No Light Without Shadows
by Draeconin
See Chapter One for disclaimer and details.
Chapter Twenty-One
Light flickered wildly from the leaping flames of the one fire pit lit in the almost-cavernous stone room, the fire doing little to dispel the cold, and only a bit more to dispel the darkness for the black-robed group gathered before the dais at one end of the room.
A sharp order came from the man-shaped being standing upon the dais. "Report!"
Four figures stepped forth from the group, and waited to be called upon.
"Bellatrix!" Voldemort barked out, for it was indeed he on the dais.
Bellatrix Lestrange went to her knees and kissed the edge of the dais her lord stood upon, not daring to mount the dais herself in order to kiss the hem of the Dark Lord's robe. It could have been viewed as her trying to place herself on the same level as her master.
Voldemort was both pleased and annoyed by her gesture. He recognised why she had done so, but . . . He shook his head, throwing off those thoughts. He'd ignore it, for now. "Report!" he snarled.
"My lord, I am sorry, but so far, although we have searched through most of the touring warehouses – mew-see-ems? – the item has eluded us."
Voldemort snarled at her and, without warning, flung his favourite punishment at her. "Crucio!"
Bellatrix was almost able to remain silent through the ordeal, letting only a few small whimpers escape her. Pleased with this display of strength on her part, Voldemort only held her under the curse for about twenty seconds before releasing her.
"I do not tolerate failure, Bellatrix," he hissed at her. "You will have a more favourable report for me at our next meeting. Do you understand?"
"Y-yes, master," the woman replied, shuddering under the after-effects of the curse.
"Dismissed!"
Bella bowed and returned to the crowd.
"Nott! Report!"
A man stepped forth, presumably a relative of Theodore Nott, of Slytherin House. He started to kneel.
Harry jerked awake. It was the first time that school year that he had a vision of Voldemort's doings. Strangely, not only had he been able to wake before the scene was over, he had felt no pain in his scar, and hadn't felt the effects of the curses Voldemort had cast, as he always had before. So why did he see this one, now? Or obversely, why hadn't he had any other visions until now?
And what was the misshapen man (Was he still human?) looking for?
Harry sighed and sat up in their bed. Even if his scar wasn't hurting, the 'vision' had given him a lot to think about, not the least of which was if he should report the details of it to someone, and if so, to whom? In past years the answer would have been simple – Dumbledore. Now, however, Harry was very wary of the old man's manipulations, especially of him. He didn't want to give the elderly, yet wily headmaster any information that could possibly be used against him – and anything relating to Voldemort was likely just the sort of information Dumbledore would try to twist to his own advantage.
Sighing yet again, he swung his legs out of bed, being as careful as he could not to wake Draco. The blond had been released from the infirmary after a paltry four days, and then only upon threatening Madam Pomfrey with sending her a ward full of first- and second-year pupils if she didn't. Whether it was the threat (unlikely) or whether Madam Pomfrey just got tired of Draco's behaviour was unknown, but the results was what mattered, and Draco counted it a victory against the woman.
Harry used the loo, set the temperature of the shower to a few degrees warmer than he usually liked it, and climbed in. Oddly enough, he'd been waking up tired and sore the past few days, and the pounding of the hot water on his body helped reduce the aching and stiffness of his muscles. Thank the gods for whoever had discovered a way for the castle to create and deliver an unending supply of hot water.
A few minutes later, Draco slipped into the shower behind Harry and put his arms around him.
"G'morning, love," Harry mumbled.
"Diction, Harry," Draco corrected. "You need to project the image of a proper and correct gentleman at all times . . . even when you're not at your best."
"Is that why you're talking into my shoulder?" Harry replied, humour in his voice.
Draco slapped his husband's biceps. "Shut up," he said petulantly.
The blond straightened up a bit and his hold on Harry's waist firmed. "Where's what's-her-name? The brood mare, or whatever you call it?"
Harry turned in Draco arms and gathered the blond to him. "Mrs Ainsley Caratauc – not that I believe for a moment that you've forgotten her name. We've several months to go, Draco. And she's right here in the castle – guest rooms, I believe."
Draco looked blankly at the wall over Harry's shoulder as he thought, and then, "Just after school ends for the summer," he stated.
"When it's due?" Harry surmised.
Draco relaxed back into Harry's arms again, nodding his head on the brunet's shoulder. "Where are we going to live?"
"Grimmauld Place," Harry replied, with some surprise at the question. "That's why we had Dobby and Skiph repair the Black house."
"I could have lived with that if it was just us, Harry, but I will not have our child – Gods, but that sounds so odd! At any rate, I will not have our child risked where Dumbledore's toadies were in and out so often. Who knows what that scum might take it into their minds to do?"
Personally, Harry thought that while his spouse might have something of a point, he also thought Draco was overreacting. They weren't all so bad. Still, he wasn't all that eager to move into the house which had served as just another prison for so long for his godfather.
"I'm sure between the Potter, Black, Dæmentelen and Malfoy properties there are at least a couple that would suit," Harry said soothingly. "We can check on that the next time we get to Gringotts. Alright?"
He frowned. "Have to check up on that. I don't recall seeing anything at all about the Dæmentelen family assets in the vaults – just the ring."
"After all these years, any assets may have been parceled out to lesser relations," the blond replied. "It is a good idea, however."
"We'll go Saturday," Draco continued before other, more urgent matters took precedence.
The day didn't get any better. It seemed to all happen at once.
Draco was off talking to the headmaster, while Harry's ears were being assailed by his familiar.
" . . .and Fawkes tells me that his bond with Dumbledore is so strained and weak as to be almost nonexistent anymore," Scáthfánaí trilled at Harry. "He treats her as though she's a common owl, and completely ignores her advice. He can't understand her of course, but she tells me he can tell her moods and opinions from her song, anyway. And he ignores her!" Scáthà 's tone was indignant and scandalised.
The shadow phoenix had been rather scarce lately as he explored the castle and its environs, but was now filling Harry in on what he'd learnt. Evidently he'd been acquainting himself with some of the residents as well. Scáthà getting to know the only other phoenix in residence made sense to Harry.
"So you said," Harry remarked. "So what is she doing about it?" Actually, he was a little surprised; he'd always assumed Fawkes was male.
"Waiting for him to come to his senses," Scáthà trilled.
Intrigued, Harry asked, "Isn't she his familiar? Aren't they bonded?"
"She was charged to make sure the head of the school was fit to administer it," Scáthà replied. "She serves as the symbol of good leadership, and to help protect the school. So long as she supports the headmaster, few will question him. But if she should abandon the person in that office . . . Well, there would need to be someone else to take over the care of Hogwarts."
"Take over- What does one have to do with the other?"
"Hogwarts helps her find the best available administrator," the shadow phoenix replied.
"And?" Harry asked impatiently.
"Fawkes passes on Hogwarts' wants and needs, and is the headmaster's companion. She has begun looking for the old one's replacement."
"Any luck so far?" Harry asked.
"A few. You are included in her list of possible replacements," Scáthà revealed proudly.
Harry was shocked – astounded, really – and then he recovered. "Pull the other one," Harry scoffed. "I am neither old enough nor experienced enough to fill that office, even if I wished to do so. The politics alone..." Harry shuddered in distaste at the thought.
Scáthà didn't say anything, but remained unbearably smug, leaving Harry with the uneasy feeling that perhaps his familiar wasn't having him on.
"But I haven't finished my own schooling, yet!" he protested. "I haven't the foggiest how to run a school!"
Scáthà remained silent on that subject, but went on to tell Harry of some of his other discoveries. Privately he mused on the explanation Fawkes had given him, that magical strength, intelligence and a strong will, along with the willingness to do what was needed to keep the school and its occupants safe was what Hogwarts needed at this time. The school was low on the list of Dumbledore's priorities these days, making him a less than acceptable caretaker, never mind the old man's less than savoury morals. Dumbledore seemed to think that the ends justified the means. If that thought process hadn't included the manipulation and endangerment of innocents it might have held true. Unfortunately...
Harry was only half listening by that point, worrying about whether or not he should tell Dumbledore to listen to Fawkes, and save himself the possibility of yet more responsibilities he wasn't ready for.
And then at breakfast...
Draco's subscription of the Daily Prophet went up in flames as he cast an Incendio on it.
"Draco?" Harry inquired.
"Damned fish wrapper!" Draco exclaimed, glaring at the ashes of the newspaper.
"Why?" Harry asked. "What did it say?"
Draco glared at the doors of the Great Hall. "Where is that woman?" he asked, irritated, and ignoring Harry's question.
Since Harry and Draco were now officially married, Draco had moved into Harry's rooms, and Ainsley Caratauc had, just that morning, been installed in Draco's old room – with the addition of its own, albeit small, bath and toilet. Draco wouldn't allow her to be any distance away if he could prevent it, and before breakfast had even begun, he had managed to talk Dumbledore into agreeing. The house elves had moved the woman there, with great care for her 'condition', before the half hour was over.
The old man could have been difficult about it and insisted that the woman live off school property since she was neither pupil nor staff, but the political power held between Harry and Draco, plus the fact that neither young man had trustworthy relatives to look after her swayed his decision. He had insisted on Grimmauld Place, since it had been fixed up and there were house elves to look out for the woman, but allowed himself to be dissuaded when Draco and Minerva joined forces to deny its suitability.
Of course Dumbledore had considered the possibility of using the woman who was carrying the young couple's child to help control Harry. He had also thought to block their sharing the same room on the grounds that it broke school rules to allow pupils to have sexual relations, but in the face of the fact that it was far too late, both in the form of their marriage and an in utero child...
Professor Flitwick, in the staff meeting in which the matter was discussed, had also brought up an obscure exception from 1483 concerning married couples. Fortunately the wedding of school-age couples, most to favour political liaisons between families, had mostly died out by the late 1800's.
"She could be sleeping," Harry replied. "I've heard pregnancy can cause frequent tiredness. But what did the Prophet say?" he asked again.
Blaise tossed his copy of the wizarding newspaper in front of Harry, who picked it up.
"What woman?" the dark Slytherin asked Draco. Draco pretended not to have heard the question.
The Daily Prophet headline screamed:
'BOY WHO LIVED' A POUFTER
MARRIES SON OF CONVICTED DEATH EATER
"We knew it would get out eventually," Harry said. He was trying hard to be soothing and logical, but the paper had put the worst spin it could on the news, and Harry's voice revealed his true feelings in its tense, strained tones and the growing golden tinge to his eyes. He was so angry that he almost missed the secondary headline:
'Death Eaters Attack Muggle Neighbourhood In Surrey'.
"What woman?" Blaise demanded.
"You don't need to know," Harry said curtly, sending a scathing look at Draco for even mentioning her. Draco ignored him.
The attack hadn't occurred in Little Whinging, but in a small community two villages over. Harry thought he ought to feel relieved that his relatives (certainly not 'family') had been spared, but curiously, he found he didn't really care one way or another. He actually found he was more worried about the unknown victims. Unfortunately, it was far too late for him to do anything; the Aurors would have already taken care of the situation. All he could do was continue with his training and education, in preparation for when he would get more involved. With a mental shrug, he tossed the paper aside.
"Rumour has it that those two hired a woman to have a baby for them," Daphne Greengrass calmly remarked to Blaise, "though it's anyone's guess which one is the father."
"That's rather abrupt," Millie remarked to the couple, "since you only just got married."
Harry sneered at her, but was interrupted before he could even begin to say anything.
"It's a rumour," Draco replied in rather scathing tones. "I'm not saying whether it's true or not, but if it was, we'd only be doing an in-depth interview and personality analysis. It would be far too soon to be going through with it."
Harry kept quiet, but he was almost in awe of the way Draco was leading their housemates astray.
"Then why were you all in the medical wing for so long?" Pansy inquired sharply.
"Again, if we were considering such a thing, we would need to know her physical and magical fitness for it, wouldn't we?" Draco nimbly replied.
"How about it, Potter – Black?" Blaise asked, correcting himself, and interrupting whatever Pansy had been about to say. "Are the two of you looking to have a baby?"
"We're too young for that kind of responsibility," Harry answered. The responsibility was going to be thrust upon them anyway, but nobody needed to know that yet.
"Then why—" Pansy began.
"We are both the last of our lines, Parkinson," Draco interrupted impatiently. "I'm sure even you have enough brains to figure out the rest!"
"Ah, there you are," a new voice broke in. The ghost directed a very subtle wink in Harry's direction.
Harry sighed in relief. Salazar's appearance was very opportune, if a bit of a surpirse, but he had a hunch it wasn't just fortuitous happenstance.
"Who are you?" Theodore Nott rudely inquired.
One of Harry's eyebrows raised slightly. It was true that most ghosts weren't physically dangerous, but it still took some gall to address an unknown quantity in such a way.
The resulting whispers and loud declarations as others in the Great Hall caught sight of the new ghost was just short of chaos. New people showing up was a matter for curiosity, but a new ghost?
Harry stood. "Ladies and Gentlemen, may I introduce one of the school's Founders? I am pleased to present the illustrious Salazar Slytherin." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nott's face pale.
The resultant pandemonium quite effectively redirected everyone's attention away from Harry and Draco, who casually walked out of the room.
"Hello, Harry," they heard, just as the door closed behind them.
Harry's eyebrows went up in surprise. "Hello, Luna!"
"Come along, Harry," Draco said impatiently. He wasn't about to waste time on the daft girl.
"Nice ears," the girl remarked to Harry absently, her eyes somewhat unfocused. "They suit you."
Both young men froze.
"If you dare say anything, Lovegood..." Draco almost hissed in threat.
Luna looked at him. "Oh, my," she said with a small start that quickly returned to her usual distracted, almost vacant expression, "did you lose the baby, then?"
Draco's face went white.
After a few tense moments, Harry said, "I think she just proved she can keep a secret, Draco, if she's known and not told. And she was one of the group who helped me at the Ministry last year." Harry still felt a pang in his chest every time he thought of that episode, and the loss of his godfather.
His attempt to head off any adverse reaction Draco may have was only partially successful.
"No? But then . . . You'll have to tell me all about it, sometime," Luna continued, as though nothing had been said.
"I very much doubt that, Loon- Lovegood," Draco replied, finally finding his voice. He had only changed his form of address because Harry had glared at him. It still flustered him sometimes that he would defer to Harry's wishes. It didn't make sense! But it felt right . . . most of the time.
"Do you have time this afternoon?" Harry asked the Ravenclaw.
Luna shook her head. "After supper?" she offered as an alternative. In spite of appearances, she was as curious as anyone to know the details, despite her own talent having allowed her to see things denied to others.
A glance at Draco told Harry that he was on his own if he chose to do this. "Room of Requirement, then . . . about eight-ish?" he said.
"All right," was Luna's reply.
Draco's sneer told Harry how he felt about the whole thing.
Draco was so frustrated and angry about the morning's events by the time they got to the Chamber of Secrets that he was ready to scream.
"Go ahead," Harry quietly urged.
"What?" Draco replied shortly, his short temper evident in the question.
"Yell, scream, curse – whatever you need to do to release your tension."
"I am – was a Malfoy; we do not—"
"Draco," Harry interrupted, "we're alone down here, with who knows how many feet of stone between us and the next closest person. Yell!"
Temptation warred with training in Draco's breast, and then he turned towards the vastness of the Chamber, took a deep breath, raised his arms and, fists clenched, leant into it and screamed!
What neither of them had expected was for a huge sheet of water to shoot up, moving away in front of them.
After a few moments Harry said, "It seems your water demon heritage has proved out."
Draco looked at Harry, his face, while shocked, was plainly and sarcastically saying 'you think so?'
"Mister . . . Black," Professor Flitwick said after Charms class was over, "might I have a word with you?"
They waited until the classroom was clear, Harry taking the time to pack his notes and materials neatly in his backpack as he waited.
As the last pupil, Draco, filed out, Harry called, "I'll be right with you," to him.
Professor Flitwick cast a strong locking charm on the door, and a similarly strong silencing charm on the room before turning to Harry.
"Am I wrong in thinking that you are taking your studies more seriously, Mister Black?" the tiny man said.
"I am," Harry replied, puzzled by the professor's demeanour.
"May I ask why?"
Harry hesitated. Insofar as he was aware, the diminutive professor wasn't a member of Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix or otherwise unduly influenced by the old man, but he was no longer the child who would easily trust even the most kindly-seeming of persons. "I'd rather not say," he replied. "No offense meant to you, Professor, but there are things I have yet to tell Draco."
A delighted smile graced Flitwick's face, much to Harry's befuddlement.
"Splendid, splendid," the little man murmured. Keeping his voice low, the Charms professor said, "Tell me, young Mister . . . Black, how would you feel if I were to give you a little extracurricular 'training', eh?"
Harry settled back into his chair rather firmly. "Why?" he asked.
"You may have heard that I used to compete on the duelling circuit when I was younger?"
Harry's face went slack with surprise. "You want to teach me duelling?"
"On the quiet, of course," Flitwick said warningly, "and not just approved duelling styles, either. Oh, no. We will teach you how to fight, young man – and win."
Harry just sat there staring at the man, letting the idea percolate through his mind. And then it occurred to him: "We? Who else?"
The small man's cheeks brightened to a rosy red. "Oh. Yes. Well, as to that..."
Harry waited patiently. And waited.
Harry's eyes were just starting to glow with impatience when Flitwick finally fought his way past his fidgeting and incomprehensive stammering.
"Well, Minerva – that is, Professor McGonagall—"
"McGonagall?" Harry blurted in amazement.
"Professor McGonagall, Mister Black," Filius said, correcting Harry.
"Sorry," Harry said, brushing the correction aside. "But . . . McGon—" Harry stopped and corrected himself as the small man looked warningly at him. "Professor McGonagall? I thought she'd be angry with me!"
"Whatever for, dear lad?"
"Well, I did rather jump ship, so to speak, didn't I?" Harry replied.
"Do you really believe Minerva to be that shallow? Not but that she wasn't a bit miffed with the manner of it, mind. Just a few days, that, but she's fine, now."
"You're sure?"
"As I can be, lad, yes," Flitwick replied seriously.
Harry sat back and looked at the diminutive professor for a few moments, his mind racing.
"You still haven't said why," Harry pointed out.
Professor Flitwick looked Harry, appearing rather puzzled. "I understood that You-Know-Who... Almost every year there's been trouble. Am I incorrect, then?"
Harry shook his head. "When?" he finally asked.
"You realise we have rather tight schedules, what with teaching classes, correcting homework, and other duties?" Professor Flitwick inquired . At Harry's nod, he continued. "The best time we could allocate was Saturday evenings, from seven to ten," he said.
Harry slowly nodded as he ran that through his mind. It wasn't ideal, as he usually caught up his assigned homework then. There was nothing for it, though; he'd have to cut into his Sunday leisure time with Draco. He was sure his husband would understand . . . Maybe. He was almost sure, anyway. Not that it would do Draco any good if he didn't like it. Harry wasn't about to let his marks drop if he could do anything about it, and he needed this training. But should he let them into the Chamber?
After a few seconds thought, he thought not. They brought up the idea, so they must have an idea of where to practise. Later, if he felt he could trust them – and if he and Draco were able to get the Chamber of Secrets in usable shape – he might reconsider his decision.
Diagon Alley may have started out as an actual byway in old London, but with the growth of the Muggle population and their growing antipathy towards magic users, it was decided to move the whole place to an unplottable piece of land that wasn't, strictly speaking, still in the Muggle world. The Leaky Cauldron and its entrance to Diagon Alley, which I can only describe as a sort of dimensional portal, were the only remnants of Diagon Alley still extant in London. Platform nine and three-quarters, where wizarding children met the train to take them to Hogwarts, the entrance of which was at King's Cross Station in London, was the same.1
Magic can hide a lot, but many blocks of land in a crowded city? Not without anomalies being noted.
It was the best kept secret in the wizarding world, since the general population believed the shopping district to still be in London. Indeed, the only persons to know the information for a fact rather than as a rarely-noted rumour had recently died, having lost the use of the Philosopher's Stone due to its destruction after Harry's first year at Hogwarts. Now only a few obscure notes in hidden records referred to the occurrence.
Freed of the constraints of Muggle London, Diagon Alley and its 'dark' appendage, Knockturn Alley, had sprouted small side-alleys to serve even more shops, right to the edges of the unplottable land. Since the climate echoed London's, the few who had heard of and believed the rumours of the twin alleys relocation assumed that it was somewhere close by, but nobody knew its location for certain. For all anyone knew, it could be under Loch Ness, bespelled to look as though it was under the open sky. But that was a bit of a stretch; such magic would be beyond the ability of almost any size group of wizards and witches.
Harry walked into Gringotts, not noticing that the goblin guards were staring, their expressions gobsmacked, their faces gone slack with amazement. It was only after Harry was rudely greeted and sneered at by a teller that one of the guards hurried up and whispered in the goblin's ear. The teller paled and looked at Harry, eyes wide.
"I am so sorry for my behaviour; will you please come with me, sir?" he requested with a small bow.
Slightly suspicious, Harry asked, "May I ask why?"
His eyes slowly scanning the area, the goblin deferentially murmured, "I think a private venue would be better to explain that, sir."
o~~~~~~~~~o~~~~~~~~~o
1: I came up with this on my own, but it seems there's nothing new under the sun; I found a site (Harry Potter for Grown Ups) with an article that proposed something very similar.
A/N: FFN doesn't seem to like my formatting, or Scatha's name. Sorry.
Your reviews are appreciated, even if I haven't time to respond to them.
Betas: Dawn, Dream Howler
Brit-picker: Andy S.