Chapter 70: A Secret Between Dark Lords

At the sound of Dracula's voice, so impossibly close, Voldemort paled and whipped his head around.

The silver-haired figure was standing right beside him, a faint, amused smile on his lips, completely unaffected by the Basilisk's deadly gaze. Voldemort stared in disbelief at the great serpent, which was now coiled in a corner of the room, shivering, its massive eyes squeezed shut. How could this be? The creature was a weapon of mass destruction, and it was cowering like a frightened kitten.

"Hiss, hiss," Voldemort commanded, his Parseltongue urgent and sharp. "Kill him!"

If the gaze wouldn't work, its venom certainly would.

But the Basilisk ignored him, pressing itself further into the corner with a pathetic, fawning whimper.

"How is this possible?" Voldemort whispered, the words seeming to tear themselves from his throat.

"Nothing is impossible," Dracula said, walking over to the terrified serpent with a smirk. "The only arrogant and ignorant one here, Mr. Voldemort, is you."

The Basilisk docilely lowered its head, allowing Dracula to pat its smooth, cold scales.

"You are not the Heir of Slytherin," Voldemort seethed, his mind reeling. "You do not speak the serpent's tongue. Why does it obey you?"

"Perhaps it's afraid I'll bully it," Dracula said casually. With a gentle push, he coiled the Basilisk's supple body into the shape of a chaise lounge and then reclined comfortably upon it. The great snake didn't dare move a muscle.

The truth was, Dracula and the Basilisk went way back. They had a... relationship. A thousand years ago, when Salazar Slytherin was first experimenting with the dark art of beast creation, Dracula, ever the thrill-seeker, had become fascinated by the Basilisk's gaze. He had snuck into its lair while Salazar was away and forced the poor creature to meet his eyes.

The result had been deeply disappointing for the Basilisk and endlessly amusing for Dracula. A vampire, being undead, was not truly a living creature. The Basilisk's death gaze, which was devastating to mortals, had only given Dracula a pleasant, soul-tingling buzz. He had found the sensation so enjoyable that he had returned again and again, forcing the snake to stare at him until its magical reserves were completely drained.

Eventually, the Basilisk had learned its lesson. Now, seeing its old tormentor after a millennium of peace, it was paralyzed with a deep, instinctual terror. It knew better than to obey the commands of some degenerate, latter-day descendant. Between Slytherin's powerful friend and his pathetic heir, the choice was obvious.

Seeing his ultimate weapon transformed into a piece of reptilian furniture, Voldemort snarled in frustration. In a flash, he was across the room, Quirrell's wand pressed to Harry's forehead.

"Let me leave, Dracula!" he shrieked. "Or the boy dies!"

Dracula frowned, a flicker of genuine disappointment in his eyes. He rose from his serpentine sofa. "I am very disappointed, Mr. Voldemort," he said softly. "I had hoped you would have the courage to face me. To think you would resort to threatening a helpless child... it's pathetic."

"Enough of your games, Dracula!" Voldemort screamed. "Let me go, or Potter dies! Choose!"

Dracula looked at him, a strange, pitying expression on his face. "What an honor," he said, a slow, evil smile spreading across his lips. "To think that in your eyes, I possess such lofty moral standards."

Voldemort's eyes widened in alarm. In that instant, his spectral form dissolved into a cloud of black smoke, scattering in all directions.

A heartbeat later, a searing arc of blood-red energy slammed into the spot where he had been standing, carving a deep, molten trench in the stone floor.

Without a second's hesitation, the black smoke coalesced into a skull-like phantom and shot towards the exit.

"How tedious," Dracula sighed, unfurling a pair of magnificent, sharp-edged wings from his back. "This trick again." With a single, powerful flap, he was in the air, in hot pursuit.

Voldemort fled, his smoke form allowing him to move with incredible speed. He didn't dare slow down, not until he reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest, near the boundary of the castle's Anti-Apparition wards. He glanced back, and a sliver of hope ignited within him. Dracula was far behind, flapping his wings with a lazy, almost bored rhythm.

He was going to make it.

Just as he prepared to cross the boundary and escape, he saw a strange, illusory dark moon appear in the sky behind him. Dracula flew into it and vanished.

How did he disappear within the Anti-Apparition wards? Voldemort thought, stunned.

In the next moment, the dark moon materialized directly in front of him. Dracula stepped out of it, his silver hair whipping in the wind, his black wings eclipsing the real moon and casting a deep shadow over Voldemort's spectral face.

With a graceful sweep of his hand, a river of blood flowed from behind his wings, circling around the Dark Lord and forming a swirling, inescapable prison of scarlet liquid.

"Now then," Dracula said softly. "Where will you run?"

Voldemort hurled himself against the walls of the blood prison, but the crimson torrent sizzled and burned his smoky form, holding him fast.

"Wait, Dracula!" he shrieked, a note of desperation in his voice.

"What is it?" Dracula asked, his tone bored. "Any last words?" He had seen enough. This "Dark Lord" was a coward, and he had lost all interest in playing with him.

"Don't be rash! We can be allies!" Voldemort pleaded, seeing the impatience in Dracula's eyes. "I know you are not like Dumbledore, bound by pathetic rules! A deal between us would be... advantageous!"

"A deal with the likes of you would only lower my standards," Dracula scoffed, raising his hand. The blood prison began to tighten.

"Don't!" Voldemort screamed, shrinking his form to avoid the crushing pressure. "I have a secret! A secret I have never told another living soul! It is something every wizard dreams of, something they would kill to possess!"

The blood prison slowed its inexorable contraction. Dracula's interest was, against his better judgment, piqued. "You have one last chance," he said.

Voldemort, sensing his advantage, swelled with a renewed arrogance. "A wise choice, Dracula," he sneered. "Cooperate with me, and I will share with you the secret to eternal life!"

Dracula stared at him, his expression utterly blank. For a long moment, there was only silence.

And then, Dracula threw his head back and laughed.

(End of Chapter)

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