Malkov Estate, Russian Countryside
Severus was stunned.
The only pure-blood home he'd ever visited before was Malfoy Manor, where he had stayed for a week in his third year after running away from his father's brutal beatings. Even the Malfoys' grand estate hadn't prepared him for this.
Irina—his grandmother, he supposed he should start calling her—had left him alone in his new room to bathe and change. But he was fairly certain he'd been standing there, motionless, for a good five minutes, utterly overwhelmed by his surroundings.
The room was breathtaking, larger than the entire living area of his childhood home. Rich, white tapestries embroidered with gold threads adorned the walls, the intricate designs glinting in the warm, enchanted lighting. A massive four-poster bed, draped in luxurious velvet, stood in the center, its dark wood carved with delicate runes he couldn't decipher. Ornate bookshelves lined one side of the room, filled with leather-bound volumes that looked ancient and full of knowledge.
He slowly made his way toward the bed, the plush carpet sinking beneath his worn shoes. Everything in this space screamed of wealth and status—things he had never been able to claim as his own. The grandeur felt foreign, almost suffocating, but there was an undeniable sense of allure. For a moment, he wondered what it would be like to truly belong to this world, to be respected and powerful, rather than constantly overlooked and scorned.
Severus shook his head, trying to dispel the conflicting feelings swirling in his mind. He was supposed to bathe and dress, but he couldn't shake the nagging sense that he was playing a part in someone else's story, not his own. Taking a deep breath, he turned, ready to step into the adjoining bathroom when the door opened, and in walked to maids.
"Uh...Can I help you?" he asked, taking a slight step back as he looked the two girls up and down.
"We're here to bathe you, sir."
Severus's eyes widened, his face flushing in embarrassment. "Bathe me?" he echoed, his voice cracking slightly. He instinctively took another step back, feeling his pulse quicken. The idea of being stripped and washed by strangers was mortifying, and he couldn't help but wonder if this was some sort of twisted joke.
The maids exchanged amused glances, clearly used to the reaction. One of them, a petite girl with short, chestnut hair and covered in freckles, stepped forward. "It's tradition, sir," she explained patiently. "Heirs are given proper treatment and presentation. We're to ensure you are prepared to the family's standards."
He swallowed hard, feeling utterly out of his depth. Everything about this world was overwhelming, and he was starting to realize just how far removed he was from his familiar life in Spinner's End. His discomfort must have been evident because the other maid, a tall, willowy girl with a softer expression, spoke up.
"You needn't worry, sir. We're quite used to this," the maid reassured, a hint of amusement flickering in her eyes as she and the other girl gently guided him toward the grand bathroom.
Severus felt his cheeks flush as he followed, trying to maintain some sense of composure. The bathroom itself was breathtaking, a vision of polished marble and shimmering gold fixtures. The tub, large enough to be a small pool, already had steam curling up from its surface, the scent of calming herbs drifting into the air.
"We've prepared your bath, and if you need anything, just let us know," the second maid offered with a polite bow. The two of them then stepped back, waiting for any further instructions or requests.
Severus hesitated, feeling incredibly out of place. "Thank you," he muttered, trying to keep his voice steady. He was still struggling to wrap his mind around this lifestyle of luxury and custom. As the maids turned to give him some privacy, he approached the enormous tub, peeling off his clothes with a sense of disbelief.
Sinking into the warm, fragrant water felt surreal, the tension slowly unwinding from his sore muscles. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out his swirling thoughts. Yet, the feeling of playing a role — a stranger in his own skin — refused to leave him.
His eyes snapped open, muscles tensing as he felt a soapy hand glide across his shoulder. Startled, he turned to find one of the maids standing beside him, a gentle but professional expression on her face.
"Apologies, sir," she murmured, her tone soft and reassuring. "It's customary for us to assist, but if you prefer privacy..."
Severus swallowed hard, a flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck. He wasn't accustomed to this kind of service, especially not the deeply personal kind that came with hands guiding soap across his skin. "Y-You're just doing your job," he stammered, his voice cracking slightly as he tried to sound more composed than he felt.
He clenched his jaw and closed his eyes, willing himself to think of anything—anything—other than the fact that he was being bathed like a child. He tried to picture his potions homework, mentally running through a list of ingredients for a complex brew, but the unfamiliar sensations kept pulling him back into the present.
The maids worked quietly and efficiently, their hands gentle but confident. Despite his discomfort, Severus couldn't help but notice how their movements were practiced, like they had done this a thousand times before. It was clear they were used to this, even if he most definitely was not.
When they finally finished, one of the maids handed him a warm towel. "We'll have your clothes ready in your room, sir," she said, giving him a polite nod before the two of them quietly exited, leaving him with some semblance of dignity.
Severus stood there for a moment, gripping the towel as he let out a shaky breath. This world was so far removed from everything he'd known. It felt suffocating and opulent, and yet... there was something about it that tugged at the deepest parts of his heart, whispering promises of belonging.
Stepping back into his room, Severus halted in the doorway, his gaze landing on the two maids who stood waiting. They held out his clothes, their expressions composed and professional, making it clear they intended to dress him as well. Oh... Oh.
A wave of embarrassment washed over him, and he shifted uncomfortably, clutching the towel tighter around himself. "I—I can manage," he stammered, the idea of being dressed by someone else somehow even more mortifying than being bathed.
One of the maids, the older of the two, offered a small, patient smile. "It's our duty, sir," she said softly, her tone suggesting she was used to these protests. "But if you'd prefer some privacy, we can assist from a distance."
Severus took a deep breath, weighing the awkwardness of accepting their help against the awkwardness of refusing it. This world demanded a level of service and tradition that he simply wasn't accustomed to. "I... suppose I'll let you assist," he conceded, feeling his cheeks flush again. He silently reminded himself that he was expected to adapt, even if every fiber of his being felt out of place.
The maids approached with practiced grace, draping the fine fabrics over him and adjusting the fit until his attire was perfect. From the crisp white shirt to the tailored black jacket, Severus looked far more distinguished and composed than he felt inside. As they meticulously buttoned up his shirt, his thoughts drifted back to what his grandmother—Iri... no, grandmother—had shared with him earlier, especially about his cousin.
Catching sight of the maids in the mirror, he wondered if it had been their duty to do this for Damon as well, helping him dress as heir.
"What can you tell me about my cousin, Damon?" he asked, raising a brow at their immediate reaction. The younger maid's hand trembled, and they exchanged a nervous glance before resuming their task, their unease palpable.
One of them, a young woman with chestnut hair and a freckled complexion, exchanged a worried glance with her companion before straightening her posture. "Heir Damon," she began, her voice just above a whisper, "is... well, he has always been the favored one. Until now."
Her companion, slightly older and stern-faced, hastily interjected, "We're not permitted to speak ill of the heir, sir." But her tone wavered, as if she feared not only for her job but for something far worse.
Severus noted their reactions, curiosity sparking brighter at their obvious discomfort. "Well," he said evenly, "you'll tell me. I am the heir now, and I'm sure you understand the consequences of disobeying your heir."
His voice remained calm, but there was a sharpness behind it, probing for the truth. "So, tell me," he pressed.
The older maid's face turned a shade paler, and she hesitated, her gaze dropping to the floor. "Heir- I mean..Sir Damon... he's not kind, sir," she finally admitted, her voice carrying a quiet tremor. "He demands respect through fear, not loyalty. Many have suffered his temper, especially those he deemed unworthy. Lord Malkov calls him 'spolied'."
The younger maid added in a hushed voice, "He sees the staff as toys, not people. And he's always been possessive of his title."
Severus absorbed this, a strange tension settling in his chest. Damon wasn't just an obstacle but a potential threat. He would need to tread carefully, especially if he wanted to secure his place within this family.
"Already plotting away?" he heard his grandmother's voice, cool and mocking, from the doorway. Her expression was stern, but her eyes sparkled with mischief. "If so, I suggest you ensure that your handmaids are loyal first."
Severus felt a rush of indignation at her insinuation, but he kept his expression neutral. "I'm not plotting," he replied evenly, though he could feel the weight of her gaze. "I'm simply gathering information."
Irina stepped further into the room, her presence commanding. "Gathering information is the first step to playing the game, my dear," she said, a slight smile curling her lips. "But remember, trust is a rare commodity in our world. You'll find that loyalty can shift as quickly as the tides."
He nodded, mulling over her words. The stakes were high, and he had to navigate this new reality with caution. "So, how do I ensure their loyalty?" he asked, genuinely curious.
She chuckled softly, a hint of approval coloring her tone. "Let's save the lessons for another time," she said, stepping further into the room. "For now, I'd like to trim your hair before you're introduced to the rest of the family."
Severus's hand instinctively moved to his hair, fingers brushing through the dark, tangled strands. He stiffened, not entirely comfortable with the idea, but something in Irina's expression told him she wouldn't accept refusal. "Trim my hair?" he echoed, an uneasy edge to his voice.
Irina tilted her head, her sharp eyes narrowing in faint amusement. "Yes, Severus. Presentation is key. First impressions, especially in this family, carry more weight than you might imagine."
He sighed, knowing he had little choice in the matter. "Fine," he conceded, dropping his hand and preparing himself for yet another transformation. As Irina gestured for one of the maids to bring over scissors and a comb, he wondered how much more of himself he'd have to alter to fit into this world he barely understood.
"Don't worry," Irina said as she moved closer, lifting a lock of his hair with practiced hands. "This is only the beginning."