No Light Without Shadows
by Draeconin
See Chapter One for disclaimer and details.
Chapter Eleven
Those four days of Draco's snit-fit weren't completely wasted. He and Harry went through most of the libraries looking for books and journals to help them discover and develop whatever elemental abilities they had. There were many books that mentioned that such abilities existed and what sort of elementals they could be wrested from, but they found none that would help train such abilities.
With obvious reluctance Draco began showing Harry the secret rooms in the mansion, feeling that with each one he showed Harry that he lost that much more control over his childhood home. There were a few of them, and some stank of depravity or evil. While he would have presented a face of haughty pride to anyone else, Draco felt oddly ashamed whenever he entered one of those with Harry.
"We shall need to cleanse these," Harry remarked as they entered yet another chamber that felt tainted. He was careful to keep his tone neutral, not wanting to seem to be accusing Draco of anything.
"It won't be easy," Draco warned. "A couple of these rooms have been used for generations for..." He trailed off, reluctant to detail the activities that had occured.
"Dark magic?" Harry suggested.
"The darkest sort," Draco agreed, relieved to have a general, rather than specific explanation to offer, "but you do realise that not all Dark magic is evil?" Draco added somewhat defensively.
Harry was sceptical, but all he said was, "Oh?"
Draco nodded abstractly as he was perusing a shelf of books. "Technically, some forms of healing could be labelled as 'Dark'," he stated. "Curing a disease, for example, or disinfecting a wound."
"How could that be Dark?" Harry asked, almost feeling insulted for Madam Pomfrey.
"Well, it's murdering millions of living organisms to cure one, isn't it?" Draco said as though it should have been self-evident.
"But they're germs!" Harry protested, even as he acknowledged to himself that Draco had a point.
"And Voldemort says 'they're just Muggles'. It's the same attitude. The point is that it's what you use magic for that counts." Draco replaced a book on the shelf. It had a promising title, but while it had some interesting material in it, it hadn't held what they were looking for. He'd remember it for another time, however.
"I don't see anything here that would help, either," the blond added.
Harry was a bit confused until he realized that Draco was referring to the books on the shelf, with that last sentence.
"Is there anywhere else we can look?" Harry asked, deciding to put the other conversation aside until a later time. Draco had given him something to think about, though.
He almost immediately changed his mind. "So what sort of Dark magic could one learn that wouldn't cross the line?" he asked. Not that he was all that concerned, anymore. Although he hadn't yet had the chance to practise any of them except in mime, he had already memorised several Dark Arts spells and their counters. He refused to handicap himself by limiting his magical arsenal.
"Dumbledore and his lot have it all wrong, you know," Draco remarked. "There is very little magic that is all Light or all Dark. If one must think of magical use in shades of light and dark, it's mostly shades of grey."
He sighed. "And there's just one more place of which I know to search: the Malfoy sanctum."
"Shades of grey?" Harry inquired.
Draco shrugged. "There are few spells that can't be used to hurt someone. I could use a levitation charm to pick someone up to great heights and drop them, for example. And a lot of so-called 'Dark' spells are ruddy useful: even the Killing Curse could be put to good use."
"How?" Harry exclaimed loudly in surprise.
Draco gave his husband a look that almost screamed 'are you that dense'? "Hunting: or even a mercy killing . . . if someone were dying of an incurable disease, for instance."
"We have those?"
"What? Incurable diseases? A few, yes, but an irreversible curse would be more common. But weren't we discussing the merits of various types of spells?"
"Yes. Shades of grey," Harry replied. That actually made sense, when you came to think of it. There weren't that many spells that couldn't be put to a harmful as well as a constructive use, and even many of the protective spells Harry had learnt were actually attacks on your attacker.
Following Draco's direction, Harry pricked his finger and let a drop of blood drip onto the threshold of the sanctum opening when they arrived, upon the assumption that as the magical heir, he would have access. As he did so, he felt the wards scan him. A second later a wall of force slammed into him, pushing him violently away.
Harry frowned lightly as he picked himself up off the floor, considering the problem of the unseen 'door' in the wall, rubbing the back of his head where it had hit the opposite wall. His back and shoulders felt bruised, too.
Draco looked at his husband a moment and then gingerly touched the wall that held the sanctum entrance with his fingertips. Nothing happened, so he leant forward and put his whole hand firmly upon it. Again nothing happened.
"You may as well try it," Harry told him.
Draco pricked his finger and let two drops fall on the threshold. Without anyone touching it, the entrance slowly irised open.
A smirk immediately crossed Draco's face. He entered, but when Harry tried to follow, he ran into an invisible barrier. Draco shed another couple of drops of blood on the threshold and with an even broader smirk, pulled Harry across it.
Although he didn't say a word, Draco was insufferably smug for the rest of the day. Here was proof that Harry didn't get it all: that he himself still had a place at, and a claim on Malfoy Manor. Only Malfoy blood allowed entrance to the Malfoy sanctum.
Although Harry found Draco's smug attitude a bit irritating, this mood was definitely better than the one Draco had been in.
In the library of the sanctum rooms they found several books that delineated the training of a Malfoy's water elemental abilities. "It shouldn't be too difficult to adapt them to help you with yours as well, Harry," Draco said confidently.
In fact there was one book that outlined, but with no great detail, the training of other sorts of elemental abilities. It wasn't in-depth enough to be helpful on its own, but in tandem with the Malfoy training books it might be a fairly good guide.
They had just finished going through yet another of the books they had brought back, copying out any relevant passages. This one had taken them five days to pore over. It wasn't that it was so large, as that the book was hand written, as were all of the older books. The flowery style of the writer of this one was almost as hard to read as a five-year-old's scrawl.
"Hey, Potter! The headmaster wants you outside!"
Harry sighed with exasperation. What did the old man want with him now? And out of doors! A situation that he and the staff couldn't take care of themselves? Harry couldn't imagine what that might be... Except Voldemort. Had the time come already? He rather hoped not; he wasn't ready. For the time being he'd assume there was no imminent danger, while being ready to act in case there were. It wasn't likely that Dumbledore would have sent a third year with such a vague message if imminent danger was in the offing, anyway.
"Thank you, Pervis," he said to the boy.
"You're actually going?" Draco inquired.
Harry shrugged. "He's still the headmaster," he explained. "Coming?"
Harry had conflicting emotions about that last question, cum invitation. On the one hand he'd rather like to keep Draco safe if there was danger. On the other, his spouse was well able to take care of himself, and would throw a right fit if he wasn't included.
Draco looked at him a moment and then stood, silently giving his affirmation to the question through his actions.
They loaded the books in Harry's rucksack, then they left the library, heading for the main doors of the school.
"Do we know where on the grounds we're to meet the old coot?" Draco asked.
"Pervis would have said, I think, if it were the Quidditch pitch or elsewhere. If we have to hunt Dumbledore down, the little nose-wiper will get a memory lesson," Harry said dispassionately.
The Slytherins had quickly learned that the Harry Potter that had transferred to their House was quite different from the one they had observed in previous years. This Harry rarely let an insult or slight go unpunished, although there was rarely anger involved. He was only making sure that his Housemates didn't get the idea that he was an easy target. By acting on the small injuries, he made more aggresive attacks less likely.
Harry was now only slightly less feared and slightly more respected than Draco had been at the height of his power: the main difference being that Harry usually tried to make the punishment fit the crime, whereas Draco usually punished in excess of the crime, although under Harry's influence that was slowly changing. And if there was any doubt of what had been said or done, or by whom, Harry made sure of the facts before he acted. Draco had always assumed he was right, and acted on that assumption.
Draco hadn't changed in that last respect. He was still the acknowledged leader of Slytherin House, although Draco had a nagging suspicion that with his father first in Azkaban, and now dead, he wouldn't have been without Harry's silent backing.
Harry, for his part, almost never corrected his partner in front of others, aside from a warning look of one sort or another. When they were alone, however... But Draco usually let it go in one ear and out the other, all the while keeping a close watch on Harry's eyes. One flash of gold, and it was a whole other Quidditch game.
It was easy to spot the headmaster when they got outside. He was with a small contingent of centaurs.
Although Harry felt a slight feeling of resentment at the sight of the creatures, his sense of curiosity was stronger.
"They've some nerve," Draco muttered.
"It's alright, Draco," Harry replied quietly, while silently agreeing with him.
He studied the group as they walked towards them. He recognised the hunter and the young centaur who had killed Hedwig, although he had long since forgotten their names. Harry also recognised two of the other centaurs in the group: a redheaded centaur that Harry had met twice before – Ronan? – and Firenze was standing next to Dumbledore. It would make sense that the old wizard would want the new Divination professor, a centaur himself, to be there to act as a mediator if necessary.
Harry, to his recollection, had never seen the other two centaurs before.
A movement near the edge of the Forbidden Forest drew Harry's attention. Another centaur holding a bow and arrow at the ready was standing there restlessly. Bane. For a species that prided itself on clear thinking, the black-haired centaur could best be described as a paranoid alarmist. Harry hoped Bane didn't get the notion that anyone was being attacked. Centaurs were notoriously good archers.
As Harry and Draco drew near, the young centaur, who was holding what looked like a clay pot with a lid, went carefully to his fore-knees and bowed, his teacher giving Harry a respectful nod of the head. The others looked on impassively.
"Do you remember their names?" Harry muttered to Draco.
"The hunter was Depkarin, and the little one is Chonsi. Other than Firenze, I don't know the others," Draco replied. In high society it was considered good politics to remember names and the faces that went with them, as well as at least a few facts about each. These two had negatively impacted Harry's life: reason enough to remember them.
"Ah, Harry," Dumbledore called out jovially as they got within easy talking distance. "So glad you could join us."
Harry scowled at the old man. "You asked for me, sir, and as you are the headmaster here..."
"Quite so," the headmaster replied in the same tones as before, although he seemed slightly more subdued now.
Harry nodded respectfully to the adult centaurs in the group while ignoring the still-kneeling youngster, then turned his attention to Depkarin.
"Depkarin. To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence?" he asked. Although he was trying to be . . . pleasant, Harry's bearing was a bit stiff.
"I regret the circumstances of our last meeting, Harry Potter," the centaur said, replying to Harry's manner, "but if you'll recall, I did mention that we would attempt to make recompense?"
"Yes," Harry replied. "It was kind of you, but..." Words failing him, Harry shrugged.
The centaur motioned to the kneeling young centaur. "Young Chonsi has found what he hopes will be an acceptable substitute for your owl: a phoenix."
Harry's jaw dropped and his eyes popped wide open. Dumbledore was the only wizard he'd ever heard of having a phoenix, and he had no idea how the old man had come into its possession. But that little pot couldn't possibly hold a full-grown phoenix. It would have to be a newly-regenerating phoenix, a baby, or an egg.
"Close your mouth, Harry!" Draco hissed.
Harry was now in uncharted territory. Even as he closed his mouth and tried to compose himself, his mind was working frantically, trying to think of how he should act. He knew without a doubt that he was going to accept the gift, but he was lost insofar as how he should go about it. He'd simply have to wing it.
Harry turned to the young centaur who, even kneeling, was almost as tall as he was.
Chonsi bowed again, holding out the basket to Harry.
Harry took the basket. As he did so the thought ran through his mind that with their physiology it must be quite difficult for centaurs to bow, let alone hold it for any length of time.
"Thank you, Chonsi," he said graciously. "A phoenix is a royal gift, indeed."
"You may rise, Chonsi," the young centaur's teacher instructed him.
Although he tried to hide it, the relief was plain on the young centaur's face as he regained his feet.
"May I present Chonsi's sire and dam, Adeifo and Dacia?" Depkarin said, indicating the two centaurs Harry hadn't seen before.
Harry turned to the two, and gave a slight bow. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance," he said.
The male, Adeifo, replied, "It is a pleasure to meet one so forgiving."
Harry gave a slight shrug. "He is young," he said.
"Yes," Dumbledore broke in, and then changed the subject.
"Is there anything special we should know about this phoenix?"
"It is an egg," Depkarin revealed.
"What species?" Dumbledore asked, his eyes sparkling with inquisitive fervor.
"As I said, it is an egg," Depkarin replied.
Dumbledore face now wore a slight frown. "I'm afraid I don't understand," he admitted.
"If hatched in the wild, a newborn phoenix will take its nature from its surroundings, usually resulting in a fire phoenix since its parents will keep the egg warm with fire. If hatched in the presence of an intelligent being, its nature will be dictated by its owner's nature."
"If you don't mind, Professor?" Harry asked, his voice tense. The old man's manner seemed entirely too proprietary for his peace of mind.
A slight tilt of Dumbledore's head indicated his acquiescence. Harry turned back to Depkarin.
"What must I do to ensure its health and well-being?" he asked.
"In the main, keep it warm until it is hatched and fletched. They prefer raw meat and berries until fully grown, and then they will fend for themselves."
"How often will it need feeding?"
"It will let you know, but you can expect to feed it between three and five times a day. They have quite an appetite at first."
Harry nodded thoughtfully. He couldn't think of any more questions to ask. Except... "Is there anything else I should know?"
Depkarin looked thoughtful for a moment. "The lore doesn't mention anything else," he replied.
That rather startled Harry. "The lore?" he asked. That rather sounded as though...
"Newborn phoenix are rare, occuring on average only every seventy-five to two hundred years. Our interventions with them happen far less frequently."
The phoenix egg was nested in rust-red downy feathers of a type Harry had never seen before. They gave off their own warmth, but Harry had been warned that the down would lose its ability to give off heat unless regularly exposed to heat, which was why the clay pot was now ensconced near the fireplace in Harry's sitting room.
He took the egg out and handled it a few times a day, allowing Draco to handle it when he wished as well, and had made arrangements with the kitchen house elves to supply berries and raw meat as needed once it had hatched.
"So what made you come after me in the Alley?" Harry asked lazily, as they lolled in bed one night.
"You man-handling me, of course," Draco said, easily making the mental jump.
"Mm-mm..." Harry mumbled negatively. "Before that. When you were insulting me."
"Opportunity," Draco replied shortly.
Harry turned over to face the blond, and put a hand on his lover's well-formed, pale chest. "And all the other times, ever since we first met?"
Draco grew very uncomfortable. "It hasn't been since we first met," he denied.
"All right," Harry agreed, "since our first ride on the Express."
Draco wasn't quite squirming, but Harry could tell the blond was discomposed, and then he replied, "You publicly humiliated me."
"What? How?"
"When I offered to help you," Draco said, not meeting Harry's eyes.
It took Harry a moment to puzzle it out, but, "When I didn't take your hand?" he inquired.
Draco gave a small nod.
"You insulted Ron," Harry explained, his voice rising querulously. How else was he supposed to have reacted, with that provocation?
"If you'll recall, he first insulted me," Draco said tensely, his emotional reaction causing him to half turn away from his husband in an instinctive, self-protective move.
Harry frowned. "How?"
"He laughed at me." When Harry still didn't react, he expounded on his reply. "When I introduced myself."
"That was an insult?" Harry asked, puzzled.
"Surely you've learned something by now, Harry," Draco said, turning back to stare up at Harry, willing his lover to understand.
When Harry only stared blankly at him, he sighed. "It was the way he laughed. He sniggered, as though being a Malfoy was a dirty joke."
Harry thought it over, trying to recall the details of that incident so long ago, and then slowly nodded. "And he hardly ever missed the chance afterward to insult you or rub his friendship with me in your face – ostensibly by 'protecting' me from you. Mind you, there were more than enough times when you gave cause."
Draco sneered up at his husband. "Are you telling me you couldn't protect yourself?"
Harry looked at Draco disdainfully. "Of course not: just that you tried to get me – us – in trouble so often."
"You were right the first time," Draco muttered, breaking eye contact.
"Why?" Harry demanded.
Draco blushed, and refused to answer.
"Draco?" Harry asked, gently insistent.
Draco met Harry's eyes defiantly. "Well, you wouldn't be my friend, would you?" he said with some asperity.
"Insults, and pranks meant to get us in trouble are friendly overtures? You had a fine way of showing that's what you wanted," Harry replied with a slight amount of exasperation.
Draco remained stubbornly silent.
"You still haven't answered my question," Harry observed.
Draco looked away, and then said, "It was the only way to get you to pay attention to me, wasn't it?"
There were tears in Draco's eyes now, and they melted Harry's irritation away.
"Not the only way," Harry whispered softly as he leant down and started nibbling on Draco's pale throat.
Draco couldn't quite prevent the soft whimper that escaped him at the sensation, but then he said, "You pervy sod... At eleven?"
Harry didn't answer. He had lost interest in the conversation, and had much more riveting things on his mind.
A few days later Harry was perusing yet another of the books from the Malfoy sanctum. Actually the passages he was reading had to do with marriage among the elemental wizards and witches, although he didn't let on to Draco, who was poring over another of the books on the other side of the bed. Although they were spending a lot of time on these books, they always made sure to get school assignments and any necessary revising out of the way first. Suddenly, Harry's body stiffened.
Sensing the change, Draco looked up curiously.
Knowing he had Draco's attention, Harry asked, "Draco, you have been taking precautions, nights?"
"I take it you aren't referring to wards and locking spells," Draco remarked, curiously.
Harry shook his head. "No. Sexual precautions."
"We don't have those sorts of diseases, Harry."
Harry slowly met Draco's eyes.
Mind racing, wondering what his husband might be getting at, Draco latched onto an outlandish idea. "Wizards don't get pregnant either, Harry," he said somewhat impatiently. "Will you stop being so bloody closed-mouthed and tell me what's on that supposed mind of yours?"
Harry slid the book he'd been reading over to the blond, pointing out the relevant passage, and waited.
As he finished reading, Draco paled, and then his eyes slowly came up to meet Harry's. "Bloody hell," he said in a hoarse whisper.
Harry nodded.
"You're never touching me again, Potter," Draco said, his voice only slightly recovered.
"We just have to learn the appropriate protection spells, Draco," Harry calmly argued. "And I've been at risk, as well."
"I am not going to..." Draco seemed to be fighting to get the words out, and was failing.
"Get pregnant?" Harry supplied helpfully.
Draco nodded vehemently. "One: I'm male and not made for . . . that – and it would ruin my figure. Two: we're sixteen. And three: I simply refuse! I won't do it!"
"Well if you start throwing up mornings, do let me know, won't you?"
Draco hit him . . . hard.
But later that night Draco found he was having problems sleeping. He laid there next to Harry and listened to him sleep, and wished he could join him.
The problem was that he had been having odd bouts of nausea lately: not enough to cause him to sick up, but it was troubling. He had assumed it was because of the extra stress of NEWT level classes, plus everything that was going on between him and Harry: Harry's non-scholastic lessons, the research, planning training schedules, and so on. But with this new knowledge...
It wouldst seemeth that there be ane affecte not foreseen by we who have so enhanced the powers of ourselfs and our familys with the mighte of the foule demons of the elements. Ane man's bellie mighte find itself quickening with childe, if he be of the persuasion to lie with ane male lover and so allow himself to be loved as unto a woman. Queerly, this affecte be so far found to be restricted unto those men magickally bound, as in marriage.1
o~~~~~~~~~~~~~o
1: It would seem that there is an affect that wasn't foreseen by we who have enhanced the powers of ourselves and our families with the might of the foul demons of the elements. A man's belly might find itself quickening with child, if he is of the persuasion to lie with a male lover and allow himself to be loved as if he were a woman. Strangely, this affect has so far been found to be restricted to those men who are magically bound, as in marriage.
(If anyone can help me with a more authentic [circa 1200's-1300's] English translation and spelling, including grammar, I would be most grateful.)
o~~~~~~~~~~~~~o
Betas: Ishe Leigh, Sheree Spataro. (Thanks also to Dawn, who suggested the revised sanctum scene.)