Vampirism

I hide myself in the rafters at the back of the empty classroom, behind the last row of desks. As the colony, I am hundreds of tiny individuals. I spread myself thinly, roosting in the darkest recesses. The students enter in dribs and drabs and, at two o'clock, Lavender makes her entrance. She's in fashionable Muggle garb, and immaculately made up.

Before she begins, Lavender's eyes sweep the room. I am fairly confident she glimpses me hanging upside-down in the shadows. She's both an Auror and a werewolf, attuned to her surroundings and trained to observe. That training also makes her difficult to read, even for me.

Lavender loves drama. There are times I believe that everything about her is an act. When she finishes her lecture, she gives me an introduction that both proves she's seen me and worries the students. I don't disappoint. Releasing my collective grip on the beams I drop and, with a frantic fluttering of tiny wings, I swoop low over the students' heads. Panic, and a few screams, ensue.

I make my dramatic entrance by swirling around an entirely unperturbed Lavender. As the students stare, I coalesce the colony into a cloud. From the cloud, it's a simple matter to bring the bats together and become me.

'I'll leave you to the mercies of my friend Camelia Tepes, the vampire Auror!' says Lavender portentously. Lifting the chair on which she's hung her coat, she moves it to the wall, sits, and watches me.

I considered wearing Muggle clothes, but quickly dismissed the idea. Instead, I appear in front of the now nervous class in long black coat, white blouse, grey cravat, and calf-length black skirt. My Auror uniform is my shield.

The outfit tells people I'm an Auror. It's often all they see, and it reassures them. The students, however, already know what I am. Some fear the monster, and my showy entrance has intensified their reaction. I hope that the uniform calms them, but some in my audience will only ever see the monster.

I am a monster. They should be very wary of me and my kind. As I look around, I realise that too many students are treating my dramatic entrance as a thrilling joke. Perhaps the uniform was a mistake after all. Do they see nothing but the Auror Office's tame vampire? I need to increase the tension.

'So many hearts beating so quickly,' I begin. 'So much hot, sweet, blood! I can hear it rushing through your veins.'

I touch my tongue to my lips. A few of the teens whimper. I stare, and give them a smile that reveals my elongated incisors. Silence falls, and wands are grasped. Having increased the tension, I put on my human face, and begin matter-of-factly.

'As Lavender has told you, my name is Camelia Tepes. I was born in the year 1766, in the Grand Principality of Transylvania. When I died, in 1787, I believed that the Transylvanian vampire who killed me to be very old.'

I hear the excited murmurs. They are expecting me to name drop.

'I'm sorry to disappoint you,' I say. 'His name wasn't Vlad, it was Pavel. He wasn't a Count, he was a soldier. And no one but me remembers him. He wasn't even old. He was created in the late 1600's and he was destroyed in 1812, at Borodino. He joined the Emperor Napoleon's army for the blood, but the Russian campaign finished him.'

'Pavel killed me three months before my twenty-first birthday, and I was buried in a village in the foothills of the Carpathian Mountains. I was alive for little more than twenty years and have been dead for more than two-hundred-and-twenty. I barely remember what life felt like.'

'I left my homeland in 1848, the Year of Revolution. By then, Napoleon's empire was a memory, and Transylvania was part of the Austrian Empire, the Kaisertum Österreich. I made my way across Europe, and finally arrived in Norfolk in 1852. I have been on the island of Britain for more than one hundred-and-fifty years. I say "been on", not "lived on", because some people take issue with my use of that phrase. I'm dead, and some argue that I cannot live anywhere.'

'Is this matter of philosophy, or grammar? You decide.'

'Regardless, I have been "British" for more than a century and a half. During my long existence, I have seen Muggle wars and Wizard wars; I have watched cities, and Muggle ingenuity, grow.'

'Why am I telling you all this? Because you need to understand that everything changes. You are not the person you were ten years ago. You have aged and learned and changed. A lot can change in ten years. You cannot conceive the changes that will occur in almost two-and-a-half centuries. I do not age, but I learn and I have changed. I am very different to the person I was in the 1780s, or the 1880s, or even the 1980s.'

I pause, momentarily lost in distracting memories. The 1880s where when I made my greatest mistake. By the 1980's I was partially redeemed. I suspect that I will never be more than partially redeemed.

'I rather enjoyed the 1980s.' I smile at the memories. My journey from 70s punk through proto-goth to 80s new romantic was a wild one. 'But this isn't a history lesson.'

'I am a vampire. For a brief period, I was a witch, but my magic died when I did. I am a contradiction. I am dead, yet I walk and talk and feed. I have friends, and family. I am a person, but a person whose continued existence depends on my drinking the blood of innocents, and spending a part of every day resting in soil taken from my grave. Does this frighten you?'

A few heads nod, but some of the students are beginning to believe that my words are merely an act. One or two shake their heads and smile at me.

'Even if you are not frightened of me, you should be wary. People, both Muggle and magical, romanticise what I am,' I tell them firmly. 'That may be the greatest success of the vampire. Even before Bram Stoker's remarkably accurate text, many stories of vampires were gothic romances. The stories told to you, and to the Muggles, paint us as passionate, powerful, beautiful and tragic. You should know that several of these tales were written by vampires. Those stories worked so well that we no longer need to make excuses for actions. You do it for us. The myths, the romance, the rationalisations of our murderous behaviour, all are believed and expanded upon by our foolish victims!'

'One Muggle tale I read recently claims that we sparkle in the sunlight. Ridiculous! That particular author gets very little about us correct. Like many others, she mistakes our power and our thirst for blood for virility.'

I look around the room. I have to pick on someone, and the youth in the back row who called "Don't stop there," to Lavender was whispering rude and lewd comments about her all through her lesson. He may simply be a seventeen-year-old blowhard, talking big to his friends. I'm certain he'd blame his behaviour on his hormones, or his upbringing.

I don't care. I have no wish to hear his excuses. He must learn to accept the consequences of his behaviour. Even after two centuries I find his form of blustering machismo annoying. I've seen the dark places misogyny can take men. That's what always made his type my preferred prey.

'I need a volunteer. You!' I point to him. 'Come here, please.'

He smiles knowingly, and winks at his friends. Can he really think that I'm attracted to him? I look twenty, but I have grandchildren who are older than he is. He swaggers to the front of the room, and looks down at me. It is obvious from his stance that he's unafraid of a mere woman. I'm now certain that he regards females as inferior.

The fight for universal suffrage was, I think, when I first began to sympathise with humanity. They strove to change, to better themselves whereas I, like the rest of my kind, merely survived. That realisation didn't stop me from killing, not then, but it planted the seed that future events would make sprout into life.

I am small and slender, and I know the "weak and feeble woman" ploy will always work. Kind men try to help me because it's in their nature, cruel men try to take advantage. I always preferred to hunt the cruel men. Perhaps I have always tried to justify my killings, to pretend that most of the lives I took were deserving of death. They were not.

My victim stands next to me. Six feet of muscle and testosterone towering above a pale, black-haired waif. He foolishly believes that he is in control of his situation. It's time to disabuse him, and his classmates.

'Give me your hands, please,' I ask, stretching out my own.

Winking at his friends, he reaches forward eagerly, and grabs my hands. The smile instantly falls from his face, and he tries to pull away. I'm too strong. He can't break my grip, I'm braced against his pull, and he finally sees the predator in my stare. His reaction is everything I want.

His eager grip; his reaction when he realises that, because I'm dead, my hands are corpse-cold; his shiver at my touch; and his panic when he discovers that he can't free himself.

'Cushioning Charm, please,' I say, as silence blankets the room.

I release my struggling victim. He staggers, and tries to retreat. He wants to escape, but I'm too fast. Grabbing the front of his robes in one hand I lift him, and throw him twenty feet across the room. He bounces off the charm Lavender has cast. As he struggles to his feet, with nothing hurt but his pride, I return to my theme.

'There are two things authors usually get right. One, I'm cold, and two, I'm strong,' I tell my audience.

'I'm a cold, dead thing with no heartbeat. I'm fast, and strong enough to throw this young man across the room. I'm a vampire, and I'm dangerous. You should never forget that!'

I have their complete attention.

'You,' I point to the boy. 'Go back to your seat, and if I hear any more whispers from you, I'll see that you get detention.'

I turn my attention to the class. 'I'm not here to make you like me, I'm here to try to help you understand what I am. I hope that I can do as good a job as Lavender. I'm here to teach you about vampires, and to teach you the differences between werewolves and vampires.'

'It starts with how we come to be. Werewolves are people who transform into a mindless monster every full moon. Lycanthropy wants to spread. If left untreated, it will drive werewolves to infect others through biting and scratching. But, as Lavender has told you, even before the wolfsbane potion, most werewolves would try to imprison themselves to prevent this. Modern magical medicine controls their primal urges, but even without the wolfsbane potion, lycanthropy is a contagion inflicted on an unwilling victim by an unthinking beast.'

'Some vampires will tell you that vampirism is also a magical contagion. They are merely looking for sympathy. If you're clever, and sensible, there are things you—as a society—can do to reduce your chances of becoming a werewolf. Like the vaccinations Muggles use, the wolfsbane potion may eventually see the end of werewolves. That won't work for vampires. Can anyone tell me why?'

The hand of the blonde girl, Tanya, is again the first in the air. I choose a boy in the second row instead.

'You're already dead, and immortal,' he tells me.

'Exactly! The only way to end vampirism is for you to slaughter us. That has been tried a few times over the centuries, but we are very difficult to destroy and, frankly, we enjoy a bloodbath. Does anyone know how to terminate a vampire?'

'Wooden stake through the heart,' someone calls out.

I sigh.

'It's a common fallacy, especially amongst Muggles, that we can only be destroyed by having a wooden stake driven through our heart. You're not wrong, a stake through the heart will work. It would end anyone, vampire, wizard or Muggle. Incidentally, note that I say "destroy" and "end" rather than kill. You can't kill me, because I'm already dead.'

'Ending a vampire requires you to rapidly release the blood within them, preferably during the hours of daylight. You should read "Dracula", it's closer to the truth than most other tales. I have no idea why, despite that book, everyone believes the Count was killed by a stake through the heart.'

'Dracula's throat was cut with a kukri, and a bowie knife was driven into his heart. Brutal and efficient. A knife is a lot sharper than a stake.'

'I am full of blood, but it isn't mine. To destroy me, you must release it. Beheading is probably the best method. But your biggest problem will be getting close enough to me to do it. If I turn into bats, or mist, you'll have problems. I can do both!'

'What you must remember is that I need to rest in grave soil. Find my lair, find me at rest, and you've got me when I'm helpless. That's why I didn't tell you where I was buried. I have four coffins of soil from my Transylvanian grave in Britain, and the Auror Office knows where they are. That's a condition of my employment. Destroy them, and I'm definitely finished.'

'Keeping me away from you is easier. I cannot enter a house unless I'm invited, nor will I approach you if you wear garlic. A word of advice; no one else will, either!'

'The most important difference is choice! Lavender didn't choose to become a werewolf. I've met several werewolves over the centuries. All were attacked. Not one of them chose their fate. This is not true for vampires. I chose to become a vampire. Every vampire makes that choice.'

'I chose to die so that I could exist forever, and I made that choice knowing that my continued survival would drive me to murder. When I made my choice, I knew I would need fresh blood.'

'Becoming a vampire is a more complex process than becoming a werewolf. Over several nights, including the full moon night, I must feed from you. On the full moon night, I must open a vein, and you must willingly drink my blood. It's not my blood of course, it's yours, but I've tainted it. After you've tasted my blood, I have until the next full moon to kill you!'

I take two rapid steps toward the students. Wands are drawn. I pause. The room is more silent than a grave. In a grave, you can hear the worms.

'I haven't killed anyone since 1945,' I assure them. 'And I haven't created a new vampire since Jack, in 1888.'

'Even if you drink my blood, you can change your mind. You can walk away, protect yourself. If I don't kill you before the next full moon, you'll recover. Otherwise, I will suck every last drop of blood from you! At sunset on the third night after your death, you will rise, weak and completely bloodless. During this night you must replace the blood you no longer have. You must find a victim, and completely drain them of blood. You must kill someone.'

I look at my horrified audience, and try to explain the morality of the world I grew up in.

'I was born in a time when public executions were common. You could be killed for even a petty crime. Torture, and slavery were commonplace. It's easy to regard others as lesser beings. People—whether magical or Muggle—de-humanise others all the time, simply because they are different in some meaningless way. Skin colour, religion, and nationality are the three most ridiculous reasons. To most vampires, you are lesser beings because you are prey. Does the fox shed a tear for the chicken?'

'If you ever meet a vampire, forget about tragedy or romance, remember that you are looking at a walking corpse who has killed, probably many times. No matter what they say, every vampire you meet will have killed. I am a vampire, I am a murderer. There is no easy way for you to determine whether or not a vampire's intentions are friendly. My advice is simple: if a vampire is trying to be friendly, they want to kill you! Err on the side of caution. I won't mind.'

'Lavender mentioned the Sentient Entities Rights Act of 2002. It gives all who speak, from house elves to vampires the right to abide freely in society, provided that we agree to comply with its laws. Very few house elves have used the act to gain their freedom. Almost all werewolves have embraced the rights of citizenship so long denied to them.'

'There are only a few score vampires in Britain and, in theory, we have always been subject to wizarding law. In practice magical folk usually ignored us, so long as we killed only Muggles. I have not killed anyone since 1945, but I know that many of my fellow vampires have. Many believe that, because they are dead, there is no reason for them to obey the laws of the living. They are wrong.'

'Perhaps they can be persuaded, but it took me one hundred and sixty years, and an adopted family, to realise that murder is a crime.'

'Questions?'