Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

ANGELCAKE	By : tatyanahill Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female Views: 1613 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Angelcake is a derivative based on some of the characters of Harry Potter. I do not make any money from writing it, or the rest of the series it belongs to. I do not own Harry Potter, or any characters from the HP series.

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Late August 2000 CE

THAT ODD MUGGLE GIRL
A man sat quietly painting at an easel in a woodland clearing. He looked sad and hardly seemed interested in the canvas he was painting; the dark imagery, with a white and pale yellow burst of what looked like an explosion, didn’t bear reference to his surroundings. His long, straight, white-blond hair looked as though little attention had been paid to its care, but the tousled effect was not unpleasant against his handsome, chiselled face. He hadn’t shaved in a few days. His eyes were such a pale, icy grey, that they look unnaturally hollow, and contributed greatly to his look of austerity and boredom. Around his neck, there was an industrial looking, blackened metal choker. It was about the width and half as much the thickness of a finger and in the middle had a jet-black, oblong segment made of a different material. It fit so closely to his skin, it looked as though it must have been quite uncomfortable. It was certainly a peculiar choice of embellishment for any ordinary, austere gentleman of about 45, yet set between this particular austere man’s frosty demeanour and the rest of his uncommon appearance, the choker looked fitting and rather chic.
   His hands were soft and in contrast to his unkempt hair, all of his nails were clean, buffed and filed down neatly to precisely the same length. On one of his middle fingers, he wore a platinum ring cast in the shape of two writhing snakes; they coiled elegantly around the perfectly manicured finger and froze in dramatic positions, which extended out over the two neighbouring fingers at each side. On the little finger of the same hand, he wore another platinum ring – this one had a chunky and elaborate heraldic band, set with a surprisingly large, square cut diamond that strangely seemed to gradually fluctuate between the colours of aqua-blue and green.
   He wore a very long painter’s smock (which looked like more of a dressing gown, or a light coat) over a dark grey tunic and loose fitting, black linen trousers. Close-up, his painting smock –creased and softly faded from frequent laundering and predictably spattered here and there with flecks and occasional splodges of paint– revealed that it was originally intended for a grander purpose. The unusually long smock was made of soft, brocaded black silk, which revealed a barely noticeable foliate pattern when beams of light travelled across it. The wide skirt of the dark smock had a broad velvet border at the bottom and there was a long rip to the end of one side. The broad cuffs and lapel of the smock were also velvet, edged in an intricate, but subtly apparent decoration of fine, dark grey and green metallic threads. Two extravagant looking silver and emerald-green, jewelled buttons were at the side of each cuff, which were frayed and threadbare at the ends. His tunic, which also seemed as though it once had a grander appointment than its present service, was made of a soft, unusually thick, loosely woven silk and had the same wash-worn look and frayed edges. The fat silver buttons on the tunic were embossed with an ornate pattern, similar to that of the ring on his small finger and one button was conspicuous in that it was missing – the thick threads that once held it in place, still present. He wore lilac coloured, buttery leather slippers with a monogram of the letters: H.L.H.O.M in pale, silvery thread across the front… Even without his easel and painting, the unusual mixture of his costume, age and demeanour, gave him the eclectic look of a serious artist, who was comfortable and rooted in his eccentricity.
   Next to the eccentric, blond haired man was another man – or rather, a man-beast. He too kept a detached demeanour. The man-beast had the face and upper torso of a human and the lower body, something like a horse. His clean-shaven face was a face like that of any human man’s, except that (even with the impassive expression) it was so exceptionally handsome that it could be described as “beautiful” with little dispute. His arms and torso too were typically human, except they again were exceptional, being both very muscular and nearly fatless. The horsey bottom half of his body was also muscular and lean. His entire body, was in fact very much like an Arabian horse – powerful, but long and elegant in its proportions. A sleeveless and hooded, plain grey tunic, that was belted at the waist, covered his chest and legs up to what would have been his calves. The long tunic obscured the horsey features to the outside world, but enough of his legs showed to reveal their shape and show that the short, glossy fur covering them was a dark bay colour, matching the thick, brown, wavy hair on his head. He had large, strong, yet graceful hands and sturdy, shiny, black hooves of the same proportion. There were several visible scars on his bare forearms and a long, fine scar up his cheek that was barely noticeable.
   Glimpses of a thin exoskeleton sort of armour, made from a toughened, woven fibre, were just visible from underneath his tunic. It had a reddish metallic sheen and covered the caps of his shoulders, all of his vital organs, his spine and the back of his neck up to his skull. To each of his forearms were strapped some type of frightful looking automatic weapon, resembling mechanical archery guards; they were made of metal and the same type of fibre as his exoskeleton. There was a vicious looking dagger on show in a holder on his belt and although it could not be seen from under his tunic, in a holster of the exoskeleton, there was a long-range lazar handgun (rather innocuous looking, yet lethal) as well as several other bits of hidden, murderous mechanical artillery.
   Although he smiled more readily than the blond haired man, he had a similar sort of sadness that came from within. In spite of his exterior, there did seem to be a depth of tenderness in him (although the sympathetic opinion might simply have been one that others afforded him because of his uncommonly pretty face)… Nevertheless, for all his fearsomeness (and even discounting his beauty) he had a definitive stoicism that radiated a feeling of calm to those around him, in his favour.
   The man with the white-blond hair had been complaining at length that he was certain that the lemon coloured, extra pale cadmium yellow paint he had ordered, was:
‘rather more orange hued than promised, which he had specifically noted he did not want when he ordered it from the maker in London! Outrageous! The poxy paint was clearly ordinary cadmium yellow, which he bloody well would have ordered, had he planned on painting grapefruits!’ He grumbled on that: ‘The paint was nothing like, as brilliant as it should have been and was probably contaminated with selenium, or ochre, or something – which was absolutely criminal, considering they had prepared it specially.’
   He spoke with a polished, old-fashioned, English accent. Attractive to some ears, but considering the era (obvious from the modern jeep and quad bikes parked nearby) it seemed somewhat unnatural and hinted at a life of privilege and deep respect for tradition… To others, it might have just sounded snobbish and out-of-touch.
   ‘Was it any wonder he couldn’t ever think of anything new to paint, when these bloody LEACHES! were undermining him? The leaches had charged him a fortune for a few tubes of poxy paint, which they took forever to produce and then couldn’t even get his order correct! What’s more, he didn’t understand how he was supposed to “live for the present”, as one of the feeble minded “therapists” had advised, when everything was so bloody exasperating.’
   “And this bloody collar! I can hardly!... BREEEATH!... Wandless – FFFECKS,” he snarled under his breath. Wincing, he slid his finger between the metal choker and his neck to get some airspace between the thing and his skin. He gulped and made a small gasp for air looking like a fish out of water. Holding his neck, he then rotated it and his eyes around theatrically, breathing in and out a few times through thick, laboured breaths.
   He then went on to bemoan the lack of comfort that his chair provided and was inquiring whether the man-horse had seen his House-Elf Bibsey that morning, so he could call her to tell her of his predicament, when the man-horse who had been propped up against a tree, pretending he was listening to the blond man’s diatribe against life, suddenly stood alert, looking concerned. The man-horse touched a place on the weapons at each of his wrists and pulled the hood of his tunic over his head. Armed.
   A short distance away, another man-horse dressed similarly to the first, appeared out of the wild undergrowth. Also alerted, he looked at the first, who apparently didn’t have an answer to whatever the disturbance was. The blond haired man quieted at once and stood up. Ready. A third part-man-part-beast, appeared from another direction in the undergrowth and it was now obvious from their starting positions that the fantastical beings had been stationed at points which formed a triangle around the blond man. All four stood silently, scanning the surrounding area.
   If they were waiting for someone, no one came… Then, after the amount of time passed, where they all seemed to feel it was appropriate to relax, they heard a sound coming from the east. It sounded like someone calling for someone else – a youthful, female voice. The voice grew nearer and the men remained still. Suddenly there was movement in the greenery and everyone prepared to strike. A white, horned animal about the size of a tall sheep (or a very short pony) appeared in the clearing… and a few seconds later the owner of the voice also finally appeared in the wood.
   It was a young woman. She had been calling “Lysander!... Lysander!!... LYSSSANDER!!” and when she saw the animal rushed to it, looking relieved. She stopped only four or five metres from the first man-horse who was closest to her, but took no notice of any of them. She was dressed very shabbily, in oversized, olive-coloured work trousers that she had rolled up several times at the ankles and was keeping up with a makeshift belt of orange, plastic baling twine. On top, she wore a shapeless, zippered yellowish sweatshirt. Each article she had on, including her shoes, had a combination of dirt, holes, stains and bleach marks –as well as paint splatters– all over them. She was of about average height, very thin, with olive skin and large, brown doe eyes that were as dark as the blond haired man’s were pale. Her face was clean scrubbed, with several assorted red spots and splotches and she had a mass of unkempt, wavy hair that was pulled-up carelessly into a large bun.
   She knelt down and spoke to the animal in a foreign language. She seemed to be quite cross at first, but it abated quickly and she looked very affectionately at the creature. She took hold of its two horns, almost as if they were some type of steering lever and rocked its head from side to side gently, while she was looking into its face and speaking to it (questioning it, imploring it) sweetly. It seemed she was frustratedly trying to communicate something of importance to it; then exhaling, she hugged the animal tightly around its neck. She had obviously been quite worried about whatever it had done. For its part, the animal seemed completely oblivious to her anxieties. It gave her a little head butt that might have been a show of affection and continued chewing on the blackberry leaves it had stopped to eat when she found it. The young woman still took no notice of the men.
   The men all remained perfectly still and looked quite perplexed at the sight before them. The blond man looked the most bewildered of all and finally spoke:
   “What is that beast?” (For some reason, the young woman seemed not to hear him.)
   “It is a goat My Lord,” replied the first man-horse. His accent sounded Mediterranean and very different in tone to the blond man’s voice.
   “Ahh, yes. I suppose you would recognise, because of your ancestry.”
The man-horse concealed the anger he felt from the tactless remark, but allowed a touch of acrimony to show on his face and in his voice, so that the blond man would know not to make a similar themed remark again:
   “I do not think one has to have satyr blood to recognise an ordinary goat My Lord. They are quite common in the world – if one goes outdoors.”
   The blond man may, or may not have recognised the man-horse’s offence, but acknowledged what he said with a faint frown, making a light “ummmh,” as if to say: ‘imagine that’ and continued:
   “What language is the girl speaking? She is not speaking French?”
   “I believe she is speaking Spanish.”
   “Why is she speaking to it? I wasn’t aware goats could talk. Can it understand her?
   “I…” the man-horse considered the question, “I do not think so… No, My Lord.”
   “Is that what Muggles normally do – speak to beasts when they know they cannot understand them and cannot talk back? What is the point?.. Pffft,” he scoffed then let out a little chortle, looking at the girl and the goat with an air of increased bewilderment that verged on disfavour.
   The man-horse shrugged, seeming not to have an explanation. Then it seemed he wanted to say something, but thought better of it and remained silent.
   “Did you hear what she called it? ‘LYSSSANDER.’ That’s your full, given name isn’t it Sander?” The blond man grinned.
   “Yes My Lord.”
   “Muggles,” he chuckled “that is awfully grand for an ordinary goat. I always liked that name. We might have given it to Draco if – well… What is the matter, why was she upset before?”
   “She was worried for the goat My Lord, she thought someone might take it and kill it. Eat it. Or perhaps… that it had drowned. She was – scolding it for running away.”
   Sander was a Luthomequis, a member of a rare, Magical hybrid species of Centaur and Satyr. He didn’t need to understand Spanish to know what the girl had been thinking and saying. As a natural gift of his species, he could feel with ease and accuracy, everything that human beings and also beings of many other species, were thinking and feeling, no matter what language they spoke. Sander was strong with the gift and could perceive thoughts and feelings, even if one were masking what they genuinely felt inside – even if they were lying to themselves. It was one of the many superhuman qualities (superior even to Wizards) that made Luthomequi desirable as bodyguards to super-rich Magical society and Illuminari Muggles alike, who had need of and could afford the best in elite, hired warriors.
   “Oh,” the blond man softened hearing the information. “But it couldn’t be very valuable.”
   “I believe for the Muggle, the beast is of value to the heart … Like your horses”
   “Ahhh.” The blond man seemed to understand the situation much better and his face took on a less perplexed, less judgemental appearance. “But who would eat it? Do Muggles eat goats?”
   Sander who was a vegetarian, looked as though he weren’t sure himself: “In France maybe not. Although some cultures, yes, I suppose… I do not know why she was worried to the excess My Lord. The animal has much to eat and could not be more safe in this place. I think perhaps she is… simply this way – by her nature. Some people, they worry.”
   “Ohh... She is very thin, isn’t she?”
   “Yes, she is.”
   Then something seemed to occur to the blond man that hadn’t before: “Wait...” He pulled a folded paper out from seemingly nowhere under his cuff, unfolded it partially and studied it for a little while. It was a sort of living map that showed his, Sander’s and the other Luthomequi’s location, plus the girl and the land for a very long distance.
   “How did she get in? We are a hectare –at least– away from the border. D’Estaing must have bungled the repelling enchantments.” He held his hands out at his side with his palms facing up and held his breath for a few moments. He concentrated, as is if he were feeling the quality of the air; then looked up toward the clearing in the trees and squinted. Breathing normally he said: “But the barriers seem in place.”
   “I cannot say what has happened My Lord, I saw D’Estaing go out this morning myself. Perhaps the girl was less sensitive to them because of her attachment to the beast.”
   “Regardless, she should not be able to get through them.”
   “Yes, you are right. I apologise My Lord for this mistake. Actually, it is fortunate the girl lost her goat. There could have been a «catastrofe» if this was a Mercenary. Forgive me, I will speak with D’Estaing immediately – instruct him to strengthen the charms,” Sander spoke looking very grave and ashamed. “We are still settling into--. Perhaps with the different geographics...” Sander said bowing his head in embarrassment.
   The blond man seemed unperturbed and accepted Sanders explanation without raising further discussion. Sander was not looking forward to the discussion with his Controller of Travel, Borders and Protective Enchantments. As Head of Arms for the household, everyone who worked for the blond man under a position of security was answerable to Sander and he was senior to all members of the household, except for members of the immediate family (even the cook, who was fifth generation). D’Estaing, was perhaps the only member of the household, including its Head, who held little respect for the man-horse. Sander felt sure an argument would ensue when he queried the potency of D’Estaing’s protective enchantments. He wasn’t looking forward to the tedious job of knocking the pompous wizard back into his place, but it was his job and it would be done if necessary.
   During the discussion between the two magical beings, the girl had been collecting different grasses and plants for the goat to eat. She was talking so sweetly and so animatedly to it, her behaviour caused them to stop their discussion.
   “She is a very odd Muggle girl. Do you think she thinks it can understand her? What is she saying now? Are you sure the beast is not Magical?”
   Sander listened for a little while and smiled. Looking a little embarrassed, he said: “She’s comforting him. It went away to be alone, because it is smaller than the others. They bully him. She is saying… like you would say to a – a «bambino», telling not to worry. She says to him the others are jealous because they know he is the favourite.”
   The girl spent a little while poking at some angry looking bramble cuts around her ankles that she seemed to aggravate her more than anything else, once she noticed them. Finally, she rose and beckoned to the goat to follow her toward the direction she came from. The animal didn’t look interested in leaving its blackberry leaves, so she took a handful of oats from one of her pockets and held it out and the goat soon followed. Her face took on an unfriendly, miserable expression once she had stopped addressing the animal. Her dark eyes had dark, heavy circles under them and even her entire body expressed sadness, approaching misery.
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ANGELCAKE