Fic: Save a Slave, Ride a Scientist! CH: 2 WiP
LJ-SEC: (ORIGINALLY POSTED BY amorymichelle)
Title: Save a Slave, Ride a Scientist! Author: Amory Pairings: Alan Rickman/Daniel Radcliffe, mentions of Jason Isaacs/Daniel Radcliffe, mentions of David Yates/Daniel Radcliffe, some mild Tom Felton/Daniel Radcliffe Rating: Eventual NC-17, this chapter is PG (just kissing) but in future chapters it will become RPS slash. Summary: Alan Rickman is a famous scientist--but he's just as well known for his strange solitude! His friend and advisor, Tom Felton, wants Alan to give into the system, to stick with a body slave for more than a day, and attend a few social functions to keep their company's funding firm. However, when Alan gives into Tom after stumbling across young Daniel, the very odd and somewhat abused body slave of the recently deceased David Yates, at an open estate sale, he wasn't expecting to be drawn into a murder conspiracy involving some of the richest men and cruelest mobs on planet Earth! But, even more frightening for this monk-like Einstein of a man, he *really* wasn't expecting to fall in love! Chapter Wordcount: 7,586 Disclaimer: This is so far from the truth that it's false! The people sure as hell ain't mine and they belong entirely to themselves and any major movie corporations who have stolen their souls. Many of the places and companies in this story are jokingly named after things from the Harry Potter universe and all such humorous hints at my Harry obsession belong entirely to JK Rowling and all those other people who own parts of it.
Notes & Warnings: This occurs in poisontaster's A Kept Boy universe and more info can be found on this fascinating storyline at the whatwekeepFrequently Asked Questions section. This is eventually a love story between Alan Rickman and Daniel Radcliffe. It involves dubious consent and non-consent, as well as slavery. If these themes bother you then please do not read any further. Also, though all the sexually-involved characters are at or over the age of majority (18), there will be mentions of Daniel Radcliffe as a child in sexual situations. Oh and by the way, I know NOTHING about science. I did religious studies and English in college. I took one Astronomy course and almost failed. It's all made up and I already know it makes no sense... so set aside disbelief and we'll play dress up! :)
A "Key" of Real People in Relation to Harry Potter Movies: Alan Rickman=Severus Snape, Tom Felton=Draco Malfoy, Daniel Radcliffe=Harry Potter, David Yates=A Random Director, Jason Isaacs=Lucius Malfoy, Maggie Smith=Minerva McGonagall
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Save a Slave, Ride a Scientist! Chapter 2: From Birdcage to Boy By: Amory
“Bloody hell, can we *go* yet?” Alan muttered to Tom as they trailed along at the edges of a small tour group being led through the “mighty mansion’s many magnificent” hallways to inspect its “remarkably ravishing and radiant” rooms where they would surely find “pounds of perfectly priced” antiques and collectables. Their guide, the esteemed realtor Mr. Bob Smith, seemed to really enjoy his pithy phrases and, after almost three hours of listening to rhyming nonsense about nothing worth their attention, Alan was more than ready to make his exit and return to the safety and solitude of his lab.
Tom snorted and fiddled with their still empty bidding book, rolling his eyes as Mr. Smith began to drone on about the “absolutely, astoundingly amazing” history of some gaudy little lamp with pink and orange tassels covering the shade and what looked like a pair of dolphins mating--or perhaps a couple of oddly shaped dildos?--carved into the stand.
“At this point, Rickman, I’m not certain we’d be able to wander our way back to the door. Good God, you’d think this place was some sort of rite of passage maze. Any chance Yates was a pagan holdover? Some of that new fangled Wicca stuff, perhaps? All these twisting, random hallways and ridiculous number of rooms could be some sort of way for him to test employees. Let the young lads prove their manhood by making it out of this place without succumbing to starvation or just a cerebral overload of prissy arse antiques? God, what a prat the man must have been. Shite, I’m knackered. What I wouldn’t give to be sittin’ on my bum right now, getting completely sloshed.”
“Crikey, Felton, you’re one to be calling someone a prat!” Alan replied with a snort. “I distinctly remember that this was *your* bloody idea--something about getting me out in public without the messy bit where I have to sit around and make tedious small talk with a bunch of arseholes--thereby avoiding the inevitable apology notes you would have to waste your Friday night writing on my behalf after I blatantly, and happily, insulted everyone within a ten kilometer radius just for the hell of it.”
Tom humphed. “Yeah, well, let’s just say I didn’t know how uncomfortable two thousand dollar dress shoes become after wandering around the great Castle of Ugly Antiques for three hours. Shite, they should advertise this as an exercise class. It’s like taking a bloody hike.”
A Lord with a large bald spot who had spent the tour so far looking around greedily and rubbing his hands in a nervous gesture that reminded Alan of a 1920s black and white movie villain, turned around to glare at them, looking annoyed. His lip curled up as he spoke, his voice disgusted. “Would you two shut up already? *Some* of us appreciate fine décor when we see it and I am trying to listen to the speaker. I believe that antique birdcage may be a real deal.”
Alan sneered at the man and somehow managed to refrain from making a very rude and highly inappropriate comment regarding where the man should stick his head, laws of physics not applicable--mostly because Tom had just kicked him in the shin and was glaring at him, shaking his head. Alan let out an annoyed sigh. “All right, that’s it. We are out of here.”
“Yeah,” Tom agreed flatly. “I think you’re right, mate. Let’s get out of here.” The tour group was currently crowded around a large, copper birdcage that had a dubious smell rising from it and looked as if it had been banged with a sledgehammer on one side. Tom and Alan slipped quietly out of the bedroom and into the large hallway beyond. Lush carpets lined the way and no-doubt very expensive pink tapestries hung along the walls. Alan thought it looked like a five year old girl's dream. Or possibly Paris Hilton's.
Tom frowned deeply as he looked back and forth, unable to see an end to the hall in either direction. “Seriously,” he said flatly. “I have no bloody clue how we got here. Hell, I don’t even know where ‘here’ is!”
Alan shrugged. “We’ll get out somehow. I mean, really, how do you get lost in the middle of an estate sell? I’m sure we can find a house slave or two to direct the way.”
Tom gave him a Look. “Did you even read the pamphlet before you came? Or was it just buried in that stack of papers good old ‘Harry’ had with him? Only the realtors and the buyers are here, Rickman. The slaves were moved to other housing until Commerce decides how they should be dispersed.” He let out a laugh. “Besides, in a place like this we might never run into someone! It’s like wandering the depths of space hoping to stumble across intelligent life! We could be lost for millennia!”
Alan just rolled his eyes and took off in a random direction, walking briskly past the many doors.
“Okay, I guess we’re going this way,” Tom said with a smirk, hurrying to keep up.
After a few minutes of silent walking, they came to a crossway, stopping to peer around the corner. It looked exactly the same as the hall they were in.
Tom smirked. “Rock, paper, scissor it, then?”
Alan snorted and turned a corner at random, walking a few feet before pausing to yank open one of the heavy wooden doors, reaching in to flip on the lights. The area held a large canopy bed, a sitting area, and a large mahogany armoire. The room was obviously not prepared for the sale, clothing still hanging haphazardly on the back of one of the couches and the bed linens rumbled, decorative pillows piled on the floor. The armoire was open and several suits hung neatly within it. Alan recognized them as the simple grey jacket and pant sets that Yates always wore.
“It looks like we’re in the family wing,” he called out to Tom, shutting the door behind him as he stepped back into the hall. “I think that was Yates’ bedroom. It hadn’t been cleaned out for the sale and--"
“Family wing?” Tom cut in with a smirk as he opened one of the doors across the hall and peered in. “Because Yates was such a family man.”
Alan ignored him, rolling his eyes. “Surely someone would be in this corridor. Cleaning and such.”
“Yeah, maybe if Yates wasn’t *dead* someone would be.”
“Don’t be a prat,” Alan snapped back, pulling open another door only to find a dark office with a large maple desk in the corner and a pool table taking up much of the center. Papers still covered the desk and a couple of open books were balanced on the edge of the pool table, a cue still leaning against the side. “But maybe we should go back the way we came. I don’t think that the tour groups are going to be coming through here. This looks like his office. The disorganized bastard's paperwork is still lying everywhere.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Tom said, opening another door, “because you’ve been such a great guide so far--whoa! Mother of Mary, you scared me there, lad. You think you could help us... Uh, hey, are you okay there, mate?”
Alan turned around to see Tom standing in front of what appeared to be a linen closet, a small figure hunched on the floor before him. “Who is it?”
“Uh, I’m not really sure on that, mate,” he called back, sounding confused. “Come have a look.” Alan shrugged and moved over to stand next to his friend, looking down at the teenaged boy before them.
His brown hair was messy and a little too long, hanging down into large blue eyes that stared nervously up at them. His long limbs were twisted awkwardly around himself, his knees pulled tight to his chest, and his shoulders were tense, everything about him practically screaming of fright. His lips were pursed and Alan was pretty sure that he was holding his breath.
As if the fact that he was sitting in a linen closet wasn’t odd enough, he seemed to be wearing a schoolboy uniform, though Alan would guess that he was at least eighteen or so, though not much over that. It wasn’t unlike the one Alan himself had worn at Durmstrang… in fact, if he hadn’t known better he would have said it was the same uniform. Grey shorts with black suspenders, knee high stockings, a crisp white shirt, and a loosely knotted tie with green and grey stripes, just like Alan had worn as a Middle Schooler. Even the patch on the shirt’s pocket looked much like the Durmstrang seal.
“Uh, hullo there,” Tom said awkwardly, crouching down in front of the boy, frowning slightly as he shied away, ducking his head. “Do you serve here?”
The boy just stared back for a long moment, biting nervously at his lower lip. Finally he looked away, staring blankly off to the side, and nodded slightly.
Alan frowned. “I thought you said that Commerce had picked up the slaves--"
Tom waved his words away with an annoyed sigh and turned back to the boy, smiling encouragingly. “Well,” he said, amusement tingeing his voice, “do you normally stay in the linen closet, then?”
Alan rolled his eyes and shoved at the tall blonde’s shoulder, pushing him to the side. “Leave the child alone, Felton. What’s your name, boy?”
The teen frowned a little, eyes staring at the floor as though it held the answers to his university entrance exam. Just as Alan was about to ask again, he finally spoke, his voice sounding a little hoarse, as though it had been awhile since he’d said anything, and he came off as very timid, the words slow and careful. “Sir, my… my name is Daniel.” Though his voice was low, Alan was able to catch the hints of an accent and he jerked a little in surprise, glancing over at Tom who raised his eyebrows and shrugged in return.
“Okay,” Alan replied carefully. “Daniel, then. Tell me, Daniel, your accent… are you from here or are you from some place else? Britain perhaps?”
Daniel bowed his head until all Alan could see was his messy brown locks, shaking his head slowly. His voice was hardly a whisper and Alan had to strain to hear it. “No. No, my mum, she was, sir. At least that is what Master said. But he raised me. Master did. He taught me to talk. I talk like him.”
Alan’s frowned deepened, little wrinkles appearing at the edge of his eyes as they always did when he was pondering a particularly puzzling problem. How had the boy ended up in slavery if his mother had been a British citizen? Even if she had been living in the USNA when she birthed the boy, she and her son both should have been protected from slavery under British Citizen Freedom Protection, a clause of the Rights of Humanity Act which had been instigated once Britain declared all forms of slavery as inhumane and unjust. No matter what level of debt she had fallen into, she should have been protected. Freedom Protection guaranteed it. The clause stated that all humans bore the right to freedom, and promised that any citizen of Great Britain who fell into enforced service would be bailed out by the government and brought home to Britain. Even if the boy had never left the USNA, his mother’s citizenship would have made him a dual citizen and, therefore, eligible for Freedom Protection.
“All right,” he said finally, doubting that pressing the pitiful looking creature before him for more information on the politics behind his slavery would get him anywhere, “So, Daniel, why exactly *are* you in the linen closet, lad? Are you a house slave?” Alan seriously doubted that he was, considering that house slaves didn’t usually walk around in schoolboy outfits, and that even the most extreme Laborist was unlikely to actually keep his house slaves *in* the linen closet!
Daniel shook his head and pulled his knees closer to his chest. “No. No, sir, I’m Lord Yates’ body slave.” He looked up into Alan’s eyes then, his gaze hollow and tired. “He was dead.” His voice had smoothed out but his words were still slow and careful as if he wasn’t sure he should really be speaking. “He was dead and I was scared and I didn’t know what I should do, because he was dead. And I was there but I didn’t want to be but I was afraid because he was dead and so he couldn’t tell me what to do. So I, I just left. And it was dark here so I sat in here and they came to get him but I didn’t know what to do without him because, because,” the boy choked a little, as though a sob was caught in his throat, “because I’m not supposed to talk to anyone but Master…” Alan’s heart tightened for the boy as he tipped his face up, his lower lip quivering. “I shouldn’t be talking to you and he’ll be mad except he won’t because he’s dead.”
Tom looked a little shocked, a feeling Alan could definitely commiserate with. The older man took a deep breath, nodding down at the boy. “Okay, so you never talk to anyone but… Lord Yates?”
Daniel glanced away nervously and his breath caught a little. For a moment Alan thought he saw a flash of guilt cross the boy's face, but then he looked back, nodding, and the moment had passed. “Just Master. No one else is allowed in this wing. I just stay here and no one comes, except Master. But he’s gone and I don’t know what I am supposed to do.”
“Whew,” Tom said, rising up to a standing position and sounding more than a little freaked out. “A pretty strict guy, huh? Is he the only Master you’ve ever had?”
Daniel nodded, and just kept nodding until finally Alan reached out and touched the side of the boy’s face, gently stroking his cheek. Daniel flinched a little then dropped his head, eyes flickering nervously at the men before him. “Master says that I’m bad, that I make other people want me so I have to please them, and then, because I was bad, I have to make it up to him. So he doesn’t take me many places, except sometimes to Lord Isaac’s manor. Because I’m not good.”
“Okay, wow,” Tom said flatly. “I really didn’t think it was possible for me to dislike Yates anymore than I already did. Yet somehow that ‘dislike’ of mine has found a whole new bloody level.”
Alan just shook his head, more disgusted with David Yates than ever, as he stared down at the boy. Daniel’s arms were still wrapped tightly around his legs, his chin now lightly rested on the top of his knees, eyes staring off to the side. His breathing was too fast and every now and then his eyes would flicker up, then quickly back off to the side, as if afraid to look straight at the two men standing before him.
Alan stared at the boy for another moment before letting out a deep sigh, rubbing at his temple with the base of his palm. “Okay, Felton, what you want I guess you get. Maybe you should start waving that magic wand of yours at some of our competitors, eh? Toss a death spell at them or something."
Tom looked confused, scratching at his head. “What the bloody hell are you babbling about, mate?”
Alan shrugged, rising up. “Well, you wasted a good amount of my very valuable and highly esteemed time today lecturing me on sticking with a body slave. Well, I seem to have stumbled across one. Pull out that bidding booklet of yours and let’s buy something.”
Tom let out an exasperated sigh. “For the love of sane people, he’s a slave, Rickman. I already told you that Yates’ slaves have been sent out to Commerce. They’re going to decide what’s to be done with them. I’m sure there will be an auction or what not. They are not going to sell us the boy at an *estate sale.*”
Alan sneered. “Why not? They seem to truly think that human beings are no different from a freestanding lamp or an overstuffed chair. Why shouldn’t they sell him to us at an estate sale?”
Tom rolled his eyes. “All right, fine, I get your oh-so-philosophical point. But he’s not exactly marked, is he now, Alan?” The young man waved the bidding book in front of Alan’s face. “We’re not going to find him in here, mate!”
Alan just frowned for a moment then bent back down, grasping gently at the boy’s elbow. “Come on, lad, why don’t you come with us? You don’t have a Master anymore and we can help you.”
Daniel frowned and looked back and forth between them, suspicion clear on his face. Alan approved. It seemed the boy had some sense of self-preservation, at least.
“Come on,” Alan said again, tugging on his arm a little. “Eventually you will have to come out of that closet and, when they find you, you’ll be sent to Commerce and probably put to auction. Trust me, you’re better off with us.”
A small, choked laugh came from the boy and he gave Alan a sour smile. “They do always say that, don’t they?”
Alan frowned in confusion. “Excuse me?”
The boy shook his head. “Nothing, nothing, sir, I--" He paused for a moment, took a deep breath, then reached up to grab onto the shelf behind him, using it to pull himself up. “All right, sir. What do you want me to do?”
What *did* he want him to do? Why the hell was he even bothering with this boy? Because they had the same bloody accent? Because he *might* be a British citizen? He really ought to just drag him down to the bidding room, let the realtors send the kid off to Commerce, and never think about him again. But somehow he just couldn't do that.
Alan frowned deeply, wondering for a brief moment if the wine in his car had been drugged by his assisstant in a desperate attempt to chemically persuade him to purchase another slave so that the Secretary With No Name could work somewhere far away from him. Though he quickly passed the theory off as paranoid delusion, Alan still wasn’t sure *why* he was considering trying to buy a slave--one that wasn’t even for sale at this time, for that matter! He *could* take him up to the Office of Commerce and try to buy him, but apparently they had yet to make any official decision regarding what was to be done with Yates’ slaves. The last thing he wanted was bureaucratic bullshit. He could just take him home, but eventually they would run across his file and he definitely didn’t want Commerce knocking on his laboratory door!
He scowled. There had to be *some* way to take the boy without having to deal directly with Commerce himself. Any governmental branch was a nightmare, but Commerce, with its autonomy from other branches, was actually less organized and more inefficient than most, and five minutes there could drive a man to insanity.
An idea flickered in his mind and Alan frowned, nodding slowly. That might just work.
“Oh God,” Tom said, sounding more than a little frightened. “You’ve got that ‘I’m a mad scientist, gonna cook you up something that'll fry your brains out’ look going on, mate. What are you thinking?”
Alan smiled at his friend in a very un-reassuring way and grabbed the bidding booklet from Tom’s hand, flipping idly through it. Each of the thousands of items for auction had been tagged before the sale with a barcode that showed the numbers listed within the booklet. The sale had been put together rather hastily, considering that Yates had only been dead for a *day,* and the actual items for sale were not listed, just the number that represented them. That way, as they toured the manor, a buyer could mark what items they wanted to silently bid upon, then do so through the electronic system set up in the ballroom. Alan seriously doubted that they’d had time to make note in the system of what item a barcode actually represented, since thousands of items had been marked in only a few hours. Commerce’s disorganization could actually work in Alan’s favor if he could just get a Certificate of Purchase from the agents, listing the boy as the acquired item. He could just send Tom, or some random lackey--maybe that secretary/personal assistant/body slave/whatever waiting for them in the car--down to the Office of Commerce with the Certificate and that would be enough proof for the specially-trained little pawns that worked there to reprogram the boy's microchip, listing Alan as the owner. In his time in the USNA, Allen had found that Commerce didn’t much care where slaves ended up or what level of care they got from the rick wankers that bought them, as long everyone in the A-List social scene was happy.
“Okay, Rickman, enough devious smirking. Let the underlings in on your villainous scheme already.”
“Well, if I judged the realtor agents’ levels of intelligence correctly--"
“Because you, Lord Rickman, are always so fair and unbiased in that area.”
“--then we may very well be able to purchase the boy.”
Tom rolled his eyes. “Oh, what, you’re just going to tell them that he’s actually a statue that you found in a linen closet and you think he’d make a lovely addition to your back garden? How stupid would you have to be to sell us a slave when all the others were taken away by Commerce just a few hours ago?”
Alan sneered. “Well, if all their abilities can be judged on that of one Mr. Bob-Babble-Bunch So-Smooth-Speaker-Smith, then they very well might.”
Tom rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say. You’re the boss. I’m just your loyal padawan and I can never comprehend what you can, as your vast Jedi mind powers so overwhelm mine. But, shite, Rickman, why don’t you just take him down to the bloody Office of Commerce and buy his damn contract?!”
Alan sneered. “Because I am *not* standing in line for six hours while I wait for some little fool to sift through an avalanche of paperwork pertaining to *nothing* that I am interested in!” He smiled a little cruelly. “We do it my way and *you* can take the Certificate of Purchase down to Commerce for me!”
Daniel, who really could have been a statue for all he'd moved since he'd climbed out of the closet, apparently had, in fact, been listening because his politely bowed head suddenly jerked and Alan thought he heard the sound of a choked laugh. Tom scowled. “You, *my Lord* are an arsehole.”
Alan gave him a superior smile. “Thank you.” He gestured down the hallway. “Do you know the way back to the ballroom, Daniel? That’s where they’ve set up the bidding, I believe.”
The boy looked up at him awkwardly, glancing back and forth down the hall. He twisted his hands together nervously, something about the teen making him seem like a small child trapped in a young man’s body. Of course, the fact that he was dressed in a primary school uniform might have had something to do with that. He was obviously too tall for the outfit, though he was certainly thin and wiry enough to fit in it. The shorts rode up high on his thighs, and the hem of his shirt was peeking over the waistband. It looked ragged and a little inappropriate, like some punk teenager trying to make a statement.
“Yeah,” he replied, his voice still slow and careful, the words a little drawn out. “Just follow this hall past Master’s bedroom then take a right at the next corner. Follow that hall to the end, turn left, and you’ll be at the dining hall. The ballroom is just behind it and the main hall is to the left.”
“Our savior,” Tom joked with a grin. "This place is an absolute maze. Yates must have had some sort of magical map to make his way around it. But I thought you mostly stayed in this hall?”
Daniel blinked then swallowed hard, looking nervous. “I, ah, sometimes at night when no one’s around I walk around, um, just a bit?” He gave a half-hearted smile and Tom grinned back, giving him a thumbs up.
Alan walked over to the boy, placing a hand on his shoulder and pretending not to notice when the kid flinched at his touch. “Do you have any other clothing, boy? Or other possessions?”
Daniel stared at the hand on his shoulder for a moment before glancing away, nodding his head slowly. “In the Master’s suite. In the second armoire.” He paused, then added, almost as an after thought, “and some stuff in the connecting bathroom.”
Alan nodded. “Good. We’ll grab them on our way out.”
Tom sighed, rubbing the back of his neck tiredly. “Okay, Rickman, it is time to share the details of the diabolical scheme. I am absolutely knackered and I *want to go home!*” He shook his head. “This was a horrible plan. I give up. I’m going to call up Maggie and see if she can clone you. Then we can lobotomize the clone and just take *it* out in public. That would solve *all* our problems in one fell swoop!”
Alan just rolled his eyes. “Come on boy, let’s get you and your oh so fashionable schoolboy outfit out of this place.”
Daniel glanced down at his clothes, blushed a little, then shrugged.
*****
After sifting through over a dozen schoolboy uniforms in varied colors--including one with a hot pink shirt and tie--as well as a couple pairs of lederhosen, Alan had finally just shoved them all into a duffel bag Tom had found in the closet, making a note to find the boy some new clothes. As much as it turned his stomach to picture the balding, middle aged Yates picking out schoolboy outfits for Daniel, he really hoped that it *was* Yates’ fashion choice--not Daniel’s. He wasn’t sure he wanted to see the boy in purple lederhosen. And as much as Alan wished it was because the idea of it turned his stomach, it was actually other parts of him that the image turned. Daniel had gone into the bathroom and returned with a small bag of toiletries and what might have been... a makeup case? Alan frowned but just tossed them into the bag without mentioning it.
They’d then set off for the bidding room, stopping only long enough for Alan to slip into one of sale rooms, pull the barcode off of that mangled birdcage, and stick it to the back of Daniel’s right hand.
Tom let out a groan as they moved out of the room and back down the hall, trailing behind Alan and Daniel. “For the love of God, Rickman! This is never going to bloody well work! I know that you don’t have a particularly high opinion of *anyone’s* level of intelligence--your own excluded, of course--but really, mate! No one is this stupid.” He paused, cocking his head to the side with a smirk of amusement. “Except maybe that Master Crudup. Ran into him this morn and, well, I have to admit that the tosser makes your common cockroach look like an Einstein.”
“Just stop bitching,” Alan replied, gesturing for the man to keep up. “Leave the grand plots to those of us who passed third grade math and stick with your people-dealings, or whatever it is that the marketing and personnel divisions do.”
Tom rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Just leave me the bloody hell out of it when the realtor realizes that your purchase has magically transformed from birdcage to boy.” He waved his hand around. “Maybe it was that magic wand you claim I have? Whoosh whoosh abracadabra, look at the birdcage become boy!”
Alan batted his hand away as they approached the entrance to the ballroom. Daniel shrunk back to the side, almost as if he was trying to hide behind Alan, as they passed into the room. His eyes nervously swept the area, though Alan didn’t know for what. The room was set up with dozens of tables lining the open floor space, each with several buying stations set up on it. Each station had a laptop and printer, for producing the hardcopies of final purchases, and electronic pads that the buyers could carry with them during the silent bidding to watch their purchases. The walls of the room were lined with seats where the buyers could sit and chat with one another. Alan would estimate that at least a hundred people milled around the room, pads in hand. He moved over toward the tables, gesturing for Daniel and Tom to follow him, and one of the agents broke away from the computers, rising up to greet them.
“Hello, sir, is there anyway that I can help you?” His eyes dropped to the duffel bag slung over Tom’s shoulder and he frowned a little, glancing up suspiciously.
Alan followed his gaze and let out a little ‘huff.’ If he was going to play the prissy Lord then he might as well take it all the way. “It is merely the boy’s assets, *sir.* If you would mind taking a break from insulting the integrity of the great Lord Rickman, I would like to bid on this slave.”
The realtor’s eyes widened as he realized just who stood before him, then his brow wrinkled a little as he looked over at the boy. “Forgive me, Lord Rickman, but I… I wasn’t really aware that slaves were being offered at this sale, sir.” His voice was cautious, and Alan guessed that his reputation for having a quick temper preceded him. The man began to turn away, obviously glad to have an excuse to remove himself from Lord Rickman’s presence, looking back over to his bidding station. “Perhaps if I get my supervisor--"
Alan grabbed at the man’s shoulder, spinning him back around. Daniel’s eyes widened and Tom looked as if he was either highly constipated or about to laugh. Alan put on his very best ‘if you do not want to die a horribly wretched and painful death then you will shut up and do what I say’ face which, considering that he “practiced” it at least twelve hours a day, tended to be highly effective. “Do you know who I am? I am Lord Alan Rickman, good sir, and I do not have time to waste with this nonsense!” He wrapped his fingers around Daniel’s wrist, yanking him forward so quickly he almost stumbled, and holding out the boy’s hand for the agent to see. “He is marked as an item! I don’t know and I don’t care what Commerce did with the rest of the slaves in this gaudy hole--which, by the way, looks like it was decorated by Paris Hilton--but this one is apparently to be sold directly rather than through a Commerce slave auction.” He glared down at the man before him who, at this point, looked like he very well might piss himself at any moment. “I want to bid on this one. Unless, of course, you’re saying that your company is so inefficient as to have mismarked items at the sale of *David Yates’* estate? You know Rickman & Smith is a loyal associate of Slytherin Satellites and I would *hate* to have to pass on to Mr. Isaacs that,” he studied the man’s nametag, “Mr. Peter Pettigrew was incapable of making a simple sale! I’m sure he would ever so glad to speak to your company about you on my behalf.”
The man looked so scared that Alan was starting to wonder if he actually *had* pissed himself. He swallowed hard and took a deep breath, looking a little dizzy. “A-All right, my Lord. I, um, see that you are correct. He is, after all, marked. I will, uh, just set up a station for you,” he gestured back to his computer, “so that you may bid on your purchase.”
As the man moved away, Tom smirked over at Alan, one eyebrow raised. “Well, Lord Rickman, that was oh so eloquently handled. Threatening to whisper his name to Jason Isaacs? As if you’ve ever spoken with the man.”
Alan snorted. “I ran into him in the hall once.” He paused, cocking his head to the side. “Literally, in fact. Dumped an entire container of red dye on his crotch. Told him it was a complete accident.” He smirked and Tom rolled his eyes.
Daniel made a sort of choked sound and they glanced over at him curiously. His face was ashen and his eyes looked huge. “You, uh, know Lord Isaacs, then, Master?” He obviously found the idea more than a little unsettling.
Alan frowned, wondering what about Jason Isaacs had the boy so upset. “I’m not sure ‘know’ is the word. Let’s just say our businesses do cross paths now and then. I’ve never really had any personal contact with him. It’s usually my partner, Maggie Smith, who handles the side of the company that requires, well, people skills.”
“Oh.” Daniel looked distinctly relieved for a moment then he swallowed, ducking his head. “I’m sorry, my Lord, it was none of my business anyway.”
Alan waved the comment away. “No matter. And please, call me whatever you want, just don’t make it ‘Lord.’”
Tom grinned. “He’s got a real anti-Lord thing going on. Thinks it just makes you sound silly, calling people by a title of nobility just because they were able to get into some A-List club or something this week.”
The return of the agent interrupted any further comment. Apparently he had glued his bollocks back on because he clenched his jaw bravely and said, “You are set up to bid, my Lord; however, something seems a little odd.” He glanced over at Daniel. “There has been one prior bid, yet it was only for five hundred dollars. I wouldn’t think that anyone would believe they could get a slave of his age and physical stature for a mere five hundred dollars…”
Alan let out a harsh laugh, which was apparently enough to make the man’s bollocks drop off again because he flinched away from the sound. “That’s probably why Commerce dumped him in the sale rather than taking him to auction. Knew they wouldn't get a dime for him at open auction. I don’t think he’s right in the head, yeah? Found him crouched in a corner, I did, rocking back and forth and mumbling to himself. Something about having to get back to class and learn his ABCs or some nonsense. Seems to think he’s about five.” Alan gestured at the outfit. “Dresses like it too, eh? I doubt the prat has seen a day of training in his life. Commerce probably knew they wouldn’t get shite for him, probably have to send him off to some drug test facility or what not.” He shrugged and smirked at the boy. “But I don’t give a damn whether or not he can think. I just want him for the looks. So give me the bloody pad and let me get the hell out of this hole.”
The man looked a little disgusted but he handed over the bidding pad, shaking his head. “All right, sir. The first round of bidding, open only to Lords and Ladies with personal invites from Mr. Isaacs, ends in one hour. You, of course, Lord Rickman, are free to bid at this time. After that, the second round will be open to anyone who holds the title Lord or Lady. That round will end in four hours. After that, the estate will close for the day and tomorrow morning at nine, whatever is left to be bid upon will be available to anyone who wishes to bid. At sunset, the full estate auction will be over, and the unsold items will be distributed to various auction houses throughout North America. Thank you for your business, Lord Rickman.”
Alan gave a snort and waved the man away. “Off with you. I will be making a bid that will not be overturned in the next hour so I suggest that you go and start my paperwork so when the first round of bidding ends I can be out the door and headed home.” He sneered. “At least then I *might* believe that you are competent enough to keep your job. Or at least not get demoted *too* far.” The agent’s eyes widened and he moved quickly back toward his station.
Daniel was staring at Alan a little oddly, in a way that actually made the older man feel a little uncomfortable. He was about to say something to try to reassure the boy that he wasn’t actually a total tyrant when a grin crossed the lad’s face. “That was fantastic.”
Tom raised his eyebrows and Alan looked at the boy in surprise, smirking a little. “Fantastic? I would have though ‘off-putting’ to be a better description.”
Daniel shook his head slowly. “No," he said, "it was an act. But it was really good. You should do some acting." He shrugged, dropping his eyes then glancing up again, a small smile on his face. "You act like you’re big and bad and unapproachable, but really you’re a nice guy.”
Alan cocked his head to the side, frowning. “I’ll have you know that I am very much scary and unapproachable, and I am proud of it.”
Daniel just lowered his gaze politely, still smiling a little. “As you say, Master. But I can always tell when someone’s wearing a cloak. I can see through it to what's underneath. It’s my gift.”
Tom raised his eyebrows and glanced over at Alan who just continued to stare at the boy. Finally he just shook his head and giving a little 'hmph.' “Believe what you will, boy.” Daniel smiled at him once more then dropped his eyes back to the ground.
Alan frowned again--more in amusement than annoyance, but frowning was just what he did--and turned his attention to the bidding, quickly filling out the information and setting his Final Bid price at a high enough level that no one looking to buy an old, smelly birdcage would ever meet it. He put the pad down on a table and crossed his arms, settling in to wait for the fifteen minutes left in the first bidding round to pass.
Their agent was sifting through papers and, when Alan caught his eye, he began to work quite a bit faster. He, at least, had found Lord Alan Rickman to be *very* off-putting.
Tom shook his head, glancing from the worried realtor back to Alan with amusement. “You really are unbelievable, Rickman--and I do not mean that as a compliment, mate!”
Alan smirked. “My bad attitude is an *asset,* Tom. It would do you well to remember that!”
The lulling sound of chattering Lords and Ladies that had encompassed them since they’d first entered the bidding room suddenly faded to almost nothing as a tall, blonde man, followed by a circus of body slaves and broad shouldered men in simple black suits, entered the room. Everyone in the ballroom seemed to turn at once toward the doors, as though the curtain had just risen on a play, and a loud voice announced, “May we present, CEO of Slytherin Satellites and good friend of our much-missed Lord David Yates, the esteemed Lord Jason Isaacs!”
Daniel, who a moment before had been standing idly next to Alan, his eyes politely turned to the floor, jerked suddenly and grabbed hold of Alan’s arms, swinging him around so that the older man's back was to the door, and to Jason Isaacs, and, with no warning, pressed his lips to Alan’s.
Alan just froze for a moment at the feeling of the boy’s soft lips against his, his young body rubbing hard against him, those too-small shorts straining against soft thighs. Then Alan's much-hailed upstairs brain kicked back in and his genius returned with a whoosh, leaving one very embarrassed scientist. He tried to shove the boy away, hissing “What are you doing?” but Daniel just wrapped his arms harder around Alan, moving his lips away from Alan’s just far enough to whisper, “Please, he can’t see me. Just kiss me so he can’t see me behind you.” The people standing near them stared, the Ladies mostly with distaste (and some with amusement) and the Lords with knowing smirks.
Alan’s cheeks grew warm and he scowled at the boy pressed against him. “Good God, boy, what the--are you *hiding* behind me?"
The boy turned his face up to him, his eyes wide and his breath coming out in gasps. He slunk down a little lower, peeking tentatively around Alan’s shoulder then ducking back. “Please, please, please, Master, please, sir. I’ll do anything for you, just don’t let him see me, please, sir.” A tear ran down the boy’s cheek and Alan’s eyes widened. He glanced back over his shoulder at Isaacs, who was currently making some rambling, pointless speech--probably written by one of his secretaries in the car on the way over--about how much Yates would be missed and what a wonderful partner he had been.
“Don’t let who see you, kid? You mean Isaacs?” Tom asked quietly,tugging fruitlessly at the boy's arm.
Daniel nodded and tried to bury himself further into Alan’s chest. Alan glanced over his shoulder at Isaacs again, then down at the boy in his arms, making up his mind. “All right, all right.” He glanced around at the Lords and Ladies lingering near them. Luckily your average high society bitch had the attention span of a two year old, and apparently the hysterics of some unknown slave could not overcome the oh-so-intriguing ramblings of one of the world's richest men when it came to entertainment.
Alan nodded to Tom. “Go get the papers from the agent. I’m going to take him over to the chairs against the back wall.”
Tom frowned. “What’s going on here, Alan?”
Alan shook his head. “I’m not sure.” He frowned at the boy, his cheeks still wet with tears and his big blue eyes desperate. “But we’ll find out later. Just go.”
Tom nodded in agreement and moved off toward the bidding stations. Alan grabbed Daniel's chin, forcing the boy to look him in the eye. “Come on, just keep your head down and walk beside me. We’ll go sit over there until Isaacs’ blabber is finished, then we’ll go back to my place, all right?”
The boy bit his lip and nodded slowly and they moved together over toward the far wall, Daniel leaning heavily against Alan. Alan settled him into a chair, using his body to block the teen's thin form from any prying eyes. “Okay, now,” he said sternly. “What is going on, boy?”
Daniel raised his eyes up slowly, looking up at Alan in a way that was just so *blank* it made his chest hurt. “I just. Just. Please, I don’t want him to see me.”
Alan stared at him for a long moment then took a deep breath, letting it out in a sigh. He glanced behind him and noted that lines of Lords and Ladies, all eager to up themselves in the social scene, were tailing Lord Isaacs out the door and down the Yellow Brick Road: off to worship the wizard, the wonderful wizard of money. Alan shook his head, frowning deeply. He didn't know what this was about, but he doubted he was going to get anything from the boy while he was this upset. “All right, we’ll discuss this later, boy. Lord Isaacs is gone. Let’s go.” Alan looked down at Daniel, the boy's shoulders hunched over and his face to the floor, and sighed again, holding out a hand. “Boy. Let’s go.”
Daniel glanced up slowly, staring for a long moment at the proffered hand before he reached out and took it. Alan pulled him to his feet and they headed back across the ballroom, only to find Tom *still* dealing with the bloody agent.
“Lord Rickman,” the man said, jumping a little as they breezed by him, Alan simply yanking the papers from his hands. The agent stumbled around the table to follow them out as they headed to the exit. “I’ve, ah, finalized the sale, if you’ll just take the papers to the Office of Commerce then they will reprogram--"
Alan didn’t bother to break stride. “I know how to complete a slave transaction, thank you very much. We will be going now. Have a nice life.”
The three men swept out the exit and headed toward their waiting cars, Daniel’s fingers still intertwined with Alan's.