He had seen the Grand Hall before, of course. Harry trekked him through the giant room on their way to see Hagrid more times than he could count on one hand. Still, something about the low murmur of the children, the brilliant light of all the magical candles, and the stormy sky replicated above, made it more than it had been those times before. His sopping wet hair dripped onto the stone of the floor as he looked through his fringe to see.

"Line up, line up! Alphabetically, if you please!" A small man cheered, his voice squeaking and crackling. He floated in the air, white untamed beard. He looked not quite human, and Devlin watched him carefully, intrigued. The other sopping wet first years turned to each other.

"What's your last name?" They all murmured, until they felt they had satisfied the request. Awe made them quick to please. The chill of their robes and the warmth of the food made them quiet and complacent.

The boy in front of him was named John Quinn and by the look of pure amazement and breathlessness, Devlin assumed he was a muggleborn. On the other hand, the boy directly behind him was Nicolas Parkinson. Devlin was familiar with the name as one allied with his grandfather, but had only ever heard of who he assumed the boys father to be Stephen Parkinson.

Maria was lost somewhere in the back of the line, but he would get to see her sorted. She had worried on the train that they would all end up separated. Freddie had been quick to reassure her that they would probably all end up together, but Devlin had known it to be so far from the truth that he had shook his head. I know we won't end up together. I won't be with any of you.

Thomas had looked at him as if he had almost understood and then ruined the moment of almost intriguing maturity by claiming something like but we can all still be best mates!

He hoped Weasley was watching out for Maria Watson.

August Hamby was called before Thomas Keen, and Devlin watched as he was sorted into Gryffindor. Thomas soon joined him.

Devlin had expected as much. Their fathers all fought for Harry and that must take bravery. Harry seemed to attract like-minded people, and those people weren't probably going to have Slytherin qualities. Besides, if anyone like them knew what was best for their safety, they'd beg the thing not to put them in Slytherin. John Quinn made it into Ravenclaw, and now it was his turn.

His robe clung to him as he moved, his shoes squeaked as he walked, and his hair was plastered flat against his skull. He looked up at the small professor floating in the air.

"Please place the hat on your head, Mr. Potter."

So he did.

Hello, the thing sung into his head. Harry had warned him about this; told him not to throw the thing from his head or say something inappropriate.

Hello, in his head. The hat made a disapproving sound.

Parents simply do not respect tradition as they had once, the hat said into his head, reverberating at it lingered at the edges of his occlumency shields. Where to put you?

Are you asking? He thought. He imagined himself to have a body; flexing his fingers and curling his toes. Dark hair and green eyes. The hat had no body and it either did not care, or was not capable of imagining for itself a physical quality. You're the Sorting Hat. Is this not your area of long-stood expertise?

Do you often enjoy choosing words your friends do not use?

Devlin chuckled inside his head, and he felt the lingering presence of the hat shift at the edges of his mind.

I very much enjoy words, he said.

Yes, I can see that. A shield of sorts, for you. A way to master your world; magical and otherwise. A way to appear to be something you are not always. A mask. A tool. A need.

Devlin fell still inside his head. He could feel his consciousness frowning, drawing closer, observing the lingering magic at the edges of his mind with a sense of cautious fear. His imagined face drew into a glare.

What is your point?

Presently, I have not a point. You are cunning and clever. You strive to prove yourself. You are willing to do almost anything necessary to make sure your value is recognized...yet, you surprise yourself. You save others. You act bravely and selflessly.

Devlin could see Maria's face, playing all around him at the edges of his consciousness. He growled as he swung around, the memory following his movement. How had the hat gotten in?

I am not conscious. I have no mind. I slip through even the tightest mental shields.

Devlin did not really appreciate that answer.

So, where are you putting me?

Are you a bit impatient, child? Do not worry; many of your relatives have taken a bit more consideration than most.

Just put me in Slytherin. If for no other reason than he will kill me if you put me in Gryffindor.

How strange. Harry Potter begged to be put in Gryffindor and now his son begs me to put him in Slytherin.

The hat drew a shuttering breath above his head.

"Better be: Slytherin!"

The Slytherin table did not cheer. They did not pat him on the back. They did not say hello or even smile.

Neither did they shout out against him or stand in protest. An older boy shifted to make room for him, and he supposed, when no curses stung him from beneath the table, that perhaps this was how Slytherins accepted a new member; reserved and indifferent.

Maria Watson made it into Gryffendor. He wasn't terribly surprised.

Kendal Green proved to be a persistent boy; after the sorting was done and the feast had begun, he stood from his seat and wheedled his way into the one next to Devlin. The misplaced sixth or seventh year who had been beside Devlin glared down at Green as he scooted over.

"That hat was talking to you for a long time," Green said, soft but with cheer. "So, do you collect Chocolate Frog cards?"

Once more, Green tried very very hard to find a topic that Devlin might actually be interested in. Finally, Devlin put his fork down and turned to the boy, his face a mix of curiosity and annoyance.

"Is there a reason you're so eager to talk my ear off? Are you in need of friends or something?"

Green smiled, not sheepishly, not with embarrassment, not as if Devlin had chastised him, but with a knowingness that Devlin could not miss.

"I think we could be good friends," he said, his smile pinching with knowingness. "I know lots of people, though. My dad is very connected; I went to primary school with most of the first years...well except the muggleborns, obviously."

"I see," he said, because he did. Grandfather was not going to come get him quite yet, but he had set eyes upon him.

OoOoOoO

Devlin prided himself on almost-always having thought of every way something could have gone. A year ago Voldemort had stood outside his house and told Harry that Devlin would alway be his, but that had been a year ago, and Devlin knew better than most all the things that could happen in a year.

When he had received his Hogwarts letter he had known he would end up in Slytherin - knew he wouldn't be happy anywhere else - but he hadn't been able to predict with such finality if Slytherin would accept or reject him. What had they been told to do? Had they been told he was a traitor? Had they been told anything at all (was he just Harry Potter's son)? Or had they been told he was Voldemort's?

When Malfoy's son had come to him on the train, Devlin had known what he was doing. The flush of humiliation on his cheeks that had nothing to do with the content of his claim (I'm not my father), but was simply the byproduct of being made to say those words to Devlin, had clarified his motives for Devlin. He had been seeking protection as much as he had possibly been assigned to make contact with Devlin.

Devlin meant more than Malfoy. His father had been killed for Devlin. Had been marked as the man had once marked a six year old child. A prisoner. Harry Potter's son.

Worthless. Without value.

The fact that Green had pushed to sit with him on the boats and again at the table, that small knowing smile on his lips at Devlin's questions, had further spurred Devlin's conclusion about what was happening.

He turned the small facts, replayed their body language and their expressions, and mulled over the new possibilities as they were lead to the Slytherin common room. At the portrait, a boy who was nearly a man, stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. Devlin shrugged, not fearfully, but with control, out of the grip.

"Yes?" He asked, looking up at the boy-man. He had a shiny badge on his robes. "Sir?"

"My name is Felix," the man said, "I'm a seventh year."

Devlin did not say anything. He could practically feel the boy measuring him with his eyes.

"If you meet me early just outside the portrait, I'll make sure you know how to get around. I'll show you the owlery, too - if you need to send a letter home you're welcome to use my owl. He's wicked fast and very reliable; newer owls might not know their way home as quickly."

A group of older children walked by, a couple of them frowning at the appearance the seventh year and he must make. He looked down for a moment and scuffed his toe against the stones; all the appearance of a small boy being lectured.

"Yes, alright. Thank you. I will see you then."

Devlin knew that Felix knew he wasn't offering a letter home to Harry Potter.

OoOoOoO

Green was sitting on his own trunk when he came up into the dorm. He looked up with a smile when Devlin stepped through.

"Oi, which bed do you want?" He asked. Several other boys, most of which he did not have a name for yet, were already unpacking. Green had made sure Devlin had a choice. He wasn't sure if he should be annoyed or pleased.

He took the bed by the window and began to unpack.

"I'm Andrew," the boy next to him said. He had umber brown eyes and almost-brown hair and wore an expression of slight curiosity - as if something as awe-inspiring as this had finally sunk into his more refrained exterior. "Who are you?"

Gazes flickered in their direction. Conversations hushed to a stop.

"Either you've been living under dragon dung, or you're a muggleborn," another boy said; dark haired, blue eyed, sharp and potent in the way Voldemort had always preferred Devlin to be. Quiet chuckles filled the air. The boys brow furrowed, but only slightly. He rose off of his bed and clenched his jaw.

"It sounds as if you're calling me something nasty," he said, his shoulder blades tightening, his nostrils flaring.

Devlin broke the tension with a snort of derision.

"They actually haven't - yet. They're just calling you a muggleborn. A magical child born into a muggle (non-magical) family." He rose from his position over his trunk and turned the boy by a shoulder. Andrew looked as though he might throw a punch, but allowed the maneuver. He reached out and took the boys lank hand.

"I'm Devlin, by the way, and I think any muggleborn that the hat put here is worth more than one that the hat put in Gryffindor!"

Green laughed.

"Definitely!" He cheered.

It wasn't, of course, saying very much. Devlin had chosen the verbal maneuver carefully. It simply meant he was more valuable than a Gryffindor of the same blood-status. Slytherin was always better. He smiled at the boy, knowing he was playing a game of half-lies and half-truths, dancing to an off-tune beat.

"Yeah, thanks. I'm sure everyone here already knows each other."

"I don't know anyone but that boy-" he pointed to Malfoy "-he's a Malfoy. And that boy - he talked my ear off at dinner. I think his name was Green...first name started with a K."

Andrew chuckled.

"Morgan," one boy said, reaching forward to reach for Devlin's hand. Devlin didn't know him, but he wasn't a Malfoy, so he took his hand and gave it a firm shake.

"Brennen," another said. He did not extend his hand; merely kept on putting his belongings away. "My family moved from Germany so that I could attend Hogwarts this year."

When Devlin had been taken from his grandfather, he had just been stretching his power towards other European countries; setting down roots and watching them grow.

"And what do you know about Slytherin, Brennen?" Devlin asked. The boy turned to him and smirked, then gave a rolling shrug.

"It is the good house to be in," he said simply, going back to unpacking his trunk. Devlin noted the wand holster strapped to his wrist as he extended his arm and his sleeve pulled back; dragon hide with the worn appearance only achieved by years of use.

There was another boy, pale and shallow-looking, peering out from behind a book. He had foregone unpacking, apparently, to get started reading his textbooks. He had an off black hair, somewhere not quite black but not quite brown, and he wore the straight locks with the same care Devlin's hair always appeared to receive (it parted itself, in all actuality). Devlin wouldn't have described him as quite handsome, but neither was he unappealing. His eyes moved swiftly across the lines in the book. Reaching the end, he swiped his finger and the page moved aside to reveal the next.

Devlin tipped his head at the show of wandless magic.

"Hi," he said, coming to the boy's bed. The boy did not look offended at the invasion into his space. He looked up, as if Devlin had physically dragged him away from something complex and fascinating.

"Hello," he said, his gaze flickering almost longly back at the book. "You're Harry Potter's son, right?"

The bit of information seemed flung in his face, not to cause offense, but to distance himself from Andrew, who hadn't known. Proving he was valuable and knowledgable.

"Yes. Who are you?"

"What my name is and what I'd like you to call me are two different things," he said, laughing. "My name is Demetrius. I suppose everyone will find a new nickname for me here."

He smiled, not warmly, but not coldly. Devlin could see the warmth in his eyes, but he held it back with a gleam of calculation.

A knock at the door made everyone turn, and then the boy who had spoken to Devlin outside the entrance poked his head in.

"Get to bed," he said, simply and gruffly.

But Devlin did not go to bed. He stayed up later than the rest of them, pretending to read. Two beds over, Brennen smiled at him occasionally, also up. He was spreading notes across his bed.

"Ready for class tomorrow?" Brennan asked softly, as if he might actually be interested in Devlin's experience.

"Sort of," he said, choosing his words with the utmost care. "It's very odd here."

"I suppose it's supposed to be," Brennan replied, "it's the first time away from our parents, right?"

He shook his head and smiled with a bemused slant.

"No. I've been away from them before." He watched Brennan's face for a reaction.

"Oh yeah, that's right," he said. The awkward words Freddie never would have had the sense to use, but with Freddie's total lack of awkwardness.

After a while, Devlin closed his eyes, but he still wasn't asleep. He wondered if Grandfather had found a way to slip him through the wards.

Morning came as timely and orderly as always, bombarding his sleep-deprived senses with yet another reason he should be awake. He sat up groggily. The rest of the boys were still asleep. He snuck into the bathroom and took an open shower. He'd just managed to throw a robe over himself and knot the belt when Andrew came in.

"Hey," he said, tiredly. Devlin nodded at him, his brain not quite ready to form words, and went to brush out his hair. Andrew called to him again. "Do you know how to make these work?"

Devlin couldn't really say he'd ever seen another boy naked before, but Andrew didn't seem in the least bit disturbed that Devlin might see him without clothing. He was motioning to the shower heads.

"You tap them. Put your hand against the tile. They work through magic."

Andrew's eyebrows rose in amazement and he laughed when Devlin's directions did the trick.

"Thanks!" He called, from beneath the stream of water. Devlin nodded and finished with his hair.

He bumped shoulders with Scorpius on the way out, but did not even glance at the boy. He was nothing, nothing, nothing to Devlin and he was going to make sure everyone saw that.

His tie had turned to the proper color and his robes now had a Slytherin crest on them; he admired them from atop his bed.

"Better get dressed," Brennan said, on his way into the shower.

Andrew came out with a towel around his waist and proceeded to get dressed in front of everyone. For a moment Devlin thought this was surely a quirk about Andrew, but then Scorpius came back in too, and stripped off his towel and got dressed. Pale, sharp-eyed, Demetrius was watching him from just over the edge of his book. He got up slowly, put his book down, picked up his robe, and brushed by Devlin as he went towards the bathroom.

"I have the sense they'll care more if you hide," the boy said, and then he was gone.

Scorpius eyed him, Brennan glanced, and Andrew seemed perplexed.

Harry had said he was turning into a young man and in that moment Devlin felt that more than he had ever in his life. He had to make a decision now, not based on survival, but on conscious logic. Past, present and possible futures spun wildly in his head as he assessed the damage versus the benefit.

He undid the knot on his robe and flung it off himself onto the bed as the other boys had.

He couldn't be weak. Couldn't be without value. Couldn't hide. He had to be strong, ruthless, worth their fear and their trust. He had decided long ago that he would be better, and this was something surely small orphaned Tom Riddle could have done.

He ignored their gazes and worked on getting dressed without visibly fumbling. One more hand through his hair, a hand on his already-packed bag, and he was striding out the door.

Andrew caught up with him just outside the common room entrance, reaching out to grab at his upper arm and make him pause.

He allowed the grasp to spin him on his feet, gracefully, and stared down at the mudblood boy. With any of the other boys, he would have snapped, or had his wand at their throat - but that was not necessary with this boy yet.

"You should tell a professor about those scars," Andrew said. "If someone is hurting you. A teacher could help."

It would be this moment that forever defined Andrew to Devlin. Years later, men together, Devlin would still think of this moment. When mudblood came together to equal something curious and innocent. Capable without knowledge. Intrinsically talented. No father had ever shown this boy how to hold his wand, but it was in his hand now, thumb perfectly placed, body already aware that this was the greatest tool it would ever hold. No one before Devlin had told him that his magic could make a shower turn on, but he hadn't gaffed; he had taken a world that shouldn't have been possible and immediately believed. He did things that Wizards still hadn't managed; to walk into a world and, for all intents and purposes, fit in.

"A teacher can't fix it," he said, with a curious sort of patience at the edges of his voice. He knew soon that the older boy would be here to show him around, and Andrew shouldn't be there. "Look up my name. Everyone else knows all about me without ever meeting me."

Andrew's brow furrowed.

"I suppose I'd have enough time before class," he said, as if he were piecing together several scenarios and most were working towards this being possible. "I don't like reading stuff like that, though. Sounds like something my mum would read."

It took a moment after he had turned around and gone back into the common room for Devlin to realize he had been making an attempt to lightening the situation; not unkindly or brashly, but genuinely expressing the idea that words about Devlin weren't important. Devlin realized in that moment why Harry must appreciate a good muggle pub.

Felix arrived minutes afterwards, and he had a sour expression on his face that made Devlin wonder if he'd run into the mudblood in the common room.

"Let's get started," he said briskly, and he made some effort to smile down at Devlin even though Devlin got the feeling he didn't particularly like Devlin. Not in the way Andrew had seemed to, at least. "Do you have a letter?"

Devlin patted the breast pocket of his robes.

OoOoOoO

"Mr. Potter," Snape said, immediately as he took his seat at breakfast. The letter had gone out, Devlin had been shown each and every classroom that would be on his list, and been made to memorize the pattern of the moving staircases. "Your absence almost left me with no choice but to leave your schedule in the eager care of Mr. Green."

He slammed the schedule onto his plate, halting the scoop of eggs Devlin had been about to put there.

"My utmost apologies, sir," he said, plucking the schedule off his plate and exchanging it with his eggs.

"Do not let any of your teachers question your timeliness to your classes, Mr. Potter," he said, scowling as he strode away.

Green shifted closer.

"He doesn't seem to like you," Green said, conspiratorially.

"I don't think Snape likes anyone," Devlin returned. He picked a couple pieces of crisp bacon off the platter to add to his eggs. Devlin didn't know how much of Green he could stand, but then he glanced down the table and saw Scorpius. They had both probably been assigned to befriend him and if Devlin had the choice of who would succeed, it wouldn't be a miniature Draco. "What's first?"

Green scanned his schedule.

"Charms," he said, nibbling some buttered toast. "Are you any good?" Devlin shrugged. "That's not much of an answer," Green joked.

"Anyone who says they're great isn't half as great as they say. When you've really got something sorted, you just don't need to boast."

He went back to eating.