A VOLDEMORT/DEVLIN SNIPPET FOR YOUR ENJOYMENT (MERELY A MIDNIGHT WRITING RAMBLE).
He is afraid. There is no one yelling. No scary spells flying through the air. No glares. No threats whispered in a hushed voice by his ear. No – there is nothing. No one is looking at him, and that's how he knows he's in such trouble. He wasn't meant to be in here, and he'd realized this far too late. No one speaks. No one lifts his or her regards. No seems to even be breathing.
"Geoffrey, get rid of the child," the man says, the scary man, the man who strokes his hair like his mother and makes him wither in pain.
A young man comes forward. He has wavy hair that falls charmingly to the side and bright blue brown eyes, tinted with amber. He knows the man is a werewolf, although he isn't sure why. He doesn't look like Mooney and he doesn't smell like him – exactly. Yet there is a slight familiarity and although it is faint, it makes him certain.
"Where shall I bring the boy, My Lord?" He knows about Lords – mother brought him to a Church once and taught him about the Muggle's God and how she had, as a child, visited the building every Sunday. There was something special about Sunday's.
In the building there had been a great big statue of the man, hanging from some sort of wooden 'cross' and his mama had soothed his fears when he had pointed out there were nails through his flesh. This man everyone keeps calling 'Lord' doesn't look like that man at all, and so he frowns again.
He looks too charming, too nice, too handsome, too polite, too cunning, too –perfect- to be anyone that had felt something like nails in his flesh or hung from a wooden cross. When he'd first met the man, he'd looked even less like 'God' and more like the 'Devil' the old man had spoken about while he had been told to sit quietly.
Yet this man had let him live – had lifted that curse – and didn't that, in it's own right, make him some kind of God? God was supposed to forgive people, after all…
"Bring him to his room, of course," The man says and the werewolf nods and bows and whispers 'Yes, My Lord'. Except there is fear in his eyes, fear unlike he had seen in that building on that Sunday. There had been no fear in those Muggle's eyes. No, this man was not God, but perhaps these people, being Wizard's, had never been brought to Church by their mama's and taught about the Muggle God. Maybe they didn't know. But he did. Of course he did, because his mama was a good mama and had taught him about Merlin and God. So that he'd know.
NOW THE REAL CHAPTER:
Devlin treads lightly down the stairs. His father had seemed anything but upset last night, but perhaps he hadn't fully processed the fact that Devlin had used an Unforgivable Curse on a child.
Emma is eating eggs and Harry is reading the newspaper, and his mother is over by the stove. Devlin realizes it must be Saturday. His father looks up when he hears Devlin take a seat and smiles softly, almost secretly. He wonders if this is the smile he exchanges with Emma the mornings after her nightmares.
"Hello," he says, trying to gauge everyone's mood. His mother turns around and smiles and says brightly 'Good Morning, sweetheart' Emma's eyes alight and she bounces a bit in her chair (he thinks mother was right when she'd said Emma didn't quite "think of you as 'mundane' yet, like her father and I"). His eyes seek out his father again, who is sipping coffee (a taste Sirius likes to joke he got from being raised by Muggles) and looking at him over the cup's rim. Devlin swallows, preparing himself for the worst. For the subtle hint of disapproval. For the unspoken, but not unknown, threats. For him to flaunt that he has something against him now.
"Your Mum is taking breakfast orders," he says, smiling "better get them in while she's still in the spirit to cook Muggle-style. She's much better with her hands than her wand around food," he gives him a secret smile again. Behind him his wife is mumbling something that Harry's all-human ears can't hear, but Devlin's can.
'I'll show you good Wandmanship around food' and Devlin keeps his best straight face as the sugar rises into the air, unscrews it's own top, and pours itself over Harry's head. Harry looks up into the stream of white tumbling off his hair and sticks his tongue out.
"Yum!" he says brightly, grinning. Behind him Alex mumbles 'I'll get you, Harry Potter, just you wait' but there doesn't seem to be any true threat behind the words.
"What kind of eggs would you like, Devlin?"
"I don't really like eggs…" he says softly. His mother turns around.
"You've eaten them every weekend with Emma," she says, confused, but not judgmental.
"I know. But I don't really like them. I just didn't want to say so. I didn't know we were allowed to pick…" He looks at his father's half-eaten French Toast. His mother follows his gaze and smiles knowingly.
"Ooooh! If you let me use magic, I can make them look like snitches. I made Molly teach me when you were little." He doesn't know who Molly is, but he smiles despite the childishness that it indicates.
"I'd like that." He says, and sits down at the table.
His father leans close to him. A bit more sugar shakes free from his hair.
"I called David," he says softly, looking at him kindly "I couldn't very well explain at this hour or over the floo, but I asked to see him and Maria. We'll go after you've had breakfast." Devlin nods. He feels himself go a bit numb and suddenly the snitch shaped French Toast don't seem as amazing as they once had, but he smiles for his mother, who is practically grinning over their 'perfectness'.
0oO0oO0oO0oO
He's never seen his father's study – he doesn't think his father spends that much time in it. Maybe not since you've gotten here, maybe you changed everything. There is a little guilt in that thought, but not much, so he pushes it aside. It is a nice study, with a desk visible right from the door and bookcases and comfy chairs, but it is not as nice as his Grandfather's. He refrains from mentioning as much.
His father sits down for a moment and Devlin almost thinks he'll say 'I wanted to talk to you' but the words seem to die in his throat, and he gets up.
"I haven't told David why we're visiting, Devlin."
"Didn't he want to know?"
"The case isn't 'closed' as some would say, and this isn't the first time I've questioned Maria. Undoubtedly he's curious – I have you back now, I've little reason to want information from her about her escape, but still, he saved his questions. Perhaps Maria was around."
"But why – why would you want to question her?"
"She was a child, not much older than you and she had escaped Voldemort. She had no control over her own magic, but you did. She is a bright little girl, but not cunning or as sharp as you were. If she could escape – why couldn't you? You can ask your mother – I spent weeks and months looking over Muggle reports of missing and found children. I thought maybe you'd escaped but, without a wand, been unable to find help."
He looks down at his shoes. His father is still staring at him, his arms half-way crossed in front of him in a protective sort of way.
"By the time I knew how to escape, Grandfather knew me too well and I knew him too well and because it was all I could remember, it was all I let myself want."
"I know Devlin, it's okay. I'm not saying you should have escaped." He looks up into his father's bright green eyes and worried brow and nods slowly, knowing the words are genuine.
"When we get there, David will probably want to know why you're there." He nods again, feeling more and more numb.
0oO0oO0oO0oO From Maria 0oO0oO0oO0oO
She runs into the woods, his words spurring her forward despite the unfamiliar surroundings. Her dress keeps catching on things and she turns around to rip it off. She's petrified it will be like that Muggle book her mother had read to her about the children and the breadcrumbs and so she turns around each time and plucks the fabric off the bramble or thorn or stick or log until her fists are full of the pieces.
Her legs hurt and her lungs ache and her heart has never felt more alive, but she keeps running, pushing everything in her to keep going.
'Well run' the strange boys words haunt her. Every time she slows down, she'll see his face and hear his words and it will make her run again.
She imagines he is making her keep running just like he'd made her cross the terrifying empty stretch between tents, except she knows it isn't true because everything is harsh and frightening and when he'd made her, everything had been light and beautiful and good. Still, she tries to imagine she has to keep going because he's making her.
She'd known he wasn't going to hurt her, because she'd known him. How couldn't she? She spent weekends at his house with her mother. They'd teased little Emma with things just out of her reach before she'd begun crawling. He'd made that dog of his do the strangest things, by talking with it. He was Devlin Potter and she would have known him anywhere.
But she dare not say it to him. Perhaps they didn't know. Perhaps that was why he was still alive. She'd heard whispers about how the Death Eaters would surely have killed him, even before the body was sent back, because he was a Potter. So maybe they didn't know. Maybe he'd fooled them into thinking another little boy was Devlin Potter and he was just a useless boy who they didn't need to bother to kill.
Her feet stumble out of the forest and unto a paved road. A Muggle road. She races across it, her pretty shoes slapping against the hard ground. She can see the lights of a town. She dare not use the wand until she's reached the town. He's said to reach the town.
She passes by the first building and thrusts the wand into the air.
"Light!" she screams, but her throat is raw and abused and it only comes out as a whisper. The wand is dead beneath her fingers. "Light!" She staggers through the streets until she finds a park and sits on a swing and cries. It won't light up. They'll find her again.
She's crying. Her Daddy is bouncing her gently in his arms. 'Oh Maria, here, look at Daddy's wand. Daddy is going to make a pretty light for you. Ready? Lumos'. The memory comes to her quite suddenly and quite sharply and she falls forward onto the ground. The wand flies out of her hands and she shuffles for it in the darkness.
It seems like hours before she has it firmly in her hands again. The pieces of her dress lay scattered around her, felt but unseen.
"Lumos," she whispers, remembering the light that had sprung from her father's wand when she was only a toddler.
It lights up. It is spectacular at the same time it is nothing special. Her Daddy doesn't spring from the bushes to rescue her. The park is silent. She almost begins crying again, but then an owl swoops down from the air and lands in front of her.
There is a tiny scrap of a note clutched in it's talon. She takes it from the bird and smoothes it out.
"This is a Ministry Bird, keep it with you. We're tracking it."
The owl clicks it's beak and looks ready to fly off, but she grabs it around it's center and holds tight, crying into it's soft, feathery, back. The owl, quite perplexed, freezes under her.
POP
There are a dozen men surrounding her, their wands drawn, ready for a fight. Maria lets go of the bird in a rush and begins screaming and it is only when one of the men steps forward and she see's his face that she stops.
"Maria, it's okay," says the man she knows. Her Daddy. Her tired legs and her aching lungs and her heart that has never felt more alive come to life once more and she sprints to him, burying her face in his Auror robes.
"Scout the area," orders another voice and she knows this one too and it brings to life her cries once more. She doesn't want to look at Harry Potter. But she can hear his footsteps coming towards them as everyone else's move away, into the darkness.
"Maria, do you remember which way you ran from?" He asks softly – so kindly. She thinks of telling them she accidently apparated, but Devlin hadn't asked her to lie he'd just said not to tell about it, so she shakes her head. "Did you see the moon in front of you? Or maybe it was behind you? I know you're upset, but we remember these things best in the moment."
She shakes her head, willing her mouth to stay firmly shut. He has Devlin's eyes, except Devlin's eyes hadn't looked like they had when she'd known him; because he had to pretend not to be Devlin.
"Can you tell us anything, honey?" Her Daddy is asking and she looks up at him, keeping her body against his.
"I just ran, Daddy." She says softly. "I don't know anything."
"Perhaps it was just sheer luck. They did seem like rookies when they attacked, Harry." But Harry has a look in his eyes that Maria knows, because Devlin used to get it when he wasn't about to let something simply be. She swallows hard.
"Do you remember how you escaped?" He asks, and he isn't just asking, he's begging her. Begging her for a glimmer of hope. If she gives that hope to him, Devlin will die – he'd said so himself. She begins to cry. "Please Maria, no one will be mad, just tell us how you got out."
She cries and cries until her Daddy tells Harry that maybe she'll remember later.
0oO0oO0oO0oO
His father is knocking on the door and Devlin, beside him, is nervously making sure that his hair is combed perfectly back and that apparating hadn't put any wrinkles into his robes (the best he owns). He wants to look presentable, after all.
Finally, the man who had been at the table answers – Harry had called him David.
"Hello Harry," David says and there is an edge of weariness to his voice, like the tiniest bit of him isn't happy to see them. He turns his eyes to Devlin and visible frowns. "You didn't tell me you were bringing Devlin. I would have told Maria."
"I know, David." His father says, resting a hand on Devlin's shoulder, who feels like he must be having a seizure, with how much he's shaking inside. But he knows he's not. There is no fire. David frowns again.
"If you bring us to your study, I'll explain a bit more," Harry continues and David opens the door wider. He leads them down a hallway. On either side, staggered slightly, are open archways. The first one they pass is an empty kitchen and the second one they pass is a living area, where Maria is at a sofa, looking stricken with her mother beside her. For one second their eyes lock and Maria starts crying. David seems to flinch, but continues leading them forward.
"It still makes her cry," he says softly, certainly not to Devlin, but Devlin feels his blood go cold nevertheless. What he'd done to her still makes her cry.
"I suspected nothing less," Harry says and he glances behind him for a moment and Devlin knows he's remembering the night before and Devlin's own tears. David nods, as he'd half-way understood Harry's glance.
"Here we go," he says and opens his study door. There are three comfy chairs and Devlin takes the one furthest away from David but closest to his father. His father might not have minded, but surely the girls own father will be furious. "So what did you want to explain Harry?"
"I'm not really here about the case, officially," he begins and then he frowns. "I'm here parent-to-parent, David." Now David is frowning.
"You have Devlin, Harry. What more can you want from Maria?" There is pain in his voice. Devlin wonders how many times his father had actually interviewed the girl, and how desperately.
"We don't want anything from Maria, David. I'm here for Devlin. Parent-to-parent. It's about the case, but it's not about asking Maria to talk." David's eyebrows are furrowed and his head tips the tiniest bit to one side.
"So what, exactly, are you here for?" He shrugs as he says the words.
For a moment Harry's confidence falters and Devlin, feeling quite useless, seeks to make himself otherwise. This is his fault, shouldn't he fess up?
He almost says: 'I put your daughter under the Imperius Curse' but then thinks better of his own skin and seeks a meeker approach.
"I gave her the wand," he whispers, but he makes sure his eyes are lifted away from his clenched hands and he isn't showing fear. You are never to show fear. Fear is for lesser beings. He has to be strong for her.
"What?" David isn't looking at him; he's looking at his father. For a moment Devlin feels the tiniest bit of anger bloom inside of his chest: is he that unimportant that even a reaction to a confession cannot be directed where it belongs?
"I gave her that wand," he says more firmly, standing. The anger is spreading and it is creating a false courage. David's eyes turn to him again, and then flicker back to his father. "I stole it, and used it, and gave it to her! I broke through the ward's and told her to run!"
His fists are clenched at his sides. David's face is a myriad of emotions, each fighting for proper space.
"But how?"
He finds himself faltering under David's regard. There is confusion and sadness and gratitude (oh the gratitude!) and so much more. But it is the gratitude that makes him falter, because he doesn't deserve that gratitude. His face goes blank, like it used to before he was old enough to pretend to feel something else. His voice is calm and level and empty and it hurts him just hearing it, because it reminds him of his own interrogations as a child, by his Grandfather.
"I put her under the Imperius Curse so she would do what I told her to do, when I told her."
Do you like the kinda sorta cliffhanger? :)
I had a tooth emergency and ended up on some BIG painkillers between appointments – like three different narcotics. I didn't know I was allergic to like every narcotic and semi-allergic to a non-narcotic painkiller. Let's just say I didn't manage to eat or drink for three days, at least not in any lasting way. My dentist nicely pointed out that at least I knew I'd never be an addict of pain meds. It was HORRIBLE!
That is my excuse for not updating… I think it is a good one.
I'm pretty happy with this chapter, but might come back to polish it up a bit. I wish Maria's POV part was more descriptive like Devlin's POV, but I just don't know her as well. I'll try coming back to it later.