Chapter Eighty-Six of 'A Brother to Basilisks'- The Spun Story
Chapter Eighty-Five.
Title: A Brother to Basilisks (86/?)
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairings: Eventual Harry/Draco and Ron/Hermione
Warnings: Angst, violence, some gore, AU from Prisoner of Azkaban onwards
Rating: R
Summary: AU of PoA. Harry wakes in the night to a voice calling him from somewhere in the castle-and when he follows it, everything changes. Updated every Friday.
Author’s Notes: This is a canon-divergent AU that starts after Chapter 7 of Prisoner of Azkaban. It will probably run to at least the mid-point of The Half-Blood Prince. It will also be long.
Chapter One.
Thank you again for all the reviews!
Chapter Eighty-Six-The Spun Story
Severus stood a few moments before he entered Hogwarts’s grounds. He wanted to compose himself as well as check Harry over and make sure, for the seventh time, that he bore no wounds.
He wished he could take Harry to a Healer right at the moment, but it would ruin their pretensions to realism, and that was the last thing Severus wanted when they’d worked so hard to come up with this story.
“I’m fine,” Harry whined. He had disheveled hair and a torn shirt, so Severus didn’t think he was. But he also understood the different levels that Harry might be speaking about, so he let him go with a final nod, and summoned up all the strength of will that had kept him sane during the war, and Lily’s death, and the years of self-loathing.
“Ready?” he mouthed.
Harry nodded at once, but Severus had to admit he was mostly keeping an eye on Dash. Only when the basilisk’s head moved did Severus stride through the gates.
Behind him came Harry, stumbling as if dazed, with Weasley and Granger supporting him. Most people knew-if only from the articles that Skeeter had written-that those two were his best friends, so they were the ones who had to publicly support Harry right now. Draco trailed behind, looking more forlorn at his minor part in the action than Severus thought appropriate. Then again, when the people waiting for them heard their tale, he would seem to have other things to be forlorn about.
And behind Draco, floating in a cage made of lightning for bars and a solid sheet of blue light for a floor, came Flamel.
Severus found it particularly appropriate that he had learned that particular imprisonment spell while conducting alchemical research on the Dark Lord’s behalf.
The crowd that had been pouring towards them immediately stopped running and shrieking and stared instead. Severus made sure that he was between the nearest members and Harry, anyway. That was partially for their protection, too. Dash might not be in the most reasonable of moods, right now.
“What happened, Professor Snape? What happened?”
That was Minister Fudge, hurrying up towards them and puffing so hard that his moustaches twitched as if they would fly. Severus inwardly thanked whatever twist of fate had brought him here. He was the best one to start telling their story to; he wouldn’t only believe it, he would lead most of the wizarding world along with him and spread it to as many people as possible.
“I used an ancient protection ritual to track my ward down,” Severus said. He had cast Sonorus before even approaching the gates, and he hoped no one else would notice how convenient that was. For now, they were simply hanging on his every word. “Imagine what I felt on finding that he had been kidnapped not by the Dark Lord, but by Albus Dumbledore.”
There was a surging hiss like a grass fire. Then people started shouting questions, but Fudge was still the closest one to Severus, and thus Severus heard his words.
“What happened?” Fudge whispered, face ashen, and looked over Severus’s shoulder as if he thought Dumbledore would come marching up the path from Hogsmeade to take all their heads off.
“Dumbledore tried to attack Harry and his basilisk at the same time.” Severus made his voice low and level. He couldn’t feign grief well enough, so it was best to sound as if he was suppressing strong emotion-which he was, if not the ones that everyone would be expecting from him. “The basilisk gazed at him. He is dead.”
Fudge leaped back from Dash, and so did half the crowd, even the ones who were behind other people and so would have had his gaze blocked from them. The world swung in the balance for a moment. Severus knew what would happen if someone blurted out the basilisk was dangerous, and managed to start a movement to take Dash away from Harry.
There would be more dead then.
“He saved me. They both saved me.”
Harry said the words in a dazed voice, and moved slowly in front of Severus, with Weasley and Granger still supporting him. Severus tensed, and noticed that Draco was doing much the same thing. They had agreed to this plan, they had helped Harry and Dash refine it, and still neither of them liked Harry being out in front of so many others without their protection.
“What do you mean, Mr. Potter?” Fudge was hovering anxiously, looking around as if trying to see what the reporters wanted him to do.
“Just what I said.” Harry raised his head and blinked dazedly, and for all that Severus didn’t much like his glasses most of the time, he had to admit they were helping to get the job done now. They made him look even younger and more innocent than otherwise, as if he had barely escaped death.
In the most important ways, he did.
“Dumbledore was going to change me,” Harry whispered. He turned to look at Flamel, and trembled a little, and turned away again, so fast that Weasley and Granger scrambled to adjust. He gave the Minister a single appealing glance that Severus was not sure he would have been able to withstand even when he still hated Harry. “He wanted me not to be a Parselmouth or someone with friends in all the Houses or bonded to Dash or capable of making my own decisions. He was going to use an alchemical ritual to change me.”
“Alchemical!” Fudge was the one to draw the correct conclusion, as they had all hoped he would be when they came up with this plan, staring at the cage. “Then this must be Nicholas Flamel!”
Another rush of whispers and hisses from the crowd. Harry closed his eyes and almost swayed forwards. “Yes, sir,” he said.
“But how could they-”
“It was an untested alchemical ritual, sir.” Harry raised his head, and his eyes were wide and desperate, and Merlin, Severus thought, if the boy could ever be persuaded to act like this in any other cause than trying to save people, the wizarding world would be in trouble in a few years. “They didn’t know what it would do! It was just this huge pool of blue fire, and they were going to put me in it, and-” He worried his lip with his teeth. “How could they know what it would do if they never used it before?”
“Indeed,” said Fudge, and did some more staring at Flamel. Some people were shouting now, but they were all in the back of the crowd. The nearer ones were still more interested in listening to what Fudge would say. “Of course we will need to launch our own investigation.”
“Of course,” said Harry, and bowed his head, and started to shiver. It was real, Severus thought as he reached for the clasp of the cloak around his throat, and yet the perfect touch.
Am I even going to be able to tell the difference between reality and pretense in a few years? Perhaps it is a good thing that Harry is so honest.
“Take my cloak, Mr. Potter,” said Fudge at once, and then swept it off his shoulders and around Harry’s. Granger had been raising her wand, doubtless to cast a Warming Charm, but she pulled back her hand and gave Severus a tiny grim smile. No one else seemed to pick up on that, least of all the Minister, who was now kneeling down in front of Harry and staring at him with earnest eyes. “You have nothing to worry about, Mr. Potter. A lot of precedent exists in the form of self-defense, and magical bondmates and familiars of course have the right to defend their masters.”
Severus suspected he was one of only four people there who saw Harry flinch when Fudge described him as Dash’s “master.” He met Harry’s eye and held it. They couldn’t afford an outburst over terminology right now.
Harry nodded at once and focused back on Fudge. “Do they, sir?” he asked in a faint voice, and shivered dramatically, and pulled the cloak even closer. “I wasn’t sure. All I could think about the whole way back here was if Dash was going to get in trouble.” He choked and buried his head against Fudge’s shoulder, shaking a little. Severus could hear some of the murmuring crowd start to sound sympathetic.
He relaxed a bit. That was imperative, for them to gain the crowd’s protection if they were going to pull this off. Too many people who thought Dash was dangerous or who simply disbelieved their story, and they would be charged with murder.
Fudge patted Harry’s shoulders and head, and spoke loud words of inspiration and comfort. By now, there were some reporters crowding up around them, since they’d been there to cover the Champions’ victory. They snapped photographs of Harry and Fudge standing together, and nodded as Fudge spoke about how tragic it was that someone as respected as Professor Dumbledore had become this figure, he must have been losing his wits for years and no one had noticed, really tragic. One of Fudge’s flunkies came up to Severus to get Apparition coordinates from him and send Aurors to retrieve Dumbledore’s body.
Severus relaxed some of his tense stance and nodded to Draco as he caught his eye. This was the best they could hope for, right now.
And he let his gaze pass over Flamel, who was standing with his head hanging inside the cage.
Remember our bargain, old man.
*
Minerva stepped quietly out of the hospital wing. In the end, Minister Fudge had agreed that Harry could remain at Hogwarts instead of going to St. Mungo’s. Harry had looked pathetic and small as he said that he trusted Madam Pomfrey more than any other Healer, and he didn’t want people sneaking in to take looks at him the way they would at St. Mungo’s.
Minerva wondered with part of her thoughts how much of that was an act. If this was a plan, neither Severus nor Harry had yet had time to tell her so.
But it was not the primary concern occupying her mind at the moment.
Minerva paced slowly along the corridor, and paused at the top of the stairs, wondering for a moment which direction she wanted to go. Then she nodded and turned towards the long, winding set of steps that would ultimately bear her to the Astronomy Tower.
She felt the need of cold heights and clear air, at the moment.
The bonfire that someone had lit to let photographers and Aurors see what they were doing blazed beneath her, but although she leaned her arms on the parapet, Minerva turned her gaze to the stars instead. Old knowledge rose in her mind, present from her own Astronomy lessons at Hogwarts, telling her which constellations presaged good fortune and which ones the turn of the seasons. She sighed a second later.
It was the beginning of summer, and her head and heart ached.
Albus was dead.
In reality, she could argue with herself, could tell herself that he had died long before, when his fear had so overpowered him that he thought manipulating most of his staff and students to pose as Moody was a good idea. She could lay out all the horrible things he had done in her mind, see them gleaming there like unsheathed blades. She could think about what Harry had already said, the alchemical pool and the ritual that was meant to sever his bond with Dash, and shudder in unfeigned horror.
But Minerva could also remember the professor who had first shown her the wonders of Transfiguration, by transforming his desk into a white stallion that had galloped around the room and then come to lean its nose on Albus’s shoulder and snort into his hair. She could remember the confident war leader who had inspired the Order of the Phoenix so much during the battles of the first war. She could remember the man who had cheered her up after a particularly hard day of teaching with nothing more than a cup of tea and an odd remark.
On the top of the Astronomy Tower, Minerva bowed her head and let herself weep for a man who was now dead, in all senses of the word.
*
“I would like to know what you think you’ve been involving my son in.”
Draco clenched his hands into fists. When Father had Flooed Professor Snape, the professor had turned around and looked once at him. Draco understood the meaning of that glance without needing the words. He was welcome to listen in, as long as he stood out of sight and didn’t make any noise that would let Lucius know he was there.
“He was present when Dash came bolting out of the maze.” Professor Snape let his hands fall into casual positions on the chair, but Draco understood that they were only casual to someone who wasn’t looking closely. Father would be, of course. For a moment, Draco wondered what the point of the game was when everyone involved knew it was a game, but then he shook that away and went on listening. “I could hardly put him off when he knew Harry was in danger from that.”
“The closeness between my son and Potter bothers me.”
Draco bit the side of his lip, but Professor Snape gave a harsh chuckle. “How can you complain about it when you’ve supported the boy politically and invited him into your home for Christmas, Lucius?”
“I did that because he was your ward, and Draco wanted him there.”
“I do not believe that, Lucius.”
There was a long, tense silence. Draco knew he didn’t understand all the reasons that the silence was tense. He ignored the temptation to think about it right now. He had to remember the words and the nuances, so he could reason it out on his own later.
“The boy is interesting to support politically,” Father finally said, in the tone that always made Draco shiver when he heard Father use it. “But that does not mean that you have the right to endanger my son.”
“You will need to speak to Draco about that. It was his decision.”
“He isn’t legally of age-”
“Lucius.” Professor Snape leaned forwards, and Draco heard the fabric of his chair creak a little under him. “You were not available to consult, and Draco would have held me back if I tried to dismiss him, particularly because I would have had to spare time and energy I did not have to contain him. I cared more about finding Harry than containing Draco.”
Silence. Draco shifted from foot to foot, and wondered what Father was thinking.
If he tried to guess it, then maybe he could. Father was ready to be outraged that Professor Snape had thought more about Harry’s life than Draco’s-but on the other hand, he would have done the same thing if Draco was the one in danger and Harry was the one begging Father to let him go. So Father would recognize the futility of getting angry, even if he’d like to.
At least, Draco hoped that would be the case. He had to admit that he didn’t know how he would react if Father reached a different decision.
Father finally sighed. “Is what you told the papers about Dumbledore and Flamel really true?”
“In essentials,” said Professor Snape, even as Draco relaxed. Father had accepted what the professor said enough not to make a fuss. That was the best thing Draco could hope for right now. “Dumbledore enchanted the Triwizard Cup into a Portkey, and set barriers around it so that no one but Harry could approach it. When it had whisked him to a cave, he took away Harry’s wand and intended to subject him to an alchemical experiment Flamel had set up that was supposed to sever Dash and Harry’s bond and take away Harry’s ability to speak Parseltongue-temporarily, he claimed.” Professor Snape made a harsh sound, and then went on. “Flamel was the one impersonating Dumbledore when Dumbledore impersonated Moody.”
“What was the purpose of such an intricate deception?”
“So that Dumbledore could have more time to assess the threat that he believed Harry posed and test him on an intimate level, I assume.”
Professor Snape glanced aside again, and Draco knew he was supposed to leave the room now. He stayed where he was, not bothering to fold his arms or squint. He wanted to hear this, and there was no way that he was simply going to let Professor Snape dismiss him when he was ready.
The professor’s eyebrows tightened, but he couldn’t order Draco out without betraying is presence to Father. Still, Draco held his breath until Professor Snape turned back to the conversation as Father asked another question.
He knew he would pay for defying Snape’s will later. But right now, the opportunity to be here was too important to pass up.
*
“It’s true that Dumbledore died, Severus?”
Severus resisted the temptation to rub his forehead, where a headache was forming. It was only partially a result of this entire situation. Part of it also came from Draco standing there like someone had applied a Sticking Charm to his feet.
But he also understood why Draco was still there, and could not entirely deprecate the impulses that had made him remain.
“It is,” he said, and watched the expressions on Lucius’s face change. It was no bad microcosm of the changes that Severus knew would be taking place in the wizarding world now. There would be so many people trying to figure out how to assess the death, take advantage of it, or be outraged by it in the best way.
Albus never had that many people who loved him.
It was more like the celebrity-worship accorded Harry than Severus had supposed. There were people fascinated by the details as they had been by the details of Harry’s abuse, many fewer who had any personal feeling or sympathy to invest. Ironically, it would help them now, as Severus no longer thought they would be brought up on charges of murder.
But it pressed oddly on his heart, too.
Severus shook the mood off. It was natural to feel disconcerted that someone with such influence on his life had disappeared so suddenly.
He had no more emotion than that to waste on Dumbledore.
“You do know that the rumors of the basilisk being behind it will spread even faster than news of the death itself?”
Severus held back his own impatience at the way Lucius tended to talk. The rumor of Dumbledore being dead would hardly be separate from its cause in the first place, since he hadn’t been in poor health and most people would be startled to hear of his death. “I know that. And it is no rumor. Dash gazed at him.”
“Why? I mean, why now when he hadn’t before?”
“I have the impression that Dash decided against leaving that particular enemy alive any longer.”
Lucius was silent in what looked like pure surprise. And then he smiled and gave a faint nod. “I see. Will you give my very best regards to Mr. Potter?”
Now Lucius would try even harder to ingratiate himself with Harry, Severus thought. Still, he would hardly be alone in that; the Minister had already started, and Pomfrey had had to place protective spells around the hospital wing to keep out the sheer number of owls that were trying to get in. Not to mention the Dark families already allied with him who thought he was the reincarnation of Slytherin.
“It’ll be the end of term shortly. You can do that yourself,” he said, and he and Lucius exchanged only a few more pleasantries before Severus felt ready to end the conversation. When he’d closed the Floo, he turned to survey Draco.
“Was that worth staying to listen to?”
“Yes,” said Draco. He was quiet, and a little pale, but he looked up at Severus as if he was contemplating some of the mysteries of life. “To know what Father wants, and that he was worried about me. Thank you.” He gave Severus a smile as reserved as some of Lucius’s and slipped out of the room.
Severus rolled his eyes and resisted the temptation to go up to the hospital wing to check on Harry. He’d already been twice.
And Harry was probably asleep by now, and Dash would be with him. Severus could not imagine what danger Harry would be in as long as Dash was present.
*
Harry lay awake in the hospital wing, touching Dash’s back with one hand. Dash was wrapped around him and had last said something about being very glad that his fangs were back in his mouth. Harry thought it had exhausted him, sending them ahead like that when Harry had needed them. It was probably why Harry could barely touch the bond right now; Dash had gone deep into slumber to recover.
So far, everything seemed to be working out. Harry didn’t think Minister Fudge really believed them, but he’d accepted their story, so that was good. And Flamel had agreed to confess all the secrets of the alchemical pool, because it would save his life.
“They won’t want to give the Dementor’s Kiss to someone who can tell the Unspeakables things they never knew about alchemy.”
Harry shivered and wished he could cast a Warming Charm. But even though they’d recovered his wand from Dumbledore’s-body, Madam Pomfrey didn’t want him casting any magic right now. She said he was as exhausted as Dash and had to rest until his body recovered.
If I’m so exhausted, then why is it so bloody hard to fall asleep? Harry thought, and rolled over a little, as much as he could with Dash’s body mostly pinning him down, and kicked at the covers.
That made him feel a little better, although it didn’t make him feel any more sleepy. Harry decided to try something that had worked a few times at the Dursleys’ house. He made a commitment to not moving. No matter how much something itched or felt cramped, he lay there and imagined his legs and arms just refusing to move.
Of course, then his hair and the back of his neck and his cheek and his nose all itched fiercely. But Harry lay as still as he could, and the itches did ease.
It was even working better than normal, with his limbs feeling so heavy that Harry was no longer sure he could move them if he wanted to. He yawned and nestled against Dash, watching the room with sleepy eyes. If he blinked or looked around, it was like there was a swirling dark grey vortex in front of him.
No, there was a swirling dark grey vortex in front of him.
Harry gasped and tried to call out, but his voice had gone, too. And when he reached out instinctively for Dash, there was no answer. Exhaustion too deep, the bond buried far enough that Harry couldn’t touch it…
He fell down a tunnel. He fell asleep, and opened his eyes to find himself in a flickering, dark red mist.
And a voice he knew well said, in Parseltongue, “Welcome, Harry Potter, to my resurrection.”
Chapter Eighty-Seven.
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