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. 

Thanks to AshFarley, Kandra, Silvershadow and MistyKasumi for your reviews (and Kouji who is C&C~ing via mail ^_^).  AshFarley - I do wish more people would read Without Question but there doesn't seem to be anything else to attract interest so - I'll just keep writing and hope eventually those who are interested will read it.  ^_^

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Chapter Thirteen: The Plural of Pegasus

      The room was dark - it was always dark.  He knew that he was not dreaming.

    A vision of Voldemort's plans then; he paid attention, attempting to gain a better view of where he was and who was there.  The room however, was merely dark.  There were no windows - there was nothing but stone walls and floors.

    A candle flickered on the floor, his sight was drawn to the scattered shadows that danced around the light.  He realised that there was something trapped in the centre of the flame.

   Not trapped.

   A tiny dragon, serpentine head thrown back, wings spread - and so small that it was outlined by a blue corona.

    Not trapped.  It was not trapped - it burned by choice.  Or fuelled the flame by choice.

    What does this mean? 

      Torches lined the walls, casting the shadows away.  He was standing beside the candle, surrounded by Death Eaters.  He could hear a high keening sound - it took a while to realise it came from the tiny dragon.

    He stared at it; it still screamed within the flame - fuelling the fire by choice.  The wings swept up and down - almost lazily.

   "Watch."

The voice was familiar; he turned.  Voldemort was as he remembered - and his eyes glowed as red as it had before summer had ended; he seemed - stronger.  Healthier.

   "What do we witness, my lord?"  a Death Eater asked, voice hollow through the mask.

The keening grew in pitch till he wondered how it was that the Death Eaters could still speak and hear each other speak. 

    The flame flickered once and died.  The keening stopped.  In the silence, he could see Voldemort's smile - a flash of white against thin, peeling lips.

      Harry woke up and drew a shaky breath.  With the sudden realisation that came without warning, he realised the keening had come from the dragon.  What was that supposed to mean?

    Groggily, he pushed apart the drapes and stared out at the silent dorm rooms.  It was early enough that the sky beyond the window was still tinged with grey.  Should I tell Professor Dumbledore?

    Seconds later he sighed.  Stupid question.  His scar ached in the morning cold, he prodded it with numb fingers as he slipped out of bed and across the room past the oblivious, sleeping others.  He wondered idly if he should mention the other dreams he had during the summer.  What am I going to say though? Dreamed about Draco Malfoy during the vacation - he wore white robes and spoke in riddles.  Makes lots of sense that.  He yawned and wondered what the password to get into Professor Dumbledore's offices would be.

*

      Ron groaned as he slammed his head down onto the table, making the plates around him bounce.

   "What the -"  Dean Thomas, having been in the process of pouring milk over his cereal, jerked backwards to avoid the spilt milk.

Harry grabbed for the toppling stack of toast, narrowly missing splatters from Neville's orange juice, "What's wrong, Ron?"

   "Have you seen this year's schedule?"  Ron moaned, "They're all out to kill us."

   "I don't know what you're talking about Ron.  It doesn't look too bad."  Hermione piped up - she was grinning; Harry was suddenly struck by the fact that he had missed something, "Not as good as it could be, but adequate."

   "Traitor."  Ron snarled mournfully, "Knew there was a reason why you started taking different classes from us back in third year."  He continued, voice muffed from its current position.

   "Pays to be smart doesn't it?"  Hermione said, looking smug.

   "What are you two talking about?"  Harry finally asked - before the twelfth 'Ron-and-Hermione argument' (and it was only the first day of school - really, they seemed to have gotten worse since last year) could start.

   "We have every-bloody-thing with the Slytherins.  Everything."

Harry blinked, "What? Even divinations?"  Divinations was always held in single-House classes.

   "Even bloody divinations."  Ron slammed his head down onto the table again, muttering what sounded vaguely like: 'bloody Malfoy and his bloody goons twenty four seven for the rest of the year - might as well kill him now it'll save time and aggravation and bloody Dumbledore what is he trying to do make us blooming loons cause that's what we're going to be being around Malfoy and not punching his nose down his throat and -'  By this stage he had started banging his head in time with some internal beat.

   "Mate - I know you're suffering, but if you hit the table one more time there's going to be pain involved."  Dean shouted - possibly to be heard over the 'thump-bang-clatter' of Ron's head hitting the table, followed by the cutlery and plates around him bouncing in sympathetic kinetics.

Ron looked up - it wasn't like easy-going Dean to be angry - and blinked then started laughing.  Harry glanced over and stared: Dean was covered in milk and cereal.  His breakfast bowl, along with the jug and the cereal container had evidently spilled with the last thump.

   "So what do we have first?"  Harry asked as Hermione attempted to intervene before a food fight began ("Dean! You're a prefect now - you're supposed to show an example to the other students -").

Ron - backing away hurriedly from a murderous Dean - glanced down at the parchment by his (undisturbed) plate, "Care of Magical Creatures."

   "Well - we've always had that with the Slytherins so it should be exactly the same as last year."  Hermione said having decided Dean was unlikely to attempt murder and returning to her seat.

   "Yeah - torture."  Ron muttered; "Awk!"

The last as Dean calmly poured a hastily procured jug of milk over his head.

*

      Contrary to popular believe, there were windows in the Slytherin dorms.  Small ones that looked as if they were missing bars - but windows all the same.  Each dorm room laid claim to at least one window - the fifth year quarters were no different.   A thin beam of morning sunlight streamed through the greasy, dust-ridden glass, outlining a pale patch of stone. 

    "Snape is going to go spare."  Blaise remarked into the silence.

Draco dragged his eyes unwillingly away from the stream of sunlight bleaching the patch of stone wall.  Malfoys do nothing without purpose.  Familiar words - his father had repeated them in some form throughout the past four years.  Usually in regards to his absolute failure to win against Potter in anything.  Quidditch season starts in two months.  Draco swallowed the instinct to close his eyes and refuse to open them ever again.  He wished he had never heard of Quidditch.  Or 'torques'.  Or You-Know-Who and Father.  He winced as one of the drapes collapsed to the ground in a flurry of ashes. 

   "No - I mean really spare."  Blaise continued in the same matter fact tone.

Last night had been humiliation enough; while Blaise Zabini and Gregory Goyle had watched, Professor Snape had cast anti-incendiary charms on his bed, the sheets, drapes and all his clothes.  Nothing he could conceivably touch while asleep would burn.  Not without a finite incantum.

    Except this morning he had rolled over to find himself jerked out of sleep by Blaise cursing blue murder and what felt like a torrent of freezing cold water courtesy of a jug of water and Gregory Goyle's aim - or lack thereof. 

    "Really, really, really spare."  Blaise continued.

    The air had been burning.  Bright blue flames dancing over his eyes.  Of course he had jerked upright in shock - and horror and other adjectives.  After all, waking up to find the air in flames wasn't exactly conducive to happy thoughts.  He had pushed Greg away before he had even thought about it - and one of the dancing blue flames had caught against the other boy's arm.  Greg had flailed around like a landed fish, catching the drapes of his bed on fire.  And what would have been Vincent's - had he not been safely at Durmstrang - and Blaise's when he had started rolling on the closest surface to suffocate the flames. 

    "Really, really, really -"

   "Blaise?"  Draco said, voice flat.

Blaise blinked, "What Draco?"

   "If you must insist on hyperventilating verbally, attempt to do so in a manner befitting your station."  Draco drawled; there was a brief pause, "If you say 'spare' one more time, I'm going to shove my hand so far through your face, you'd look worse than Weasley." 

   "Oh."  Blaise shut his mouth - Draco withstood the urge (fairly easily given the circumstances surrounding - and in the case of the scorch mark, on top of - them) to smirk.  Malfoys threaten with style.  This, at least, he could do.
Greg chuckled - always one to understand the humour in violent threats.  There was silence as the three boys continued to stare at the destruction that had once been the fifth year dorm-room.

   "Snape is going to be mad."  Blaise declared.

Draco sighed, cradling his head in his hands, "An understatement."  He said finally.

   "Won't the House Elves fix it?"  Greg rumbled hopefully.

Draco looked up, taking in the four beds (three of which were heavily scorched), the heavy drapery hanging (or disintegrating) from the posters, the ashes (all that remained of the tapestry of some unknown hero of Slytherin House) and the scorch marks (pretty much everywhere else). 

   "Snape is going to kill us."  Blaise - yet again.

   "We've missed breakfast."  Greg finally ventured into the rather one-sided conversation.

Draco swore - fluently, creatively and desperately, "We're late for Care of Magical Creatures."

    Snape wouldn't kill them for the damage they had managed to wreck onto the dorm rooms.  Well, maybe Blaise and Greg.  Draco thought as he, followed quickly by the other two boys, ran out of the room, school bags (smelling vaguely of scorched fabric) bouncing against their sides.  I'm in for worse.  Death was the easy way out - as his father often stated.  Oh no - Snape's not going to kill me.  Draco thought, He's going to tell Father.

To top it all of, they had Care of Magical Creatures with that giant-sized half-wit, Hagrid.  With the Gryffindors.  A curse - definitely a curse. 

*

      "Minerva."  Severus said as Minerva McGonnagal made to rise from the high table.

The few remaining students in the Great Hall paused in their own leave-taking - it was an unusual sight (at least at breakfast) for the Head of Slytherin to speak cordially with the Head of Gryffindor.  Especially when the Head of Slytherin had appeared late (or not at all given he had arrived moments previous) for breakfast and looked as if he had an extremely late night (or early morning) fighting unknown dark creatures.  Several of the seventh years remaining would later spread the (rightfully true) rumour that Professor Snape had been sporting the after-effects of a hangover cure.

    Severus gritted his jaw at the thought of these rumours; and realised with a frown that Draco Malfoy and the rest of the fifth year Slytherin boys were missing.  Normally they were the last group to depart from breakfast - both because of Gregory Goyle's interest in food and Draco Malfoy's laconic approach to punctuality (neither early nor late - it had been Lucius Malfoy's standard as well).  He cursed inwardly as he realised that their absence probably indicated trouble.  Can that boy not understand timing if not discretion?

   "Severus."  Minerva tilted her head politely, "Is there anything I can help you with?"

He nodded, "Albus suggested my research would be furthered by speaking with you."  He said quietly.

Minerva paused, frowning, "He did speak with me.  Briefly."  They shared a short frown of agreement at the Headmaster's idiosyncratic treatment of both staff and students, "The scrolls are in my office."

   "Scrolls?"  Severus' frowned deepened.

   "The phrase is - obscure."  Minerva said, "Thus, as is always the case at Hogwarts, it has become a favourite source of research for extra credit assignments."

   "I did not know potions were of such interest that our maxim was a source of research for your students."  Severus said mildly after a brief surprised pause.

Minerva smiled, a thin lipped affair, "Not as much transfigurations, Severus, as Gryffindor.  Godric to be precise."

It was a surprised Severus Snape who followed Minerva McGonnagal out of the Great Hall.  Whatever path to knowledge Narcissa Malfoy nee Du'Lér had wanted him to learn from her oblique words, he had not expected it to be in anyway related to Godric Gryffindor.  Novel premise - knowledge in combination with Gryffindors.  He snorted mentally.

*

      "Hagrid!"  Ron shouted, "Hagrid!"

   "Leave off, Ron - I don't think he can hear over the racket."  Harry shouted into Ron's ear, grinning as he leaned against the wooden fence that corralled the edges of the pasture that had sprung up outside Hagrid's hut.

It was a beautiful day autumn day - the grey storm clouds had washed away with the morning sun, revealing cloud-scattered blue skies.  A brisk wind blew spray from the lake and the grounds gleamed with a fresh coating of dew.  A large tentacle drifted out of the lake as if the octopus beneath was stretching.  He drew in a breath and held it till his lungs ached.  The morning seemed impossible - as if the magic that pervaded Hogwarts' stones had somehow created it specifically to wake him up.  Maybe everything will be back to normal today.  .  .  Maybe he would finally wake up from feeling as if his emotions were frozen under a layer of ice.  It seemed hard not to be - well, happy - on a day that was so utterly perfect.  Professor Dumbledore knew about the dream - which meant that somebody else knew about whatever it was Voldemort planned (even if he personally had no idea).  He was away from the Dursleys (though technically he had been away for most of the summer).  He was at Hogwarts, the only place that felt like home.  And he was with his friends.  I should be happy.  I should be happy.

    Perhaps if he repeated it often enough, if he smiled and pretended long enough, it would eventually become true.  Eventually, perhaps, it would all be as it had been last year.  Cedric Diggory is dead; magic can't do anything - if it can't bring back the dead why should it make you be something as frivolous as happy?  He shook his head; forcing himself to grin at Ron's joke.  If I keep trying - and pretending - sooner or later -

    "They're beautiful."  Hermione breathed, drawing his thoughts back to the present.

Ron made a face: "Girls and horses, they're all the same."  He whispered (or at least uttered at less volume) into Harry's ear, "Ginny use to refuse to sleep without her Happy Horatio the Hungry Horse doll."

Harry grinned in response.  It seemed expected (although the thought of what Ginny would do to Ron if she ever found out he had revealed a childhood story of her to him was also rather humorous).  Hagrid was in the middle of the pasture, surrounded by winged horses.  Or at least they seemed to be in the shape of winged horses.  One never knew the precise nature of Hagrid's creatures till later (usually after the results of the lesson had been healed by Madam Pomfrey and Hermione had finished researching the exact bite circumference in the text).  For all Harry knew, the winged horses could be shape changing faeries with poisonous spit. 

    The winged, horse-shaped creatures were large - though they still seemed like miniature ponies next to Hagrid.  Currently, they were arranged in a circle, all watching Hagrid as he groomed the largest horse (black, with white wings).  The watching winged horses thumped their large hooves against the ground.  The vibrations shook the earth and echoed in the air till it seemed as if they were standing next to a muggle music band (like the group Dudley had briefly obsessed over during the summer - the one who seemed to have less words and more beat than anything else).

   "They're not horses, you idiot."  Hermione was saying, rolling her eyes, "Honestly - after all the trouble you went to get the textbook, didn't you even read it?"

Ron widened his eyes, "'Read'?"  he said, "Why ever when you're around, Hermione?"

Harry intervened before the two could begin arguing again, "What are they if they're not horses, Hermione?" 

She smiled brightly at him (Ron glared), "Well, I'm not sure about the rest of them, but the one with Hagrid is a pegasus.  Well, I say 'a pegasus' but really it should be the Pegasus."

Ron frowned at the herd of winged horses, "If the middle one is a pegasus, then shouldn't the rest of them be pegasus -"  he paused, "Pegasusus? Pegases? Pegasususus -"  he paused, looked conflicted and groaned, "Bloody hell Hermione - now it's going to bug me till you tell me.  What's more than one pegasus called?"  he demanded, almost aggressively, of Hermione.

Hermione frowned, "I'm not sure.  There was only ever one pegasus.  More than one would be like having a plural for Armageddon -"  she frowned, "What is the plural of pegasus?" 

For some reason, both of them turned to stare at him.  Harry shrugged, "What's a plural?"  he asked.

Hermione groaned, "Oh god.  It's worse than I thought - you're both  idiots."

   "'God' - isn't that the muggle thing with that deity who's always with you.  Even when you're in the shower?"  Ron quipped and ducked as Hermione hit him playfully.

And thus started yet another Ron-and-Hermione-argument.  Harry was beginning to think they weren't so much fighting as flirting.  Of course, he wasn't exactly very good at noticing these sort of things.

*

      Greg and Blaise had decided to detour to the Great Hall in hopes of grabbing some leftovers before the house elves cleared breakfast away.  Draco had found both of their pre-occupation on food (given the current state of their rooms - and Snape's predicted reaction to it) strange but waved them away impatiently when they had looked uncertain at leaving him alone (as if he needed protection - him a Malfoy!).  He headed straight for the half-giant's hut and the first Care of Magical Creatures class.  Being early resembled actions more likely of that swot Granger's far too much but at least he would get a lay of whatever trials the idiot Hagrid intended.  And, with any luck, he would have enough time to think up an excuse to avoid being savaged by whatever creature they were meant to tame today.

    At least this year if anything tries to bite me I can burn it.  Draco thought, and grinned as he flexed his hand, I can say that my powers are increasing and I don't know how to stop it - wandless magic and all that.  He grinned, then sighed.  And that excuse will last about as long as it takes for Dumbledore to tell Father that my emotional control has deteriorated to such a stage that I'm capable of wandless magic.  He shuddered.

    He had shown signs of magic at age eight (rather late for a Malfoy admittedly, but his father had worked with him to ensure he did not fall behind).  His father had started training Draco immediately to ensure his emotional control was such that wandless magic became impossible.  He still had nightmares of shattering the Dark Lord's champagne flute just because some Death Eater's wife (wearing a revealing robe) had leaned over to talk to him.  Not that it had occurred - but his father's description had been material for increased vigilance.  Besides, wandless magic might be useful in a tight spot - but it lacks a certain finesse and elegance in execution.

*

      "Oh great."  Ron groaned, dropping his head to the fence, "Malfoy's early."  He declared, "Just our luck."

Harry glanced over just in time to catch the sun reflecting off silver-blond hair.

   "Really, Ron - he hasn't actually done anything yet this year."  Hermione pointed out logically in the background, "Other than be nasty that is.  You don't need to act as if Malfoy being around is the start of some insidious plot by You-Know-Who."

Harry ignored the argument that started then (something about Malfoy being a Slytherin, Slytherins being evil and Hermione not learning after four years that Malfoy always did things for a reason) turning his attention to Malfoy.  The other boy made his way carefully across the lawns to stand several yards away, staring at the winged horses in the coral.  The sun shone brightly, catching the dew that still remained on the lawns and Draco Malfoy's hair.

    He looks normal.  Harry noted absently.  When he isn't a smirking git with a nasty mouth or being an evil Slytherin working for Voldemort.  If it weren't for the distinctive hair colour and the Slytherin crest embroidered on his robes, Malfoy seemed like any other student at Hogwarts.  There should be a tail or horns or something.  Some big sign and an arrow saying 'look out, evil git alert' - some sort of warning.  Harry mused - and wondered if he should mention this to Ron.  Better not - knowing Ron, he'll tell his brothers and they'll figure out a charm that does it - and then Gryffindor will end up in negative points.

   " - right Harry?"  Ron suddenly demanded.

Harry turned his attention away from Malfoy (Why am I thinking about Malfoy?) to answer Ron, "Probably - I mean, this is Malfoy.  He's evil Hermione - since first year, remember?"  He pointed out practically.

Hermione shook her head, "Just because Lucius Malfoy is a Death Eater doesn't make Draco Malfoy one."  She said, "If traits like that were inheritable, Ron, you'd be working in the Ministry and fiddling with muggle things like your Dad."

Ron shrugged, "Probably will by the time I'm his age - adults are all barmy anyway, at least Dad's honest about it."  He said with a grin, "Though we'd still have to figure out what went wrong with Percy."  He shuddered, "Honestly - sometimes you'd swear he had his wand shoved up his -"

*

      It figured that Potty and his gang of luckless lackeys were early as well.  Draco swallowed the urge to cast some choice hexes while their backs were turned.  Not only because his father would have had his hide - but also because Snape (especially after discovering the remains of the dorm room) would be.  .  .  Disappointed. 

    Draco frowned at that thought, absentmindedly watching the half-giant groom the head stallion of the herd of pegasuses.  Disappointed.  It seemed a strange way of describing his Head of House's expression when a Slytherin failed to maintain the high standards expected (especially as most others would describe that same expression as 'chilly', 'evil', 'promising much pain', 'vindictive' and 'pass me a change of underwear please'). 

    Draco respected Snape, if only out of fear of his wrath (as any sane, intelligent person might be given the man was his Head of House and had the power of life, suffering not to mention the ability to inform his father on misdeeds) and possibly envious of his higher rank within the Death Eaters - but he did not like the man.  For one thing, there was the lack of personal hygiene (Draco himself had carefully revised his personal bathing routine after meeting Professor Snape for the first time).  Not to mention lack of properly fitted robes (really, swirling robes were a little passé).  So why is what he thinks of me so important?

    Draco shook his head, Potty Potter's insanity must be contagious.  Nothing Snape thinks of me is important.  I'm a Malfoy - and the Dark Lord himself has chosen me to be, alright, the brainless sword he wields but that's better than being a stupid Death Eater potion-brewing minion any day.  He turned his attention irritatedly back to the herd and abruptly found himself face to face with a curious pegasus.

*

      "Now i'n't that strange?"  Hagrid said cheerfully as he brushed aside a pegasus two hands higher than Ron.

Harry, who had been busily attempting to avoid mentioning his birthday (or letting Hagrid apologise for not being able to send a gift that year - " - but it's with Fang.  You shoul' come pick it up tonight.  Maybe come have some tea as well, 'arry.") blinked, "What?"

Hermione frowned, "What's Malfoy doing to that colt?"  she asked, staring over Harry's shoulder.

   "Would you look at it - never thought I'd see the day."  Ron said, eyes wide, "An innocent, normal, intelligent creature actually liking Malfoy."

Harry turned - Malfoy had been approached by a small (comparatively considering the larger ones towered over even Ron) pegasus who was currently lipping at Malfoy's face and hair.  The Slytherin looked thoroughly disgusted and was attempting to bat away the attentions of the pegasus colt.

   "Probably thinks his hair is edible or something."  Ron continued, "Maybe it's looking to nest?"

   "Don't be silly, Ron.  Just because they have wings don't mean they build nests."  Hermione admonished, "Right Hagrid?"

Hagrid grunted in agreement, still staring at Malfoy, "Unusual for such a youngin' to take such an interest like that."  He mumbled, "Very, very strange."  The half-giant looked worried, then shrugged it off, "Ah well - sure no harm wil't come o' it."  He said, "Now - how's 'bout you lot come t' tea t'night?"  he asked, turning back to Ron, Hermione and Harry.

The three shared a glance.

   "Well - maybe for a while, Hagrid."  Hermione said finally, "It is the first day of classes.  But I'm sure I can spare an hour from taking notes and everything."  She glanced at Harry, then her eyes widened, "Oh! Oh!"

    The wind caught the scent of burning flesh just as Malfoy began to shout in alarm.

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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 ^_^)