Chapter Seventy-Eight of 'A Brother to Basilisks'- A Private Garden

[lomonaaeren]

Chapter Seventy-Seven.

Title: A Brother to Basilisks (78/?)
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 Seventy-Eight-A Private Garden

Red dust was falling before her eyes. It took Elena long moments to pull her mind together enough to remember her own name, and longer than that before she could recognize the dust for what it was.

The remnants of the rubies she’d crushed when she entered the final stages of the potion. Although she didn’t trust her memory, she opened her hands and saw the evidence there: small cuts, where sharp edges had abraded before she brought her palms together and crushed the things scratching them out of existence.

When she was riding the waves of energy she’d summoned to brew the potion, she had no need of magic to powder rubies.

Elena drew herself slowly to her knees, then to her feet when she reached out and clutched a chair standing nearby. She refused to immediately attempt more. For one thing, the red dust would have caused some adverse reaction by now if it was going to, and for another, she knew herself. She would have to husband her time and patience until the scratches in her hands had healed. She couldn’t move that fast.

But on the other hand, she didn’t have to move that fast. The flask of the potion stood shimmering in the middle of its own ritual octagon, traced in glowing white light on the floor and anchored by carved black runestones.

Elena smiled a little as she looked at the runestones. The figures on them would probably look crude and jagged to other people.

They might have to her, too, if she hadn’t known that she’d scratched them with her own nails.

Magic is indeed remarkable, Elena thought, and rested until she was sure she could move forwards. When she did, she used the toe of one boot to nudge the nearest runestone out of true. The white light flared and vanished the minute the pattern was broken.

The light around the flask died, too. Elena stood considering it. If she had brewed the potion correctly, there would be an unmistakable reaction the minute she neared. But she needed to make sure she had the mental fortitude to face that reaction.

Eventually, she either did or the impatience became stronger than the fear. She took a step towards the flask.

Her mind began to spin and tumble. Her eyes locked on the side of the flask and the slow spiral dancing there, as the red liquid inside began to shine like one of the rubies she had crushed to make it. Elena felt her breathing calm. She felt remarkably comfortable, despite her exhaustion and the scratches on her palms. If she stood still a little longer, then she would understand what she could do to become even more comfortable-

Then her will rose up like shears, and snipped the controlling strand of magic. Elena shook her head and staggered a little backwards.

Even knowing what she had known, even being the one who had brewed the potion, she was almost caught. And she doubted that her great-uncle had the will or the urge to resist that she did-particularly when he had thought he could get away with abusing her son and calling her to heel if she ever found out.

Elena smiled and went to rest. Then she would consider the crafting of the letter that would bring her great-uncle to an audience with her. It would need to be as carefully brewed as the potion, considering that he might have begun to have suspicions.

But she would do it. What she set her mind to, she did.

*

A maze. I suppose they have the right to create a maze if they want to.

Dash’s voice was so low that Harry almost thought the words were his own mind. Then he shook his head and said, They do have the right to create a maze if they want to. And why not? What’s so threatening about a maze?

Did I say anything was threatening about it?

You’re thinking with the same tone that you used about Moody-well, what we thought was Moody-and Dumbledore and Sirius sometimes. And Voldemort and Nagini when they came through the-the Horcrux. Harry was still learning to call it by that name, and he still flinched a little when he did. I can tell.

Dash paused. Then he said, I’m more impressed than I can say that you’re learning to distinguish between tones of my mind-voice. That isn’t something I would normally expect you to do except when we’re mind-bonded at the deepest level.

Answer the question.

Dash unwound himself from the chair back and slithered onto Harry’s lap. Harry knew what he wanted, and scratched his plume. He was sitting in the Gryffindor common room, doing some of the homework he’d neglected as they worked on the Horcrux research. Hermione had finally pushed him in the direction of his essays and said they would handle the research on their own, no matter how long it took.

A maze separates you from me. And it means that I can’t see you at all times. Can’t reach you quickly, if something goes wrong.

They wouldn’t let you help me in the Tasks anyway. They would do more than just create a maze to separate us if you tried to slither after me.

Dash turned to look slowly at him, or rather to shine the yellow light of his eyes behind the clear lids in Harry’s direction. They would try.

Dash…

Dash said nothing, but only looped around himself in front of the fire and went to sleep. The firelight seemed to pick out new colors in his deep green scales, colors Harry hadn’t been aware that he had.

Harry stared at him. Then he sighed a little and picked up his quill again.

He knew they would have to have the argument out someday. Dash referred to it more and more now. About how he didn’t love anyone but Harry, how he would always choose Harry over every other human, how even people he approved of like Hermione and Professor Snape were only obstacles if he decided they weren’t helping Harry.

But this was the first time he had referred directly to thinking the Triwizard Tournament was one of those obstacles.

Harry nibbled the tip of his quill. Hermione would have made him stop if she’d seen, but she wasn’t here to see.

I don’t really want to be in this Tournament. I don’t even have the excuse of pleasing Dumbledore or Sirius by entering anymore. I wonder what Dash would do if I told him that I wanted out.

Then Harry stopped his thoughts, and turned in determination back to his Herbology essay. Because, although he might wonder it to himself, that was one question he couldn’t afford to find out the answer to yet.

*

Minerva stumbled out of sleep, swearing to herself because no one was around to hear. That was the one good thing about being Headmistress. Few students came and knocked directly on her door during the night, so she didn’t stand a chance of corrupting their innocent minds by exposing them to her language.

Of course, that benefit was more than outweighed by the fact that any owl tapping on her window during the night when she was Headmistress of Hogwarts was going to be a lot more serious than most owls tapping on her window during the night when she was just Head of Gryffindor.

This owl didn’t deign to land on her desk or even the perch that sat in the corner. Fawkes had gone with Albus, but Minerva had kept his perch to welcome other birds.

This one disdained it with a clatter of black wings. It simply flew over to her and swept past, holding out its leg in silent invitation for her to take it immediately or be scraped by razor claws. Minerva steeled herself and snatched the letter, which luckily only tore in one corner of the parchment before she had it safe in her hand, and the owl had wheeled back out the window.

Opening it, Minerva realized that it wasn’t addressed to her at all. Someone had sent to her a letter they had themselves received.

Frowning, Minerva looked at the official Wizengamot seal and the date and the writing before it made sense to her. The Wizengamot was calling Jordan Damirini to trial-of course for his abuse of Mr. Zabini, although the letter didn’t state that. It was the single small, scrawled line at the bottom that was important.

I must have time alone with my great-uncle before the trial. You will allow us to meet in your school. E. Z.

Minerva closed her eyes in irritation. Mrs. Zabini’s reputation was well-deserved, she had no doubt of that, and her cause was just (this time), but that didn’t lessen Minerva’s feelings at being ordered around by someone when she was supposed to be the Headmistress of this school.

Then she snorted. I suppose I’ve taken over Albus’s place indeed, if I’m being plagued by feelings like this!

She shook off the irritation and wondered for a moment how she was supposed to respond, since Mrs. Zabini’s owl hadn’t stayed. Then she shrugged. The woman had given her the date of the trial. She supposed it didn’t matter what day the meeting happened, or the excuse Minerva gave for inviting Damirini to the school. There were some essentials, and the other things, Mrs. Zabini would allow Minerva to arrange for herself.

“You’re welcome,” Minerva muttered to no one, and folded up the letter and set it aside. She had her mind full of where she could put two adults, strangers to the school, and who would have even less excuse to visit than others now that Mr. Zabini was no longer here. The challenge was intoxicating.

Only later did she wonder why Mrs. Zabini had wanted to hold the meeting here. Why not in her own home? Did she think Damirini would be less suspicious about an invitation to Hogwarts, as unusual as it was?

But Minerva shrugged when the thought occurred to her, and went back to writing the perfect letter. She would probably get no answers from Mrs. Zabini, unless they were a great gift later or sold for a great price, and honestly, she didn’t care enough to pay that much.

Knowing Mr. Zabini would have justice for what had happened to him was more than enough.

*

“Madam Pince said she didn’t know anything about Dumbledore removing books from the library.”

“Well, of course she would say that. Most of the people he didn’t do anything to are still Dumbledore partisans.”

“You can’t just dismiss everyone as a Dumbledore partisan when you don’t agree with them, Draco.”

Harry looked up from his library book, if only because it was the first time Hermione had called Draco that instead of by his last name. From the way he blinked and opened his mouth a little and then didn’t say anything, Draco had been taken by surprise for the same reasons Harry had.

Hermione flushed, but she didn’t directly address it, the way she sometimes tried to gloss over her mistakes in homework-on the rare occasions when she made them. “You can’t,” she repeated. “Especially if you want them to help us. Just repeating on and on that they’re Dumbledore partisans won’t make them think they should help us. Why should they? You’re practically calling them evil.”

“Then you admit that what he did was evil!”

“I never said it wasn’t. But we have to be careful the way we talk about it, or people will think we’re being hysterical or something…”

Aren’t you glad that they’re plaguing each other instead of us? Dash asked, sticking his head out from beneath Harry’s chair and draping his jaw across Harry’s knee. He yawned widely and then nudged the book Harry held. That smells like it was bound in snakeskin.

Harry rolled his eyes. It wasn’t a basilisk.

How do you know what basilisk skin smells like?

I can use your senses and identify it, Harry pointed out. And I should know what one smells like after all these months and months of you sharing my bed. He hesitated. What do you think Snape is going to want to do about the summer?

Protect you. Dash stretched his neck up until he was regarding the book from Harry’s eye height. I wonder how much they tortured the snake before they killed it.

That’s not what I meant. I mean-he said he had a home somewhere, but he didn’t say anything about where it was. Or whether he wants me there. Do you think we’re just going to stay at Hogwarts? Harry wouldn’t really mind that, but he thought the school might be lonely when he was used to it being filled with people.

I think that no matter what he chooses, it would be in the name of keeping you safe. Dash turned towards him and flicked his tongue out in that gentle reassuring gesture he had, the one that tickled the back of Harry’s hand and made him relax. And I’ll do what I can to add to that.

It doesn’t matter to you where we stay, does it?

Maybe I trust your Snape more than you do. I trust him to make sure that you’re going to have a place to go that’s not only safe, but that will make you happy. And I can live anywhere that gives me a supply of mice to hunt and safe walls to have around you when I’m not there.

Harry frowned. I trust Snape.

With some parts of your safety and your heart and your health. Dash sniffed the book bound in snakeskin one more time, and finally seemed to decide that it hadn’t been basilisk skin. He pulled his head back below the level of the table. Not all of it, not yet. But he’s patient, and he’ll wait for you to do that.

You think I already should be.

It’s not my place to tell you to overcome your wounds faster than you’ve been doing, Dash said, and Harry was so stunned to hear him say something about “not my place” that he didn’t object. I would like it if you healed faster, but only because that would be better for you. I’m never going to urge you to do something that you can’t do, Harry.

Harry put a hand on Dash’s head and said nothing. It didn’t escape him that Dash had said he would never tell Harry to do something uncomfortable. Because he would, and he had, and that included abandoning Sirius, abandoning the war, listening to Snape, and going out and talking to his friends when he would have liked to curl up in his bed and pretend the world didn’t exist.

But at least he knew he had someone who would be with him, other than Snape, wherever he had to stay that summer.

*

Elena spent a moment admiring the wall of sheer grey stone in front of her even when she heard someone come into the room behind her. This was the Room of Requirement, which she’d learned of when she was a student. It had been simple to ask the Headmistress for permission to hold a meeting within the grounds of Hogwarts and then not specify where she wanted it.

And to send Damirini another message telling him where she would be, and how to get in.

“What a wonderful place you’ve imagined, Elena.”

Jordan stood as tall as he ever had, without that many wrinkles around his eyes. He must really not know what this was about, Elena thought. Or else he believed he was strong enough to defend himself against her.

Or he thinks that the threat he made to Blaise will hold me back.

Elena smiled and paced slowly towards Jordan. Her feet crushed several small, soft plants along the way, releasing a delicious scent, and she inhaled several more, mostly from the blue flowers that pressed up against the stone wall she’d been studying. “Do you know why I created one so beautiful?”

“Because you wished to make a good impression on me.”

He was speculating, not sure, but he wasn’t afraid. Elena shook her head. “I suppose that you might make a good impression when you fall into the grass,” she said. “I’m not sure about otherwise.”

Jordan laid his hand on his wand. “You know that you cannot threaten me, Elena. Not when the Headmistress knows I’m here. And not when you have-shall we say, the family situation you do?”

He might have meant her numerous husbands or Blaise. Elena found that she no longer cared. She no longer had to care. Not now that she was within the garden and watching the small breezes she had conjured ruffling Jordan’s hair.

She wondered if he had yet noticed that the breezes were blowing from the flowers and only around him, bringing small red flecks to settle into his hair and beard and dot his temples. Probably not. The effects of the potion were only so disorienting if one experienced them with the full flask. Jordan wouldn’t notice them for a little while when it was separated into flecks like this.

“The Headmistress knows you’re here. Perhaps you should have asked yourself why she asked you to meet me. Why I didn’t do it myself. And why we didn’t do it at your-comfortable house in the country.”

It was the place he had abused Blaise. Blaise had confessed as much, but Elena had already decided the truth on her own. Jordan had a house miles away from everyone else, and he had high walls and protective spells that would have given even her pause, if she’d tried to Apparate in.

Elena hadn’t. She had never trusted Blaise with any of his stepfathers for as much as an hour together, but she had trusted Jordan. Because he was blood, and family, and Elena was loyal to family.

Now, Elena knew what she had to be loyal to. Her son, and her revenge, and her own cunning.

“You can’t threaten me, Elena,” Jordan repeated. He sounded weary at this point, as though he had spent hours trying to instruct her and she had turned on him, refusing to repeat the lesson the way he had wanted her to. “For all the reasons I already laid out.”

“Because my son is beyond your reach now,” Elena said, “and because I have taken measures to protect myself, I don’t care about that as a threat.” She paused, and added in wonder, “Did you think I wouldn’t take any steps to protect myself? That I couldn’t handle you as I handled the others who tired me?”

She saw the truth in his startled eyes. No, he had never thought of that, never really feared her. He’d probably only threatened Blaise into keeping silent because it would be most convenient if she didn’t know.

He had thought he was safe. Because he was blood, and older, and had never been blinded by her beauty, the way so many of her husbands were, to what might happen at her hands. But his caution hadn’t been extreme enough. And it couldn’t take the place of effective protection now that he was in this garden of her creation.

“There’s no need for anger, Elena,” Jordan said, and now he was finally watching her with the respect that she deserved. Of course, she knew it was too late, because if he truly respected her, he would never have entered this garden with her. “I daresay the boy told you some things, but he exaggerated them.”

“Why would you think that you had the right to discipline my son at all?”

Elena had no need to add a compulsion charm to her words. The potion had landed and worked its way into his skin, and would be affecting his mind by now. His eyes widened, focused on her, and he spoke the absolute truth.

“Because he’s a wretched boy. He questioned me and interrupted me when I wanted to do other things. And he wouldn’t shut up when I told him to shut up. I only wanted to teach him his place.”

Jordan stopped. Elena stared back, and watched as the red flecks worked themselves deeper and deeper into his hair, and then disappeared. The potion would unite itself with his bloodstream, and be impossible to detect within a few days. And since they would probably have him under Veritaserum at the trial anyway, they would assume any truths he spoke were as the result of that.

“You thought you had the right to abuse my son because he interrupted you,” Elena whispered.

“He’s a wretched boy,” Jordan repeated. “You didn’t raise him right. He thinks that he’s a little adult, as important as we are, and when I twisted his arm to tell him to shut up, he yelled. He wouldn’t be quiet even when I hit him on the jaw. Simply whined and cried like a child, and wouldn’t admit he was a child and should take a child’s place. That’s why I did it.”

Jordan clapped a hand to his mouth a second later. Elena smiled.

Oh, she wanted to kill him. But she didn’t do it because she, unlike Jordan, could control her impulses. Her hands and her wand remained at her sides, and she whispered, “What did you tell him to make him conceal it?”

“That I could get you arrested. The Wizengamot ignored the evidence of your crimes as a favor to me, but if I ever relaxed that protection, then you would go to Azkaban and I would be the one raising him.”

Elena shook her head a little. The threat had been amazing. It worked. In an abstract way, she admired Jordan for coming up with something that could subdue Blaise, and con him into believing that her power would work against him rather than for him.

The hatred was still there, as bright as the red flecks winking out all over Jordan’s body. Jordan leaned forward sand stared at her and demanded, “What did you do to me?”

“My revenge.” Elena wasn’t enough of a fool to tell him it was a potion. He could tell others that, and there were still a few days until her revenge would become undetectable. “It seems that now you have an irresistible desire to tell others the truth about what you did to my Blaise.”

“And what will happen when I tell them the truth about you?” Jordan snarled. He was almost grey around the eyes, but he had the stubbornness that ran in the family. Elena merely had more of it. “Your crimes?”

“Aside from the fact that you could go to Azkaban yourself, if you really did know about a murder and cover it up?” Elena named the crime calmly, and watched his entire face turn grey. “Well, you could try to tell them. I suppose you might.” She turned and walked towards the entrance of the Room of Requirement.

She expected the spell that came at her back. She already had a Shield Charm raised to deflect it. She put her wand back and down and pursued the same path of walking, ignoring the way he snarled at her.

“You can’t expect this to work out for you!”

Elena paused, with a hand on the door she’d conjured, and smiled back at him over her shoulder.

“Funny,” she said. “Because I would have expected you to come to the same conclusion about your abuse of my son.”

And she slipped away, using a Disillusionment Charm to ensure that no one stopped her as she walked out of the school. By the time she reached the Apparition point, her hatred and anger had become purring feline delight.

They wouldn’t die completely until she had exacted her revenge completely. But the transformation did make her smile.

You want to talk about me, Jordan? You can try.

Chapter Seventy-Nine.

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