A/N: Hope you like this chapter. I am really hacking at my old plot and changing a bunch of things. I like it better now though. In this rewrite we'll have to wait a bit longer for Remus and Devlin to meet, though. :)
I know I'm updating really quickly, but expect it to start taking a few days to a week soonish – when I'll be writing new material rather than editing old material and adding in bits of new material.
On with the story:
For a long time everything is an abyss of black, but Dubhán tries to stay calm, because the worst part is nearly over. He tries to curl up into a tight ball, but something won't let his body move. He whimpers.
Smells penetrate the darkness first. They always do. His mind awaits the smell of his pillows, his books, his ink, and his Grandfather. His Grandfather always comes to sit with him when this happens, even if he'd been in an important meeting. It doesn't happen very often, though. It shouldn't have happened. Dubhán scrunches up his face: why had it happened?
You had been panicked and in a body-bind, that's why. He'd tried to let Geoffrey know, but he'd had his eyes covered. Why had he been a body bind? Why had Geoffrey looked so defeated? "I've brought him here, what else to do you want of me, Potter?" He whimpers again, struggling to wake up, but he knows it's useless. His body won't listen to him until it is ready. Until then he'll just lie there, helpless.
At least this not in the office anymore, he can tell that much. He's in a living room. He's not sure how he knows. Zee lives here…who is Zee?
Sounds, as if traveling through a long tunnel, reach him next. He can hear whispering. He tries to lean towards the whispers and with a jerk his body comes under his control and he tumbles off of some kind of furniture. Someone else is whimpering and running and a moment later he is fighting against someone's grasp. They're going to hurt him!
"Devlin, Devlin, calm down." But he isn't Devlin. Devlin is a little boy and he isn't little. He can't be little.
That something is still whimpering and it is getting louder. Suddenly it starts barking and grumbling and suddenly the wolf awakens in him, surging forward into his consciousness. Once more, his wolf saves him. His eyes snap open, pure amber. Over in the corner a man is holding onto a dog, and it is this thing that is alternating between whimpering, whining, grumbling and barking.
His wolf narrows his eyes, considering the thing. He's wearing a collar and the wolf doesn't like that, but Dubhán recognizes it's purple color. And the snitch shaped tag that hangs off the silver ring.
The wolf whimpers back, seeking out this dogs reaction. The dogs ears quirk and it's eyes come away from the man holding onto it's collar and onto him. It begins pulling until, catching it's captor quite unexpected, it is free.
"Hey!" The man shouts, trying to reach forward, but it's already surging forward, faster than it's feet can keep traction. To him. The wolf in him, sensing his human weakness, curls into a ball. This thing might only be a dog, but his wolf right now is only protected by human skin.
It begins sniffing him and licking him and nudging at him, all the while whimpering in excitement. The wolf frowns and Dubhán takes that moment to gain a bit more control over his thoughts.
The man, Potter, is over by his side, trying to tug the dog away. "Zee, stop that. He's not feeling well. Go to bed." But the dog just looks at him, sits down next to him, and wags his tail. "Go to bed," Potter says again, a bit more firmly. "You're scaring him". So the dog flops down where he is and looks up, whining again.
When Potter looks over to him, he scrambles backwards, up onto the piece of furniture (a sofa) that he must have fallen from.
"Leave him for a minute, Harry," Says a women's voice. She's holding a little girls hand, leaning in the doorframe to the living room. "He's in shock." When Harry nods and begins to go towards them, she looks over to the dog and says "You make sure he's okay, Zee." The dog huffs, as if that was a given. Dubhán stares after them, then looks around the room. Perhaps they don't plan on killing him right away.
The room is painted a dark taupe color, furnished in warm, light colors, windows draped in a mild beige; it has not been changed. He does not know from were this firm, certain, knowledge comes from. He would not have been able to tell anyone, before stepping in this room today, what colors it had been four years ago. He can feel panic surround his chest in its tight, cold, grasp; he knows this is dangerous, and yet, he can do nothing about it.
But that was wrong. He could do something about it. It is only panic at being trapped in the abyss again that propels him off the sofa and into the hallway. He wonders for a long time, before he admits defeat. He's lost. He leans against a wall and curls up, totally and completely lost. He's not used to maneuvering houses – at the camp all maneuvering is done out doors and things are clearly labeled. And his head hurts. And he's still dizzy. He breathes deeply, trying to calm his headache.
The dog, which had been following him, now approaches him slowly. It sits in front of him and simply stares.
"I'm lost," Dubhán says softly, feeling the need to clarify for the dog. He looks up and for the first time truly regards the animal. He is large and sleek looking. His snout is long and sharp and right now his ears are cocked forward a bit. Dubhán reaches out towards his grey and black coat. He looks like a wolf, but he's too small and his coat isn't quite the same. "I'm looking for the man and the lady," he says softly.
The dog rushes to his feet and stands, expectantly, a few steps away. He peers around his body to regard Dubhán, as if waiting. Slowly, Dubhán gets to his feet.
"Can you find them?" The dog whimpers, so Dubhán follows him as he leads him through the hallways and into a kitchen area. The man and the women are both talking to the little girl. He stands there for a moment, quite visible in the doorframe, but also quite unseen so far, and listens.
"Do you remember how you wanted Mummy and Daddy to call you Emmaline instead of just Emma? And Mummy and Daddy said "okay" and didn't call you Emma again until you said it was okay?" The little girl is nodding in understanding. "Devlin only wants to be called Dubhán right now, and Mummy and Daddy and you are going to call him Dubhán until he says we can call him Devlin again – can you do that?" The girl gives a sharp nod.
"That's easy, Mum," she says. "Does that mean now we can have a happy cakes on his birthdays?" The lady and the man smile and seem to choke back a sob of joy. Meanwhile Dubhán is wondering if there is such a thing as a sad cake. Maybe if it was made of vegetables?
"Yes, we can have a cake on his birthday."
"But you'll remember to write Dubhán instead of Devlin, right Mummy?" The lady nods. At that moment the dog decides to walk into the room and over to the man, who he lays his head onto. The man looks down at his lap and then over towards the door, where the dog's eyes keep roaming. He smiles. Dubhán keeps his face perfectly neutral.
"Dubhán, are you hungry? We were hoping you'd have dinner with us." The lady's voice is calm and soothing and reminds him of the lullaby he can sometimes hear in his dreams.
"My head hurts," he begins, unsure how to explain what he so desperately needs. If he does this wrong they may decide not to help him at all. If he says 'I need you to give me this potion that Voldemort's Death Eater's brewed' he imagines they will frown in horror and suspect he's trying to poison himself.
"The medi-witch left some pain relieving draughts," the lady begins, but he shakes his head.
"They don't work. I've built an immunity." The man frowns at this statement, his regard becoming more focused and concerned. "I have a special potion," he says slowly, assessing their reaction.
"If you can tells us what it's called, I can try to get some. Snape usually has all kinds of potions." His ears perk up at the name of the world's most renowned Potion's Master but he shakes his head again. "He won't have this. It hasn't been published. It prevents my…episodes. Having one usually begins a chain reaction and the first sign is a headache. The more I have the worse they get."
They're looking at him expectantly, so he continues. "I have some in my bag, but it's shrunk, and I can't unshrink it myself." He mumbles, grabbing the teeny tiny backpack from his pocket and holding it out towards the lady. She takes looks at it and then levitates it to the table. He must be looking so bewildered at the way she is handling it so carefully that the man clarifies by pointing out it could be a portkey.
"It's not," he feels the need to assure. If it were, he'd already have used it. The lady runs all kinds of analytical spells over the bag until, satisfied, she uses the unshrinking charm.
"Front pocket, one of the small cylindrical bottles, purple." She reaches in and pulls out small vial filled with a blackish blue liquid, but he shakes his head. Finally after several more attempts, she pulls out a purple one and hands it to him. He swallows it down, making a face. "Side pocket, frog please," he says, gagging. She frowns but reaches in, pulling out one of the pockets only contents: chocolate frogs. She unwraps it and hands it to him by a leg. He shoves the whole thing into his mouth. "Tastes awful and burns on its way down," he said after he was finished chewing and swallowing.
"Oooh, can I have one?" That is the little girl. She turns her eyes towards him. They are a brilliant blue and for a moment Dubhán he is lost in memories of another set of brilliant blue eyes. He shakes himself free from that memory and looks to the lady.
"I guess if she says it's okay," he says, quite uncertain he is doing this the right way.
"After dinner, Emma," the lady says and takes one of the frogs and sets it upon the counter before handing his backpack back to him.