ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔗𝔥𝔯𝔢𝔢

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After that first night, Charles did not see Mr Lehnsherr a lot for the next few days; he caught glimpses of the imposing man every now and then when they passed each other in the halls, but they didn't utter anything more than brief 'hellos' or 'good days' when they passed.

Charles was not bothered by it, at least, that was what he told himself. Charles did not think himself fanciful, not in the way that Cain enjoyed stories about made-up monsters and magic. However, Charles had thought that there was something between him and Mr Lehnsherr, something pulling them together that was greater than just a wage of 30 pounds a year.

But maybe Charles had been a bit fanciful – they were an employer and employee, and nothing more than that. Brief 'hellos' and 'good days' were adequate for what they were.

So, it came as a surprise to Charles, when Moira came knocking on the door to his chambers one evening after dinner, almost looking nervous as she told him 'Mr Lehnsherr requests your company in the drawing room'.

Moira hadn't asked Charles to change his clothes this time, already resigned to the fact that Charles simply did not have any more clothes.

Charles soon found himself hastily bounding down the stairs to the drawing room, his heart thumping in anticipation when he eyed the glow of firelight from under the door. It was eerie the way Mr Lehnsherr called out his name the moment the metal hinge of the door squeaked when Charles laid his hand upon it, his head turning from where he sat on the same arm chair as the other night.

This time, Moira wasn't in the room, and neither was Peter. Apart from the man in the chair, there was only Magneto, his dog. Magneto, now less mangy after Moira had given him a wash, yipped happily when Charles entered the room from where he lay by his master's feet.

When Charles walked over to the seated master of the house, he was surprised when the older man held out a glass of wine, jerking his head towards it to urge Charles to take it. He did, and nestled himself in the chair opposite Mr Lehnsherr, who sipped at his own wine, coolly regarding Charles.

"Were you expecting a present?" Mr Lehnsherr suddenly asked, and Charles blinked at him, confused at the abrupt and incongruous question.

"Sir?" Charles asked quizzically, Mr Lehnsherr smirking.

"A present. Peter, that little beast, asked me the other day if I brought 'Herr Charles' a present back from my travels. So, tell me, does 'Herr Charles' expect a present?" Mr Lehnsherr explained, and Charles swallowed at the way his employer's tongue wrapped around the sounds of his name. It was then that Charles truly realised that the man had the slight lilt of an accent, a little German but mixed with other things. It was not surprising, considering the man spent more of his time abroad than in England.

"Of course not," Charles said, almost snorting at the notion of his employer buying him a present in a gaudy box like the one he brought back for Peter. Mr Lehnsherr laughed at Charles's response, sipping his wine as Charles did the same.

"Not fond of presents, Herr Charles?" Mr Lehnsherr said, the more he repeated Peter's name for his tutor making Charles think that the man was beginning to insult him, though the smile on his face was more teasing than outright mocking.

"I wouldn't know," Charles said, looking down at the rug beneath his feet, before tilting his gaze back up, a small grin on his naturally red lips. "But I do believe that they are generally thought to be pleasant things... Herr Lehnsherr."

Mr Lehnsherr almost, almost, choked on his wine at that, eyes looking Charles over with amusement, the pale blue irises seeming warmer than they usually were. Charles felt a little giddy as a warm flush overcame him at the expression on Mr Lehnsherr's face, but he put that down to the wine – Charles hadn't had much experience with alcohol, never having a chance to drink it at Graymalkin. He did not mind the slightly acidic taste, but he always equated alcohol with his mother, and that left a bitter flavour in his mouth.

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