Nocturne Grim

Nocturne Grim

Chapter One

Notes: Don´t ask where this idea came from. I couldn´t even begin to guess. I s´pose I just have an odd mind. Maybe word association. Picture association. I wish I knew where it came from. Gah. I wish I could switch off my mind sometimes. Like I don´t have enough series to work on.

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Voldemort was long gone.

It was almost two years since the most notorious Dark Wizard in the world had been defeated in an epic battle that had wiped out huge swathes of the wizarding world on both the light and the dark side.

Six months prior to that triumph, there had been the greatest loss the wizarding world had known, on the day that the equally famed Albus Dumbledore, Head Master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and titled with more honourifics than anyone could even try to remember, had been cut down by the same Dark Lord.

The wizarding world had been shaken to it´s core when the news had spread.

It was almost like the effect of an immense boulder being dropped into a tranquil pool, the initial ripples being overlaid again and again by counter-ripples from the outward explosion.

However, looking back at it two years further on, it was the death of Dumbledore which had brought together all the forces of good, leading to the furious battle between those on the side of the Dark Wizard Voldemort and those fighting in the name of Dumbledore.

Many had died.

Far too many.

And those who survived the war, who knew what it had been like before, knew that things would never be the same.

Deep in the dark underbelly of the school that had once been lead by Dumbledore, a single figure - a survivor - sat in the room that had been his for almost twenty-five years, gazing into an ash-strewn grate absently.

It was dark, only illuminated by the last traces of daylight slipping through the narrow windows that lined the top of the walls, casting odd shadows down on the man seated in the massive, stained chair, his hands resting on the elaborately carved arms.

How he had survived the battle, he had no idea.

All he knew was that he had served his penance by risking his life - day in, day out for the three years leading up to Voldemort´s defeat - and while it would never, ever be enough, he had done all that he could and the one that he had stood against had finally fallen.

However, the letter that was crumpled in his tightly-clenched right hand had given him a new focus, a focus that was not entirely based on the school where he still worked, lived and had fought so hard to protect the innocents.

Unfortunately, it was a focus that he was not entirely sure he could deal with.

Not now, at least, with the final end-of-year exams coming up for the significantly reduced number of pupils of Hogwarts.

Which made it all the more bothersome.

It had to be now.

The letter had emphasised that without being blatantly obvious.

There were to be no delays, or it might be too late.

Of course, what they were telling him to do and what he actually intended to do were two very different things, but he knew that his method would be more effective than anything their system could provide.

He had read and re-read the letter a dozen times, although he still did not know quite how they had found him or how to contact him, considering where he was. He had absorbed the contents, as the fire in his grate had burned to nothing. He had tried to find some excuse, but there was nothing else he could do.

This time, he was the only one who could possibly deal with...her.

Of course, she would have no idea who he was, but that didn´t matter. What did matter was that he was being sent to her to aid her in a way that only he could, or at least that was the explanation he would give her.

Not even the group of people who had been responsible for contacting him knew just how well he understood the young woman´s situation and how he could help draw her out of the shadows.

Slowly tilting his head, until his head rested against the high, solid wood back of his chair, Severus Snape allowed a breath to escape in a puff of white condensation, his eyes closed wearily.

Head Mistress McGonagall was liable to be mildly put out with him departing from the school in the lead in to the exam period, but he knew that he couldn´t refuse the request in the letter.

Perhaps, he mused, it would serve as a final act of penance.

Doubtful, considering that he could never fully repay Albus Dumbledore for his trust and protection, but it was another stepping stone across the river.

Drawing a slow, calming breath, Snape pushed himself to his feet, his long, dark robes rustling around him, strangely loud in the silence of the room. The sooner he left, the sooner he knew he would get back.

He smoothed out the letter, which had been delivered via a muggle mail service through Hogsmeade, looking down at the print on the thin, flimsy paper, no doubt from one of those blasted computers.

McGonagall would want to see it, no doubt.

Another sigh escaped him.

Best to get it over with as soon as possible.

***

"Muggles..." Shaking his head, the Potions professor from Hogwarts closed the door of his hotel room behind him, letting it click shut. It wasn´t that he disliked the non-magic humans, but sometimes, they were so...simplistic it astounded him.

Yes, they had some fantastic creations like electricity and automobiles, but ask them to find a reservation in a hotel registry and they could become the stupidest creatures in the world.

It had taken half an hour since he had arrived at the hotel, uncomfortably attired in muggle clothing, for them to rearrange the rooms and give him the keycard for the twin room that he had booked, as opposed to the double-bedded room.

Looking around the room, his lip curled.

Surely they didn´t expect people to pay to stay in such squalor?

When he had asked for a twin room, he has at least expected that it would mean that any two people could move around freely in it without being in constant contact with one another.

Two single beds stood less than a foot apart, their heads against the right hand wall of the room. A television was propped on a stand near the ceiling on the wall to the left, above the shoddy-looking chest of drawers.

On the plus side, there was an en suite bathroom, but - like the rest of the room - nothing really seemed to match, the pale green of the bathroom clashing horribly with the aubergine, beige and lilac of the bedroom area.

Well, he mused, it was still a room for the time being and he didn´t even know if she would agree to accompany him. If that was the case, he could always find somewhere with larger rooms.

Depositing his single bag on the closest bed, he immediately shrugged out of the formal coat he was wearing, wishing that he could wear something more comfortable like his familiar robes, instead of a muggle suit.

Unfortunately, he had to look professional, `normal´ and sane for his meeting with the young woman he had travelled from Britain to see.

Crossing to the window, he opened the yellowing lace drapes carefully, looking out on the streets of Los Angeles, wishing for the thousandth time since he had apparated into the country that he didn´t have to be there.

He couldn´t back out now, though.

He was expected.

In less than three hours time, he would be coming face-to-face with the one person who might be the next stage in his quest for salvation. Either that, or she would prove to be his eternal damnation.

Either way, it was going to be very interesting.

***

He felt stupid.

He had a feeling he looked stupid.

Wearing a muggle suit was one thing, but his hair...his hair had been pulled back into a ponytail, then he had immediately let down again. He couldn´t decide which style made him look less like some kind of sleazy pimp.

Giving up, he ran his fingers through it, pushing it back from his face and letting it hang loosely around his cheeks. Not exactly respectable, but on the plus side, he was clean-shaven and he was wearing a suit, although he had been forced to give up on the tie he had with him.

He made a mental note to give Oliver Wood, the flying teacher who had replaced the late Madam Hooch, one of his remedies, preferably one of his especially painful, slow acting poisons, for providing a tie with sound effects.

And not just any picture or sound effects.

A bloody cartoon lion that roared.

Casting a silencing spell on it hadn´t helped, so he had left it behind.

It transpired to be a good thing too, the heat of the city rising to baking.

Since he all but lived in the dungeons at Hogwarts, the sun burning down from cloudless sky and reflecting straight up off the pavement beneath his feet had been enough to have sweat pouring from him in buckets.

By the time he reached his destination, the black jacket was slung over his arm, the white shirt drenched with sweat and the high collar undone. Once more, he wished passionately that he was back in his dungeon working on complex potions.

Entering the massive, formidable grey building that resembled a series of large, plastic boxes from the outside, he was immediately greeted by a rush of cool air and sighed, as he approached the desk just inside the front door.

A skinny, unsmiling woman with a shrivelled face that resembled a tortoise and an enormous mop of fake blonde hair, wearing a cream blouse and mauve skirt stared up at him, as if she had never seen someone who was unused to the California heat before.

"Mr...uh...Snape?"

"Yes?" he snapped irritably, pushing his tangled hair back from his face.

"Do you have some kind of I.D.?"

Producing a fake British passport - he didn´t exactly need a real one, considering he could apparate anywhere without one - he gave the woman at the desk an unwavering stare, until the passport was returned to him.

"If you wouldn´t mind taking a seat..."

Scowling, he looked over towards the plastic seats, dotted with chewing gum, that lined the walls a little further down the hallway, where a few people sat listlessly, waiting their chance to be taken in.

"Very well," he said, giving the woman a venomous look. "But I am here from overseas. I don't have a great deal of time."

***

"Bitch," he muttered politely in the direction of the woman at the front desk, who was filing her nails and watching the television in her small 'office' at the same time. This was said as he was finally called up, after waiting for two hours.

Even people who had arrived an hour after him had not been kept waiting as long as he had.

"Sorry, buddy," one of the guards said, as he was quickly frisked, then lead into the long corridor lined with booths, where prisoners were allowed to meet with their visitors. "We woulda got you in here earlier, but we had some trouble with your girl and one of the other girls. Another fight."

"Somehow, that does not surprise me at all," Snape replied quietly.

Following the bulky guard along, Snape's eyes scanned along the glass panels, taking in the various faces. Some were bitter, some were hard, some were young, but all of them were exhausted. Window after window passed and they reached the final cubicle in the hall, the Potions professor stopped short as soon as he looked through the pane.

Even though he had never seen her, met her or been sent any photographs of the one he had come to see, he knew her instantly the moment he saw her face through the glass, which separated their sides of the hall.

It could only be her.

She was slouched in the chair, looking both frustrated and worn out. Long, dark hair hung around a pale face, which was marked here and there with fading bruises, her dark brown eyes staring absently at a spot on the desk in front of her, speaking of a spirit that was almost broken.

The ones who had contacted him had been right when they said he was needed and had he come even a few days later, he doubted there would be anything salvageable in the young woman before him.

Compared to the all of the other women prisoners he had seen as he had passed, she was wearing the same, standard clothing: a plain, loose, pale blue shirt, over a dark vest and a pair of fairly loose trousers.

Approaching the desk, he hung his jacket over the back of the chair and slowly sat down, gazing at the young woman as she straightened up in the seat and turned to look at him.

Her dark eyes narrowed, her forehead wrinkling slightly in a way that brought her brows together, a little suspicious, her expression cautious, as she picked up the telephone that connected both sides of the glass.

On his side of the window, Severus Snape did the same, bringing the phone to his ear and speaking.

"Good afternoon, Faith."