Harry wasn't sure how to answer the question. He wasn't sure he could physically pull himself from his shock enough to answer. It wasn't the kind of shock that one experienced when surprised, but rather the shock one experienced when something they have been expecting for a while - looking around every corner for it's appearance - finally shows itself. You jump in your skin even though you knew it was coming for you. Harry felt as though someone had physically knocked the wind out of him.

"I-"

Alexandra was looking over at him intently and Harry felt himself paling and sputtering and looking around for the answer - as if he would find it in the boys expectant face.

"It is my fault he is," he managed to say eventually. His boy already probably knew - Voldemort had probably thrown it into his face more than once how Harry had screwed it all up. It had been bad enough when he couldn't imagine Devlin living with Voldemort (when he imagined him alive it was always away from Voldemort), but now that he knew he had been with the monster, around other Death Eaters...

He felt his heart squeezing until his blood felt cold. How many times had Devlin had to see Malfoy? How many times had he needed to take an order from the bastard? Had Voldemort let the man lay a hand on Devlin?

He felt sick, but he swallowed the bile rising rapidly so that he could look at Devlin and answer him. He couldn't fail at this.

He expected to find angry confirmation on the boys face, but instead there was a deepening frown of confusion.

"Because you didn't get him?" He asked and whether it was Harry's imagination or the boys intention his voice sounded childish for a moment.

"No," he said, swallowing, "because I went and beat him up without following protocol. I let-" Alexandra had gathered Emma and was bringing her up to bed, but Harry didn't feel guilty and he knew Alexandra wasn't upset at him. This was more important. "I let my emotions get in the way, Devlin. I- I hunted him down. That was when he told me...told me you had been killed and I-"

His hands were shaking and he clasped them together, staring at them mindlessly.

"I'm so sorry I-"

"He told me you never did anything," said the voice, still small and childish and nervous. There was a tiny hand on his too-tightly clasped hands and there was magic in the tiny fingers, easing his muscles until they stopped shaking. Harry looked up, expecting to see a boy who had no idea what he was doing. "Shaking hurts," he said instead and Harry knew once more - as he had always known - that Devlin was extremely brilliant.

He also knew, now more than ever in the time that he had come to know Devlin again that he was different than the man he resembled - it would not have occurred to Voldemort to comfort someone else. This would become one of those memories of his that he would remember forever, like the birthday this same boy had thrown for his grandmother when he was tiny. Part of him wanted to rush to his feet and rush to Geoffrey and make him see this. Ha, not my boy anymore? He would say, half cruelly but with a smile on his face that he just wouldn't be able to tame. Maybe he was only ever acting like another boy!

But he knew that wasn't really true. Voldemort had made Devlin's edges 'rough', but he hadn't gotten to the boys core - how close he had come had yet to be seen, however.

He wanted to gather the boy in his arms, but he knew it wouldn't be appreciated and instead he chose to simply be content with the contact his son was willing to share with him.

"I'm sorry," he said, somehow knowing he was seeking redemption for so much more than just Malfoy.

Devlin's lips were tight and he shook his head a little bit.

"I would have beat Malfoy up too, if I could have," he said after a moment, but all Harry could here for that second was the lack of acceptance to his apology. Even so, he knew he would have to prove his value to Devlin, over and over and over again. "Did you make him bleed, at least?"

There was a glint and a snarl and it reminded him of those "rough edges" that his boy hadn't had when he was little. He thought of denying the question in it's entirety, or denying that yes, he had - but then he thought of how the child would perceive his lack of information. He had grown up with Death Eater's who would have talked about this kind of thing like Emma would talk about a friend who hadn't shared some toy with her at school. This was normal for Devlin and if Harry denied him, he would think Harry just wasn't capable.

"It was only my name that kept me out of a holding cell," he said shakily. He was glad for once that Alexandra wasn't there and he tried to squash the part of him that knew she was possibly listening from the steps.

"I don't like him," he said with some satisfaction in his voice.

Harry wanted to ask if Malfoy had ever hurt him, but he found the question sticking to his throat, because if Devlin chose to answer Harry didn't know what stupid thing he would do.

"Me, neither," he said instead, knowing he was being a coward. Devlin looked at him oddly for a moment and Harry knew he had seen his cowardice too.

"Geoffrey didn't like him either," the child said, a mere whisper - as if he were revealing some deep secret. And it was such that even though he hadn't asked his question he got his answer, because he had come to understand that Geoffrey cared about his son and was neutral to most other things. Someone who had hurt Devlin, Harry strongly suspected, would have ended up on Geoffrey's 'dislike' list. He felt himself shiver.

"Does he know you don't like him?" He asked, feeling a bit of his bravery coming back to him. The boy had revealed so little, seemingly so frightened of what Voldemort would think of his betrayals, that Harry suspected his hatred for Malfoy wasn't really a secret at all.

"He knows."

Harry nodded.

OoOoOoO

"Come in."

The voice behind the door was cool with an edge of impatience that reminded Dubhán of Grandfather. He watched as Alexandra pushed the door open. She had dragged him all the way here and she reached behind to finish the job. He had every intention of making this as difficult for them as possible. He did not want to be here. He pulled his arm away from her before she could grasp it.

Difficult was one thing, but looking weak in front of someone who was going to rip his mind apart was another. He sauntered into the room, hands in his pocket, strides short and sharp.

Severus Snape was like most Death Eater's (once a Death Eater always a Death Eater - the mark proved it). They all tried to be like Grandfather - cold and distant - but they all failed on some level or another. If one watched them closely enough, one could see the emotions flicker across their faces or eyes - gone in the next blink of one's eyes.

Severus Snape was surprised. Dubhán tried to reason out why he was surprised. His sharp eyes connected with Alexandra's body and realization came suddenly to Dubhán. Severus Snape had not expected Alexandra. Potter, then?

"Did your husband decide he didn't want to spend his evening in my presence?" He stood and wrapped his cloak around him, crossing his arms in what was meant to be an imposing manner. Dubhán didn't find him that imposing at all. Bella could be imposing. Dwalish could make one's skin crawl. Draco could make Dubhán's blood boil. Voldemort could make one feel like the world was crumbling around them and they should welcome death.

In light of his experiences, Severus Snape seemed like just a man, trying to be something he wasn't any longer. He might still have the mark. He might still have the memories and mind of a Death Eater, but he lacked the glint and the aura. He was by no means a light wizard, but the darkness in his magic was receding from disuse.

"No, I decided you wouldn't want to spend your evening in his presence," she said kindly, smiling. Dubhán didn't doubt the authenticity of her smile. He had heard the argument last night about who should take him. He still wasn't sure how she had won.

"I see." Dubhán guessed this was his way of saying 'you're right', since otherwise he surely would have made her sharply aware of her mistake. He crossed his arms imposingly once more, a scowl creeping onto his face like a thunderstorms slow approach. "And what, pray-tell is your intention to do with your evening?"

Alexandra blinked and allowed herself a smile that Dubhán had seen hundreds of times before on men who knew they were about to give you news you would despise but didn't care - or perhaps even expected to feel pleasure telling you.

"I plan to finish off a report. I will work in the corner and stay out of your way."

Severus looked as if someone had made him swallow a sour past-date Pepper-up potion.

"Surely the brat is old enough that he doesn't need his mother within reach." Dubhán wanted to verbally agree, but instead he stayed perfectly still and made his face remain perfectly blank. He wasn't going to give this man - who would soon be tearing apart his mind - anything to work on. More than half of him expected this was merely a way for them to get information about Voldemort without outright torturing him. Perhaps the lady (who had argued for this and implanted the idea in the man's head) felt differently about making him talk about Voldemort's secrets than Harry did.

"It is either me sitting here, or Harry." She made to rise from a seat she had already pulled into a corner. "I can call him, if you would like, of course."

There was that expired Pepper-Up Potion expression.

"That will be unnecessary," he drawled. Alexandra smirked knowingly at Snape.

Snape turned away from her, his attention coming to rest upon Dubhán, who in turn fought his internal instant to show his feelings upon his face. He wouldn't give this man anything to work with.

"Do you know why you are here?"

He didn't answer. An answer would inevitably reveal something and so instead he kept his face blank, made himself blink after every one of the man's words so that he didn't give away a clue by blinking on a particular one, and made his body remain still, no matter how much his nose had begun to itch. He concentrated on the feel of the turtle neck shirt he had been forced to wear because his button up shirts hadn't been returned with the regular laundry. He smelled the air around him, trying to identify the last potion that had been brewed in here.

"I asked you a question," Snape drawled, trying to sound like a Death Eater again - trying to scare him into answering. Pish, thought Devlin, unfazed. Where was the wand? Where was Crucio? Where was the blood, the bruises, the tightness around his neck? Where was the true intimidation?

And then he felt it, like a touch of cool fog, inside of his mind. He knew this feeling like he knew the back of his eyelids. He kept his face impassive, but his eyes averted from Snape's and broke the connection.

"Ah, so you are aware of what we are here for and how it works," Snape hissed. Of course he knew, he said inside of his head, but outside he was nothing, nothing, nothing. Just a boy without a name, without any memories, dressed in grey slacks and a blue turtleneck sweater. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

"Devlin..." it was the lady and he knew if he turned there would be a look of pleading written plainly on her face - so he didn't look. There was no need to look for things you already knew. "Devlin talk to him."

But he didn't, because wasn't it enough that he was here and he hadn't used the wand they had given back to him to run away while they went through the floo? He was here and they could do as they pleased to him but he wasn't doing anything. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

"I can do this without her cooperation," Snape drawled. Lying. Liar. Trying to make him afraid. Just a man. No Crucio. No blood. No bruises. No broken bones. All he could do was get into his head - but he was used to that. He just wouldn't look.

But then he saw it - a slender black wand being drawn out of the man's robes.

What did that have to do with mind games?

His eyes flicked up to the man's eyes in a moment of un-thinking.

"Legimency!" The man shouted and it was like nothing Devlin had felt before. There was no subtly. There was no cool fog. He felt his breath leave his lungs in one silent cry.

It was as if his mind were a pile of parchments stacked neatly on top of a desk and Snape was in there, standing above the papers and rifling through them at his pleasure.

He should look away - break the connection - except Snape's eyes were gone. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. This wasn't what it was like. This whole-consuming-

A chill passed through him abruptly and for a moment he was standing outside his tent at the camp.

He tried to shake himself - felt himself shaking.

The ground is cold. He is close to the ground. He is a wolf, creeping along the ground. Sneaking. Trying to get somewhere important. Trying to get to-

NO!

He felt his mind shove back violently - something he had never known his mind could do. It felt almost physical - he could feel that rush of adrenaline as he would have, had he actually reached out and shoved him.

He growled and his wolf came forward and he felt his memories pulse erratically as it expelled Snape.

He could see Snape again - his dark unending eyes staring at him intently. He didn't look away, because right now he knew - somehow he knew - that he had nothing to fear in that moment. His wolf was there, ready to protect him.

"Your eyes are amber," Snape said, as if were simply a casual observation said in the same tone in which he might have said 'you're sweater is blue'.

"Yes," he growled, his fists clenched at his side, his jaw clamped so tightly that he could feel the pressure of the bones grinding together as he forced them apart to let the word escape.

"Using your feralness - while obviously effective - will not work. It is a one-trick Hippogriff- do you know what that means?"

"It means," he said, still speaking through his clenched teeth, making every word deliberately cruel-sounding. "That you expect to be able to stop my feralness from humiliating you next time."

"Who knew one of Potter's children could be so...sardonic. I must confess I thought he was capable of fathering only gibbering bubbling foolish children."

It was a taunt - he had heard many. It was pathetic, even so. He let it slide away from his thoughts as unimportant.

"Now," Snape said, crossing his arms again. He had tucked his wand away, but Dubhán was unmoved. The man had once been a high ranking Death Eater and Dubhán knew one thing that never left was the deftness of drawing one's wand. "If you will refrain from your feral inclinations this time, we will try again. You have to learn to do this, not count on brute strength from your wolf."

Could he do this? Could he protect the secrets they were so obviously seeking?

Don't think. Don't feel. Just do what has to be done.

He nodded to himself.

He could do this. He was Dubhán - heir to Lord Voldemort and Harry Potter. Survivor of Crucio. The only boy who could make Voldemort smile. He could do this.

"One, two, three - Legilimenecy!"

The room swayed and he felt an impending fear in his mind. He breathed in and out, trying to force the fear out of his mind. He wouldn't be afraid. Fear was where it all started and he wouldn't allow it to begin. Fear was simply his mind imagination and there was no reason to allow it to exist at all. Fear, unlike danger, was not real. He had a choice to be afraid and he simply wouldn't choose to be.

But he quickly realized that the fear wasn't completely under his control, because it wasn't attached to his present state at all.

Snape's mind was like a thick fog; like misty soldiers marching into his territory. He pretended there was an army inside of his own mind - ready to protect him. Except that his army faltered and failed against Snape's army and Snape gains access.

And he realizes where the fear is from.

"Crucio." Pain. It is inside him. It is on his skin. In his eyes. On his lips. In his bones and their marrow. It is everywhere. He can feel it searing his nerves as it rushes through him. It's in his mind and he can hardly think of anything but it, the pain. His limbs want to thrash around. He makes them tense and tries desperately to keep command over them…he must not scream.

Then something pulsed inside of the memory and it faltered - a bit of the color drained away and it became less real and more dream-like in it's quality. Severus Snape was standing in the middle of the tent and the Death Eater's who should have been cheering were frozen around them.

Snape looked around, seemingly curious.

'Do you really want to do this again, Devlin?' Snape asked, his voice a mere whisper that reverberated like a shout.

'No,' he said, because who would.

Snape came close to him, his hooked nose mere inches from his much younger face.

'This is what he will do to you again, Devlin. You know it is. Even if you remain loyal to him he will suspect and when he delves into your mind he will find something - even a tiny thing - with which he will not agree...'

He swallowed. Snape looked around again.

'There will be no surprise to save you then, Devlin. No third chance.'

Another swallow.

'Why do it again, if you don't have too? You had to survive this - I understand - but you don't have to again. You can learn how to play the game he does - keep your secrets to yourself. Remain, in his eyes, the loyal boy you know you are in your heart.'

He looked up at Snape his lips suddenly dry, his throat suddenly raw and painful.

'Right now, however, it is time for you to stop screaming, child.'

Screaming? But he wasn't screaming. Snape lifted his wand and suddenly he felt the true weight of his body - real again.

"Devlin!" It was the lady, shouting. He wondered idly why she was shouting, until he realized that he was on his knees, with his head thrown back, screaming. She was shouting over him. He collapsed.