Without Question
By Tien Riu
tien_riu@yahoo.com
=====================================================================
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all characters belong to J.K. Rowlings. Plot (what little there is of it ^_^) and depiction of characters are mine. WARNING: The future of this piece of fiction contains slash/yaoi/shonen ai/homosexual relationships.
Reviews greatly appreciated, specifically on characterisation. The more I deal with non-main characters from the books, the more likely it is that I end up verging towards out-of-characterisation problems. So early warnings might be nice. ^_^
Author's note after chapter.
=====================================================================
Chapter Eighteen: Everything in Between
"Well, Miss Granger?" Severus demanded, tone edged with impatience, "Your declaration, one hopes, has more supporting it than adolescent dismissal of experience." He paused, then sighed, "Elucidate you silly twit."
Hermione jerked, eyes narrowing at his tone. There were many things Hermione was capable of ignoring – having her intelligence questioned was not one of them.
"Not all things are possible, Professor."
They had spent almost four hours hashing - and rehashing - everything known of Draco Malfoy's summer adventures in an effort to create a likely scenario that might have resulted in his 'gift'. The list was pitifully short - though not as short as both their tempers. The time spent had not been productive.
"Manticore-unicorn hybrids are impossible." Hermione continued, "Offspring of a pegasus and gryphon are impossible. Sentient dragons are impossible. Being neutral in the war is impossible." Arguing with teachers is becoming a habit. A slightly strained voice in the back of Hermione's mind noted as she continued, "And Malfoy's 'gift' is impossible."
"Really?" Severus drawled sarcastically, "And yet - evidence disproves your - astounding logical train of thought."
Hermione gestured sharply at the crumbling parchments and leather-bound books littering the table before them, "Your own evidence disproves you, Professor."
"I fail to see where. The sheer magnitude of spells, potions, charms, rites and curses enabling their recipient the ability to burn by touch, sight and presence was what brought me to request your aid in research, Miss Granger." Severus bit out, "A fact I now sorely regret."
"Sir." Hermione said, voice tight, "Every single one of the methods you have listed lasts for a short period of time. So unless Malfoy has been sneaking repeat doses we're wasting time including those in our search." Hermione paused, "He wouldn't be would he? Taking some sort of potion to give himself powers, I mean." She added hastily – and winced at the decidedly Ron-esque sentence structure.
Severus, eyes narrowed with anger, paused as well; the silence stretched, "No. He would not be."
"How can you be sure?" the words slipped out; Hermione bit her lip.
The Professor suddenly looked exhausted; he sat down abruptly in one of the high backed chairs arranged around the table - Hermione had not realised that they had been, almost literally, nose to nose as they argued.
"Draco Malfoy is, fundamentally, motivated socially rather than physically or academically -" here a brief nod at Hermione, (A compliment? From the potions professor? Ron will never believe it when I tell him.) " – or, in deed, by any of the other factors often encountered in sentient beings. He has never been one to isolate himself physically despite his attempts to ensure his social superiority." Severus said evenly, "This - 'gift' - has enforced a solitude that is very much against Draco Malfoy's nature."
Social? Malfoy? Where is Ron to make a smart-alec comment when I need him? Hermione thought vaguely before shaking the thought away, "Precisely." She said crisply, "That's why we should focus our search on the methods that are permanent. Methods that imply Malfoy wasn't 'gifted' with his - problems - but that his abilities are a 'talent'. One that he has - grown into."
"All methods that provide permanency require a period of time exceeding the boy in question's age, Miss Granger." Severus retorted, "And while one should never underestimate Lucius Malfoy's sheer ability to bungle his way towards astounding discoveries - time travel of such magnitude and paradox requires more than even he is capable of."
Hermione shook her head insistently, "Not all of them." At Severus' lack of response she continued, "There are a few methods. Specifically those revolving around children – especially new-borns."
"Legends." Severus snapped, then paused.
Both their eyes flickered to where Hermione's essay lay - half crumpled beneath a pile of other parchments - with its damning source of a fairy tale so old only muggles still knew of its existence. Hermione found herself the focus of black eyes - and were it not for the fact that she knew – despite popular belief - that eyes rarely conveyed emotions, she might have believed she saw a flash of hope hidden therein.
"Nothing you have told me, and nothing I have witnessed has matched the symptoms of a short term potion, charm, rite or spell." Hermione said, "Malfoy's abilities are too - all encompassing. Were this a short term ability that requires renewal, he would only be able to cause fires with touch or presence - not both. He started a fire clear across the Great Hall this morning. The pegasus colt's wings went up when he touched it. The House Elves indicated he literally burned the air unconsciously while he slept. These are all signs of a very powerful, uncontrollable talent. Not some short term ability requiring regular doses of some unknown potion, curse or spell." She paused, "So unless fire-starting is an actual talent in the wizarding world – rather than a fantastical creation of muggle fantasy writers – Malfoy has a magical talent that was induced – probably when he was still a baby." Hermione finished, glaring defiantly at the potions Professor.
There was silence as Severus leaned back in his chair, staring at her, eyes hooded.
"What makes you, Miss Granger, a muggle-born, the sudden expert on symptoms of magical talent?" Severus drawled derisively finally.
"Because I am a muggle-born, sir." Hermione replied flatly, "I know what having something you can't control, can't help and can barely comprehend feels like." She whirled, then glanced up at the clock, "If you do not agree with my theories, then I don't see what use working with you will be, sir." She continued as she gathered her books together, "It would be far faster for both of us if we worked separately to discover the answer."
Severus remained seated after Hermione Granger stormed out of his quarters. Beneath the rolling anger at such blatant impudence and disrespect (and the urge to reduce Gryffindor's fledgling House points to negative marks for having to witness it) was bemusement. Despite the enmity between Slytherin and Gryffindor, the child was - willingly it seemed - helping to save what could loosely be termed her nemesis. Silly, stupid, foolhardy Gryffindor. Her competitive nature might have placed her in Slytherin (but for her blood) if not for her inability to ignore challenges in her chosen field of battle.
In her own way, Hermione Granger was as much prone to thoughtlessly answering the call to defeat an unknown challenger as her house mates.
Severus could not help but wonder what sort of woman the girl would grow into when forethought joined the already formidable weapons of intelligence and conviction (ignorant or not). A terrifying concept indeed.
*
"Ron - hey Ron!"
Ron rolled out of sleep and would have screamed (something he would have been frightfully embarrassed over later) had a hand not been held over his mouth. He blinked rapidly and realised the shape kneeling on his bed over him was not (as he had sleepily assumed) a Death Eater, an escaped fugitive from Azkaban or McGonnogal (all the fearsome fates a fifteen year old boy did not want to wake up to). The shape resolved itself into one of his twin brothers. Worse. His muzzy, sleepy mind fed a name. George. Fred's hair isn't as straight.
"Get lost, George - it's middle of the night -" he said (or at least something vaguely similar given the hand over his mouth) and tried to roll over.
"Ron! Harry quit Quidditch!" George hissed.
Ron sat up, dislodging his older brother, "What?!" and ducked as a pillow went flying across the room.
"Shu' up - s' middle of the nigh'!" Dean's voice - rough with sleep - growled.
"Sleep? At a time like this?!" Ron groaned as Fred's voice boomed across the - till then - (mostly) silent room, "Forsooth!"
"For what?" the last from Neville, who was a dark silhouette sitting up in his bed.
"'Forsooth' you ignorant wizard - it's old English -" Seamus yawned, " - or something that means - something -" the Irish boy was sitting up as well now, "Ron - why are your brothers in our room?"
Two pillows simultaneously flew across the room, smacking into Neville (who hadn't seen it fast enough to duck) and Seamus (who caught it).
"Shut up all of you! I'm trying to sleep!" Dean shouted - they all paused, staring wide eyed at the normally even-tempered boy; the silence stretched, then a small voice said, "Can I have my pillows back please?"
There were muffled thumps as three pillows were thrown back across the room.
And after that, there was nothing but for all of them to tumble downstairs to where the Quidditch Trial notice had been tacked up along with the rest of the notices in the Common Room. Ron had expected it to be some mistake - it was Quidditch. How could Harry give up Quidditch? He was the youngest Seeker at Hogwarts in two centuries. The best Gryffindor Seeker ever. There was no way Harry would quit the team. Not Harry. Not without telling Ron – not that Harry ever would because he would never quit. After all, it was Quidditch.
They stared at the notice - written in the flowing green ink that marked any Hogwarts enchanted writing. At the top of the list was Keeper (Oliver Wood had graduated the previous year and the sixth year boy who had been marked to inherit the position had transferred to Beauxbatons that year) - followed by one of the Chaser positions. And underneath that, in emerald green ink that was already dry: Seeker.
"Ron - where's Harry?" Neville asked into the silence.
Ron blinked, "Asleep -" he stopped - Harry hadn't been in bed when he had gone up, and he knew without looking that he wasn't there now either, "Isn't it past curfew?"
"It's so early it's tomorrow, Ron. Of course it's past curfew!" Dean said, yawning, "So where's Harry gone to?"
"Talking to Professor McGonnogal about changing his mind?" Neville asked hopefully; the other boys stared at him, he held up his hands in defence, "Well – he could be!"
Ron frowned, "Hermione."
There was a pause.
"Right." Seamus said into the silence, "It must be too early for me tonker to tonk 'cause I swear I just heard you say that Harry Potter – your best friend – is with Hermione Granger – your other best friend – after curfew."
There was another pause – though this one was filled with brief scuffling noises as Ron managed to grab Seamus in a head lock.
"Disturbing mental images aside –" George began, (ignoring Fred's: "Oh – please let's have more disturbing mental images. They're so much more fun than having to find a way to replace a Seeker as good as Harry –") " – what would Hermione know about Harry?"
Ron – now on the ground scuffling with Seamus – panted out: "Stands to reason that Harry would have told her or me about quitting the team right? So if it ain't me – it's got to be Hermione." ("Gettimofme!" Seamus was shouting – despite the fact that he was now on top of Ron and attempting to shake the stranglehold the other boy had on his sleeve.)
"Right." Fred straightened, pushed up the sleeves of his pyjamas (green with tiny whizzing bees – though most of them were asleep at the moment), "We go ask her then."
There was another pause (broken only by Ron choking for breath as Seamus clouted him in the stomach).
"Into the girl's dormitory." Neville said finally.
"Yes." Fred stared quizzically at the fifth year boys, "Haven't any of you gone up there before?" he struck a pose (Number 473 in Ron's internal encyclopaedia of 'Understanding when to run from Fred and George's latest plan'), "Such is the result of lowering standards for entry into Gryffindor, brother dear. The shame of it! Our own brother (and his friends) never having snuck into the girls dormitories – and at such an advanced age!" he wiped an imaginary tear from his eyes as Dean and Neville looked uncomfortable, "Why, by your age, George and I had become as intimately familiar with the girls' dorms as our own."
"Yeah well – bet you didn't have Lavender, Parvati and Hermione in your year." Neville muttered, "They threatened to put makeup on us if we even thought about using all the hot water in the morning." He shuddered.
"How much worse would it be if they caught us sneaking into their dorms?" Dean added, "And Hermione is good at Transfiguration. I don't want to end up as the real Banana Man."
"Be that as it may, Mr Thomas, it still does not explain why you are mentioning this fact at three in the morning."
They all froze at the new voice; as one the four standing boys (Dean, Neville, Fred and George) turned to find a sleepy Minerva McGonnogal in the doorway of the common room. The Head of Gryffindor House stared down to the ground, one eyebrow arched quizzically.
"And precisely what do you intend to do with Mr Weasley's pyjama top, Mr Finnigan?"
Seamus looked at the Professor, then down to his fist and the cloth clenched tightly within.
"Ah – feed it to him?"
*
Harry Potter – despite past experience – was not hiding beneath his invisibility cloak and spying on the Defence Against Dark Arts Professor. Nor was he visiting Hagrid and Fang or searching for his fugitive godfather somewhere amidst the secret tunnels and passages of Hogwarts. As Draco Malfoy discovered, Harry Potter was seated on the banks of the lake, beneath one of the large trees that bordered the shore.
Draco smirked – suddenly, having to wander the grounds in search of sleeping pegasuses no longer seemed such a miserable task. Especially as he had permission to wander the ground while the Boy Who (Obviously) Didn't Know How to Hide decidedly did not.
It was the strange hours before dawn – when the air was pervaded with a light neither dark or bright. The grass was silvered with frost. He was cold. The sensation was novel. There are no fires here.
Harry Potter sat, a still, small form beneath the tree's shadowed branches. He seemed almost a statue – but for the white puffs that hovered briefly over his head, marking that he breathed. Since when did I notice so much of Potter?
He ignored the voice that remarked: Since he became the only person who could touch you.
It was cold – the thin summer robes he wore would have to be exchanged for the heavier winter ones in his trunk.
Draco shivered – And then, maybe not. Being cold was at least a sensation – one that could defeat the flames. Not the only thing.
His boots left sparkling footprints as he made his way to the tree and its sole occupant.
What are you doing Malfoy?
*
"Well, well, well – what do we have here?"
Strangely enough, the voice that broke him from his thoughts was not one Harry dreaded hearing. That particular honour belonged to Ron Weasley – or any of the Weasley brothers. Possibly the sister as well. With the threat of the Weasley clan at Hogwarts hanging over his head, Malfoy and his sniping sarcasm did not matter. Does anything matter any more?
He had thought that Ron and Hermione mattered – but it had been a pretence. They had helped – but when they left, the ability to pretend that the void within him did not exist departed as well.
He had believed Quidditch mattered. But giving it up had not replaced the void.
People matter. Lives matter. Fighting Voldemort matters. Hating Voldemort matters. Getting revenge – that matters.
"Going deaf as well as - dumb Potter?" Malfoy smirked as Harry turned to look up at the other boy, "Or are you too good to talk to the –" another smirk, "Little people?" towering over him as Draco was, there was no mistaking the snipe.
Has he always been this obvious in his insults? Harry had always credited the Slytherin with a sly and devious intelligence. Draco Malfoy had, after all, managed to remain in step with their plans – despite a lack of tools like the Marauders' Map and an invisibility cloak. Yet, when Harry looked up at Draco Malfoy now, he suddenly saw a thin, tall boy with white hair and grey eyes. He doesn't have a forked tongue. Or snake eyes. He isn't even wearing green. With the suddenness of rock on a foundation of sand, he felt the enmity he held slip away. And all that remained was - Nothing.
Not even this matters.
"Well?" Draco glared – this was, after all the pattern they had evolved to.
Jibe followed by insult – and finally resolvement found in fists and physical violence.
Harry stood up slowly, "What do you want, Malfoy?" he asked quietly, voice flat.
Draco Malfoy seemed briefly taken aback by the lack of aggression in Harry's voice; he rallied with a sneer, "What? The Boy Who Lived actually caring of the opinions of a person not as famous as he?" he paused, staring fixedly at Harry, "Out trying to save the world again, Potter? Not getting enough attention from your adoring fans lately?" another pause.
Is he trying to start a fight?
The frown slid on and off the Slytherin's face so quickly that had Harry not suspected its appearance, he would never have seen it. He is trying to start a fight. However, realisation did not mean he understood why. Malfoy always was rather strange. And without the revulsion that had fuelled his interactions with the Slytherin, Harry didn't particularly care. If it doesn't matter – why bother?
Harry turned to walk back to the castle and his bed. I'll have to answer Ron's questions sooner or later.
"Guess you're not as popular since you killed Diggory." Malfoy drawled, voice clear in the pre-dawn silence; Harry turned – and threw himself at Draco, snarling.
Anger burned through him, kept him moving – hid the void as even Ron and Hermione's company could not. Nearly drowned out the detached portion of his mind that wondered that Malfoy could somehow make him care.
The Slytherin landed hard on the ground, Harry kneeling above him, fist drawn back to break the expression on the other's face. The scene was familiar – was a repetition of one they had already enacted.
"You're going to take that back, Malfoy!" Harry shouted as he pinned the taller boy's arms against the ground with his knees, half seated on the other's chest, "You're going to take it back!"
Which was when the unwritten script derailed from its predetermined path.
Draco smiled.
It was a smile that was, by no means, without malice – and certainly not without anger and hatred. But it was a smile that also held desperation. Of all the emotions he had expected to see in Draco Malfoy's face, Harry had never expected desperation to be amongst them.
He paused, fist still drawn back – wary. One hand had drawn Draco upwards, fingers clenched around the thin material of his robes. They were close; closer than he had realised. The other's breath feathered his cheek. What's the trick?
Draco leaned forward and kissed him.
It was – warm.
It was - rushed.
It was – a bizarre knocking of teeth, and lips and wet.
It was – a buzzing, empty void of shock and horror and – perhaps (maybe – probably not – possibly but he wasn't thinking of this) a rush of blood that went straight between his legs.
This – this is – definitely – strange – Harry thought fuzzily. He wasn't sure if it was the lack of oxygen or the fact that he was kissing Draco Malfoy – Being kissed by Draco Malfoy -! (The distinction was important.)
It was a void that swallowed even the memory of Voldemort's order to 'kill the spare'.
It had been a long time since those words had not repeated endlessly within the silence of the void.
Perhaps for that reason alone, Harry remained and allowed his eyes to slowly slid shut, fingers unclenching till he remained there – half kneeling on Draco Malfoy. . .
Does this matter? A tired voice whispered quietly. Does this matter?
For the first time, he answered himself: Does it matter if it doesn't?
And finally – no thought at all, only the harshness of their breathing as they broke apart. Staring at each other with wide eyes.
Draco smirked, "It'll be hard –" he said, rolling his hips slightly beneath Harry's weight (When did I end up on top of him?), "But I'm sure I can make a space for you amongst my admirers Potter."
The words were sure, the tone was as shaken as Harry felt. Draco leaned forward again –
Harry jerked away, stared at the other boy – and then ran. What did I just do?
What did Malfoy just do to me? It was an important distinction.
Draco stared after Harry, still panting – and more than half aroused.
What did you just do? The voice sounded vaguely like one of the portraits of his ancestors.
I kissed him. He touched his lips – they were warm. I kissed Harry Potter.
He could not blame the curse. Or magic. Or explain it away as orders from on high or his father. I kissed the Boy Who Lived.
He could see the black robed figure, growing smaller as it neared the castle.
=====================================================================
Author's Note: At the moment, the official page count for "Without Question" is 116 pages. By no means the longest story I have ever written (actually, it's one of the shortest at the moment, next to "Lust" - of course, I'm not including my short once-off tales in the count ^_^).
Meanwhile, this chapter got slipped in between the backlog of assignments I've been working through this past two weeks. With one more week of university to go followed by the exam period, it's probably the last chapter I'll upload till mid-November. (~sigh~) Education however, does come first. On the other hand, "Lust" hasn't faired so well - it averages one chapter for every five of "Without Question". And considering that the next chapter of "Lust" is the much anticipated (well, at least I hope so anyway ^_^) PWP scene, I'm fairly sure that my readers over in the anime section are pulling out the katanas and mallets about now. [eep]
Reply to reviews will be included in the next chapter when I have more time to reply to the questions and comments you have all so kindly written. (I figured, it's better to put it off till I won't rush my explanations and responses then to do it all now this early in the morning)
In the meantime - a special note to those of you who keep expecting to find "Without Question" appearing at Fictionalley.org. To my (intense) embarrassment, I've been told (kindly) to resubmit after I've rewritten and beta'd for grammar, spelling and various other problems. [Red with embarrassment]
So - nothing will appear at Fictionalley.org till I have time to fix the problems (not to mention find them).
Anyway, this is it from me - see you all in November!
Yours sincerely,
Tien Riu
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 ^_^)