Hey, guys! Sorry it's taken me so long to update this! I've been having some problems for quite some time, and I just haven't found the inspiration to really write anything. I barely even managed to grind this chapter out, and hell, this is just a somewhat expositionary filler chapter...

Anyway, enjoy, guys!

–

Eric was in a state of shock as he lay in a bed in the Hospital Wing. So much had happened this night. Not only had Voldemort returned, but he had revealed something that truly shocked Eric. He was not the Boy-Who-Lived. It was Harold who had been attacked. Even when he was four years old, Harold had apparently protected Eric... Not only that, but Moody had been revealed to be Bartemius Crouch Jr., an escaped Death Eater, and the man who had put Eric's name in the Goblet of Fire.

Crouch was questioned with Veritaserum, forced to reveal his whole plan, and then Eric was brought to the Hospital Wing. Once there, his parents showed up and started asking the usual questions, to which he had always answered with a not-always-truthful, "I'm fine."

Then Dumbledore had arrived, and he had been questioned as to what happened. When Eric told them about what Voldemort had said regarding the truth of that night thirteen years ago, the adults showed interesting reactions. Dumbledore, who had already looked serious, frowned deeply, yet his eyes widened in realization, as though he had already started laying that puzzle, and was finally given the final piece. Lily and James, however, had gasped loudly. Their faces cycled through a wide range of emotions, never really settling on one, but shame and shock were probably that which showed the most.

The Hospital Wing had more people than usual in it. The other three champions were also in the Hospital Wing, each in a separate bed. Krum had apparently been put under the Imperius Curse by Crouch, and had been forced to use the Cruciatus Curse to incapacitate Cedric and Fleur. Somehow, he had been stopped when he attacked Fleur, who was asleep and unable to tell them why.

There were suspicions, however, regarding the long-haired vampire who now stood next to Fleur's bed. He wasn't wearing his cloak today, and his overcoat was draped over the back of a chair next to the bed. Eric was also surprised to find that his brother wasn't wearing a cravat today. He thought the Count only took it off in Castle Dracula.

Lily, James, Sirius, and Remus sat around Eric's bed, all of them occasionally glancing nervously at Harold, who never even looked in their direction. Fleur hadn't woken up once yet, and Harold, for as long as Eric had been awake, had been standing by her side the whole time, never even twitching. It was as though he was a statue, guarding her vigilantly from any and all dangers. Lily had tried talking to him when she came in, but Harold never so much as glanced at her.

Eric was pretending to be asleep. He didn't feel like being on the receiving end of strange stares right now. With the revelation that Eric wasn't actually the Boy-Who-Lived, the looks he had received so far from both his parents and Sirius and Remus had gotten a sort of shameful hint to them.

He had been given a sleeping potion earlier, but he hadn't slept for long. The Hospital Wing was dimly lit, and his bed was so warm. He didn't want to stir, didn't want to talk to anyone, except maybe Harold.

"They'll wake him if they don't shut up," he heard Sirius whisper.

"What are they shouting about? Nothing else could have happened, can it?" Lily whispered in concern.

Eric opened his eyes a tad again to see what was going on. James, Lily, and Remus were still sitting down, but Sirius was on his feet, listening intently.

"That's Fudge's voice alright," he muttered. "Sounds angry. What's he arguing with Minnie about, you think?"

Now Eric could hear them too: people shouting and running toward the Hospital Wing.

"Regrettable, but all the same, Minerva-" Cornelius Fudge was saying loudly.

"You should never have brought it inside the castle!" McGonagall yelled. "When Dumbledore finds out-"

Eric heard the hospital doors burst open. Unnoticed by any of the people around his bed, all of whom had shot to their feet and were staring at the door, Eric sat up.

Fudge came striding up the ward. McGonagall and Snape were at his heels.

"Where's Dumbledore?" Fudge demanded of the group gathered around Eric's bed.

"He's not here," James said sternly. "Minister, this is a hospital wing, don't you think you'd do better to-"

But the door opened, and Dumbledore came sweeping up the ward.

"What has happened?" Dumbledore asked sharply, looking from Fudge to McGonagall. "Why are you disturbing these people? Minerva, I'm surprised at you... I asked you to stand guard over Barty Crouch..."

"There is no need to stand guard over him anymore, Dumbledore!" she shrieked. "The Minister has seen to that!"

Eric had to admit, he had never seen McGonagall lose control like this. There were angry blotches of color in her cheeks, and her hands were balled into fists. She was trembling with fury.

"When we told Mr. Fudge that we had caught the Death Eater responsible for tonight's events," Snape said in a low voice, "he seemed to feel his personal safety was in question. He insisted on summoning a dementor to accompany him into the castle. He brought it up to the office where Barty Crouch-"

"I told him you would not agree, Dumbledore!" McGonagall fumed. "I told him you would never allow dementors to set foot inside the castle, but-"

"My dear woman!" Fudge roared, likewise looking angrier than Eric had ever seen him, "as Minister of Magic, it is my decision whether I wish to bring protection with me when interviewing a possibly dangerous-"

But McGonagall's voice drowned out Fudge's.

"The moment that... that thing entered the room," she screamed, pointing at Fudge, trembling all over, "it swooped down on Crouch and... and..."

"Minister!" James barked angrily at Fudge. "You allowed a prisoner to be Kissed before an official interrogation? A prisoner certain to hold important information?"

Fudge seemed to have forgotten that James was there, and that he was an Auror. Sirius, also an Auror, looked equally appalled.

"Now see here! By all accounts, he is no loss!" Fudge blustered. "It seems he has been responsible for several deaths!"

"Yet he cannot give a testimony now," Sirius argued with a glare. "Minister of Magic you may be, the right was not given to you to sentence a man to the Kiss without approval of the Wizengamot!"

"Indeed," Dumbledore said gravely, staring hard at Fudge, as though seeing him plainly for the first time. "He cannot give evidence now about why he killed those people."

"Why he killed them? Well, that's no mystery!" Fudge blustered. "He was a raving lunatic! From what Minerva and Severus have told me, he seems to have thought he was doing it all on You-Know-Who's instructions!"

"Lord Voldemort was giving him instructions, Cornelius," Dumbledore said. "Those people's deaths were mere by-products of a plan to restore Voldemort to full strength again. The plan succeeded. Voldemort has been restored to his body."

Fudge looked as though someone had just swung something heavy into his face. Dazed and blinking, he stared back at Dumbledore as if he couldn't believe what he had just heard. He began to sputter, still goggling at Dumbledore.

"You-Know-Who... returned? Preposterous. Come now, Dumbledore..."

"As Minerva and Severus have doubtless told you," Dumbledore said, "we heard Barty Crouch confess. Under the influence of Veritaserum, he told us how he was smuggled out of Azkaban, and how Voldemort, learning of his continued existence from Bertha Jorkins, went to free him from his father and used him to capture Eric. The plan worked, I tell you. Crouch has helped Voldemort return."

"See here, Dumbledore," Fudge said, and Eric was astonished to see a slight smile dawning on his face, "you... you can't seriously believe that. You-Know-Who, back? Come now, come now... certainly, Crouch may have believed himself to be acting upon You-Know-Who's orders... but to take the word of a lunatic like that, Dumbledore..."

"When Eric touched the Triwizard Cup tonight, he was transported straight to Voldemort," Dumbledore said steadily. "He witnessed Lord Voldemort's rebirth. I will explain it all to you if you will step up to my office."

Dumbledore glanced around at Eric and saw that he was awake, but shook his head and said, "I am afraid I cannot permit you to question Eric tonight."

Fudge's curious smile lingered. He too glanced at Eric, then looked back at Dumbledore, and said, "You are... er... prepared to take Eric's word on this, are you, Dumbledore?"

"Certainly, I believe Eric," Dumbledore said after a moment's silence. His eyes were blazing now. "I heard Crouch's confession, and I heard Eric's account of what happened after he touched the Triwizard Cup. The two stories make sense, they explain everything that has happened since Bertha Jorkins disappeared last summer."

Fudge still had that strange smile on his face, and Eric could see that he wasn't the only one worried about it. Lily and the Marauders were looking at him worriedly.

"You are prepared to believe that Lord Voldemort has returned, on the word of a lunatic murderer, and a mere boy, who may as well be delusional?"

"I wasn't the only one who was there!" Eric barked suddenly, which made his family jump, as they were the only ones who hadn't noticed that he was awake yet. "Harold was also there!" He raised his hand to point at the young vampire, who didn't even seem to be paying attention. "Harold, tell him!"

"I do not see the point," Harold said coldly, for the first time in hours moving. He turned to look at them, slowly approaching and giving Fudge a calculating gaze. "From the look in his eyes, the Minister is set on believing that this is all rubbish."

"C-Count Dracula!" Fudge stuttered out in surprise. "You... You don't seriously believe this, do you?"

"As Eric said, Minister, I was there tonight," Harold said softly, his gaze sharp, and somehow carrying more power than even Dumbledore's. "I did battle with him. It was... quite marvelous."

"Come now!" Fudge barked, looking around at them all. "It seems to me that you are all determined to start a panic that will destabilize everything we have worked for these last thirteen years!"

"Just because you cover your eyes, Minister, that does not mean nothing is happening," Harold said, taking a step toward Fudge, who took a nervous step back. "Imagine this... You deny this. You decide we are all insane, that we are making it up to cause a panic... You convince everyone that everything is alright... Then the killings start... Then Voldemort reveals himself... How foolish will you look? Will you even be allowed to stay on as Minister after such a thing?"

Harold's powerful gaze had Fudge fidgeting. He was clearing his throat, and had obviously lost most of his steam.

"Voldemort has returned," Dumbledore said, shifting everyone's attention back to him. "If you accept that fact straightaway, Fudge, and take the necessary measures, we may still be able to save the situation. The first and most essential step is to remove Azkaban from the control of the dementors-"

"Preposterous!" Fudge shouted. "Remove the dementors? I'd be kicked out of office for suggesting it! Half of us only feel safe in our beds at night because we know the dementors are standing guard at Azkaban!"

"The rest of us sleep less soundly in our beds, Cornelius, knowing that you have put Lord Voldemort's most dangerous supporters in the care of creatures who will join him the instant he asks them!" Dumbledore argued. "They will not remain loyal to you, Fudge! Voldemort can offer them much more scope for their powers and their pleasures than you can! With the dementors behind him, and his old supporters returned to him, you will be hard-pressed to stop him regaining the sort of power he had thirteen years ago!"

Fudge was opening and closing his mouth as though no words could express his outrage. It seemed that only Harold's gaze was capable of taking the fight out of him, for when he looked at Dumbledore, he was pumped up again.

"The second step you must take, and at once," Dumbledore pressed on, "is to send envoys to the giants."

"Envoys to the giants?" Fudge shrieked, finding his tongue again. "What madness is this?"

"Extend them the hand of friendship now, before it is too late," Dumbledore said, "or Voldemort will persuade them, as he did before, that he alone among wizards will give them their rights and their freedom!"

"You... You cannot be serious!" Fudge gasped, shaking his head and retreating a bit from Dumbledore. "If the magical community got wind that I had approached the giants... people hate them, Dumbledore... end of my career..."

"You are blinded," Dumbledore said, his voice rising now, the aura of power around him palpable, his eyes blazing once more, and Eric noticed that Harold was watching the headmaster with a look of curious amusement, "by the love of the office you hold, Cornelius! You place too much importance, and you always have done, on the so-called purity of the blood! You fail to recognize that it matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be! Your dementor had just destroyed the last remaining member of a pure-blood family as old as any, and see what that man chose to make of his life!" I tell you now, take the steps I have suggested, and you will be remembered, in office or out, as one of the bravest and greatest Ministers of Magic we have ever known. Fail to act, and history will remember you as the man who stepped aside and allowed Voldemort a second chance to destroy the world we have tried to rebuild!"

"Insane," Fudge whispered, still backing away. "Mad..."

And then there was silence. Madam Pomfrey was standing frozen at the foot of Eric's bed, her hands over her mouth. Lily was standing over Eric, her hand on his shoulder to prevent him from rising, and James, Sirius, and Remus were staring at Fudge in complete and utter shock. Harold, meanwhile, was managing to look both grave and amused at the same time. Perhaps he looked a bit exasperated?

"If your determination to shut your eyes will carry you as far as this, Cornelius," Dumbledore said, "we have reached a parting of the ways. You must act as you see fit. And I... I shall act as I see fit."

Dumbledore's voice carried no hint of a threat. It sounded like a mere statement, but Fudge bristled as though Dumbledore were advancing upon him with a wand.

"Now, see here, Dumbledore," he said, waving a threatening finger. "I've given you free rein, always. I've had a lot of respect for you. I might not have agreed with some of your decisions, but I've kept quiet. There aren't many who'd have let you hire werewolves, or keep Hagrid, or decide what to teach your students without reference to the Ministry. But if you're going to work against me-"

"The only one against whom I intend to work," Dumbledore said, "is Lord Voldemort. If you are against him, then we remain, Cornelius, on the same side."

It seemed Fudge could think of no answer for this. He rocked backward and forward on his small feet for a moment and spun his bowler hat in his hands. His gaze drifted nervously around the room, and he looked to Harold, whose amusement bled away to show total seriousness. Then, Fudge looked back at Dumbledore and said, with a hint of a plea in his voice, "He can't be back, Dumbledore, he just can't be..."

Snape strode forward, past Dumbledore, pulling up the left sleeve of his robes as he went. He stuck out his forearm and showed it to Fudge, who recoiled.

"There," Snape said harshly. "There. The Dark Mark. It is not as clear as it was an hour or so ago, when it burned black, but you can still see it. Every Death Eater had the sign burned into him by the Dark Lord. It was a means of distinguishing one another, and his means of summoning up to him. When he touched the Mark of any Death Eater, we were to Apparate, instantly, to his side. This Mark has been growing clearer all year. Karkaroff's too. Why do you think Karkaroff fled tonight? We both felt the Mark burn. We both knew he had returned. Karkaroff fears the Dark Lord's vengeance. He betrayed too many of his fellow Death Eaters to be sure of a welcome back into the fold."

Fudge stepped back from Snape too. He was shaking his head. He did not seem to have taken in a word Snape had said. He stared, apparently repelled by the ugly mark on Snape's arm, then looked up at Dumbledore and whispered, "I don't know what you and your staff are playing at, Dumbledore, but I have heard enough. I have no more to add. I will be in touch with you tomorrow, Dumbledore, to discuss the running of this school. I must return to the Ministry."

He had almost reached the door when he paused. He turned around, strode back down the ward, and stopped at Eric's bed.

"Your winnings," he said shortly, taking a large bag of gold out of his pocket and dropping it onto Eric's bedside table. "One thousand Galleons. There should have been a presentation ceremony, but under the circumstances..."

He crammed his bowler hat onto his head and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The moment he had disappeared, Dumbledore turned to look at the group around Eric's bed.

"There is work to be done," he said. "James, Sirius, all those you can persuade of the truth in the Ministry must be notified immediately. You two are well-placed to contact those at the Ministry who are not as shortsighted as Cornelius."

"Right, leave it to us," James said seriously with a nod. Sirius nodded as well.

James kissed Lily and clapped a hand on Eric's shoulder, then put a hand on Remus' shoulder as well, while Sirius kissed Lily's cheek and patted Eric on the shoulder as well. Then, the two strode quickly from the room.

"Minerva," Dumbledore said, turning to McGonagall, "I want to see Hagrid in my office as soon as possible. Also, if she will consent to come, Madame Maxime."

McGonagall nodded and left without a word.

"Poppy," Dumbledore said to Madam Pomfrey, "would you be very kind and go down to Professor Moody's office, where I think you will find a house-elf called Winky in considerable distress? Do what you can for her, and take her back to the kitchens. I think Dobby will look after her for us."

"Very... Very well," Madam Pomfrey said, looking startled, and she too left.

"Remus," Dumbledore said, now looking to the werewolf. "You are to alert Arabella Figg, Mundungus Fletcher, the old crowd. I will contact you soon."

"Alright," Remus said with a nod, before grasping Eric's hand and nodding to Harold. Then he left as well.

"Severus," Dumbledore said to the Potions Professor, "you know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready... if you are prepared..."

"I am," Snape said, looking slightly paler than usual, and his cold, black eyes glittered strangely.

"Then good luck."

"Take care, Sev," Lily said softly as they watched Snape sweep wordlessly after Remus.

It was several minutes before Dumbledore spoke again.

"Harold," Dumbledore said softly, almost apprehensively. Before he could continue, however, Harold held up his hand.

"Eleesia, Marishka," he spoke.

There were two bursts of black smoke, and when the smoke cleared, it revealed two of Harold's quadruplets, one wearing a bottle-green dress, and the other wearing a black, Victorian dress. Both had their head bowed.

"Master, you called?" the woman Eric recognized as Eleesia said softly, to which Harold nodded.

"Spread the word. It is time," the Count said. The women didn't nod. They showed no sign of acknowledgment. They merely disappeared in puffs of smoke again. When they were gone, Harold looked to Dumbledore. "My people will watch from the shadows. If anything of interest happens, I will let you know."

Dumbledore nodded with a grave look on his face. Now that Eric thought about it, whenever he had seen Harold and Dumbledore in the same room lately, the headmaster had always given Harold these strange, tired looks.

"I must go to my office," Dumbledore said, turning to Eric and Lily. "Eric, take the rest of your potion. I will see all of you later."

Eric slumped back against his pillows as Dumbledore disappeared. He looked at Harold, who was giving him a curious look.

"Harold," Eric said quietly. "There's something you must know... Something Voldemort said..."

Lily flinched slightly at the mention, but Harold merely raised an elegant eyebrow.

"There is nothing that needs to be said that cannot wait until you are fully rested," Harold said, making a gesture for Eric's bedside table. "Drink your potion, Eric, and we will talk tomorrow."

"He... He's right, Eric..." Lily whispered softly, reaching for the bottle of potion and a goblet. "You have a good long sleep. Try and think about something else..."

Eric wanted to protest. He didn't want to sleep now. He wanted to talk about this. But Harold turned his back on them and walked back to Fleur's bed, and Lily handed him the sleeping potion. Frowning to himself, Eric drank the potion in one gulp. The effect was instantaneous. Heavy, irresistible waves of dreamless sleep broke over him. He fell back onto his pillows and thought no more.

–

When morning came, Harold was no longer standing by Fleur's bed. Instead, he was sitting in the chair that his overcoat was draped over. His eyes occasionally left Fleur's sleeping face to drift over to Eric. Lily had left some time during the night. She had attempted to start a conversation with Harold, who had told her he had no time to talk. A complete lie, but in all honesty, he didn't feel like talking to her. It would be annoying.

It had been a good thing that Fudge came to the Hospital Wing to start his argument. From the looks of things, Dumbledore would have succeeded in convincing him of Voldemort's return if Harold hadn't used his hypnotism to solidify Fudge's beliefs.

It was too early for the light to prepare. If they fought back too early, Voldemort would not be able to establish a power base. He would lose the war too quickly. Harold couldn't have that.

As his gaze was once more on Eric, Harold heard Fleur's breathing change, so he said, "You are awake now?" as he turned to her, to see her blinking her eyes open.

"'Arold?"

Harold took Fleur's hand and gave it a kiss.

"Good morning. Are you feeling better?"

"Somewhat," Fleur confessed as she brought her hand up to her chest, sighing. "Even zough ze pain is no longer zere, I can still remember it..."

"It will pass," Harold said, smiling softly. "Just relax."

"So, 'oo won ze tournament?" Fleur asked, no doubt changing the subject to try to take her mind off the Cruciatus Curse.

"Eric won," Harold said. "There was an, hm, incident, though. Long story short, Lord Voldemort has returned."

This made Fleur's eyes widen in shock.

"What? 'Ow?"

"I will tell you everything later. For now, I think you need to get some more sleep," Harold said as he raised Fleur's hand to his lips and kissed it again. His free hand reached out and touched her forehead, and her eyes slowly drifted shut.

"Neat trick."

Harold smirked at Eric's voice and looked to his brother's bed, where the boy was sitting up, now awake.

"It helps," Harold said, rising to his feet and moving over to Eric's bed. "How was your rest?"

"Restful," Eric said with a small smile, which quickly disappeared. "Eric, I need to tell you something... About what Voldemort said..."

"Which is...?" Harold asked, even though he knew exactly what Eric was going to tell him.

"Voldemort said... He said that, on that night when he came to our house... he didn't try to kill me... You are the one he tried to kill."

"Well, of course it was," Harold said with a nod, which made Eric's eyes widen.

"W-Wait, wha...?"

"Oh, Eric, I am older than you. I was much older than you that night, old enough to still possess memories of it. I have always remembered that night when Voldemort stood before us, pointing his wand at me."

"B-But... then you're the Boy-Who-Lived!" Eric exclaimed. "Why haven't you ever said anything?"

"Because it doesn't matter anymore. Not to me, anyway. As for when we were young... Well, firstly, no one would have believed me. Secondly, I had no wish of seeing you treated as I were. I was bitter, angry with you even, but I did not want you to suffer the same fate."

Eric frowned at that. He didn't speak for several seconds, his fists clenching now and then.

"So, what happens now?"

"I don't know about you, but I have every intention of continuing life as I have always done," Harold said with a shrug. "The title of Boy-Who-Lived has no meaning to me, it is of no importance. I am Count Dracula, and I have my own business to attend to. Speaking of which..." Harold trailed off and fished a watch out of his waistcoat, inspecting it. "I have a meeting soon. I do not wish to be late. Please, if Fleur wakes up before I return, tell her that I will see her soon."

Eric gaped at Harold as the vampire walked over to Fleur's bed, kissing her on the forehead before grabbing his coat and walking off.

An hour later found Harold sitting upon his throne in his castle. Standing before him was none other than the Blood Countess Elizabeth Báthory. She was wearing a pitch black, low-cut satin dress. She still had that strange ornamental porcelain piece in her hair as she looked Harold over with a smirk.

"You look much better in that throne than you did the last time I was here," she spoke in Hungarian, probably annoyed by how heavy her accent was when speaking English. "Now, as you predicted, Voldemort sought me out the minute that whole spectacle with you was over. He offered my race much more freedom than the magical Ministries around the world do."

"All the same, offering more freedom does not mean allowing complete freedom. The fact that he thinks he can dictate how freely vampires can move is nothing short of overwhelming arrogance," Harold said, rising from his throne and moving down the steps to stand in front of Báthory with a smirk. "I trust you put your acting lessons to good use?"

"Oh, not much acting was needed," Báthory said, giving a small giggle. "He is an excellent manipulator, that one. He knew exactly what to say to make me view him in a good light. While I was never completely sold, I cannot deny that much of what he said was appealing. A shame for him that you made me a much better offer."

"Indeed."

"Now," Báthory said as her arms came up to wrap around Harold's neck, the corners of her mouth curving into an enticing smirk, "what is this I hear of you associating with a veela? And not only that, but keeping the location of her relatives a secret?"

"I haven't the same interest in veela as my ancestor did," Harold said, "and I have no intention of trying to figure out where her relatives live."

"I see," Báthory said slowly, removing her arms and turning her back on Harold thoughtfully. "Perhaps, then, I will have to ask her myse-"

Báthory was interrupted, and her eyes went wide when a hand closed around her face, and the next second she was slammed hard into one of the throne room walls. Her feet left the floor as Harold raised her into the air, his grip hard enough to crash an average human's skull.

"She is mine. If you touch her, I will pull out your fangs myself."

Báthory struggled against Harold's grip for a moment, before her arm was covered in that strange red armor, and she swiped at him with razor-sharp claws. Harold burst into black mist to avoid the attack, which forced him to let her go.

Báthory landed gracefully on the floor and tracked the mist with her gaze as it moved back and reformed into Harold, who was staring coldly at her.

"Assaulting your partner-in-crime, eh?" Báthory asked as she licked blood from her lip, which had been split when Harold grabbed her. It healed within seconds, however. "Do you wish to break our agreement?"

"If you touch Fleur, or any of her relatives, draga mea, the one breaking our agreement is you," Harold said coldly. "If you do, there will be a real war."

"Can you handle that, though?"

"As I said, I will pull out your fangs myself."

Báthory stared at Harold for a good minute, a long, tense minute where both stood in a stance that hinted that they might attack at any moment. Then, finally, she relaxed, and a smirk appeared on her face.

"I believe you," she said softly. "Applaude yourself, Count Dracula, you possess more charisma than your ancestor. Very well, I shall stay away from her..."

She crossed her arms under her chest and smirked even wider.

"It would truly be interesting, wouldn't it, if we really did end up on different sides of a battle?"

"Perhaps. But hopefully, that day will never come," Harold said, to which Báthory nodded.

Both were already plotting their betrayal of the other, and both knew that the other was doing the same. Yet they both smiled and stayed polite. Vampire politics.

–

When Elizabeth Báthory returned to her home, she moved into her basement, to the blood bath, slipped out of her dress, and stepped into the blood, sinking down so that she was soaked up to the neck.

"Just as you said, he is obviously too smart not to expect a betrayal," she spoke up suddenly, a smirk appearing on her face as she looked over her shoulder at the stairs leading upward, to see a man sitting there who hadn't been there a few seconds earlier.

The man was wearing a black business suit over a black shirt. His black hair had been slicked back, and he had a rather long beard. His eyes were the strangest about him. The sclera were black, and his eyes were a deep blood red.

"Obviously, you say?" the man spoke in a deep voice. "Before I arrived, you believed him to be too blind to see your plotting. You should own up to underestimating him, and merely vow to not do so again."

Báthory, who had returned to rubbing the blood into her skin, spun around quickly, glaring at the man.

"I did not underestimate him! One does not live to be as old as I am by underestimating their opponent!"

"And yet that is exactly what you did. You couldn't possibly believe that he would show enough forethought to recruit the Camarilla to his cause," the man said, and his cold eyes turned even colder. There was a deadly look in them that made Báthory flinch. "And do not raise your voice at me."

"I... I apologize..." Báthory mumbled reluctantly, looking down at her blood pool with a frown. "I merely cannot fathom how I could possibly underestimate a mere child."

"He is no mere child," the man said. "In body, perhaps, but his mind possesses all the memories and knowledge of Count Dracula himself. Even you were afraid of facing that man in open combat. No doubt Harold's power is nearing the same level."

"I was not afraid..."

"Say what you will, we both know the truth. As of now, however," the man said, stroking his beard as he rose to his feet, "he has the advantage. He has the power, he has the allies, and he now possesses the Prophecy of Dusk."

This revelation made Báthory's eyes widen as she looked at the man in shock.

"What?! Then... he knows what will happen? He knows who will win?"

"The prophecy does not reveal the end. However, it does give insight into future events. The false alliance between you and Count Dracula is among the many things predicted in that prophecy."

"Then... what do we do now?"

The man glanced up into the dark ceiling, appearing thoughtful for a moment. Then, a smirk appeared on his face.

"We wait. I will meet him soon."

–

Well, there we go! Not the longest of chapters, and not the most interesting one, but hey, at least it's a chapter, right? And for those of you who have played Vampire the Masquerade: Bloodlines, kudos if you can guess who the man speaking to Báthory is!