Chapter Text
Chapter 1
Oxford
Oxford College was one of the most magnificent colleges in all of Britain, and probably in all the world, if anyone really wanted to compare. Scholar candidates fought to be admitted. Staff and servant jobs were coveted. The buildings were old, the library older, and the funding unlimited.
A boy named Charles Xavier had been living in the middle of this warren of buildings, books, and Scholars since he was ten and a half. His father, Lord Brian Xavier, had been a renowned Oxford Scholar, but had died suddenly when Charles was eight. Charles' mother had never recovered, preferring instead to succumb gradually to the smoky sweet lethargy brought by opium. When she died two years later, Charles discovered that he was now a Ward of the college, and would be living there until he was of age and came into his inheritance.
In the six years since Charles' arrival, he had discovered almost everything about the College that a boy with a high intellect and a taste for adventure could find. He devoured his studies at a rate that delighted the Scholars, but his favorite thing to be doing was sneaking off with his friend Raven, eating treats stolen from the kitchen (Raven was a kitchen maid), or hiding in the rafters poking plaster shavings onto the head of a lecturing Scholar, or smoking cigarettes in an alleyway, making their eyes look as cold and bored as any one of the older boys or girls that worked in the town.
Raven had arrived in Oxford a few months after Charles, and they became fast friends after she discovered him stealing a bottle of wine. The price for her silence had been to share the wine, and Charles readily agreed, seeing the beginnings of a fruitful partnership. The Scholars had tried to discourage them, repeatedly pointing out that she was a servant and he was nobly born. Charles had nodded obediently and looked at the floor and then gone right back to their normal mischief afterwards. They would occasionally threaten to beat Raven for her presumption, but then Charles would make them forget, and things would go on as they always did.
It wasn't as though he liked Raven that way. She was just the closest person to his age around the College, and the most fun. The Scholars had made Charles go to dances and coming-out parties of nobly born girls, girls that could discuss Experimental Theology or Celestial Geography with him. He would dance with them and make them blush, but it was just because he could, not because he wanted to. Raven could change her appearance to look like anyone, absolutely anyone. Because Raven was younger, her daemon Luzaiel would still change, and he would take the form of a creature that could blend in with the bricks, or the grass, and let Raven know when they could do something without getting caught. When Raven had first showed her ability off to Charles, he was impressed, and then immediately asked if she would appear to be the College President and sign his diploma so that he could graduate early. She had laughed and said something about how she could mimic his appearance, but not the handwriting or the College Seals, and he had left it at that, because then they were off to the harbor to steal sausages from a vendor cart.
"I don't know if I'll be able to go out for a while," Raven said that day, as they sat under a tree sharing a cigarette, their mouths still greasy from the sausages.
"Why's that?" Charles asked, ostentatiously blowing smoke into the air.
"Head cook says they's somebody out there stealing kids. She wants to make us all us young ones stay inside Oxford when there's no work."
"She wants that anyway."
"Yeah, but she's serious. I seen her talking to the Constables the other day." Raven took the cigarette back.
"That's not to keep you in, that's cause you stole that chicken for us."
"She doesn't know that."
"She does; I told her."
Luzaiel became a crow and squawked in outrage, while Charles' Maaike (a silver Bengal cat) lazily started to groom a paw in response.
"You never," Raven laughed, flicking ashes at Charles. Charles blew the ashes back at her, again causing Luzaiel to squawk again, then change into a squirrel so that he could scurry up the tree a foot or two.
"Nah, I never. You think there's really somebody stealing kids?"
"En't there always? You do something stupid, you get what you deserve."
"Then why en't you gotten it yet?"
Raven laughed and kicked him, and he punched her back in a friendly way. Maaike leapt off of Charles' lap and swatted playfully at Luzaiel, who turned into a butterfly and bobbed around her head in revenge.
"Don't worry about it, Raven. En't nobody stealing kids."
But there was, and this was how it would happen.
xxx
London
A little girl walks through the industrial section of London, taking care to avoid the murky pools of slick that collect after the fish gutters complete their day's work. Her daemon Kintros runs up her sleeve as a mouse and tucks himself inside her collar, where it's warmer. She is hungry; there isn't anything at home for her to eat, and there won't be until her father returns in a few days.
Her name is Moira McTaggert, and she is the child who will disappear.
Moira is heading for a restaurant near Canary Wharf where they know her father; sometimes, they let her wash dishes or sweep in exchange for some leftover scraps. The restaurant doesn't open for another hour, though, so Moira sits quietly on the back steps and wraps her arms around herself. Kintros peeks out, then jumps down on the step next to her and begins to groom his whiskers.
A few feet away, a very handsome man watches her, a faint smile on his face. Moira is too hungry and cold to notice. His daemon, a vibrant emerald snake, slowly uncoils from the man's arm and slides down to the pavement, moving towards Kintros. The snake's color is so bright, and her eyes so mesmerizing, that Kintros can't help but be enticed. He scampers towards her a bit, hesitates, then hops forward again.
Moira feels Kintros' interest, and turns. Her eyes widen in alarm when she sees the snake. "Kintros, no!"
The man steps out slightly, not enough to frighten her. He smiles and places a finger to his lips, gesturing that Moira should watch the two daemons. She does, and Kintros finally gets close to the beautiful green snake, and she turns her head away so that Kintross can touch her glossy scales and hop over her tail. She coils back on herself and nudges Kintros' own tail with her nose, and they are playing.
Moira smiles at the man, and he smiles back. "What's your name?" His voice is deep and kind.
"Moira McTaggert."
"Are you hungry, Moira?"
She pauses. "No."
His blue eyes crinkle with his smile. "Well, I'm glad you're not hungry. If you were, though, I'm giving a party. My friends couldn't come, and there's more food than I can eat. Some other children are there, if you want to come and see if there's anything you like."
"Do I hafta stay?"
"Not if you don't want to."
The restaurant won't be open for another hour. "Okay, then," she decides, and Kintros changes into a sparrow and flies to her shoulder. The man gestures down the street, and Moira walks away with him.
xxx
Oxford
A few days later, Charles was being marched along the corridor by Scholar Hecart, one of the youngest and most agile of the faculty at Oxford. He had been dispatched to retrieve Charles and make sure he showed up for dinner properly dressed and groomed. While Charles was old enough to do this himself, experience had taught the Scholars that supervision was the best method. Charles was fast, but Scholar Hecart was tall and fast, and the result was the hand on Charles' collar pushing him along to his rooms.
Once inside, Scholar Hecart looked Charles up and down. "Bathe. Your evening clothes are laid out for you. White tie." He grabbed Charles' hand and wrinkled his nose at the filth. "Nailbrush, definitely." His badger daemon huffed at Maaike, who gave him an icy stare in return. Hecart then brushed an assessing finger across Charles' cheek. "Shave. If you go for the window I'll see you copying notes for at least a month. Wash your hair and slick it back, too." Hecart dragged a chair in front of the door and pulled several papers out of his robes, apparently getting comfortable for the duration. Maaike's tail bristled, but Charles didn't speak. He waited until Hecart pointed towards the door. "Go, then."
Maaike was perched on the bathroom shelf, trying to avoid the drops of water Charles flung about as he washed. "What do you suppose this dinner is for?" she asked him.
"I dunno, Mai. It's not the end of the quarter or anything."
"Must be someone important coming to visit."
"Someone boring."
"Maybe, but you still better behave," Maaike warned. She wrapped her tail around herself and fixed her gaze on Charles.
"I will if I feel like it." Charles looked in the steamy mirror and lathered his face with scented soap. "I en't an old man, en't acting like one."
"You'll do whatever you have to do to get them to graduate you."
Charles tightened his jaw and paid extra attention to shaving with the straight razor. Maaike was right. Charles had finished all of his College work, but due to an ancient College law, he couldn't be admitted to the new Scholars' class until he turned eighteen, which was still two years away. The Scholars would, of course, prefer to keep Charles (and his eventual inheritance) snug at the College until that time, but Charles couldn't be held back from graduating much longer. Once he was officially a graduate, he would still be a College Ward, but compelling him to stay on campus became much more difficult. And, to be honest, Charles knew the idea of him on the campus with nothing to do made more than one Scholar blanch and reach for the tobacco.
Charles wanted to be a Scholar...someday. He didn't want to get lulled into the security of Oxford life, and then wake up twenty years later realizing he had never left, never actually done any of the things he read about. He knew the Scholars wanted him (and the inheritance) here, but they couldn't do anything about the law. Charles planned to take full advantage of that.
Charles wiped his face with a towel and shook scented oil on his hands, brushing them through his hair fiercely before slicking it back with a comb. He shoved the door open and went to his bed where his evening clothes were laid. He pulled on the clothes with as much anger as he dared, which, given their delicate fabrics, wasn't much. He tucked his shirt, fastened his cufflinks, buttoned his waistcoat, and tied the heavy silk tie, before shrugging on his dinner jacket and shoes. Maaike jumped into his arms and he presented himself to Scholar Hecart.
"Well enough," Hecart said, gathering his papers as his daemon perched on his shoulder. Go down to the Foyer and wait for the Steward to show you in. Don't sit down in the Foyer; don't loosen your tie. Are you listening to me?"
"Yes, sir, every word," Charles muttered.
"Excellent. Be polite and don't you dare say 'I dunno', or wink at anyone."
Charles moved quickly down the hallways into the main Foyer, glad that he didn't meet Raven along the way. One glimpse of him trussed up in this outfit would earn him days of merciless teasing. His alacrity meant that he arrived in the Foyer with at least ten minutes to spare. He let Maaike down so she could pace, then went to the window and started to lean out; that would dirty his elbows, he realized, so he pulled back. He went to sit and then realized he had promised not to. His mood growing blacker by the second, he went back to the window and Maaike jumped up to brush her face against his.
"Calm down," she told him with a purr. "Be charming. Whoever it is, it can't hurt if they like you."
At that moment, the Steward opened the heavy oak doors and looked around for Charles. The Steward was a servant, so his daemon was a dog. However, he was a superior servant, so she was a superior dog: a Gordon Setter. She stood behind him as the Steward crooked his gloved finger at Charles.
"You can come in now, Master Charles."
Charles entered and went to stand at the place that the Steward indicated for him. He would be sitting a little further up from his usual seat; that was interesting. The bell rang, and the Scholars entered in order of rank, the newest Scholars coming first. Each man was wearing his formal academic gown and hood. After they were all standing in place, the College President entered, his owl daemon perched on his hand.
Charles noticed the one place still empty was to his left, next to the Sub-Rector.
The President cleared his throat. "Faculty of Oxford, I am pleased to introduce our guest for this evening: Lord Sebastian Shaw."
Charles bowed, and kept his eyes on the floor until he saw a pair of shiny calf-skin shoes stand at the place next to him. He rose from the bow but kept his eyes down; as a student and a Ward, it was up to this distinguished person to initiate an introduction, if he chose to do so.
"Young Charles Xavier, I understand?" The man's voice was kind, with a bit of a Colonial accent. I've heard quite a lot about you."
Charles raised his eyes and took the man's proffered hand. "Very pleased to make your acquaintance, my Lord."
Lord Shaw's daemon was a striking emerald snake, and his eyes crinkled as he smiled.