InsaneJournal

                He supposed he could have whined about his situation. But he was no Sirius Black. He was no James Potter. He was no Peter Pettigrew. He sighed and sat there. Instead of whining, instead of freaking out, he merely went over the inventory of all the nice things he had seen in the castle. He had quite a thorough memory, so this took him quite a while.

                All of a sudden, though, the armchair seemed to melt off of him, forming its original shape, leaving Severus free. "Hello," said the Beast.

                Severus was nearly beside himself and did not trust himself to speak yet.

                "I've brought you some food," said the Beast with an indulgent smile, two large trays floating in his wake as he stepped forward into the room. He handed Severus a bundle of clothing as well. "After your bath, you can put this on."

                Severus glared, dropping the clothes unceremoniously to the floor as he stood. He was at his tolerance limit. "Bath?!" he sputtered. "Oh, as if the clothing you choked me with this morning wasn't enough!"

                "Choked you?" said the Beast quietly, moving out of the way so the trays could gently nudge Severus.

                "Stop it!" said Severus, staring down at the tray hitting his chest.

                "I think they want you to sit down, Snape," said the Beast.

                "Oh they do, do they? And what now, I suppose they want to do this too," said Snape, and he took an entire Cornish hen and flung it at his captor. The Beast dodged it rather well. So Snape threw a cup of hot tea, looking smug to hear a yelp as it hit Remus's chest and neck, soaking his clothes.

                For the first time, the Beast actually looked like he was dangerous. Severus had no idea why the thought had not occurred to him before that it might do him harm if he pressed its temper. He turned on his heel and ran, glad that the Beast didn't even try to stop him.

                "You won't get far," the Beast called after him. Severus slowed, but did not stop. When he made it out the front door, he ran to the gap in the gate and then frowned. It wasn't as if he hit a wall, it was as if his shoes were glued to the floor as he stood at the gap, trying to fight it. But the moment he resolved himself to his fate, he was able to move his feet again. He cocked an eyebrow and tried to leave again. But to no avail. He could not move his feet until the intention of fleeing left him.

                He stared down at his feet as he backed up a step, the old, worn boots incongruous with the silken image of royalty the homicidal clothes he was wearing put forth. With a curl of his lip, he backed up a step, untied the old boots, and tossed them outside the magical barrier. With bare feet, he padded back toward the castle to accept his new life as a slave to something inhuman who obviously hated him. Oh well. At least there was a library.

                "What are you doing?" hissed Sirius, who had just narrowly avoided being hit by one of Snape's shoes. Severus whipped around in a flash. "Stop fooling around and come back to camp with me, Snape. I thought for sure you'd have followed me."

                "No, but not for lack of trying."

                "What's that supposed to mean?" asked Sirius, gathering up Snape's shoes.

                "Are you stupid?"

                "Snape," said Sirius warningly.

                "I am trapped here. Trapped. Can your mind comprehend the word?"

                "Trapped?"

                "Like a prisoner. I am his prisoner. You may as well keep the boots. I'll have nice ones for the foreseeable future, I'm sure."

                "What's he want with you, then?" said Sirius, "I thought you were all tough and stringy."

                "Who knows," said Snape. "Go back to them and tell them whatever you would. If I can get back to the village eventually, I will. But it will take time." He drew himself up to his full height, looking defiant. "Now go."

                There was really nothing Sirius could do but nod and turn back toward the camp, finding somewhere to hide Severus's shoes when he thought of it.

Severus himself did not go back inside, now that he'd had the talk with Sirius. He took a stroll through the gardens until the sun began to get low, just letting his mind wander. The situation he found himself in was so unreal it had not even impacted him much yet. That would come in time.

In the meanwhile, he was going to practice magic. If the Beast could do it, why not him? What was so special about the Beast, save the fact he was covered in fur? Severus tried climbing some of the trees to escape, but a similar effect as the one on the gap in the wall lined the top of it. He was, as he'd told his old village rival, trapped. He was trapped rather thoroughly. He almost had to give the Beast credit.

Though he held himself stiffly, the Beast, he was acting with less anger than he had been that morning. He was trying to stay calm as he came outside with a basket of some rolls and some cheese in hand and two ornate chairs following him.

Severus glanced over at him from one of the benches, and the Beast coaxed him over to the side of a small pond, the chairs settling themselves near each other. Severus moved the chair nearest him a bit farther from both the lake and the other chair before sitting in it. He accepted a roll with some cheese, and then blinked in surprise when the Beast conjured a glass of wine and floated that to him as well.  He took a sip. If it was poisoned, it was poisoned. Oh well.

They ate in silence except for the rustle of the soft wind through the trees and grasses, the soft sound the Beasts' movements made as he would reach for the basket and crumble a roll into small bits that he threw onto the surface of the pond with soft plips for the large fish to eat. It seemed like not very long at all when the sun began to get very low.

"Come inside now, Severus," said the Beast, rising, dusting himself off.

                Severus turned his head away, not rising.

"You can hate me just as easily from inside the castle as out, and there are no books in my garden."

                The Beast had spoken the truth, he found, as he gathered the books he had found in the library to his chest. Returning to his room, he saw that the mess from before had been perfectly cleaned and idly wondered if he would soon begin to blur reality and dreams. Magic and reality seemed to have different sets of rules. He laid himself back down in the ever-warm bed and read Shakespeare until he fell into a slumber. If he were to be a prisoner, this was exactly the sort of prison he would want to belong to.