Title: All That We See or Seem

Author: Aurora Middleton (aurora4852@yahoo.com)

Summary: When the son of Harry Potter asks Professor Draco Malfoy a difficult question about his parentage, will the truth come out at last?

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: If wishes were horses...

Warnings: slash (mostly implied), implied (very non-graphic) mpreg, past character death

Notes: I'm a bit new at this (run away! run away!), so any feedback would be received with deep gratitude.

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Part One: A Difficult Question

If there was one thing about his position as Potions professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry that Draco Malfoy felt he would never get used to, it was the business of disciplining wayward students. That is to say, Malfoys are not push-overs in any sense of the word. And admittedly there was some sadistic pleasure to be had in making deserving students cower. But all this handing out of detentions, deducting of house points.it served as a constant reminder of just how far away his own years as a student at Hogwarts were. It made him feel very old which, at a handful of years away from being forty, was not something he appreciated in the least.

Particularly when it was Caleb Potter who was unknowingly perpetuating this unwelcome issue Draco was taking with his own age.

"I still say it was Ashton's fault," the sixteen year old son and doppleganger of his deceased former nemesis announced as he entered the Potions classroom for his fourth detention that week. It was a trademark of his to not offer any kind of preamble in his conversations, but to start in the middle and wait with impatience for the other person to catch up with his thought process. Something Draco was actually fairly skilled at, which made him one of the few people who actually enjoyed having a verbal exchange with the abrupt young man.

"And I assert once again that Oliver Ashton was across the room when the explosion happened," Draco replied without looking up from the cauldron bubbling in front of him.

"I'd have been across the room, too if I had sabotaged someone else's cauldron," Caleb said back.

Draco raised an eyebrow and peered at him over the edge of the cauldron as he casually seated himself on a nearby stool. "You're getting a reputation, you know," he said.

"I'm pretty sure I already had one," Caleb said flippantly. "Besides, four detentions in one week is hardly a record."

"No, it isn't," Draco agreed. "I'm pretty sure that honor belongs to your grandfather."

"See? It's in my blood," Caleb said. Then, leaning over the cauldron to peer at the mixture inside, added, "What are you making anyway?"

"That was less subtle than usual," Draco commented. Caleb only shrugged. "What do you think I'm making, Mr. Potter?" Merlin, he sounded like Snape when he said that.

Caleb moved his gaze from what was inside the cauldron to the various ingredients laid out on the table. He examined each one with a keen eye, picking up a few and smelling them or peering more closely at the labels on bottles. He looked like a detective with his serious expression but Draco knew he was only patronizing his professor. Caleb was quite talented with potions and everyone knew it. Actually, if Draco were being honest with himself, the boy was more than talented. He was practically a genius with it.

Which, among a number of other quirks and oddities, stood out as being one of the strangest things about Caleb that had surfaced over the years. His famous father had certainly had little skill with the process himself and as for his other father, well.

No one knew who he was.

And so everyone, including Draco in one of the guiltier parts of his mind, clung to this clue for the identity of Caleb's other father was a curiosity of mythical proportions.

"Well?" Draco said when his student took his time in answering, noting the puzzled look on his face as he re-examined the ingredients. "Have I finally managed to stump you?"

"No," Caleb replied with what most people interpreted as arrogance but which Draco knew only to be a kind of bluntness. "I'm just wondering why on earth you would be going through all the trouble to brew the wizard equivalent to muggle cold medicine when you could just as easily walk to a convenience store in London and buy a bottle of Nyquil for a much more reasonable price."

"Very good," Draco said, honestly impressed. As common as colds were, it wasn't as common for the average student to know what went into making the wizard version of muggle decongestants because they were oddly difficult and expensive to brew. This was one area on which the wizards had grudgingly admitted defeat to the muggles, as their cold medicine was much more easily manufactured than any wizard equivalent.

"You do know it's not cold season yet, don't you?" Caleb added.

"I know," Draco replied. "But I was bored and I needed something to do."

"Oh," Caleb said. "You know, if you add more of this, it'll work better," he added, gesturing to an ingredient Draco only saw out of the corner of his eye.

"You wouldn't be trying to blow me up too, would you?" Draco said, raising his eyebrow at his student.

Caleb looked down at his hands in an uncharacteristically humble gesture.

"You're not being very subtle tonight either, Professor Malfoy," he commented, examining his painfully short nails.

"I find I can't afford to be subtle anymore with you, Caleb," he said. "I just don't understand why you act out so much in class. This is the fourth time this week that you've been here with me and both you and I know that detentions aren't exactly a necessary prerequisite to coming to see me in your free time."

"I know," the boy mumbled.

"So why did you do it today?" Draco asked. "Why did you blow up Liam Patrick's cauldron?"

"It was an accident," Caleb replied, still mumbling.

"I don't buy that for a second," Draco said back. "Don't ever expect me to repeat this in front of anybody, but you are my best student. You have an affinity for accuracy that borders on downright anal retentiveness. You're not given to making mistakes. So what happened?"

Caleb smirked for a moment at the compliment but then the expression faded into something a little more solemn. Clearing his throat, he silently added an ingredient Draco had forgotten in the midst of his interrogation before saying,

"I was angry at him." It was a decidedly childish answer from a decidedly unchildlike person. Still, Draco had no choice but to accept it for what it was.

He sighed. "Then why didn't you just punch him like a normal human being?" he said. "You really could have hurt someone by blowing up that cauldron."

"Am I to take it you're endorsing physical violence in the classroom?" Caleb replied with a raised eyebrow.

"No," Draco said. "I'm just endorsing not blowing up cauldrons."

Caleb smiled at this and met Draco's eyes for the first time since their conversation had taken a more serious turn.

"So what did he say to you, then?" Draco asked.

"It was about my father," Caleb said.

"He said something about Ron?" Draco said, honestly confused. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence for the students to say something less than flattering about their Defense Against the Dark Arts professor (who also happened to be Caleb's adopted father), but Caleb usually took all of that with a grain of salt and turned the other cheek.

"No," Caleb said.

"Harry?"

Caleb rolled his eyes. "No," he said. "The other one."

"Oh," Draco said. The word fell between them like a piece of lead. Any discussions Draco had ever participated in on this particular subject were always pure gossip and speculation. Never had he talked about it seriously and never had he heard Caleb Potter talk about it at all. To have it brought up in this almost casual manner was a little off-putting, to say the least.

"He called me Voldemort-spawn," Caleb clarified.

"Oh," Draco said again, knowing it was hardly an unusual name for the son of the famous Harry Potter to be called. It was one of the more popular rumors about Caleb's heritage, based mostly around the fact that Caleb had been sorted into Slytherin upon arriving at Hogwarts (the scandal of the century if ever there was one). Even still, most people didn't actually buy into it anymore except for in dirty fantasies about a non-existent temporary redemption of the Dark Lord that were almost as scandalous as Caleb's sorting. It was unfortunate that the name survived long after the rumor was practically dead.

"So I added a few things to his cauldron to make it explode," Caleb continued. "End of story."

"I can see where that would have upset you," Draco began slowly, not really sure what to say. "I know it bothers you when people call you that, especially when Patrick calls you that. But you've never reacted that way before, have you?"

Without answering, Caleb absently began stirring the forgotten potion in front of Draco. He seemed lost in thought for a moment before finally saying,

"No, it doesn't usually bother me. I have enough faith in my father to know that he never would have done something like that."

"But?"

"But Patrick wouldn't stop," Caleb replied, beginning to sound genuinely upset. "He just kept going and going and all his friends were laughing and.I lost it, I guess. I lost it because I couldn't defend myself."

"What do you mean you couldn't defend yourself?"

Caleb shrugged helplessly. "I just mean that there's only so much you can say when you don't have the answers yourself," he said. "I know I'm not Voldemort-spawn but that's pretty much all I know about my other father. How am I supposed to argue with people who point out everything about me that's different from Harry bloody Potter when I don't have anything to back myself up with?"

"Does it bother you that you don't know who your father is?" Draco asked.

"All the time," Caleb said, running his hands through his already messy hair. "It didn't used to. I love Ron. He's a great father. I always had everything I ever needed in him but I can't help being curious. I know he knows who my father is, he's just never told me. I wish I knew why."

"Have you ever asked him?"

"I'm afraid I'll hurt him," Caleb said with a sigh. "And I'm also afraid I'm going to find out something I don't want to know. Like that I really am Voldemort's kid or something like that."

"Hmm," was all Draco could think to say.

"Can I ask you something?" Caleb asked abruptly.

"Sure."

"You're not him, are you?" There was obvious disappointment in the boy's tone when he asked the question.

"Not who? Your other father?"

Caleb nodded, blushing.

"Wherever did you get an idea like that?" Draco asked, honestly shocked.

Caleb bristled a little bit, seeming to feel like he was being laughed at.

"I don't know," he said more than a little sarcastically. "Could it be the potions thing? The Slytherin thing? The fact that you and my father were lovers?"

"Who told you that?" Draco said.

"Nana mentioned it accidentally one time," Caleb replied. "You were, weren't you? She wasn't lying."

"Yes, we were," Draco said. "Very briefly. Back in our sixth year."

Caleb sighed. "Which would make me far too young to be a product of that strange pairing," he said.

"Only by a few years," Draco said, in defense of his age. Then, seeing the brimming tears the sixteen year old was trying so hard to hide, added, "I'm sorry, Caleb. I'm not your father."

"Yeah, so I figured," Caleb said. "Wishful thinking, I guess." He cleared his throat before adding, "And don't expect me to repeat that in front of anyone, all right?"

Draco laughed. "Yeah, all right," he said. "Anyway, I think if you're so keen on knowing, it's something you should talk to Ron about. I'm sure he won't be offended."

Caleb shook his head. "I can't do it," he said, looking at his hands again.

"But you'll have to, if you want any answers," Draco replied.

"Can we just drop it?" Caleb asked. "Let's forget this conversation ever took place."

Draco sighed. "If that's what you want."

"Yeah," Caleb said, sliding off his stool. "Besides, I think it's time for me to go. Lights out pretty soon and I've still got some homework to do."

"Yeah, okay," Draco said. "See you tomorrow, then."

Caleb only nodded before turning his back on his teacher and heading out the door.

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