As the festive atmosphere reached its peak, the students from all four houses finally trickled into the Great Hall.
Dumbledore rose from his seat, his eyes twinkling with mischief and anticipation. "Let us begin our Halloween feast," he declared, his voice warm and inviting. "But before we indulge, I am delighted to present a special guest for tonight's celebration—our very own magical music sensation, Lorcan Demeans!"
The room erupted into applause, the loudest cheers coming from a group of giddy young witches.
Striding onto the stage set before the enormous jack-o'-lantern was Lorcan—a pale, devastatingly handsome man clad in a sleek black turtleneck wizard robe. In his hand, he carried a microphone adorned with an eerie string of miniature skulls.
With a roguish smile that revealed his sharp, glinting fangs, Lorcan scanned the room, creating gasps and giggles from the audience.
"Thank you, thank you," Lorcan said, his deep, sultry voice washing over the crowd like velvet. He turned toward the professors' table and bowed elegantly. "This evening, I dedicate 'By Your Side' to all of you."
The moment he spoke the song's name, the witches in the audience swooned audibly.
Lorcan Demeans, a half-blood vampire, had built his career around an irresistible mix of allure and mystery. His carefully crafted "cold and untouchable vampire" persona had captivated witches and wizards alike. And his enchanting voice? It was the stuff of legends, capable of turning even the most stoic into puddles of admiration.
But it wasn't just Lorcan's persona that had earned him fame—it was this very song, his signature hit, "By Your Side." The English title, a clever pun, was officially stylized as "Necks to You," its double meaning impossible to miss.
The lyrics painted a vivid picture of a smoldering vampire leaning in, his lips grazing the delicate curve of a young witch's neck in a gesture that blurred the line between menace and romance. The haunting melody, combined with this tantalizing imagery, had catapulted the song to the top of the Magical World Music Chart, where it held the number-one spot for a staggering 19 weeks.
Its success did more than make Lorcan a star—it single-handedly reshaped how vampires were perceived. Suddenly, vampires weren't just creatures of the night; they were tragic, alluring figures whose eating habits had been romanticized into something almost… seductive.
Dracula, seated at the professors' table, smirked faintly as the music filled the Great Hall. Lorcan's success had, in a roundabout way, made Dracula's life significantly more comfortable. With the newfound fascination surrounding vampires, the magical market had exploded with innovative vampire-friendly snacks—an indulgence Dracula had been happily exploring lately.
As Lorcan sang the final notes of his song, the audience was utterly entranced. Many of the witches were red-faced, whether from the heat of the hall or the vivid images conjured by the song's lyrics.
When the applause came, it was thunderous. Lorcan, ever the professional, bowed low, flashing another charming smile before stepping off the stage.
As he made his way toward the exit, he caught Dracula's eye. The ancient vampire gave him a knowing wink before rising from his seat, his black cloak sweeping dramatically as he followed Lorcan out of the Great Hall.
---
As thunder rumbled in the distance, Dracula slipped away from the bustling auditorium and into a quiet corner of the entrance courtyard's corridor. He leaned against a stone pillar, lost in thought, his gaze distant.
A few moments later, Lorcan walked out of the auditorium and spotted him. He jogged over, then, with a sudden movement, knelt down on one knee.
"Mixed-blood vampire Lorcan Demeans, at your service, Count Dracula!" he said, his voice full of respect.
Dracula raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "You don't need to be so formal. Just call me Professor Dracula here at Hogwarts," he said, helping Lorcan to his feet. "So, I take it you're Deis' great-great-grandson?"
Lorcan nodded. "Yes, that's right. My great-great-grandfather had left a rule for the family—it said every generation must honor and obey your commands."
Dracula chuckled softly. "Well, no need for obedience right now. I'm more interested in what's been happening with the vampire community while I've been... asleep."
Lorcan hesitated for a moment, then answered, "Most of the low-level vampires still gather in Romania. There's a strong leadership and better resources there. It's safer for us. But things are tense—there's still conflict between vampires and werewolves. My father used to talk about it, but our family doesn't have much to do with that."
Dracula nodded. "I see. And what about in the UK? Same old prejudice?"
Lorcan's expression darkened slightly. "Yeah, unfortunately. Most wizards still think vampires only survive by sucking blood. But... I've tried to change that with my music. Some of my songs have gotten good reviews, but... it's a slow process."
Dracula gave a small smile. "Good work, Lorcan. It's not easy to shift people's minds, but you're doing your part."
Lorcan's eyes brightened. "Thank you, Count Dracula. But... don't you think it's time you went to Romania yourself? If you showed up, the vampire-werewolf issue would be resolved in no time!"
Dracula raised an eyebrow. "Let's hold off on that for now," he said, glancing back at the auditorium. "Looks like the ghosts are about to start their performance. That means the Halloween party is almost over."
When Dracula and Lorcan re-entered the auditorium, the party was winding down. Ghosts floated lazily through the walls, heading off to their next haunt, while the students were finishing up their last bites of food.
Harry, munching on a potato, looked up just as Professor Quirrell burst into the room, his scarf askew and a look of sheer panic on his face.
Everyone turned to watch as Quirrell stumbled toward Dumbledore's chair, leaning heavily on the table. "There's a troll... in the underground classroom," he gasped, his words almost slurred. Then, without warning, he collapsed.
The room erupted in chaos. Dumbledore had to wave his wand a few times, shooting off purple sparks to regain control.
"Prefects," Dumbledore called, his voice calm but firm, "lead the students to their dormitories immediately."
Dracula's eyes narrowed as he watched Quirrell lying unconscious on the floor. Something about this didn't sit right. This was the man who had once escaped his grasp, yet now he was fainting at the mention of a troll? And what about the monster Quirrell had supposedly secured under the trapdoor?
Without another thought, Dracula teleported in front of Quirrell and grabbed him by the collar, lifting him effortlessly.
"Are you faking it, or are you really out cold?" Dracula asked coldly, his gaze piercing. "And the troll—what happened to it? Where did this new one come from?"
Quirrell's face remained impassive, but Dracula's flames began to flare, casting an eerie glow.
"I... I might have had another troll... in my office," Quirrell stammered, his voice shaky. "I didn't take proper care of it... and... it got loose."
Dracula's lips curled into a sly smile. "Interesting," he said, his tone laced with amusement. "Now, tell me, where exactly can I find this stray troll in the basement?"
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