"Hey, I wondered where you got too. This is a rather boring area…"
"I got lost," he murmurs, shrugging. He can't look his father in the eye.
"Yeah, it's easy to get lost at Hogwarts. Was there something you wanted to look at before we head home?"
"No, I'm ready." And he was. He wanted nothing more than to be somewhere else - somewhere with lots of pictures of him smiling and laughing and alive.
"Alright, then lets go see Albus about your wand." He almost falls to his knees at the reminder that he's not done yet. But he nods instead and drags his feet to follow his father's out of the library and back onto the path to the Headmaster's Office.
Severus is no longer in the office and Dumbledore is sitting there, filling out paperwork.
"Ah, Harry, Devlin, good to see you again. Would you like a spot of tea?"
"No thank you Dumbledore, I told Alex we'd be home in time for lunch."
"Ahh, of course! Well then, I suspect I should give you your wand back, young Mr. Potter." Devlin can't even muster the excitement he knows he should feel. He simply nods. "Is something on your mind, child?"
"I'm tired," he says softly, hoping the excuse will work. He gets the sense that Dumbledore knows he is lying, but Devlin doesn't care.
"Very well, your wand did have some spells on it, but I have removed them. None were strong enough to track him inside of your wards, Harry." His father nods and Albus stretches his hand out with Devlin's wand. Devlin reaches over and takes it slowly, letting the magic seep into him and sooth his nerves, just a bit. "Have a good evening, then."
His father says a more proper goodbye and then they are tumbling through the floo and Devlin is landing on his hands and knees and that's all he needs to push his nerves over the edge. He rushes to his feet and out of the room, past his bewildered mother and smiling sister and into the bathroom by the kitchen. He is sick.
He lunges towards the toilet, grabbing hold and arching his back as he throws up, over and over. Just the thought of that picture and article makes him throw up again and he thinks of it several times in the minute it takes his mother and father to follow him to the bathroom. Just when he thinks the worst is over, that his stomach is empty and all he can do is dry-heave, his mother speaks and he looks over and he sees them standing together just like they had in the photograph. His stomach might be empty of food, but it had plenty of bile left.
"Devlin, sweetie, do you want a potion?" He nods, more to make her go away than out of a need for the potion. He'll feel sick even if his stomach can't heave in protest along with him.
What had she thought of him when she'd seen him that first time in his father' office? Had she thought he was a ghost? Had she thought maybe he was the fake one?
His father is wetting a towel in the sink, his eyes on him and Devlin tries terribly hard to not throw up again, because he doesn't want them to see him like this. It's useless though – the moment his father touches the cold cloth to his forehead, he pukes again.
"It'll be okay, Devlin."
"Don't leave," he says, even though he's not sure why he says it at all.
"Never, ever," his father says, almost like he understands the true meaning of Devlin's words.
It hits Devlin in another moment of sick realization that his father and mother had never given up him – they had thought he was dead. They had waited for the proof and that proof had been enough to fool everyone.
He begins to cry, even as his stomach continues to torment him.
"Shhh, it's okay. Mum will bring the potion in just a second – she has to get one from Severus, I think. I'll stay right here, but I'm going to get the towel wet again," Devlin nods to show he understands, but he dare not lift his head.
If that boy in that photograph hadn't been him, then who had it been? Even the Darkest of Magic could not create such an 'authentic' body, without a body to act as the starting point. Under all that falseness had been a real child; a dead child.
Who died for me? The thought makes him sick again, except now his stomach is even empty of bile so he just keeps retching. He thinks his body wants to turn him inside out.
"Devlin, please tell me what happened. Was it because I let you watch? I knew I should have made Hermione watch you, or Sirius." His father is wiping his face with the cloth, grabbing a fresh one and wiping down his neck. It feels good, even if he's treating him like a small child.
"No!" He groans, because the idea that merely watching the unforgivables would make him this weak is horrifying. He's not a baby.
"Then what happened?"
Devlin shakes his head. He doesn't want to say it to his father. Doesn't want to voice it. Doesn't want to hear it.
"Your mom is going to think I let someone poison you…" His father whispers, pleading with him.
"No poison," he whispers between retching.
"Yeah, I know that, but she won't believe me…"
He looks sidelong at his father.
"Wasn't lost," he whispers, before he's caught in a retching fit again. His head hurts from all the heaving. "Was looking at them."
It takes his father a moment to comprehend what he means.
"The newspapers?" He nods and his head throbs in protest. "Why?"
To see if you loved me.
But he won't say that aloud.
"For me," he says, looking sidelong again at him. His hair is sweaty now. He feels cold and his head hurts. He decides he better get the words out now, before he's unable. "Saw the one with mom and you and everyone and me dead."
He sees his father close his eyes and sigh and reach towards him, but Devlin is already falling to the side, shaking. The abyss is swallowing him.
And then there is nothing but the pain. It is everywhere. It is in the darkness, stabbing at his skin every time he moves, crushing him while he is still. It is inside of him; he can feel it searing his nerves as it rushes through him. It is in his mind, in his eyes, on his tongue and lips. It wants to make him scream, and this time he does, because there is no one to think him weak. He feels his mouth open and hears his scream. His back is arching; pins from beneath pushing him up. His body is shaking from all the pain inside him as it boils his blood.
Suddenly, it all stops and he curls himself into a ball and breathes for what feels like the first time in hours. The cool air soothes his exhausted lungs. His whole body is still, every inch of it throbbing at the remembrance of the pain. He wishes he would fall unconscious, like he used to, but his body has grown too accustomed to the pain for it to render him unaware.
There are arms around him, holding him close. Fingers are carding through his hair. There is a voice, breathing, no singing, into his hair. He leans back towards the song. He remembers this song.
Finally, he opens his eyes and finds that he is still in the bathroom and it is his mother holding him, singing to him softly. Carding her hands through his hair. He smiles softly.
"Hi, mama," his says. She grabs onto him tighter.
"Oh, Merlin Devlin, you scared me!"
"Sorry," he whispers, letting her kiss his hair.
Instead of speaking, she simply breathes into his hair. It reminds Devlin of Geoffrey.
"If we had known, Devlin…" She whispers, her voice tight. "Harry never gave up, he never did. Not after Maria came back to her father. But…it was so painful to hope about something that had such clear evidence against it. The Ministry tested that body and then any other wizard or witch your father could get, often through steep favors, tested it too. The most renowned medi-wizards and ward breakers – they all tested it. And they all said: "this is Devlin Potter"." She is crying into the nape of his neck. "I know what Tom is like, I couldn't imagine him having any mercy towards a child."
"Mercy?" Devlin whispers, turning his head so that his mother can see his pursed lips and furrowed brow.
"He let you live, I could never have imagined that."
"That wasn't mercy. He meant to kill me," Devlin breathes, lifting his body and putting his head into the nape of her neck. "And then I think his curiosity got the better of him."
"Curiosity of what?" His mother asks, but it is his father who Devlin is regarding now, as he stands at the bathroom door, hands in his pockets, fear and sorrow mixing in his eyes.
"He was raised by muggles who punished him for his magic, who didn't understand him – he wanted to see what would happen if…his magic had been encouraged. I reminded him of himself."
His father's eyes close for the briefest moment, his mother's heart doesn't even miss a beat. His father, Devlin can see, is terrified of that similarity, but his mother really doesn't seem surprised. Perhaps she'd always seen it all along.
"I'm sorry he grew up that way, if he had been more well cared for, he might not be the person he is today," she whispers, rubbing his back. "But his experiment with you wasn't a very good one – if that were his only goal he should have left you with us and left us alone to have you grow up in a family, like he should have."
"Grandfather likes to be in control," Devlin whispers, still looking at his father. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, hoping they'll both drop the subject.
"Hermione came over with some pain relief draughts, do you want any?"
"They don't work," he says softly, even though he knows he's told them before. "I built an immunity and it's not safe to give me the doses that do work. The Healers think if I avoid them for a couple years, they'll regain their effectiveness. At least, that's what they said to Grandfather."
"Then what do you do if you get severely injured?" His father asks.
"I just wasn't supposed too," he says, as if this is a simple thing to accomplish amongst Death Eaters.
"The other Death Eaters…they never hurt you?"
He blinks.
"If you were a Death Eater, would you have hurt me?"
"I can't imagine hurting you in any circumstances."
"Belletrix used to call me Voldemort's little Prince. Grandfather said the nickname was just one more example of Bella's well-meant insanity, but the name caught on and it made people afraid of me. There was one Death Eater, when I was really little, who made a mistake, but…that never happened again." His eyes glaze over as he thinks back to that moment.
"Let's get some lunch, okay?" Devlin nods at his mother's words, eager for a change of topic and scene.
oQoQoQoQ Devlin's first witness to Death oQoQoQoQ
He can hear it sizzling through the air, pushing gravity and particles and matter aside to reach its aim – him. He feels fear fill him and then he remembers how useless fear had been, and lets the anger wash over him.
How dare he!
He doesn't scream, he growls, deep and loud and full of aggression. The air fizzes around him, like the sound from a fast-growing fire, and his vision goes hazy. Except, it is an odd sort of haziness and he realizes quite suddenly that it is something real. The sizzling spell collides with the hazy substance and explodes onto its surface.
He glares at the Death Eater, who wouldn't have dared to do that if his Grandfather had been in the room. He's a young man, probably no older than twenty, and newly branded. Perhaps no one had told him not to mess with the dark haired, green-eyed boy about yay-high.
Around the room the other Death Eater's go hush and the man looks at him, both unexpectedly surprised at his magical ability, and surprised at the silence.
"Erney," One Death Eater says softly, hesitantly. He looks young too, but he can't remember his name. "Put you're wand down now."
"Are you stupid, McCoy? The Dark Lord told me not to let anyone get in!" The McCoy fellow looks around but when the other door sweeps open to readmit Voldemort, he steps back into the crowd, sending Erney one last sad look.
Voldemort stops mere steps into the room, sensing the change in atmosphere. His red eyes scan the room until they fall upon him and his hazy substance. Now that the anger is gone, the fear is sinking in quickly.
"Who is to blame?" He commands, his voice so calm and quiet that it sent a shiver through the room. There were no quick shouts, but Geoffrey had finally fought his way through the crowd and made it to his side, where he falters under Voldemort's regard. He knows that if his Grandfather weren't there, Geoffrey would have drawn him into a hug and carried him away, like a pup, but because they are not alone, he defers to Voldemort, who hasn't given orders to take him away.
"T'was Erney, M'Lord," says McCoy, looking at the other with sorrow. He had warned the man. Twice.
"I see," Voldemort begins, striding towards him. He reaches a hand out and swooshes away his hazy substance as if it were a spider web or bit of smoke. His long fingers touch his chin and lift his face and he knows Voldemort is looking for damage. But there isn't any. The fingers stay there, while his other hand lifts into the air.
Lazily, as if it were so inconsequential that it didn't even need his visual focus, he lifts his wand to point it at Erney. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the man's eyes go wide and his body tense. Geoffrey is swallowing and wringing his hands, like he wants to drag him away.
"Avada Kedavra." His Grandfather whispers, still looking at him. His eyes aren't looking up at his Grandfather; they are stretched to their peripheries, watching the man drop to the ground. Watching him as he becomes instantly motionless. Watching as all that tenseness leaves him. Watching as he doesn't get up.
He doesn't scream. He doesn't pull away from his Grandfather. He hardly even blinks. The man is dead, he's certain of it. He hurt you, his mind whispers, when Grandfather told no one to hurt you.
"Good boy," his Grandfather whispers, so quietly he almost misses the words. His eyes balls swing back to his Grandfather.
"Geoffrey, take the boy to his room and find out why he left it in the first place." And so Geoffrey drags him out, like a pup.
OoOoOoOoO
"Devlin, will you come to my study with me?" He looks up from the sofa, where he'd been relaxing since dinner. He feels a shiver run down his spine as he lifts his body up. He gives him mum a glace, but she is smiling kindly from her place near Emma, as if she isn't concerned.
"Yes, sir," he whispers, putting his book down and meeting his father at the living room door. Together they walk to his study. He steps in and waits for his father to sit first, then follows suit. He sits on his hands, because he knows he won't be able to stop them from fidgeting.
"I wanted to have that talk with you, since it has sort of been settled between us, uncomfortably."
Devlin nods, to show he's listening.
"Originally I just wanted to talk to you about the Bowman attack, but we've already covered that."
"And anything else I think you ought to know," Devlin adds softly.
"Pardon?"
"That's what you said: and you'll be sure to tell me about anything else you think I ought to know."
"Yeah, I guess I did. Is there anything else you think I ought to know?"
"Yes."
[I ALMOST ENDED THE CHAPTER HERE….]
His father's eyes are full of fear and anticipation and worry. Devlin doesn't let himself look away, not matter how much he wants too.
"What?" His voice is wavering, as if a good deal of him doesn't really want Devlin to answer.
"I told him things. Told him things about you and mum and Ronald and Hermione and things around our house."
"Devlin-"
"I'm not done," he says sharply, because he knows if he interrupts him, he won't be able to finish. "I made him like me, I told him the things he wanted to know about me. He asked me how good I was at magic and I told him and that's the only reason he kept me alive. And I lied to you, I got smarter and I could have escaped. He caught me the first time and he hurt me because I'd tried, but I knew, years later, that I could have gone farther before he noticed. I learned about under aged magic when I was six. I was able to steal prisoner's wands by the time I was seven. But I never tried again."
"Why not?" There is hurt in his father's voice, but also understanding.
"He knew I could do it. He said to me that I was more powerful than he at the same age, which he was proud of, but I think also a little unsettled about. He was angry for a long time, because 'I see now what those muggles truly did to me', but finally he sat me down and said I was old enough to understand a 'deal'."
His father is still staring at him, each fighting not to lower their regard.
"So we made a deal that he knew would keep me there for as long as he wanted."
"What deal?" The words are a breathy whisper.
"That he would leave Emma and Mum alone as long as I did not try to escape again."
"I see…"
"That's why I had to say those things to Malfoy. Grandfather might have thought I planned the escape, when I didn't."
Hope you liked the chapter. I am actually pretty proud of this one, as well as what I've gotten done on the next one.
In the next chapter we get to see, from Voldemort's perspective, why he let Devlin live.
Anyways, please review, or I'll go back to short chapter sand cliffhangers! Ha! *Evil Laugh*