Harry woke up and saw only red. He was having trouble breathing. He rolled and was suddenly shoved hard into his pillow. The surprise woke him up completely. Esme crouched over him, one hand on his mouth and her eyes glowing red. When she spoke, it was still her voice, but there was a hint of something else underneath it.

“I won’t hurt you,” she said, her lips curling upwards in a smile. “This isn’t your fault...Of course, it wasn’t your little friend’s fault either, but life is, above all things, unfair.” Harry glanced over and saw that Ron’s bed was in complete disarray. The sheets and pillows were scattered. He struggled and tried to shout, but it was no use. Esme/Brohm was too strong and pinned him easily.

“Now, now,” she said. Her smile widened and her breath caught awkwardly. “There’s a very simple solution to this little dilemma. There’s a little something I need.”

“I hid it!” he mumbled into her palm. He had given the World’s Door to Dumbledore, and was trying to think of a plan. The key was safe with Dumbledore, he was sure. All he had to do was stall. She released his mouth to take hold of his throat. Her fingers were cold and so much stronger than they should have been. “I hid it.” he said audibly. “It’s in the dungeons. Where’s Ron? I’ll show you where it is if you let him go.”

“He’s on the roof,” she said sweetly. “Safe and sound unless he turns out to be a sleepwalker.”

“A-all right...” he made his voice falter, trying to sound more scared than he was. “I’ll show you the way.”

“Do so,” she said. She picked him up by the neck as if he weighed nothing and set him down on the cold stone floor. He led the way down, her hand around his throat like a vise. He would take her the long way to the dungeons, he decided. As busy as Hogwarts had been for the past few days, someone was bound to notice them. The halls were dark and still, though. Even the paintings on the walls were silent.

The only person they passed on the way was a Hufflepuff prefect, sprawled out on the ground. Harry gasped and took a step towards the girl, but the grip tightened on his neck and brought him up short. The prefect had dark hair that covered her face, so he wasn’t sure who it was. He hoped she wasn’t hurt too badly.

“Did you do that to her?” he asked Esme/Brohm. “Will she be all right?”

“I haven’t laid hands on a mortal myself in so long, I really couldn’t say,” the odd mix of voices said. The tone was casual and disinterested.

“How old are you?” Harry asked, just to make noise in the hopes someone would come. Where was Peeves? he wondered. Where was anybody??

“Older then the Morthahg,” Esme/Brohm said. “I knew where to find it, because I knew the people who imprisoned it.”

“Why release it though?” Harry swallowed against the grip on his throat. “Why kill Magic-users?”

“A certain Weiss Ficus came to me for help once upon a time. Anything! he said. Name your price and I’ll pay it! How could I turn my back on such grief?” Brohm’s voice chuckled, the accent becoming more prominent over Esme’s. “There’s never been a way to bring the dead back to life, but unlife has a few loopholes. By then, my associate’s goddaughter was killed. Sweet Opal. I haven’t seen Nathiel so upset since Rome burned. I had a feeling I knew what was happening though, so in return for my help, I had the late Headmaster make a few arrangements for me.”

“He saved your spirit in his staff when you were killed,” Harry wondered how the memory of that would affect the once-vampire, but he/she only smiled.

“Yes. And made the Bind for me. Quite a surprise for this lovely lady.” Esme’s body gestured at itself.

“Why the Morthahg though?” Harry asked next. The grip on his neck tightened and drove the breath from him. Then it loosened enough to let air through a second later.

“Curious child,” the oily velvet voice purred. “Ficus needed power. He found a hidden mirror after searching for months and looked into it, hoping to see the way to make his dream come true.”

“Erised..” realized Harry.

“Ebyam,” his captor said, a teasing note of Esme’s real voice seeping through. It darkened again almost at once. “I’ve no interest in intangible joys. Hopes and if-onlys are for the living. The dead are beyond such illusions, and the undead, too practical.”

“Ficus wanted to bring his grand-daughter back,” Harry guessed, remembering the sweet-faced girl from the picture. Esme/Brohm stroked his cheek with her free hand.

“Clever, perceptive, persistent child...” Harry could feel the veiled threat in the words and swallowed again. His Adam’s apple bobbed against her fingers.

“I was just wondering how the Morthahg fit into it all,” he said meekly. A sharp-feeling fingernail traced his jugular vein through his skin.

“Ficus looked into the mirror and saw only himself,” Brohm’s voice sounded amused now. “And there, in his moment of wildest disappointment and despair, his hate for the Magical World showed him the Morthahg. He saw where it was, his burning desire to destroy, answered in fire. It came through the mirror for him. The mirror cracked, trapping his reflection and turning his magic back on itself.

“You hurt it more than you knew, when you let it devour Ficus. With him gone, the Morthahg has lost its link to the world and now it wanders.”

They were now going down the stairs to the dungeons. Snape would be there every other time I tried to come sneaking down here on my own, Harry thought. And this is the one time I’ll be glad to see him! Just please let him be there! He led the way to the Potions chambers, going as slowly as he dared.

“I put it down here for safe-keeping,” he said loudly. Fingernails dug into his neck painfully.

“Show me,” Esme/Brohm whispered, cold breath brushing his ear. The hand tightened again. Trying not to choke, Harry stepped into the room. His heart sank. Snape wasn’t there, but there was a potion simmering away at the desk. Maybe he’ll be back soon, he hoped. He walked slowly up to the desk looking around for anything that could help him. There was a broom leaning against the wall, but not so much as a dull letter opener in reach.

Esme/Brohm was looking around too. Her eyes fell on the box that the vials of blood had been delivered in. She snatched it up, but it was empty. With a sound like a snarl, she had seized Harry again. He was lifted off the floor and slammed down on Snape’s desk with a beaker-rattling thump.

“You didn’t hide it very well, did you?” Brohm’s voice hissed. “Where are the vials?” Harry started to sputter, surprised that Brohm was after the blood instead of the World’s Door. “Tell me, or I will pluck out those green eyes of yours and set them in a pair of rings.”

“I don’t know!” He gasped and she dug her fingernail into the corner of his eye. It hurt, but no worse than the time Dudley had dragged his face across the carpet on Privet Drive. The worst of that had been getting a small piece of carpet fuzz in his eye and it has scratched the inside of his eyelid so that even when the fuzz was gone, the stinging had driven him crazy for days.

“I’ll wear one myself,” Brohm went on. “And the other I will give as a gift, perhaps to that frowzy little bookworm who’s so fond of you, or perhaps to the Headmaster here who has been so very hospitable...”

“Infirmary!” Harry squeaked to buy some time. The pressure on his eye increased and he felt the thin skin there part under the fingernail. A trickle started down his cheek like a hot tear. Real tears brimmed in the other eye as the pain built.

“I just came from there,” the once-vampire hissed. “I would have sensed my own blood there.”

“Either Snape or Professor Zephyr will have it,” Harry said guiltily. The trickle touched his lips and left the copper taste of blood. Perhaps sensing the reluctant truth there, Esme/Brohm’s hand moved to cup his hurt eye almost tenderly. Without warning, she stooped and kissed the blood from his lips. Then, she licked the rest from his face in single quick lap and sucked her own bloodied fingernail.

She was breathing heavily now. She made an annoyed sound and pressed her other hand to her chest. Still pinned flat to the desk, Harry could see the pulse jump in her throat. Brohm hasn’t been in living body for hundreds of years, he realized suddenly. He wasn’t used to having to breathe or the sensation of a beating heart. Would pain be a surprise to him too?

Before the creature could recover, Harry reached out and slapped the hot potion from the burner onto her skin. The hot glass seared his hand, but he paid it no attention. A cloud of deep blue smoke went up with a sizzling sound. Esme/Brohm cried out in surprise and pain and stumbled back.

“Accio!” screamed Harry and Snape’s broom shot to his hand. He was on it and gone back up the stairs as fast as he could fly. More blood started from his eye, but he cared more about not being able to see than the pain. He shot through the corridors at random, turning down whatever hall seemed the clearest.

Where was everybody?? he wondered again. After he’d gone through enough of a maze that even he wasn’t sure what part of Hogwarts he was in, he slid to a stop and stopped to listen. There was nothing but his own panting breath. He wiped at his eye and found his hands were shaking. That had been a closer call than he liked.

Someone had to be awake here somewhere, he told himself. I’ll find some help and go to Dumbledore. Then, a hand dropped on his shoulder and fastened on. Another snatched the broom from his hands. He found himself facing a look of unholy delight.

“You’ve done it this time,” said Filch.