Note: all chapters at this time are not beta'd. I want to get a fair bit of the story done before I ask some one to look it over for plot slips and grammar mistakes. Thank you all for your reviews. I can't believe Wellingtonboots reviewed my story!

Geoffrey had sat beside Dubhán until he fell asleep, and then moved slowly into the chair near the bed, settling down in wait of Voldemort. It was dark and silent, the perfect atmosphere for brooding about his potential treason. He was traitor; he had taken the step from consideration to action.

What would Dubhán think of him? He could picture the child yelling, screaming, fighting back tears he never allowed to fall, and then turning his eyes upon him. Those eyes where filled not with hate, not with fright, nor even desperation – they held disappointment. He had trusted, he trusts, Geoffrey. He would loose the only one who had never hurt him.

He wondered, in the child's mind, if he blamed his father, the great Harry Potter, for not coming and getting him, or his mother, the one who tucked him in and kissed his forehead, for forgetting him. He wondered if he remembered either of his parents beyond vague sensations. He wondered what Potter would think of a child who had only stepped on a broom in a trial practice of escape from his men.

He wondered what both parents would think of a child who despised their very job. He wondered and pondered and brooded so hard and so long, that he didn't notice, half an hour later, the door to the room open and spread a sliver of light onto the bed, and onto his chair.

The Dark Lords face came into view, and with it his eyes, crimson red like coals that have succumbed to the flames, found Geoffrey in the chair. This was Voldemort, not Tom; Voldemort who only hid himself from one person, and he must have known that person was asleep. For a moment, as he stared at the child, his eyes softened and turned a murky green.

"I did not expect you to be in here, Geoffrey." Geoffrey rose slowly from the chair, walking into the hallway as the Dark Lord held the door open.

"Dubhán had a nightmare." Voldemort's eyes went again to the child, visible through the slightly ajar door, and then came back to Geoffrey.

"Did he speak about its contents with you?" Geoffrey shook his head, and, again, those crimson eyes traveled to the black hair and pale skin hidden under a downy blanket.

"I see..." He closed the door carefully. "You may go then." Geoffrey nodded
quickly, swiftly walking down the short hallway and to the front door. He would sleep in the Barracks tonight; he had a sense that his Master wanted him nowhere near that building.

"Morning Geoffrey." This has been Dubhán's constant greeting every morning: it has only changed once in the four years Geoffrey has known Dubhán, and that was the curtailing of 'good'.

"Good morning, Dubhán." He watches the child button up his dress shirt and then come over to the bed to tie his shoes. "Why are you so dressed up today?" Dubhán glances at him, blinking twice.

"I thought we could talk Grandfather into letting me take a trip to the book store. I've run out of books." Geoffrey could not help but chuckle.

"You've finished reading them, you mean? You can't have run out of them," he sweeps his hand across the direction of the whole wall bookcase, "you have at least a hundred."

"Yes well, I've finished reading them all...twice." Geoffrey, trained from a young man to think strategically, could not help but notice that leaving the base by Dubhán's own wish, would be the best opportunity, while, at the same time, would mark him as clear as blood on his palms, as a traitor. Potter had made no promise to keep him safe.

"Do you think he will allow it on such short notice?" He supposed he is also hesitant to finish this job so quickly, to loose Dubhán so soon.

"Nah, I expect it will be a few days, but I have to ask sometime." He finished tying the laces on his shoes and moved to putting on a clean-lined black robe, classic against his deep green - almost black itself, shirt – as being of Slytherin house. Dubhán was dressing for the occasion; he was manipulating Voldemort.

"I told your Grandfather you had a nightmare last night, when he asked me why I was sitting with you." Dubhán regarded him with a raised, knitted, brow. "Is that alright?"

"I'd thank you if I thought you'd helped me on purpose: more a chance he'll let us out." Geoffrey could only frown at the child.

"We never discuss your dreams, Dubhán, but we both know there painful; what does Voldemort think you are dreaming of?" Dubhán looks away, lifting to his feet and tucking his green-chain necklace under his shirts.

"Some secrets are better left unsaid." He strode to the door and laid his hand on it. "Are you coming, or shall I speak to him alone?" Geoffrey rose and left the room with Dubhán.

"Harry!" Harry Potter spun around the hallway, meeting Hermione Granger's gaze. He should have expected her to be early, should have known he would not even get the chance to step into his office, when he had asked her to come see him at work. "Harry, are you alright?" She was not asking the question as one friend might to another; she was concerned for him.

He blinked.

That had not been what he had expected her to ask first. "I am; why do you ask?" Her eyes glazed over, as if she were debating whether she should really answer, or if she should, could, go on as if she had never asked.

"You never speak about Dubhán unless it's his birthday; and then Ron is dragging you home drunk." Harry took her hand and they began to walk to his office. He did not know who to respond to that, he wanted to forget those nights, wanted to pretend, for certain, that they would never happen again. He wanted to imagine he wasn't worried Voldemort would somehow get the information that he knew about Devlin and decide to kill his son.

"Has Ron spoken to you?" She narrowed her eyes, now seated in front of his desk.

"No. I asked him to lunch and he said he couldn't leave the office, so I asked him to dinner, and he said he couldn't leave the office. What is going on, Harry?" So he told her, and even his somber concerns could not keep the smile from his face as he told her his son was alive.

"Did you see your Grandfather this morning?" Geoffrey asked, half for a conversation, half to gauge Voldemort's mood. Dubhán continued walking to what most Death Eaters had named the 'Intelligence Base', or just Base for short.

"He was gone when I woke up." Geoffrey tried to picture Dubhán walking down the hallway in his socks and pajamas and knocking on the Dark Lords door, but it aroused such a sense of surreality and confusion, that he tossed it aside.

"Do you know if you are allowed in the Base today?" Dubhán shrugged in response, pausing five feet from the tent to speak to the guards.

They let him in without hesitation, and, just before entering, Dubhán turned an ironic smile to him, as if to say: he would have told his guards to brandish their wands had I not been allowed. Geoffrey could see the irony in this, could sense the spark of sadness well up and then be squashed down.

"Dubhán." The dark lord had already risen from his seat at the head of the planning table. "What can I do for you?"

"I wished to ask if I would be allowed to visit Diagon Alley, I have read and reread all of my books..." Voldemort paused to consider this, while the other Death Eaters, went on working over a laid out map, working out the best tactic for some coming attack.

"You can, however, things will have to be arranged. Perhaps Wednesday." Dubhán smiled brightly, and, despite his company, the Dark Lords eyes murked over with green for a millisecond. "Now be gone with you, we both have other things to do." This was a demand, yes, but it was delivered fondly. Dubhán turned to leave, spinning on his heel, while Geoffrey dipped his head in a bow, before slowly turning his back on his master.

"Oh, and Geoffrey," He turned sharply around, fear, for a moment, lodging in his throat, "do make sure the boy gets his medication, I did not have time to give it to him this morning." Geoffrey nodded and left the room with his small charge. That was another thing he had to ponder on...

"So you want me to help?"

"I don't know what will happen... you're the best lawyer I know - even if you also teach annoying little brats - the only one I trust to keep Dubhán safe from the sometimes stupid courts."

She raised an eyebrow - Harry thought, looking at the expression, that she had been spending too much time with Ron – "Someday, both of your children will be in my History class, but yes, I will help you. You can always count on me, Harry." Harry sighed and fell back into his chair, as if she had lifted some great concern off of him.

"Now tell me about this boy..."

"I wouldn't know where to start, I hardly know his life from the time he was kidnapped..." She swallowed quickly - and rushed to assure him she would ask questions and he only had to answer – as she saw memory after deadly memory swarm in his eyes.

"In these memories, did he appear injured?" She must know if he is being held captive by force, and she dare not ask it so bluntly.

"No, but he was always in long sleeves..."

"Does he appear frightened?" She bites her lip as she asks this; of course he is frightened, yet she must ask it regardless.

"Yes...in at least one of the memories." Hermione can hear the despair well up in him.

"Does he remember...does he remember you or Alex?" This was the hardest question. Who was she to shove it in a parents face that their child may have forgotten them, may have believed he was alone...

"He remembers Alex, I'm- I'm not sure about myself" She closes her eyes for a moment, balling her fists and pushing her own emotions as far away she can.

"Does he appear to...is he..." Words failed her: she had no right to ask if Dubhán seemed to have gone to the dark side. How could she ask that of a child? How could she ask that of this child? How could she look Harry in the face and ask him to answer her?

But Harry can see the question in her face.

"I don't know. He calls him Grandfather... he seemed passive sometimes and angered others. I can't truly answer that until we get him away from danger."

"Voldemort knows?"