Disclaimer: Ach, I own nuthin'.
A/N: Holy shit, I'm on a writing craze! Actually, I'll be gone next week (The week of the 4th of July) I'll be in New York! So I thought I should write a lot for you guys. :D 'Cause I love you so much. And I know it's been a long time. I just couldn't think of anything.
Hm, okay, someone (I forget who; sorry) asked what happened to Snape's parents. Okay, I kind of touch on that. Yay. I forget if they asked anything else. Er...sorry...
Also, I just wrote this all. At once. In an hour or so. It's not proof-read or anything, so try to skip mistakes.
And Wyatt is not supposed to be Scottish. Because I can't do one of those accents and I'd end up butchering it. So he just has some crazy accent. Mkay?
...That thing where Voldie is the king and Lucius is a lord is so effed up...Stupid prolouge...
They sat at opposite sides of the table, staring at each other. It was not, oddly enough, a large table. One would, of course, expect that the table of a prince—and in a castle, no less—to be quite large; after all, most princes would be throwing balls every other day and having important meetings and whatnot. And these things require lots of table space.
However, as we all know (and, if you don't know this by now, you should probably leave), Severus was not a normal prince. And not just because of the lovely fur coat. No, he had always been a bit…odd, and after the former King and Queen had died, Lord—or, actually, King, now—Voldemort had, with his charms and good looks, taken over the kingdom quite easily.
So Severus had no need for a really whopping table—and, honestly, he would have been a bit put off if he'd had to entertain dukes and viscounts all the time.
Because of all…this…the two were actually quite close to each other. Close enough that they could make polite conversation without yelling across the room and disturbing the poor portrait of Dumbledore, who was dozing near a vase of violets.
They didn't, though. Make polite conversation, that is. Instead, they stared.
There was a lovely meal set out in front of them—the House Elves, after years of making a plain soup for Severus' dinner, were delighted and near drunk at the thought that now there was someone to cook for (they did not count Severus' sparse requests as actual cooking), someone who might actually enjoy a bit of steak every now and then—but, after a brief bout of tearing in to everything in sight, Harry had just picked at his food. And Severus ate like some sort of giant, menacing, bird.
Harry was staring at Severus. He was frightening, yes, but he'd also been much kinder to Harry than…well, anyone ever had been, and they'd only known each other for a few hours. Also, he smelled nice. Not fat and sweaty like his uncle and cousin, and not dusty, like his aunt. There wasn't a cloying cloud of perfume following him around, like Lucius, either. He had a comforting animal smell, like the scent you got when you buried your nose in a clean dog's fur. Nice. Green, too; like trees, or fresh water.
And the house itself. Of course, he'd only been in two rooms—the foyer and the dining room—but it was a warm place, huge but rambling. The stone floors had thick carpets and the walls had tapestries and paintings. Talking paintings. Somehow, this didn't bother Harry as much as it should have. It seemed right, somehow. And they were so kind, too. The Beast—Severus, he'd said his name was—was kind, also. Not in a coddling sort of way, just…silent, with no grabby hands or foul language. All in all, it seemed to be a nice place. Harry wondered if he'd be allowed to stay.
Severus was staring at Harry. He was still here. Most travelers (there had, over the years, been a few who'd gotten lost in the woods and found themselves in front of the castle), after setting eyes on him, had run screaming like mad. This man, though…after an initial shriek, had calmed down enough for Severus to explain that he wouldn't hurt him. Brave, but foolish. What had he been doing wandering through the woods anyways? He'd have to find out…And soon. Who knew who might come looking for him. Harry was pretty and rather delicate-looking, and though he'd been wearing old clothes, his hair was clean looked regularly washed, and only privileged (or magical) sort of people could afford to do such a thing. Severus did not fancy either a richman or a magicman crashing through his forest, bungling up his trees and either (in the case of the richman) killing himself, or (in the case of the magicman) possibly killing Severus.
It did not cross his mind that the man coming after Harry could be both rich, and have a magicman with him, which was the case.
But Harry seemed to have magic (quite a bit, in fact; the Noctis Lemures were only attracted to rather large amounts of magic), and Severus did not believe in coincidences. The man had been brought to him for a reason, and he believed that reason was magic. Severus himself could perform (rather small) acts of magic and had (rather a lot) of magic books. He would teach the man, and, if someone came looking for him, he would deal with that, too.
So they sat, and they stared, each caught up in his own thoughts, and neither quite brave enough to start a conversation with the other.
Miles away, just as Severus and Harry had decided to stop sitting at the table and go to bed (Severus showed Harry to a room just down the hall from his own; one with a large, comfy bed, a desk and chair, a stripped settee, and a empty bookshelf), Lucius Malfoy was waking up.
"Ah," he sighed, stretching languorously and slipping out of the bed in a manner meant to be provocative, "What a lovely morning! The birds are singing, the sun is shining, and" he added with a small, dangerous smirk, "today is the day Harry Potter finally becomes mine."
Pulling on a ice-blue dressing gown, he waved away the servant who set down his breakfast and sat on a chair facing the window, sipping tea and imagining the conquest ahead.
You can only imagine his surprise when, an hour later, he opened the door to Harry's rooms and found it empty.
Furious, raging about the rooms like a wild tiger, Lucius tore apart pillows, dashed ornamental statues to the ground, and broke a window.
"Where is he?" he bellowed to a frightened maid and a trembling butler. "He was here last night, so where has he gone? How did he get out? We must find him! Where? How—"
Suddenly, he fell silent and began to pace.
The butler and maid looked at each other nervously. When Lord Lucius was angry, he usually killed someone. And they were nearest. Fortunately for them, they had nothing to worry about.
"Ahhhh," he let out his breath in a hiss. "I have it. The dogs. Carbuncle!" he yelled. The butler snapped to attention.
"Yes, sir?"
"Go and tell Wyatt to let out the dogs! And—Wait!" this last said as Carbuncle started for the door. "Fool! You must take something with you, otherwise the dogs will have nothing to scent! Here—take this sock. Now move, man!"
Carbuncle moved.
Wyatt, a tall, brawny, good-looking man with dark blonde hair, was a bit confused by the request—the household was not yet aware that the master's boy-toy had gone missing—but did as told.
Dangling the bit of cloth in front of the dogs, he patted the leader on the head once and then let them loose.
They bolted like rabbits with a fox on their tail.
A bit more sedately, Wyatt—finally caught up on the escape of Harry thanks to Carbuncle—and Lucius followed on horses.
The dogs ran heavily until they reached the edge of the forest. As I've said, no one liked the forest. And I mean no one. Animals included.
Cursing, Lucius first whipped the dogs, then Wyatt. "What is wrong with them? Why'd they take us here?" he demanded.
Cringing—but only a bit; Lucius would beat him more if he showed weakness—Wyatt shook his head. "I dunnae, my lord. P'rhaps the boy went inta the forest. Thoo' no sane man woold. Why, nyther will th' dogs, ya see?"
Lucius let out a scream of frustration. "Then how the hell am I supposed to track him now?"
It had been a rhetorical question, but Wyatt answered it anyways. "P'rhaps yor son could cast some sort o' spell, milord?"
Jerking back automatically to whip the man for speaking without being spoken too, he stopped abruptly. "Why…that's actually a good idea. Man! Take those damn dogs of yours back to their kennel!"
After Wyatt had pulled the dogs away from their cowering and leading both them and his horse back to the castle, Lucius murmured, "He'll be back in a week."
One week.
A/N: Ho ho ho. Carbuncle. What an awesome name for a butler, neh?
I want a livejournal. But I don't know if I'm allowed one.../mutter/