No Light Without Shadows
by Draeconin
See Chapter One for disclaimer and details.
Chapter Twenty
Harry stared at the book in front of him, wholly expecting the words printed on the page to change, and was totally bemused when they didn't. A minor nature god? Him?But that's what it said: Wood Elves, sometimes known as High Elves, and their counterparts the Dark Elves, were regarded as being minor nature gods due to their control of various aspects of it.
Still, the book he was referencing was several hundred years old, so it was entirely likely that attitudes had changed. He got up and, taking the book with him, left the library, wandering aimlessly as he pondered the situation. There was nothing for it; he'd have to ask someone. If he was lucky, Draco would know. Besides which, he was only part Dark Elf. Surely that didn't count?
"Harry?"
Harry turned around in the corridor to face the voice, and sighed. Most of the Gryffindors hadn't been too bad about his being re-Sorted, actually ignoring him rather than turning nasty, but a few had kept glancing at him. Usually by this time of year everyone but a few first years took his presence for granted – unless The Daily Prophet was spreading rumours . . .
Oh. Of course. His marrying the son of one of Voldemort's biggest supporters would have made the headlines. So why hadn't anyone shown him the papers? He shook his head. Not that it mattered, really. But not having thought of it beforehand, Harry had paid particular notice to which of the glances sent his way were antipathetic and which were pleading, wistful, and so on. He'd expected this particular confrontation much sooner, actually.
"Yes, Ginny?"
"Why?"
Harry's eyes narrowed. There were a few things she could be referring to, but he didn't think any of them would be subjects he'd care to discuss.
"There are literally hundreds of subjects to which you could be referring," Harry pointed out while keeping his tone neutral, "from my clothing style to the meaning of the universe. Could you, perhaps, be a bit more specific?"
"Oh give up, you prat," Ginny said dismissively, backhanding his stomach.
"Oof! Ginny..." Harry said warningly, trying to rub the sting away, and ready to arm himself with his wand if she tried any such thing again. He'd be sorry for it of course, but he'd had enough of being abused – by anyone.
"You married . . .Malfoy?" the girl inquired. At Harry's look of askance, she explained. "Da told us."
"I expected he would," Harry remarked. "But once we'd bonded," he said, getting back on subject, "it was a legal reality. We just had to register it. Snape insisted."
"Snape?"
"Well, we were sleeping together." Harry almost relished the look of shock on the girl's face, although if she'd thought about it, it should have been obvious.
Ginny stared at her former crush, caught between shock and lascivious imaginings, shook her head to clear it, and changed the subject.
"Why did you . . . re-Sort yourself?" the redhead asked.
Harry raised a sardonic eyebrow. "I didn't," he replied. "I merely put the Hat on and asked it to do its job."
"You know what I mean," Ginny replied impatiently.
"You don't recall how Ron was carrying on?" Harry inquired with a hint of sarcasm.
"Of course I do!" the girl exclaimed. "But wasn't that a bit drastic?"
Harry shrugged. "I was angry," he explained shortly. If he expounded on his reply, explaining how he'd never felt completely 'at home' as a Gryffindor, Ginny would likely react badly and demand answers to questions for which he had no solid answers – and he wanted to be on his way.
Ginny looked at him quietly for a few moments, her gaze intense, and then her body relaxed as she sighed and nodded. "Yeah. I can see that," she admitted. "As much as I love him, I have to admit Ron can be a right arse at times."
Harry's gaze softened. "He used to be a good friend," he offered. "I wish he could accept change better." Harry's eyes hardened again. "But you only get one second chance," he swore. "Ron used his up after the Tri-Wizard Tournament."
Ginny nodded introspectively whilst wondering where this Harry had come from. Had this personality always been there and she'd just been too blind to see? Had he hidden it? Then he was as good an actor as she'd become after her adventure during her first year at Hogwarts.
"Harry?"
Harry sighed. "Yes?"
"Do you think I could get re-Sorted?" Ginny asked.
Harry looked at her, dumbfounded. "Why?" he asked, his amazement clear in the word.
"It's just that . . . after . . . the Chamber, I just don't feel like I fit in, any more," Ginny explained.
"In what way?"
"I can't seem to relate to them, now," the girl replied. "I feel a bit of a fraud, carrying on as if I do."
Harry nodded. He knew exactly what that felt like. Unfortunately by the time he'd given up trying to make himself fit into the Gryffindor mould it was too late; he was stuck there. Slytherin wouldn't have had him by then. It was only due to his Dæmentelen heritage that he was accepted now.
Who knew what would happen if they found out about his Dark Elf ancestry?
"I suppose you could petition the Board of Governors for a re-Sorting," Harry mused, "if that's how it's done. You might want to see if there's anything in the library about it."
Ginny nodded, her eyes boring into the boy's in front of her, trying to read him. It was disconcertingly difficult.
"I'll do that," she replied. "Thank you."
As Harry moved to continue on his way, she said, "Harry?"
"Yes?"
"Can I . . . Can I . . . have a hug?" she asked hesitantly.
Harry frowned. "Why?" he asked.
Ginny's eyes dropped to the floor. "Never mind."
Harry's face softened and he reached out, gently tipping her face up to meet his eyes.
"Ginny?" he said inquiringly, softly pushing for an answer.
"I'm over my crush on you," Ginny began, her intuition correctly supplying the reason for Harry's hesitation. "I have been since third year. You feel more like a brother to me now. But . . . it's like . . . because I chose you for a brother, it's almost like you're closer to me than my real brothers."
She paused, considering her words, then frowned and said, "Not that I don't see you like a real brother."
Harry chuckled and moved up to his 'sister', enclosing her in his arms. "So you keep saying," Harry teased. "But I know what you mean, Sis," he said, letting her off the hook.
"Good!" Ginny replied, her tone making it sound as though any possible misunderstanding would have been his fault, anyway.
"I really have to go, but drop by sometime," Harry invited, letting her go and stepping back. "I'll make sure Draco behaves himself."
"Harry?"
Harry had just realised he was going to be late to his next class if he didn't hurry, but stopped. "Yes?"
"Is . . . Oh, I know it's silly, but Draco looks like he's . . . gaining weight. Only..."
Alarmed, but hiding it, Harry said, "Not here, Gin; call by, sometime soon." This was the second time Ginny had brought up the subject of Draco's weight gain. And since he was going to be telling the whole family over the solstice hols anyway . . . Harry thought telling his self-proclaimed 'sister' early about his and Draco's happy news and then swearing her to secrecy might be better than letting her blunder about, getting other people suspicious as well.
Ginny was confused, but she nodded anyway, and watched as Harry walked away.
"Oh!" she cried out just before Harry got out of earshot.
Harry sighed, came to a stop, and turned around.
"Now what?" he asked, somewhat impatiently.
Ginny shot him a hurt look.
"I'm sorry, but I'm really going to be late for class!" Harry exclaimed in response to that look. Even if he could get out of sight long enough to shadow walk without being seen, he'd barely make it.
Ginny sighed and gave up. "Can I talk to you after class?" she asked hopefully.
"Yes! Library! Goodbye!"
Harry turned and ran.
He walked into Transfiguration five seconds late, and was docked five points from Slytherin.
'McGonagall's getting as bad as Snape,' Harry thought. 'Wonder if she thinks Dark Elves are demigods?' he thought, silently laughing to himself. 'She'd likely not care even if she did, if they were a pupil here.'
The lesson was interesting, but that didn't stop Harry from running his conversation with Ginny through his mind. As much as she might want it, Harry didn't think she'd really fit into any of the other Houses any better than she thought she did Gryffindor.
Slytherin? Ginny knew how to keep a secret, was intelligent and could be quite cunning at times, but Harry didn't think she had the fortitude for the Snake House. She was too trusting. Ravenclaw? Again, she was probably intelligent enough, but Ginny didn't seem to him to have the drive for knowledge that those in that House had. Hufflepuff? Harry laughed to himself. Ginny would most likely scandalise them, and have most of them terrified of her within a week.
"Mister . . . Black!" Professor McGonagall scolded, hesitating as she substituted the young man's new surname for the one she was so used to.
It was hard for her to think of him as being a Slytherin, let alone married – and not only to a boy, but to a Malfoy! She resented the former, and the latter confused her. How could it have happened? Even if one were to ignore the fact that Harry and the young Malfoy had been at each other's throats for years, they weren't old enough! Not that she had anything against same-sex relationships, but she hadn't seen any sign of it in young Potter, and she rather prided herself on her ability to read her pupils. But Potter and Malfoy!
True, many students were wed within a few months of leaving school due to pre-arranged marriages between pureblood families, but even so, Harry Potter had stolen a march of more than a year over his classmates.
"Yes, Professor?" Harry responded.
"If we could have your attention in this world?"
"Yes, Professor," Harry replied, not allowing his embarrassment to show.
Minerva's lips thinned. "Five points from Slytherin, Mister Black," she said, before returning to the lesson.
"Now, as I was saying, in order to transfigure a tree limb into a tent one would first have to..."
. . .
Draco had insisted on accompanying Harry to the library after classes that day, after dragging it out of Harry that he was meeting the youngest Weasley, but his nascent jealousy found no fertile ground in which to grow. The blond was almost disappointed when Ginevra, as he insisted on calling her when he found out she disliked the name, showed no more romantic interest in Harry than in her own brothers.
On the way back, Draco decided he needed a chocolate pudding cake – with fresh strawberries, candied cherries and sour cream. Harry raised an eyebrow, but took his husband to the kitchens.
"You have to tickle a fruit?" Draco asked in disdainful disbelief as Harry sought entrance to the kitchen.
"I've done it before," Harry replied with a sly smirk.
Draco elbowed him in the ribs for his insinuation.
As they entered, the house elves looked up from what they were doing. All action stopped as the small creatures bowed.
"We is honoured that the Great One is calling on us, here. We is not being worthy of such greatness," one house elf said in a fawning manner. "And yous is bringing yous mate! Is the Great One hungry? Can we's be doing anything for the Great One?" she inquired.
Harry stared as the house elves, his mouth agape, until Draco reached up and closed it for him. Then instead of waiting for Harry to reply, he told them what he required. One of the house elves escorted them to a small table in a corner which Harry had often made use of, and bustled off to try to find Draco's dessert.
Unfortunately they didn't have what he wanted, but they did have chocolate cake, chocolate pudding, sour cream and some freshly peeled and cut-up fruit, and soon said items were sitting in front of the blond, including the rather largish breakfast bowl he had also requested. Draco got right to work dishing up roughly measured amounts of each ingredient.
"What's going on here?" Harry whispered to his husband as soon as he'd recovered from his shock.
"Stupid house elves don't have my pudding cake," Draco replied, "so obviously I'm making the next best thing."
Looking into the bowl Draco was mixing things up in, Harry looked away and gave a little shudder. The concoction looked horrible. "That's not what I meant," he hissed.
"Hm? Oh," Draco responded, as he caught on to what Harry was driving at. "I don't know. Why not ask them?"
Frowning a bit at his preoccupied mate, Harry did just that.
The head of the kitchen house elves bowed low when Harry spoke to her and then said, "Yous is being a Great One!"
"What do you mean by that?" an exasperated Harry replied. He was only part Dark Elf after all, and he was wearing a rather powerful illusion to hide the telltale signs.
The house elf gave a tiny frown as it peered up at Harry. "Yous is being a Dark Great One," she elaborated. "House Elfs is thinking all Great Ones gone, but..." She stopped, and shrugged as if to say that it was self-evident that they had been wrong.
Harry gave up at that point, and sat back heavily in his chair, staring as the small creatures went about their business, but not without stopping often to give obeisance to him.
After that he would often see house elves about the castle bowing to him, and while saying 'yes, sir' to his face when he demanded they stop bowing and scraping to him, in practice they ignored Harry's orders in that regard and continued to bow or curtsey whenever they saw him. Indeed, Harry had seldom seen house elves around Hogwarts except in the kitchens, but now it seemed as though they were everywhere.
Harry resigned himself to the attention, asking only that nobody else be around when they showed their respect.
It happened during Potions.
Professor Snape had, as had become his habit, separated Harry and Draco, pairing them with other pupils. He was still suspicious of Harry's new-found potions skills, and suspected that Draco might be helping the boy; he doubted that even tutoring could have produced such a dramatic difference.
Although he had no way of knowing it, Snape was right – tutoring couldn't have made such a difference. Harry had never applied himself in any of his classes, save DADA – and then only because his life might depend on it. Doing only enough to get by had been a habit impressed upon him by Harry's aunt and uncle, who couldn't stand to have 'the freak' doing better in his studies than their precious 'Duddykins'. The habit had carried over so that he wouldn't outshine his best friends who, in entirely different ways, both craved attention.
Snape's belief in Harry's chicanery was taking a beating as time went on, however, and the young Mister Potter turned in consistently good results (he refused to recognise the name change to 'Black', despite his own peripheral involvement in that event). They weren't perfect, or he would have still been assured, in his own mind at least, that the boy was cheating – but they were consistent with that of other N.E.W.T. level pupils, which was why that belief was now flagging, despite his stubborn will to believe otherwise. He was even now keeping a close watch on the infernal brat while appearing to be looking elsewhere – which is why he almost missed seeing a small piece of something flying through the air towards Draco's cauldron.
Snape's head snapped in that direction, calling out a warning, but already a thick, oily smoke was pouring out of the young Malfoy's cauldron, enveloping him as his lab partner of the day dove, coughing, away from the scene.
. . .
Harry raged for three days, bolts of lightning flying at random intervals as he lost control of his magic. But, like the last 'accident' Draco suffered, nobody knew who was responsible for Draco's potion reacting as it had. However, one can rage only so long, and eventually Harry realised that his reaction wasn't accomplishing anything. That didn't mean that he was no longer angry, but Harry finally came to the conclusion that he wasn't accomplishing anything, and settled down to wait for Draco to wake up.
The inhabitants of the castle breathed a sigh of relief. It was, perhaps, a bit premature, as Harry had every intention of wreaking havoc on the guilty party as soon as he found out who it was.
Unfortunately for Harry's plans, Snape and Dumbledore found the person first.
. . .
Draco woke slowly, feeling not at all well. He had a headache, his lungs ached, his belly...
Draco's eyes snapped open. His belly! His panic overwhelmed the blast of pain he felt as light hit optic nerves unprepared for the sensory input – almost. He ignored the pain as best he could as one hand pressed feverishly against his abdomen. Almost immediately, he felt another hand cover his, and one rest comfortingly on his shoulder.
"It's okay, love," Harry said soothingly.
"The bae—" Draco stopped himself and then, unable to stem his panicked curiosity, asked, "It's okay?" he asked in a weak, but urgent voice. "It doesn't feel right," he continued, referring to his abdomen.
"The smoke . . . It was toxic," Harry hesitantly explained. "Your body rejected it."
"Well of course my body would reject toxic smoke!" the blond replied impatiently.
"No, love," Harry said tenderly. "The baby. The fumes made your body reject the baby."
Draco's first reaction was a firm denial; it just couldn't be. It couldn't happen like that: not to him. But he also felt the emptiness in his body where something had once familiarly lodged, if only for a relatively short time.
As he saw despair overcome his lover, Harry hurriedly added, "Madam Pomphry was able to save it, but..." His voice trailed off as he reluctantly foresaw all the reactions Draco could have.
"What?" Draco asked in waspish impatience, unwilling to hope without acceptable reason.
Harry cautiously explained. "She had to transfer it to a surrogate mother."
Without Harry's hand pushing down on his shoulder, Draco would have sat bolt upright.
"What?" he yelled.
Harry ignored the question for the moment in preference to telling his husband, "Don't try to sit up. Madam Pomfrey healed you after the transfer, but the muscles are still weak. You could injure yourself."
The blond had other priorities. "What do you mean, 'a surrogate mother'? he demanded. Nevertheless, he didn't try to sit up again, while mentally holding onto the possibility of doing so if he thought it necessary.
"A Mrs Ainsley Caratauc, from up Dufftown. Evidently they were family friends of Professor McGonagall," Harry explained.
Draco didn't think that explained anything, and his look clearly said so. "So where is she?" he asked, meaning, 'where's my baby?'
"Right here, luv," a new voice said from the other side of the privacy curtain.
"Where?" Draco said peevishly. He wanted to see the woman.
"Sorry, luv, but I'm bed-bound as well, until the bairn settles in, so t'speak."
But even as she spoke, Harry was moving, drawing the curtains back. As he did so, Draco could see that he and she occupied two beds in a private room.
"Where are we?" Draco asked as Harry was doing that.
"Hogwarts. A private room just off the infirmary proper," Harry replied.
That's all Draco needed to know. He was no longer interested in that subject, despite the fact that he'd never before seen a hint that such rooms existed.
"And this . . . Dufftown?" Draco inquired of the woman who had just come into sight. Even reclining, he could tell she was small. She was about five foot two inches tall, over a stone overweight, with mousy, dishwater blond hair that was rife with split ends and was a bit unruly anyway. She had a pug nose, a generous mouth, and a rather pale complexion that didn't seem quite natural on her. Draco wondered if perhaps the baby – his baby – was doing that to her. He rather hoped so.
"Scotland, luv," she replied. Her voice was cheery, if a little tired. "East of Inverness. Ye'll 'ave heard o' Inverness, o' course?"
Draco sniffed in disdain. "Of course," he replied loftily. He eyed her abdomen, and was somewhat surprised to find he felt jealous. It was his baby, despite the fact that he had felt all sorts of doubts about being pregnant.
"Your accent . . . it sounds a bit off," Draco observed.
"Lived most o' me life in London, right?" she replied. "Since I married, any road."
Draco's eyebrow twitched at that turn of phrase, but what he said was, "But now you've returned?"
"Death Eaters did fer me man," Mrs Caratauc replied, her cheery demeanour disappearing, and her childhood brogue became stronger, "and with me own children grown an' gone, there was no reason ta stay."
Draco's expression was conflicted. On the one hand this woman was clearly lower class; on the other hand, his baby was alive because she was there.
"Why are you doing this for me?" Draco asked suspiciously.
The woman's gaze gave nothing away as she said, "I'm not. Minerva asked it of me, and I'm doin' it fer Mister Potter, here: 'The Boy Who Lived'."
Stung, Draco replied, "Since it appears nobody has informed you, our married name is 'Black'," placing a very slight emphasis on 'married'.
"Yes?" she said, making it clear that it was no news to her.
Draco coloured slightly, and Harry finally entered the conversation. "There's a contract," he informed Draco. "Mrs Caratauc—"
"Ainsley to you, luv," the woman broke in, in tones that were just a bit too familiar.
A tint coming to his cheeks, Harry otherwise ignored the interruption. "-having lost everything due to Voldemort's depredations, has agreed to accept a small cottage on an acre of land, along with a modest yearly stipend for the rest of her life. In return she promises to have no contact with us or the baby without invitation."
Harry politely ignored Draco's pithily muttered "When elephants fly."
Other than a quick glance and a momentarily raised brow, Mrs Caratauc also pretended not to have heard the comment.
"You couldn't have found anyone better?" Draco complained to his husband.
"We were lucky to have found anyone," Harry replied, impatient with his lover's lack of manners. "And I think we were very lucky to have found Mrs Caratauc. We could have done much worse – or lost it!"
Realising how his words might be interpreted, Harry turned to apologise to the woman who was now carrying their child, but was interrupted before he could even begin.
"It's quite all right, luv," Mrs Caratauc replied. "In his place, I'd likely be worse."
"What?" Draco inquired querulously, his brows rising challengingly.
"'Tis yer own bairn that I'll be havin' the birthin' of, and o' course you'll be wantin' the carryin' and the raisin' of it yersel'," the woman said to him generously, expanding on her explanation. Her thickened accent betrayed her real feelings, however.
"Nonsense," Draco replied decisively. "I was quite dreading getting fat and having stretch marks. It's a relief not to have to go through that, now." Which, while at least partially true, was also a flat-out lie, as the emotions in his eyes related.
Ainsley waved off that disclaimer. "No need to be a'blowin' smoke in my eyes, luv, and me havin' three of me own. I'm no so old I've forgotten what it was like."
"Hmph!" was Draco's only response. He turned to Harry.
"So who did it?" he demanded.
"Some kid named Branley," Harry replied.
"A Hufflepuff?" Draco exclaimed. Lisa Branley's father, Joseph, was a minor player in wizarding politics, but his ancestors used to have far more influence. Which was why Draco, having been schooled in wizarding politics both past and present, knew of the girl at all. Hufflepuffs were usually beneath his notice.
Harry nodded. "She blamed you for Hopkins' dismissal from the school," he revealed.
"Fool bint," Draco muttered. "If I were responsible..."
"You'd have bragged about it," Harry interrupted, finishing his husband's sentence for him.
"Exactly!"
Snickering from the next bed over reminded them they weren't alone.
Draco glared in Mrs Caratauc's general direction a moment, then asked Harry, "And what's become of her?"
"She's been remanded to the aurors. Now that you're conscious, I imagine she'll be taken to trial."
Something in Harry's tone made Draco ask, "How long have I been unconscious?"
"Ten days," was the somber response.
"Ten days?" Draco was a bit shocked by that.
Harry nodded. "I'm so happy you're okay," he said. "Sal will be, as well," he added.
"Who bloody well—" Draco started, but Harry's mouth over his was suddenly making it difficult to speak.
"...cares," the blond continued with a half-hearted glare after he'd reclaimed his mouth from his husband.
"I do," Harry whispered in Draco's ear. "Ten days, love."
"Well, now you know what it's like," Draco replied with smug vindictiveness, catching on to his husband's meaning.
Harry nodded. "And I'm sorry I didn't . . . 'respond' better, then," he said, trying to look suitably contrite. Still, he'd only been unconscious for three days, not ten.
"If you'll close the curtains," Mrs Caratauc put in, "I'll just pretend I'm not here."
Both young men blushed. "Sorry, Mrs Caratauc," Harry replied. But Harry not only closed the curtains, he put an Imperturbable and a silencing charm on them so the lady wouldn't hear anything, anyway. And less than fifteen minutes later he was swallowing his lover's seed, reveling in the sounds of pleasure Draco had made.
Moving up beside his husband, Harry cradled Draco in his arms, carefully placing a multitude of butterfly kisses all over the blond's face, neck, and especially his petal-pink lips.
Eventually Draco gently pushed Harry onto his back, and rested his head on Harry's chest. They lay there, content, for some time.
After a while Harry said, "I managed to go through quite a lot more of my estate paperwork while you were unconscious."
"Oh?"
"Mm-hm . . . Found where the original Dæmentelin estates were."
"Were?" Draco queried. He felt Harry nod his head.
"Still own the property, but the castle itself was razed," Harry explained.
"Where?"
"Wales. The exact spot has been lost, though. Unplottable. Only someone of Dæmentelin blood can find it without invitation."
Draco questioningly looked up at Harry through his pale lashes. "Then how was it torn down?"
Harry shrugged. "I don't know. A lot more people knew of its location back then?"
Draco gave a little frown, but conceded it was a possible explanation – not likely, but possible. "So I suppose you want to see where it was, then?"
Harry cocked his head, considering it, then gave a careful nod. "I think so, yes."
"When?"
"We have to stop in at the Weasleys during solstice break," Harry said, thinking out loud. "So . . . spring break? Or is there a Wizarding name for that time? And Mrs Caratauc would only be halfway through the pregnancy..."
"How are we going to find it?" Draco asked, ignoring the question and avoiding confirming the date. He was reluctant to be that far away from his baby, even if they could be back in next to no time. How would they know if there was something wrong in the first place?
"It's on the coast, somewhere between Anglesea and Pembrokeshire."
"That's a lot of coastline, Harry," Draco protested.
"I'm hoping my magic will guide me," Harry replied.
Draco looked askance at his husband, something in his expression leading one to believe that he was also questioning Harry's sanity, before letting his head fall back to his husband's chest with a thump.
"You're barmy: you do know that," Draco said offhandedly.
"Mm..." Harry noncommittally replied.
1: Elves did use to be thought of as minor nature and/or fertility gods. No lie.
2: 'Any road': a regional colloquialism for 'anyway'.
* Ainsley Caratauc – 48, raised three children, husband killed by DE's, no property & little income.
Thanks to my betas: Sheree S., Dawn B., Dream Howler, Aayesha, Ishe-Leigh, and much gratitude to my Brit-picker, Andy.