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Darkness Within The Light	By : crimson96 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 8759 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
Author's Note: Hello again everyone! A very fun chapter to write, and I hope that everyone has a lot of fun reading it.

Chapter 7: Revelations

"Bloody hell!" Ron wailed as he and Arthur walked down the path toward the Burrow. "Come on, Dad, you know they cheated! The bastards had to have cheated!"

Ron's eyes were wide with disappointment, and when he finished his tirade, his mouth settled into a tight-lipped pout reminiscent of his toddler days. The effect was simultaneously exasperating and humorous. If Ron were to stomp his feet and burst into tears, the regression would be complete, and Arthur would be unable to keep himself from laughing. As it was, he could not quite suppress a wry smile.

Arthur struck his son with a playful slap to the back of the head.

"Ron, watch your mouth! If your mother heard you talking like that she would conjure up a bar of soap and wash your mouth out!"

"Yeah, but Dad, you saw it…I mean we all did. That flash of lightning didn't occur at that moment naturally, did it? I still say they cheated!"

"Ron, please for the third time since we left the stadium, stop going on about it. Yes, I saw it, but you can't prove that Tutshill cheated. It was raining, Ron. Lightning flashes do happen during rainstorms."

"One," Ron waved his right hand in the air with his index finger extended. "One bloody lightning flash, Dad, during the whole game, and it was right at the end when Chudley almost had the snitch! If that isn't cheating, then I don't know what the bloody hell is!" Ron folded his arms across his chest and nodded vigorous agreement with himself.

"Ron, please, for the last time stop, your swearing before I conjure up a bar of soap myself!"

"Fine, then. I'll write a blood—I'll write a letter to the Quidditch commissioner telling him what the blood—what happened. Tutshill will have to forfeit, and that'll show them!" Ron pounded his right fist into his left palm and quickened his pace, obviously eager to get to his parchment and quill.

Arthur took hold of Ron's sleeve and planted his feet, stopping his son in his tracks. "Just a moment, Ron." Red-faced with his outrage over the match, Ron pivoted to face his father.

"What? Dad, let go!" Ron pleaded.

Arthur took a long, deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. His amusement had turned to suspicion, and when he opened his eyes, he struggled to keep his face neutral and his voice even,

"Ron, please tell me that you did not bet on that match?"

Ron wilted. His head drooped, and he shuffled his feet, muttering the words, "Yes, sir," to his shoes.

Arthur sighed and tilted Ron's chin up so that he could look his son in the eyes. "How much?"

"Fifty galleons," he said. "But I can get it back Dad, real soon, because our new product is going to be a big seller!"

Arthur staggered slightly as the amount of the wager hit him. "Fifty galleons? Ronald Weasley! Do you realize, son, what we could do with that amount of money? And, here you are gambling it on a Quidditch match?" Now Arthur was the one whose arms were folded across his chest.

"I'm sorry, Dad. I didn't mean any harm by it. You let Fred and George bet at the Quidditch World Cup," Ron muttered as a defense.

"I don't care, Ron. I do not want you doing anymore gambling, is that understood?" Arthur wagged a finger in warning to Ron. "If you land yourself in trouble over this, then don't expect your mother and I to come bail you out. You made your mess, you clean it up."

"Yes, sir. I won't bet anymore on Quidditch."

This met Arthur's approval and they continued walking toward the Burrow. Ron kept trying to suggest that Quidditch be played indoors inside a domed stadium, like they have in America. Arthur could only laugh and wonder why anyone would want to play Quidditch like that. However, the idea of a domed stadium did sound somewhat intriguing from a spectator's perspective.

Arthur and Ron found Molly in the kitchen, surrounded by ingredients and an array of Muggle cooking tools. Frowning in concentration, Molly was using one hand to chop an onion while stirring a pot of soup with the other hand. Arthur leaned against the doorway and watched in fascination. With only her hands, his wife was able to operate the spoon and knife almost as deftly as she could with magic. Once she had finished chopping the onion and poured the chunks into the soup pot, Arthur came to stand behind her and bent to kiss her on the cheek.

"My lovely Molly-Wobbles," Arthur whispered into Molly's ear.

"Arthur," Molly blushed. "Not in front of Ron, dear."

Molly hugged Ron before he could walk past her. Ron greeted his mother with a "hello" and a hug of his own, then pulled out a chair at the table and sat down to nibble on a loaf of bread.

"So how was the game?" Mrs. Weasley asked as she stirred the contents of the soup pot.

"It was a raining nightmare, Mum," Ron said, mumbling around the bread still in his mouth. "Poured rain on us, but as usual...Chudley lost."

"Aww, I'm sorry to hear that dear. I know that you had hoped they would win today." Molly turned to continue speaking to both of them, when Ron interrupted her.

"Mum, why do you have that in your hand, that big, wooden spoon thing?"

"Just trying something new, dear." Molly waved the spoon cheerfully and flashed a smile before sticking it back in the pot and stirring with large, exaggerated strokes. "I blame it all on your father."

Ron rolled his eyes and laughed. "Dad, you've created a monster!"

"You're mother is as clever as a Muggle, Ron!" Arthur squeezed his wife's shoulders and lightly kissed her again on her cheek. "Why, she's discovered the true use of some of the most puzzling Muggle artifacts. Take this one, for example." Arthur held up by its handle a rectangular, metal object with a regular array of holes punched in it. "I thought it was some sort of a musical instrument, that is, until I cut my hand on its sharp edges that are around those holes. But, it turns out it's for… What was it again?" Arthur paused as he tried to remember what he had seen Molly do with the contraption.

"Grating carrots, dear," Molly supplied.

"Grating carrots!" Arthur repeated, turning the thing left, then right, trying to envision how it worked. "Genius! And here I had decided it was some sort of medieval torturing device, what with these little razor sharp holes. A fascinating Muggle creation."

"Brilliant," Ron said, rolling his eyes again.

Arthur opened his mouth to admonish his son for failing to appreciate the challenges of living without magic and ingenuity required to do so. However, before he could formulate a proper lecture, Molly spoke up with news that made him drop the carrot grater.

"Ginny received a letter today while the two of you were gone. Harry is coming by tomorrow."

"Really, dear...he wrote and said that he was coming tomorrow?" Arthur clapped his hands together. "That's wonderful!" He kissed his wife again on her cheek.

Ron had put down the bread, and he regarded Molly with a thoughtful expression. "Mum?"

"Yes, Ron?" Mrs. Weasley replied while she stirred the soup with the spatula.

"Did Harry say anything in the letter, you know, anything about us, or about what happened back at Hogwarts?"

"No, he just said that he was sorry that he had been out of touch, and hoped that we would accept his apologies. Also, he wanted to let everyone know that he would be here at 3pm tomorrow." She turned to look at her son who was smiling now, and appeared to have forgotten about the Cannons losing the Quidditch match. "Did you want to floo Hermione? I believe she said that they were staying in Edinburgh this summer."

"Yeah, I do!" Ron rose from the table and ran upstairs, leaving Molly and Arthur alone.

The sound of Ron's bedroom door creaking open and slamming closed came from upstairs. The smile faded from Molly's face as she looked down into the soup pot, staring at the bubbling bits of meat and vegetables as if they were the contents of a pensive.

"What is it?" Arthur asked, stroking Molly's back and looking over her shoulder, watching the rhythmic motions of her hand and the spoon. "Won't you be glad to have Harry home? Ron and Ginny will be chuffed to bits."

Before Molly could answer, Ron raced down the stairs and into the kitchen sporting a dry and clean Chudley shirt, and threw the floo powder into the fireplace.

"The Granger's. Edinburgh, Scotland." With a flash of green flame and a grin, Ron disappeared.

"Well?" Arthur prompted.

"It will be different!" Molly sighed, scrubbing at her eyes with the back of her hand.

Not knowing what to say, Arthur began gathering the cooking implements and placing them in the sink. The room seemed strangely quiet without the clanging of pans washing themselves, the swish of a magically animated broom, or the cries of children laughing or squabbling. Only the faint clink of Molly's spoon and the barely audible rumble of the boiling soup broke the silence. The Burrow was different.

Harry closed the book he had been reading, marking his place with a scrap of parchment. He turned the book in his hands and regarded the title, smiling to himself as he read it out aloud.

"Death Omens. What To Do When You Know The Worst Is Coming," Harry spoke to the empty room. "Trelawney could learn a thing or two from this book."

Harry stretched and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands as the clock on the wall began to chime. The Black Family library was a miniature version of the library at Hogwarts. Since his return, he had started to come to this room every day to read. The books spanned a variety of topics. Harry knew that if Hermione found out that he had taken up this interest in reading, that she would be proud of him. Of course, if she knew that he was reading books about dark magic, she would surely lecture him about the dangers of practicing those types of spells. Harry was not yet ready to show Hermione his work, but since their near-deaths from the Fiendfyre Curse inside the Room of Requirement, he had been working on a way to subdue the curse from blazing out of control. His solution worked well, usually, and the few times it hadn't, Harry had survived. Still, until he had achieved unquestionable success, he was sure that Hermione would lecture him until his ears bled, going on about the dangers of mucking about with things that he didn't understand.

"Knowledge is power, as you would say Hermione," Harry said as he replaced the book on the shelf and turned back to the desk. "Besides what you don't know will not harm you." He heard a knock at the door, and Kreacher peered around the slightly cracked entrance.

"It's almost time, Master Harry."

"Yes, thank you, Kreacher," Harry said as he walked out of the library. "I should be back in a few hours. I imagine Mrs. Weasley will have a feast prepared, so don't bother about cooking tonight."

The house elf bowed as Harry fastened the cloak around his neck. Harry stepped outside Number 12 Grimmauld Place for the first time since he had arrived back from Hogwarts. The sunlight dazed the young wizard, but he turned and disapparated, only to find himself moments later standing in front of the gate to the Burrow.

Harry heard a voice call his name as he tried to recover from the apparition. Before Harry could regain his equilibrium, he was being bear-hugged by a strong, red-headed young man. The force almost knocked Harry to the ground as he attempted to hug Ron back without falling.

"Ron, for goodness sake, you're going to kill him!" Harry knew this voice. It was Hermione, and Harry looked over Ron's shoulder to see her bushy, brown hair, which today looked very tame and docile. "Let him breathe, you big troll."

Ron let go of Harry. "Sorry, it's just been so long since we've seen you, that I...bloody hell Harry, you're as white as Sir Nicholas!"

"Oh, yeah, haven't been out too much," Harry replied, looking up at Ron who seemed to have grown a couple of inches taller since he had last seen him.

Harry walked over to Hermione for a brief hug and an exchange of muttered pleasantries. He wasn't sure what he even said to Hermione because someone else had caught his attention.

"Ginny," Harry said as he let go of Hermione and walked over to her. She was crying and smiling at the same time. When he reached her, she threw her arms around his waist and leaned against him so that he could feel her warm, wet tears on his neck and her silky scarlet hair against his cheek. He returned her embrace, noting how soft she felt and trying not to think of what it would be like to hold a body that was all angles and planes or to bury his face into fine, silver-blonde hair.

"It's good to have you back, Harry," Ginny whispered to him as they continued to hold one another.

Harry nodded as they broke their hold and looked at one another. He started to reply, but was saved from having to respond when Mr. and Mrs. Weasley came out of the house, both beaming.

"Mr. Weasley, good to see you again," Harry said as he shook his hand.

"Good to see you as well, Harry."

"Mrs. Weasley," Harry said as he walked over and hugged her. "I am sorry for not coming to the funeral. I hope that you will accept my apology, and my condolences."

"Of course dear, we accept your apology. We knew that you just needed a bit of time to yourself, that's all," Mrs. Weasley said as she led him into the house, followed by the others.

Dinner that evening was just like old times. There were many stories to catch up on, especially from Ron, who talking about the joke shop and his trip to see the Chudley Cannons play. Harry had forgotten how filling it was to eat a large meal at the Weasley's. By the time dessert had been placed on the table, Harry could not eat another bite. Mr. Weasley had been very keen on asking Harry more questions about Muggle items, while Ginny sat next to Harry holding his hand and looking at him. Ron and Hermione sat across from them at the table, holding hands as well.

"So, Harry," Mr. Weasley spoke up, "Tell us, what have you been doing with yourself?"

Harry looked down at his plate and pushed a piece of treacle tart with a fork. He should have been prepared for this question, but he hadn't taken the time to think it through, so of course the responses that sprang to mind were all grotesquely inappropriate. I've been staying up late reading about the dark arts to avoid my own dreams and depression. I've smashed perfectly good tableware in a fit of rage. I dream about joining forces with Voldemort and becoming a powerful Death Eater, and I find myself fantasizing about Draco Malfoy.

A firm and gentle squeeze of his left hand from Ginny brought Harry out of his own thoughts. "Well, I have been tending to things at Grimmauld Place; you know, doing a lot of reading and such." Hermione beamed at the very mention of reading. "I've also been thinking about things." Harry looked directly at Ginny, and she blushed as he looked at her. "Hermione, I want to thank you for the owl. I've decided to name him Ramses."

"You're welcome Harry. I told Ron you would like him, after what happened to Hedwig." She looked down for a moment at the deceased owl's name, but then perked up again. "Harry, you should come and see Diagon Alley! It's all rebuilt where the Death Eaters destroyed parts of it, and the shops are all open once again!"

"Yeah, sure, I would like to try and do that sometime," Harry agreed vaguely, not wanting to make a firm commitment. "Has anyone heard if Hogwarts will be open this year?"

"No, Harry. We've not heard of any news from Hogwarts yet. I would suspect that they would try to reopen the school for the next term, but given what happened there, I am not sure they will. The school was heavily damaged," Mr. Weasley said, as he stirred his tea around with his spoon. "However there is some good news though; Shacklebolt has been named the new Minister of Magic."

"That's brilliant!" Harry said, trying to sound upbeat.

A silence fell around the table, and Harry began to feel a bit awkward as it loomed over them all. He sat there trying to remember the last time, or any time, that it had been quiet at the Weasley's dinner table. Harry knew that times were changing, and people as well.

Harry cleared his throat, which seemed to bring everyone out of their silent trances. "If you don't mind, everyone, I would like to speak to Ginny privately." Mr. and Mrs. Weasley smiled at him, Ron had a tiny smirk on his face and nodded his head, while Hermione dabbed at her eyes with a serviette, trying to stifle a tear.

Harry led Ginny away from the table and out into the garden. The smell of the early summertime flowers filled his senses and reminded him a bit of the smell that came from Professor Trelawney's classroom. They walked in silence, but still holding hands. The garden extended down the side of the hill behind the home to where a large oak tree was located. They sat down in the evening sunset and gazed off into the orange streaks of color that filled the sky.

"Ginny, I needed to talk to you about us," Harry started as he turned his head to her. "I know that everything has been a bit chaotic lately, and I am sorry for not replying to your letters."

Harry felt Ginny reach for his face and lightly brush his cheek with the back of her hand. He closed his eyes as he felt her hand move to his forehead and to his scar. The sensation from the touch of her fingers upon his scar was almost overpowering to him. He reached up and slowly closed his hand upon hers then brought it down to rest upon the grass between them. Harry opened his eyes to see Ginny's lips curving into a gentle smile.

"Ginny, I love you. I love all of you. But right now I still need a bit of time to get over what has happened, and to pick myself up and move forward."

Harry waited for her answer as she had stopped looking at him, and instead focused upon something out across the field. When she looked back at him, she had tears in her eyes. "I know, Harry, I know." That was all that she could say before she fell against his shoulder and sobbed. Harry placed his hand upon her soft hair and stoked it and her back while she wept for them and their love. A few minutes later she broke their embrace and looked at Harry while trying to wipe the tears from her eyes.

"Somehow, someway I knew, Harry. Something told me that things would not be the same as they were. I just had a feeling. You know as if something is a bit off, just a little." She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and then opened them. When she spoke, the sadness had gone from her voice, replaced with cold disappointment. "Why didn't you answer the letters that were sent to you?"

"Honestly, Ginny, I didn't know what to say." Harry placed his other hand on top of their combined hands, as Ginny placed her free hand on top of Harry's. He spoke while looking at their joined hands. "So much has happened that I just did not know what to say to you, or how to say it."

"You could have at least told us that you were alright!" Ginny said. Her hands clenched tightly, and Harry winced as her nails dug into his flesh. "We had no idea what was going on with you! We were all so worried about you, Harry. It's difficult knowing someone you love will not speak to you and not even knowing why!"

Harry looked away from their hands and focused on the fading sunset on the western horizon. The streaking rays filled the sky with crimson and pink colors now as Harry could hear Ginny crying yet again, but he still refused to look into her soft, brown eyes.

"How do you think I feel, Harry?" she sobbed. "Do you even care about me anymore? Damn it, Harry... James... Potter, look at me!"

Harry felt Ginny's hand grab his chin as his head was torqued so that he had to look at her. He felt his own anger ignite, heating his cheeks and smoldering until he was sure Ginny could see it in his eyes. All that Harry wanted to do right now was to leave and go back to Grimmauld Place. He struck her hand away with more force than he anticipated.

"What do you want, Ginny? What do you expect from me? An apology, because I've already given you that. A promise? A commitment? A damned bloody ring? Because that's not going to happen, Ginny," Harry shouted back at her. He knew that a row with Ginny was the last thing that he wanted, especially here and now, but she had pressed the wrong buttons within him, and now his anger was unleashed.

"Ginny, you will never understand, but there are things in my head now that scare me. They are dark images and very dark thoughts that I have no control over," Harry said as he squeezed her hands between his.

"Harry, you're hurting my ha-, Harry let go of me!" Ginny screamed as Harry had begun to force her fingers to squeeze together without mercy. Harry watched as Ginny recoiled, tucking her hands under her arms as if to protect them. "I've seen dark things, Harry. I've fought in battles. I've been possessed by Him. I've lost my brother, for Merlin's sake. What makes you think I would never understand?" Ginny demanded, "What makes you so bloody arrogant that-"

Harry placed his hand in front of her to cut her off. "What I mean is this." Harry could feel his anger slowly declining and his confidence in his answer growing. "Right now, I have been through what no other wizard or witch could ever imagine having to go through. I don't know what I want, or who I- who I am anymore, really." He saw the softness slightly return to Ginny's eyes as she inched closer again to him. "I have already placed you in danger once by letting Voldemort get close to you, and now I fear that I could make that mistake once again."

Harry saw Ginny's face turn blood-red as the Weasley temper flared in her. "It's him! This is still all about him? Still? How can it be unfair to me Harry, when HE is dead?"

Harry looked away from Ginny again, not wanting to answer her questions. Moments later Harry's view of the sun was blocked by Ginny standing in front of him, her hands on her hips.

"Or tell me Harry, is it something more? Is there something else that you are not telling me, and you are using him as your excuse for everything?"

Her eyes locked with his in a cool, steady gaze so intense that he could not look away. "I know he's dead, Ginny, but no matter what anyone says, there is still a piece of Voldemort that lives within me. That's something that I will never be able to rid myself of. There is no spell or potion that can ever take that away from me."

He continued to look into Ginny's eyes as she would not move from in front of him. She could not possibly know what he was thinking; the idea that she could somehow look inside him and see the source of his conflict was ludicrous, of course. Surely, there was no way that she could see his true thoughts that revolved around a certain blonde Slytherin, and not her. Still Ginny's eyes narrowed and she nodded, as if having confirmed something for herself.

"You're lying," Ginny spat.

"Fine!" Harry stood up and leaned forward so that his face was only inches from hers. "You're right!" He barked a short, manic laugh. "It's isn't just because of Voldemort. Do you want to know what it is? It's someone else. There, I said it. You want to know who it is that I can't get out of my brain? Do you want to know who it is I think about every time I remember kissing you? It is-"

Suddenly, there was a crack in the air and Harry felt himself reeling. The side of his face seared with pain as Harry felt the hot lashes from where Ginny's fingers had struck him. Feeling dazed, he dropped to his knees and fumbled for his glasses, which she had knocked off his face. When he found his glasses and put them back on, Ginny came clearly into focus.

"It doesn't matter who the hell it is. You're ...different. You are not the Harry Potter that I once loved," she coldly whispered.

Harry watched as she turned and walked back toward the Burrow as the wind fanned her red hair. "Yeah," he agreed while getting to his feet and feeling a touch of blood at the corner of his mouth. "Everything is different."

A soft pop echoed the arrival of Harry back home to Grimmauld Place. He had a full stomach and was weary from the emotions of the day. He had known that this day would be a difficult one, and indeed it lived up to every expectation. He walked slowly up the stairs toward his bedroom thinking about how nice it would be to just fall into his bed and go to sleep. It was strange, Harry thought, that Kreacher did not say anything to him upon his arrival. However it was late, and Harry assumed that the house elf was already fast asleep in his own bed.

He opened the door to his bedroom and threw the traveling cloak onto the floor. He opened the window to let in some nighttime air, along with the sounds of suburban London that he had become so familiar with. Harry lay back on the bed and closed his eyes, letting the events of the day race through his mind. There was a whoosh of air above him.

"Ramses, I will feed you in the morning." Harry mumbled while still lying on the bed with his eyes closed. "Just get in your cage and call it a night, alright?"

A loud, piercing screech vibrated Harry's eardrums, and he quickly opened his eyes. He knew that was not Ramses. Perched on top of Ramses' cage was a beautiful, white eagle. The magnificent bird looked at Harry, and swooped down onto the bed. There tied to the eagle's leg, Harry saw, was an envelope.

"Where did you come from? You are absolutely beautiful!" Harry said, as he lightly stroked the feathers. The eagle angled its head and made a chattering sound, as if trying to speak to Harry. He untied the note from the bird's leg. The eagle flew to the edge of the windowsill and landed there, watching Harry with its dark, penetrating eyes.

Harry looked puzzled for a moment at the white bird and then surveyed the writing on the envelope. There in very neat, green writing was his name:

H. Potter

Harry had seen this kind of handwriting before, and knew exactly now, who the eagle belonged to. It belonged to a Slytherin named Draco Malfoy.
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Darkness Within The Light