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Pilfered Progeny - Stolen Dreams	By : SisterGryffindor Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Slash - Male/Male Views: 14679 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
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Chapter List
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Warrington glanced around as he moved into the main chamber that the circle children were roomed off of. He could see that the other children were being settled in their beds; the only ones they had not separated as of yet were the Dark Prince and the Consort. If he had anything to say about it, that wouldn’t be happening anytime soon. They were so young and their closeness helped strengthen their bonds to each other. He returned his attention to the task of settling his daughter to her own bed, shooing off the nanny who moved forward to help him. He could handle this; after all, she was already dressed for bed.

By the time he settled her down into the bed, covered her up and tucked her securely in place, he took a seat on the edge of the bed. He was quite content to stay there a moment, his ankle throbbing.

She fidgeted under her covers, clearly wanting to ask for something but seemed a little unsure of asking, gazing up at him. “Daddy…? I mean, Mr. Warrington, sir…?”

“Yes, Lady Alyssa?” He looked at her. He was getting used to the thought of being called daddy by this redheaded little imp, but he still didn’t think that he was good enough to be trying to raise such a special and talented little girl.

“I heard Angel’s papa singing her a song when he put her to bed the other night… could… you do that for me…?” she asked hopefully.

Jerrod looked surprised at the request, but frowned slightly. “I don’t know any proper lullabies, my little Lady…” he admitted.

“Oh, come now Jerrod, you’re bound to know one or two…” another voice broke in. Jerrod turned to see George standing leaning on the doorframe. “Go on, she needs something to help her sleep. Sing her something.”

Warrington instantly went on the defensive, scowling at him. “I don’t sing. Even if I did, I don’t know any that are suitable…”

“Let her be the judge. She just wants you to be here a few moments longer, that’s all…” George reasoned.

Jerrod frowned at him, and then sighed. “Oh all right, curse it all.” He grumbled. He sighed and closed his eyes a moment, clearly struggling to pull up a very distant memory. “This isn’t really a suitable lullaby but I really don’t know any others.” He said in a vague defense before he began to sing. “My father used to sing it to me, some nights, when I was little.”

Alyssa watched him intently, clearly focused on his every word and movement. Ignoring George where he lurked behind him somewhere near the doorway, Jerrod tugged the blanket up a bit more over Alyssa’s chest and tucked in the sides, beginning to hum a soft tune. He began to sing for the girl, more of a talking blues than anything that George would actually tuneful singing. That didn’t matter; Alyssa listened with rapt happiness shining in her eyes.

My dear, close your eyes for I've got a surprise, and I think it’s high time that I told you;

This may fill you with fear but the demons are here and they're dreaming of naughty child fondue.

If you stir from your sheets, they will have such a treat; they will swallow you down like a bonbon.

To avoid such an end, dear I must recommend that you stay in your bed until past dawn.

Down under your bed.

The demons it’s said want to make you quite dead; it’s not that they're evil they're just underfed.

Demons under your bed

Now here's something more I've not told you before, my darling you once had a sister.

She was sugar and spice, she was everything nice, and the demons could barely resist her.

Now I'm sorry to say that we got up one day to discover we were down a daughter.

So please heed my advice, you had better think twice before getting up to get some water.

Demons under your bed

The demons its said lurk until night has fled; with visions of eating you filling their heads,

Demons under your bed

And here's something more, piled all over your floor and hidden from view there are land mines.

So if you should step wrong you won't have very long to be sorry you doubted my designs.

Sure I planted the bombs, but don't call for your mom, she's the one who invited the demons,

Now my dear hush-a-bye, go to sleep, don't you cry, or the demons won't wait 'till your dreamin'

Down under your bed,

The demons that fed on my father -- he's dead -- he fell on a mine and they ate him instead

Demons under your bed

Down under your bed,

The demons it’s said may not wait till you’re dead; so if I were you I'd be sleeping instead.

Demons under your bed, down under your bed.

***Author’s note: This song is by Tom Smith – it’s called Close Your Eyes. This can be found (along with other great songs) on TomSmith.com***

Warrington gazed down at her; even after that tune of impending death and mayhem she was smiling up at him happily, eyelids drooping, as she was nearly asleep. He brushed a bit of hair off her forehead and gave her a faint smile. “Good night, now. Stay in bed, you hear?”

“Yes daddy.” She answered, waiting for him to correct her and tell her for the thousandth time that he was only her teacher. To her pleasure he only smiled as he rose from the bed with a bit of a wince and did not deny the fact that he was and always would be her father.

“Good night, my little Lady.” He said, turning to go out of the room.

George was completely flabbergasted by the song he’d just heard sung to his daughter. He stalked after Warrington, following him down the hallway. “What the bloody hell kind of a lullaby was that?” he asked in a quiet tone.

“My father’s favorite lullaby.” He shrugged.

“Lullabies are supposed to put them to sleep not put them in terror of their lives! You put that girl to sleep with visions of fanged beasts lurking under her bed!”

“Nonsense; they’re only dangerous if she was naughty. She tries very hard not to be, or haven’t you noticed that?” Jerrod answered, limping as he pushed past the other man.

“Of course I have, but…”

“But nothing. She’s gone to bed without a fight or an argument. She’s in her own bed, not laying at the feet of those other two. That’s what Malfoy wants and he’s the boss, and her new independence is all the better for her. Right?”

“No, it’s not all right! Bloody hell, Jerrod, that song would give a grown wizard horrible nightmares and from what I understand Severus had to work with her to enable her to get RID of her last nightmares!”

Warrington rolled his eyes at that, moving down the hallway with George doggedly following along only half a step behind. “Oh come on, George, you insisted I sing the girl something! It’s just a song. And I swear to you my father used to sing it to me every night that he wanted to be alone with my mother.”

“That makes it better?!”

“No, but it makes it plausible. She was a siren; some of the creatures she knew could be thought of as demons. I believed every word of that song when I was a kid, at least until I learned impervious charms to keep things out from under the bed. You’d be amazed how clean it can be under a bed when you’re trying to make sure nothing can hide there.” Jerrod smirked.

“I’d bet it was… you couldn’t have fit anything under my bed when I was a kid.”

Jerrod chortled a bit at that admission. “I can truly believe that, having been in the back of your shop.”

George couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “It’s not so bad; we know where everything is, Fred and me. You’re more than welcome to come over and help me organize it sometime.”

“Thanks for the offer, Weasley, but I have far too much work to do here.” He said, turning down the hall for his lab.

He halted, scowling slightly when George reached out and caught him by the sleeve. “You’ve completed what Malfoy needed of you. Take an evening off. There’s nothing you have working in that blasted lab that needs tending at this very moment.”

Warrington’s look became mistrustful. “And what do you propose that I do with my evening instead?”

George wrestled down his instinct to propose something indecent or pounce on the man; he was absolutely certain that sex was not what Jerrod had in mind at all when he asked that innocuous question. Instead, he simply shrugged. “Just sit and chat with me. Have a drink and unwind.” He suggested.

“A drink. With you?” He asked, suspicion growing.

“Yes, a drink with me. Why not? I swear to Merlin that I won’t do anything. May all my hair fall out if I do.” George said firmly, flashing Jerrod a winning smile.

Warrington sighed, knowing he’d be nothing short of an ass if he refused. “All right, I suppose. But the only bar I know of is in Lucius’ study and I don’t go invading people’s private spaces. I suppose I could have the house elves bring us something…”

“No need to bother even the house elves; there’s a bar in your room. I take it you haven’t you found it yet?” George said, releasing his hold on the man’s sleeve. He turned and walked side-by-side with him back to where his room was, near the room of the dark circle kids. He moved to the bookshelf and drew his wand, waving it at the upper shelves. They slid forward and separated, the books squeezing into an impossible slim space as they folded outward to show a bar made of carved wood and crystal backlit by mage lights that came on when it was opened. The bar had three shelves of alcohol, well stocked by anyone’s standards. “Draco has one like it in his room; Harry showed it to me a week or so ago.”

“Well I’ll be damned.” Jerrod mused, moving to gaze at the selections.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~.

A few drinks later and the two were relaxed in the two chairs near the fire in quiet companionable silence. Jerrod glanced at George, feeling a little uneasy; taking another sip of the amber firewhiskey that was deceptively smooth. Lucius spared no expense on anything; even alcohol for a mere servant was of a very high quality. He worked up his courage to ask and simply stated what had been on his mind. “So, George, what exactly is it you want of me?” he asked quietly.

Taken by surprise by that question, George gazed back at him. “Well I should think you’d get the hint by now, but I’m patient…”

That got him irritated. “Get what hint? Merlin, all you do is hang about all day long and I don’t know how the blazes you get a lick of work done…” Jerrod grumbled.

“I get what I need done.” George answered smoothly.

“And you’re avoiding the question, Weasley.” Jerrod said, scowling at him again.

George took a deep breath, and then let it out. “I’ve tried to be obvious about it but you’re clearly worse off than my baby brother when it comes to relations and relationships. Hermione practically had to beat him over the head before he realized she even liked him...” he smirked, and then looked at him directly. “I like you Jerrod. I think we could make a go of it…”

“A go of it…?” Jerrod repeated, and then he flushed, understanding finally. George was propositioning him!! He shook his head. “It’s not possible, Weasley! I told you, I’m into birds, I...”

George just smiled patiently. “Yes, yes, I’ve heard it all before. But have you given blokes a try? Honestly there’s not much difference if the two involved care about each other.”

“I don’t care about anyone but the kids.” Warrington shot back. “They’re my focus and that’s all I need; and I can assure you that I don’t intend to have a relationship with any of them.”

George smirked. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” he answered. “I was trying to get you to think more along the lines of Draco and Harry.”

He was confused again. “I am not Harry Potter.”

“And I’m not Draco Malfoy. But why does that keep you from even considering that you might have feelings for me?” George asked.

Warrington began to answer but found he hesitated. Why the hell was he so damned certain that he had feelings for him? “I… I don’t know, Weasley, just… I just can’t answer you. I’m not interested in…”

“Not interested right now. I’m not talking something temporary, Warrington. We share a child. To me that’s a really strange thing…”

“Strange?”

“Yes… I never thought I’d have a kid with someone I never slept with.” He answered with a smirk.

“It was a scientific process…”

“Still a child.” He interrupted. “Don’t get me wrong, Jerrod, I think she’s amazing. She’s a stunning little girl, and her voice can take your breath away. She’s smart, and she’s so willing to do anything she can to just be a happy little girl. I’ve been here to spend some time with her in the past few days and she’s just so envious of Angel…”

“Angel? Why?”

“She has a family.” George answered, gazing at his drink. “She has two parents who love her dearly and would do anything to take care of her. Our little girl wants that too…”

“I don’t have any parents to share with her, I don’t understand what it is you expect from me.”

“Just give it a chance, would you?” George asked, setting his drink aside on the table. “Listen to me. Talk to me. Tell me some of what you’ve gone through to make you feel the way you do.”

Jerrod folded his arms, clearly closing himself off. He was not comfortable with this conversation at all. “I’m not used to sharing shit like that, Weasley.”

“I’m not asking you to bare your entire soul to me and let me rummage about in your brain, Jerrod.” He smirked.

“Go ahead and try it; you’d get a nasty surprise or two.” Jerrod glared at him.

That comment made the red-haired wizard laugh softly. “I have absolutely no intention of doing any such thing. I know what happened to Severus Snape when he did that to one of the kids; I could only guess what would happen to someone trying the same thing on you.”

“You know, Weasley, you’re smarter than you look.” He snorted, trying a backhanded insult.

George simply rolled with it, refusing to be insulted. “I know; it’s the key to my success. If they underestimate you they don’t watch you too closely.” He smirked. Jerrod looked at him oddly, and he couldn’t help but laugh again. “Come on, Jerrod, you’ve got to admit that you’ve used it to your advantage too.”

“I have.” He admitted, still scowling. He snorted and looked away. “You don’t make any sense, Weasley.”

“Perhaps not… but I’ve been told that things don’t always have to make sense.” George shrugged non-committally.

“I’m not going to be bullied into a relationship.” Warrington said immediately.

“And who’s bullying you? I’m just having a drink with you, and letting you know I want to learn more about you, and I’d like you to learn more about me.”

“Learn about me? Now there’s a waste of time; there’s nothing to learn. I’m just the guy that everyone uses. I’m a handy tool.” He shrugged.

“That’s the face you like to present to the world; there’s nothing interesting about me, go about your business and pretend I don’t exist.” He shook his head. “Oh, no, there’s a lot more there.” George argued.

“So tell me what the bloody hell is so interesting about me?” Jerrod challenged.

“I’ll leave out the fact of your looks because I think you’d likely throw that drink at me if I said it.” George grinned. “But there’s plenty more about you to be said. You found ways around your magical bindings to help people. You didn’t simply destroy the bodies of those who died. You could have just allowed yourself to be killed but instead you decided to help these kids have a real life…”

Jerrod grunted and looked away. “That’s nothing special, Weasley. You probably already know this, but I’m bound to them. Not just physically but emotionally as well. And I don’t have the luxury of having a choice whether to protect them or not, it’s an impulse now. I just do it.”

“That may be true, but I think there’s a lot more to it than that. What I’d like to know is why you allowed yourself to be bound to someone as clearly loopy as Malcolm Parkinson was…”

He thought for a long moment and then decided that there was no harm in telling George about it. Parkinson was a dead man, Malfoy would see to that. He sighed and relaxed back in his chair. “Now that’s a long and boring tale. Are you sure you want to get into all that?”

“I’m sure.” He assured, watching the other man’s reactions and feeling quite encouraged in his quest. Jerrod wasn’t rejecting him outright and that was a massive step forward for the man.

Jerrod frowned thoughtfully. “It was a mistake, really…” he said and then paused to finish off his glass. George tilted the decanter into his cup again and gave him a bit more. “I wasn’t looking to be bound to anyone. I was just at loose ends, really, in between this and that. Everyone I went to Hogwarts with was sure that I was a Death Eater because I was a Slytherin and on the crew with that Umbridge hag…”

“Yep, I remember that. You were a bit of a prat…”

“And you weren’t much better… though those fireworks you set off the last day you were there were actually quite stunning.”

George chuckled. “I loved how the dragon chased her all the way out of the Great Hall.”

“Priceless.” He agreed with a chuckle. “Anyway; I was having a lot of trouble finding any kind of job that I wanted to do. I met with that German bloke Bebel; he told me I’d be working to help him with potions. Sounded like something I’d like to do so I signed on… but I didn’t know the pen he gave me to sign was the kind that uses your own blood to bind you to the word of the contract.”

“What were you bound to do?”

“Nothing bad at first; he introduced me to Parkinson and he seemed to be a sane enough bloke when things were going his way. He wasn’t doing anything anyone would call illegal back then, but he had a challenge for me. I was bound by my blood signature to a geas; I couldn’t focus on anything else until I figured out how to make children invisible to the potion that details heredity.”

“Couldn’t even ask why he wanted it…?”

“No. I couldn’t ask anyone anything except to ask for more components. I was given free rein in a fully stocked lab, provided anything and everything I could imagine to work with, and I think they reinforced the compulsion on me daily because I don’t even remember the passing of time…”

George frowned. “Sounds like something Parkinson would do. Obviously you managed it, or the kids would have shown up…”

“It took me four years to finally get something that worked, took me another year to make it fully effective and permanent. During that time, somewhere, somehow… I don’t even really remember being bound to Malcolm… I vaguely recall something about needing to get back inside the lab. All I’m really sure of is that when I finished my work and the compulsion was lifted, I was bound to Malcolm’s command.”

“What a completely dirty, underhanded, manipulative bastard.” George growled.

“He was all that and more, but he was really the first person who believed that I could do something more than be cannon fodder.” He answered, setting the glass down, knowing he was more than a bit drunk at the moment. “Look… I think I should go on to bed myself, if you don’t mind…?”

“Oh, of course.” The red-headed wizard said, setting his glass down and rising to his feet. “I should head to the shop and see if Fred needs me to do anything…”

“How about three or four hours of cleaning?” Jerrod suggested with a smirk as he rose as well. He hissed in pain as his ankle gave way, when he collapsed and George was there to catch him.

“Easy there mate…” he murmured worriedly. “You’re doing too damned much on that ankle…”

“Its nothing, I’m fine…” he answered, trying to push away and straighten up, but his ankle simply refused to hold any weight at all. “Bloody buggering hell…” he growled, forced to cling to George for balance.

“Come on, you’re going to bed.” George said firmly, pulling Jerrod’s arm around his shoulders and ignoring any arguments.

“I’m a big boy I can put myself to bed.” Jerrod objected.

George only chuckled. “I’m sure you can, but you have had more than a bit to drink. Come on, I promise you’ll sleep alone, not that I WANT you to…”

“Alone will be just fine, Weasley.” He snorted but did allow George to help him hobble to the bed.

“I think we should call for the healers to come and look at your ankle again…”

“No need.” Jerrod sighed; lying back on his bed with his eyes closed a long moment. “This really isn’t anything new.”

“What…?”

“I told you. People considered me cannon fodder. Its an old injury now, Pansy just aggravated it a little too much and… well, sometimes it just won’t support my weight at all.” He admitted. George gazed at the man with more respect in his eyes than before. That only made Jerrod all the more uncomfortable and irritated. “I told you, its nothing…!” he insisted.

George set to work; either way this man needed to go to sleep. There was a lot more he’d like to ask and find out about Jerrod, such as where all those scars on his back had come from, but clearly that was going to have to wait until the other man trusted him a lot more. “Well I’m going to ice down that ‘nothing’ and send for the healer anyway. Maybe something can be done and maybe not…” he spoke louder to be heard over Jerrod’s objections as he unlaced the other man’s boots, “…but you’re still going to be seen!”

“Bloody hell, Weasley, I really don’t need to be mothered that badly…”

“I think perhaps you do.” George retorted, carefully loosening the boot before even trying to ease the boot off.

“Ow! Stop! Leave the bloody thing on!” Jerrod hissed through clenched teeth.

“Okay okay, sorry…” George mumbled, leaving it alone. It shouldn’t be that bad; there was no way he wasn’t calling a medi-wizard now. He drew his wand and used it to make the boot several sizes larger before trying again, this time managing to ease the thing off the injured foot. “

“You WILL put that back to rights, Weasley; I’m lousy at that damned sizing spell…” Jerrod grumbled.

“Worried about these natty old boots, are you? How old are these things anyway?” he asked, eyeing the boot. The soles were worn down to almost nothing, the heel worn at a slight angle. The top of the boot had several tiny holes burned nearly through the leather, but none went completely through. “They look ancient.”

“They were a gift from my father.” He retorted sarcastically. “Just fix the damned thing.”

George chuckled softly. “I’d rather just buy you a new pair.”

“I don’t want you to buy me new boots, these are fine…”

“One of these days you’re going to get a toxic ingredient to bleed right through these holes and into your skin. You need better boots.”

“I don’t have the time or the luxury to go shopping.”

“You live with Lucius Malfoy. The shopkeepers will bring the entire bloody boot shop HERE to sell you boots!” George chuckled. “You need dragon-skin boots.”

“I know, but…”

“But nothing. Even if you don’t want to be with me, you seem to be finally accepting Alyssa. She needs you to be here while she grows up; I’m buying you boots.” George said as he tossed the now oversized boot aside.

“Just boots. And only if you get Alyssa some too.” He returned.

“Now that’s not a problem.” George smiled at him, removing his other boot. “But do you really think she’ll wear them? They won’t exactly go with the clothes she usually wears.”

“Black boots can go with anything, can’t they? Hell, I’m the last one you should ask about fashion; I’m useless with that. I just wear my robes and that’s good enough for me. I’m not out to impress anyone.”

“I like the simplicity of what you wear; something complicated would look almost comical on you. But I think you should be wearing lighter colors, maybe something to go with your eyes…” George commented.

“I’m not THAT drunk, Weasley.” Jerrod growled warningly, but he was blushing at the compliment. “Go on, go home and go to bed or whatever; I’m in bed and I can handle the rest of this on my own…”

“That's never worked for you before, what makes you think it's going to work now?" George grinned, but he did step back. "I'm still calling a healer for you." Jerrod sighed and did not argue the point any further.
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Pilfered Progeny - Stolen Dreams