*~Sing For Absolution~*
Chapter 1. A Sonnet For Your Tears
Despondent teal eyes stared out longingly at the ocean unfocused and red from either the strain of holding back tears or the salty sea spray that erupted from the swirling waters below. It was a silent goodbye, for none could tell when or if he would return. He sorrowfully mused whether his home would still be home if he one day returned.
"My Lord." So immersed within his mind he hadn't even heard the guardsman approaching and masked his instinctive flinch as best he could.
"Gregorion…" The teal eyed lord murmured in both question and statement, "It is time then I take it?" Head lowered in equal amounts of respect and sadness Gregorion nodded silently but realizing his lord had yet to look at him he vocalized his affirmation.
A long, shaky sigh billowed forth from the lord, taking a moment to compose himself before facing his guardsman. "Goodbye then, I hope that one day…" Confused, the guardsman looked up at his lord who had trailed into silence and saw he had hunched his shoulders, head bowed and fists clenched at his sides. "My lord?" Gregorion prodded worriedly he was startled by the young master; he appeared to be…crying. "I hope that one day," voice clear and head high he stared solidly at the guard, "we might meet again."
With a good-natured nod the teal-eyed lord passed the guardsman, finally coming down from his perch at the top of the island's highest cliff heading home for what could very well be the final time.
Contrary to his expectations, he wasn't bitter or even angry, he would have been simple-minded to feel so; it was his idea after all. It was not as if he was being forced to leave, no, it was what he felt would best serve his people and his people mattered more to him than anything. As the next legitimate heir to the throne he had a responsibility to protect his country and if he had to run and hide to do so he would. No matter how much it hurt to do so.
Cresting a hill the docks came into sight, a location chosen for it scarce population in the current season and along with them came his aunt-his queen-and the kindly wizard with the white beard and sky blue robes.
"Viirone!" Cried the Queen face already flush and shining from weeping; she ran best she could in her formal attire and embraced him tightly. "Vii, sweetheart you know you don't have to do this right?" Viirone could tell she was asking him to stay, her not-so hidden implication that this whole ordeal was optional still.
She pulled him down to her eye level; she was short enough that he was almost kneeling. "Auntie," Viirone huffed out in embarrassment, "I know, but I must go. It's not safe anymore, and the people need us. What would they do if we were suddenly both lost?"
The queen, still crying openly, looked into his eyes trying to read him and after a long silence she released him, albeit more than a little reluctantly. "Farewell Vii, you'll come home soon, I promise you okay?" She was biting her lip in attempt to stifle the tears, a habit Vii shared with her but the tone of her voice confused him. Lip trembling he wondered if it was because she felt she might not be here when he returned.
"Goodbye Auntie." Viirone kissed her cheek, wet with her tears and stood beside Dumbledore, head tilted back ever so slightly in an attempt to cage his own. The old wizard smiled, a little less jovial than usual and perhaps even the sparkle in his blue eyes was dimmed as well. "I'm afraid, my dear boy, that I'll have to ask you to remove your hair piece." The wizard placed a wrinkled hand on the prince's shoulder; even this had to be taken from him.
Shocked, the queen placed a hand over her heart. "B-but it is a royal family heirloom." She protested. "It marks the crown prince!"
"It's alright," Viirone said, trying to sooth her. "It would be foolish to go into hiding while wearing royal artifacts." To be honest, the prince couldn't tell who he was trying to convince; himself or the queen.
Slowly, Viirone reached upwards and grasped the cold metal of the hairpin and circlet letting what was once in orderly fashion cascade in a silvery waterfall of blond floating down past his shoulders. Sweeping his hair behind and ear he placed hairpiece into his aunt's palm placing his hand over her own. "I'll see you soon, fear not dear aunt." And stepping back Viirone placed a spidery hand on the large wooden ring the headmaster held out to him and with the headmaster's incantation both were swept away.
But back on the docks the queen, alone in the world save for her guards and servants fell to her knees and with propriety thrown to the wind sobbed into her hands.
xX-Two Weeks Later-Xx
Prince Viirone had never seen such insolence. The little brats he was being forced to live with- actually that was a lie. He wasn't being forced to do anything; the whole torturous escapade was entirely his own fault. Regardless of where the blame lay Viirone was about to lose his remaining composure and strangle those red headed incubi known to him as Fred and George. Since the day he had apperated onto the doorstep of Grimmauld Place they had done nothing but pull at his hair, poke fun at how he walked, talked, ate, existed and made a game out of sabotaging each and every moment of peace he managed to somehow acquire in this madhouse.
"Oh Vii-vii!" Let us not dare forget the horrendous nicknames as well. "Where for art thou my dearest prince-oops!" Yeah, oops.
"BLOOD TRAITORS!! Insolent whelps!" And that was how they usually got him. They'd scream and holler loud enough to wake that despicable painting and would continue to do so until he-cursing all of humankind for the birthing of the two demons-would emerge from his pathetic sanctuary of a room and endure the oppressive presence of the twins.
His only escape came in the form of the little brunette with the buck teeth and a frizzy mop of curls. After the first hour or so she would swoop down like a banshee and point one of those ridiculous pieces of wood at them and throw nasty looking hexes after them till they apologized…Viirone however, was not appeased by unfelt or forced apologies. He wanted revenge.
Crouched low to the ground, a length of rope coiled around one arm; the vengeful prince crept like a viper down the hall to where the two halls connected with the staircase. Grunting quietly Viirone lay down flat on his stomach and unwound the rope from himself taking hold off both ends of the rope bringing them close to his mouth. Licking his lips, he began to whisper softly to the rope which had started to twist and slither across the floor and in his hands. Releasing the rope he watched in silent amazement as it slowly snaked its way down the stairs, winding up and around the railing making its way towards its victims-to-be.
Sitting the way they were, facing forwards and sitting somewhere in the stair's middle one twin's arm ready to rip open the shrieking portrait's curtain once more they had no chance of knowing what was about to hit them. With the rest of its body coiled around the railing one end of the rope reared up like a snake head into an "s" shape preparing to strike.
It was pure chance that just as the rope sprang the twin closest to the painting turned to the other as if to speak caught flight of the rope in mid flight forming a comical "O" with his mouth in a futile attempt to scream out for help. Prince Viirone's laughter reverberated off of the hallway's ceiling and down the stairs chasing after the mass of flailing limbs and quickly constricting rope rolled, bounced, and slammed as a single entity into the ground floor's semi-glossed surface.
Using the wall as leverage Viirone bounced on the heels of his feet out into the open and in plain view of the fleshy mass at the stairs landing. Placing a delicate hand upon the banister the blond slowly sauntered his way down the stairs, ponytail swinging happily behind him.
"Well," Viirone said smugly as he reached the last step. "What do we have here?" The blonde quirked his head to the side as the twins glared for all they were worth up at him. "Such naughty children." The blond tsk-ed haughtily.
Bending down Viirone grabbed the foot of, well he was pretty sure it belonged to George, and dragged the two bodies down the hallway and out of sight hymning to himself all the while.
xX-3 Hours Later-Xx
Sprawled rather unceremoniously on the patchwork rug before the fire the prince was lying on his side one arm curled up close to his thin chest the other being used as a pillow, its fingers running through the silvery strands of Viirone's unbound hair splayed across the rug as well.
Hermione, having been curled up around a couch cushion, paused in her reading; the prince had been deemed beyond behind in his studies, apparently Headmaster Dumbledore neglected to alert the house to the fact he was not a human, and she had taken it upon herself to "educate" him. "It's been awfully quite." The human declared an inquiring statement.
"I to have noticed." Viirone feinted innocence for he knew precisely why it was so peaceful.
"I wonder what the twins are up too." It was after all just the four of them plus Lord Black, but he was busy sulking in his room upstairs at being left behind. The others had needed school supplies while Viirone's had been bought already as had Hermione's. The twins on the other hand had been forced by the Weasley Matron to stay behind.
Viirone tried his best to hide his unmaskable glee behind an arm he had moved as inconspicuously as possible to cover his face. Unfortunately, the movement attracted the very attention which he had desired to avoid. "What is it?" The brunette inquired suspiciously. The prince shook his head, silently denying all knowledge of the subject at hand. The witch however refused to relent and threw her cushion which whapped him squarely in the face, "Tell me!" She demanded loudly. It had yet to occur to either person- both renowned for their wits-which their muddled brains had been the result of the twin's newest creation, the Incapacitating Incense. Had they but looked upon the mantle of the fire place they would have seen an entire box of said smelly incense. Alas, they did not.
The warmth of the fire helped the incense along and when the prince again refused, sticking out his tongue at her she slipped off the couch and onto the floor rolling her way over to his sluggish form. "Pleeeease?" She whined into his ear.
"I tied them," here the prince yawned too tired or lazy to conceal it with a hand. "up." He announced looking quite pleased with himself.
"Oh," Hermione echoed the boy with a yawn of her own. "That's…that's nice." Another yawn, and then another but in unison with the prince and they both curled up around the other a little more, pressed a little closer together. Half asleep, Viirone felt Hermione nuzzle into his collar bone but too exhausted to truly care, he fell asleep.
xX—Xx
To the observer, the speed at which the two prone forms seemed to lift off the floor and leap apart was, to be frank, highly amusing. To the intensely startled participants however, it was just that: intensely startling.
It was all caused by a loud cracking noise still loud even through the front door and the distance from said door to the room in which they had been sleeping. This only succeeded in bringing both to a semi-aware of semi-consciousness. This combined with the explosion of sound caused by the brutal and forceful opening of the front door triggered the wailing portrait of the late Lady Black which in turn caused the knee-jerk reaction of Hermione and Viirone flying apart.
A burly voice, like Ronald's would be when he matured bellowed at the painting telling the old hag to do something to herself which was very much impossible shutting her up for the moment. With a slow gait that spoke of a body frame much larger than Viirone's own and a few widely spaced steps the unknown being nearly walked past the doorway of the living room. He stopped suddenly turning mid-step as if he'd been anticipating them being there and leaned against the door frame looking in at the occupants expectantly. "I didn't, eh, interrupt anything, did I?" Heads of white-blond and brown shook vigorously in a negative.
Before Viirone could stop just wordlessly flapping his maw and actually produce sound the redhead held up a hand, head tilted away to stare at the floor. "Lie to me if I did, honestly I don't wanna know." Viirone laughed then, a short, nervous laugh that border-lined hysteria from unending embarrassment at the redhead's implications. "No, no, no, no!" He blurted out, "We were just lying by the fire and…and." The redhead cleared his throat loudly ceasing the prince's attempts at explaining himself. The hand that had previously been held up was now running absent mindedly through the man's thick crimson locks. "You." The man said thrusting his chin in the blond's direction. "Come with me." And with that the redhead pushed himself off the door with a grunt and walked away.
"Ch-Charlie!" Hermione finally stuttered out. It had been the first thing she had uttered but the head of crimson didn't reappear and soon after a head of silver blond followed.
xX—Xx
Viirone found this 'Charlie' in the kitchen, seated at the table with a glass of water in his hand the other curled around the arm of his chair. Without looking at him Charlie gestured to the chair across from him.
Sitting, the price had recovered enough for his natural grace to allow him to flow smoothly into the seat. "Look," Viirone bit out pointedly, nervousness replaced by irritation. "Charles-"
"What are you?"
Viirone's first impulse had been to demand just what in the Goddess' good graces did he mean by that, but the prince had never been one to act irrationally; so instead he calmly asked Charlie to clarify. Scoffing the redhead leaned back in his chair sipping from his cup heartily. Viirone had a feeling that the clear liquid in the cup wasn't water.
"There's no denying," another sip, "that you're not entirely human," a longer sip followed by a minutely suppressed belch, "or human at all."
Viirone felt his lips part, teeth bared ready to throw an insult or to deny but clamped his mouth shut. Eyes narrowing he repositioned himself in his chair, his subconscious trying to make him seem more threatening. "How can you tell?" The prince demanded hotly.
With the quirking of an equally crimson brow, Viirone's subconscious knew it had failed. "Well," the brow's owner drawled out, "truth be told it was that voice of yours that gave you away." Tipping his glass high he drained the contents in one final gulp, "So, riddle me this," he began pausing to wipe his mouth against his sleeve. "What is a Siren doing here?"