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My Precious Jewel	By : sheherazade Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Het - Male/Female Views: 3648 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story

Chapter List
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The mirrors at Malfoy Manor are among the most irritating non-human communicators I have ever encountered. They may not be on the scale of a Dementor, and perhaps a House Elf might just pip them to the annoyance post, but they remain very, very low on the list of things I want to face first thing in the morning.
Either Lucius or Narcissa – and I suspect Narcissa, who is, like most of us in the wizarding community, astonishingly aptly named – has charmed every glass in the house to gush fawningly and offer fashion advice whenever one’s unsuspecting reflection is captured.
So unwilling am I to listen to my mirror’s obsequious lisp that I attempt a Confundus Charm on it as I approach to check that my attire is as gloomily circumspect as ever. Alas, it does not work, and I am forced to endure the usual babble. “Wow, Professor, you look positively elegant today, Sir. Might I suggest a flash of colour, perhaps in the form of a cravat? Slytherin colours suit you so well. I could also recommend a shampoo….”
“I could recommend silence, unless you want to see how well a big crack along your middle suits you,” I snap back.
“Sorry I spoke,” says the mirror offendedly before subsiding into silence.
I must admit, though, as I saunter into the luxuriously appointed ensuite bathroom, this place does rather beat Spinners End into a cocked hat on all other counts. My former domicile is earmarked for demolition now. I sold it to the developer and am between residences. I doubt I will return to Hogwarts now I do not have to be there, but I find myself quite without any plans for the future, so completely had the War dictated my life.
Well, perhaps not quite without plans…
An image of the new, improved, shiny, healthy Ruby impinges on my consciousness, together with that of the boy. My son. Initial pleasure hardens into a knot of anxiety. Ruby wants me to court her. I have no idea how to ingratiate myself with a three year old child who does not know me from a hole in the ground. She may decide she prefers her life the way it is without me…and he may loathe me on sight. It occurs to me that I may require some advice on the matter, and there is only one person I can think of to approach.
*
Having taken breakfast, I present myself at the door of Lucius Malfoy’s study.
“Oh, Severus,” he says in mild surprise, frowning over an enormous parchment filled with scrawled Arithmantic calculations. “Do take a seat. Please excuse me; I’m trying to work out how the end of the War is going to impact on my investments. I suspect a trip to Gringotts may be in order later.”
“I was under the impression that the Ministry sequestrated your funds when it returned to the hands of the Light,” I remark.
“Only the ones it knew about,” says Lucius with a complicit smile. “So how can I help you?”
I begin to fidget with a loose button on my coat. “I…er…it’s a personal matter, actually.”
Lucius sits up and the corner of a lip twitches in amused interest. “Really, Severus? The little blonde in the street yesterday, by any chance? She looked familiar…”
“I…knew her a few years ago. We lost touch. Now it appears she wants me to…pursue her. I wanted to ask you….”
“If it’s bedroom advice you’re after, you’ve come to the right man!” says Malfoy, swelling his chest out.
“No, no, I’m perfectly capable, thank you. More than capable. What I need is more along the lines of….” I grimace as the word almost sticks in my throat, “…romantic…behaviour. What do women like? What do they expect?”
I flounder. I genuinely have no idea what the form is. I have no intention of making a fool of myself in front of Ruby; Malfoy is constantly surrounded by a retinue of quasi-concubines. I want to know his secrets.
“I find expensive gifts work for me,” says Malfoy. “And relentless eye contact. Never let them look away. Never miss an opportunity for intimate contact either – a touch of a hand, a consoling squeeze of an arm, even lending them a handkerchief. All grist to the seduction mill. But yes, expensive presents. Expensive meals. Expensive nightclubs.”
“Expensive, then,” I sum up. Even as he is giving the advice, it seems useless to me. This was not what drew Ruby to me in the first place. Why would it work this time?
“As expensive as you can afford,” Lucius clarifies. “A lady likes to think she is worth the money you lavish upon her.”
“Everything can be reduced to a financial transaction?”
“Of course.” He stares at me.
“She knows me already,” I point out. “It is not connection, but re-connection I seek.”
“Well, then you’ve done the difficult part. You know you can get her into bed.” He shrugs. “Just be yourself. Don’t start acting out of character – no kindness, or good manners.” He smirks teasingly at me. “Just give her more of what she liked in the first place. Whatever that was.”
I’m tempted to suggest he ask Narcissa, but obviously I hold my tongue. Bad form for a guest to mention having shagged the host’s wife while at school, I imagine.
“Flowers always go down well,” he opines as a closing remark. “Jewellery even better.”
“Thank you for your thoughts,” I say, hesitantly. “There is one other consideration….you may be able to help me with.”
“Foreplay?” he asks eagerly and I tut at him.
“No, Lucius, that is perfectly well in hand. So to speak. No…I…er…well, so effective was my bedroom technique that I…it appears…somehow impregnated her.”
“Somehow?” Malfoy raises an eyebrow. “We really do need to talk about sex, don’t we?”
“Will you stop being so flippant! This is serious! I have a son, Lucius. A three year old son.”
“Congratulations! This is wonderful news!”
“Thank you. But I have no idea how one communicates with young children. How do I…make him like me?”
“Toys,” says Lucius promptly. “The bigger the better. Pets are good too. And sweets.”
I sigh. Materialistic to the core, Malfoy.
“Thank you for your time,” I say, rising to leave.
“But Severus,” Lucius cautions me. “You can’t just calmly come in here and tell me you have a son you never knew about. You must bring him here to visit. Narcissa dotes on young children, and I’d like to meet him myself. I always regret not having spent more time with Draco when he was small.”
“If I can, I will,” I promise. “Much depends on his mother. She’s….ah, her own woman.” I had almost told him that she was a Muggle. I know he claims to have laid his old prejudices to rest, but one never knows with Malfoy how much of what he says is true and how much simply expedient. Though I can hardly chide him for that; I am much the same.
“She’s your woman, Severus,” he winks at me as I reach the door. “Go and get her. We’ll wet the baby’s head later.”
“Yes. I must go and prepare for my visit. Good morning.”
I am none the wiser as I pace up the wide red-carpeted corridor, but at least my own ideas on the matter are confirmed. I will simply be myself. It was good enough last time.
*
Who am I though? Of what does my selfhood consist?
At one time I could have happily answered that question, reeling off a list of attributes. I was proud to consider myself a true Slytherin – intelligent, shrewd, subtle, ambitious, authoritative, to list but a few of my traits. Additionally, I could have described myself as reclusive, aloof, sarcastic and intolerant of fools. With the War, all of that became less clear, my characteristics fuzzed into an amorphous blur. When Lily died I lost my ambition, for one thing. Great bitterness took its place, but also I found, to my utter amazement, that I was rather courageous in the role I fulfilled so effectively for so many horrible years. For the duration of the War, then, I had to add pragmatic, unemotional, stoical and…ugh, I hate to say it but…noble…to the roll. I am not modest but neither am I self-aggrandising.
But now that the war is over, what am I? I don’t have to be the inscrutable double agent any more, but how far will I have to dig before the remnants of my true personality can be disinterred? Or should I forget that and just try to construct a more palatable new version? Damn it, what would Ruby want?
I am hopelessly lost. I only hope some flowers and an earth-shattering orgasm will be enough to bring her round.
*
Malfoy’s courtship advice may have been less than helpful, but his library shelves yield some treasures.
I spend the morning immersed in ‘Charming Her Pants Off: A Compendium of Romance and Seduction Spells’. Some interesting, though largely unethical, ideas are mooted.
But as the hands of the clock swallow up more and more of the day, I decide that I can no longer procrastinate. It is time to begin my pursuit. I use the book to aid me in conjuring up a mixed bouquet and Disapparate to the point nearest the address she has given me.
I find myself in a clump of shrubbery, concealed by the foliage from the wandering eyes of anybody on the nearby hard tennis courts. I walk out of the gates of the small park, through various alleyways and side roads until I arrive at a semi-circle of cheap, prefabricated-looking dwellings which proclaims itself to be the Property of the University of Metropolitan London. The close is neat and well-kept, with a small children’s play area in the middle, but I still feel a spark of anger that my son is living in such a shoddy place. Ruby may have improved her prospects, but her coffers are another matter, it seems.
I approach the dingy grey box numbered 12, noting their clothes hanging on a line in the communal yard, the cheap curtains in the windows, children’s toys on the sill. A young woman pushing a child in a pram gives me a very hard look as she passes me by and it occurs to me that perhaps I should have Muggleified myself a bit better. Or at all, indeed. Perhaps it is simply the flowers that have drawn her attention.
I draw myself up to my full height and take a deep breath, absurdly nervous at the situation I find myself in, and knock at the door. There is no reply. They are out.
I check my watch in exasperation. She did not leave any instructions regarding the best times to call. I look up and down the small row and wonder if there is a library or a museum I can while away some time in. But just as I turn to leave, I spot her hurtling around the corner with Tom in her arms. She stops, electrified, and stares at me.
“You came,” she says. “Oh. And flowers too.”
“Of course I came,” I say, slightly irritably. “You expected me to abandon you?”
“Again,” she says pointedly, fishing distractedly for her keys while the child hangs perilously from her elbow. She puts him down and he starts to wail and kick up the grass.
“Carry me!” he demands. “I’m tired!”
“I’m sorry, I got called into the crèche. The manager wanted to talk to me. Seems they’re a bit worried about Tom.”
“Oh?” He hears his name and turns towards us, listening intently, his black eyes switching between us as if he is watching a tennis rally.
“He’s been upsetting the other children with his…unusual talents. Making things move without seeming to touch them.”
I smile, beam actually, at the boy.
“Of course he has,” I say indulgently. “He’s my son.” I crouch down to Tom’s eye level. “You’re special, Tom. Do you know that?”
He shrugs. “Who are you?” he asks me boldly.
“We talked about that, didn’t we, Tom?” says Ruby patiently, locating her keys and unlocking the door. “Remember? The man at the ice cream shop. He’s your…uncle.”
“Uncle!” I exclaim outraged. Tom runs into the room off the small hallway and commences crashing around with his toys.
“I didn’t want to get his hopes up,” hisses Ruby, “only to have you disappear on us again. Only last week he asked me why he didn’t have a daddy like his friend David. If he acquires one and then loses him, I won’t have him blaming himself and breaking his heart.”
Ruby’s elfin features are sharp and ferocious. I admire the way she protects her child, but all the same… I stride ahead into the kitchen and shove the flowers in the sink, then turn back to Ruby.
“I am not the kind of man that shirks my responsibilities, Ruby, and I certainly have no intention of allowing my own child to grow up not knowing who I am. You will tell him I am his father, and you will do it today.”
“Responsibility, eh? Is that what this is about? Doing the right thing? Was that what you were aiming for when you asked me to marry you? Fulfilling your responsibilities?”
Ruby’s bitter tone shocks me. That earth-shattering orgasm is looking remoter by the minute.
“Ruby,” I remonstrate, stepping towards her and taking a rather reluctant hand. There is palpable pain in her eyes and I cannot bring myself to spar with her. “You have worked hard to bring up our child by yourself. You no longer need face the hardships alone. I want you and Tom. I want my family. It is all I have wanted ever since I left the Rock.”
Her eyes glisten. “I wish I could have known that. I wish you could have just let us know somehow, anyhow, that you were still alive.”
“That was also my wish, Ruby. But it was impossible. I can’t expect you to understand. But I hope you can forgive me. I hope we can start our lives again, properly, the right way this time.”
“Do you mean it?” she whispers.
“Yes,” I say, wanting to get off the bad romance-novel reassurances and on to the flirting. If only there were an incantation you could perform to instil instant trust. But for now…I encircle her slight waist with an arm and pull her towards me. I had forgotten what a little thing she is, barely reaching my top button with the crown of her hair. She puts her hands on my shoulders and strains her neck to meet my eye. The nearness is intoxicating; she smells of jasmine and soap. She smells of Amortentia. I lay my palm against the right side of her face and place my thumb on her lips. “I want you, Ruby. I want you and I will have you, no matter what.” I feel her chest heave against mine and a teardrop trickles down the cheek I am holding. I kiss it away. I sense that she is mine and I move in towards her mouth.
“That’s my mummy! You can’t touch my mummy!” shouts an enraged three year old from the doorway.
“It’s just as well she disagrees with you, or you wouldn’t be here, young man,” I say with asperity. I fumble in my pocket and produce a pack of Bertie Botts’ Every Flavour Beans, proffering them urgently. “Go on, have these and give your mother and I a moment, can’t you?”
“Sweeties!” he crows, the black shadow chased from his face and he runs with them into the next room. Malfoy was right in at least one respect. I turn my attention back to a smiling Ruby, placing a hand firmly at the back of her head and locking her lips with mine, showing her what she has missed, what she has needed all this time and what I intend to give her a hundredfold from now on. Tiny noises of satisfaction from the back of her throat spur me on and I slip my tongue into her sweet, dark recesses, taking a thorough inventory of everything within and setting my stamp upon it. She tastes of mentholated blackcurrant and is so softly yielding that I can feel myself begin to harden, though I’m aware that now is not the time… My scruples scurry away and I squeeze her tighter, tasting her ravenously and moving one hand to her shapely bottom. She groans into my mouth and I pat her rear cheeks gently, reminding her what I am capable of. She begins to grind herself against me in a mindless delirium of desire and I swear she is going to end up bent over the kitchen sink in very short order unless…
Unless.
An unholy shriek of indignation arrests our erotic progress, followed by loud and theatrical sobbing. Ruby springs away from me.
“What’s the matter, darling?” I follow her, disgruntled and semi-erect, along the hallway to the front room where young Tom is lamenting over a chewed-up sweet on the carpet.
“It tasted like BROCCOLI!” he explains, pointing at the culprit.
“You shouldn’t spit, Tom,” cautions Ruby, but he continues to sob.
“BROCCOLI!” he repeats.
Ruby gives me a furious look. “Why have you given him broccoli-flavoured sweets?” she demands. “Are you trying to make him throw up?”
“It’s a large part of the fun with those sweets,” I defend myself. “The element of Russian roulette.”
“Perhaps he’s a little young to appreciate that yet. He’s a toddler, not a bloody wizard.”
“Watch your language!” I command. Swearing in front of my son, indeed. She will mind her Ps and Qs around him, or I’ll have to give her a lesson in appropriate conduct. “And he is a wizard. He hasn’t been trained to contain and channel his magic ability yet, but that will come in time.”
“What do you mean?” she asks, saucer-eyed as she wipes Tom’s mouth with a tissue.
“He has inherited magic from me, of course. I doubt I would ever sire a Squib.”
“A what?”
“He will go to Hogwarts when he is eleven.”
“Where you were a teacher? No way! I’m not sending Tom away to school. Especially if all the teachers are like you!”
“Of course you will,” I say impatiently.
“I think it’s cruel,” she says, folding her arms and fixing me with a baleful stare. “Tom is staying with me.”
“What’s cruel, Ruby, is making him deny his true nature and not allowing him to express his magic. If you suppress it you will destroy his soul. Hogwarts is the only place he can learn how to function as an adult wizard. Take that away from him at your peril.”
Ruby is silently crestfallen for a minute or two, watching the now-cheerful Tom as he races toy cars from one table leg to another.
“Can’t you do it?” she says at length. “Home-school him, so to speak?”
“He needs to live in the wizarding world,” I tell her. “Mix with children that are like him. He can’t thrive without that opportunity. But we have seven years in which to discuss this.”
“I suppose so,” says Ruby doubtfully. “Do you want a cup of tea?”
“Can you make it drinkable now?”
“Cheeky.” She blushes, reminded of our one-time employer/employee footing, and vanishes into the kitchen.
I go to kneel down on the carpet beside Tom, watching his racing game silently, but as soon as he realises I am observing him he stops and folds his arms, face thunderous.
“Go away,” he says. “Don’t like you.”
He’s inherited my charm, I see.
“Tom,” I say gently. “Do you want me to show you a…magic trick?”
He stares at me, not deigning to reply, but it is clear he is interested.
“Watch this. I can make the cars fly. Wingardium Leviosa.” One of the toy cars floats slowly up into the air. Tom gasps ‘Wow!’ and claps his hands. I make the vehicle circle his head while he follows it raptly with his eyes.
“Can you do anything like that, Tom?” I ask him.
“Well…” He hesitates. “Can’t tell you.”
“Why not?”
“Miss Lindsey says it’s naughty. I made the milk spill, cos I don’t like milk. I don’t like the taste. I didn’t want it so I made the jug fall over on the floor.”
“How did you do that?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. I just wished it.”
“That’s very clever, Tom. Have you wished anything else to happen like that?”
“A boy snatched my Spiderman so I made him kick him in the face.”
I almost laugh out loud. He’s his father’s son all right. “That was rather unkind, Tom, but all the same, it shows that you are…special.”
“I know that,” says Tom, bored. “Mummy tells me that all the time.”
“It shows that you will be a clever and powerful man one day.”
Tom has lost interest and looks vaguely around the room. “Can you show me another trick?”
“Of course.” I take a plastic cup with a picture of a steam train on it. “Aguamenti.” I fill it with water. “Here, are you thirsty?”
He laughs with pleasure and his sullen little face comes to life. I smile back at him, then Ruby comes back into the room with a tea tray, looking fit to burst with emotion.
“Oh, are you two making friends?” she trills.
I look up at her. “Tell him,” I say.
“Severus….”
“Tell him now. He has a right to know.”
She looks furious for a few seconds, then seems to capitulate, putting down the tray and lifting the boy on to her lap.
“Tom, you know I told you Severus here is your uncle?”
He nods. “He can make my toys fly!” he exclaims.
“Can he? Oh, lovely. Well, the thing is, he’s a bit more than your uncle. He’s your daddy.”
Tom looks over at me. “He isn’t a daddy,” he objects. “Daddies don’t wear those clothes.”
“Oh, Tom, daddies can wear whatever they like. This is your daddy. He had to go away for a long time, but now he’s back. And he won’t be going away again. He’s come back especially to be your daddy and to help you and to love you. What do you think of that?”
Tom looks confused. “Are you really my daddy?” he asks me. I feel oddly choked.
“Yes,” I croak. “I’ve come back…like your mother says. I won’t be going away again.”
“I really wanted a daddy. I was going to ask Father Christmas for one. I don’t have to now!”
“No. You don’t,” I agree.
“Well, that’s good,” he says briskly. “Mummy, can I do drawing now?”
He settles down with some crayons and paper while Ruby and I sip at our tea. Drinkable.
“Do you have plans now the war is over?” she asks tentatively. “Will you go back to teaching?”
“No.” Perish the thought! “I may write a reference work or two. Pursue an academic career, I imagine. When do you complete your degree?”
“I’ve two years to go,” she says. “Tom will be at school by the time I finish. Then I’ll probably have to do a year of postgraduate specialism. I’ll have to get a job of some kind to pay my way, somehow.”
“You won’t,” I say promptly. “I have money. You don’t need to do menial work.”
“I…thanks…but I can fend for myself.”
I look at her frostily and she quails. “You don’t have to,” I say with quiet steel in my voice.
Before she can reply there is a banging at the door. She makes an exasperated gesture and stands to answer it.
“Oh! Freda. Hi.”
“Are you OK? It’s just that there was a really weird-looking man hanging around outside earlier…I didn’t recognise him and I know you’re not seeing anybody…just thought I’d check nothing dodgy was going on.”
“Oh,” Ruby laughs with relief. “No, honestly, it’s fine. I do know him. But thanks for checking.”
She tries to shut the door but Freda is poking her busybody head around the door. “Oh, can we come in for a minute? It’s just that Sophie really wants to see Tom. She’s been on about playing with him all day. Would you mind?”
Ruby sighs and lets the woman and her small daughter in.
“Tea’s in the pot,” she said. “Freda, this is Severus. He’s Tom’s father.”
Her mouth drops open and she stares most rudely. “Oh my God!” she exclaims. “Well, yeah, I can see the resemblance now. What happened? You just dropped out of the blue?”
“Indeed,” I say coldly. “And now I must drop back in again. Ruby, I must go. May I return tomorrow?”
“Of course,” she says, obviously wildly annoyed that I am leaving now, but really, I am not staying to be gawped at and accused of dereliction of my paternal duty. “Actually…we’re going to the Fun Factory. You can meet us there at three.”
“Fun Factory?”
“It’s in an old warehouse behind the High Street. Just head for the sound of screaming kids,” she says helpfully.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Tom,” I say, but he ignores me, caught up in racing games again, with his friend Sophie. Ruby sees me out, pushing the interconnecting door shut against Freda’s prying eyes.
“You will come, won’t you?” she asks anxiously.
“Of course,” I say, smoothing down her hair prior to yanking her chin up and giving her something to remember me by. Minutes of moaning and sucking noises later, she recalls her friend and the children in the other room and pulls herself off me.
“Make sure you do,” she whispers. I smile down at her swollen lips and kiss-chafed skin.
“Mmm,” I say, imagining her hair fanned out on a pillow and her wrists crossed above her head. “I will.”
I Disapparate.
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My Precious Jewel