Chapter 4
Hidey-ho! I don't have anything new to add, but italics are pretty
For the second time within the past two hours, Severus came to and kept his eyes closed to stop the world from spinning. Fantastic. More head trauma. Madame Pomfrey will think I've been playing chicken with the Whomping Willow again. Severus was about to move his hands to his face when he suddenly realized they were bound.
It took all of Severus' self-control not to move or react any more than he already had; he did not want to risk alerting his likely nearby captor that he had regained consciousness. And so, for the second time that day, Severus remained very still with his eyes closed and set his considerable intellect to work piecing together the situation. He felt no new soreness in his head or anywhere else, which ruled out a blow to the head or a stunning spell. Not only was Severus in considerably less danger of permanent brain damage, he had been knocked out by non-magical means or a potion. He could feel that his face had recently been wiped clean, and so chloroform seemed more likely (ether was most likely, actually). Considering that few wizards bothered to learn about non-magical means of knocking their enemies unconscious, it was likely that his captor was a muggle.
This news both revolted and pleased Severus. On the one hand, a muggle had managed to get the better of him with implements as crude as ether and a rag. On the other, a muggle would be considerably easier to stun. He just needed to very slowly, and very carefully get his wand from his right breast pocket…
"It's not there," said a young male voice in a lyrical sort of French, "and I'm perfectly aware you've been conscious for the past few minutes, so you can open your eyes and face me properly."
Severus forced himself to open his eyes and look at the speaker, in spite of the fact that some parts of the room were still spinning. He was in a dark, underground cellar, only without roots or barrels and with a full pipe organ (who puts a full pipe organ in his basement? Severus thought briefly [EN seriously]), a luxuriously decorated bed in an alcove, ornate candelabras supporting countless candles, and numerous props and costumes that might have been found in an actor's closet. Before him sat a man a few years older than himself, dressed entirely in black. The person in question was looking directly at him with an expression of bemusement, as if he had just made a clever move in a round of gobstones. At least, Severus thought he wore an expression of bemusement, as half of his face was covered in a white mask.
"Why—" Severus started (in French).
"—didn't I ask you to stop pretending sooner? I wanted to see if you'd stolen that stick in your breast pocket—the silver filigree in the handle is beautiful craftsmanship, by the way—or if it belonged to you. Judging by how you reached for it as your first line of defense in an unfamiliar situation, it would seem that you not only own the wand, but know how to use it as well. Pity really; if you'd been a common thief, I would have knocked you out again and dropped you off with the rest of the pickpockets who terrorize my patrons with only a rose and a warning—I am a practical man at heart, and I know that an opera house cannot function if our patrons cannot pay for their tickets. It also gets terribly boring sometimes, hiding in shadows and listening to the prattle of the new gentry, and knocking out riffraff makes for a delightful distraction. In any event, a wizard usually has better things to do on a Tuesday night than highly resemble a pickpocket and skulk in the shadows of a—what is your word, 'muggle?'—a muggle art institution."
"How—"
"—do I know what a wand, a wizard, and a muggle are? Well, when one spends one's life in the shadows watching other people very carefully, one tends to notice things that a more casual observer might miss. Don't worry, your and Monsieur LeStrange's secret is perfectly safe with me. However, speaking of things I already know is a rather tedious activity for me, and so I would like to propose a change of subject: who are you, and what were you doing lurking around my opera house on this fine winter evening?"
"Your opera house?" said Severus, trying to stall while he thought quickly.
"My opera house," the boy in the mask said, "and anyone who doubts it need only go to the manager's office and see my name on the deed of ownership pinned to the wall over his desk. The most effective deeds are handed over at knife point, I've found. However, all of this is irrelevant; I promise you that future attempts to stall or distract me will not be so effective."
He's brilliant, Severus thought, and not averse to violence, but also vain and absurdly protective of what he chooses to value. I can use that.
"How much know you of people who use the wands?" Severus asked in the best French he could manage.
"Ah, a Brit?" said his captor, switching to English, fluid as silk, "I would have guessed an American from your utterly bizarre and tasteless clothing, but perhaps the fashion in London is truly as horrendous as Madame Clarion complains every Monday and Thursday. As I said before, however, I grow bored—"
"I do not ask for intelligence like a dog begging for scraps," said Severus, taking his turn with the interruptions, "I ask because if you have only gleaned your information from observing Monsieur LeStrange and whatever other fools he takes to this… institution of what I suppose your kind must consider art, there is something you do not know: my kind does not require a wand to use magic. In fact, the first indication of who we are comes when we are unwanded children and under great duress. When I was five, my father had placed me in the garden shed for an hour to teach me to avoid my chores* and before he could close the lock, the structure was in flames. Now, age and discipline certainly temper this untamed sort of magic, but I would like to inform you that ropes severely disagree with my constitution and your precious opera house is at least 70% wooden beams. In light of this information, I would advise you to free me and return my wand, or else I cannot say what might transpire in my duress, although, quite frankly, whatever it is will most certainly be an improvement upon this place."
His captor blinked, and responded in a voice that was cool enough to hide in its tone the enormous rage which his slowly clenching fist betrayed. "I'll take my chances, Monsieur. In the meantime, I would advise you to incline your delicate constitution in favor of ropes, as they will not be going anywhere for now. I would also advise you to learn to enjoy what you suppose my people must consider art. Rehearsals begin today for a brand new opera from Genoa, which will star a fresh new diva who happens to be our illustrious manager's daughter, Carlotta. I am giving you this advice because I can personally assure you she is the most positively atrocious chanteuse that ever disgraced my stage, and you happen to be lying in the exact spot in my dungeon where the clearest, loudest strains of the music upstairs can be heard. She was going to have a rather unfortunate accident before rehearsals began, but I believe the production will survive if the star is replaced a little later in the rehearsal process. Good night, Monsieur. I hope you come to appreciate our diva's desire to stay late and practice that high C which she just can't quite reach."
The stranger in the mask stood up, walked stiffly to the staircase, and disappeared. Severus listened to the footsteps echo and die away before he accepted that his jailer would not be coming back to give him so much as a crust of bread or a cup of water. Tired, cold, thoroughly uncomfortable and ravenously hungry, Severus tried to curl in the most comfortable position he could muster; he would need sleep that was not physically or chemically induced if he was going to outwit this person, whom he could only presume was a masked lunatic who enjoyed kidnapping as a sort of hobby. This thought did not sit right with Severus, however; he could understand why he'd been knocked out, but why was he still here? What good is an anonymous wizard to a deranged muggle? He was just about to drift off and hope his dreams pieced this puzzle together when suddenly, he heard voices. After a few minutes, those voices started singing.
It did not take Severus long to determine which was Carlotta.
*It had actually been for the night, and for hiding his liquor in a naïve attempt to prevent the nightly drunken rage against his mother, although Severus saw no reason to acquaint his captor with this information.