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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
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Chapter Sixty-Two—Tortured Explanations
            “We must talk about what happened.”
            “I don’t understand why.”
            Severus sighed a little. This was a repeat of the first days after he had taken Harry in, when Harry had simply wanted to sit in front of the fire and stare at it. But this time, they were not only in the middle of the school year, they had a more powerful enemy than Black.
            At the moment, Severus knew, from long familiarity, Albus was off-balance. If someone tackled him now, he would be more likely to admit his wrongdoing and provide an explanation—if only because he thought it might justify what he had done and make the person he explained to more sympathetic to him. If they waited, Albus would build walls around his own memories and subtly alter his perceptions.
            Harry would come to seem the one who was in the wrong. And while what Albus had done could not be concealed, he had got away with similarly outrageous decisions, such as hiding the Philosopher’s Stone in the school. They had to act now, or Albus would spared his version of the story and get away with it again.
            This time, Severus had determined, that should not happen.
            “Because Albus will probably try to excuse himself for hurting and cursing other children,” said Severus.
            Harry sat up at once. Dash, curled in a great soft barrier around Harry’s legs and the chair, raised his head and gave Severus the slightest of human nods.
            Yes, that is the only way to appeal to Harry, Severus could almost hear the basilisk saying. He will reject the effort, as stunned as he is, if you try to make him concentrate on the wrong done to him.
            “Fine,” Harry said. He was grinding the words out, it seemed. A second later, he rubbed his jaw as if someone had punched him there. “But how are we going to do this? I mean, Dumbledore hasn’t said he wants to talk to me.”
            “I have had the Floo closed and the protective spells tightened to keep owls out,” Severus said calmly. “Albus likes to use his Patronus as a messenger, but the spells can also bounce those.”
            “Oh.” Harry stared at him in a way that made Severus take a step forwards, although he hadn’t planned on this, and sink down to one knee in front of Harry’s chair. Dash swayed a little out of the way.
            “Do you truly think yourself so worthless?” Severus whispered. “Did you not think I would guard you?”
            “I—didn’t think that.” Harry rubbed his chin along Dash’s scales. “But I reckon I did think that you would let Dumbledore through. I mean, why not? The last hour you’ve been telling me that we need to do something about him.”
            Severus shook his head slowly. “I did that only because I think these measures necessary for your future safety. I will never, never sacrifice you for anything else.”
            “Oh.”
            Harry was blinking, and blinking again. Severus reached out a hesitant hand. Part of him thought the best course would be to back off and let Harry overcome his fears on his own. He might get upset if Severus touched him.
            But Harry abruptly turned and flung himself across the chair, and hugged Severus hard enough that Severus froze. Luckily, the freezing wasn’t long enough for Harry to take it the wrong way, and then Severus closed his eyes and hugged Harry close.
            Dash was mostly embracing the chair at this point; he must have moved at least a little so Harry could move. He put his head on Harry’s shoulder and flicked his tongue out at Severus in a way that Severus knew wasn’t meant for a hiss. It was more like a greeting.
            Here we are, both taking care of him.
            Severus had to admit, he could think of much worse allies in the task of taking care of Harry than a twelve-foot basilisk.
            “All right,” said Harry. “I’ll talk to him. But I want you and Dash there.”
            “I am surprised you were so foolish as to imagine that we would let you go alone,” Severus said, and felt Harry smile against his neck.
*
            Harry hated the feeling that he was carrying around a collection of glass shards that would leap out of his arms and crash if he let them. He had felt like that sometimes when the Dursleys were done shouting at him, and it was a horrible feeling. He didn’t want to feel that way.
            But on the other hand, Snape had said, Dumbledore needed to see how much he had hurt Harry. It was maybe the only thing that would get him to tell the truth.
            Do I want to hear the truth? Harry thought, as he settled into the chair in front of Dumbledore’s desk with Dash on his lap and Snape standing behind him. Dumbledore sat with his hands folded and his eyes locked on them. Harry wondered if he was planning to tell the truth or come up with some other excuse that meant he wouldn’t have to. Harry didn’t know what he would do if Dumbledore started lying again.
            You want to hear it, and we shall make him tell the truth if he tries to lie.
            Harry started a little at the sound of Dash’s voice, then managed to smile. You always know just what to say.
            One of the benefits of being a basilisk.
            Harry started to ask whether that was really true, but Snape cleared his throat. Harry jumped a little. He’d thought they would be waiting here until Dumbledore decided to speak up, which could have taken a long time.
            We can’t let Dumbledore control the conversation that way.
            Harry gave up. He would just rely on Dash’s and Snape’s advice. How to be political here was beyond him.
            “I am sorry, Harry,” said Dumbledore. Harry felt the shiver of surprise that went through Dash when he said that. “I thought what I was doing for the best, and now I see that it wasn’t.” He took a deep breath. “I thought to test you and prepare you for the coming battles with Voldemort, but I see now that I wasn’t.”
            “I want to know what you were doing. Did you also enter my name in the Tournament?”
            From the way Snape stiffened behind him and sucked in his breath, Harry knew that thought hadn’t occurred to him. Harry just watched Dumbledore, and saw him duck his head further and further.
            “You did.” Harry sighed and took a minute to stroke Dash’s neck until he thought he wouldn’t shout. He didn’t think shouting was a way to be political. “Why?”
            “I thought the Tournament would test your courage,” Dumbledore whispered. “That it would prepare you to face Voldemort. Eyebrows would raise if I gave you lessons with the goal of defeating Voldemort, especially with so few people believing he is still a danger. But if Professor Moody gave you private lessons, then it would not be remarked on. He was the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor.”
            “But…” Harry was at sea. “Did Moody agree to this?”
            Dumbledore smiled grimly. “Alastor was poking around some supposedly innocuous shops that turned out to be owned by former Death Eaters. He needed to spend some time away from the world so they would give up on looking for him. To their knowledge, he took the Defense position; in reality, he’s in a coma under the Draught of Living Death. He gave me permission to take his hair so I could make the Polyjuice Potion.”
            Harry supposed that made it a little better, that Dumbledore hadn’t imprisoned Moody or something. “But if the Death Eaters thought they knew where he was, how could you be sure they wouldn’t attack him—you?”
            “It would not be a problem, because I would have skills even more formidable than Alastor’s to defeat them.”
            Snape broke in, and he sounded like a crow. But Harry thought that was a good thing. Dash was muttering in the back of his head about sweet-voiced birds and the snakes that should eat them before they grew old enough to sing. “I know that you were here at the same time as your apparent self. Did you let Alastor out of hiding in those cases?”
            Dumbledore flinched a little. He hoped no one would ask that question, Dash said, and settled his head more firmly on Harry’s lap. I’m sure of it. But he ought to have known they would. Of course Snape would want to know what was happening with two of them appearing at once.
            “Someone else used Polyjuice to appear as me,” said Dumbledore at last. “I could hardly seem to go away and leave the school unattended for so long.” He sighed. “I’m afraid that he didn’t do as good a job as he should have. There were a few times that I had to step in and fill the position.” He nodded to Harry. “The last conversation we had when Professor Snape gained custody of you was one of those times.”
            So that’s why sometimes he acted like himself and other times he acted strange, Harry thought. I wondered.
            Ask him who it was who used Polyjuice.
            That didn’t increase Harry’s confidence that Dumbledore would actually tell them, but on the other hand, Dumbledore was here and talking. That had to mean something. Harry cleared his throat. “Excuse me, sir, but who was taking your place when you were playing Professor Moody?”
            “And why did you enter Harry’s name in the Goblet of Fire?” Snape apparently wasn’t going to let that one go, although Harry thought Dumbledore had already answered it.
            He didn’t answer it so much as deflect things so that he could get you interested in why he was playing Moody instead, Dash told him.
            Harry swallowed. He was getting sick of the way that Dumbledore kept changing his mind and deflecting the conversation. What was wrong with him? Why did he think that Harry couldn’t defeat Voldemort if Dumbledore didn’t pull all these tricks on him and lie to him?
            That’s a good question, isn’t it? Part of Dash’s neck hugged Harry’s shoulders. I’m so proud of you for finally asking it.
            Harry would have opened his mouth to ask what that meant, but Dumbledore sighed and answered their questions. “The first part, unfortunately, I cannot tell you, Harry. The man who played me is a friend of mine who, much like Professor Moody, has had to go into hiding to prevent people who are after him from finding him. Even speaking his name here might alert certain Dark wizards who have a Taboo on his name.”
            Harry saw Snape’s hand twitch a little where it gripped the back of Harry’s chair, but he didn’t ask why. He knew Snape would tell him later.
            Even that has changed, that you are willing to wait and trust him. Or at least wait and see if you should trust someone else.
            Harry didn’t answer that, either, because Dumbledore had continued. “I thought entering Harry’s name in the Goblet of Fire would give him experience of intense magical challenges in a safe environment—”
            “Safe.” Snape’s voice was still.
            “There have not been many Champions who died in the last few Tournaments,” said Dumbledore in the calming voice that Harry had heard him use so often when he was talking to Sirius. “And Harry does need training, Severus.” He turned and looked at Harry with soft eyes. “I am glad that Sirius could give you something of a childhood, but I’m afraid the childhood may have extended too long. We will have to begin the training now, Harry.”
            Snape might have wanted to ask the question, but Harry spoke first. “Then why didn’t you just train me, instead of pretending to be Professor Moody and all the rest of it?”
            “Because of what others would have said about the unlikeliness of Voldemort’s return and favoritism,” Dumbledore began again.
            “With all due respect, Headmaster,” said Snape, in the most disrespectful tone Harry had ever heard him use, “I do not think that you have ever worried about the opinions of your enemies. If you thought something needed to be done, you did it.”
            “Indeed!” Dumbledore beamed. “The way I did this time. I am pleased to find us back on the road to mutual understanding again, Severus.”
            Snape leaned slowly forwards. Harry heard a strange creaking noise. He wondered what it was.
            The back of the chair under strain where your Snape is gripping it, Dash said. He sounded almost professionally interested. He is impressive.
            “You would have done the training openly once, and not cared about what your enemies said,” Snape whispered. “That was what made you a good Headmaster. Because you cared for the good of the school and its students rather than what the Ministry and the Board of Governors would have thought of you.”
            Dumbledore sat still, staring into Snape’s eyes. Harry blinked. He had the oddest feeling that he had just become unimportant, that everything had been leading up to this confrontation between Dumbledore and Snape.
            Don’t start thinking that way, Dash told him, and thumped his neck down a little on Harry’s legs. Even if Dumbledore does think like that, you’ll never be unimportant to Snape.
            “What changed?” Snape went on, still whispering to Dumbledore. “Did you feel that no one would listen to you about the return of the Dark Lord? There were no members of the Order of the Phoenix you could have chosen to train Harry? There was nothing but this Tournament that would prepare Harry as you wished?”
            Dumbledore stared mildly back for a long moment, then turned to Harry. “Did you feel happy with Sirius?” he asked.
            “Not all the time.” Harry didn’t even consider trying to lie. It wasn’t that he thought Dumbledore deserved the truth or something, it was just that came out, so he said it.
            “Oh, Harry.” Dumbledore sighed and closed his eyes. “I wished to give you the feeling of safety and the happiness I know you were denied at the Dursleys, but it seemed I failed even at that.”
            “Yes, you did,” said Snape. His voice had gone emotionless, although Harry could see the white knuckles on the man’s hand if he only turned his head a little. “I had to take him away from Black for his own safety. What did you tell Black that made him decide Harry was evil and going to be possessed by the Dark Lord?”
            “That is a secret I cannot reveal,” said Dumbledore. “Harry’s training in Occlumency is impressive, but in its infancy. If he were to think about it in his dreams, where Voldemort could reach him—”
            “And yet you told Black?”
            Harry understood. Sirius couldn’t keep secrets well. Harry was kind of amazed that he had kept even this one from Harry, when he had told him about the prophecy. Maybe Dumbledore had told him it would kill Harry if it got out. That was the only motivation Harry could imagine persuading Sirius.
            “You have not yet answered my other questions,” Snape pursued, his voice a soft rasp now. “Did you feel that no one would listen to you about the return of the Dark Lord?”
            “I think it should rather be Harry’s questions that I answer, Severus,” said Dumbledore, mildly enough. “We have both hurt him in our own ways. I think we should try to be considerate of him now—”
            Harry became aware he was standing up, although he hadn’t really known he would be rising to his feet. Dash was undulating around him, drawn back and ready to strike. Harry wasn’t sure what would happen if he told Dash to hurt Dumbledore. Would he do it?
            Of course I would.
            Harry swallowed. All right. Then he had to hold back that much. But his emotions were still roaring in his ears as he stared at Dumbledore and said, as slowly and coldly as he could, “You weren’t thinking of me. You were thinking of yourself, and maybe a little of Sirius. And I think I know the answer to the questions you won’t answer.”
            Dumbledore looked at him with what Harry thought was real pain. But it was still his pain, and he didn’t care as much about what Harry felt as he did himself. “Harry, if you knew how much I have wished circumstances were different—”
            “I don’t give a shit what you wanted,” Harry said mechanically. “What you wanted wasn’t what I got.” He closed his eyes. He wished he was the one who had poison fangs in his mouth.
            Having them in mine is as good as having them in yours.
            Harry wanted to bite Dumbledore. He wanted to order Dash to bite him. But he didn’t, and not just because he knew that wouldn’t solve anything in the long run.
            It would prove Dumbledore had been right about him. And Sirius, too. And more than anything right now, Harry didn’t want to give them the satisfaction.
            “You did this because you thought it would prove my courage,” he went on, his eyes shut. Things were just easier if he didn’t look at Dumbledore right now. “You did this because you thought—I don’t know, that it would make me more Gryffindor somehow. You thought you could intervene as Moody to make sure that I wouldn’t use Dash in the Tasks. That would take me further away from Dash and my ‘Slytherin side,’ the way you and Sirius keep calling it. And you never once thought Slytherin traits would be useful to me to win the Tournament. Right?”
            Harry opened his eyes. Dumbledore looked as though Harry had dropped a mountain on him. He held out a hand.
            “Harry,” he probably meant to whisper, but Harry didn’t hear any sound come from his lips.
            “You said at the beginning of this conversation that you thought the Tournament would test my courage,” Harry told him tiredly. “I should have figured it out then, but I thought you were different from Sirius. That you didn’t think my almost being Sorted into Slytherin meant that much.”
            He took a deep, painful breath. Dash squeezed him lightly, and that made Harry feel a little better. “Sirius spent twelve years in Azkaban thinking about how Slytherins made him feel horrible and never getting over what happened in school. What’s your excuse?”
            Snape put his hand on Harry’s shoulder, pressing down gently, as if he wanted to ground him or thought Harry would break. Harry just stood there and let it happen. He honestly had no idea if he was going to break or not. What he did know was that he didn’t know what he felt right now.
            Dumbledore sighed slowly out. “I don’t believe that you need a reminder of your own courage because of your almost Sorting Slytherin, Harry. I told you that your own choices were important, and I meant that and still mean it. It is everything else that has happened since then which convinced me that you need to be brought back into touch with Gryffindors.”
            Harry closed his eyes again. “What do you mean? I’m tired of guessing.”
            “Your Parseltongue. That you willingly bonded with a basilisk. After your second year, when you downplayed your ability to speak to snakes as much as possible and killed a basilisk…”
            “So, basically,” Harry said, speaking before he thought, “you’re upset that you failed to predict I’d bond with Dash, and you’re acting like this because it’s making me do things that are strange to you, and you don’t like it.”
            Snape sucked in a harsh breath. Harry thought he was going to get a scolding—Snape had sounded like that before he scolded Harry—but instead Snape murmured, “There you have it, Harry. Yes. That is exactly what happened.”
            And it is a stupid thing to fear, said Dash in the back of his head at the same time. He feared what? That you’d become like Voldemort because you had some of the same gifts of snake tongue and snake bonding that he did? How did this man rise to become the leader everyone looks up to?
            Harry swallowed, spent a moment sorting out the overlapping conversations in his head, and then told Dash, I think he was better in the past. He looked Dumbledore in the eye and said, “I’m not going to turn into Voldemort. I promise that.”
            “The basilisk,” Dumbledore whispered, as earnest as if he was telling Harry some highly guarded secret, “is a Dark creature. By inheritance, Harry. The magic that created them involves unnatural twisting of animals. It increases your own tendency towards Darkness and use of Dark Arts to associate with one for any length of time.”
            “Well, then,” Harry said, out of the center of that feeling where he didn’t know what he was feeling, “then it’s a good thing I’m not bonded to an ordinary basilisk, isn’t it?”
            Dumbledore frowned at him. “Do you want to explain what you mean by that?”
            “An ordinary basilisk egg couldn’t just be hatched. But that’s what happened with Dash. I went down there, and he was an egg, and he hatched.” Harry found himself swaying a little, at least until Dash locked himself against the back of Harry’s legs and held him still. Harry looked down and rubbed his head. “An ordinary basilisk egg wouldn’t actually be a basilisk egg. It would need someone to tend it, and a chicken’s egg that you hold underneath a toad. I don’t know many toads, but I don’t think a whole lot of them would like to actually incubate a chicken’s egg.”
            Dash touched the back of Harry’s hand with his tongue. I think you’ve told him enough. Let him be silent and think about it for a while.
            Harry shut his mouth. He didn’t think he could actually say more, anyway. There was that swaying, and that strange feeling inside him where his emotions should have been. Maybe he was the egg, and just the empty shell. Dumbledore had scooped all the yolk out of him.
            You need a rest.
            “That…makes a great deal of sense, but it also makes things a great deal more worrying,” said Dumbledore slowly, and then suddenly leaned forwards and spoke urgently. “Harry, do you realize that you are entering unknown territory? With the link to Voldemort that you have, with a basilisk that might do anything wrapped around your arm! We cannot afford to lose this war, not if you are to have a peaceful life and others are to have theirs. But playing with Parseltongue and a basilisk might lead us in that direction.”
            Harry shook his head. He was done with this conversation, but he didn’t think he had the ability to say so.
            Snape was the one who did.
            “You and I will talk more at a later date, Headmaster,” he said, with utter polite disdain in his voice. He turned Harry gently around and pushed him towards the entrance to the office. “You’ve revealed some things tonight that I think you should consider. You are so frightened of the future being unpredictable that you pulled a stunt which could cost you leadership of the school. You trusted too much to the prophecy that you told Black about, didn’t you? You thought you knew what you had to do, and now things have twisted, and the child who should have been a sacrificial lamb might live.”
            “I never wanted Harry to die!” Dumbledore was standing up, and from the way his eyes flashed, Harry thought he was at least being honest now. “Severus, for you to imply that I did—”
            “Oh, no,” Severus said softly. “This is about your crimes, not mine. You want to control the future. You want to be sure of things. You don’t always mean badly, but you don’t know how to work with someone; it always has to be manipulation, because they’re not as wise as you are and they might do something wrong. And you like to offer redemption. Well, Harry doesn’t need redemption. Not for being a Parselmouth, not for having a basilisk, and not for not falling at your feet. Good night, Headmaster.”
            He turned his back on Dumbledore and shut the office door behind them with a thunderous sound. They rode down the staircase in silence, even from Dash, but Harry managed to speak when they got to the bottom.
            “What do you think is going to happen?”
            “Immediately? You are going to bed.”
            Harry grimaced a little, but shook his head. “You know what I mean. With him.”
            “I think he would never have done this if he still had the power base he once counted on.” Snape was steering Harry down the corridor towards his office. “It has eroded, and he is frightened.”
            “Is that a good thing?” Harry asked, a little confused by what he heard in Snape’s voice. If Dumbledore was weak, then Voldemort was probably strong, and he hadn’t thought Snape wanted that to happen.
            “Yes. Because he has less power to hurt you.”
            Harry closed his eyes. He felt odd, muffled still, with his emotions wrapped in cotton.
            You have someone who will put you first. It’s odd for you because you lived a totally unnatural childhood.
            Harry sighed a little. It shouldn’t be that strange to me. I’ve had you.
            Dash cuddled close to him and touched his tongue to Harry’s earlobe. But the more people who do it, the better. Sleep, Harry.
            In the end, Harry wasn’t entirely sure that he was still awake when he reached the bedroom and Snape bundled him into bed, or if he had fallen asleep on the way there and Dash had simply guided his body to the right place to fall. But a small part of him had been awake, because he felt Snape’s hand on his forehead and heard him murmur, “Neither of them is going to hurt you again.”
            And that made an emotion fill him at last. Fierce, devouring happiness, the kind he had felt when he first bonded with Dash.
            It’s always nice to have help.
*
SP777: Dash could do that if needed, but he would rather hold the power in reserve for now, not least because it’s hard for him and he doesn’t want to show weakness in front of Dumbledore.
moodysavage: Thanks! Dumbledore didn’t intend to keep Harry’s mind, but he did want to test Harry’s Occlumency for himself, and he’s satisfied that it isn’t that strong.
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A Brother to Basilisks