Harry Potter: The Vampire Prince

After coming ashore, they found themselves near a dense and eerie forest.

The trees were mostly oaks and pines, with a few ginkgo trees scattered among them. It was summer, the peak growing season for oak trees, and these particular ones were thriving wildly—taller than the usual oaks, their lush green canopies nearly blocking out the sky.

Unlike the Forbidden Forest, this place wasn't silent. Though rarely visited by humans, the sounds of small creatures scurrying through the underbrush could be heard.

Once in a while, if you turned your head quickly enough, you might catch sight of a nimble little squirrel darting up a tree branch, disappearing in a blink.

Deeper in the woods, a magnificent stag stood still, watching the intruders with innocent, glistening eyes.

—---

Nolan led the group to an open clearing where they could rest under the moonlight. A fire crackled in the center, casting flickering shadows against the surrounding trees.

After ensuring that Ligeitoli was settled, the young vampire turned to the werewolf, his cold gaze flashing dangerously.

"Alright, wolf, now we can settle our little issue."

"Ahaha…" The werewolf let out a dry laugh, raising both hands in surrender as he instinctively took a step back.

"Hey, vampire—" he stammered while retreating, "I think we should talk this through, don't you? I mean, we worked together well back there, didn't we? You used your brains, I used my strength, and we got ashore in one piece. If you're the boss, then I'm the employee—we make a good team! Look, I've never killed a vampire before—I'm a friendly werewolf! No need for us to be enemies, right?"

"Say whatever you want," Nolan said softly, raising his wand.

"Avada—"

Just then, Fleur let out a sharp scream.

Shhff! Shhff! Shhff!

A rustling noise echoed from the dark foliage. Nolan immediately spun around, his wand raised.

From the depths of the shadowy forest, tall, slender figures began emerging.

Some crouched atop tree branches, others stood motionless on the forest floor.

And under the moonlight, they all had one unmistakable feature—golden hair and pointed ears.

Their eyes gleamed in the darkness, sharp and unwavering.

One of them finally spoke, their voice like the whisper of wind through leaves. "I bet you'll all die before this wretched werewolf does."

The werewolf muttered from behind Nolan, "But I'm not even supposed to die…"

Then, a voice, smooth and melodious, cut through the tension.

"Prince Von Draugr."

With that, a figure leaped down from a tree.

She carried no bow, no weapon—instead, she strode forward barehanded.

She was breathtakingly beautiful.

Among all the women Nolan had seen, only Duchess Felicia could match her beauty.

She appeared to be around sixteen or seventeen by Muggle standards, similar to Felicia, but with elves, appearances meant little—who was truly older between the two was impossible to say.

She wore a black, flowing gown of sheer elven fabric, her delicate hands clad in archery gloves, her feet wrapped in simple grass-woven sandals.

Her long golden hair was adorned with a crown of black roses, giving her a cold, ethereal beauty.

Her ears were even sharper and longer than Ligeitoli's, with their tips slightly split—and when she spoke, they twitched ever so slightly, in an almost adorable way.

Nolan recognized her instantly.

She was Lúthfa, the High Priestess of the Eastern Forest in Ireland's Elven Kingdom.

—---

"High Priestess Lúthfa," Nolan said evenly. "Two years ago, when I visited Ireland, I was a guest of your people. I didn't expect to return so soon. Perhaps I didn't teach you well enough last time what it means to stand against a vampire—but it's not too late for a lesson."

Lúthfa's expression remained calm, distant, but respectful.

"Prince Von Draugr, I ask your forgiveness for my people's hostility. We did not realize it was you who had come. We will offer proper compensation for our mistake."

Nolan gave a nonchalant shrug, then gestured toward the unconscious Ligeitoli.

"I assume you recognize this woman?"

Lúthfa barely hesitated. "Her name is Ligeitoli."

"I already know that."

"Ligeitoli is one of my people." Lúthfa continued. "She is only one hundred and thirty years old—a young elf."

Nolan's eyes narrowed slightly.

"One of your people?" His tone carried clear doubt. "But she's a half-blood, isn't she?"

Lúthfa hesitated for a moment, her expression cold as she said, "Elves do not reject half-bloods. No matter what bloodline is mixed within them, as long as they remain elves, they are our kin. Ligeitoli is one of my people."

She paused before continuing, "I assume you are already aware of the crisis in our forest, Prince Von Draugr. Many of our kin have left the village in search of aid—Ligeitoli was one of them."

There was a flicker of hope in her gaze as she asked, "Did she succeed?"

Nolan sidestepped the question, choosing instead to ask, "Is the situation in your forest truly that dire?"

"Extremely severe." Lúthfa's tone was grim as she gestured ahead, "Come with me."

Without sparing another glance at Ligeitoli, whom she had just called her kin, she turned and walked forward without hesitation.

—---

As she passed Fleur Delacour, Lúthfa hesitated briefly, eyeing her curiously before leaping gracefully onto a tree.

Nolan followed Lúthfa through the dense woodland. They walked for nearly five kilometers, and as they progressed, he could sense the change in the air.

The vibrant greenery gave way to a land of decay.

The trees began to wither, their leaves turning yellow. The once-clear streams were tainted, their waters dark and foul.

It was as if the lifeblood of the forest had been drained away, leaving behind a stench of rot and corruption that clung to the air.

The chirping of small animals grew scarce, replaced by an unsettling silence. But in their place, magical creatures had gathered—a sign of death.

Thestrals wandered between the trees, their skeletal forms blending with the shadows.

Rot-eating direwolves prowled through the brush, their yellowed eyes gleaming hungrily.

And lurking near the swamps, creatures that should not have existed here—bog wraiths, spirits that thrived only in cursed lands.

This place was no longer fit for elves to inhabit.

—---

"This was our village," Lúthfa said flatly, pointing westward. "The decay has spread over five hundred kilometers, consuming the entire forest."

She gestured to the surroundings, "We've cast elven magic to ward off the creatures, but they don't listen. For an entire year, we've been hunting them down, but no matter how many we slay, their numbers grow again by nightfall."

She then pointed northward, her voice turning colder. "The lake has begun turning into a swamp. We discovered a swamp witch's lair there and launched an assault in March. The battle was brutal, and though we slew the witch, it did nothing to stop the transformation."

Her expression darkened. "The swamp still expands with each passing day."

—---

"And the south?" Nolan asked, "Most of your forces are stationed there, aren't they?"

Lúthfa's long elven ears drooped slightly, and she spoke through clenched teeth, "The south is overrun by trolls."

"Trolls?"

"They've allied with poachers." Her tone was bitter. "The poachers seek to capture elves and sell them on the black market, while the trolls want… better food."

Her expression hardened. "They find elves particularly tender and delicious."

Nolan sighed, "That's absolutely dreadful." He shrugged, "Looks like your only option is to relocate."

"That is impossible." Lúthfa's voice turned sharp, unwavering. "We have lived in this forest for over ten thousand years. No one can force us to leave."

Nolan's gaze turned icy. "More importantly, you have nowhere else to go."

He tilted his head slightly, a smirk playing at his lips. "I might have a brilliant idea, High Priestess. The Randall Gorge is in need of some rangers. I believe your elves would be perfect for the role—especially you. I doubt anyone would refuse the chance to keep you close, don't you think?"

Lúthfa's expression remained unreadable, but her voice carried an undeniable chill.

"I regret to inform you, Prince Von Draugr, that I must decline your invitation."

~~~----------------------

Patreon Advance Chapters: patreon .com / HPdreamer