Without Question Chapter 24: October the First Evening, a harry potter fanfic

Without Question

By Tien Riu

tien_riu@yahoo.com

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Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all characters belong to J.K. Rowlings. Plot (what little there is of it ^_^) and depiction of characters are mine. WARNING: The future of this piece of fiction contains slash/yaoi/shonen ai/homosexual relationships.

Author's Note: [Very ashamed plea]

Feeling a trifle unloved and unread at the moment – I don't write for reviews but I do wish that people would leave some criticism and comments occasionally. I'm assuming the hatred for Chapter Twenty-One was unanimously (which is a pity because I thought it rather nice and AsheFarley insists it's still her favourite chapter). If that's the case with Chapter Twenty-Two I'd be rather obliged if somebody told me what you all found so distasteful. At the very least, if it was non-plot related, I could change it.

[/End V.A.P]

Once more, much thanks, gratuitious praise and fan-like worship to AsheFarley who beta'd this chapter through the eight or so revisions it went through. And before you go 'oh, so we can blame her for the time we had to wait for this chapter' – she beta'd six of those revisions in less than three days. One letter I got was half an hour before her test. So yes – [bows to AsheFarley]. I am forever indebted to my beta readers (though Briar Rose has nothing to do with "Without Question", this does go to her as well). They really do go above and beyond what a volunteer position requires. Once more – anything you like was probably at her instigation. Everything else is my fault.

Usual response to reviews appended to end of chapter.

Tien Riu

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Chapter Twenty-Two: October the First - Evening

Gregory Goyle, fifth year Slytherin student, was adamant: "Tell Snape."

His unlikely partner in the conversation was Pansy Parkinson, who looked at him thoughtfully – it was rare for Greg to be so certain in anything, "Telling Snape is absolutely the last thing we should do." She said finally, tone firm.

"Snape would know what to do." Greg insisted.

Pansy glanced around - the corridor was filled with students streaming towards dinner – and nervously grabbed Greg by his robes, pulling him into a disused alcove off the corridor.

"Snape only knows because he is part of the – of You-Know – of the inner circle." Pansy hissed, voice lowered till Greg had to lean down to hear her, "Everybody knows that." She paused, considering what she had just said, "Besides, Draco confirmed the rumours and we all know how deep he is."

"Draco's digging a hole?" Greg grunted.

Pansy rolled her eyes and continued, ignoring the question, "We can't tell him."

"Why not?" to anybody else, Greg's question might have seemed the epitome of stupidity - Pansy however, had grown used to Greg's idiosyncratic intelligence.

Gregory Goyle surpassed even Draco Malfoy for his ability to ask the wrong question at the right time. It might have gained him many enemies had he not been the sole heir to the Goyle name and family fortune - not to mention capable of fully utilising his (well-earned) reputation for being slow, daft and stupid.

"Don't you get it, Greg?" Pansy demanded in a hissed whisper, eyes flicking over the boy's shoulder to check for eavesdroppers, "This is our way out. This is our - our - our letter to Hogwarts!"

"Letter to Hogwarts?"

"A saying -"

"Never heard it before."

"I just made it up." Pansy snapped, "Would you stop interrupting and listen?" she shuffled him further into the alcove in an effort to ensure they would not be seen or heard without forewarning, "Do you remember what it was like when the letter came?"

"Parents were proud they didn't need to buy me a place at Durmstrang." Greg rumbled thoughtfully, "Prouder that I got accepted at Hogwarts because it's the best school in Europe." He added.

"Precisely." Pansy said, "Nobody gets a letter from Hogwarts and refuses - well except mudbloods but they don't count." She sneered more out of habit than true derision, "Better than Durmstrang - safer than Durmstrang."

Greg nodded in agreement, "Too easy to die at Durmstrang." He said softly, "Before last year anyway."

"Stupid Potter - he never thinks how his adventures make it more dangerous for the rest of us." Pansy said, mouth twisting before she realised she had been steered off topic once more, "I don't care what your parents thought, Greg - I bet you were thinking the same thing I was when you got your letter." She grabbed his head in her hands, forcing him to look into her eyes, "I bet you were thinking: 'The only wizard You-Know-Who feared was Albus Dumbledore'. I bet you thought that so long as Professor Dumbledore was headmaster of Hogwarts, we would be safe. No dark wizards and Unforgivables for this generation of Slytherins." Her lips curled, "More fool us - he wouldn't wave his wand if we were on fire. Not if a Gryffindor was behind the hex."

Greg shook free of her grasp, "People are people." He rumbled, words dull - it was an oft' repeated ethos, one Pansy had learned from her mother ("People are people - and power is power. Use or be used - that is the only difference.").

"But Dumbledore doesn't think that way." Pansy snapped in a method of explanation, "Everything is absolutes to Gryffindors. There's no grey in their world." Lucky delusional idiots. "Galleons to knuts Albus Dumbledore has a plan up his tacky sleeves to save his precious Gryffindors. And he probably has places ready for the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws as well. Somewhere safe for when the Dark Lord starts attacking and the killings begin again."

"No use to us. We're Slytherins." Greg commented.

"Precisely. The second Voldemort starts attacking, they'll kick us Slytherins out." Pansy said, "And maybe it'll be different for you and Blaise and all the boys - but Millicent and I might as well give up on becoming proper witches when the fighting breaks out. Female Death Eaters just don't exist. The only thing he thinks we're good for is as breeders and servants."

"Not smart enough to rise in the ranks. End up like Father - killer and mindless help." Greg said (Pansy was vaguely impressed - she hadn't expected Greg to realise that fact till after it was too late), "Don't know about Crabbe but the Zabinis drop a squib every generation - known fact." Greg laughed as he added, "Blaise better get laid now - Dark Lord don't let squib-makers breed." He paused, then flushed as he realised what he had said and to whom, "Sorry."

They were Slytherins but despite rumours stating otherwise (spread by Gryffindors no doubt), this did not mean they were completely without manners. They were purebloods after all.

"Forget it." Pansy brushed off; she grimaced, "Merlin. Why couldn't this have happened last year? Everything was fine last year." She crossed her arms restlessly, "Before Lord Malfoy did whatever it was he did to Draco." It had been the greatest blow to her plans - to all their plans.

Draco Malfoy - the Malfoy Dragon - had been their ticket to safety. The only one amongst their secular group who would be guaranteed a place in the inner circle. There had been an unspoken agreement: in return for their support and alliance, he would protect their interests amongst the old rank. When the Dark Lord had brought the old rank out of retirement, the agreement had become all the more important. She had been so smug at the end of last year, believing that her future was safe regardless of who won this time.

Stupid adults and their stupid strategies - never thinking about how it affects us. Nobody ever thinks about how it affects us.

There were times when Pansy wished her upbringing had involved several lessons on cursing. She had always admired Draco's ability to swear fluently without the slightest twinge of guilt or break in accent.

Pansy sighed and shook away her thoughts – there was no time left to be angry or bitter, not if she wanted to survive: "We can't tell Snape. We have to talk to -" she glanced over his shoulder; the flow of students had slowed - sure sign that dinner was about to start, "We have to tell Dumbledore."

"Why?"

"Dumbledore won't trust us. It's probably their House motto - 'never trust Slytherins'." Pansy said (sneered), "We have to prove that we do not want to take their preconceived place for us in this war. We have to show that we aren't spies or turncoats - that we really want sanctuary. And the only way to do that is by paying our way in."

Greg nodded solemnly - he (they) understood what it was to pay for everything you wanted in life, "Enough for both of us?" he asked quietly.

Pansy paused, looking uncertain as she stared up at the larger boy. She started to speak, then stopped. It isn't. It isn't enough. The information they (she) had found last night during detention was important - but not enough to ensure safe passage for two. Only me. Only me.

It was the Slytherin way; when the time came for escape, only the strongest survived.

There aren't any Goyles after Greg. Only cousins off a cadet branch of the family. He'll die before this is over. Or be dragged under then die. Not to mention that there's no guarantee the Dark Lord will win – he didn't last time after all.

Pansy stared at Greg helplessly; he met her gaze with neither reproach nor hope. They fell into step as they left the alcove.

It was understood; they were Slytherins. Only Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs believe in loyalty and honour. They entered the Great Hall side by side, heads held high as befitted purebloods. It's the fact that we're not Gryffindors - and Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws - that has us in this quandary.

Pansy looked up to the High Table, automatically counting the professors who were attending dinner. Given the conversation Pansy had just shared with Greg, it seemed a sign of fortune that the Slytherin head of house was missing.

She slipped her hand into Greg's large palm (warm and sweaty) as they sat down in their usual seats on the far end of the Slytherin table. Maybe sometimes it's better to pretend we're Gryffindors. Or Ravenclaws. Or even Hufflepuffs. Maybe sometimes it's better to pretend we're stupid idiots without an inch of common sense. Maybe sometimes, even if there is no such thing as honour and loyalty – we should pretend that there is.

It was an intriguing concept; Besides - I need somebody to protect my back around all those wand-waving dolts. Pansy leaned into Greg till her mouth brushed his ear, "It will be enough." She whispered, "I'll make sure it's enough."

Safely hidden beneath the edge of the table, Greg tightened his hand around hers briefly.

It was understood - they were Slytherins.

"Anybody seen Hermione?" Ron asked Parvati as he slid into a seat at the Gryffindor table.

Parvati shrugged, "Don't know. Maybe she's with Dean?" she suggested with a grin.

Ron flushed red (and redder still as Parvati giggled and whispered to Lavender) and turned to glare at Neville, "Why's Dean making Hermione skip meals then?" he demanded.

Neville blinked, "Ah - Dean's next to Seamus, Ron. Next to you I mean. I'm Neville. Neville Longbottom?" He added, "You all right Ron? Only - you're acting strangely."

Ron, however, had already turned to stare at where (as Neville had said) Dean and Seamus were seated, cheerfully discussing handball (or maybe it was football - a muggle sport in any case).

"If Dean's there -" he began, " - where's Hermione?"

There was hooting from further down the table, "Lost your lady love, Ronniekins?" Fred called down.

"Shut up Fred." Ron muttered, shoving away from the table.

"You leaving already, Ron?" Dean asked, looking up from his conversation.

"Yeah -"

"If you see Harry could you ask him if I can borrow his notes for Charms? Hermione's already lent hers to Susan Bones from Hufflepuff and he was taking as many notes that class as she was -"

Ron blocked out the rest of Dean's request as he looked up and down the table. Harry was missing from dinner (again). It wasn't unusual - Harry had been skipping meals lately. (All the time. A voice that sounded an awful lot like Hermione remarked. And it's about time you noticed.) This was the first time Hermione had been missing as well.

Oh.

Seamus and Dean shared a bewildered glance as they watched Ron leave the table.

"Ron's acting strange." Dean remarked finally.

"He's as blarney as a bat with a crush on Snape." Seamus corrected, "Not to mention mad as a hatter and completely off his tool."

Neville was frowning, "Not like Ron to miss eating seconds at dinner - let alone skip firsts." He muttered, "And Hermione and Harry are missing as well."

The three other boys in Gryffindor's fifth year class stared at each other then groaned in unison.

"Oh bloody 'eck." Dean muttered, "S'nother adventure isn't it?"

"Bet they're all off with the fairies saving the world again or something." Seamus said.

"Wish they'd invited us." Neville added; at the stares from his two friends he responded almost defensively, "Well - it's better than having to eat dinner. And what's wrong with the house elves? It's the second time this week we've had haggis!"

Seamus sniffed, "Don't see nothing wrong with dinner -" he began only to be pelted on all sides by bread rolls (evidently Parvati and Lavender had been eavesdropping).

"It's sheep's stomach Seamus!" Neville wailed, "Sheep's stomach!"

"Summon Lady Malfoy now you insignificant waste of life." Snape snarled at the head bobbing in the fireplace, "Or I will ensure that what little remains of your pathetic existence after I am through will be useless for anything - including potions ingredients!"

The House Elf was distraught; spindly fingers grabbed at long ears, "Micky must not! Mistress Malfoy is saying for Mickey not to be disturbing – Mickey cannot -" it whimpered.

"Severus, are you sure this is the way to go about -"

Severus glared at Remus Lupin, "Shut up." And then turned back to the House Elf, "Bring her to me." He bit out, "Now."

Micky the House Elf moaned then vanished with a pop that sent ashes fluttering through the green flames.

"Was this why you sent Miss Granger away?" Remus commented mildly from his perch on the table.
Severus stalked over to a sideboard, "Shut up Lupin." He said as he opened the panel and removed a bottle of 'Kipsucker's Moonshine'.

Remus hid a smile and subsided into a chair. Perhaps for want of something better to do rather than real interest (of course one could never tell with the Ravenclaw-in-Gryffindor-colours) he began to idly read through one of the many scrolls stacked up around the room – evidence of past weeks of work.

"Speaking of Hermione, I must congratulate the both of you. The research conducted – given the time span – is extremely - " Remus paused, " - comprehensive."

"Takes 'needle in a haystack' to new levels." Severus grunted, glaring at the fire, "What is that House Elf doing? Learning proper grammar before it speaks to -"

"Really, Severus - terrorising the help?" Narcissa Malfoy's head appeared as suddenly as her voice, "How positively - impolite." She said, "Mr Lupin - good evening."
Remus nodded, "Lady Malfoy." He said politely, "Severus and I -"

"Shut up Lupin." Severus said absently without turning, "Narcissa. I need to talk to you. Not your head."

There was a brief pause as Narcissa stared at the Potions professor, pale blue eyes unreadable, "My schedule is filled I'm afraid, Severus. Surely this can wait till a more appropriate hour?" she protested mildly, "Lucius and I were about to Apparate to a truly important affair."

"Then after your - outing." Severus replied promptly, unfazed.

A pale eyebrow arched, "We will be returning in the early hours - so tiresome; of course Lucius' attendance is required given his social standing. But you understand, Severus though you haven't made an appearance since Tyche's – illness." Narcissa continued lightly; Severus did not flinch at the name – too many years had passed.

In his chair, Remus stiffened slightly (Severus had always noted that Remus Lupin was unusually quick for a Gryffindor).

"Given the – nature – of the discussion, Narcissa," Severus said instead, "Your physical presence would be best."

Narcissa's head tilted thoughtfully, "Nature?"

"It involves Draco and his recent – academic performance." Severus' voice was low and quiet, "I thought it best if I spoke to you rather than Lucius given the relationship he shares with Draco."

Narcissa paused, eyes flicking to the table heaped with books and scrolls before returning to Severus, "Very well. The earliest opportunity is when I return tomorrow morning. I anticipate all festivities shall be completed by three. Shall we say five past the hour?"

Severus inclined his head, "As you will."

Narcissa's head floated silently in the green flames for several seconds before vanishing.

Harry Potter was currently in the deserted Gryffindor Common Room. He was staring at his notes (filled with far too many ink spots given he had spent four years writing with a quill) in shock.

Is that - all?

The spell had been invented during the French Revolution (he made a mental note to ask Hermione when that had happened) by a half-blood witch from Beauxbatons. It was, crudely translated (and all his translations were crude really - there was only so much a dictionary could do), a protection charm. A binding to give - gift, promise, ensure? No it's probably ensure - so a binding to ensure the welfare - or is that safety? A binding to ensure the safety or welfare of friends.

It was - simpler than he would have expected. (Blood. And thought. And words. And somewhere high.) He had expected something as complicated as the Polyjuice Potion - or ingredients that would have him bribing House Elves. But the most esoteric requirement was his blood. Enough to form the outline of a circle. Not that much really. Maybe a bit more than what I'd loose to one of Hagrid's beasts. Harry rubbed his eyes - they felt as if they were glowing. I can do it now. While they're all at dinner.

He glanced down at the scattered notes covering the table before him. I can do it now. A grin slowly spread over his face. Even be back in bed before curfew!

Which was the moment when the portrait swung open for one Ron Weasley.

Bloody hell.

Ron glanced around the Common Room as he entered. He wasn't (that) surprised to find Harry seated near the banked fire, nearly obscured from view by several stacks of books.

"All right Harry?"

Harry nodded, "All right Ron." he responded - it was a familiar exchange of greetings.

Ron stood in front of his best friend and suddenly felt at loss for words. It was at times like these that had Ron realising just how much things had changed. Last year, he would have slid into a seat – probably next to Hermione – and convinced one or both to stop studying long enough to play a game of Wizard's Chess. Of course – a year ago, Harry wouldn't have been studying with as much (if not more) fervour, it seemed, than Hermione.

"I'm not going to be Seeker." Harry said abruptly, "I – won't. You can tell Fred that."

Ron blinked and then smiled, "No – I – ah – that is –" he trailed off, not sure what to say ('Hi Harry, just got given your place on the Quidditch team. So lets be friends again okay?' – sounds dodgy even to me.), "Fred and George must have finally given up." He said finally, "They just told me that they want me to play Seeker until you got your sanity back and decided to play again." He stared anxiously at Harry. He's been so – bloody obstinate about not being Seeker – but I know how I'd feel if one of my friends took my place on the team –

Ron shook his head. This is Harry - he never gets upset over things like this. He thought, sitting down in front of Harry (and then standing up again to move the books off the chair), "Pretty strange ain't it? I mean, usually it's you giving me the weird news. Thinking Snape hexed your broom. Hearing voices. Fighting dragons or -" he made a face, "Following spiders into the Forest." He grinned, "I guess the nuttiness is contagious."

Harry smiled (and if it seemed a trifle queasy, Ron didn't notice), "Yeah. Madam Pomfrey should have put me into quarantine back in first year." He said, "You really aren't going to try and talk me into being Seeker again?"

Ron paused, then said carefully, "Well - Fred and George said I had to take your place until you're sane." He said, "So - you still batty as Trelawney?"

Harry froze, then smiled tentatively, "Just call me Batman - it's a muggle thing." The last at the confused expression on Ron's face.

"Damn." Ron said, "Would've saved me from having to get up an hour early for practise - did I mention I got Keeper?"

Harry actually grinned at this, "I heard. The first five or six times you mentioned it to Ginny. And Hermione. And Seamus. And Neville. And then Dean threw his Transfiguration book at you and told you to shut up."

Ron made a face, "Yeah - there's something wrong with Dean." He said, "Fred's gone psycho though - practise at six in the morning. I mean - six."

Harry laughed, "Oliver use to get us up at four." He said, "Count yourself lucky Fred likes sleeping in."

And then, it was almost like normal again - except without Hermione.

"Hey - do you know where Hermione is?" Ron asked, "I thought she'd be here - especially since you're studying." He glanced at the book in front of Harry and stared, "Harry - this isn't - it is - is this French?"

The small, unused classroom was still off the second corridor accessible only by the staircase that usually joined the start and end of the fourth corridor. Hermione hated the classroom – and she hated the fact that it had come down to the stage that she required extra tuition to keep up with the other students.

But mostly, she hated Divinations – especially when she had already been up for twenty one hours and Professor Snape had tossed her out of his quarters just as it seemed they were about to unravel the mystery of Malfoy's affliction.

It didn't help that the smoke pouring out of the fire was making her eyes water, her nose itch and her throat swell. Or that Professor Trelawney had thrown what had to be at least five kilos of aromatic herbs into the various burners scattered around the (very) small room – making it not only stifling hot but incredibly hard to breath without choking.

Well, it certainly did help her temper.

Hermione waved a hand in front of her face, struggling not to grimace: "Can we open a window?" she asked with more politeness than she currently felt, "The smoke is – a trifle much."

Sibyll Trelawney, the Hogwarts Professor of Divinations, sat primly on a squashy chair transported from her tower and blinked watery eyes as if surprised at Hermione's complaint, "It aids in de-misting the Inner Eye, my dear." She said with a condescending smile.

That expression never failed to put Hermione's teeth on edge – and this late (according to her internal clock) in the day, it only made her irritation all the worse.

"Oh. Of – course." Hermione said slowly and then coughed as the fire spluttered and more smoke billowed into the small room, "How precisely? Does it help de-mist the Inner Eye? Because I'm having trouble seeing anything at the moment." She said, struggling to keep her voice even.

"I was not referring to the more mundane sight you rely so desperately on, my dear." Professor Trelawney said in a light, quavering tone that Hermione found fake and charlatanism at its worse, "Tea?"

Hermione noted the steam from the teapot was not helping the smog, "No thank you."

"Ah." Professor Trelawney said, and smiled again – Hermione gritted her teeth, "You will my dear. The Eye does not lie."

Yes – of course. The Inner Eye does not lie. Except perhaps for anything other than the most obvious, predictable possibilities! Hermione thought and twisted her skirt in her hands, "Professor – may we start please? It is late –"

"These things cannot be rushed, my dear." The Professor interrupted, "Tea?"

"No thank you." Hermione said, "But surely – it really is quite late –"

"What is time so long as one has timeliness?" Professor Trelawney shrugged off, "One sugar or two, dear?"

Hermione stared, "None please, Professor."

Then she watched as the Professor dropped four cubes of sugar into the second cup of tea. Has she heard a single word I said? Is this a complete waste of time? Why do I bother asking these questions? The answers are as obvious as her abilities at predicting the future!

"Do drink before it cools, dear." Professor Trelawney waved a hand vaguely over the table, "Oh – and do be careful. The scald might not be serious enough to warrant Madam Pomfrey's care but it will still be –"

"Oh this is ridiculous!" Hermione broke in finally, "You can't tell me that this smoke and – and – and – stupid smells can help somebody see into the future! And tea – what does tea know about anything?" she demanded, "What do smoke and tealeaves and crystals have to do with the future? And even if they did – even if it were in any way possible to predict the future from the way somebody holds their saucer or sips their tea, then I don't see how it applies to me!" Hermione blinked, aghast at what she had just done (Arguing with teachers isn't just a habit, Granger – it's becoming a lifestyle choice for you. And by the way - the boys are going to kill you when they find out how many points you just lost Gryffindor!).

Professor Trelawney, however, merely stirred the tea in her cup, "All will be revealed in time, child." She said in a soft, low voice, "You must only be patient."

Hermione noted that the fussy lace on the end of the professor's sleeve dipped each time she lifted her arm – the steam, smoke and heat of the room was making the material decidedly limp.

She picked up the tea and took a brief sip before placing it back (carefully) onto the fussy little table, "Professor, if you spoke to Professor Dumbledore – it's – I'm not –" Hermione stopped, drawing in a breath (she promptly coughed to clear her throat of smoke), "Professor Trelawney, I'm abysmal at Divinations. It's a waste of both of our time. Especially when there's so much more I – we – could be doing." Hermione said, throttling the impatience crawling up and down her spine, "I'm sure if you explained to the headmaster –"

"You are angered by a question you cannot answer." Sibyll's broke in, staring past Hermione (who, long used to such techniques, did not look over her shoulder) with a faraway expression, "You believe that had you not had to attend this session of learning, you might have discovered the answer you seek."

Oh. That's it. Hermione felt her fragile grip on her temper shatter and vaguely heard herself say, sarcastically: "This is a school – everybody has a question they can't answer. We are here to learn after all."

The fire spluttered; it emanated a suffocating warmth that made the small room all the worse.

Professor Trelawney sipped tea from her cup before placing it back onto the table with an elaborate flourish that made the limp lace at her wrists twitch. Hermione forced herself not to roll her eyes as the professor stared down into the depths of the cup at the leaves. If she pretends to go into a trance I'm going to – to -

There were just so many more important things she could be doing!

At length, the Professor shifted her gaze from the teacup and stared at Hermione, watery blue eyes unfocused beneath the thick lenses of her glasses, "You were forced to leave at a critical juncture of the solution."

Hermione gritted her teeth, "That was a reiteration of the first prediction." She said.

"The research you conducted with Professor Snape – and now Professor Lupin – has nearly reached a place where all the answers you have had restless nights over will be revealed. Professor Snape sent you away for your session with me – despite the fact that you had a time turner at your disposal. You feel that he is trying to hide something from you – and this, you feel, is unfair, as you have spent as much, if not more time, in research as he has." Professor Trelawney said – and her voice was a trifle more sharp.

There was silence; Hermione opened her mouth to produce a suitably scathing retort when Sibyll continued: "You have worked closely with Professor Snape these past few weeks – would he share a confidence with me? Let alone one that revolved around one of his students. Especially when that student is Draco Malfoy?"

Hermione closed her mouth. The first thought in her mind was that no, Professor Snape would as soon wear leather pants and get an earring as speak to the Divinations Professor. The second was that Professor Trelawney had summarised Hermione's thoughts with a conciseness and turn of phrase that might have been lifted from her mind.

"My Sight once told me that you required a redefinition of Seers, Hermione. Perhaps you have forgotten." Sibyll continued, once more distant and irritatingly vague, "It matters not – I shall repeat my words and perhaps this time you will see the truth." she met Hermione's gaze with a dreamy expression, "A good Seer is also known as a strategist." The fire spluttered again; the air was choked with smoke, "Your future is certain, Hermione Granger. You will be the last bulwark between Harry Potter and Voldemort's forces."

"I know that." Hermione said and then wished she hadn't as the smoke tickled her throat, "It is why Professor Dumbledore said I had to have private lessons in Divinations with you – but I just don't have the ability!" she rubbed at eyes red from fumes and waved a hand, trying to breath in some fresh air.

It was late – she was tired, and frankly she never had patience for Divinations anyway.

"Seeing the future is a basic ability – what is not is the capacity to use it." Professor Trelawney intoned as she lifted the pot of tea, "Your lack of talent comes from a refusal to see."

"I'm not refusing -!"

"Aren't you?" the tea fell from the pot in a steady stream.

Steam rose, vanishing in the smoke filled air, "More tea?"

"No thank you." Hermione snapped.

"Then tell me – where is Peeves most likely to be on Friday mornings?"

"The south staircase leading down to Professor Snape's dungeon." Hermione replied instantly, "And I didn't predict that. It's just a pattern – Peeves is always at the south staircase on Friday mornings. He use to lie in wait for us last year."

"The future is composed of patterns." Professor Trelawney said and sipped genteelly, "Divinations is the ability to see those patterns –"

"That's ridiculous!" Hermione rolled her eyes, "It's just – the same events occurring. If the future was just the same things happening over and over again then everybody would know –"

"Do you notice between one step and the next that an event has occurred that has been repeated continuously since your birth?" the professor asked; her eyes seemed to waver in the thick smoke beneath the thick glass of her glasses.

Hermione stared at the professor, "Of course not – it's – it's walking."

"Another example. Do ants notice the source and cause of both destruction and providence in their lives? A Seer looks beyond the moment – they must see nothing and then everything, Hermione."

Tendrils of smoke from the fire and steam from the spout of the teapot seemed to swirl around them. Hermione was fairly sure she was suffering from oxygen deprivation.

"Divinations uses such trinkets as crystals and tealeaves because when reasons are obscured, it becomes possible to discover a pattern, child." Professor Trelawney whispered as she leaned forward, "Your question has been answered." She said in a low, soft tone.

"No it hasn't! I didn't even ask that question!" Hermione almost wailed (perhaps because her eyes were stinging from smoke), "This isn't about why I Divinations has to use something as stupid as smoke and mirrors to tell the future -"
"Isn't it?" Sibyll's eyes no longer seemed watery behind the glass, "What is taught to the students at Hogwarts, Miss Granger, is a method to obscure the present so that the future becomes clear. What you must learn is how to make the future make sense in the framework of the present."

"What?" Hermione was confused – and irritated, "Why are you speaking in riddles?" she demanded in exasperation.

"What will happen if Harry Potter does not escape with the other students when Hogwarts is attacked?"

"He'll fight with You-Know-Who – Voldemort. And then –" Hermione scrubbed at her eyes, coughing as she waved in a futile effort to clear some air, " – he looses because he isn't ready yet." She swallowed – they all knew what could happen, it was one of the great unspoken topics in the wizarding world: Harry Potter's prophesied death, "It – he –" she gritted her teeth, "It's obvious."

"And why is it obvious?"

"I –" Hermione stared at the Divinations professor in frustration, "It's common sense. He's only fifteen! And even if he's a great wizard, he isn't fully trained like Voldemort. It isn't prophecy! It's just – logic!"

Sibyll nodded, "And what is logic?"

Hermione stared at the professor – and resisted the urge to tug at her hair, "A summation of the next plausible step in a chain of events." She said stiffly, "Logic has nothing to do with predicting the future –" and stopped suddenly.

"Precisely." Sibyll said, and waved a hand.

The smoke vanished with a suddenness that made Hermione light headed (or perhaps that was the sudden influx of fresh air).

Harry glared at the board as Ron checkmated him (again), "Three more moves and my knight would have been in place." He muttered.

Ron grinned, too used to beating Harry at chess to bother with a good-natured taunt. The two boys leaned back in their seats and watched as the only other occupant of the Common Room (Lee Jordan) headed upstairs for the night (or morning, given the time).

This feels good. Harry thought. And it can't hurt can it? No harm done really. Right? I'll just – enjoy this for a while. And after Ron's asleep I'll sneak out and finish the spell. It's probably even better this way: there won't be anybody at the Astronomy Tower to catch me. They'll be both safe by morning.

And - it was easier to forget the hole inside him (and how easy it would be to fall far enough that climbing back out became impossible) when Ron was making jokes about what Seamus and Neville had done to Dean in Herbology. Easier to ignore everything when he was making jokes and watching Ron go red every time Hermione was brought up.

"Do you know where Hermione is?" Ron asked suddenly, disrupting the comfortable silence.

"What?"

"Hermione. She wasn't at dinner. And she hasn't come back to the Common Room." Ron said, staring worriedly at the portrait door (the large clock hanging over the entrance read: "Why aren't you in bed?"), "Do you think she's been upstairs all this time?" he glanced uncertainly at the stairs leading to the girls' dormitory.

"It isn't like Hermione to be out after curfew." Harry replied uncertainly, "She wasn't at dinner?"

"No -" Ron stopped, "Well, I left fairly early cause Hermione - and you –" he rushed to add, " - weren't there."

Harry cast an amused glance at his best friend. The words: 'when are you going to ask her out?' hovered on the tip of his tongue - Later. After the protection spell is in place. He thought, Besides - it's more fun being able to tease both of them about this. Harry couldn't stop himself from grinning at that future prospect.

"So you think she's upstairs too?" Ron asked.

Harry blinked, "What? I mean – well, this is Hermione. Where else would she be -" then frowned, "Wait - no. I've been here since after class. And she didn't come in with me -" he frowned as he added: "By the time you lot got back, Dean was asking Lavender if she was upstairs. You remember? Just after he threw his text book at you."

Ron glanced at the painting, "So - she's still outside. . ." he said, trailing off, "That's not like Hermione at all." He muttered.

Harry had to agree - and now he was feeling slightly alarmed, "She's probably in trouble." He said.

Ron jumped to his feet, "Well, that settles it then." He said, "Go get your father's cloak - we have to find Hermione."

Which was where the problems started as Ron had grown tall enough that the cloak no longer covered both he and Harry. At least not without more physical proximity than either boy was comfortable with.

So it's fine with Malfoy but Ron - your best friend - gives you the crawlies? Harry stomped on the insidious thought (and ignored the follow up: Auwk - Ron kissing me - oh that's just - yuck - as simply being redundant), "I'll go alone then." At Ron's instant protest, he hastened to add: "I'm less likely to get a howler from your mum if I get caught."

Ron went green (howlers from Molly Weasley were not to be taken lightly) but still seemed firm in his resolve.

"What happens if Hermione comes back while we're both out there?" Harry pointed out finally, "Who's going to stop her from thinking Voldemort – sorry, You-Know-Who - got the both of us, waking Dumbledore up and having everybody in a panic before we get back?"

Really, it wasn't much of a discussion.

Draco woke up cold and stiff from falling asleep crouched behind a statue in a draft-filled corridor. For several seconds, he wasn't sure where he was or why he was there.

Memory flooded back – he had been waiting for the opportunity to catch Harry Potter away from his sycophants. Except Potter had not taken a step either into or out of the tower since after dinner.

What a time for the dolt to start following school rules. Draco thought, gritting his teeth as he shifted into a more comfortable position and settled down to wait for a little longer. After all – Potter would have to leave the tower sooner or later. To eat if nothing else. Everybody eats. Even Harry bloody Potter, the sodding Boy Who freaking Lived.

Several minutes later, Hermione Granger (Mudblood swot.) hurried up the corridor. Hah - there's something to tell the professor tomorrow. Perfect Granger out after curfew - be even better if she was a Prefect. Draco thought as he glared after the frizzy head of the Gryffindor.

Granger paused, half a corridor away from the Portrait - almost as if she had just walked into something.

"Harry?" the soft whisper was easily heard in the silence.

(There's something to pass around Hogwarts - Granger's gone mad.)

"Hermione - where have you been?" Harry Potter's voice came clearly out of thin air.

Draco froze. How -

Harry Potter appeared suddenly in the corridor, a cloak dangling from his hand (Merlin - an Invisibility Cloak!).

"What are you doing out here Harry? It's past curfew!" Granger exclaimed.

"Ron and I were worried - we thought you might be in trouble –" Potter said hastily (Draco sneered – Gryffindors. The only difference between them and Hufflepuffs is the evident lack of intelligence!), "Besides - you're out after curfew as well, Hermione."

"Ah – well I –" the mudblood stopped, "Wait. Ron – and you - were worried about me?" there was a pause, then a softly expressed: "Oh."

Draco's eyes narrowed – it looked as if Granger was staring up mistily at Potter (or at least not-quite-down at the Boy-Who-Never-Grew). I thought Granger was chasing after Weasley - so much for trusting Pansy's gossip.

"Ron and I can't really fit under the cloak together any more." Potter was saying, "So he's waiting in case you came back before I found you." The boy paused, then added, "Hey - Hermione? When you go in - could you say -" and paused again.

"What is it, Harry?" Granger asked softly.

"Just tell Ron you didn't see me." Potter said.

"Oh Harry." Granger sighed exasperatedly, "You know that it's dangerous wandering the castle at night -" Granger said (Boy Who Is A Wimp. Draco thought with a smirk, What does she think is going to get him without the entire castle waking when the Wards go down? Pegasus droppings?)

"Malfoy's out there all the time." Potter pointed out, "And we all know he runs at the sight of danger." (Draco glared at the two Gryffindors – I retreated. There's a difference you suicidal freak!) "Besides - I just - forgot to do some Astronomy homework. I need to pop up to the Tower and finish off my diagrams." He said then added: "And well. . . I'm almost sure Ron wants to talk to you - well, privately."

"Astronomy homework - what - ? Oh - I mean -" Granger shuffled slightly, head ducking, "Really?"

"Well - maybe." Potter shrugged uneasily - and (Draco frowned and squinted - in the low light of the torches, it was hard to see) flushed, "It's Ron after all."

Granger laughed, "Just - be careful okay? If you're not back by three, Ron and I are going straight to Dumbledore." She said, and hurried towards the portrait containing a fat lady dressed in a hideous pink smock.

Potter watched till she entered the portrait before turning and hurrying down the corridor - directly past Draco.

Astronomy tower. . .

On any other night, Draco would have taken the overheard conversation as a miracle passed down from Salazar Slytherin's ghost himself. After all - it was the perfect opportunity to get Harry Potter into trouble. One word to Professor Snape and - well, there was likely to be point deductions and several detentions at the very least.

Later.

Draco followed behind Potter, footsteps silent more out of habit than any coherent decision.

Later - I can hex Potter –

- burn him to a crisp -

- keep him locked in that stupid cell - see how he likes it -

- starve him to death -

- kiss him till he asphyxiates and touch him till his skin is chafed from my hands and -

Later. I can do - whatever - later. After he answers my questions.

After I find out how he does it. How he controls this curse.

Harry had a plan – it just wasn't one that had existed for very long. However, it was a plan and he intended to stick to it. He glanced cautiously around the classroom, hoping that he wouldn't discover that the rumours that the tower was a favourite rendezvous point for couples were true.

The Astronomy classroom was empty. Moonlight glinted on the eyepiece of the huge telescope that took up half the ceiling. On the floor, the runes and symbols marking the constellations - along with their names and positions in the night sky throughout the year - glowed a faded gold.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Harry dropped the cloak onto the floor. The notes - tucked between the pages of the French dictionary currently lying back in the Common Room - had stated the spell needed nothing more than the words in addition to blood, intent and somewhere high. He walked to the window; the view – as always – took his breath away. Definitely high.

The setting was right; Harry drew his wand as he glanced uncertainly at the floor. The book hadn't mentioned any specially spelled circles or protective Wards (which was good since Harry didn't know how to cast either). Okay. Well then the situation is right. Harry decided. Now all I need is the intent - which is pretty easy - and the blood.

Damn.

All that was required was enough blood to sprinkle in an approximation of a circle. The book had mentioned something about proof - a metaphorical representation of a willingness to die to ensure the safety of his friends. Well - at least I think it needs blood of human. It might have been blood of a turnip. . .

Regardless, Harry had a problem. Whether the blood required was a drop or a litre - he had nothing to cut himself with. Don't really feel like pricking my finger with a quill either. He thought, casting a glance at Professor Sinistra's table at the far end of the round room. Besides - it lacks a little. . . Ceremony.

Draco had lost Potter somewhere between the corridor leading past the Great Hall and the third flight of stairs that led to the Astronomy Tower. (An Invisibility Cloak!) It seemed unfair that for the past five years, he – Draco Malfoy, son of one of the richest men in the wizarding world – had been forced to make do with simple sneakiness and several illegally obtained spells when it came to after hours exploration. But he wasn't particularly surprised that Potter had something as rare and esoteric as the cloak. Far be it for Potter to do anything like the rest of us lowly mortals.

Draco sneered and ran quickly up the stairs leading to the Astronomy classroom. Still – as Professor Snape says, 'tools are unnecessarily for true brilliance'. And Draco Malfoy prided himself on being brilliant.

Not that he really needed anything more than mediocre intelligence when it came to Potter.

The thing about Gryffindors, Draco knew, was that they made terrible liars. It wasn't that they couldn't hide guilt as well as any - Hufflepuff anyway. It was that it was (very) easy to catch them at falsehoods. They lacked timing. Idiots the lot of them. As if it was ever a question of who charmed the Slytherin banners to show boinking nifflers. He rolled his eyes as he hurried up the stairs.

Thousand to one guess Potter's at the top of the Astronomy Tower right now. Draco sneered; He's probably even doing homework. He stopped to catch his breath before rounding the last curve of steps.

From the shadow of the doorway, Draco could see Potter. He was standing by the window, looking thoughtful.

"Right -!" Potter flourished his wand, "Accio quill!"

Draco watched as a quill (an ornamental blue peacock feather Professor Sinistra used for sketching constellation runes in the air) floated over to the Gryffindor. What's he up to?

Potter caught the quill and tapped his palm twice with the tip of his wand, "Converto cultello!"

The quill shuddered then shrank and shimmered; Draco stared in shock as a strange, one-edged serrated dagger with an odd black handle appeared in Potter's hand.

"Right then." Potter grasped the dagger uncertainly, "Pour le bien-être amité. Pour le protection amité." (French? Thought Draco in confusion as he attempted to translate the mangled verbs Potter was pronouncing).

And then Potter raised his hand and brought the dagger down on his arm. Merlin's arse on a pole!

For the well being of my friends. . . For the protection of my friends. . . Harry concentrated, repeating the words as he grasped the transfigured steak knife (which reminded him a trifle of the ones Aunt Petunia used back on Privet Drive). The book had implied that any words would do - but it seemed safer to use what he had been given. Okay. The edge of the knife caught the moonlight. This is probably going to hurt.

With that, Harry Potter brought the knife down, slashing across his arm.

There was no pain at first - he stared at the blood that welled slowly across the cut. Oops. Maybe I should have just - pricked my finger or something.

Then it hit - a burning sensation that escalated to pain. Definitely over did it. It was eerie, feeling the not-water trickling down his arm. Better finish this before I bleed to death - and won't that be something for the Daily Prophet? Boy Who Lived accidentally commits suicide. Harry thought as he grasped the knife with the bleeding hand and fumbled for his wand. Right - their names, then the words. Then sprinkle blood in circle, concentrate on intent, repeat twice. And then - heal these cuts and go to bed. He thought as he ducked his head and grinned. And they'll be safe.

Which was about the time when something caught him directly across the stomach.

Yelling in alarm, pain and shock, Harry went flying backwards, blood sending an arch across the diagram of the night sky etched into the stone floor.

Bloody hell – the wood of his wand was slick as he tried to tighten his hold on it. He had almost managed to grip it tightly enough to execute the proper swish for a 'Stupefy' when the back of his head slammed down against the stone. He skidded to a halt somewhere between Orion's spear and Libra's scales.

There was silence - unbroken by any sound but that of the wind as it blew through the open windows of the Astronomy Tower.

Harry took cautious inventory: the back of his head throbbed. His arm felt as if somebody had sliced it open. Oh wait. Somebody - I mean I did do that. His back felt like his fingers had the time he'd been using Aunt Petunia's cheese grater and pressed too hard. Ouch. He was having a hard time breathing. Falling does that. And there was a weight on his stomach. Right - so what's the weight?

Harry squirmed - found that he could barely move - and opened his eyes to be met by silver. I've gone blind -!

No wait -

It was hair - and there was only one person in all of Hogwarts with hair that resembled silver gilt. Malfoy.

So now the question is: why is Malfoy on top of me.

Harry was fairly sure he wasn't dreaming (not that he was admitting he dreamed of Malfoy) - unfortunately not dreaming of Malfoy (at all, ever) left him with the same problem. What the hell is Malfoy doing on top of me in the Astronomy Tower after curfew?

He shifted, dislodging Malfoy (who was definitely the weight on his stomach) enough to reach a half reclining position.

Malfoy was glaring at him.

Harry was nonplussed. After all, he was the victim in this particular encounter, "Malfoy." He finally said (he might have yelled, but that required more breath than he currently had given he was currently underneath somebody).

"Potter." Malfoy - not moving (and incidentally pinning Harry's good arm on the ground) – replied, equally evenly.

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Author's Note: I forgot to mention this in the A/N of Chapter Twenty-Two but translate – (or correct) any phrases (in French, Latin or any other language) I've used in this or the previous chapter and I'll post the next chapter (Chapter Twenty-Four) to you early (well, if you include your email). In the meantime – Narcissa Malfoy cookie to anybody who can figure out the mythological references in the various names and epithets used.

mjwhittaker, SparkySparkles, Wes - thank you for reviewing. Particularly mjwhittaker (sorry, definately not Singaporean. Why do you ask?) and Wes (I generally don't email everybody who reviews - if only to not annoy people. Feel free to drop me an email however, I love receiving mail).

mistykasumi - welcome back to the internet. Glad to hear you got your Internet Explorer to work again. As for 'true slash'. Well - I don't intend to up my rating from PG-13 but there will be much "snogging and near-shagging" in about two and a half chapters. Take that whatever way you wish.

Demeter - right. Still not completely over the 'authors I read, read my work too - and like it' sensation. Suffice to say - I've read your SS/... (~grins~) fiction and went '0_0 Why can't I write like that?'. "Liquid Obituary" at the Severus Snape Fuh-Que Fest Archive (and for anybody interested - run that title and the archive name through Google - http://www.google.com) is the only Snape/Draco piece I have ever enjoyed. ~grins~ Take that whatever way you want. And yes - fluff, but good, angsty-with-reason-and-a-dash-of-pure-Slytherin fluff. Got to love it.

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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 ^_^)