Chapter 20
Of the children rescued with Alice, fourteen had been returned to their families, three would be staying as Nestlings, and three had proven to be magical and would be going the next morning to The Haunt with the Andrews, Marcel and Connor. They would begin their wizarding cultural studies as soon as they were settled in.
Harry sat in his study reviewing the files on his new Ghosts. Isabella Grey - who refused to answer to anything other than Tink for some inexplicable reason, Sarah Hanovan, and Trent Donnolly. All three were muggleborns whose parents had been unable to cope with a magical child and given them away to an orphanage, where they had been selected by a scout for McKinnon. From there, the kids had been trained up and put to work at the brothel where they had spent the next two years.
Ordinarily Vahan would have just passed the information anonymously to the cops and let them deal with it since it was an established brothel and not street kids, but with his agreement with Shot to collect Alice, he'd had to deal with it personally. As it turned out, it was rather lucrative that he had. Aside from Alice and the six children, the vacuum of product and services left after the collapse of McKinnon's empire was conveniently filled by Vahan's network. He'd even absorbed the more lucrative loose ends into his own organisation. While all traces of child prostitution had been dismantled and dealt with, the other parts of the organisation had netted him several million pounds profit each month. Not something to complain about, though with a bit of reorganisation he'd be able to nearly double that in the near future.
Sighing, he sat back and listened to the general house noise outside his study. The new Nestlings, Sophie, Lizzie and Brian were settling in well, though they hadn't bonded with him as quickly as Elise, Mark, and Lewis had. He supposed it was partially because they had an existing bond with Alice, but he would have to put some serious work in with them to get the level of trust he wanted.
Tucking the files away, he stood and stretched, before wandering out to find his boy. He found the child in his room going over his Goblin history - again.
"Connor?"
The six year old snapped his head up, eyes sparkling with pleasure. "Is it time?"
Harry chuckled. "Not yet, Birthday Boy. We'll be going at twelve, and it's currently," he paused to look at his watch. "Ten thirty. In the meantime, it's time for ballet practice."
Connor grumbled, but closed his book and hid it away in the magically locked drawer the Hounds had set up for him. Both boys quickly changed into the tight clothing the Hounds had provided as uniform, and made their way to the converted basement that had been put aside for movement studies. Like a typical dance studio, mirrors covered one wall from floor to ceiling, and a barre had been installed. The polished wood floor was carefully maintained by the elves, and shone warmly under the lights set into the ceiling. The room was sizable enough to fit all the children for dance classes with room to spare, but the smaller rooms off to the side were stuffed with an assortment of props and tools used for the children's lessons, everything from pickpocketing to bomb building and lock picking. Today however, it would be used for its more traditional purpose.
Stretching out and warming up carefully, the two boys practiced their basic positions while chatting about whatever came to mind. Both of them detested the ballet lessons that Alex had insisted on to help correct their posture and movement, but they couldn't argue with the benefits. The strength and flexibility alone made it worth it, but the gracefulness that was beginning to show through their every gesture was something they were both rather pleased with. According to Alex, it was the fastest way for them to learn to mimic the smooth gait and movements of their pureblood peers.
Deciding they were sufficiently limber, Harry moved to the sound system and put on his current favourite dance playlist. Beginning with Danse Macabre, then continuing through select parts of Swan Lake and the Nutcracker, the boys danced the routines that Alex had developed for them, their movements carefully executed and perfectly synchronised. While far from professional level, the dedication and regular training was apparent.
Graceful and smooth, the boys swept across the room, spins and jumps executed as if carried by the notes of the music itself. Young muscles flexed and bunched as they twirled and stretched, long limbs and heaving chests testament to their efforts. Their movements were technically correct, but the complete lack of passion gave away their lack of interest.
When the music finally ended, the boys dropped to the floor, sweaty and exhausted, trembling with fatigue. Laying back on the floor they took a few moments to get their breath back before beginning to stretch and cool down; both children too tired to chat.
Glancing up at the sound of someone clapping, Harry smiled gratefully when Alex handed the boys a bottle of water each.
"You're doing well; there's improvement even over last week. How are you finding it?" He laughed when both boys scowled. "Aside from the mild dislike I see smouldering in your eyes, I meant."
Connor shrugged and answered, since Harry was in the process of taking a drink.
"I hate it, but if you say it's working, then it is. Can we go to Wimpy's now?"
Alex and Harry both laughed.
"Twelve o'clock, and not a minute before!" Harry chided gently, grinning when Connor folded his arms and pouted. Exchanging a look with Alex, the dark haired boy rolled his eyes. "Go shower and get dressed." He stretched out a hand and grabbed the bolting child as he ran past. "Take your time and wash thoroughly. You don't want to be stinky on your birthday, and we still need to get everyone else ready too." Releasing his ward when he saw the genuine agreement, Harry let himself flop onto his back on the floor.
"You doing ok, Sir?" Alex eyed the boy with barely hidden concern. He'd pushed himself hard the day before and no matter how grown up he seemed most of the time, physically he was just a kid, with all of the limitations that implied.
"I'm fine; just tired. It's been a big couple of days, you know?" Sitting up and taking another mouthful of water, Harry looked at his bottle and pursed his lips slightly. "The idea of going out to eat with eleven kids under twelve, plus seven adults is… exhausting. And we haven't even done it yet."
Alex cleared his throat, fighting down a smile. "Eight adults, Sir. Bradshaw is coming too; he'll meet us there."
Harry looked up, surprised. "Really? Connor will be thrilled. Keep it a surprise for him, yeah?"
Alex nodded. "I didn't give him an option about not coming, even though I know you hadn't specified that. I just didn't want Connor's birthday ruined because his father is being a self-absorbed twat."
Snorting with laughter, Harry mopped the sweat off his face with a small towel. "He is that. I'm glad you took the initiative. Thank you."
"No problem, Sir. Connor's a great kid."
"Yeah, he is," Harry agreed softly. Shoving himself to his feet, he handed the empty bottle back to his Hound and strolled from the room to have his own shower. It may be a bit early to get ready, but it was a special day so he was going to put the extra effort into his appearance. His boy deserved nothing less than his best.
Their arrival was a boisterous and chaotic as Harry had expected. Knowing that keeping track of so many young children would be a headache even with eight adults on deck, Harry had instigated a buddy system with the kids. On learning of this, every adult present had given him grateful looks and a heavy sigh of relief.
"Dad!" Connor shouted when he spotted Bradshaw waiting in the area that had been put aside for the party.
Bradshaw grinned, scooping the boy up onto his hip.
"Well, don't you look fancy? No prizes for guessing who you're trying to look like!" He grinned, smoothing down the tiny suit his son wore before returning Connor to his feet. While not a replica of Harry's, his entire look was clearly inspired by the older boy. He ignored the faint stab of pain that his son wanted to emulate Harry and not his father, reminding himself that it was only natural given the circumstances.
Connor grinned back, oblivious to the older man's turmoil. "Harry took me shopping! He prefers Armani, but I liked Ralph Lauren better. Do you like it?" He peered up through the auburn curls escaping from his hair gel, lightly chewing his lip.
Bradshaw pasted a smile on his face, refusing to ruin his son's birthday in a fit of jealousy. The boy was only six years old, he'd be the worst kind of bastard to ruin this day for him. Not least because Vahan would kill him without a second thought if he did.
"You look very handsome."
Satisfied, Connor turned and grabbed Elise's hand. When Harry had been pairing the kids up, he'd quietly requested to be buddied with the little girl. He remembered how sick she'd been when he'd first arrived at The Nest, and he couldn't help hovering over her protectively. He liked all of the Nestlings - except Lewis, because he'd knocked over the pot plant Connor had brought from home after his mother died, breaking the pot and nearly killing the plant - and tried to be helpful and look after them as best he could. He knew one day it would be his responsibility, and he didn't want to let his Sir down. But despite that, Elise was his favourite and he doted on her.
The group of children threw themselves into their seats, chatting loudly and bouncing around in their excitement.
Harry paused, looking at them, and closed his eyes tiredly.
"Boss?" Sergei asked quietly, his eyes scanning the room with practiced ease.
"I'm fine. Just looking at the… What do you call a group of kids, anyway? A gaggle? Committee?"
"A migraine." Sergei grunted, the corner of his lips twitching.
Harry chuckled, thoroughly amused and distracted from his pending headache. He'd been on the edge of another overload, but as usual his Hound had done exactly as he needed. Both Alex and Sergei had been an absolute godsend - assuming such a deity existed.
"Accurate. Let's go with that." Harry wove his way through the seating area, pausing only to greet Bradshaw before taking his seat at the head of the table. He cast a quick look at Alice, checking to see how she was coping with being in public. She seemed slightly subdued, but nothing alarming at this stage. Cutting his eyes to Shot, he relaxed when he saw that she was subtly keeping a close eye on her little sister.
The lunch progressed much as one would expect for such a large group with multiple young children - raucous, messy, and interspersed with sugar fuelled arguments and equally enthusiastic laughter.
After a while, Harry noticed Elise shifting in her seat, and he nudged Connor.
"Elise needs to use the loo. Can you take her, please?" He spoke quietly into the younger boy's ear.
Nodding, Connor stood and took the almost four year old by the hand, leading her through the back and to the toilets.
Taking the opportunity to use the loo himself while they were there, Connor made sure she was finished and clean before tending his own needs, and instructed Elise to wait next to the sinks while he was in the cubicle.
Hearing the door open, he finished up as quickly as he could. He'd heard stories of what the Nestlings and Ghosts had had to do before Sir saved them, and he knew Elise was still wary around adult men. He didn't want to leave her alone with a stranger, even a friendly one.
"Well, hello there sweetie. Are you all alone?" The stranger's voice was warm and friendly, but Connor felt a shiver of dread run down his spine. Something seemed… off.
Doing his pants up, he barely bothered to tuck his shirt back in before darting out of the cubicle and to Elise's side. He eyed the man, and decided that his instincts were right. The man was a total creeper.
Short and stocky, the man had a bland and open type face, and an aura that invited people to trust him, but there was something dark in his eye, and Connor could feel a slight fizz along his spine that he was sure was his magic reacting to a threat.
The man frowned when Connor took the trembling girl's hand, tugging her lightly behind his body.
"I'm not going to hurt you. Where are your parents? Surely you're not here alone?"
Staying silent, the boy began to edge around the room, keeping himself between the man and Elise.
Dropping the nice act, the man stepped between the children and the door, blocking the exit.
"Now, now, surely you're not leaving so soon? I think we should become special friends. Don't you?" He smiled, flashing perfect white teeth.
Connor could feel his heart beating quickly, hammering away in his chest like a panicking bird. His focus narrowed to the man and Elise cowering at his back, eyes picking things out in minute detail. He heard the man say something, but the rushing in his ears muted it to an indistinct murmur. He watched as the man darted a hand forward, seeming to move in slow motion to his hyper aware senses. The hand slipped around him, latching onto Elise's arm and dragging her out from where she hid.
With a whoosh, time snapped back into focus, and the rushing in his ears dropped away leaving a harsh silence. Connor charged forward with a yell, driving his head into the man's stomach like a raging bull.
Staggering back, the man let go of Elise with a grunt as his back hit the wall next to the door and the air was forced from his lungs.
Shouting for Elise to get Sir, Connor punched the man as hard as he could in the groin. He knew he didn't stand a chance in a fight against a grown up, so all he could think to do was stall the man long enough for Sir to come save him.
Reflexively doubling over with a pained whine, the man hit his head on the sink with a meaty thud and slid to the floor, dazed. Not wasting any time, Connor pulled a screwdriver from the leather cuff Shot had given him for his birthday, and leaped at the man, bringing the screwdriver down over and over as fast and hard as he could. He ignored the wet sounds as the metal shaft drove into yielding flesh, intent only on stalling the creeper. Sir would be here soon, he promised himself, just a little bit longer.
An arm snaked around his waist and yanked him from where he straddled the man. He fought for a moment, before his brain registered Sir's cologne, and he slumped back into the restraining arms. He dimly saw Mr Petrikov checking the creepers wrist for a pulse, forced to avoid the mangled face and neck that sluggishly oozed blood onto the floor. Turning away from the grizzly sight, he buried his face in Sir's chest and shook; too shocked to cry despite his relief.
"Connor?" Harry asked calmly as he led the boy to a cubicle, lowering the toilet lid and sitting the blood splattered boy on it. The toilet walls blocked the boy from seeing the results of his furious attack, though Harry heard Sergei muttering slightly in appreciation at the results. The phrase 'hamburger meat' may have been mentioned in conjunction with an impressed whistle.
Connor looked up at his Sir, eyes overly wide and slightly glassy. "Yes, Sir?"
Harry looked him over carefully. "Are you hurt?"
The six year old shook his head. "No, Sir. Is Elise ok?" He frowned, worried.
Grinning, Harry nodded. "She's fine. A little shaken but Alice calmed her down and got her a milkshake. I think she's mostly forgotten about it now, to be honest."
Connor sagged in relief. "That's good then. What happens now?" He changed the subject, trying to do what he thought Harry would do in this situation. Namely, get on with Business.
Harry noted the change and went with it, content to let his boy do what he felt he needed to for the moment. "Now, Mr Petrikov is going to deal with the body, while you and I stay here for the moment and give you a chance to calm down a bit. I know that you're pretty hyped right now."
Connor nodded, clasping his shaking hands in his lap. "Do you get like this too after a fight?"
"Yeah," Harry grinned. "You get used to it eventually, but you'll always get that little jolt of adrenalin. Or at least that's what the Hounds tell me. Can you show me what you used?"
Looking down, Connor only now noticed that he was still clutching the screwdriver, but partially hiding it up his sleeve. Wordlessly, he offered it to Harry.
Taking it gently, the dark haired boy looked it over. "Where did you get this?" He asked curiously.
Connor shifted sheepishly. "Shot's workbench. I took it when she was fitting my cuff today." He looked down, ashamed when he saw the disapproval on Sir's face.
"Connor, you know the rules about stealing from people in the house. Why did you take it?"
"Because you wouldn't let me have a knife yet, but you said that you should always carry a weapon. So I imp- um, imp-" His face screwed up as he tried to remember the word.
"Improvised?"
"Yeah."
Harry shook his head and smiled fondly. "Good job."
Connor's head shot up in surprise. "Really?"
Nodding, Harry gently smoothed the wild curls back from the younger boy's face. "Yeah. While I'm not happy you stole from Shot - something that you will not be doing again, by the way - I'm really proud of you for taking your safety so seriously. Doubly so for protecting Elise the way you did. I was only a little younger than you when I made my first kill, and it was nowhere near as intimate as yours. So yeah, I'm proud. You did really well." Reaching into his boot, he pulled out a small stiletto blade, and flipped it over, offering it handle first to the blood spattered child in front of him. "You've earned a real weapon. And you won't be going to The Haunt, you'll be staying with me. I think you've proven you can handle yourself in an emergency." He eyed the suddenly deliriously happy boy sternly. "But that just means we'll be training you harder now. Just because you did well here doesn't mean you have any excuse to slack off your training. You still have lots to learn. We both do."
Nearly swooning with delight, Connor took the offered blade, clutching it tightly and eyeing it as one might a religious relic they'd spent their entire life searching for.
"Thank you," he whispered.
"No problem. I'll take you to see Mr South and get you started on your own arsenal. There's no excuse for you to be using other peoples tools now."
Standing, Harry offered his protégé his hand. "Now, before we dispose of the body, you should have a look at what you did. It's important, though it might not seem so now. You ready?"
Connor tucked the knife away into his cuff and took Harry's hand. "Yes, Sir."
Leading the boy from the cubicle, Harry gently towed him closer to the body. He remained silent, giving Connor time to observe and process in his own way. His ward would certainly have nightmares about the day's events, but he firmly believed that a clear image was better than half formed pictures formed from an adrenalin fuelled frenzy. An understanding of just what he was capable of would only help him in the future, too.
Observing the mangled face and neck of the body, Connor swallowed heavily. Now that he was calmer, he could clearly see the massive damage he'd managed to inflict. The body was completely unrecognisable, and he was reminded of a fox he'd once seen that had been hit by a car. It's face had been all battered and cut up like this too.
"I killed him?" He asked quietly.
Sergei nodded. "With one of the first blows, I'd say. Looks like you got him in the eye a couple of times, and the jugular too. Either of those would be fatal."
A sudden rush of fury swept through him, and without thinking, he lashed out with his foot, kicking the corpse in the face as hard as he could.
"Fucking arsehole!" He shouted, anger making his voice shake.
Looking shocked, Harry stared at him. "Connor! There's no need for that sort of language!"
The two boys stared at each other for a moment, before cracking up laughing.
Sergei rolled his eyes and flicked a cleaning spell over them, removing all traces of gore. Another flick and the body and screwdriver were vanished and the bathroom sparkling clean again.
Throwing an arm around the slightly hysterical six year old, Harry chuckled. "Come on kiddo, we've got a party to finish!"
Two days later saw Bradshaw slumped into his seat, resting a shaking hand on the edge of his desk. "Blood adoption?"
Harry nodded calmly. "Yes. He's already mine, and now I wish to claim him fully. He's proven himself to be a worthy heir."
"He's only three years younger than you!"
"Three and a half," Harry corrected. "But that's irrelevant. I will be blood adopting Connor as my son and heir; I'm only notifying you beforehand as a courtesy. I'll be using the Altherian Ritual for it, so any family holdings or gifts from your line will remain; he'll still be your blood as well."
Running a hand over his face, Bradshaw realised that he would never be taking his son back. No, not his son anymore. Vahan's son. He closed his eyes in defeat, grieving for his short sightedness in the wake of his wife's death. He didn't regret naming John Smith as Connor's guardian, but he fervently wished things had turned out differently.
"What do I need to do?" He whispered in resignation.
Connor ran through Potter Manor, gleefully exploring the multitude of rooms. It was the first time Sir had let him come to Fortress, and he thought it was brilliant.
He'd been assigned the Heir's Rooms as his own, secretly grateful that they were just across the hallway from the Master Suite. The house elf assigned to him, Swit, had explained that the Manor would move the family personal rooms to best meet the family's needs. Apparently The Disappointment used to have his own wing as far away from his parents as possible when he was the heir. Connor wasn't entirely sure why Sir's father was called The Disappointment, but he wasn't going to argue with the feisty old elf. While she may have been assigned to him, he was under no illusions about ordering her about; she'd take the paddle to his backside if he gave her any lip. He couldn't help liking her though, she was like the old Italian grandmother he'd seen once at the park.
Opening a new set of doors, he stopped dead in his tracks, staring in wide eyed wonder at the massive music room.
Filled with various instruments kept in top condition, the room was also littered with comfortable seating for both musicians and guests, the bright and airy room instantly his favourite place in the whole Manor. Barely blinking, he took a hesitant step forward, eyes glued to the massive grand piano by the window.
Fingers twitching slightly, he extended a hand and lightly tapped a couple of keys. The resulting notes brought a smile to his face, and his face lit up with a grin. Suddenly, he couldn't think of anything he wanted more than to learn how to play it.
Spinning around, he dashed out the door in search of Sir. He had lessons to beg for.