I'm sorry it took so long, dear readers, but this story is ridiculously difficult to write and this is a bit of a filler chapter. At any rate,
Warnings: A bit of child abuse. Nothing graphic and pretty light, but it's Moriarty. We all knew he couldn't be a stellar parent.
Enjoy!
Chapter 4—The Rescuer's Job Doesn't End
Moriarty was reading a textbook, preparing for the next round of testing out of his courses, when the doorbell proclaimed the arrival of his expected visitor. He set aside the book, glanced at his sleeping son, and stood up to answer the door. Two hours later, he was equipped with a complete set of records explaining about Samuel's removal from an unsafe home and subsequent adoption by Richard Brook, uncle to the boy. There was genuine DNA evidence proving the blood relation, so it was unlikely that the story would be questioned and there were references lined up in case it was. Moriarty grabbed Samuel's hand and walked him out of the building to the street, where they hailed a cab and rode into the doctor's office.
Blood was taken for testing and Samuel was declared quite healthy looking, if a bit quiet.
When the blood tests came back, Moriarty took the child back in to get the necessary vaccines and the doctor, a frankly irritating woman, did a breath test to confirm lactose intolerance. It took quite a bit of work to get Samuel to drink what they handed him and the hours in between the tests did little for the humor of either Moriarty or is nephew. The knowledge though, was useful, and the criminal was quickly able to adjust Samuel's diet to one where he got all the essential nutrients without lactose.
It was one week before Samuel's second birthday that serious problems once more arose.
-o-
A hesitant knock on the door had Moriarty looking up quickly from the book he was reading with Samuel, eyebrows shooting up into his hairline. He hoisted the kid up onto his hip and set the book aside, moving toward the door. Opening it revealed two men dressed in dark red robes. One was visibly holding a wand and the other pulled out a badge and cleared their throat. "Ah, Mister Potter..."
"Brook, isn't it?" the other one interrupted. Both of them kept glancing anxiously at Samuel, especially his forehead, and Moriarty followed their actions, amused.
"Is it?" the first one whispered.
"Ah ha, yes, Mister Brook, we're from the Auror Department of the Ministry of Magic," the second one said.
"Are you now?"
"Yes," the first one said slowly. "Er, we're here about two things, really. First of all, you've got some illegal wards up around your premises. Secondly, the boy you're holding is Harry Potter, who is not supposed to be in your custody."
"We've come to take down the wards and bring the boy back to the ministry where he'll be assigned a more appropriate home," the second one interjected, fidgeting under Moriaty's stare.
Moriarty narrowed his eyes. "I'm afraid not." He closed the door in their faces and turned towards Samuel.
"They want to take me away?"
"Yes, Samuel, they do, but Daddy won't let them."
Samuel nodded and Moriarty smiled and returned to the book he had set aside.
Three days later, taking advantage of the aurors' lack of patience, they had moved to a new flat and the wardstones were set into place once more.
-o-
Samuel learned quickly once he got over the initial problems caused by the traumatic events which had left him orphaned, the abuse that had occurred in his short cohabitation with the Dursleys, and the significant change in surroundings and lifestyle. Moriarty was not a patient man and frequently took out his anger on objects and the flat, throwing things and yelling, which frightened the toddler, but he got used to it enough that it soon wasn't something that completely shut the poor boy down.
By the time his third birthday rolled around, Samuel was advanced for his age rather than behind, and although he was still quiet, normally only speaking when spoken to, he was curious, observant, and quick to follow instructions. Disobedience earned him pain and he knew it, so doing what his father said wasn't even a question, and since his father was frequently engrossed in business, he learned how to entertain himself through learning. By the time he was four, he could read easily.
By the time he was five, he had learned about his father's two names and two different jobs, math professor and actor. When he was six, he learned of the third, criminal.
He was seven when he learned how to pick a lock and eight when he started to question what was right and wrong and wonder about religion.
-o-
"Dad, don't you ever feel bad about killing people?" Moriarty turned and slapped his son.
"Not when Daddy's working."
Samuel had clutched at his cheek and pondered about the pain and what it might mean for a father to cause that in his child for a few hours while reading a physics book.
"I don't kill people, Samuel," Moriarty said later. Samuel looked up. "People die, but it is not I that kills them. More often than not, it is their own stupidity. Death comes to those who do not have strong enough protections and that is the way of life."
"But you're a criminal, Dad. That means you break the law. Isn't that wrong? Morally?"
The resulting discussion resulted in a trip to church the next Sunday, where Moriarty ran a constant commentary, questioning everything that was stated at its basest level. Samuel agreed that that church was utter nonsense and started to research the different religions. This research lasted months and at its end, Samuel decided that wiccan beliefs made the most sense to him. Some of what that taught aided him in his daily magic practice, so his father didn't object, but a new rule was put in place that Samuel was not allowed to comment on the morality or potential cosmic effects of anything his father did.
-o-
Samuel was not allowed to participate in criminal activities, but he was taught how to defend himself in the case that he was caught in the middle of something and he witnessed quite a few deaths and brutal injuries.
The one thing he was truly upset about was not being able to interact with other children, but after spending an hour with children his age, Samuel quickly agreed to his father's decision to keep him homeschooled.
He'd been used as bait several times and genuinely kidnapped twice, but mostly, he just sighed and passed it off as an annoyance.
When he was nine, he was left in a dark room while his father's business associates shot at each other outside. He's been there for several hours when a snake wormed its way in through ha whole in flooring.
He'd never been very near a snake before, but he'd never been frightened of them, so he watched it move, clicking his tongue in boredom.
"It'sss rude to ssstare."
He jumped back so hard that his back hit the wall, which was followed by 30 seconds of screamed threats at him from outside and a gentle, "Now, I wouldn't do any of that if I were you," from his father. Well, gentle probably wasn't the right word, but soft. And menacing.
At any rate, Samuel looked at the snake again and whispered, "What?"
It turned to look at him. "A ssspeaker?"
"I don't know what that means."
-o—
"Dad, I… may have spoken to a snake."
"What?"
"Yesterday, when you were discussing things and I got left in that cell for hours, there was a snake. And I'm fairly certain I spoke to it."
Moriarty narrowed his eyes. "We'll test it. Next week."
Samuel nodded.
That night, he set his glasses on the bedside table and stared up at the blurry ceiling. Snakes? Why snakes? Maybe it was just the one. Could it be a magic thing? Putting those thoughts aside, he waved his hand to tug on the string for the lamp, letting the room settle into darkness.
He fell asleep to the sound of his father telling off an employee through fairy tale. It was relaxing, no matter how disturbing it might seem sometimes.
-o-
A trip to a pet store was enough to convince Moriarty to buy his son a snake, a white and grey corn snake who according to Samuel, told terrible jokes, but the test came two days later when Jim was staring down a very persistently annoying client.
"Samuel," he hissed.
The boy stepped into the room.
"What we talked about."
Samuel nodded and quietly hissed "I need you to bite her so I can keep you," to the snake in his hands.
The snake gave a wordless irritated hiss in response and slithered quickly across the table to bite the client, who screamed and then fainted.
Moriarty nodded in satisfaction.
-o—
Samuel was sitting in the center of a filthy and dark abandoned warehouse, Selwyn wound around his neck and under one arm beneath his clothing. His father had asked him to wait here, so waiting he was. But he did so hate to be bored.
In his left hand, he was making flames jump up and down in patterns, and with his right, he was sketching out a design for an easy scam in a pocket notebook.
"Samuel," Moriarty snapped from a doorway.
He looked up and raised an eyebrow. "Dad?"
"You're trying my patience. Get up and let's go."
It was going to be one of those nights. He mentally prepared himself for the handful of bruises and the fountain of soul-cutting remarks that would likely come over the course of the evening, and stood up, careful not to jostle or squish his friend too much, and ran to follow the swiftly disappearing form of his father.
He tried to keep silent, but his 'ow' when he stubbed his toe getting into the car was met with a sharp slap that he had to bite down on his tongue to keep from protesting.
"Sorry," he said quickly, looking away.
Moriarty glared. "Don't know why I ever saved you."
-o—
Samuel was almost 11. His father had been getting more and more tense for weeks and Samuel hardly dared move or breathe. He wasn't allowed to leave the flat, he wasn't allowed to joke around, and he certainly wasn't allowed to get in the way or speak out of turn. Worst of all, Moriarty was always home. He didn't leave to do any of his three jobs at all anymore, leaving him to shout angrily at various paperwork and assignments to be graded.
It was awful. And it didn't stop.
On July 31st, there was a knock at the door and Moriarty froze, every muscle ceasing movement for several long seconds. And then the knock came again and he started to twitch. Samuel was terrified.
When Moriarty suddenly leapt out of his chair and opened the door in a swirl of movement, gun in hand, Samuel almost screamed. But all there was at the door was a thick envelope with something written on it in green.
Moriarty picked up the envelope, then slammed the door and strode into the kitchen, where he pulled a lighter from a drawer and set the letter on fire before dropping it into the sink. Then he skipped over to his son and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, bending down so he could whisper into Samuel's ear.
Samuel jumped and squeaked in shock, his eyes widening.
"Don't worry, Samuel. Daddy will keep you safe. Daddy always keeps you safe." The singsong voice was back and despite the horror of it all, it registered as comforting to his child brain and Samuel relaxed. And he nodded, melting against his father's side.
"They'll come and they'll search, try to take you away, but they'll never get you from me. They got you before, first once and then twice. But what's mine is mine, you know that it's true. And you're scared, I know, but there's no need to be, because Daddy's right here. And I love you, see?" Moriarty stroked the hair back from Samuel's face and stared right into his eyes, not blinking. "The rescuer won't abandon his little boy. The little boy will grow up under the younger son to be better than the older son could ever be. And he will have the best of guards and tutors and things. And he will not be lead astray by any manipulative old men in silly robes."
Samuel breathed rhythmically, keeping eye contact with his father no matter how much he wanted to look away because he knew it was safer that way. What Moriarty was saying didn't make any sense, but it hardly ever did when he spoke like that, so Samuel didn't pay it any attention, just focusing on the mysterious comfort of the tone and on keeping breath flowing in and out of his lungs.
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Thanks for reading!
-MP