I know it's not much, but since I have time (yay holiday), I thought maybe you'd have time too and like a spot of reading. :)

The Death Eater was screaming again.

It had become something of a pattern at night and it was with a large amount of automaticity that Sirius rolled out of bed, threw his robe on over his boxers, and trekked down the hallway to the room the Death Eater occupied. They couldn't spare a second person to help him watch the criminal forever and while the orb did the trick - they watched several safe houses this way too, it couldn't wake a person up from a nightmare.

He thought he was so well past the point of wanting to stab the Death Eater while he lay screaming in his sleep that he had almost become to pity the man. He turned the knob, shuffled into the room and batted the orb away from his path. A firm shake was all the Death Eater needed before was sitting up sharply, his eyes alert if weary.

"You were screaming," Sirius said, his voice rough and gravelly from sleep. Girls said he sounded sexy like this, but he hadn't had one say that since the Death Eater had come to live with him. Still, he'd do anything for Harry and his children - and Harry had told him if any harm came to Geoffrey Devlin would crack irreparably; so they kept him here.

The Death Eater nodded. He never told Sirius what he was dreaming about and Sirius never asked. It was why Sirius froze with his hand on the door knob when the Death Eater cleared his throat.

"Thank you. He was having a nightmare."

He was?

And suddenly it made sense. It wasn't the hardened Death Eater having childish nightmares - it was a nine year old boy.

"Do you...do you get to see what he sees?"

"No, but I get hazy sensations. They are more than enough," he said and Sirius caught a shiver run through his body.

"What are they about?" Sirius asked, his hand still on the knob, making sure his eyes weren't looking too closely at the Death Eater.

"I am convinced he would be rather upset if I told you," the man said after a moment.

"I suppose," Sirius said, shrugging, but then he turned the knob, left the room and shuffled back into his own bed.

Devlin's nightmares.

He knew he'd feel differently the next time the man screamed.

OoOoOoOoO

Dubhán could take it no more.

That stupid dolly, crying.

Alexandra was in the kitchen the table, possibly to escape the sound. He could hear it no matter where he went.

He was through. No matter how he felt about Emma, he was through with the doll.

"Make it shut up," he said to her, suddenly standing beside her. She jumped in surprise.

"She's cranky," she said, smothering it against her in a terrible attempt at comfort - even Dubhán could see how terrible an attempt it was, and he had practically no experience at what she was trying to do with the doll.

"Make it shut the fuck up," he said, his fist clenched, his tone deep and dark and demanding. A Death Eater would have jumped into action and said 'Yes, Little Dark One' and the nickname would have been the only humor they would have shown his order.

But Emma wasn't a Death Eater - she was a whole frighteningly different creature.

"Mommy!" She said, her voice shrill and high, racing away from him to find the woman. "Mommy Devlin said a bad word!"

He searched back through his memory and wanted to punch the wall when he realized his mistake. It seemed so arbitrary and ironic that anyone would care about words.

"Devlin," came the exasperated call, but he knew it wasn't him that was making her feel exasperated - it was the stupid doll. It was torture.

He felt his magic boiling as he stomped into the kitchen. Felt it like a hot sting across his skin.

Crying.

It started crying again, just as he entered the room.

His bit his tongue.

"Devlin, we talked about those words," the lady said, rubbing at her temples.

"Let's talk about the stupid doll too," he said, pointing an accusing finger at the thing. Emma put her nose in the air. The thing was still crying and she didn't look as if she cared.

Well he cared.

"First we will talk about your language," the lady said, seemingly trying to will herself not to kill the doll either.

Talk about his language? About his language?

Why him first? Why punish him before the stupid inanimate toy? Why not shut it the fuck up first?

He saw red.

The doll was yanked out of Emma's arms, pulled into the air, and crushed. It crashed to the floor, a small round ball of cloth.

Alexandra looked horrified, Emma began to cry, and all Devlin could think was that he could think and that it had finally stopped. He did not like crying. Especially now, as he approached the full moon and could hear more sharply than ever.

But then the next moment there was an odd sensation across his chest and Emma had stopped crying. She was looking at him. From under his shirt began to crawl hundreds of ants.

For one flickering second he felt impressed.

Then he was tearing off his shirt frantically because they were biting him.

For Emma's part, she looked horrified as well - but Dubhán felt no consolation.

He whipped out his wand, some of the ants still crawling on his discarded shirt, and uttered a charm to kill them. Death Eater's had taught him the spell years ago, but he had never tried to kill more than one of them at a time.

"Let me help," Alexandra said, trying to get close enough to his frantic figure. In a second she had cleared them all off and vanished his shirt - he was thankful since he wasn't sure he'd want to put it back on even if she had cleaned it a hundred times with magic.

"Thanks," he said to her. When he rounded on Emma to tell her off it was to find her staring at him wide-eyed.

"What?" He demanded, advancing. Of course he wasn't aware of it right now - not in the moment and in this mindset - but he was hovering over her (making her aware of their differences in strength), just as Voldemort often did to him. She shook her head, licked her lips - looked confused. She was staring at him like something was wrong with him. "What?"

"What...what happened to you?" She said and for a moment he thought she was talking about his actions. He was just about to snap at her when she lifted a hand and pointed a finger at his chest.

He took a breath to stop the flush before it covered his cheeks. Took another to cover up the swallow and the sting. Took a third so that he could make himself scowl.

"There is a...snake..." She frowned. "Did you draw it?"

He growled at her so that he wouldn't instinctively cover up the scar on his stomach. A different pair of pants might have covered it, but not these muggle jeans. He practically flinched when she came close enough to touch it.

And then he realized why Alexandra hadn't been curious enough to investigate in Emma's observation - she was busy looking at his back. He swung around to face her, hiking up the pants to cover the thin strokes of dark magic that made up the snake. There were tears streaming down her face.

"Stop it!" He shouted, unable to quell the humiliation that he felt. There was nothing worse in his mind than humiliation. "Stop looking at me!"

He fled from her and Emma. Fled from the crumbled up doll. Fled from their eyes and their judgements. Fled from the humiliation that he had once been weak enough to let himself be hurt.

She came to the door and begged him to come out, but he just shouted at her to go away.

It was hours later that Harry came home. He knew it was him, because instead of begging he knocked on the door gently. Dubhán didn't answer him. He didn't feel it would be right to shout at him - he hadn't been there in the heat of humiliation.

"Your mum is worried," he said, and it sounded as if he had sat down with his back to the door. "I'm not entirely sure what about."

For a moment he thought she hadn't told him.

"I knew he hurt you," Harry continued. "I knew you would have scars, Devlin. Their nothing to be ashamed about. We're family - your mum wasn't judging you for them. It just reminded her that those things had happened to you and...that made her sad."

He had seen the judgement in her eyes - especially in Emma's eyes.

"He didn't do that to me," he said, loud enough to make sure it had carried from his bed to beyond the door. "He wouldn't have done that to me. He tried to fix it, but he couldn't make it all go away."

"Just to make sure - you mean Voldemort, right?" The voice was hesitant and unsure.

"Yes," he said.

"Then who did?"

"I thought you didn't want to be stupid again, sir," he said, knowing the man would understand. Knowing he wouldn't need to admit it as obviously as giving a name. He heard a curse and the shuffling of feet. He raced to the door. The man was pulling on his white robe, walking away.

"You're leaving," he said and it came out sounding like an accusation. The man froze suddenly and turned slowly. "Why are you leaving me?"

He hadn't meant to allow the 'me' to reside there - to hang in the air between them.

"I could arrest him, Devlin. I could put him away for life-"

"You'd need me to admit it was him," he said reasonably. "But I won't do that."

"Devlin-"

"I'm not a snitch. I don't need him locked away in Azkaban."

"Devlin-"

"Because right now, he's in a much better hell."

Potter paused and simply stared at him.

"It will be his job to get me back - I know it will be," he didn't mention how he knew or that he had seen him at the bookstore. "But I won't go with him and every time he fails..."

He couldn't stop the smirk.

"Don't you see, sir? I've condemned him to a far better hell than you could with your shiny badge."

Up next: A Harry/Devlin discussion about scars and minds. Let me know how I did...I'm not absolutely in love with this chapter and think I might need to fiddle with it a bit.