I know it's been a while and I know this is a shorter chapter than normal, but I feel like this was such a good stopping point and I couldn't resist. Anyways,

Warnings: extreme violence, blood, and character death. I'm a terrible person. So, so terrible. I'm sorry.

Enjoy!

Chapter 5—The Contract's Call

Another letter had come the next day. And then again the next. Samuel couldn't quite understand why they were coming, since they weren't even addressed to either of them, but when he found one in an odd spot, he dutifully left it somewhere his father would later find it.

Honestly, he was terrified. When Moriarty let him out of his sight, he got as far away from his father as possible and tried to stay quiet, because when he was being watched by those cold hazel eyes he normally found so comforting, he couldn't help but feel the throbbing of every bruise he had as a reminder of his parent's horrible mood. He was being punished for things that he normally would have been praised for and any sign of fear was punished just as harshly as defiance.

He couldn't win, and he could only hope that it would stop.

After two weeks, he'd had enough and he snagged one of the letters and opened it in his room, blood pounding through his ears.

Oh.

This was… this was very not good. No wonder his dad was pissed.

Inside the envelope, addressed to a Mr. Harry James Potter, was a congratulatory letter announcing he'd been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and would have to confirm his place, a list of supplies, and two other letters of a more personal nature, one written in a narrow loopy writing and one written in thick black ink.

Harry,

My name is Albus Dumbledore and I am so sorry.

That letter went on to explain that his father was actually his uncle, who had kidnapped him.

The second letter began with

Harry,

We're the Johnsons and we've volunteered to be your foster parents.

And since Samuel was, despite being incredibly clever, only eleven, he couldn't bear to read past that. He threw the papers away and began to cry.

It wasn't long before his father found him, fury written across his face. Samuel braced himself, still sobbing but expecting a harsh blow for breaking orders. "I-I'm s-sorry, Dad, please don't l-let them t-take me!" he sobbed. It didn't matter if his father punished him for disobeying or whining or anything else. He just needed to know more than anything in the world that he wouldn't be forced away from his father, the only other person consistently in his life.

But the blow never came. Moriarty was furious, yes, but he was also extremely pleased. "Of course they won't take you, Samuel. Daddy's protecting you." He gathered the letters, crumpled them in his hands, and left the room, the door slamming behind him.

-o—

Moriarty listened to the broken sobbing with a sort of pride. This was his son. His son who didn't want to and never would leave him. Later that night, Moriarty re-entered his son's room and hugged him with a gentleness he hadn't used in weeks, cooing to the boy that everything was going to be okay. "You're mine," he kept repeating. And Samuel fell asleep, grateful for his rescuer, knowing now that that odd story his father was so fond of was true, rather than fairy tale.

September first came, the letters stopped, and life went back to normal, Samuel practicing wandless wordless magic and studying all he could get his hands on while Moriarty slowly but surely built up his criminal network.

It was six months after the original letter that his father hired a discreet wandsmith and several tutors with questionable practices to help Samuel take his studies up a notch.

-o—

Samuel wasn't oblivious to the fact that his father had sex, but he'd never brought one of his conquests back to the flat before, and Samuel was more than a little disturbed when he woke up to moaning and moving and banging and a bit of screaming coming from his father's room. When the conquest in question appeared in the kitchen wearing nothing but boxers and jumped about two feet in the air, it became glaringly obvious that he wasn't expecting a pre-teen to be calmly eating cereal there.

"Who're you?" Samuel asked, eyes skimming over the bruises and bite marks.

"Boss?" the guy called questioningly over his shoulder.

Samuel rolled his eyes and hopped off his stool to rinse his bowl.

"Nothing to worry about, Sebby, just my kid."

Unfortunately, "Sebby" wasn't just a one-time thing. He kept coming back. With no sign of stopping. It was horrifying.

-o—

Samuel was laughing about something, his Potions instructor's hand on his shoulder as he fumbled with the key to the flat, then stepped inside. But that laughter ceased immediately when faced with the scene before them—James Moriarty with a gun pointed steadily at a huge black dog that was easily 200 pounds and snarling. It jumped towards Samuel and Moriarty shot, hitting it three times before it fell to the floor and shifted in what looked to be a rather painful process into a malnourished, unwashed, and scruffy young person.

Said person pressed a hand to a bullet wound and yelped in pain, laying his head back on the floor and moaning.

"How did you get in here?"

He shook his head frantically. "No, no, Harry, I need to get to Harry."

Moriarty fired another shot into the man's head and stepped over the body to grasp Samuel's arm reassuringly. "I need to have words with our warders," he narrowed his eyes, "and your instructors." The Potions tutor had apparated away at the first sign of danger. She'd tried to take Samuel with her, but he'd squirmed away at just the right moment.

Samuel shrugged. "That was Sirius Black. He's been on the news, but I didn't know he was an animagus. Why'd he show up here? D'you think he was looking for a job?"

"He's dead. Drop it." Moriarty shoved Samuel towards his room and pulled out his phone. Soon, screaming filtered through the flat and Samuel leaned back on his bed, feeling protected.

-o—

For his fourteenth birthday, Samuel got a hunting knife from Sebby "Don't call me that" Moran and a staff from his father. More powerful, but more difficult to control than his wand, the staff was exactly the challenge he'd wanted. And the knife did come in handy in the first op his father let him help in, since violent spells were a lot harder to do nonverbally than others.

Neither the knife nor the staff were any help at all though when one night in late fall, a tugging sensation ripped him out of his comfortable reading chair and dropped him on the floor in a room full of people.

Samuel dropped his book of advanced magical theory and rubbed his ass, cursing quietly while he took in the enchanted ceiling, the dripping floating candles, the ridiculous number of teenagers, and an old man holding a wooden cup who made him incredibly wary. The entirety of the hall's occupants stared for several more seconds, and then there was a deafening eruption of noise and chaos and he ducked and covered to avoid the worst of the crowding.

-o—

There were plenty of articles in the papers the next morning and Moriarty was more than furious. The castle doors banged loudly and threatening footsteps were easily heard striding across the hard stone floor of the entrance hall. The short man was wearing a tailored suit, all black, with a knee-length black coat flaring behind him. His hair was a mess and there was fire in his eyes. Two people who were clearly lawyers scrambled to keep up.

"I will not stAND FOR THIS!" the man bellowed in an Irish accent. He strode down the aisle between the tables, ignoring the students, and planted both hands firmly on the table in front of the headmaster. "Where is my son?" he hissed dangerously.

Oddly, no one dared approach the man. He wasn't visibly armed, but he was exuding a cloud of danger warnings and fear. Even Dumbledore leaned back, although the old man did say, "My dear boy, I don't know what you're-" before his voice was cut off along with his finger, a knife from the table having slammed down across the digit. Blood spurted and Dumbledore whimpered, clutching his hand to his chest and making to stand up.

Moriarty grabbed his beard. "Where. Is. My. Son?"

"Your nephew is—hah—on the second floor. Guest quarters."

Moriarty spun on his heel and walked out of the hall before skipping up the grand stairs.

Dumbledore used his wand to reattach his finger and quickly excused himself.

The grand majority of the rest of the witnesses to this event surged upward and towards the doors, where they were able to watch the man turn the corner off of the landing.

The two lawyers cornered the headmaster and the ministry representatives.

"Does this sort of thing often happen at Hogwarts?" one of the Beauxbatons girls asked quietly.

A student next to her shook their head mutely.

-o—

When Moriarty finally found Samuel, the boy was curled up in the fetal position in the center of the bed he'd been provided, shaking.

The teenager lashed out at the enemy, not realizing it was his father, and Moriarty simply flexed his jaw and wrapped his arms tightly around the boy till he calmed.

"D-dad?"

"I said I'd protect you. You don't make that easy, Samuel."

"I- I don't kn-know what h-happened."

"Something very illegal which will absolutely have consequences."

Review? I'd certainly appreciate it!

Thanks for reading!

-MP