Kay, so here's the deal: I get that I shouldn't beg for reviews, but either there is something wrong with my story, because barely anyone seems to like it (at least, if I take reviews to mean anything).

If I don't need reviews, then I don't need to post. Case in point, I have 45 pages written out – I've been writing every day since my last update. That's a lot of chapters, and some pretty cool twists happen in those 45 pages, but I don't need to post them. I've been pretty happy just writing.

Here is my last update for a while, until I decide I just feel like posting, even though there really is no difference between writing in word and publishing here (hint, hint, you 40ish people that view my chapters every time).

OoOoO

The air outside was cold. The wind was blowing harshly. His hair lay atop his head, windblown and looking more like his father's than it ever had before. Devlin lifted his bright green eyes. He could see it, shimmering ever so slightly, in front of him. He could feel it, like a powerful force trying to push him backwards, away from itself. He reached up a hand and held it right in front of the wards, half a centimeter from actually touching the boundary.

What would happen, if his hand did touch?

He turned around to look back at the house. It is quiet looking. There are no lights on, but Devlin knows that is an illusion. His mother and father are still up. He'd heard them talking about him when he'd gone to knock on their door.

He'd had a nightmare. Tomorrow was the full moon and sometimes his wolf's alertness brought back all those memories from his first few weeks at Voldemort's hand. After all, it had been his wolf that had experienced the brunt of them, shielding him from the worst.

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?

He looks back at the wards and lifts his questioning green eyes again.

He lifts his hand. He stretches out a single finger.

"Don't do it, Devlin."

Devlin spins around. His finger is a hair away from touching the magical force. His father is standing behind him, his hair blowing in the wind, his hands stuck in his pockets in a casual manner. He is wearing an undershirt and a pair of jeans. His feet are bare. It looked as if he'd gotten dressed in a rush.

"Why not?"