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icarus'M tired. Here's the beginning of 'Cursed Artefacts', fic written for Brodie. Shall I continue?
Cursed Artefacts for Sale
by Icarus
An insistent hand shook Harry. His eyes blinked open to a darkened bedroom, a blaze of light pouring in through the door from the living room. Harry rolled away with a groan.
"Damn it, Harry, wake up. It's four in the morning, and you will not make me late."
"For what… Death Eater meeting?" Harry grumbled. They were only ones sadistic enough to be up at this hour, he was sure.
Severus snorted. "The fool who wakes Lucius Malfoy before noon has both my scorn and deepest condolences for their surviving heirs."
Harry turned a little on his pillow. Sounded like there was a little history there, Severus? It wasn't all Cruciatus Curses among the Death Eaters he'd learned. Severus' old friends -- compatriots, or partners in crime more like -- were evenly split between those who'd become Aurors and those who'd grown up to be Death Eaters. There wasn't a quiet bookkeeper amongst them. Harry filed the question away for when he wasn't too tired to be curious.
Then he remembered why Severus was waking him.
"Severus… thought you said Auction opens at nine…."
"That's when it opens. We need to be there at five before the dealers sweep down on the ignorant and rob them blind."
Harry glanced up, bleary-eyed. "You want to protect them from crooked dealers?"
"No! I want to beat the dealers to it!" Severus ripped the blankets from the bed. "Now up."
"…snnrfg…" Harry curled up in the sheet with an unintelligible grumble which could have meant 'I'll stay here, thanks.' It was just like Severus to leave out the minor detail about 'four am.' Harry was almost sure he'd never said anything about that.
"No, Gryffindor, you gave me your word -- if it's worth anything. I would have left already but I need your innocent face. Now get out of bed."
Harry gave a loud (and very fake) snore. He could almost feel Severus folding his arms over him.
"If you wish to come in your pyjamas," Severus said in a slow, measured tone, "that is your prerogative. But you are coming, one way or another."
That woke Harry up. It was an effective threat, considering Severus damn well knew Harry didn't wear pyjamas -- and hadn’t since he left Hogwarts. They were inconvenient when you had a sex life.
"When are we leaving?" he asked.
"Half an hour. No -- since you've wasted time -- twenty minutes from now."
"Twen-- damn it, Severus! Why didn't you wake me?" Harry sat up and threw off the sheets.
"I did. Three times. You were milliseconds from a nude Mobilicorpus out the window into a snow bank." Severus smiled his odd crooked smile.
"You would enjoy that."
"No doubt the neighbors would as well," Severus purred.
Harry grabbed the nearest pair of trousers, left dangling over a chair from the night before. He eschewed underwear for the day. "Remind me: Why am I with a sadistic madman?"
"It is either my irresistible charm or incurable insanity on your part," he said.
"I vote option two at the moment," he said as he stepped into his trousers and jumped in place, buttoning them. "It's four bloody am!"
"Four-twenty rather, and you have ten minutes -- Are those trousers clean?"
Harry didn't answer. He didn't have time to find a clean pair. Severus shot him a look of distaste.
"It's still dark out," Harry complained. The window could have been a wall for all he could see outside. "You are certifiable."
"Yes, well, collecting Cursed Artefacts is a registered form of madness in the Compendium of Wizarding Mental Disorders and Other Things That Make You Twitch," Severus said, "alongside most compulsions to collect. But it's very a popular one, and I intend to be there early to beat everyone else to it."
Harry didn't answer; he had launched himself at the bathroom and was hurriedly brushing his teeth.
"Naturally there is a cure. But as it involves not purchasing them any more, I am not interested." Severus paced. "Hurry up, Harry. They have a Mikady! Who knows what other priceless articles they've missed in that estate? Fools! If Albert hadn't told them, they would have sold it to some unappreciative -- and quickly dead -- Muggle for mere pocket change." His inky black eyes shone with a mad desire. "Bad enough we lost the Hope Diamond to a Muggle Museum."
Harry was already on their bed, pulling on his shoes; he was bare-chested and the toothbrush still dangled from his mouth. He long ago learned it was best to let Severus ramble when he got onto this subject, just as Severus ignored his slavish devotion to the Quidditch section of The Daily Prophet.
The only reason Harry agreed to participate in Severus' little hobby was that Severus had (reluctantly, and with a heavy sigh) agreed to go with him to the all-important off-season AAA League trials for the Winbourne Wasps. They were trying out a new Chaser who was rumoured to be outstanding! He flew the classic 'Clock' maneuver like no one else, had a 23-0 record in school and if selected it could mean Winbourne's first shot at the Cup -- in thirty-five years! Well, in about five years or so, give or take. It took time to move up from the minor leagues after all.
Harry couldn't understand Severus' depth of involvement with these Artefacts though. It struck him as kind of, well -- obsessive.
"-- they had an entire attic full!" Severus ranted on. "Relative after relative disappeared and they didn't know what they had. Appalling, to not recognise the signs of a classic Mikady curse. Uneducated barbarians."
Harry rattled the hangers as he pulled off a clean shirt. White today, he thought. He was supposed to look innocent.
"Mikady's very difficult to find. He was quite mad, more so than most. Cursed at random, friend or foe, gave them as Christmas presents, or to people on the street. One can't exactly search his enemies' estates for his best work as per usual, do you see?"
Harry wondered idly what Severus planned to do about breakfast -- they wouldn't have time as it was. He tucked in the crisp cotton shirt, a gift from Severus. He really had good taste in clothes.
"-- and so subtle. Brilliant. Timed curses, which wouldn't deliver for years, intricate and smoothly worked into the object, barely detectable. All useable. None of these ham-handed modern curses that interfere with the basic workings of say, a wristwatch. Perfection."
So they were going to buy cursed watches? Harry had a momentary image of a man in trenchcoat. Harry swept on his cloak, as Severus pulled on his own cloak and broom riding gloves, wriggling his fingers.
"If Narcissa beats me to the Mikady, I will hex her myself. Gift-wrapped, with a smile."
Severus politely held the door for Harry.
It was cold outside. A spiderweb was traced by the lamplight in silver dew, and their breath made puffs of white cloud about them. On their tiny porch, Harry stepped over his Firebolt and stood alongside Severus, who straddled his own broom.
A sudden thought occurred to Harry. "Severus. If you gave me a cursed object for Christmas -- you'd tell me, right?"
"Harry. You know I would never respect you if you couldn't tell it was cursed in the first place."
He launched into the air. Harry stared after him a moment before following. That was not the most reassuring answer.
~*~*~
Harry thought he had never seen such a jumble of useless junk in his life.
A man had a sign over his dilapidated table, '18th Century Portkeys - Dangerous! Do Not Touch!'
"How can a dusty old portkey be dangerous?" Harry asked Severus, as they filtered their way through a surprisingly large crowd, given the hour.
"Well. I have a friend with a portkey to Atlantis -- broken amphora bottle. A little foolish to try it nowadays, wouldn't you agree? Unless you happen to be amphibious."
Oh. "You mean Atlantis really existed?"
"Presumably. Though I wouldn't try the portkey to find out. In any case, most of these aren't that exotic. They will probably just land you inside concrete walls that didn't exist back when they were made. They should be destroyed in my opinion, but people collect the most worthless dangerous clutter -- ah, here we are!" They turned the corner into a large warehouse.
Row upon row of wooden tables were set out, and merchants had just now started to set up their meagre displays. Every manner of transportation was in use, horses trotted down the aisles (Harry watched his step); a man in a turban was unloading trinkets from a hovering carpet (probably a grandfather clause on the carpet, Harry decided). A few enterprising wizards Apparated their entire display, with mixed results — a bookend was grafted to a quill set. They tried it again. Now the bookend was grafted to the table. One elderly woman was unpacking an extraordinary number of goods… candlesticks, teapots, knick-knacks… from her handbag. Her table was overloaded already and she appeared to have more in there. Harry paused to stare.
To his left another woman, dripping with jewellry, was telling her neighbor, “I say, store everything wrapped in black silk. Preserves the vibrations of the curse.”
“Rubbish, an old wives tale at the very least. Quality curses don’t leak!” said her friend.
Harry realised that he had fallen behind Severus. He spotted the dark figure a few feet ahead, paused over one of the rickety tables. Severus sure stood out in a crowd, Harry observed, towered over the blue-haired ladies. Harry trotted to catch up, dodging a pile of horse manure.
Severus glanced over his shoulder at Harry, speaking as if he hadn’t noticed Harry had disappeared. “This cursed betrothal band will put you in a full body bind, careful. Oh, and here's a nasty little thing -- lovely choker. Do not put it on; it will actually choke you. A bit obvious, I think, but still elegant in its execution." Severus hummed happily around the collection.
He suddenly froze; his eyes narrowed. Harry followed his gaze to an elegantly coifed blonde woman on the other side of the warehouse, sneering at her house-elf who trundled along with a sizable armload of packages already.
“Narcissa…” The word was a hiss. While normally the two got along fine, when it came to Cursed Artefacts, Narcissa Malfoy was Severus’ most bitter rival. Time and again, armed with Lucius Malfoy’s bank account, she had outbid and outmanuevered Severus Snape on one treasure after another.
Harry privately thought he owed her a debt of gratitude. But he knew better than to mention it to Severus.
Not sure if it's worth finishing... hmmm.
Cursed Artefacts for Sale
by Icarus
An insistent hand shook Harry. His eyes blinked open to a darkened bedroom, a blaze of light pouring in through the door from the living room. Harry rolled away with a groan.
"Damn it, Harry, wake up. It's four in the morning, and you will not make me late."
"For what… Death Eater meeting?" Harry grumbled. They were only ones sadistic enough to be up at this hour, he was sure.
Severus snorted. "The fool who wakes Lucius Malfoy before noon has both my scorn and deepest condolences for their surviving heirs."
Harry turned a little on his pillow. Sounded like there was a little history there, Severus? It wasn't all Cruciatus Curses among the Death Eaters he'd learned. Severus' old friends -- compatriots, or partners in crime more like -- were evenly split between those who'd become Aurors and those who'd grown up to be Death Eaters. There wasn't a quiet bookkeeper amongst them. Harry filed the question away for when he wasn't too tired to be curious.
Then he remembered why Severus was waking him.
"Severus… thought you said Auction opens at nine…."
"That's when it opens. We need to be there at five before the dealers sweep down on the ignorant and rob them blind."
Harry glanced up, bleary-eyed. "You want to protect them from crooked dealers?"
"No! I want to beat the dealers to it!" Severus ripped the blankets from the bed. "Now up."
"…snnrfg…" Harry curled up in the sheet with an unintelligible grumble which could have meant 'I'll stay here, thanks.' It was just like Severus to leave out the minor detail about 'four am.' Harry was almost sure he'd never said anything about that.
"No, Gryffindor, you gave me your word -- if it's worth anything. I would have left already but I need your innocent face. Now get out of bed."
Harry gave a loud (and very fake) snore. He could almost feel Severus folding his arms over him.
"If you wish to come in your pyjamas," Severus said in a slow, measured tone, "that is your prerogative. But you are coming, one way or another."
That woke Harry up. It was an effective threat, considering Severus damn well knew Harry didn't wear pyjamas -- and hadn’t since he left Hogwarts. They were inconvenient when you had a sex life.
"When are we leaving?" he asked.
"Half an hour. No -- since you've wasted time -- twenty minutes from now."
"Twen-- damn it, Severus! Why didn't you wake me?" Harry sat up and threw off the sheets.
"I did. Three times. You were milliseconds from a nude Mobilicorpus out the window into a snow bank." Severus smiled his odd crooked smile.
"You would enjoy that."
"No doubt the neighbors would as well," Severus purred.
Harry grabbed the nearest pair of trousers, left dangling over a chair from the night before. He eschewed underwear for the day. "Remind me: Why am I with a sadistic madman?"
"It is either my irresistible charm or incurable insanity on your part," he said.
"I vote option two at the moment," he said as he stepped into his trousers and jumped in place, buttoning them. "It's four bloody am!"
"Four-twenty rather, and you have ten minutes -- Are those trousers clean?"
Harry didn't answer. He didn't have time to find a clean pair. Severus shot him a look of distaste.
"It's still dark out," Harry complained. The window could have been a wall for all he could see outside. "You are certifiable."
"Yes, well, collecting Cursed Artefacts is a registered form of madness in the Compendium of Wizarding Mental Disorders and Other Things That Make You Twitch," Severus said, "alongside most compulsions to collect. But it's very a popular one, and I intend to be there early to beat everyone else to it."
Harry didn't answer; he had launched himself at the bathroom and was hurriedly brushing his teeth.
"Naturally there is a cure. But as it involves not purchasing them any more, I am not interested." Severus paced. "Hurry up, Harry. They have a Mikady! Who knows what other priceless articles they've missed in that estate? Fools! If Albert hadn't told them, they would have sold it to some unappreciative -- and quickly dead -- Muggle for mere pocket change." His inky black eyes shone with a mad desire. "Bad enough we lost the Hope Diamond to a Muggle Museum."
Harry was already on their bed, pulling on his shoes; he was bare-chested and the toothbrush still dangled from his mouth. He long ago learned it was best to let Severus ramble when he got onto this subject, just as Severus ignored his slavish devotion to the Quidditch section of The Daily Prophet.
The only reason Harry agreed to participate in Severus' little hobby was that Severus had (reluctantly, and with a heavy sigh) agreed to go with him to the all-important off-season AAA League trials for the Winbourne Wasps. They were trying out a new Chaser who was rumoured to be outstanding! He flew the classic 'Clock' maneuver like no one else, had a 23-0 record in school and if selected it could mean Winbourne's first shot at the Cup -- in thirty-five years! Well, in about five years or so, give or take. It took time to move up from the minor leagues after all.
Harry couldn't understand Severus' depth of involvement with these Artefacts though. It struck him as kind of, well -- obsessive.
"-- they had an entire attic full!" Severus ranted on. "Relative after relative disappeared and they didn't know what they had. Appalling, to not recognise the signs of a classic Mikady curse. Uneducated barbarians."
Harry rattled the hangers as he pulled off a clean shirt. White today, he thought. He was supposed to look innocent.
"Mikady's very difficult to find. He was quite mad, more so than most. Cursed at random, friend or foe, gave them as Christmas presents, or to people on the street. One can't exactly search his enemies' estates for his best work as per usual, do you see?"
Harry wondered idly what Severus planned to do about breakfast -- they wouldn't have time as it was. He tucked in the crisp cotton shirt, a gift from Severus. He really had good taste in clothes.
"-- and so subtle. Brilliant. Timed curses, which wouldn't deliver for years, intricate and smoothly worked into the object, barely detectable. All useable. None of these ham-handed modern curses that interfere with the basic workings of say, a wristwatch. Perfection."
So they were going to buy cursed watches? Harry had a momentary image of a man in trenchcoat. Harry swept on his cloak, as Severus pulled on his own cloak and broom riding gloves, wriggling his fingers.
"If Narcissa beats me to the Mikady, I will hex her myself. Gift-wrapped, with a smile."
Severus politely held the door for Harry.
It was cold outside. A spiderweb was traced by the lamplight in silver dew, and their breath made puffs of white cloud about them. On their tiny porch, Harry stepped over his Firebolt and stood alongside Severus, who straddled his own broom.
A sudden thought occurred to Harry. "Severus. If you gave me a cursed object for Christmas -- you'd tell me, right?"
"Harry. You know I would never respect you if you couldn't tell it was cursed in the first place."
He launched into the air. Harry stared after him a moment before following. That was not the most reassuring answer.
~*~*~
Harry thought he had never seen such a jumble of useless junk in his life.
A man had a sign over his dilapidated table, '18th Century Portkeys - Dangerous! Do Not Touch!'
"How can a dusty old portkey be dangerous?" Harry asked Severus, as they filtered their way through a surprisingly large crowd, given the hour.
"Well. I have a friend with a portkey to Atlantis -- broken amphora bottle. A little foolish to try it nowadays, wouldn't you agree? Unless you happen to be amphibious."
Oh. "You mean Atlantis really existed?"
"Presumably. Though I wouldn't try the portkey to find out. In any case, most of these aren't that exotic. They will probably just land you inside concrete walls that didn't exist back when they were made. They should be destroyed in my opinion, but people collect the most worthless dangerous clutter -- ah, here we are!" They turned the corner into a large warehouse.
Row upon row of wooden tables were set out, and merchants had just now started to set up their meagre displays. Every manner of transportation was in use, horses trotted down the aisles (Harry watched his step); a man in a turban was unloading trinkets from a hovering carpet (probably a grandfather clause on the carpet, Harry decided). A few enterprising wizards Apparated their entire display, with mixed results — a bookend was grafted to a quill set. They tried it again. Now the bookend was grafted to the table. One elderly woman was unpacking an extraordinary number of goods… candlesticks, teapots, knick-knacks… from her handbag. Her table was overloaded already and she appeared to have more in there. Harry paused to stare.
To his left another woman, dripping with jewellry, was telling her neighbor, “I say, store everything wrapped in black silk. Preserves the vibrations of the curse.”
“Rubbish, an old wives tale at the very least. Quality curses don’t leak!” said her friend.
Harry realised that he had fallen behind Severus. He spotted the dark figure a few feet ahead, paused over one of the rickety tables. Severus sure stood out in a crowd, Harry observed, towered over the blue-haired ladies. Harry trotted to catch up, dodging a pile of horse manure.
Severus glanced over his shoulder at Harry, speaking as if he hadn’t noticed Harry had disappeared. “This cursed betrothal band will put you in a full body bind, careful. Oh, and here's a nasty little thing -- lovely choker. Do not put it on; it will actually choke you. A bit obvious, I think, but still elegant in its execution." Severus hummed happily around the collection.
He suddenly froze; his eyes narrowed. Harry followed his gaze to an elegantly coifed blonde woman on the other side of the warehouse, sneering at her house-elf who trundled along with a sizable armload of packages already.
“Narcissa…” The word was a hiss. While normally the two got along fine, when it came to Cursed Artefacts, Narcissa Malfoy was Severus’ most bitter rival. Time and again, armed with Lucius Malfoy’s bank account, she had outbid and outmanuevered Severus Snape on one treasure after another.
Harry privately thought he owed her a debt of gratitude. But he knew better than to mention it to Severus.
Not sure if it's worth finishing... hmmm.
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Re: Martha!
Date: 2003-05-10 10:06 pm (UTC)~Icarus