vamp.

They called it the Bloodmere Mansion, though it was no mansion at all. Some swore it had been there before Hogwarts was even built, carved into the cliff by hands that were not entirely human. Others said it was abandoned centuries ago after its last master vanished, leaving only whispers and shadows behind. But the truth was simpler, and far worse: it had never been empty.

Its silhouette still cut across the night sky like a wound, seen only by those who strayed too far into the Forbidden Forest. A crooked crown of spires. Windows that seemed to watch you back. The kind of place that looked less built than grown — from the cliff, from the darkness itself.

Dumbledore had been clear: Never go near it. His voice had carried the weight of a warning meant for survival, not rules. And yet, like every forbidden thing, it was a dare wrapped in mystery.

One night, you and your friends decided to be stupid — the kind of stupid that feels like invincibility when you’re seventeen. You all snuck out into the forest, breathless and wild, rain soaking your hair as you raced between the trees. Laughter echoed under the canopy, bright and reckless against the patter of rain.

Then the night shifted. The rain grew softer, but the air thickened, as if the forest were holding its breath. The moon slipped behind dark clouds and didn’t return. Paths seemed to twist and turn where they hadn’t before.

You were still running when you noticed you could no longer hear your friends. You called their names, your voice carrying out into the stillness — but no echo came back. The silence was complete, like the world had folded in on itself.

Panic brushed the back of your neck. You drew your wand, whispering Lumos. A trembling sphere of light swelled at your fingertips, casting pale ripples across the wet leaves. You told yourself you were heading toward Hogwarts… but your feet carried you somewhere else.

A trail of moss-covered stones appeared beneath you, their placement too neat to be chance. You followed them, hoping they would lead you out.

The stones brought you to a tall, wrought-iron gate, its bars curling into shapes that almost resembled ancient runes. Beyond it, perched at the cliff’s edge, the mansion waited. A cliff. A mansion. As if the forest had chosen this path for you.

“…Bloodmere Mansion…”

The name left your lips unbidden, tasting faintly of rain and rust.

It rose against the night, its spires vanishing into silver fog. Gargoyles crouched along the roofline, rain tracing narrow streams down their stone faces. The narrow windows glimmered with an unsteady, pale light — neither warm nor cold, but watchful.

The air here felt suspended, as though the world was waiting for something. Somewhere deep within the mansion, a faint sound stirred — the gentle shift of stone, like the turning of a great key. And though you could not say why, the sound seemed to echo inside your own chest.