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Chapter 3 : Midnight Routines
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Harry remembered the first time his boy had ever been afraid. When he had been little over a year, Sirius had transformed within his view - to this day Harry isn’t sure why it had frightened him that time, because he’d seen it before. Alexandra had said something about being more aware, but why hadn’t been the point. Fear had entered his eyes, forcing them wider, making them sharper, and instead of crying like he did whenever someone told him ‘no’ he had simply stood there, shaking.
The next time he had been afraid, he hadn’t shaken at all - he’d just stood there and his little chest had puffed out and his eyes had narrowed. He had looked angry, except his eyes had been wide and sharp and Harry had known it was fear. After he’d been bitten fear had always seemed to make him smarter rather than rasher and Harry had been so relieved, because his boy had seemed to have no fear of the reckless.
Devlin did not need to act afraid to be afraid. Devlin had been afraid in those memories. Afraid of Voldemort. Except his boy had always been clever. Harry felt that agony return to his chest as his mind grappled with the fact that his four year old had deceived Voldemort. How had Voldemort not seen his fear? Or perhaps he had...
Voldemort wouldn’t have cared that Devlin feared him so long as he was getting what he wanted from Devlin. Which brought up the next chest-crushing concern - what had he wanted from Devlin? Why had he kept the child alive? Why had he bothered to make sure Harry and Alexandra thought he was dead?
Why? It plagued his mind incessantly, whispered in Devlin’s little voice, full of curiosity and innocence. Once upon a time Harry had gritted his teeth at that word, from that voice, willing himself to remain calm despite the onslaught of ‘why?’ that he knew was coming - now he would give anything to have Devlin following him around his house, whispering ‘why?’ over and over again. He’d never take it for granted again.
“What do you intend to do with the information I am sharing?” The Death Eater asked, his head turned slightly. Harry just realized that he’d been sitting next to the man for several minutes. Alexandra eyed him intently, Sirius looked a little less ghost-like. Harry felt reality’s weight shift on his chest again.
“Rescue him, of course,” he said, his voice raspy and full of disbelieving air. Rescue him. Hold him. Kiss him. Tell him how much he is loved.
“What is rescue to you, Mr. Potter - is bound to feel like kidnap to him,” the Death Eater whispered, his voice all at once full of hatred as well as pity.
Harry knew. Somewhere in himself, he understood the Death Eater’s words. Knew Devlin would be different in every way imaginable.
“Why? What is so impressive about a silly little shield charm?”
“Lots of people do whatever God tells them to do and lots of people do what my Grandfather tells them to do, too.”
“Don’t touch me! I didn’t say you could!”
“That isn’t my name anymore. I’m Dubhán now.”
He clenched his jaw to imprison the sob that wanted so desperately to escape him. Even Devlin knew he wasn’t Devlin anymore... and yet...
Alexandra’s voice was soft and soothing and Harry knew to her this was just like crying - showing weakness in front of this Death Eater. She would do anything for him and what had he done for her? Given her a name that practically begged for trouble to find it. Made her mother tell her a secret Harry often wondered if Alexandra would have better without knowing. Given her a child and allowed it to be taken away from her...
He couldn’t bring himself to look at her.
“Mr. Potter - you’ll have start thinking logically again soon. Right now...Devlin...is surely wondering where I have been.”
Anger blossomed in his chest and Harry fed the fire, clinging to the ironically stabilizing emotion. Harry was always the most lost when he was feeling nothing at all.
“Why were you in a raid - away from Devlin?”
The Death Eater sunk into the chair, away from Harry’s gaze. Alexandra was frowning now too. Sirius still looked as if he might be sick.
“I was standing in for someone.”
“But you weren’t supposed to be there!”
“No. I am meant to be at camp and as I was saying Devlin-”
“What was more important than his safety - you say you are attached to him with magic-”
“My friend’s baby died, Mr. Potter. Voldemort would not have been sympathetic. I stood in his place so that he would not be punished so soon after the tragedy.”
Harry’s retort and argument died in his throat, because he understood that pain. He was struck once more by the human behind the Death Eater mask and as always, he hated the feeling. They had no right to feel like he felt - to bleed like their victims. They had no right to be upset about their own children, when they were capable of slaughtering others. They had no right to be afraid when they were willing - happily - to make others quake with the emotion. But even the worst choices, Harry had come to realize in his life, could not strip you of your humanity. Choices may define who you are, as Dumbledore had once told him, but as long as you were afraid, you were human.
Harry always tried very hard not to consider Voldemort when he was entertaining this notion.
“You have to get him out of there,” he said harshly to the Death Eater instead. He tried to ignore the edge of desperation that leaked into his tone, or the way he was facing the man, without hatred etched onto his features. He was supposed to hate this man, but he couldn’t help but feel a bit of that slip, because now he had to put his hope into this man - into this Death Eater.
“He isn’t your Devlin anymore,” the Death Eater said, imploringly. Willing Harry to understand, and Harry did understand, but the Death Eater didn’t understand what was far more important: Harry didn’t care. It didn’t matter that Devlin wouldn’t rush into his arms -Harry would live with never being able to hold the boy again, if he could just look at him and know he was safe. It wouldn’t matter if the boy hated him - it would hurt, but Harry would still love him and that’s all that would matter. Nothing would matter except that he would have Devlin back and he would be safe.
Not dead. Not cold. Not lifeless. Not beaten. Not starved. Not torn to bits by curses. Not laying in a casket. Not too-still. Not pale and blue and black.
Alive. Warm. Breathing. Looking. Learning. Growing. Feeling. Flushed, pink, and lively.
“I can peel apart your mind,” Harry said harshly, feeling that anger consuming him again. He wanted Devlin back. Needed him. “I can find where Voldemort has hidden him. I can break down the wards. I can send in hundreds of Aurors. I can put Devlin in the middle of a war zone - if that is the only way you will let me have him back.”
The Death Eater sunk further, his body trembling. Harry should stop, but he didn’t, because when he got like this - so angry, furious, wanting, needing, demanding - it was almost impossible to stop.
“It is the choices we make that define us and I will always choose the route the spills the least blood - but if you will not give me that choice...” He withdrew his wand. Sirius flinched a bit, but Alexandra was stiff and unreactive. She wanted Devlin back.
“It is not so easy,” the Death Eater began, eying Harry’s wand with fear. “Voldemort watches where the boy goes. No one is trusted completely with the child.”
“You are his Guard.”
“I have taken him out of the camp three times in four years,” he said raggedly. “All were arranged by Voldemort...”
“So do so again.”
“I...where would I bring him? Voldemort can track the boy. He will kill me.”
Harry didn’t particularly care about the Death Eater’s life, but if Voldemort killed this man it would because he would know Harry knew and then it would be near impossible to get to Devlin.
“I will set up a safe house. You will go to there with Devlin.”
The Death Eater shook, but nodded. Harry stood up, leaned over the back of the Death Eater’s chair, and undid his cuffs. Harry still had his wand.
“Tell me everything I need to know,” he said.
The Death Eater stared at him for a long moment his amber eyes narrowed, his brow crumbled, and his lips pressed into a tight line. Harry felt his heart pitter patter as doubt rooted itself into his anger, breaking it apart as if it were soft rock. Then the Death Eater opened his mouth and Harry couldn’t help the heady sense that overcame him. He hadn’t been entirely sure he could have gotten the information from the man with force.
“The child can be disapperated,” he said slowly, his tone deliberate. Harry took in a breath, “He could not, until recently. The Dark Lord, in planning for an attack on the camp, realized that Devlin would be a sitting duck if the Dark Lord were not there...”
“But he isn’t moved, correct?”
The Death Eater turned his gaze to Sirius, intent and critical.
“That is,” Sirius began, swallowing away a bit more of his green hue. “Even Devlin would know what you were doing.”
Harry felt his insides tighten and twist the longer the Death Eater stayed silent. He was thinking of what to say - considering revealing something and it drove Harry almost mad not to know.
“He isn’t an innocent boy,” the Death Eater began and Harry wanted to pummel him, because he honestly didn’t feel like he had to hear that ever again! The man had already told him, more than once, what Devlin was not. “He won’t try to escape. The Dark Lord knows he has control over the child.”
Harry felt that anger boil in his gut again and even though he knew his face hadn’t betrayed him, the Death Eater flinched as if he had simply felt Harry’s anger. Alexandra was calm and cool with an air of disgust directed at the Death Eater - but Harry knew Alex and he knew she was trying not to break down. Sirius frowned.
“I brought him to Diagon Alley three months ago,” the Death Eater finally whispers, his hands gripping his thighs. “The Dark Lord allowed him. It was a test, he told me privately.”
Harry felt all the breath leave him. Devlin had been in Diagon Alley. Where Harry often took his lunch break. Where he went shopping with Emma. Where his friends and colleagues and- Devlin had been accessible, and Harry hadn’t found him. It as illogical, but Harry wasn’t thinking logically right now.
“And...would he allow Devlin again?”
“I do not know.”
“Take a guess,” Alexandra said harshly, stepping closer to the man. Her eyes were narrowed and her magic was swirling all around her.
“Devlin usually gets his way if he tries hard enough,” the Death Eater finally murmured.
“It would be safest for you, if you were able to conceal the kidnapping with an already expected trip,” Sirius said softly, oddly focused.
“Yes, I am completely aware of the advantage,” the Death Eater said, exasperated. “But that is easier said than done.”
“It is really besides the point as well,” Harry said firmly, “the important fact is that you will move the boy - to a safe house - and then you will remain there, until I come.”
“How will I get to this safe house?”
“I will implant it into your mind.”
Geoffrey disapperated back to the camp. It was dark already, but the Death Eater’s doing patrol saw him immediately. Their momentary surprise and cheer gave way quickly to suspicion. Where were you? Gunning already told us you stood in for him, but no one else returned. What happened? Were you captured?
Geoffrey feigned a head injury, which, the more he thought about it, was probably fairly truthful. He told them he had seen the Auror’s, been hit by a spell, and then disapperated to safety where he had waited. They looked at him oddly, of course, but he was above their ranking, so they let him be. They would tell Voldemort tomorrow, he was certain - he had seen the gleam of uncertainty in their eyes.
“The boy was looking for you,” another of them said, half dismissively. The boy wasn’t their problem. Geoffrey nodded politely, said he was on his way to the Healer’s and walked off.
He didn’t go the Healer’s, of course. He went to his tent, intending to sit upon his bed for a moment and simply think. The other werewolves looked up for a minute as he entered the shared living space, but it was dark, and they were tired. One of them, a young man perhaps twenty at the most, stopped Geoffrey and whispered: ‘He’s asleep on your bed’.
And so he was, mop of dark hair twisted into his eyes, one hand snuck under Geoffrey’s pillow, the other under his chin. He looked such a child, asleep.
He wondered, in the child's mind, if he blamed his father, the great Harry Potter, for not coming and getting him, or his mother, the one who tucked him in and kissed his forehead, for forgetting him. He wondered if he remembered either of his parents beyond vague sensations. He wondered what Potter would think of a child who had only stepped on a broom in a trial practice of escape from his men.
The Dark Lord would return in the morning. If he had been there, Geoffrey was almost certain the boy would have told Voldemort Geoffrey was missing. If Potter had known he was away, he would have stormed the camp that very night, Geoffrey was sure.
His eyes fluttered. His hands flexed. His hair fell further onto his face.
His eyes snapped open, wide and awake and observant. They found Geoffrey’s face and a bit of that alertness slipped away at finding the familiar and the safe.
“Let’s get you back to bed, alright?”
The boy nodded and Geoffrey lifted him. His hair tickled the nape of Geoffrey’s neck as the boy put his head down again. A little fist was curled around the front of his robes, the other slung over Geoffrey’s shoulder.
“I couldn’t find you,” the boy whispered softly, half asleep.
“I know. I’ll tell you tomorrow,” Geoffrey said, nuzzling the boy. The cool air whipped at Geoffrey’s face the moment they exited the tent. It felt good against his hot skin, cooling down his worry. It made it just a bit easier to think straight.
Tomorrow it will be too late, his mind whispered in a moment of clarity. Voldemort will know. You will be dead.
Devlin clung tighter. The Guard’s watched him as he carried the boy through the camp. One misstep and they would kill him, Geoffrey knew. There was no escape - hadn’t Potter been able to understand that? Voldemort protected what was his. Devlin was Voldemort’s.
“I’m tired,” the boy mumbled. Geoffrey wrapped his arms around the boy, holding him close. Voldemort would know and Geoffrey would be dead and the boy would be without anyone to protect him from Voldemort.
“I’m bringing you to your bed,” he said, speaking through a haze. The child nodded against his shoulder. When he had reached the door the Guard at the door was watching him carefully. They already knew. All of them knew. All of them knew to be suspicious. But you are above them. Until Voldemort came back, they would leave him be. The boy was his protection - Devlin was to be feared. Upsetting Devlin was to be feared.
“Password please,” Geoffrey whispered to the boy, who turned in his arms and whispered it to the guard. He gave a curt nod and allowed them entrance.
Geoffrey felt drained. Now that there were no eyes to preform in front of except Devlin’s he felt as though he could simply will himself to stop existing. Wouldn’t it be better? He knew Voldemort would ensure his death was anything but peaceful.
“Geoffrey?” He was still holding the boy, mere steps away from the door. The boys eyes looked at him, so perspective and uncanny in their intensity. “Is something bothering you?”
He wouldn’t have asked it, except that they were alone. It was only when they were alone that Devlin dared to ask such caring questions.
Just the boy.
In his arms...
“Close your eyes Dubhán, it is far to late for you to be awake. I will tell you in the morning.” The child nodded and Geoffrey took a step, to keep the boy calm. He fiddled with his hand, withdrawing his wand with measured care. He whispered a sleeping spell and then - he disappeared.
There were no eyes to see him, not even the boys.
“Goodnight Emma,” Harry whispered softly when he came home late that night. She was already asleep, but that wasn’t unusual - Harry often kept late work hours. Molly Weasley was down stairs, speaking with Alexandra. She had said Emma had gone to sleep just fine, but Harry had to check. He always had to check.
Sometimes when he saw her so safe and relaxed he couldn’t help but think of that horrible night when the house had been perfectly hushed and Emma had fallen asleep looking just as peaceful. He shook his head, trying to dispel the image of her little face screaming and her hands clinging so desperately to Alex’s neck as he made Alex take her away.
Harry placed a kiss on her forehead and then withdrew from the room. She was safe, just like every night since that night. Without really thinking, Harry walked down the hallway and opened a different door.
Inside was a room painted in blues and greens. On the walls were flying brooms and cartoon creatures. Stuffed animals stare at Harry from the bed. He sat on the bed, feeling reality bearing down on him once more.
A stuffed wolf fell from atop it’s precarious pile at Harry’s disruptive weight. He picked it up. Remus had given it to Devlin on his fourth birthday. Mere months before it happened. He held the animal close to him. It had long ago stopped smelling like Devlin - just like everything else - and Harry almost cried at the thought that soon this bed would be disheveled and these toys a mess. He didn’t think he would ever have the heart to tell Devlin to clean up again, because the mess would always be a reminder that he was there.
He’s not four anymore, Harry’s mind whispered, without his permission. Would Devlin play with stuffed animals still? Was he too old for racing brooms on his walls? What about that teddy bear over there - he’d had it since he was tiny. Or those dragon toys, left where he had lined them up on his desk?
What would he like now?
The patter-patter of light-footed feet made him look up. Zee was sitting at the door, wagging his tail.
“Hi, boy,” he said, his voice raspy and hoarse despite the fact that he has held the tears at bay. The dog tilted his head and whimpered softy. The dog wandered over and climbed quietly onto the bed next to Harry. He was five now and he had just started moving with a semi-regard for where he was in space.
Alexandra had jokingly told him just this morning that she thought he had finally stopped being a toddler and perhaps now he would know where his feet were. Just this morning Harry had patted the dogs head and said, ‘you know perfectly where every bit of you is, Zee - right where you want it: in everyones business.’ The dog had licked him and then gone back to following Alexandra around the kitchen as she made eggs, hopeful she would be dropping some.
"He's going to come home soon," Harry whispered to the dog, patting its head. "But you can't be upset if he doesn't remember you at first or pretends not to like you, okay boy?" The dog’s head tilted again. After a while Harry got up to go to bed, but no matter how much he called Zee, the dog wouldn’t move.
"I know, you miss him too. You can sleep here." And Harry did something he had not done in years – he left Devlin's door open, because for once in four years, it didn’t seem like such a shrine anymore. Its owner would be coming back.
Geoffrey’s nerves were flayed and raw and burning and the size of the ‘safe house’ simply exacerbated the situation by making him feel as if he had walked into a trap, been locked away in a prison cell, been buried alive, been-
The boy stirred, laid out on the only bed in the room (but no, it wasn’t a room, because it had a kitchen and a bathroom...). There wasn’t enough space to pace and Geoffrey had already turned over every thing in the whole place trying to find some magical button to inform Potter that they were here and waiting and by Merlin Geoffrey wanted Potter to explain this to the boy!
It had only been an hour. Perhaps Potter already knew. Perhaps he was rounding up his men, so that he could take Devlin and then kill Geoffrey. It will be quick, Geoffrey thought with some calmness. He was certain it would be better than the death awaiting him from Voldemort.
The boy stirred.
Geoffrey’s wand twitched and the boy fell still again.
Truth be told, Geoffrey was more than a little afraid of the child when he wielded his wand. He had tried to take the wand from the boy, but Geoffrey had the burn on his hand still to prove that wasn’t going to happen, even while he was asleep.
He settled into the only chair and watched the boy - ready to spell him asleep the next time he stirred. He had given up on notifying Potter - if Potter didn’t come for them it would be his fault that they were both dead.
Death Eater’s, his watch read as it continued to scream at him. Harry got dressed in the haze that was often his midnights. He swung his cloak over himself and finally managed to remember the spell to shut the stupid thing up. Alexandra was sitting up in bed, watching him.
“Be safe, Harry,” she said softly as he leaned over to kiss her - still in that disjoined haze in which all he could do was follow the routine. He nodded, kissed her again, and swept out of the room.
By the time he arrived on the scene (a small muggle village in the middle of nowhere), his men had subdued the Death Eater’s already. They gave him weary looks as he approached the lined-up men and removed their masks - possibly afraid he would run off with one of the captives again.
“We can do this,” one of his men said, Jake, if he recalled - he didn’t often work with this crew.
“Are you worried about something?” Harry said with all the bemusement that a boss should when their underling is being foolish.
“Uh, no sir. It’s just - it wasn’t something they needed to bother you with, sir. Honestly they’ve all been a bit...easy tonight.”
“What do you mean?
“They fought, sir...just once we had them, they haven’t be their usual selves. Almost like they’d rather be captured,” the man said, eying the line of them.
“Interesting,” he said, but he wasn’t really. He pushed past the man and counted up the wands, making sure they had every one of them. As he passed a Death Eater he noticed his eyes flash amber. He was a young man, perhaps already in his twenties, possibly not quite. Harry paused for a moment and flashed the Death Eater a smile.
“It must be so impossibly annoying, not being able to mangle me to pieces,” he said, trying to keep his voice charming. His team turned and frowned, clearly intrigued. The Death Eater actually laughed.
“You ‘ave no idea,” he said, grinning toothishly, his eyes glinting. Harry moved forward and then he motioned to his men and they began to round them up and disapperate with them.
Hours later, with all the paper work filled out, Harry made his way home again. Alexandra was sipping tea in the kitchen and he went to join her - except he poured something stronger. The bite of the rum hit the spot and he fell into a chair beside his wife, wishing things were different in his world.
“Everything as normal?” She asked, between sips. Harry nodded numbly, beyond tired. “Think you can sleep?”
Which meant she was well beyond tired, too.
“No, but I’d be more than happy to just hold you while one of us gets to sleep.” She nodded - far too used to his routines to fight him. Acceptance - sometimes it pinned Harry’s heart as if he were still a small boy, desperate for someone to just accept him, no matter that he never did anything right.
“Sounds lovely,” she said and they climbed the stairs together.
He held her until she was a breath away from sleep.
“I miss him so much, Harry,” she said softly. It wasn’t an unusual comment and normally it would have sent Harry as far from sleep as the moon was from earth, but today it just made him hold her closer.
“He’ll be home soon,” he said softly into her ear, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear and kissing her cheek. She nodded against the pillow and fell into slumber.
Harry lay awake on his back for a long moment. He went to rub at his eyes when he noticed that he still had his watch on. It was still silenced from when he had made it shut up.
Devlin, it said in small letters and Harry’s heart slammed into his ribs as he scrambled on the bed. Alexandra was awake in a heartbeat.
“Again?” She asked, fear leaking into her voice. “Harry?”
“Devlin,” he said instead, forcing the words past his tightening lungs. “My watch - I silenced it and I didn’t hear the alarm. Devlin...”
“Oh Merlin,” she said, fretting. She was getting dressed too.
“Alex, call Molly and see if she can floo over. When you have someone for Emma, come to the safe house, alright?”
She nodded, slowing down. Harry knew she had almost forgotten in her haste.
“I’ll call Sirius,” she said and Harry nodded. Sirius would come over in whatever state she had woken him. Once in his haste - when there had been an attack on Ron’s house - he had come over in just his boxers. When Alexandra had later teased him he had smiled charmingly - now dressed in a set of Harry’s clothes - and said ‘yes well...I was sort of busy...you’re lucky I took the time to put this on.’
Harry disappeared, dressed in his undershirt and jeans.
Harry knew this safe house well - had hidden here more than once, as an injury healed. It all looked as it should, except that Harry had the distinct feeling that everything had shifted a bit - as if someone had put their hands on everything. He landed facing the tiny wooden kitchen - it was empty. The tiny wooden table with only one seat was empty. He turned and found the Death Eater seated in the only comfy chair, nursing a burned hand. An injury. Had there been a fight? Was Devlin - where was Devlin?
“Nice to finally see you,” the Death Eater said scathingly.
“There was an attack,” he said, “I didn’t hear the alarm go off.”
Where? Where? Where?
“Yes well-” he waved his hand, obviously to exhausted to argue. “He’s on the bed. I’ve kept him asleep...he has a wand.”
The last part didn’t really register. A wand? His brain dismissed the thought as less-than-important. He swung around to find the boy.
His body trembled.
It was like the picture all over again and Harry stood frozen for a long moment, waiting for those eyes to open. The boy was flat on his back, as if someone had just placed him there and for all Harry could tell he might have been- no! pink and flush and breathing. Yes, that was right, his cheeks were the color flesh was supposed to be (not cold, grey, and blue) and his chest was rising and falling slowly and steadily.
Harry took a step forward.
“Why isn’t he waking?” He asked and if he had more of his wits about him he would cringe at his desperate whine.
“I spelled him asleep,” the Death Eater said softly behind him and Harry was jolted, because hadn’t he already told him that? Harry couldn’t think. Euphoria and fear were creating an almost impenetrable fog inside of his head. It was a strange feeling, because just moments ago he could remember being in control of his mind.
“Why?” He asked, licking his lips. He knew he meant something more specific, but the thought escaped him.
“I brought him here - I signed my death certificate. I figured the least you could do was explain it to the boy.”
In any other state of mind Harry would have been furious, but nothing could touch him, in that moment. Snape could have been insulting his father. Voldemort could have been whispering about how how pitiful Harry was. Malfoy could have been taunting him about Alexandra. None of it would have bothered him and if he was aware of that, he knew nothing the Death Eater said could upset him.
He even nodded, approaching the boy.
“He has a wand,” the Death Eater said again, his voice on edge. Harry frowned, but the true importance of those words with that tone bypassed him in the fog.
The boys brow twitched at his word, his voice no longer such a whisper.
The boy turned in his sleep, away from Harry. But he had moved - unmistakably so. Alive!
“Dubhán,” the Death Eater said behind him, regarding Harry with pity when he turned to glance at the strange name. It made the boy stir. “Dubhán, wake up,” and Harry turned around in time to see the boys eyes shoot open.
Open. Moving. Blinking. Green like a forest, with shimmers of amber. Harry was breathless. They were the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen, in that moment. The boy sat upright with a speed Harry cannot remember possessing when he was woken as a child. And then...those eyes found Harry.
He froze. His face turned pale. Grey.
Harry felt breathless and took a step towards the boy - to make it right.
“Don’t touch me,” he said, his face flushing again as he rushed to his feet, as tall as Harry upon the bed. There were emotions in is eyes, in his voice, in the very way he moved and Harry could care less that they weren’t good things.
“It’s okay,” Harry said, holding his hands out in front of him, trying to calm the child.
His shoulders straightened and he balanced himself upon the bed. His green eyes were narrowed. His little hands fists at his sides. His jaw was trembling minutely as he pressed his lips together. His hands uncurled and one of them reached towards his pocket-
“Dubhán, don’t,” said the Death Eater from behind Harry. “Don’t do it,” for all his exhaustion, the Death Eater managed to sound caring and warning all at the same time.
Harry had lost the green gaze - now it was locked with the Death Eater’s own amber eyes. Harry turned, so he could see them both.
“What happened?” There was an ugly angry hiss to the child’s words. Harry frowned at the command he had given the Death Eater.
The Death Eater didn’t respond. His amber eyes disengaged themselves from the boys green ones and turned to Harry. Harry knew exactly what the Death Eater was trying to tell him: I signed my death certificate - you explain to the boy what happened.
“Devlin,” Harry said again, wanting to rush at the boy and wrap his hands around him, but he stopped himself, because he could see in his boys eyes that it wouldn’t be welcome. It didn’t matter that Devlin wouldn’t rush into his arms -Harry would live with never being able to hold the boy again, if he could just look at him and know he was safe. “I made Geoffrey bring you here.”
“No you didn’t,” he said, his voice harsh and cold. His little hands were curled up in fists at his side. His eyes were narrowed, but wide. His lips were a thin pale line. He looked mad, but Harry knew Devlin - knew he was afraid.
UPCOMING: Then he saw him, a strange man that sparked something in his chest and made him feel lost for a moment in a fog of not knowing, and knowing, and not wanting to remember. Green eyes, so sharp and brilliant that he thought he was staring into the killing curse for a moment, regarded him intently. He scrambled to his feet.
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