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. 

And voila! A musical instrument! And Chapter Twenty-Four makes its appearance at FF.net for all of you who missed its appearance at skyehawke :: archives a month and a bit ago.

Tien Riu

With thanks to AsheFarley who has patiently worked on "Without Question" with me for almost a year now.  Marvel at her patience, forebearance and ability to correct grammer and spelling without once hunting me down with a dictionary.

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Chapter Twenty-Four: Aftermath

      - Malfoys do not –

      Malfoys are –

      Malfoys cause –

      Malfoys -

      A blue flame bounced off Draco's elbow as he shoved Potter away; the other boy stumbled, nearly falling backwards again.

    Blood flicked into the air.  Droplets – red and tinted by the flames – splashed on his sleeve.  Against the black of his robes, they vanished. 

    He didn't know what to do.

    So he ran.

    Past the dancing flames and the burning flagstones and ignoring the confused expression on Potter's face. 

    He didn't know what he had done.

The spiralling staircase that led down the Astronomy Tower was a blur of grey walls and sleeping portraits.

    (Malfoys do not run.)

    But stopping – stopping seemed impossible.

      And behind him, Harry Potter stood, completely confused. 

    I just – was I just – Malfoy just snogged me.

    Again.

    His first impulse was to run after Malfoy – grab him by a trailing sleeve – feel the shift of bones in his hand as he yanked hard till the other boy could not move; hold him and demand – What?

   Parts of him were asking things like 'what' and 'why' and yelling incoherently (Hermione and Ron's influences no doubt).  Parts of him told him to start running and not stop till he had caught Malfoy and demanded the details of his (no doubt nefarious) scheme. 

    Does Malfoy matter?

    The bobbing flames swirled around him.  Harry lifted a hand and caught one of the flames – it was warm against his skin; Malfoy's lips had been cold. 

    (Malfoy just snogged me!)

    Are they here because the spell was successful? Are Hermione and Ron safe? (Malfoy just snogged me!) Should I try again – is the blood enough? Is this enough? He dragged in a breath that felt stiff and hot; his chest hurt – a dull ache thudding in time with the slashing pain in his arm.  Malfoy just –

    There was blood scattered across the floor, dark droplets between the stars.  A chill wind blew through the window.  He doesn't matter.  Hermione and Ron matter.  Sirius and the Weasleys matter.  Keeping them safe matters.  And Cho –

    They – all of them – matter.  Not Malfoy.  Never Malfoy.  Malfoy doesn't matter.  Malfoy will never matter.  Malfoy can't matter –

    His lips felt swollen.  (Even if I -)

    It didn't matter.  

*

      Twenty-five minutes before Draco Malfoy ran down the staircase leading to the Astronomy classroom, Sirius Black prodded the stupefied bodies of Pansy Parkinson and Gregory Goyle cautiously.

   "I had not expected them so early."  Professor Dumbledore said thoughtfully, "Slytherins –" 

   " - always interrupting at the worst moments possible."  Sirius muttered and ran a hand distractedly through his hair (which looked somewhat the worst for wear given the events of the past hour).

   "I would have said 'always resourceful' myself."  Professor Dumbledore said, tone slightly chiding, "Amongst the greatest traits of Salazar's House is its ingenuity and flexibility."

Sirius laughed – a harsh, sharp bark, "Oh yes - so long as they get something out of it they can be as ingenious as a Ravenclaw and flexible as a Hufflepuff can't they?"  He sneered, "If you can't kill, curse or destroy it, then buy it.  Wasn't that the unofficial motto Malfoy and his bunch use to go by?" 

   "As I recall, Julian Malfoy was an exceptional student – the staff often wondered why he hadn't been placed into Ravenclaw.  The Sorting Hat I'm afraid, is rather one for tradition at times –"

Sirius whirled around to stare at the Headmaster incredulously, "Who the f-"  he stopped then started again, "Who is Julian Malfoy and –" Sirius shook his head and glared down at the two frozen bodies, "However you chose to look at this, sir, there's been a security leak.  How else would these two have got your passwords and known to visit your office at this hour? And if they're Slytherins who else would have told them but that greasy –"

Dumbledore sighed tiredly, "Sirius.  Severus' loyalty is without question." 

    "Slytherins have no loyalty! Snape will betray us the moment a better opportunity appears.  It's a fact – a certainty! Slytherins –"

   " – survive, Sirius."  Professor Dumbledore interrupted; in the shocked silence that followed, he continued: "More so than any other House.  And survival is why the children's Order was founded." 

Sirius stared, "Sir.  You – you can't possibly be considering allowing –"

Professor Dumbledore shook his head, "Perhaps your time would be better spent with Harry at the moment, Sirius."  He said solemnly, "However much I value your council, I feel that young Harry would require it far more than I at this moment."

Sirius paled and abruptly transformed; the bear-like dog skidded as it ran out of the office.

    The Headmaster levitated the two Slytherins up and into chairs and leaned back, watching the staring, unseeing eyes.

    On his perch, Fawkes rustled sleepily and poked his head out from under his wing to stare at his owner.

   "Yes, yes – but sleep is the least of our worries, Fawkes."  Dumbledore murmured absently, "Now how does it go? Ah yes –" he waved his wand, "Enervate!"

*

      Dawn had arrived.

      Harry sat on the ledge of one of the windows lining the Astronomy classroom and watched the fires.  The blue flames flickered and wavered in the growing wind that matched the smell of rain – there would be a storm before breakfast.

    The cut had stopped bleeding, and now, he absentmindedly rubbed his arm and waited. 

    Dawn.

    The various constellations (including the new galaxy Finch-Fletchley had accidentally created) were fading beneath the growing light.  Strange how it had taken sunlight (or at least the certain possibility of sunlight) rather than fire to make the enchanted floor dim. 

    What happens now? 

    He had hoped (thought) that finishing the spell would bring – confirmation.  A sign that it was all right to – go on as if nothing had changed.  To forget everything that had happened last year and – And go on. 

    Like everyone else. 

    The floor had caught on fire.  Professor Sinistra was probably going to have (very good) questions about why the tables were burning and he didn't know what to do with the blue flames in the air.  And yet, nothing seemed different.  Nothing felt different.  Nothing at all. 

    (Malfoy tasted -)

    And Malfoy doesn't matter.

      A slight noise made him look up.  Sirius was standing at the doorway of the Astronomy classroom.  Harry remained silent.  What could he say that hadn't been yelled?

    Sirius walked into the classroom and then stopped, taking in the flames dancing in mid-air, between the flagstones on the floor and on the desks (which must have been charmed against actual burning if not catching alight).

   "Is this normal?"  Sirius asked; his voice was hoarse.

   "It didn't happen last time."  Harry said and watched as Sirius' eyes flickered first to his arm then to the bloody splatters on the floor forming an uneven circle.

    "Harry –"  Sirius began, then stopped again as if unsure what to say.

    The anger that had erupted in the Headmaster's Office boiled to the surface again: How can he not understand? How can he not know? He's supposed to understand – who else should? He -

    "Harry –"  Sirius started again before abruptly stopping and walking across the remainder of the classroom to kneel in front of Harry so they were almost eye-to-eye, "Harry please."

    "It's all right."  Harry said quietly, then louder, "It's all right."

    He cares.  That's enough – at least he cares.  Even if he doesn't understand he cares.  That's enough.  That's enough.

    People like Ron could do this – they could have arguments, they could hate half their families and friends and throw temper tantrums and still have enough leftover for a quick game of quidditch.  He had forgotten the difference between people like Ron and him. 

    Sirius was looking at him.

    "I'm sorry I yelled."  And in a way he was sorry – because Sirius hadn't understood but at least he had cared.

   "I'm – that's all right, Harry."  Sirius said finally, "I'm sorry you had to yell."  He said – and the words sounded rehearsed, and somewhere inside, a part of Harry wondered how long it had taken Sirius to reach the Astronomy classroom, "I – don't know how to do this, Harry.  How to be – be James for you –"  but the ones that followed did not sound practised and surely they were the ones that counted.

    Blue flames danced about them; Harry wondered if they would burn for so long as the spell was active.

   "It doesn't matter."  Harry said – then at the sceptical look Sirius threw him: "I mean – I really mean it doesn't matter."

    Sirius shook his head, "It does – but –"  he stopped again, "I guess we just have to muddle on and –"  and with  a  sudden movement, Sirius hugged Harry tightly, "Merlin, Harry – please just stop cutting yourself.  I don't care if its for spells or – or whatever.  Just don't – it's –"  he stopped again pulled away searching Harry's face as if searching for something, "It – just stop." 

    And because it was the only thing he could say – and also because Sirius simply didn't understand, and perhaps never would (he was beginning to wonder if anybody else could understand), Harry said: "I promise."

At the end, despite the flames that cast shadows across his face, Sirius looked relieved.

    "Come on – let's get you to the Infirmary."  He said, and changed abruptly into Snuffles.

*

      Draco was running to nowhere – he had no destination, only away.  It was probably cowardly and certainly lacking in foresight – but he didn't know where to run to.  Nothing was beyond the Dark Lord's reach – least of all those who were destined (Created.) to follow (Serve.) him.  My destiny –

    Running from his destiny was stupid and fearful and not worthy of a Malfoy.  (Father says dragons fear nothing.)

    Malfoys caused fear – and while there was no rule against feeling fear, Draco had always assumed it was not precisely something one admitted to either.  But at the same time, he had never been ashamed of feeling scared.  It was a part of life. 

    It was a part of his life.

      He stopped running eventually – chest heaving, heart racing – and realised he was in the Slytherin dungeons.  It was – strange – to realise he would never walk down these corridors again.  Even if (When.) the Dark Lord won. (Do dragons need to pass their NEWTS?) 

    He wouldn't even need to sit for his OWLs (Do dragons need to study?).

      "Mr Malfoy." 

Four years had taught Draco how to not react when caught by his Head of House.  He turned – conscious of the smooth swirl of robes falling perfectly into place and did not – quite – meet the Professor's eyes.  (Do dragons bow to wizards or only the Dark Lord?)

   "Sir." 

The Professor glared down, greasy locks falling around his angular face, (Do dragons have hair?) "At least you had the sense not to run about the castle indiscriminately for all and sundry to witness, you witless idiot."  He snapped finally and waited till Draco's (carefully) blank expression evidently irritated him enough to add: "Well?" 

   "Sir?"

(Do dragons have to give excuses?)

   "Morde."  Professor Snape muttered, "Have you no sense to at least ask the right questions? No – don't answer."  Professor Snape rubbed at the bridge of his nose, "Draco you absolute idiot –"  he dragged in a breath, looking as if he was fighting for patience, "Your mother – for reasons of her own – wishes to speak with you." Professor Snape said finally (Can dragons speak?), "Narcissa maintains that there is some explanation for your blatant eavesdropping – not least how you foolishly allowed yourself to be caught."

    (Are dragons just animals – pets – mindless – are they -)

    He forced himself to meet Professor Snape's gaze and exhaled – it was cold enough that a puff of white breath - (Smoke.) - appeared and drifted upwards, "Sir."

   "Say 'sir' in that insipid manner once more, Mr Malfoy and I shall assume - contrary to your father's assurances – that exposing you to bludgers at a young age was detrimental to your thought processes!"  Professor Snape snapped and whirled around in a flare of robes – one perfunctory gesture indicating that Draco should follow him.

    (Do dragons think?)

    He followed without question.  (Malfoys do not follow; they lead.)  But Malfoys were not dragons – dragons were animals.  (Pets.)  His father had said that he had a destiny – that the Dark Lord's gift was an honour and he would bring pride to the Malfoy name.     

    Do dragons care what Father thinks?

*

      Blaise didn't hear the voices till he was in the antechamber of the Headmaster's office.

   "These are grave accusations you make, Miss Parkinson."  Came Professor Dumbledore's voice – light and amused as always despite the astonishingly early hour.

    Pansy? Blaise thought and crept closer to the door the voices came from.

   "They aren't accusations, Professor."  Gregory Goyle's voice rumbled.

And Greg? What are they doing here this early in the morning?

   "Indeed."  Professor Dumbledore said, "So – Professor Snape is a Death Eater –" 

   "We have proof.  You can put us under veritaserum!"  Pansy interrupted, "We have the mask –"

   "And where did you find this mask – and I am assuming you refer to the mask Death Eaters are purported to wear – Miss Parkinson?"

   "In his desk, sir."  Pansy said, "While we were in detention two nights ago."

   "His desk."

   "Yes sir."
   "Do you have the mask here – now with you?"

There was a brief silence filled with a rustle – like that of something being removed from a robe pocket.

   "So – you wish to accuse Professor Snape of being a Death Eater – in this time and age when Voldemort –"  Blaise winced, " – has returned."  Professor Dumbledore said, "I am aware that both the Parkinsons and the Goyles are pure-blooded families with proven sympathies in the past to both the Dark Arts and Voldemort's policies." 

   "You want to know why we are here."  Pansy said flatly.

   "Yes – why have you come to me?"  Professor Dumbledore said, "Lemon drop?"

There was a pause, "I'm sorry?"  Pansy asked.

   "Yes please."  Greg rumbled, "I like lemons."  He added.

   "A boy after my own heart."  Professor Dumbledore chuckled, "Now – where were we? Ah yes – tell me, Miss Parkinson.  What was your intent in bringing such – distressing – news to my attention?"

Another pause – one that stretched into silence.

   "We want to be safe."  Greg rumbled finally, "Like the other students.  When the Dark Lord attacks.  We don't want to leave – we want to stay and be safe." 

   "Ah – is what Mr Goyle says correct, Miss Parkinson?"  Professor Dumbledore asked – and his voice was no longer light.

   "Yes sir."  Pansy replied quietly, "We're choosing a side.  Your side."
   "Indeed." 

   "We can prove that Professor Snape's a Death Eater – and we know that he's part of the Dark Lord's Inner Circle."  Pansy added quickly, "Or at least – Father mentioned Professor Snape several times during the summer after he left to attend the – meetings."  Pansy continued, voice growing smaller, "We can find more if we need to – s-sir."  She added, "Greg and I both."
   "And in return you want to –"

   "We want to be safe."  Greg said.

   "What Greg means is – that is – when You-Know-Who attacks, and you send everybody else – the other students I mean – to safe places, we want to be sent too.  We don't want to return home."  Pansy added.

   "And why would you think that such preparations have taken place?"  Professor Dumbledore inquired, "The Ministry has not – as yet – acknowledged Voldemort's resurrection and any action Hogwarts takes for the safety of her students must be authorised by first the Ministry then the Board."

   "We're not stupid – sir."  Pansy replied immediately, "You're the only wizard the Dark Lord feared - fears.  You announced his return without a thought to Minister Fudge or the Board.  You wouldn't let the other students be unprepared or unprotected."  She stopped then said, "I don't care about the other Slytherins.  I want to do something with my life – not just breed baby Death Eaters like Mother.  I want more."
   "And what of you, Mr Goyle?"  the Headmaster asked quietly, "What do you wish?"

   "Not a killer.  Want to play Quidditch."  Greg offered after a pause, "Maybe learn how to make sweets.  Can I have another lemon drop?"

   "Of course." 

   "Sir – Professor Dumbledore -?"  Pansy said hesitantly, "I – what do we have to do?"

There was silence, and Blaise held his breath.  If the Headmaster refused Pansy and Greg than what hope did he have.  Especially as they had something to offer the other side.  I thought all I needed to do was offer to fight for the other side – be the proverbial converted Slytherin.  .  .

    "Well, Miss Parkinson,"  Dumbledore said amicably, "First, I believe Mr Zabini should join us – then perhaps we shall all converse about the fact that, despite rumours stating otherwise, Slytherin and his students still form a vital part of Hogwarts."

   "Sir?"  Pansy said, voice shrill with both worry and confusion.

The door swung open, revealing Blaise – who froze in shock.

   "Severus does that as well."  Professor Dumbledore remarked cheerfully, "Please, Mr Zabini – sit down."  He gestured and a chair hobbled forward, "Lemon drop?"

Blaise took the sweet and held it in his hand – hoping that the headmaster wouldn't actually expect him to eat it (he hated lemons almost as much as Greg evidently loved them).

   "Could I have another sweet?"  Greg rumbled.

   "Of course, of course."  Professor Dumbledore said; a silver dish floated over to Greg – who helped himself to a handful happily.

   "Now – shall we talk?"  at their blank stares, the headmaster elucidated: "Of your future at Hogwarts – and should there be an attack – beyond to safe, or even safer, harbours."

   "Then –"  Pansy said slowly, Blaise glanced over to where the girl was sitting in a chair beside Greg, hands twisting around a silver mask in her lap, " – then we have –"  she pursed her lips, " - sanctuary?"

    "You always did.  All you had to do was ask."  Albus Dumbledore's face was solemn and bereft of any good-natured humour as he responded.

*

      The gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office had refused to budge.  Hermione had even attempted the higher variations of 'alohomara' (the casting of which was not, technically, breaking school rules as they were on the syllabus – for the seventh year Defensive and Offensive Auror Skills class, which had last been held in 1941). 

    She wasn't even sure if she had failed because of Hogwarts' wards or if her pronunciation of aboleo compactum had been more than a little off. 

    "Maybe we should check the Astronomy Tower again?"  Ron asked.

Hermione resisted the urge to hit him, "What, the last two times we checked Harry had just stepped out –"  she gritted her teeth, " – he isn't in the Astronomy Tower, Ron."  She said firmly.

    "I just thought that maybe –"  Ron snapped, then paused, "Wait – the passage to that classroom where we found the Mirror of Erised back in first year is on the way to the Astronomy Tower."  He said urgently, "Maybe – well, Harry's been – so strange lately.  Studying all the time – I mean, it's normal for you, Hermione, but Harry?"

Hermione frowned, "Maybe."  She said hesitantly, "And maybe he's in the Library – I know Madam Pince opens it very early sometimes." 

    Hermione wished it didn't feel as if she was thinking through cotton wool.  I need to get away from Ron and use the time turner.  Just a half-hour jump.  Even if I can't find Harry I'm sure I'll be able to find Professor Dumbledore.  Or Professor Snape – I know he'd be awake at this time of the morning.

   "Hermione – Hermione come on! What's wrong with you?"  Ron demanded, staring down at her worriedly, "You haven't been talking to Professor Kettleburn have you?"  he asked suspiciously.

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Ron, not everything has to do with – oh never mind."  She shook her head, "I'm fine.  I just need to –"  she glanced down the corridor, " - to think –" 

How was she supposed to get away long enough to use the time turner? I can't show it to Ron – he isn't stupid.  He'll ask questions – and I can't answer any of them.  Not yet –

    The clock at the end of the corridor rang the quarter hour. 

    The gargoyle twitched and abruptly moving.  Hermione and Ron both turned as they heard voices and footsteps.

    "You – is he really the only wizard the Dark Lord feared?"  a voice – hesitant though no less recognisable – asked.

   "Got to be – no one else crazy enough."  Another rumbled a response, "Can I have your lemon drop?"

   "Here take mine as well, Greg."  The third voice – definitely female – snapped, "And don't you dare move Blaise Zabini.  I want answers and if I have to hex you and steal some serum from Professor Snape's stores I will." 

   "Zabini, Goyle and Parkinson."  Ron whispered, "What are they all doing up so early?"

Hermione made a face, "The question is if anybody actually sleeps anymore."  She muttered, "Come on – while we can."  She said, grabbing Ron by the hand and pulling him into the small alcove behind the gargoyle.

    There was a sudden silence when the three Slytherins saw the Gryffindors.  They stood there – the five students, and Hermione was suddenly struck by the resemblance this unlikely scene had with a wildlife documentary she had seen on the BBC about the behaviour of prey and predators at a waterhole.  The question to ask in this situation however is: who is the predator and who is the prey?

    The silence stretched and Hermione could practically feel Ron thinking up a nasty comment that would probably end in a nasty hex. 

   "Morning."  Goyle rumbled, and the Slytherins shouldered past.

"Well – that was unexpected."  Ron mumbled; Hermione stared at him, "Goyle can tell time."  He snickered weakly as Hermione sighed.

Good thing we don't have to deal with the Slytherins on top of everything else.  She thought, Forget lessons with Trelawney – nothing could be more frustrating than dealing with all this stupid rivalry in the real world.

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Response to reviews (in alphabetical order):

With thanks to Asitha, Bardic Trainee Rainelle (Mercedes Lackey fan? ~grins~), crawler, dragondie, doompaw, Paula,  zeynel, siobhan,

In particular:

Demeter1: Yes! Achieved originality! It's often hard to write anything original with Harry/Draco - it feels as if everything you can say/write/attempt has been done before and probably better.  ^_^ And yes - some days even I feel like kicking Draco in the butt and telling him to start rebelling already (that is till I remember that 1) it's harder than it sounds when you're on the inside and 2) it's my fault he isn't).

Jade Maxwell: ~grins~ You guessed correctly why Harry can touch Draco.  (Now sits back and watches as everybody hunts down your review to find out what it was)

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Draco in a chastity belt!

Right, now that I have your attention – go, review.  ^_^