Oh, Harry understood, but he also understood that Devlin really shouldn't understand his own words. It wasn't what a nine year old boy was supposed to be thinking about. He licked his lips and stopped himself from making a comment that would just make Devlin stop talking to him. He wanted to hear anything the boy was thinking about and if he made the boy second-guess talking to him he would never learn anything about his son.
"He tortured you," he said instead, because he couldn't hold it all back and he felt that would be the least harmful thing to come out of his mouth. He took his robe off and settled it back on his hook. Devlin shifted and Harry saw the tip of the snake-shaped scar Alexandra had spoken to him about. He wondered sickeningly how far below his belly button it went. The boy still hadn't turned around, so Harry had yet to see the torture marks that Alexandra had mentioned and called him back home early for.
"Yes," Devlin said, voice tight.
"When?" It didn't really matter, Harry told himself, but the word came out anyway.
"Before they put me in front of Grandfather," he said, as if he actually had to think. Was he lying to save Voldemort's face? "I don't know when except before Grandfather. It was dark and..." He shook his head minutely, as if to himself. "I don't remember much before I saw Grandfather."
Harry nodded, choosing the motion instead of ill-advised word's that were sure to upset Devlin.
"He wanted you to see," Devlin said softly. "He said you'd see and I thought...if I let him draw it, he'd send me back, so that you could."
It was the first time Devlin had said anything about once wishing he could return and Harry fought the tears that wanted to come. He shook his own head, trying to dispel the images his mind crafted without his permission of his little Devlin, just six years old, being carved with a knife, begging for him.
"When he was done I asked him when he'd let you see and he laughed and said I would be dead when you did." Devlin's tone was lacking any emotion at all. "And then he tried to..." Another little shake. "The next time he came near me, I made my magic hurt him. He didn't like that."
He should be crying. He should be upset. He should be anything but blank.
Dissociation.
He was familiar with that word - Alexandra often accused him of dissociating himself from things in his life and he had been trained on the term for trauma victims. Recently, of course, he had heard the term again from the Mind Healer.
"It must have been very frightening," he said. He didn't ask to know more - the Mind Healer had warned about pushing for information especially if Devlin said he didn't remember. You will deal with those in due time, in a safe environment with a trained professional - do you both understand?
Devlin shrugged.
"I don't really remember what I felt," he said. He ran a hand across his bare stomach and up his shoulder to scratch behind his neck. He seemed to have suddenly realized he was still without a shirt. Harry could almost see the realization in his eyes that he couldn't do anything - if he turned around Harry would see even more.
"Your mum told me you did well with Severus," he said, hoping to alleviate some of the boys sudden discomfort by changing the subject. In reality Alexandra had said no such thing. She had worried her temples and said she'd been reading into brain trauma and been worrying all of last night and this morning that Devlin's extreme reaction to Severus' entrance into his mind was possibly a side-effect of some damage suffered from the torture. Severus had been unwilling to disclose what he had seen and had said "there wasn't anything to see, something made the boy be in pain."
Harry, however, had his suspicious that Severus wasn't telling the whole truth. Perhaps the man had done something to Devlin.
Devlin laughed now, a sharp and caustic sound.
"You're lying. I don't need mind tricks to tell as much. Besides I did horrible."
"You managed to keep him out of your private thoughts, right? He went right through mine - saw some embarrassing stuff, I admit."
"I didn't," Devlin said, with a hint of serious curiosity. "He said my 'feralness' did."
Alexandra had described how his eyes had gone amber and he had growled at Severus.
"I didn't have a wolf to throw him out of my mind," Harry said, trying to inject some humor into the situation.
"He does that...whenever something bad happens," the boy said softly but firmly - as if he were intent to keep Harry's humor as far from this conversation as possible. "When he thinks I'm in danger, he saves me."
Harry frowned. He knew the spectrum of dissociation as well - had been trained about the minds that took it too far and created other personalities in their own mind and compartmentalized the damage.
"What do you mean?" Harry asked delicately. "About saving you?"
Those sharp green eyes looked at him intently - looking for a trap.
"I meant just what I said, and I said just what I meant," he replied tensely. Harry knew he had sensed his own worry and took it all the wrong way. "I'm not insane, sir."
Oh, he knew that. No insane child would be capable of the logic and matureness that Devlin was - the stability that he practically extruded. But Harry also knew that Devlin wasn't like every other boy his age.
"I didn't say you were," he said softly, trying to sound reassuring.
"There are lots of things people never say," he said, "but just because you haven't said it, doesn't mean you hadn't thought it."
"I wasn't thinking you were insane, either," he reassured. "But I was thinking I wanted to have a look at the cuts on your back - see if we should schedule a healer visit for them."
Devlin's brow drew together. Perhaps the transition in topic hadn't been as brilliant as it seemed to Harry in his head a split-second before he'd let it come out of his mouth.
"With all due respect-" Harry wanted to chuckle, because he knew in Devlin's mind there was very little, if any, respect due to Harry Potter "I already told you that Grandfather tried to heal them before."
Harry smiled what he hoped was his most charming smile - sometimes Harry got it right and sometimes he failed miserably. He was trying not to show the hate that always surfaced when Voldemort was the topic.
"With all due respect, Devlin," he said - and he had a lot of it for the boy and hoped he knew such "You're a clever boy who must know that someone can say they tried their hardest but really didn't."
There was that frown again, infinitesimal, hesitant, questioning - wanting. Harry wanted to leap into the air and cheer at the small frown that proved the boy was actually listening to him and what was more - considering the validity of his truth!
"You can look," the boy said after a moment, that infinitesimal frown still lingering at the edges of his expression. "However, if you find that...it could be healed...it will remain my choice if it is to be healed."
Harry had some scars that the Healer's had said they could make disappear and he had forbid them, so he understood. He knew what it was like to want the physical proof that you really had been through all that shit and come out alive. He nodded.
"Of course."
And so it was that Devlin turned around and led Harry back into his room. Harry tried not to gasp at the marks on his back when he turned his back to him - he had seen victims of Death Eaters, but this was his son. He tried not to let the thought roam around in his mind that the dead boy everyone had thought was Devlin hadn't been tortured quite like this...
The marks were randomly carved onto his back. Some were caused by Dark spells specifically invented for torture (Harry recognized the burn pattern) while others were from causes he couldn't pinpoint. One looked suspiciously like a belt mark and the boy shivered when he reached out to touch it.
"Don't touch me," he snapped, but the harshness that had been there when he first came to them was almost gone. "I don't like to be touched like that."
"Like what?" Harry asked, before he could stop himself.
"Soft like that - it makes me shiver and I don't like shivering."
Harry tried to store this comment away in the recesses of his mind, but also tried not to linger on it too deeply. That was what his life was with Devlin these days - listen and observe, remember everything but try not to think about much of it at all for fear of where the thoughts would lead. Perhaps it would be him who needed to schedule an appointment with the Mind Healer first.
"Are you done?" He asked, looking over his shoulder at Harry.
"Some of these are just scars I think," he said, "But others...I know some of them wont go away."
He turned around fully with that tiny frown still in place.
"I- I know I'm meant to want them to go away," he said. "But really...they're mine."
Harry nodded and they didn't discuss it any longer.
"Why don't you get changed and then we'll all eat lunch together?"
He nodded.
"Sir?"
"Hmm?"
"Do you think...I have some money in my pack...do you think I could get Emma a new dolly?"
"I can buy a new one with you - that sounds like a great idea. Maybe we'll ask the clerk to add some cheer charms to the new one, eh?"
They both chuckled and he nodded vigorously. He couldn't help to think of what would have happened if he had ruined one of Grandfather's things like he had Emma's doll.
OoOoOoO
They were bringing him to the ball and even though they had said they would, Dubhán was still more than a little surprised. Weren't they worried about him escaping? Weren't they worried about how he would look? How he would act? What he might say (he was always saying things nearly-ten-year-olds weren't supposed too, apparently)?
"There will be wards. No minor child will be able to leave without their parent."
Alexandra answered his quiet questions calmly as she put her hair up. It was brighter and more beautiful than ever, against the deep blue of her gown.
"Go help your father and please tell him to comb his hair!"
They didn't often address themselves as his parents, seemingly allowing him to set the pace, but she had just been talking to Emma and he shrugged it off as that. They were endlessly calling themselves 'mommy' and 'daddy' in front of her.
Harry Potter was in his room, setting the robes Dubhán would need to be dressed in on Dubhán's bed. He was already dressed himself in robes of black and white. When Dubhán looked at the robes on the bed it was to find that they were exactly the same, except that Potter's were a bit more flashy and had some badges hanging off the shoulder.
Potter had already seen his scars, so Dubhán shed his clothing down to his underwear and tried to ignore Potter's eyes on his body, trying to trace the snake. No one saw the whole of it anymore. Dubhán never let them, but he could tell from Potter's hooded gaze when he turned after putting on pants, that Potter had realized he'd have to have been completely naked.
He pulled on the button up shirt and felt his fingers slipping into old routines.
"I can help-"
Potter never finished, because Dubhán was already turning the tie in his hands deftly, seconds away from a perfect knot. When he was through he went to the mirror and did a check. He ran his fingers across the collar of the shirt, making sure it was all tucked perfectly against his neck.
"You've dressed up before," Potter said, with a bit of admiration.
"Yes, sir," he said simply, preferring not to go into too much detail. He had never been in formal robes before, although he had seen others wearing them. Still, wearing them made him feel more like Dubhán and less like Devlin than he had in a long time.
"You look handsome," Harry said, coming up behind him. Now Dubhán could see both of them in the mirror. He didn't really look anything like his father, except perhaps the way their eyes crinkled when they smiled. Not that Dubhán could be entirely certain - Potter didn't seem to have any pictures of himself as a child around the house.
"I look just like him," he said softly, snatching the comb off his dresser and running it through his hair.
"Yes, quite a bit," Harry said and it was only the quick momentary dart of his eyes that spoke of any discomfort about the subject. Then those green eyes were back, searching his face in the mirror, their intensity plain for Dubhán to see. "You look a bit like my mum, too. Molly says so."
He turned around.
"Really?"
"Yeah," he said. "After the ball, I'll show you some pictures, alright?"
He nodded and tried to shove the whispered voice that he shouldn't care, because she was a mudblood, out of his head.
OoOoOoO
Emma must have asked a hundred times from the beginning of the week until now when the ball would start, so he wasn't overly impressed with what the little girl said, when their mother announced they were leaving now.
"But, it's not even four in the afternoon and you said the ball starts at seven and - well it won't take that long right?" Her nose was scrunched up in concentration and he was surprised she had managed to structure the question in a semi-well-composed sentence.
"We're stopping at Sirius' house first," she replied calmly to the girl. Dubhán tried to stop the annoyed scowl from spreading across his face even though he felt it in his bones.
"Have you ever been through the floo on your own?" Emma asked as Harry prepared for Alexandra and Emma to go through. "Freddie says he has and he's your age!"
"No," he said and she seemed taken aback. He had never actually seen a floo connection (that he could remember anyways) before coming to be here.
"But you're nine," she said, her face scrunched up again. "Mama said so."
Dubhán blinked calmly in the face of her overly-dramatic reaction. He wondered what she would do if she saw a man bleeding on the ground, dead. Would this be the reaction or would it be something so much more that he couldn't even picture it now.
Thankfully, Alex saved him by tugging on Emma and urging her through the floo.
Next was the man and he.
He tumbled out of the floo, readying himself to be good as he stood, certain he'd be facing the annoying man once more.
The annoying man was there. The werewolf was there. Emma was hiding behind their mother's legs, but not from the figures she was surely familiar with.
He hadn't realized this was where they were keeping Geoffrey.
"Hello, Dubhán," he said softly. He was dressed decently - in some of the annoying man's left overs if Dubhán made a guess - but he still looked as gaunt and sleep deprived as before.
Emma looked behind herself to see his reaction to the stranger and he felt a thrill run through his veins at the idea that she would follow his lead.
"Hello, Geoffrey," he replied smoothly. "They didn't tell me you'd be here."
"Did they even tell you where here is?" He asked, humorously. The question, however, brought Dubhán up short and he paused. No they hadn't and he knew why they probably hadn't. This was a safe house to them, whether it was often used for this sort of thing or not.
"Are you going uncle Sirius?" Emma asked tentatively.
"Nah, you know I don't like Ministry Parties," Sirius replied warmly. An ex-convict, unfairly imprisoned, Dubhán thought, probably wouldn't.
Dubhán went to Geoffrey and the man bent down to touch his shoulders. Dubhán hadn't seen the man in a long time and the nervousness that he felt about the party worked it's way through his body until his arms were reaching up, curling around Geoffrey's neck. Geoffrey stood up with him there, their mouths right by each others ears, ready to share something only for them.
"You'll be a smart boy, right?" Geoffrey asked and Dubhán felt himself laughing softly.
"You don't care if I'm good?" He asked.
"Absolutely not. If someone comes after you, you hurt them before you go with them, understand, bad boy? Be smart."
"He made the bastard take the job," he whispered into Geoffrey's ear. "He tried to steal me at a bookstore but I..." He turned his head closer to Geoffrey. "I decided to be smart and make him pay."
There was laughter tickling his ear and the slight beard that Geoffrey had grown scratched against his cheek.
"That's my clever little wolf," Geoffrey murmured.
"Do you bet he made him scream?" Dubhán asked, falling into a pattern of speech that he didn't dare fall into at Harry Potter's house. "Do you bet he Crucio'd him?"
"Probably."
To them this wasn't morbid. It fell out of Dubhán's mouth like Emma might have asked if a mean friend had gotten their favorite toy taken away or put in timeout. It was his culture and environment and he felt that same power flowing back into his body. He was Dubhán, the Little Dark One, the Heir to the most feared Dark Lord in history.
"Be careful, Dubhán," Geoffrey whispered, as if he could feel that power seeping back into him. Dubhán nodded and Geoffrey put him down.
When he turned around it was to see the lady wearing a neutral expression and Harry Potter wearing one that was dark and foreboding. If he knew more, if he hadn't always been ready to read the worst and deadliest in other's faces, he might have known the look of sad envy for what it was. Remus was frowning. They all went into the kitchen for a spot of tea before leaving, but Potter, Remus, and Geoffrey hung back. Dubhán eyed them as a group, but then Geoffrey spotted him and made a shooing motion. Dubhán knew a dismissal and scampered off before he could be told off. He had promised himself he'd be 'good', or as Geoffrey called it 'smart'.
"What did you say to Devlin?" Harry asked as Remus lingered. Harry didn't mind Remus lingering although it was a bit odd, since Remus wasn't usually the nosy one - Sirius filled the spot quite nicely.
"Nothing you wouldn't agree with, I hope," Geoffrey replied, sticking his hands into his pockets. "Your daughter is adorable."
From anyone else Harry might have smiled and thanked them, but even though Geoffrey didn't seem the type, Harry felt a shiver run up his spine. Geoffrey must have seen, because he smiled with what Harry could only think to call wicked disgust.
"I never had any interest," Geoffrey said. "I stayed away from those sorts of games. It was one of the benefits of being Dubhán's guard, I admit."
Harry frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"For all intents and purposes the Dark Lord took me out of the normal rankings to be the boys nanny - I didn't torture people, I didn't go on raids, I didn't fight for my placement - I was Dubhán's guard and that was my ranking in and of itself. I also 'managed' the other werewolves, but I suspect the Dark Lord gave me that assignment to help with Dubhán's assimilation into their ranks - so that Dubhán wouldn't only be identified as 'the Dark Lord's', but also as their leader's."
Whenever Harry learned of an action Voldemort had devised or partaken in that might have looked (for it couldn't really be) as if he were protecting Dubhán, he felt his head spin. Sometimes he thought he hated Death Eater's more than Voldemort because each of them had had the choice and it was easier, sometimes, to think of Voldemort simply as being what he was rather than a human who also made a conscious choice. Harry had always tried not to think of why Voldemort was the way he was, because Harry thought if he identified with the monster (orphan, lonely, bullied?, hungry, 'freak', 'devil', green eyes, dark hair...) that he wouldn't be able to do the deed when it came time. If he felt something for the monster then it would be him who perished. He also tried very hard not to think too much over his logic, because it always brought him back, in a round-about fashion, to the idea that he, just like Voldemort, really did believe emotions to be weakening.
"Malfoy is responsible for 'rescuing' the child," the ex-Death Eater said softly. Apparently during Harry's drifting thoughts he had asked Remus to put up a silencing charm, because Harry could feel it buzzing around them. "Will he be attending?"
Harry made a face.
"Yeah, but he won't be near our table and that's where I intend to keep Emma and Devlin. I'd leave them home...but."
"You want to be there together to defend him."
"Yes," Harry said, thinking of the past night with Voldemort and his wards. For all he knew the man was there each night. Devlin would be safer with Harry and Alex at the party, where Dumbledore and his team would be if Harry needed the help. He couldn't leave the child with Remus and Sirius on a night Voldemort knew he'd be gone. So he'd leave his house completely empty. He already planned to have Zee come spend the night with Sirius.
OoOoO
"Give me your wand," Potter murmured by his ear as they neared the Ministry. Dubhán felt himself stiffen. He had thought - had counted on - that the man would let him keep it. What dangers would befall him without it? What if Malfoy was there? What fun would he have before he brought him to Grandfather, because Dubhán knew he would be useless (if only for the paralyzing fear he knew he would feel) against Malfoy without a wand. "Come on, Devlin. Just for a minute. Quick. I'll get it past the wards for you."
Oh.
Did he trust Potter?
There was a man outside a little building that stood across the street from the Ministry. On any other day Dubhán thought it was probably some ordinary muggle building (for what he didn't know), but today there was a muggle-dressed wizard accepting 'tickets'. Anyone traveling to the Ministry this way would be required to be dressed in muggle clothing. All of their clothing was acceptable or transfigured temporarily. Emma's brilliant blue dress had been transfigured to be slightly less 'brilliant' and his mother's gown had turned into what she called an 'evening dress'. The badges were gone from Potter's shoulder for the moment.
Time was running out.
He deftly snuck the wand into Potter's hand, who just as deftly slid it into his pocket.
"Mr. Potter!" Said the man taking the tickets. There was a large smile on his face. "How are you?"
"Well, thank you Gregory. Having fun?"
"Oh yes. This is much more fun than the security desk. Do you have any accessories?"
Dubhán had a feeling that he meant wands, and Harry nodded and withdrew both of the wands. For a moment as the man handled his wand, Dubhán could only freeze and feel his heart rushing, so quickly that he could hear it only in his ears.
"Backups tonight, hmm?" The man asked conversationally. Harry smiled tightly.
"I have my son with me," he said and a hand snuck onto Dubhán's shoulder and brought him forward. Dubhán let Potter because right now Potter had control over his wand. The man beamed.
"Devlin Potter! It's been forever. I heard the news and - well I won't dampen the spirits of tonight but it's a pleasure to see you again, lad."
He acted as if they had met before, but Dubhán had no recollection of him at all.
"Of course, sir. It is a pleasure to meet you as well. I apologize for not recognizing you."
Charm and manners came easily to Dubhán. They had both been things Voldemort appreciated and, like his Grandfather, they were both things that seemed almost innate to Dubhán - more the first than the latter.
There was a sad tight smile on the man's face, as if he understood something Dubhán could not see him understanding and he gave a little shake of his head.
"No need to say anything, lad," he whispered as he passed the wands back to Potter and ushered them in.
"Did I do something wrong?" Dubhán asked Potter, surprising himself by seeking the man's opinion. Voldemort understood reason like Potter understood emotions.
"It's just...you never met any children your age, did you?"
Dubhán frowned.
"No. What would I have done with them, played? There are more important things to do." The words were all his Grandfather's, but they filled him with a purposeful feeling. When he would go over to Malfoy's manor he would occasionally run into a boy there and Voldemort told him he could 'play' with the boy - but Dubhán never had. Voldemort had always smiled when he refused. Dubhán's gut had always clenched at even the thought of speaking to the miniature Malfoy.
"You don't act like most boys your age, is all," Harry said kindly, smiling at him in a reassuring way.
"I'm not like most boys," Dubhán replied, "So that would make sense."
He strode ahead of Potter to catch Emma's hand. He had to make sure she was safe.
OoOoOoO
Dubhán's had never been to a party before, or the Ministry - at least not that he could properly remember. There were a rush of people inside, all surrounding him. Always be aware of your surroundings. It was almost impossible in this crowd. He felt swarmed and overwhelmed.
He made his face make the muscular movements to appear at ease. Sometimes it helped, just to be conscious of how small things like his lips, brow, and cheeks had to move in coordination to achieve a particular expression.
A man came out of the sea of people, a child in his wake.
"Harry!" He said, as they exchanged an embrace. "He's here, I checked for you."
They hadn't meant for anyone but themselves to hear, but Dubhán heard, because he hears almost everything.
"Hello," the boy said that had followed in the man's wake. "I'm Thomas, but you can call me Tom - everyone does." Dubhán peered carefully at him - from his sandy blonde hair to his curious brown eyes. He looked like nothing but a boy - windblown and uncomfortable in his fancy robes.
"Hello, Thomas. I'm Devlin," he said, making his mouth form the foreign-yet-all-too-familair name - he had promised Geoffrey he would be smart tonight - and shook the boys offered hand. The boy gave him an odd look at hearing his own full name, but Dubhán knew he'd never be able to call the boy that other name. Everything about it - even the boy himself saying it, made him want to shiver.
"My Da says we're going to Hogwarts together," the boy said. "I have an older sister - she's in Ravenclaw."
Dubhán wasn't sure what to say, but a moment of silence proved that the boy was more than willing to fill in his uncertainty.
"What house do you think you'd be sorted into?"
"Slytherin," he replied easily, because now it had been taken into the hypothetical, where Dubhán was more than comfortable conversing. He's heard all about the houses, of course, but only from Death Eaters. Still, he was pretty sure what house he would be sorted into and it hasn't got anything to do with a 'want' - because if he was with the Potter's long enough to attend Hogwarts it would not be as Pureblood or The Dark Lord's Heir, but as a boy with muggle in his blood marked as a traitor.
"My Da says He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named came from that house," Thomas said, a fake shiver running up his spine. But Dubhán did not know who.
"Who?" He asked, frowning. Thomas looked at him oddly, arching his brow.
"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," Thomas said, again, more slowly this time.
"I heard you before," he said, making his tone flatter and more polite than it wanted to be. "But I don't know who must not be named."
Thomas shifted on his feet and his gaze wandered. Following it, Dubhán could see that Harry and the man the boy had come with, were watching them. Harry looked entirely too skeptical and in misbelief. Dubhán wondered what he had done wrong again.
"The bad man," Thomas said softly, leaning forward - his eyes still on who Dubhán suspected was his father. Perhaps proving he still wasn't naming the man who must not be named - for what reason Dubhán could not understand. "You know..." he shrugged "my Da says you know because well...you know and..."
Dubhán drew back, possible understanding rushing through his veins. He frowned at the boy.
"Oh, I see. You don't say his name," he shrugged. "Seems sort of silly, doesn't it?"
His voice was all Dubhán and not at all Devlin - deep and dark and bemused in a caustic sort of way.
"Erm...I guess," the boy said, shifting again. He didn't say anything after that. He had an edgy look to his regard now, though. Dubhán recognized it: weariness. Dubhán imagined he had one of those glowing signs, like the ones they passed outside, hanging above him: "Devlin Potter, Harry Potter's son: spent four years with Voldemort".
Alexandra led them away from 'Martin' and 'Thomas' and to a table which was empty right now. There were family names set out around it and when the Potter's touched their seats, the names disappeared. Potter was still speaking with Martin, Dubhán watched him from his seat. When he finished he reached out to Thomas and ruffled his hair and Dubhán felt an unexpected surge of jealousy, because it was a motion he could somehow recall, but knew Potter would never dare do to him now. As the Little Dark One, it would have been fine for him to want to lash out at the boy in his jealousy, but he knew here and now as Harry Potter's son and as the 'smart' boy he had promised Geoffrey he would be - he shouldn't. So instead he turned around and sat on his hands to hide the fact that he allowed his nails to dig painful into the backs of his thighs.
Don't think, don't think, don't think.
He is so busy chanting the mantra that it is only when Potter leans forward to whisper something in his ear that he noticed he has returned at all.
"Stay here until I get back," Harry said to him, even though Alex was sure to tell them the same thing. "You're mum is going to wait here with you two. I just have a final lap to make around the room."
Dubhán nodded stiffly and trained his eyes to Emma. He was most, and oddly least, worried about her. He had a deal - but he wasn't very confident in that deal any longer if he was honest with himself.