Harry Potter Black Butler Cross 1
Petunia looked on in disdain as her nephew struggled to button the white cotton shirt she had given him. The tiny buttons where difficult for his 9 year old fingers. The shirt, one of hers which she had stopped wearing because she found the material to stiff against her skin, was the only thing she had found that she could get the boy to wear on such short notice. Tonight the whole family (due to Mrs Figg having to take one of her cats to the vet and no one else available) was going to dinner at Vernon’s bosses house.
As she had not planned to take the boy, she had nothing acceptable for him to wear. Allowing him to show up in his tatted rags would reflect badly on her family. So her shirt it was, over an old pair of Dudley’s black pants, tightly clinched with one of Vernon’s old belts wrapped round three times.
The boy looked acceptable. Not good, she doubt the little freak ever could, but clean at least.
Twenty minutes later found the family, and the boy, in the car. It was further thirty three minute drive to the house, the entire time Dudley complained about missing his shows, Vernon muttered about Freaks, and Petunia sat with thin lips and said nothing.
When the family, and boy, arrived, they were greeted at the door but a sharply beautiful man, who took their coats and directed the adults to the dinning room, Dudley to the child’s play room. As the others rushed off, a long fingered hand grabbed the back of the remaining, forgotten boys neck. None of the others notice the boy be detained. None of them cared enough, and even if they had noticed, they wouldn’t have said anything. After all, the freak should stay with the hired help. It was just about the only thing he was good for, doing all the chores.
It wouldn’t have mattered anyway, as soon as the other worldly butler had seen the boy, his fate was set. To the detriment of many, many others.
Malphas was old. Even by the standards of his own race, he was old. To humans, he was unfathomably ancient. He couldn’t even say how old he was, human time keeping hadn’t been around at the start, and the calendar had changed numerous times since then anyway.
He was old enough that he now only lived for entertainment. Hungry, loneliness, sadness, these thing where passing annoyances. He moved from one meal to the next, one contract to the next. Not searching, for anything he had lost would return eventually in time, or was truly lost forever.
But in all his years he had never expected for this. The child, small, too slender, in ill fitting clothes, easily overlooked to human eyes burned in Malphas’ sight. The boys own soul was splinted, already fading, with a small parasite leech which would only speed the process of turning him into a demon. And while that was interesting, it was nothing to what kind of demon the boy was turning into.
Harry always felt hot. This was probably a very good thing, after all his cloths could never be classified as warm. Every year during winter, when snow teased, but sleet and hail always dropped by, he would be lucky if Dudley’s last winter coat was still in one piece. Layering all his baggy and worn tee shirts could only keep him so warm. He wondered sometimes if he had been normal if he would have frozen to death by now.
So being dressed only in a thin cotton shirt and a pair of dress pants wasn’t so bad, despite the cold bite in the air.
Harry had felt a tingle as soon as they had driven up to the imposing mansion. He knew perfectly well he was lucky to attend the dinner, rather then be locked in his cupboard (a possibility more likely ever day he grew older), or be stuck listening to old Mrs Figg ramble on about cats, all the while trying not to breath in the smell of urine and rot. Something however, was screaming in the back of his mind that no matter how unpleasant things there could be, it may have been better then this. It felt like a storm on the horizon, the heavy feel of electricity as lightening threatened.
Something was about to change. For Harry, change was never ever good.
So when the door opened and Harry saw him (not a man, although it was currently pretending to be one), Harry knew that yes, cats and Mrs Figg, or the cramped dark may have very well been a much better place to be right then. He had immediately flicked his eyes away, knowing looking was very very bad idea. Letting him know Harry had seen him would be an even worse idea…
It hadn’t mattered in the end, Harry was given no chance to slip away, the his red eyes boring into the top of Harrys head, that long fingered gloved hand curled around his neck, anchoring him in place. The cold from his hand felt like everything he had ever wanted, wonderful cool. The dark presence weighted him down, almost chocking Harry, but he truely didn’t care, as long as the wonderful cold hand stayed against his skin. As he listened to Dudley’s thudding feet echo away into nothing, Harry felt like his heart would follow into the silence, still from the ponderous atmosphere, his whole body was relaxing into it’s hold, going limp in relief. Thankful, the rest of the body attached to that hand moved forwards, catching him as his muscles let go, and he was lifted and pressed against even more beautiful cool.