Information seemed to flow through Hogwarts with an efficiency Devlin thought both his Grandfather and the Ministry of Magic really should examine. By the time Devlin had made it to breakfast, most of Slytherin knew, and by the time he got to lunch, it seemed the whole school knew that he was in the dueling club and that he had produced a full-bodied fire spell that Taylor couldn't extinguish. The fact that the Dark Lord had taught him the spell seemed to be treated with reverence, admiration, pity, and disgust.
Green found him in the corridor between Potion's and Defense.
"Devlin!"
He recognized the voice. His feet carried him deliberately onward, his eyes focused ahead of him. He moved like the boy in his dreams who shared his face; with a languid sort of defiance. Green's feet clapped against the stone of the hall, and Devlin could hear his breath behind him right before he felt the boy's hand on his arm, pulling to turn him around.
He shrugged the boy's hand off, turning around slowly of his own deliberate accord. He wondered if little Tom Riddle had ever glared at someone in this hallway.
"It is rude to try and grab someone," he said; steadily and astutely. Other students slowed down around them, curious, while others hurried onward, eager to avoid whatever they feared was doomed to occur.
"You were walking away from me," Green ventured, the jab almost hesitant.
"I was walking to class," he replied, his voice sharp and full of nothingness.
"I said your name!"
He arched a brow at Green.
"In a crowded, noisy hallway. Perhaps you should have waited for a better opportunity to catch my attention."
Green's jaw slanted.
"I didn't know," the boy said, leaning forward, his fists clenched at his side. "Felix just told me not to walk you to class."
"Clearly you're fairly oblivious - since that would definitely seem suspicious. Either you're stupid or you did know."
Green scowled - more forward, less hesitant.
"You're getting bloody upset about something you should have been happy about! Are you not supposed to be loyal to him?"
There was a rush of something forceful in his head (blood, adrenaline, fury - he couldn't be sure), that made him hear a wooshing sound. Time seemed to compact around him while that feeling of knowing, but not knowing, seemed to expand within him. For a moment he didn't know where he was, or who he was, or whether forward was down, up, left, or right.
It was only after it had happened that he realized he had lunged onto Green. The boy was beneath him, gasping for air. His lip was bleeding. Woosh, woosh, woosh, the world seemed like a physical pressure around him.
"You were supposed to be loyal to me," he said, while his chest pounded and his ears rang and his wolf screamed for domination. Green's eyes were big with pain and fear. For one insane moment he could almost understand that crazy werewolf as his own wolf pressed around him, yearning to dominate this lesser child who had so wrong them and now had dared to humiliate him.
"Mr. Potter, please remove yourself from Mr. Green."
It was the transfiguration teacher.
Time seemed to resume, expanding around him in a flourish of realization. He hauled himself off the boy, standing against the wall. No, no, no, no, no!
McGonagall's eyes were sharp and pointed, and her wand was aimed at him. He did not think she saw any of Harry in him at all.
"Mr. Mire, escort Mr. Green to the hospital wing. Mr. Potter, I will escort you to the Headmaster's office immediately."
It was then that he realized Andrew, who had been walking with him, had stayed. His face was clear - a mask - and he nodded curtly toward the Professor.
"Yes, Professor."
Green did not look like he wanted to go with Andrew; whether because the boy was a Mudblood or because he was Devlin's friend.
For brief moment Devlin wondered if he could out run her. Could he get past the gates? Was the thing in his pocket really a portkey? But he had made his move too late, or not lasted long enough, and there was no way he was in any position to out run the aim of a staff member while in such a narrow hallway, let alone across Hogwarts grounds to use a portkey.
He did not look at the Professor, but followed her feet as she made passage through the crowd of students.
OoOoOoOoO
McGonagall's firm voice made the Gargoyles jump aside. Their stone eyes followed Devlin's passage, their teeth hidden behind closed jaws. McGonagall did not speak as the spiral staircase lifted them, but Devlin could feel her eyes on his side-turned head. When the stair came to a halt, she beckoned for him to go first through the Headmaster's door. The Headmaster's office was lit with soothing yellow light, and the air smelled of vanilla and bird seed. McGonagall had an air of control and assumption that compelled him to follow her without complaint. He stopped in the middle of the room, his eyes staring ahead so that he saw Fawkes instead of the Headmaster. McGonagall stopped behind him, her body turning so that she could address the Headmaster.
Devlin dare not look at Dumbledore.
"Is there something the matter, Minerva?" He asked, tone delicate, eyes on the top of Devlin's head.
Fawkes was mature and healthy, his orange plumage brilliant and his beady black eyes sharp as they stared at him. His beak clacked with intrigue, his small hooked feet dancing on his perch. Devlin kept his eyes on the bird, as McGonagall spoke and the dread and terror built in his chest. That hazy sensation that always filled his head when fear infiltrated his defenses began to consume him. Don't think. Don't feel. Just do what has to be done. He took a breath, and another, and soon they were more rhythmic than they had even managed to be in the hallway. He blinked, and the haze infiltrated his eyes, making everything softer and more bearable. He supposed this was what his father would have called dissociation. He always sort of felt like he was floating.
"Mr. Potter just physically assaulted another child," McGonagall replied, so crisply that it had to be hiding something more deep-seated than disappointment. There was silence. Perhaps he was meant to talk. To make a cry of apology or childish defense. He did not recall his scarce years of childhood, and he was certain the behavior of a six year would be ill-received in such instances. He was not even sure what he would have done then - cried for his father? Begged for his mother? Hoped that tears would sway their opinions? Such things would seem so trivial, so cliche, at twelve. Worthless. Fawkes watched him. "Mr. Potter, are you listening?"
"Of course, Professor," he said, with an air of automaticity that Grandfather would have never noticed. Yet, she had. He felt the distinct change in the room as her magic tensed and coiled closer. Fawkes made a strange sound - almost chiding or maybe a chuckle.
"This discourteousness is no way to handle a situation as serious as this, Mr. Potter," she chided, voice sharp. When he did not respond she huffed indignantly and reached to touch him, hand coming up under his chin to make him look. The haze evaporated instantly, and the fear rushed cold and hard into his blood with such viciousness and bite that he could hardly stop himself from crying out. He tore away from her, backing up. Unrefined anger and terror spilled into his gut and made him sick with the feeling.
"Don't touch me!" He said, and his gaze rose to look at her now. His hands were curled into fists, blood locked away from his whitening knuckles, pounding amply in his chest. "I don't like people touching me when I haven't said they could!"
His magic flared around him, like tiny electric shocks across his skin. The sharpness clawed up his spine, a jolt across each piece of sinew it used as rope. When there is danger, look! His nostrils flared, and his head tilted up against his better waited for the Professor to glare at him, or draw her wand, or rebuke him for his behavior. Instead she seemed simply taken aback - an expression that appeared almost like realization filtering across her face.
"Devlin," Dumbledore said; looking weary and sad. The sharpness did not do well gauging subtle manipulations and masks; it was from a world where the fight for dominance was won by brute strength instead of silent spider-web thin strategies. Devlin knew though, and the sharpness obeyed his knowledge. "Would you please explain to me why you physically harmed another student?"
You're playing a dangerous game, foolish boy. Snape's words rose waspish in his mind, the same way his Grandfather's voice used to so regularly intrude upon his felt trapped with indecision; mouth dry, skin hot, and his chest so terribly cold. He tried to bring back the comforting haze, but it had evaporated into the air around him.
"Mr. Potter?" Dumbledore encouraged. "Perhaps you would be more comfortable sitting?"
Sitting would dampen his ability to respond to the situation physically.
Sometimes, you have to compromise. Living with a mad-man for so long, I can understand how you wouldn't quite grasp how much of ones' daily life is filled with tiny give-and-takes. His father's words washed over him, calm and cool, and accompanied by the smile that was always his. Of course, it was not really that Devlin did not know how much of ones' daily life was filled with give-and-takes, but rather that he didn't know where the line between compromise and manipulation lay. He hadn't told his father that, of course.
"I should not have hit him," he said. He would rather give the apology, empty as it might be, than the reason.
"That is encouraging to hear," Dumbledore said, but it seemed to Devlin that they were merely mirroring strategies. "Why did you make such a regretful decision?"
He realized that a truthful answer may favorably improve Dumbledore's assessments of him, but it would also incriminate Green and illustrate that Devlin hadn't liked being kidnapped. As Green had said - he should have been happy. Dumbledore watched him with patience; infuriating because of the way it acknowledged his awareness of Devlin's internal struggle.
And then, something brilliant occurred to him.
"I think Mr. Kendell should be the one to tell you, if he wants."
Dumbledore's brow arched and his eyes crinkled with a knowing, indulgent, smile. He leaned forward, his lips thinning as he smiled.
"I will be sure to ask him, Devlin. In the meantime, I would enjoy hearing your perspective."
All those years ago when Dumbledore had knocked on the Ministry door with that piece of cloth in his pocket, Devlin had been annoyed at the intrusion, because he had felt so in control of the situation. This time, when there was a noise outside the door, like someone trying to curse the spiral staircase, he felt a rush of euphoria. The door opened abruptly, and an angry looking Severus Snape, renowned Potions Master, ex-Death Eater, and friend of his Grandmother, entered like a frigid billowing storm into the room.
Devlin could have said, with absolute truth, that he had not expected Severus Snape.
"Severus," Dumbledore began, but Severus ignored him in favor of McGonagall and Devlin.
"The next time two of your dunderheaded lions are in a hallway scuffle, I'll remember this is how you want things handled, Minerva. Or did you forget that you are meant to inform the student's head of house?"
He said this as he reached for Devlin, wrapping a slender hand around his bicep and pulling him backwards.
"He assaulted another student, Severus!"
"He hit a boy. He did not draw his wand. It is something your little lions do on a regular basis! As his first offense, it is my responsibility to deal with, not the Headmaster's."
"Nevertheless, Severus - we are here now. Surely we can discuss why such a thing happened?" Dumbledore smiled at Severus, and the Professor glowered in return.
"I can not envision a situation in which a discussion in front of both the Headmaster and an uninvolved Head of House would be necessary."
"Severus-"
Severus strode toward Dumbledore, bringing Devlin along. He leaned across the desk with one side of his body, the other still holding onto Devlin as though he worried he would evaporate.
"Do you wish to humiliate the boy, Albus? Do you wish to make him tell? I thought you were more powerful than that. I thought love won these sorts of battles. Surely, you would not make the child speak in front of people who do not understand his predicament." His voice was a whisper.
"I do not see how this is a predicament, Severus," McGonagall seethed, clearly annoyed. "I am merely asking him why he hit another boy!"
"Have you stopped to ask yourself what would possibly propel this child to act so atrociously against the way we want him to act? Look at him - he is alive - clearly he is a child well adept to control his impulses and regulate his actions. Or did you think the Dark Lord routinely kept his enemy's children alive? Clearly, this is not some simple instance of one dunderheaded child insulting the other dunderheaded child over spell-work or hairstyle. Perhaps that is the issue, Minerva? Perhaps you have some residual bias toward him because-"
"Do not speak to me about bias against students, Severus!"
Snape's eyes were like a hard hot stone. His lanky fingers were still curled across his upper arm, protective as much as punishing. Something about McGonagall's threat made his jaw shut, though.
Harry Potter regularly defended him; it wasn't something that still turned his world upside-down, but Severus Snape was not his father, and he did not defend him like a loving parent. Devlin stayed still, because he knew what was happening. He had spent nearly four years with a man doing exactly what Snape was. Geoffrey had protected him too.
"Minerva - you can step out. Devlin's Head of House and I will handle the situation from here."
Minerva and Severus fell silent, as if neither had imagined Dumbledore would make such a move. Devlin looked at the edges of the Headmaster's glasses.
McGonagall left in a huff, and then it was only Snape, Dumbledore, and himself - with a portkey that led to Lord Voldemort in his pocket.
Severus' released his arm.
"Go sit down," Severus said; a demand rather than a request, but Devlin did not move.
"What does the M stand for?"
Severus' eyes narrowed, while Dumbledore's eyebrows arched with something like pleasantness and curiosity combined. Devlin knew what Dumbledore was doing, and experience told him it wouldn't last - but it was useful while it persisted. Voldemort had tried occasionally, when he had been very small, to lull him into a sense of companionship and comfort. He felt the ground out cautiously around him, trying to sense if it was still solid beneath his feet.
"Marvolo - it was his mother's father's name." Dumbledore peered at him, "Marvolo Gaunt had extremely pure blood, but an addled mind. Tom has not told you of his relatives?"
"We are not here to ascertain what the Dark Lord has told a stupid little boy. If you wish to pass on something about the value of love and peace and tell him to keep his hands to himself, do it now, Albus. He is missing Defense and has a detention tonight."
That was news to Devlin, but he said nothing. He had failed to dominate Snape, after all - and was instead the little pup, unable to bite hard enough to make complaining worthwhile.
Dumbledore smiled.
"I am always so pleased to see how much you care about your Slytherin's, Severus."
If looks could kill, Devlin was fairly certain Severus' would be an unpleasant, drawn-out poison.
"Fine. Ask the boy what you will. When his father comes to me after the boy has complained, I will send him to you to deal with!"
Dumbledore's smile grew, pressing in at the corners with added bemusement.
"I am fairly certain, that if Harry objected, he would come directly to me. Harry has never been concerned about speaking his mind with me, Severus."
Severus eyed the Headmaster.
"Then ask him."
Dumbledore turned toward him, a look of contentment settled pleasantly across his face.
"Mr. Potter - why did you hit another student?"
Of course, that hadn't been what Severus' had dared him to ask, nor what Devlin had thought he would. Devlin would have preferred the other.
Because he knew. Because he should have been loyal to me. Because he said I should have been happy to be kidnapped. Because he thinks I am that boy. Because he has no idea what it means to be there. Because he thinks I should be happy about something he would have never survived. Because he didn't have the decency to warn me!
But all of those things said more about Devlin than he wanted to share.
"Because I thought he was my friend, but he never really was."
Dumbledore regarded him softly but intently, his hands steepled on the desk as Fawkes crooned gently.
"While I admire you for recognizing that not everyone who plays a friend truly is, I must remind you that violence is not the answer to our problems."
Devlin rather thought the statement was hypocritical and ironic, but he kept the laughter in his chest.
"Yes, Headmaster."
Severus began to drag him toward the door.
"Devlin?" The Headmaster had risen, one hand still on his desk as he walked from behind it. His eyes were a sharp powerful blue, regarding Devlin as if he were real and whole and himself. "Tom would not have made the mistake of striking another student in the hallway where a teacher or student might bear witness to the assault. Tom did not understand the difference between a true friend and a false one, and consequently, did not become overwhelmed with emotions and lash out without thinking."
OoOoOoOoO
"You are a stupid, foolish, boy," Snape said, as he dragged him down the hallway. "That was one idiotic move I did not expect from you. Over friendship?"
Snape pushed him away; there was a snarl on his face as he looked him in the eyes.
"You need to find a washroom before you go to class, Mr. Potter," he said. "Your detention will be directly after dinner, at which time we will discuss your idiocy more in depth."
"Yes, sir," he said, willing himself to smile charmingly. Instead of pacifying Snape, it seemed to anger him more. He took a menacing step forward.
"Don't," he said, a finger in Devlin's face, his eyes going darker than an abyss. "Do not say to me what you would say to him. Do not look at me like you would look at him. Do you not remember what I said to you the first time I saw you?"
Of course Devlin did. Devlin remembered almost everything.
He cloak billowed as he turned and strode down the hallway, and Devlin's smile faltered and pressed into a sneer as he turned to find the loo.
He hadn't noticed the blood on his knuckles and he certainly hadn't noticed the bit of it on his face, either. He stared at it, the color somehow not adding up with the Hogwarts bathroom behind him in the mirror. He turned on the tap and scrubbed at the blood vigorously.
His hands were red by the time he attacked his face, and it was only an older boy - Ravenclaw by the color of his untightened tie - coming in that made him stop before that too, was red.
"You alright?" The older boy asked. There was a tiny, shiny, badge on his robes that compelled him to be concerned. Devlin nodded. "You look shaken up. Aren't first year Slytherin's supposed to be in Defense right now?"
Devlin's gaze must have conveyed his surprise that he would know, because the boy smiled and explained he had a younger brother in Gryffindor.
"Yes. I'm going there now. I was with my Head of House."
The older boy nodded and Devlin exited the bathroom. His hands felt raw, and his face chilled.
oOoOoOoOo
"Sorry for the delay, Professor," he said - clear, precise, with an apologetic smile inserted at the same second everyone else seemed to do so. Remus looked at him for a moment.
"You can explain after class, Mr. Potter," he said delicately.
Remus was always a strange concoction of kind and firm all at once. This strangeness combined with the conflicting way he and his wolf felt about the man sometimes made him feel physically dizzy.
There were only two empty seats; the one Maria had saved him, and one by the strange boy he had met at his last class. He still remembered her words out in the snow, and though something about the boy compelled him, he broke away from the instinct and sat near her.
Her blue eyes crinkled as she smiled at him, and for one breath he felt the same way as what he imagined a normal boy felt. It was similar to the pleasant haziness of dissociation, sweeping him away from the crispness and finality of his typical thoughts, but also so very different. When she looked away, the crispness came crawling back, whereas with dissociation it would not have left him so suddenly. Dissociation did not make him feel…strange, without it. And dissociation spurred him into comfort, not into reaching out of his comfort zone.
But this wasn't dissociation. This wasn't floating away. He wanted to stay here, and that made all the difference.
Remus was speaking about sticking charms, his voice too friendly for the situation he conveyed.
"Size does not always matter," he was saying, his lips upturned, his voice mischievous. "What matter is how clever you can be with spells. A sticking charm is easy enough - I'm sure someone has shown you already how to stick a photo of your family up in your dorm room - but they can also be useful in combat situations. For instance, you might stick someone's feet to the floor, and that might give you just the minute you needed to run away. Alright, let's stand up so I can demonstrate."
Everyone stood up, or at least, everyone attempted to stand up. Freddie had been left sitting, laughing. His feet were clearly stuck to the stone floor below his desk. Only Freddie would find it so humorous.
Remus asked for suggestions on other clever ways to use a sticking charm. Someone had suggested sticking their opponents wand to the wall, or their wand hand.
"Once, I stuck myself to the ceiling to hide," Devlin found himself saying, not quite sure why. Remus' gaze swung toward him, that kind open smile still there.
"That sounds interesting. How did you get up there though?"
"I floated myself."
Freddie was eyeing him with interest, and Maria's blue eyes were on the side of his face.
"It was trickier getting down than up," he added. "I didn't know a cushioning charm, at the time."
Some people laughed at the image. Remus' only watched him.
OoOoOoOoO
"Hello, Geoffrey."
Harry wondered when Sirius had begun to become so accustomed to the ex-Death Eater that they now ate lunch at the same table. Remus was away during the fall, and the food looked too complicated for Sirius to have managed.
"Oi, Harry," Sirius said, around a mouthful of food.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Potter. How is Devlin?"
Harry had never had an interaction with Geoffrey without the man asking after Devlin. Sometimes, it still unnerved Harry; the idea that someone had been there for his boy when he couldn't. The thought that Devlin still felt more comfortable with Geoffrey in ways he did not with Harry. The knowledge that, no matter how comfortable Devlin became now, there were things he had outgrown. Devlin had once sought comfort from Geoffrey in this house; curling up next to him in his bed. Devlin was too old for that, now. He hadn't trusted Harry enough when he was nine or ten, and now he was a young man, off at Hogwarts.
"He's fine, I think. He's a bit overwhelmed with all the homework he has to catch up on; he spent most of the weekend in his room working on it."
Geoffrey's brow crinkled, and Harry realized he knew the man enough to know to notice.
"Is he making friends?" Geoffrey asked, taking a bite of his lunch.
Sirius seemed pleased with the topic of conversation and content to listen while he ate, so Harry sat down across from Geoffrey. He had plenty of time to pick up the papers.
"He's afraid to make ones that will not please Voldemort," Harry said, regarding Geoffrey closely.
"Shouldn't he be? Clearly the Dark Lord will recapture him when he pleases. The more interesting question is what the Dark Lord meant to gain by sending Devlin back to Hogwarts."
Harry smiled at him.
"I don't really fucking care what Voldemort thought."
Geoffrey leaned back in his chair.
"Well, that is unfortunate; knowing is always the greatest shield and weapon someone can have." He took a sip of water. "Sirius told me the boy came back without even a hair misplaced."
"Did you expect something else? The only marks he had when he came back to us in the beginning were old ones. Clearly, Voldemort's games with him are all head games."
"Hmm, true enough. Yet that is Voldemort, and Voldemort is only the leader, not the pack. He'd have had plenty of fresh ones, except he was typically surrounded by my pack, and I would have ripped out their throat. I wonder who cared so much this time?"
"He wasn't at the camp. Voldemort took him to a house."
Generally it was safe to share information like this with Geoffrey, because Geoffrey had proven he did not really speak to anyone except Harry, and even if he had the inclination, he was rather limited with whom he could speak.
"Interesting," Geoffrey said, while he took his last bite and rose to put his plate in the sink. "I wonder why the Dark Lord chose to bring Devlin to a house instead of another camp."
OoOoOoO
Dissociation was a tricky thing, and Devlin had long ago noticed that it was pointless trying to summon it on purpose. Grabbing for the elusive pleasant haze that had filled his head in Dumbledore's office just pushed it further away. Without it, weariness made details crisper rather than fuzzier. Every sound, movement, and physical sensation isolated itself in his head; a long linear puzzle that his instincts fought feverishly to keep properly sequenced while indistinct terror tore through them all like a tornado.
"Sit down, Mr. Potter." Snape's eyes were hard, his lips and words slow and purposeful. The chair was straight backed with a leather cushion that heated his palms as he settled them beside his thighs. Devlin could feel the tendons in his neck wearily holding his chin up, his gaze pointed at the Professor.
There was a silence between them, as sharp as an uncovered knife, as thin as a cutting hex wielded by a normal first year.
"I assume you are quite aware of the way in which the evidence is piling," Snape said; a question hidden as a statement. Either way, he did not really intend for Devlin to reciprocate verbally. Devlin arched a brow, and the Professor acted in kind. "The more you insist upon not being a foolish little boy, the more you prove that is exactly what you are."
Devlin did not respond. He had no intention of saying anything at all on this topic, sensing where it was headed.
"What did he make you do, Devlin?"
The leather cushion had a slight texture to it, and he focused on the minuet stimuli it provided his finger pads, building a mental guide of it's dents, dimples, and scratches in his mind. Snape sneered.
"I know you killed someone, Devlin."
He began to color the image in his head, turning it into a map. Water and islands and creatures half hidden by the murky waters.
"Are you listening, Mr. Potter?" There was a hardness to the edge of his voice; a less than subtle warning which Devlin did not heed.
"No," he said simply, his eyes focused on the shelf of vials behind Snape's head, his mind wandering across the landscape he had created.
Snape snarled, and Devlin inched his gaze deliberately to look the Professor in the eyes. Whether he knew he had been invited or if he merely saw the opportunity, didn't really matter; Snape invaded his mind, and reality washed away.
Devlin felt him first as the clouds in the sky, dampening the brilliancy of the sun he had created. But then Snape was beside him, floating in the air rather awkwardly, and they were both looking down upon Devlin's creation.
Blue waters, white sand, lands far-off that were covered in green ancient growth, creatures with dagger-sharp teeth that leapt from the water.
-Where are we?- Snape asked, his black gaze shifting. He was nervous; such things were much harder to hide in mental landscapes.
-It doesn't have a name yet,- he replied. Outside, he could feel his thumb move across the cushion, and the landscape expanded around him in correspondence.
-What are you doing?- Yes, that was definitely a nervous tone. Land rose up from the water, vicious waves lashing out around it. Mountains arched from the ground, making it tremble.
-I thought that was clear,- he said, -I was ignoring you.-
Snape's teeth were clenched, and somehow Devlin could feel the tension of his metaphorical jaw as though it were his own physical symptom.
-Put us down- Snape ground out.
Devlin had no objection - it might be pleasant to see what he had created - so his mind shifted them. He had been to a cliff once that overlooked the sea; Snape staggered away from the near-edge. His creation looked very different from this perspective, and he grinned at the beauty of it.
-Why are you doing this?-
-This is what I do. When I'm not listening.- Snape inched closer to him, and the edge. His cloak billowed around him in the wind, and he seemed to stare unbelieving at his cloak for a long moment.
-How are you doing this?- He sounded more curious than caustic.
-I do not know,- he said, -you are the Master Legilimens. I created the meadow when I was small - and for a long time I thought it was the curse that had done it - messed my mind up and created that place. It is where I would go to hide when he would break into my mind - I suppose I've been doing it longer than I have even been aware. Then the prison sprung to life the first time I saw a man die. And now, I do it whenever I please. This is your chair cushion. I always need a starting point."
Snape looked at the world around him, and he looked as fascinated by it as Devlin himself. He turned to regard the side of Devlin's face, and Devlin could feel the scrutiny and forced-focus.
-Am I to assume, what we stay here, remains, with certainty, buried too deep for Voldemort to find?- Devlin did not tell him such would be true, but he did not need to; Severus Snape, master spy and Legilimens already knew. -I need to know what he made you do. I need to know if you preformed a ritual after you killed that person.-
Devlin turned to look at him. Their hair was blowing in the wind, and somehow, without it hanging lank at the sides of his face, Snape looked less cruel. Devlin wondered, without his hair parted so perfectly, if he still looked so much like Grandfather.
-No. I did not preform a ritual while with the Dark Lord.-
Relief filled Severus' face in the unfiltered way in which one experiences the sense of relief in the privacy of their mind. Devlin wondered at the emotion, but did not speak or shift a muscle.
-Who did you kill?-
-Simply because he will not know, does not mean I wish for you to know- Devlin said. -I think we are done.- He lifted his thumb from the cushion and the world faded around him like a map left on parchment over centuries. Slowly, reality pulled them back.
He expected to see anger on Severus' face, but it was not there.
"You owe me for the potions," Snape said, instead. "I have a job for you, which will only begin to repay the debt."
The topic of who he had killed felt as though it had been swept away, at least for now. Devlin had done things for people before, bought silence, shifted favor, or bartered for safety. It seemed a simple and unthreatening topic.
"I guess you had better tell me what it is, then."
OoOoOoO
Checking the map before he went to bed or left the house had become something of a routine for Harry. It was late - close to curfew - and Devlin should be tucked safely into his Common Room. His eyes narrowed as he realized all Devlin's dorm mates were around the table, probably playing a game, yet Devlin was not in his typical spot.
He was in Snape's office. He'd been there when Harry picked him up last weekend, too. And early in the morning just today. Something of it sat unwell in Harry's stomach. Maybe it was time for a chat with Severus.