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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.

Chapter List
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Chapter Fifty-Two—Yule Ball Politics
            “I understand that I owe you a debt.”
            Harry hesitated awkwardly. He’d been walking back to the Gryffindor common room from Charms, and he’d been arguing with Ron over whether the Banishing Charm was as useful as Professor Flitwick seemed to think it was. And he had Dash with him, flowing along with part of his body on the floor and part on the wall, and—
            It was just the last place that Harry would have expected to meet up with Fleur Delacour.
            “Er, hello,” Harry said, and spent a minute blinking at her. She had a few other Beauxbatons girls with her, but they all hung back as though they were more afraid of Dash than Fleur was. Maybe she trusted Harry’s vow more. “What—is there something I can help you with?”
            Ron tried to say something that Harry thought was essentially the same, but he was gibbering, a bit. Fleur gave him a kind, condescending look and then focused on Harry.
            “I came to thank you,” she said. “You were the reason that I knew about the dragons, in the First Task.” Her French accent was getting a little stronger, and she peered at Harry through a sheer curtain of silvery hair. “And I must repay the favor.”
            “You don’t need to,” said Harry. “I mean, I’m glad that we all lived.”
            Fleur smiled, but her face had tightened. “That is not enough. Or too much. I do not wish to owe you a life-debt, Harry Potter,” she added, when Harry blinked some more. Even Dash was silent, as though he couldn’t figure out what Fleur wanted. Harry only hoped he wasn’t quiet because he was thinking of the best way to sneak up on the Veela girls.
            “Will you come to the Yule Ball with me?” Fleur asked, and held out a long hand towards Harry.
            I won’t try to eat her, said Dash at once. Although I think your friend may be jealous of you.
            Harry didn’t dare look at Ron. His own face was on fire, and he didn’t know if he really wanted to look anywhere right now. He cleared his throat, and then he said, “That’s very nice of you. But I don’t know if two Champions can date each other. Professor McGonagall said something to me about how we all had to have our own dates.”
            “Did she?” Fleur frowned, and Harry felt as though a barely noticeable pressure pushing on his mind had dropped away. He shook his head a little. That pressure resembled the Imperius Curse, when Professor Moody had cast it on him. “I did not know that. It is annoying, no? There was no one I wished to go with so much as you.”
            Her voice was melting, and she was very pretty, but Harry couldn’t say the same. “Yes, I’m sorry. I hope you find someone else you want to go with. I mean, really go with, not just because you think he helped you during the First Task.”
            Some of the girls behind Fleur giggled. Harry reckoned he’d said something stupid. He wished Hermione had asked him, or maybe—if they were allowed to bring adults to the Yule Ball—someone older like Professor Sprout. They were the only girls Harry really felt comfortable around.
            “Ah, well,” said Fleur. “I will find someone.” She nodded to him, a little motion of her head that looked almost more like a bow and disturbed Harry, and turned away.
            “Mate! Are you mental?”
            Harry turned to Ron. “No, I don’t think so,” he said. “Why would I be?” He felt Dash’s tail tap his foot as Dash slid by, and he knew that Dash approved of what he was doing, or he would be over here agreeing with Ron.
            “Because Fleur Delacour wanted to go to the Yule Ball with you.” Ron locked his eyes on Fleur’s back as if there was a rope tying them together. “She’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”
            “Then go ask her to the Ball.”
            “Me?” The rope seemed to have snapped, because Ron turned around and stared at Harry. “Mate, I’m no one.”
            “You are not.” Harry shook his arm hard. “You’re a great chess-player and a great brother and a great friend. If you just put yourself down all the time, then no one should listen to you. But maybe they’ll listen to me.”
            Ron’s eyes were bright, but then they dimmed, and he sighed. “The only reason she would want to go out with me is because I’m your friend. And I don’t—I don’t want to ask you to do that.”
            He would like it if you offered, Dash murmured in the back of Harry’s head. But not enough to ask you for it.
            I’m not going to offer, Harry said sharply. He thought part of the reason Fleur had wanted to go to the Ball with him was because of who he was, as well as because he had helped her with the First Task, and he had no time for that. “Just go up and ask her, Ron. The worst she can say is no.”
            “The worst, he says.”
            Ron continued talking gloomily about why it wouldn’t work as they trailed down the corridor, and Harry was about ready to strangle him. But by the time they reached the Gryffindor Tower and rejoined Hermione, who had gone up to start on her homework already, Ron had changed his mind about something, or maybe just got tired of hearing himself complain. He sat back in the chair nearest the fireplace with his arms folded and studied Harry.
            “If you’re not going to take Fleur, who are you going to invite to the Ball, mate?”
            Harry shrugged and shifted the parchment that held the beginning of his Charms essay around. It just wasn’t comfortable, trying to write on the arm of his chair. “I don’t know. I suppose maybe someone else will ask me who I don’t mind.”
            Hermione looked up quickly, and then turned back to her Transfiguration essay in the next second. Harry wondered if she wanted Ron to ask her. It seemed obvious to him, but on the other hand, Ron hadn’t said anything about it, and sometimes Harry was wrong.
            I can smell her longing for him to ask, Dash agreed.
            Harry thought about saying something, but he was glad he hadn’t when Hermione started talking. “You have to have a date, though, Harry. McGonagall said so. And the ball is in ten days!”
            “So?” Harry asked, a little annoyed. “It’s just a ball. I think everyone’s going mad about it is a little much.”
            “It’s the only dance that’s ever been held at Hogwarts, I think,” said Hermione. “Unless they did something like it the last time Hogwarts hosted the Tournament.” For an instant, she was distracted enough that Harry thought she would get up and look in Hogwarts, A History. But then she shook her head and glanced at Ron, then away. “It’s a big deal. And you’re one of the Champions. You have to do the first dance, Harry.”
            Harry groaned. Yes, McGonagall had said that, too. And he would have to have dancing lessons tomorrow.
            “You have to choose someone before then. It’s ten days!”
            “You already said that, Hermione,” Ron protested. “Give Harry some time to think about it. I mean, he turned down Fleur Delacour. He’s going to have to think about who’s worthwhile after that.”
            “You know what?” Hermione asked in an icy voice. “You’re right. I’m tired of talking about the ball. I’m going to go study by myself in my bedroom.” She gathered up all her books and parchments with one sweep of her wand, turned, and stormed up the staircase to the girls’ rooms.
            Ron turned, gaping, to Harry. “What did I say?”
            Harry thought about telling him, but Dash gave his ribs a comforting squeeze and the image of Harry trying to make two cats who were ignoring each other get along. Harry nodded. He understood what Dash was saying, and Ron and Hermione would probably both get upset if he said something. Harry had already had enough of listening to Ron fuss about who he’d take to the Ball.
            “I don’t know, she’s probably just upset I don’t want to listen to her right now,” Harry said. “Come on. We still have to finish Charms and Divination.”
*
            Blaise jumped as someone slammed the door, disturbing Blaise from where he’d been lying on his bed, deep in his Defense Against the Dark Arts book. Some of the readings Moody assigned were actually interesting. It only increased Blaise’s suspicion that Moody wasn’t who he seemed to be.
            But now someone was slamming books into a trunk and out of a trunk and kicking his bed and swearing. Blaise peered cautiously through the bed-curtains.
            It was Draco. Currently, he was glaring at the bed as if he thought it should have burst into flames on its own.
            “What’s wrong?” Blaise asked.
            Draco glared at him. Blaise recoiled a little. The last time he had seen that look was from one of his stepfathers when he had started to act erratic, a few weeks before his death. “Nothing. You hear me, Blaise? Nothing.”
            And then he rammed himself and his book onto the bed and shut the curtains with a swish that told Blaise he’d cast a Closing Charm on them.
            Blaise blinked and tried to get back into the mood of studying for Defense, but it was gone. He kept wondering what in the world could be upsetting Draco so much. There weren’t any new developments on the Potter front. Blaise would have heard about them.
            Only at dinner did he hear the excited chatter, from a disgruntled Durmstrang student who’d wanted to take the Delacour girl to the dance, that Potter had apparently turned Delacour down, and how was he going to live up to that standard?
            It seemed strange at first, for that to upset Draco. He hadn’t shown any interest in the Veela girls that Blaise could tell. But Blaise could come up with no other explanation. He leaned back and observed Draco as covertly as he could.
            He’d thought Draco would be glaring into space, or maybe looking over at the Ravenclaw table, where the Beauxbatons students usually sat, with a heartsick expression. Instead, though, he was alternating between stares at the Gryffindor table, glares at the Ravenclaw one, little mutters to himself, and snapping at everyone who dared to ask him to pass the salt.
            Blaise blinked again. It seemed strange, the conclusion that he was coming to, or which was coming to him. It felt like a revelation being forced into his mind from outside. Blaise did cast a few whispered spells that would tell him if he was under the influence of Legilimency, but he had already guessed he wasn’t.
            No. This was just—Draco was upset about Potter being asked, not that Delacour had been the one to ask him.
            And Blaise became even more sure when Draco watched intently as two Hufflepuff girls and a Gryffindor one went up to Potter, asked something with flaming cheeks, and then turned away when Potter shook his head impatiently. Draco made loud remarks that only Vince and Greg really listened to about how disgusting Hufflepuffs were, and then about how much Gryffindors simpered.
            Blaise tapped his wand against the underside of the table. Well. It seemed Draco would much prefer if he was the one who got to go to the Yule Ball with Potter.
            Blaise didn’t know how he was going to use this yet. But he would find a way.
*
            “Like this, Mr. Potter. This is what it means when someone leads.”
            McGonagall was trying, Harry thought. But she was just so much taller than him, and more graceful. Harry couldn’t dance at all, and it didn’t help that Dash, curled up against the wall of the classroom where they were holding dancing lessons, snickered into the back of Harry’s mind every time he tripped over something. The air. His feet. Dust.
            Harry finally stepped back and wiped his forehead. “Professor McGonagall, can I please not go to the Yule Ball?”
            “Bringing a partner and leading the first dance is non-negotiable, Mr. Potter.”
            “But I’m terrible at it.”
            “I admit, I thought you would be better.” McGonagall stepped back and studied him for a moment. “At the very least, dancing is a very physical activity, and so is Quidditch. I thought skills from one would apply to the other.”
            “Turn the Snitch loose in the ballroom, and I could catch it,” Harry said desperately. “But please don’t make me go.”
            He thought McGonagall would have answered, but at that moment, a golden owl swooped into the classroom and straight at Harry. Harry sensed Dash’s uncoiling snap. He held out a hand to restrain him as the owl landed on his outstretched arm. It had taken a second, but Harry recognized the owl. It was one that the Selwyns sometimes used to make deliveries to him.
            “Um, excuse me, Professor,” said Harry, and turned a little away from McGonagall so he could read the letter in private. The only thing he hoped was that she wouldn’t be able to see the blush on his face because he was already blushing.
            The letter was more formal than last time; even when Harry had opened the sealed envelope, there was still a seal there, one Harry didn’t know. He thought it showed an arum lily, though, an ingredient he’d used a few times in Potions. He hesitated, then broke the seal.
            The ink inside was green, and Harry had to blink a few times to focus his eyes on both it and the stilted writing.
            Esteemed ally,
            Our family has heard that you are expected to open the Yule Ball with the rest of the Champions. Since it seems you have no partner as yet and may suffer from an overabundance of people eager to partner you simply for the fame, we are writing to offer the services of our daughter Alisoun Selwyn, a Durmstrang student, to accompany you to the Ball. She is both a skilled and graceful dancer, and an excellent fighter with bodyguard training. She would serve to make you look good and protect you.
            In return for this favor, we would ask nothing more than you have already provided us.
            There were several signatures at the bottom, all of them Selwyns Harry had already met. He sighed in relief. Yes, this would solve the problem.
            “Good news, Mr. Potter?”
            That’s right. Professor McGonagall was still there, waiting to hear. Harry turned around, nodding. “Yes. I have some allies. The Selwyns. They told me that their daughter could be my partner at the Yule Ball.”
            “She isn’t a student here at Hogwarts, though,” McGonagall said quietly, studying him.
Harry could feel the few other students left in the practice classroom—most of them had already taken their lessons and gone back to their common rooms, since Harry was one of a few taking so long—staring at him. He flushed even harder and answered more harshly than he’d meant to. “I know, Professor. But neither are the other Champions. She’s from Durmstrang. I think it’s okay.”
“Yes, it should be,” said McGonagall. “At least it means you will be there, Mr. Potter.”
            She’s probably just relieved about that, Harry thought. He nodded and said, “Well, then I’m going to write them back. If that’s okay?”
            “Yes.” McGonagall gave him a small smile. “I hope she’s a good dancer, Mr. Potter, because frankly I don’t know what more I can do.”
            Dash flowed away from the wall and towards Harry. Harry patted his head and said, “Well. Thank you for what you did, Professor.” He left with Dash coiling and lapping around his feet like water, and the minute they were out in the corridor, he asked, What do you think?
            I think it’s a good sign that your allies are sending someone to guard you. Dash wreathed himself up in the coiling rear he’d been doing lately, so that his nose was floating in front of Harry’s face. But a bad one that they think there may be something to protect you from.
            Well, there’s the fact that someone put my name in the Goblet of Fire in the first place, Harry admitted. Maybe that’s all.
            Maybe. Maybe not. Dash dropped his head down again and pointed his nose down the corridor. Now, hurry, or you’ll be late for your meeting with Karkaroff and Krum.

            Shit, I forgot! Harry hurried towards the library, while Dash mock-chided him for language.
*
            “I think you have already realized that your basilisk is not a normal basilisk, yes?” Headmaster Karkaroff had a calm, slightly oily voice. He leaned forwards as if he wanted to count the scales on Dash’s face.
            Harry stroked Dash’s plume just in case he got upset about the staring and nodded. “Yes. I should have known it before. But I didn’t know about the attempts to kill Dash with rooster crows. I did know that he just hatched from an ordinary egg, though.”
            “I would very much like to see these other basilisk eggs in the Chamber of Secrets. May we go there?”
            Harry didn’t need the coil Dash looped around his wrist to know what his response to that should be. He smiled a little sweetly and said, “Well. Not right now. I haven’t been back there since I found Dash. It’s not a place to be entered lightly.”
            “No,” said Viktor, with a slight glance at Karkaroff that seemed to warn him to calm down. Harry wondered how much of this was Viktor’s plan and how much was Karkaroff’s. “Of course not. But we will like to see it when you will like to show it to us.”
            Karkaroff subsided. Harry slowly nodded. He was feeling—it was unfamiliar. Like he had a lot of power, and he had to be careful, because other people would try to bargain for it. Or with it. It was sort of the way he had felt when he was writing his letters to the Selwyns and other people he’d taken allegiance rings from.
            I don’t want to start enjoying it, though.
            Dash presented him with the thought that enjoying power was fine. It would be like not enjoying the taste of mice.
            Well, I don’t, Harry said, and looked at Karkaroff. “Besides, Headmaster, I thought you already knew lots of things about basilisks. Or the extraordinary ones like Dash is. Why would you want to see the eggs?”
            “There is a difference between reading about the eggs and seeing them.” Karkaroff gave him a gentle glance. “As great a difference as between reading about a basilisk and seeing one. Surely you were startled when you first glimpsed yours.”
            “Dash?” Harry looked down at Dash. “Yes, but mostly how different he was from the one I fought a year before that.”
            “What?”
            “I fought a basilisk that belonged to Salazar Slytherin in the Chamber,” said Harry, looking up. He had thought Karkarof knew this. Or Viktor would have told him, surely. “He was trying to kill some of the students. I saved the life of one student who got taken down there, Ginny Weasley. There was a possessed diary that was trying to use her to come back to life. When the basilisk attacked, it stuck a fang through my arm. Only phoenix tears saved my life.”
            Karkaroff looked ready to faint. Harry felt annoyed. They should have known this before. Maybe not all the details, but—
            You have no idea how it sounds, all put together like that, said Dash, and laid his head along the back of Harry’s wrist like a jewel. I suspect there is also a difference between hearing scattered details and hearing the whole story.
            “We had heard rumors that you had killed a basilisk,” said Viktor. “We—did not know—all the story.” He paused, then added, “There is one way that created basilisks are different than normal ones. I suspect the venom of created basilisks is much more potent.”
            “It is,” said Karkaroff, seeming to recover. “I have charms on me that darken in the presence of strong venom.” He drew back his sleeve enough to let Harry see a chain of silver links around one wrist. Each link also had a small stone attached to it, or maybe a small crystal. They were all transparent. “Purple is their darkest color. In the presence of normal basilisk venom, they turned only indigo.”
            “And this was purple,” said Harry, stroking Dash again. Sometimes, honestly, he almost forgot Dash had venom. He was so calm and confident without it, and he didn’t need to use it.
            I would use it more often if you had sense.
            “It was. So! That is one difference.” Karkaroff leaned forwards. “The legends of normal basilisks, they say that normal basilisks are almost always in a foul temper. Even when they have just fed, they hunt for more. Your snake seems to have a sense of humor, from what I have been told, and to be more intelligent.”
            I like this man. He has sense.
            Harry nodded. “He does. He makes jokes and he can almost roll his eyes at me when he realizes that something is going on that he doesn’t want. And he’s very protective. I don’t know if that’s another difference.”
            “Perhaps.” Karkaroff narrowed his eyes. “Normal basilisks are usually not bonded. If they had masters more often, perhaps they would have the same strain of temperament.”
            Not so sensible as to realize that you are my partner, my bondmate, instead of my master.
            Harry said, “Well. Dash and I function equally together. He can’t order me around, and I would never try to do the same to him.”
            Karkaroff gave him an anxious smile. “I meant the word master in a more neutral sense.”
            What sense is that? Dash uncoiled with a heavy thump from Harry’s arm and began to slither towards the door of the library. Karkaroff looked after him.
            “He doesn’t like the tone that you’re taking,” Harry said, standing. “And he doesn’t want to stay and listen to it. I’m sorry, but I don’t think it’s going to be much use talking more about it right now. I’ll owl you and set up another meeting, okay?” He nodded to Viktor.
            “That will be acceptable.” Viktor leaned in and said something soft in another language to Karkaroff when it looked like he would have protested. Karkaroff swallowed the protest and nodded.
            Harry ran after Dash, thinking as he went, Well, that wasn’t so bad. And I have a partner for the Yule Ball. Actually, things are looking up all around.
            And now he could finally tell his friends about the date, too, and they would stop nagging him.
            Maybe Draco won’t be happy? But Draco hadn’t been happy about any of the dates that Harry had discussed, and Harry hadn’t been able to figure out why. It was like he didn’t think they were worthy of Harry.
            I don’t think much of his choices, either. He’ll probably end up taking Parkinson.
            Harry shrugged his own building unhappiness away. It was probably just at the thought of the argument he was going to have with Draco.
            I have a date. That’s the only thing that matters. The Yule Ball is boring, and I don’t want to think about it anymore.
*
Red: Thank you!
starr: Sirius is not being very reasonable, no, but Harry still wants a relationship with him.
moon: Blaise got a threatening letter from his unknown abuser because Harry was stirring up awareness of child abuse and that abuser was afraid someone might look into him. Blaise considers it his task to lessen Harry’s political influence so no one will learn his own story.
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A Brother to Basilisks