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A Brother to Basilisks	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 85173 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 15
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

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Chapter Five—First Potions Class
            “You realize that everyone is staring at you?”
            Harry shrugged and settled into his seat in Potions, then sat up and readjusted again. Dash was complaining that Harry had sat on his tail.
            Well, don’t put your tail on my arse, and it’ll be even, Harry told him, which made Dash hiss and tuck his head under Harry’s robe collar. Harry had already noticed that he did that when he was sulky.
            I am not sulky. Not ever sulky.
            Only someone sulky talks like that, Harry retorted, and Dash clamped his jaws shut and laid his head along the back of Harry’s neck. Harry sighed and stroked Dash’s throat. He was still getting used to having a snake, and someone who could talk back to him and seemed to want to protect him at that.
            Do you have such a lack of people who want to protect you? Dash let his head dangle down the opposite side of Harry’s neck while Harry got his cauldron and books out. Harry paused to move him a little yet again. The scrape of scales against his earlobe was a tickling distraction.
            I don’t think that’s it, said Harry. He could think of Dumbledore and the Weasleys and Hermione and McGonagall off the top of his head.
            But you don’t think about your Muggles when you do that. Dash flexed a little, eagerly, around Harry’s ears and the crown of his head. I shall have to think about this some more and see what I can do.
            Any dread that Harry had about Dash’s suggestion vanished when Snape swept into the room and up to the front. Then Harry had to worry about the dread he always had when Snape was around. Granted, Snape had been decent about Dash last night, but Harry thought that was because it was a snake and he was surprised. He was upset again about fifteen minutes later, after all.
            “One would think that no one had ever seen a snake before.” Snape made the remark to the air above his students’ heads.
            Immediately, some people snapped around so that they were facing forwards. Harry bit his lip desperately, and managed to hold onto his laughter. Laughing would get him in detention. Only Malfoy could get away with that in Potions, and according to Snape, that was because Malfoy was a Potions genius.

            But he was secretly a little grateful that Snape was helping him, or at least making people stop staring at him. Dash was worth any amount of stares, but Harry thought it would get to him in a while, the way it had last year.
            They seem to distrust snakes and Parseltongue and all sorts of things that are reptilian. Why is that?
            Harry sent back a strong image of Voldemort as he had seen him on the back of Quirrell’s head, but he didn’t dare have a silent conversation with Dash, because Snape was glaring straight at him. “And you, Mr. Potter, should not allow the snake to distract you from your brewing, or cause any mishaps with ingredients.”
            It was a mild reprimand, at least when compared to some of the ones Snape tended to give him. Harry just nodded and said, “Yes, sir.”
            Snape raised his eyebrows and turned, waving his wand so fast that the words seemed to spring out of it and cover the board. Harry used his left hand to brush Dash’s tail out of the way and began to write them down.
            “The instructions will vanish in ten minutes,” Snape said smoothly, and Harry thought he saw a smile on his face as the banging of cauldrons turned into the frantic scribbling of quotes.
            Harry began to write faster, and ignored the way that he could feel Ron shaking with suppressed indignation next to him. They could work together, the way they usually did, and as long as one of them had a good copy of the notes, then they could brew the potion.
Or you could ask me, Dash offered. I could remember the notes, and then you could reach out and touch my memories the way I’m touching yours, and you would see the notes right in front of your eyes.
Harry had been about to ask how Dash could read any English writing—he’d thought Dash could only understand English because Harry did, and that meant he wouldn’t be able to read something Harry wasn’t reading with him—but now he paused. That was actually a good idea.
But Snape’s eyes were on him, and Harry went back to writing, telling Dash, I’ll still need to write it down or else he’ll think you’re distracting me. But I’ll let you know if I can’t read something I’m writing and you can show me the notes.
Dash gave a soft, pleased hiss, and several of the Gryffindor girls who weren’t Hermione flinched. Hermione’s shoulders tightened. Harry could almost hear her saying, “Honestly,” but of course she wasn’t about to speak up in the middle of Potions class.
But there was silence only until the mad scribbling of notes had finished—Harry thought Snape looked mildly disappointed that most of his students finished writing the whole recipe down—and then people started to get up and fetch the ingredients. Harry stood up, and Lavender Brown moved so she was blocking his way out of the aisle. Harry folded his arms and made sure his look was unimpressed.
“Harry, you have to think about this,” Lavender whispered, and it sounded as if she were pleading. “You haven’t thought about it, or you never would have brought a snake to class. Snakes are dangerous. And they’re the symbol of Slytherin, and that means a Gryffindor shouldn’t have one—”
“Miss Brown. I expected to see that you had begun the potion already. You’ve wasted five minutes wringing your wrist instead of writing it down already.”
Harry didn’t think his mouth fell open when Snape loomed behind Lavender and told her that, but only because Dash’s head was tucked nicely beneath his jaw and it couldn’t move. What the hell was going on? Was Snape defending him?
You seem horrified that he would, said Dash in the back of his head, darting out his tongue so that it scraped Harry’s neck this time. Harry didn’t jump, but only because Snape was there, and Snape had already told him off for letting Dash distract him. You could use more people to help and defend you.
Yeah, but only if they actually mean it, not if they’re just doing it to beat up on someone else and then turn around and hurt me again later, Harry thought bitterly, remembering some of his primary school teachers. They had defended him against Dudley, but that was only because they didn’t like Dudley. A few days later they’d forgotten all about him.
I must find out where your Muggles live.
Lavender had scurried away by now, and Snape turned sharp eyes on Harry and shook his head. “You are to go to the storage cupboard, Mr. Potter, not stand here acting as though you have never seen a cauldron before,” he said, and Harry bowed his head and scurried away, wringing his own wrist as if it hurt, too. It was better than doing something that would give away what he was really considering.
Which was that Snape wasn’t all that bad, sometimes, but Harry still couldn’t afford to trust him because it was “sometimes.”
*
            Draco sighed and shook his head, stepping back from his table as Vince came up with the wrong ingredients. “We aren’t using Amanita mushroom caps today,” he explained, as kindly as he could. “Didn’t you see where it said that in the instructions?”
            Vince shook his head and put the handful of ingredients down on the table, pushing on them with his palm so that most of them turned into green mush. Draco knew that Professor Snape wouldn’t say anything, because Vince was a Slytherin and Professor Snape stuck by his Slytherins, but he grimaced a little himself at seeing the waste of valuable plants.
            “Then I’ll go get it myself,” said Draco, and was proud of his wisdom. Potter hadn’t come back with his own armful of necessary ingredients yet. This was the perfect chance to slip up on him and observe him with the basilisk, and maybe talk a little to Potter in a way that would get him his own basilisk eventually.
Vince nodded, but said nothing. Draco sighed. Sometimes he did envy people in other Houses who could have conversations with the people closest to them. But Vince and Greg had other virtues that made up for the lack of talking.
He stepped into the supply cupboard and saw Potter just plucking the last jar of diamond dust from the shelf. He immediately stared at Draco, rolled his eyes, and then started to walk around him towards the door.
“Potter, wait,” said Draco. He tried to keep his voice calm and smooth, the voice his father used when he was going to tell Draco that he couldn’t have something special he wanted. He thought he did a good job, but Potter still glanced back at him over his shoulder with an expression of disbelief.
“For what?” Potter asked. “You’re going to insult me over something, and I don’t see why I should stick around for that.”
The basilisk hissed. Draco hoped he didn’t look too envious. The basilisk was mostly draped over Potter’s shoulders, but there was a ripple under Potter’s robes that showed he ran further down, too. And Potter just stood there wearing him so casually, and comfortably, like he really didn’t have anything to worry about.
Draco wanted that ease. He wanted a basilisk. He wanted to be a Parselmouth, to prove that he was the best Slytherin, and those older students could stop giving him those condescending looks, and others could stop muttering about how Draco didn’t have any of the glories of the old Black blood.
He wanted so strongly that it gave him the ability to not insult Potter. He just shook his head and asked, “Do you think we could—we could be a little different?” He’d already asked Potter for friendship once. He wouldn’t do it now. This was just a first step, and his father would say that you couldn’t sacrifice all your pride for something small.
Potter blinked at Draco for a second, and then he snorted. Snorted. Draco could feel himself turning pink, and he bit his tongue so he wouldn’t say something like, “I’ll tell my father!” Potter would expect him to say that. Draco had to do the unexpected.
“This is the part where you tell me that I was wrong to choose Gryffindor and Ron and Hermione and all the rest of it?” Potter shook his head like it was a new fashion. “No. I love Dash and I’m glad I have him, but it’s not going to make my friends reject me just because I have a basilisk. And I’m not a different person because I have him.” The basilisk hissed again, and Potter reached up with an elbow and absently scratched the coil that flowed out of the top of his shirt. “So you’re not right, Malfoy. There’s no reason for me to say you were right.”
“I wasn’t going to say that!” Draco snapped, flustered. This was going all wrong. “I was going to say that you—that you don’t choose your House, and I—I maybe was wrong to say that all worthwhile wizards end up in Slytherin.”
There. That was a concession, and even someone like Potter ought to be able to see it and admire Draco for making it.
But for some reason, Potter was grinning at Draco again. “You can’t choose your House, but I chose mine,” he said. “Maybe I should thank you for it. Without you, the Hat would have put me in Slytherin. But I knew you were there, and I didn’t want to go into the same house as a slimy git. So I told it to put me somewhere else. I chose Gryffindor.” He bent towards Draco and whispered with a wink, “So you’re still wrong, Malfoy.”
Draco stared at him. He wanted to open his mouth and say something else, but his jaw felt as though someone had pasted it shut. Potter shrugged at him and started to walk away again.
“You didn’t tell the Hat that,” Draco said, suddenly angry. It was another lie, he thought, a lie that Potter was making up to make himself look special! It had to be! Why was Potter doing it? He must hate Draco a lot more than Draco had thought. “You didn’t tell the Hat anything like that. You’re in Gryffindor because your parents were.”
“Keep telling yourself that.” The basilisk flicked his tongue at Draco, and Draco thought maybe even he was laughing at him.
“You weren’t supposed to be in Slytherin!” Draco took a long step forwards, and the day before, he would have grabbed Potter’s shoulder and turned him around. But the basilisk was watching him, in a way that made Draco suddenly wary of the yellow glow beneath those clear eyelids. It would be so easy for the basilisk to open those eyelids…
“You don’t have to believe me, Malfoy. You can go on acting the same stupid way you always did.” Potter stopped and turned neatly on one heel to look back at him. “But I’ll know the truth.”
Draco started to say something. He didn’t think it would really matter what it was. One way or another, he had to say something that would get him out of this situation and prove that Potter was wrong.
“Potter. Malfoy.”
Professor Snape’s voice came from the entrance to the supply cupboard, and Draco jumped and turned to gather ingredients. But Professor Snape’s voice flicked again, and he said, “You will stop.”
Draco turned slowly around, his hands in the air. It was an automatic reaction to hearing Professor Snape speak that way. Potter had his hand on the basilisk’s head and was staring hard at those closed eyes. Draco swallowed. He wondered if the snake had been about to stare at him. But Potter didn’t look at him, and the basilisk put his head down on the other side of Potter’s neck a moment later, so it was hard to tell.
“Yes, Professor?” said Potter, and Draco wasn’t the only one, he was certain, who could hear a question in the back of that tone.
Draco looked at his Head of House. Snape’s eyes were locked on Potter, and there was an expression on his face that Draco had never seen before and couldn’t identify. A second later, Professor Snape looked at him, and Draco lowered his gaze and swallowed. He was feeling extremely uncomfortable.
“You should have gathered up the ingredients and returned to the classroom several minutes ago,” said Professor Snape at last, and his voice was that dreadful whip-flick again. “Mr. Malfoy, you will do so. And you will stay away from Potter.”
Draco blinked, but said nothing as he snatched up the appropriate vials and twigs and mosses. He knew that Professor Snape would refuse to answer him, and that was Professor Snape’s right.
But it was still hard, to walk out of there and wonder if he had blown his best chance to have a basilisk of his own.
*
“Was your snake going to stare at Mr. Malfoy? Tell me the truth.”
Severus spoke the words because he had to, but his real project at the moment was his intense study of Potter. Potter stood there with his hand on the basilisk’s neck, and his gaze appeared to be fixed on his own robe hem. He looked up when Severus completed the question, though, and shook his head.
“I won’t let him look at anyone,” he said. “I was just irritated, and Dash was moving up to the side of my head because he was irritated, too.”
Severus grimaced. It was hard to tell how much of that was the truth. On the one hand, he knew that Potter lied to him on a regular basis, and that he disliked Draco.
On the other hand, it was also true that Draco sometimes antagonized Potter, and Severus had no proof that the basilisk would have looked at Draco. The mirrors that Dumbledore had enchanted were still hovering quietly in the air, for one thing, and Severus trusted Dumbledore’s spells enough to know that they would be more agitated, at least vibrating, if Draco had been in serious danger.
“There is something you should know, Potter,” said Severus.
“Yes, sir?” Potter was looking at the basilisk’s scales now, running one finger along the delicate separations. He might be talking to the snake, too. Since he didn’t have to speak Parseltongue aloud, Severus had no idea if he was. He only knew what he could go on, and his impression was that Potter hadn’t meant to hurt Draco.
“This does not change your status with me,” said Severus. “I am not going to suddenly treat you as someone special because you have a pet that may kill us all. Your actions could still kill us all.”
Potter’s head jerked up, and he focused on Severus this time instead of his snake, Severus was glad to see. His eyes were wide. “What do you mean? Sir,” he added a moment later, although Severus hadn’t changed the expression on his face.
“If you get yourself killed before you could face the Dark Lord.”
Potter’s face closed off in an instant. “Yeah, yeah, I get it,” he said. “I know that I have to face him, sir. And Sirius Black. If Sirius Black kills me, there’ll be no one left to kill Voldemort.” He waved one hand at Severus and started to move past him, back into the classroom. His arms were still full of the ingredients.
Severus stepped in front of him as he went past. Potter glared at him as if he wanted to have a basilisk’s gaze.
“Look,” he hissed, and he sounded as though he spoke Parseltongue on a daily basis, “I know that my defeating him is important, all right? I’m sure that it is. I know that people count on me. I know that I can’t just go out and hunt Sirius Black down. But I have someone who’ll protect me now. So you can stop being afraid that I’ll die before I have to save your arses.”
“Language,” said Severus, but he hesitated. He hadn’t expected Potter to react the way he did to Severus’s suggestion—rather, to smugly agree with the special status as the Boy-Who-Lived that it promised him, and strut out of the room.
And Severus had to decide what he was going to do with this unexpected information and actions now, before other students started to come into the cupboard looking for their ingredients.
“Knowing that you are bonded with a basilisk and might have been a Slytherin changes things,” said Severus, before he could decide against it. “Not the mere presence of a basilisk itself.”
Potter stared at him again, and Severus relished in the look in his eyes. He should look as confused as any thirteen-year-old in Severus’s class, not adult and cynical.
“You will think about that,” Severus ordered, and then swept out into the main classroom before Longbottom could cause another disaster.
Potter followed him, slowly. Severus felt the boy’s eyes on him several times as he began to brew, even with Weasley’s and Granger’s whispered attempts to distract him.
Let him think, Severus thought. Even he was not sure what he might have put in play today, any more than he was sure how the boy’s basilisk would ultimately change the shape of the war.
He only knew that it would happen, and he would make himself a player in that change now. Not a pawn.
Not if I can help it.
*
jamie: Thank you!
SP777: Yes, and a few more started here.
moodysavage: Especially since neither is a Parselmouth.
Marron: To be fair, Dumbledore is also worried about Dash having a negative influence on Harry.
Meechypoo: I don’t know if I would describe what Severus is going to do as bonding on purpose, but it is true that he does have plans to be involved.
staar: Draco is still at the stage where he thinks he’s cool and his father is cool and no one else can possibly match his coolness.
nari-chan: Thanks!
BAFan: Snape’s sort of doing that, yeah. And thanks for catching that typo.
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A Brother to Basilisks