This story was originally written for a yahoo group Halloween challenge. Requirements were: mentioning Halloween, mentioning vampires and/or werewolves, writing a scary story.
I would like to thank ProfessorWannabe for prodding me into translating it. Her kind help, patient support and firm but gentle insistence helped the story to grow and blossom.
Nocturne will be posted in three parts. Reviews are always welcome.


Nocturne PartII

One year later

It was a wonderful clear day at the end of October.
The little boy held his grandmother's hand as they were walking through the streets of the city. They passed a large park, its lawn was sprinkled with colourful foliage. The windows of the Muggle stores held a dazzling array of pumpkins, spiders and witch dolls. The boy smiled. He was old enough to understand that Muggles had a soft spot for magic and yet they were keen on denying it really existed.

The old lady and the boy turned the corner to a large high street filled with people, who tried to take in what were probably the last warm rays of sun this year.

Out of the crowd walked a man in a dark cloak. The world seemed to turn slower around him. He looked straight into the boy's eyes.
The boy stopped dead in his tracks. His grandmother walked on, tugging at his arm before stopping to see why he did not walk anymore.

Here it was again, the expression of terror on the small face. Frozen. Terrified. Despite her age, she crouched down to him. She was the only one who refused to look down on him.

"Severus, what's wrong?"

The man was standing behind his grandmother, wearing an evil smirk on his face.

"Can you hear me? What's wrong?"

The boy felt how his grandmother's hands were cupping his cheeks. He was not able to answer.

Some people stopped to look at the old woman and the little boy. The expression on their faces showed surprise, but something pushed them to walk on.

The man bent down to his grandmother. His face was dark, there was a mean twitch around the corner of his lips. The man's hand snaked around his grandmother's neck to her chin. He kissed her throat with open lips; his teeth were gently grazing her skin. The little boy screamed in horror.

"Severus, what's wrong, my dear?" His grandmother's voice had grown very concerned.

The man winked at the boy, got up and disappeared quickly in the crowd.

"Severus?"

He threw his arms around her, crying unrestrainedly. "Don't go," he sobbed, "please, don't go."

"Oh Severus, what are you talking about? I won't go anywhere. Calm down."

"Yes, you will go. He'll take you with him."

"Who will take me with him?"

The little boy did not answer. He breathed her scent, held on tighter to his grandmother. "Don't go, please. I need you. Please!"

The grandmother did the only sensible thing, she lifted him up, walked to the next deserted street and disapparated with her grandson in her arms.

Upon returning home, she sat him on a kitchen chair and prepared hot chocolate – without magic because it tasted slightly better. The boy had not moved, he watched her as though he could bind her to him with his stare. She set two cups of hot chocolate on the table.

"Alright, now the two of us are going to talk like two grown-ups. What do you think?" His grandmother sat down at the narrow end of the big table.

He looked at the cup, steam was rising from it. He looked back at his grandmother sceptically.

She had to smile. A talk like grown-ups carried by the comfort of hot chocolate! Severus was a clever little lad; she could not fool him. Sometimes she tried and he instantly showed he had seen right through her. He always forgave her right away, though.

"So, who is this man? I gather, it is a man, since you referred to him as he?"

The boy reached for his cup, turned it slowly in his hands. He did not speak.

"If you don't want me to go with him, you'll need to tell me what he looks like. How else am I supposed to know whom to trust?" Her voice was patient and kind.

He frowned when he considered what she said. She was right. He moved uncomfortably on the chair, gathered all his courage and was about to start his description of the man.

"Last warning, Severus Snape. If you tell her about me, she'll die," the cold voice sliced through the room.
As though to emphasize the threat, the man stepped out of a dark kitchen corner at his two last words. He crossed the kitchen, sat down at the table, right opposite of the boy.

The grandmother saw the panic in her grandson's eyes. If she did not intervene effectively this time, she would lose an important battle.

"Is he here now?" she asked.

"It's none of her business," the voice said, "You won't breathe a word."
The little boy saw again that the man's lips did not move when he spoke.

"If he threatens you, he is frightened. You are more powerful than you think, Severus. Do you hear me?"

Slowly the boy's head turned to his grandmother. "He doesn't look frightened."

She looked around, trying to see what he was seeing before returning her attention to him. "He is frightened, trust me. So, he is here?"

His little face was very serious. He nodded slowly.

"Fine, your grandmother is dead. Look at her closely. This is how a dead woman looks," the voice whispered.

"I didn't say anything," the boy screamed in panic. "I didn't breathe a word."

"You won't get anywhere with hair-splitting tosh like this, my boy. She'll slowly rot in the family vault. Worms are going to crawl into her skin, eating her from the inside. And it's all your fault."

The little boy put his hands on his ears. "No. No! NO! Grandma is going to live and she'll kill you."

The voice only laughed.

The grandmother put her right hand on his. He lowered both hands. "What did he say?"

The boy hesitated. She gently caressed his face. "Tell me. Just repeat whatever he said. It's not you who said it. You only heard it and I would like you to share this with me. Share his words with me," she said slowly.

He repeated the man's words haltingly. His grandmother nodded. "Where is he exactly?"

"He is sitting opposite me."

"What does he look like?"

"He's tall. Long, black hair. Evil eyes. He's got a long nose. Sharp teeth. He's wearing a black coat."

"Is he a vampire?"

He nodded. Shook his head. Shrugged.

"Your grandmother is as good as dead," the voice whispered. Again, the man's lips did not move.

"You'd kill her anyway, wouldn't you?" The little boy shouted. "You are no vampire. You can walk in daylight. My grandmother won't die. You are a liar. An evil liar."

"And you are a silly -- little -- helpless – boy -- a cry-baby," The man said slowly with a smirk when he got up from the chair. The smirk disappeared. "You are mine. Yes, you are mine." An eerie smile played around his lips again. He laughed, turned and returned to the dark corner where he melted back into he shadows to disappear completely

The boy literally collapsed on his chair.

"Is he gone?" His grandmothers hand was rubbing his back, helping him to calm down.

He nodded.

"What else did he say?"

Instead of answering her question, he held out his arms to her. She pulled him onto her lap. He reluctantly told her everything the man had said. "You won't die, will you?" The boy asked. "You are the only one who really loves me. Don't leave me alone here."

"I do not intend to die yet. I would never leave you all alone here."
She pressed his little delicate body to her, which he readily allowed.

In the evening he was deeply scared to let his grandmother go. He asked her for another bedtime story, something he rarely ever did. She read him a second story, but when she finished reading it, he begged her to read him one more story.

"No, it's enough for today. Sleep now," she said gently.

He reached for her hand.

"I know you don't want me to go, but he won't hurt me. Don't be afraid."
She tucked him in, pressed a lingering kiss on his forehead. "Would you like me to leave the magic light burning?"

He shook his head.

"Alright, good night, Severus. Sweet dreams."

"You too," deep concern edged in his voice.

The little boy slept soundly for most of the night. He only woke a dawn for a few seconds, before he turned and slept on as though someone had poured sleep-dust into his eyes.
When he woke a few hours later, he was once again gripped by the concern for his grandmother. He jumped out of his bed, ran to her bedroom, knocked and bolted in without waiting for her answer.

She was sitting in her bed, slightly paler than usual, but she was smiling at him. His heart felt lighter.

"Good morning, Severus." She raised her hand to beckon him closer.

The little boy hesitated. Something was not right and this something was tugging at the corner of his heart.

"You don't like her? You don't like your dead grandmother anymore?" The old woman was moving her lips, but it was not her voice speaking.

The man stepped out of the dark corner of the room. His grandmother's body collapsed, devoid of life.

"No," the little boy whispered. "No!" Without thinking, he stormed towards the man, pummelled him with his small fists.

The man had not expected the attack; he swayed for a second before catching his balance again. He grabbed the boy and lifted him effortlessly. The boy hit him, his hand curled, scratching the man's cheek. Blood was flowing instantly. The man let him drop to the floor like a disgusting insect.

"You are mine," he spat before melting back into the shadows.

The boy was breathing heavily, staring at his hand. He could feel the man's skin under his fingernails. He had hurt him. At the same time, he grew aware that his life would change dramatically from now on. He would not be a cry-baby anymore. His grandmother had always protected him, but she was gone now. Hot tears were running down his face. He came to stand on his wobbly knees and went to the bed, lay down beside his grandmother, he put his arm around her, kissed her face. She was already cold. He let the tears run freely. One last time he wanted to feel the comfort only she could give him. One last time he wanted the scent of her perfume fill his nostrils.

A little while later, his mother found him, cuddled into his grandmother's chest, with tearstained cheeks and fast asleep. His mother woke him, told him to let go of the lifeless body. The boy did not see her again.

His father, who seemed in a much better mood now, had seen to it that all formalities were settled within four days. On the night before the funeral, his father invited his friends for a noisy night of playing cards, smoking and drinking. The boy knew that his grandmother would have never allowed something like this to happen in her house. She had never approved of his father's excessive drinking and gambling. To the boy it felt as though his father was dancing on his grandmother's grave. The fact that she was not buried yet only made it worse.
When the boy walked from the bathroom to his bedroom to go to bed, he heard his drunk father shout, "A toast! A toast! … At this time tomorrow, … her coffin's already in that … wretched family vault, safely locked away till eternity. I give … my humble thanks to the deities … that this old cow requested a private funeral … oh - and to you, Willard, for speedin' up the process a little … matter of fact to you all … for comin' here tonight."

The other men howled and whistled their consent like a pack of wolves. The boy was standing still, forcing himself not to run downstairs to lunge himself at his father.

Two days later, the boy was presented a governess. His father had hand-picked this very stern, ill-tempered woman, who wore only black. She was the exact opposite of the boy's grandmother. Her lips were thin, her nose was long, her eyes were small and piercing. There was no trace of benevolence or kindness, neither in her features, nor in her demeanour.

When the boy saw her step into his room from the relative dark of the hallway on the first day, he had to bite back a cry. For a moment, he thought the dark man had walked in. The resemblance between the governess and the dark man was uncanny. The boy could not bring himself to trust this woman; he felt as though he was the subject of some sick conspiracy.

What was more, the boy's father had compiled a list of rules which the boy had to adhere to. When the boy broke one of the rules, the governess was free to discipline him in any way she deemed appropriate. She preferred to punish the boy by making him stand in the darkest corner, face to the wall. No punishment could have been worse. The first time he had broken a rule, she had made him stand half a day in the corner, because he had refused to comply, she had even used the Imobilus hex to force him to stay put. Sure enough, it had not taken long until the dark man's face appeared in front of his. The mouth was a malicious grin, the eyes cold and sparkling with glee.

"Ah, yes. You're mine now."

The boy's eyes widened then he squeezed his eyes shut, fixing his thoughts on his grandmother to fight down the feeling of panic. He tried to smell her scent when his face came into touch with the heavy fabric of the man's cloak. He tried to feel her warmth when two hands with long fingers pushed his face into the odourless cloak.

"Don't fight it," the voice whispered, trying to lure him.

I won't be like you, the boy kept repeating in his head, I won't ever be like my father. Like the governess. Like you.

"I am the spider," the voice whispered, "and you are caught in my web. The more you move, the quicker you'll be mine."

The morning after this incident, the boy would only wear black clothes. He took every chastisement with stoic calm. He became obsessed with learning. He put aside his childhood like an item of clothing which had shrunk in the wash, but at night, in his dreams, he hid in the arms of his grandmother, seeking and finding the comfort he so craved. Sometimes he woke in the morning, the scent of her perfume tickling his nose. It was in these scattered and cherished moments where he felt his soul come alive to stretch and to breathe.
As a result of this strategy, the dark man appeared less and less frequently, never trying to initiate physical contact again, seemingly satisfied with reminding the boy of his presence by showing his face.

-TBC-