They walk all the way home and just as their front steps are within sight, Devlin reaches over and pulls on his shirt sleeve. He stops and turns to the boy, who is worrying his bottom lip. Harry knows he's about to hear something he'd rather not.

"Was that little boy who called the Ministry…was his last name Bowman?" Harry feels his feet go numb, then the tips of his fingers, then his brain. He stares at the boy, half afraid and half confused. Of course, he'd known Devlin probably knew many things about Voldemort, but he hadn't expected Devlin to know the people Voldemort planned to attack. He nods before he can stop himself.

"It was my fault," his son whispers - his green eyes turning upwards and looking into his heart with such sorrow and fear and guilt that Harry almost chokes on the air. "The first time we went to Hogwart's, I ran into the boy. He was waiting to see Dumbledore. I made him send his father a letter. Then, when Malfoy saw me at the dance, I…I lied and said I'd told the boy to include some information I hadn't actually. I thought it would be so trivial that Grandfather wouldn't care. Honest I did!"

"Why didn't you tell me?" He can't keep the edge of disappointment from his voice and the child before him reacts instantly. Now, instead of the fear, sorrow, and guilt there is only uncertainty and doubt and hardness.

"I made a mistake," he says, his voice soft and cool and so…empty. He's made a mistake? Harry isn't sure what that means. Had he meant to tell him but forgotten, or had he been too afraid to tell him, or was it only in hindsight that he realizes he should have told him? The boy had saved Maria, he knows Voldemort hadn't been able to turn him into an empty unfeeling shell, but had he come closer than Harry had thought?

"We'll talk about it later," he says, tugging his arm away from the child, fear rooting deeper and deeper into his chest until it is stabbing his heart painfully. "And when we talk about it, you'll be sure to tell me about anything else you think I ought to know." He tries to shake the disappointment from his voice, but he keeps seeing the little boy, his body battered, clutching at his wand and screaming for them.

"Of course," Devlin whispers, and Harry tries to see past the emptiness to the fear that it must be meant to cover. '…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.'He tries to remember Devlin's expression, so pleading, when he'd spoken to Maria. He had wanted to make it right. He was trying to make this right too, he realized.

'I made a mistake'

What would Voldemort have done to him if he'd made a mistake? Harry had a horrible feeling that right at that moment, Devlin was trying to decide if his father would be the same as him. The thought makes Harry sick to his stomach.

The wards fizzle as they absorb the two residents and Harry relaxes a bit, as he always does once his children are behind his and Alex's wards.

OoOoOoO

Over dinner, Devlin starts to get the sense that his father hadn't actually told his mother where they had gone and his intuition is confirmed when he wakes up the next morning to find Emma eating breakfast in the living room, feeding pieces of cereal to Zee, who looks like he's just figured out how to make a new squeaky toy work.

"Why are you in here?" Devlin asks cautiously.

"Mommy and Daddy are talking about a letter Mrs. Watson sent to you," Emma says, "and they asked me to leave so that they could use grown up words – well they didn't say that, but I think that's what they meant." Emma shrugs in a disinterested way, throwing Zee another piece of cereal and giggling when he catches it midair.

Devlin feels the blood in his veins going cold while his skin is burning up. He races from the room and barges into the kitchen. Both eyes turn to him immediately. His father's face is flushed and his mother's is stained with tears.

"Devlin, your mother and I are talking buddy – can you give us a moment?"

"No. You're going to tell her, even though I didn't say you could!" There is pain in both of their eyes, pain for him and pain for themselves. And fear. Such fear. He turns away from it; they shouldn't show him their fears; they shouldn't show anyone their fears. 'Fear is for weaker beings than I', that's what grandfather would say. That's what Devlin has been trying desperately to remember this past month.

"He hasn't told me, Devlin, but I wish you would. I wish you would trust me," Devlin can't hear the last part, the part she withholds from him, but Harry can 'I wish you would trust me like you trust Harry'. He's been trying to convince her that Devlin opening up to him doesn't mean that, but the way the boy backs up and shakes his head makes all of Harry's certainty, in Alex's eyes, wrong.

"I can't tell you," he says and he looks away from her gaze.

"Why?" She whispers and even though it is one word, Devlin can hear the thousand that it stands for.

"I don't want you to hate me," he whispers, his eyes closed, "No matter what he says, it was wrong and I know you would hate me. You would hate me for the other things too. Even he'smad at me for them! And you don't even yet know what's in my desk upstairs!" The last part falls from his mouth without him meaning to and his eyes go wide and he breathes in deeply, waiting for something. Something should happen. Something painful. Something sharp. Even a threat! But nothing does. Both his parent's are quiet.

"Devlin, I said we'd talk about the Bowman attack at a different time and yeah, I am disappointed in you, but I'm not mad."

"Disappointment is far worse," Devlin says, "it means I've lost value. You can become mad or even enraged with something that is valuable, but disappointment implies the thing has lost value." He turns on his heel and races from the room, up the stairs, down the hallway, and into his room. He grabs the book in his desk and stuffs it into his pocket. He's already disappointed his mom and dad, why risk disappointing Voldemort? What good could come of being more disappointing?

You're fear is…disappointing. You're inability to grasp this spell, is far from ideal. You do not wish to disappoint me, do you?

His mother is at the door a second later. He can hear Harry downstairs shouting "Grimmauld Place" into the floo. They must be sending Emma away. If Emma wasn't there, maybe they'd stop pretending. Maybe they don't love him.

If your father truly loved you, Devlin, don't you think he would have killed my Death Eater that was holding you? If he truly loved you, don't you think he would have saved you? It isn't that hard; his mother did it for him.

He swallows, raising his eyes to regard his mothers, trying to not feel the fear. Trying to be something valuable. 'I am not weak.'

"I've used the Imperius Curse on a child. I've fed Voldemort false information to get another Death Eater in trouble. I let a Death Eater give me something at the Ball and I didn't tell either of you about it!" He clicks his jaw shut and waits for her reaction.

"I don't care," she says finally, with a firm edge. "I don't care what you did Devlin."

"You don't understand!" He says loudly, just as Harry is coming up the stairs.

"No, you don't. We're your parents, you'll always be valuable to us, no matter what you do or don't do." There is such sincerity and love in her eyes; Devlin's stomach twists into a knot. He doesn't know what to do with love. One time maybe he did, but not anymore. Does love equal value? Does love equal power, or does it disrupt it, distract from it, and make it null?

"What if I don't want you to be my parents?"

'I don't want to be like him, Grandfather.' 'I don't want to be a Potter.' 'I don't want to make you mad like Harry Potter does.'

She closes her eyes for the briefest moment and a single tears falls from each of her eyes. Devlin knows he has hurt her deeply and for a moment he feels that surge of something – perhaps power. It feels good, but then she opens her eyes and ruins the feeling – he's done that to her. He's hurt her.

"You wouldn't be the first child do say that to their mother, Devlin. And I am not the first mother to not care what you say – I won't stop being your mother and feeling everything that comes along with that. I love you, even if you don't love me."

But how was it possible to love something that didn't love you? Wasn't it like putting your trust in something disloyal?

"I don't know how to love," he says softly, the anger falling away from him, but stubbornness still clinging desperate to him. "I don't understand what I see in your eyes…"

His father is at the door and Devlin glances at him and sees the fear in his eyes.

"Devlin," his eyes swerve back to his mother. "Love isn't something you understand. It is something you feel."

"But how do you know that you feel it?"

"Would you want someone to hurt Zee? Would you want what happened to you to happen to Emma?"

The question makes him angry.

"What happened to me wouldn't happen to Emma," he says, growling.

"You don't think Voldemort would kidnap Emma? You think he chose to kidnap you and spare her?"

"No, he didn't choose to kidnap him. I was kidnapped because they failed to kidnap him," he points to Harry, "but what happened to me, wouldn't have happened to Emma. She would have screamed and he would have killed her. She isn't like me. He wouldn't be interested in her." His father's eyes are looking away from him but his mother is looking directly at him, making sure he has to see that love. It almost hurts him.

"Would you stand there and let her be killed?" It is his father. The words enrage him.

"Of course not!" He says, baring his teeth.

"That's because you love her," his mother whispers, taking a step towards him. "You love Emma."

He stands stock still, trying to decide if she's right.

"I know I care about people, mother, but that's not the same as love. It isn't the same as the look Emma gives you each morning. It just isn't." And there is fear again in his father's eyes and sadness in his mothers.

"Er, Harry?" The voice travels down the hallway. Devlin knows the voice must be at the top of the stairs; Harry has to glance through his door to know as much. It is Remus Lupin. "I brought the person you asked me too…" His voice is uncertain. Who would he have brought? Devlin feels his mind preparing to go numb – maybe they were tired of him. Maybe he really had disappointed them too much.

"We're in here, Remus," his father calls and Devlin hears two sets of footsteps, each like a drumbeat counting down to some inevitable doom.

"Hello, Dubhán," His head whips upwards at the name and he finds himself staring into Geoffrey's amber eyes.

"What are you doing here?" He asks, uncertain. Was Geoffrey going to take him away?

"Your father called and said you weren't having a great day," he says gently, walking forward. "You look sad," he says and his voice is still soft and comforting.

"I did something wrong, Geoffrey. I did something that he would be so mad about…and I never told him." He feels like a pup standing in front of Geoffrey. He breathes in and the scent of Geoffrey mixes with the scent of Remus and heightens the feeling. He knows his eyes are going amber – he can feel his wolf stretching and awakening, curious.

Geoffrey comes close to him and wraps his arms around him, drawing him close. His lips are buried in his hair and Devlin stands still, knowing that this isn't just a hug; it is a way for Geoffrey to assure his wolf that he is okay.

"It wouldn't be about that little girl, would it?" He asks softly, drawing away to look him in the eye. Devlin feels his knees go weak and he whimpers, so softly that Harry and Alex barely catch it, but to the side of Geoffrey Remus is holding himself back and Geoffrey is drawing him close again. "It wouldn't be a good idea to tell the Dark Lord about that, Devlin."

"You knew?"

"Did I know you would be that foolish as to risk your safety for her? No, I didn't. I thought you were safe and sound in bed, but the next morning you smelled like her, and I knew." There is no anger, no disappointment, no sadness, just facts and the soft eyes of the wolf, ready to keep him safe. He understands those eyes.

"I had to Geoffrey…" he whines, feeling his throat close around his words. "They were going to hurt her."

"I know, and you weren't supposed to know," he says, whispering the words into his hair. "I didn't want you to know. I had hoped you'd believe my lies, or at least allow them to pacify you falsely."

"She looked like Emma!" He cries and he can hear his mother's gasp as realization comes fast and cold.

"Like who?" Geoffrey asks and Devlin looks up, startled.

"Like Emma," he repeats, incase Geoffrey hadn't heard him.

"Who is Emma?" He asks with all sincerity.

"My sister," he says softly.

"Oh, I didn't know you had one."

"I do…" and he turns around and grabs the picture on his bedside and hands it over. He realizes suddenly how much of his life Geoffrey is unaware of and with that realization comes another: how much of his life he had lost when he had been kidnapped. Geoffrey hands the picture back to him.

"Is that what is upsetting you so much?" He asks, his amber eyes coming back to him. It is the wolf's eyes and the pup in Devlin can't lie to the older wolf.

"Not really…" he says quietly.

"Then what?"

"I don't understand things, Geoffrey. I don't understand what everyone else does. What they want me to understand." He peeks around Geoffrey to glance at his parents and inadvertently connects with Remus' own regard. There is a shimmer of amber in them.

"You are an intelligent boy, what could you possibly not understand?"

"I don't understand love," he says. "I don't think I feel it like Emma does." There is no fear in Geoffrey's eyes. No sadness. No guilt. There is only bemusement.

"Well of course you don't!" He says, smiling and laughing into his hair. "You are not like them! You are a Werewolf and you were bitten as a child, it is all you know." He leans closer, so that Devlin knows his mom and dad can't hear what follows: "Are you afraid you are like your Grandfather?" It is the whisper they used to speak in, that they would know only each other could hear – low graveling voices that were more wolf than human. Devlin nods, stopping himself from burying his face into the man's stomach. "What a foolish little pup you are," he says and brushes Devlin's hair out of his eyes.

"Am not," he says instinctively to the friendly admonishment.

"Foolish or a pup?"

"Both!"

"Oh but you are both!" Geoffrey puts both his hands around his face and runs his thumbs over his face. "You are a pup and all pups are foolish!" Devlin looks expectantly at him, waiting for him to finish their comforting routine. He should lean forward and say: 'you are his Grandson, but you will always be my pup', but Geoffrey keeps his mouth closed. A wound opens in Devlin's heart that he hadn't realized had been there, half-healed, all this month. He misses Geoffrey and he isn't certain why Geoffrey has suddenly changed their relationship. The pup in him wants to whimper and tuck it's tail between it's legs and look up at Geoffrey with uncertain eyes and flat ears. He looks away.

"Everything is different, Geoffrey. Now even you are." The words leave his tongue slowly, each one stinging.

Geoffrey looks surprised and bends down so that they are eye-to-eye.

"You will always be my pup, as long as you want. I promise." And he pulls him into another hug and over his shoulder Devlin can see his mother with a little smile and his father frowning and Remus – Remus whose eyes are a bright clear amber, regarding him intently.

Just then Zee comes into the room. From the way he slinks in, Devlin suspects he's been listening from the hallway. He approaches Geoffrey's crouched figure in a stalking sort of way, his ears not flat, but sharply alert, and his tail up but unwagging.

"Geoffrey, you have to say hi to Zee," so Geoffrey turns around and freezes quite suddenly, coming eye-to-eye with the half-wolf.

"Oh my, aren't you a handsome thing," he says, staying as still as possible.

"He's not great with new people," his father says, finding his voice. "Let me come get him."

But it is clear Zee knows what "new people" and "come get" mean, because he moves quickly out of Harry's reach and comes to stand behind Devlin, with his nose in front of his boy, looking Geoffrey up and down. Devlin touches his fur and he looks momentarily at his boy, checking him over.

"It's okay, Zee," he says softly. "This is Geoffrey." He reaches out to Geoffrey and touches his shoulder. "He's my friend." The half-wolf doesn't seem certain.

"I guess you're his pup too, huh?"

Devlin looks at his father before replying.

"Yeah, really truly…"

His father chuckles and all the tension in the room seems to dissipate. Even Zee calms down a bit.

"Everyone here knows about Padfoot, Devlin," his father says. "Well, except Geoffrey, but I know he can't report anyone, so…"

And even though a mere month ago Devlin had sworn to keep his secret, that is all the motivation he needs. He transforms and runs around Geoffrey's feet, nipping at his pants legs until the man picks him up and rubs behind his ears and kisses him atop his head. He puts him down and his little nose leads him to Remus, who he sits politely in front of until Geoffrey says kindly "he's begging to be picked up" and his wolf picks him up, holding him awkwardly.

Everything is so much clearer in this mindset and he looks over at the man and women, his mother and father, and knows he isn't his Grandfather. That he feels love, that he is capable of the emotion, but that the way he feels it will always be different from Emma or his mother or father, or even Remus, who had had a few more years as a normal child before being bitten.

Hope you enjoyed the new chapter. Life has gotten a bit busier, so I haven't been able to post as frequently. Also, I'm experiencing a bit of writer's block. More reviews would really help with that…

Hope the ending wasn't too cheesy for anyone. :)

In the near future: the 'talk' Harry promised, what Voldemort had Draco give Devlin, the card Mrs. Watson sent Devlin, and much more.