Without Question
By Tien Riu
tien_riu@yahoo.com
=====================================================================
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.
Extra: [tries out her brand new puppy dog eyes] Um. . . Hesitant request here (for this is probably a rather low thing to do -_-;;) but. . . I really hoped to be somewhere in the mid twenties in terms of reviews by Chapter Six. So - please, tell me what you think of the story so far. I know it's slow going at the moment (well actually it just sped up but - anyway) but tell me what you think. Or your guesses for the future. Or - failing all that, tell me how bad it is. Please?
Author's note - including response to reviews - after chapter. Enjoy - and please review!
=====================================================================
Chapter Eight: Summer's End
There was a brief implosion of air in the kitchen which sent Uncle Vernon stumbling backwards in shocked fear and forced a sharp shriek out of Aunt Petunia. Harry swallowed, recognising the profile - from greasy hair through to swirling black robes - immediately.
Severus Snape, Head of Slytherin House, Potions Master and a Professor at Hogwarts, England's foremost school for wizardry and witchcraft, glared down at Harry.
"Can you not stay out of trouble, Potter?" he snarled as he took in the kitchen - and the pile of ash, "What's this? Beloved Harry Potter receiving howlers from his adoring public? The world has ended."
The Professor glared at him first in waiting displeasure, then in sharpened suspicion at his silence.
"Who - who the hell are you?!" Uncle Vernon spluttered finally into the shocked silence.
Professor Snape turned, "Professor Severus Snape." He snapped, "One of the boy's teachers. What happened here?"
Does this matter? A tired voice in the back of Harry's mind asked. Should I care now?
*
Dear Remus,
I'm currently staying with Professor Flitwick at the Leaky Cauldron. The Dursleys accidentally opened a howler intended for me and Uncle Vernon threw me out of the house.
Professor Snape appeared shortly after but because of the Magic on Muggles Act (I'm not sure about this - was it passed recently? I haven't heard anything since the summer started) decided against performing a memory charm on them.
Thank you for the present - the cake was delicious and I'm reading the book at the moment. Please say 'hi' to Snuffles for me.
Keep safe.
Harry
Remus Lupin frowned at the letter; whether it be werewolf instinct (though he doubted that) or the barely honed reflexes he had gained as a teacher, something told him to be wary of the carelessly cheerful tone of the letter. Remus - you're impressing your image of what Harry should be over the boy. He's fifteen years old by Merlin's beard. Why should he spend his summer anguished over Cedric Diggory and You-Know-Who? The young recover fast - and if he has recovered already then why shouldn't he have? It's normal to recover. . .
Except - he was almost sure that it wasn't normal. At least not for Harry - who had never seemed the type of child to brush off major events without thought. Or even small conversations overheard by accident - and ancient maps with deteriorating charms that should have deteriorated long ago (and would Severus ever let him forget it?). And if it wasn't normal. . . Is Harry all right? And if he isn't why is he hiding it from Sirius?
The door of the tiny cottage Remus had rented three days ago swung open, revealing a large black dog (affectionately named 'Snuffles' according to the tag hanging from his collar). Remus watched as 'Snuffles' shut the door with his nose before the brief implosion of air marked the transformation from dog to man.
Sirius Black - the first and only man to ever escape Azkaban, the wizarding jail protected by dementors - glanced over to his friend and frowned, "What's wrong, Remus?"
"Letter from Harry." Remus replied, handing the parchment over before Sirius could grab it.
"Is he in trouble? Did those muggles hurt him?" Sirius ran through the parchment as he spoke, then frowned, "He seems fine - happy even."
Remus made a non-commital grunt as he poured water into the kettle and set it onto the stove.
"Is Flitwick's loyalties questionable?" Sirius asked, leaning against the counter that divided the small cul-de-sac that was the kitchen from the combined living and dining area of the cottage, "Is that why you're worried?"
"Flitwick is equal portions faerie, elf, dwarf and human - and the only part unaligned by upbringing and breed to the Light is human. It's against his - as the muggles put it - 'genetic inclination' to join Voldemort's pure-blooded following. He is as much a part of Albus' collection of misfits as we are." Remus replied with a brief laugh - and forced the bitterness away, as he always had, "No. Flitwick is above reproach."
"Then why the worry?"
There was a pause; the kettle hummed, "Does he seem too happy to you?"
"Flitwick? Of course. But he's always been that way -"
"Harry."
"Oh." Sirius paused, frowning, "I'm more worried that he isn't as happy as he should be."
"Oh."
The kettle whistled into the quiet.
*
"Ron! Wake up and get down here!"
Ron jerked out of sleep, staring blearily at the Chudley Canon poster hanging opposite his bed. Alexis Mimickiv, the Chudley Canon's chaser grinned at him and waved before zooming off to join the Seeker on the other side of the room.
"Ron!"
He glanced at the small alarm clock by his bed (still sleepily ticking). Why'd Mum want me up at nine in the bleeding morning for? Brain cells slowly ticked over. Oh yeah - we're going to Diagon Alley today to pick up my robes from Madam Malkin. There was even going to be a small ceremony, and the Daily Prophet was going to do an article about how he had stopped the Death Eater. The thought made something in the vicinity of his chest warm - though remembering the actual day still made him want to throw up his breakfast (had he had any). Wonder if Harry feels scared when he's facing down You-Know-Who.
Oh yeah -! He glanced expectantly at the bedside table - and slumped when all that me this gaze was a sleeping Pig. Harry hadn't answered the birthday note either.
"I've got to get a more reliable owl." Ron glared briefly at Pig - who hooted sleepily and tucked his head more firmly under a wing, "Wonder if he even got his gifts."
Hermione wasn't going to be there either - still on vacation in Scotland with her parents. She had sent a postcard yesterday - something about historical castles and ghosts. Muggles - they get excited over every little thing. Ron thought, then grinned as he imagined Hermione's glare.
Damn - I miss them. The holidays hadn't been the same without Harry around - or Hermione to remind him about his homework. Aw heck. I've still got that History of Magic scroll to finish. All twelve inches.
"Ronald Weasley - if you don't get down here -!"
Ron flinched and hastily got out of bed, "Coming Mum!" he shouted.
The Burrow echoed slightly as a sudden 'boom' shook the rafters. Ron ducked out of the way of a burst of canary feathers floating (apparently out of nowhere) from the ceiling. The twins, having achieved canary creams that delayed transfiguring the victims for an unknown ("And random! The point is the randomness of it!" George - or Fred, it was hard to tell under all those feathers - had exclaimed excitedly) amount of time had shifted their efforts towards maintaining the transformation through apparation and portkey teleportation. Percy had taken to sleeping in the office. Never thought I'd be happy to be too young to get my apparation license. Ron grinned as he tugged on a pair of robes and smoothed down his hair in front of the mirror.
"You've got a smudge on your nose." The mirror remarked, "And your robes are too small for you."
"Well, I'll be getting new ones today right?" Ron replied and grinned.
Another batch of feathers drifted across the floor to join the drift near the door. Molly Weasley, having given up on punishing Fred and George for their experiments, had negotiated an amnesty that entailed no loud explosions, sudden transformations or strange flashing colours (this after Percy had unwarily drunk a glass of what had turned out not to be lemonade and ended up bright enough to light Worchester) before, during and at least one hour after any meals. Mum's probably going to have their hides now.
Ron grinned - Fred and George in trouble (and unlikely to be using him as a guinea pig for at least the rest of the day) and new robes in the offing. Life was good. Though he couldn't help adding an addendum to the thought: If Harry and Hermione were here it'd be bloody brilliant.
*
July swept through with familiar speed, filled with the hustle and bustle of life on the edge of Diagon Alley. Here, in the very centre of the English wizarding community, Harry learned what living with a Professor was like. It could have been worse, he thought, I could have been stuck with Snape till September.
Professor Snape had taken him by portkey to Hogsmeade then to Hogwarts and the faculty sitting room. Professor Flitwick had been waiting, and the two men had conversed quietly before Harry had been taken via yet another portkey to Diagon Alley and a suite of rooms in the Leaky Cauldron. He had expected lessons on charms - or even lectures on the amount of respect he should show (Snape's choice of scathing commentary on the fast hike to Hogwarts). He had not expected - What do I call them?
Whatever they were, they were uncomfortable. Flitwick kept sitting him down in the suite's small common living area and attempting to talk to him. About growing up, and girls and Quidditch and - feelings. It was - strange. Forget 'strange', it's bloody unnerving is what it is!
In self-defence, he had finally abandoned the thought of staying in the suite for the rest of the holidays and escaped Flitwick's 'conversations' for the safety of Diagon Alley. And what a un-mitigating fiasco that had been.
He had found himself backed into a corner in Flourish and Blots by an excited third year and her soon-to-be first year sister. They had wanted autographs - and had been bearing pictures from the Daily Prophet. Outside, an old wizard had spent a quarter of an hour lecturing him on the proper behaviour appropriate for courting and winning women (something to do with Hermione it seemed). That was, till a middle-aged witch had slapped him for killing Cedric Diggory. He'd stayed inside and sat through four of Flitwick's 'conversations' the next day before escaping outside once more. It had continued from there. On the fourth day, he had overheard a witch from the Daily Prophet asking other customers at Tantara's Potion Emporium if they had seen him. By the end of the second week, they had begun to actively search him out. Midway through that week, he had caught sight of Rita Skeeter with a photographer outside Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. He had darted into the first building he could find - and found sanctuary.
'Sanctuary' that is, for Hermione - but in her absence, it was blessedly empty of questions, recriminations, declarations of love and anger.
The Diagon Alley Museum and Library of Enchanted Muggle Artefacts Through the Ages had been erected sometime in the nineteenth century and forgotten promptly thereafter by anyone other than the odd interested scholar (such as Hermione - Harry made a mental note to mention the place to her once the school year began). Best of all, it was deserted but for the caretaker (an old man who had rarely left his rooms in the attics over the Museum since he had taken the job, as he had told Harry during their first conversation), and opened daily (including weekends as the old man - who told Harry to call him 'Joe' - didn't really have anything else to do) from eight in the morning through to six in the evening.
For the past two months, Harry had slipped out of the Leaky Cauldron into Diagon Alley at six, grabbed a hasty breakfast (plastering his hair over his forehead and fixedly staring at the ground) from a nearby bakery and waited impatiently on the steps of the Museum till Joe opened them. He spent the rest of the day exploring the artefacts (there were quite a few - occasionally new ones were brought in, donated by the Department of Improper Use of Magic) and when he had exhausted his interested in that, doing his summer homework in the small library attached to the museum. If not the most adventurous way to spend his summer, it was at least peaceful.
He was looking forward - if you could call it that - to not facing fear around the corner, and not meeting Death Eaters, and not having the Ministry tell him off for illegal use of magic, and not having to find another way to get to Hogwarts because he had missed the train. If not for missing Hermione and Ron the summer had been - Except Cedric Diggory is dead and Voldemort is alive.
So Harry thought of other things, and slowly counted the days to September the first instead.
Nothing. . . I can live with nothing.
=====================================================================
Lady Ron and Kouji: thanks for adding 'Without Question' to your favourite story list. ~grins~ Absolute first time one of my stories ever ended on somebody else's 'favourites' list. ^_^ [awed]
More specifically - (Lady Ron) Dumbledore's muses (Darkness) actually has a point, though it's only slowly being revealed and (Kouji) Draco is acting slightly out-of-character in his passive behaviour. There are several reasons (one of which is the old, trite and clichéd way of: 'a student's dead, he's been isolated for the entire holidays, he's grown up, some of his illusions have been striped, and he's discovered that he's place in Voldemort's armies won't be as glamorous and wonderful as previously expected'. The second is a little bit more involved and hopefully less clichéd).
Shades and Wingsprite: was this fast enough? On average I'm releasing a chapter every two and a half days. (Poor "Lust" is suffering for "Without Question"'s gain - and my pre-reader is probably glaring at this right now and waiting for the next instalment of "Lust" ~eep~ ^_^).
Lyaka: Draco and Harry are coming - but it is a gradual relationship thing. I hate stories where they just. . . 'end up' together. There has to be a reason. An explanation. An excuse even, for why two enemies (for that is what they are, even if it is an immature and childish enmity) would begin to see each other in a light other than hatred. Still, Harry's dreaming of Draco isn't he? ~grins~
Also - glad you liked my take on the Order of the Phoenix. ^_^ I think it's the first time anybody else has taken that approach to the Order - here's hoping I'm being original instead of clichéd. ^_^
Sildtsr: Firstly - thanks for the review. And ~grins~ I can't help asking for people to tell me if the story is bad. It helps keep my ego down (because there's so many better pieces of fiction out there, and I'm hoping that if I keep trying I will eventually reach their level ^_^). Also - the howlers don't come from anybody, specifically - just the general populace of the wizarding world. Think of it as similar to the death threats a popular movie/music star might receive alongside the love and fan letters.
Annon: thanks! ^-^
Just for anybody's interest, the tone of the story changes with the character - which means the maturity of the writing slips when I write through Draco, Harry, Ron and Hermione.
Juliet: Thanks - and yes, I feel sorry in a way for canon!Ron and his eternal side-kick-ness (is there such a word? There must be now ^_^) too. However, I can see Ron getting into a situation where he does end up as the hero - simply because it is part of his nature.
Karla: Thanks for the review, and the compliment on my writing (inflating ego ^_^).
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 ^_^)
- edited 23/08/2002 for format errors