A smoky dusk settles into an eerie silence, the night falls slowly over the silhouette off a castle, nestled into the hills. Hogwarts seems to be asleep. The students are all in their beds, the teachers in theirs, and the ghosts hold slow conversations in the halls. No one hears them; the harsh wind whips past windows, the whistling of the wind covers for the wayward dead as they discuss the events of the past. A tall, pearly figure with a ruff whispers to a beautiful, yet equally pale female ghost. Her eyes open with wide concern as the man discusses his own harsh death, for the, what seems, millionth time, he tilts his head over to the side, it holds on by only the smallest fraction of skin and sinew. The ghosts often discuss their own passings to one and other. Yet, they are unaware of another life slowly slipping away from the realm of reality just a few corridors away; death lurks in the inky dark, awaiting another victim.