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 notes after the story. Enjoy and please review!
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Chapter Ten: Platform Nine and Three Quarters
It was the first time in four years that Harry had arrived to Platform Nine and Three Quarters early. Waking near dawn for the past two months had become habitual and he had found himself awake by six and ready by eight. Professor Flitwick, moving slightly slower, had insisted on breakfast at nine - complete with another aborted attempt at 'talking'.
Harry glowered at the memory and tucked his trunk into place above the seat - it was easier this year; he must have gained some muscle. He shifted Hedwig's cage into a more stable position on the seat, she hooted sleepily and blinked at him. The Professor had followed him to the platform, waved his wand several times then admonished Harry not to leave the platform, the train or the train station. Where would I go even if I wanted to?
Hogwarts was the only place that felt like home other than the closet under the stairs at No. 4, Privet Drive. Bet Professor Flitwick would collapse if he knew I compared Hogwarts to a closet. Harry thought, and had to grin at the idea of the diminutive professor at the height of anger. Besides - there's got to be something wrong with thinking a closet feels like home.
The compartment and train were empty. Probably want to talk about that too. He wondered if the 'talks' would continue during the semester - Professor Flitwick had certainly hinted a willingness to be confided too. Harry's eyes widened. What if they all want to talk to me? He groaned. He could almost see himself trapped in some room surrounded by Professors - all bearing the same expression he had seen on Professor Flitwick's face.
It wouldn't be so bad if he wanted to talk about sex and girls and stuff like that. I can handle that. Harry thought darkly; just before the Triwizard Tournament had been announced last year, the Professors McGonnagal and Flitwick had gathered the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor fifth year students and attempted a brief, embarrassed speech on various topics. It had been hilarious at the time - Ron had been bright red for days, and every time Dean said 'the blind serpent must be guided to the apple's core' in Flitwick's high voice, they had all burst into laughter. I can deal with stuff like that. What he couldn't deal with talking about was how he felt about Cedric Diggory - or Voldemort. Especially not intersped with remarks on girls and hobbies. What does he expect me to do? 'Cedric Diggory is dead, and I brought back Voldemort. Let's go have a sporting game of Quidditch'? He almost wished he had spent the summer with Snape - at least the Potions Master's snipes were familiar. Snape wouldn't have cared if he didn't want to talk - would probably have deducted points if he had.
It was raining, a slow misting that cast the platform beyond the windows in a strange soft glow of light and blur. It reminded him of the year he had needed a higher prescription, and had spent six months walking around squinting till the school nurse had noticed and sent him to the free clinic.
The clock above the platform read 'very early' - if Harry strained, he could make out the fact that it was a quarter past ten. There were several other students arriving on the platform. Mostly seventh years and prefects - the silver badges flashed against the dark school robes.
You didn't get made into a prefect. He had thought he would be; after all, his parents not only had been prefects, they had been Head Girl and Boy. It had never been expressed or openly remarked upon, but he knew most of the students and faculty expected him to follow in their footsteps. I should feel - disappointed. But - there was nothing, just a deep well of - emptiness.
Does this matter? The same tired voice whispered. He had thought that enough sleep, food and rest would eventually cast away the apathy. But it hadn't - and he rather felt that the sensation was permanent. There's nothing in here. Nothing at all. . . Perhaps it was a strange after-effect of the ritual Voldemort had used. He's an evil megalomaniac - probably doesn't feel anything at all - how else can he do what he does? Harry thought glumly, Maybe sharing blood with him makes it contagious? He could still laugh at least. The compartment echoed his laughter back at him; he winced as he realised how hysterical he sounded. I bet Hermione would tell me to go straight to Dumbledore. And Ron would want to know if it affected how well I played Quidditch.
Should I tell Professor Dumbledore? Of all the adults he knew, surely the Headmaster was the one most likely to know a way to - To what Harry? Make you feel happy again? Make you forget last year? Bring Cedric Diggory back to life? Magic doesn't work that way - it can't bring the dead back.
*
The platform was half empty, filled mostly with prefects and their friends. Draco winced as he caught sight of another silver badge. At least Father didn't say anything about me not being chosen for the silver badge. He thought.
Malfoys had always been prefects. There had been a Malfoy prefect during every single momentous occasion listed in 'Hogwarts, a History'. His favourite story when he was younger had been of Great-Grandmother Juniper, Head Girl in 1945. She had held the students together during Grindelwald's war, somehow managing to evacuate the residents of Hogsmeade to Hogwarts right under Grindelwald's eyes. Before then, had been Great-Great Grandfather Eduar Malfoy who, as the Head Boy, had help set the wards and passwords for the (then) new Slytherin House quarters. And before that had been Great-great-great (many times great) Grandmother Siobhan Malfoy, who had been part of the creation of the wards that protected Hogwarts.
Not that it matters - by July, it's all gone anyway. Who cares about a shiny silver badge?
Well yes, the bathroom might have been nice. He had heard rumours that the place was huge (not just 'big', Pansy had said, but huge) - which would be a nice change from the bathrooms they shared with all the other Slytherins. The cubicles were so small, it was impossible to turn without hitting yourself against a wall. And nobody - except maybe Crabbe - used the common shower area. Draco shuddered. The House Elves always skimp with the magical mold remover. And they say the elves are impartial to the Houses. Though if it's this bad for us and we're just the students, I wonder what Snape's private bathroom must be like? Yuck - I bet that's why Snape never washes his hair.
He pushed the thoughts from his mind firmly. A Malfoy did not ruminate on what-could-be. A Malfoy did not believe in destiny or fate. A Malfoy made his desires come true. A Malfoy doesn't wear a collar. Draco jerked his chin upwards and forced a calm, controlled smile onto his face.
"Thank you for escorting me to the train, Mother." He said formally.
Narcissa nodded calmly and reached over to straighten the collar of his robes, "Do you have all you need for the trip?"
"Of course." Draco paused, something more was expected, "Father provided me with my weekly stipend." Of course, having spent the past three months in a set of enchanted portraits you, of all people, should know I have enough galleons to buy out a small business, Mother. But those words, and that bitterness, were not - permitted - in the demeanour of a Malfoy. Especially not the Malfoy heir.
Narcissa leaned down - he was slightly bemused to realise that his mother was still taller than he; adults generally shrank when children grew; so why then was it that his mother seemed always larger than he? - and pressed her lips against his forehead.
Awkwardly - as if even his indominatable mother was uncertain - arms reached around him, holding him close through his robes. She smelled of mint and flowers, he realised. He stiffened in the unfamiliar embrace.
"Be careful my dragon." Her voice, a bare warm breath against his skin, was strangely comforting even as it was alien, "Your time to choose has finally come."
"Choose?" whether in unconscious imitation of her, or for some other arcane reason, he was whispering.
"Severus will explain it to you." She reached, dragging his arm to his robes pocket where the parcel lay, making no noticeable dent or bump, "Be safe."
And then, in a whirl of scent and expensive clothes, she was gone, walking through the growing crowd - a tall, slender women with ice-blond hair and blue eyes. She did not turn back.
I will never understand my Mother. Draco decided; he turned and pushed the cart containing his trunk, gear and owl cage to the waiting Hogwarts Express.
Narcissa walked through the barrier and the growing crowds at Kings Cross Station, looking neither right nor left. The old rolls royce waited patiently at the bottom of the flight of steps; her steps were neither hurried nor slow and she waited patiently for the door to swing open as if by its own volition.
"Malfoy Manor." Her voice, neither urgent nor revealing any emotion.
The rolls royce rolled away from the steps and into the traffic. Narcissa lifted her wand to her face; the grip had her fingers white.
"Sano." She whispered; and beneath the glamour lying over her skin, burn marks receded, "Sano. Sano. Sano."
She sat, staring straight ahead at the empty seat that bore no driver and the wheel that required no hand.
*
"Hermione!" Ron called, "Hey Hermione! Over here!"
She really had changed during the summer vacation - but the change was one that he couldn't quite put his finger on. It wasn't just physical - he had grown taller too over the months, so really, it was all proportional, since he was still taller than her right? And it couldn't be her personality - she was still as smart, bossy and infinitely more mature than he as ever. It could always be the fact that she's grown these two whopping melons -
Ron clamped the thought down quickly, flushing. Well okay, so they aren't so much melons as apples. Like the ones Mum uses for dipping in toffee - the blush depend. Nemue betrayed - I hope this doesn't continue during term or Hermione's never going to talk to me again. . . he thought, embarrassed.
"Morning Ron!" Hermione said; she was still wearing muggle clothes - Well of course she is, dim-wit! She had to come here via the muggle Underground remember? - a pair of jeans and a sweater that made him idly wish that the girls' uniform at Hogwarts were a little more fitted. You're going to be in so much trouble when she finds out what you're thinking.
"Are you all right, Ron? You're all red and flushed." Hermione frowned, pressing one hand on Ron's forehead.
"Ah - I'm fine. Really - just - you know, early morning rush. Same as always. Ginny couldn't find her books, Pig wouldn't come down from the rafters and Fred and George were at it with their experiments all last night." Ron said, the words pouring out in a rush that left Hermione blinking bemusedly, "Anyway - have you seen Harry yet?" he asked.
The topic, like magic, turned her worry to more important (and safer) areas. Hermione frowned, shaking her head - at least her hair was still the same, Ron thought thankfully.
"Well, it's still early. He usually doesn't get here till just before the train leaves." Ron said finally.
They both glanced up at the station clock, it read 'Still Early', but it was also possible to make out that it was current half past ten. The Hogwarts Express was leaving at eleven that day and the platform was slowly filling up with families and students. A thought struck Ron.
"Hey, Hermione - I never congratulated you!" he said suddenly, "I'm surprised you aren't in your robes already - Percy couldn't wait to show it off." He paused then added hastily, "Not that you would show it off or something or -" Oh crap. He winced, waiting for a glare; Hermione had never taken kindly to being told she showed off her abilities and intelligence.
Hermione looked surprised however at his words, "Congratulate me about what, Ron?"
"Being chosen to be the fifth year prefect." The 'of course' went unsaid.
Hermione, in front of Ron's amazed eyes, turned a slight shade of red - it didn't clash as much with her hair as he knew it did with his, he noted absently, "I wasn't." she mumbled.
"What?"
"I wasn't chosen to be a prefect." Hermione said louder.
"Oh." Ron paused; Foot in mouth again, Weasley - smart move that. "I'm sorry." He finally managed, awkwardly, Argh - where are you Harry?
"Don't be." Hermione was blinking quickly, "At least now I have more time to prepare for my O.W.L.s - and there's this new class as well - but oh -!" she jumped suddenly; Ron flinched and realised that she wasn't looking at him, but at the train, "Oh!" her lips stretched into a wide smile, "Ron! Ron!"
"What?" Ron demanded, looking at the train.
"It's Harry! He must have gotten here early and gone onto the train!" Hermione said, and with that, grabbed Ron by the sleeves of his new school robes and dragged him over to the compartment window.
Ron blinked, and realised that the shadowy silhouette within - blurred by the rain - resembled Harry from the back. Even the messy black hair was the same shape.
"Hey Harry!" Ron exclaimed, "Harry!" he rapped sharply on the window; the figure within jumped, turning around to look out the window. Familiar round spectacles caught the low light.
"Ron! Hermione!" there was a brief pause, then a slow smile spread over Harry's face; hastily he opened the window, leaning out, "How was your summer?"
"Fantastic!" Hermione replied, "Did you see the article about Ron in the Daily Prophet?"
"What?" Harry began even as Ron flushed.
"It was nothing." Ron said, "Did you get your birthday presents?" he demanded, changing the topic quickly, "I wasn't sure since you didn't reply to any of the owls."
Harry reddened, "Yes - thanks. I - well -"
"Those muggles stop you from getting your mail again?" Hermione asked worriedly, "Really, somebody should tell them it's like interfering with the Royal Mail." She huffed, then shook her head, "Never mind that! Come on Ron, let's grab our trunks - we'll be in there in a second Harry. I can't wait to show you two the books I got from this little shop in Scotland - there's this amazing -"
Ron glanced over at Harry, rolling his eyes as she continued her enthused description. Harry's lips twitched but his green eyes were laughing.
"Hermione - Hermione!" Ron broke in finally.
"What?"
"Where'd you leave your trunk?"
"In the last compartment. It's usually where we end up in anyway because Harry's late. Well except for Crookshanks. Mum's taken him to see the veterinarian. Professor Dumbledore said it'll be fine to have him sent by Express Owl Familiar Post next week." Hermione said, "Where'd you leave yours?"
"Last compartment as well." Ron said, "Thought you two would be late too."
"I'll get my things and meet you there then." Harry said, ducking his head back in and closing the window.
"He looks - all right." Hermione said.
"Shouldn't he?" Ron asked.
"Of course - it's just. . ." Hermione frowned, then shook her head as if to clear it, "Come on - I really want to show you the book I found."
Ron followed Hermione, grinning. Hermione, Harry and me - everything's back to normal. Fifth year is going to be bloody marvellous!
*
Smiling was - strange. It felt as if he hadn't smiled in a long time. Harry stared, bemused at the other side of the compartment. Looks like Fred and George got Ron new school robes as well. And they've both grown. He hoped he had as well - being short was all right so long as most of the others were too, but he didn't want to spend the rest of his life looking up. He pushed his trunk down and started dragging it out of the compartment when he remembered his wand and drew it. The motions for the charm felt familiar - even though he hadn't performed it for months.
"Wingardium leviosa." The trunk obediently lifted up into the air; maybe it was because this had been the first charm he had ever learned.
I'll have to come back for my gear and Hedwig. Harry thought as he slid the door of the compartment open and gestured for the trunk to precede him. Hermione and Ron. It was strange to feel - to feel. . . To feel anything at all, other than tired. I really missed them. It was a revelation - it shouldn't have been, but it was - as if something he hadn't realised had been missing, suddenly reappeared.
Does this matter? The tired voice whispered in ghostly accompaniment. Harry's eyes tightened as he walked out of the compartment into the passageway, trunk floating obediently next to the door. It matters. They matter. I'll make it matter. He decided firmly.
The sound of a compartment's door being slammed shut echoed in the empty passageway, followed almost immediately by the sound of footsteps. He turned just in time for Draco Malfoy to trip over Harry's trunk, and go flying onto Harry.
There was a 'thud' as Harry's head hit the hard wooden floor of the passageway, a muffled yelp from Draco Malfoy as he found himself propelled forward by inertia. And then silence.
Harry blinked; something soft was nestled between his legs. Everything was blurry - his glasses had been knocked askew - and his hands were pinned to his side by a weight.
A weight that was breathing; he squinted and realised that the weight had almost white hair. Malfoy.
I can feel his heart beat. Or was that his heart? What the hell am I thinking? The knock must have damaged his brain.
"Malfoy get off me!"
There was a muffled groan; the almost-white blur shifted - Harry assumed this meant that the other boy had moved.
"Potter?"
His voice was soft - almost hesitant in shock. He remembered, with sudden intensity, the two dreams that Draco Malfoy had been in - and how he had sounded in them. Almost human. . .
"Potter." The drawl returned and the weight moved off Harry's arms enough for him to correct his glasses.
The world swam back into focus. Draco Malfoy had grown during the summer as well - he looked - Thinner anyway. As if he had been stretched; his cheek bones stood out in stark relief and the shadows under his eyes were darker for it.
Malfoy shifted, and Harry jerked as he realised the soft thing pressed between his legs had been Draco's hand.
"Get. Off. Me. Now!" Harry squeaked even as the other, realising the placement of his body, did so quickly.
They scrambled to their feet, glaring at each other with equal degrees of embarrassment and anger.
"You might not have heard of it - but in the wizarding world, we call them 'com-part-ments'." Draco drawled the last word out, "We keep our 'trunks' in them - not in the passageway." He continued in a tone of voice often used for simpletons or children.
Harry glared, and felt his hands tighten into fists, "Get lost Malfoy." He snapped, and flicking his wand, followed his trunk down the passageway.
*
Draco glared after Potter's retreating back, held from casting a truly vicious hex (purple spotted hair - annoying and vindictive, but not enough to have the school send an owl to his father at this early stage) only by the information he had grudgingly pulled from Gregory Goyle. Vincent's been sent to Durmstrang.
The Crabbe family had old magic - very, very old magic. Old enough that he had grown up with Greg and Vincent. They had been suitable 'companions' for his formative years, as his father had put it. Vincent's at Durmstrang. He wondered how the boy who could barely pass potions - even with Snape's judicious favouritism - would survive in a place where the Dark Arts wasn't just Dumbledore's latest attempt at hiring a good Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher. Vincent's at Durmstrang.
His hand went unconsciously to where his robe hid the collar. Vincent's at Durmstrang - as far from Hogwarts as possible without leaving Europe.
"Draco."
He did not jump in surprise; Pansy stood in the passageway before him. His gaze jumped automatically to her cheek. Her lips twisted as she caught his gaze.
"Cosmetic charm." Pansy said, "Professor Snape said the mark should be gone completely by the end of the term."
They stared at each other.
His relationship with Pansy Parkinson was a strange one - they had known each other all their lives. Often shared the same classes when partners were required for the lessons. He knew she was an passable dancer, talented at the violin and pianoforte as well as the harp. Her voice, though untrained, was adequate for singing. They had entertained each other during long dinner parties.
It had never been articulated - never spoken of firmly - but he had known (though when precisely he could not pin point) that they would be expected to marry one day. He had known it for a long time - since he had understood the difference between boys and girls. The - not acknowledgement so much as knowledge - had given Pansy certain liberties that no other would dare take with him. She was, unofficially - or perhaps not, considering the alternatives - his 'girlfriend'. They had grown - more intimate - during their years at Hogwarts. Certainly past the stage of tentative kisses, not quite the point of hasty groping or planned seduction.
He knew Pansy wanted more - that she found some cache of victory in having claim to him. What person wouldn't - he was the Malfoy heir after all. He wasn't completely sure how he felt for Pansy - other than perhaps, occasional irritation. It didn't matter - marriage was for blood lines after all, and blood lines were all that mattered. Well yes - that and getting laid. His hand brushed against the collar unconsciously; Pansy's eyes followed the motion and she shivered.
"I'm sorry - about what happened." Draco finally said. Politeness. Such a useful tool.
She jerked her head, "You couldn't help it."
They had reached an agreement - tentative and unspoken - at the end of their fourth year. This year, with Vincent gone, there would be one less person to kick out of his dorm room for some much needed privacy. Sex!
He felt cold; and suddenly he wanted to be touched - wanted to be surrounded by people and talk and chatter. Wanted to not be alone. Draco reached out and stared wide eyed as she jumped away.
"I said I was sorry." Draco snapped, irritated, "You don't need to act as if I'm going to do it on purpose." He knew he sounded petulant - and didn't care. I want to be touched! I want to be touched! Damn you girl - what's a Malfoy have to do to get groped around here?
The silence stretched and something cold shimmered down Draco's back.
Pansy stared at him, "Don't you know?" she finally managed.
"Know what?"
"You can't control it." Pansy whispered, casting a look up and down the empty passageway, "That's what the torque is there for - except Daddy says it doesn't work very well. Nothing does - none of them expected you to get so strong so quickly."
The cold became ice and Draco felt himself stiffen, "Strong?" he shoved the word out through a mouth that felt frozen.
"Touching you burns, Draco." Pansy whispered, "Even with the torque. It hurts - and there's only so much the cosmetic charms can do."
There was a burst of noise as several students hurried into the passageway, quickly choosing compartments. Outside, the station clock read 'Right on Time' and the rain increased - a metallic tempo against the roof.
"I - " Didn't know. He wanted to say - but acknowledgement of ignorance was not something a Malfoy admitted.
"You should take an empty compartment while you can, Draco." Pansy said, not meanly - her eyes glittered strangely, "It's not safe to be around other people." She slipped into the compartment, greeting Greg's grunt with a calm, if quiet: "Hello Greg - how was your summer?"
Draco was left standing in the passageway; he touched the collar - even through the robes, he could feel the hard ridge where it sat, sliding into the hollow at his throat. Is it disloyal to call it a curse?
He felt cold; and there was an ache - not centralised but spread out, as if the entirety of his skin was suddenly aware that he would never be touched again. Mother walked away so quickly. And Father was careful to wear gloves whenever he touched me. Little signs that meant nothing till placed into perspective.
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Author's Note:
Congratulations to Kouji who translated the latin in Chapter Nine. 'Tendo te draco, te scelero draco' - which does have significance to the plotline (although not one where you desperately need to know the translation right this instance. ^_^) but shall be explained further on. Cookie (but really, Chapter Eleven posted to you early ^_^) to anybody who translates the latin phrases in this chapter (and no, before you ask, there won't be latin phrases in every chapter).
Kaeda, Lanna, Slytherin Witch, Annon, Drusilla, Gryph, Nexus, Sildtsr: thanks - stick around, it gets more interesting.
JaneyLane, Lady Ron - take it you like my portrayal of Harry? ~grins~ What do you think of Draco's characterisations at the moment? And the long awaited (if short) Draco and Harry scene?
As always, help, correction and flames on latin phrases (including correct grammer, sentence structure and word) would be greatly appreciated. ^-^
Lastly - on Chapter Eleven's estimated time of publication. I have been releasing chapters on average, once every two and a half days (give or take half a day). However, I've decided to hold off "Without Question" for a couple of days/a week or so while I work through a problem with Chapter Fifteen of "Lust" (a yaoi story revolving around Weiss Kreuz' Youji Kudou and Aya Fujimiya - if you want to read it, it's listed as one of the stories I've written). Just in case anybody is worried, don't worry, as promised, I will finish "Without Question" - and that includes Chapter Eleven - and it will not be a very long wait, guaranteed. ^_^
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 29/08/2002 for some formatting errors