A/N: I took out a bit that seemed silly now that I look back on it, so this chapter is a little shorter than I expected, but I like this ending so *shrug* it is what it is. I think I can safely post a couple snippets of Dubhán and Voldemort interactions soon (I wanted you to get to know Dubhán a little beforehand). Look for it after the publishing of Chapter 6 and you probably want to read chapter 6 first too.
Please review! Again, I have over 200 unique visitors to this story, 5 chapters, and 1 review. I don't need reviews and I won't withhold an update because I didn't get them but they are nice. :)
On with the story:
Geoffrey feels as if he has accomplished the impossible: he is in two places at once. He is split between a person who is smiling and carrying on a conversation with Dubhán as he brings book after book to him and explains his interest in it, and the person who knows it is only a matter of hours, minutes and seconds before he will never see that smile again.
Geoffrey claws desperately at the ground (his last remaining rope) as he moves over to the register to purchase the books. Dubhán is beaming at his side as the shopkeeper rings up the items.
"Are all of those yours, son, or do you have an older sibling going to school?" The shopkeeper asks as he bags and shrinks the books. Dubhán shakes his head.
"All mine sir. I like to read." The man nods knowingly.
"I can see that. Well you take good care of yourself and the books."
"Of course, sir. Thank you sir." Dubhán says, tucking the package carefully into his pocket, and running over to meet Geoffrey at the door.
Geoffrey cannot help but cave into the child's wish for ice cream, not today. He indulges the child with double servings and they talk pleasantly, carefree, about the books he has purchased. Geoffrey knows it will be their last conversation like this.
"I can't wait to read that one on the Philosophy of Magic. Actually, I got a few on that topic, because it's supposed to vary, and I want to get an idea of it from all angles. Where do you think magic originated from?" Geoffrey shakes his head in amusement.
"I wouldn't even attempt to answer that question, Dubhán. You will have to ask your grandfather." Dubhán looks disappointed from a second, but then brightens, moving onto his next subjects of books: potions.
A certain tenseness always accompanies the act of Apparition; the muscles tighten as if they can hold each other together by sheer strength and hands grasp for anything to anchor them. This was not, however, the kind of tension Geoffrey felt Dubhán experience as he opened his eyes not to the camp, but to an office.
"Geoffrey, I think we made a wrong turn, better get out of here before someone notices." Geoffrey swallows, feeling his own muscles tense in anticipation of what is to come.
"Hold on Dubhán." He relaxes for a moment, convinced, perhaps mislead, that Geoffrey is regaining the energy to transport them.
Mere moments later, the door opens. Dubhán, still facing Geoffrey, can't see who is coming into the office, but Geoffrey can. Harry Potter. The Auror's attention is focused on a report in his hands and he manages to close his door and sit behind his desk before he noticed either of them. Then he looks up.
The papers fly into the air as Potter jumps in surprise and land on the ground in front of his desk. Habit leads him to cast silencing and locking spells across the whole room. When he's finished, he simply stands there, looking shocked. Geoffrey is unimpressed. Dubhán is shaking against him.
"Hello." Geoffrey says. Dubhán turns around and then shrinks back into Geoffrey, even though Geoffrey seems to know the man.
"Geoffrey," he whispers urgently, "get us out of here. He's an Auror!"
"Is that him?" The man whispers hoarsely, taking a shaking step forward, hand held out like a blind mans cane.
"This is Dubhán." Geoffrey answers careful, taking a step away from Potter as he feels the small body shake against him. He gives Potter a significant glance, and then Geoffrey moves so that he has Dubhán's shoulders in his grasp and is looking in his eyes. "I had to do this, Dubhán. I could never hurt you. This isn't meant to hurt you, this is meant to protect you."
"Take me home Geoffrey." His tone is cold and demanding, a perfect replication of Voldemort's. Geoffrey shakes his head.
"I can't Dubhán." He says, moving his hands awkwardly across the small, tense, shoulders in a familiar motion to calm the boy. Today, it helps none. "I can't." Those eyes turn cold now, surging with anger.
"Take me home Geoffrey." This is an order. Voldemort would have followed with a painful dose of the Cruciatus Curse, but even had Dubhán the wand and knowledge about how to perform such a spell, he would not have cast it. He detests the spell.
"Do you remember, Dubhán, when you asked me how to make Voldemort happy?" Dubhán shakes his head. Geoffrey is clearly a traitor, but he is also the only person in this room that Dubhán knows. Therefore, despite Dubhán's best efforts to feel otherwise, he can't help the tiny part that still wants Geoffrey's quiet guidance and reassurance.
"I told you: "you do what you are told"." Geoffrey's eyes looks so sad, Dubhán looks away. "And you are such a smart, clever boy, Dubhán. You survived where no other little boy would, or should. You shouldn't need to always worry about what you're saying or doing or whether you said something with just the right tone of voice – it isn't healthy. I cannot see a child in you, Dubhán, and every person must be a child first. It is not right for him to take that away from you." Dubhán's eyes brim with tears; tears he will not allow to fall.
"Take me home Geoffrey, and I promise, I won't tell him. Everyone makes mistakes... just take me home."
"I have Dubhán."
"No! NO, take me back to grandfather, Geoffrey! You can't do this too me! You can't! You're supposed to take care of me! I don't like this! I don't feel good here! You can't do this! You can't! You can't! You can't! You can't!" The tears clung defiantly to his eyes, but that didn't stop the whimpers and pleading regard. Geoffrey did nothing to stop the accusations, merely waits for the small child to wane into silence.
"Oh, Dubhán, you are confusing tactics. I love you. I, all of Voldemort's werewolves, adopted you into our pack, but I am not your creator. I am a volunteer to that position. Those words hurt me, they hurt me beyond any pain I can ever feel, but...they do not wake my wolf. I am still Geoffrey. Even my wolf is capable of weighing safety over your discomfort." He lifted one of the child's hands to his breast. "You are my pup here, not by blood. They are the same in every aspect, except the one you wish to exploit." Dubhán growls lowly, hunching his shoulders slightly, lifting his gaze to stare into Geoffrey's eyes. Dubhán had known, below his fear and desperation, that the tactic would not work. For Geoffrey to betray him the way he has, even his wolf must agree.
Dubhán knows many inappropriate words, a child that has lived in his surroundings cannot help but hear them, and so long as he does not say them, his Grandfather hardly cares that he knows them. The word he has chosen to say, however, is not inappropriate, quite to the contrary, he has chosen to use this word because of its appropriateness: "Traitor!"
Geoffrey finally looks away, finally slumps into one of the chairs; finally lowers himself of his high rank and claims Dubhán the winner. Dubhán does not care, he does not want to win anything; he wants to go home, to feel safe.
"I've brought him here, what else to do you want of me, Potter?" Dubhán does not read papers or recent History books, he does not know what Harry Potter looks like, does not want to remember that he did know the man once. Geoffrey's words mean volumes to him, and he backs against one of the office walls.
"You're going to kill me!" He is aware of his position in the room, of its susceptibility to traps, his also aware of its advantage. He pushes his palms slightly against the wall behind him, unnoticeable to the people in front of him, and prepares for attack. Geoffrey is his only disadvantage: Geoffrey who has watched and assisted in his training, Geoffrey who can warn Potter.
"I want you to tell him I'm not going to kill him!" Potter tone and hitch tells Dubhán that he is genuinely hurt by Dubhán's statement, yet Dubhán feels no need to allow that to effect his opinion, even though he knows there are few who can fool his instincts.
"He won't believe me." Geoffrey covered his eyes with a hand, slumping in the chair and looking pale and sickly. Potter glares at Geoffrey, who takes his hand away, and, lifting his eyebrows and looking toward Dubhán again, says: "He won't kill you." His words are bland and untasteful: he says them because he has been asked to not because he thinks Dubhán will consider them. He is a traitor. A moment passes between Geoffrey's words and all other silence. Dubhán tries to reign in his thundering thoughts.
"What is rescue to you, Mr. Potter, may be kidnapping to Dubhán" "You're going to kill me!" He tried to rid his mind of the voices, voices that itched and clawed like those of Voldemort.
Silence, a fist closing around his throat, engulfed the office. An emptiness that has always been present in him, since the first time he can remember his Aunt calling him a freak, creeps under his skin. He knows each curve, each sinking hole, of this emptiness, yet he is always amazed how it grows and contracts, how each time he confronts it, it has changed.
"Devlin..." His throat is hot and constricted.
"My name is Dubhán." Harry cannot draw his gaze away from those cold eyes; he forces his eyes shut to avoid this weakness.
"Dubhán," It hurts so much to say that name, to surrender the other one, the one that represented the child he had known. "I am your father, I won't hurt you."
"Where is the proof? Where are the files?" He narrows his eyes; eyes that are haunted by the truth he knows and the determination to turn away. He wants to crush the truth into ash and blow it away with the wind. Yet fear, instead of sending him into a panic, heightens and focuses his senses. "What exactly to you wish to accomplish by kidnapping a child, Mr. Potter? I will not betray him, I will not betray Voldemort..." He pauses here; for the effect he knows silence builds.
Dubhán understand what he must do now. He lifts his head, like a lion showing its size, straightens his back and captures Harry Potter's green gaze in his own, like a huge snake preparing to strike. "Just as I did not betray you."