, everyone at school knows that him and Granger are practically inseparable at this point."

A muffled scoff was the only reply she got.

"But… are you serious about allying yourself with him, though?" she mused, dropping the banter. "Because, from where I'm standing… it kind of looks like you are."

"W-Well… I suppose," Daphne eventually said, still with her face hidden away. "He's… strong. We all saw what he did to that dragon during the First Task. That's not a feat your everyday wizard is capable of, especially at our age."

"… I guess," Tracey admitted, somewhat hesitantly. "Looked like Dark magic to me, though."

"In a way," Daphne agreed. "But personally, I'm not particularly swayed by the traditional notion of Light and Dark magic. No, I believe that, at the end of the day… power is power. Doesn't matter where it comes from, it's still inherently the same thing. It's just a matter of the wielder's intent and conviction."

"Maybe, but wouldn't you agree that there are certain kinds of spells we just… shouldn't cast?" Tracey frowned. "Like the Killing Curse?"

"The Killing Curse is just a convenient and flashy way to kill someone quickly," Daphne argued. "A Diffindo or sufficiently powerful Confringo will do the same job, yet people aren't rushing out to ban those now, are they?"

"… I suppose," Tracey hesitated. "I'm still not sure they're really the same thing, though."

"Either way, my point is this," Daphne said, putting down the book at last. There was no trace of the blush from earlier in her features. "Harry Potter is a powerful individual. He's got something that… most wizards do not have. And, since I'm not planning on going to the Dark Lord any time soon… he's my best shot at getting out of this mess alive."

A/N: I'm baaaaack!

So... my last chapter was in January, and we're in... *checks calendar*... April now. Uhh... Yeah, that obviously wasn't meant to happen.

I usually try to stick to a somewhat monthly update schedule for this story, since I know that waiting for much longer than that can be... demotivating. But this time, I have to admit... I dropped the ball completely.

I'm sorry! I've just had so much stuff going on in my life recently that I haven't been able to muster up the willpower to finish this chapter before now! And for your information, I actually had a nearly-finished draft of the chapter ready back in March, but due to me switching laptops from an old Windows to a new Macbook recently, I managed to fuck up the save process, and somehow ended up merging that document with a different document, meaning 3000+ words went straight out the window... WITH NO BACKUPS.

So yeah, that was... mildly infuriating. In other words, it completely KILLED my desire to work on this story, as I had to essentially rewrite the entire thing from memory, and even then, I wasn't too happy with how it turned out in the first place, so I ended up changing things and... argh, this writing thing really sucks sometimes.

But... in the end, I managed to get there. Which brings us to now. This present moment in time. You reading these words on your screen. The chapter is out, and (hopefully) you enjoyed it. If you did, I'd really appreciate you leaving a review with your thoughts. Don't worry, it won't take you long. You don't even have to make an account! Just click that review button and jot down the first thing that comes to mind! Don't mind me, I'll just wait... right over here...

Anyway, now that the Fourth Wall has well and truly been broken, I shall take my leave. Chapter 43 will be out... whenever I get to it, I guess. At the very least, I promise it won't take another 3 months. Now back to rewatching Fate/Stay Night: Unlimited Blade Works...

(PS: I stole the idea for Altus London from Jun Mochizuki's excellent "The Case Study of Vanitas". Highly recommend you watch/read it. Very entertaining stuff.)

- Twisted