"Hey, you—whoever you are, wait!"
Hermione's head throbbed with rising stress as she hurried out after her.
The little vampire girl hadn't actually gone far. She stood before the stone archway marking the edge of the enchanted forest, gazing out toward Hogsmeade, where scattered points of light still glimmered like distant, low-hanging stars against the dark hillside.
"Since the start of this term, the school's security has been tightened considerably. There's incredibly powerful magic guarding the gates now—even the other professors can't come and go from Hogwarts at night without express permission from Professor Dumbledore and Professor Watson personally!"
Hermione said this with a distinct note of helplessness creeping into her voice. This little vampire girl didn't seem, by any measure, like the easiest person she'd be asked to manage this term.
"But I'm hungry!"
The vampire girl repeated the same line, entirely unmoved by the security explanation.
She smoothed down a few loose strands of hair drifting across her face and studied the exposed, pale curve of Hermione's neck with deliberate attention, a faint, mischievous smile began curling slowly at the corner of her mouth.
"Do you know what happens when you let a vampire go hungry?"
Startled badly by the sudden shift in the girl's expression, Hermione took an immediate step backward, retreating toward Hagrid's reassuring body, and glared at the girl with fresh, sharpened wariness.
"Oi, don't go frightenin' Hermione now, little vampire—"
Hagrid arched one thick eyebrow, giving the girl a look that plainly communicated he'd seen straight through whatever performance she was attempting.
"Professor Watson wouldn't have recruited you fer this exchange in the first place if he didn't already know fer certain that your particular bloodline doesn't drink human blood. So you can drop that act."
A shadow crossed the girl's face at that, plain for anyone watching to see clearly. Her black lashes trembled slightly, but her deep red eyes—rich as fine wine aged for years inside an oak cask—glinted with sly amusement.
She fixed her gaze steadily on Hermione, who looked, in that moment, as though she'd just allowed herself a small sigh of relief at Hagrid's confirmation.
"That's true enough. But that doesn't mean I couldn't make trouble for you all regardless, even without meaning to properly! Plenty of my own kind would jump at the chance to cause Bryan Watson a headache."
"Why?"
Hermione's nerves spiked sharply again at that. A sliver of her own wand had already slipped free from her sleeve.
"He's killed more vampires in New York than there are students in this entire school!"
The vampire girl thrust out her chest as she said it, fierce and strange all at once in the gesture—it was oddly striking, Hermione thought distantly even through her alarm, how pronounced her feminine features already were for a girl her age.
Another thought struck Hermione at the same time.
This vampire had introduced herself, as having been sent by Newt—surely the renowned magizoologist, Mr. Newt Scamander himself—recommended to Professor Watson through that connection.
Professor Watson evidently believed her safe enough to bring into the school. But that, Hermione realised with a fresh chill, might only be the appearance of things.
In reality, this vampire might genuinely mean to slip quietly into Hogwarts under cover of the exchange programme, and then, the very moment Professor Watson was safely away from the school on some business, stir up some act of terror in his absence.
The thought cooled Hermione's eyes. A dangerous, unfamiliar light drifted briefly through her usually warm brown irises.
If that was truly this girl's aim, Hermione had genuinely no clear idea how capable a vampire of her apparent age and standing might actually be in a real confrontation but with Hagrid standing right here beside her, and herself here too, she would absolutely not simply let the creature run wild through the school without a fight.
"That's quite enough, that is—"
Hagrid had grown a little properly angry himself now, though he still seemed to be holding onto some private confidence throughout as if he already knew that this little vampire was only putting on a show.
"The vampires punished in New York were dealt with by Professor Watson because they'd done somethin' terrible. Don't go makin' trouble fer no good reason here. You might not realise it, lookin' at me, but I'm a professor too, same as anyone else on staff. I can put you in detention same as any student, exchange delegate or not!"
Night stretched on around them, slow and heavy, but the surrounding air had grown distinctly colder still as the tension built.
Along the stone corridor steeped in that sudden chill, the moonlight spilling in through the high windows seemed almost to be freezing in place.
"I was only joking!"
At those quick words, the air around them all seemed to loosen and begin moving freely again.
The little vampire, whose tone had carried a thread of menace only moments before, changed her entire expression as easily as flipping a page in a book.
She pouted with her red lips, her deep red eyes were flickering now with a bright, wounded look entirely different from the calculating menace of a moment ago, and all at once she seemed nothing more than an ordinary little girl who'd begged her parents for a piece of candy and been flatly refused—on the verge of tears.
It was, Hermione thought, watching the transformation, both thoroughly infuriating and faintly comical.
"But I really am hungry, though!"
The little vampire sniffled audibly, looking thoroughly, convincingly wronged by the whole situation.
"The food I brought along with me from New York ran out the moment I got off the plane. I've been hungry a whole day now… Professor Watson said you'd help us sort all this out, didn't he?"
A few dark, weary lines seemed to rise across Hermione's own forehead at that, and her lips pressed themselves into a very tight line.
One hour later.
Hermione surveyed her current surroundings.
The floor beneath her feet was a dull, ashen grey. Up a narrow stairway, a wooden door leading to the level above glowed faintly with warm candlelight seeping through its cracks, while the dim, cramped cellar where they currently stood—crowded floor to ceiling with crates and other stacked wooden boxes—was thick with a rich, sweet fragrance.
Invisibility Cloak slung casually over one arm now that its purpose was served, Harry and Ron were poking about with unmistakable enthusiasm, wands lit and held high, examining the faded labels stamped across various crates.
Hermione felt a fresh wave of unreality wash over her, standing there watching them.
She could hardly bear to properly face what she'd actually done tonight—brought Harry and Ron, and this equally delighted little vampire now gazing around at everything with wonder, several miles from the safety of the castle in the dead of night, straight into the cellar of Honeydukes sweetshop in Hogsmeade, of all possible destinations.
"This place isn't half bad, actually!"
The vampire girl said it with her arms clasped neatly behind her back. Despite wearing nothing but soft cotton slippers, her steps remained light and impressively quick as she wove her way expertly through the cramped, crate-filled cellar.
Harry glanced up briefly at the little vampire's evident delight, then over toward Hermione, a trace of genuine amusement began flickering in his own tired eyes.
Not even a full day into her arrival at Hogwarts, and this particular vampire had already, somehow, talked Hermione Granger—Prefect, model student, devoted rule-follower—into breaking school regulations wholesale.
It was, Harry privately thought, watching Hermione's pained expression, quite the feat.
"Hey!"
Ron suddenly called out from a forgotten corner of the cramped cellar, and every eye present turned toward the sound.
Rapping his wand sharply against the crate in front of him, Ron announced with delight.
"Found it—Blood-Flavoured Lollipops!"
He waved one hand through the air in front of his face, then stumbled back an involuntary step, pinching his nose shut.
"These things have never sold worth a damn, if the state of this crate's anything to go by!"
"I want to try one!"
The vampire girl — Hermione and the others now knew, from her earlier introduction, that her full name was Elune Gangrel—perked up at once at the announcement, already moving toward Ron's corner.
"No!"
Hermione stepped forward decisively and blocked her direct path, her expression was darkening with sudden firmness.
"We have to pay for it first, or it's simply theft!"
Elune pursed her lips at that, clearly unimpressed by the moral distinction.
"But I don't actually have any money on me."
"I do!"
Hermione drew a sharp, decisive breath in response, then immediately broke into a fit of coughing as the swirling dust hanging thick in the cellar air caught unexpectedly in her throat.
"I—cough—I brought some money along, set aside specifically for—cough—for taking proper care of you three while you're here."
Before Harry could think to warn Hermione to lower her voice given the circumstances, a frightened shout and the sound of hurried footsteps came from beyond the wooden panel separating the cellar from the shop above.
"Who's in my cellar!"
A door creaked open above them with a sharp creak of old hinges, and the panicked, wide-eyed face of the Honeydukes shopkeeper appeared framed in the opening, one hand clutching a ledger against his chest, the other gripping his wand out in front of him with visibly unsteady aim.
"Oh—it's you lot!"
The shopkeeper recognised Harry and the others almost instantly, his own mouth was falling open in astonishment at the sight of them crouched among his stock.
"But—oh, I'm a bit confused, aren't I. I closed up shop ages ago, didn't I? How on earth are the three of you down here in my cellar this late at night?"
None of the three actually wanted the shopkeeper to know that his own cellar concealed a hidden passage leading straight through to Hogwarts. And as for Harry specifically—
At the sight of the ledger clutched in the man's hand, Harry's own temper flared unexpectedly. His expression darkened, and he fixed the shopkeeper—Ambrosius Flume, as Harry now recalled the name with a cold, cutting look.
"We slipped in before you locked up, that's all. As for why we're here—" Harry's voice carried a distinct edge. "—I don't suppose you've forgotten how you testified against us, have you?"
Flume froze completely at that, then visibly shrank his own head down between his shoulders with unmistakable guilt, his eyes were darting away from Harry's steady gaze toward the floor.
"You mean the trial—oh, but I had no choice in the matter!"
The Honeydukes shopkeeper hung his head low, looking thoroughly ashamed of himself.
"You don't understand the position I was in—a few Aurors came round to the shop, fierce as anything, demanding I hand over my complete ledgers and testify formally for them in court, or else face consequences—"
Flume gave a small, visible shudder at the memory.
"They threatened that if I didn't cooperate with them, they'd shut down my entire shop for good and toss me straight into Azkaban without further discussion!"
Harry, in genuine honesty with himself, wasn't quite as thoroughly furious about the whole old business as his tone had perhaps showed but at Flume's specific explanation, he frowned deeply, a look of open suspicion crossed his face.
"The Aurors can't just throw someone into Azkaban for no proper reason at all, though, can they?"
"That goes without saying, Harry—"
Ron gave a couple of scoffing, knowing snorts from behind him.
"He's obviously got something already on file with the Ministry, I'd bet good money on it. You've been evading your taxes properly, haven't you, Mr. Flume?"
"Oh, don't you look at me like that, young man—"
Flume looked rather genuinely put out by the accusation.
"If any of you lot ran a proper business yourselves someday, you'd understand these things better. It's only—only routine, and entirely reasonable tax planning, that's all it ever was.
Oi! Why are we even standing about down here talking like this in the cold—come on upstairs, the whole lot of you, and let's sort this out properly where there's decent light."
"Whoa!"
Emerging up the narrow stairs from the cellar into the shop, they found row upon row of tall wooden shelves stacked floor to ceiling with the most mouthwatering assortment of sweets imaginable—thick, creamy almond fudge; glittering pink coconut ice; toffees the rich colour of set honey; and hundreds upon hundreds of individual chocolates arranged in neat, orderly rows.
And, of course, there was no shortage of Chocolate Frogs on prominent display—the very same sweet that had once, rather memorably, landed Harry in so much trouble.
Elune's deep red eyes lit up immediately at the sight of it all. She slipped nimbly past the still-flustered shopkeeper and darted straight toward the nearest shelves, staring at the sweets with unmistakable, undisguised longing.
"I've never seen a proper shop quite like this back in New York!"
Flume, struck by Elune's striking appearance, couldn't help but preen a little at the unprompted praise for his shop, though a distinct note of genuine confusion crept quickly into his expression as he turned back to address the other three.
"Who's this little girl, exactly? I've never once seen her round these parts before—a new friend of yours three, is she?"
"No—"
Ron said, deliberately keeping a straight face throughout.
"She's actually a dangerous vampire. We've hired her specially to come and take your life tonight."
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