Y/n moved through the underbrush with the kind of silence that didn't come naturally to anyone. Not human, anyway.

Ahead, a blur of dark hair and a familiar leather jacket. Damon Salvatore was already circling, his vampiric speed carrying him in a wide arc through the ferns. He stopped, tilting his head, listening.

Y/n caught the glint of something in her hand. A dagger. Of course she had a dagger.

<Narrator>: Behind them, the distant silhouette of Hogwarts castle rose against the sky, its towers lit with warm, unbothered windows. The Slytherins would be in the private dorm by now, talking, drinking, doing whatever it was they did when they thought the resident vampire was tucked away safely in her coffin.