HP: Vampire Professor

Harry picked up his wand with a dazed expression.

Eleven inches, holly, phoenix feather. Wands made of this wood were said to repel evil.

"If the first time I use magic outside of school only results in a warning, maybe I can…" He looked at his wand, recalling the powerful charm the diary had taught him.

"This charm should be very simple for you, but you must have a strong enough desire for destruction in your heart—the stronger your desire for destruction, the more powerful the charm you cast!"—the diary had written.

Harry took a deep breath, slowly raised his wand, and pointed it at the sturdy iron bars outside the window.

These bars were the greatest obstacle to his freedom. If he used that charm, he could break out of his cage and run to King's Cross Station, to Diagon Alley, to the Weasleys—anywhere, as long as he could escape this prison-like house!

He opened his mouth, trying to utter the incantation.

But a voice deep inside whispered—don't say it, don't use that charm! Any spell that required such destructive intent must be dark magic; it would lead him down a path he could never return from.

Harry's hand trembled. On one side was his longing for freedom, on the other, his fear of the magic itself.

He regretted it now. If only he'd been more diligent, like Hermione, and learned advanced charms in advance, maybe he could have used a simple Cutting Charm to escape. Maybe he wouldn't be struggling with this sinister spell from an unknown source.

"No, I can't…"

Harry gently put down his wand and took out his quill to write in the diary:

"Tom, can you teach me the Cutting Charm? I don't want to use that spell anymore."

"The Cutting Charm is not simple; it's hard for me to teach you quickly just with words," the diary wrote back.

Tom's handwriting was a bit messy, as if he was annoyed by Harry's hesitation.

"The charm I taught you is easy to use; it just needs a little anger. Think about how that fat pig Vernon Dursley locked you up! Think about how this family treated you like a prisoner!"

"Harry, don't you feel angry? Don't you want to leave this cage immediately?"

"Come on, raise your wand; your future is yours to decide!"

The diary's words were persuasive, almost hypnotic. Harry picked up and put down his wand again and again.

Finally, it seemed the desire for freedom overcame his suspicion of the spell, and a red light flashed in Harry's eyes.

He gripped his wand tightly, raising it fiercely, pointing it at the window bars that blocked his path.

"Avada—"

As Harry uttered half the incantation, his wand trembled violently. At the same moment, there was a strange, chaotic sound, as if invisible evil was swirling through the air.

Then, the dark, inverted cross pendant on Harry's neck suddenly glowed wine-red.

Its short, slanted crossbar looked like a pair of spread demon wings, and now those wings seemed stained with blood, instantly expelling the crimson light from Harry's eyes…

Harry's vision cleared. He snapped his mouth shut, swallowing the second half of the spell.

His trembling hand lowered, and then his whole body collapsed heavily onto the bed, as if all his strength had been drained.

"No… I can't…" Harry murmured painfully, "I can't use that spell, Tom, I can't…"

The inverted cross on his neck slowly dimmed, the blood-red fading from its wings, leaving only a deep, dark hue.

After a long while, the diary by the window slowly opened, and a slightly blurred line of text appeared—

"You disappoint me greatly, Harry."

…

Just then, the trapdoor creaked.

Harry instinctively hid his wand under his pillow, but realized that no one outside was peering in through the small opening; they simply didn't care about the boy inside.

Aunt Petunia's hand pushed a bowl of canned soup through the cat flap.

Harry's stomach had been aching with hunger for hours. He quickly put away his wand, jumped off the bed, and picked up the battered bowl reserved just for him.

The soup was cold, but he drank half in a single gulp, then stopped, still wanting more. He walked to Hedwig's cage, pouring the few waterlogged vegetables from the bottom of the bowl into her empty dish.

Hedwig ruffled her feathers and gave him a look of utter disdain.

"Don't turn your beak up, this is all we have," Harry said sternly.

He put the empty bowl back by the trapdoor, then lay down on the bed again, feeling even hungrier than before.

Suppose a month passed and he hadn't starved to death, but also hadn't reported to Hogwarts—what would happen then? Would Professor Dumbledore send someone to investigate? Could the professors make the Dursleys let him go?

If Professor Dracula came in person, then it would definitely be fine, right? He never cared about those rigid rules; maybe he'd just turn the Dursleys into two big fat pigs and a radish spirit…

The streetlights outside the window bars gradually went out, and the room was plunged into darkness.

Harry was exhausted, hunger mixing with a deeper ache in his heart. He didn't know if he'd done the right thing by refusing to use that spell, nor what his future would hold.

He drifted into a restless sleep, haunted by unanswerable questions.

He dreamed he was standing before the window bars again, raising his wand.

This time, he recited the dangerous incantation in full—

A dazzling, eerie green light shot from his wand, striking the iron bars.

But in the next moment, a red-haired, freckled boy appeared outside the window and was struck by the curse.

He fell, his eyes lifeless.

"No, Ron!"

Harry woke with a start, drenched in cold sweat.

He opened his eyes to see moonlight shining through the bars—and someone was staring at him through the window: a red-haired, freckled, long-nosed boy.

Just like in his dream, Ron Weasley was really there, outside Harry's window.

"Are you even thinking about me in your dreams, Harry?"

Ron tapped on the glass and grinned.

…

Under a dim night sky, stars hung low, reflected in a blood-colored lake beside a majestic ancient tower.

Behind Dracula's Castle, a vast lake of blood lay quietly beside the ancient stonework.

Dracula and Serena, dressed in black and red robes, stood on the lakeshore. Floating beside them was a bloated Inferius, drifting along as they moved.

The Inferius's expression was blank, its eyes cloudy, but a hint of pride still lingered at the corners of its mouth.

"So you know necromancy too?" Serena asked curiously. "I've never seen you use it."

"Not exactly 'know' it," Dracula chuckled, waving his hand and submerging the Inferius into the blood lake. "Let's just say… I'm very proficient."

He drew his Deadwood wand, unused for ages, and began to trace complex patterns in the air.

He then divided the pattern into two—one part sank into the Inferius's brow, the other shot into its heart.

Afterward, the blood-red lake surged up, covering the Inferius's arms, chest, face, and finally submerging its nose.

The next moment, the Inferius suddenly moved.

It slowly rose from the blood lake, then lunged toward Dracula and Serena on the shore, stiffly reaching out as if to drag them in.

"Oh, necromancy is showing results so quickly?" Serena watched, wide-eyed.

"No, the necromancy hasn't taken effect yet," Dracula said, clicking his tongue. "It seems this Inferius was given a water-related command when it was created. No wonder it's so bloated."

"What do you mean?" Serena easily pushed the Inferius back, still puzzled. "Was he submerged all this time? Why attack us?"

"This is about how Inferi are made," Dracula explained, waving his wand to bind the Inferius and press it back into the lake. "There are two main methods. One is to animate long-dead corpses—they're blank slates, only able to follow direct commands. They're 100% obedient, but mindless and easy to deal with if not controlled."

"The other type, like this one, is given a specific command before death by a dark wizard. When triggered, it acts on its own."

"Didn't you see? The moment the lake water covered its nose, it was activated and attacked us. Its command was probably to attack all life on the shore when in the lake."

Serena nodded, watching the Inferius, now subdued but still struggling in the water.

"Wait, I have a question," she said. "If this kind can only act when triggered, why did it show up on the plains below the castle? Can a command really reach that far?"

"That's the advantage of this kind," Dracula replied. "They can act on their own when triggered, but also follow a summoner's orders—like the mindless ones. Given how many Inferi Greyback brought, Voldemort probably sent most of his stock, commanding them to obey Greyback. That's why even lake-dwelling Inferi ended up on the plains."

The necromancy ritual was nearly complete.

Black rays of light streamed from the Inferius's location, flying up and outlining a giant skull spitting a snake in the sky.

Dracula waved his wand, drawing over the black skull.

"I have another question," Serena said, watching him. "Why was only this Inferius not burned? Aren't there many like him? Why did only this one survive?"

"That's why I'm interested in him," Dracula said, his wand moving with effortless grace. "Most Inferi given pre-death commands retain some awareness and habits, which sets them apart from the lowest kind. This one seemed to have a powerful obsession before death, so he kept a lot of subconscious instinct—enough to instinctively avoid danger. Those phantom bats are easy to escape if you drive them off before they fully ignite."

"There's something else. Voldemort's necromancy seems advanced—almost above mine… but that's impossible. He must have used some powerful artifact."

Dracula's expression was confident, even a little disdainful. "If you ask me, it's some item Voldemort used that changed the quality of his necromancy. I even suspect this Inferius retained part of his memories."

"Whether I'm right depends on whether I can awaken him now!"

Serena looked up, watching the pattern above the lake.

Under Dracula's hand, the skull in the sky was erased bit by bit, and in its place, a pair of demonic wings made of bone spurs was drawn.

"Done!" Dracula clapped his hands, putting his wand away.

"What did you just do?" Serena asked. "It looked like you just wanted to draw."

"You're not wrong. I did it for fun," Dracula shrugged. "I only needed to change the necromancy mark inside the Inferius's body, but projecting it out and drawing over it… it just feels more dramatic, don't you think?"

Serena pouted, but smiled at his joy.

Suddenly, huge bubbles rose in the bloody lake where the Inferius was submerged, and the body thrashed violently, sending ripples across the surface.

"What's wrong? Did something go wrong?" Serena tensed, claws and fangs at the ready.

Dracula frowned. "There shouldn't be a problem. I changed all the marks and even awakened his organs…"

He rubbed his temples. "Damn, I forgot to undo the restraints around him."

He snapped his fingers.

The next moment, a handsome young man with black hair suddenly sat up from the lake.

"Cough, cough, cough…"

He hacked up mouthfuls of bloody lake water, looking pained.

"So you awakened his lungs but left him underwater?" Serena said, retracting her claws, exasperated.

"Don't sweat the details…" Dracula laughed awkwardly, then strode to the lake's edge.

The young man finally coughed up the last of the water, then instinctively called out—

"Kreacher!"

[Chapter Complete]

***

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