A Dark Time For The Light

62

The year was turning. All of them were adjusting to the newness of their lifestyles. They worked, they loved, they went to the pub, they played frisbee in the local park soaking up the last of the autumnal sun, they paid bills, sorted out bank accounts, had birthdays and parties to celebrate. As the year started to wane, Dean gently broke it off with Colin and started to woo Belinda at the pub, despite an age gap of nearly ten years. Colin was sad but got over it. Dean moved out of the house into a little studio flat on his own, the others were more independent now. George had recently procured work in a small office answering the phones and doing administrative tasks. His wage wasn’t huge, but he got to take Caroline out on a regular basis and his sister smiled to see her brother making his way. One way or another, they were all settling into a Muggle life and were reasonably content.

As the weather started to cool, Draco arrived home one night and flopped onto the sofa, “I’m knackered, Harry. I need a holiday. I have a week come November. I’d like us to get away somewhere. A real holiday”. They kissed and Harry thought about it, “We could go to Italy if Joe will give me some time off. I know this job will be finished the first week in November and I think there’s a week before we have to start the next, but we’ll have to get passports. I’ll write off for my birth certificate tomorrow”.

“Birth certificate?”, Draco quizzed. “Yeah, every kid has one”, Harry shrugged. Draco quailed inside, “Maybe not me, Harry. Shit. I need to write to my mother”. So he did, a long missive that took two days to compose, then sent it to his mother care of the Duchess in Derbyshire, giving the cadre’s PO box as a reply address.

A week later a letter written on stiff parchment arrived at the cadre’s mail drop and Draco ripped it open eagerly. A document in pink and beige colours dropped from Draco’s hands that Harry retrieved from the floor, plus others, two cheques. Draco read the letter,

My dearest son,

I have left your father. I said I would follow your path and so I have. There are many decisions that I took alone regarding you and this was one of my wisest. I registered your birth with the relevant Muggle authorities and your birth certificate is enclosed with this letter.

Maybe you are not aware of this my petit, but our vault at Gringott’s was robbed to the tune of nearly 2 million Galleons. An investigation at the bank showed your key was used to access the vault. I can only presume that it must have been picked up during the Battle, that, thankfully, you survived, as no trace of your presence was found on examining the Wards around Diagon Alley. Your Father was furious. I merely laughed. The goblins told the Law Enforcer that it was your Father that took the money, but we presume it was an interloper of some sort.

My son, you know your Father cut you off from the Malfoy Estates, but he cannot touch the Black fortune which I still hold in my name. I did not give everything into my husband’s care. Therefore I have arranged for the enclosed for you and your loved one as he should have been the recipient of his godfather’s portion as well as the ownership of the house in London. Sirius willed it thus and I would have it no other way.

I am currently in hiding, away from the Wizarding world that has taken so much from me, including you, my little Dragon. Unfortunately, I had to leave Reuben with his Grandpa as I fled. I have been passed news of a Wizarding Underground and I have a great desire to join, but I have no contacts that I can rely on. If you know more, then I would appreciate it if you could pass this on to me.

I am safe and well and being looked after. I would dearly love to see you again, my little one. Please do not hate me for running, but I am finally with the one who truly loves me at long last and we would really love to make contact with the rest of our kind in hiding. I feel I can say no more at this current time. I heard about the death of the Rat and the subsequent raid on your previous quarters and I am proud of you all that you could live in such conditions and thrive. If this is how I have to live in the future, then, I, too, will live in whatever manner life throws at me to live in Light once again. I love you my petit Draconis, and I remain,

Your loving Mother xxx

Draco was silent and purse-lipped as he folded the letter and placed it back in the envelope. “I’m not sure if I can trust her”, he said, then glanced at his lover who was as white as a sheet, holding two small slips of paper, that had been wrapped in a larger page. The solicitor’s verification of the provenance and two cheques. The first made out to Draco for the sum of nearly 2 million pounds, the other to Harry for just over four and a half.

Million.

Pounds sterling.

Harry fainted dead away on the Post Office floor and Draco revived him by holding him and kissing him, “Harry, Harry, come back to me, love. What’s the matter, baby?”. Harry’s eyes fluttered open. He still held the cheques tight in his left hand. He opened it and let Draco read both of them. Draco, lightheaded, joined him on the floor for a moment, then hauled them both to their feet and got them out of there.

“We’re rich”, the bald statement from Draco as they sped home in a taxi clutching the precious paperwork to them. He held his distraught Gryffindor Lion to him in the cab who shook and cried at this turn of events.

“Well, it goes some way towards compensating me for my own loss of funds”, Harry remarked, dryly, as the shakes slowed. Draco was agog. “Some way?”, he spluttered. Harry grinned and nodded, “Yeah, some way. Before the lock was applied to Muggle-born’s accounts, Dragon, I was worth somewhere in the region of a hundred and thirty million pounds sterling”.

It was Draco’s turn to nearly choke and faint. He raked his hands through his hair as he stared open-mouthed at his beloved, “Christ tonight, Harry, you could buy the Malfoys out four times”, he finally managed in a whisper. Harry allowed himself a moment of smugness at his lover’s reaction, “Well, at least I know you don’t want to marry me for my money at any rate”. Draco cast an appraising eye over his fiance then joked, “Oh, Harry. I love you for your fat bank account”, then got serious. “Baby, you ran to me in the fucking clothes on your back and 2 grand in the bank. The money is cool but you make me forget all the shite connected with filthy lucre. You just are, and I love you for it. I don’t care if we’re skint, love, you mean more to me than money, than anything, really”. He gave himself away by giggling, that, in an instant had both of them clutching each other, feeling like Lottery winners, “We’re rich, we’re rich, we’re rich”, they danced and jumped on the furniture at the flat.

With the solicitor’s letter explaining the probate, they had no difficulty depositing the cheques. Then had to await them being cashed. The money was in their accounts in days. They redistributed some of it anonymously into the cadre’s accounts then took some advice over investing some of the rest. Draco dropped five hundred thousand into his wife’s account. Harry smiled, “You look after her, don’t you?”. Draco smiled back, somewhat wry of mouth, “Harry, she’s a Malfoy, for good or ill. The mother of my son, and I like her to boot. Whatever funds I receive, until our divorce, she gets a portion of, end of story”. Harry drew them together for a kiss, “You’re an honourable man, my Dragon, and I’m proud of you for it”, then proceeded to do some divvying up of his own. He knew his friends’ account numbers on record on the cadre’s old database. He took great delight at dropping a hundred thou in each of Dean’s, Seamus’, Terry’s and Colin’s accounts. Wait ‘til they got their next statement!!!. Then another 100 thou each to his favourite ex-teachers and another placed in a separate high yield account for Minerva when they met again, then a bit more for the girls.

Draco wrote back to his Mother, thanking her for the bounty and appending Alastor Moody’s number. If she wanted to join the Underground, then she’d better be prepared to be dowsed by the best Dark Auror in the land.

Harry guided his lover through the passport application procedure and within a couple of weeks both held a maroon booklet proclaiming them citizens of the UK and fit for travel. Within days they had plane tickets and when their timetables meshed they found themselves at Heathrow and on a plane for Turin.

Harry leaned back in his seat. He was enjoying the rush of take-off. Draco was less sure. Harry held his hand as the plane took off. Draco clutched at his hand white-faced and sweating. “Merlin!. Harry, it’s so fast. Italy, to me, was always a three-day journey by broom”. Harry grinned and kissed Draco’s hand, “We’ll be there in a matter of a few hours. Muggle technology ain’t all bad, my love”. Draco nodded, still pale, “I know. It’s just so damned fast sometimes”.

They were through the luggage pick-up and passport control then rushing into their friends’ arms. Both Ron and Blaise met them. The two Gryffindors watched as the two Slytherins met for the first time in almost three years then joined mouths for an impromptu kiss before separating in the name of decorum and leading their guests to the waiting car.

There was a journey in a near silent car into the mountains. Ron flipped the driver’s window shut and the four regarded each other in the charged atmosphere in the back of the car. Harry kept his eyes on Ron as he gathered Draco to him and kissed him senseless. Draco moaned and closed his eyes, sinking into the kiss. Blaise divined the vibe and pulled his Ron to him, causing the big redhead to moan in his turn and twitch to adjust himself as the car purred through the darkness.

Draco glanced between Harry and Ron and Blaise, “How long have we got ‘til we arrive?”, he asked in a sultry tone, his tongue once again swallowed by Harry’s mouth. Ron grinned as he surveyed the tableau before him, “About an hour”, he huffed out. In moments his eyes were engaged by deep green, his dearest friend, who slid to the floor of the large car and unzipped him and took him, without preamble, into his mouth. Their hosts were still a little uncertain until Draco stripped his lover of jeans, then after a little preparation, entered him, crying out and licking his lips. Blaise knew his signals and slid to the floor on his knees and undid himself then fed his length into Draco’s willing mouth. Clutching a hand in the platinum locks the native Italian exploded in short order, his lover tipping over into Harry’s mouth as he heard his lover come, then Draco came deep into Harry who, in turn, splashed his best friend with his come muttering vague curses and imprecations. They were all more or less clean and zipped away as the car ground to a halt in front of the villa.

Thus was the tenor of the holiday set.

The following day their hosts showed them around. They were in a very large much-added to villa about halfway up an Italian Alp with wonderful views down to Milan a smoky haze in the distance. Even for November the air was already crisply cold with a scent of snow on it. The property boasted many smaller villas dotted about and it was one of these that Blaise and his lover lived along with their child and a small staff including a nanny.

Harry smiled looking around the comfortably furnished home, “Wow, Ron, you’ve really fallen on your feet here, mate”. Ron’s smile was a little rueful. When Blaise had led Draco away to show him a painting that the family owned, Harry snagged Ron for a private chat.

“They’re lovely people, Harry, and I feel a bit of a bastard here saying this, but I feel stifled. Blaise’s mum is a true Italian Mamma and is always poking her nose in. He has, like, ten zillion maiden aunties always dropping in for extended stays, and I, oh bollocks, I just miss you lot and I’m homesick. I want to come back to London. I want to work. I’m sick of living off other people. I loved earning my own money, that feeling of independence.... I know Blaise is getting a bit fed up of all the twittering females, too, they’re always yelling at each other. I’m not making much headway with the language either. I want to go home, Harry, even if home is no longer the Burrow”.

Harry held his best friend as sobs shook him. Blaise was concerned as Draco and he re-entered and rushed to his distraught lover’s side, “Only another few months, mi amante, then I will come into my inheritance, then we can leave the chattering signoras to their own devices, my love. Just a little longer, I swear”. Harry and his beloved shared a look then offered to help. To the amazement of the others. They accepted with alacrity.

They told of some of the hair-raising adventures they’d had. The snooker and the fact that Ginny was winning accolades too. All of the gossip and news. George’s delicate and rather sweet romance with Caroline and the tale of the gluing together of the breakfast bowls that made Ron howl with laughter. “Oh, Harry, that does me so much good to hear. At the party, he was so sombre, like some of the life had been drained from him. I’m glad he’s fighting back again. Mum and Dad would be so proud”, his tone of voice wistful.

Blaise could summon a car and driver whenever he wished and they took great delight in squiring their guests around in the large dark car. They spent a day in Milan itself and Draco was in fashion heaven and set about making over their wardrobes. Harry was a bit bemused as sartoriality was something that never bothered him, preferring to live in his basic outfit of jeans and t-shirts with sweatshirts added in the winter.

Draco changed all that and by the end of the day the car was full of their purchases, fancy bags holding extremely pricey merchandise. Draco had introduced Harry to the concept of designer jeans. Harry just shrugged. His criteria for buying was the expression on his lover’s face as he left the fitting room. If his eyes darkened and lowered or he licked a lip or his breath caught at the sight, then Harry bought the item. They both treated themselves to expensive sunglasses and Blaise enquired, “Harry, you always had glasses, now you wear contacts, si?”. Harry laughed, “No, laser treatment. The year before last. I was so glad to get rid of the damn glasses. They never suited me and they made me instantly recognisable. Now, so long as I keep the scar reasonably covered, I’m just Harry and it’s fucking brilliant. I’m not the fucking poster boy for the Wizarding world, not the ‘boy-who-failed’”. Their hosts winced at the term and the bitterness in Harry’s voice.

They had a lovely week, being fed well and lavishly. They spent a couple of evenings in the main house being twittered over by the aunts who were fascinated by the blond loveliness of Draco, his pale skin amongst so much olive. They spent a wonderful day by themselves, being driven further into the mountains, then hiking higher with a picnic hamper between them, eating and making love all afternoon in the highest location either had ever been in, then sauntering back to the waiting car hand in hand, to be whisked back in the purring vehicle, the driver’s expression impassive behind dark glasses.

They also spent a couple of steamy nights with their hosts.

The kisses and hugs at the airport were passionate and heartfelt as Ron and Blaise watched their friends go through the passport control barrier. They grinned at each other. Ron was now richer to the tune of a quarter of a million pounds and Harry had promised to look out for a suitable house for the small family back in London.

Harry was quiet on the plane. Draco thought to question him but kept quiet. He knew the reason for the silence. He recalled the look on Harry’s face when Freya Harriet was placed in his arms, his eyes alight, a glow around him as he stroked the baby’s face, just as he had the photograph sitting at ‘their’ table in the Bunker. He gently squeezed Harry’s hand, drawing his lover’s sheepish attention. He leaned in and kissed Harry under the ear making Harry shiver. “Harry, how would you like the first spells we cast in our new bunker, that is, if we get it, to be this Gravidas spell?”. Harry stared at him open-mouthed. “Do you mean that, my Dragon?”. Draco smiled and nodded. “But I don’t want to be the ‘carrier’, Harry. I cannot lie about that, but I’m quite happy having children if you are content to carry them”.

Harry’s face was a wonder to behold. He grabbed his lover into a tight hug, hang the disapproving looks from the seats opposite, then kissed him. “If it were possible to love you any more, my Dragon, then I just did”, the love was pouring from his eyes as he kissed Draco tenderly. The plane came in to land. The aged Italian couple across the aisle rose to leave. The man huffed in disgust at the pair but his wife leaned down to them, and with a warm smile, murmured, “Buona fortuna”, as she left. She knew love when she saw it, and despite her strict Cattolica upbringing, she felt strangely happy for the two good-looking boys wearing engagement rings ready to face the challenge of true commitment. Harry felt warmed by her attitude all the way back to their flat.