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.
Note (04/09/2002) - Chapter Eleven has been modified and extended with what would have been half of Chapter Twelve (had I not changed my chapter outline). Explanation with Author's Note after story. Enjoy and please review! (Especially on the topic of depiction and characterisation on Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape please)
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Chapter Eleven: Sumptus Per Redemptio
If, somewhere in this god-forsaken world, there was a deity of Fate, Chance or even Chaos surely it (though Severus had the suspicion it was actually a 'she') had a perverse pleasure in meddling with his life. How else could the turns and altogether far too melodramatic twists his life had taken be explained? How else would I be found studying like some pimply-faced swot in this dust-ridden excuse for a library?
With that in mind, the stern, dark haired man closed the leather-bound tome with unnecessary force (much to the surprise of Irma Pince). Two months of research, and with a day remaining before the return of the infestation (as he referred to the students), his last resource had led to nothing he had not already known.
"Is there anything the matter, Severus?" Irma asked hesitantly - it was quite unlike the potions master to use the library, let alone with such vehement emotion.
After all, there was little (if anything) in the library's shelves on the topic of potions that Severus Snape did not already own.
"Severus?" Irma repeated.
Severus, jerking out of whatever reverie he was in, turned, glaring at her more out of habit than actual malevolence, "No." he said finally. Unless you have something heavy I can slam my head into - since that's about the same amount of help your books have given me. But the insult was barely virulent, and certainly not up to his usual standards.
Irma watched worriedly as the tall, gaunt man swept out of the library, robes flapping behind him. Idly, she wondered when Minerva would convince him to buy new robes; the loose fit of his current wardrobe made him resemble a giant bat hit with a transfiguration spell gone wrong.
*
Albus Dumbledore stepped through the fireplace into Severus' sitting room early that rainy September first to discover the potions master steadily downing the better part of a bottle of Kipsucker's Moonshine ('guaranteed to keep them blast end skrewts at bay!').
"Severus, you wanted to see me?"
"Albus." Severus grunted.
Severus was not a conventional drunk - where else others in his position might have melted into puddles of incoherent (but humorous) reflections on life, the state of the political world and the pretty witch (or wizard, as it were) with that nice swish in her wand, the difference between the potions master drunk or sober was the distinction between irony and sarcasm. The usual signs were neither apparent nor particularly obvious - slurring of vowels or shaky body motions mostly hidden and strictly controlled. His mental processes might slow a trifle - but as he was hardly a verbose man and certainly one not inclined to hasty speech, this went unnoticed. Had he been honest with himself - and he usually attempted that - this reaction to imbibing large amounts of alcohol was based almost completely on his reluctance to allow the last portion of control he had on his body, fate and life over to another entity. You-Know-Who and Albus - a thin line indeed to obliterate with alcohol. Even if it is - he blinked and frowned till the neatly labelled label on the bottle focused, Kipsucker's Moonshine.
"I find lemon barley much more conducive to aiding the thought processes." Albus remarked as he sat down in the wing chair opposite Severus and arched one eyebrow, eyes twinkling with misplaced humour, "I assume there is a reason for your indulgence, Severus?"
"Do I ever do this without reason?" Severus retorted, carefully placing the bottle onto the table - to an onlooker, the gesture would have been barely of less speed than his usual grace. Albus, who had seen Severus at both his best and worse, frowned.
The Headmaster flicked his wand; a tiny table appeared between the two chairs, complete with tray containing two teacups, and a metal pot from which wafted the scent of steaming, fragrant coffee, "Coffee? Two sugars and milk I believe." The stately older wizard poured and proffered the cup and saucer to the younger man, "Now. How goes your research?" Albus asked calmly.
Severus took a swallow of the hot liquid before speaking; it was, of course, at exactly the right temperature to avoid scalding his mouth, "It has ended."
"And your analysis on the possibility of a cure for young Draco Malfoy's affliction?"
Severus leaned back, resting his head against the fabric of the chair (worn from years of such use) and closed his eyes briefly. Failure. He had come to recognise its presence in the same way he matched ingredients in potions. Scent - bitter; taste - sour. Effect varying from distracting, distasteful through to depressing depending on dosage. It seemed strangely apropos that he had never been unsuccessful in any undertaking except that which mattered. Grim.
Albus waited patiently, glasses reflecting the light from the crackling fire that lit the dim, windowless room.
"My research has uncovered nothing; if it is of the dark arts, it is of sufficient darkness that the Dark Lord did not find need for its implementation while I was his potions expert." He placed the empty cup on the table; the saucer wavered slightly in his hand, causing the cup to rattle, "I know that potions are involved, and possibly arithmancy, astrology and - though I am loath to admit it - divinations. However, all three arts combined would still require an administration of the product on Draco. And for it to give him the power to burn by touch alone - the product would have created several adverse effects. Effects I would have noted in the past four years." He ran a hand through his hair; wincing as fingers tangled.
"And if the potions were administrated throughout the vacation?" Albus suggested mildly, ignoring - perhaps kindly - the loss of composure from the taciturn man.
"Any potion that produces such an effect would require daily administration over the course of twenty years. Not only is Draco too young but even in Slytherin, a habit such as that would quickly become common knowledge." Severus snapped, then added grudgingly, "Within the dungeons at the very least."
"Slytherin is famed for its reservation and protection of its own." Albus murmured neutrally.
Severus glared at the headmaster but the heat in his gaze was subdued - no one knew better than he precisely how many of his housemates would be fighting on the wrong side in the war to come. Redemptio illi negotium proditor - for he who seeks absolution, does so at the loss of they who trusted him.
"Sometimes, Albus - I wonder why you and the faculty don't cast Slytherin away and be done with your façade of impartiality." There was a bite of bitterness in his tone - if he had not been drunk, he might have cared enough to hide it.
Albus was quiet, and took a sip from his cup before speaking once more, "You think it is a façade?"
Severus laughed - it was a raw, short sound, "'Never a wizard or witch gone bad that didn't come from Slytherin' - I believe that is what they say." He quoted mockingly, "The children are brought up to fear the House, the teachers look first to its inhabitants for the trouble makers, and on leaving, the graduates are looked at askance, blamed first for petty crimes and feared as the cause of greater ones." He refused to look at Albus - and wondered if, when the taint of inebriation departed, he would find himself regretting this discard of pride, "Albus - they are -" he paused, unsure of how to continue, "Slytherin is not -"
How did one explain to the Gryffindor Headmaster the inner workings of Slytherin House? No matter that Albus Dumbledore was one of the greatest wizards ever to live, the mores - and enmity - of Godric remained bone-deep. " '- never more unalike were any two than the houses of Salazar and Godric - and the walls of Hogwarts shall never see Slytherin's courage nor Gryffindor's ambition -'" Severus quoted softly; and was startled to realise he had spoken aloud.
Albus raised an eyebrow and poured the coffee; Severus accepted the cup and drained it quickly. This is the way a Slytherin begs, Headmaster. Not by humiliation nor by physical action - but by revelation.
"The House of Slytherin have been living in the shadow of mistrust since Salazar Slytherin killed Godric Gryffindor." He said carefully, "Children do not exist in Slytherin. They grow quickly or fail trying - we allow them no other way, and surrounded by the hatred and suspicion, there is no where to turn but within for sanctuary and allies. Slytherin have no friends who are not Slytherin. And in this environment, festering with hostility, anger and frustration, there breeds nothing but prey and predators." A breath; the coffee must have been enchanted - he felt too sober to be drunk, "They are formed by the actions of others. And they are penalised."
Severus found himself forced to meet Albus' eyes, "Severus, child - did you have to drink yourself first into oblivion before speaking of this?"
And Severus was swept back sixteen years and a summer day when heat did not permeate the cold in the Headmaster's study. "Severus, child - forgiveness can be given, but such is absolution that it can only be bought."
"Any other way -" he stopped, "It is Slytherin's way." He croaked finally, "Albus -" the words would not come; he swallowed, "I do not know how to stop this. I don't know how to cure the curse on Draco Malfoy."
"That is not what you are asking, Severus." Albus said, and settled back into the chair, waiting.
Severus swallowed and cursed the enchantment on the coffee. It would have been easier had he been drunk and capable of claiming temporary insanity.
"Given the opportunity. . ." he finally began, "Given the chance -" he started again, uncharacteristically short of words, "Draco Malfoy -" the words bit at his throat, refusing to be uttered, "He is not his father." Severus managed finally.
And inwardly, he cursed the three other houses and their founders - they had laid claim on compassion but never allowed their fourth a share of it. And we, the inheritors of your actions suffer because we cannot ask, and only grudgingly accept.
Albus waved his wand and the table with its accompanying tray vanished - back to the kitchens in all probability. He leaned back into the wing chair, staring thoughtfully at Severus.
"I cannot risk the other children, Severus." He said finally, "The Order must remain a secret - news of its existence must never reach Voldemort and his Death Eaters." He paused, "The Order was established to create a haven - a sanctuary. One child turned traitor, and our future - the future of our world - dies."
"How can they prove their trustworthiness if they are never given the opportunity?" Severus retorted, and fell silent. Albus, they will die without Hogwarts and your protection. Die or be dragged into our war - and that is the same thing. But those words would not be uttered - it was not, after all, Slytherin's way. How many remember that before Slytherin's betrayal, Godric stood by his side and spoke what Salazar could not himself say? Would that talent passed on rather than his foolish, thoughtless bravery.
They sat in silence, the only sound that of the crackling fire. Severus was startled when Albus spoke once more.
"Slytherin House is as much a part of Hogwarts as Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw." Albus said softly, almost contemplatively, "And the children - and they are children, Severus, though they do not resemble the children of the other houses - as much a part of the future Voldemort seeks to destroy as any of the others. Yes - even my 'precious' Gryffindors, Severus." Albus smiled slightly, but his eyes no longer twinkled - Severus was startled at how serious the old man seemed, "Tell me, Severus - tell me of Blaise Zambini, Pansy Parkinson, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle." He held up one finger, "And please, child, forgo for now, your loyalty to House."
Severus stared, sightlessly, at the Headmaster. Failure. Fifteen years to know that he could not change Slytherin - only watch its destruction.
"Severus." Albus prompted.
When he spoke, it was without hesitancy, "They have lived in the shadow of their parents' choices all their life. I believe that they would astonish - given the opportunity."
The Headmaster was quiet as he stared thoughtfully at Severus, "As the one I gave you?" he murmured; Severus stiffened - and he wondered, as he had sixteen years ago, what price to place on a debt that would never be fully paid.
"I hope you will join us for the Sorting and the Banquet tonight, Severus." Albus said finally, "I am sure you have a potion prepared to ensure you are able to perform your duties as Head of House - adequately."
Severus watched as the Headmaster walked through the fire and vanished. Damn you Albus. This was why he disliked speaking with the Headmaster - at least centaurs had the honestly to speak in riddles. With Albus, either he has said what he meant, or meant what he said. And we the luckless morons who have to figure out what he means.
He glanced at the clock on the wall - which declared that it was 'too early to get dressed - but you might want to go wash your hair, you greasy git' (one of the seventh year students several years ago had managed to hex the clock and mirror and he had not, as yet, bothered to decipher the counter-hex). Decisively, Severus Snape reached for the bottle of Kipsucker's Moonshine.
*
"Well, well, well - Potty Potter, complete with entourage of Weasel and Bookworm." Draco Malfoy's drawl cut through Hermione's excited description of the ghost she had met while staying in a Scottish castle (" - Mum and Dad were aghast of course, and I had this dreadful thought: what if talking to ghosts counts as improper use of magic in an underage witch? But nothing came of it and Laird McDougal was ever so interesting. You wouldn't believe the stories he told about Bonny Prince Charlie -").
Ron glared at the blond Slytherin, growling his habitual: "Get lost Malfoy."
Draco Malfoy however, ignored Ron, his attention focused on Harry, "Really Potter. Fame - fortune - and girls I understand. But in such a rush to meet up with these mindless sycophants that you forget common courtesy? How utterly plebeian." He mocked and feigned a perplexed expression, "Oh wait - I forget. Those muggles you live with never taught you manners -" he flicked a glance at Ron, smirking, "And the Weasel of course, is unable to teach what he and that rat's nest he calls a family never touched with a ten foot pole." Malfoy continued, grey eyes bright with glee.
"Go away Malfoy." Harry said flatly, "Ron - just ignore the git." He added.
Ron, turning a shade of red that matched his hair, gritted his teeth and turned away from Malfoy. Hermione sighed - was it so much to ask that the fights didn't start till after they had arrived at Hogwarts? And then realised that Harry - rather than calming Ron, or actively participating in the pre-requisite arguments prior to random hexes and jinxes - wasn't paying attention. Not staring fixedly out the window or ignoring Malfoy - but actual distraction. His retort had been standard fare - barely touching on the bile and vehemence that had marked all previous encounters. What happened during the summer, Harry? And why haven't you told Ron yet? She had expected that he would not share his thoughts with her - might have been hurt had she not gotten used to what her mother called 'the boy's club - mostly spitting, swearing and girls really' back in her first year. Ron and Harry were her best friends - they truly were - but they were each other's best friends first. Yeah - and I'll get all melancholy about that in about a week and a half but right now what's the matter with Harry?
" - something more?" Malfoy continued, tilting his head back slightly; Hermione realised then that he was staring at Harry - not so much ignoring Ron as focusing his attention completely on Harry. A Harry who was decidedly not paying attention, "Guess all those rumours are true. You and the Weasel indulging in a little wet-towel tag?" an elegant eyebrow was arched - a calm gesture belying the intensity of his gaze as Harry didn't react.
Ron hurled himself out of his seat at Malfoy, incoherently spluttering, " - bastard!"
Draco however had side stepped, and Ron ended up sprawled over the passageway - much to the surprise of a group of giggling third year Hufflepuff girls several feet away.
"What? Nothing to say Potter?" Draco continued, "Then again - the Weasel more likely to fight your fights now that you've lost your -" he grinned, " - pole?"
Hermione, eyes wide, stared. Draco Malfoy was insulting, he played dirty, cheated like - well, a Slytherin - and generally had made it his sole purpose to get as many Gryffindors as possible into trouble. However, he never made sexually explicit taunts. It was - well, impolite. And crass. (Not to mention, Hermione added privately, there was just too many retorts to turn onto the pretty, blonde, slender Slytherin if he took up the war on that battlefield) What's going on?
Harry, frowned as he realised Ron was frantically batting away the Hufflepuff girls, "What's Ron -" shook his head and shifted his attention - and glare - to Malfoy, "Whatever Malfoy. Take your delusions and go -" he trailed off, staring over Malfoy's right shoulder, "Hermione," this in a confused tone, "Why are those girls carrying pictures of Ron?"
Ron in the passageway was squeaking: "No - I don't want to sign that picture - where did you get that picture from?! I'm going to kill -"
Hermione tuned him out - it seemed a trifle misplaced to laugh during another infamous Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter fight. She caught it then; the brief flickering downwards glance from Malfoy, aimed at - Harry's groin?
Malfoy glared in silence at Harry for several seconds, then turned and stalked out of the compartment, brushing past a Hufflepuff girl - who yelped and backed up against the wall of the passageway, clutching her arm.
"Soddin' prat." Ron muttered, having finally rid himself of the Hufflepuff girls (who, Hermione noted, were clutching the pictures to their chest and giggling as they hurried into the opposite compartment).
The youngest Weasley boy slammed the compartment door shut and leaned against it, shuddering, "Remind me to kill Fred and George." He added, "Should have known they'd do anything to make a few knuts."
Harry frowned, "Ron - why - were those girls holding pictures of you?"
Ron went bright red.
Hermione smiled as she watched Ron haltingly describe his summer adventure and his new found fame courtesy of a half-unbuttoned formal robe and the Daily Prophet to a bemused Harry. Inwardly however, she frowned. If I didn't know better I'd swear Draco Malfoy was checking Harry out.
*
It made sense, in a convoluted fashion. As it was obvious that the world was out to make his life as uncomfortable, annoying and unfair as possible, that Potter hadn't ended up walking funny due to an 'unfortunate' burn to sensitive portions of his anatomy made perfect sense. As far as Draco was concerned, four years of similar reactions to intricately planned pranks should have taught him not to ever expect coming up on top where Potter was concerned. Bloody bastard must have been born under a lucky star on top of every thing else. He snarled quietly as he stalked down the passageway.
I can't get laid, or touched. Or even have an immature, adolescent groping in a dark corner somewhere with Pansy. But Potter gets away scot free. This is definitely a curse. Draco glared at a passing first year, who paled and backed up against the wall as the blond Slytherin strode past. Who would have thought this sodding curse needed skin-to-skin contact to work?
For several seconds, he contemplated a frenetic vision of jumping Potter and shoving his hand down the boy's pants - Well. . .
- which, while with merit, would probably be brought to the attention of his father fairly quickly. Definitely a bad point, that. He paused, and added thoughtfully, Not to mention the mental pictures that are definitely going to haunt my dreams from now on. And eating at the Welcome Feast? Obviously out of the question now. Draco decided, then brightened, Hey - I can still get laid! Well, if we keep all our clothes on. And maybe use some sort of thin cloth - and - he frowned as he tried to understand the exact dimensions required, and then shrugged. Well, Pansy and I can experiment till we get it right.
Pansy was talking to Greg when Draco swung open the compartment door. Draco's eyes narrowed - Pansy was sitting next to Greg.
"Draco." Pansy managed, there was a flash of fear in her eyes.
"I discovered something." Draco drawled, hand on the compartment door, "Today. Thanks to Potter and his mindless mob."
"Thought your father didn't want any problems with Potter till - later." Greg said in a low rumble.
Draco flicked a hand, "Father doesn't care so long as the school doesn't owl him with complaints." He said off-handedly before turning to Pansy, sneer twisting to brief smile, "Seems this - 'gift' I have doesn't work so long as I don't touch -" he breathed it out, " - skin."
Greg looked uncomfortable; Pansy - less wary of the need to hide most of her emotions, merely shrieked slightly.
"Draco - Draco - the door -!"
Of all the reactions Draco had expected - that had not been one. He turned, despite himself, and stared down at where his hand touched the compartment door. Thin tendrils of smoke drifted from beneath his grip - and the palm of his hand suddenly seared hot.
"Mata!" Draco swore as he jumped away and stumbled over Greg's broomstick (carelessly left lying on the floor; he ignored the fact that his lay beside it) and onto Pansy - who screamed and jerked away.
There was a brief tangle of limbs that left Draco half sprawled over the seat and Pansy whimpering, clutching her leg as she curled up as far against the far wall as possible. Well - this is dignified. Draco thought, pulling himself upright and running a hand through his hair distractedly. So much for Slytherin composure. He shuddered to think what would happen if any of the other Houses saw them.
"Pansy?" Greg rumbled, "Are you all right?"
Pansy was still whimpering.
"Oh stop your snivelling." Draco snarled, "I just hit you a little. Probably not even a bruise." Honestly - does she have to be such a girl about these things?
"I think she's really hurt, Draco." Greg said in his slow, low voice, "Pansy - Pansy?"
"H-hurts." Pansy whispered, "It really - really - really - really - really - really hurts." She said the words through gritted teeth, as if repetition alone would stop her from screaming.
Draco looked up surprised; there was a tear in Pansy's school robes, near her knee. It ripped downwards - almost the same size as - My hand.
He leaned in closer - Pansy jerked backwards and was unable to do much more than press herself against the compartment wall. The cloth and skin looked as if they had gone through a fire; blackened material and skin mixed with red, raw flesh. He felt bile rise. Balor.
"I - I did that?" he whispered - Through cloth. Through clothes.
Pansy was shivering; without hesitation, Greg scooped her up in his large arms - he had grown taller and larger during the summer, Draco noted distractedly.
"Draco - Draco."
Draco blinked, realised Greg was talking to him, "What?"
"You have to move." Greg rumbled.
"What?"
"She has to see a prefect." Greg said, there was a pause then, "To get healed."
"Oh."
Draco lifted his legs up onto the chair, far enough that Greg was able to walk past without touching even the edge of his robes. Bit far fetched that. I mean, it's not as if my clothes can burn you. If they could nothing would be safe would it? Sometimes you're really stupid Greg.
The familiar words, the scorn that would have tainted his voice was so familiar he almost spoke them. But didn't.
The compartment was silent - the noise of other students selecting their seats and laughingly visiting each other muted by the closed door and the drumming rain. The train's whistle made a forlorn, shrill toot and steam rustled past the window in a white mist.
Draco eventually uncurled, placing his legs neatly on the ground. He twitched his robes back into place - perfectly positioned to ensure no unsightly creases occurred. A hand through his hair ensured it remained neatly in proper place.
And through it all, he refused to think. Especially not of the gaping, burnt hole in Pansy. Or Greg, carrying her away. Or of Vincent - safe at Durmstrong. Not of Potter - who didn't feel anything at all.
His hand twitched; remembering the last person he had touched who had not flinched.
The Hogwarts Express left Platform Nine and Three Quarters with a second shrill whistle and puff of steam. Through the windows, students waved to parents. The school year at Hogwarts had begun.
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Author's Note:
Those of you who read half of this chapter previously probably noted that I wanted to keep Severus Snape's monologue (well basically) on Slytherin and its children from Draco's reaction to Harry and the infamous "hands where?" scene due to the abrupt change in writing tone. However, on rewriting Draco's reaction, I realised the humour was less evident and that the tone matched far more closely than expected. Thus - Chapter Eleven gained two thousand more words. Sorry about it - these things occasionally happen though I'm working to avoid it.
For those who are curious:
Mata, in Celtic mythology, was a hundred-legged and four-headed monster captured by the Daghda. Balor (also known as Balor of the Evil Eye) in Irish Celtic mythology was the king of the Fomorii - a giant with one eye; his lid was propped open by seven men and his direct gaze could kill whole armies.
Congratulations to Bienfoy and Kouji - more specifically, Bienfoy for translating the Chapter Ten ("tendo te draco ignis, te scelero draco") latin phrase, and Kouji for the Chapter Eleven quote ("sano"). For the interested, "sano" is a healing spell - basically, 'health, healthy body'. As always, Chapter Twelve released early to those who translate any latin phrases (correctly!) in Chapter Eleven. Do note, the title is in Latin, as is something Severus Snape mentions. Also - the inclusion of any Latin phrases won't occur in every chapter (they just have lately). Any phrases that are important to the storyline will, eventually, be translated as part of the story. Everything else is part of characterisation or (since this is a Harry Potter fic written in fandom) a spell. Intense thanks to the people who can correct my atrocious (I'm sure) spelling, grammar and incorrect choice of words when it comes to these phrases.
Bienfoy - you did translate the original latin title of the piece correctly - which made me realise that I'd actually translated the English incorrectly. Thank you! ^_^.
Kouji - thank you for your email review on Chapter Ten (forgot to mention this previously). Much appreciated (adored, drooled over, read with a wide grin and made much of ^_^).
Replies to reviews, as expected, in Chapter Twelve.
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 6/09/2002 for spelling error