There were still students in the corridors when he left Snape. Curfew, after all, was still an hour or so away. He tried not to dwell on his conversation with Snape, but the bitterness clinging to the inside of every thought made it difficult. Sometimes he marveled at the tiny things that could make him lose the control on which he prided himself.

Where was the boy who had sat before the man Britain called a 'monster' and calmly asked if he liked how he looked? Where was the boy who had put aside his fear and buttoned the cloak. Where was the boy who had flung his wand into the air while all those people watched?

Where was he?

Foolish, foolish, foolish!

His magic coiled and tightened in his chest, knowing he was upset, knowing he needed something, but unsure what he wanted it to do for him. By chance he happened to look up as he approached the disused classroom he and William had used to talk that one afternoon. He turned the knob and stepped inside.

It was quiet inside. For a moment he just sunk against the closed door and sat in the silence. Here, all alone, he could be whoever he pleased. He could be Devlin, or the Little Dark One, or the sharpness.

He went to pull out an apple he had taken from the kitchen's earlier (there was an elf who professed to know his father and seemed to want to give him more food than he could carry), when his hand ran across the clay they had been given in Transfiguration class. He pulled it out.

A wave of his hand and it was floating at eye level. He observed it for a moment and then he pulled his wand out, holding his thumb delicately to the wand and prodding just above the surface of the clay, as the Professor had shown them earlier. He could feel his magic in the air, pushing and pulling, squishing and expanding the clay until it had the rudimentary appearance of a hooked-nose man's head. Another wave of his wand and the face was splattered across the furthest wall.

He ate his apple while watching the splattered clay slowly falling down the stone wall.

Devlin felt just a tiny bit better as he summoned the clay to him and vanished his apple core. He did not bother sculpting Snape's face again; simply flung it with his magic again into the stone. He changed it's color a few times, just to vary the experience. It was after he had cleared a space in the room, vanished the dust, and was dividing and sculpting the clay into a small army of little men, that he heard the door open.

"Ah, I was wondering if I would find you here."

Remus Lupin's voice floating into the dusty room. It was always Remus that made Devlin feel distinctly divided; his wolf felt a spark of pleasure at the sound of the man's voice, while he felt weariness and annoyance at the interruption. He twisted his upper-half so that he could see the man. He was dressed in his normal muggle attire with a wizarding robe thrown over the outfit. His greying hair always looked slightly mussed and his face always a little scruffy.

"You must have been looking for me, then," Devlin said. He never quite managed to snap at Remus, because part of him always felt like a pup in front of him.

"Oh yes, something like that. I'm guessing you've lost track of time," Remus said, stepping into the room further and closing the door. "You didn't return to your dorm before curfew. Of course, Albus immediately had your Head of House go looking for you. I decided," he said, lowering his voice, "to cheat a bit and find you before Severus had the chance."

Devlin's brow crumpled.

"I must have gotten distracted," Devlin said, feeling awkward. He did not like getting caught having broken a rule, especially when he didn't mean to break it in the first place. His wolf felt worried and troubled that it might have displeased Remus. Devlin squashed it's emotions, trying to relay to it that such things were not worth worrying about.

"Clearly," Remus said, now close enough to see his creation. He had finished about twelve of the fifteen tiny soldiers. Remus waved his wand and one levitated towards him to be examined. He laughed as he touched it's tiny wand. "What detail! What were you going to do with them?"

Devlin blinked, having been sure Remus' was going to usher him quickly out of the room and send him to bed - at the very least.

"Er, make them fight, sir."

Remus' brow raised.

"They can move?"

Devlin squinted at the little figurines.

"Er…I had hoped so. I hadn't tried, though."

Remus crouched down next to him, his face split into a smile.

"Go ahead, I want to see."

So Devlin finished the last couple men up and settled them down. He placed two in the middle, a witch and a wizard, and the others around them. When he waved his hand above them, they began to jerkily move. A little more concentration and the motions in his head were playing themselves out in front of him. Two of the clay-wizards from the outer circle whipped their wands and a spell, made of dry clay-dust, expelled itself from their wands. The wizard in the middle whipped his wand around him like an arc, and a barrier appeared and then crumbled as the clay-dust spells hit it.

Remus' laughed.

"Oh, brilliant," Remus exclaimed. "Your grandfather would have loved that."

Devlin's head whipped around with shock. Remus Lupin - talking about his grandfather. It seemed foreign and troubling, until he realized Remus wasn't talking about Voldemort. He must be talking about James Potter.

"Was he good at things like this?"

Remus had a wistful express on his face.

"Oh yes, very good. The only person who beat him in Transfiguration and Charms was Lily. Of course, that may have had to do with his wandering attention during class." He winked.

"He's good at them, too," Devlin said, for a reason he couldn't fathom. Remus took it in stride. Remus usually did. He smiled first, then nodded. Maybe he was just used to having a side of him that was constantly under disapproval.

"Yes, I would imagine so. Does he appreciate your talent?"

Something coiled painfully in his chest even as something unwound and released him at the question.

"Yes - almost more than anything else about me." He touched his wand to a clay figure, and it morphed into a dementor. The other clay figures, now alley's, pointed their wands at the levitated creature. Remus laughed.

"What does he appreciate the most about you? Your wit?"

"What I look like," Devlin said, keeping his gaze pointedly on the tiny figures. Remus was looking at him questioningly and there was a concern in his eyes that Devlin did not entirely understand. "I look just like him," he said. Some of the concern vanished, while another sort remained.

"I'm afraid I wouldn't know. When I was at Hogwarts Voldemort was already an adult. I've heard he has reincarnated his image to reflect his human appearance. You look a bit like your grandmother, too."

Devlin's brow crunched.

You look like her.

He did not voice his realization. Did not tell Remus he had seen his grandmother in Severus Snape's memory. He held the secret close to himself, and wove it into his shield.

"I've never seen a picture of her when she was a girl," he said. "Dad only has the pictures of her with him as a baby up."

Remus smiled.

"I'm sure Sirius has a few at his house. Maybe you could ask over summer." He stood up. "But now, I think it is time to take your homework and leave. In the future, homework is best done in your common room after dinner so that you don't need to worry about losing track of time."

Devlin looked at his clay figures.

"Homework?"

"Did Professor McGonagall not assign you to sculpt something from your clay out of magic? She was discussing her eagerness to see what her students came up with just this afternoon in the staff room."

"Yes, Professor."

He winked and Devlin found himself smiling back.

"I'll walk you to your common room entrance."

OoOoOoO

His friends were sorely disappointed when they heard he hadn't been up sneaking around, but they did cheer up when they saw Devlin lining the clay men up on one of the common room tables.

"You made those?" Andrew asked. His clay creation looked like a four year olds drawing of a dog. Malfoy's was better - a long serpentine snake. Demi had chosen to make a fish and Devlin had to give him credit, since it was recognizable. Aviana, a girl who did not usually do homework with them but seemed to be partnering with Morgan today, had created a turtle. Morgan was sculpting a flower, which he had promised to Aviana after it was graded.

"Yes," Devlin said.

"They're very tiny," Aviana said. She leaned across the table to see them more closely. "They even have little wands!"

Her hazel eyes lit up with humor and her lips spread into a smile; she looked up at Devlin.

"Yes," Devlin said. "They move too."

Her mouth formed into a little O. Morgan, for some reason, was glaring at him, his bottom jaw offset to the left, his brow hooding his narrowed eyes.

"Can you show us?" She asked, looking up again at him through her bangs.

"Yeah, sure," he said. He concentrated like he had with Remus. One clay wizard walked to face the other. Both bowed and then raised their wands. One clay wizard fired a clay-powder curse and the other erected a clay shield.

Aviana gasped and cheered.

"He's the winner!" She said, giggling. "You should make him a metal!" She reached into her bag and withdrew a small candy wrapper with a shiny surface.

"We're only supposed to work with clay, Avi - not candy wrappers," Morgan pointed out, stiffly.

"He's right," Devlin said, sensing that he should.

"How did you make it move?" Malfoy asked, a hunger in his eyes.

"By concentrating, I suppose," he said. He didn't mean to be cryptic, it was simply that he was not sure how he did anything except that he always managed.

Malfoy pointed his wand at his snake and it jerked; the clay lumping and wrinkling where it had moved.

"Maybe try to be less…demanding…and more encouraging?"

This time, it moved for a moment longer and seemed more supple. Malfoy smiled.

OoOoOoO

He was still. So very still.

A fog blanketed his thoughts, pressing down upon the fire of panic that he knew he should feel.

Nothing.

He hasn't dreamed of the nothingness since he was small; weighed down by blankets and drowsy from healing draughts. It stretches out before him like an endless night; without color, without sound, without light.

He should be afraid - he should run - but everything is getting lost in the nothingness, including himself. He tries to look at himself, but he is nothing, nothing, nothing. He can feel his skin, feel his heart, feel his eyes as they race back and forth - but he can feel no sensation, hear no sound, see nothing.

He tries to remember where he had been, before the nothingness.

It clings to his skin like sludge. Every ounce of mental energy he exerts trying to escape is met with an equal force from the nothingness; wrapping around him like a strangling snake. It climbs up him, seemingly fed by his struggle: his knees, his waist, his torso-

And he can feel the nothingness like it is real. His mind tries to race with feverish thoughts, but they are consumed by the nothing, nothing, nothing. His body arcs in terror.

-his arms, his neck, his lips!

He can't remember ever clamping his jaw shut so tightly before. His lungs feel heavy like they are real, and he tries not to let the nothingness consume his determination. But he is slipping, slipping, slipping…

His mind is invaded with the force of an explosive spell. The nothingness burns against his skin as thought, sensation, and memory return to his mind, leaking through the torn barrier.

Something is on top of him, growling, biting, and tearing the sludge off of his body. No matter how the something tears and bites and claws, the sludge burns through his skin and seeps into his body. He withers and flails and screams. Seizing.

The something growls and the sound reverberates around him and in him, and cools down the shaking fire inside of him. The something digs it's teeth into his flesh, and he is being dragged through the nothingness even as he flails and withers and screams. The nothingness attacks him; relentlessly trying to cling to him.

And then he is warm.

Sunlight.

It pours, dappled, onto his body as the sharpness drags him through the barrier and into a dense forest. The sharpness is as dark as night, his coat the color of nothingness, and he releases Devlin's ankle as soon as he stops shaking. His tongue laps at the wound in apology.

He entered into reality with a jolt that cascaded through his entire body. For a moment he lay against the green cotton sheets and felt like the nothing, nothing, nothing that had consumed his dream.

He wondered if Dumbledore would call that a nightmare.

If he would, he would be mistaken. At least, Devlin thought so. To him, the nothingness had always felt too real to be any sort of nightmare. It was a debilitating sludge that lingered at the edges of his mind. Something he could not fight. The sharpness had saved him.

He wondered if Dumbledore would understand being thankful for something that, for all intents and purposes, looked like being thankful for yourself.

His dorm mates were still asleep and he was thankful for the small bit of peace.

He had dreamed of the nothingness before, but he had never dreamed of a seizure. Ifit had been a dream. Was it possible to dream of something so self-involved? Or had he actually had a seizure?

He swung his feet off the bed and shuffled over to his trunk. Inside was a wizarding space, full of his potions. He picked one up.

Normally, if he had a seizure, he would take another dose of his potion, but that had been the purple kind, and this was blue. A stronger more potent dose. Was he meant to double up on this dosage? Voldemort had given him no instructions.

Of course, that was when it truly hit him: the potion was blue.

It was different.

"I am hurt that you think I would risk your life thus. I have not been experimenting on an adult, Devlin."

His head hurt. His muscles ached. He remembered the sludge, burning against his skin as his eyes roamed around the dorm room, full of useless children.

He would not run to Snape.

He could not tell his father.

He swallowed the blue liquid, grimacing as it burned his throat.

oOoOoOo

That day, he had flying. Andrew was especially excited, since his flying was limited to Hogwarts and classes and he did not ever see his 'Mum buying me one of those things'. Malfoy was cool and refrained - a look of slight boredom on his face.

Devlin felt a bit nauseas, probably from not getting any sleep, and had to drag himself to the shower and then into his clothing. He did not even pause to be embarrassed by his scars. Demi's eyes rested on him as he changed and Andrew, once more, looked concerned for him.

"I looked him up, you know," Andrew said, as he lingered with Devlin. Tying his shoes seemed to take a great deal more effort than Devlin recalled being necessary yesterday morning. Devlin glanced up to convey his confusion. "Voldemort. I looked him up."

"Good for you, Andrew," Devlin said, making sure his voice was spiked with sarcasm.

The dungeons felt especially cold that morning. He rose to his feet, fighting down a bit of bile.

Fortunately, Andrew seemed to pick up on Devlin's less-than-eager attitude concerning the topic, and dropped it.

Unfortunately, he did so in trade for another. His voice was starting to make Devlin want to vomit.

"You look sick."

Somehow, having it thrown in his face just made it settle more unpleasantly into his stomach.

"Yeah," Devlin said.

"Do you think you need to see the nurse?"

The idea of someone he didn't know touching him always made him uneasy, especially because no one else would be there. He shook his head, clamping his lips shut.

Andrew eyed him with uncertainty.

oOoOoOoOoOo

He was late. He had been late yesterday morning, too. He has never been late before, yet this week he has skipped dinner once and arrived late twice to breakfast.

The vagueness of the child's expressions were nothing new, but he looked for the small things - pressed lips, clenched jaw, forced focus - and attempted to discern from them the reason for his lateness. The boy, who endeavored always to project such perfectness, was failing today; even if it was only through vague expressions hardly anyone would notice. Perhaps it was simply the lighting, but the boy looked sickly at the idea of the food on his plate.

Dumbledore's chuckle drew away his focus.

"I do sometimes wonder, Severus, what you chose to occupy your mornings with while there was not a Potter child watch so closely over your tea."

"All Potter children require attentive watching, or they would certainly destroy the entire school. I will not have James Potter's spawn parading like a dunderhead in my house, like his father did in Minerva's." Snape growled, displeased with the interruption to his thoughts and the perforations between private and public knowledge that Dumbledore was trying to create at the staff table. He could practically feel Minerva roll her eyes at him. Of course, Minerva probably had an inkling, as she had been Severus' teacher. Severus did not like to think of that and swept the thought out of his mind with practiced ease.

Dumbledore hummed happily and Snape sneered, but his eyes went back to the child.

It was harder with this boy than it had been with Harry Potter, of course. He did not look like a Potter, yet his eyes were Lily's a shade more shadowed. His hair parted on the same side Lily's had, and he spoke with the same refrained care that she had once, even if his perspectives on the world were understandably more chilled, like Severus' own.

His name was Devlin Augustus Potter, and that made it even more difficult. The name Lily had first pondered for her own child, but changed at the last minute when her father had died. This boy, with the middle name Augustus; a name Lily had meant to match his own. This boy, with the name Lily had meant to give to her son to prove something to Severus. With the name that Severus had thought might represent forgiveness. This boy, with the name that had been meant to make Severus see his folly.

"It is a boy. His middle name is going to be Augustus," she had said to him, when they had met in Diagon Alley by chance. He had stared at her in shock, wondering if she had forgotten that was his middle name. "Part of me still hopes you will change; I want you to be a man he would be proud to share a middle name with."

Of course, James never would have known, he was sure. The self-absorbed dunderhead would never have bothered to know Severus' middle name more than Voldemort had.

She had not named her son after him, though; Severus had never had to be a man that boy would have been proud of. Severus had been able to face Harry James Potter and remember easily what he had done to Lily, the only person he had ever loved. It had always been like a sharp stab when his name was called: 'Harry Lily-knew-you-were-an-awful-man Potter'. If she'd really believed in Severus by the time that boy was born, he would have been Harry Augustus Potter, at the very least. But she hadn't. Sometimes he wondered if she might have known what he had done.

It was harder with this boy. This boy, who looked nothing like James Potter. This boy, with green eyes - just a shade darker so that Severus did not feel like he died each time he looked at them.

He stirred his tea. He remembered Alexandra McClain the first day she had arrived at the Headquarters, brought in by Hermione Granger's side. Fiery red hair, crystal clear blue eyes. He had tried to enter her mind, and she had thrown him right back at with the ease he would have expected from someone much older and experienced. She had come up to him afterwards, smaller than he, chin jutted out the same Lily often had done to James while she still hated him, and said 'If there is anything you'd like to see in my mind, let me know. I would be pleased to show you - we're on the same team, after all. At least, that is what I am told.'

That had been the last summer he had been a spy; a memory he did not like to think on very much.

He would not have predicted that she and Harry would have dated. She was, as Voldemort might have said, a velvet covered knife. Something dangerous dressed up in something unassuming. Of course, if he did the math just so, he was not quite sure she had 'fallen' for him in any traditional fashion.

Her red hair and Harry's mirror appearance to his father had been enough to make it easy for Snape to be less than pleasant to them. After the boy's kidnapping, he had found it hard to be cruel to Alexandra; red hair, bright eyes, and grieving so pronouncedly over a lost child.

When they had announced Alexandra's pregnancy, Severus had been sure it would be named either Lily or James, just to continue his torture, but instead a little blue card, a card he had least expected to receive, had arrived by owl to announce that Devlin Augustus Potter had been born. Severus had not thought he would care, but he had clutched at the card and howled with pain and justice. Emotions he had long buried had been torn to the surface.

Lily finally had her Devlin, with little green eyes and a tuft of black hair, but she would never know him. For a moment he had allowed himself to contemplate how she would have felt, being alive to see her son have a child of his own. Her face, as young as it had been the last time he had seen her, had floated into his mind and smiled with the joy he imagined she would be filled with. He had stared at the photo of the blinking baby for hours. Devlin Augustus Potter.

It had not mattered that this child was Harry James Potter's son. Severus had known then and there, that this would be a child Severus would have to make proud.

OoOoOoOoO

He tried to focus during Defense class, his brain hot and his skin cold. The second potion had not helped. He must be sick. He had been sick before, of course. Children get sick - which is exactly why he had learned not to tell Voldemort when he was. He was not supposed to be sick, he was sure. Here, there was no Geoffrey - sworn to protect him.

Come on, get it together, he kept telling himself, hoping this was something his magic would fix for him.

Remus was talking about wand movements and the tripping jinx. He tried to keep his head low and hope Remus wouldn't call on him. He did, of course, but it was as the kids were filing out.

Devlin felt like people were hitting him the tripping jinx as he rose from the desk and made his way to Remus.

"You look ill," Remus said, his head tipping.

"I just didn't sleep well," he said. Remus frowned.

"Why not?"

"I have a lot of homework to make up and I donno - I guess I was thinking about that." Oh Merlin, it was hard to lie when he felt so weak.

"Have you been to the hospital wing?"

"My dad is coming tonight to pick me up. I'll just tell my mum."

Devlin referring to Harry and Alexandra has his parents seemed to sooth everyone's nerves here, and he used it exactly for that purpose. Remus nodded.

"Alright, make sure you do. If you feel sick go to the hospital wing too. She can call and have you picked up early."

The idea seemed entirely too pleasant to contemplate, because he knew he could not, no matter how much he wished, skip out on Snape's meeting. He couldn't give the man a reason to tell his father what he had seen in his mind.

"Alright," he agreed, and then he turned and left.

He was truly not certain how he managed to survive flying class without breaking his neck or Herbology without killing his plant. Somehow, the day went on and dinner arrived. He didn't eat. It was probably better not to temp fate when he would be around Severus Snape in a moment.

OoOoOoOoO

He found the boy once more in his hallway, as early as ever. He shifted his head to look at him through those dark green eyes.

"Hello, Professor," he said. His muscles were tense, his eyes narrowed with such focus that Severus wondered how it could possible fit in a vessel so small. His magic was coiled around him like an invisible cloak. The child always looked so bloody determined; Severus wondered if he ever threw his head back and laughed like his grandmother.

I look just like him, he had said, just the night before. Like someone as far from Lily as there could be. Severus still had a hard time imaging that Voldemort had fathered a child, that such a child was married to Harry Potter, and that their blood lines had merged and created this creature before him - never mind that every aspect of the child he had once associated with Lily may actually also be identifiable with the Dark Lord.

Of course, Severus did not know much about Voldemort before he became the Dark Lord. As a spy Albus had certainly not seen it pertinent to fill his head with such facts. When Severus had finished spying, it had been the farthest topic from his mind.

If what the child said was true, then the Dark Lord had been a pretty child. His face more aristocratic than childish, his clear eyes framed by long lavish lashes, his hair shiny and always neat, falling with a graceful little curve at the front that made it appear as though someone had just fussed over him. In contrast to his appearance, his attitude was sharp and potent, like the sweet smell of a poisonous potion as it was brought to a boil. Unlike many positive and healing potions, the most potent of poisons often smelled tempting while they boiled, and like nothing when complete; but there were few people who could testify as to their true taste. If it was all true, Severus could understand how such a creature had been able to play such a charming role on his rise to power.

"Come in," he said. The boy tipped his head forward first, pulling himself off the wall with a casual air that made him seem older than just-twelve. Severus followed him into the room.

Seated behind his desk cloaked Severus with a small amount of comfort; from behind here, he was the Professor and Devlin the disobedient boy.

Except nothing about this boy was rowdy. He sat straight-backed and certain, his eyes the color of Devil's Snare.

Severus remembered the first time he had met Devlin Potter; his eyes had been like Devil's Snare, even then. He had avoided the child so fervently that by the time he met him, he had been walking and talking. At three, perhaps they stilled called them toddlers. Harry Potter had come to do his Fourth Year course on the Unforgivables, and brought along the child. For awhile then, Severus had been dogging Dumbledore with some curriculum changes he had wanted to make, and the Headmaster had called him up to his office that day and promised they could discuss them. Dumbledore, of course, had not told him he was playing babysitter.

Devlin had been admiring the phoenix when he had entered and Severus had immediately frozen. Then he had turned, and there had been his green eyes; a near perfect replication of Lily's, just a shade darker. Even at three, his hair had fallen perfectly across his scalp. His little lips had turned up at the corners and he had taken a brazen step forward.

"Hello," he had said, tiny white teeth showing. "I'm Devlin. My Daddy is teaching people how to be re-spons-ible," he had sounded the word out carefully, maneuvering around the blends and syllables with determination evident in his crumpled brow, "with their magic, and nice to their friends. Are you a teacher?"

Severus' gaze had sought out Dumbledore with accusation, but not before he had nodded at this child - Lily's little Devlin Augustus.

"Devlin, this is Professor Snape. He teaches potions." Dumbledore had smiled at Severus. It should have been his warning, but those green eyes had kept him bound to the spot; the more he struggled to tear himself away, the tighter they held him. "You know, I do believe Severus would be most impressed by that magic trick you showed me, this morning."

Devlin had smiled, all cubby-cheeked and boyish mischief, then he had cupped his hands together. It was one more warning that Severus ignored. And there had been a flower - a lilly; just as Lily had done, the first day he had dared to speak to her at the playground.

"You can have it," Lily's little Devlin Augustus Potter had said, and he could not have known that those were the words Lily had said to him so many times about her creations, too. Little pieces of herself, like this had been a little piece of him.

The boy before him now was emptier than that child; all the bits and pieces he had been so willing to give away when he was three were spent and broken or coveted for their wholeness like a treasure.

"I want you to tell me what he made you do," Severus said. He had an inkling. Such presumptions of his were usually right. Now, he simply held out hope that the Dark Lord had not sought to make them the same in the darkest of ways.

The part of his mind that was still a spy knew he had to tread lightly, for this child was someone like he had been; a double agent. An extremely pliable one, by comparison.

"I saw it, you know. He did ask her. How hard did you have to beg for that? How angry were you at her for choosing Harry over herself?"

He clenched his teeth, refusing the bait. The child had not seen it. No one had seen it but the baby in the crib and the Dark Lord himself-

His eyes snapped involuntarily to the child's face.

"The Dark Lord…showed you?" His words crawled out of his mouth in a slow drawl, and it was just as much to make sure the child had heard as to make sure he believed his own thought pattern.

The boy's nostrils flared and he filled his lungs hungrily, biding his time. Normally he had more concealment than this. Had he been that disturbed? The part of Severus' brain that knew what was normal in the analytical sense recognized that of course he had been deeply disturbed. But this disturbed?

"It's sort of odd, isn't it? I mean, who keeps your secret?"

"What else did he show you?"

"Dumbledore?"

"What did he make you do, Devlin?"

"Does my father know it's more your fault than anyone else'? Does he know who told the Dark Lord of the prophecy? Does he know it was only after you realized that it would endanger her that you cared?"

"Does Potter know you killed someone? How long do you think that the Dark Lord will afford you such privacy on a matter he is bound to see as a great success?"

He had been so sure his assumption was correct. He knew that sensation of loosing something before he'd lost anything else so definitively. The loss of innocence stung almost as the death of a loved one. He watched the boy for his tell-tale reaction, waiting for the tiniest crumble.

Instead there was a knock on his office door. Devlin frowned and Severus scowled. He had no appointments. He withdrew his wand, noticing at the same time that the child did as well.

He need not have bothered. It was Harry Potter on the other side of his door.

"Hello, Severus," Harry said, smiling. His green eyes looked tired. "I didn't want to bother Dumbledore or Remus, but I'm here to pick Devlin up for the weekend. He should already know."

"Indeed? I'm surprised he did not inform his head of house…" Severus had been set up. Devlin Potter had known Potter would interrupt them. He turned his head just slightly. Behind them, the boy did not look as pleased as Severus might have expected. "Mr. Potter - get up out of the chair."

Harry frowned.

"Erm - was Devlin having an issue?"

The boy's magic tensed behind him. Severus knew he could handle the situation two ways, but the boy came up beside him and when Severus looked at him, glowering, he knew was not ready to relinquish these secrets they held between them.

"Your son missed weeks of work, Mr. Potter. I am surprised you did not make an appointment with me in order to examine my private tutoring schedule. Unlike essays, potions require hours of practical work."

"Oh," Harry said. "Thank you so much, Severus."

As always, Potter missed the point!

"I believe we have discussed that it is my wish you call me Snape. We are not friends."

Harry smiled sheepishly, chastised, but Severus knew the stubborn boy never really learned his lesson.

You could fix that, the boy's eyes seemed to say, haunting him with memories. He slammed his door on them both.