Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Pilfered Progeny - Stolen Dreams	By : SisterGryffindor Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Slash - Male/Male Views: 14679 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: We do not own any part of the Harry Potter series/charachters/movies/books and we do not profit from our writings regarding them.

Chapter List
- 53
- 54
- 55
"Are we all ready?" Severus asked, irritated by the entire situation. There was no reason that he could think of that this group of people should view these memories; the reason for their revealing was for Warrington to be able to face the truth of his past. They should be limited to Warrington only. Lucius had insisted that he view them as Warrington's 'master', and George had asked permission to view as well. Jerrod had just shrugged noncommittally as he had believed that there would be nothing to see. He figured that if these people wanted to see his own blocked memories of several mangled, tortured babies that was their sick twist, not his.

"Let's get this over." Jerrod grumbled.

==========================.

They arrived within the first memory; the smoke about them clearing to reveal the inside of the old Parkinson Manor. There had clearly been quite a battle in this room; half the furniture had been blasted and lay in pieces upon the floor. Pansy Parkinson stood off to the side, looking quite bored and irritated at even having to be here, arms folded.

Malcolm Parkinson stood over Jerrod Warrington who was on his knees, his wand broken before him. "I told you, Warrington. You are meant to be my servant, which is why you've lost to me. You were born to be a servant and you will remain a servant your entire life." He sneered at the beaten man. "Now give me your arm or your father dies!"

Pansy Parkinson rolled her eyes, arms folded as she waited for the time to come to do her part. Her father was so damned melodramatic lately it just got on her nerves.

Jerrod, decades younger, was clearly defeated. He was pale and bore multiple injuries; his face bore several small cuts and scratches, his robes tattered and slashed, hanging from his beaten and bleeding body. His hand trembled as he complied with the command, slowly raising his right arm without raising his eyes.

Although Parkinson also showed injury, he stood tall, looming over his opponent triumphantly.

"This is SUCH a waste of time!" Pansy complained. "That little mouse isn't worth all this effort, father. I don't have any idea why you want this fool bound to you. Why not bind someone who can actually fight? I could use a new guard down at the clinic…" Pansy sighed as she drew her wand, stepping forward.

"It is not your place to question me, Pansy." He snapped at her, irritated at her questioning of his grand plan. She scowled at him, but objected no more; what was the point? She waited for Malcolm to take hold of Jerrod's wrist and then force Jerrod to hold onto his own before she touched them both with the wand.

"I didn't duel Parkinson." Jerrod said frowning at the scene as Pansy spoke the words of the unbreakable vow, binding the young man to her father.

"Yes, you did." Severus answered. "You chose to block this memory."

Lucius spoke up then. "I wonder if Parkinson saw your potential where others did not…?"

"What bloody potential? I was only a few years out of Hogwarts there… I hadn't accomplished anything."

"But you did, Jerrod. You have accomplished something that very few have even attempted to do; you have thwarted the capabilities of a centuries old spell that has never failed."

"Yeah." Jerrod said bitterly. "Who gives a bloody damn? I accomplished something that I'll take to my grave and no one will ever know that I did it."

"Nonsense. You figured it out, your notes ended up in the ministry's hands, did they not?" Severus asked.

"No. My notes were at the mansion. And they're in my head. There's a new valley where the mansion was, about ten feet deeper I hear. The only one who's been in my head is you." He said, glaring at Severus.

"Even so, the reversal of that spell is quite valuable. You could potentially make quite a bit of money on that potion." Severus shrugged, watching as the scene progressed.

"…Do you swear to serve Malcolm Parkinson in every capacity asked for, including situations that may end in your death?" Pansy asked pointedly.

"I so swear." Jerrod murmured in agreement.

"And do you swear to report all to Malcolm Parkinson that you hear, whether it is against or for him?

"I so swear…" he whispered, and then cried out as the binding of the spell took hold. The tendrils that had sprung forward with every statement Pansy had made sliced down into his skin, leaving marks like burns up his right arm in flame-like patterns.

Malcolm released him, smirking. "Go and find your father then. Get him out of here so we can get to work." He commanded.

"Find…? You said you had him…" Jerrod looked up at him.

Parkinson smiled a wicked grin and laughed at him. "Perhaps Pansy is right and I've made a foolish choice in you; you're such a simple creature. I never had your father, you fool." He rolled his eyes. "He is in St. Mungo's. Go and take him home, ensure his safety however it is you wish. Then you will return to me; I have work for you to do."

Jerrod looked at the dumbfounded expression on his younger self's face, then scowled at Severus. "What the bloody hell is all this? You've twisted this memory somehow! That's not how this happened at all!"

"You saw me extract the memories directly from your own mind. You were not sleeping, Warrington. You've convinced yourself that you saved your father with your fight, but you were fooled all along. You must face your past before you will be strong enough to go on." Severus answered him calmly.

"Face it?" He snorted derisively. "Strong talk from a man who didn't take a minute to show any kind of…"

"I truly don't care if you believe me or not, Jerrod. I have long ago come to terms with my past with the aid of my mates." Severus replied, cutting him off. "You must learn of your past, it seems, before you can deal with it. And you seem to be following my example whether you wish it or not…" he gestured at George. "…you have invited your mate to help you through it…"

"That's not why I… I mean, I… Merlin's balls, man, he is NOT my mate!" Warrington retorted, face reddening.

George just smiled faintly; he had friendship with this man, a relationship was just the next step as far as he was concerned. Living with his brother and his brother's idiosyncrasies had taught him a little patience over the years, where relationships were concerned.

==========================.

The scene around them changed; the shadows of the past swirling and reconfiguring themselves to a sterile room. Jerrod lay upon a table in this room, bound magically to the table. His skin was nearly so pale as to be transparent and grey; he bore a bandage wrapped securely about his throat and another about each wrist. All three wrappings had been heavily stained with blood. That was shocking enough, but what really drew the men's eyes was the fact this memory of Jerrod had a clearly swollen stomach – he was pregnant.

Parkinson tore the stopper out of a bottle and forced it down the barely conscious man's throat. "Drink this you traitorous bastard!" he snarled under his breath.

"That is a blood-replenishing potion." Severus said, studying the bottle.

"You were to be monitoring him in my absence, Bebel! Tell me how the bloody fucking hell he managed to do this? How could this have happened?" Parkinson was clearly infuriated; his face was flushed and a blood vessel stood out pulsing on either side of his forehead.

August Bebel looked exhausted, as if he had not slept in days. "I am working on the genetic makeup and trying to come up with another version that will not result in a mutant!" he retorted, not backing down in the slightest. He clearly considered himself quite valuable and beyond punishment as Jerrod was not. "You ask too much of me, I am only one man! I am accustomed to working with an entire lab!"

"I can't get more in on this, the secret will be out!" he snapped.

"I understand that, but I cannot continue to babysit that useless human incubator while I do my experimental alterations! Your daughter does little more than waste galleons upon foolish Muggle toys; you should put her to work watching this fool, not me! The genetic DNA that I am manipulating requires complete focus! Distractions cause mutations!" he snapped back.

Parkinson snarled with frustration but could not argue with the facts presented to him. He turned his attention back to look at the man on the table, who had lost a little grayness but still looked more than half dead. "Did he manage to kill the baby…? Does he still live?"

"Yes, Master Malcolm. The infant is sustained by his magic; he will die before the infant dies. It has taken nearly all of his power to sustain it, but the baby lives." He nodded, moving over. "It may be one, perhaps two weeks before he is fully conscious again, without or without blood restoration potions."

"Well at least something has gone right." Malcolm grumbled. "I would rather keep him unconscious anyway; it makes less work for all."

"We should have realized he would try to kill himself again when he failed to poison himself, Master Malcolm."

"That would have been a success if you had not thought quickly. Your bezoar definitely saved our little infant."

August smiled at the praise. "Thank you, Master." He said warmly. "This child has more potential than our last experiments; he is still living. The last three were stillborn." Bebel moved over to check the bulge again. He waved his wand over it and the bump against the blankets pulsed once blue and then faded. "The magic that keeps it alive is still strong."

Jerrod watched and listened, aware that he did vaguely recall such a conversation… but it hadn't been about him. It hadn't. It had been one of the women. It wasn't him on that table with a baby in his belly, it couldn't be. For a moment he was lost in the memory, battling with total disbelief.

"Four babies… did you even know, Jerrod?" George asked softly.

Jerrod jumped slightly; he'd forgotten the others were here at all. "What…? No. No, there weren't any babies." He answered in a vague and distracted tone, staring at his corpse-like face. "This isn't real. This didn't happen…"

"It did. And now we will see what else hides within your memories…" Severus said as the scene faded.

==========================.

Again the shadows slipped about them, though the figure on the bed remained stationary. The bed had changed to one with a cushion of air, but Jerrod was still fastened to the bed with magical bonds. The wild, overgrown look of his hair and unshaven face made it clear that he had not been moved off this bed in months.

George growled in disapproval at the treatment of the man he fancied.

The memory of Jerrod was awake now; sweat covered his brow and soaked his hair, his face twisted into an expression of agony and effort. His stomach was swollen and stretched to full term, rippled and convulsed with birthing contractions.

The baby that slid into view caused all four men to nearly become ill. Normal babies had fingers, toes, noses and eyes; their heads were a bit larger than they ought to be, but they were undoubtedly easy to look at and even cute. This… child…? …it had none of that. Its head was much too small for its body; almost appearing to lack a brain; its skull was misshapen and there was certainly no room for a human brain within that cranium. It had no nose, and its upper lip had been split almost like a serpent's mouth. Its eyes were sunken and lidless; the body was twice the length it should have been while its limbs were stunted and fingerless. It almost looked like a crossbreed between human and snake. The memory of Jerrod stared in fascinated horror at it. No… no. He had not birthed that creature… that wasn't possible.

"Another failure." Bebel sliced the umbilical cord and laid the infant upon a cold steel table without covering it. It gurgled and tried to cry; squirming snakelike upon the table, half-drowned in its own fluids. It quickly lost blood and did not suffer long. Its blood pooled around it and it moved no more.

"The women have had no better results… at least his was alive." Malcolm said, glaring at the dead baby as if he wished he could throttle it. "

The scientist was very angry and he pointed an accusatory finger at the baby. "Can you not see that this is not working, Parkinson? The DNA we got out of the tombs is clearly incomplete; this has been the fourth experiment birthed by this man that has turned out this way! The infants born to women are no better, they don't even breathe! You must see that this is not working!"

"Then we will keep trying until we get it right!" Malcolm growled back at him. "The prophecy was clear; I will be father to the new Dark Lord!"

"But they did not say he must be born with the same DNA! You follow the wrong path, pursuing the remains of Voldemort! Even that madwoman Lestrange did not have any sample to provide you for his re-creation, and that woman was nearly rabid in her desire to see that madman reborn!"

"I wiped her mind; she does not even remember that we approached her." Malcolm waved his hand dismissively.

"She will be a danger to our cause, should she gain any knowledge of it."

"I know, I know. But how are we to create someone with as much power as the Dark Lord without recreating him?"

Bebel had begun to pace, thinking quickly. Something else was there, something they were clearly missing. "You mentioned that a spell was cast, when this Potter of yours says the Dark Lord was reborn…"

Malcolm nodded, curious as to what Bebel had in mind. "Yes; Pettigrew bragged of it frequently before his death. It has to be the one spell he got perfectly right, besides his ability to become a rat."

"Perhaps a clue to what we must do is held within that spell." Bebel suggested.

Malcolm frowned, dredging up the memory. He had tried to forget the time he was with the Dark Lord; he had nearly lost his mind the day that his wife was murdered for disappointing Voldemort. "As the Dark Lord never truly died, it was not a reincarnation. It was, instead the recreation of a body; Peter said they had to use a stolen bone from his father's grave and then required blood of the enemy taken unwillingly, so he slashed Potter with a silver knife and put drops of his blood into the pot. The last ingredient was flesh of the servant, willingly given. He added his own hand to fill that requirement…"

Bebel had nodded; he had heard all he needed. "These two men, Pettigrew and Potter... do either of them live?" Bebel asked.

"Pettigrew was the last of his line; he never had any children that the Ministry knew of." Malcolm said thoughtfully. "But Potter still lives. He has a residence in London…"

"Then it is his blood we seek."

"Potter's?" Malcolm couldn't help it; his lip curled in distaste at the name. Potter had brought about the fall of the Dark Lord, that was true, but he was vastly overrated in strength and talents; he hadn't even gone after the Ministry as everyone had expected him to. "Why the bloody hell would we want him?"

Bebel looked impatient; his expression irritated, rather like a man trying to explain quantum physics to a five year old. "You said yourself that your prophecy claimed that the new Prince would be born of the blood of the Dark Lord."

"All these failures have proven that to be false." Malcolm scowled at him.

"THESE have proven false, not the truth of the statement. It was not Voldemort's blood that brought about the Dark Lord's rebirth; it was the blood of Potter. Your Lord Voldemort bound his family and his bloodline to the Potter family when he took that blood from that boy to use in his spell for creation of his body."

Malcolm looked thoughtful, and then he nodded. "Yes… yes, I see what you are saying," he murmured. "Potter had friends… perhaps we should secure their DNA as well and gift our little Prince with his own circle of friends. After all, it was with the help of his friends that Potter managed his achievement."

"Then we must get Potter's sperm. It is the best way." Bebel said firmly.

==========================.

The scene changed once more, reforming into a room where Jerrod leaned against the wall, his back bleeding profusely. Parkinson stood over him, a long whip stained with blood curled in his hand. "I told you to destroy those babies and get back immediately! Where the bloody hell did you disappear to for three hours?" He demanded.

"Nowhere… I saw no living person, Master Parkinson; I swear it upon my life and soul. I swear it upon my father's soul…"

Parkinson snarled and gave him another lash with the whip, its tips now bloodied. Jerrod endured it without even a whimper, eyes closed tightly. "You are NEVER to leave property unless I directly instruct you to! You are to go nowhere!"

"I will go nowhere, master." Jerrod whispered, his voice trembling in pain and exhaustion, sinking to his knees.

"And I will ensure that." He snarled back, drawing his wand and pointing it at Jerrod's ankle. "Gerent!" he growled the spell in German. The separation spell smashed against both of Jerrod's ankles, his right ankle taking a direct hit from it and the left only getting half the damage. Jerrod, who had not screamed for the whipping, began to do so now as the tendons ripped themselves loose from bone at command from the spell inside both ankles, leaving him crippled and unable to walk. "Try to walk now." He snarled, then whirled and stalked out of the room.

"You twisted, sick son of a bitch!" George snarled, starting after him.

Lucius reached out and caught his arm. "This is a memory, Mr. Weasley. Calm yourself." He recommended.

"He's the reason Jerrod can't walk properly! How many times did he do that to you?" He demanded, turning to the other man.

"Once… I think. Once was more than enough." Jerrod answered quietly, watching as his past self writhed in total agony, and then resorted to suffering through it all in a fetal ball, sobbing faintly.

==========================.

This time the scene resolved into a bedroom; Warrington lay sleeping in his bed, blankets tossed aside. His ankles were still horribly swollen and purple, braces and wraps around them as much as he could bear them to be. Several pain potions and sleeping potions bottles stood on the nightstand.

Parkinson moved into the room with clear disrespect for the younger man's privacy. He snarled, seeing that Jerrod was still sleeping. He stalked to the bedside and picked up a walking stick from beside the bed, then smacked the bottoms of both of the sleeping man's feet with it, "Get up out of bed and get to work!" Parkinson snapped, and looked quite gratified to hear Jerrod's cry of pain as he was instantly awakened. "I need those potions TODAY!"

Warrington had nearly curled into a fetal position in defense, trying to get control of his breathing as he realized what had happened. "I have… one. The other is so complex; I haven't gotten it to be permanent…" he murmured.

"Leave him the bloody hell alone!" George growled, fists clenched at his sides

"Get up and fetch it for me." He ordered.

Jerrod took hold of his legs and slipped them down to the floor; he then lowered himself off the bed to his rump to cause the least amount of pain to his still recovering ankles, clearly trying to ignore his pain. He then used his hands to pull his body across the floor without using his feet at all. Taking hold of the bars mounted to the wall, he pulled his body up rung by run using only his arms until he hoisted his body up high enough to scoot onto the stool that stood beside the table, trembling with effort by the time he settled. He reached out and picked up a phial on the table, hand shaking. "Here… the blood potion you wanted…"

Parkinson, who had watched him labor to simply get to the potions table on the other side of the small room, snatched the phial away from him and glared at it. "That's all? This is only two doses at most…"

"I can make more. The other potion – the one to block detection by hereditary spells – there's no existing recipe for such a potion. It's never been done before; it's not as easy to create as you seem to think…"

"You're nearly useless to me. At least Bebel has shown some improvement over the months…" Parkinson glared at him.

"I'm doing my best." He mumbled, as he attempted to settle his feet so they ached a bit less.

"Clearly your best is not half good enough; you can only create potions with recipes. The greatest potions masters didn't simply reproduce other people's work! You say you want to be worth something at potions, show it!" Malcolm growled. "Press your limits! Stop sleeping so much and get this job done, I need that other potion immediately!"

"Yes, Master Parkinson." He said softly, pulling his cauldron closer.

"Did you ever manage that other potion he wanted…?" George asked, still angrily glaring at the form of Malcolm Parkinson with disgust in his eyes.

"Yeah. Took years." He answered, glancing at Snape.

"Irritatingly, yes, you did succeed." Snape agreed. "I never would have imagined you were capable of such a feat, judging by your performance in potions class…"

"It's amazing what one can achieve with the right kind of motivation." Jerrod shrugged.

"That wasn't motivation, it was torture!"

"He's dead, Weasley; it doesn't do any good to snarl at a memory." Snape pointed out, rolling his eyes.

==========================.

The image they watched blurred and reformed again, a solitary man upon a windy mountainside. Jerrod, older and far more careworn, stood gazing at the grave he had just dug.

There were twenty-three crosses dotting the rugged ground; tiny monuments that marked the final resting places of children unfortunate enough not to have survived testing.

He wiped his brow and tossed aside threw aside the shovel then knelt beside the hole in the dirt. The sweat on his face mingled with slowly rolling tears. He turned and picked up a bundle wrapped tightly in white; blood stained the outer wrappings. It was the proper size and shape for a newborn child.

"Good night little one… I hope your next life takes you far away from here." He whispered as he laid the deceased child inside the hole. Just a few feet to his left was a hand printed sign that said "Nowhere Cemetery".

"You named the cemetery 'nowhere…?"

"That way I could tell the complete truth when I told him I was going nowhere. It worked for me." Jerrod shrugged, not looking. "And by doing that I could continue to take care of the little ones." He recalled this part; the burying of the babies and handling their lifeless bodies. But he hadn't remembered the sheer numbers of them. And he knew he buried more after this little one as well…

"Intelligent of you." Severus commented and that earned him a glare from Warrington.

The memory Jerrod drew a wand from its holder on his arm and used magic to cover the grave over. He pushed unsteadily to his feet and sighed sadly. "Angels watch over you, little one." He murmured, and then turned away.

==========================.

The four found themselves inside a sterile laboratory once more. Upon the table lay an infant, convulsing and screaming in an unnatural tone, his little face red and a trickle of blood coming from the corner of his mouth.

Warrington looked nauseous as he watched his past self staring at the baby with pain in his eyes as the baby's body twisted and shook violently. An hour ago this child was happily nursing on a bottle, now he couldn't stop his blood-curdling scream as the poisonous potion ate him from the inside out, burning holes through his intestines.

Parkinson scowled as he watched, clearly angry that this was occurring but doing nothing to stop it. "I thought he had the right combination of blood to survive…"

"He does not have enough Siren within his blood; more manipulation of the gene is necessary. I must eliminate any trace of the father to come up with a fine enough bloodline… if our child survives then that child will be able to father pure siren children once he matures." August Bebel murmured thoughtfully, also clearly ignoring the agony the baby was going through.

"Aren't you going to do something?" Jerrod demanded, unable to take his eyes off the suffering baby. The little boy managed to get off another loud scream of agony.

"It will die soon enough." Malcolm shrugged.

"Avada Kedavra!" Jerrod snarled, ending the pitiful struggle and intense pain of the baby.

Malcolm glanced at him curiously; the baby's agony had not affected him at all. It wasn't the proper child; it needed to die in his eyes. He then returned his attention to the scientist.

"Merlin, I'm going to be sick… I can't stand this anymore." Jerrod whispered, watching as his past self moved forward with a deathly pale face to the child he had just killed. He wrapped it up in the blanket it had laid upon, covering its tortured face which still dribbled blood. The baby's nose and ears showed signs of bleeding as well; if the potion did what it was reported to, it would not stop damage to the child's body until the acidic level of the potion had been neutralized by eating completely to the bones. There wouldn't be anything left of this child, and he would not have to do anything to it…

"This was the first time you used that Unforgiveable?" Lucius asked softly

"It's the only unforgiveable curse I've used." He murmured softly. "Malcolm made me study and work to try to master the Imperious curse; I simply can't do it. Merlin knows I tried. I am also incapable of performing a Crucio with any more force than a heavy tickle…"

"Taking the life of that child was the most humane thing you could have done." Severus said, watching as the "master" and the scientist continued to argue about what to do next while the clearly grieving memory of Jerrod lifted the child born of his blood into his arms to carry away, which he was clearly expected to do. "The death it would have caused would have taken hours."

"I couldn't allow that to happen. Not… not again." He whispered, voice trembling. "It's all I could do. He was in so much pain." He turned away, knowing that his past self was scooping up the dead infant to whisk it away for burial while Parkinson and Bebel argued about what steps to take next.

George was incredulous. "He killed more than one baby with that poisonous muck? What was the purpose of killing those babies!" he demanded.

"It was to test for the purity of his blood. They were looking to isolate the siren from my genetic matter; that little boy was the third they gave it to. The first was so weak it took only moments for him to die; the second was much stronger magically and physically; it took nearly an hour to kill him. The dose that Malcolm gave that little boy would have damn near killed me…"

"That poisonous shit kills them! It doesn't test for anything!"

"It does… the blood potion made from the _ has no effect upon pureblood sirens…"

"But they're not gonna be pureblood! They used mine and your seed to make them didn't they?"

"Yes, but they were isolating the genes… I have no fucking idea how but they got a little closer each time…"

"Did he give that to Alyssa?" George demanded, hands closing into fists. He clearly wanted to bring Parkinson back and participate in his even slower and more torturous murder.

Jerrod did not look at him, nodding his answer to the question. "She got a tummy ache and cried for a while, but it had no lasting ill effects upon her. By morning you would never have known she had been given that nasty stuff…" He murmured, clearly disturbed by the memory.

"Is that the same potion you made?"

"Yes… I swear that I had no idea what he was going to use it for." he murmured, then looked at Severus with impatience and anger. "Are we finished with this madness yet?" he demanded.

"That depends upon what you have left for us to view." Severus said as the scene about them began to fade.

==========================.

The mists darkened until they resolved themselves around them in a dark dungeon-like room. The walls were of gray stone stained black with age and smoke; and this room had no windows at all. The roof was high, but held up by heavy wooden beams that looked as ancient as those in Hogwarts castle, and from those beams, all about the edges of the room, hung sacks of some unidentifiable, others clearly definable parts of animals and creatures, most likely intended for potions ingredients.

The room smelled strongly of sulphur and brimstone with a faint aroma of violets that only served to further irritate the senses. The far side of the room had a curved table that hugged the wall of the circular room, and on that table were several cauldrons bubbling away as their contents continued on their way to completion. Other than this table and a few odd chairs that were shoved tightly against the table, there were no other furnishings visible in the room at all. The center of the ceiling was particularly black and in the direct center of the floor, taking up most of its space was something of great interest to Snape.

"Why the bloody hell are we here? I remember this!" Warrington objected, glaring at Severus.

"Perhaps there is something more to be revealed; something your own memories will not allow you to remember – until the right question is asked." Lucius suggested, pacing forward to gaze at the scene before them.

A basic circular pentagram had been permanently engraved into the floor of the room, its channels filled with a grey powdery substance. In the same powder there were several symbols written about the circle in a language so old that most of them looking on did not understand them. Severus knew, though, from his constant study to free the children that this very old, dangerous, and unconventional magic had been used to bind them all.

The memory revealed four individuals in the room; Malcolm Parkinson looking irritated and impatient, Jerrod Warrington holding a baby swaddled in his blanket in his arms, and a strange woman. She looked like she was at least a hundred years old; her eyes were tiny and her skin so wrinkled that she seemed almost shrunken by magic. Her hair, pure white and bound into tiny braids, draped down her back and flowed around her shoulders and back as she moved. Her pale skin showed she rarely stepped outside of her home, and her robes were an almost indiscriminate color of brown that might once have been pink under all the stains and wear they had received. In her hand she held a wand made of the wood of a rose; the thorns were still attached.

"Who is that woman?" George asked, glancing at her a moment before dedicating himself to glaring at the memory of Parkinson, clearly wishing to do him harm.

"Her…? Madame Ascalene." Jerrod answered distractedly. He was trying to figure out what about all of this that he had somehow forgotten…

"And she still lives?" Severus asked.

"How the bloody hell should I know that?" Jerrod frowned.

"You would know if you had seen Parkinson kill her." Severus responded as if to a student who was incredibly slow.

Warrington scowled at that. "I didn't see him kill her." He said flatly. Severus merely lifted an eyebrow thoughtfully, turning to watch the progress of the memory once more.

The memory of Jerrod stood to the side, holding the baby with the wild black hair that seemed to be sleeping. The man looked highly worried and even nauseous, as if preparing himself to watch another horrible assault upon a child, as they all knew he had many times.

The woman pointed her wand at the floor and a silvery grey dust drifted out in a very fine line; she used this and drew out a second circle, interlinked and dominant over the first circle, each move deliberate, whispering in a crackling voice as she moved. Although she appeared to be older than time itself, her steps were light and careful and graceful as she moved, preparing her circles of power. She drew a third circle, this one subservient to the other two. Each circle had a clear place in the center, clearly intended to be occupied.

Finally she finished, turning to the man holding the child with her narrowed eyes. "It is ready." She announced. "Place the child in this ring…" she pointed at the second one. "And mind the lines!" the woman snapped.

Jerrod nodded slightly and stepped forward, carefully placing his feet to enable him to get to the center of the secondary ring and place the baby in his blanket there in the center. He paused a moment to check that the infant was still sleeping, and then he exited that circle then with equal care, the woman watching him with a scowl.

"You. There." She gestured to Malcolm Parkinson to take the dominant ring.

Grinning gleefully, Malcolm stepped eagerly into the ring and took his seat, infinitely careful to not so much as cause a breeze to smudge any of the careful work of the old witch. Everything was coming together; just as he had planned… he would soon be the most powerful man in the world!

Jerrod's memory watched him but did not have long to ponder.

"You, servant, will be seated there and remove your shirt." She glared at Jerrod's memory, pointing at the smallest ring.

Clearly he had not expected to be involved. "Me…? Oh no; it was just to be the master and the baby…" Jerrod argued.

Malcolm looked angry his objection. "Warrington, it was to be your job to serve these children. Sit down." Malcolm said firmly.

"Me..? Wha…?"

"Sit down, Warrington. Now." The older man commanded.

Jerrod moved unwillingly in response to the command; he was bound to follow directives and could not refuse. Dragging his feet, he smudged two of the lines as he moved into his place.

"He knew just how to rein you in, didn't he?" Severus observed.

"And I found ways around most of his commands." Warrington growled back at him. "I don't expect any of you to understand. I did what I had to in order to survive…."

"He was a manipulative bastard who forced you into his service by deception." George growled. "I don't hold you to blame for the things he forced you to do..."

"Mind the lines!" the woman snarled. She bustled forward and repaired the damage done, growling the incantations now. She glared at him with a baleful eye as he slowly sank into place at the center of the circle. "Now remove your shirt!"

He did not move at her command but when it was put in terms he could not find his way around by Parkinson, he was forced to disrobe to the waist. "I don't see why the bloody hell I need to be the one who…" he mumbled.

"Silence, Warrington, you will speak not one more word without being asked to for the rest of the day!" Malcolm commanded, and Warrington found himself without a voice. He continued to mouth words though no sound would come out.

"Did he do that often?" George asked.

"No… I usually knew when to shut the hell up. I was mouthy that day." He shrugged as if it really hadn't mattered.

"You should have done that hours ago. I personally would have had his tongue removed for such insolence." Madame Ascalene grumbled after she had finished the circle again.

"I need him to have a tongue, Madame. Can we get under way?" he asked impatiently.

"Wizards nowadays have no appreciation for finer ancient magic…" she said with a disapproving snort, moving around the rings to the center of the largest ring. When Malcolm did not answer her, she sighed with great irritation and began the casting of the spell.

Severus watched with great interest, clearly taking mental notes as the spell proceeded. The power was concentrated upon Malcolm, filtering through him to the baby who must have been drugged to make him sleep so soundly, finally down to Jerrod.

"You give this servant to be bound to this child?"

"Yes, his blood and soul are to be dedicated to this child."

"Blood and soul…?" George murmured. Jerrod was silent as he watched his past self undergo the binding as well as the creation of the Dark Mark with perfect clarity, miniaturized upon his left shoulder.

The bindings included those that Warrington had already confided to Lucius; those that required him to protect not only the Dark Prince but every individual that was given the new Dark Mark as well as the requirement to obey their direct commands. He was to protect each of them to the death, if necessary. None of this was any surprise to any of them.

"You are bound to the Dark Circle to the death. If any of them die before you, you are required to seek blood feud on any who caused them harm. Regardless of whether you are given the license to pursue a blood feud, you will hunt them and their entire family lines to the death." Parkinson announced in a commanding tone, knowing that his words were being bound into the very mark upon the man's shoulder. "Further you are to be a release for the Dark Circle. Any of those within the circle can command you to submit to them in any way. I will not have our little circle unsatisfied."

"Mentally, physically and sexually as well?" The witch weaving the spell asked.

"Yes; in every way possible." Malcolm said cooly.

"…what…?" Jerrod murmured, not believing his ears.

"Finish the spell; bind him." Malcolm ordered.

Severus watched the completion with interest, noting that it was very similar to the process that had been utilized by Voldemort to complete the marking process, though it was clear that the Dark Lord had put a lot of extra theatrics into it all. This woman wasted no energy or time, simply completing the spell quickly and efficiently. As the Dark Lord had done, the tattoo itself was tied into the lifeblood so that attempts to remove it by anyone other than the one who had commanded it to be placed would cause the individual's death.

George glanced where Jerrod had stood and the man was no longer there; he had pulled himself out of the memory stream. "Bloody hell." He murmured softly.

===================================.

There had been one more memory, that of Alyssa receiving her tattoo. She had been the last of the children to be marked; following her marking the woman had indeed been killed by Malcolm Parkinson. He had not used Avada Kedavra to do the deed; instead he had utilized a muggle weapon and had shot the woman in the head with a single bullet. Malcolm had then drawn his wand and used Obliviate to take the memory of the murder from Jerrod's conscious memory.

Lucius, Severus and George withdrew from the memory stream as well once the memories had played themselves out. Jerrod was seated in a chair beside the fire, taking a long drink from a glass of firewhiskey, looking ill.

"So… now we know the entire story." Lucius said softly.

"It's not real. That was a hell of a show you put on for us, Snape. I knew you were a sadistic bastard but I never knew you'd sink to these kinds of depths." Jerrod said, not looking over at them.

"It's real, whether you wish it to be or not." Severus answered calmly. "Everyone here saw me extract the memories. I did not tamper with them; we all viewed them for the first time just now."

"It can't be real!" Jerrod snarled, throwing his glass into the fireplace. "Why the bloody hell would Parkinson command me to be some sort of a sex slave to the kids?"

"Why the hell did Parkinson steal my granddaughter and wife and abuse the bloody hell out of them? Nothing that man did made any sense."

"None of that is what we ought to be focusing on!" George interrupted them all, clearly disturbed by what he'd seen. The others looked at him, rather surprised; he had always been fairly quiet around Snape and Lucius. "The real problem is the things that that madman did to Jerrod!"

"We know now what was done; the trick is to undo it."

"How the bloody hell can you do that? They're part of my Mark. I can't remove it any more than they can get rid of theirs!" he said, gesturing at Snape and Lucius.

"Parkinson is dead, but you forget there is one who can change the commands built into the Mark." Severus said coolly, refusing to get riled as the others had.

"Who? Mallek isn't bloody well going to…"

"Not Mallek. Harry Potter." Lucius clarified.

"What?"

"Potter and Mallek share the exact same physical makeup. Parkinson never foresaw that Potter would find his precious circle much less discover the true origins of that child." Severus explained.

"And thus Potter has control of every facet of the mark. How else do you think he was able to change the mark as he did?"

"And Harry won't want anyone held under the instructions that Parkinson left you under." George said firmly.

"I can't ask him to do that…"

"I can. And I will." Responded George, turning immediately for the door.
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Pilfered Progeny - Stolen Dreams