[From Samhain to the Solstice]: Serpentine Summer, Harry/Blaise, R, sequel to Vellum Voices, 2/4
Part One.
Title: Serpentine Summer
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Established Harry/Blaise
Content Notes: Underage, AU summer after Order of the Phoenix, brief violence, present tense
Rating: R
Wordcount: This part 3900
Summary: It’s summer, and Harry is with Blaise and his mother in Florence, discovering many things-among them, duplicity and what it’s like to be in love.
Author’s Notes: This is one of my “From Samhain to the Solstice” fics, and also the sequel to my Harry/Blaise fic, "Vellum Voices,” that I posted in July, as requested by many people. Make sure that you read “Vellum Voices” first to understand the series.
Thank you for all the reviews!
Part Two
“And you found out why he seemed so ready to yield his life?”
Blaise tightens his hand on the edge of the table. He expected the question from Mother, honestly. He wasn’t the only one who noticed the way Harry recovered from shock so easily and even from the suggestion that he might have to die to remove the Horcrux.
“Yes,” he says, and looks up. Mother sits across from him, her own teacup balanced on the edge of her hand and her gaze calm. That helps to relax Blaise, too. “He never expected to make it to adulthood. He thought one of the threats along the way would destroy him.”
“And therefore the Horcrux only seemed like another threat. How many times has he nearly died, Blaise?”
“Counting the time when he was a baby, at least five.”
Mother stands up and walks out to stare out the French doors into the garden. Blaise watches her. He loves her, but theirs is a complex relationship, because her magic and her wisdom together mean that she protects him constantly and Blaise can’t give any of that protection back. But then he found Harry, and he found someone who needed that kind of love from him. It’s wonderful, even if Blaise longs for the day that Harry can speak English again and he won’t need to protect him as much.
“Why did you choose someone in so much danger, Blaise?” Mother asks without turning around.
Blaise has been prepared for this question. “Because his ability to speak being removed made me see the real Harry Potter.”
Mother glances at him over her shoulder. “Few people would say that. Most people would assume that the soul of a person is expressed through their words.”
“Yes, but in Hogwarts, some of those words are ‘Gryffindor’ and ‘Slytherin’ with all the baggage attached. Mother…he was so alone. His friends stood by him, of course, but they couldn’t communicate with him except in writing, either. Almost everyone else withdrew from him, either because of the Parseltongue or because they believed those lies about Voldemort not being back. And even I hesitated for a long time, because I couldn’t believe that no one else saw what I saw. I kept thinking that someone else would move in and claim him.”
“Like a possession, Blaise?”
Blaise smiles a little. Mother will fence with him and demand that he test and prove his love. It’s not only because she wants to make sure that Harry is his permanent choice, and a worthy one. It’s also because she doesn’t want Blaise to make some of her own mistakes.
“An ally, I thought at the time. A source of strength. Do you have any idea how strong he is, Mother?”
“I am beginning to understand, since my journey into his mind yesterday. He bears the pain of malicious Legilimency without crying out.” For a moment, Mother’s fingers twitch. “The man who taught him before this had no care at all.”
Blaise nods. He has other scores to settle, but the one with Snape isn’t the smallest one. “Harry lasted through not being able to speak to anyone, through almost everyone being afraid of him, through those Legilimency lessons-even though I didn’t know about them-and through being tortured by Professor Umbridge. I wanted to be close to that strength, Mother. Just an ally, I thought at first.”
“And then-”
“When I saw how much greater his strength was than I thought, and that he wasn’t going to push me away-he needs my protection right now, but he won’t always.”
“Yes,” Mother says after a moment. “I can see now why you became enamored of him.”
Blaise isn’t offended. Mother will probably refer to it as being enamored until he or Harry makes some grand gesture to prove their love. And Blaise can live with that. He would much rather Mother look out for him and be overprotective than not protective at all.
He would much rather have extra confirmation that Harry is his. Harry’s said it, Blaise has felt it, but he’s greedy. He wants even more.
*
“This first session is going to be painful. I will pull the Horcrux closer to the surface of your mind for examination.”
Harry nods and stares at the table that he and Mrs. Zabini are sitting at in the garden. Blaise clutches his hand from the left. Harry manages to smile at him, but God, it’s an effort. He’s almost got used to not being in pain, other than the constant annoyance that he can’t speak English. He doesn’t want to go back to it.
“I have potions that will soothe the pain,” Mrs. Zabini continues, and gestures at a row of vials sitting next to her. “You need not fear.”
At least that’s more than he would ever get from the Dursleys or Snape. Harry meets Mrs. Zabini’s eyes and holds as still as he can while she slips into his mind and glides through it.
He gasps when she pulls back. For a moment, he wonders if she hasn’t found what she’s looking for. There’s a faint red mist hovering between them, but none of the pain that she told him-
Then agony slams him into the table. Harry grits his teeth and doesn’t voice it. He’s stronger than that. And he clutches Blaise’s hand, but concentrates on not breaking it. That gives him something to think about other than the driving anguish that’s making his ears pop and the bones in his hands shiver.
Someone says something. The words seem to float outside his awareness and drift into the air. Harry tries to lift his head. There’s no way. There’s no warmth. Why is he on cold stone? Why does he seem to have skin instead of scales? He should be away from here, he should be at the side of the one who made him-
“Harry!”
Okay, that he understood. Harry opens his mouth to gasp, and someone pours a potion into it. Harry gulps it greedily, and then leans to the side. Blaise’s shoulder is there to support his head, and his arm there to hold Harry upright. Harry shudders and tries to ignore the memory of what it was like to be a snake loyal to Voldemort.
“You’re all right,” Blaise says, in what’s almost a demand, and he traces the line of Harry’s scar for a second.
Harry nods. “I’m all right,” he hisses in Parseltongue before he remembers. But he writes it down on the parchment they have waiting for him.
“That was an unexpected result.” Mrs. Zabini watches him with a faint frown, reaching up to adjust her head scarf. It’s moved a little, and she has lines of sweat on her face, but that’s the only sign Harry can see that she had trouble when she went to help him. “Hmmm. I am very much afraid that this will take longer than I thought, Harry.”
Harry swallows. He thinks he knows what that means, but he’s not going to say it. He can’t, anyway.
He reckoned without Blaise, who’s more perceptive than Harry gave him credit for. He catches Harry’s hand in his and leans over. “What is it?” he asks, quietly, intently. “I want to know what you would have said if you could speak English, Harry.”
Harry shakes his head. Across the table, Mrs. Zabini is watching him with concern, but Harry is familiar with concern. It’s the thing that Professor McGonagall showed him before telling him that she couldn’t stop people from bullying him because he spoke Parseltongue all the time. It’s the kind of concern that his primary school teachers showed him before they said that they couldn’t do anything about the Dursleys. Nothing, he writes brightly.
“Harry.”
What isn’t familiar is the way Blaise leans against him, his hand around Harry’s wrist, his eyes steady and holding their own brand of concern. Shutting his eyes and breathing a little won’t make this go away. And the more Harry swallows, the closer he just comes to fucking tears.
“Harry?”
And now Mrs. Zabini is in on the act, and it really sounds as though this might be a different kind of concern than he’s familiar with. Harry swallows hope and writes, I know that you’re going to say you can’t do it. That it would take too long and you want to do other things. So-that’s all right. You’ve already given me more than anyone else has.
Blaise twists his head to read the writing, since Harry turned it around to face Mrs. Zabini right after he wrote it, and then faces Harry. His expression has gone blank and cool. “Is that what you think?”
“After the way that he has been treated all his life? Is it a marvel that he should think it, Blaise?” Mrs. Zabini sighs a little, and reaches up to cast a Cooling Charm on her face that dries the sweat. “In a way, it might even be comforting to return to what he knows.”
“Well, he’s not going to.”
Harry stares at Blaise, because that dark weight in his voice isn’t familiar, either. Then he stares at his hands.
“Do you want us to go away and leave you alone?” Blaise continues, insistent. His fingers are wrapping Harry’s wrist, completely surrounding the bone. Harry can barely see it when he looks at Blaise’s hand. “Is that what you want?”
Harry shakes his head.
“Then don’t expect it,” Blaise says. “My mother’s right that it’ll probably take a long time to unhook the curse from the Horcrux and get you speaking English again. But that doesn’t mean we’re going to give up.”
Blaise says the last few words like it’s a curse. Harry breathes out slowly. Then he writes, I’m sorry.
Mrs. Zabini replies this time. “You’re sorry for doubting us?”
Harry nods.
“But you still don’t fully trust us? You won’t believe that we’ll stay with you until it happens.”
Harry grimaces. He can get away with lying to people most of the time, or just keeping silence. That’s been easier than ever, this past year. Why can’t he do it now? It’s like only being able to speak Parseltongue makes him easier to understand for Blaise and his mother, which makes absolutely zero sense.
“I know that only proof will make the difference,” Mrs. Zabini says calmly. “So. We’ll keep on. And we’ll investigate exactly how deeply the Horcrux is intertwined with your soul. I think that’s the problem. I don’t know of any other cases of living Horcruxes right now, and of course with ordinary ones it doesn’t matter how long the shard of soul has been in there, because there’s no other soul to interact with. But we are going to solve this.”
“I’ve never known my mother to lie, even by accident,” Blaise said. “What she promises, she keeps. We’re going to solve this, Harry.”
And Harry lets himself believe enough to hold onto Blaise’s hand.
*
When they aren’t working on the Horcrux, they’re exploring Florence.
Harry appreciates that Blaise and his mother don’t take him to the big wizarding section, where there are people who might recognize him no matter how unexpected it would be to see Harry Potter in Italy. Instead, they explore sections of Muggle shops, including a place where Harry tastes gelato for the first time in his life, and they sit on benches and watch flights of doves cross the sky. Harry listens to the Italian around him, and even though he doesn’t understand much, he’s already more relaxed than he would be in Britain.
Maybe it’s just because he knows that he couldn’t join in the speaking here anyway, whereas at home he always felt shut out from others speaking English, but Harry doesn’t mind. He’ll take it.
There is one small wizarding community an Apparition away from Florence-Mrs. Zabini says it’s near Venice-that they do go to, because Mrs. Zabini is flatly insistent about Harry needing new robes. Harry is overwhelmed when they step into the first shop and he sees an explosion of colors. He actually thinks for a second that they’re in a flower shop instead.
“I don’t need this much!” he hisses at Blaise, forgetting again, but Blaise only laughs without needing to know the exact words and grabs his hands to drag him further back towards shelves with more robes folded on them, between rows of hanging ones. Harry touches a silken one and snatches his hand back. It really is like touching the petals of a giant orchid.
“You have the right to touch whatever you want,” Mrs. Zabini says, coming up behind him. “This is your heritage.”
Harry says nothing, because of course he can’t, but he’s thinking that his kind of heritage probably never included robes like this. His father’s robes in the photographs he’s seen are nice enough, but nothing like this.
Blaise studies him for a second, then glances at his mother and asks, “Do you not want to spend the money, Harry, or are you just not used to this?”
Harry nods twice. “Both, then,” Blaise says. “Listen, Harry. My mother is paying for everything today, the same way that she Apparated us here. In normal wizarding households, parents take care of you until you reach the age of seventeen. I understand why your parents couldn’t.” His voice softens, and he turns Harry around. “Do you really want to have a fight about this?”
Harry shakes his head, staring at his feet.
“Do you really not want the robes? Do you not like them?”
“No,” Harry hisses. He thought they would probably walk into a shop full of robes like the stupid dress ones that he had to wear to the Yule Ball, but these robes have a lot more colors and cuts and styles, and they look cooler and lighter, too.
Blaise has learned to recognize that particular Parseltongue word. “Then let my mother pay for them.”
Harry looks miserably at Mrs. Zabini. She only smiles at him and winds her headscarf a little tighter around her hair.
“It would be my pleasure, Harry. I’ve only had one child to spoil for so many years, and Blaise is hard to spoil. Let me buy your robes.”
Harry slowly nods. In a way, it feels good, like someone is finally willing to look out for him, and he actually wants to let Mrs. Zabini do that.
But it also feels as though a rat like Wormtail is running up and down his shoulders. He ponders that while Mrs. Zabini and Blaise pick out a bunch of different robes, almost all of them blue and green, and press them into his arms. The room to change in is a huge, softly lit one with hovering clouds of mist instead of partitions, but no one can look through the mist and see Harry. There are also huge mirrors along one wall.
It’s because he is still used to the Dursleys, Harry decides after a few minutes of struggling into one of the blue robes and then staring doubtfully at himself in the mirror. He honestly doesn’t know whether he looks good or not.
Harry doesn’t want to think that everything bad in his life goes back to the Dursleys, but that is kind of the way it is. After hearing so much during his childhood about being a burden on his relatives, Harry was immensely relieved to discover he had gold in the wizarding world. He would pay his own way. He had enough to buy sweets when he wanted and all the things he needed for school. If something was so expensive that he couldn’t buy it himself, then he just didn’t buy it.
Knowing that he has rich people who actually want to buy gifts for him is…
Not something he’s had before.
Harry gives one final tug on the sleeve of the blue robes and steps out. He really likes the color, the dark shimmering blue of the Mediterranean that he and Blaise have visited a few times now, but he isn’t sure about how good it looks on him.
“Look at that, Blaise!”
Harry actually jumps when Mrs. Zabini stands up and says that. Her eyes are just so full of approval that it’s stunning. Harry finds himself almost freezing in place as Mrs. Zabini comes over to nod and inspect him and touch the material of the sleeve and exclaim.
He looks at Blaise.
Blaise is smiling, like his mother, but there’s an edge to his smile that isn’t there with hers. He comes over when Mrs. Zabini declares that they will definitely be taking the robes and bends down to whisper in Harry’s ear, “I’m picturing tugging those robes right off you.”
Harry starts and blushes, Blaise smiles more broadly, and Mrs. Zabini says, “Ah, Harry. One smile from my son is worth all the robes I could purchase for you.”
Harry relaxes. He does believe them, the way that he never really believed the Dursleys when he was younger than they used to promise him gifts as long as he “behaved.” He does pull out his piece of parchment to write down, “Even if I wanted you to buy the whole shop?”
“Let’s say, all the robes that would look equally good on you.”
*
“We are making progress.”
Harry nods to Mrs. Zabini and then winces as his headache picks up. It feels as though something with claws is trying to climb out of his skull right around his eyesockets. He picks up his cooled mango juice and takes a long sip.
“The Horcrux is coming loose.” Mrs. Zabini no longer sweats as much as she did the first few Legilimency sessions, but Harry still sees her cast a Cooling Charm on herself as she shifts back into her seat. Then she reaches for her own mango juice and drains most of the glass. “You don’t feel any results beyond the headaches and pain during the sessions, do you?”
Harry shakes his head.
“Such a liar,” Blaise says. He lounges on a stone bench behind Harry, his usual seat now, and leans over to tap Harry on the knee. “I know that you have headaches outside the sessions. I see the way you rub that scar when we’re playing Exploding Snap.”
Harry’s words of protest die on his tongue. It’s not like he could speak them in an understandable way, anyway.
“Is that true, Harry?” Mrs. Zabini looks terribly sad.
Harry stares at the far wall of the gardens, where grape vines wrap around a small stone arch, and hisses, “I don’t want you to worry about me.” Then he ends up writing it down, because Blaise isn’t as tolerant of Hermione-who would put up with utterances she couldn’t understand if she felt she could read Harry’s face-and showing it to them.
“We worry far more when you don’t tell us the truth,” Blaise says quietly. He squeezes Harry’s shoulder and reaches up to touch his cheek, once, as lightly as the sleeves of Harry’s new robes rest on his arms. “It makes us think that you’re concealing something catastrophic.”
“He’s right, Harry.” Mrs. Zabini leans forwards, and there’s no weariness in her eyes now; they’re blazing. “Please don’t ever think you need to flinch and hide from us. Please remember that, next to my son, you are the most important person in the world to me.”
Harry freezes. He was not ready to hear that. He actually jumps to his feet. That was the way he processed some of the horrible news he got at Hogwarts: he would run away and be alone.
But Blaise’s arm falls across his shoulder, and he turns Harry around to stare into his eyes, and Harry shivers and ends up accepting Blaise’s embrace helplessly. Parseltongue kept people away at school, but when it doesn’t, Harry finds that he’s actually a lot more vulnerable. He can’t use words to dazzle them and make them think nothing’s wrong.
“Please don’t try to hide from me,” Blaise murmurs into his ear.
And, well, what can Harry do with that declaration but accept it and treasure it?
Part Three.
This entry was originally posted at https://lomonaaeren.dreamwidth.org/1018608.html. Comment wherever you like.