When Remus leaves Zee stands at the fireplace and howls in a sing-song way. Dubhán watches and listens in fascination.

"He sounds like a wolf…" He shakes the urge to join with him in his song of longing. To become the little wolf and sit beside him and comfort him. His Mum is picking up some toys and putting away books and she smiles kindly.

"Perhaps that is because he's part wolf. He only howls like that for Remus, Sirius, and of course, you."

"Why would you give a wolf to a child?" He asks, although he really doesn't have a problem with the dog.

"I didn't. Sirius got him for you for your birthday. I hadn't the heart to take him away. We'd tried to get a puppy – Hermione had thought it might help you heal after the bite – but you didn't connect with any of them. You called them all 'silly'. Sirius got it in his head that what you needed was a twin – something that was part 'tame' and part 'wild'. The puppy jumped out of the box and you two looked at each other with such an intelligent regard and you seemed to understand each other. You smiled. You hadn't smiled since the bite. He was your protector."

"But he didn't protect me," the words fall from his mouth before he can stop them and he looks forlornly at his shoes.

"We locked him up at night in a crate, because he liked to chew things. He was there in your bedroom when they kidnapped you. Harry smashed that stupid crate the next day. You could see his teeth marks on the metal – his claw marks on the floor of it. He tried so hard to protect you, Dubhán."

"I…should get to sleep. May he sleep with me again?"

"There is nothing more he would like to do. Zee-Zee, Dubhán is going to bed." The dog looks up from his song and towards the boy. Dubhán can almost see him connect the phrase to him. Boy = Dubhán. He trots over and pushes his body gently against Dubhán.

On his way up the stairs Potter stops him on his way back from tucking Emma into bed.

"Tomorrow we have to figure out your potion situation. We have to figure out how to duplicate the potion you need. So expect a breakfast visitor."

"There are not many brewers who can do anything with a boy who has only seen it made, sir."

"No, not many. But the one at breakfast can. Now go to bed, you need to be well rested." Dubhán doesn't have much faith in his assumption, but nods.

"Sir?" Potter stops and waits for him to continue. "You wouldn't, er, come into the room I'm sleeping in if I didn't want you too, right?" He swears the man quirks a smile.

"I won't, no. If you keep it clean, neither will Alex. Unless the wards go off, of course." Dubhán nods and heads up to bed. Behind him Harry knows he'll have to keep good to his word, even though curiosity is blooming in his mind.

Upstairs Dubhán locks the door again, folds his clothes neatly atop his desk, and transforms into his wolf. He leaps onto the bed and tries to find a comfy spot near Zee.

OoOoOoOo

Dubhán wakes up thinking about what awaits him downstairs. He's been thinking about it all night. He thinks about it, as he gets dressed, as he unzips his backpack, as he swirls the purple potion around in its vial, as he swallows the distasteful substance and as he covers the taste with chocolate. Without this potion he knows he would likely die, slowly but surely.

'We don't know, My Lord, if the child's mind did actually succumb to the curses forces. It could be that his more feral behavior is because the child's mind is no longer strong enough to control the wolf.' 'Each seizure is like another dose of the original curse. If the seizures are not brought under control, even the wolf's mind will eventually be unable to defend itself, My Lord' The words haunt him as he steps out of his room. If he doesn't tell this person how to brew his potion then he will die, if he does tell him, Voldemort may very well see it as betrayal. His mind and his body become more and more numb with every step toward the kitchen.

Stop thinking. Stop feeling. Do what has to be done. But what had to be done? Would survival matter if Grandfather were just as likely to shove him aside, deeming him as a traitor? Traitors were killed.

He feels as if he's walking to his doom. Both things result in death.

But only one death is absolutely certain… his mind whispers, teasing him with hope. Perhaps Grandfather would want you to live, so that you could fight to get out of here, to get back to him. You can't escape if you are constantly having episodes.

He breathes in and out, and lets hope travel through his veins. With each breath he feels the numbness slinking away. Finally he reaches the kitchen and looks up. Sitting at the table is Potter and another man. His hair hangs about his jaw line, lank and greasy and his nose is like an eagles beak. His eyes are sharp and observant and even though Dubhán has made no sound, he sees his approach. He doesn't smile; he doesn't show any emotion at all, until Dubhán tips his head up, to face his doom. The man draws the lightest breath in through clenched teeth. Dubhán wonders what about him is so surprising.

"Hello," he says softly, looking up at him. This time it is the man who turns away from his regard, as if it burned him.

"Dubhán, this is Severus Snape. He's going to help us figure out the potion."

"Thank you, sir." He says. Severus Snape…if he hadn't been so numb he'd have let himself smile. He's standing in front of the worlds best potion master. "I've read your books, sir." He says instead, in that same deadpan voice.

"I'm sure you read them in the same manner your father read his potion books during school." Dubhán frowns at the caustic tone. He's not sure what he's done to upset the man so much. Perhaps he is always so sardonic?

"I don't know, sir in what way Potter read his books. Potion's is my favorite study, sir. Next to charms, of course."

"I thought your eldest brat was eight, Potter." The man says, turning away from him as if he had little value.

"He is. Dubhán, have you ever used a wand?"

Had he? Well yes. He had a wand. Hidden in a secret compartment of his backpack. It was spelled to be undetectable to the Ministry. He bites his lips. He won't tell that to Potter.

"No, sir."

"So how do you know Charms is your favorite subject?"

He fidgets and finally decides that he can't lie outright to Potter. Oh, he's not worried about lying to Potter, but the other man seems like he'd know.

"I can do basic charms without a wand, sir." Which is true. It isn't anything special. Voldemort had insisted he be able to, because he "you are either powerful enough, or not". Being unable to, Dubhán knew, had not been an option. To not be powerful was to not be worthy of being Salazar Slytherin's Heir. Or Voldemort's. When he had finally mastered the most basic charms wandlessly, his Grandfather hadn't acted like it was anything especially special.

Potter, however, is wearing an expression that cannot be anything but surprise and awe. Dubhán looks away from the expression. Snape is wearing one of intrigue, as if Dubhán had just stepped up in value, but not that much. He is much more comfortable with that regard.

"Should I start telling you how to make the potion, sir?" Since he's decided he'll tell them, he no longer has to pretend he knows so very little. He knows how to make this potion; his Grandfather had made sure he knew. Because he never wanted you to be without it. He nods to himself and takes a seat at the table, stealing a piece of paper from Potter and his quill. He begins to write down the ingredients.

Hope you liked this chapter. I'm not very good at writing Snape, but I'm trying to improve. You might be able to figure out what surprised him about Devlin, but if not, I'm sure it will come up later. :) Check my profile out for the snippet about Remus biting Devlin, I uploaded it yesterday. :)

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