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.
C&C, R&R and any other derivation there of including flames will be appreciated.
Summary: With the threat of a resurrected Voldemort undermining the fragile peace of the wizarding world, the students of Hogwarts struggle with assignments, tests and runaway pegasuses (not to mention how to pronounce the plural of a peguses). Fifth year at Hogwarts, amidst the complications of full blown adolescent hormones, romance and finally, tragedy.
Main Characters: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley
Relationships: HG/RW HP/Cho HP/DM
Additional Information:
The future of this piece of fiction will contain what is colloquially known as 'yaoi', 'shonen ai' and/or 'slash'. For the uninitiated, this refers to 'homosexual relationships'. Flames (in the form of constructive criticisms) are welcome, but not if the topic is an inclusion of slash themes in 'Without Question'. My response will likely be a complete disregard of the flame in question or some form of cutting rejoinder - increased response based on level of prejudice displayed in flame.
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Chapter Two - Why I froze
Draco stared out of his bedroom window. Below, he could see the formal gardens that surrounded Malfoy Manor. A wind rustled through the bare branches of the trees, sending dead leaves scattering over the empty expanse.
He couldn't remember a time in his life when he had looked out and hadn't seen something: the peacocks his mother bred, the black swans that Great Uncle Mortimer had brought back from Underhill after his forty year absence or the gardeners. He would have settled for the gardeners. There was nothing alive out there.
It could have been winter if there had been snow on the ground, instead, the warmth of the sun against his skin mocked the sight before him. There was nothing alive out there.
Somebody - probably the new house elf - had placed a vase of roses from the conservatory (a place he hadn't stepped foot into for the past fortnight) on the table before the fireplace. The scent wafted through the still air. He stared at the white flowers; they had just been cut - years of gardening with his mother ensured he would recognise that fact. By right, they should have remained fresh - part of the charm the house elves performed over all cuttings meant for display in the Manor - for at least another week.
As he watched, the petals fell, turning to yellowed parchment like husks before they touched the table. The stalk of the roses turned from faintly green to black then collapsed, a thin trail of slime coating the crystalline surface of the vase.
It was a circular pattern of degeneration, death and isolation. A chain - and collar - he could not escape.
Two years ago he would have ranted and railed - would not have stopped struggling.
When had that changed? Two years ago the anger - the fire - would have remained; now there was. . . Nothing.
A year ago he would have remained silent even as he sought an escape. True Slytherin - bend when you cannot hold upright.
And today?
There was no more words to be said.
When did I break?
The fire crackled. Above the mantle, his reflection stared back at him, "You asked for this." It commented, "You do know that don't you?"
"I didn't ask for this." Draco whispered, "Not this."
"You said yes." His reflection said, smirking, "You wanted to be part of the war. You wanted to rid the world of mudbloods and muggles. You said you would do anything Voldemort required."
"I didn't ask for this."
"Semantics." His reflection retorted, "By the way, you realise how absolutely pathetic you are being right now right? So desperate for company that you're talking to a magic mirror?"
"Shut up." He snapped.
His reflection smirked, "Make me."
Over the past fortnight, Draco had begun to take a serious dislike to its comments. He glared at it - the Ministry of Magic might frown on underage wizards using their wands during the holidays but the glass of the mirror wasn't enchanted with a relegare abrumpere charm.
"I wouldn't." the reflection said, arching one slender eyebrow - an echo of an action Draco used when he was lording his superior, unreachable position over a particularly immature and inane other - usually Weasley come to think of it.
Draco picked up the vase, the slime squelched under his palm, loosening his grip.
"If you break me, there will be nobody to talk to." The mirror pointed out with a touch of smugness.
The glass and vase shattered together on impact; shards of glass fell to the thick plush of the carpet. He walked over, and a part of his mind - one that refused to accept everything his fervent wishes had brought him - wondered idly how quickly the house elf would come to clean up the mess.
There was still a shard of mirror remaining in the frame - fractured and spider-webbed with cracks. His distorted image stared back at him: bulging eyes, corpse like cheeks, lips that pouted on one side but thinned on the other. A lie - he knew. He was still as he always had been on the surface. Untouched, pale and perfect skin unmarked by anything - even the desperately sought after dark mark he had thought he would wear by now.
"Temper - temper." The shard muttered chidingly then crumbled to dust as the charm enchanting the glass broke in a stream of golden sparks.
The room was silent but for the crackling of the fire. Draco stood there and felt like crying. He realised his foot was bleeding - he must have stepped on a shard of glass, hidden in the thick plush. He stared at the dark red slowly sinking into the white of the carpet.
*
The great hall was draped in black - and he knew that he was at Hogwarts and though he knew it had happened before, it was happening once more. The Leaving Feast. His gaze turned to the Hufflepuff table, searching - though he knew what he would find. There was no obvious missing seat - they had no set places - no actual sign that somebody who should have been there no longer was.
Cedric Diggory was dead.
He knew he was dreaming - knew that once he would have said that there had been no way he could have known his attempt to ensure that the rightful champion won the TriWizard Cup would have such fatal consequences. But he should have known. Somehow - he should have known. He was the Boy Who Lived - they all treated him as if he was special, so why couldn't he have done something? He had struggled to bring back a body - surely he could have done the same to save Cedric's life?
"- the sort of bravery few wizards have ever shown in facing Lord Voldemort, and for this, I honour him." Dumbledore was staring at him, raising his goblet - a salute of acknowledgement.
Around him, light glimmered off the raised goblets, gold caught against gold. He could see his reflection as they stared at him, their eyes filled with respect and awe - and fear.
Hermione and Ron were smiling at him - but there was sadness in his eyes.
Cedric Diggory was dead.
Through the standing figures, he could see the Slytherin table - Draco Malfoy was sitting down, goblet untouched. Draco turned to look at him; light shimmered in his silver eyes as he stood and pointed. They were screaming now; he turned, slowly so slowly - the air was made of syrup - and on the table in front of him was Cedric.
He looked like he was sleeping - but there was nothing there, no movement, no light, no life. They were still screaming, but they were staring at him not the body.
Ron and Hermione was still standing, goblets raised, unmoving as statues. Trapped. And reflected in the surface of their goblets, he saw Voldemort. He was Voldemort.
"Harry -" Hermione's voice, a whisper; she was smiling at him - and he saw in her eyes, in both their eyes, his reflection: a boy with messy hair and green eyes - "Harry, we're your friends." She promised.
In her eyes, he saw the green light; she fell, eyes dulled and Ron smiled at him.
"You'll come stay during the summer right, Harry? Mum misses you." Ron asked, and he too fell as the green light flashed.
Draco Malfoy was standing in front of him, silver eyes shards of ice - he could not see his reflection in them. Could not see who Malfoy saw him as.
"That's what happens when they get too close." Malfoy said softly - and that was strange because Malfoy never spoke, he sneered.
"Why?" and that was strange too because it was almost as if he was having a conversation with Malfoy - which was impossible surely.
"It just does." Malfoy said - and perhaps he said it sadly but that too was impossible, Malfoy was never sad, only mocking.
He looked away and one by one, the other students fell in flashes of green light till only Dumbledore remained.
"For this, I honour him." Dumbledore drank from the goblet.
Then he too vanished - and only Draco Malfoy remained.
"The Boy Who Cannot Die." Malfoy said.
Harry jerked awake and stared in shock at the peeling plaster covering the ceiling of Dudley's spare bedroom at No 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. A door slammed below, the vibration sent a scattering of plaster fell in a whirlwind from the ceiling. Harry watched as it landed, dotting the worn carpet. Outside, a bird was singing, he wondered briefly if Hedwig was all right before he rolled over and stared, unseeing at the opposite wall. Light was streaming through the door frame, he could see the darker spots where the locks bolted it shut from the corridor.
The room was quiet - his own tiny, isolated corner of the world. There was a brief flutter and something landed on his chest. It was followed by another, and another - the morning mail had arrived.
The boy who cannot die. . .
*
Lucius brushed a lock of hair - identical to his but for the taint of gold Narcissa's blood had added to the Malfoy silver. He frowned as he fingered the strands - pity it was impossible to control hair colour without cosmetic charms. Besides, Malfoy silver was more than colouring - it was strength. He smiled as he stared down at his son - his little silver dragon. Tempered and purified - Draco would one day make him very proud.
Malfoy silver never tarnishes. It wasn't the family motto, but it was something to live by.
He sat on the bed and stared down at his only son. The growth spells had been applied with care by the best medi-wizards galleons could buy; no Malfoy had been short of six foot and Draco - for all his temper tantrums, lack of interest in nutrition and obsessive approach to activities - would not be found lacking. Even if the growth had to be forced.
That the growth spells had aided the Dark Lord's plans - that had been a bonus. The fire cast flickering shadows against the white, marble walls. The uncertain light caught the silver collar closed around Draco's slender neck. He touched it, brushing back another lock of hair that curled around the torque. It was cold beneath his fingers - silver as well. Lord Voldemort was not one for unnecessary ornamentation.
Draco stirred; white lashes slowly lifting over eyes the same shade of grey as Lucius' own. I see my past in you, and you, my little dragon, see your future in me. What must it be like to have that certainty? It was the one thing his father had been unable to give to him - and he alone of all the Malfoys before, had been able to gift to his dragon.
"F-father?" there was a bewildered look in the grey eyes - one that Lucius had not seen for many years, "What -"
Comprehension and memory returned - Draco had always been fast. All Malfoys were fast on their feet - intelligence and beauty, as much inheritable traits as wealth, land and lineage.
One slender hand reached to touch the collar - Lucius stared at the too-translucent quality of the skin and frowned. I will have to schedule more force-feeding sessions this summer. What is the use of growth spells if he looks like an emaciated corpse?
"What - what is this?" Draco asked, his voice rasped.
And a voice-charm. Lucius added to the growing list.
"A gift from the Dark Lord." Lucius said, watching as the flicker passed through his son's eyes, "Good. Your control has improved." He said - in times passed, every emotion had been clear in Draco's eyes, it had taken years to remove that particular trait.
"What - does it do?" Draco asked as he sat up, quickly pulling his clothes into position, tilting his chin up to look Lucius into the eye.
"It controls your - talent." Lucius drew out the word for what it was - a gift worthy of a Malfoy heir.
The Dark Lord had ensured Lucius and all his descendents a place within his inner circle with the gift baby Draco had received in the womb of his mother. From the hand of the Dark Lord himself - a spell and potion so powerful, it has never been ventured. His pride in his name, in his lineage, in his abilities - had never been greater than on that day
What greater - even more so than the coveted dark - mark than the ability to destroy without a wand? Untraceable, silent, wandless magic that exceeded the power and threat that was the Unforgivable Curses. The ability and opportunity to be a weapon the Dark Lord himself would wield.
And all through you, my son. My beautiful, fearless dragon. Lucius smiled down at Draco - who ducked his head in acceptance of unspoken approval.
"And that is all?"
"Of course." Lucius said, "The Dark Lord's gifts are always for a purpose - and control is after all what you are made for." He brushed a lock of hair out of Draco's eyes, "Is it not better this way, Draco? Accept our Lord's commands and his gifts, join our world and take your place at his side." He gestured to the empty room, shadows flickering coldly against the white marble walls, "Despite your namesake, I know you hate the isolation."
Dragons were solitary creatures by human standards - much like Malfoys had through the ages, they controlled and manipulated from a distance. Draco would not be ill-named.
Draco stared at him, eyes grey and unreadable - the years Lucius had spent training him from that particular habit had indeed been employed in good time - and then nodded, accepting this gift - as he had so many others. Lucius nodded - he knew his son - his little dragon - very well.
"Sleep - when you wake, you will be back in your room once more. Your mother shall be happy - it would have been unfortunate had you had to miss your own birthday party." Lucius said.
Draco looked up, "Can I take the collar off?" he asked quietly.
Lucius ignored this question as he had ignored its similar counterparts throughout the years. He rose and swept out of the room, leaving it and the silence to his son.
Lucius freely admitted that he had been far more indulgent with his only child - far more so than his own father had been. He should have done as other Malfoys had before, and created a new heir when the first imperfections appeared in Draco's character. It had been a choice that had, eventually, been made on the spur of the moment. The charmed paintings - Malfoys after all, did not kill their own - had been prepared. Narcissa safely sedated to avoid unnecessary melodrama, and the memory charms on hand for immediate application. But something had stopped him.
The gift of the Dark Lord - and the honour it represented for his name and house - had not been the only reason. Draco had been an endearing child for all his flaws. Lucius had spent many years removing the ease of laughter and trust that had attracted so many to his baby son - Malfoys were commanding - they were never endearing.
The charmed painting flickered as Lucius pressed a hand on its surface. The room was small, barely large enough to bear the three other paintings - each showing a different visage of the same reflection: the bedroom, the garden, the kitchen and the library. He had grown as familiar with the magical rooms hidden within the paint oils as Draco - most of his son's life had been spent there, within the charmed enclosure that might have been where he spent his natural life had something not halted Lucius on that long ago night. Most of Draco's training had occurred within those rooms - punishment, reward and sometimes necessity. The end result; Lucius smiled proudly. My son - my beautiful, perfect little dragon.
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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 ^_^)
- reuploaded 26/09/2002 to correct upload problems with chapter layout