The Banshee
He stood tall on the rocky hilltop, the jet-black traveling cloak tightly wrapped around his thin body as he looked out over the fog-thick moor. It was very late, and with no visible moon, it was impossible to see to the other side. But, it was there. He knew it was; his safe haven. A candle would be lit in the small, front window; a beacon of light to guide him home. He had been walking for miles, for what seemed like days, maybe a lifetime. He was tired, and it finally felt like he was nearing his destination. It was a comfortable feeling that was rapidly becoming more tense with every footfall in the darkness of the misty night.
As he stood, a shrill shriek echoed over the moor, prickling the hair on the back of his neck, sending an electric shiver down his spine. But, he stood firm, unwilling to show his trepidation. Pulling the cloak tighter and squaring his shoulder for the task ahead, he carefully eased down the uneven slope, his limp hair falling into his face, an involuntarily tremble rippling through his body. The glow of his wand tip did little to illuminate the surroundings as he was engulfed in the damp haze.
The haunting wail sounded again, and he turned to the call, weighing his options, carefully considering the possibilities: advance or retreat. Valiantly, he pushed on, the fog thickening as he ventured deeper into the moor. The fearsome screech became louder, closer, reverberating off the white vapor, but he pressed forward, determined to reach the end. He could barely see the hand in front of his face, but could feel the thick mud ooze around his boots with each step making his feet heavy and each step unstable. Time was endless, and fatigue was setting in.
Finally looking up, he saw a shimmer of a light glowing through the mist in the far distance, his tiny glimmer of hope.
The howl echoed again, this time closer than he anticipated, and he startled at the sound. Bolting, he ran with all his might toward the safety of a small structure, the dim candle in the window acting as his guide, as he knew it would. Sloshing through the quagmire and clamoring up the slippery slope on the opposite side, he stumbled, rolling down the hill, and falling into murky swamp, muddying his pristine clothes, and tangling himself in his heavy, dark cloak. Struggling against the wet cloth as the banshee let go another piercing cry, his arms flailed as he rolled onto his stomach. He needed to get up. He needed to get to that building. He needed to be home. She had always been there for him. She’d always had the candle lit. He knew that’s where he had to be. Breathing heavily as he lay face down in the mud, he set his resolve. Nothing would keep him away. Gathering his strength and taking a deep breath, he carefully rose and steadied himself. Trudging through the sludge and cautiously finding solid grip under his feet, he progressively climbed the slippery hill.
At the top, he straightened himself, raising his head against the fog, flipping a lock of stringy, black hair from his face. The banshee screeched again, and the fog began to clear from around the structure. His jaw set tight, and he determinedly tossed the sodden cloak from his shoulders to the rocky path. With his feet on solid ground, he purposefully wove through the scattering of barren trees to the place he called home. The sound of the banshee continued as he strode forth, lamenting and growing louder with each footstep. Pushing the brightly painted, wooden door open, he stood in the entranceway, his ears being assaulted by a high-pitched scream, his senses suddenly, completely alert.
“You called?” he slurred through sleepy vocal cords as he moved from the hallway into the moonlit room. “You do realize that I’m here to serve you,” he quietly snarked as the wail trickled to a whimper, then to a sniff, then completely stopped.
“I was beginning to wonder how you managed to sleep through all of that?” a ghostly figure asked from the cosy rocking chair in the far corner of the room, a tired but radiant smile sparkling in her sleepy, blue eyes as she gazed up at the man she loved. “Looks like you had a fight with the sheets. Who won?” she grinned.
“I’m here in one piece. I think it’s safe to say, I won.” His thin lips twitched up at the corners as he moved to her side; reaching to stroke the downy, black head of the fussy creature in her arms.
Big blue eyes, the color of dark denim, shone up at him as tiny limbs stretched in his direction. Rosy cheeks were stained with tears as her hands clasped for his fingers.
“Well, I guess that settles things,” Daniella smiled as she relinquished her daughter to the imposing figure of her husband. “She’s a Daddy’s girl. Nothing calmed her until you arrived.”
Severus took the babe and rocked her in his strong arms, talking softly in a voice that his wife had often compared to melting chocolate. She cooed and reached for her father, feeling what few others had ever felt: his strength, his love, his commitment to protect. He smiled softly at this little wonder, feeling a well in his chest that often filled him these days.
Pacing the small nursery, gently swaying his tiny daughter, he gazed at the woman who was now straightening the crib. They had been through so much together. They had experienced achievements and losses, had precious stolen moments and endless times apart. They had struggled with each other and loved so deep that there were no boundaries. She was his best friend, his confidant, his lover, and his life. He returned his gaze to the child. This joy in his arms, with the set of lungs that put any banshee to shame, was worth every fight, every sacrifice, every risk that he had ever taken. Life, for her, would be good: safe and happy, without the worries of war or evil. She would never be used, never have to fight. She could simply be a child. That was their promise to her, and they intended to keep it.
Katarina’s eyes drooped and finally closed, but he didn’t want to let her go just yet. Standing by the window, looking out over the mountains and trees that surrounded their Spanish stone villa, he could see the dark purple glow of Dragon Weed gleaming their Protective Shield. Daniella had insisted on planting it when they had arrived years ago, and he had grown accustomed to the constant reminder that, even though they had created a new existence far away, their life would always require safeguards.
He felt a firm, warm hand on the centre of his back and her cheek press against his shoulder blade. She worked around to his side and leaned her head against his upper arm. Turning to look down at her, he smiled tenderly and kissed her forehead, lovingly wrapping a free arm around her tired body. They silently stood gazing into the peaceful night. The worries and fears were gone, and what remained was the comfort of being safe in a home made of love… and a decent collection of Protective Spells.
Oh well, he snorted lightly. It’s as close to perfection as we can get.
The Banshee by DaniDM
Chapter Notes: A second addendum to the "Creating a Ghost" trilogy. It's best to know the history and the characters to fully understand, but it could probably stand alone.