Aswang was editing the final sentence of her fanfic – Snape licked the sickly-sweet blood off Harry's lips and sneered evilly – when her bedroom window burst open, and Harry Potter flew in.

"Hello," Harry Potter said. "I'm Harry Potter."

"Ok," Aswang said.

Harry vaulted from his broomstick. He looked to be in his mid-40s, but like a taxidermized insect, he had been well preserved. As if prepubescent, not a single hair follicle tainted his jaw and upper lip, and the excess kilograms of flab that often burdened middle-aged men dared not show itself upon Harry's sleek frame. His hair had repelled the usual onslaughts of greying and balding, likely with the help of many powerful wizarding potions. Although wrinkles had crept in about his mouth, eyes, and forehead, they were powerless to hide his boyish charms.

"Everything in my books really happened. Hogwarts is real!" Harry grinned.

"Ok," Aswang spoke as if all emotion had been sucked out of her by a Dementor.

Aswang was Harry's negation; young, yet death-like. A diet consisting of only Honey Soy Chicken crisps and Monster Energy Zero Ultras had given her the concave cheekbones, brittle wrists, and atrophied legs of a revolutionary on hunger strike. She'd suffocated her beige skin with white foundation and her eye lids with purple eyeshadow, until she had the ashen face and dark, swollen eyes of a strangled corpse. Her hair, once black and silky, had been dyed silver and brittle. She smelt like nothing, as if she weren't there at all.

"I know you're probably feeling awestruck right now," Harry's chipper, syrupy tone reminded Aswang of the Girl Scouts she'd had to shoo away from her doorstep.

"I'm not."

"Well, what's your name?" Harry's bleach-white teeth sparkled from his grin. "I'm Harry Potter."

"You already said that," Aswang rolled her eyes, then, after a pause in which she realised her intruder wasn't going to leave, she said, "I'm Aswang."

"No, not your online name. What's you real name?"

"Aswang," she snarled, "is my real name."

They stared at one another for several silent seconds, Harry unsure what to say next, Aswang sure she wanted Harry to get the hell out of her room. During these excruciating aeons, Aswang realised that firstly, despite his age, Harry was still wearing his school uniform, and secondly, that the sacred design of the Hogwarts uniform had been defiled. The usual blacks, reds and yellows of Gryffindor had miscegenated into a militant grey-green colour. The buttons on his robes had been done up from his shoes to his Adam's Apple, and his collar had been emblazoned with twin red stripes. His oversized, circular glasses and lightning-bolt scar were the only evidence that this home invader was indeed The Boy Who Lived.

"Are you sure you aren't in shock or something?" Harry strode forward.

As he neared, Aswang's nostrils were assaulted by a barrage of aftershaves and perfumes, giving her a mental image of Harry experimenting for hours in front of the mirror to find the perfect aroma. Terrifyingly, Harry's approach also let in the sunlight that he had been blocking. Aswang hissed and scurried behind her chair. Harry took another step toward Aswang's hiding place, and she hissed once more.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"The Sun!" Aswang wheezed as she peeked over the top of her cover.

"What?"

"I'm a vampire you cretin!"

Harry's perplexed gaze disintegrated into laughter.

"Oh, come on. You're not a vampire. You're a muggle!"

"Don't call me that, mudblood! My parents were vampire Death Eaters!"

"Have you gone mad? Your parents are muggles!"

"They're not my real parents. You and your cronies killed the real ones!" a skeletal finger stabbed out towards Harry.

"Alright, then," Harry reclined backwards and crossed his arms, "show me some of your powers."

"Oh sure, right away, King Mudblood," Aswang retorted with a shrill, derisive tenor. "Anything else you want me to do? Lick your boots too?" She affected a mock curtsy.

Harry smirked. He unsheathed his wand and wiggled it in the air, and the curtains were pulled shut. Aswang ventured out from her shelter and back into her chair. Harry inhaled, then stood up straight, chest inflated, legs spread apart, hands on hips, stupid grin returning.

"Let's move on, Queen Pureblood. I've come here for a reason. Since you're such a big fan, I'm going to offering you a once in a lifetime opportunity!" Harry spoke like a Christian missionary preaching to the uncivilized Aswang about the glorious Kingdom of Heaven. "I want you to come with me for a real-life adventure in the Wizarding World!"

Aswang's lifeless expression was impenetrable even before this grand proposition.

"Why would you do that?" she asked.

"Because… I like helping people!"

Aswang blew a strand of hair from her eyes with a melodramatic exhalation.

"Is Voldemort still around?"

"Um, no. He died. About twenty-five years ago."

"What about Bellatrix? Barty Crouch Jr.? Draco?"

"All dead or imprisoned, Thank Merlin. Except Draco."

"Is he still evil?" one could almost mistake Aswang for a living, feeling human at that moment.

"Not anymore!"

Aswang needed not a millisecond more to deliberate.

"Alright," she swivelled her chair back to her laptop, "get out of my room. I want to post this fic."

Harry's cheesy grin was frozen on his face until it collapsed into a frown.

"I don't understand. I've seen some of you muggles run head-first into the brick wall at Platform 9 3/4!" he sputtered. "All the muggles I know would murder their own parents to visit the Wizarding World!"

"Right now, I'd murder my parents to make you leave me alone."

"But you're one of the biggest Harry Potter fanfiction writers online! You've got to be my number one fan!" his hands flapped about, as if attempting to cast some attitude-correcting spell on her.

"I like Harry Potter, the series," Aswang rolled her eyes, "not Harry Potter, the boy."

"But-."

"I mean, just look around, idiot," she spun around to face Harry again. "Does it look like I'm a Gryffindor or whatever?"

For the first time, Harry took in the room he'd trespassed into. Aswang's walls were smothered with taped-on drawings. In Aswang's art, the boys had luscious eyelashes, spindly yet graceful limbs and full, juicy lips (no girls were present). The characters were performing some sort of ritualistic, erotic dance, with Draco, Snape and other Death Eaters slaughtering, disembowelling and cannibalising various Hogwarts students, including Harry himself. Well, they were slaughtering them and doing other things to them, vile things. Even Aswang herself was cloaked in the green and black uniform of House Slytherin.

Of all the merchandise-hoarding, actor-harassing, Pottermore-obsessed muggle fans that Harry had met, Aswang might have been the most deranged.

"What the hell makes you think I'd ever want to visit whatever family-friendly la-la-land that you normies turned the Wizarding World into?" Aswang spat. "Like, have you even read my stories?"

"I read a few," Harry lied.

Aswang plunged her hand into her desk's bookshelf and retrieved a stapled-together manuscript about the length of your average religion's holy book.

"Bet you didn't read this one. It's an AU where you got sorted into Slytherin instead of Gryffindor and end up joining the Death Eaters."

She thrust the tome into Harry's hands. Its title read Harry Potter and the Rape of Hogwarts. He began to flick through it, skimming over a few sentences on each page. As he progressed through the story his mirth began to decay, as though he was witnessing a financial crash in real time.

"Oh my... making Hermione do that… shoving my wand up Neville's… killing Ginny… and then with her body… my God… even with the Sorting Hat!" he snapped the manuscript shut. "Right. I came here to show you a good time, but now, this is serious. Over the next twenty-four hours, I'm going to show you that being Good is much more 'hip' than being Evil!"

Aswang moaned. This flying Saviour complex was most likely going to harass her until she submitted to his demands, so she surrendered herself to a tragic fate.

"Fine. I needed a break from all these muggles anyway."

A colossal grin nearly split Harry's handsome mug in two.

"Awesome," then, he cringed. "I really hate to do this, but you've got to change that uniform. Slytherin isn't too popular these days."

With that, Aswang knew she was going to loathe the next twenty-four hours of her life. Yet even in her woe, a smile peeled back her lips. If she had to be tortured by Harry's self-righteous banalities, then she would ensure that for him, every second of their time together would be akin to being flayed alive. And she knew just the perfect way to begin his suffering.

Tugging back her uniform's sleeves, she flaunted the glossy symbol that she'd had inked onto her inflamed flesh just a few days before: a skull, with a serpent vomiting from between its jaws like sentient puke. Harry couldn't hide the gasp that slipped from his mouth.

"Guess I'll have to hide this too!" Aswang cackled. "If mom knew about this, she'd freak!"

Harry nodded slowly and sucked his lips into his teeth; a grimace that was common amongst all who interacted with Aswang and her art. Aswang dashed into her walk-in closet and undressed. Once she had thrown on her new clothes, she skidded back into the room. Aswang had clad herself in an elegant corset dress as black as her cruel, dark heart. A low-cut neck exhibited the top of her bony, cavernous chest. Now it was her turn to abuse Harry's nostrils with a stagnant, earthy reek.

"Bellatrix Lestrange's dress!" she snickered.

"I know… It even stinks like her," Harry shielded his nose behind his hand.

"I buried it in the ground for a few days," Aswang pirouetted around, the bottom of the dress billowing upwards to reveal her bare feet. "Is this better then?"

"Marginally. Well, we'd better be off."

"I better tell my mom first," she began to walk towards her bedroom door.

"Well, hold on-."

"Inang!" Aswang called out in Ilocano.

"Yes, Maria Cristina!" the voice replied from an unseen corridor of the house.

"Inang..." Aswang growled.

There was a weary sigh.

"Yes, Aswang."

"I'm going out with Harry Potter."

"Sure, honey," the voice was slick with amusement. "Have fun!"

"If we're going out, I need to cover my face," Aswang turned back to Harry and, noticing his disbelieving chuckle, added: "The sun drains my vampiric powers."

"Here!" from the unknowable depths of his robes, Harry produced a Gryffindor scarf. "I always carry one on me!"

Faded and fraying with old age, it could have been the same scarf he'd worn as a student. Aswang pinched the Pyssindor House's scarf between the tips of her fingers, as if she were holding a gigantic dead worm.

"Ugh."

She enveloped her face in the scarf like a keffiyeh.

"So," Harry clapped his hands together, making Aswang wince, "where should we go first!"

"Azkaban." Aswang's response was automatic.

"Gosh, no... That place is no fun at all."

"The Slytherin dungeon, then," she offered.

"Too claustrophobic! How about somewhere more open?" he tapped his finger against his chin. "Somewhere with lots of grass? Maybe where we can watch a game of some sort?"

"Are you talking about the Quidditch Pitch?" Aswang seemed none too thrilled by the prospect.

"The Quidditch Pitch?" Harry snapped his fingers like she had just solved a complex mathematical equation. "That's a swell idea, Aswang!" Harry jumped onto his broomstick and spanked the stretch of wood behind his butt. "Hop on!"

Aswang was about to swing her leg over the broom when Harry put out his hand to stop her.

"One last thing. Do you, uh, have I.D.?"

Aswang huffed. She walked over to a school backpack that she'd hurled onto the floor and rifled through it until she found her driver's license. She jabbed the card into Harry's face, forcing him to crane his neck backwards to read its contents.

"Mmmmm… 2007… Eighteen…" Harry murmured to himself, before singing out to Aswang: "Alright, that all checks out! Prepare for the greatest day of your entire life!"