Dubhán knows he's describing the brewing process perfectly; he's been trained how to present such things, but the man never once acts like he possesses a mediocre of ability in the subject. If it were anyone else, Dubhán wouldn't care, but this is Severus Snape, the best Potion Master in the world. And Dubhán loves potions.

"That will be enough," the man says. He casts a time spell in the air and adds, "I have a class of first years to teach in less than twenty minutes."

"I will drop this off the day after tomorrow-" he pauses here and Dubhán thinks he's trying to figure out what to call him. Several times this morning the man had went to call him 'Potter' only for the word to die half-way in his mouth. He's been calling him 'boy' instead. But his lips aren't pushed together in the way they should to form a 'b' and instead he says "Devlin."

"My name isn't Devlin, Sir."

He scowls. "Yes, I've heard you now prefer it said differently. Your parent's may choose to indulge your every whim, but I won't. Did you ever think there was a reason for your name?" With that, he spins on his heel and strides out of the room, his cloak billowing behind him dramatically. They hear the fire roar to life and Snape call out "Hogwarts!"

"What did he mean?" Dubhán asks, turning to his father. "About my name?"

"It was well known that my mother had wanted to call me Devlin, but Harry was my father's, father's name and he died shortly before my birth, so they named me Harry. When you were born I decided to honor my mother by giving her a Devlin." He's smiling softly. "And then as you got older, people who knew my mother began to say it truly was fitting. Molly says you have her smile, her eyes, and her freckles - which you didn't have when you were four! Why, you even inherited her hair that does what you want, because believe me, you didn't inherit that from my side or Alexandra! At least, not if she truly needs hours to make her hair "nice"."

"Grandfather says she was…" he pauses and looks aside as he says the word, then decides he can't even say it, "a muggle born." Potter's shoulders relax at his choice of wording.

"She was," he says simply. "She was also the only witch to stop the killing curse. She was excellet at Charm's and Potion's too."

"I thought you stopped the curse, that's what Grandfather says."

"It's a long story, but she saved me the first time." Dubhán nods slowly. He knows he's probably telling the truth – he knows Grandfather would not have wanted tot ell him that a muggle born came so close to defeating him.

"Now," Potter continues, rising from his chair, "we have some shopping to do. I have to go back to work tomorrow and Hermione can only take so much of Emma's constant rambling in a week, so we have to hop-to and get you some things."

Dubhán frowns. Why would Potter get him things when he hadn't once called him 'father' or 'dad' or referred to as anything but 'him' and 'sir' the most distance-imply words he could utter. He hadn't shown Potter an ounce of trust or love or implied he wanted to stay here. He thinks he ought to double check that he's on the right track in his assumptions.

"What do we have to shop for?" He asks cautiously.

"Dubhán, you've been wearing that same outfit since you arrived. You need some clean clothing." He says this all matter-of-factly, but Dubhán is shaking his head.

"I still don't want to stay here, sir. I still want to go home. You shouldn't buy me things, I won't be here very long. My Grandfather will figure out how to get me back." He thinks Potter is going to yell or curse or cry, but then he takes a deep breath and seems to reign in his emotions.

"Dubhán, even if they sit in your wardrobe for another four years, I want to take you shopping. Besides, we also have to make a trip to a Healer. He checked you out after your seizure and he wants to make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine."

"He'll make sure."

"He doesn't need to, I know."

"Leo is a very good doctor who works exclusively with werewolves. You and he have a history." Potter's eyebrows were raised and Dubhán had the feeling he was trying to convey a message with his words.

"Why this one?" Potter closes his eyes.

"He is highly qualified and knows you."

"I don't know him."

"You were three last time you saw him."

"Doesn't seem like he knows me that well."

"You're gonna have to trust me."

"That's the problem, Sir – I don't" Potter leaned his elbows on his desk and hid his face in his hands.

"Would it make you feel better if I told you he was a werewolf?"

"No. Being a werewolf does not make you..." Dubhán pauses. Suddenly Potter's horrible clues have penetrated his brain. He narrows his eyes. "Oh, it is that doctor. Fine."

OoOoOoOoOo

Potter had to give him a little push to enter into the Healer's office. The secretary smiled at Potter as if she knew him well, but that couldn't be right, because Potter had said the man only saw werewolves.

"We have an appointment with Leo," Potter says simply, keeping a hand on his shoulder. Like Dubhán needed a reminder that he had to attend the meeting or that Potter hadn't let him out of arms reach throughout the entire shopping experience.

"Of course. He's expecting you. Go ahead in," she replies, smiling softly at him. Dubhán glares.

The room is nothing special: it is as void of colors as it is smells (evidence of the repeated sanitation spells that must be used). The lack of smell makes Potter and the Healer's scents all the more suffocating.

"Harry!" The man says, standing up and hugging Potter. The Healer turns his regard to him, "And Devlin, it is wonderful to see you so healthy!"

"My name isn't Devlin," he says softly, but deadly - like the warning rumble that works itself up from a wolf's belly. The man keeps smiling, as if Dubhán hadn't just passed along a clear message: I'm not lower than you just because I am small. Respect me. So he bears his teeth and flashes his eyes amber. "My name is not Devlin. It is Dubhán." Still, the man only shakes his head in the way adults do to children when they know the child is throwing a tantrum.

"Devlin, really. I have a hard enough time remember names at is!"

"I'm telling you quite clearly to stop treating me that way!" The man takes a step back.

"You're telling me not to call you Devlin, you're not telling me anything else. Perhaps we should start with a calming draught."

"Are you so tame you can't even pick up on the most obvious body language?" Instead of answering him, he turns the question back upon Dubhán.

"You seem very spirited, Devlin," the Healer said. "Are you having a hard time controlling your wolf?" Dubhán has heard horrors of the potions werewolves can be given to "control" their wolf. This man is probably doped up on every one of them.

"My wolf doesn't need to be controlled," he says flatly. There was no use trying to intimidate a dog, you'll only make them cower with their tail between their legs or get frustrated over them not understanding you, when they truly didn't have the capacity.

"Dubhán, please be polite, he just wants to help you."

"When you were a little thing, you were on some potions to help with your temper. In childhood the illness is often more at the surface than in adults, who have already developed the ability to control their base emotions."

"You…you gave me those things…" he is staring at Potter now, his eyes wide and sad and a bit terrified.

"They helped you. You couldn't stop growling at people whenever they said "no" to whatever you wanted. It was harming you. Even you expressed a concern to your mother about "not being able to stop the thing in my chest"."

"I was three. I was surrounded by people who didn't understand me! By people who didn't know what to say! By people who were horrified to so much as scold me for growling. When I growl at Geoffrey he pushes me, growls back, walks away, forces me to do what I need to do. I learned not to try to be his boss! Geoffrey didn't pity me." He is stepping away in fear. It pains Harry to see fear so clear and sharp in his eyes.

"You can't make me feel that way again. They make my head hurt. They make me tired. They make me stop feeling anything! Maybe I couldn't tell you then, but I can tell you now." He is panicking. He is terrified. He is distraught. He isn't thinking straight. Words are tumbling uncensored out of him: "I'm not a dog, Daddy! I'm a wolf! You can't control me. You can't make me act however you want." He pulls his shirt neck away, "I don't have a collar! Unlike him! Maybe he wants his wolf drugged and asleep, but we're inseparable! He saved me! The Healer said I never would have survived the Cruciatus Curse without my wolf!"

Potter is just staring at him, his mouth agape and his eyebrows up by his hairline. Dubhán, thinking he is still unwilling to take his side, continues frantically.

"I'll be good, I promise. I won't do it again. I'll try to be what you say. I'll do anything. I know how to be anything you want. Just please, please, I want to leave here. No more potions!" He is crying now and doesn't even notice Potter has moved until he feels Potter's hands on his shoulders and his body being brought into an embrace. He fights it, but then gives in and let his heavy head fall down onto the man's shoulder. Potter lifts him easily, says something softly to the Healer, and walks out of the office. When he stops crying he is in Potter's living room, curled into the sofa as Potter whispers softly to him.

"No more potions," Dubhán says softly, looking up to see Potter's reaction.

"Nothing you don't want. I won't ever force you to feel a way you don't. Your just you, and I love whoever that is. I promise."

"How…how can you promise that?"

"When you were born and I looked into your bright green eyes, I promised I wouldn't be anything like my aunt and uncle. They hadn't liked me on principle; they didn't like magic. But they also never loved me for my attempts to be what they wanted – I tried so hard to never do anything 'abnormal'. They didn't care about me because I didn't fit what they wanted."

"Grandfather cares for me…on principle." The words leave his mouth softly, slowly, and painfully. He's not sure why he's telling Potter this. "But I'll never really be good enough for him, because I've got part of you in me." Potter is crying, Dubhán isn't sure why. These are just facts. "And I'll never really be good enough for you because I have part of him in me. And even though mom has part of him too, she treats that part like the healer treats his wolf – she does everything possible to make sure she can ignore it entirely."

"When you were born, I made my own promise," the words drift across the room from the kitchen doorway. Dubhán whips his head around. "I told Harry you were truly the perfect child. He said something stupid like: "of course, he's mine", but I shushed him quickly. You were perfect, I told him, because you had the worst of the worst and the best of the best and that made you perfect. What more opposites could you find than Tom and Harry? Putting them together must equal perfection."

Dubhán sat in silence for a moment. He had never thought of it that way before.

I'm actually really proud of this chapter. Which probably means I've over looked something and will be back here nitpicking it…but, I digress. I really like this chapter! What do you guys think? I figure I must be doing something good. Even though I still don't have half the reviews I did on the older version of this (6 chapters, 10 reviews) I have a lot of people adding it to their favorite lists. :)

I have two great snippets I'm dying to share with you, but know I can't. They're way ahead right now and might actually end up in the story – never mind that sharing them would spoil some plot points. ;) But darn it, I really want to share them!

Please review!