In the depths of the dense, murky woodland, there is an enormous gothic-styled citadel that lays directly in the middle of the snow-covered woods sticking out like a sore thumb. The gothic-styled palace is large, elegant, incredibly lavish, and heavily fortified. It had been built to remain hidden from the world via sorcery from humans and wizards alike. And so, it had remained for hundreds of years.
On clear nights, the valley would be filled with countless fancy carriages being pulled by winged steeds or droves of bats flying towards the citadel in the depths of the dark woods. Yet on this night, no such sight could be seen with fierce storm winds roaring. Not even the most foolhardy or brashest of vampires would attempt to fly through such a storm.
Typically, there would be lesser vampires, servants in dark livery to wait on the higher-ranked vampires. But today the castle was empty save for the few lesser vampires that maintained the citadel. The vampire council typically did not reside at the citadel except for the head of the coven, the Pontifex Maximus, Ambrogio Sangria.
Despite the pitch-black darkness, a very wrinkled, elderly vampire with a silver widow's peak made his way through the dark citadel with no candlelight. He was the eldest vampire in the coven thought to be two hundred and fifty years old. However, he was far older than any vampire had ever dared to live. It was taboo to consume the blood of their own, but he had found the means to extending his unnatural life by doing so.
Ambrogio Sangria made his way down a hidden stairway to a hidden doorway which led to a hidden guest room that connected to the outside. It was a secret entrance and escape passage only known to the Head of the Coven and a few select others. The elderly vampire retrieved the key hanging around his neck, before carefully unlocking the door. The door loudly creaks, before the elderly vampire enters the hidden chamber.
Impatiently waiting inside is a burly dark-haired wizard with broad shoulders. The wizard had a long, pale twisted face whose lips curled into a sneer, Antonin Dolohov. "You are late, bloodsucker."
Ambrogio Sangria refrains from rising to the wizard's challenge and closes the door behind him. "I am old, and my limbs are simply not what they used to be," Ambrogio smoothly lied. His stark white hands with dark blue veins tremble in feigned weakness as he returns the key to his neck, before taking a seat.
Dolohov's lips curl further with disdain as he eyes the decrepit creature. "You know why I have come, blood leech," he coldly said. "The Dark Lord wishes to forge an alliance with the creatures of the night."
"Oh?" Ambrogio scratched his head as if he had truly forgotten there had been such an event. "Forgive me, my mind is simply not what it used to be," he paused for a long time furrowing his brow. His eyes brighten in fake remembrance, "Ah yes, I dimly recall speaking of such a thing."
Dolohov sneers impatiently refraining from pulling out his wand and slaying the elderly leech where he stood. He sternly reminded himself of his mission. Still, it was a close thing.
Pensively rubbing his chin, Ambrogio narrows his eyes at the wizard as if clearing the negative conversation. "Alas the Dark Lord wished to have the aid of the werewolves at that time," he pointedly said. "The conclave voted unanimously to firmly decline the alliance."
Ambrogio puffs up his chest in fake weakness and pride. "We are the rulers of the night and we will not lower ourselves to work with those filthy, mangy mongrels!"
"There are no more werewolves, bloodsucker," Dolohov scoffed in contempt of the old vampire's failing memory. "The deceased Potion Master Belby took care of that. Though the Dark Lord did avenge himself in the end and slew the traitor."
"Ah, yes, it must have slipped my mind," Ambrogio murmured rather absentminded, but at out of the corner of his eyes, he slyly studied the impatient wizard, who only grew more riled with the passage of time.
Dolohov barely refrained from taking the decrepit bloodsucker's head reminding himself of the importance of his task. "As I said before, the Dark Lord seeks an alliance with the creatures of the night. Will the coven accept the generous offer of the Dark Lord?"
Ambrogio blinked his eyes slowly and scrunched up his very wrinkled face as if in deep thought. He ponders the question much more than necessary, before slowly answering, "We the rulers of the night have always dwelt in the shadows and so we have lived to ensure our survival all these countless centuries. I cannot deny that the Dark Lord is powerful without equal," before arching his brow at the wizard.
"And yet, I remember the great but tragic failure of Gellert Grindelwald. Perchance, the tides would have war would have changed, but I was outvoted that day," Ambrogio truthfully recalled. "In his conquest for power, Grindelwald had made far too many enemies in all spheres of the known magical world. An alliance bore too much of a risk for the conclave with little in terms of reward."
Dolohov's face darkens at the words of the bloodsucker. He could not fail! He had never failed before, and he had no intention of doing so now!
"Though a possible alliance is not out of the question, but we demand a proof of strength from our allies, a trace of goodwill, if you will," Ambrogio cunningly said.
"And what would the bloodsuckers consider as goodwill?" Dolohov curtly asked.
Ambrogio hides a satisfied smirk and speaks in a quivering voice. "There are rumors carried on the wind that the Dark Lord has sought out other dark allies. We have no qualms with them if the rumors are true. I am certain that points have already been carefully planned by the Dark Lord, but might I suggest an alternation to one of the planned locations?"
"Speak clearly leech!" Dolohov snapped with all traces of civility having long been dropped.
"Much like your kind, we too abhor half-breeds," Ambrogio coldly explained. "There is a half-breed located in the village of Fernburgh. Its father was one of our kind, while its mother was one of your own kind."
Dolohov's features twist with disgust at the very suggestion. "Filthy slattern daring to lay with such a stinking creature," he said with the utmost revulsion.
"Aye, we feel much the same way," Ambrogio woefully said. "Destroy the half-breed and we shall take it as a token of good faith." He paused dramatically his face becoming soberer. "However, if the half-breed should survive, well, I do not need to tell you that we will take this as a sign that the Dark Lord's weakness."
"Is that all, bloodsucker?" Dolohov scorned with the utmost disdain.
"That is all, wizard," Ambrogio slowly said with a glint of coldness. "I am certain that your Master eagerly awaits your return."
Dolohov's features twitch wildly for a moment before he whirls away and departs from the chamber out into the swirling storm. He would kill the old wretch! But he would bide his time until then.
All pretenses of age and weakness slip from Ambrogio Sangria's face as a cold contemplative expression appears on his face. He had failed to learn of the existence of the spawn of Lazarus D'Eath and his witch. It had been by chance that a copy of the Daily Prophet appeared before him lauding the forbidden love between a witch and a vampire. Even more cumbersome was the revelation that a half-breed spawn had been born to them and been admitted into Hogwarts.
If the spawn had been taken prior to turning eleven years of age, Ambrogio would have been in his right as Head of the Coven to cull the half-breed. Yet the spawn had been admitted into Hogwarts and in the eyes of the Ministry of Magic was considered a wizard. He had no ruling power over the half-breed without the Ministry's permission.
Ambrogio Sangria's lips twitched with cold malice. No matter, the half-breed would be slain. And if the Dark Lord failed, he would have the upper hand when bargaining with the dark wizard. Alliance or not, he would ensure that he was the one who would gain and not suffer any losses. He had never failed before, and he would certainly not now.
With confident strides, Ambrogio departs from the chamber licking his lips hungrily. A lesser vampire lay trapped in his secret chambers as an appetizer. He had been rather hungry as of late unable to fully quench his ravaging thirst for the blood of others. He needed to find a morsel to fulfill his hunger, but with the war coming to this land, there would be bound to be plenty of opportunities to fill him.