Honor among Thieves
Chapter nine
xxx
"Muuuuuuuuuuuurgh... Braaaaiins..."
A trail of drool fell from the zombie's mouth as it leaned forward.
Harry hadn't learned much in Ranma and Herb's 'Self Defense Classes', but this sort of situation he could deal with on instinct by now. His head shot forward, tilted down slightly, crushing what was left of the zombie's nose. In the same motion, he withdrew his knife and slashed, removing the zombies hand from his shoulder the hard way. He leapt back as the zombie staggered.
"Fucking hell! You little fucking twat! You cut my hand off!"
Harry blinked. That... hadn't been expected. Neither was the cast iron skillet that impacted against the back of the male zombies skull, wielded by a female one in a much better state of preservation, with fiery red hair... and very familiar green eyes. Harry's brain shut down and rebooted.
"There will be NO swearing in front of our son, dear."
There was an obvious person to blame for this.
"DAMMIT RANMA!"
"What?"
The gladiators jumped, but Harry was too familiar with Ranma's Mad Ninja Skillz to show any outward reaction when she appeared silently behind his back. No matter how creepy it was.
"Who were they?"
Ranma ignored the question in favor of sighing.
"Looks like plan A failed."
"They're my parents aren't they. You turned my parent's corpses into zombies for the sake of pranking me!?"
Zombie-James smiled and raised his remaining hand, one bony finger extended.
"Son... I HEARTILY APPROVE of your choice in friends!"
Skillet, meet skull. Zombie-James dropped to a moaning heap on the floor.
"Well, if plan A didn't work..." Harry frowned as Ranma snapped her fingers. Then frowned and snapped them again. And again. Then...
"Oof!"
Herb had appeared and struck him heavily in the stomach. He crumpled over her fist like tissue paper. As usual, it was a one-hit knockout.
"About time! Now, like I was saying, if plan A didn't work, then it's time to move on to plan B."
With a flourish, she pulled a familiar black, lacy dress out of her sleeve. Identical malicious grins sprouted on their faces, and Zombie-James sat up to burst out laughing. Even Zombie-Lily was twitching a smile away as the two set to work on her son's unconscious form.
xxx
Griphook took a deep drag from his new, gold-embossed pipe. Becoming the manager of the Potter accounts, as well as the new, and rapidly swelling, Musk account had probably been the best decision he'd ever made. The job came with a much higher salary, and all sorts of fringe benefits, as evidenced by the new, much larger office and desk to impress visitors and clients, as well as lord it over the goblins who now answered to him. One of whom he was recieving right now.
"You are sure about this, Torgnak? I would be most... displeased to find out that you brought me false news."
"Like I said, account manager Griphook... the Malfoy child and his mother visited Gringotts early this morning, requesting the test for Headship. The boy was obviously feeling poorly, but the test went off without a hitch, and he didn't even hesitate, even knowing the consequences of failing the test. Then he had me take him to the Malfoy private vault. He remained inside for several hours before exiting. He had nothing with him that he did not enter with, and he hadn't left anything inside, but he was obviously not in the best shape by this point. He was extremely pale, sweating heavily, and staggering, yet when I offered him some temporary assistance, he was cold and clammy to the touch. His eyes were slightly glazed and one pupil had dilated slightly while the other had contracted, and he seemed to have difficulty breathing. I am no doctor, but I would say that the Malfoy boy was either seriously ill, or very distressed by something he had found in the vault."
Griphook took another drag from the pipe before exhaling a puff of green smoke. Through dint of many long hours of practice, the cloud looked almost exactly identical to the average human skull. The symbol was not lost on the younger Torgnak.
"I've told you everything I remember! There was nothing else out of the ordinary."
"I believe you, Torgnak. After all, you're not the kind of goblin that would lie to an Account Manager. Knowing full well the sort of penalties in such an action."
Griphook took another drag, and a second floating skull joined the first, before both dissolved into mist. Griphook blinked, then chuckled.
"And I do believe I've just thought of a reason that the young Malfoy head may have been so discomfited. Tell me... what did you note of his interactions with his mother, Narcissa?"
"His mother? I don't know. Just the average human parent-child interactions, I believe. Perhaps Narcissa was a tad more clingy than most mothers?"
Griphook smiled and leaned back in his new upholstered chair, made of dragonhide. He'd added two and two together and ended up with five.
"So you didn't notice any... interest, in Narcissa, on the young Malfoy's behalf? But neither did you notice any disinterest?"
"Well... he did seem interested in keeping a good arms length between them when they left... you don't mean?"
"Pureblood wizard heirarchy is... well if you need an example, turn to the Muggle greek myths of the gods of Olympus. They were actually a rather powerful family of wizards, and had very few taboos when it came to... family relations."
Torgnak seemed interested... he was young yet, and had yet to have a chance to study their customers in much depth. He could speak a couple human languages, and change pounds for galleons and vice-versa, but had yet to get a firm grasp on what made the odd species tick.
"Now, muggleborn wizards mostly have a powerful view on such things. And for almost all muggles, it's very taboo. But most Pureblooded families not only see nothing against it, but actually encourage it. That seems to be the real reason that few Purebloods and muggleborns intermarry... not so much the biases between the two cultures, but the fact that the muggleborns will have to accept certain Pureblooded customs as unchangable. The point of the matter is, with her husband dead, Narcissa is no longer technically a Malfoy. Oh, she has a couple of years yet before her last name legally reverts to Black and she is shut out of the Malfoy accounts, but unofficially, she might as well be. And given that the current Head of the Black family is in Azkaban, and cannot come here to change his previous decision to cut her off from all Black support forever, she would be no better off, monetary-wise and socially, than a Knockturne street prostitute."
Torgnak nodded, uncertain of when his superior's point would be made.
"Now, there is one way that she could remain Narcissa Malfoy. And it is very simple... she only has to marry another Malfoy. But given the recent decline in their fertility... and Lucius' pruning of the family tree... there is only one Malfoy remaining. Her son Draco. Legally, there is no problem with this. And Narcissa doesn't seem to be objecting to the idea, but young Draco does, for whatever reason. His discomfort with her attempts to seduce him in private, and the possible discovery of the reason for Narcissa's recent radical shift in behavior in the vault would easily explain things."
Torgnak nodded and left, impressed with his superior's explanation. It was very logical and well thought out, taking human psychology into account. It was also completely wrong, but then everyone had an off day.
There was a loud slurp from beneath Griphook's desk, and his eyes crossed momentarily. Ho, yes. Large desks were good for more than just intimidation. They also tended to have a large, empty space beneath them, hidden from view. Large enough to hide things in. Or beings. A clink of chain and a light whimper from Griphook suggested that he had invested his larger paycheck very wisely into the Pits.
Passing on this new information to his clients could wait a few minutes. Or perhaps more than a few.
xxx
Harry groaned as he slowly clawed his way up and out into the waking world. His stomach hurt really bad... he probably should have known that suckerpunch was coming. He glanced down at himself. The clothes he was wearing were far too comfortable for his tastes. He would much prefer it if they were scratchy, or itched, or were two sizes too tight. Anything to make his mental discomfort with them match the physical. Shifting slightly, he dimly noted that they'd gone the extra mile this time and clad him in silk panties rather than leave him the dignity of his boxers. And his butt hurt.
He paused and frowned as he considered that last point. Why would...?
There was an arm wrapped around his stomach. Chills went down his spine.
"Good morning, young master! Did you rest vell? I certainly did."
His brain began making connections at a speed surpassing that of light. He was wearing THE OUTFIT. His butt hurt. The Count was apparently waking up at exactly the same time that he was.
Waaaiit for it...
"NOOOOOOOOOOO!"
Ranma snickered to herself and Herb gave up a large toothy grin as she stroked Mint's hair. The young werewolf looked like he wasn't quite sure how to feel about the attention, especially as she scratched behind his ears.
"Looks like little Harry-chan just woke up."
"I'll KILL YOU!!"
"Shouldn't we be slightly worried?" Herb wondered.
"Nah. The Count now..."
The door slammed open and the Count rushed out, ashen-faced, and ducked immediately to the side to avoid a hailstorm of sharpened pencils, all of whom thunked deeply into the wall opposite the door. The stone wall. He zipped past the open door to the room where Ranma and Herb were sipping Earl Grey, followed swiftly by an enraged Harry. Seconds later, he zipped back in the opposite direction, dodging Harry's crossbow bolts. Then left to right again as he dodged arrows launched from the bow Harry had 'borrowed' from Pfil when he ran out of bolts.
"... He might have to worry a little bit."
This time, the pale, terrified vampire lunged into their room, slammed the door shut, then leapt over their table and locked himself in the closet. A moment later, Harry kicked the door in, snarling with rage, and bringing Gloin's axe to bear. A soft click of a gun's safety being clicked off froze him in place as he looked down.
"Was it really neccesary to destroy my door?"
"Could you point that somewhere else? Like my head? Please?"
"If you insist." Ranma's hand barely twitched from its previous position.
"You know what I meant!"
Ranma let off a bark of laughter and raised the Browning until it was centered dead between Harry's eyes. He relaxed slightly.
"I'm sorry about your door. BUT I MUST KILL HIM, NOW!"
"Now now, calm down Harry-chan. Whatever it is that you think the Count did, he didn't. I threatened him with castration to ensure that he wouldn't."
"But... it hurts?"
"Now think about this rationally for a moment, Harry-chan. That pain you're feeling... does it feel like the kind of pain that a long, thick, something would leave behind after plunging repeatedly in and out of what was designed as an exit only? Or could it be accounted for by... a couple strikes of a paddle. This paddle, in fact."
Ranma put the gun away and withdrew a large paddle, covered in black leather and silvery studs. Harry visibly sagged with relief. Then came a cough from the doorway.
"Am I... interrupting something? I'll come back later."
And Griphook left through the room's fireplace. And only then did they realize what the situation looked like... Harry in a dress and makeup, to the point where he actually looked like a flatchested girl, apparrently shuffling backwards from Ranma, who seemed to be threatening him with a paddling while Herb watched in amusement, sipping tea and scratching her pet werewolf behind the ears. It was a situation that could very easily be misconstrued.
Herb and Ranma broke out into gales of laughter as Harry huffed with a ladylike flounce, then flushed cherry red as he realized what he'd just done.
"Fine. If you're all done laughing at my expense, I'll just take advantage of the fact that you've brought the parents I've never met back to life. Where are they, actually?"
Harry should have known that something was wrong with the situation when Ranma's eyes started twinkling, but he paid no attention and marched directly up to the door she indicated and slammed it open, stepping through. Then he marched immediately back out, wide-eyed and greenish under the makeup, slammed the door back shut, and sank to his knees as one hand shot to his mouth.
"You couldn't have TOLD me they were having freaky zombie parent sex!?"
"What would the fun in that be?"
Harry sizzled in rage.
"Anyway, Gnarl suggested something. Go change your clothes... the makeup will come off with hot water."
xxx
"Alright, now as you all have noticed, this place is in a state of complete disrepair. Now we have three options. First, we can clean it up ourselves."
Ranma paused to let the booing die down.
"Yes, yes... it's just an option. Anyway, we could also hire maids. The drawback to this is that we would then have to pay them salaries for as long as they remain in our service. The final option, and the one I think we'll be going with, is just to buy some more slaves to deal with it. Any suggestions?"
The Count immediately made his opinion known.
"Zey must be young and pleasing to ze eye! Alzo, zey should vear zese uniforms!"
The things the count pulled out from nowhere... one appeared to be a french maid uniform. Except that there were no panties, and there were holes carefully cut out for breasts to fit through. The other was a glittery thong.
"I'll take that under advisement, Count." A polite 'Hell, no.' "Anyone else?"
Alexis spoke up slowly.
"Vell... it's not that I think they'll be useful... but I've alvay's liked fairies."
"Which kind are you suggesting?" The Fae interjected. "Earthbound fairies, or the Faerealm faeries?"
"I... don't know. Vat is the difference?"
"If you're thinking about the earthbound type, then yeah, the stupid buggers are pretty useless. But the Faerealm ones are smart, if mischevous, and damn cunning. They make really good spies, and can get into small areas. You just have to mind your step, or you can end up with faery guts all over your shoes."
"Right." Ranma cut them off. "Faerealm faeries, thank you, anyone else have a suggestion?"
Hookergrope sided with the Count that they should be attractive, but preferred that they be female. Pfil requested that they get someone who had lived on a farm, because the stables really needed to be dealt with. Alexis brought up the fact that it might be nice to have another Veela or two around, directly causing the Count and Hookergrope to suggest Nymphs, Sirens, Saltwater Mermaids, Naga, Succubi, and the list probably would have continued indefinitely had Ranma not tossed a chair at them. Then the Fae had suggested that they find something small and really ugly and put a jester's cap on it. A sort of 'the shoe's on the other foot now!' thing. Gnarl had shot that idea down by pointing out that there was a jester's cap and rod in storage that one of the Minions could use. Gloin had just grunted at first, but eventually relented and suggested picking up something that knew how to brew a decent tank of ale. Then Pfil had suggested a gardener, to deal with the overgrown orchard, and maybe add a plot of carrots and radishes. Then the Count cheekily suggested a maidservant to 'help 'Mistress Harry' in and out of her dress'.
At that point, things pretty much went to hell in a handbasket as Harry leapt across the room and did his best to strangle the vampire to death. Undeath. Redeath. Whatever. In the end, all he managed was to crush the Count's windpipe which, given that he didn't really need to breath, wasn't as much of a crippling injury as it should have been. All it took was a few minutes of fiddling with his throat for him to uncrush it, although it did leave his voice slightly raspy.
"Alright, so to recap... we're looking for two or three Faeries, a Wood-Nymph for the orchard and the garden, a Veela 'maidservant'... cool down, Harry-chan... something to work in the stables, something that can make beer for Gloin, something to serve as a butler, and something that knows how to cook. I know you know how Harry, but the point is that... you're rich. So you don't have to."
Harry found himself completely incapable of forming an argument against her.
"Alright!" Herb chirped. "Shopping time!"
"And Griphook seemed to want a word."
xxx
"And that's all."
Harry was the only one who seemed slightly disturbed by the news.
"Wait... so Malfoy's mum wants to...?"
"Swallow his banana? Stir her cauldron with his wand? Taste his baby-batter?"
"Chain him to the bed, cover him with chocolate sauce, and..."
"Let's keep this to innuendo only, Ranma-chan."
"Okay... uh... ride his great white knuckler?"
"That refers to masturbation, not sex."
"Okay..."
"Enough, enough!"
Harry fell to his knees and covered his ears.
"I can't hear you, ladidadida!"
"Oh get over it Harry. You're acting like there's something fundamentally wrong with the situation Griphook just described."
Silence fell as the entire room considered Herb's statement, and she blinked.
"Oh. Right. Humans."
"And... you're.. not?" Harry questioned.
"Never mind that, lets get on to the shopping trip!"
And they waited for Griphook to get up to take them to the Pits. And waited. Aaand waited.
"You've got a hooker under the desk, servicing you, right now, don't you." Ranma bluntly stated.
"Yes... and I would appreciate it if you waited outside for a moment."
Harry needed no further invitation, nearly flying outside the office as he realized what was happening in that very room. Were all beings in the Wizarding world obsessed with sex? He was followed at a more sedate pace by the girls, who knew full well that everyone was.
After a few minutes, Griphook joined them, and brought them down to the Pits. Upon entering, he bid them farewell and gave them a portkey that would take them back to his office when they were done shopping. The man-gnome-thing slavemaster from their last visit smiled brightly at them, although they would have preferred that he didn't, and waved them over.
"Well now, it seems that you're back for more. Dare I hope that you're looking for some of my wares in particular?"
"Hmm... perhaps. And I see that the troll is still going strong with those two."
"Yes indeed! Y'see, trolls has got a special gift. They recover from exhaustion very fast, an' don't really need to sleep. So ever since they been put in there, that troll's been busy with one or the other, with only a few seconds of rest in between before it switches off."
"Excellent..." Ranma said, with a practiced smirk. Jessie was barely strong enough to raise one hand and extend her middle finger before it flopped back to the ground.
"But in any case, we're here for a very specific type of purchase." And Ranma reeled off the list. "Do you happen to have anything that fits the bill?"
"Hrm... not so sure about that. Any of you lugs know how to cook?"
One of the slaves slowly raised a hand.
"I can scramble eggs, and make pancakes. Does that count?"
"No. Sorry lass. But I can write you up a map to some people that might have what you're looking for. Just a minute then..."
He quickly tore off a sheet of parchment from a roll and began scribbling on it, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth.
"And... there. Now if I were you, I'd start with old Tom over there. Ye said you were after faeries, and he should still have a tank of em if nobody's taken em off his hands yet."
Herb smiled and flipped him a couple of galleons that he caught eagerly. Harry was already making his way through the thin crowd.
"You are Tom? I need faeries."
Tom blinked, but immediately stepped up to the bargaining plate.
"And faeries I have. Twenty faeries of the summer court for the low, low price of one hundred galleons."
"That's nice, but I only need a few. How much for three?"
"Three? Well you see, I'd planned to sell these as a full set of twenty. Just to take three... that'll drastically increase their individual price. They'll be thirty galleons, lad."
"Thirty? You said 'drastically increase', not double. I'll give you seventeen for three of my choice."
"Seventeen? Are you mad, lad? These are all fine specimens, cream of the crop! I might, however, see my way towards lowering the price a bit to, say, twenty seven galleons?"
"Twenty seven is still a ridiculous offer. I will pay twenty."
"Twenty, lad? I'm trying to earn an honest living here. I'm afraid I can go no lower than twenty five."
"Twenty two, and not one galleon more. You can take the offer, or I can see if someone else would be willing to sell me a few faeries."
"D'ye really think that anybody else carries em, lad? But just this once, I'll drop it to twenty three galleons."
"... Done. I'll take the one with emerald wings, the one with blue and silver, and the one with pink wings that's being raped by the other two."
"What, again? Ere, you. Stop that!"
xxx
The Veela was easy enough to find... there were dozens of them in the pleasure-slave section of the pits. The trick was finding one that didn't immediately turn on the charm in an attempt to turn Harry into a drooling idiot. A more difficult task than one might think.
On the other hand, by the time they did find one, Harry had gotten more than enough practice in throwing off the effects to become completely oblivious to the 'Veela Aura'. Mainly because either Ranma or Herb would turn around and punch him in the face every time he started drooling. And so, pain, or rather the avoidance of such, was once again proven to be the best motivator.
The cook hadn't been difficult at all... just pick up a random house-elf, and they were good to go. The trick for that was finding someone who would sell them just one. Most of the elves were something of a 'pre-packaged' deal. You either got an entire clan of over thirty elves, or you got nothing.
Once they'd gotten the cook, they moved on to the beer-maker. In the end, they'd gone with a very big man wrapped in furs that was apparently named 'Hrothgar the Wrathful', who came from some little society of Vikings that had never stopped the raiding and pillaging thing, but now had the advantage of memory charms to help them along. Apparently, there hadn't been a truly accidental fire in almost any of the coastal villages of Europe for hundreds of years... The slavemaster wasn't sure about beer, but did assure them that Hrothgar could brew an excellent mead.
The choice for butler had eventually fallen to a Drow elf. An exceptionally rare breed, the slavemaster had... had... hmm. Actually, they couldn't recall anything the slavemaster had said about the Drow. Or which one they'd bought her from. Or why they'd chosen her over dozens of more suitable choices. Odd, that.
The stablekeeper wasn't a difficult choice either. A tall, straw haired man with an extremely prominent adam's apple, a broken nose, and an overbite with buck teeth. He seemed slightly dazed, and would glance around every few minutes, as though suddenly wondering where he was before his eyes would unfocus and he would return to whistling tunelessly. And off key. Only five minutes since they'd bought him, and they were all already regretting the decision.
Then came the truly difficult one, the wood-nymph. Or for a shorter term, Dryad. The problem was that Dryads were not born, but appeared fully grown from certain magically infused saplings. They lived for as long as their tree did, and died when it died. The problem was, once a tree got to a certain size, it would be nearly impossible to move. So not only were Dryads extremely rare, but few people wanted to buy them. But they lucked out, as one of the slaveowners had taken a risky proposition and stolen a Dryad's sapling at one point and put both it and the Dryad into a magical stasis when she came to reclaim it. Of course, it had taken a powerful set of spells to do so, and he couldn't let the Dryad go cheaply.
He actually had politely suggested that they consider a different, more common breed of nymph for their purposes. For example, if they wanted a gardener, than an Oriad, an earth-nymph, would work well enough. Perhaps not as well as the dryad would, but plants and the earth were closely related. An Oriad would do nicely, an he could sell one of them for a much lower price. No? It must be the Dryad, then?
In the end, he'd given in and named a price. It had been more than all the other slaves they'd bought so far put together. They'd hesitated, and he'd again pressed them to consider choosing an Oriad instead. But sheer, mule-like stubbornness prevailed, and at the last minute the slavemaster had questioned them about the land where they would plant the sapling. At a vague description of the lands, he'd nodded and decided that, if they had to spend so much money on the Dryad, he'd throw in an Oriad and a Naiad as well for only a quarter of the price he'd normally charge. Harry's bargaining skills stepped up to the fore at the sudden and unexpected price reduction, and he'd agreed before he'd thought twice about it. Now Hrothgar was carrying a potted sapling, and the Oriad and Naiad were each holding up one end of the Dryad, who would not wake until the sapling had been planted properly.
None of them could remember which way was out, and so they eventually had to resort to the portkey to Griphooks office.
Perhaps they should have chosen to simply ask for directions, as when they arrived, Griphook was... ahem... busy with some sort of creature that seemed to be equal parts squid, rabbit, tentacle sex demon, and Minion. Thankfully, his eyes were closed and he didn't seem to hear the swift exit of the now wide-eyed and mentally-scarred group.
xxx
Things went mostly well for a few days. The Dryad's sapling had been planted by hand, and once she'd woken up she got to work almost immediately on the orchard. A little bit of magical assistance accelerated the saplings growth and it would definitely be the size of a small tree by the time christmas break had ended. The Naiad had begun to purify the lake, with some help when it proved neccessary to expel a nest of grindylows. The Oriad was mainly in charge of the garden and keeping the grounds in a decent state, although she would accept help from the Dryad.
The rest had mainly just set to getting the manor close to some stage of presentable. By this point, while the manor interior was still dark, the moldy smells were gone and it was at least clean. Gnarl had also shown them the Hive in the basement, where the Minions were created. At this point, he'd made mention that there were three more hives, for more specialized Minions to be birthed from, as the Brown minions were more like all purpose warriors. He didn't actually go out and say that Harry should be hunting those hives down, but he did make mention of the more specialized abilities.
Red Minions were very attuned to the elemental plane of Fire, and were completely immune to all sorts of flame, as well as able to throw fireballs. Granted, they weren't the most effective close range-fighters, and would die swiftly against a foe that would only take a few Brown's to defeat. But apparently, if what Gnarl said was right, then a large enough group of them was a completely different story. A story filled with brimstone, fire and screams of horror and agony.
Green Minions were poisonous. Their claws dripped poison, as did their teeth, their breath was toxic, and so, they were by nature immune to almost all forms of poison. They could also turn invisible if they held still, but apparently their foul stench would give away the fact that something was wrong to anyone with a working nose. So while they would be useful as assassins, should the need arise, Harry was already making preparations to have their Hive set up downwind of the manor. Now that he thought about it, the Red Hive would probably be best placed in a building that couldn't burn down. The manor was, at the least, partially wood.
Then were the Blue Minions. The slightly addlebrained healers. They were also amphibious, so Harry would put their Hive at the bottom of the lake when, or if, he found it.
One important discovery, though, had been that while life-force from a sacrifice was a neccessary component in the creation of Minions, it did not neccessarily have to be human life-force. Sacrificing, say, a chicken would work just as well. And have the added bonus of leaving you with a perfectly edible dead chicken. Whereas if you sacrificed a human, you would have to deal with the evidence of the murder scene left behind. But nobody cared if you bought and killed a chicken.
Within fourteen hours, there was a new Musk Butchery and Slaughterhouse, funded by the Potter finaces. Within another day, they had enough lifeforce collected for hundreds of basic Minions. Excellent.
Moving along, Hrothgar and the Drow had settled in well enough. Hrothgar already had several barrels that he was using to start up a 'special' brew of honey-mead in and a dozen more for a more average ale. The Drow... pretty much just stood around and watched. She seemed somewhat antisocial.
Then there were the problems. The faeries and the Fae... had not gotten along. At all. By now they'd gotten used enough to each other that they merely actively avoided each other rather than had to hold themselves back from attempting to kill the other on sight. Once things had settled down, the one with pink wings had explained the war between summer and winter in more detail to the three masters of the house. She'd also, sheepishly, and more privately explained that what he'd seen in the tank had just been some role-playing. The three faery had been having fun, and had had no idea that the tank could be seen through from the outside, because it was opaque from their point of view.
Then she had asked him to slice an orange for her, because she liked the taste, but she couldn't get through the thick skin on her own, and then she had gone into the puppy dog eye mode, an attack which Harry had been unable to resist, despite its wielder being only four and a half inches tall. He had obediently sliced her a large orange and watched in awe as she ate the whole thing. And it was at least twice as big as she was. And once she was full, she had made a nest in his hair and gone to sleep.
He looked, and felt, ridiculous. And he didn't realize until moments before the teasing began that he had immediately chosen the pink faery over the other two, more 'manly' colors. Herb was wondering out loud whether they would need to buy him a new wardrobe, and Ranma offered, apparently politely, to look up some charms to grow his hair out longer and 'make stuffing your bra unneccessary'. If her eyes hadn't been twinkling like mad, he would have thought she was serious. Actually, it didn't matter if she was serious or not, she'd definitely look up those charms, if only to take things one step further the next time he had to be 'punished'.
His zombie-parents were apparently uncertain about how to deal with things. On the one hand, they got to see their only son again. On the other, they were still dead. And it seemed that whoever had placed the preservation charms on their corpses had gone hundreds of extra miles for Lily, leaving her frozen in stasis at almost exactly the moment of her death, but had apparently botched the work on James. On purpose. He was still mainly one large, partially rotten piece, but every so often an arm or leg would fall off, or he would stretch in the wrong way and end up crawling all over the floor searching for his own head. Oh, eventually he'd be able to have Lily stitch it back on, but it was apparently really irritating for him. Added to the fact that Harry had barged in on them... you know. Things were just really awkward.
The real problem, though, was the man they'd chosen as the stablekeeper.
xxx
"Billy-Joe-Bob. Do you know why we've asked you to join us here?"
He fidgeted, glancing in turn to Harry, Ranma, Herb, the wall, and back.
"Naw."
Ranma arched an eyebrow and leaned forward, while Harry and Herb remained silent.
"Really, Bill? Are you sure that there's no reason that we might have called you here?"
He fidgeted again, but didn't answer. Ranma heaved a theatric sigh.
"To be frank, Bill, we've been keeping an eye on you since we first purchased you. Watching to see how you fit in, as a magic-less human among decidedly magical beings. Frankly... you've dissappointed us."
Ranma frowned chillingly before continuing.
"The moment you arrived, you tried to assert yourself as... top dog, or some other such nonsense, completely disregarding the fact that as a slave, you have no rights and qualify only as property, and we could easily have had you beaten to death for giving yourself such airs. Instead, we stood back in the hopes that you would learn the error of your ways on your own."
"It seems that we had hoped too much." Harry continued seamlessly. "Upon your spectacular failure to prove yourself superior, in any way, to Hrothgar, you seemed to display a momentary modicum of intelligence in a tactical retreat. Sadly, you returned almost immediately to your blatant stupidity when you demanded, and I quote, "Get thur hell outta mah way, yer runty little basterd." Gloin was most offended at your choice of words."
"As you swiftly discovered." Herb interjected. "Fortunately, we were able to put you back together again, but you spent your time wisely in the stables, and then not so wisely by sulking and getting in the way of others' more productive efforts once you had finished. Then you found a bottle of vodka, got smashed, and attempted to assault Pfil in the stables. What do you have to say for yourself about that?"
"Weel, Ah doan see why ya'll got so bent outta shape... Nunna mah daddy's horses eva put up such a fuss..."
Ranma frowned again.
"Bill. Regardless of what you seem to believe, we are not going to just look the other way on the matter. What you do with horses, on your own time, is your business. However, you seem to have failed to note that Pfil is not a horse. You are simply fortunate that she was happy to leave things off with a beating, because we would have been perfectly willing to let her kill you for the affront."
"Now thas nowt fair! Whatabout that Count feller, eh? He's allus off with dem nympho gurls, or that butler! Ah'm a man, and ah gots needs of mah own ter fill!"
"Nobody is questioning that, Bill." Harry said, waving a hand in a gesture of appeasement. "But the fact of the matter is that the Count has never attempted to press himself upon someone who is obviously unwilling. You, however, have failed to learn from your mistakes."
Herb waved Harry back before speaking up.
"Frankly, Bill, I'll admit it. You're a decent stablemaster. But we can do without you. You have, at one point or another, offended, antagonized, or attempted to assault every single being in this manor, and you've barely been here a week. Now we're going to offer you a choice. If you're willing to curb your excesses, we can overlook your latest offenses and allow you to stay here."
"Whut offenses...?" He muttered sullenly.
"Did you think we wouldn't know? Naughty, naughty billy."
"The second choice." Ranma continued. "Is that we kill you, and reanimate your body, but wipe all traces of personality from you in the process. You've met James and Lily? It'll be nothing like that. You'll just be a shambling, moaning corpse, taking care of the stables for the rest of eternity."
He was obviously uncomfortable with the choice.
"Third." Harry finished. "Is this. We give you one last order... a simple order. Then you leave, and you won't be allowed to return. You will still be a slave, and you'll never get that collar off as long as you live, but we will not knowingly contact you for the rest of your life. You will, in effect if not in reality, be a free man."
"... An' whut do I have ter do?"
They stood up, and lead him out of the manor, across the grounds, and to a stop.
"Do you see the forest?" Harry asked. Bill just looked at him like he was asking if the grass was green, or the sky was blue.
"Yuss."
"All you have to do is walk through the forest. From here, in a straight line to the other end. Once your out, you can do whatever you please. Call the police. Tell them your story, and get locked away in a rubber room. Fake amnesia, and get sent back to your daddies ranch that you've made so many mentions of. Whatever you want."
Billy-Joe-Bob stood up straight and walked straight into the woods, not looking back once. Once he was out of visual range, they sighed.
"Stupid bastard. Oh well."
"Nobody actually told him anything about that forest, did they?"
"Who cares. I've wanted to kill that little prick for a while now. But who will we get to take care of the stables?"
"Hrothgar. God only knows why, but he keeps asking me for more work."
"Maybe he's bored?"
The conversation degenerated from there.
Meanwhile, in the wood.
"Burr..." Billy muttered, rubbing his arms. "Iss preddy coald out here. Shudda asked dem tur whip me up summa dat mumbo jumbo ter keep warm."
A shadow lifted from the bushes, followed swiftly by another, and another. They had not been able to cross the wards to claim the one they had chosen for the festival, and had been waiting patiently for a chance to strike.
"Issa just a durn shame aboot dat horsey girl. Dunno why they was so upset. Ah's allus liked hoarses betta tharn peoples. Hurn?"
But this replacement had wandered foolishly into the wood. The festival was important. Until they had relieved themselves in the festival, they could not return to their broodmares and attempt to sire a new generation. Granted... this one was not nearly so attractive to the eye as the one they had first chosen, but once they had chosen a human as the centerpiece of the festival, tradition held that a human had to be the centerpiece of the festival.
They slowly, menacingly stepped out of the cover of the undergrowth, into the large clearing that the human with hair like straw had entered. Every single one was just as 'excited' as they had been on the day that the festival should have commenced. And they were very, very frustrated with the matter.
The head centaur's hand came down heavily on the panicking humans head, then slung his unconscious form over his shoulder as he emitted something between a shout of triumph and a whinny.
The festival of fertility could finally commence!
xxx
A.N.
Bahahahaha!
Alright... I'm just going to see how far I can push things before it crosses the bounds of good taste. And honestly, who out there can read the words 'freaky zombie parent sex' without cracking up? Poor Harry. And he was still in the dress too... Haha...
I make no apologies for, and have no regrets towards, the pureblood thing. And I'll probably be using it in the forthcoming chapters. Just so you know.
Man, and here this started out as such a serious story. Although the funny chapters are definitely coming out faster. Hrm.
