Big thank you to Tor for joining us for this. This session is like a seminar/guest speaker and open to all students, even older ones who don't study DADA. Staff can come too if they like. Please interact, ask questions (be rude at your peril), and have a bit of fun.

---

The Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom had been cleared of desks to make room for plenty of chairs with a gap down the middle to let the students gather.

It was shortly after dinner and there had been firm suggestion throughout the different lessons that the NEWT students would do well to attend, and the fifth years too. The other years and older students not studying Defences were invited along.

The aim of the time wasn't to make their guest feel as if she were on display or a study piece, but rather one to explain firsthand what it was to be such in the wizarding world. Professor Storm had been most encouraged to receive confirmation she was happy to attend that evening, but a little bemused by the reaction of some of the students who considered the mere name rather exciting. Islington was something particularly notable in the world of wizarding fashion, apparently.

It was regrettably the Monday night at the end of a long rainy weekend. The sun seemed to have barely made it up all day and had gone to bed just after four in the afternoon. Rain pattered at the windows of the classroom behind the curtains, which occasionally rattled with the January wind.

Ignan's presence in the doorwyay of the classroom sent the final students scurrying inside. Clearing his throat a few realised and hastened to their seats, but as he their guest inside, he raised his voice.
"Take a seat, all of you, sit." There was a scrape of chairs on the floor as the teenagers obeyed. The Deputy Headmaster gestured to the right as they reached the front, stepping to the left.

"Good evening students," he addressed the full room, "May I present our guest speaker, Madam Islington, who has very kindly agreed to some and speak with you for the better understanding and appreciation of vampires within our communities. To dispel myths and banish prejudices against."

The Professor turned back to Violet and gave her a respectful bow of his head, "Many thanks once again for joining us this evening Madam. The students have prepared a few questions, but to begin, as appropriate, would you be able to explain a little of who you are and how .. well," the corner of Ignan's eyes winced ever so slightly, making an effort to be polite and try and forget the times he had fought Violet's counterparts in the past, "… how it came to be." He finished, and retreated a few paces back to let her take centre stage, tucking his hands behind him.

Heels sharp as teeth, Violet Islington moved soundlessly into the Great Hall of Hogwarts school, following the poor soul student representative who had been sent to fetch her for Professor Storm.

The vampire had rarely been back to the castle since her own school days, over one hundred years ago. It looked the same, echoing her extensive memory like a fine painting on her townhouse wall, and yet she knew much had changed since the era of Voldemort and the Battle of Hogwarts.

As students filtered in, bellies rich with dinner-- an altogether different food group than the one the pallid figure had dined upon before her arrival-- she could feel their eyes like wind: some cutting, unforgiving, others tepid and indecisive, and still some a gentle whisper at her ankles, intent on passing by without disturbing too greatly the things lurked under dark water or in a tall grass. Things that hunted in the night.

That was what those eyes thought of Violet, that she was a nocturnal huntress who might hypnotize and lure them like a spider. Fly off with them in her bat form, and pierce their skin in some dark cave where they would never heal.

And surely, at some point in history, such creatures existed-- creature being the optimal word. Violet had known them, still knew of some of them, those vampires who were more creature than human, who had lived up to the stereotypes... if not by nature, then out of bitterness, out of contempt for how they'd been treated. (Though, as bats, they could hardly haul what their wise and feathery cousins might in the daylight; that much was pure fable.)

Violet, though, had never been part of such a coven, and for every one that existed (and had dwindled over time), there were many more lone beings like the vampire herself. If far less lucky in their human pursuits. For logic, experience, and a droplet of what seemed like immortality were pale prizes for the price of prejudice, excommunication, and banishment from the sun.

The rain and cold that tapped Dementor-like at the window had replaced those creature comforts. Though her senses were extraordinary now, sharpened as much by time as the gifts of vampirism, such weather hardly bothered her. She would much rather wade through a chill fog in her 'mornings' than risk the kiss of sunlight. She could not very well die from frostbite, fevers, pox, or pneumonia.

Just before Ignan insisted the children settle down, young Miss Woolfolk (the elder) skipped in the room, drew a breath so deep that would it make a young mermaid jealous, and lavished upon her all of the compliments that Violet suspected she had never paid to Storm himself. Cornelia did not strike her as a model student of Defense Against the Dark Arts, but rather one who defended against poor taste and tragic footwear. Violet gave her a nod, a slight stretch of soft lips upon narrow face. No teeth visible. "Miss Woolfolk," she murmured, before turning her attention to the professor.

Words like understanding and appreciation were a good start, if ambitious in some cases. Still, Violet herself appreciated that a professor was extending a hand and not a wand. This was the first time she had received such an invitation to a school. She had not asked whether the parents knew: red Spell-o-Tape was a wearisome thing, even for a careful woman.

"Your professor's kind introduction may make more than one of you suspicious, but I promise, you are in safe hands-- or jaws." The slightest smile, not unlike the one she'd offered Neely. "And rest assured, none of you are my type, anyway." A show of teeth, just barely.

"I was once a Hogwarts student, too," she began, more soberly. "Ravenclaw," she added, before anyone could ask. "I started school here in 1888. I come from an old Pureblood family who, when the ones of my generation were alive, held plenty of prejudices against my kind, and imparted more than a few onto me when I was a girl. Naive and ignorant, but perfectly human, just like each of you."

"I was an apprentice of astronomy before I ever knew this would be my fate, and it was my ambition to travel. I am happy to say that I have done that, plenty of it. My condition has not stopped me." In fact, it had encouraged a swift exit from England on more than one occasion.

"When I was in my twenties-- arguably a woman then, but excruciatingly young, now, one might argue--" She looked to Storm. "I was tricked into my fate. A vampire who lived up to the viciousness of the rumors, who preyed on wizards in the open before the Ministry strictly intervened, captured and turned me. I hadn't even a chance to pull out my wand, and I am not sure whether it was even his intention to turn me, exactly, or to simply to drain me--" There was a fine line. "But that is what happened. He was known as a plague-maker, someone who often went after Muggles because the death was easily disguised as disease in that time. I never met him again, and so I was not damned to the same fate he was. I believe that that has always been my luckiest fortune as a vampire." Violet's sympathy for her maker was complex, a shadowed thing. "Instead, I was greeted and taken in by another who remains my dear friend. He taught me to live above the expectations for our kind, to cherish what I had been given, but not to forget. But that isn't what you might imagine," she clarified, catching a few of their expressions. "I have never seen myself as superior." August's self image, on the other hand, was an intricate knot. Violet chose not to get into that. "Rather, it is my aim to educate the public on equality, on our likeness to you, to seek only the same protections and rights you have, not just for my kind, but for all humans-- or hominid species, you might call them." She looked across the faces, her own unblinking. "Beings." Another clarification, for the well-learned and fans of textbooks and laws.

"So far, though, there have been many obstacles. Our legal inability to own wands and our apparent natural inability to perform magic means that we cannot often hold jobs, even those that require absolutely no magic. This is often more out of prejudice for non-wand owners. Even squibs regularly face it. We are not trusted in subservient roles, like elves, or with any sort of monopoly like goblins have with the banking system. And I find this, rather than nature, is what usually drives a vampire to crime. I have met far fewer offenders than I have victims among the community."

Nicholas was excited by the prospect of meeting and talking to an actual vampire.  Its not something he'd ever really thought about getting to do before the topic of the lecture was announced.  It also wasn't often that Nicholas sat near the front of the room, let alone the front row.

He'd grown up with muggle depictions of vampires and despite seven years of living in the wizarding world, some of those ideas about vampires had never really gone away.  And while some of those were just as bad as the wizard prejudices of vampires, some were not.  Not to mention the inherent fascination he'd had with them before he'd entered Hogwarts.  There was something appealing at eleven years old about living forever and not growing up.  Once he'd found out he was a wizard and that such things were possible, but generally considered very dark magic, the idea had lost its appeal.

But there were things one could learn from a beautiful woman well over a century old.  And there was certainly something striking about the vampire.  Maybe there was something about that muggle attraction to vampires.  Maybe they knew more than they realized.

Nicholas raised his hand. "So this is probably rude to ask, but I'm sure we are all thinking it.  Obviously you can't help drinking blood any more than I can help eating bacon, but where do you get the blood?"

Eyes settled unblinkingly on Nicholas Bevans, and despite a most neutral expression, a pause suggested that the vampire was sizing the boy up. “The ministry allocates food for those registered with the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures,” she explained. There was no need to let her tone drip with the law’s dark underbelly: the facts spoke for themselves. Violet’s voice remained calm and cool. “We receive temperature-controlled rations. As I’m sure many of you are aware, it is not legal to feed on other beings."

Violet, accustomed to politics, avoided adding that it was a law often loosely followed. Nor did she elaborate on any memorable deviations in her own diet. There were plenty of places in Wizarding London where consenting adults exchanged favors. There were even people who sought vampires and offered themselves.

“There have, of late, been campaigns calling for government-sponsored outreach programs to allow blood donations to the unregistered in designated safe spaces. Many non-wizard magical beings are suspicious of registration, but there are plenty of people who want to build bridges in less invasive ways. There are also many who have called for the abolishment of laws that prevent consensual feedings.” Violet paused, glanced briefly at Ignan. Her eyes returned to the students. “It’s unlikely those laws will change so drastically so quickly, but advocates in the Wizengamot have hope of pushing through more moderate laws, like a more diligent screening of blood sources.”

For over a hundred years old, Islington was looking good, Professor Storm's transient thoughts considered. Then as she continued to explain, her transformation was in her twenties, which explained her youthful appearance. She glanced to him as she explained, and he gave the slightest of nods in understanding of what she meant.

"And I find this, rather than nature, is what usually drives a vampire to crime…" Islington elaborated. Ignan pressed his lips into a fine line, trying very hard not to show any visible sign of disagreement so early on in the discussion. Then again he had been there to deal with those who were 'driven' to crime, to take advantage of the abilities vampirism gave.

Bevans, seated in the front row appeared enthralled, in contrast. The boy had more hormones than his body knew what to do with, though. More than once in the past year or so the Defence Professor had considered a very cold Aguamenti over the Gryffindor. His hand shot up, and the Professor looked to Islington, about to suggest she could take questions now if she wished, or they could wait.

Islington chose to go ahead and Bevans posed his question, going ahead despite his thoughts it might be a rude question. 

"Would you elaborate on consensual feedings, Madam Islington?" The Professor asked, "I can see a number of blank faces in our younger students. And how many do the Ministry, and yourself if it differs, think are unregistered in Britain?"

Ambrose's jaw had fallen slack since the arrival of Violet Islington. It wasn't her startling looks which many of the boys were suddenly paying closer attention to, it was the fact she was a vampire. Ambrose had never met a vampire and for all the photographs in the paper and the drawings in the books he still wasn't prepared.

She spoke just like a normal person! Though he narrowed his eyes, staring at her mouth to try and spot her teeth, forgetting his manners in his utter fascination. He wanted to ask where Madam Islington had been bitten by the vampire who turned her, and whether it left a mark or hurt. But that would be ruder than Nick's question about where vampires could get blood from.

"… many who have called for the abolishment of laws that prevent consensual feedings." Madam Islington continued and Ambrose's brow furrowed, confused at what she meant.

"People let vampires bite them?" He asked in a mutter to those around him, very confused at what she meant. His movement was not missed by the ever-vigilant Deputy Headmaster who asked their speaker to elaborate.

"Pepper, people let people, or beings, do all kinds of things to them," Nicholas said laughing at the boy's confusion and unusually uncaring about speaking out of turn in Storm's classes.  Some comments just needed a response, damn the consequences.  Not that he particularly understood the appeal of letting a vampire bite him, certainly other things but he could do without the biting, but to each his own,  Perhaps one day, Pepper might even know what his own was.

"What?!" Ambrose exclaimed, not in a low voice this time, but in horror at what Nick Bevans had said. His brown eyes were wide and he gaped. "You mean people really do let vampires bite them? Like, voluntarily become that - I er - er- I mean - I … why would anyone what to do that?!" He fell over his words, a small corner of his mind registering that what he was spouting in alarm might be deemed offensive by the incredibly toothy one at the front, and he didn't want to volunteer himself for demonstration.

Already annoyed by Nicholas’ contributions, Esther’s delicate look of disdain dropped into one of pure outrage. “Ambrose,” she hissed, utterly scandalized.

Last year it had become clear to everyone that Ambrose, as Juni had so eloquently put it, had been beaten by the ‘puberty fairy’ with a stick. Soft features gave way to peaking cheekbones; brown eyes were now considered adorably confused rather than uncomprehending. He still lacked the egregious self-confidence that many agreed made up such a large part of Bastian’s and Connor’s charm, but even that offered a pleasant contrast. All in all, it provided a tantalizing glimpse into the future. It was a good thing Juni had snatched him up when she did.

But not, perhaps, soon enough. Esther’s idolization of Violet far outstripped almost anything she had for everything else (except maybe fashion itself), and this, this–

“Pepper,” Professor Donovan chided gently. Though amusement tugged at a corner of her lips, the professor lifted both brows at the boy, expression mild but quelling. Esther deflated, but she still glared at Ambrose with an angry pout.

From his spot between Shona and Maiko[1] at one of the window sills lining the room, Rick sighed quietly and deeply.

“Biting doesn’t always result in new vampires,” he spoke up, studiously, carefully neutral. He shot Violet a resigned look, one that could be interpreted as I’ll take it from here as well as sorry for the interruption. “Particularly when the intent is to feed.” Among other things. “As it is in all cases of significant blood loss, the—source ends up feeling lightheaded and fatigue, but in the case of consensual feedings, the high they get from it usually outweighs any pain they might feel in the process.” There were potions for that, ones that could dull the pain beforehand, but there were some who claimed such potions were unnecessary.

Personally the Charms professor put it down to pain tolerance, likening the whole thing to getting a tattoo. The comparison itself called into question the very nature of addiction, but whether the exchange involved a chemical component or not there was still something to be said for willingly offering yourself up to a pair of fangs that could very well rip your throat out. It was the same reason why people got into extreme broom sports, or jumped off of cliffs as a hobby.

A hand rose. “I’m sixteen,” Connor offered.

Rick’s face pinched into a grimace. “Shut up, Todd.”

1.	With Kelly’s permission!

Cyhirae sighed and rolled her eyes, mostly in exasperation at Nicholas Bevans’ antics but also a little at Ambrose’s foot in mouth problem.

It was interesting how her feelings had changed towards towards Ambrose over the past year or so. She had gone from indifferent to affectionate and encouraging, to a confusing mix of affection and agitation, and now, after they had broken up and moved on, she was simply numb. She couldn’t even work herself up to being peeved anymore that he had started dating Juni less than a month after their breakup.

“It’s because they obviously find it pleasurable.” Cyhirae muttered quietly to herself after Professor Donovan shut down Connor Todd. “Its not all that unusual either. ” It seemed most of the romance novels she and Winnie shared had some mention of pain turning into pleasure.  And their books weren’t even all that kinky, you could buy them unrestricted in any bookstore. And that wasn’t even touching on the weirdness you could simply stumble across on the Internet.

But it was probably time to get back on track before Professor Storm started making them. Cyhirae raised her hand to catch the attention of their guest, “Madam Islington? Is the prejudice you’ve experienced personally from wizards and the rest of the magical community mostly overt or more subtle?”

Virgil, slumped delicately in his seat next to Bevans, had moved little since the talk had begun - only his pale eyes flicked from their guest vampire to whomever was chipping in at the time. Attentive. He no longer studied Defences but he had an interest in Beings whose life spans extended far past the average human wizard or witch.

Persons such as Violet Islington can remember what others may only observe through the literary. He wondered what it was like to stroll in so archaic a mind.

Or to do so whilst being drained, experiencing that feed from the perspective of both food and hunter. He sat straighter, smirking when a titter of laughs erupted amongst wiser older students at Pepper's practically distinguishing cluelessness. Nobody was afraid to correct his naïveté, least of all his peers. Virgil looked around at Todd's bright-eyed offer - and then Trishna's textbook question.

" Is the prejudice you’ve experienced personally from wizards and the rest of the magical community mostly overt or more subtle?”"

The Slytherin spoke smoothly into the tail end of her question, tipping his head back for his quiet voice to carry better through the classroom; although no doubt Islington's senses would catch even a muted statement. "And how do you respond to it, Madam Vampire?" he crossed a lanky leg over his knee and directed an indolent smile at their guest.

"Does retribution ever cross your mind?" Virgil phrased this delicately but meant it frankly. His fear of the species was matched only by inherent curiousity, allowing him to at least feign nonchalance. An uneven heartbeat said otherwise.

Sebok wasn't exactly the most attentive student, even at his best; lectures often found him drifting off into his own thoughts, staring out the window or, if worst came to worst, doodling at the corners of his parchments. The doodles rarely stopped him from turning his notes in as they were...which, well, likely explained his grades. Stick figures of Ignan Storm rarely earned one house points, even if he was setting people on fire.

Today was at least a bit more interesting - a vampire, here to tell them all about how hard their lives were, or something. She smelled  strange - her perfume and clothes and all her normal smells seemed layered over a blank slate. She smelled...not dead, but not alive. It was disconcerting on a level he didn't like. It was like smelling ice.

He sat slumped not far from Virgil, head plopped resolutely on the palm of one hand. They were mixed in with the little yappy kids and as usual the little bastards wouldn't shut up. He'd all but spaced out when Virgil spoke, his soft voice stirring Sebok from his daze.

Behind Virgil, he smiled, large canines on display. What a needly little question.

"Worried, Carstairs?" Sebok asked, with a deep sort of growl. He sat forward so his breath was at the boy's neck. "Or hopeful? Bet cha'd make a good vampire." He was greasy enough, in Sebok's opinion.

“Oy.” Twisting around in her seat beside Virgil, Gracie looked over a throw-covered shoulder and, with her wand, jabbed Sebok sharply in the cheek, drawing back before he could grab it. “Back off, assface.”

As one of the many NEWT students who had opted to continue with the class, it was mandatory that she attend, but like Virgil and many of their peers, Gracie would have gone anyway. Whether you were magical or muggle, vampires were just fascinating. Not quite dead but not quite alive either (though she heard they could reproduce), they, as a concept, had a mysterious allure that seemed to go deeper than bone. It was in the carelessly graceful sweep of their limbs, the nuanced lilt of their voices. Living witches and wizards spent their entire lives trying to achieve even a fraction of it.

And that was only one end of the spectrum—the minority, really. From the textbook perspective vampires were pale, undead bloodsuckers. Their bite, from a clinical perspective, was an incurable disease. A law-abiding citizen existed on the sufferance of local government; you were safe so long as you appeared harmless.

The one before them was particularly high profile. Gracie herself preferred muggle fashion over the elegant yet eclectic styles preferred by modern traditionalists, but when a girl rubbed elbows with classy housemates such as hers, learning was unavoidable. But more than that, than the career she had in the fashion industry, Violet Islington was known for being vocal in the fight for equal rights. Most people – undead or not – preferred not to rock the boat if it meant risking their comfortable existence. And Violet had achieved a life that most of her kind could only dream of.

And so Gracie attended. She was still largely uninterested in politics (much less pursuing a job in it), but it was a disinterest that had a deadline. The rain made it a little hard to focus, as did the throw blanket she had chosen to bring with her, but she persisted. She clutched at it now, huddled beneath it. Any eyebrows lifted her way were only met with a mild, immovable smile.

It went a bit thin, as it always did whenever someone saw fit to poke the lazy cat that went by the name Virgil Carstairs (she didn’t know when protecting him became a habit, only that it had), but it was lopsided, too—a smirk. Sebok wasn’t known for his self-control. It didn’t leave much for surprise.

She faced the front again, idly kicking at Nicholas’ chair.

Sebok's reaction to the poke was predictable - surprised, he turned his head and snapped at Gracie's wand, though it was out of range before he could catch it with either his teeth or his hand. He hadn't exactly expected to get poked in the face by a girl, though it figured that'd be who sprung to Virgil's defense. Lil' miss Slant.

"Ooh, scary," he said. "Don't worry, Slant. Carstairs is too greasy to punch." He'd probably catch something off him anyway, like big ears or eyebags or whatever it was the Slytherins had going around their swampy dorms.