He's laughing. Alex looks at the little boy who had moments ago been a little wolf and smiles at his cheer. He is nudging Geoffrey and climbing onto the sofa next to him. Even though she suspects his behavior is partly an attempt to keep Geoffrey's attention on him rather than on Remus and Harry, who he is speaking with, Alexandra smiles.

"Geoffrey…" He whines; something Alexandra has never heard her son do since his return. It startles her to hear such a childish voice coming from him. Geoffrey ignores him, like Zee ignored Emma when she used to pull on his tail. "Geoffrey!"

Quite suddenly, the young man's eyes turn to her son and Alexandra is startled by the firmness in them. But Devlin seems not to be effected. She watches, hoping to see the 'magic way' Harry had said Geoffrey could deal with Devlin.

"There are words better suited than simply my name," he says with a hard edge to his voice.

Her boy shrinks back, but there is an odd expression his face, half a pout and half defiance.

"Excuse me," he whispers, his face instantly blank. Alexandra's heart aches at the loss of that childish exuberance.

"He's just excited, I'm sure," she says quietly, coming up behind Devlin and touching his hair. Geoffrey seems to frown, as if he hadn't considered her presence before that moment.

"I'm sure he is," and Devlin is looking up at her wide-eyed and awe-struck that Alexandra finds her own face frowning in confusion. What had she done? What was so startling?

"Did I say something?" She asks quietly, looking between her son and Geoffrey and over at Harry, who seems as confused as she. It is only in Remus' eyes that she sees any clue: they are full of amusement and understanding.

"You made Geoffrey stop," Devlin whispers, his voice full of reverence. As if he sees her in an entirely new light.

She looks over to Remus, her eyes begging him to let her in on the secret.

"I think what Devlin means, and correct me if I'm wrong Geoffrey," he bows his head at the other werewolf, "is that you took responsibility to Devlin's actions by offering a reason and Geoffrey took your reason and didn't argue – meaning he accepted your claim of Devlin. Meaning Devlin is more yours than his." Devlin is frowning at Remus and actually gets up and walks closer to the man, peering intently at him.

"Devlin, your behavior is unsettling to humans," Geoffrey points out softly, glancing at Alexandra to make sure his reprimand is acceptable.

"It's just that…you actually understood," he tips his head and continues to regard Devlin. "I didn't think you understood werewolf stuff."

"I may not be as in touch with my wolf as you, Devlin, but he tends to make things clear to me when I am sitting in front of two werewolves, at least as best he can."

Devlin nods, but instead of going back to Geoffrey, he looks over his shoulder and when Geoffrey nods, he goes to sit next to Remus.

"Since your wolf understands," he whispers, and lays his head on Remus' shoulder. Harry frowns and Alex smiles and Geoffrey looks away for a moment, but below the temporary sadness at the loss of Devlin being only his he is happy for the boy.

They talk for a couple more hours, until Sirius pokes his head through the fireplace and asks if it's an okay time for Emma and he to come through. When Harry gives him the okay, he comes through with a sleeping Emma and hands her over to Alex, who goes to tuck her in. He frowns at Geoffrey, sitting all alone, and grins when his eyes fall upon Devlin, curled up on the sofa with his head in Remus' lap, asleep.

"If you're ready, I'll take you back, Geoffrey," Sirius says softly and Harry rises up to help.

"I'll go with you, I have a question, anyways. Remus, will you be okay with Devlin?" Remus nods and Harry and Sirius leave with Geoffrey through the fireplace.

OoOoOoOo

They're walking down a warded off hallway of Hogwart's, toward Geoffrey's small quarters, when Harry finally voices his question.

"Why does Devlin like cheese pastries?" Sirius would have laughed, if Harry hadn't looked so intense and sober.

"Cheese pastries?" Geoffrey asks, as if he thinks Harry is joking.

"Yeah, he knew about them. He knew what 'Police' meant as well. He said he'd only ever had one before, and it had been a few years."

"I never took him around Muggles. We weren't allowed to bring him around Muggles. We weren't even allowed to speak to him about Muggle things."

"Then how did he know there was a Muggle village outside of the camp?" Geoffrey freezes and tenses up.

"He didn't tell you? I thought if he'd told you about the girl, he would have told you about that…I don't know very much about it, mind you."

"About what?" Harry asks, his voice tense and threatening.

"A couple months after he was kidnapped, he escaped into the Muggle village, in plain daylight. All I know is that Voldemort himself went to fetch the boy…."

ooOooOoo

Devlin is wide awake when they both return, sitting on his hands in an armchair, looking as if he's making himself stay awake.

Remus must have left. Alex is standing in the living room door, so Harry goes to her first. She's wearing one of those "we need to talk" expressions.

"He won't go to sleep," she whispers softly, even though they both know Devlin can hear any whisper.

"Why?"

"He's waiting for you. Why don't you ask him why?" She's got a look on his face that clearly says 'you've messed up'. He smiles sheepishly as a pre-apology for whatever he's done, and goes back to Devlin. The boy looks dead tired and isn't even looking at Sirius.

"Devlin, what are you doing up?"

"I'm in trouble. You said so. You said "we'll talk about that later" and I thought you meant tonight."

"I didn't. Why would you keep yourself awake?"

His green eyes lift to regard him intently, as if Harry is the one who is acting strange.

"I was waiting for you, sir."

"If I want you to wait for me, I'll tell you, but I'll never want you to keep yourself awake on my behalf, Devlin. We'll talk tomorrow, you're far too tired tonight." If anything that seems to agitate the child even more.

"I promise I can do it now," he says softly, desperately. "Please don't make me wait…"

"Devlin, all I want to do is talk that's all, honest."

Devlin's eyes narrow a bit, as if he's trying to assess Harry's honesty.

"You won't talk to me tonight?" He asks softly.

"No, you're too tired and I'm too tired." He bends down and much to the boy's surprise picks him up. Surely his father wouldn't want to be touching him too much – he was angry with him. He should be dragging him, ordering him, or threatening him – not carrying him. He glances at his mother on the way out, quite uncertain this carrying this is going to lead to anything good.

He expects his father to put him down on the floor; that's what Voldemort would have done. But he puts him in his bed and gets a pair of pajama's out of his dresser and lays them next to him.

"Go on, get dressed. I'll be back in a couple minutes." He leaves with a smile on his face, but Devlin is shaking inside. It wouldn't have been unusual for Voldemort to leave him with a task, even as simple as getting dressed, while he went and dealt with something. He would always say: "I expect this to be done when I return". Harry's lack of threat is disconcerting. He's mad, Devlin had seen it in his eyes outside that day. He had pulled away from Devlin, disgusted. Everything is so confusing.

oOoOo

Harry is furious, but not at Devlin. He remembers the regard Devlin had given him from the sofa – the expectation that something bad was about to happen. That he was going to be punished. Harry knew that regard, even though he suspected Voldemort did much worse to Devlin than Uncle Vernon had ever done to Harry.

He stomps into his study, where Alex follows him and sits down at a chair.

"What are you doing Harry?" Her voice is soft and she's trying to be soothing, but Harry's anger is far to hot and alive within him to be cooled so easily.

"I'm writing a bloody letter!" He says through clenched teeth, pulling out a piece of parchment and a quill.

"To who?"

"To him."

"To Voldemort?" Now she's looking at him with clear concern, as if he's suddenly slipped off his rocker.

"Yeah, him!"

"Harry, what would you want to write to him?"

"I don't know yet!" He says, his magic flaring around him. Alexandra swallows hard.

"Okay…maybe a letter would be a good idea. Get the thoughts down on some paper and out of your head…" Harry nods sharply at her words, more than glad when she leaves him to his brewing.

"Dear Mr. Riddle,

I bet you find it amusing that you were able to take a perfectly healthy child and turn them into something that is afraid to love, fear, or show any emotion whatsoever.

But no matter what he's mine. He was never yours. He's always been mine."

He rolls the letter up and ties it to an owl, ignoring Hedwig's protests that it should be her.

"Get this to Tom Riddle, or Lord Voldemort." The owl looks at him with a this-doesn't-make-sense regard, but Harry doesn't care, and opens the window. He knows the letter will never reach its destination, but somehow it is satisfying just to think of it.

He turns on his heels, anger slightly more dispelled, and goes back upstairs. He'd told Devlin he'd be back.

The boy is sitting the edge of his bed, dressed for sleep, and looking at his hands. He doesn't look up when the door creaks open.

"Devlin?" Finally, those eyes rise up and look at him. They are empty.

"Yes, father?" And he winces, because it sounds like that phrase was meant to be 'yes, grandfather' and he hates the idea that he's doing anything similar.

"I just wanted to tuck you into bed," he whispers, feeling like a normal tone might make the boy hide from him. Devlin frowns and narrows his eyes in confusion.

"Aren't you mad with me?" He asks.

"No, I'm not. I was upset you didn't trust me enough to tell me about the Bowman attack, and I still want us to have that conversation," because you have to know a talk with me isn't a terrifying thing, "but no matter how upset I am with you, Devlin, I'll always love you."

"Oh." He doesn't understand, but how can Harry expect anything less? So he tucks the boy into bed and kisses his hair, and tells him 'love you, see you in the morning', and just when he's about to turn off the light and close the door, Devlin speaks again.

"Dad?"

Harry pauses for a moment, his breath caught in his chest.

"Yeah?"

"There's a book on my desk. Mr. Malfoy gave it to me at the Ministry Party. You should check it to make sure it's safe…" Harry goes over to the desk, Devlin's eyes watching his every movement, and levitates the little book (obviously under a shrinking charm) off of the desk.

"Thank you for telling me, Devlin," and at that moment, he isn't thinking too much of the book floating in front of him, but of the fact that now he has the name. Malfoy. He swears this time the man will pay. He turns off the lights and closes the door.

OoOoO Devlin's Attempted Escape oOoOo

He propels his body through the forest, ignoring the brush as it attempts to cling to his sides. He throws his fists in front of him, warding off the worst of the scratches to his face, and keeps running. He has to keep running.

His feet slap onto the hard black stone that Muggle's use to make roads, and he keeps running, the hard stone slapping against his shoes. They're far too dressy to be running in – mother would have scolded him – but he doesn't care.

Freedom. It feels almost as if it is a tangible thing.

It is a bright sunny day and the little village almost seems to sparkle. Devlin races down its streets, free. He's free. He's escaped. His father will find him soon. He just has to find someone and tell them: "I'm Harry Potter's son, please get my Daddy" because everyone knows Harry Potter.

Then he glances beneath his feet and remembers who uses this black stone – Muggles. They don't know his father. They don't know his mother. He keeps running, because he's too desperate to give up this freedom. Maybe there was still a way. Maybe he could hide here. His father always said Wizard's were poor at getting around Muggle places.

He runs down the main road until he nearly bumps into something and a man calls out "hey, boy, slow down!". He ducks through an opening door, under the arm of a women opening it as she leaves, and look out the window fearfully. It takes a moment for the scents to reach his nose and be processed. It smells good in here; like the bakery at home. He turns around and is unsurprised to find himself in just that: a bakery.

There is a bored looking girl behind the counter and another, older lady.

"Got yourself in some trouble?" The young girl asks, snidely. As if she's seen many a boy his age try and hide out in her bakery. He looks between the two people, eyes darting fearfully, until the older women frowns at his silence.

"Deary, are you alright? Where's your Mum or Dad?"

"I was looking for my Daddy," he says softly and he can feel the tears coming to his face. The older lady comes down and looks at him, soothing him. "But I can't find him!"

"Wendy, get him a cookie or something," she says, all the while rubbing his back. The girl comes back with a cheese pastry instead.

They speak softly to him and call the Police who come and talk to him, promising to find his father, but then Devlin's heart sinks. There with his hand on the door is his Grandfather, looking like Tom Riddle with dark forest eyes and charming features. He pushes it open easily and strides inside.

"Devlin!" he says, false concern drenching his voice. Or maybe part of it is real. "You shouldn't have wandered away like that," But Devlin is backing away, shaking his head.

"Don't let him take me, please, he's not my Daddy! Don't let him take me," The Police move in front of him, but Devlin knows it's useless. They're only Muggles. They can't do any magic.

"Don't make this difficult, Devlin," Voldemort whispers, and the fact that his voice is so soft is all the evidence Devlin needs of the trouble he's in. He withdraws his wand and sweeps it across the police men and two women. They're lips are all moving, but no sound is coming from them. Devlin swallows.

"Now come here," he says softly, but Devlin can't make himself. He looks on in frozen terror, feeling that tangible freedom slipping through his fingers like sand. "Very well. I said not to make it difficult: Imperio."

All at once Devlin feels light as a feather and free of all concerns. His heart calms down until it is beating gently inside his ribs. He feels happy. He should walk towards his Grandfather. No sooner had the idea come to him, had he found his feet acting it out.

"Oblivate," Voldemort says firmly to the room, and tells them the boy is his Grandson and they've seen all the proof they need. They're on their way back, but there is no need to write this up. Even in the grasp of Imperius, Devlin feels his heart sink into his toes. He feels the charm shatter from around him, but he doesn't open his mouth, because it will just mean that the nice lady and the Police will be obliviated again and he will be in more trouble. He walks away from the village with his Grandfather.

"We've discussed this before, Devlin. You're father isn't looking for you. He gave up." And there is a hand on his shoulder and then they are apparating and he is thrown violently onto the ground of the camp. In the middle of the camp. He's on his knees, in front of all of the Death Eaters, vomiting. How humiliating. He knows his Grandfather meant it to be, or he would have absorbed some of the magical burden or apparated to a more secluded part of the camp. He looks up from his hands and knees and catches Geoffrey's eye, who is breathing rapidly.

"Every single Death Eater responsible for wards and patrolling is to meet me at Headquarters in half an hour. You have failed miserably! You have been outdone by a five year old child!"

There is a hand on his shirt and it pulls him to his feet and drags him away from the crowd of Death Eaters, into Voldemort's private tent – where he stays too. He is deposited onto the floor of his bedroom. Not onto his bed. Not onto a chair. No, Grandfather is touching him as little as possible. That is always a bad sign.

"Apparently you are not as intelligent as I first assumed. Therefore, I will clarify a few things for you. You are mine." He bends down and there is a shimmer of red mixing with his forest green eyes. "I can be kind to you, or I can be cruel. It is entirely your choice. Which will it be?" He raises his wand and Devlin finds himself staring once more at the blunted point of wood.

His mouth his dry. That tangible feeling of freedom is entirely gone. He almost can't remember what it felt like, but he can remember what Crucio feels like vividly. He doesn't think he could survive it again.

"I'll be good," he whispers, looking up from his knees. The last place he should be in front of the man. But as much as this man hates weakness, Devlin feels it would be very very bad if he were to rise to his feet. "I'll stay here. I won't leave. I don't want to make you mad." He is crying and he swipes angrily at the tears in his eyes. It's no use.

"That's a good boy. I didn't think you were that unintelligent. Now go get cleaned up, I expect you sitting in that chair," he points to one of the armchairs "when I get back." Voldemort sweeps out of the room, leaving a frozen and terrified Devlin behind.

OoOoOoOo

Hope you liked this chapter. I think I do. What do you think of Devlin's attempted escape?

Next chapter: the talk between Harry and Devlin, the book Voldemort gave him, and some other things. Plus, I'm working on a side scene about why Voldemort chose not to kill Devlin in the first place! It's been brewing for a while. :)

PLEASE REVIEW!

As you might have noticed, I'm not putting out a new chapter until I get at least one review, but I'd really like it to be more. On that note, MissVenusVixen you rock!

For clarification: Voldemort chose to oblivate the Muggles because if he had killed them, Harry might have picked up on it and done some investigation and found numerous people witnessing an oddly dressed boy running down the street.