No Light Without Shadows
by Draeconin
See Chapter One for disclaimer and details.
Chapter Six
It wasn't that Harry disliked the hug, but the confrontation with Remus had upset him, and he truly didn't feel like being touched right at that moment. However, he also didn't think he could afford to rebuff Draco's overture, since it was the first sign the blond had given that he felt anything positive towards him, so he returned the hug.
"I didn't know, Harry," Draco said softly. Then he braced himself, and turned away from the Gryffindor. "I have something I should tell you," he said. He led a bemused Harry over to the bed and sat down on it, gesturing for Harry to join him.
Despite being frightened of Harry's possible reaction, Draco started to tell Harry about the Dæmentelen family and his heritage. He started by giving a bit of history and telling about his own bloodlines first.
Long before the Founders, folk with the power to do magic existed, although compared to the magic users of today, they were rather weak. But as with any source of power, there were those who exploited it towards selfish, self-serving ends, and wanted to increase that power. As a result, many experiments were undertaken, even unto using their own families to experiment upon. In those days families the size of the Weasleys' family or even larger were the norm, so the more ruthless figured that a few were expendable. They could always breed more.
Experiments were undertaken using rituals, potions, and when that wasn't enough for them, interbreeding with magical creatures, including faeries, elves, and Veela. Later yet, in a search for even greater power, rituals were undertaken to incorporate the powers of less palatable creatures, and even demons.1 There were more failures than successes with those last, due to witches and wizards overreaching themselves, which led to a thinning of the ranks of the ambitious – but there were successes. One of Draco's own ancestors, he said, had succeeded with incorporating some of the powers and qualities of lesser demons, as well as a medium-to-upper level water demon; something of which they were rightfully proud.
"I assume you mean 'dark creatures' when you say 'unpalatable creatures'. I've seen ghosts, trolls, house elves and a lot of other creatures since coming here, but demons? Surely you don't expect me to believe those actually exist?" Harry interrupted with a moue of disbelief on his face.
"Yes, I do, Potter," Draco said impatiently.
"And they all have ranks, just like a little army," Harry said, with a faint sneer in his voice.
"It's part of your heritage, Harry, so do you want to know about this, or not?"
"Oh, go right ahead, Malfoy; this is very entertaining. Go ahead and tell me about these armies of ghoulies." Harry's disbelieving mockery was light, but it was galling.
"They're not armies, and they're not ghouls – they're demons. And when I said 'medium to upper level', I was referring to their strength – their innate magical power – not some sort of elitist ranking system. Now if you're quite through being so ignorantly childish?"
Harry gave a gracious wave of his hand, indicating the blond should continue.
Draco looked quite mutinous and almost decided to let Harry stew in his ignorance. He wasn't quite sure why, but he continued relating the history.
Demons were mostly ranked into groups, such as Water Demons, Earth Demons and Air Demons. But in those groups were sub-divisions. In the water demon category were mist demons, rain demons, river demons, snow demons, ice demons, and many more, as well as regular water demons who held sway over any body of fresh water. Salt water was the demesne of Sea Demons, but only the insane or suicidal tried to incorporate the energies of those into their bloodlines; they were too strong and capricious. Similar divisions could be found in the other categories of demon. And it was thought that there might be crossbreeds, such as Storm demons as well, although the possibility existed that several types of demon might collaborate in the creating of various types and intensities of storms.
Fire demons were a more vague lot, and more properly belonged to the category of Energy demons, having members who were steam demons, lava demons, and ash demons. They existed in tandem with other elements, rather than as a pure force. Even those who appeared to be pure fire were part Air demon.
As for Energy demons themselves, they actually held sway in all areas. Lightning demons were one form of those, as were the aforementioned Fire demons. The Dæmentelen family had successfully incorporated the energies of several of each type of those into their line over many generations – some quite strong ones towards the end of their reign, including at least one mid-rank, broad-spectrum Energy demon. And they had held sway over the wizards of England, Ireland, Scotland and Wales for a few hundred years, until they had just disappeared. It had been surmised that they had finally overreached themselves and tried for a demon too strong for them to handle.
Draco added his supposition that, even if that were the case, it appeared that at least some of the family had survived, but whether only through the distaff side, or also through those retaining the surname who had changed it to escape persecution – something which often happened with surviving members of a power group which had fallen – was anyone's guess. Draco stopped his exposition then, allowing Harry time to absorb the knowledge and its implications.
Harry's reaction was predictable, even if it didn't seem so at first.
"A nice bedtime tale," Harry remarked.
"It's not a fiction, Harry," Draco said, keeping his eyes on the floor. "We don't talk about it, but it's a widely known fact about the more powerful wizarding families. Even the Weasleys had one or two minor Fire demons incorporated into their bloodline, although it's mostly bred out now."
"So you're saying that you're part demon? That I'm a demon?" Harry's growing anger could be heard in his voice now.
"No!" Draco exclaimed, leaping to his feet. "That's not what I'm saying! I knew you'd react this way! That's why I didn't say anything!"
Draco's back hit the wall almost gently, right beside an ornate, cut-glass, silver-backed mirror. He was getting very tired of being pushed up against walls when Harry got angry. His mind briefly played a scene of Harry pushing him up against a wall for very different reasons, but he quickly banished it.
"So what are you saying, then?" Harry asked, his voice holding a hint of danger.
"Demons can be seen when they're summoned or when they will it, but they aren't material beings," Draco said through clenched teeth. "They were captured with magic, and through special rituals their powers and abilities were stripped from them and incorporated into the wizard, witch, or family group that was participating in the ritual – unless they failed." Draco hesitated, then added, "For you to be as strong as you are, you'd likely have to have inherited from both sides of your family."
"You're lying," Harry accused flatly, his face expressionless.
"Look in the mirror!" Draco demanded, jerking his head at it to point it out.
Unthinkingly, Harry did, and for the first time saw his golden eyes, and his hair almost floating away from his head. His hair he could dismiss as a side-effect of his wild magic, but not the eyes. Distracted by the sight, he paid little attention to Draco pushing away from him, and away from the wall. And he saw the gold withdraw into an almost invisible ring around his normally green eyes as his amazement grew and his anger waned.
Watching him, Draco bitterly asked, "Do you believe me now?"
Harry was confused. That there was something strange going on was hard to deny, but . . . demons? His mother and father? "Are you talking incest?" he asked warily.
"What? Oh – your mother and father? No. Not likely, at any rate. Would you say what . . . you and I . . . did . . . was incest?"
Harry shook his head. "No. We're too distant, I think," he replied.
Draco nodded. "And didn't everyone think your mother was a . . . was Muggleborn?" he asked, barely avoiding saying 'a mudblood'.
Harry nodded.
"Then it's likely that the relationship was too far apart to matter with them, too," Draco concluded, forgetting for the moment that his theory was pure supposition.
"Then I'm not a half-blood?" Harry asked, trying to see in the mirror if he could actually spot signs of being . . . different.
Draco hesitated. "Potter, at this point, I don't think it matters."
Harry whipped his head around and gave Draco a sharp look. "Why?"
Draco gave an exasperated sigh. "Have you been listening to anything I said?" he asked pointedly.
"Of course!" Harry said defensively. "It all just seems so . . . bizarre."
"Welcome to reality, Potter," Draco said wryly. "Magic does rule our world, after all."
Harry gave a short, self-mocking laugh, and nodded. "You'd think I'd be used to it, after five years," he said.
Feeling the atmosphere had calmed down, Draco felt safe enough to sit down, and did. "Look . . . Potter . . . your eyes turning gold like that proclaim you of the family Daementelen. They proclaim your ownership of at least some of the Energy Demon powers, even if we don't know what they are at the moment. That alone gives you status equal to, or exceeding that of many purebloods."
"Did anyone ever undertake to teach you anything at all about our world, Harry?" the blond asked, although he thought he already knew the answer.
Harry laughed mirthlessly. "I was picked up out of the only life I'd ever known – not that I wasn't grateful for that – and dropped into this one to sink or swim as best I could. But even with all the shit I've gone through, it's still better than the Dursleys," Harry stated. His face defied Draco to ask anything further on that subject.
Draco decided to respect that boundary, but, "So would I be correct in saying that you know little to nothing of our customs and practices?"
Harry was uncomfortable with the direction in which the conversation was going. What was Draco driving at? He decided to ask.
"Why do you want to know?" Harry inquired, suspicion evident in his voice.
"Look, Harry, from what I picked up in your conversation with . . . Lupin, your home life was anything but a bed of roses: with or without thorns." Draco waited for a response from Harry, but when all he got was a stony look, he forged ahead. "So it appears I was fed a pack of lies. I – all of Slytherin, really – was told that you lived a life of luxury: that you were practically waited on hand and foot."
At that, Harry gave a disdainful snort. "Sounds like Snape," was his only comment.
With a reluctant nod, not mentioning that many of their parents reinforced those ideas, Draco continued speaking. "I . . . " Draco noticed that he was, and had been sounding rather like a nervous supplicant. He drew his dignity about him. "Your education of our world has been woefully neglected. I intend to rectify that situation," he said rather arrogantly.
"Oh, you do," Harry commented, somewhat amused. "Given our past, how am I supposed to trust that you'll not have me making an utter prat of myself?"
"I... Blast it, Harry! How am I to try to make amends if you won't give me the chance?"
Harry stared at the blond, flummoxed. "Is that what you want to do?" he asked in surprise.
"Whether you're aware of it or not, that damned vow you tricked me into giving – and which you conveniently sealed – means that we'll be around each other the rest of our lives. I'd rather not have you embarrassing me!"
"Now that sounds... Wait a moment... The rest of our lives?"
Draco lowered his head into his hands and groaned. "That is why you need to be educated, Harry," he said.
Harry's anger with his own ignorance rose to the fore. "All right, but I want a book of etiquette and wizarding customs to check you against as well," he said. The rest of their lives? Somebody had best have some very good answers for not teaching him all he needed to know to live in the Wizarding world.
"I don't know that one exists!" Draco protested. "It's all taught within the family!" he added hastily at Harry's look. "Or by a tutor... But if one exists, I agree."
Harry relaxed slightly, and smiled wryly at the blond. "You do realise you've been calling me 'Harry', don't you?" he asked.
"Didn't you tell that elf to bring us supper?" Draco suddenly asked, looking about the room as if he was expecting the elf to pop in right at that moment.
Draco's cheeks were slightly flushed, but Harry's stomach demanded that the obvious change of subject was a very important one. He frowned. "Yes, I did," he replied.
It turned out that Dobby had to 'borrow' and prepare the food at Hogwarts, which explained the delay.
That night both boys went to bed in their pyjamas, their backs turned to each other, and feeling decidedly awkward. Harry wanted to hold Draco again. Hold? Well, yes, while he pounded the blond into the mattress again. And hold him – and smell his hair – and stroke that pale, smooth skin, feeling his warmth... But the blond hadn't acted in the least interested. Thinking about it, Harry realised that Draco had initiated all three of their encounters, even if the first two hadn't gone the way the Slytherin had expected.
Draco was emotionally torn. On the one hand he'd have liked to be a little closer to Harry, but their last sexual encounters had been rather violent and he was a bit sore, despite the lubricating spell Harry had used each time. He really wasn't up to having sex again so soon – at least not as the bottom – but he remembered how good it had felt to have Harry hold him. His pride held him back from asking for that, however, and so both fell asleep feeling very dissatisfied.
They woke up in a tangle of legs, arms around each other, one of Harry's hands down the back of Draco's sleep wear, cupping one bare, pert butt cheek; one of Draco's hands cupping Harry's bollocks, the other arm wrapped around Harry's neck, and his own head nestled against Harry's shoulder, next his throat. Draco subtly move his erring hand to a more suitable position, but the only move of Harry's hand on Draco's arse was to more securely grip that portion of the blond's anatomy and pull him closer.
"It's a bit early in our relationship for you to be that possessive, isn't it?" Draco asked softly, realising that Harry was awake, too.
"And your hand?" Harry asked.
"I was asleep. I moved it," Draco replied.
"So did I," Harry mildly replied. "Do you mind?"
"I should," Draco said. "I should be hexing your hands off, and other bits as well."
"So why aren't you?"
Draco was silent a long time before he asked, "You're not just using me, are you?"
It was Harry's turn to think – and it was too early in the morning. But he finally said, "I don't think so. Merlin knows why, but I seem to have a soft spot in my heart for you. And don't you dare say something like it matches the soft spot in my head!"
Draco surprised himself by giggling. He cut it short, embarrassed.
Harry pulled his head back a bit to look at him. "Did you just giggle?" he asked in amazement.
"Of course not. Malfoy's don't giggle. That was a chortle," the blond replied a bit haughtily, but he didn't move from his position. He was too comfortable, and he liked the feel of Harry's hand on his bum.
Harry pulled his hand outside Draco's pyjama bottoms and rested it on the blond's hip. "You did," he accused mildly. "You giggled!"
"Shut up, Harry," Draco cautioned. 'Aw, damnit,' Draco groaned to himself. He was definitely awake now, and could no longer use sleep torpor as an excuse for his behaviour. He rolled away from Harry, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and went to start getting ready for the day. But his heart was a bit lighter, knowing Harry actually cared, at least a little.
Harry was feeling pretty good, too. If Draco was worried about how he felt about him, there was a better than even chance that the Slytherin was having some warm feelings of his own. But he remained in bed until the blond returned from the bathroom before letting his own feet hit the floor.
Dobby was there with a large breakfast that morning – both fried and scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, fried tomatoes and potatoes, toast, tea and coffee – along with a few suggestions for other house elves Harry might consider for his household. His first suggestion, Winky, Barty Crouch's old house elf, Harry rejected. That house elf definitely needed a family to look after, not just a house with occasional occupants.
Dobby was more subdued than normal, but otherwise didn't seem to be under any undue stress, as he had last night.
Harry questioned Dobby about the house elf's other suggestions, helped by a few unexpected, but helpful questions from Draco.
Draco suggested that Harry talk to the two or three that sounded best to him, although he also mentioned that having so many to choose from was more than a bit unusual.
After breakfast, Harry decided to address Dobby about his apparent fear the night before.
"Dobby..."
"Yes, Master Harry?"
"When you left last night, you seemed frightened. Can you tell me about that?"
Dobby fiddled with his fingers for a bit before lifting wide eyes up to Harry's. "Master Harry is a demon master?" he asked.
Harry was perplexed. He didn't know how the house elf meant the words. He turned to Draco, who was still sipping on a cup of tea.
"What does he mean by that?" Harry asked the blond.
Draco didn't answer him directly, addressing the house elf instead. "Your new . . . employer is one of their descendents. He doesn't know the first thing about being a demon master."
Harry turned questioning eyes to the blond.
"Our ancestors weren't the nicest lot to ever exist," Draco started explaining with a sigh. "They were better than a lot of Death Eaters, but only because using their abilities on humans was usually restricted to duels and wars." Draco was silent for a few moments as he took another sip of his tea, and appeared to contemplate his cup. "They would sometimes drain their house elves if they needed a quick source of magic. The elves rarely survived the experience."
Harry turned horror-filled eyes on Dobby. "I would never do that to you, Dobby!" he exclaimed earnestly.
Draco said nothing, but he knew that if Harry knew how, and he needed to do so to save someone he loved, that those words might come back to haunt him. But that knowledge was no longer taught father to son and was only to be found in ancient tomes that none had seen in ages, so it was likely a moot point anyway.
Later that day the three of them – at Harry's insistence, since he had little practical experience with them – picked another house elf for the house, named Skiph, from among the hopefuls. Dobby walked Harry through the binding process, Draco having never had occasion to need the knowledge. And Dobby wasn't half full of himself afterward, either.
Harry set Skiph to cleaning the house, starting with the kitchen, and took Dobby to Gringotts to register both him and Skiph, as well as report Kreacher's 'retirement', and to get Dobby signed onto a small vault to buy whatever was needed for the household, using a limited account. Withdrawals over thirty Galleons a week2 would need Harry's signature, but otherwise Dobby would be on his honour. Knowing Dobby, Harry had a few reservations; a bound house elf would have had less freedom with what the money was spent on. Despite that, Harry decided to trust the rather eccentric house elf.
Knowing that cleaning supplies, paint, varnish, wallpaper, and other such materials would be in heavy demand while the two house elves repaired Black Mansion, Harry made special arrangements for such supplies to be paid for automatically for the next three months, over and above the thirty Galleons a week food and maintenance funds. Receipts would be sent to him weekly.
But Harry made sure that Dobby understood that aside from he and Draco, only Remus – and Tonks, if she showed up (she was family, after all) – was to be fed from those funds, with the exception of minor courtesy refreshments such as tea and biscuits, unless he got permission from Harry, first. Come to that, while Remus himself was to be granted everyday services such as food, laundry, and room upkeep, any order from him regarding granting services to others was to be ignored.
He thought of the Weasleys, but didn't think it likely that they would show up without at least letting him know beforehand, and as he recalled, they usually brought their own food anyway. Molly was well aware of the size of her brood and was chary of imposing on her hosts that much, so she always brought far more than was needed to feed her own family.
The last few days before September first went very smoothly, Remus keeping mostly to himself after his confrontation with Harry. The house elves were kept busy cleaning, repairing, and serving regular meals (Dobby had become a rather good cook while at Hogwarts), and Harry and Draco kept themselves busy with studying the year's textbooks. Draco also started to teach Harry what he needed to know about the social niceties of living in a magical society – more specifically, the upper strata of that society.
Harry even found a few minutes each day to interact with Hedwig. He felt rather guilty that he wasn't spending more time with her, but she seemed to be keeping herself busy too, if the gifts of dead mice she kept trying to give him were any indication. Harry had grown almost another inch in the intervening days, and as a result he was eating three large meals a day plus a couple of good-sized snacks, but he wasn't quite that hungry.
Harry and Draco had put aside enough of their differences that they now counted each other as friends, although the sexual tension between them kept them too self-conscious to get really close. It seemed rather contradictory, but now that they were developing more respect for each other, they felt less inclined to pursue their lusts for each other. Still, they were teenagers who had experienced sex with each other, so a little mutual wanking 'just to relieve the tensions' didn't seem to be too out of order. Neither mentioned the small kisses to neck, collarbones, or cheeks, or thought to inform the other that even those small caresses were breaking down barriers and building emotional bridges.
It wasn't until they were walking onto Platform 9 ¾ that it occurred to Harry to ask, "What now?"
Draco glanced sidewise at his companion. "What are you on about?" he asked.
Harry nodded ahead, to a group of Slytherins. "Your friends," he said neutrally. He wasn't afraid of them, but he was very apprehensive about how Draco would react to their presence. Would his ex-rival try to revert to his old behaviour? Seek safety in old habits?
Harry had thought 'try' advisedly, because if he could prevent it, that wouldn't happen.
Draco's quick mind took Harry's meaning. Having their own little world for the past few days, he'd allowed all thoughts of the rest of the world to fade. He needed to sort his priorities, and quickly. Actually, no. He needed to figure out how to handle his priorities. At long last he'd achieved his childhood goal of becoming Harry's friend, and he couldn't give that up. Not to mention that little matter of the bond between them. And the sex. And the possibility of something more. It was too late to come up with a plan, though. His friends had spotted them.
Amazingly, there was almost five minutes of cooing over Draco's 'delicious' new friend – by Pansy and Blaise, at least – before they figured out who Harry was. Flabbergasted by their lack of perception, Harry had gone along with it, keeping alert for possible trouble the whole time, but flirting and joking with the more friendly members of the group while trying to keep Draco's feathers smoothed over; mostly by wrapping an arm around the blond and petting him, letting him know he wasn't being ignored. (Draco wasn't best pleased anyway, with either the flirting or Harry's public behaviour with him. On the other hand, if it kept the vultures at bay...) So when the small group of Slytherins finally figured out who Harry was, their angry, suspicious reactions were mitigated by their curiosity and reluctant admiration for his gall.
At about five foot nine inches, Harry's height matched Draco's slender form, and his chest and shoulder breadth had widened a bit. He was still skinny, but but not so much of a pencil shape as he'd been. That, along with his leaner face, longer hair and lack of glasses, had made just enough changes in his appearance to confuse them for awhile. They'd become suspicious a bit earlier, but it was an errant breeze briefly uncovering his scar that had been the final betrayer of Harry's identity.
Harry wound up sitting with Draco, Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Millicent the entire ride to Hogwarts. It can't be said that the Slytherins welcomed him with open arms now that they knew his identity, but by the time the train stopped a truce had been declared between him and them: the rest of Gryffindor House not included. Draco's influence and apparent relationship with Harry had been a factor in his grudging acceptance by them, but even that would have weighed little in the equation if they had found Harry lacking. As it was, they were quite mystified how they could have so misread him for so many years. It was a blow to their egos, actually. They prided themselves on being able to accurately judge the characters of others within a relatively short span of time.
Harry didn't see Ron and Hermione until he entered the Great Hall. Saying his goodbyes to the Slytherins, and giving Draco's hand a quick squeeze in farewell, he made his way to his usual place at the table.
Ron had been in deep conversation with Dean Thomas, so it was Hermione who had spotted Harry when he came in with the Slytherins, but even she took several long moments before recognising him.
"Harry?" she asked doubtfully.
Ron swung his head around when he heard her, searching eagerly for his friend, but didn't see him. Hermione staring at the dark-haired stranger clued him in. Ron's eyes goggled and his mouth dropped open. "Harry?" he asked in amazement. "Harry! We missed you on the train, mate! Looked almost everywhere!"
Harry rather doubted that, judging by the hands Ron and Hermione were surreptitiously reclaiming from each other. Harry just grunted at them. Draco wouldn't have approved of the absence of civilized behaviour, but Harry couldn't be arsed to do any better right then.
"How was your summer, Harry?" Hermione asked softly.
Harry frowned absently. "Why do you ask?"
Hermione frowned at his reply, but before she could answer, Harry was talking again.
"Funny thing about this summer, actually; a total dearth of owls. Rather peaceful, really," Harry said nonchalantly. "I would have thought my mates would have owled me, but I suppose that was too much to ask. Must have had better things to do."
Hermione was looking totally affronted, and Ron's face was turning red.
"Dumbledore told us to leave you alone; that you needed time to grieve!" the redhead exclaimed.
"Oh, yes. I see," Harry said flippantly. "Of course he'd have to be right, wouldn't he? He knows me so much better than you do. Spent almost every free minute with him the past five years, haven't I?"
"He's the leader of the Light side!" Hermione hissed at him.
Harry's voice took on a slightly sarcastic note, although he still kept it light and breezy. "Oh, and that makes it ever so much better then, doesn't it? Gives him every right to interfere in other people's lives."
With no defense to mind, Ron instinctively attacked. "You're sounding like a bloody Slytherin!" he accused.
"He walked in with them!" Hermione informed the redhead thoughtlessly. She kept her observance of Harry's interaction with Malfoy to herself, however.
"The Slytherins?" Ron asked in disbelief.
Hermione nodded.
"Quiet!" Harry ordered. "They're bringing in the First Years." Ron's words had re-lit the seething resentment he had earlier in the summer, and had added to it. The prat hadn't even the grace to apologise for not writing all summer? Nor Hermione, for that matter!
And, of course, Ron just couldn't leave it alone. About halfway through the sorting, he started in again. His hissed whispering could be heard several seats away. "So if you're so ruddy friendly with the Slytherins, whyn't you go live with them, then? You're sounding more like one of them, anyway. Bet you wish you were one, don't you?"
Hermione was trying to hush him and reassure Harry that Ron didn't really mean it, and she was greatly regretting her hastily spoken words. But Ron had his temper up, and he wasn't about to stop until he'd talked his guilty anger out.
Harry sat through two more minutes of his 'best mate's' accusations and ranting, trying his best to contain his anger.
From across the hall at the Slytherin table, Draco had seen Harry's eyes change colour, and he was wondering why none of Harry's friends had seen it yet. With all the almost-subtle whispering and head pointing from the Slytherins towards the Gryffindor table, and Harry, it was a sure bet that most of Slytherin House was now aware of Harry's status, despite that fact not having come out in their talk on the train.
Finally, Harry exploded. "Fine!" he said loudly, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. "You really want to know what House I belong in, Ron? Let's find out!"
With that he got up from the table and stalked towards the Sorting Hat, ignoring orders from the Head Table to sit down, ignoring the points taken, the detentions given, intent on his goal. When he got there, he snatched the Hat from the small girl who'd been about to put it on before his outburst, and had then frozen in fear at the sight of the – to her – large, angry boy with weird eyes coming right at her.
"Just what do you think you're doing, Mister Potter?" an outraged Minerva McGonagall demanded.
Harry glared at her. "Correcting a very old mistake," he growled, jamming the Sorting Hat down on his head. Unlike the first time, the hat fit him very well.
"Some people here would like to know what my true House is," Harry announced both to the Hat and the Hall. "Tell them, Hat."
"Stop this nonsense at once!" the headmaster's voice demanded. He, unfortunately, had a very good idea of what Harry was doing and what the result would be. "You can only be sorted once!"
'So you've finally come to your senses?' the Hat said in Harry's head. 'I see that your time in Griffindor has had an effect, but you're still...' It wasted no more time, yelling out what it had known to be the truth five years ago.
"SLYTHERIN!"
o~~~~~~~~~~~~~o
1. Known to the rest of us as elementals.
2. Approximately $240 US dollars.
A/N: Harry is not part demon. The 'demon' is merely the ability to control the elements which was wrested from elementals (known to the people of the time as demons) and instilled in their family lines. No 'demon' genetics involved. Think of it as absorbing a talent while leaving everything else behind.