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 Three - The Boy Who Cannot Die
Breakfast was a silent affair. Harry spooned more bacon onto the serving plate and returned to the stove, absent-mindedly cracking three eggs into the frying pan. The sizzle of fat and oil merged with the slow twitch of the newspaper Vernon Dursley was reading. There was a brief click as Petunia Dursley put her fork and spoon back onto the plate.
"Where's Dudley?" Vernon finally asked, putting his papers down with a rustle, he frowned, glancing around the kitchen.
Harry didn't turn from the stove, lifting the frying pan off the fire with the expertise of long practise.
"Still asleep - he does love to sleep in, does Dudley." Petunia replied absently.
Harry watched as the eggs slid smoothly onto the ready plate, leaving a translucent trail of grease.
Vernon frowned, "It's almost eight. If we want to get to the amusement park before the lines get to long we'll have to leave now." He remarked, "Go wake him up, Harry."
Harry put the frying pan onto the stove, turning off the fire with an even motion. He stared blankly at his uncle for several seconds, almost as if his mind was catching up with what it had heard, before he nodded and left the kitchen.
Petunia watched him leave, a frown marring her plain face, "I don't trust him." She said finally, "What did they do to him?"
The summer had been - unnerving. After four years of unnatural and unpleasant surprises - from the pig's tail and its expensive removal through to the incident with the tongue last year - the sudden absence of any unnatural strangeness had been decidedly. . . Disquieting.
Petunia had waited - as she always did - but there had been - nothing. The owls still came of course - but only in the evening and they never stayed for longer than a few seconds. She had stood outside one day, and watched as they soared past the second bedroom window, white slips of paper sliding through the small crack, before they left, filling the night air with hoots. Nobody had noticed - one of two reasons why Vernon hadn't complained.
The second reason would be, of course, Harry's behaviour.
That too was unnerving. Harry had always reminded Petunia of her younger sister. At times, when those familiar eyes turned towards hers in anger, frustration, hurt or obedience, she could see Lily echoed in their depths. Harry might have some parts of his father in him, but all Petunia ever saw was disquieting, rebellious Lily. She had gotten used to finding herself face to face with Lily over and over again for fourteen years.
Lily might have died, selfishly leaving her son with Petunia - but she had never left. From the moment Harry had first begun to talk and walk, Lily had come back - her green eyes silently accusing Petunia. Should have stopped my idiot parents from letting her go to that place. Should have made her go to the local like I did. Should have made her be normal - like I had every day since we were children. But I didn't - and she died.
So Petunia Dursley had lived with the spectre of her little sister for fourteen years. And had expected to live with it for as long as it took for her unwanted nephew to leave her home and never come back. Duty completed, the guilt and burden would surely leave her shoulders then.
But this year, Harry had returned, and when he had raised his eyes to hers that first day - Lily had vanished. The colour was the same but something had been missing. Or something had been added. There was no anger. There was - nothing.
Something had happened while Harry had been at his school. Something that had - taken Lily away.
Not that Petunia cared. Of course she didn't care. She didn't care on whit - not so long as Harry did what he was told, was quiet and didn't annoy Vernon or bully Dudley.
But -
It was unnerving; how the boy had changed.
"What's for breakfast?" Dudley announced as he landed in his seat.
Petunia jerked from her thoughts and smiled fondly at her son; the past year had been good for Dudley. He had finally reached a stage of his diet when indulging in his favourite foods had become feasible once more. Bacon and eggs, sausages and hamburgers had returned to their weekly menus. Vernon's temper had definitely improved on discovering that fact. Not to mention that Dudley's grades had improved - even in sports, which had been a first.
Life is good. Petunia thought firmly as she watched Dudley eagerly scoop food onto an overflowing plate. Life is good.
Vernon started talking on the planned outing to the local amusement park and Dudley eagerly joined in with suggestions on rides and the type of food he wanted to have for lunch. Petunia sat back, soaking in the tranquillity of her family.
Family. She glanced across the table; the chair beside Dudley - the one that habitually held Harry - was empty.
"Where's Harry?" Petunia asked sharply.
Dudley paused in his energetic conversation with his father, "Harry? He's upstairs with those letters of his again."
Vernon frowned, "Those damn owls -"
"Oh stop complaining about those owls, Dad." Dudley interrupted, looking bored, then paused, looking alarmed, "He's not coming with us right?" Dudley demanded, "He'll ruin everything -!"
"No - no. Of course not." Vernon immediately reassured Dudley, "This treat is just for us."
Petunia leaned across to pat her son's hand, "Yes, Dudley dearest. Just the family." She said with a smile, "Now eat up or we'll end up waiting forever in all those lines." She added.
*
The door slammed shut and silence descended onto No. 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. Harry remained where he was, perched on his bed, staring out the window. Below, Vernon Dursley's newest company car rolled smoothly from the driveway and made its way through the golden haze of early morning.
In times passed, Harry might have felt some anger - or even sorrow - at being left out of this, the latest treat for 'Dearest Dudley'. All he felt now, however, was - Relief. Is this relief? Perhaps a better word was exhaustion.
He was - tired. That was, in itself, a good word. Tired of the simplistic nastiness that was the only link between himself and his sole cousin. Tired of the barely hidden anger in his Uncle's eyes. Tired of his Aunt's watchful gaze. They were waiting, he knew. Waiting and watching for the first sign of magic - something (or anything) to continue the battle that had existed all his life between him and the Dursleys.
He had returned that summer, listened to the orders - tinged with that waiting, watchful note - and bore through Dudley's tactics at getting him into trouble. And suddenly - had found that he didn't care. The petty orders, the sly pushes and kicks. They didn't matter.
"Kill the spare."
He could still hear Voldemort's voice, still see Cedric's body lying there.
Cedric Diggory was dead - people were dying. And it was his fault. What did it matter if Dudley kicked him under the table or that Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia wanted him to weed the garden, cook breakfast and clean the living room?
The Dursleys' car had long since vanished over the edge of Privet Drive. Harry turned from his vigil at the window and stared at the stack of letters the morning mail had delivered.
The stack sat on Dudley's old desk - its scored surface symbol of the other's progression through primary school. A bowl (delegated to the trash can after Dudley had dropped it into the sink, causing hair line cracks to appear all through the fine china) filled with water contained the five howlers he had received in the past week. The water bubbled, occasionally discharging a string of bubbles that released several muted words when popped.
He dipped his hand into the water, wincing at the warmth and drew out the first howler. It exploded open as soon as it touched the air; the voice echoed through the house though largely incoherent - perhaps due to its prolonged dunking. This one had been submerged for several days.
" - EVIL AS VOLDEMORT - " garbled roar and several incoherent curses, " - HEIR - SLYTHERIN - KILLED - FAULT -"
The parchment dissolved, too water logged to continue; Harry stared at the bowl of water. Decisively he reached to the other pile and pulled out one with his name penned in a familiar hand.
Harry -
Know that this is earlier than normal but Mum and Dad agreed that you really should be with anybody other than those muggles this year. Dad thinks he can get Dumbledore's permission so you want to come over early this year? We can celebrate your birthday properly for once.
Ron
PS - whatever you do, don't eat anything the twins send you. No - really.
For several seconds, the familiar surge of excitement, relief and hope flashed through him. Spending his summer with the Weasley family would be - Fantastic. Better than fantastic.
A stream of bubbles exploded and a ghostly voice of some wizard or witch he had never met howled incoherently.
Harry stared at the letter then pulled out a scrap of paper and a quill.
Dear Professor Dumbledore,
Mr. Weasley is going to ask your permission for me to visit the Weasleys early this summer. Could you please refuse permission? I don't think the Weasleys will be safe if I'm with them.
Yours sincerely,
Harry Potter
He tied the letter quickly to a confused Hedwig's leg and sent her before he could stop himself. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters. Not so long as nobody else dies because of me. As ghostly as the howler bubbles exploding in the still air, he could hear the words from his dream - . . . when they get too close. . . The Boy Who Cannot Die. . .
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A/N: Review? Please? If only to point out my plot holes?