Harry Potter: The Vampire Prince

Sometimes, Eve thought Nolan was a complete fanatic.

He was obsessed with speed—fixated, as if this little vampire spent his spare time figuring out how to solve a Rubik's Cube faster and faster. And when it came to her spellcasting, he constantly complained that she was too slow.

"The Disarming Charm is your best defense. From the moment you prepare the incantation to when you cast it, you need to keep it under half a second."

Eve believed Nolan could do it. She wouldn't be surprised if he could fire off Expelliarmus in less than that. But for her, a thirteen-year-old witch, that seemed nearly impossible. Eve felt clumsy. She didn't even know how to begin moving faster.

As a result, she was stuck under Nolan's relentless orders—practicing the Disarming Charm over five hundred times a day.

Poor Eve Stock had no choice but to obey. And because of that, she'd been walking around in a fog, her head heavy, limbs sluggish, like if she lay down, she might never get back up.

Time slipped by, and soon enough, it was Halloween.

Halloween was a day of dark worship, a sacred event for the vampire families. To Nolan, it held some sentimental value. He thoroughly enjoyed the way Hogwarts was decorated—playing in the Great Hall with the bats that flapped overhead, exchanging holiday greetings with every ghost he could find. Even Peeves, the most irritating spirit in the castle, received a polite nod from him.

Nolan also took a strange interest in pumpkin-based foods. This time, he did something entirely out of character—he actually tried a bite.

"They're delicious, aren't they? I knew you'd eventually understand what normal people like to eat." Miles beamed as he heaped more pumpkin pasties onto Nolan's plate. "You should eat more sweets, Nolan. How are you supposed to sleep at night if you don't fill up your stomach first? You know, there's a rumor going around that you've got Muggle anorexia. Doesn't seem like a good look for you, mate."

To his own surprise, Nolan didn't mind the taste.

Alicia sat at her usual spot, glancing around the hall with a slight frown. "Where's Eve? Where'd she run off to now?"

Nolan blinked, suddenly tapping his forehead with his palm. "I forgot to tell her there's no practice today."

Alicia sighed. "That girl. She probably forgot what day it is."

"She's not the only one missing," Monta said through a mouthful of buttery potato, gesturing toward the head table. "Look. Professor Quirrell's gone too."

"Oh, I'd bet my broom he's hiding somewhere, scared out of his mind by the Halloween decorations." Miles snickered. "Poor guy probably thinks all these bats are vampires ready to suck his blood."

It was no secret that most of the students didn't care much for Professor Quirrell. His classes were dry, and the constant smell of garlic lingering around him was unbearable.

As the Slytherins whispered amongst themselves, quietly complaining about Quirrell's garlic breath, the professor suddenly burst into the Great Hall—stumbling, pale as a ghost, and trembling all over.

"Troll—troll in the dungeons!" he gasped, his voice shaking. "I thought you should know…"

With that, the poor man fainted and fell on his face in between the house tables.

For a moment, the hall fell into stunned silence. Then panic erupted as students shouted and scrambled. Dumbledore raised his wand, and with a sharp series of bangs, the hall quieted again, all eyes turning toward him.

"Prefects!" Dumbledore's voice echoed through the hall. "Lead your houses back to the dormitories at once!"

Nolan followed the line of Slytherin students, moving with them for a few steps—before he abruptly veered off.

Miles caught his sleeve. "Where are you going, Nolan? We need to leave—there's a troll. Trolls are terrifying!" He shivered.

Nolan hesitated, then spoke softly, "I'm going to find Eve. I'd rather not leave her alone in case she runs into it."

Miles paled. "You don't think she'd be that unlucky, right?" His voice wavered as he scratched the back of his head. After a moment, he reluctantly offered, "Want me to come with you?"

Nolan declined. Miles wouldn't be much help in this situation.

Though Miles looked visibly relieved at the rejection, his expression remained troubled as he watched Nolan disappear down the corridor.

Once Nolan was out of sight, Miles lowered his head and mumbled to himself.

"Why don't I have Nolan's guts?"

"The answer is simple—because you're a Slytherin," Alicia whispered. "Throwing yourself recklessly into danger… that's Gryffindor business. Slytherins know better. We watch our own backs."

"But Nolan—"

"—For him, dealing with a troll isn't dangerous, is it?"

"...Maybe you're right." Miles's shoulders slumped.

After parting ways with the other Slytherins, Nolan walked alone down the empty corridors of Hogwarts.

The castle was quiet in the wake of the chaos. Ghosts drifted lazily through the walls, chatting animatedly about the feast.

Bats swooped from the rafters in waves, their rapid wings snuffing out the flickering flames in the jack-o'-lanterns.

Click.

Nolan's silver-tipped boots came to a halt.

He crouched down, reaching toward the cold stone floor.

"...What's this?" He plucked something delicate from the ground and held it up, staring in silence.

Dangling between his fingers was a strand of brilliant golden hair—one that felt all too familiar.

Nolan's crimson eyes narrowed.

Meanwhile, Eve had no idea what was happening.

She had just finished her training for the day, blissfully unaware of the unfolding disaster.

Moments ago, she'd finally managed to reduce her Disarming Charm's casting time to under half a second. That little victory filled her with pride, and her stomach rumbled in protest of her skipped dinner.

As she strolled through the corridors, Eve suddenly realized—today was Halloween.

She'd completely missed the feast!

"I wonder if there's pumpkin mousse left…" she thought dreamily.

Unlike Nolan, Eve was an absolute glutton, particularly when it came to sweets. Desserts were practically sacred to her.

Brimming with excitement, Eve hurried to the third floor.

That's when the stench hit her.

A foul, putrid odor—like the kind that drifted from sewers.

Eve gagged, pulling her robes over her nose. She recognized the smell instantly.

It was the same stench Professor Snape reeked of last year, after the Weasley twins ambushed him with that exploding potion.

Her gut twisted.

It wasn't Hogwarts plumbing acting up… No, this was something else entirely.

Witches had sharp instincts about danger, even if they couldn't explain why.

Frowning, Eve picked up her pace—then froze at the sound of terrified screaming.

A deep, gravelly grumble echoed from the end of the hall.

Her heart leapt.

Eve sprinted, skidding to a stop at the entrance of the girls' bathroom.

What she saw made her eyes widen in disbelief.

Harry Potter—yes, the Harry Potter—was clinging to the back of a massive mountain troll, his wand jammed straight up its nostril.

"Merlin's beard, what in the world is he—"

The troll let out a deafening roar, swinging its club wildly.

With a single sweep of its arm, the bathroom stalls exploded into splinters.

Its heavy feet crushed sinks and shattered porcelain. Filthy water gushed from broken pipes, flooding the floor.

Eve grimaced, taking a cautious step back to avoid the spray—until she caught sight of another figure cowering in the corner.

Hermione Granger, pale and trembling, screamed as she pressed herself against the cold stone wall.