Without Question
By Tien Riu
tien_riu@yahoo.com
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Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all characters belong to J.K. Rowlings. Plot (what little there is of it ^_^) and depiction of characters are mine. WARNING: The future of this piece of fiction contains slash/yaoi/shonen ai/homosexual relationships.
Author's Note: When AsheFarley, my beta-reader, first began working with me to prepare "Without Question" for Fictionalley.org's archives, she suggested I rewrite the prologue to better suit the story. Suffice to say, I agreed whole heartedly. This is the result.
Much effort went into recreating 'Omega' – the Prologue of "Without Question". We (AsheFarley and I) would both (really, really) appreciate comments, criticisms and commentary on what you, the readers, think of how well (or not) 'Omega' fits in with the rest of the story – especially as the prologue.
And as always, with thanks to my beta-reader, AsheFarley without which this prologue would still be universally disliked by its author and most readers.
Yours sincerely,
Tien Riu
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Prologue: Omega
It ended in fire.
Where it began – that was a question Hermione did not quite know how to answer.
It ended in rain.
She sometimes wondered if there truly was one moment to mark the beginning that had lead – with irrevocable certainty – to this ending that bore the smell of smoke and rain like a shroud.
It ended in ashes as the wind whistled through the smoking remnants between 'Joe's Vacuum Cleaner Parts' and 'McPhersons'.
It seemed far more logical (even plausible) that there had been more than one Alpha (a hundred choices, a thousand paths, a million trails) – trickling together with the inevitability of a flood to this Omega.
It ended beneath a dripping overhang across the street where Helen Granger stood with Ronald West, Daryl Mentone and Harold Jameson.
Standing there, wet from the rain that dripped and dribbled through the ineffectual roof and sides of the plastic bus shelter, she felt the world crumbling into uncertainty.
They were alone.
It ended amidst the ruins of the Leaky Cauldron.
At first Hermione had not understood why Lord Voldemort would attack the Leaky Cauldron. It held no particular significance either strategically or logistically. Yet Professor Lupin had struggled to ensure the news of its fall reached the network.
And first Ron – then Draco – had argued, despite the risks, to confirm – with their own eyes – that it was true.
Hermione understood symbols.
Diagon Alley was the centre of English wizarding civilisation. And the Leaky Cauldron was its only visible gateway to the muggle world.
Sometimes, Hermione knew, wars were lost – and won – on symbols. Lord Voldemort had ordered the attack for reasons other than hatred and insanity.
Ron slipped a hand around her waist.
The motion was familiar and strangely alien at the same time – perhaps because Ronald West touched Helen Granger in such a way – but Ron Weasley had never seen Hermione Granger as anything but a friend.
Their closeness did not predate Hogwarts' fall – and in her subconscious at least, she equated their unspoken agreement with all things muggle rather than magical.
"All right?" he murmured against the top of her head (he had grown in the past year) and the words rumbled through her, a bass beat out of sync with the sound of his heart.
A tendril of rain-darkened hair dangled in front of her eyes; shortly after they had left Hogwarts, he had dyed it brown. She had never thought she would miss Weasley red but she did – more than she thought possible.
"Hermione?" he whispered against her hair, "Are you all right?"
"Yes."
Standing there, uncomfortably close, Hermione remembered the day Professor Dumbledore had summoned her to a small room and offered knowledge in exchange for security. When did it begin for you, Ron? She wondered quietly. When did it start? As far back as meeting Harry on the train back in first year? She wanted to ask him – but the words dried up in her throat.
Was it on that giant chessboard? In the Shrieking Shack? After Harry nearly died facing the dragon? When Voldemort killed Cedric Diggory?
Or had it been after that – not so long ago, really, though it felt as if a lifetime had passed.
Did it start when you nearly died in Madam Malkin's store? Did it start when you lunged at Draco on the Hogwarts Express? Was it when we found the scar on Harry's arm? The day you stopped calling Draco 'Malfoy'?
The past seemed a tangled, knotted image of arguments, secret meetings, frantic study and sleepless days mixed irrevocably with schoolwork and classes.
When did you see it too, Ron?
"The bus is here." Draco said; the hood of his jacket had fallen back and his hair clung to his face in wet strands.
Ron glanced up and smirked, "You look like a skunk." He snorted.
They had inexpertly dyed his hair black (Malfoy silver was too recognisable) and the patches of blond from the attempt produced a rather strange, striped effect. It suited Draco – he carried the oddity effortlessly.
"Sod you." Draco replied – but the words were habit and stripped of the vitriol of a year ago.
When did you realise that the right spell or potion couldn't fix this?
Ron's hand was warm in hers as he followed her into the bus, Draco and Harry several steps behind.
When did this stop being an adventure that would end as soon as we told a professor?
"Do you think – after this is all over, they'll rebuild it?" Harry asked quietly as they took seats in the back of the bus, "Diagon Alley won't be the same without the Leaky Cauldron."
"That's if this is ever going to be over." Ron said darkly, "Feels as if this war has been going on forever."
"So long as your definition of forever is one year." Draco drawled, "Idiot."
"Prat."
"Twit."
"Git."
"Bastard."
"Unlikely." Ron snarked with a smirk he had picked up from Draco.
"Gryffindor!"
"That isn't an insult –"
"Given that it's a synonym for brainless, stupid, unimaginative, ignorant, suicidal freaks with less survival instincts than a depressed lemming –"
"What the hell is a 'synonym' – and no it isn't!"
They were fighting again; Harry rolled his eyes and flashed a slight grin at Hermione. Ordinarily, Ron and Draco's arguments would have amused her – an odd reaction to the verbal abuse the two routinely tossed at each other's heads. However, given that she and Harry had been forced to physically separate the two back when this had all begun – the epithets and insults didn't seem as important.
Today however, Hermione couldn't share Harry's wry exasperation. When did it turn into something Professor Dumbledore couldn't make better with a wave of his hand, a smile and some points for Gryffindor?
"Hermione?" Harry asked; Hermione jerked out of her thoughts.
"What is it Harry?"
"What's wrong?" He asked simply.
She shook her head, "Nothing."
When did it stop being a game?
"It isn't nothing, Hermione." What's wrong?" Harry repeated patiently.
She stared at him. And wasn't it strange that they were all so close and yet could no longer fill the silences?
Perhaps it was because the secrets had grown past assignments, crushes and pranks – and because this was Harry Potter: all while saving Hogwarts from evil plots, winning points and earning the Quidditch and House Cups for Gryffindor.
The bus reached the end of the street. From the windows, Hermione couldn't see the place where the Leaky Cauldron had once been – the other buildings hid its missing mass as easily as they had once overshadowed its presence.
When did house points and adventures stop being important?
Ron was still holding her hand though he was arguing with Draco. His weight against her side was a comforting warmth. (When did being this close to Ron stop feeling – strange?) The tiny space between the seats were filled with the legs of the three boys – none of them seemed able to sit properly, rather they sprawled.
" – at least I'm not a prissy stuck up wanker –" Ron was saying heatedly.
Draco smirked as he drawled: "You're really stuck on the fact that I'm getting some – aren't you?"
"Only if you define 'some' as your right hand -!"
"Well somebody's right hand anyway."
"Oh that's just – sick."
"Well yes, with that attitude it's no wonder you obsess over my sex life since you obviously won't get one!"
"You're the one stuck on sex –"
"Who keeps bringing it up?"
"You!"
"No I don't –"
"Yes you do you git!"
"Imbecile."
"Ferret!"
"Weasel."
"Monkey's father!"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"If you're too stupid –"
"Too stupid? Too stupid? I'll have you know –"
When did it become meaningless?
"Where do you think Professor Dumbledore is?" Hermione asked finally, tuning out Draco's response to Ron's snipe.
Harry was silent for a while before he answered: "I hope he's with
Sirius."
"Oh." Hermione said, biting her lip, "Oh – oh Harry."
"It's better than the alternative." Harry said simply.
When did bravery become something more than fighting monsters and casting hexes?
Almost without conscious control, her mind continued searching restlessly through memories. She wanted – needed – the explanation – the reason – the point – when it had become futile to change because the future would be this unlikely present.
When did it become – real?
Some day, Hermione knew she would look back to this moment (squashed next to Ron, feet tangled with Harry's legs, fingers subconsciously itching to dry Draco's hair and ignoring the argument raging to her left) and realise that it marked a new start. A beginning birthed from an Omega created by the ashes of a symbol.
The Leaky Cauldron was gone.
Growing up was a strange process. Far more than a physical or mental change, it was the very act of acceptance that made on leave childhood behind.
Sitting there, Hermione realised the answer she sought would never be forthcoming and in doing so, grew up.
It ended up on a bus.
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A/N: Review? Please? If only to point out plot holes? Or out-of-characterisation? Or if not tell me how much you loved it (this last because Sildtsr told me to stop asking for 'it sucks' messages ^_^)