Harry Potter: The Vampire Prince

Nolan wasn't particularly bothered by Lúthfa's rejection.

At the end of the day, vampires and forest elves were two entirely different beings.

Vampires were creatures of darkness, while elves thrived under sunlight and nature, despising filth and decay.

Even if forest elves were forced to live in a place like Randall Gorge, they wouldn't survive for long. The dark environment would gradually transform them into dark elves, something no forest elf could ever tolerate.

Nolan thought for a moment before saying, "Ligeitoli might have found a way to solve the crisis in your forest."

Lúthfa raised a delicate brow. "Is that so?"

Her reaction was far less enthusiastic than he had expected.

"I thought you'd be a little more eager," Nolan remarked.

Lúthfa leaped down from the tree, signaling for him to follow her back.

As they retraced their steps, she explained, "In truth, we've sent over a hundred of our people out to find a solution. Over the past two years, more than seventy have returned, each claiming to have found an answer."

"And?" Nolan prompted.

"They brought back magical springs, new spells, even powerful wizards and great druids," she continued. "But none of it worked. The forest continues to wither."

Nolan's gaze sharpened. "Were they lying?"

It was a pointed question—forest elves were not known for their deception.

Or, as Nolan often put it, "They aren't clever enough to be good liars."

Lúthfa's gaze became distant, her expression vacant for a moment before she finally said, "It isn't surprising. Every elf sent out on this mission… was a half-blood. Like Ligeitoli—she's half-elf, half-Veela."

Her tone remained eerily neutral as she added, "Half-blood elves hold the lowest status in the village. They are desperate to prove themselves, to compensate for the impurity of their lineage."

Nolan's lips curled into a mocking smirk. "It's not their fault, though. The blame lies with the elves who chose to mate with other races—their parents are the ones at fault."

He shrugged, unimpressed by the elves' customs.

At the end of the day, it was the same old story—a caste system by another name.

Elves born with impure blood were treated as the lowest class in Ireland.

Just like how, two years ago, Eve Stock was scorned by every Slytherin at Hogwarts.

Elves, with their simple way of life, had plenty of time to look down on others and ostracize those they deemed unworthy.

Yet when faced with a true crisis, the first ones they sent to their deaths were always those at the bottom.

Lúthfa blinked her large, beautiful eyes. She did not seem to find any of this unusual.

—---

Back in the elves' makeshift village, Nolan was formally hosted by Lúthfa as a guest.

She poured a glass of crimson liquid, setting it before him with practiced grace. "This is pomegranate juice. You should try it—I believe a vampire like you would enjoy the taste."

She was busy serving tray after tray of fruit, but still made time to explain, "We've studied Muggle brewing techniques. Pomegranate juice has a very rich and refined flavor."

Nolan picked up the glass, swirling the liquid curiously before taking a sip.

Seated beside him, Fleur Delacour was not nearly as impressed.

She looked at the meatless, plant-based feast before her and let out an awkward laugh. "You don't eat meat?"

"No." Lúthfa answered plainly. "The creatures of the forest are our neighbors. We do not eat our neighbors."

—---

Her "room"—if it could even be called that—was nothing more than a hollowed-out tree trunk.

Lúthfa's "bed" was just a nest of leaves piled in a corner.

To Nolan, it looked like something Miss Nancy's cat would sleep in.

There was no vanity, no wardrobe—not that the elves seemed to own more than one outfit.

Elven clothing was never dirty, never torn, always the same.

And they didn't use makeup—only flowers and plants to adorn themselves.

Though Nolan had to admit, the effect was rather striking.

Apart from that, the only furniture in the room was a set of wooden storage jars, roughly carved and primitive.

—---

"You live in such hardship…" Fleur sighed, her tone filled with pity.

"Why not try integrating into Muggle society, like other magical creatures? You could have a much better life—like this vampire here."

Lúthfa, who had just returned carrying an enormous jug of pomegranate juice, let out a soft chuckle.

She poured another glass for Nolan, seemingly pleased that he enjoyed the flavor.

Then, in a calm, matter-of-fact tone, she replied, "And be captured and sold off?"

Fleur pursed her lips, sulking as she leaned back. "Fine, I'll shut up."

She let out a small huff, muttering, "Everyone just loves to hate Veela, don't they?"

Ligeitoli regained consciousness the next day, only to find herself taken to Lúthfa's tree hollow by a group of elves.

Her head was still spinning—Nolan had drained a considerable amount of her blood, leaving her lightheaded and weak.

Lúthfa raised an elegant brow as she gestured toward a chair crafted from entwined branches. "Sit."

Ligeitoli shrunk back slightly, her voice timid. "High Priestess Lúthfa…"

Nolan observed the interaction closely. It was obvious now—Ligeitoli's status in the elven village was quite low.

She barely dared to lift her head when speaking to other elves.

Even the ones who had escorted her here wanted nothing to do with her, barely acknowledging her existence.

Lúthfa, meanwhile, sat down with perfect posture, her back straight and imposing. "Ligeitoli, tell me everything you've discovered."

Ligeitoli flinched before hurriedly launching into her report. "Yes, Priestess…!"

—---

Ligeitoli had left the elven village two years ago—she had been the first to go.

Since then, many other half-blood elves had also ventured out, some searching for a new home—having realized the elven village was doomed—while others, like Ligeitoli herself, hoped to accomplish great deeds and win the respect of the pureblood elves.

Ligeitoli was of the latter group.

She was a kind-hearted and sentimental little thing—and yes, "little" was the right word. At just 130 years old, she was still quite young for an elf.

Her first destination upon leaving the village was the heart of the decaying forest, hoping to uncover what exactly was happening there.

What she found was a massive swamp, spanning over a hundred square miles.

It was a place of death.

Ligeitoli swore that she had seen a wizard attempt to enter the swamp—but three days later, as she trudged through the murky, treacherous terrain, she came across his corpse.

The rotting swamp had become home to an entire ecosystem of scavengers, both beasts and magical creatures alike.

The food chain here was… different.

Creatures that normally avoided decay were thriving, feasting on flesh riddled with parasites as if they were immune to disease.

Everything was eating everything—and everything was full.

—---

During her time in the swamp, Ligeitoli encountered three separate groups of trolls.

They lived among massive clusters of stone, their homes carved into ancient rock formations.

She managed to sneak past them, pushing deeper and deeper into the swamp.

On the twelfth day, she found it.

The thing she had been searching for.

A cave.

It radiated immense magical power, thick and suffocating, a force so overwhelming that it stirred something deep within her elven blood.

She couldn't resist it—she had to go in.

Ligeitoli steeled herself and ventured inside.

What she found was beyond belief.

It was a man.

A wizard.

He looked young, almost as if he were simply asleep.

His eyes were closed.

His chest did not rise or fall.

Yet… his skin was still alive.

Ligeitoli had no idea if he was dead or alive.

But she didn't have to wonder for long—

Because someone suddenly pressed a blade to her throat.

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

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