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He had spent so much time anticipating Voldemort that he hadn't really anticipated this. Blond hair, unicorn blood eyes, pale features; Scorpius Malfoy stared resolutely at him through the open door to their compartment.
Memory and Reality
Never having been kidnapped by Voldemort, Devlin might have blindly assumed his father's name offered him only protection. But Devlin was not a regular boy, and all the blindness had been flushed out of him when he'd been forced to see and survive in the pitch black of the Dark side.
She looked at him as though she could really see him; all the shadows inside of him, all places in which he had tried so hard to cast light into the darkness, all the places he knew could never be anything but cloaked in the pitch of nothing, nothing, nothing.
He had decided long ago that he would be better, and this was something surely small orphaned Tom Riddle could not have done; so he would.
She looked between the two boys and wondered what in their brain made them so much like Devlin. What made them able to see the worst in everything and use it to protect themselves?
Not Your Devy Anymore
He closed his eyes for a moment - just one moment of weakness - but when he opened them again he knew it had been too much of a risk to take.
"There's a body!" One of his men shouted. Reality crushed him under it's suffocating weight, slamming his heart against his ribcage painfully.
Battling with Fate
He moved through the streets, somehow drawn toward the familiar and away from the strange.
Impressions Left and to be Made
As everything fell into place, Alexandra squeezed Devlin to her body as if he were a lifeline.
Convergence Riddle: Dangerous Games
Devlin did not dare to turn around. If it was someone he recognized, he didn't trust himself to see them and not succumb to weakness.
Of Snow and Stillness
There was a bit of Devlin that wanted terribly to crumble before Harry; to let Harry decipher the riddles that trapped him, confining him to a cage he feared to escape. That part wanted Harry to find the convergence at which the real Devlin was - to set him free.
He clenched his jaw tighter, consumed by an over-reaching terror that, if he opened his mouth, he might scream. Reality and dream and memory consumed each other, whirling viciously and living vicariously through each other, inside of him. In moments such as this one, Devlin could never be absolutely sure wether it was a seizure or the true curse. Whether he was six, or seven, or eight, or twelve. He must never scream.
Devlin Augustus Potter
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.
What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger was true enough, except that survival is a brittle sort of strength; easy to break with the right kind of pressure. Devlin had not left anything behind; this was still the mask of a broken child clinging desperately to survival.
For a moment he thought of sitting; strategically it would be best if the Headmaster came into the room to find him sitting with his hands in his lap, twiddling his thumbs. Devlin, however, had never been very good at doing nothing; even when it wasn't strategically his soundest option. Doing nothing had not been what had secured his survival. Perhaps, he was just very bad at unlearning habits.
"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."
Mirrors in the Mind
Yes, he thought, as Snape continued to talk about what he wanted Devlin to do to this memory, he could separate the memory from his mind. Obviously, he could do that.
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