InsaneJournal

                Forget the Beast being dangerous, if Severus ever made it out of the tub, he would murder someone. It was the Beast's fault if the only one around was the Beast himself. The water was warm, the perfect temperature, but that did not excuse the fact that the Beast had a very insistent tub and a very enthusiastic scrub brush. "Ow! Ow! Beast!"

                The Beast entered the room, covering his eyes with a furry, clawed hand. "What is it?" he asked.

                "This is not the time for modesty!" shrieked Severus. "Your scrub brush is going to scrub me to death!" He was already bleeding a bit on the side of his right arm.

                "Oh!" said the Beast, dropping the hand, snapping his fingers. The scrub brush zoomed to him. "Did you insult it?" he asked Snape softly, petting the brush.

                "Insult it?! It is a scrub brush!"

                "That doesn't mean it has no feelings."

                Snape raised an eyebrow, but made no comment.

                "Well, I suppose you're done, then." As soon as the words left him, the tub was gone, seeming to have sunk through the floor. Snape was standing, wet and naked and flushed red from the heat of the water and the furious attentions of the brush. His hair and skin were soon dry, and a shirt and a pair of trousers were fluttering dangerously close to his side. He scowled at them but allowed them to come near, putting them on so he might ignore the scrutiny of the Beast's large, blue eyes.

                "You see," said the Beast, "while I can exact control over the items in this household, the castle tends to have a mind of its own. I think its residual magic, or something like that. Anyway, I will procure a new scrub brush the next time you bathe."

                "I hate this castle," said Snape darkly. "And I hate you."

                "Don't say that!" said the Beast, seeming to shrink a little.

                "Would you have me lie, then? Fine, I appreciate your company. You don't scare me. You aren't ugly. You aren't mean and cruel and murderous."

                "I've never murdered!" growled the Beast.

                "Yet," said Severus with a sniff. "Keep up with this temper and it's only a matter of time before I'm in little pieces on your dinner table."

                The Beast looked as if he'd been struck, and he pulled the scrub brush out of his pocket. "Have at him," he said to it as he let it float in the air in front of him.

                Severus spent the rest of the morning hiding from the brush in the wardrobe, feeling like a right ponce as he expressed praise to the wardrobe for doing so. "Thank you, strong wardrobe. Never have I seen a more solid oaken structure." He rolled his eyes at himself, though his voice remained sounding sincere. When the scrubbing brush finally gave up knocking against the door, he slumped to the bottom of the large wardrobe and slept uneasily in its protective, cramped darkness.

                If there was one thing he knew about the intellectual process, Snape, it was that realizations came if and when they would. Sometimes they came quickly, sometimes they came late, and sometimes they came just in the nick of time. There was no reason, then, to kick himself for not realizing it sooner when he came to the conclusion that the nicer he was to the furniture, the more indulgent it was. It took him a run-in with a shovel, a hoe, and a garden trowel to finally break free of his urge to insult them in their annoying insistence. He learned to hold his tongue, all within the period of a day. For him, it was remarkable. While a quick learner, he did not do "change" well.

                Exhausted and bruised, he sat still in his bedroom as the tub returned, this time with a cloth instead of the infernal scrub brush, and cleaned the cut above his eye. The water turned into some sort of a soothing ointment and his clothes parted, and he sighed, lying back on the bed. "Thanks," he murmured to the things in the room as the aches from the gardening tools seemed to leave him. He also noticed his shirt was drying. He had been doused by a watering can or two. No more insulting the Beast out loud to himself. That was for sure.

                He was extremely startled to realize that he almost wished the Beast would come gather him for supper as he lay there naked, relaxed, smelling of the perfumed ointment, skin tingling with the healing powers. "I don't want him to see me like this. I hate him," he reminded himself, and was promptly smacked by the cloth. "Ow!"

                It hit him again, more gently, until he quickly apologized, and it desisted, rubbing along his chest gently, suddenly silky to the touch. He grasped the cloth in his hands and curled up on top of the bedding, letting sleep claim him.

                It was nearly dark when he awoke, the sun so low the only indication of it was a blur of red on the horizon. The tub had disappeared, though the cloth had stayed. He ran fingers over it gently and it seemed to quiver like a pleased cat, though it stopped short of purring. He smiled and released it. It melted into the comforter he was lying on, becoming a part of it, he assumed, or disappearing entirely.

                The Beast did not come to fetch him for dinner, and he berated himself for thinking the Beast wanted to see him naked again. That morning was the first time he had ever been seen in the flesh by another being, even if the being was not perfectly human. He tamped down the odd desire to be praised by the Beast in his obvious obsession for him, and gasped.

                The Beast liked him, perhaps. Maybe not like a lover, but like hero-worship or something. And Snape enjoyed it. Oh did he ever! He put on some new clothing that had been laid out, and this pair did not fight him at all. Perhaps he was gaining some of that magic already!

                The dishes were nice and polite as he dined alone. Later, as he sat in the library, he found the time to be ten o'clock. He considered the fact that he had gone without having said good night to the beast. It was odd he should count this as some sort of a disappointment.

                He occupied himself reading or going into the Mirror Room and having a look at the lives of the villagers. With luck, he'd be able to return home soon, and there was no sense in not catching up on gossip.

                When the Beast returned, it was not the day after the incident with the gardening tools, nor the one after that. Somehow Severus knew when the Beast had come, though, and sat stiffly in his chair in the library, wondering whether he should greet him or not. He decided not. Not yet, at least. He waited for about an hour before standing to see if his suspicions were correct. They were.

The Beast was home. However, he was also in bad shape.

"What happened to you?" Severus blurted out, forgetting stealth entirely as he left the room he had been looking in on the Beast from.

The Beast looked up with tired eyes as the tub and cloth worked, cleaning his wounds. One looked particularly deep, bisecting his chest. "People."

Severus raised an eyebrow, looking for elaboration. As he entered the room, he hesitated, then proceeded to run a finger alongside the gash.

"They found your shoes in the forest and thought I'd eaten you." He smiled softly. "They were surprised to see I still wear clothes."   

"Still?" Severus withdrew his hand, standing up straight and waiting for the Beast to continue.

"I . . . wasn't always," the Beast hesitated. "I was once human."

"What?!"

"Is it so shocking?" the Beast laughed, a low, rumbling chuckle. "Well, that was nearly thirty years ago. I was around your age. Now I age much more slowly than I used to, I think. It could be my new form, or it could be the castle."

"You were not always . . . furred?" Severus tugged at some of the hair on the Beast's arm.

"Watch it," said the Beast, pulling his arm away.

"Sorry." He stepped back a bit. "What did you look like? Why are you here?"

"Prince Remus did not die. He was cursed," said the Beast with a self-deprecating smile. "And now he lives alone, ugly, and friendless. I . . . Severus, don't leave the castle. Please."

Severus fled from the room and into the safety of his bed.