"Now, of course, comes the untested aspect," Voldemort said one morning, observing him over his maps, correspondences, and papers. Devlin did not need clarification; even though Devlin's window did not face the right direction, he could feel the moons swell in his bones and in his mind like some impending storm. He nodded dully, trying unsuccessfully to feel anything but nauseous. He supposed it went without saying that, even if Voldemort had created a perfect 'experiment' the timing of the moon meant this counterpart could not be tested 'first'. Devlin tried not to think about it and told himself, unless he saw proof, this child, this experiment, remained theoretical.

The Wolfsbane was the same Voldemort had always fed him and far different from the one Severus Snape brewed for him each month. It burned his insides with an insidious after-taste and, though he could hardly fathom how, made him even more nauseas and dizzy. His vision swelled and compacted, noises reaching him as though everything was amplified. Voldemort must have seen when the last dose of the day took full effect during an early dinner. He placed his silverware down with the utmost care not to jar them at all, and he rose without scraping his chair. His hand touched Devlin gently to warn him that he was there.

"I am going to cast a muffling charm," he said, and Devlin's body nearly turned to goo with relief as the sounds immediately dimmed. Devlin supposed a natural consequence of Voldemort's careful observations and manipulations was that, though he usually did not bother, he was actually quite good at anticipating what Devlin needed or even simply wanted. Devlin was skeptical about whether this talent, however, stretched into the emotional realm.

He hooked one hand around Devlin's elbow and the second he laid flat against Devlin's opposite shoulder blade, guiding him carefully up the stairs and into the room. Devlin's vision swelled and compacted, his breathing quickening, and his muscles spasming painfully. A flick of Voldemort's wand and Devlin was free of his shoes, robe, and wand holster. His boxers and undershirt kept his dignity, although Devlin hardly cared at that moment. His feverish skin welcomed the air.

"Do you prefer the floor or the bed?" Voldemort asked, delicately. Devlin wished it wouldn't hurt so much to move his head, because he would have liked to look at Voldemort's face and see the expression.

"Don't care," he mumbled, slowly bringing his hands up to cradle his head.

"Hmm, yes, clearly," he said. "Nevertheless, lets try for the bed."

After he was on the bed, Voldemort left him alone, and Devlin couldn't have been more grateful.

OoOoOoOoO

She was sipping coffee at the table when he came home, late as always since Devlin had been taken again. He stumbled to the table to join her, wishing this drunken feeing hanging about him actually had any guilty actions behind it. She looked at him, as if to assess whether it was sleeplessness that intoxicated him or something she'd truly have to worry about. His face flushed at the old regard; he had almost forgotten what it felt like.

"You were talking to Dumbledore again," she said, matter of fact. Of course she was right. Harry had little time, and Dumbledore and he had been sneaking in an hour or two after Harry got off of work, which was terribly late.

"Yes," he said, waving his wand lazily and beginning a cup of tea. Such magical processes had become somewhat automatic, like inputting a keypad password, or dialing a familiar phone number, so that, while he was conscious of his magic, the purpose behind the spell lay in the back of his mind, only a small nag on his thoughts. Wizards were full of feelings like that - tiny pulls of their magic, connecting them to long-term charms and wards.

"What has he been saying?" She asked, eyeing him critically.

"The same conversation we had before Devlin," he said, as the tea came to him. Her lips pressed together with displeasure. She knew what he meant. Before Devlin was enough to imply the conversation I ended when I found out I was going to be a father.

Not that he had said 'I'll never destroy another Horcrux for you, Dumbledore', but just that he had told Dumbledore they would need to research, be sure, and be safe. When Harry had spoken so earnestly to the Headmaster about needing to protect his own life, of his fear of leaving Devlin as his father had left him, of Alexandra being left without him to help protect Devlin; the Headmaster had nodded like an old grandfather and said how much he understood. How much he cared for Harry and how much he had come to love him over the years of watching over him.

"There is something he's not telling us," she said, "probably because he isn't quite sure...but still, he's hiding something, Harry."

Harry shrugged.

"With Dumbledore, there always is."

She regarded him for a long moment.

"I want to do some research, Harry," she said. "I'll talk to the Goblin's about borrowing some manuscripts from their private Library."

He snorted with derision, as he always did when Alexandra tossed the Goblin's friendship around so casually. It was a good thing they had never found out it had been Alexandra and he who broke into Bellatrix's vault and stole that cup.

He thought almost fondly back to the mission, that old pleasure tinted with guilt and confusion as it had been back then. Intensity always preserved everything so perfectly, even the emotions one didn't particularly want to remember tainting a memory. She looked at him oddly and he knew he must be smiling.

"Do you remember when we broke into there-"

"Oh, don't start, Harry. Don't smile-"

"How can I not smile?" He said, leaning across the table. She reached out a hand to cover his face, pushing him back into his seat. He remained unchastised, smiling at her.

"People do foolish things when they've just escaped death by mere centimeters." Which was a factual statement, not a metaphor. Alexandra usually made factual statements, wielding them with a potency someone like Dumbledore would wield an inspiring metaphor. Harry could still remember the dragon teeth scraping his cloak, the fire licking at their backs. Oh the burns!

"Are you implying you don't love me?"

"Oh, I love you. I just meant the near death experience made me forget we'd never even gone on a proper date."

"I keep telling you, Alex; I bring all my girlfriends on dangerous life-threatening missions as first dates! Somehow, even after all these years, you don't believe me!"

She smiled smally at him and he smiled at her and for one moment they were alright.

"You know I'd never take it back, Harry," she said, fiddling with her cup. He nodded and it went unsaid but not unfelt that Harry agreed. She was referring, of course, to her initial dismissal, all those years and years ago.

'It's alright, Harry,' she had said back then, when he had tried to pull her aside after an Order meeting a week later to talk about what had happened between them. 'Sometimes we do things we wouldn't have, while we are still in that moment of near-death.' Harry still remembered the complete stillness he had felt wash over him; the last bit of pleasantness that had lingered from their previous encounter washing out of his system. He had been desperate to get it back, yet guilty all at once. He had nodded and she had smiled smally and he had thought it a miracle she had even come to him, this fiercely independent women while he still seemed such a reckless boy, two weeks later to tell him she was pregnant.

Devlin.

They seemed to reach the same page of the story simultaneously, and their regards broke apart as Devlin's absence hit home harshly.

"I want to do some research before you talk to him again," she said, nodding. "Tell me what he said."

OoOoOoOoO

Alexandra had grown up in the middle of London with her mother, surrounded by the hub and constant movement. Her mother had seemed to thrive on this crowded atmosphere. As part of her aversion to remaining stagnant for too long, they had moved, but always somewhere crowded and noisy in London. Alexandra never imagined this need to move would lead to anything drastic, but when she turned ten, her mum had begun to speak hopefully of moving to the States. Alexandra had been young and thought if she ignored her mum, this displeasing event would not happen.

When her infamous Hogwarts letter came her mum threw it in the fireplace and proclaimed it a prank. To be honest, Alexandra hadn't been too upset, believing the same herself. She had spoken of the States again, where such things wouldn't happen. Alexandra had been doubtful, not overly impressed with the prank or understanding why it had upset her mother so and she ignored her again. Then one day, when she returned from school, everything was packed up, and there were plane tickets in her hands for the following Monday.

Of course, in the States, the letters came too - more than one school. Her mum, seeming to face the fact that this was not a prank, had not burned them. There had even been a phone number to call and her mum had seemed to cling to this one known type of communication.

When she was fifteen, rumors of Lord Voldemort's return to England had begun to circulate. When she was sixteen, graduating two years early because of her advanced skills, she had decided that she must help. She contacted the Ministry, but they did not hire untested Curse Breakers, or else perhaps simply not untested little girl Curse Breakers from the States. She'd taken the journey regardless and against her mothers pleads.

"They're at war! You're just a girl. You can't help, Alexandra!" Her mother had yelled at her, infuriatingly reasonable, as always. It had only spurred Alexandra onward.

It had taken some time, but eventually she had made enough connections to be introduced to Albus Dumbledore, the only man Lord Voldemort feared. It took months to gain his trust, but eventually he revealed himself to be what she had expected; the leader of a band against Voldemort. She was eager to help - to prove she was more than her mother saw her to be.

She told her mother she was dating Harry Potter before she told her she was pregnant, because she wanted to face the disapproval after her mother fell in love with this charming, quirky, slightly shy boy. Her mum would never see the other part of Harry; that part that could turn to steel in a moment. That man who would throw himself in front of her and die for her. That man who could lash out with all the precision you never guessed from his appearance. The warrior. She did not hide who he was and felt her mother was well protected from connection by her Muggle status and her residency all the way in the States.

Harry had been the gentlemen when they visited, helping her cook dinner, cleaning up, talking pleasantly about whatever Muggle topics she brought up. He had even helped her replace a lightbulb and cut some weeds in the backyard. Alexandra knew her mum did it on purpose, trying to find something that would confuse the wizard boy like even the doorbell had confused Alexandra's school friends. After all of that, Alexandra had expected her mother's blessing, but instead her mother had pulled her aside on the last night and pleaded with her to break up with him.

He's just a boy, Alex. He will die. This monster will kill you, because you are important to this boy. Come back here and stay safe.

Alexandra had seen her sense; she had always been able to see other people's reasons even through the blazing haze of her anger and denial. But she knew she could not break up with Harry Potter. She was going to have his child. The child would be a Potter regardless of whether Harry was there or not, and therefore a target. It was better to have Harry there.

Beside, she was more than fond of his quirkiness, now. They were fighting for the same thing and that thing was even more important now. She would keep him safe by reigning in that recklessness just a bit.

Alexandra had smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear and said softly, No mum. She had left with Harry and never told her mum she was pregnant.

When her mum had written her post box three years later, the one she kept just because it was the last address her mum would have known, Alexandra had been shocked.

She had moved back to England, two years ago, and now lived in a town bordering Scotland. She wanted to see her.

Are you still with Harry? Don't bring him here, dear. Don't be followed.

She had almost, almost, tossed it into the rubbish bin, but then that need for confrontation, for some closure, had crept up inside of her. She had looked at the little boy, head full of beautiful brown hair, stunning green eyes currently closed in sleep, and smiled.

No, she would not bring Harry.

She dressed him with a little more thought than she might have on a typical outing, since the only places they really went were to friends houses, those Order members who were also highly warded. He looked up at her curiously as she buttoned a shirt across his chest.

"Where we going, mummy?"

"Where are we going?" She repeated, parroting his phrase back at him with correct grammar, as she always did. "That is an excellent question, Devlin. We are going to go visit someone."

He blinked at her as she motioned for a hand and did the buttons at his sleeve.

"Sirius?"

"No, dear."

"Grandma Molly?" This nickname had come as soon as Freddie had begun to speak and titled Molly thus. Devlin, never one to let someone else own something more than he, had tagged along. Molly had told Harry she didn't mind, and Harry had nearly cried with deep-seated thankfulness.

She shook her head. One of his eyebrows arched, and the other soon followed.

"This is a hard guess," he said, a perfect mimic of Sirius when Devlin would make him guess what treat he wanted. She's not sure who he inherited this ability to mimic from, but he seemed to just absorb social phrases and facial expressions. More often than not, he managed to reuse them appropriately, and when he didn't, Alexandra and Harry had a good laugh about it later. "Maybe we go see the toy store?"

He meant Fred and George's joke shop, of course. She chuckled softly at his attempt to manipulate the trip.

"Not today."

"Oh. That is sad. Maybe 'morrow?"

"Maybe." He smiled at his small triumph. "Go fetch your shoes for me, Devlin."

She helped him get his shoes on, walking him through the steps. Hopefully he would have this figured out before her stomach got so big she couldn't bend over. She wondered if her mother would notice she was pregnant.

"Ready Mummy!"

Before she opened the front door, she paused and looked back at him. He caught her eye, smiling.

"We're going to visit a friend, Devlin. She knows about magic, but she's a little scared of it. So - no magic, alright?"

His lips pursed and danced from side to side in thought, but then he nodded.

"Okay, I no do magic!"

So that was how she found herself in Tweedmouth, facing a pale blue door. She tugged at his little hand, before she lost the nerve, and knocked on the door.

"Coming, coming," said a voice behind the door. Alexandra would recognize it anywhere; a flush of pleasure and worry sparked through her body at the sound of her mother's voice. The door opened. Her hair was streaked with grey and there were a pair of glasses perched on her nose. For a moment they were both frozen, soaking in the changes in their faces. In that moment Alexandra had forgotten about Devlin.

"Hi, mum," Alexandra said softly. "You sent a letter."

She nodded, almost numbly.

"Hello!" Devlin called, climbing back up the stairs Alexandra hadn't known he'd ever left. He was smiling; if Alexandra thought a just-turned-three-year-old knew what charming was, she would have called the expression charming.

"Who is he?" Her voice was hushed, her eyes wide and intense on Devlin's face.

"I'm Devlin!" He said, and he brought a flower out from behind his back. There were roots still attached. "Mummy said you don't like magic. I got you this flower - honest."

Alexandra could feel the flush of embarrassment on her face. 'Honest', she knew, was a word he got from his father. 'Got,' in this context, was entirely from her; Alexandra would often tell him not to 'make' things when they were out in public: when we are out here, we get things, we do not make them.

Her mother reached forward, taking the flower. Devlin smiled wider up at her, his thick locks of brown hair falling into his face. When he had been born it had been so dark they could hardly tell it was brown instead of black, but now it had settled into a deep umber that only showed it's true color in the bright sunlight.

"Would you like a bit of tea, Alex?" She asked, still peering at the child.

And so, that was how she found herself at the table, sitting across from the women she hasn't seen since before her marriage to Harry Potter. Devlin was munching on a biscuit and her mother, Natalie, was watching him intently.

"He has very pretty eyes," she said slowly. Devlin looked up, beaming at what he recognized as a compliment. "And so very much hair for a little boy. How old is he?"

"Just three," she said. Her mother was well versed in simple math, and she knew revealing Devlin's age would also reveal that Alexandra conceived before Harry and she married. That she had been pregnant the last time they met. That she hadn't told her mother.

She held her breath.

"Does he look like Harry's side?" Her voice was pleasant. It hadn't been with Harry that she had a problem, rather with Harry's connection as enemy to Voldemort.

"We're not sure. He doesn't look like Harry and by that regard he doesn't look like Harry's father, but he could well look like Harry's mother's family."

She nodded a bit, but it was a tense nod. There was that sour expression on her face that Alexandra knew well enough. It was the expression she would direct at Alexandra whenever she brought up the topic of her father; now she was staring at her child with that regard.

"You already know exactly who he looks like, don't you?" It was an accusation. She felt the tears of injustice prickling at her eyes. Of course it would happen this way. Of course this would be one more thing she would use to keep the pain of the topic fresh between them.

"He does," she allowed. There was a calmness to her voice that Alexandra had not been expecting to hear and it cooled her temper, just a bit. "He is very handsome, Alexandra. A mysterious looking little boy," she smiled at him and Alexandra noted the tears collecting at her own eyes. Just the fact that she has spoken words of acceptance for this child, for the most important thing in Alexandra's life, left her numb with a kind of long-waited relief.

"I'm sorry, mum," she said, and they both knew all the things she was apologizing for. Devlin's eyes went sharp between them as they always did whenever someone uttered those words; Hermione claimed him to have a "justice thing." Whenever something goes wrong he always wanted to know why, and those two words were a signal something had. Alexandra wiped at her eyes, wishing the baby in her belly would stop betraying her with all the added emotions. Devlin turned his gaze toward her, studying her. Natalie leaned forward and touched his small hand and his gaze instantly went to her. She smiled at him.

"Tell me, Devlin: can you make pretty flowers?" If he was older, she would have said his eyes narrowed in thought, but his chubby cheeks made that almost impossible for him to pull off. He nodded slowly as his pretty green eyes light up.

"Mummy said you don't like magic," he said to her, moving his small hand in gesture.

"I was little when I said that to her - make me a flower, darling."

Devlin had always had more control over his magic than Harry or Alexandra remembered having as a child. Such things, they reasoned, were due to him being around magic all the time. His slight shyness usually kept the best displays for home.

"I needs something first," he said, hoping off the table. Natalie laughed as he danced around the kitchen, looking under chairs and tables. Finally she reached into her pocket and offered him a coin. He looked at it for a moment. "No, I needs something not shiny."

Natalie nodded to go along with him.

"You finds me something not shiny?" He asked, in a stage whisper. Natalie stood from her chair and fetched a small wooden chopstick from a drawer.

"Yes!" He said. "It is long too!"

He fiddled with it atop the table. For a moment Alexandra saw doubt in Natalie's face, but she couldn't possibly know that Devlin wouldn't be able to do this. His eyes were focused on the wilting flower across the table that he had picked from earlier. The sticked turned green, then plant-like, the wood grain disappearing. Now a leaf was blooming off the side. A small, disproportionate, flower bloomed at the tip.

"Heres you go," he said, handing it to Natalie.

Her mother looked at the flower with something akin to awe, touching the stem (Alexandra could tell from the lack of bend that it still had a bit of woody quality to it) and smelling the flower.

"My flowers no smell," he said, "'cause they not real. But if you did magic you could make a flower that smelled, because yous is big."

Natalie was crying and Devlin looked back at her nervously. Alexandra had no idea why she was crying, but hoped this would not be the embarkment onto another lecture of how magic was over-rated.

"Mum?"

Natalie did not answer. She got up and went to put the flower in a vase of water by the sink. Just when Alexandra thought she was about to start crying by the counter, she walked over to the pantry, opened the door, and pulled down a box from somewhere at the top. Alexandra's mind began to race as she put it down on the table between them. It was a simple rectangular box, covered in muggle paper that had probably once been white. But it was the shape of the box that disturbed Alexandra; the proportions screamed 'wand'.

Her mother reached forward and Alexandra knew it couldn't be, and told herself several times that it was candy, or photos like the kind you took in the box with the curtains, or something sentimental - perhaps a letter from her father.

It was a wand.

Light wood, twelve inches if Alexandra had to judge, ornate hand-hold. It was settled on a cushion, looking as though it hasn't been touched in ages. Even now, her mother's hand did not touch the wand.

"Mum?" Her voice emerged from her throat with the distinct sound of shock.

"I prayed you would not look like him, Alex - and you did not. Your appearance was all mine, except for your hair, of course. You had magic, of course; I probably would have been disappointed if you had not, even though it would have made things so much easier. It was a quiet sort of magic and I almost thought that it would not be enough for you to make it to Hogwarts. You did, of course. Those damn letters found us. I burned it before you could see it properly. I knew if you went there, looking just like me, someone would recognize you and we would be found. I could not do that, so we moved."

"Found?" She asked, interrupting. Alexandra had long wondered how she came to be. It had always been in the back of her mind, whenever her mother said something startling, or got that sour expression at the mention of her father, that perhaps the encounter that created her hadn't been consensual.

"By that monster, of course," she said. There were tears at the edges of her eyes. Devlin, perplexed and a bit concerned by all these emotions, sought out the comfort of her lap. Alexandra wrapped her arms around his small frame.

"Voldemort?" She asked; her mother held herself stiffly a the name, as if she were trying not to react at all. Alexandra wondered how she could have missed the reactive non-reaction before. Devlin didn't react at all, but he knew the name, of course.

"Yes, him."

"You left because you were afraid? Mum, if-"

"I did not leave because I was afraid, Alex. I left to protect you." She peered at her intently, hoping to decipher what was behind those blue eyes.

"What do you mean, mum?"

"My father was one of his most loyal men," she began shakily, "but then something happened - I was only a girl and did not quite understand what - and he cut ties with him. The monster came after us, breaking into our house-" she sat down again and looked away. "This is not a conversation for a child's ears, Alex. All you need to know is that I escaped before he decided he was done with me."

As everything fell into place, Alexandra squeezed Devlin to her body as if he were a lifeline.

"I ran into the muggle village. I had a friend there, from my young childhood when I would sneak out. I stayed there, at my friends house, for a couple weeks. Then I found out I was pregnant and knew I could never go back. I - I'm not sure if my parents or my brother or sister even survived."

Alexandra felt her throat constrict.

OoOoOoO

The house had begun to feel like a cage, the open grounds surrounding it like something placed there to test his resolve. The Muggle town peered up at him from below the hill, taunting in its closeness. He grasped the rail of the porch and tried to put his mind on other things.

"There is nothing there but filthy muggles," Bellatrix said, her voice reminding him why he had escaped to the porch in the first place. He kept his eyes trained away from her. "Unless you like filthy muggles."

She maneuvered closer to him, putting her own hands on the rail. He did not deign her with a response, knowing silence with a well-placed sneer would do him more justice.

"You've grown since you were with Master last," she said, tipping her head to peer at him with something possessive and pleased. Devlin turned to her, weary and wanting to see the danger. She face still made it seem as though she would enjoy tearing him to pieces, but her eyes were like they had always been and though he did not know what it was they were, he knew it offered him a small fraction of protection from her other-wise brutal nature.

"Yes," he said. "Children are infamous for growing."

His voice was a drawl, a tone he had almost thought he had forgotten during his time with Harry and Alexandra. She chuckled.

"Are you trying to make a joke?" Her lips spread into a smile, showing her teeth. "I could teach you some betters ones."

"No. I thought perhaps you weren't aware. The oddest things seem to escape you."

The smile turned into a leer.

"If you weren't under my Masters-"

Devlin smiled at her, not because he was stupid enough to outright taunt her, but because the oddest things did escape her, including that Voldemort had come to the porch door. She reached a hand forward grab him, but Devlin sidestepped her and took a step backwards, drawing her eyes toward the other side of the porch.

"My Lord," she said, her eyes widening as she realized her folly. Voldemort stepped out onto the porch.

"Go inside, Devlin," he ordered. Devlin lingered for a moment, confused; the idea of Devlin witnessing anything harsh usually appealed to Voldemort. "Now."

He ducked inside the door, but not further. He could hear them, which meant Voldemort didn't care if he heard.

"I do believe I have told you before, Bellatrix that he is mine. He is not a plaything for you. If I even think a finger of yours has been on him, you will regret it with your life."

"My Lord I was-" There was a scream.

"He is not to be marked at all. No spells. No marks. Do you understand, Bellatrix?"

Things went quiet for a moment and Devlin scurried away from the door and into the library, picking a book at random to bury his nose in. He already had marks on him that proved Voldemort didn't mind scarring him and his change of opinion bothered Devlin more than he thought was logical.

The rules to the game were changing, and Devlin had no idea why.

OoOoOoO

He was running. He is always running. His feet were like a drum beat that he wished he could make quicker and more powerful. He tried to push forward faster, but he can not make his aching limbs obey his command. His hair was whipping across his face, thick with sweat and frozen from the chill that surrounded him. Snow flurries down, concealing what lay ahead. But it didn't matter; he must go forward. There was no turning back.

Curses light the air. Green, blue, red, orange, and yellow ripped through the air, trying to catch him. He ducked and rolled, scrambling to his feet. Now he was covered in ice cold snow, his limbs slowing, slowing, slowing until-

"Did you think we wouldn't catch you?" Someone said behind him, close enough that he could clearly hear their voices. He looked back, just for a moment, just for a second, just long enough to know what he was running from. "Did you think we would let you get away with it?"

Aurors.

His conscious mind scrambled to be heard, to wake him up from such a foolish dream. Running from his father's men! But his subconscious has a lesson for him to learn, as Grandfather would have said, and was unwilling to leave it half-taught.

He scrambled as he tripped on a branch buried beneath the snow, his hands cold with chill and turning blue. His breath was like ice-fire surrounding his head. He can't go much longer...

Then he saw it. The hill. The house. He urged his body forward and at last, desperate, his legs pound faster and faster under his vicious command. The hill seemed steeper than before, but perhaps it was just his poor condition. He was close, and they were close, and he tried desperately to transform into that little wolf, but it was not part of his subconscious' lesson.

He was on the steps, lurching onto the porch, the old wood beneath his feet and his hands. He grasped the knob with his frozen fingers, trying to yank it open. They were nearly to the steps when it opened beneath his desperate grasp. He closed the door behind him, his body sagging against the wood.

There was a man waiting for him.

"We both knew they would never understand you like I do, Devlin. You are not one of them," the man who looks just like him said, smiling.

His body hurled itself out of bed without his conscious command. The hurry of the chase was still pounding realistically in his blood and he scrambled to his feet with fear-fueled determination.

He was only in his room, though. He looked to the door, but Voldemort was not there. He ran a hand through his hair, wet with warm sweat, and rose to get changed. Outside his window it was snowing.

Perhaps it was nearing Christmas.

OoOoOoO

'I think you can manage not to die,' Voldemort had said yesterday, after more dueling. Devlin didn't think blasting a hole in the ground and burying himself in ice counted as exemplary dueling skills against a fire hex, but he supposed it did illustrate a stupid ability to simply survive, which was far from triumph. The words had disturbed him yesterday; the idea that Voldemort could find peace with Devlin being 'good enough' rather than 'exceptional.'

Today the proclamation lingered like a bad taste at the back of his tongue - rising poisonously into his mouth with every swallow. The black cloak had returned. If the cloak did not stand as a symbol of all things non-innocent, Devlin would have said its position atop his bed looked almost innocent. He knew better.

"Stop staring at it, Devlin," Voldemort said, a curious yet harsh note to his voice. Devlin mastered the urge to jump at his surprise. There was a book in Voldemort's hands, one of his long fingers curled around the back and into the middle of the book to hold his place. His shoulder leaned against the door jam, his bare feet crossed and pressed against the wooden floor. "It does not mean what you think."

In this instance, Devlin rather thought Voldemort's reluctant skill to understand what Devlin was thinking, that came as a consequence of his careful observations and manipulations, was lacking. He wondered what Voldemort thought he believed the cloak meant, but knew he shouldn't ask. It was better that Voldemort believe he understood Devlin, and better that Devlin believe he did not.

He threw it over his shoulders. The clasp in the front was intricately carved by magic, a skull with it's mouth open, into which a snake hooked.

"Good," Voldemort said, and pushed himself into Devlin's room. He came to sit atop the bed, where the cloak had just been, and looked at him. It was a place Harry might have sat, ready to reassure him that something the seemed overwhelming wouldn't be so difficult. Devlin's heart pounded faster. "I want to show you a spell," he said, his voice that even calmness that it always was when he was eager for Devlin and he to tangle up even more.

He took his wand out.

"Watch my wand movement carefully."

Devlin alway did watch him carefully.

"Morsmordre."