David's eyes cloud over and he stands up abruptly.

"He did what?" He shouts, pointing a finger and accusatory glare at Harry. Once more, Devlin feels anger surge forth at being ignored.

"Ask him what he told her to do, David," Harry responds coolly, barely reacting to the man at all. David falters and slumps into his chair.

"Tell me," he says and what he wants to know is obvious.

"I had managed to sneak her out of the tent where they hold prisoners," he begins. "Everything was going perfectly. I'd timed it all and I had gotten it right. She hadn't screamed and she'd followed me. Then, she had to cross an open space between two tents and when I told her too, she just froze. Everything was timed. In bare minutes there was to be a patrol and we had to be out of the entire camp before it happened. I cast the Imperius Curse on her so that she would cross the threshold. I released it after I'd led her into the woods and broken through the wards. I shoved a wand into her hands, told her to run towards the moon until she reached the Muggle village, and then I told her to try and make her wand light up. I knew the Ministry would sense the underage magic." David's gaze is on him, stale and dumbfounded and entirely uncomfortable. Devlin wishes it would leave him, but he won't be weak – he won't be the first to look away.

"You used it because she was afraid to move," he whispers, as if informing himself.

"Yes," he said, simply and coldly. "And I knew it would be one more mark against me if they ever found out, so I told her that if she said anything, they'd know and be able to find her and they'd kill her…and me."

David looks up and his gaze swerves to Harry.

"That's why she would never tell us!" He says. "Why she would never even talk to you." Harry nods.

"Devlin wants to tell her it's okay to speak to you and Holly about it now," his father says, his voice kind and gentle and filled with sorrow.

David just nods silently. He stands up and motions them out of the study. Down the hall and into the living room. He goes in first. His voice carries easily through the open archway.

"You remember Devlin, Harry Potter's son, don't you?" David asks quietly.

"No, I don't," she says, trying to sound strong, but then she looks up and sees him standing at the edge of the archway and it's too much: she freezes again. She's wearing a pretty purple dress with her hair neatly braided and her brilliant blue eyes are looking at him, beginning to collect tears.

"Hello," he says, stepping into the room - trying to be brave. He has to make this right. He has to be the strong one, just like before.

She backs away from him, her face full of fear and Devlin knows it not all for herself, some of it is for him.

"I don't remember you," she lies loudly, shaking her head. "I don't at all." She's a bad liar. She is quaking and crying and her eyes are darting between all of them.

"It's okay," he says softly, trying to calm her. "We're both safe now," he tries again. She's still shaking. "They can't hurt me if you tell." Her eyes go wide.

"They could get you again!" She says, as if he might have been foolish enough to forget.

"I know how to protect my thoughts now," he says, taking another step towards her. She doesn't move away. "He'll never know."

"They'll hurt you anyways," she says, voicing her own fears.

"I know." It is the truth and it lies between them, half maliciously and half comfortingly. It is this truth that the adults in the room try to shush from their thoughts, but which they always know remains.

"They could even kill you," she continues.

"I know, but it won't be because you said something." The girl nods uncertainly. The adults are looking stricken.

"Are you sure?" She asks. She's stopped shaking. He nods.

"I already told your father," he says, comfortingly. "You can tell them about the Death Eaters, about me, about running to the village, about the wand – about everything."

"But I can't tell them why," she whispers, her eyes focused intently on him.

"Why what?" He asks, confusion clear on his face and in his voice.

"I can tell them how but I can't tell them why," she says again, frowning now. "Why you saved me. I never knew why you saved me."

He swallows. To admit to Harry that he did not agree with Voldemort's tactics was one thing – to admit it in front of an unfamiliar Auror, his wife, and his child, was quite another. It was a true test of his trust in Occlumency. Could he say the words? Did he dare? Could he hide them later?

He opens his mouth, knowing he has to make this right – has to be strong for her.

"They weren't supposed to bring you into the open like that," he says softly. "It was a rule – prisoners were to be brought directly to the cells. If they'd followed protocol I never would have seen you." There are tears in her eyes, but they haven't fallen. Beside her, her mother is sobbing.

"You were crying," he states, as if this makes up a large part of his decision. "You were screaming and they were dragging you and your hair, your red hair, was coming out of it's braid and sweeping into your face and I could see your eyes – such a brilliant blue. You looked like Emma. And they were calling you 'sweetheart' and I knew. I lay in bed and I couldn't sleep. I kept imagining what they would do to you. So I saved you."

oOoOo

Devlin walks away from the Watson's house with his hair out of place and his clothes wrinkled and wet in places. He hadn't been able to pry himself away from Maria's mother's arms for at least fifteen minutes as she'd whispered her thanks into his hair, calling him names he knew he would never be: angel, hero, good boy. No, Devlin was none of those.

He looks around the small neighborhood, less nervous on his way out than on his way in and therefore in more of an observant mood. He's not sure why they're walking – certainly they've gone far enough to be beyond any wards. Then his father opens his mouth and Devlin instantly knows the reason for walking.

"You know, you didn't tell them everything," Devlin frowns up at his father, trying to remember if he'd forgotten anything, but he was certain he hadn't.

"Yes I did. I told them everything I had told you."

"No, you definitely left out a particular detail. You know, about how you got into the tent and hid under her bed," Harry has his hands in his pockets, the picture of relaxation. Devlin falters in his steps, going pale. Did he know what Devlin thought he knew?

"The fact that I snuck behind and disengaged the wards is unimportant to the girl or her father," he says stiffly.

"True, but that wasn't the detail I was talking about." Devlin rushes to catch up with Harry's footing.

"What then?" He says cautiously, although he's afraid of the answer.

"The part about you being an Animagus," he says calmly, continuing to walk along the sidewalk.

"I – I'm not," Devlin stammers, uncertain and afraid. What would his father do?

"You're not?" Harry turns around for a moment, throwing a grin over his shoulder. Devlin swallows and nods, trying to look calm and collected without looking like Dubhán, because then his father would know he was lying. He finds it difficult.

"No, I'm not. Why would you say I am? That is difficult magic, you know. I'm only eight." Harry frowns for a moment, but it doesn't look like doubt flickering across his face. The pause lets Devlin catch up properly and once more they're walking side by side.

"I hadn't expected you to try that excuse. By that measure, you shouldn't have been able to survive Voldemort, or Crucio, or broken through his wards, or preformed the Imperius Curse, or perhaps most impressive, mastered Occlumency as you have in only a month."

Had it been that little? Devlin is caught of guard with the idea that he's only been away from his Grandfather for a month. Sometimes he still yearns for his other home and it's owner.

"It's punishable by the Ministry, sir," he says softly, looking at his feet as they walk along the Muggle sidewalk. He's never been in a Muggle neighborhood before. He looks ahead of him and notices a small village. He wonders if there is a bakery there…

"I wouldn't tell them, Devlin. I am your father first, then an Auror. I don't tell them about Uncle Sirius, either."

He sighs heavily.

"Do you think there is a bakery down there?" Harry looks over at the change of topic.

"Yes, there is," he says softly. Maybe Devlin remembered coming here as a boy with his mother?

"If you buy me one of those cheese filled things, I'll tell you." He looks over at his father from the corner of his eyes and for a moment Harry doesn't know what to say – there is such a childish expression upon his face. He looks, once more, like the little boy who had been taken from him all those years ago.

"Deal!"

The bakery is near empty around this time of day, but a middle-aged woman comes forward to greet them cheerfully.

"Oh, Mr. Potter!" She says, grinning. "I haven't seen you in a month! Where is that little girl of yours?" Devlin wonders just how close they live to Maria's house – they'd apparated from Sirius's house but Devlin wonders if that had merely been to disorient him. Sometimes he still thinks Harry is intent to leave him blind about his surroundings – maybe he thinks he would run away.

"She's at home with her mother. Devlin and I are spending some time together, today." The woman looks at him and Devlin realizes he has subconsciously moved himself behind Harry.

"Oh my…but I…I haven't seen him in years Harry…" she looks to be in shock. She comes out from behind the counter and crouches down to his level, looking at him intently. Like she's seen a ghost.

"Yes, well the Police found him," And Devlin is surprised at how easily the Muggle word leaves his mouth and for a moment their gazes connect and Harry is surprised that Devlin knows the word. The word seems to shake him and he flickers his gaze towards the door, as if he expects someone to come through. Someone he's afraid of.

"Bless my heart." She whispers. "Well, I'm sending you home with a free bag of cookies, to celebrate!"

She begins filling a box with cookies, her hands trembling and tears slipping from her eyes. Devlin is thrown aback – why would this lady care for him? When she's done and handed the box to his father, she races over to the window and removes a picture – it is faded from being in the sun, and hands it to Harry, mumbling something about 'it not being necessary anymore'. Devlin manages to glance at it and sees it is a picture of him, before he was captured. A Muggle picture, from inside this bakery. They must have come by here frequently.

"Dad?" He looks hesitantly at him. He feels guilty, looking at the box of cookies and still wanting that pastry, but he hasn't had one in three years and he still remembers the way it had tasted.

"Oh right. Amy, can we have a cheese pastry too? I promised this one."

She lets him come behind the counter and pick out the one he wants and then refuses to let his father pay, so his father sneaks the money into a jar labeled 'tips' instead and leaves grinning and waving at the woman. Devlin looks down at the pastry in his hands, then up at the world around him.

"Are those your favorite or something?" his father asked, probably referring to the reverent look Devlin was giving the treat, as if it were too good to eat.

"I…I think so. I've only ever had one." Harry frowns, but doesn't push the boy. The treat had been part of a deal for one bit of information, not two. Perhaps he'd ask Geoffrey – he didn't think Voldemort had brought Devlin to a Muggle bakery, after all.

"So, now it's your turn." There is a glimmer of humor in his father's eyes and Devlin tries to hang onto the reassurance it gives him.

"I can turn into a wolf," he says simply. "Just a normal wolf. I'm little though. Geoffrey used to tease me about how I really was a pup."

"Now I've got to introduce you to Padfoot," Harry said, laughing at something he must be imagining.

"But I already know Uncle Sirius," he says softly, biting into the pastry. He stands still, savoring the taste.

"Padfoot is Sirius'…nickname." He gives him a meaningful look and Devlin nods at once – he means it is his Animagus' nickname.

"Okay," the pastry is too good to be in an arguing mood and it almost makes Devlin want to start humming. Harry decides he has to start keeping some of those things at home, so that he can get that childish look on Devlin's face more often. You'll turn him into Dudley.

He also knew he wanted, more than ever, to know where Devlin had eaten his first cheese pastry. It must have been a happy memory.

In the future: What Draco Malfoy gave Devlin, Severus Snape, Padfoot action, and why Devlin likes cheese pastries (yes, there is a story behind it, stop laughing!)

In other, but related news, I have about three more Voldemort/Devlin scenes in progress. I donno if you guys actually are interested in them, but I did get one review hoping to see more interactions; so I posted one last chapter.

Hope you like it! Please review!