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A Brother to Basilisks	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 85172 -:- 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 Fifty-Eight—Snape’s Christmas Gift
            Severus spent a long moment standing on the far end of Privet Drive before he ventured down it. When he did, he moved with brisk steps, and resisted the temptation to hold his nose.
            Number Four looked especially quiet in the weak winter sunshine. Severus looked at the trampled frost in the garden and shook his head. It was hard to imagine that Harry had labored here for most of his life.
            He touched the letter in his pocket one more time and then walked up to the front door and knocked as briskly as he’d walked.
            Petunia opened it and motioned him inside without speaking. Severus entered, not taking care of any noise he made. He had already arranged to meet with Petunia when her husband and son were out of the house. It had been one of many conditions Petunia had laid down for receiving him.
            Another had been that they only talk about Harry and nothing else. Severus was more than willing to do that, actually. He didn’t think she could make him angry as long as he clung to his purpose, but stray off that subject and it was too easy to remember some of the spells he had rejoiced in casting as a Death Eater.
            Petunia didn’t offer him tea, of course. She sat down at her kitchen table and stared at him with so much loathing that Severus checked in sitting across from her. Then he shook his head and did it anyway.
            This was for Harry. And for Lily, more distantly. He would take risks for them that he would not have taken for the protection of his own interests.
            “Petunia,” he said. “What description would you give of your nephew, if someone asked you to describe him?”
            The woman stared at him. Severus had told her very little in his letter, other than that he had wanted her to verify what she had already told him when he wrote to her once before. She would have been unaware of the fuss that had broken out in the wizarding world when Harry had revealed his abuse.
            Severus had wished at the time that there was some way they could make the Dursleys pay. But for now, their very distance from the wizarding world would serve.
            Petunia sniffed and responded, “I would say that he’s a stubborn boy. Freakish. Ungrateful. We gave him a purpose in life, food, clothing, and a roof over his head. And all he ever did was be difficult.”
            Severus didn’t lash out at her. He had been at Death Eater meetings that tried his patience more severely than this, he reminded himself. He had had to do things that disgusted him more than appear to agree with Petunia’s opinion of Harry.
            Although those memories were years old, and he had not realized how thin his self-control had worn in the meantime.
            “And what kind of person would you say he needs to take care of him?”
            Again a sniff. Petunia appeared unable to speak of Harry without that little gesture. Severus told himself that the purpose of this visit was a memory he could show to the Wizengamot, and not personal vengeance. He held still.
            “Someone who can be firm. The boy needs discipline. He needs to realize what people are giving up to spoil him, and show gratitude for what he has.”
            “Someone,” said Severus, and hoped that his voice sounded neutral and not like he was fishing for an answer, “who is stable, correct? Not someone who has so many problems of his own that he can’t look after Harry because he’s still wrestling with mistakes from the past?”
            Petunia did her part better than Severus could have believed she would, crossing her hands on the table and nodding emphatically. “Someone who’s normal. Someone who has all the time in the world for the boy, to tell him the truth and make disciplining Harry the center of his life. Not someone who even has other children, because he would want to spend too much time on them and not enough with Harry.”
            Disregarding the part about other children, which would not serve his interests, Severus thought the conversation had gone well. He nodded. “That’s all I wanted to know, Petunia.” He stood.
            “Why do you even care?” Petunia asked suddenly. “You know as well as I do that my sister never loved you the way you wanted.”
            Severus studied her. This would not be part of the memory he would show the Wizengamot, of course, but cutting off a memory early was not unusual. “And that means I must hate her son.”
            Petunia had a very peculiar expression. Severus thought she might be trying to smile. It was disturbing, especially as he thought her face better formed for sneers. “We both know it means you do. Harry mentioned a few things to me about his hated Potions professor in the summers before you took him away.” She folded her arms and tried to match Severus stare for stare, but ended up dropping her eyes back to the table after a few seconds. “You should have felt the same way towards him that we did. Why in the world are you trying to get him adopted? Arguing he should have a stable home?” She rolled her eyes and scoffed. “It isn’t like the boy you were, or the man you’ve become.”
            “I was unfair to Harry,” Severus said. He kept all emotion out of his voice. “I gave him poor marks and assigned him detentions when he did not deserve them. I compared him to his father when he can’t remember the man. I assumed his fame had gone to his head when there was no sign it had.” He held back from saying anymore. There was no need for Petunia to know about the prophecy and the part Severus had played in Harry’s fate there.
            Petunia nodded eagerly. “Then you know what he’s like. How hard it is not to see Lily in his face and—”
            “But I never starved him,” Severus said, and his voice lowered a little. He couldn’t help it. He hadn’t come here intending to threaten Petunia. On the other hand, he had got what he wanted from her. “I never said I might beat him. I never locked him in a cupboard. I never made him wear ragged clothes. I never told him he was a waste of space, a freak, who had to be grateful for the way I treated him. My hatred was honest, not dressed up in a mockery of family love.”
            The speed with which color left Petunia’s face might have been funny if Severus was in a different mood. She reached out with one faltering hand and groped towards the wall, as if she would get up and flee the room.
            “And there lies the biggest difference between you and me, Petunia,” said Severus, and moved a step forwards. There were curses he wanted to use, but on the other hand, they wouldn’t be satisfying vengeance. They would just allow Petunia to go on feeling she had been mistreated by the wizarding world and she need never think anything else.
            Let the words echo in her mind, instead. Let her think about them until they drive her mad.
            “I apologized,” Severus whispered. His own voice sounded soft to him, barely audible above the drumming of his blood. “I learned to separate the boy from the parents and make arrangements for him that would go some way towards making up for what I had done. I did not allow my hatred for what his father did to me to twist me forever.”
            “You don’t know what it’s like! What he is!” Petunia’s voice rose up in a gabbled shriek. “What he did to our Dudders, what—”
            “What you said today is going to help him have a better home,” Severus interrupted her. He mustered his most pleasant smile, knowing this would probably torment Petunia more than anything else. “Harry is rich, by the way. He has an inheritance from his parents that makes him among the wealthiest of the people in our world. In his world. And now he’s going to be with someone stable, someone who can focus on him.” He bowed to her mockingly and turned to the door.
            For a minute, hearing the wild rush of her footsteps behind him, Severus really did think she was going to attack him. But she didn’t. She halted in what was probably the kitchen doorway and screamed after him.
            “You don’t know what you’re dealing with! You have no idea how horrible he is! You think—you think that you’re dealing with a normal boy, but he isn’t! Not even for a wizard!”
            Severus laughed without looking back. “If he was a perfectly normal boy he would never have accepted my effort to make peace with him. Perhaps I should thank you for that much, Petunia. He is so grateful for any adult’s kindness that he gave me a second chance.”
            “He’s a freak, and you’ll be sorry—”
            Severus spun and lifted his wand. He had come to the limits of his endurance.
            “Adoleo linguam ‘freak,’” he said clearly, and watched Petunia clutch at her mouth. She would have felt the first tingle of the spell, then.
            Well, tingle. From what Severus could remember when he’d had that spell cast on him, it felt more like one’s whole tongue had just been dipped in boiling water.
            “Whenever you say that word again,” Severus said softly, “your tongue is going to feel like that. Only worse. The spell is cumulative, you see, Tuney. This pain will pile on top of the next pain. Which piles on top of the next one. I wouldn’t be surprised, if you persist in saying that word, when you end up unable to talk at all. Your mouth is going to be irrevocably damaged.’
            He smiled at her, and it was his Death Eater smile. Petunia stared at him, her eyes widening more and more, and then she turned and fled, weeping.
            Severus bowed to her back and left, pulling his cloak close around him. Minerva had worked and worked, and her allies on the Board of Governors had finally secured Severus an audience with the Wizengamot for that morning.
            Severus had Petunia’s original letter when he had first written to her to confirm her abuse. And now he had the memory of their conversation, making it seem as if even one of the people who had treated Harry most horribly agreed that he needed a secure home, a stable one.
            With someone who had no other preoccupations. With someone who hadn’t spent twelve years in Azkaban.
            You realize that Harry will be upset.
            Severus nodded when his conscience spoke in Albus’s voice. He had realized that, and he had gone ahead and done this anyway. Black’s behavior when it came to treating Harry like a prize in a personal game he was playing with Severus, and whatever game he was playing with Narcissa Malfoy, and the way that he had encouraged Harry into the Tournament, was inexcusable.
            Besides, Severus was sure he would have at least one ally in calming Harry down, one currently twelve feet long and scaled.
            Spinning on his heel, Severus Apparated.
*
            “Harry, there’s someone here to see you.”
            Sirius’s voice sounded strained. Curious, Harry put down the owl he’d received from Snape and went to see who it was.
            He’d sent Snape a golden cauldron, which was probably kind of generic and stupid, but Hermione had said that brewers could always use more golden cauldrons, since there were some potions that not only needed them but could leave stains on them that would make them useless. And it was expensive, but Harry felt like he had to use his money for something.
            The owl he had got in return said, Dear Harry, you almost shame me. Thank you for the gift. I hope the one I give you is as well-received.
            But no package had come with the owl, and when Harry questioned Dash about whether Snape had told him where and what Harry’s gift was, Dash claimed ignorance.
            This time, he flowed after Harry as he charged down the stairs. I think this is Snape. The smelly dog-man would not sound so strained about anyone else.
            Maybe that was the truth, Harry didn’t know. But he did know that when he came into the drawing room he could see the strain right away. Sirius sat bolt upright on the couch, staring at the wall. He gave a sob even as Harry watched and buried his face in his hands.
            “Sirius?” Harry whispered, taking a hesitant step towards him. Since his conversation with Mrs. Malfoy on Christmas day, Harry had tried to be a little gentler around Sirius. He might not have the best ideas, but he loved Harry. Loved him desperately. That was what Harry wanted most.
            “Mr. Potter.”
            Harry jumped and turned. Yes, Snape’s face was in the fire. Harry blinked at him in turn. The only thing he couldn’t understand was why Sirius seemed even this calm, instead of on his feet and yelling at Snape.
            “I hope,” said Snape, after a beat of silence, “that you can quickly pack most of your effects? I thought you might spend the rest of your holidays at Hogwarts. My home is small and in a Muggle area. Hardly the sort of thing you would want for a proper celebration of New Year’s.”
            “Sir?” Harry whispered. He was swaying a little with dread, but Dash wrapped around his legs and propped his head on Harry’s hip.
            “I have applied to the Wizengamot for custody of you, Harry.” Professor Snape looked as though nothing in the world mattered except holding Harry’s gaze. “They agreed that you should be with someone who is more stable than Black and has your best interests in mind.”
            Harry grabbed hold of the couch arm. The first words that came to mind spilled from his lips. “But if they think Sirius is unsuitable, why did they give me to you?”
            Snape didn’t look like he was hurt. He just kept watching Harry. “They saw certain memories I showed them,” he said. “Of the attack in the gardens on Yule, for example.”
            “That wasn’t Sirius’s fault!”
            “But the way he behaved while you were unconscious was.” Snape’s face was stone as he glanced at Sirius, then carefully away. “While we waited in hospital, he kept talking about going and finding who had done it, when he wasn’t accusing me of arranging it. He also told me that I had to let the Healers treat you and that he wouldn’t let me use my potions even if it turned out that the Healers’ stocks were insufficient to cope with the venom. At least that way, if you suffered, you would be ‘free of me.’”
            Harry turned to look at Sirius, then back to Snape. He didn’t know what he wanted to say. He didn’t know what he could say, except that his head hurt and there was blackness crowding his vision and the only solid point in the whole swirling mess seemed to be Dash, whose head still rested against his hip.
            Harry put his hand down heavily on Dash’s head. Dash watched him, patiently. Harry asked, Are you hurt?
            By the pressure you’re putting on my head? No. And I think this is for the best. You know that.
            They still could have told me.
            That, I agree with.
            Harry raised his head and muttered, “You could have told me. You could have bloody told me.”
            Snape didn’t scold him for language as Harry had thought he would. He only nodded and said, “Yes, I should have. I’m sorry. I thought you would be too resistant to listen, or I would have at least told you about having an audience with the Wizengamot.”
            “I can’t believe—they gave Sirius custody because he was named my godfather before my parents died.” Harry thought he had a hold now on the swirling blackness and could fight it off enough to stay on his feet. “Someone must have opposed you taking charge of me, right? I mean, if only because you have the Dark Mark?”
            “He does,” Sirius whispered, although his voice sounded crushed. “You won’t survive a fortnight with him.”
            Harry reached back and held Sirius’s arm, ignoring the way it made Snape’s eyes flare. Snape could put up with it for a little while. “How? And didn’t Dumbledore oppose you—taking me?” He had no idea how he should refer to it. Adopting him? Stealing him?
            “Dumbledore had other matters to take care of,” said Snape, and there was satisfaction in his voice that he didn’t bother concealing from Harry. “His behavior in the last month has been erratic in a deeply disturbing way. The Wizengamot did try to call him for the audience, but they could not find him.”
            Harry blinked. It made him remember his suspicions about Dumbledore’s strange behavior in allowing him into the Tournament, and who exactly hid behind Professor Moody’s face.
            But he couldn’t care about that right now. He had a different sort of battle to fight. “Mrs. Malfoy explained some things to me, Professor Snape. They mean Sirius’s behavior makes more sense. He does love me, and he’s fighting to help me.”
            Sirius gave Harry a melting look. Dash gave him a rattling hiss of disapproval. Harry ignored that. Dash was always overly ready to take Snape’s side against Sirius.
            “Narcissa has spoken to me as well, Mr. Potter. I am more horrified than reassured by Mr. Black’s insane attempt to find some ritual that might free you from some unknown evil, at the price only of your life.”
            Harry turned around, his mouth gaping a little. “But she can’t have done.” Mrs. Malfoy had told Harry she was going along with Sirius because he was the only one who could access the Black inheritance. Why would she just change her mind about that in a few days?
            “You don’t understand anything about it, Snape!” Those words had finally made Sirius lunge to his feet, and now he snarled like the dog he could turn into. “I was trying to save Harry!”
            “From what, Black?”
            Sirius’s eyes immediately turned haunted, and he shook his head a little. “I can’t tell you that,” he whispered, his eyes going back to Harry. Actually, Harry wasn’t sure if he was looking at him or Dash. “For excellent reasons.”
            “Perhaps you could tell me, then. I did give you the chance, before you told Harry he should come downstairs.”
            Sirius sat down on the couch and closed his eyes again. Harry stood there, staring at him and trying to control the temptation to pant. He wanted to reach out, but Dash had twined the upper part of his body around Harry’s wrist, holding it still.
            “As you can see,” Snape said in a voice so calm and reasonable that Harry turned to look at him despite himself, “I gave Black his chance. Professor McGonagall and several Wizengamot members spoke up for me, which is why I have custody. You will be safer in my quarters, Harry. I know a number of Monitoring Charms that will protect you no matter where you go in the school. And if I think you should not participate in a Tournament Task, I will remove you without apology.”
            “I have to compete in the Tournament, though,” Harry pointed out. His lips were numb. His brain was scrambling. “If I drop out, that leaves Hogwarts without a Champion.”
            Snape tilted his head a little, making Harry look more fully at him. His eyes blazed. “You are worth more than any Championship could be.”
            Harry closed his eyes. They hurt. He knew why. Those were the kinds of words he had waited so long to hear from Sirius, and Sirius hadn’t said them.
            He loves me. Mrs. Malfoy said so. He was willing to do something that could have killed me to free me from the prophecy.
            But does he have the same commitment to keeping you safe? Dash asked insistently in the back of Harry’s mind. That’s what you have to ask yourself now. He would put you in danger. Would he save you?
            Of course he would. He broke out of prison to save me.
            He broke out of prison to do that, Dash said, and Harry could almost hear the faint vibration in the back of his voice that meant Dash was restraining his real opinion of Sirius. But he also only did it when he saw a chance to get revenge on Pettigrew. And he’s looking at Dark rituals now despite supposedly hating the Dark.
            Harry swallowed loudly. He wondered for a second how he looked to Snape and Sirius—probably ridiculous—but he needed to have this conversation with Dash now. So is Mrs. Malfoy, though. I think Breaking prophecies is probably Dark.
            In the same way that people would say Parseltongue and basilisks are inherently Dark, I’m sure. Dash’s tone this time said what he felt about those people. But a ritual that could kill you is something else again.
            Harry stood there. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to do. He was angry at Snape for going to the Wizengamot without telling him, and trying to do something about Sirius’s custody without telling him, and just expecting it to be okay now.
            But he was also so tired of waiting for Sirius to grow up. He was also angry at Sirius for not telling this last secret that Mrs. Malfoy had said he was coming, and sneaking around behind Harry’s back with the Black inheritance and Mrs. Malfoy instead of just telling him right out what he was doing.
            They both kept secrets from me. I wonder if Mrs. Malfoy is the only adult that’s been honest with me.
            Then Harry sighed. No, he couldn’t have even that. Mrs. Malfoy had gone behind his back to tell Snape what Sirius was doing.
            Maybe the Dursleys were the most honest adults I could live with.
            Never think that. Dash nudged his fingers with a severe stab and also a severe tone to his voice in Harry’s mind. You deserve love and care, Harry. I think you also deserve honesty, but think about it now. If you sat down with any of these adults, who is most likely to tell you the truth? About something other than how much they hate you, he added hastily, because Harry was already thinking of Aunt Petunia.
            Harry swallowed again. He knew the answer. Snape. He told me about the prophecy and how he was a Death Eater.
            Yes. He did that even though he knew he might lose you over it.
            Harry said nothing. Compared to what Snape could have hidden from him, this wasn’t that big a deal.
            If it all comes down to lies and wanting the lies to stop, Dash said, gentle as spring rain, then you have to choose who you think is going to be honest with you in the future. And who you feel most comfortable with. You have to think about yourself for once. Not who’s going to be hurt.
            “Harry?”
            On cue, Dash said, disgusted.
            Harry turned around and looked at Sirius. He was leaning forwards off the couch, his hand extended and his face so miserable that Harry’s heart melted. He started to open his mouth and say he would stay here. Snape would just have to wait until the end of the holidays to discuss the Wizengamot meeting with him.
            But then Sirius spoke. “I do love you, Harry. I promise! I’m just doing something that I can’t explain to you right now, because You-Know-Who would find out from the connection you have with him in your dreams. I—I’m going to get rid of something so horrendous that I promise you would be sick thinking about it. Just trust me for a while. Trust me.”
            “Who has done something to allow him to block that connection?” Snape asked, and his voice was both quiet and cold. “Who has taught him Occlumency?”
            Sirius stood up to glare at Snape over Harry’s shoulder. “Who—”
            “And who pressed him to enter the Triwizard Tournament because it proved that he was a true Gryffindor and had courage, instead of asking him to stay out, because he was so concerned about his life? Tell me, Black, do you have any concern for his life, or only his placement in Gryffindor House?”
            “Harry is not a snake! He’s confused, that’s all. The connection with You-Know-Who is the only reason the Hat considered placing him in Slytherin! And the only reason he has that snake!” Harry curled around Dash instinctively as Sirius pointed at him. “And the only reason he’s a Parselmouth! And the only reason he gives you and Malfoy the time of day! It’s not him, not the real him he’ll be when the thing is gone! Just James’s son.”
            Harry closed his eyes slowly. He could possibly forgive everything else Sirius was saying, he thought. Sirius had been in Azkaban for twelve years. And he had wanted to be “Just Harry” for a long time now. Someone who saw him as normal…
            But he couldn’t forgive what Sirius was saying about Dash. And he had thought Sirius was getting more comfortable with him having a basilisk. Harry almost laughed in despair now. No, Sirius was only getting more comfortable because he thought he would get rid of the secret, whatever it was, and that would mean he could get rid of Dash, too.
            And Snape and Draco.
            Harry lifted his head. “You can’t say that when we were at the Malfoys’ house for Christmas three days ago,” he said calmly. “Maybe I’m only a Parselmouth because of my connection with Voldemort, but I don’t care. I love Dash. I like Draco. I like Professor Snape. I’m going to stay with them.” He finally looked at Sirius again. “I’m always going to be this person, Sirius. You can’t just get rid of me.”
            Sirius stared at him. “I never wanted to get rid of you—”
            “Part of me. An important part of me. Dash is bonded to me. And, what? Did you think I’d suddenly stop having Slytherin friends because my connection to Voldemort was gone?”
            “You’re confused, that’s all,” Sirius said earnestly. “You’re a Gryffindor. That’s who you really are, Harry. You’ll see.”
            “I’m a Gryffindor because I made the choice to go into Gryffindor,” Harry whispered. He had thought Sirius was getting better, really. Now he saw that Sirius had just been shoving away everything “Slytherin” about him, and thinking he could deal with it in the future, when it would disappear. “Dumbledore told me it was our choices that counted. It has to be my choice, or it doesn’t count. If Slytherin was never a real option, that means everything was false.”
            “Harry…”
            “I’m me,” said Harry. “Not someone you imagined. Not just James’s son.” He turned and cast a Summoning Charm. “Accio Harry Potter’s things.”
            They all came streaming down the stairs, his trunk and photo album and broom and books and his Invisibility Cloak. Sirius hadn’t moved. He was just staring at Harry with a lowered jaw.
            “Good-bye for now, Sirius,” Harry whispered, and saw Snape’s head move out of the Floo. He tossed a handful of Floo powder in and called, “Professor Snape’s quarters, Hogwarts.”
            He turned and rolled and disappeared, but he bumped to a stop with less bruises than usual, because Dash had wrapped himself securely around Harry and kept him from colliding with much. Harry climbed wearily out of the fireplace in Snape’s quarters, his arms full of all the things he didn’t know the incantation to shrink.
            Then he started to shake. He started to shake as if he was cold, and even Dash wrapping harder around him didn’t help.
            It wasn’t until Snape had embraced him and was holding him, basilisk and all—something Sirius had never done—that Harry allowed himself to cry.
*
ChaosLady: Thank you!
Mariah: Thank you. And now Snape has undermined Dumbledore in another way.
SP777: It did, but at least part of that was because Narcissa was watching Harry’s responses and making up her mind whether she needed to take him away from Sirius for his own good.
And Sirius told Harry about the prophecy in Chapter 31.
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A Brother to Basilisks