The Curse of the Eberbachs

by Heather Sparrows and Anne-Li

May 14th, 1985. 8:30 p. m.

Dorian sobbed while he walked along the road in the direction of Castle Gloria, when suddenly a big shadow emerged from the woods, and a wet nose touched his hand.

With a broken cry, Dorian squatted down, hugging the dog.

"Darling," he stammered, "I thought you – you ..."

"I briefly thought about it, yes," the Major admitted. His voice sounded rough even in his own ears. "But mostly I wanted to be alone, when ... when the change comes. But you've come looking for me ... And you were crying, and ... Damn you, Gloria, don't you go soft on me!" he barked.

Dorian got up and wiped away his tears. He became aware how wet and exhausted he was. The Doberman did not look much better.

"Let's go home," he said.

For a while, they walked along the road together without a word.

"It would have been – cowardly, to creep away like a dying animal," the Major finally broke the silence.

Dorian did not answer. He hoped that the Major with a dog's bad eyesight would not see his tears.

Stupid idea. Probably he smells that you are crying ... And even an ordinary dog feels when a human is sad ...

He should put me down first thing in the morning, for his own sake, the Major thought. I just wonder ... How will it feel to be just an ordinary dog?

The headlights of a car approached, lighting up the darkness, momentarily blinding the man and the dog. The car slowed down, then stopped abruptly.

"M'lord! Major!" Bonham called, opening the door.

"We were worried!" James added. "I mean, what's gotten into you both, walking all day? In this weather?! You should look at yourself!"

It did not take a dog's fine ears to hear the worry in the small accountant's voice, and to his surprise, the Major found it was also directed at him.

"Let's go back to the castle," he said. "Lord Gloria is tired."

May 14th, 1985, 8:35 p. m.

The portrait of Thomasin Stubbins (1567 – 1624) haughtily stared at the black-clad wizard and the half-giant.

"If you think you can get away with abducting me, Mudblood, you should have another thing coming. I demand to be brought back this instant!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Hagrid protested. "No callin' names!"

Severus Snape stared coldly back at the portrait. His look could have stripped paint off a wall. Or a canvas, for that matter.

"Not fond of Muggles, are we?" he asked. "Does dear Lucius call me a Mudblood behind my back? Interesting. The more I see of Purebloods, the happier I am to be only a Half-Blood."

"I, belonging to one of the oldest and most powerful families in the whole of England – " Stubbins began again, but Snape interrupted him sharply.

"Oh, come off it! You married a lot of money in Cassandra Ravendale. True, your daughter made a very good catch with Alastair Malfoy ..."

With a hurt expression on his face, Stubbins folded his arms.

"Still, I am a valuable work of art! I demand –"

Snape snorted contemptuously.

"If you were valuable, Lucius Malfoy would have sold you long ago to cover his alimentary debts."

"Ssssss ... shall I bite him?" Stubbins's familiar crept out of the sleeve of his gown, but his master was too upset by Snape's insult to pay any attention.

"You infamous, lying – greasy git!" he gasped.

"Whoa! Watch it!" the half-giant warned again. "Told yeh that I won't have name-callin' in me house!"

"Shall I bite him?" the snake in the portrait repeated.

"If you wissssssssssshhhhhh ..." A giant cobra had taken Snape's place, menacingly rearing up.

"Vipera ..." Stubbins began, but the wizard had changed back to his human shape already.

"Enough of these games. We have research to do. After all, I have not liberated Mr Stubbins here from his cobweb-covered dark corner in the portrait gallery at Malfoy Manor to discuss bloodlines."

"Thought as much. He's the one as cursed this Muggle fambly?"

"What?" the portrait asked, an indignant expression on his face.

Snape took the small, old book he had found in the library from an inner pocket of his robe. He leafed through the pages.

"I found some interesting passages in this little book here. 'Evidence that the Portuguese hath betrayed me. Me, the descendant of a long line of wizardes of the purest blood! I had word of him lying in bedde with a golden-haired adventurer, together like man and woman. Oh, I would have smitten them then and there, had I seen this with my own eyes, but I did find a better way of revenge indeed: I cursed the black-hearted traitor to become the dung-eating dog he is! "Meet me at dawn," he said, "at the cliffs." In my heart, I still did not want to believe what my trusted spy had given me word about. However, at dawn the Portuguese's ship was leaving the port, and the pirate's vessel followed in its wake. So I was betrayed indeed. Betrayed! I sent my curse after the bastard: He and every first-born of his offspring henceforth shall become dogs as befitting their nature, erefore they reach their thirtieth year in age! At midnight of their birthday, they shall lose every human trait they may have possessed, and remain beasts until they end their wretched days!'"

"How dare you?!" Stubbins gasped. "My private diary!"

Snape shrugged.

"I am not quite sure how it found its way into the library at Hogwarts, but it was a very happy coincidence. Put the blame on a Mr Sheepshave. He published it."

He glared at Stubbins.

The portrait stared back arrogantly.

"So I cursed this adventurer a long time ago, and should there still be descendants around, the curse will still be in effect. What of it?"

Instead of an answer, Snape read on: "'I hazard that the most of the Portuguese's offspring he sires will be liars like him, taking advantage of whom they lie with. So I say that very few ever will escape their Fate ... He who is affected by this curse must find and acknowledge his one true love before his thirtieth birthday ...'"

A nasty smile slid over the portrait's face.

"Aaaaah – I understand! You have fallen for one of his descendants?" He looked Snape up and down.

The Potions Master ignored the provocative look and also the question.

"What does 'acknowledge' mean?" he shot at the portrait.

"What makes you think I would tell you?" Stubbins shot back, again contemptuously looking Snape up and down.

"Well," the wizard answered, "for one, there is no other picture you could escape to, if I decided to take action."

Hagrid nodded grimly.

Stubbins in his frame craned his neck to look around and found Snape's words to be true.

"Secondly, I should think that my friend here could provide some interesting creatures, which might find old wood and canvas very appetizing."

"Th' Giant South American Roaches could eat th' picter in no time!" Hagrid confirmed.

The haughty expression on Stubbins's face faltered a bit.

"Furthermore," Snape continued, "there still is the possibility of getting to work myself." He stared at a corner of the portrait, and it began to burn.

"Massssster ..." Stubbins's familiar piped up. "Masssster, I think he meansss it!"

An elegant hand wave, and the fire went out.

"Another possibility which surely could be arranged, is a very precarious, loosely fitted nail in the Thestral stables. Thestral dung is famous for its corrosive qualities," Snape continued.

Again, Hagrid nodded grimly.

The portrait swallowed visibly, but then the wizard caught himself.

"This may be well and good, but as far as I understand, time is running out for your Muggle friend. Tic-toc, tic-toc ..."

Snape gave him a derisive look.

"Do you really think I care about a Muggle?" he asked. "What interests me as a scholar, are the details of the curse. For example: In how far did you manage to adjust the curse to the respective nature of the firstborns? Does the key lie in the pronunciation of certain words? In the wording itself? In a special movement of the wand?"

Hagrid had a sudden coughing fit, but caught himself quickly under Snape's glare and scratched his enormous head.

"The choice of words," the Potions Master continued thoughtfully. "You see, nowadays, we know a bit or two about duelling curses, but a long, elaborate curse ... Frankly, I think it is a bit of screening, and the actual meaning is just hidden in a few significant words ..."

"I will not tell you anything!" Stubbins snapped.

"Fine. Remove te ab stabulum!" Snape thundered.

The portrait vanished, and a second later there were wild screams for help.

"Good I put th' Thestrals ter th' outer paddock terday," Hagrid remarked. "An' what with repairin' th' upper fence, I haven't gotten around ter muckin' out th' stables ..."

Snape sniffed depreciatingly and pulled out a small bunch of scrolls from his pocket, enlarged them and began to read the first one. A black quill hovered next to him, ready to impale a wrong word or sentence, like a bird of prey catching an unsuspecting small rodent.

"What do we do now?" Hagrid asked.

"Wait," Snape answered.

The cries from the stable became weaker.

May 14th, 1985, 9 p. m.

When they came home, Dorian rubbed "Major's" body with an oversized and very fluffy pink bathing towel. The Doberman growled a bit, but let Dorian fuss about him with all the dignity he could muster.

"Do you want your nightcap served in the library, M'lord?" Bonham asked. "I've lit a fire there."

Dorian yawned. "No, thank you, Bonham. – Other paw, Major. – No nightcap today. I am knackered. If you're a dear, you can draw me a bath. And then I'll go to sleep."

He looked completely exhausted and defeated. More than this, he looked like an animal which can no longer fight a predator trying to kill it. To see his resourceful boss like this almost broke Bonham's heart. He saved himself with the role of the perfect butler.

"Very well, M'lord." He went to draw the Earl's bath, leaving James standing in the doorway, looking at Dorian and "Major" with frightened big eyes, wringing his hands in helpless silence.

A convicted murderer awaiting his execution might feel a bit like I do at the moment ... Dorian thought. Though it isn't me going to the gallows ...

James looked at the big dog. His mouth worked, as if trying to bring out words, but to no avail.

The Doberman's eyes met his.

"We've never been the best of friends," Klaus finally said. "Nevertheless – it was fun to chase rabbits with you. Good-bye, James."

James broke into tears and fled the room.

"Bath's ready, M'lord," Bonham announced.

"Thank you, Bonham," the Earl said listlessly and went to the stairs. "You coming, Major?"

"In a minute," Klaus answered.

Dorian looked from the Doberman to Bonham, then turned around and went up the stairs.

"A word, Bonham," the Major announced when the Earl had vanished into his suite.

"Sir?" Bonham could not save himself other than through formality, addressing the human Major, not "Major", the dog. He was well aware that this might be the last time he would do so.

"In the morning, when he is still asleep, if I'm just a dog then: Pretend to take me for a walk. Then shoot me," Klaus ordered. "Take my body to Germany and bury me in the cemetery at Schloss Eberbach."

Bonham remained silent. He could not answer this order with "Yes, Sir" or "Very well, Sir", but neither did he want to argue, because he knew the Major was not the man to speak idly of such things.

"It is for him," the big dog continued. "I do not wish to see him unhappy. In the end, this is the best solution. Make him go away with the Stingy Bug and the other airheads. Let him steal something from the Vatican. Or from the Eremitage in St Petersburg, whatever. See to it he'll meet someone ..." The Doberman fell silent.

Still, Bonham did not answer.

"For your master's sake," the Major continued. "Will you do this, Bonham?"

"Don't you 'ave any 'ope the curse still could be lifted?" Bonham managed. "I mean, it is still time ..."

"We shall see," the Major answered firmly. "However, if you find me as a mindless dog in the morning, can I count on you, Bonham?"

Never before had Bonham wished so fiercely he had finished Hogwarts. But then, even a learned wizard like Hagrid's Potions Teacher had admitted defeat ...

"Yes, Sir," Bonham said.

"Thank you." The big dog climbed the stairs and lay down at the door to Dorian's suite.

May 14th, 1985, 10:45 p. m.

When Dorian opened the door after his bath, he found the big dog lying in the corridor and took him into his suite. Klaus lay down on the sofa, and Dorian sat next to him. His hands stroked the powerful head, the slender flanks, the muscular legs and chest.

It's pleasant, the Major thought. He smells good ... Not the stink he puts into the water in his bath, but his body ... He smells better than that bitch, Nausicaa ... What am I thinking? Oh well, it doesn't matter anyway. Anymore ... But if I ever was human again, I would no longer push him away ...

Dorian got up.

"Will you ... join me in the bedroom, Klaus?"

This was to be expected, the Major thought. On one hand he wanted to be close to Dorian, close with his human mind, his human feelings, as long as he still had them ... He had never wanted comfort since he had been very young, but tonight he wanted it, and wanted it badly ... On the other hand, it would be much more difficult for Bonham to take him out of Dorian's bedroom than just out of the living room ...

Dorian's head was bowed, his long curls obscuring his face.

"Please, Klaus? I – I want you close tonight."

In the end, this damned foppish butterfly and the men closest to him had become the only people he could trust ... to an extent ... He could not deny Dorian his wish ...

"Alright," he said, and went to the bedroom.

"Don't close the door," he ordered, when Dorian followed him. Obediently, Dorian left the door open a crack. He did not ask why, the Major noted.

When Dorian had settled down, the big Doberman jumped onto the bed as well and lay down next to the human. He did not fend off the arms, which closed around his chest and neck, did not even growl, although he disliked that much closeness.

The Earl trembled a bit, and although he made no sound, the Major could smell his tears and his sadness. He was not very good at comforting someone ... The only thing he felt he could do was to hold still and hope that the bodily exhaustion finally would prove stronger than Dorian's overwrought nerves, and he would fall asleep ...

Klaus waited. Not in vain. Even a healthy young man like Dorian needed his rest. Even a trained soldier needed it from time to time. It was a life-preserving quality all living creatures seemed to possess ...

end part 30, 10:45 p.m..


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