No Light Without Shadows
by Draeconin
See Chapter One for disclaimer and details.
Chapter Fifteen
Dobby popped into Harry's bedroom very early the next morning – before daylight – waking him and Draco with the loud 'pop' of his arrival.
"Mister Harry Potter, sir!" Dobby was almost trembling in his agitation.
"Dobby?" Harry replied sleepily. "What is it?"
"Go 'way!" was Draco's input, as he tried to burrow deeper into Harry's shoulder.
"No, Dobby; that's all right," Harry said as he noted the house elf's indecision. "What's wrong?"
"House elf can't handle this, Mister Harry Potter, sir," Dobby said, dithering nervously. "Wizards must take care of this, sir."
"Take care of what, Dobby?"
"It be a bad thing, Mister Harry Potter, sir," Dobby almost wailed, pulling on his ears in his distress. "It be a very bad thing!"
"What?" Harry asked impatiently. He wanted get Dobby's problem sorted out so he could get back to sleep.
But it was almost impossible to get Dobby to make sense, and nothing would do but that Harry go down to Salazar's apartment to take care of whatever it was himself. Telling Draco to go back to sleep – an injunction the blond was all too willing to follow – Harry dragged himself out of bed.
"It's too blasted early to be this early," he complained.
Harry got dressed, and shadow jumped to the corridor just outside Salazar's apartment. Dobby popped in only a second later.
Trembling, Dobby led Harry to the door of a back room, but refused to enter it.
The room had been lit though, so Harry could see that this room, like the other rooms he had seen in passing, had been completely demolished. As he entered and started looking around, wand in hand, he soon found what had Dobby in such a state. A skeleton. A human skeleton.
"You've found it, then," Salazar's voice said. Although there was a little sadness in his ghostly features for his skeleton, Salazar's main expression was one of anger. "They hadn't even the decency to give me a proper funeral."
"Why didn't you tell us?" Harry asked, his voice hushed.
"The same reason why I can't discuss my killers," Salazar said angrily, although the anger wasn't directed at Harry.
Harry nodded. "What do you want done with . . . um . . . them?" he said, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the ghost's mortal remains.
"Oh, for the gods' sake, boy! They're bones! And I want them to have a proper sending off, of course!"
Harry nodded again. "I'm sure Dumbledore could find someone to—"
"Dumbledore? Would that happen to be that mealy-mouthed, officious longbeard that was down here a few years back?" Salazar said disparagingly, dismissing the idea. Since none of the wizards who had come down had entered his apartments, Salazar hadn't had the chance to speak to any of them, but they had come and gone so frequently for a while that he'd garnered some information about them.
"I have no idea if I have any surviving relatives..." The ghost trailed the sentence off, fishing for information.
Harry shook his head. "As far as I know, sir, there are no direct descendants of any of the Founders – except Voldemort."
"That Riddle fellow? He's a Founder descendant?" Salazar asked incredulously.
"Yes, sir. Yours, as a matter of fact," Harry stated.
"Hmph! Of course!" Salazar said, disgruntled. "I'd have no luck at all, if it wasn't bad."
Harry didn't comment, but he thought the ghost was being a little dramatic. Then again, it was Voldemort.
"Well, there's nothing for it then," the ghost added firmly after a moment's contemplation. "You and that Malfoy of yours will have to do it for me."
"But I don't know how!" a shocked Harry protested.
"You'll have to learn, then, won't you?" Salazar said in a matter-of-fact manner. "In the meantime, I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't leave me sprawled all over the floor, like that."
"But what . . .?" Harry reconsidered what he'd been about to say. Then, after staring at the skeleton a few moments, he turned to the arm of a broken chair that was laying nearby and transformed it into a thin-walled, but solid box, and very gingerly started picking up bones and putting them in it. It was well he was so careful, although his motivation was more a reluctance to touch the skeleton. The bones were so old they had become a bit fragile. Funny that wood would have held up better than bones, but perhaps the furniture the wood had come from had, at one time, a preservation spell put on it.
Finally Harry was satisfied that he'd located every tiny bone and put it in the box, and put the box up on a shelf. A glance at Salazar showed the ghost looking at the last of his mortal remains with a rather strange look on his face. Harry thought he understood. He'd be feeling very strange to see someone handling his remains, too. But he felt very dirty now, and not just because of the dust he'd been sifting through.
"I have to go. Classes," Harry told Salazar, who merely nodded his head once in acknowledgement. Then Harry muttered, "I'm probably late for class." He cast Tempus. He was. It was forty minutes into Transfigurations. And he hadn't had breakfast either, so he was hungry, too. Better to skip the class entirely than walk into it late – if it wasn't already over by the time he'd bathed and broken his fast. He'd likely have a detention and points off, but walking in late, he'd have had those anyway. Harry found a dark corner, and shadow-jumped to his room.
After a long, hot shower during which Harry tried to get the feel of old death off him, he got dressed, and was just heading out when Draco walked in.
"Where've you been, then?" Draco asked. When Harry hadn't shown up in class, he'd started to worry.
"Playing undertaker," Harry said sourly, pulling a face.
Draco's eyebrows tried to hide in his hairline. "Oh?" was all he said, though.
Harry nodded. "Dobby found Salazar's bones, and panicked. Then Salazar wouldn't have it any other way than I pick them up and box them until you and I can do the ceremony for the dead."
"What?" Draco exclaimed loudly.
That brought a wry grin to Harry's face. "That's right, love. Salazar wants us to perform the honours."
"And how the bloody hell are we to do that?" Draco demanded.
Harry shrugged, again making for the exit. "I don't know, but we can discuss it while we eat, if you care to join me. I missed breakfast, and I'm that famished."
While Harry sated his appetite seated at a corner preparation table in the kitchen, Draco sipped on a cup of tea and asked all the questions that he hadn't before: where, why, what had happened, who had said what, and so on.
When Draco ran out of questions, Harry asked, "You doing all right, then?" gesturing at the lone cup of tea that the blond had been nursing.
"I had a good breakfast," Draco said, defending himself.
Harry raised his brows in doubt.
"Call me a liar, then," Draco said defensively, "but I did!"
"Alright, Draco," Harry said, raising his hands in surrender, "but you must admit that you don't, always."
Draco didn't answer Harry. He contented himself with pouting for being 'put upon'.
Harry kissed Draco's cheek in apology, but when Draco continued his act, he shrugged and finished off the last bit of his own breakfast, and then took a last long draught on his just-cooled-enough coffee.
"By the by," Draco said casually as they exited the kitchen, "McGonagall wants to see you soonest."
"What excuse did you give her?" Harry asked.
"That you brushed me off when I tried to wake you," Draco informed his husband.
Harry groaned. "Thank you so much, dear," he said sarcastically.
"I do my best," Draco replied, grinning. Revenge was sweet. It had started out as revenge for Harry leaving him alone in bed that morning, but it would do for Harry doubting him, as well.
"I'd best go see what the damage is, then," Harry said resignedly. "I'll see you at lunch so we can plan when to research this other problem." He was being deliberately vague since they'd entered the main corridor now, and there were a couple of other people nearby.
"'Luck," Draco wished him breezily.
Harry decided to 'mishear' the word. "What a perfectly lovely idea," he said, backing Draco up against a wall, and bending in to nibble at the blond's neck.
"Harry," Draco groaned, his hands on Harry's shoulders – although whether to push him away or pull him closer was anyone's guess. Here was his long-ago daydream coming true, and Draco had to put a stop to it. "Harry," he repeated, a bit more firmly, albeit in a low voice so only Harry would hear him, "I said 'luck' – not 'fuck'."
"I like the latter idea better," Harry said, continuing his assault.
"We have an audience!" Draco exclaimed weakly, still keeping his volume down.
Someone snickered.
Harry looked around. "You're that badly in need of instruction?" he asked the half-dozen people who'd stopped to watch. They all turned red in embarrassment and wandered away, although a couple of them were also muttering imprecations.
"Now, where were we?" Harry said sensually, turning back to his lover.
"You were about to go see Professor McGonagall," Draco said firmly, pushing away from the wall, and Harry. And I'm going for a lie-down, he thought to himself, before remembering he had Arithmancy in just a few minutes.
"Go!" Draco said, making shooing gestures.
"There you are!" came Vincent's voice. "Don't you have a class soon?"
"See?" Draco said to Harry. "I'm in perfectly safe hands."
Harry growled throatily, causing Draco's eyes to go wide.
Damn! Now I need a lie-down, and I haven't the time! he thought.
"Get out of here, before I decide to sleep in my own bed tonight!" Draco threatened in a low whisper.
With a warning glance at Vincent to take care of Draco, which the other Slytherin acknowledged with a nod of his head, Harry gave Draco's hand a quick squeeze, and headed off.
"Come on," Draco said to Vincent gruffly, "that damn man has made me late to my next class!"
Vincent sniggered, and was the recipient of a spell that boxed his ears, for his trouble.
"It's the Slytherin/Gryffindor match Saturday, Harry," Draco said as they were eating their lunch.
"Is it, then?"
"Mm-hm."
"You're sounding a bit wistful. Sorry you gave up your position?" Harry asked.
"I enjoyed the game, the excitement," Draco admitted. It had been a hard decision, but Draco had decided that helping Harry with everything he needed to learn was more important than a sporting game of Quidditch. (In addition to everything else, Draco, once he knew that Harry wasn't totally hopeless at potions, had undertaken to catch Harry up with the past five years of lessons.)
Nor had the team been happy with Draco's decision, but considering the fact that the Gryffindor team was now without Harry, they'd been better able to swallow their disappointment than would have otherwise been the case. Young Talbot had turned out to be a tolerable Seeker, and Slytherin House had won more games than they'd lost.
"You'd have had to quit anyway," Harry said, glancing at Draco's still-flat abdomen. "And it would have been a lot more awkward to quit, middle of the season."
"True," Draco said, spooning up another mouthful of the thick stew they'd been served.
"Want to go see it, then?"
"I think I might," Draco replied.
"Right," Harry replied, the matter settled.
Changing the subject, Harry said, "McGonagall gave me two hours' detention with Filch after supper tonight. Could you see if you can find a book or two in the library to help us with that project?"
As always, there were those listening who just 'couldn't help overhearing' others conversations, so Harry was being circumspect. And with the way he'd phrased the request, the listeners lost interest, thinking he was talking about a school assignment.
"Of course," Draco replied negligently.
"Make sure you have one of the duo with you?" Harry requested, and not only for Draco's ears.
Draco shrugged, then nodded.
The duo, Greg and Vince, on Draco's other side, also nodded. They'd got the message.
Draco was beginning to feel a bit claustrophobic from having someone with him whenever he wasn't in his or Harry's rooms, but he valued his skin and was putting up with it. He determined to beard Professor Snape again though, and find out the status of the investigation into the 'accident'.
Unfortunately they still didn't know who had instigated the incident, or why. What Professor Snape had said however, was, "Investigations are still in progress, boy; now stop plaguing me about it!"
The rest of the day was without undue incident, and Draco had controlled himself throughout supper, but the blond practically attacked Harry when his husband got back from his detention that night. He cast silencing and locking spells on the portal, as well as conjuring a cloth so Harry's portal guardian couldn't watch, and then started divesting Harry of his clothes.
"You . . . twit!" Draco said exasperatedly. "You know what your growling does to me! Haven't been able . . . to concentrate . . . all afternoon!"
Although a bit taken by surprise, Harry grinned. "Yeah, I do," he leered.
Draco stopped what he was doing and stared at his lover. "You did it on purpose?" he asked incredulously.
"No," Harry disavowed, "but—"
"Then just . . . shut up!" Draco demanded. He finished getting Harry naked, then slipped off his dressing robe, which had been his only garment as he waited for Harry to arrive.
Harry submitted to Draco's ministrations, then crushed his husband to him and gave him a bruising kiss, which Draco returned in kind.
The action quickly advanced to Harry's bed, but it didn't stay there as Draco very demandingly told Harry just how he was to fuck him, and in what positions – including a couple that incorporated the use of a wall. Harry had to use a couple of spells to help himself last long enough to completely satisfy his blond lover, but eventually they were both completely sated, and too tired to even clean themselves up afterward.
Draco had forgotten about Scathi, who kept out of sight, and got quite an education that evening.
It was another three days before Harry made it back down to the Chamber of Secrets. In the meantime he and Draco had been studying the ritual for the dead. While it wasn't difficult, there was a lot to memorise, and they hadn't quite got it down, yet.
"Back so soon?" Salazar asked as Harry briskly walked in.
"It's been three days," Harry replied, surprised.
"Oh? Lose all track of time down here, you know: especially after all these centuries," the ghost said as his alibi. "So you've got the ritual, then? Where's your Malfoy?"
"We're not quite ready yet, but we do have it, and have been trying to memorise it," Harry said earnestly.
"Difficult, is it?"
"Just long, really," Harry admitted. "I've just come down to see how Dobby and Skiph have been doing, and to see where the corridor comes out, out there." Looking around, he was impressed. Most of the tapestries had been repaired, although apparently very little of the furniture had been salvageable, even with magic. But the room was clean, at any rate.
"The forest, naturally," Salazar replied. "Well hidden though, if I do say so myself, as shouldn't."
"You created it, then?"
"Of course," Salazar said proudly. "These are my apartments, after all."
"So why isn't that your likeness out there, then? The large bust?" Harry asked.
"That would have been a bit of cheek, wouldn't it, boy?" Salazar said. "No, I'm not that vain, and Merlin's image was much better for the purpose."
"That's Merlin?" Harry asked, astounded.
"Good gods, boy! What are they teaching you these days, that you don't know Merlin's visage?"
Harry frowned. "Not enough, sir, I can tell you that," he said, thinking of four almost wasted years of DADA.
"Tell me," the ghost demanded.
Harry really hadn't meant to spend much time there this time, but he was more or less obliged, so he settled into the chair Draco had transformed the last time they were there and started telling Salazar about the classes that were being taught, and what was being taught in them. Well over an hour later, what with Slytherin's questions, exclamations and declamations, he completed the recital.
"Astronomy! Muggle Studies! Divination, for Merlin's sake! What has this school come to?" bemoaned the ghost angrily. "Yes, well, I can see where Muggle Studies might have a use. Ruddy unfathomable at times, those people."
"You had the other classes then, sir?" Harry asked.
"Of course, boy, although I can assure you we only allowed half an hour a week for History of Magic! And whatever happened to the physical arts: swordplay and self-defense – the arts of the gentleman?"
"No longer taught, I'm afraid, sir," Harry replied, "although some of us might still be interested."
"But nobody to teach you them!" the Founder raged. Although he was a ghost, whose colour palettes tended to run to shades of white, grey and silver even where blood was concerned, Salazar's angry face was taking on a faintly pinkish hue.
"Would you be interested, sir?" Harry asked.
"Me? Who'd be taught by a ghost?" Salazar said disparagingly.
"Did I forget to mention that Professor Binns, who teaches History of Magic, is a ghost?"
Salazar stared at Harry, and then burst out in great peals of laughter. "Fitting!" he roared. "Ruddy boring subject!"
But Salazar declined to teach a full class, even on the sly, as it were. Teaching the use of sword and dagger, Quarterstaffing, and the bow and arrow usually required at least some hands-on training – something of which the Founder was now incapable. However, he would undertake to teach Harry and Draco to see if it could be done.
That matter settled, Harry promised to have the death ritual memorised as soon as possible. Then he took his leave, and went to look at the outer entrance of the Chamber for himself.
Upon seeing it, Harry wondered how the hell Dumbledore – or whoever was responsible for the deed – had found the entrance. A cleverly counter-weighted boulder behind a thick growth of vines hid the passage close beside, and partially behind a waterfall. It wasn't a particularly large waterfall, nor very impressive, but the formation of the cliff it tumbled over was folded and rough enough for the purpose of hiding any discrepancies, and the noise of the falling water would cover any untoward sounds. With the boulder in its closed position, Harry couldn't tell there was anything unnatural about it even from close to. So perhaps it hadn't been closed when it was found?
Upon re-entering the passageway, Harry cast the most advanced locking charm he knew on the 'door', and resolved to find better. Dumbledore or any other sufficiently advanced wizard would likely be able to get past this one. Perhaps some of those wards they'd learned would work? But simply warding an entryway was a different application than what they'd done at Malfoy Manor, so some research was called for: and this time he couldn't use Hermione.
Maybe he could ask Salazar, but that would have to wait; time was running short, and he needed to meet Draco.
Making his way back to his rooms, Harry found Draco waiting for him, and related everything he had found to his lover on their way to lunch, raising the blond's curiosity to see for himself. However, Draco wasn't to have an uninterrupted meal. An old, decrepit owl flew into the Great Hall, made its way to the Slytherin table, and collapsed in Draco's plate.
"What the bloody hell!" Draco exclaimed angrily.
"It's Errol," Harry said, pulling the owl out of Draco's meal.
"And what, may I ask, is an 'Errol'?"
"He belongs to the Weasleys," Harry explained, knowing what was coming. He was right.
"That explains it, then," Draco said sneeringly. "Too bloody poor to have a proper owl."
"Too kind-hearted to retire him when he still wants to work," Harry corrected. But thinking of Pig – Pigwidgeon, the Weasely's other owl – it did seem that his foster family had a rather strange taste in owls.
"So what was so ruddy important that he had to ruin my meal?" Draco asked, ignoring Harry's reprimand.
Instead of answering the question immediately, Harry called for Dobby.
"You called, Master Harry?" Dobby asked after he popped in.
"Yes, Dobby. Thank you. Could you ask the kitchen elves to send up another plate for Draco? An owl landed in his."
"Yes, Master Harry," Dobby said with a grin, happy to be doing Harry a personal service, rather than just cleaning and renovating for him. The latter was rewarding, but a house elf found waiting personally on their masters so much more satisfying.
"Thank you, Dobby," Harry said, smiling.
Dobby popped out, and Harry turned his attention to the letter Errol had been carrying.
"It's addressed to you," he said to Draco.
Draco frowned in suspicion. "Why would they want to write me?" he asked. "Probably just want to curse at me for being around you," he decided. "Throw it away."
Instead, Harry opened the missive and started reading. Draco was a bit miffed by that – it was his post, after all – but since he'd more or less disclaimed ownership by deciding to discard it...
Draco's ruined meal disappeared, and was replaced a few seconds later. Draco resumed his interrupted meal.
"It's from Molly," Harry informed his husband. His cheeks were a bit red. "She's welcoming you to the family."
"What?" Draco exclaimed. "Has she lost her blooming mind?"
Harry shook his head. "I'm—"
"Mister Potter!" came Professor Snape's voice as he bore down on them. "Was that a personal house elf?"
"Yes sir," Harry said, turning to his Head of House. "I called him from home to expedite replacing Draco's meal."
He could have called Dobby from the Black mansion, so it was only a small lie.
"Has this been a habit of yours?"
Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise. "No, sir," he replied truthfully. Twice couldn't be called a habit.
Snape eyed him. "Detention, Potter," he decided. "Tonight: eight o'clock. Don't do it again."
"No sir," Harry replied through tense jaws. Greasy git, he thought resentfully. At the same time, he had no intention of obeying the man. He'd do the detention, but he was going to need Dobby more frequently, now. Once the baby was born . . . Oh, gods. Maybe we'll need Winky after all, Harry thought.
Draco remained diplomatically quiet.
When Harry had calmed down, he resumed his explanation to Draco.
"As I was saying, the Weasleys have more or less adopted me: informally, of course. They're the only family I have, and now they've welcomed you, too."
Having just lost his parents, Draco was torn. He was jealous that Harry had people who wanted to call him family, and a bit wistful as well for the invitation extended to him – and yet . . . the Weasleys! He gave a quiet shudder with his reaction. Both his family and personal feud with the Weasleys made it almost impossible to accept that invitation. But even though Harry was eating and acting as though it didn't concern him at all, Draco could tell that his husband wanted him to accept – that it was important to Harry for Draco to be accepted.
"Let me read that," Draco said impatiently, holding his hand out imperiously.
"Hmph! Not exactly an enthusiastic endorsement," Draco grumped, once he'd read the letter.
"But unanimous – even Ron agreed," Harry said.
"Under threat of torture, most likely," Draco grumbled.
Harry couldn't help a snort of laughter at that, but privately, he agreed. In order for Ron to have agreed, there would likely have been a lot of family pressure brought to bear.
Draco glared at Harry and heaved an exasperated sigh, then he said, "If I regret this, I'm going to make your life hell, Harry."
Harry grinned at the blond, then pulled him in for a hug and kiss, despite Draco trying to fend him off.
"Not in public, you git!" was Draco's blushing complaint.
The Slytherin and Gryffindor Quidditch teams were fairly evenly matched. Ginny Weasley had taken Harry's place as Seeker, and it seemed she and Talbot, from Slytherin, were fairly evenly matched as well.
Games when Harry and Draco had been involved had usually only lasted two to three hours, but this one seemed to promise to become much longer. It did. People left the stands from time to time for a snack or toilet break, only to return. For even though the game was becoming very long, it was a far cry from being boring as scores were made or blocked, flyers barely avoided bludgers, and the snitch was chased, only to eventually be lost again.
Draco tried to pretend indifference, but small movements he made gave away his interest: various tensions, tiny twistings of his body as he tried to vicariously 'help' a player, and small jumps as excitement overtook him. Harry cheered for any good play, no matter which House made it. He received a few dirty looks for cheering Gryffindor, but since he wasn't slighting his own House, his detractors were a little confused, and it never came to anything serious. To the few who protested his cheering the opposing team, Harry said, "I'm a fan of the game, not the House!"
Vince and Greg, who were there as bodyguards as well as spectators, were just as happy to not have to act against any disgruntled Housemates.
Suppertime came around, and house elves showed up in the stands with baskets of sandwiches of various sorts for those who didn't wish to leave to eat in the Great Hall. Draco received a tuna sandwich in a soft baguette, and Harry got cold ham and cheese in a sandwich roll.
It started getting dark and even more chilly, and Draco had just cast a warming spell on himself and Harry to ward off the cold when the snitch was again spotted. The Seekers dodged in and about the other players, and even followed it amongst the flag poles and structural supports. Ginny and Talbot were skilful, but not a spot on what Harry and Draco had been – but then Harry and Draco had been almost suicidal in their competition with each other and had gone to extremes, and beyond.
It was very close, but Talbot caught the snitch when it swerved to avoid Ginny, and almost smacked into the boy's hand.
Harry cheered for that, too, although he felt a bit sorry for Ginny.
Harry dragged Draco around the pitch, Greg and Vince trying manfully to keep up, hoping to get close to the girl before she went into the changing rooms, and just barely got within earshot.
"Good game, Ginny!" he yelled to her. "Rotten luck at the end, there."
Ginny heard him. Looking around, she spotted Harry, Draco by his side, and gave him a wave and a wry smile before being ushered into the changing room by her teammates.
"Rotten luck?" Draco griped.
"Shush, you," Harry said fondly, squeezing the blond to him.
o~~~~~~~~~o~~~~~~~~~o
A/N: I've been getting reviews from confused readers regarding what's been said about Draco being in a 'delicate condition'. In chapter 12 Draco was told by an unlicensed medical provider that he wasn't pregnant, and believed it. That was his thoughts, not my story facts. :) But laying aside the competence of the provider, considering that wizards aren't supposed to be able to get pregnant, how well do you suppose that medi-person actually checked?
Betas: Sheree S., Aayesha, Ishe-Leigh Brit-Picker: Andy