There is concern in their eyes. Worry. Love. Kindness. A desire to be close to him. A need to know that he is okay. And he doesn't want to give it to him. If he gives into Devlin then he will spill everything to him in between body-racking sobs.

He's not Devlin, he's Dubhán and Grandfather would never let him cry like that. Calming Potions, Sticking Charms, 'Scourgify', 'Tergeo', disappointment, and disgust – these are all things Grandfather would have done and shown. He wraps them around him like a comforting blanket, staving off his emotions.

"Can you tell me which one?" Devlin hears his father ask, so softly, so kindly, so lovingly. Like he's a china doll and he'll break at the least little pressure. He looks up and glares at him.

"No!" He yells, feeling his blood burning hot under his skin. His father just looks. He doesn't draw away. He doesn't use a spell. He tries to gather him in his arms. He sends a look at Alex and he knows they're shooing Emma out of the room. It sends him into more of a rage, or maybe it lets him be all the more enraged. "You're so stupid if you don't know!" He yells, backing away from his father's approaching embrace. "He's right, there is no logical reason you're the one!"

Potter's eyes flash dangerously and Devlin can tell he's trying desperately to keep his cool.

"I wish I knew why you were acting like this Devlin. You were perfectly pleasant all the way through dinner."

He sees red.

"You don't love me," he screams, feeling the raw words tear into his throat and make it hurt just as much as the words themselves hurt. They're so powerful that they even hurt his father, who crumbles to his knees in a moment of defeat.

"I do love you. Very much." His father says, looking at him with the green eyes they share.

"No you don't," he says, deadly calm.

"How can you say that, Devlin?" Harry asks, pleading.

"You know that boy, that Thomas boy, don't you?" His teeth are clenched.

"Yes, I do," Potter is frowning, clearly confused about the apparent change in topic.

"How long have you known him?"

"You and he are a month apart. You used to play together when you were babies. You used to be friends…"

"And you kept talking to him, even when I was gone! You kept looking at him and you never once thought of me!" There is a fizzing sound around the room and a decorative jar off to the side shatters. His father hardly even pays it mind. His magic is as unimpressive to his father as to his Grandfather. The thought makes him unhappy and that dejection makes him so much more angry.

"I always thought of you, Devlin," Harry whispers, tears in his eyes. He is dressed just as Head Auror should be, just as the savior of the Wizarding World should be, but neither of those people seem like they should cry so easily.

"But you never came to get me!" The simple words strike Harry hard, and his whole frame sinks closer to the ground. Alexandra is back from wherever she brought Emma and she crosses the room and grabs Harry and lifts him – settling him on the sofa. When she turns around, her face is as schooled as his was at the party.

"I know you're hurting," she says softly, kindly. "But you need to explain yourself better. What made you think this?" She sounds so similar to Geoffrey that for a moment he can pull the rage under control.

"No I don't!" He yells, finding his rage even to strong for him. He's not explaining anything to them. He's not telling them about her! He dashes from the room and climbs the stairs quickly and slams his door shut. Then he puts the most blatant locking charm he can think of, over every inch of the door.

Breathe.That's what Geoffrey would say. 'You have more control' that's what Grandfather would say.

"Breathe, you have more control than this, Devlin." He paces. He imagines his bookshelf at home with his mahogany desk. Oh how he misses being able to lose himself in books. Then he remembers that Malfoy had put something in his pocket, and he turns out his pockets, searching for it.

It is a small, shrunk, book. Devlin curses that Dumbledore has his wand. He slips it into a desk drawer. He'll have to wait to know what it is about.

There could be magic on it…you should tell your father. He shoves the logical voice aside. He doesn't want to tell his father anything. Let the girl spill her guts – he's stronger.

He gets undressed and flops onto his bed and, because Zee is nowhere in sight, doesn't bother to transform. He closes his eyes…

But sleep won't take him. He tosses and turns and tries covering his eyes with his blanket.

I wonder if she's telling her mum and dad right now…

The thought, in some form or another, has kept him up for the last three hours. Taunting him with the improbability that she would do anything else. She'll tell them and then her father will tell his father and then they'll know. His heart beats quick and fierce against his chest. His mouth has gone dry, just imagining what his father will think. He doesn't even want to think about what his Grandfather's reaction would be. He had done something he wasn't supposed to do.

But it had to be done…

She'll tell them anyways. Even after what I did, she'll tell them…

…are you so sure?...

The previously unthought-of doubt startles him. Why shouldn't she tell them?

'If you tell them anything about this camp or about me, they'll find you again and kill you.' The words rise to his present thoughts, haunting him so clearly that they might have been spoken mere seconds before. His words. His voice. Her wide fearful eyes.

But that was foolish – surely she realized she was safe now and could say anything she well pleased…surely…

You didn't.

His frown under his blankets deepens. He turns over again, trying not to think about it anymore. Eventually he even falls asleep.

When he wakes up his door is still locked. He stares at it for a long moment, debating. On the other side, he can hear Zee's heavy breathing. The smell of food wafts up under his door and makes the decision for him. Even though he knows his mother and father must be upset with him at his outburst, he knows they won't deny him food. He opens the door and walks downstairs.

The closer he gets to the kitchen, the more he frowns. He can hear Emma's voice, but the other one, while familiar, is unexpected.

"Sirius, can't you take the charm off yet?" Emma is saying, and he can picture her petulant pout.

"Your Mum said not to touch it," Sirius replies and he hears a pan being put down.

"But why?"

"Because, Emma," says a voice Devlin hadn't known was there: Remus. "He has as much right as anyone to be upset and when he's upset he has a right to some space." He can hear Emma's dramatic sigh.

Zee is standing beside him, looking at him. Then he starts to walk towards the kitchen, a sure way to give away Devlin's presence.

"Zee," Devlin breathes. The dog turns for a moment and then, as if he were intent not to listen, he walked into the kitchen anyways. But Devlin didn't want to see any of them, so he turned around and began to make his way up the stairs.

"Won't you come have lunch with us, Devlin?" Devlin rounds on Remus, baring his teeth.

"No." He turns fully around and crosses his arms.

"I'm sorry to hear that. You must be hungry."

"Where is my father?" He growls, looking down upon Remus from his higher vantage point.

"He had to leave," Remus says simply, watching him.

The words reach deep down inside of him and reawaken that rage from the night before. So he'd left. He hadn't even said goodbye or told Devlin when he'd be back, even though Devlin needed him. Even though he's sworn he loved him just the night before. But he left. Grandfather always told him when he was leaving and when he'd be back.

Harry Potter had left…

Left when all Devlin wanted was he, no matter what he said. Gone, just when Devlin needed to talk to him the most, struggle to hold it in as he may. He wanted to tell him about the girl. But he wasn't there. Because he'd left him.

"There was a job he was needed for, Devlin…" Remus is saying, his eyes shadowing. "He said to tell you he wanted to say goodbye, but didn't want to go into your room when he'd promised not to. He'll be back later tonight."

"Where did he go?" Devlin asks, more softly than his last words. He can feel the rage and bravery and desire to keep going leaving him like a sinking tide.

"He had a job," Remus repeats.

"You mean my Grandfather did something…" Devlin says, his breath hitching. Remus pauses, but then inclines his head. Devlin grips at the banister. "What happened?"

"There was a small attack," Remus says.

"Where?"

"I don't know. Harry merely said it was an 'isolated incident, but unusual' and that everyone was alive, but someone was in critical condition." Devlin feels like his stomach is filled with ice while his thoughts are boiling.

He turns and runs up the stairs again, shutting his door and leaning against it. Slowly, he allows his body to slide down to the floor. He thinks he knows who was attacked… 'Didn't he get my letter? I tried to get that boy to send his father a letter. Professor Snape brews my potions and I tried to tell Grandfather I'd be coming to Hogwarts again. I told the boy to write that!'

Except the boy had done exactly like Devlin had said. It was Devlin who had failed.

He feels his breath coming in heaves and tears running down his face. Zee is on the other side of the door, whining loudly. He stays here for a long time. Minutes become hours and hours pass before he hears the distinct sound of the floo flaring to life and his father's voice downstairs. He opens the door a crack, listening.

"He'll be okay. Dumbledore has the family under watch. The man wouldn't tell us why the Death Eaters attacked and wouldn't let us question his son – who used his wand to call the Ministry."

"Devlin came down around noon, then promptly ran back upstairs and we haven't seen him since."

"Shit, I thought for sure our row would have blown over by morning. I'll go talk to him." Devlin closes the door softly as he hears footsteps ascending the stairs. He can't bring his body to move, however. He just hasn't got it in him. But you can't tell him!

There is a knock. "Devlin?" He dare not answer. "Devlin?" He holds his breath. "Devlin, please talk to me." He buries his head in his knees. "I'm so sorry for anything I did to make you think I don't love you," he continues. Devlin chokes on a sob, but it hadn't been soon enough. Harry had heard him. He hears his father's body come to rest in the same spot as his, on the other side of the door. "Devlin, I wish you trusted me."

"I can't tell you," He finally whispers. "I just can't. I can't talk to you. I don't want you to hate me."

"I would never hate you Devlin," his father says. "But you don't have to tell me. Just come have dinner. Your mother will be home soon…it would be nice to sit together. Remus has been cooking – he's a good cook."

"You won't ask me questions?" Devlin asks, cautious.

"No, I won't." Devlin stretches his body and stands up, puts his hand on the doorknob, and opens it. His father, leaning against the door, falls backwards, but there is a smile on his face. "Nice to see you," he says.

"Nice of you to erm…fall in," Devlin jokes, and for a moment he can pretend he'd never seen those pretty blue eyes or told that boy to write the letter. He knows it can't last, but he wishes it could. Wishes his father would never know.

But she'll tell them…

EDITED TO ADD: I have chapter 25 finished. I'm reading over it now. 26 is a quarter of the way done. I figure this time maybe I'll let you guys tell me when you're ready for the next chapter. I'm not saying "review or I won't post' I'm merely saying 'review and I'll finish rereading it for mistakes NOW rather than later'. ;)

Hope you like this chapter as much as me. I'm working on making the chapters a little longer. Please REVIEW!

In the near future: more about the girl with pretty blue eyes, more about the Bowman family (the ones who Devlin thinks have been attacked), more about Devlin's fears, Why Voldemort didn't just kill him, etc.

Pretty please with a cherry on top, review!