A Common Slave - by Bsum1
Warning: Atrocious French accents ... and slavery
Pentunia Dursley spent her morning preparing the table and scrambled eggs as her young nephew stood precariously on a chair, watching over the bacon. The strong smelling meat sizzled and spat at the boy but if any harm came to him it was nothing a little cold water couldn't fix.
Now that Petunia thought about the boy she was beginning to realise that it could quite possibly be his birthday. Yes, Petunia decided, the boy had been dropping hints all week. Petunia frowned; it was definitely the boy's sixth birthday. She would have to find a pair of socks that Dudley no longer needed. There was a pair that was too itchy for Dudley's sensitive feet that would do well enough for Harry.
The bitterness filled her as her thoughts clenched, almost vice like, around the boy. It would serve him right, those socks. It would have served Lily right too. Lily had made her decision, chosen where her loyalties lied. Not to her older sister, never to her sister. No, she chose her predicament, chose that stupid Wizarding world over her.
Harry most definitely deserved no better than those itchy socks.
The shrill pitch of the door bell rang and Petunia had to restrain a curse. Decent people did not curse. Petunia just hoped the ringing had not disturbed her little Dudley. He would be down soon, but Petunia wanted her little boy to get as much sleep as he could as he was a growing boy.
She hurried to the door before the bell could be rung again and almost screamed at the sight of the man in front of her leaning heavily on his cane. Thank god she didn't. Petunia did not want Vernon coming down to see this man. Trying to build her courage and appear unaffected, Petunia straightened herself and tilted her head high.
"Edgard Laurent" she said with pursed lips. Oh how she enjoyed being able to address him by his name and not his old title. It made her feel powerful, like she had become a bigger person then she ever would have been had she stayed with him.
The man did not bother with pleasantries. "I am 'ere for 'arry."
Despite herself, Petunia paled a little. "So soon?"
Edgard limped past her into the corridor, his tailored suit brushing up against her. The man looked up and down, inspecting her house, criticising it and summing it up. Petunia did not appreciate this.
"Now see here!" she snapped. "You cannot just barge in here like you own the place. What I own is mine now and you are to respect it."
"Ah, I'm zo zorry Petunia" his voice was thick with a French accent. "Old habits die 'ard 'ou know?"
Petunia glared at the man. It was surprising to see him in muggle clothes, though Petunia assumed it was just so he didn't attract attention. She watched as the older man, older by seventeen years if she remembered correctly, slicked back his greying hair and stalked his way into the kitchen.
He stopped at the door jamb as his eyes caught on Harry, a deceptively merry smile crossing his face as the boy turned to look at him.
Something inside Petunia, perhaps the same thing that had made Petunia fight so hard to get Lily to join her in her muggle way of life, came up inside of her and before she could stop herself she was making a last minute attempt to help the small boy.
"He is being watched by Dumbledore. What do you think will happen when he finds out you've taken him?" Harry was looking a little concerned after that little comment, not to mention a little confused.
"I'm sure 'ou'll come up with somezing" said Edgard over his shoulder. "Ze boy is starting 'is first year at school, yes? Say 'ou sent 'im to a boarding school to any one zat asks, and if Dumbledore 'imself comes just tell 'im ze truz. After all, isn't truz one of ze zings your muggle religions prize?"
"I – I... surely he's too young?"
In a swirl of his dark brown coat, Edgard swung around to glare down at her. "You may 'ave bought your way out of ze slavery Petunia, but ze Evans are still mine and zat includes 'arry 'ere." A cruel smirk graced his features. "Unless you will give me your son? I can still claim 'im if zere is no-one left."
Petunia gulped. The man was intimidating.
" 'Arry Potter belongs to me and I 'ave come to collect." He turned back to the boy who was still standing on his chair, bacon left unattended in his shock. "Pack your zings 'arry," Edgard smiled, " 'ou are coming with me."
Harry did not move. He stood stock still, still not fully comprehending what was going on.
"For heaven's sake boy!" Petunia screeched. "Get to it!" Harry scrambled from his chair and bolted past the two adults only to stop close behind them and start pulling out his clothes from his cupboard and stash them in the school bag Petunia had patched up for him.
"Ze cupboard, Petunia?" asked Edgard incredulously. "You treat 'im worse zan my fazer treated you." He did not seem too put out by this however, only amused. "Per'aps we rubbed off on you too much? Or maybe, you were preparing 'im? You needn't 'ave gone to so much trouble." Petunia just sneered at the man. She knew he was not expecting an answer.
It did not take long for Harry to finish his packing. Luckily for Petunia, Edgard chose not to comment further. Harry turned scared eyes towards the intimidating man, expressions on his face fighting for dominance. None won over.
"Come 'arry" said Edgard as he brandished his wand. Then, quickly, his hand shot out and grabbed the small boy's arm, pulling the boy close to him, and with a twist and a pop they had apparated away.
Harry gave a shriek of terror as he felt the world spin around him. With an audible pop, Harry realised that he was back on the ground and before he had even opened his eyes he pushed himself away from the strange man with all his might. But Harry's overly long pant legs caught under his feet and he tumbled backwards, falling with a thud to the floor.
Harry heard a scoff from above him and peeped out from under his fringe up at the man that had grabbed him. Light blue eyes that demanded respect looked down at him, the man's face neutral.
"Good," the man nodded in approval. "You've learnt your place already. I was afraid I'd 'ave to teach it to you."
Harry knew enough to realise that the comment was by no means flattering and so he scrambled up to stand in front of the man. That was when he noticed his surroundings. He was now in a lavishly furnished and rather large sitting room filled with classical art and warm rugs. Harry also noticed a fireplace behind the man.
Harry tensed up. Where in the world was he?! But with dawning horror, Harry realised that this was not the biggest of his concerns.
"You're a kidnapper!" shrieked Harry, backing away instantly.
"I am no such zing. You, 'arry, belong to me and so I 'ave not 'napped' you at all, merely taken you where you are zupposed to be." He gave Harry a cold glare, daring him to try and fight back. Harry suppressed a gulp, he wanted to cry, this man had taken him away from home and he didn't know how to get back. This man was terrifying and he wanted to run away as far as possible.
"Come" the man said, as he limped over to a comfy looking wing backed chair. With a grunt the man sat himself down, placing his cane to lean against the chair. He gave a sigh of relief as the weight was taken of his aching leg. If it was already this sore in the morning he just knew it was going to be a bad day. The man pointed to the floor, and Harry took the hint. Scowling at the man, he sat down crossed legged.
"My name, 'arry, is Edgard Laurent and as I'm sure you 'ave realised, what I just did to get us 'ere was magic." Edgard looked down at the boy, trying to gage his reaction, but Harry was, after all, still only a six years old and had no trouble accepting that there were people out there that could do magic. He did, however, perk up at the possibility.
"Zis, of course, makes me a Wizard, just like you, 'arry."
Harry was gaped in shock. "I – I'm a what?" But as Harry would learn quickly, Edgard did not repeat himself unnecessarily, not to the likes of Harry at least.
"Your mozer and fazer were ones too; your mozer being a witch, of course, plus your Aunt Petunia was one for a short time. However, your mozer and Aunt were also somzing else. Zey were slaves."
Harry went still, he had heard the man mention something about slavery to his Aunt before hand, but he had not understood. Now, however, he was starting to make a guess.
Edgard continued "Ze Evans have belonged to my family, ze Laurents, for 'undreds of years, forever disguised as muggles" he paused at the confused look on Harry's face. "Non magic people," he explained. "Zey were all slaves belonging to my family, and so, 'arry, you belong to me."
Harry didn't know what to say or do. His mind was stuck between running (not a possibility seeing as he didn't know where he was) and his awe at being a Wizard. He could do magic!
But then...
"But my Aunt can't be a witch. I've never seen her do anything magical."
Edgard's lips quirked. "Ah yes. Well you see 'arry, a wizard or witch who is a slave does 'ave a choice. Zey can choose to take their freedom, run away and never be a slave again, but at a cost." Edgard fixed his most intense glare on the small boy sitting in front of him. "Zey give zeir magic to zeir master. Zey become a muggle. Zis is what your Aunt did. When she was eleven years old she begged for freedom and I gave it to 'er."
Harry suddenly felt the beginnings of a feeling he was all too familiar with, hopelessness.
"So you 'ave a choice. You can go back to your Aunt and Uncle's, back to your cupboard, wiz no magic for ze rest of your life, or you can stay wiz me and I will teach you about magic. Zen, one day, I will send you to ze same school zat your mozer and fazer went to so you can learn more magic. You can follow in zeir footsteps and make zem proud as you become ze wizard you were supposed to be."
Well, when put like that Harry really didn't see much of a choice. He would do anything to make his parents proud, and really, there was nothing keeping him at the Dursley's. But most of all... he could do magic! Something that he had only every dreamed of!
Harry squared his shoulders and replied as firmly as a six year old could, "I think I'd like to stay here, sir."
Edgard smirked in triumph. "A wise decision 'arry. So!" he clapped his hands together. "You will now call me Master, but first, we need to complete the slavery bond." Edgard held out his arms as if he was inviting the boy into a hug.
"Mind my right leg 'arry."
As Harry began to move over to the man to sit on his knee something seemed to click at the back of his head. Edgard called him Harry. The Dursleys never called him Harry, just boy. It seemed to make Edgard all the more approachable and, somehow, less of a kidnapping monster.
Harry sat down on Edgard's left leg, careful not to bump the other. He felt a hand brush away his baggy shirt from around his right shoulder. He tensed at the feeling and only grew straighter as Edgard began rubbing small circles on his shoulder blade.
"Like wiz all slaves, I will mark you wiz my family crest. Zere is magic laced in wiz zis mark which will tie you to me. If I call you while you are not in ear shot zen ze mark will burn. If I need you instantly then the mark will transport you to me, just like 'ow we got 'ere from your Aunt's 'ouse." There was a pause as Edgard shifted to get his wand.
" 'old onto me as tight as you need 'arry." The comment was so strange and foreign to Harry that it didn't even register to him at first, but then he felt a burning pain unlike anything he had felt before tear and rip at his back. Harry screamed and grabbed onto Edgard's shirt like his life depended on it, knuckles going white from the strain.
It felt like his blood was boiling under his skin, like his skin would soon burst from the pressure and that it was already tearing down his back. Then, the intense burn was gone and all that was left was a dizzying throb that seemed to pulse unsteadily, and all he could think of as the black started to close around the edges of his sight was that there were strong arms holding him, rocking him in a way so comforting he thought he could almost remember it from somewhere long ago, not quite forgotten.
That day, Harry awoke to find himself in a sparsely furnished room. This room would be his for as long as he stayed at the Laurent Mansion. At that time, all that was in the room was a bed, a wardrobe and a window above his bed so high up that he had to stand on the tips of his toes on his mattress to see out of it. A view that was surely worth it, with all its greenery and the stream that ran past the edge of the garden. Of course, all that meant to Harry was that there was no body to run and beg for help.
Over time though, Harry began to fill his walls with parchment, parchment filled with notes on everything that Edgard had taught him, from magic to mathematics, from French to Psychology.
On the first day of Harry's arrival at the mansion his Master Edgard had shown him around his home an introduced him to all of his four house elves which had been working in the kitchen. Harry was to help them with breakfast and dinner.
Harry came to very much enjoy spending his time with the house elves. They taught him how to make much more interesting food then the Dursleys had ever even thought of eating, and they were always patient with him, never giving him impossible jobs and always taking the time to teach a new cooking technique. However, with Harry spending so much time with the house elves at such an impressionable age, he began to pick up their habits and also their way of thinking.
The house elves would always talk about how it was an honour to serve for the house of Laurent and how the most important thing for a slave was to make your Master comfortable in life. Harry, as easily influenced as he was, began to pick up these ideals and began to see the joy in getting praise from Edgard. He began to feel lighter on his feet whenever he heard his master singing to himself, because Harry knew he had a part to do with that, he had made his Master and Mentor happy.
Of course, Harry had also picked up some less then desirable traits. It had started when Harry had been helping clean up after his Master's dinner party when an elderly house elf named Dolfy had sulked his way into the kitchen, ears flat against his head. Harry had watched as the elf made its way over to a stove and turned it on. In one quick movement the elf slammed his hands into the fire and kept them there for a good five seconds. Whimpering, the elf had bandaged his hands and gone back to work.
Harry, shocked, had looked around to the other house elves only to see them all turned away from Dolfy, not making a move to help the elf.
Harry turned to the elf closest to him, a female elf and much like the mother of the small family, Hemphy.
"Why did he do that? Why aren't you helping him?"
Hemphy's own ears lowered and she turned away from Harry, putting all her attention towards her soup. "Dolfy has done something very bad" she explained. "Dolfy ruined one of master's expensive potion ingredients. Dolfy has brought shame to us all."
Harry had looked at the small elf in shock and then back to Dolfy himself. The pore elf was wincing every time he moved his hands.
"But you is seeing Dolfy doing the right thing now." Hemphy continued. "He is punishing himself like a good elf. Dolfy burning his hands is an honourable thing and so Master will forgive him." Hemphy nodded in complete satisfaction with Dolfy's own self-harm. "Dolfy is being a good elf."
It was a turning point for Harry, and he began to mimic the same behaviour when he brought shame to himself and the elves.
However, helping out in the kitchen was not Harry's main job as a slave. Most days, Edgard would tutor him. His Master was an intelligent man and would teach him how to read and write in both English and French. He would teach Harry mathematics, science, philosophy, history, potions and magical theory. Then on their daily walks around the garden, so that Edgard's leg could get some exercise, he would lecture Harry on psychology and all that he could use this knowledge for, as well as telling Harry about his parents, how they had lived and how they had died.
All this came in handy for the jobs Harry would do for his Master.
You see, Edgard Laurent had a mission. Ever since the beginning of the first war against Voldemort, Edgard had made it his personal job to hunt down suspected Death Eaters and build enough evidence against them so as they had no chance of fighting their way out of Azkaban. Now after the war, Edgard spent his time building evidence against Death Eaters that had snaked their way through the legal system, and also hunting down other Dark Wizards. It was because of this that Edgard Laurent was considered a Dark Wizard himself, as he was seen far too often associating himself with the wrong kinds of people.
Harry's job was to play along with this. Always under polyjuice potion, he would sneak around and gather information or accompany his Master as a slave to a pure blood family's home. It made Edgard look like someone who really believed in pure-blood superiority when he brought a little 'muggle' slave along with him to the unsavoury meetings.
On the day of Harry's cousin Dudley's eleventh birthday, Harry was taken back to the Dursley's to stay for a time. It had been a long kept secret that the Evans belonged to the Laurents, a secret so well kept that even the all knowing Dumbledore was oblivious to the fact. Edgard did not wish for the long kept secret to be ruined by a Hogwarts invitational letter of all things.
Once receiving his Hogwarts letter Harry was taken back to his Master's home in France, stumbling through the fire place to his Master's feet. The man was sitting on his favourite wing backed chair as always, smiling happily at the sight of his slave.
Harry's heart leapt to see that smile. His Master was happy he was home.
"The letter, Master," Harry handed it over with his head bowed. Some would have thought it interesting that Harry referred to the envelope as the letter and not his letter, but not for Harry. Harry did not have possessions; anything that was his was now his Master's, his parent's gold, his old school bag from Aunt Petunia, even the clothes on his back, they all belonged to Edgard Laurent and it would forever be that way.
"Very good 'arry" Edgard praised. After opening and reading the letter he handed it back to the boy so as he could read it for the first time.
"Do you know why I sent your mozer to 'ogwarts, 'arry? Why I zrew away ze long kept illusion zat ze Evans were muggles and portrayed your mozer as a muggle-born witch?" Harry shook his head in a negative.
"It was because of Voldemort, 'arry. 'e was rising in power and so were 'is Death Eaters. I made it my job to 'unt zem down. But you see 'arry, alzough I saved many lives with each captured Deaz Eater I could only capture them after many lives 'ad been lost. I sent your mozer to 'ogwarts with a job 'arry, one that I will pass onto you." Harry perked up at this, immediately ready for the job.
"I ordered your mozer to suss out potential Deaz Eaters or Dark Wizards. One man became a great target of 'ers. Severus Snape, your new potions professor at 'ogwarts. Your mozer became good friends wiz ze boy in 'opes zat 'e could be changed, but one year she wrote to me and was adamant zat she would never speak wiz Severus again. She failed me 'arry, and because of 'er selfish actions Severus Snape became a Deaz Eater and many innocents died."
Harry was in shock. His mother fail to fulfil an order? She had shamed herself, and with a job so important? What could Severus Snape have done that his mother couldn't bear to be around him any longer?
" 'owever, at ze end of ze war Dumbeldore vouched for Snape's innocents and so ze man went free. Dumbledore is a wise man and would not 'ave vouched for Snape unless 'e 'ad good reason to." In the blink of an eye, Egard's demeanour became business like, and Harry knew that this was his order.
"You are to suss out any potential zreats, any potential Dark Wizards at ze school. You are also ordered to discover just what convinced Dumbledore of Severus Snape's innocents. I need to know if 'e is trust worzy or not."
"Yes, master" replied Harry instantly, the words rolling off his tongue easily.
The elder man smiled down at the boy and reached out a hand to place on top of the boy's head. "Make me proud, 'arry."
A:N\ Let me know if you think I should keep this going.
Constructive criticism is appreciated. Unconditional praise (of course) even more so (I don't expect too much of that though).