Heir of Dracula By ZenoNoKyuubi

Chapter 5

"But I am not a man, Muggle," the cold voice said, barely audible now over the crackling of the flames. "I am much, much more than a man. However... why not? I will face you... Wormtail, come turn my chair around."

The servant gave a whimper.

"You heard me, Wormtail."

Slowly, with his face screwed up, as though he would rather have done anything than approach his master and the hearth rug where the snake lay, the small man walked forward and began to turn the chair. The snake lifted its ugly, triangular head and hissed slightly as the legs of the chair snagged on its rug.

And then the chair was facing the old Frank Bryce, and he saw what was sitting in it. His walking stick fell to the floor with a clatter. He opened his mouth and let out a scream. He was screaming so loudly that he never heard the words the thing in the chair spoke as it raised a wand. There was a flash of green light, a rushing sound, and Frank Bryce crumpled. He was dead before he hit the floor.

Thousands of miles away, in the Carpathian Mountains, near the Borgo Pass, in Castle Dracula, Harold Dracula woke with a start, his whole body drenched in sweat. He lay flat on his back, breathing hard as though he had been running. He had his hand pressed over his face. The old scar on his forehead, which was shaped like a bolt of lightning, was burning beneath his fingers, as though someone had just pressed a white-hot wire to his skin.

Next to him, Aleera made a meowing noise as she snuggled closer to him. Aleera had taken to Harold's changes like a fish to water, and wanted him even more after that. Harold just didn't feel like rejecting her anymore. His changes had brought about great... well, changes in him. He felt more aware of his surroundings, his urges were peaked, including his thirst and his sexual urges.

Harold rose from his bed and got dressed, ignoring Aleera's Romanian pleas for him to come back to bed, and ran a finger over his scar again. He walked out onto the balcony and watched the sun slowly rising in the distance.

"One more murder... my faithful servant at Hogwarts... Harry Potter is as good as mine, Wormtail."

Lord Voldemort had said those words... Harold took a deep breath, his cold, red eyes gazing down on the impaled skeletons on the grounds. So, they would meet again, then?

Wormtail... Pettigrew had managed to escape the Aurors by transforming into a rat. It seemed that he had found his way back to Lord Voldemort, and was helping him get to Harold.

Now, Harold would have respected Lord Voldemort, who was a being of such great power, but what bothered him was that Voldemort had used Harold's birth name when referring to him... That was unforgivable...

With a sweep of his cloak, Harold turned into mist and dispersed into the air, intent on going to the village and getting himself a snack.

–

"My word..."

Harold stood with Draco, Mr. Malfoy, and Mrs. Malfoy outside the gigantic Quidditch stadium where the Quidditch World Cup Final was going to take place. Staring up at the immense gold walls surrounding the field, he could tell that ten cathedrals would fit comfortably inside it.

"It seats a hundred thousand," Mr. Malfoy told the two Slytherins with a smirk. "A Ministry task force of five hundred have been working on it all year. Muggle Repelling Charms on every inch of it," he said, leading the way toward the nearest entrance, which was already surrounded by a swarm of shouting witches and wizards.