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Misty air flowed over the Scottish Highlands in slow, sensual waves, creating a permeating cold to penetrate the skin of both man and beast. Anyone caught outside felt the icy fingers waltz up their backs in soft caressing strokes. They hurried along, pulling their heavy cloaks close, and rushed inside to ward off the chill by large fireplaces.

Folk at the pubs traded whispers amongst themselves. This was a night of the undead; they moved in shadows, never seen by the light of day. Folkloric tradition stated the Devil himself would claim any young lad or lass caught wandering the mist after dark fall. Once dusk crept over the horizon, the townspeople would jump at the slightest flicker of shadow.

If asked, they would always act mortified at the thought of leaving. This was their home, and always would be. To the outsider, it was almost as if they didn’t want to leave their personal vampires, but wished to stay afraid and confined in their homes.

One home, on the outskirts of this little hamlet, seemed abandoned most of the time. But strange noises would often rattle through the old, rotting timbers. The hamlet’s children would often dare each other to go into the abandoned house, but none ever ventured farther than the front porch. Each one came running back with various tales of strange happenings, flying objects, glowing candles and forms appearing and disappearing at will.

That day, no child dared go near the ramshackle home. The light in the parlour was on, and figures moved inside at a rapid pace. Murmurs started up at the market. A note had appeared in the store’s mail slot that very morning, requesting … no, demanding the list be filled and dropped off on the porch of the old house by dusk. The storeowners hurried to get the order completed, but could not find anyone brave enough to deliver it. Dusk fell, and the delivery was not made. Fear coursed its cold fingers through the proprietors.

A figure seemed to materialize at the front door of the store, close to closing time. The proprietor’s wife jumped and gave a startled squeal, clutching at her frayed, cotton apron when the black-hooded figure strode in the store. She cowered behind her husband, spindly, arthritic hands crossing herself for protection. Black-gloved hands reached up and partially removed the cowl covering his face. A hooked nose with sallow skin was all that could be seen from the hood.

“I had requested these items be delivered to me by dusk. You have received payment, with a hefty bonus for doing so. Now I find myself in this … establishment … to retrieve them. Explain.”

“We do not have an available delivery person, sir.” The storeowner stammered, twisting his well-worn cap in his hands. “We will return your bonus, just please, don’t harm us.”

“Harm you? You are not worth the effort.” The figure reached out a gloved hand, palm up to the proprietor. Money was placed in the hand, and pocketed. “My packages?”

The box filled with the strange order was placed on the counter, and the man picked it up without difficulty. With a sharp turn on his heel, cloak snapping behind him, he stalked to the door. He stopped, turned around, and faced the shaken proprietors.

“This will not happen again. If I request an order be dropped off, I expect it to happen. Are we clear?”

Frantic nods prompted the strange man to exit the store, where the mist seemed to swallow him up and he disappeared from sight.

The shop owner and his wife looked at each other. Neither of them had ever seen the stranger before, but knew of his existence. They knew not to cross him again, or dire things may befall them.

The man in black appeared back in his home with a pop. He put down the box and shook off his cloak. Hanging it up, he called to his servant.

“I have returned. Come put these things away, then start dinner.”

A small figure scurried into the kitchen, weighted down by the packages. The man swept up the stairs and into the last bedroom at the back. He paused by the door and listened. No sounds of movement came from inside. He opened the door and walked in, closing it softly behind him.

The room was dark. No outside light was allowed in through the deep red velvet curtains. They were the only extravagance in the room. Everything else was old, rotting and simplistic. A single bed dominated the room. There were no cupboards, no tables and no chairs.

On the bed was a figure, huddled under the blankets, blocking out the meagre light with the thin blanket.

“Lucius. Lucius, wake up. It’s dusk.” The figure burrowed further under the covers. “Get up you worthless shit. The Dark Lord will be calling soon, and you have some questions to answer before he does.”

The blankets were rudely removed from the bed, exposing the frail looking, and dirty form of the once proud Lucius Malfoy. His formerly shining silver locks were lank and stringy, and his once healthy frame was a startling, unhealthy thin weight.

Silver eyes glared into obsidian ones. “Severus, you are a foul piece of work, you know that? I am unwell, and it is your duty to care for me. It is the Dark Lord’s wishes.” Even as ill as he was, the Malfoy arrogance was still prevalent in all he did.

Severus’ eyes narrowed. “You would do well, not to anger me, Lucius. I am in no mood for your games. One word to the Dark Lord about your recent failings and you will be cast even further from the inner circle. Where once you stood, now do I.” His lips curled over his teeth in a snarl. “Now get up.” Severus stalked from the room.

Upon reaching the study, Severus let his demeanour change. His eyes flicked to the wooden box on the mantle of his fireplace, and the key within. The key that held the piece of his very soul, the only piece that was still human, and alive.

Severus revelled in the dark. He was a Day Walker, born into the world as a half-breed. His life was filled with halves. Half muggle, half wizard. Half day walker, half vampire. It amused him when the children of Hogwarts would whisper about him being a vampire or an old bat. They weren’t far from the truth. Only his form was that of the raven, rather than the bat.

Over the past number of months, the war had raged. The side of Light was dwindling faster than soap down a drain. No one knew why the Light was failing. No one knew why Harry Potter chose not to fight. The Dark Lord and his Death Eaters seemed to win each battle at every turn.

Severus knew, however. He knew the death of Dumbledore would be the downfall of the Light. He fought against it, and lost. Now, all he was doing was recouping his own personal loss.

He knew his time was short. He knew Lucius would be called to the Dark Lord’s side quickly. Severus needed to strike a blow fatal to his enemy before that call came. He heard the shuffling gait of his houseguest and schooled his tired features into its customary sneer.

“Lucius, you are a failure. You tried to mould your son into a perfect replica of yourself. You lost. Draco is dead. He wasn’t even deemed worthy enough to be killed by Voldemort himself. A lowly grunt took care of that work. Broke his neck instead of using magic. Fitting death for him. He failed his mission. Now you will suffer. I killed Dumbledore because your worthless spawn took pity.” Severus spit the words at the shaken man. Then he came in for the kill. “Your wife is reclaiming the Black name and has squandered your fortune. You are poor. You are scum. You have no power in the Ministry anymore. You. Are. Worthless.”

Severus turned his back on the pale man. His canines started to ache. “However. I can make it all right for you. Death is your only chance.”

“Malfoys don’t give up, Severus. You know that. I will not give in to death. I will fight my way back.”

Severus arched a brow and turned to his once dear friend. “Truly? How will you fight back when the only reason you are to be summoned to the Dark Lord’s side is to fight to the death with a muggle? No wand, no magic? You will lose, my friend. You will lose.”

Lucius stared at Severus as if to ascertain the truth. He saw only honesty, cold honesty, but honesty in his friend’s eyes. “I have a doubt.”

“That’s all I need, mortal.” Faster than light, Severus rushed Lucius and bit his neck. Lucius fought against him, scratching and struggling. He felt a hardness press against his thigh, as the battle aroused the vampire. Gasping, Lucius did the only thing he could think of. His mind and soul draining away, he pushed into Severus’ groin and groaned.

Severus took this opportunity to rip the tattered clothes off the dying man. Ripping his teeth away from Lucius’ neck, Severus spun the man around. He used Lucius’ own blood to coat his cock and force his way into the man. He bit again. Lucius would not survive this encounter.

As Severus forced his desire onto and into Lucius, he could feel the man’s death. Foggy with the bloodlust, Severus roared his anger. Mere mortal! Worthless scum! He threw the dead man’s body away from him and fell to his knees panting. He struggled to calm his beast, and think rationally.

He was full now. Full and glowing. His skin had almost a translucent quality to it. He was ready to make another.

Lurching to his feet, Severus staggered over to the fireplace. His shaking hands grasped at the wooden box, still resting there. He opened it and grabbed the key. Turning, he looked upon the shaking figure of his house elf. His servant.

“Clean up that trash.” He whispered, pointing at Lucius. “I have a life to save.”

As the house elf jumped to his master’s bidding, Severus stumbled out the door and down into the basement. The key fit perfectly into the lock on the basement door, and it opened silently. He closed the door behind him.

When he was full, Severus didn’t need much light. He preferred to work without it. However, he lit a candle to appease the form crumpled on the floor.

Unlike the rest of the house, this room was opulent. It was covered from ceiling to floor in velvet. Green and gold velvet curtains lined the walls to hide the concrete blocks. Plush green carpeting lined the floor. Magically enhanced to keep the feet warm and comfortable. There were two large mahogany and green chairs sitting in front of the fireplace. A small mahogany table sat between them, a book resting spine up on its surface.

The bed was large. It covered over half the floor and took up the attention in the room. Its opulence was dripping. Green canopy curtains with gold ties, thick green and gold comforter, and large fluffy pillows to match. On either side of the bed were matching end tables. On one table was a small jug and glass of water. On the other rested a pair of cello-taped glasses.

The bedcovers were messed up and twisted, and on the floor lay the sickly body of Harry Potter.

Severus rushed to the body and gently placed him back into the bed. “Harry, I’m here. You will not fall out of bed again, do you hear me, you insolent little brat?” Almost belaying his words, Severus gently tucked the ill young man back into bed.

“I’m ready for you now. I can fix you. Where regular magic can’t, undead magic can. This will hurt, but you are used to that, aren’t you?”

Severus took a deep breath and bit into Harry’s neck. Harry’s pulse was thready and weak. Almost too far gone to be fixed. A soft, rattling moan escaped Harry’s mouth, and a single tear coursed down his cheek.

Using all his willpower, Severus pulled away from Harry before he was completely drained. He was shaking with need. Using his own teeth, Severus opened the veins on his wrist and quickly held it to Harry’s mouth.

“Drink.” Harry shook his head. “Drink you little brat, or I will force you.” Harry weakly shook his head again. He was losing the battle. There was just no strength left. Severus swore and cast Imperio on the young man, and forced him to drink. “You will not die. I will not have eternity without your annoying presence.”

When Harry started to gather strength, Severus pulled his wrist back. Licking it, he allowed his own saliva to heal the wounds. He straightened up and forced himself to walk away, and out the door.

As the door closed, Harry started to scream. He was beginning the change.

The howls that filled the night air rang through the streets of Spinners’ End. The townsfolk quickly cleared the streets and boarded themselves up in their houses. Almost as if by magic, a thick unforgiving fog rolled over the hamlet.

Close to dawn, the howls faded. Severus glanced towards the basement door. He knew Harry would be sleeping off the effects of his change, and would be ravenous come dark. His curiosity getting the better of him, Severus unlocked the door and silently crept down the stairs.

It amazed him that Harry was even there. It was almost as if destiny took a hold of Severus when he was commanded by Voldemort to capture the boy. Pieces started to fall into place.

Harry was typically sloppy in his effort to hunt Severus down, making it comically easy to find him. However, Harry was ill. Very ill. Apparently, he suffered from the same delusions Dumbledore did when hunting for the final Horcrux. His spell work was sloppy, and amateurish. It was amazing the boy was still alive. Severus figured it was his magic that had kept him alive for so long.

Against Voldemort’s wishes, Severus spirited Harry to his house at Spinners’ End. Wormtail was long since killed, so there was no worry about Voldemort hearing about Severus’ latest betrayal.

Caring for the boy became Severus’ life’s work. Every potion, poultice, and spell seemed to fail against the magical illness that was slowly ravaging Harry’s young body. Fever dreams overtook him and caused painful spasms to twist his body. Severus had no choice but to put him in a magical coma.

Even the coma couldn’t contain the thrashing of the boy. Eventually, Severus knew there was only once choice. In order to make Harry live, in order for him to fulfill his destiny, Severus had to turn the boy.

Peeking in the door, Harry was once again in bed, pale and tousled. The covers were soggy with the sweat of the dying, and of the reborn. His eyes were closed, and for the first time in weeks, Harry’s breathing was gentle and serene.

Severus slowly, cautiously moved towards the figure in the bed. Green eyes opened slowly, and Harry stared at Severus for the first time with undead eyes.

“What did you do to me?”

“I made you well.”

“I don’t feel … normal.”

“What’s normal in this day and age?” Severus sat gently on the edge of the bed. He was wary. Harry’s emotions were hidden from him.

“Point taken. You made me … one of you, didn’t you?”

Severus arched an amused eyebrow. “One of me? And what, pray tell, is one of me?”

“A vampire.”

“No. A Daywalker cannot make a vampire out of a Wizard. If you were simply a muggle, then you would be a vampire. But, as you are a Wizard, you are now a Daywalker. If I were a mere vampire, then you would be on too. However, I am not.”

“A Daywalker. Meaning a vampire who can walk in sunlight.”

“In a nutshell, yes.”

Harry closed his eyes and sighed. He had been turned to the Dark, but didn’t know if it was against his will or not. He just couldn’t remember. “Did I want this?”

“I don’t know. But I wasn’t going to let you die. You still have work to do. The war is still raging.”

“I don’t want to be on Voldemort’s side.”

“You’re not. Not unless you choose to be. You are the same person, just … a different race now. You will never get sick, you will never grow old, and you will never die of natural causes.”

“So I get to watch all my friends die of old age around me, and then I will be left alone … again.”

“No. You will never be alone. Not as long as I am here. I will never leave you.” Severus reached out a gentle hand and caressed the side of Harry’s sweaty face. “Now sleep. You are safe. No matter what happens in this war, you and I will be together forever.” Severus paused. A ghost of a smile caressed his lips. “You insolent little brat.”

As Harry closed his eyes, he smiled softly. “Somehow … I knew that. I’m glad.”

The End