Devlin expects something to happen after the Malfoy incident, and things do happen, just not from the side of the 'family' Devlin had expected. His father makes everyone watching him promise not to let him out of their sights, which was bad enough, but because he said it in front of said people, it made it all the worse.

"I'm not a baby," he tells Mrs. Weasley, after his father has left for work. "No matter what he thinks."

"Oh, he doesn't think you're a baby, sweetheart," she says, brushing the hair out of his eyes. He shakes it back into them, feeling sullen.

"It's only babies you don't let out of your sight," Devlin says scathingly.

"Or people we're worried about," Mrs. Weasley offers.

"I can take care of myself."

"Give your father a break, Devlin, honey. He lost you when you were four. Sometimes he probably looks at you and thinks of you as that little boy. Alright?" Somehow the false justification made it just a little more bearable and he nodded slowly.

"Alright."

"Good! Freddie and Daniel are coming over today. That should give you something to do."

Devlin nods, just a bit happier.

Still, he can't shake the feeling that his Grandfather must have some kind of reaction to him refusing to go with Malfoy. Perhaps Malfoy truly had been afraid to tell his Grandfather about how he had treated him, all those years ago, before Voldemort had even set eyes upon him. But really, wouldn't Grandfather have already known? Why would he have cared, it had been before his command that he not be harmed…

OlOlOlOlOlOlOlO

The fire in the living room flares to life and the Potter's, eating dinner in the kitchen, all startle when a voice calls out: "Harry, Alexandra!"

Alexandra reacts first, jumping out of the chair and running to the fireplace. Devlin tips his head. He already knows it is Hermione. They are whispering now.

'I got a letter for Harry. It was in a larger envelope addressed to me…'

'From who?'

'I had to sneak it out before Dumbledore noticed…he certainly would have wanted to look at it first, but after I read the first letter, to me, I figured it was something…erm…personal?'

'From who, Hermione?'

'From Him,' her voice is soft and worried, with an edge of fear. 'From Voldemort.'

'Have you checked its safety?'

'Of course. Just the regular privacy charms…not even a drop of dark magic …'

'So he made sure it would pass Hogwart's inspection.'

'It seems so…do you want me to pass it to you?'

'No, let me get Harry.'

Devlin watches as his mother steps lightly into the room and beckons his father silently with a finger. She smiles at Emma and him, and then turns the corner into the hallway. Here, at least, she knows she can be heard and her words remain cryptic.

"Hermione received a letter addressed to you, today."

"From who?"

"From him."

"Oh…"

"Don't tell me you actually did it Harry…"

There is silence. His mum sighs loudly.

"Just go figure it out."

Alexandra comes back into the kitchen, smiles, and sits herself back down.

"So, we were talking about how you went flying with Freddie, right?"

"Yeah," he mumbles, but his ears are half-trained on the living room. He knows he can't fall completely silent or she'll notice, so he reluctantly resigns himself to only hearing parts of Hermione and Harry's conversation. "He didn't think I knew how to fly."

"And yet he gave you a broom before asking Molly…" his mother manages not to look too peeved.

"We didn't go very high," Devlin defends, taking a big bite of food so he'll be expected to be quiet for a little.

'It's a bit creepy, isn't it? I mean, 'Dear Mr. Potter'….'

'Creepy does not even begin to sum this up, Hermione.'

'I suppose so…'

"So, did you prove him otherwise?"

"Well of course! I flew straight up into the air!" He tries not to dwell on her horrified face.

Harry chose that moment to return to the table, all smiles and nonchalance.

"Devlin was telling me about flying at Molly's with Freddie."

"What's there to say except he's awesome? I saw the last bit when I picked him up." His father grins at him, but Devlin can see the forced edge to the expression.

"You're right. We should talk about something else."

"Like what, Devlin?" His mum asks, still smiling. Emma's eyes are narrowed, as if she can sense the impending explosion.

"How about the letter you received from Voldemort?"

Harry and Alex share a fervent glance.

"How about something else?"

"No, I want to talk about that."

"Well, we're not going too," his father says, the words coming through clenched teeth.

"Yes we are!"

"Devlin, we're not talking about it." There is a hardness to his father's voice that he's never heard before.

"You're right, we're not, but I am, regardless of your participation in the discussion."

"This is not the time or place, Devlin!" There it is, the elusive anger and annoyance. The very thing Devlin had wondered if his father could ever direct at him. The edge of the envelope, within reach. Just a few more steps. If he was less fearful, he'd turn back now, but fear has always made him braver.

"Why? Is Voldemort not a proper dinner conversation? Is this something that makes you uncomfortable? Is this something that doesn't belong in your perfect little family?"

"Devlin…" It's his mother, calm and soothing, but not enough for the froth his fear has churned.

He stands up abruptly, shoving himself away from the table.

"What are you doing, Devlin?" His father asks, very slowly and very sharply.

"I'm excusing myself. I can't be part of your perfect family right now. Me being here must be a bad reminder. After all, you must thinkof him every time you look at me."

"Devlin, sit down."

"No, thank you."

"Devlin, sit down now."

"Are you going to make me? Go ahead – you can probably cast Imperius just like him."

"Devlin, I would never. Now please sit down."

"Make me."

For a moment his father almost looks like he will. Then he slouches a bit.

"No," he says softly but firmly.

"Why not?" Devlin yells, wanting, for what reason he hasn't the slightest, for Harry to act more like him. He wants the familiarity. His two separate worlds have collided and he doesn't know what to do. He had felt, for the last couple hours, as if one simply cancelled out the other – as if Harry his father couldn't exist as long as Voldemort his Grandfather did and that Voldemort as his Grandfather couldn't exist as long as Harry his father did.

"I'm not him," he says simply. "Now please, sit down."

"Tell me. Tell me what he said."

"This is not the place." Devlin can take a hint. Grandfather would have said 'I've already said I will not discuss this here, you are more intelligent than to ask twice the same way.'

"May we please discuss it elsewhere, sir?" Potter nods.

"After dinner."

So Devlin sits back down. He puts his napkin back on his lap. He cuts another piece of chicken off and he listens to his mother try to change the subject. He doesn't talk for the rest of the meal, waiting impatiently for everyone to be finished.

OoOoOoO

"I want to know what he said about me," he demands, once they are behind closed doors in his father's study.

Instead of answering father merely holds out a piece of paper, mumbling something about him likely not believing his word, anyway.

'Dear Mr. Potter,

So you have your son back in your home. It must have come as quite the shock when, shortly after having your arms around him again, he fell limp to the ground and began shaking. Do not pull out your wand; you need not re-ward your home. This is easily predictable, that is all.

Have your healers already told you the devastating news; that there exists no cure for your son? Have they already said 'I do not know how he has survived so long?'. I will tell you how he survived. I kept him alive. I had a potion brewed that keeps it all at bay.

You should have contacted me. Of course, being unable to plot your location, I have sent this to Professor Granger. I hope you appreciate the protections I put on the letter so that only you could open it.

There is a potion's recipe included, with only one minor catch – just as this envelope could only be opened by you, that envelope can only be opened by your son.

Lord Voldemort

"Where is the letter for me?" His hands are shaking with anticipation, both from fear and happiness. Grandfather had written him!

"It has spells on it," his father says. "It would be best not to open it."

"The same spells that were on this one?"

"Yes and no. The same spells that were on this one are also on your letter, but there are additional spells, also."

"Harmful ones?"

"No…"

"Then what ones?"

"I don't know, they were concealed."

"Then how do you know that they aren't harmful ones?"

"You cannot hide Dark spells this well, therefore they must be fairly light."

"Which makes you not trust them."

"Correct."

"He won't hurt me, Sir."

"Your back begs to differ. Your seizures beg to differ. Your dishonesty to him about Maria simply screams: I'm afraid of him!"

"I'm not afraid," he whispers, glaring. "He won't hurt me through a letter. Where's the satisfaction in that? Besides, those first two things were from when I was little. Before he liked me at all."

"Voldemort does not like anyone."

"No, Voldemort does not love anyone. He likes plenty of people and plenty of things. And he cares about Nagini."

"He protects her, that is all."

"Because he cares about her."

"That is not what Dumbledore suspects, but you may choose to believe whatever you like."

"I will, thank you."

"But I won't give you the letter."

"So you'll just destroy it, will you?"

"No, I'll keep it safe. When you're older, you can have it. Right now, you don't need to reconnect with him. You need to grow up, without his influence."

"He would say the same about you."

"I imagine he would."

"It's all opinions."

"It probably does seem that way to you right now, Devlin. Please, trust me."

"Yes, sir," he made sure that not only did his voice show his sarcasm, but his face made it plainly clear, as well. Then he lifted himself out of the chair and walked out of the room.

Zee was waiting for him outside of the study and he walked along side him as he went back to the living room, to retrieve his book. The dog looked unusually worried. Perhaps he sensed Devlin's own unease.

"Devlin!" Emma cries happily

"I don't want to talk. I want to be alone."

"Alright." Her voice sounds so hurt and sad. Devlin turns away from her innocence, picks up his book, and walks out of the living room and up the stairs to his bedroom. He locks the door and sits with Zee. His heart is pounding, his breathing is erratic – he's panicking.

His great plan to remain neutral; to have both sides think him loyal, was crumbling around him.

Perhaps he would need to pick after all.

What do you think?

Upcoming: He wonders briefly if his father's wards would respond like Voldemort's had to his Numbing Spell. Could he cut a hole through the wards?