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.
R&R greatly appreciated - might even prompt me to move faster. [hint hint?]
Reply to reviews and author's note after chapter.
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Chapter Fourteen: Time
Nonsense. Absolute nonsense. Severus thought, irritatedly dropping the scroll and picking up the next one. A complete and utter waste of - he paused as he recognised the neat handwriting that covered the parchment. Hermione Granger. Not since Remus Lupin had there been a Gryffindor who should have been sorted into Ravenclaw. Which just went to show that environmental factors rather than basic abilities played a larger part in the Sorting Hat's process then even Albus Dumbledore would admit. Let's see what repetition of literary disgorgement you will use.
He rubbed his eyes, furious with himself (and Draco Malfoy) for wasting his one free morning reading through what had turned out to be twenty replications of four theories. And while it was vaguely interesting (he lied, it was completely without use and utterly boring) that the Gryffindor House Colours were, according to legend, representative of dragon fire (which, as far as he was concerned, was the only excuse there could be for something as blindingly glaring as scarlet and gold) he did not care. Not to mention the Gryffindor students had all been lacking of imagination, analytical skills and in love with their own ability to extrapolate from a Latin dictionary and several history books (largely 'Hogwarts: A History') twenty inches worth of text. He wondered if he could remove points from Gryffindor for unimaginative prose.
"Severus."
Severus sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he shoved Hermione Granger's scroll into the pocket of his robes.
"Minerva." He glanced to the clock ('Start preparing for your first class - you anal-retentive greasy bastard') and waited.
Minerva shook the ash from her head, "There's been an - incident."
"Concerning?"
"Mr Malfoy."
Severus swallowed a groan of disgust. Why am I not surprised? You do your ancestors proud, Draco - you have turned into an exquisitely charmed expletus exemplar version of your father. He felt the beginning of a tension headache.
"The Infirmary?"
"Albus is waiting in his office with Mr Malfoy and -" Minerva paused before adding, " - and Harry Potter."
Complete with Lucius' excruciatingly bad choice in enemies and allies. Severus mentally cursed Draco to the nether regions of any hell available. Unfortunately, he has the Malfoy charm - if he ever thinks to use it for anything other than making enemies, that is.
*
"Are you sure you're all right, Ron?" Hermione asked worriedly.
Ron nodded, "Yes Hermione, I am fine." He promptly yelped as she hugged him, "Watch the arm! The arm! I'm not that fine!" he grimaced.
She jerked back (Idiot! Hugged by a girl and you tell her to stop. Next thing, you'll be made a prefect and then they might as well call you Perfect Percy and put you out of your misery.), "Oh! I'm so sorry!"
Ron forced his lips back into a strained smile, "No harm done." He said, then added under his breath, "Nothing permanent that is." Hermione heard and glared briefly before staring at him worriedly, Ron sighed and added in a serious voice, "Honest. Besides - good day when I get to skip out on classes ain't it?"
She frowned - as he had expected, "Really Ron, with that attitude, what are you going to do come time for the O.W.L.s?" she stopped, "Oh never mind that - you sure you'll be all right?" she asked uncertainly.
"Yes, Hermione. I'll be fine." Ron said rolling his eyes but grinning; it was nice to have someone who wasn't his mother pay attention to him - especially when it didn't involve the twins, schoolwork and that incident with the raspberry tarts.
Hermione nodded, and stood, "Do you -" she paused, then added quietly, "Do you think Harry will be all right too?"
Why is it always Harry?! Ron startled, astonished to find the thought in his mind. Of course she's thinking of Harry too. He's our best friend. So she'll care if he's all right as well. Right? "He wasn't burned at all - lucky bastard." Ron said.
"Oh Ron, you aren't still angry that he didn't end worse off - after everything that's happened to Harry! - are you?" Hermione asked in her 'I'm disappointed in you' tone.
Ron grimaced; Harry had been holding Malfoy down as Hermione tried to calm down (or at least stupefy) the colt. He had even managed to land one on the silver-haired prat. Just my luck Malfoy's hex lands on me and misses him completely. Ron made up his mind to watch the Slytherin harder next time they fought - being able to cast hexes that quickly was just not right. Didn't even see him go for his wand.
"Not really." He finally said, "You don't need to worry about him either, Hermione - Madam Pomfrey wouldn't have let Professor Dumbledore take him out of the Infirmary if he wasn't okay." He added reassuringly (Blimey. I'm starting to sound like Percy!), "Aren't these usually your lines, Hermione?"
She flushed and smiled, "I guess. Looks like you're growing up Ron." She paused and added cheerfully, "Finally. Be nice not to be the only sane one in our group." She glanced at the door again then back at him.
"Go." Ron said tiredly, "Pomfrey probably want to give me some sort of sleeping potion any way. You can bring me something from lunch - I heard it was going to be chicken pot pie." He added as she gathered her bag (and the books that had spilled out of it.
The smile she threw over her shoulder was as familiar as Hermione herself - edged with exasperation, filled with humour and touched by worry. He squirmed further back into the pillow, trying not to jar his arms and legs. That's what you get touching a bloody wanker like Draco Malfoy. He hissed back a grunt of pain - Madam Pomfrey had run out of Painless-Burn Elixir (stupid Pansy Parkinson) and the healing charms didn't work as well with burns unless the patient was asleep. (Ron ignored the fact that he had insisted on being awake since Hermione had been visiting) He wished that Madam Pomfrey would hurry up with the sleeping drought.
Look at it this way, Ronnie, he thought vaguely as he closed his eyes, At least she was here instead of with Harry.
Seconds later, his eyes jerked open, Why the hell am I thinking thoughts like these?!
*
"Albus." Severus said shortly as the Headmaster held open the door to his office.
"Severus," Albus paused, "A moment before we enter."
The door to the main office was firmly shut; Severus assumed both Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter were trapped within.
"As you wish." Severus said automatically; when Albus made a request, one did not refuse - besides, he wouldn't have to deal with Draco Malfoy's idiocy for a little while longer.
"You have spoken to Minerva?"
Severus snorted, "And discovered that Gryffindors with an intellectual kick have a propensity for unneeded verbosity." At the Headmaster's patient silence he elaborated impatiently, "I have thus far read through sixteen of the twenty scrolls Minerva provided - and learned of four theories regarding the interpretation of Godric Gryffindor's choice of house colours and the legend of Salazar Slytherin's betrayal."
Albus nodded, "Ah. Nothing of use then?"
Severus felt something akin to dismay slither down his back, "No. Albus - what did Draco do?"
"Young Malfoy's abilities are uncontrolled." Albus said, "Thus far, two students have been placed in the Infirmary and the house elves report the damage to the rooms were almost impossible to repair."
"Two students?" Severus asked (Damage to the rooms? What rooms?).
"Miss Parkinson - who has barely escape without a permanent limp thanks in part to your potions and Poppy's abilities - and Ron Weasley."
Severus sneered, "One of your precious Gryffindors gets injured and the severity of the danger increases of course."
Albus shook his head tiredly, "No more of this, Severus. It would have been the same had one of your own been hurt -"
"They are not my own." Severus hissed, "They are yours as well, Headmaster -" he froze, realising his words and sighed, "My apologies - I spoke without thought."
Albus shook his head, "No need for apologies - I worked too long and too hard to ensure you spoke freely with me if no other." He said, "Lemon drop?"
Severus jerked, startled, and realised the man was holding out a small plate filled with confectionary. Where in Merlin's name did he pull those from?
"No thank you." He said, forcing himself not to bite the words out, "What do you want me to do, Albus? On Draco Malfoy?"
Albus took a sweet and placed the plate on top a convenient side table - it vanished several seconds later. One day I'm going to have to ask him how he does that.
"Remus' report indicates an up surge of recruitment through the ranks of traditionally dark inclined creatures."
Something akin to a cold shiver went down his spine, "The Dark Lord is recreating his power base."
That had been the first sign - all those years ago.
"All information points towards plans for an attack sometime during the winter solstice." Albus said.
Severus frowned, "Christmas. Narcissa's letter refers to that date as a cut-off point for any aid Draco can receive."
It is a Malfoy tradition to sacrifice the child to further the family. Severus felt his blood chill. Lucius Malfoy was proud of his sole son - too proud some would say. Proud enough that Severus had used Draco's presence at Hogwarts as an early warning system for the safety of the other students. Lucius would withdraw Draco from the school before any attack the Dark Lord planned that he was privy to could occur. Draco is the Malfoy heir. There was a legend that blamed the lack of girls born to the Malfoy family on their traditional use as virgin tributes in times long past. Does it matter what Lucius feels for his only son? He has been Voldemort's since we were seventeen. And we are nothing more than tools to use - and loose - for Voldemort.
"Turning a child into a weapon." Severus said quietly, "It is very much the way the Dark Lord's mind works."
Albus' voice was grim, "With the public scrutiny on the Ministry, Hogwarts is the last bastion of public morale." He said, "Hogwarts is looked upon as a place of safety - a remnant of times of peace. A place where the children can learn safe from harm." Severus refrained from mentioning the events of years passed as Albus continued, "The assumption we work beneath now is that Hogwarts will suffer an attack during the Christmas break." The Headmaster placed a hand on the door knob leading to his inner office as he added, "You know what this means, Severus."
"Yes." Less than four months to shove into their tiny brains everything they need to survive out there. Less time for his Slytherins to keep what little innocents they had been allowed to keep. "And the Order?"
"We had hoped for more time - but such an early need was one of the scenarios developed. We will work faster - the Order will be ready." Albus paused, then added, "I entrust their lives to you, Severus." With that, the older wizard opened the door and entered the office - leaving Severus standing alone.
Do not fail me as you failed your wife. Narcissa's words. Do not fail them as you will Draco Malfoy. But was this not a Slytherin trait? We are the tacticians; the leaders - we are the ones who must see the future rather than the moment. Draco Malfoy in return for the future of his peers. The last Malfoy in return for Slytherin's future.
There were times when he wished he had been sorted into Gryffindor. Despite the appalling décor and abysmal lack of forethought or intelligence, it would have been - nice - to rush headlong into acts of unnecessary danger without thought to the implications of his actions.
"Some will die; some will survive."
When Severus had first heard those words, the speaker's name had been Lord Voldemort - there had been no euphemisms, no fear. He had been newly marked, watching in disdain as Lucius had barely survived the final test of allegiance to receive the dark mark.
. . . as you failed your wife. . .
His peers had died that day - at the time, he had scorned their hidden weaknesses. Only the strong survived within the ranks of the Death Eaters. It had seemed right when Lord Voldemort had spoken - many things had, till one began to think for one's self.
As you fail Draco Malfoy.
Severus' fingers found the roll of parchment in his pocket. Damned if I will agree with the Dark Lord. With that, Severus swept through the door leading into Albus Dumbledore's inner office.
*
Draco stood amongst the other students in the Slytherin Common Room.
"What did Dumbledore say?" Pansy whispered quietly; they were waiting for Professor Snape to finish talking to the two seventh year prefects and give his yearly welcoming speech.
After four years, Draco could repeat most of the speech verbatim. Pride in purity. Honour in winning. Loyalty to our House. He had heard variations from his father all his life - from half of the men in their social circle come to think of it. They repeat it as if we're going to forget it. He stared down at the stone flagstones that made up the Slytherin Common Room floor. It's like declaring the sky is blue and expecting people to care about something so obvious. Of course the sky is blue. Of course we should be proud we're pure-bloods. Of course we should be loyal to Slytherin. And if there is no honour in winning then somebody's been talking to Hufflepuffs again.
"Draco?" Pansy repeated; she had been released from the Infirmary earlier with a caution to return - every day - for a dose of Painless-Burn Elixir, "Draco?"
They were standing - the sixth and seventh years, by tradition, had first claim to any chairs when it came to Snape's-Yearly-Head-of-House-Drone. This year, as fifth years, they had managed places near the back, as far from the three sniffling, weak-chinned first years as possible. Really - the Sorting Hat is growing senile in its decomposition. The only reason those three got into Slytherin is because they're pure-blood. And it's not so much pure as inbreed in their case. Draco sneered inwardly.
"Draco?" Pansy tried again; she sighed and cautiously held out her hand - it hovered briefly over his shoulder; she winced as she lowered it till it was almost touching the thin summer-weight silk.
Draco flinched as the warmth from her body seeped through the material. Don't remember. Don't even think about remembering. Not about Harry Potter. Not about the Weasel and Granger. Not about that blasted colt and the missing herd he was expected to help recover as his detention for 'attacking, mutilating and damaging a sentient creature'.
"What did Dumbledore say?" Pansy repeated patiently; Draco bristled at the careful exasperation in her tone.
They might have known each other most of their lives, but that gave her no right to act as if she knew him. Logic has no place in this! He wanted to laugh hysterically and find a wall to smash his head against. He didn't even wince. Didn't do anything. Just held me down - as if it was nothing. As if it was nothing -!
"Draco?" there was worry in Pansy's eyes; to others she might have seem only mildly interested, but he had spent a lifetime learning the same lessons. Emotions have no place in this.
He resented that worry - Malfoys caused worry, they were not the victims of it.
"Dumbledore did his usual ineffectual best." He said, voice flat and bored, "I have to help recover the entire herd for my detention."
"The entire herd?" Pansy asked, frowning, "All of the pegasuses? From Care of Magical Creatures?" her voice was incredulous, "But that will take you weeks!"
Draco rolled his eyes and turned away, an unspoken hint that Pansy silently interpreted.
She sighed inwardly as she let her hand drop. She had grown up with Draco Malfoy - knew him as well as any girl could expect to, but she did not understand him. He's so - strange.
Pansy had learned the social graces by her mother's side. She had learned how to brew simple cosmetic potions alongside cleaning elixirs, knew how to seat a hundred guests in order of lineage, titles, blood or political importance, and could produce small talk for any situation. She understood people - how they thought, what motivated them - and occasionally she could even predict their actions. She had never been able to predict Draco's behaviour however. She flattered herself in thinking that she probably knew him better than anybody except perhaps his parents (Vincent and Greg didn't count though they had known him almost as long as she had - they didn't care enough to notice anything). Draco was - unpredictable; he was a study in contrasts - calm and chaotic at the same time. She had never been able to understand his reasons for most of what he did - especially when it came to Potter and his mob of admirers.
Today -
She had arrived in time to catch the tail end of the fight. Even then she had been torn between laughter and horrified screams. Draco Malfoy - who spent more time on his appearance (and managed it with flawless ease rather than painstaking patience as she did) then she did - rolling in the grass with Ron Weasley while behind them, the pegasuses herd screamed and scattered to the four corners of Hogwarts and the Forbidden Forest. There had been feathers everywhere. The Ravenclaws had been complaining that five pegasuses had decided to make the roof of the Ravenclaw Tower their new home at dinner.
Weasley had rolled away seconds after he had punched Draco's face - holding his hand and shouting. She had seen the burns running down his arms and across his right leg with a shudder. Draco had grinned as he half pulled himself off the ground, hair mussed and falling over one eye. Which was when Harry Potter had punched him (luckily the Boy Who Lived punched like a Hufflepuff; Madam Pomfrey had healed the bruise with a wave of her wand). The expression on Draco's face had shocked Pansy: there had been an absence of anger; as he had reeled back from Potter's fist, in his eyes, before they had become blank silver discs once more, she had seen hunger.
*
Hermione Granger was getting used to lying. She had spent most of the summer lying to two of her best friends. All of the trip on the train had been spent recounting exciting scholastic adventures in an obscure and provincial village in the mundane depths of Scotland. A village that did not exist on a trip she hadn't gone on - but that did not matter because most of her summer had been spent in an unplottable manor with twenty nine other students.
I never thought it would be so - easy. She had thought that Ron and Harry would realise immediately that she was lying; surely her acting abilities were not so great! But they hadn't. In a way, she was glad.
"You all right, Hermione?" Dean asked, appearing at her side as he stepped through the enchanted doorway that led up into the disused tower.
"Yes." Hermione said distractedly, "Why do you ask?"
They made their way silently and quickly down the corridor. Dean's silver prefect's badge glinted in the light of the torches that lined the walls. Early in the summer classes, Hermione had asked Professor McGonnagal not to make her a Prefect - perhaps it had been pride that had made her predict she would have been asked to be one. Dean hadn't said anything when he had received his letter on the first of August complete with badge. It would have been too dangerous - too predictable - if I was a Prefect. Prestige and pride have no place in this war. Not if we want to win. Especially now. She swallowed.
"The others are scared." Dean remarked.
He had grown during the summer - not as tall as Ron, but close. She wondered when his voice had broken - it had not been so deep during the summer, and yet now it was.
"We're all scared." Hermione
said since it seemed as if the boy expected a response, "We're in a war after all. It isn't school any more."
"You didn't seem scared - you were
really calm." Dean's voice broke;
Hermione jumped and then glanced at him in surprise, he flushed, "They asked me
to talk to you." He admitted, "Since
I'm the closest to you -"
"Closest?"
"Friends with Harry and Ron." Dean said, "Martha from Ravenclaw thought maybe you'd break into hysterics if you didn't vent." He added.
The muggle pop psycho-babble was odd when pronounced in a medieval corridor lit by flaring torches. Hermione managed a tight-lipped grin, "I'm not going to have hysterics." As if she would ever have hysterics.
Hysterics were for - girls. Who wore pink. And slept with their stuffed toys. And played with make-up and nail polish. And giggled and talked about boys all the time. Girls who worried about their hair. Girls like Lavender Brown and Pansy Parkinson. Girls who could afford to be fifteen years old.
"Do you want to - talk about it at least?" Dean asked; he looked a little wild around the eyes - Hermione curtailed a giggle as she realised he was completely out of his depth.
"No." at Dean's half-uttered reproach, she sighed, "I - am not all right, Dean." She said, "We just spent the past five hours in a classroom preparing for the Hogwarts Apocalypse. Nobody is going to be all right in that situation. Especially when we had already spent the same five hours going to all our other classes - and Care of Magical Creatures was as bad a start to the term as you can create. There's no way in hell I'm all right."
"Oh." Dean fidgeted; Hermione realised they had come to an almost complete halt in the middle of the corridor.
I am not having hysterics.
"But we can't afford to have me break down. So I'm not going to." Hermione finished tightly, "None of us can break down. There's no more time." Less than four months. Four months! They had expected years. At least two more - long enough to reach seventh year at least. Oh god.
I am not going to break down. I'm not.
"Well -" Dean stared down at the ground, then up again, "Do you mind if occasionally -" he paused, flushed a deep red, and then whispered, "The rest of us did?"
Hermione blinked, "Oh." Then smiled, "Sure." She said, "Any time you want - we can - there's some rooms in the back of the library we can - and talk." She trailed off and Dean went bright red.
"It's just - it's more than I expected." He whispered, "And it's so -"
"Soon." Hermione said.
They continued walking; there was no time for anything else. No time at all.
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Deso - sorry about the chapters lenght. But would you prefer it if I wrote more and posted less? ^_^
Demeter - All I can say is: "0_0 I'm a fan of your work from the SSFF". ^_^ Thanks for reviewing. And - well, even before I started reading HP fanfics, I found JKR's treatment of the Slytherins intriquing. Her style is such that I cannot imagine her giving her readers irrivocably evil children to hate.
On a seperate note: anybody here read Sluggy Freelance? The Harry Potter rip was hilarious - and yet, the final words (as of Tuesday, 24th, September) by the Albus Dumbledore parody was strangely apt. "The hardest thing about winning is trying to do so without loosing something of greater importance." Brings to mine a quote from Steven Sondheim's "Into the Woods": "To get what you want better keep what you have."
Kandra - sorry about the missing Potter-Malfoy encounter. Look out for Chapter Sixteen when I start hitting the edges of my PG-13 rating. ^_^
Nightwing, AshFarley, Mistykasumi - hiya! Yes, Draco is splintering isn't he?
KDay2 - Thanks - and the winding gets worse. Four months before Christmas. ^_^
BlueVanilla - I did consider 'pegasi' but the knowledge to change pegasuses to pegasi seemed something far too intellectually derived for Ron to pull out of mid-air. Still, you're right - it would have been funnier. ^_^ Meanwhile - I cannot wait to see who they choose as an actor for Bill and Charlie Weasley in the movies. And Percy wasn't that bad either. ~cough cough~
Yes, Hermione is wrong. Pansy Parkinson is no more a fifteen year old than Hermione is herself. Of course, tell that to them. ^_^
Meanwhile - on yet another seperate note: am always looking for more beta readers. ^_^
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 24th September, 2002 for various formating and sentence structure problems