Eating Is Dangerous
Mass Vampire Embrace Inspires National Fear
4,591,687 views • August 25, 2020
BBC News
8.91M subscribers
London-Oxford border: Why tensions are rising between the neighbours
By Anbarasan Ethiraja and Vikas Pandey
BBC News
Full Article Available Online Here
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Text Translation
In a chilling turn of events, the longstanding tension between the two most influential vampire courts in the nation has reached a boiling point.
The source of the unrest lies in Prince Violetta's controversial "embraces" — the metamorphosis that turns humans into vampires. The Prince embraced a core group of individuals from the Church of Eternal Life, a south-central organization known for its membership of mages. The move sent shockwaves through the vampire and mage communities alike, raising concerns about the implications of turning mages into vampires. Notably, even the leader of the Church of Eternal Life, one Lord Voldemort, found himself embraced in this extraordinary event. All across the country witches and wizards have demanded a spotlight be cast onto the murky world of vampires, which has for centuries been shadowed from the public.
As the magical community grapples with the embrace of such a notorious figure, so too has the revelation added a layer of complexity to the ongoing vampire-to-vampire conflict.
Roman-born Mithras, the ancient vampire Prince of London, mobilized defences. He amassed a vampiric guard along his border, a move that many deemed territorially provocative, bordering on occupation. Unlike human county lines vampiric territories do not align with city catchments; both Prince Mithras and Prince Violetta, of Oxford, share a border. Accusations flew from Violetta's court, alleging border violations by Mithras, but he vehemently denied any wrongdoing, a sentiment echoed by his own court.
“Oxford has no leg to stand on,” claims William Turn, a Londonian vampire, and famous author lobbying for vampire rights. “Violetta wrongly Embraced a number of mages, a large number, taking Oxford's population cap for vampires far higher than what that domain can support. It's created a domino-wave of issues and feeding ramifications for neighbouring domains. Beyond that, these are mages; we don't touch mages. Who knows what the fallout will be? Prince Mithras bolstered our city's defences, as is his right, and as he should. One does not merely embrace a figure like Lord Voldemort without forewarning the rest of the community. Sudden embraces like this are vanishingly rare for Princes to make; precisely because it upsets the status quo and alarms other Princes. This is a dangerous move for Violetta.”
London's border push is not a routine incursion. Amanda Shukla, a vampiric populations expert, remarks, "The situation is serious. London has entered territory accepted as part of Oxford. Worse, people are frightened; the general public were unaware that mages could be embraced."
As the conflict darkens, the nation watches with bated breath, waiting to see whether diplomatic negotiations or the clash of vampire forces will determine the future of these ancient and powerful courts.
See more: London-Oxford border dispute
See more: Why vampire Domains do not match county lines
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Troy Bar
5 hours ago
Comment section appears:
non-vampires: it’s my time to shine
JD Denzo
5 hours ago
OH BOY here we go
Sonicboom89
5 hours ago
just here for the comments
Jeres Diana
5 hours ago
Literally every time I see vampires in the news it’s Oxford and London
Promise Godshand
4 hours ago
this is disgusting. you should never turn ppl unless you are married and have the guidance of an ordained priest. AMEN. what all these men and women sired for, territory war ? numbers ? these are ppl's lives we talking about.. jesus help them.
Chef Banjo
5 hours ago
Why do the vampires have names that sound like something out of World of Warcraft lol
James Bartlet
2 months ago
Have you watched the whole video?
Mithras: “I am Avalon. I am Britain.”
When will we have leaders who are not on power trips?
Benny Martinez
1 hour ago
I feel like now our current generation is nothing but memes about cats, vampires and everyday life events
prioris5555
4 hours ago (edited)
The reason why things like human trafficking and vampirism can't be stopped is because it is supported by virtually all the governments behind the scenes including the UN. It's no different than drug trafficking. It couldn't operate without government collusion. There is too much surveillance. Countries employ a massive spy network including the US. It is big brother. We are all watched.
Apak Contributions
5 hours ago
As a vampire living in London, I thank you for this video. People have gotten the wrong idea about our Prince.
Anh cùng George
3 hours ago
"Oxford accuses London of 'provocative' border violation" is that why you sired 30 people Violetta
Moe G
5 hours ago
lmao listening to this debate is like being in a toxic relationship
Sonnybunny777
3 hours ago
Violetta started it by embracing all those people first what do you expect vampires are worse than we are at jumping to conclusions, of course london would respond
Jamey VM
4 hours ago
their voices are hilarious ngl. as if shakespeare went off on trump
David Little
2 hours ago
wow. animals take better care of their young
Nabeel Ahmed Khan
1 hour ago
British Vampires: *This is a Progeny Law Debate
Foreigners: This is. Pure. Entertainment
Whammerz
1 hour ago
YouTube getting real comfy with these double unskippable ads
Lexi Casty
1 hours ago
this isn’t politics anymore this is reality tv for the rest of the world
Shannon Carter
4 hours ago
why are people not more scared?? this is serious
Horu Mørk 天 Inter
4 hours ago
Vampirism under a Prince is modern day slavery.
Hermeesz
2 hours ago
bruh didnt know vampires had so much going on
Amy Rose
1 month ago
Pray for Britain. They need our prayers like never before.
Deleey Doodle
4 hours ago
do the female vampire also get called prince? are all the leaders princes ?
Finn Jones
1 week ago
is it bad that ive been watching vampire videos for 3 hrs straight
Warrior'ƨ Ɯιиɢƨ
1 month ago (edited)
who here is also a vampire??
“Mate I am starving.”
Harry started as Ron's hand landed on his shoulder. They were parked.
“What are you looking at?”
“Nothing,” said Harry quickly, pocketing his phone. "Just that turf war the vampires have going on."
“Didn’t know you followed that.”
"I — don't,” said Harry. “It just came up as a featured video, you know.”
“Yeah,” Ron nodded sagely. “Last week, I got one with muppets and not hugging. It was awful. Are you ready?”
“Always.”
Ron grinned. “Let’s convert some freshers!”
Harry stretched in the car park, looking up at the University of Bath. The main buildings were constructed using Bath Stone, a warm, honey-colored limestone extracted from quarries in the nearby Cotswolds. They reached up between immense structures of glass and steel.
Harry opened the back door of the Ford. Immediately, hundreds of yellow leaflets slid out onto the tarmac. "Ron... what?"
"Urgh. Dung ambushed me when I said I was dropping you off, he said hand them out to freshers."
Harry picked one up and shook off the gravel dust. Printed on the least expensive yellow paper available, he had the impression that someone tried really, really hard, and completely missed the mark.
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The design came littered with generic magnifying glass icons, retro footprints, and a mysterious silhouette that might or might not be wearing a fedora. At the bottom of the page spread two black angel wings.
“I hate this,” said Harry, with passion.
Ron sighed, the weight of disappointment evident in his voice. "Dung watched Buffy recently, and liked it too much," he lamented glumly. “You know the angel guy in it, he opened a detective firm.”
“'From a missing stapler to 'a child who’s fucked off’'?”
“Yeah. I don’t think Teddy caught everything when he edited. Dung wrote it.”
"What freshers are gonna want this?"
"None."
"Let's find a bin," muttered Harry. "And head in."
"Eating is dangerous."
Wakey, wakey.
Harry strode to the front of his auditorium, his profile illuminated by the glow of a digital projector.
It was Monday morning, the beginning of the year. Hundreds of faces stared down at him, but they were vacant, gone, transcending the troubles of this life, and floating in the ether of a better place. The bleariest of his freshers outright hid, way at the back of the hall.
Harry knew none of them, at least not yet; this year’s intake were mostly muggles. Mind, saying that... as he scanned the lecture hall and absorbed its optimistically full turn out, he could spy a summoned familiar hiding here and there beneath the long desks. You couldn’t obfuscate that sort of magic, but the more progressive universities permit tier one (and sometimes even tier two) summons.
Harry advanced with what he hoped was a cheery and welcoming smile. The students at the front immediately shrank back and stiffened, anxious about Professor Potter's sudden, sinister desire to be close to them.
"Err — so. When you open your mouth and put something in it, you risk killing yourself,” Harry said. Several eyes widened. “Wait, hear me out. Our ancestors, those blokes who huddled over smoke and fire, were adventurous enough —or dumb enough, depending who you ask— to eat things that could kill them. Great thing, too, because we have them to thank for our immune system."
Harry clicked the small remote in his hand and the projector slide swapped. His captivated prisoners looked up, up to the flickering moth glow of the screen.
“The acquisition of conditioned taste aversions protects animals against ingesting foods that are toxic to them,” Harry said. “Basically, we’ve developed ways of avoiding some really dangerous food."
He noticed a girl picking her nose and rolling the debris between her finger and thumb.
It’s a singular experience, lecturing freshers. It’s like writing in a journal, except in this journal, four hundred pairs of eyes scrutinize your every word. These people have no interest in what you’re writing, but they have to watch you, their eyes dead and unseeing. Why do they watch? Because they know, they’ve been told in no uncertain terms, that if they do not, they will fail their degree and have no backup plan and get a job clearing aisles at Tesco. Even if they are dead they must attend.
In the front row sat Hermione (no surprises there). Her posture was impeccable — back ramrod straight, her eyes wide in an all-seeing Sauron way. Her pen hovered above her notepad, but she was busy, staring at Harry, tracking his movements, following every twitch and micro expression. She was absorbing his lecture with an intensity he’d never had any student extent to him before. Beside her, Ron seemed suspended in cryogenic torpor. His glazed eyes betrayed no sign of life, yet his body remained upright. He had attended Harry’s rehearsal, listened to the home practice twice, and now he was elsewhere. Harry’s gaze paused on him, and like magic, Ron Awakened, throwing Harry an enthusiastic thumbs up as though he were loving every second.
“Imagine our ancestors grappling for survival. Now, envision the added challenge of feeding on something struggling — ideally, keeping that prey alive while consuming it. Can you think of a creature that feeds on the living? Something big — I'm not talking about mosquitoes here."
Harry brought up a diagram of a strange skull in cross-section on the screen, his hip against the front desk, dangling the remote on its cord. The slide roused his moth people. The legion finally looked up, almost all of them. Hermione, however, was starting to frown.
"Feeding is dangerous," said Harry, "for the human... as for the vampire."
Hermione shot him a warning look. Harry ignored her. Ron was fully awake now — as if bracing for a battle in the audience.
"Vampires drink hot, living blood,” projected Harry. “They need their victims alive. The process isn’t easy on an evolutionary scale either. Their prey of choice is perilous, deeply intelligent, and resourceful.”
“Nature doesn’t take chances. The best wolf in the world might still sustain a knock to its hind leg, a stray hoof to the skull, an unlucky blow, and be handicapped before they die — from infection, winter or societal exclusion. Wolves don’t even require their food to be alive; they can relax after they’ve killed their prey and eat at their leisure."
“Vampires are different. A vampire must feed on active, intelligent, and moving prey. Prey that will remember its face, prey that can track in a group, and prey that will — in the case of a failed hunt — band together in vengeance and hunt the vampire down, ambushing it with weapons, fire, and the advantage of daylight.”
“We are a ridiculous thing to hunt. We take for granted that vampires are glamorously strong, but human beings are capable of immense violence under threat. Humans learn quickly, are suspicious even of other human tribes, and will use tools, traps, and systems to lethal effect. But despite that, the vampire wants us. The vampire feeds exclusively on one of the world’s most apex, intelligent predators. There is no other creature that will preferentially hunt a human; some may kill a vulnerable, lost, or weak human as an opportunistic hunt, but vampires always want us.”
“Why would a vampire evolve to hunt us? Why not broaden its feeding category? How did it achieve this dangerously unique palate?”
“Indeed why don’t people struggle?” Harry emphasised to the room. "Where does this paralysis come from when a vampire bites you? We don't speak of evolution in terms of sexual selection for the vampire, because it doesn’t propagate sexually, but it’s adapted to its existence, and in a very special way. It all boils down to one lucky evolutionary break. Can you guess it? Oh! Yes — over there?"
Harry ducked out of the projector light. He spotted her; the girl put her hand down.
"Sorry, I was just wondering," the girl hummed, in a voice deeper than Harry expected, smooth and sardonic, "you keep referring to humans and vampires as if they're not the same thing."
I mean, they’re not.
"Did I?" Harry said.
"Yes,” she said easily, no inflection to her tone. “You call them creatures a few times in your papers, too."
"I didn't realise," Harry hummed. Out of the corner of his eye, Hermione looked cross.
Harry cleared his throat. "A vampire can’t produce fertile offspring with any one of us, so there are theorists who say they’re no longer human. Species-wise. But honestly, I would call humans a 'creature' too. We're all animals. It's not meant to reflect any prejudice on my part. Sorry for any confusion."
The girl inclined her head; she almost cocked it to one side, her hair brushing her blazer shoulder. Now that Harry looked, she wasn’t dressed much like a Monday morning student. “Would you think it safer for us if feeding was outlawed? Natural feeding.”
Harry tried not to click the clicker, or shift his weight. "I’m not saying yes but —”
“You did say that,” the girl interrupted. “In Love Bites: Why natural biting deserves our attention . It was an interview you gave, I believe, that prompted quite a bit of press?”
Unhelpfully, Ron snorted. Hermione whipped her head to him and scowled. Ron's grin dropped.
“You shouldn’t believe everything you read,” Harry said.
“So it’s a lie?” the girl invited.
“Er, I guess — it's true.”
The girl’s expression changed. She leaned forward, one elbow on the raised bench desk, the students around her suddenly looking between her and Harry. “Isn’t it your motions that are behind a lot of the recent propaganda and hate crimes? How can you give us a lecture on a subject that’s meant to be impartial when…” she trailed off with an eyebrow spiked up. “You’re clearly not?”
Despite himself Harry found himself squaring his weight. His palms needled. “There's not really such a thing as one person doing anything politically big. No I in team, you know. I might have started that movement off, or... propelled it forwards a bit, but —"
"You provided the toxicology reports on over a thousand bites," the girl said. "You did all that media activism."
"Ye-eah."
She looked exasperated. "Which may lead to an outlaw of natural biting, and a national spike of discrimination and workplace harassment, despite the Equality Act of 2010. Yet here you are, giving a lecture to future biologists in a university that’s meant to foster equality.”
Yeah right, and that’s why we have all our lectures in the day time. Harry waved his hand in dismissal, feeling nervous. A strange spasm came over Hermione, as if she couldn't decide whether to go off at the girl for showing Harry up at his own lecture, or petitioning her with joint pamphlets.
“Look, sorry, what’s your name?” he asked.
“Victoria.”
"Right, Victoria? I just handle facts. Natural biting is as irresponsible as fluid exchange between partners whose sexual history is unknown,” Harry said.
The room stiffened - consciousness spiked. Two girls opened their mouths and looked at each other.
Victoria became thunderous. Harry charged on, feeling hot in his head. Stupid. She’s probably never met a vampire before.
“Unlike unprotected sex,” Harry pressed on, raising his voice to the back, “the vampire is always and irreversibly put into a place of disproportionate power over their victim. By its very nature natural feeding can’t be consensual. The chemical changes that occur in the victim impair their cognitive function and memory, and the effects last beyond the feeding event.”
“Unprotected…? How can you compare these things!” Victoria’s voice was sharp with disgust.
Harry brandished his water bottle. “Well, if you would listen, you would find out. While vampires might not transmit disease through their bite, they do release a surplus of hormones, which we’ll be talking about later in the course, and the primary effect of these hormones is to create an attachment to the vampire — it encourages the victim to seek out their abuser, maintain proximity and latch — yes? ”
The Girl™ – Victoria – was fiercely blank now, lowering her hand. There was emotion somewhere there, a lot of it, but it was beneath the surface, and she seemed to be trying to control it. "You're extrapolating out,” she said, “Saying that this applies to an entire group of people simply because their physiology is capable of causing trauma?” she said. “Do you think all big dogs should be put down, too?"
Harry scowled. “That’s completely different. We have leads.”
“And muzzles,” said Ron under his breath.
“No it’s not,” she said calmly. “There are ways of nullifying the issues you’re talking about in this – frankly biased – leadup. There are loads of ways to make feeding safe, but I imagine you know that, and intend to conveniently leave it out of this lecture.”
“Would you like to leave? If you have a problem with how I teach, you’re welcome to.”
“I can't even believe I'm even – vampires are sentient – they are human, with a condition,” she snapped. “They choose not to harm other people, and most of them do. Do you realise how much you're smacking on the disability act, let alone racism and just... being downright inappropriate?"
“Door’s there, Victoria.”
She stood up in a rush, almost banging her knee into the underside of the desk, and looking like she was about to cry. For a moment, Harry's stomach somersaulted. If she was a journalist, she seemed a bit too emotional. Her eyes were bright, and her throat leaped. The jog she took down the aisle of steps between the two sides of the auditorium felt like an eternity.
Eventually though, the door opened and closed. Silence reigned.
Hesitantly, someone stuck up their hand.
“Yes?” Harry asked warily.
The boy was a redhead, which calmed Harry. "What's your opinion on all the names people call you?”
Harry faltered. "Can you be more specific?"
"Uh, like, Harry Van Hellsing. Van Harrysing. You know."
Harry grinned. “Of toxicology? I like it. Makes me sound less like a biologist and more like Indiana Jones."
A few people laughed, but slowly, as if they weren’t sure they should.
"What about The Anti-Vamp Man?" someone else called.
Tension returned in the hall. Harry said, "I wish they wouldn't use that. People say it wrong and it makes me sound like I'm an anti-vaxxer."
"But you don't mind it?" This from a girl nearer the front.
"Not really,” admitted Harry. “I guess you've discovered I'm not the world’s biggest vampire fan and - ookay that’s a lot of hands. Guys, not here to talk politics. Actual questions, please. Relevant to the lecture….”
“That was brilliant,” Ron said, as Harry packed up. “Shame about that mare, though. I swear she had kittens.”
“Be nice if she hadn’t read my paper,” Harry muttered, but his shoulders relaxed. “I feel kind of bad.”
“Nah," Ron waved. "It's flattering.”
Hermione was lagging behind, talking with one of his mature students, but she caught up at the door. As was her norm among muggles and mixed company, Hermione was lugging around a shiny black handbag to her chest, not inconsiderably sized, the sort that could house the tortured souls of small dogs. A low, wheezing sound emanated from it.
She gave Harry a look full of trouble, and Harry felt his imaginary tail slide between his legs. Ron did too, as if he had anything to do with Harry’s lecture. Ron’s face flew through its bank of submissive expressions, unable to settle on one.
“Um... sorry?” tried Harry.
“Say I love you,” Ron rushed between his teeth.
“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said. “I wish you would censor yourself a little, or see that – it’s not always – at the very least this is a very public place!”
Hermione battled with the bag, which was starting to move. “Given current circumstances, you know I wouldn’t disapprove if it were in private, but honestly, this could really hurt your reputation. This is a large lecture hall, with plenty of strangers and,” she paused on the other side of the door, her voice wavered slightly. “Besides all that — please don’t talk to a studenrt like that again.”
Harry’s stomach twisted sharply. “Sorry,” he said immediately. “I wasn’t thinking.”
Hermione nodded tightly, looking unsure. “Thank you.” After a few moments, her eyes brightened. "You know we’re all so proud of you. I almost can't believe it. That's very advanced material in the muggle world.”
"I am a professor," Harry said, the corner of his mouth spasming.
"He was always top in potions," Ron waved dismissively.
"No he wasn't," Hermione said. "That was Professor Snape and his book!"
"Yeah well, he's gotten better since, haven't you mate?"
"Just a bit," Harry grinned.
"Well, I always knew you had it in you, Harry."
"No you didn't!” cried Ron. “You used to say —"
"— and Professor Slughorn agreed with me,” Hermione sniffed. “You didn't need aids like that cheat book. Congratulations on the PhD, and do step faster, Ron. Harry I had no idea — I should have heard you earlier really, but with how the Ministry is at the moment... I would have come to your other lectures..."
“Don’t worry about it,” Harry said. He was relieved Hermione kept the schedule she did. This was his, err, introductory lecture. We Hate Vampires Lite. It was to warm the students up. She definitely couldn’t come to the rest.
They strolled across campus, Hermione dropping in gems like ‘ I’m going to stay up until two am — perhaps three! — and read all about your competition in the publishing world'; followed by ‘Harry - you've ever so much to do — you mustn't get complacent’; ‘journal article expansion’; ‘on a roll now ’; ‘going places’; ‘this is just the beginning Harry’.
The sun was bright outside on the parade – a long, open strip at the centre of campus, with a cafe off it, the big library, the church you pretended to be Christian for so you got tea and biscuits. Hermione was struggling with her bag, and casting around for somewhere to sit.
“Now just remember my warnings about the industry, Harry, and peer reviews. I've published twelve more papers than you — so I can obviously advise you. Baker has wooly ideas but I will introduce you to his work – oh and, you moved the projector too quickly for those in the back. I went up to the rear of the room to ask the boys sitting there, and one of them said they couldn't even hear you. Besides I —” Hermione's gaze was on the campus shop with its glossy glass doors. "Oh."
"I want some chocolate,” Hermione breathed, gazing wistfully over at a stall selling newspapers — and giving a big bar of Cadbury’s with it for a pound. It was the only reason there was a line queuing.
She dropped her bag onto a bench, a little less ceremoniously than normal. A large creature rolled out. “Will you watch him for a moment? He’s getting heavy.”
Hermione vanished off to get in line at the queue. The boys stared at the summoned creature.
“Is it alive?” Ron asked, bemused.
“Dunno,” Harry said.
Her primary summons was a platypus, and the exhausted familiar was spread on the bench like a flat, beached whale. Surely, it was on its way out. It had been for years. The summons was podgy and bloated, already looking half lumpily taxidermied.
Hermioned returned not long after they’d started poking.
“You really need to summon a new one," Ron said.
“Don't be a troll, he's perfectly fine. Familiars aren't just for Christmas."
“Look at it. Who would even want it for Christmas."
The platypus didn’t move, it just continued to wheeze slowly. Ron stopped touching it.
Hermione glanced up, across the courtyard. “Oh God look, is she that student?”
Harry followed her gaze immediately. Through the walled glass of the Parade cafe was indeed Victoria, the girl from class. No recorder now, she was slumped, glumly picking at a cake and sitting with a woman wearing all pink. Napkins from the cafe had been placed delicately under the pink woman’s teacup to make it look more hygienic. Harry didn’t even know the cafe did teacups.
“And why is she with her?” Hermioned said shrilly.
“The pink woman?” Harry asked automatically. “Who is she?”
“Dolores Umbridge,” Hermione’s voice dropped. “She’s as rotten as they come, and high up in the educational sector. She’s been breathing down my neck at the Ministry all summer. Oh God, I hope this won’t reflect badly on my midterm. I shouldn’t even be here today!”
“She’s not gonna see you from here,” reassured Ron. “Doubt they’re even talking about you. It’s Harry she’s gunning for.”
“Thanks, Ron.”
“But really,” Hermione said, strained. “Why is Umbridge talking to a student? This is awful for you, Harry.”
“What? Why?” said Harry. “You think they’re close?”
“It’s fine mate,” said Ron. “She’s only her aunt. I barely even know my aunt.”
Hermione’s jaw slackened, and she turned around. “How could you possibly know that?”
“Gave her an interview, didn’t I?”
Harry turned slowly to look at Ron. “What.”
Ron expanded his chest slightly and said in pride, “Not Umbridge, I mean Vicky; she wanted to know all about how my career forked. How differently things could have gone, you remember I scored that wicked goal when I tried out for the Chudleys? Years ago. We got talking about you later, and a bit about you ‘Mione, but she obviously wanted to know more about me, so don’t worry. She might run an article!”
Harry could not believe what he was hearing. “Victoria. Victoria from class. Victoria the ‘mare’, who had kittens, who trashed my lecture, you’ve been having tea with her. Talking about me.”
Ron scowled. “I said we were talking about me. For once you know, someone might actually be interested in something I’ve done.”
“You didn’t even make the goal!”
“Ronald you might have just jeopardized my whole career!”
Ron’s face turned purple. “All right, yeah, fine. Gang up on me. It’s not like you don’t do it all the time.”
“How could you – how could you be so stupid,” Hermione said, tears welling in her eyes. “You know what they did just for me being on speaking terms with Harry. I had that inquest! I can’t be seen taking sides, let alone endorsing what he’s doing.”
“Wait, what? Maybe you shouldn’t have come to my lecture then,” Harry said, rounding on her. “If it’s that bad. That’s sort of endorsing me isn’t it?”
It’s not like she’d ever said this to him. This was completely new information to Harry, who was feeling both suddenly guilty and very responsible. Hermione hadn’t had the easiest run of things in the Ministry. He didn’t know any of it was due to him.
“Oh come on, Harry. Of course an association with you will have some — some impact! Besides which, I didn’t know you’d be spreading inflammatory fascist propaganda to university students!”
“I’m not racist,” Harry said in surprise, rearing his head back. “I don’t care whether people are –”
“Facism is not just about racism and skin colour, Harry, it’s an entire system of oppressive government which halts —”
“Free speech,” Harry snapped. “I know. But that’s exactly what you, and all the vampires are doing! Censoring channels, sanitising the media. Why are you even still working for them?”
Now Hermione was crying. “You said you were fine with that! You e–encouraged me, bought a cake. You said —”
“I lied!” Harry threw his hands up. “Obviously I lied. What did you expect me to do when you got the role? Shout about it, throw things around? Hate you for something that would get you back on your feet? I don’t really know what bit’s worse, the vampires or the Ministry. What sort of a ‘neutral diplomat’ gets their mortgage paid for by vampires?”
Hermione’s eyes might have been blurring, because she was struggling to gather up the summons back into its bag. Harry noticed her hands were shaking.
“Wait — 'Mione."
She packed up and turned to leave, but then swung around, as if she might say more, her hair a huge cottony halo. Something complicated happened to the shape of Hermione's mouth. She opened it, closed it. She stared at Harry a frozen moment, her chin tucking down in the way it used to when she was a child, over a mound of books as she knocked past an eleven-year-old Ron. Then she turned on her heel and rushed off, clutching the bag — and her squashed summons — to her chest.
Ron and Harry watched her go, long after she was out of sight.
Silence stretched.
Awkward, Ron stuffed his hands into his pockets. “She’s blowing this way out of proportion.”
He offered Harry a hesitant look, but Harry didn’t have the heart to return the reassurance. “I think I’ll head home. I’ll see you later.”
“Wait, mate! We gotta go to the office?”
Harry halted, wishing the world would just stop. “But that client isn't until later.”
Harry had noticed the timing on the client when he'd checked his phone. It wasn't until the bloody evening, later than he was meant to stay on.
"Way later," Ron grimaced apologetically. “But Dung said to come over early for a briefing. It’s meant to be a special case or something. We have to chat with Dung at three. So you asked for a lift over... after your lecture?”
Oh. Right.
Embarrassed, Harry could only clear his throat. “Oh. Err, yeah. Thanks. I forgot."
“It’s nuffin. Come on. Anyway, you’ll get a car eventually.”
* * * * *
“Look at em… think they’re so good.”
Four thirty pm and Harry and Ron were (still) waiting for their meeting, standing like lemons outside Dung’s office, staring up at the shiny lacquer of the Team of the Year award, a flimsy — but coveted — A4 piece of paper with Papyrus font above a photo.
Crabbe and Goyle stood at the center of the frame (well, there was no frame but Harry heard Mundungus rumbling there might be one next year). The duo stood proudly in front of the lobby's fake Roman bust, both as towering as the statue itself. Their chests were puffed out, and they looked very much like they had just been asked to pose for an award, chins lifted high and their meaty hands clasped behind their backs.
“And they’re better looking than us,” muttered Ron gloomily.
Harry double took the photograph. “Goyle looks like he had his face smashed in.”
“Girls love that, mate. He looks mean. Like an alpha. Harry LOOK at him. They’re both big lads.”
True, Crabbe and Goyle were far from small.
“We could hit the gym,” Harry suggested.
Ron turned to stare at him, like all the goodness had just been ripped out of the world.
“What?” Harry said, a little defensively. “Anyway, we’re in good shape.”
“Running and tennis and swimming and girl shapes.”
“Girl shapes?” He thought he was in quite good shape. It was all in the right proportions, and though he was leaner than most blokes, he had good legs.
“I’m calling myself a girl,” Ron grumbled. “At least you kickbox. I’m coming with you next time.”
“I thought you hated squats?”
“If squats are the secret to taking down Goyle, I’ll do it, Harry. I will.”
The door opened, and Harry’s heart sank.
"Aw, look at this," sneered Crabbe. “Potter and Wealsey sitting in the hall, K.I.S.S.I.N.G. Come for your ickle meeting, have you?"
Goyle chuckled for extra effect.
“That doesn’t even rhyme,” Harry said.
Ron’s face had turned crimson. “Yeah, actually, we do have a meeting! Go on, ask us about it.”
Harry silently prayed they wouldn't; he hadn't the foggiest notion of what their case was supposed to be about.
"This ain't your run-of-the-mill gig," Ron crooned. "We've landed ourselves something colossal. Sky-high stakes, posher than a posh thing, and guess what? They specifically asked for Harry — oh, and me too, obviously. Just you wait; my mug will be plastered on that wall next! You'll be nothing!"
Ron raised his eyebrows in a disconcerting imitation of Lavender, at her cattiest, and jabbed his finger to the Employer of the Year award.
Crabbe eyed Ron as if he'd sprouted a second head. However, he obediently traced Ron's finger and, lo and behold, his dark eyes sparked with interest.
"Replace us, will you? We've barely kicked off. Didn't you hear? Just snagged our second A-Class case a whopping two minutes ago."
“I will, you know,” said Ron, with a gleam in his eyes. He leaned toward Crabbe. “I’ll show you. Harry does kickboxing.”
Harry jerked his head back in alarm. “Hey! Wait a second, I didn’t — and that’s not you showing —”
"Really?" Crabbe leaned in, lifting both eyebrows in amusement, a toothy grin on his face. While his attention was on Ron, his eyes flicked towards Harry. "Is that so? I had no clue we had our very own resident springbok."
Dung's voice cut through the commotion. "Shut the effing hell up! Or are you all deaf? Wait a blinking minute. Weasley? Potter? Is that you idiots? Get in here!"
Crabbe burst into laughter, conjuring spooky fingers in the air. "Enjoy your 'special mission,'" he taunted. Goyle echoed the sentiment with impeccable timing, both of them adding ghostly sounds for effect.
They swaggered past Harry and Ron, guffawing — shoving Ron with tremendous ease, Harry side-stepping at the last, stumbling to catch his balance.
Crabbe and Goyle reached the end of the hall, and took the stairs away.
Several seconds passed.
“Harry, mate,” sighed Ron wistfully, “you gotta stand up to em.”
Harry cast him a mutinous look.
Harry and Ron pushed open the creaky door. The wan glow of Dung's dimly lit office revealed a space that had seen better days. Dim lighting; creaking floorboards; unsettling decor; lingering smells; tattered window blinds. Lavender had really spruced up the rest of the office block. But she daren't go near Dung's room.
The man himself wasn't winning any beauty contests. Short and scruffy, with bandy legs and unruly ginger locks, Dung sported bloodshot yet intense eyes and seldom bothered with shaving. Worse, he reeked of tobacco, a real kicker when you were stuck in his poorly ventilated office during the sticky summer months. Dung's personal office law ignored the no-smoking regulations that applied everywhere else.
Fortunately for Harry and Ron his ashtray was already brimming and the disheveled man seemed to be more interested in glaring at them than lighting up.
"What're you doing out there, anyway? Bleeding snoops."
"Snoops!" Ron exclaimed. "We've been waiting for over an hour! Probably two by now."
"Alright, sit down, both of you. No need to get larey."
Grumbling, they complied. As they settled into the worn-out chairs, the stale air of the office enveloped them. It was thick with the lingering scent of decades-old cigarette smoke, an aroma that seemed to seep from the peeling wallpaper. Dung leaned back, propping his boots up on the cluttered desk. From his crumpled blazer's pocket emerged an old tin and some worn brown papers. With stained yet nimble fingers, he began rolling a cigarette.
"You've got a doozy of a client later," Dung informed them. "And you're taking it because he specifically asked for you, Potter. Turn this one down, and you're fired."
"Phew," Ron sighed with relief, his shoulders slumping. "Well, that's fair. Harry's only dodgy when he has to sell it, you know, like hustle. He talks alright otherwise."
Harry shot Ron a withering look. “Why are you so concerned I’ll turn the client down?”
Dung merely glanced at Harry, snapping open a silver lighter, and didn't offer an immediate response.
"Who is it?" Harry pressed.
Dung brought the cigarette to his lips, igniting it. With a deliberate, unhurried flare of orange flame, the crook's scruff was haloed, his bristle hairs edged in gold as the ember illuminated his face. For an instant, his countenance became a play of stark contrasts. His brown eyes shone amber as he stared at them through the smoke.
“What is it, more like."
A beat. Harry searched Dung’s expression.
“No,” said Harry. “Absolutely not.”
Through the exhale of smoke, Dung's expression was flat. “Get out the door.”
"What?"
"Pack up your things, then."
Harry hesitated. Dung knew precisely why he wouldn't leave.
"Wait," said Ron helplessly. "What's wrong?"
"Your next client's a vampire," said Dung.
Ron's eyes widened into saucers. "A leech? We can't see a leech! They’re incubus! Hussies! What if he hypnotises us?"
"Yeah and they pay well and all," Dung enthused. "This 'leech' is offering me six times your normal rate, upfront, and plenty more if the job's done well. So be happy, lads — and give this toff your best Saviors welcome. Because this right here marks your first Class A mission."
Ron shut his mouth with a soft snap.
Dung's eyes glinted. He swung his boots off the table, leaning in close. The cigarette pointed at Harry, its smoke curling through the air.
"Don't mess it up. I'd have put Crabbe and Goyle on this, but the nut wants you. You've got one chance."
Harry absorbed the information in silence, Ron's ramblings about human rights and evil vampires, and brainwashing news doing little to soothe his frustration. Anger coiled in his stomach.
"Oh," Dung added casually, "before I forget." His gaze shifted to Ron. "You're on the case, but this fella wants to talk to Potter, so you do everything through him."
Ron’s nose scrunched up. “Why?”
"Don't ask the whys here, Weasley-boy. He won't talk to me either, not in person. Just act nice if you have to deal with him down the line, and give Potter any questions you have to ask now."
“I dunno know what the case even is,” baffled Ron. “You just said we had something big. How am I meant to have questions if I can’t talk to the client?”
“You’ll manage,” said Dung. “If that’s all? Potter, I don’t care what you do for the rest of the night, but be back here by midnight, prompt. Be early, even.
In a low, but even voice, Harry said, “What’s its name?”
“Lucius Malfoy.”