Hogwarts lay under a blanket of snowstorm and black fog. The latter was Brohm’s doing. He could smell the magic hanging over the castle, high-noted like citrus, like his memory of the taste of grapefruit. He remembered the first magic user he had ever met, ages past in the desert, a woman who had seemed old to him at the time, wild-haired and bright-eyed, carrying an umbrella of all things. He had never seen one at that point in his life (and it had been life, this was before he had changed) and had been amazed by such an impractical object, especially when it hopped after her to stay under her hand as she flitted, bird-like, through the market.

She had carried that same scent, and more than a decade later, he had smelled it again, this time as a vampire. A traveler out after dark, with a satchel of books that opened and closed themselves in a rustle of pages, with that same bright smell under the scent of vanilla and dry pages. Brohm had been disappointed that the magic users didn’t taste like they smelled. They tasted as mundane as the non-magical folk they pitied and despised so.

Now that he was housed in magic user flesh, he found the whiff of magic less thrilling. Perhaps it was just his age telling on him, he thought, amused. He remembered fighting the witch and the werewolves. She hadn’t taken any chances, had hit him with everything she had, magic, mundane weapons, and her pet werewolves. In the end, it hadn’t been enough.

He sent his awareness into Hogwarts, flickering over the minds of the living inside. From the quick, sharp minds of the owls in the attics to the barely-there presence of the ghosts, to the lurking, shifting force of the Morthahg in the labyrinth below, he felt them all, and finally let his attention sift through the screeching din of human minds in the castle.

Night was falling, but the storm was so heavy that no one noticed except the vampires. Attuned to the setting sun, it was only after true darkness descended over the castle that the attack began

The first wave were the mind-hunters. They set up at various points to send their telepathic influence into Hogwarts. First to feel it were the owls, and they fled their safe havens shrieking in panic, straight into the storm. Inside, the other familiars were also affected. Cats bristled and hissed, jumping at nothing to tear around halls in desperate attempts to hide somewhere. Even Crookshanks was a nervous wreck, but he chose to hide under Hermione’s arm. Rats and toads and all other animals panicked and bit and ran.

It wasn’t just them. Something like primal fear had settled into the humans’ minds as well. Everyone wanted to leave, to escape. It would be easier to face the storm outside than to bear waiting here, trapped in these walls for their executioners to come. Wiser heads prevailed, but only just, leaving the rest to lurk near light sources while the storm built to a raging nightmare outside.

On their way through a hall, prickling with unease, Harry, Ron, and Hermione caught sight of Victor Zephyr by a window. The old man was standing so still he might’ve been a statue or a suit of armor, but he was looking out and up intently to where the moon might be (hopefully still was) behind the clouds.

“Are you coming to dinner, sir?” Harry called.

“No.” It was barely more than a growl, and Zephyr didn’t even look at him. Ron raised his eyebrows and inched for the door, but Hermione, still clutching an unnerved Crookshanks decided to take a kindly interest.

“Have you heard from your granddaughters?” she asked. “You must be worried.”

“No,” Zephyr said again. He exhaled through his nose and the window fogged. “This is what comes of valuing manners over self-preservation. If we had been free to lash out as we should have, taken the vengeance we were due, none of this would’ve happened, no more children would’ve been endangered.” He half-turned and his too-bright eyes gleamed at them in the dim hallway. “I’m old, older even that I look, but not so weak that I couldn’t have burned that place to ashes.”

“What place?” Hermione asked as Crookshanks rumbled unhappily. Zephyr looked at her directly and seemed to realize who he was talking to.

“Hm. Never you mind,” he said. “Long ago and far away.” He tilted his head suddenly, noticing the scar on her neck. “You’ve run afoul of our Rosie.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, hand going up to touch the mark. “Something’s wrong with her. She nearly killed Tanner, then me, and then ran off.”

“Hnh.” Zephyr had crossed the space between them in a heartbeat without actually seeming to hurry. He looked closer at the bite, which made Harry and Ron both step closer to Hermione to back her up.

“If she hurt the Red,” Zephyr mused quietly. “He let her. But she still has some explaining to do.”

“You seem awfully calm about it,” Harry said. “She nearly killed Hermione and I barely got away from her myself.” The old wizard glanced at him and if he had looked amused, Harry didn’t know what he would throw at him, but the look was a solemn one.

“Still waters run deep,” Zephyr said, and went back to his window. “I’m keeping an eye on this storm. It has eyes too, and they seem to be looking back.”

No one slept that night. The whole castle was on edge and morning never came. The vampire’s second attack was darkness. All light and warmth were sucked away. Magical fires wouldn’t stay lit and the Muggle-born had to dig out old lighters and tinderboxes to keep the fireplaces going. It wasn’t like the Dementor’s fog, but it reminded everyone enough of it keep them all horrified. Except for Tanner. He moved from hearth to hearth, obnoxiously cheerful and distracting everyone from their fears, even if it was only to make them angry at him.

“It has to be morning soon,” moaned Lavender, looking over her shoulder at a dark window.

“We’re under the wings of a vampire,” Tanner reminded her. “The sky will be black until his shadow passes us by.”

“What does that even mean?” Ginny snapped crossly. Tanner grinned at his fellow redhead and leaned in closer,

“It has been morning for some time, turtledove,” he said. “The leeches trapped themselves a storm, and made a nest of bad weather that the sun can’t get through. They can walk as they please now.”

“That’s crazy,” Harry said as Ginny’s eyes widened. “How can they be that powerful? They’re dead.”

“It’s the one in charge that’s usually the problem,” Tanner said, going to stand by the fireplace and lean on the mantle. “And this one’s all bad news and snake skins. Esme killed him and he had to transfer himself to a new body because the last one was destroyed.”

He may have meant to go on, but a voice behind him made them all turn to see Lorelei standing there. Her dark glasses were on again despite how weak the light was.

“I was always afraid,” she said. “That he only let Esme think she killed him. That it was part of some plan of his, to dispose of his old bloodline and start a new one in a new country. A country with alliance with law-abiding undead perhaps, who wouldn’t understand what they were dealing with until it was too late.”

“We aren’t that bad,” Ron muttered. “Or that stupid.” She looked at him and all he could see was himself reflected in the black lenses.

“Hogwarts’ windows and hearths are lines with salt-silver, so whoever built it knew more about keeping predators out then whoever is in charge of the magical wards,” she said.

“The wards are being replenished all the time,” Hermione said. “The vampires can’t get in that way. How long will they sit out there in the snow anyway?”

“They have time on their side,” Tanner sighed. “And the longer they wait, the hungrier they’ll get, and the more determined they’ll be.”

“How many do you think there are?” Lorelei asked him. His grin went even wider.

“Let’s ask,” he purred. He leaned close to the fire and called up the chimney. “Hellooooo, little batty butt. I can hear you scratching and squeaking up there. Bats hibernate in the winter, as your little flock is no doubt complaining. D’ya mind telling us how many of you there are?”

Everyone had frozen at the thought of a vampire being that close, and Hermione was just about to tell him off for trying to scare them, when a voice answered. It was feminine, and barely more than a squeaky whisper, but it chilled everything in hearing range with a pulse.

“One for every window, one for every bed,

One for every chimney, one in every head,

One for every shadow, the corner of each eye,

One for every one that lives, and two for each that die.”

“Cute,” said Tanner. “How long you been brewing that one up?” There wasn’t any answer except for a breathy chuckle. Lavender had scrambled to her feet.

“If they’re in there, everywhere, why aren’t they attacking yet?” she wailed. “Why aren’t they inside? What are they waiting for??”

“For one of us to make a mistake,” Lorelei said coldly. “Vampires are patient. Being immortal means you can take your time.”

“It’s only the young stupid ones that go charging in, fangs first and cape billowing,” Tanner added. “Those are easy to kill. Isn’t that right, batsy?”

There was the sound of movement in the chimney, like dozens of wings fluttering and claws picking their way over stone. The fire suddenly exploded upwards. There was a shriek of pain and what looked like the remains of incinerated little bats rained into the fire for a moment, shriveling away to ash. A new protective ward flared to life on the hearth and they all turned to see Victor Zephyr pointing his wand at the fireplace. He was glaring at Tanner.

“A Hunter,” he said, putting special emphasis on the word. “Should know better.” Tanner was still grinning.

“Baiting isn’t hunting,” he replied. “I don’t have to hunt these. I know where they are.”

“They’re hunting you this time,” Victor said it like there was a much longer lecture coming, and Tanner made a very formal bow to Lorelei to cut it off.

“It isn’t me they’re after,” he said, kissing her hand before she could yank it away. “They’ll wait us out, like crows over a battlefield.”

“The sun will break through eventually,” Lorelei said. She pulled back into herself, no exposed skin now but what of her face was visible around the glasses.

“Then why hasn’t it?” Harry asked.

“It will,” Hermione said, pulling her eyes away from the weird tableau of Tanner, Lorelei, and Zephyr. She raised her voice fearlessly. The other students couldn‘t help but take hope from her confidence. If anyone would know, after all, it was her. “No matter how powerful those creatures are, they can’t stop time or upset nature for very long.”

“They don’t have to,” Tanner sighed, getting back to his feet. “They live outside of time themselves. Trapped in a cold, dead bubble where nothing changes, and they’ve done the same to us. The sun has risen somewhere. The storm has passed somewhere. Life is going on somewhere. But not here. The smell of the storm has changed. It’s trapped in here with us. Wants out as badly as we do.”

His voice had dropped to an ominous, ghost story-telling whisper and the effect was ruined when Zephyr cleared his throat and caught his eye.

“Lolling by fireplaces frightening children is not where I expect to see you when you have a job to do,” he said. Tanner was all interest.

“What job would this be?” he asked.

“The same one I was fool enough to trust you with before,” Zephyr growled. “Which, if you had done properly, I would not be standing here with only one granddaughter.” Tanner bowed again, and slipped into his wolf form instead of standing up. It got gasps and a few shrill screams from some of the students who hadn’t seen it before. His grin was still on, and he padded out without another sound.