Dubhán had heard music before, of course. There was some that even Voldemort 'enjoyed' and played after dinner while he read over war reports in the sitting room. Dubhán only had to close his eyes in the quiet of his room at home and he would find those songs floating into his mind. They were almost all without voices and if there was a voice it was slow and soft. Nothing like the music playing now.

Dubhán may have heard music before, but seeing the people preforming the music was an entirely new experience (as far as he could remember). He found his regard stuck to the band in the middle of the dance floor. They were holding some kind of instrument (yet another thing Dubhán knew about, but had not seen before) with a long handle and strings taunt against a frame that they held against their abdomen. They're fingers moved across the taunt strings deftly and with a speed Dubhán associated with dueling.

The music was loud and fast paced and the young guests were up on the floor, smiling and laughing and dancing. Dubhán had never danced like they were - there didn't seem to be a particular sequence or pattern to their steps. He watched carefully.

Emma was pouting that she wouldn't get to dance, because Harry was still 'at work' and Alexandra was reassuring her that the schedule said the band would do a final song at the end before dinner. She seemed mildly pacified.

The song ended and the guests reseated themselves and out of the dispersing crowd Dubhán saw Harry. He breathed a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

"Why can't I go dancing, mama?"

Dubhán had noticed that Emma called her 'mama' when she was scared or whinging.

"I already said dad would take you," Alexandra whispered.

"Is this all because your worried about the bad man taking Devlin? 'Cause I'm not him and the bad man doesn't want me."

Dubhán felt his heart stop for a moment. He hadn't thought Emma knew. His eyes swerved to hers, connecting with the blue eyes that remained innocent despite the knowledge. Alexandra had sighed in a resigned sort of way, but she was looking uncertain about how to proceed. Dubhán reached out to touch Emma's shoulder.

"Want me to show you a magic trick while we wait?"

She seemed to know what he was doing, but she agreed eagerly. He tried frantically to recall any innocent bits of magic, but things like that escaped him, because he wasn't used to magic being innocent.

He was making pretty lights with his wand for the baby.

The words and image floated into his head, a remembered bit of a story Voldemort had once told him to teach him to always keep his wand with him and never to trust the loyalty of anyone on just their word. The concept of the story had been far from innocent, but that bit seemed like something someone normal would do for a child.

He couldn't use his wand, but he could use his hands.

Emma giggled as his fingers danced with swirling colors and he found himself smiling at her glee.

Potter came back with another man, who was in turn followed by a lady and a girl. It seemed they were designed to take the empty seats.

"Daddy! Can we go dancing now?"

Emma was out of her chair in a second. Dubhán canceled the spell on his fingers. Alexandra was staring at him with an emotion Dubhán couldn't identify, although he had seen something like it on a man's face once when they had said something in front of him they shouldn't have but Dubhán had lied to protect them. What had Geoffrey said the man must have been? Greatful. Perhaps that was it.

"Not yet, baby. In a tiny bit. David and I just have to talk to someone real quick, alright?" She met his words with a ferocious pout.

The lady and the girl sat down and Dubhán looked at them, because he looked at everyone. You must always be aware of who is around you.

He could plainly see the lady - a plain if pretty woman dressed in a gown of dark grey. The girl beside her was withdrawn appearing and sat hunched in her chair with her head bowed. All Dubhán could see of her was that her hair was red - darker than Emma's, but almost the same. The hair triggered a sense of familiarity in Dubhán, but he was certain it was only because it was like Emma's.

"Maybe I won't want to dance with you," Emma was saying petulantly, "maybe I'll make Devy dance with me instead."

Potter laughed and patted her on the head and said that would be fine when he got back and Emma hopped over to him and made a show of asking for him to do another magic trick.

When Emma exclaimed over a small flower that he made in his hands and tucked in her hair (blue to match her dress), the little girl across from them looked up momentarily.

Dubhán felt the air catch in his throat and it took every single ounce of self-control he had learned in his years with Voldemort not to show his terrifying all-consuming panic. His nerves ignited and fired and it was only pure survivalistic cruelty that stopped him from seizing.

Don't think, don't think, don't think. Write your worry in the sand.

Her eyes were locked on him in that chaotic moment - both their eyes a little too wide, a little too still - a little too frantic. She knew. He knew she knew.

Potter had reached the table. Emma was begging to go dancing. He was hemming and hawing and it was with a desperate sense of urgency that Dubhán broke his gaze with the girl and grabbed for Emma's hands.

"I'll take you dancing," he said and he didn't wait for Potter's response.

He twirled Emma and slowly chanted the steps for her, over and over again. She was giggling and grinning from ear to ear, but he had eyes only for the table. The girl was tugging at her Mum's dress. Dubhán knew she must be telling them everything. He stayed dancing with Emma as long as she would let him.

"Once more," he begged.

But she shook her head and Dubhán let her hand go, watching her as she ran to Potter.

The little girls mum was talking to Alexandra. She must be telling her everything the little girl had told them. For one more moment her brilliant blue eyes met his green and all he could think about was them dragging her through the camp in her pretty blue dress.

He felt his insides freeze up. If he went back, he knew they would know everything.

Instead of going back to the table he ran into the crowd. He raced through the crowd, throwing his arms wide to cut through the many dancing couples, until he reached a quieter place and cowered behind a statue. It was there that the voice found him.

oOoOoOoOo

"Hello," the voice was crisp but smooth - delicate but with a lingering sense of harshness that screamed to be acknowledged. Dubhán would know the voice anywhere, and it hardly needed to whisper "Dubhán" after it's introduction for him to be certain.

He turned and was met with the ice blue eyes and white-blonde hair of his first kidnapper. He was wearing a suit more lavish than Potter's, but missing all of the regalia that a hero would be afforded, of course.

From the outside his face was both bemused and concerned and anyone who saw Dubhán cowered in a corner would think this Death Eater was helping him.

He felt panic trickling from his brain into his body and tried to squash it just as quickly. He would not be afraid. He had a choice. But it was harder, when it wasn't just the imagination that was fear, but the truthfulness that was danger.

"Hello," he managed to say, in a tone that wouldn't betray him. He felt his heart pitter-pattering in his chest.

Don't think, don't think, don't think. But he was thinking and the thoughts were bashing around in his head, making it hard to concentrate on what needed to be attended too. Danger.

There was a rush of anger through his chest that silenced all the fear - Dubhán wasn't sure where it came from, but a deafening certainty was filling his mind, and he wasn't about to question it.

We're better than him, this certainty said, rough and sharp around the edges. Be smart now!

"How are you doing, Mr. Malfoy?" Dubhán said, because he knew just as this man was counting on Dubhán recognizing him, it was also probably his greatest fear. Where would a child who had been with Voldemort and didn't appear to remember his own parents remember this man from?

There was a micro-second frown that told Dubhán that his jab had hit its mark.

"Are you here to take me back?" He asked, lowering his voice - as if he has been properly chastised - and allowing his tone to open up and sound imploring. At the same time, he made sure he did not look the man in the eyes, because he knew all too well that this man was just like Grandfather, Alexandra and Severus Snape. He knew saying anything else would be deadly. He had to play his part - had to be smart rather than good.

"There are wards that would prevent that," Malfoy whispered, but Dubhán already knew that. Malfoy's hand reached out to touch his shoulder - comforting to an outsider - while his other hands slipped something into Dubhán's pocket. Dubhán knew better than to draw attention to the act. "You're Grandfather was starting to wonder about you. But you look perfectly healthy..."

"Of course I do. What good would I be for my Grandfather if I were dead. He didn't have that potion invented so that I could die."

There was an edge of equal harshness to his voice - an equal demand to acknowledge his standing and power. But Malfoy was a pureblood and as long as he felt he could kill him, he won't ever see Dubhán as more than a half-blood.

"I saw him outside my window. I tried to escape. Potter has the bite marks to prove as much."

There was a glimmer of satisfaction in Malfoy's eyes.

"I'll pass that on," he said, then he glided away into the crowd. Dubhán looked after him and missed his father's approach, which Malfoy surely hadn't.

"Devlin!" The crowd split for Harry effortlessly and he grabbed at him, bringing Dubhán against him. Dubhán could hear Potter's heart, fast and chaotic, in his chest. Fear. Harry Potter had been afraid. Dubhán had the power to make him afraid. "Why did you run off like that? You scared your mum and I half to death!"

So they didn't know. She hadn't told them.

He felt his self-resolve crumble a bit at his relief. Suddenly it wasn't fear making his own heart pound against his ribs. Fear had nothing to do with the air that suddenly felt thick and useless in his lungs. He knew if he didn't get himself together, he'd end up crying. In public. In front of Potter. While Malfoy was surely watching.

"Get off me," he said, soft but deadly - aware of his game being compromised. Malfoy would report everything. "I didn't say you could touch me."

Potter reacted for a moment as if Dubhán had scalded him with magic, but then he seemed to right himself and realize Dubhán hadn't made a scene and he shouldn't either.

"Why did you run off?" He asked, but he was already guiding him through the crowd, looking nervous. When they arrived at the table, Dubhán understood why - Alexandra had been left alone with only Emma, the little girl, and her mother. No protection. Because Dubhán had been stupid, not smart. What did he matter if Emma was hurt?

Potter sat him down in a chair and turned it a bit so that it was facing him.

"Why did you run off?" He asked again, his eyes flickering to his, but otherwise scanning the permitter of the room.

"One of them is here," he said, because it was safer than the truth that crowded so terrifying and painfully in his chest. The little girl had her head bowed again, looking at her hands.

Potter's gaze on the crowd intensified.

"We're safer here than at home. I'm stationing someone else here permanently. God, I wish they hadn't already assigned my best men to patrol!" There was an anger in his eyes and in his tone and the little girl flinched, but Emma seemed undisturbed.

He pressed his badge and suddenly there was a youngish officer sauntering over to them with a pleasant smile on his face. Dubhán sat very still.

"I'm stationing you here, do you understand? No one outside of my list is to speak to my family tonight unless I am present."

"Yes, sir," he said and he took the seat next to Dubhán that Potter offered to him - probably so that he blended in just a bit more. He flashed Dubhán a smile while Alexandra's eyes curved across the crowd and Potter rushed to finish his patrol.

"Hey, Little Man," he said, his eyes crinkling, his teeth showing, his fingers on his wand. He was a Death Eater, but obviously Potter didn't know that. Perhaps he was truly loyal to Potter. Dubhán, however, doubted that to be true. He was a werewolf. Alexandra was eying him a bit now. Dubhán returned the smile with a minimal one of his own. "How are you?"

"I'm fine. You're really not needed."

"Don't worry Little Man, I don't mind. We wouldn't want anything scary happening, right?"

Little Man. Dubhán wanted to launch himself at the man and hurt him, for his obvious taunting. Little One. Little Dark One.

"I'm positive nothing of the sort will happen," he said instead, cool and collected and with that glint in his eyes that he hoped the man recognized as coming from Voldemort.

"Do you work for my Daddy?" Emma asked, arching her body across the table so that she could see the man past Alexandra.

"Mr. Potter? Yes, I do."

"Do you fight bad people with him?" She asked, her eyes wide - hoping for a story.

"Sure. What's your name?"

"Emma," she replied promptly.

Dubhán felt his nerves flaying and when Alexandra looked away for a moment he sneered at the man.

"Emma only talks about little girl things. You don't need to talk to her," he said. He hoped the truth was evident in his narrowed gaze. Don't you dare talk to her.

"I'm sure she's got lots to say, Little Man. Isn't that a bit rude? You're supposed to be nice, right - that's what big brothers do."

Emma was pouting. Dubhán had the tip of his wand visible, pointed inconspicuously at the man's crotch.

"I'm not very good at being nice," he said and the truth must have been plainly clear, because the man just smiled and fell silent. Nothing bad came to pass while he sat there next to Dubhán, but that had been what Dubhán had expected, because neither party wanted him injured. They both wanted him whole and alive.

"Thank you Eric," Potter said as he returned, dismissing the man.

"Yes, sir," he said to Potter, then he turned to flash Dubhán a smile and reached out to ruffle his hair. "See ya around, Little Man."

Dubhán laughed in his wake. Potter eyed him seriously.

"You were being mean to him. He was nice," Emma said and Dubhán stopped just as suddenly as he started. His body was near Emma's suddenly - in her face - before he could stop himself.

"Don't go near him. Do you understand?" He said, a whisper just as potent as a scream. The little girl flinched across from him, but he had only focus for Emma. "Do you?"

"Why?" She asked, crossing her arms and looking at him with a sort of bemusement and testing that made Dubhán's head pound and his heart hurt.

Potter was suddenly there too, crouched down between their two heads, listening.

"Just don't. He's not nice."

Potter's head swung around, searching for the man, but he was already gone - probably for good.

"He watched us while Daddy was gone," Emma said, always the defender it seemed to Dubhán.

"Yes, well - he would. But that doesn't make him nice."

"How would you know?"

"I just do."

Potter looked like he wanted to rush off, but Dubhán couldn't have that, so he snatched the man's arm up.

"Don't go," he said "He's gone already."

Potter's killing curse green eye were glued to his own and Dubhán watched, almost facinated, at the franticness bloomed in them. There was a darkening glint to their color that almost disturbed him.

Then he nodded.

"Emma, would you like to dance now?" Emma nearly jumped out of her chair and rushed into Potter's arms. One quick glance and they were off dancing. Potter stayed by the edge of the crowd - always within earshot and eyesight.

Dubhán spent the rest of the evening very carefully not looking at the little girls brilliant blue eyes and bright red hair.