See Chapter One for disclaimer and details.

Chapter Twenty-Three

"This isn't going to work, Draco," Harry said in his lover's ear while they recovered from their sexual activities.

The blond stiffened in Harry's arms. "What won't work?" he inquired warily, half afraid his husband was referring to their relationship.

"We only have one heir. We need at least two - more, if possible."

Although relieved on the one hand, the blond was indignant on the other. "I'm not getting pregnant again!"

"Love," Harry said softly, "you can't get pregnant again. Those potion fumes, if you recall?"

Again, Draco was hit with mixed emotions: glad his figure wasn't going to be endangered, while contrarily disappointed that they couldn't have more children.

"So what's your solution?"

"Surrogate mothers: one for each of us."

Draco, electrified, sat sat bolt upright, turning to stare at Harry. "You do want to break up!" he accused.

"What?" a bewildered Harry almost shouted, levering himself up on one elbow..

"Well, we can't very well get married to women if we're bloody married, can we?"

"Surrogate mothers, you nit! Like Mrs Caratouc. They carry our babies for us!"

That gave Draco pause. He was bit embarrassed, not only for forgetting that little detail, but for showing his insecurities. He was determined not to show it, however, and it seemed Harry hadn't caught the reason behind his outburst.

"How does that happen?" the blond asked. Draco hated showing his ignorance, too. "Our baby was already... made... when it was..." Draco sighed. He had been trained not to show weakness, and his halting speech was definitely showing his embarrassment and uncertain state of mind. He didn't think he'd ever get over the fact that he'd got pregnant like a bloody woman. Despite liking Harry on him and in him, he was all man, thank you very much.

"I don't know," Harry replied, looking askance at his co-husband. "If nothing else, though, we could spend three nights a month with them during their most fertile times until they're pregnant. We'll need to explore what possibilities there are, and I thought we should do that together."

"Why one for each of us? You already have your heir."

"I thought this first one could be our heir - the Dæmentelen heir. Then we need heirs to carry on the Malfoy, Black, and Potter lines."

Draco was quiet for a moment as he processed this. "You want to continue the Malfoy line?" he finally asked.

"It really isn't up to me, is it?" Harry asked quietly. "I just rather thought you would."

The blond thought for a while more, then shook his head. "I don't think so. Lucius dragged the name through the gutter so thoroughly that it would be centuries before the stain would wear away," he decided. "Not that the last few before him were any better: just more careful," he muttered as an afterthought.

"The Black family, on the other hand," Draco continued, "might have a chance of re-attaining respectability. Even that will take a bit of work, however. I suspect a publicist will be a necessity."

"So you're all right with it, then?" Harry asked.

"I want to know more, first," Draco hedged, unwilling to commit to the idea, although it was more about being unwilling to share Harry with anyone rather than being against creating heirs.

Harry hid a smirk behind his hand, guessing the cause of his blond's hesitance.

After some research, they found that the wizarding world had its own version of 'test tube babies', a fact that Draco found almost repulsive, but relieved his fear of having to share his husband with a woman. Subsequently they had many long talks in which they discussed possible candidates for carrying their children. Draco insisted they had to be purebloods of good family: not necessarily high society, since few of that strata of wizarding society would likely be amenable to the idea anyway, but at least of good reputation and character.

, and gaining permission from Madam Amelia Bones to sound the girl out on the idea, Harry approached Susan Bones mid-morning on a Saturday. He had dressed in formal robes for the occasion, including the rings indicating the families of which he was head.

He found her in the library. "Miss Bones?"

"Hi, Harry!" Susan looked at Harry, flashing him a grin before taking in his garb and his crossed arms, which put his rings on display. Her expression morphed to confused curiousity, but responded as she should have if she'd looked at him first, using his most prestigious title. "What may I do for you, Lord Dæmentelin?"

"I believe you should have received a communiqué from your aunt?" Harry inquired.

Frowning slightly, Susan nodded. "Yes. She was very vague, however."

"If we may adjourn to a more private vanue?"

"Why so formal... sir?" Susan asked, even as she gathered her belongings together to follow him.

"When we are in a more private location, Miss Bones," Harry said. He really didn't like pulling rank like this, but the discussion he had in mind needed to stay on a formal basis. Hopefully it would allow their friendship to survive any unpleasantness that might arise from it. He hoped he wasn't being too heavy handed. He had little experience in formal dealings, after all.

(consorts to bear children)

Harry frowned, and opened his eyes. He had been practising his occlumency, again going through old memories: this time focussing on the time he'd fought Quirinius Quirrell. Not that fighting the man had been his choice, but when you're attacked, even if you're only eleven and you're fighting off a monstrosity that you thought was your rather cowardly defense professor, you fight back. He had a rather spotty memory of that event.

However, it wasn't a recovered memory that had him frowning, but rather a realisation: why had Dumbledore been in possession of the Philosopher's Stone in the first place? The headmaster had said that it was in Hogwarts for safekeeping; but he had possession of it before then, in vault 713 at Gringotts. Since the stone belonged to Flamel, shouldn't the alchemist have had possession of it?

Something was entirely too odd about that. Was it even the real stone?

"Today, we will be begin the study of the theory behind the Animagus transformation," Professor McGonagall stated. "Since this is a restricted practice, anyone who manages the transformation is required to register with the Ministry of Magic. It is not likely, however, as it usually takes anywhere from one to five years to achieve, if ever. Very few witches or wizards have both the necessary magic and the willpower to complete the transformation."

Harry raised his hand.

"Yes, Mister Potter?"

"Then how did Peter Pettigrew manage it?" Harry asked, unable to keep a sneer from his lips as he said the name.

"With a great deal of help, I'd imagine," the professor replied drily, before returning to the subject.

"You will have noticed the booklets on the table before you. If you haven't already," the woman said with some asperity, as many of the students were paging through the booklets rather than paying attention, "pick one up and turn to the first page. Be ready to take notes."

(Abyssinian cat with furred wings [Fairy Cat], which can morph into non-winged jaguar-sized wildcat with poisonous claws [Hellcat] - thought to be two distinct species by wizard-kind, but is only one)

Unknown to Harry, or hardly anyone else in the magical world for that matter, the blood wards on the Dursley residence had collapsed one month after Harry found out about Draco's pregnancy, and they started making plans to make their own home together. They had been made to be effective only whilst Harry considered the place home, anyway. Not that the wards had been very strong: quite weak, really, considering they had been based on a sense of love and family. True, those emotions had been present in the house, but the Dursleys had excluded Harry from any positive feelings they may have had. The only thing that had kept any part of the wards up was their grudging, resentful, and sometimes hate-filled acknowledgement that Harry was family.

Nobody checked on the house when Harry wasn't in residence, not considering that the muggles themselves might be in danger, but only considered Harry's safety. Dumbledore had noted the fact after finding that one of his little "nick-nack's" had self-destructed, but only raised an eyebrow, then a middle finger at the thing. The bloody Boy-Who-Lived would hardly take his spouse to the muggle residence, after all, even if the young Malfoy had agreed to go (very unlikely), and Dumbledore saw no way to force it.

Just under two months after that, the house was attacked and destroyed in the early hours of the morning, burnt to the ground, the tortured and mutilated bodies of Harry's last known relatives left on their front lawn as both threat and warning.

But although Harry was regretful that there was now no chance of a reconciliation with his last known blood relatives, it was hardly the devastating blow Voldemort and his minions had meant it to be.

Harry attended their funerals as the last thing he could do for the family that had, however grudgingly, raised him. He had gone in disguise, dressed in drag, and with a glamour in place to disguise his masculine legs and black-veiled face. There weren't many people who showed up for the Dursleys funeral, and most of those who did, were there merely out of a sense of duty or morbid curiousity. The Dursleys had not been well liked by any who knew them.

Vernon's sister had also shown up: drunk, sobbing out the virtues of her dear brother and nephew, calling Petunia, by turns, a saint of a woman and a shrew, and cursing their unnatural nephew, who "didn't have the nerve to show his freakish face here, did he, the ungrateful whelp!"

There were disillusioned Death Eaters watching from various hiding places of course, in case Harry, Dumbledore, or anyone important enough to assassinate showed up, as well as disguised Order members. But not seeing their target even half an hour after everyone else had gone, they also left, regretting, since neither Harry nor any other worthy target had shown up, that they hadn't killed and tortured the group of muggles. But if they had, it would have warned their intended victim off.

Just before he'd left the cemetary though, Harry gave Marge one last present: she'd have a stroke when she got home and discovered she had fleas. He'd have given her a dog's tail, bitch that she was, but the Ministry of Magic might have considered that muggle baiting, and Harry didn't need any more trouble from the Ministry. It was enough that Marge Dursley would always get fleas. No matter how often she managed to rid herself of them, they would always return.

Soon after returning from the funeral, a miserable-looking Dobby approached Harry.

"Master Harry, sir?"

"Yes, Dobby?"

"Could... Would Master Harry Sir be willing to bond Dobby?"

Harry looked at the house elf, astounded. "Why?"

Instead of answering, Dobby started pounding his head against the nearest wall. "Oh! Dobby knew Master Harry wouldn't want such a wilful, stupid house elf! Dobby a bad house elf! He doesn't deserve such a wonderful master! He-!"

At that point, Harry snapped out of the astonished daze he'd been in, and had grabbed the distraught creature, preventing him from causing himself any more damage.

"Dobby! Stop that! That's an order!" Harry snapped out. It took a few moments, but finally Dobby stopped struggling to hurt himself.

When the house elf seemed to have calmed down somewhat, Harry carefully said, "I thought you liked being a free elf, Dobby."

Dobby nodded, large tears dripping from his even larger eyes. "Dobby like being free, but Dobby not being able to serve his master properly."

"What do you mean?"

"Dobby's magic not strong enough. Dobby's magic... failing," the diminutive elf explained.

"Your magic is failing?" Harry inquired, hoping for further information. "What does that mean?"

On top of everything else, since Harry's dark elf genes had come to the fore, Scáthfánaí had been coming around less and less often.

What with everything going on, Harry was a bit tense and restless, and since Draco was a bit irritable with watching and worrying over the woman carrying their baby (and trying desperately not to show it), Harry decided to go for a walk. It was a bit brisk out, but Harry decided he needed the light. The halls and corridors of Hogwarts were too dim, despite the efforts made to light them.

Harry wandered the grounds awhile, until he was suddenly confronted with a tree: actually, quite a few trees. He had wandered up to the border of the Forbidden Forest. With a mental shrug the equivalent of 'what the hell', he kept walking. There might still be  a few creatures that would attack him, but most of them should now ignore him. He was part elf, after all. Nature god, and all that. It would be an interesting experiment, anyway. However, not being entirely stupid, he got his wand in hand, just in case he was attacked. .

He had been walking for about half an hour, maybe a bit more, when he heard the distant sound of inhuman screams. Curious, Harry got his wand in hand and rushed toward the sounds, retaining enough caution not to run, however. He didn't want to wind up hurt for being careless. He'd done that enough to learn better.

Harry slowed as the sounds grew louder, and came to the edge of a clearing. What he saw made him lower his wand and catch his breath.

(two male magical creatures fighting for dominance. Harry takes a part of the loser for a wand core. what sort of animal?)

"I've a tale for you, Headmaster," Harry said, almost casually.

"Really, Harry, we do have more important-"

"Humour me," Harry said, interrupting.

Dumbledore gave a small sigh, but nodded his head.

"Back in the twelfth century," Harry began, "the country was being decimated by a plague. People were dropping like flies in the streets, in the markets, in their homes... everywhere."

Dumbledore interrupted. "What does a plague eight centuries ago have to do with our discussion?"

"If I may continue?" Harry asked evenly, although the tightness of his voice betrayed his annoyance.

The old man frowned, but nodded for Harry to proceed.

" Even the magical community was effected, though not to quite such an extent. Scholars, priests, and other learned people searched desperately for something able to put a stop to the decimation of their populations. Finally one learned wizard found mention of a foolproof method of returning health to the country: a blood ritual. The means bothered him so much, however, that he put it aside, and continued the search - until the plague found his own village."

"This wizard was mostly a kind man, so when he requested a young girl of about eight years to help him with an important matter, she came willingly. That night at the midnight of a full moon, he betrayed her trust, trussing her up within the ritual circle he had carefully set out, and at the exact moment needed in the ritual, with a quick thrust of a purified silver knife into her heart, sacrificed her life. Overnight, the plague disappeared, and people began the task of rebuilding their world, never knowing of the price that had been paid."

Harry met the headmaster's blue eyes. "Do you think his actions were worth it, sir?"

"The sacrifice of an innocent's life is never worthwhile!" Dumbledore declared, his eyes flashing with indignation.

Harry's quiet response struck everyone in the room dumb. "Then why are you so set on sacrificing mine?"

"When are you going to stop this?" Draco asked him.

Harry looked up, confused. "Stop what?"

"Ever since we came back to Hogwarts, save for a couple of exceptions, you've been acting more like your old Gryffindor self, instead of who you really are," Draco explained. "You don't have to live up to their expectations, you know."

Harry's cheeks pinked. "Habit," he said in explanation.

"Of course," Draco replied, sarcasm plain in his voice.

Salazar fakes a will, part of which says "I be not ane one to have been Seer trained, and but yet the rare vision hast been visited upon me. Having such an event come upon me thrice within the last fortnight, I do hereby bequeath my shares in the school of magery known as Hogwarts, and all its contents, to one who will, in an aeon's time, be known as an hirsute ceramics maker (hairy potter - Harry Potter), and though he be not of mine lineage, I do name him mine heir by magic and name him of my blood. Thou shalt recognize his by the storm mark upon his brow, and verdant eyes.

Ddulio de Llyr - Hammer of Llyr, or Llyr's Hammer (Daementelen holding in Wales)

Harry looked over the Daementelen family tree etched into the slate wall, reading down the lists of names as they branched, rejoined, or ended: until they all ended. But here something strange had happened. A few of the names were crossed through, with a different name immediately below them: not connected by a line as would have happened if the name was a descendant, but immediately below the name.

"They changed their names," Draco said in awe. "Look at this one."

The name Draco indicated was a Georges Daementelen - crossed out, with the name Anteres Black below it. But it was another name that caught Harry's attention: Alder Daementelen - the name below it being Hendrick Slytherin. Other surnames began at this time, some of which were familiar to Harry: Bones, Longbottom (a surprise), Diggory, Bulstrode, Crouch, Grimstone, Filch (Harry flinched at that), and others.

Deep within the stronghold, well under ocean level, Harry figured, they came upon a large, humid room from the far corner of which came the sound of a small waterfall. Upon investigation, it turned out to be fresh water, and there was a rather large pool under it, but no visible exit for the water that was constantly pouring in, but never overtopped the pool edge. It was barely visible in the light from the other pool - a soft, blue-green light radiating from its steamy surface.

Looking at that pool, Harry suddenly felt dirty, and thought a dip in the warm pool would be just the thing to refresh himself.

"Let's have a swim, Draco!" he enthusiastically said as he started removing his clothes. Cloak and robes were quickly removed.

"Are you mad? Do have any idea what's causing that pool to glow?"

"No," Harry cheerfully replied, continuing to strip off, removing his wand holster, then sitting on his discarded robes to remove his boots and socks.

"Don't mess with unknown magic, Harry! At least use the waterfall to rinse off," Draco argued, moving towards his husband.

"Too cold!" the brunet countered. "And I don't feel anything off about it."

"You've been wrong before, you know," he growled, just as Harry removed his pants.

"Not this time," Harry replied.

The blond grabbed Harry's arm. "Don't be an idiot!" he hissed.

Harry wrapped his arms around his husband, held him tight, and kissed him. "Fraidy cat," he whispered, before turning and diving into the pool.

Draco's breath caught in his throat as he waited for Harry to surface. When he did, Draco let his breath out in relief. He felt like cursing at his foolhardy partner as Harry turned, spitting out a mouthful of water before grinning up at him.

"See? Nothing to worry about," Harry said, before laying back in the water and closing his eyes.

"Nothing to worry about! You... You..." Draco was, for once, speechless in his anger at his husband's disregard for his own safety.

He wasn't worried when Harry slowly sank beneath the surface, but when the brunet didn't surface again after a few seconds...

Dæmentelen Keep had been without a master for far too long, and had finally entered a state that could loosely be called 'sleep' or 'hibernation', although it was truly neither, but a sort of non-expectant waiting. It was only when Harry had sat upon one of the foundation blocks that it had registered that a new master had come, and started to rebuild the tower. It had been strong enough to prevent the destruction of the rest of the Keep, but not to protect most of its inhabitants - a failure it regretted, but had been unable to prevent. It was only when there were only a very few masters alive in the Keep to protect that it had the power to spare to eject the invaders.

Those few survivors tended their wounds, did what they could to preserve what was left of the contents of the Keep against a future return, and left: gone into hiding until the power of their star rose again. But none had returned... until now: almost two thousand years later.

But the master's body and mind had been injured, and those parts that had healed, had healed incorrectly. And his magic was... twisted? Tied up with itself: unable to flow properly, although there were signs that it had been bound, and recently released. The magic of the Keep was surprised by how easy it had been to manipulate the master into entering its centre, but had found how ignorant the young man - barely more than a boy - was. Well, it could take care of that, as well. It was part of its function, after all, to make sure each new family head was strong and prepared to lead the family to the best of their ability.

It was surprised when another dove into the depths of its pool, and almost destroyed the interloper, until it recognized that this other was the panicked mate of its master. It put the other to sleep until it was finished doing its primary job.

After thoroughly perusing the master's memories, and many hours of bathing Harry's body in its magic, not only was the young man's body healed, but his psyche as well - which had been much the more complicated task. Now it had to 'teach' the new master everything he needed to know (although the process was more along the lines of implanting the knowledge and incorporating it into the master's mind).

Harry sat there, stunned by the knowledge he now possessed.

"By the gods, Draco: what we've forgotten!"

"More like what was suppressed," the blond replied.

Harry looked more closely at his husband. "What were you doing in the pool half dressed, anway?"

o~~~~~~~~~o~~~~~~~~~o

Daementelen Keep on/in the crystal-heavy granite cliffs of South Wales.

Salazar's ghost teaching Harry tumbling and Mind Arts (including wandless magic) during his sleep.

Betas: