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.
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 Four - Letters and Curses
Hermione -
Have you heard anything from Harry? I think those muggles aren't allowing him to read his mail again. I haven't heard from him since the start of summer.
Dad's been trying to get Dumbledore to let us have Harry over early this year - rather than in the last couple of weeks like always. No luck though - Dumbledore keeps saying no. With what's been happening lately Mum and Dad think that Dumbledore might be worried about his safety. I don't get why he's safer with those muggles then with us though. I mean, with Mum, Dad and Percy, there's three fully qualified wizards and witches here at the Burrow. Five when Bill and Charlie come visit.
Still hoping we can have him over for his birthday. That way he can finally celebrate it properly. Want to come over?
Ron
"Hermione?" Doctor Amanda Granger stared thoughtfully at her only daughter, "Hermione? Dear - your breakfast is getting cold."
Hermione Granger, aged fifteen and three quarters, looked up from the letter she had been reading and stared first at her mother than the toast she had been holding absently in her hand, "What?"
"You've been holding that piece of toast for the past five minutes, dear." Doctor Kevin Granger said mildly from where he was filling his mug with more coffee, "Something important?"
"What?" Hermione glanced at the letter, "Oh! No - well, not really." She said hastily at the worried glances her parents were throwing her way.
"Anything we can do to help?" Amanda asked, Hermione shook her head and took a bite of the slice of toast in her hand, "It isn't about -" her mother paused, then added with a slight smile, "Boys is it, Hermione?"
What followed might have been considered amusing (complete with choking, coughing and rapid grasps for water from Hermione and accompanied by laughter from Kevin Granger - who always had a rather warped sense of humour for a dentist in his daughter's opinion) had the person in question not been Hermione.
Wiping tears of pain from her eyes, Hermione stared at her parents, "What?"
"Your vocabulary seems a trifle redundant this morning, Hermione-dear." Kevin remarked as he stopped chuckling.
"Oh stop it, Kevin." Amanda said, before turning concerned eyes to her daughter, "You have been corresponding rather frequently with Ronald Weasley this summer, haven't you?"
"Well - yes - but -" Hermione choked off her protests and carefully put the letter and the toast back onto the table.
This is ridiculous - and it isn't even as if I have anything guilty to feel about all this. She thought, struggling to regain equilibrium. Or that I'm even interested in Ron.
"I have been writing a lot to Ron this summer." Hermione said finally, "But it isn't - like that." She added, and cursed her cheeks for flushing at the glance her parents shared, "It's about - well, Harry."
"Harry - that little boy with those terrible glasses?" Kevin frowned, "Or was that the little boy with the camera?"
When did they meet Colin Creevey? Hermione shook her head, "Harry's the little - the boy with the glasses. And the scar." Hermione said, "He's - well, he hasn't written to either of us this summer."
Which is not so different from all the other years we've known him. She didn't add the thought - there were some things her very much mundane parents did not know about the world she was a part of. One of which was the reasons why Harry's less than healthy home life with his relatives was so necessary. Not that I understand either - but Professor Dumbledore must have had a reason to put him with the Dursleys.
Logically she knew it probably had something to do with wards and protection spells that kept him safe during the summer months they spent away from Hogwarts. Sometimes I wonder if it's to give him some sort of balance between the adoration everybody in the wizarding world gives him for being the Boy Who Lived. She had read some psychology books last year when Harry had written asking for food -
"Hermione?"
Hermione blinked and realise she hadn't heard a single word her mother had said, "I'm sorry?"
Amanda Granger sighed, glancing at her watch, "I'll have to talk to you tonight then." She said, "We're going to be late if we don't leave now."
Dear Ron -
I think Professor Dumbledore knows what he's doing. And especially with what's been happening lately (Harry doesn't get the Prophet delivered - does he know about the attacks? If he doesn't, I don't think we should tell him. He's got enough problems as it is) it really might not be safe for him to leave his relatives yet.
It'd be nice if we could throw a birthday party for him for once though. I'd love to come visit - but what if Harry isn't allowed to come?
How is everything? Is Percy all right? I wasn't sure what to do when I saw his name as one of the Ministry officials caught in the edge of the last Death Eater attack.
Hermione
*
Dear Hermione -
Dumbledore said that he can't let Harry leave those muggles at all this summer! I'm writing to Professor Lupin and Snuffles. This isn't fair!
Percy is all right - but he won't stop talking about it. To hear him, it's as if he defeated You-Know-Who or something instead of just run screaming away like the rest of them. Mum enchanted the clock so it'll flash if any of us are in mortal danger though. Fred and George played around with the charm and it started flashing on and off yesterday night every time Percy tried to go to the toilet.
Mum made them eat some of their old canary creams to keep them out of trouble while she fixed the charm. There's feathers everywhere. But at least it kept them out of my room so I could write to you.
Ron
PS - What do you think we should get Harry for his birthday this year?
"Awww - is ickle Ronniekins writing to his girlfriend?" Fred - still dropping yellow feathers in his path - asked, peering over Ron's shoulder.
"Sod off Fred." Ron said as he scrawled his signature across the parchment and looked around for his mail owl, Pig.
"Hey George - Ronnie finally got himself a girlfriend!" Fred yelled.
"Awwww. . . Our baby brother finally growing up?"
Ron snarled, looked up and burst into laughter. George, unlike Fred, was still half canary - from waist down.
"I thought the canary creams were suppose to wear off after several minutes?" Ron finally choked out.
Fred rubbed the back of his head, "Mum made us eat some of the experimental ones."
"They're supposed to have a delayed reaction transfiguration -" George continued.
"Except something didn't work right." Fred finished, "So you're going to have to go to Diagon Alley with me so I can get some new ingredients."
"Why should I?" Ron demanded, crossing his arms.
Fred pressed one hand to his chest, "Our own brother -"
" - refusing his aid -"
" - even though we selflessly agreed to -"
" - buy new robes for him." George finished.
"New robes?" Ron blinked, suspicious, "What new robes?"
"Mum says you need new formal robes -" Fred began.
"And since Weasley's Wheezes did well this year, we said we'd buy them for you -" George continued.
"But only if you help us buy new ingredients from Tantara's Potion Emporium." They chorused.
"Why can't you do it by yourself?"
"George is still half a canary," Fred pointed out.
"Mum told Madam Tantara never to let us buy anything - ever - from the Emporium after the last explosion." George added.
Ron sat in the chair, staring at his two older brothers thoughtfully, then sighed. Well, at least I get new robes out of this.
New clothes in a family of hand-me-downs (except for the Christmas jumpers, which didn't count in his opinion) were not something to ignore. Especially when there was no mention of becoming the magical guinea pig for Fred and George's latest experiments. Damn - I just know I'm going to regret this.
"Fine." Ron said, "Just let me send this to Hermione."
*
If there had been a door, it would have slammed shut. Instead, there was only silence.
Draco disliked silence - had hated it for as long as he could remember. He hated the lack of noise, the stillness that surrounded him, the absolute absence of movement - of life. He had thrown tantrums, argued continuously and once tried to apparate himself out of the isolation of his 'rooms' (with the spectacular result of a near splinching and no less than eight warnings for underage use of wands).
This intense hatred, he knew, was the exact opposite of what his father had intended. Dragons, as Draco had so often been told, thrived in isolation. Dragons lived in the silence of the mind, the stillness of the air. They were stone, marble and ice, shattered only by sudden, decisive motion.
Dragons, Draco had discovered at age eleven, were animals with the abrupt intelligence of the common garden variety gnome. If there were any of the variety his father so obviously revered - then he had as yet to hear a rumour of their existence.
And here's another landmark. At age fifteen I finally figure out that I'm named for something that doesn't exist. Draco thought as he slowly sat down in front of the desk and stared at the stack of books waiting for his attention.
I hate summer vacation.
The mirror had been repaired since his temper tantrum; the shards of glass removed from the carpet and a replacement vase placed on the waiting table, complete with new arrangement. The flowers were dusted with dew; the water shimmered, evaporating, as he stared at it. Hastily, Draco turned away.
The abrupt motion made the collar slide, falling to the hollow of his neck. He touched it - and wondered what would have happened during the 'birthday celebrations' if he had removed it. Probably wouldn't be back in here at least.
The collar was - less than perfect in its ability to curtail the Dark Lord's 'gift'. Is it disloyal to call it a curse? Pansy's cheek had still born ash-like burn marks after Professor Snape had administered a hastily found healing potion. You've finally succeeded Father - doesn't matter if your dragon hates being alone, I either stay atop my sodding 'mountaintop' or surround myself with burning corpses. Burning skin - as he had discovered last night to Pansy Parkinson's screaming fit - smelled dreadful.
To be a weapon the Dark Lord himself would yield. . . He had grown up with those words; it had become as much a source of pride as bearing the Malfoy name. I always thought Father meant I would have a place among the Death Eaters. Lead the troops, be a general like Great-Grandfather Malfoy.
Somehow the distinction of being a weapon had less - panache - when it turned out you were actually the weapon. There's no elegance in killing by accident. I might as well be one of those muggle weapons. What do they call them? Buns? No - that thing Sirius Black was supposed to be using - 'guns'. Right - no style at all, like throwing fire into a gnome's home. Kills or misses completely.
Especially when there was no actual way to control the gift - except a collar. At least I can hide it under my robes.
He stared down at the books; an unseen, unfelt wind ruffled the parchment in warning. He knew they had all been enchanted with anti-burn charms. All the good it'll do at Hogwarts -
Which, he rather thought, was the point. The Dark Lord must want Hogwarts rather badly. It's the only symbol - other than Potter - left since the Prophet stopped supporting Minister Fudge's 'You-Know-Who has definitely not returned' statements. If Hogwarts falls, then the people will have nothing left to believe in - other than Potter and he'll be dead in seconds without Dumbledore to save him anyway. Everybody will be so scared Father and the others won't even have to do much more than pose a little before they fall into line. Good thing too since they can't exactly recruit any new Death Eaters other than us children. Which adds a whole seventeen new recruits at most in the next three years. Unless they somehow manage to draw in several of those stuck up Ravenclaws.
He had thought it would be a problem he could proudly solve for the Dark Lord - though the precise nature of how had been something he had yet to fully figure out. He had thought at that time that he had another three years to fully determine a stunning plan that would gain the approval of not only the Dark Lord but his father. He had thought at least that he would be able to aid in the strategies of the coming war. I thought too much.
A weapon to be wielded. No mind required - merely the ability to obey. He touched the collar, running his hand against the smooth curves. It had been a gift - his father had proudly announced this fact to the waiting ensemble yesterday night. They had looked suitably awe-struck. His father had pulled his robes open to reveal the collar, lying snug within the arch of his collarbone. It had been one of the few times in his life he had worn muggle clothes. Several of the guests had touched it, awed and reverent.
Not just a Malfoy - the Malfoy.
He had been so proud of the gift - of the preference the Dark Lord had shown not only to his family but to him.
The Malfoy dragon - that's what they'll call me. Draco's lips curved into a grimace; Father named me for this intelligent, isolated, fearsome beast that I've only ever met in fairy tales. He wondered if his name had been a suggestion of the Dark Lord - After all, according to that fool Hagrid, dragons are fiercely loyal and obedient to their clan-groups. Able to violently kill anything that threatens.
He stared down at the stack of books and parchment - and realised that there was at least one month remaining to his summer vacation. One that, to all intents, his father would see he spent within his 'rooms'. Maybe if I point out that dragons have clans, congregate in large groups and generally avoid spending time alone except when they've chosen a mate for the season, he'll let me out early.
A decidedly hysterical laugh fought to escape Draco's throat. I hate this - I hate being alone. I hate this - I hate this - I hate this -!
I wish Mother was back from France. At least then she'd let me out into the gardens every day. As much as he disliked being soundly told off for getting dirt on himself by his father, at least there was noise outside. Birds. Wind. The gardeners and those thrice-damned peacocks. Even if they smell something dreadful.
But Narcissa Malfoy was in France - shopping or whatever it was that women did (Lucius had never actually gone further than shopping in his explanation for Marcissa's absence). Which meant, Draco knew, that he was trapped in his 'rooms' till he learned to control his 'gift' to a level where those around him stopped accidentally bursting into flames.
Is it disloyal to call this a curse?
The parchment fluttered once more; Draco sighed and opened the first book. I miss Hogwarts.
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A/N: Review? Please? If only to point out plot holes? Or out-of-characterisation?