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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 Sixty-Nine—Poison on the Sheets

            The potion was ready.

            Blaise could feel his hands shaking as he stood in front of the cauldron and stared into its depths. It was filled with a glinting, milky blue liquid. The letters from his “friend” had said the liquid would turn into grains that exactly matched the color of any cloth Blaise put them on. That meant he could put them in Draco’s bed and they would just look like bits of green fluff, if Draco saw them at all.

            And the letters had also promised that the potion was only poison to magical snakes. Draco himself would go untouched by it.

            It was the only reason Blaise had agreed to brew the potion at all.

            To test things, he’d brought along one of his red shirts. He laid it on a dusty table and carefully scooped out a ladle full of the potion, then poured it on the shirt before he could start breathing harshly or change his mind.

            The second the potion touched it, the liquid vanished. Blaise had to bend close to see the tiny red grains there, and he sighed and stepped back, brushing his hair off his forehead.

            It was so like the gesture Potter used when he wanted to hide his scar that he smiled at himself a second later, and shook his head. He would adopt a gesture like that, and it would be ridiculous, when Potter was the one he was working to oppose.

            So the potion worked. Now all he had to do was sneak it into Draco’s sheets. And that would probably be easier than it sounded, since Draco tended to spend his time with Potter lately and waltz back into bed late and dazed and smiling.

            Blaise turned to spoon some of the potion into one of the vials he’d brought along—

            And then paused. There was a flicker of motion near the door, something dark and sliding that made Blaise’s wand spring into his hand. For a second, the back of his neck prickled as he remembered all those stories he’d heard as a first-year, about the ghosts of murdered Slytherins lurking in the dungeons.

            “Hello?” he called, stepping towards the door. But no one responded, and the flicker of motion didn’t repeat. When Blaise thought about it later, he had to admit it could have been the dancing shadows of the torches he’d seen out of the corner of his eye, and they could have startled him.

            For the moment, he didn’t care about it. He gathered up the potion, cleaned the cauldron so no one could tell what he’d been making if they stumbled on it, and then made his way back to the common room as quickly as he could. If he glanced over his shoulder every now and then, no one had to know why.

*

            “Mr. Potter.”

            Harry blinked and sat up. He’d come to Snape’s quarters last night to talk about a homework assignment and fallen asleep in front of the fire. That was embarrassing, but at least today was Saturday and that meant he wouldn’t have to go to classes.

            Dash lifted his head and yawned deliberately. That didn’t do anything to frighten the man in front of them, though, who was Lughborn. He nodded to both Harry and Dash and sat down in the chair that faced Harry’s, the way he had when he was here last week.

            “Is something wrong with Sirius?” It was the only reason Harry could think of as to why Lughborn would show up like this, without warning. On the other hand, he must have woken up Snape to let him in or something. He wouldn’t have been able to get in himself.

            “I’ve spoken with him,” said Lughborn. “And I want you to know that I will have to spend a great deal of time with him. But he said one hopeful thing I wanted to tell you right away. I thought you might not have experienced much cause for hope when it came to your godfather.”

            “All right,” said Harry, and hunched forwards a little. Dash was still beside him, not impatient or angry enough to deny Harry the right to hear this. Harry thought he heard Snape coming into the room, presumably so Harry wouldn’t be alone with Lughborn, but he focused on the Mind-Healer instead, and pushed Snape gently out of his mind.

            Lughborn looked straight at him and said, “He was upset after the Second Task because he had thought you cared for him most of all. That you only went with Professor Snape and said that you didn’t want to be with Mr. Black because you were trying to keep up public appearances. That Professor Snape had overpowered your will somehow.”

            Harry breathed out slowly. It was ridiculous, and from the way Snape grabbed the back of Harry’s chair, he thought the same thing. But Harry still wanted to hear more of what Lughborn had to say. Ridiculous or not, this was Sirius now. “And what made him change his mind?”

            “The way you looked at Mr. Malfoy, apparently. That made Mr. Black realize he didn’t have the first place in your heart, and shouldn’t expect it.”

            “Well, that’s good,” said Harry. “Right?”

            “He would very much like to get back that first place in your heart.” Lughborn studied him. “One thing I must avoid with patients as intense as Mr. Black is doing what would merely gratify their wishes, rather than what is good for them. I told him I would come and speak with you to see if he would ever get back the first place. But I urge you to make your decisions on your own. Not to tell me what he thinks he wants to hear. Or what you think he does.”

            Harry bit the corner of his lip. Then he said, “He’s the best person with a link to my parents that I know of, since Dumbledore did what he did.”

            “That is not the same thing as offering the first place in your heart to him.”

            “No.” Harry could feel Snape still shifting behind him. He finally said, “Tell Sirius I’d like to talk to him again when he’s better. Maybe that will be enough for him.”

            “It sounds sensible,” said Lughborn. He stood up and cast Harry a considering glance. “Perhaps you will want to have some Healing of your own when I am done with Mr. Black?”

            Harry gave him a tight smile. “That’s something I’d have to consider. Mostly I feel worse when I talk about things.”

            “Potions taste bad, but they do heal you.”

            You could let me bite him, and then he couldn’t say things like that, suggested Dash, who had apparently woken up enough to listen.

            “I know that,” said Harry, and nothing else, pressing down a little on Dash just in case he did get any ideas about attacking Lughborn.

            The Mind-Healer nodded once, and left. Harry closed his eyes and tried to decide what would mean Sirius had healed—at least enough for Harry to speak to him. If he knew Snape, the man was about to ask—

            “What would mean healing, for you? What would mean he’s better?”

            Yeah, right on time. Harry opened his eyes to look at Snape. “I don’t know for sure,” he said flatly. “Some promises not to talk badly about you and Draco, and the ability to see me as more than my dad. But I don’t know if I would trust him to make those promises and not break them, either.”

            “Have him take an Unbreakable Vow.” Snape always looked horribly happy when he was talking about something that could kill Sirius. “That would slay him in an instant if it turned out that he didn’t keep his promises, and it would also keep him from making ones he didn’t mean in the first place.”

            “He would probably refuse that, too. And he’d be right,” Harry added, when Snape tried to open his mouth and say something. “I mean, if he can’t resist the temptation to talk badly about you and Draco, why should he swear one? It would basically be a death sentence.”

            Snape made a sharp motion, and then pulled his hand back. Harry wasn’t afraid. For one thing, he knew a lot better by now than to think Snape would hit him, no matter how frustrated he got.

            For another, fourteen feet of basilisk wrapped around Harry and beneath his chair would have made Snape regret hitting him even if he did want to for some reason.

            “I hate how much effort you put into defending him,” Snape whispered at last, when Harry had probably spent five minutes waiting for him to explain. He was staring at the fireplace, and he was brooding hard enough that Harry could feel the intensity from here, like another fire. “Even after he mistreated you and kept secrets from you and nearly got you bitten by a werewolf, you defend him.”

            Harry swallowed. “It’s easier to forgive him when I know he was just careless and thoughtless, instead of hating me and wanting me to suffer the way the Dursleys did.”

            “Really? That very thoughtlessness makes him more culpable, to me. How could—how could someone have you in his care and still remain self-involved enough to not pay more attention to you?”

            Harry swallowed again, this time harder. There was something heavy to get down here, and he had no idea what words to say.

            You don’t need to say anything, Dash murmured to him. Your Snape will probably get embarrassed that he said it in a minute and deny that he did if pressed. But you might make a gesture. That would be appreciated.

            Harry slid down from the chair and crossed the small distance between them. Snape turned so he was meeting Harry’s eyes. His face was hopelessly haunted, and Harry wished he could make that go away.

            But he couldn’t. He could only reach out, a little unsteadily, and put his hand on Snape’s shoulder.

            Snape grabbed it and squeezed it hard enough that Harry gasped a little. Then Snape pulled Harry roughly against him, held him, and turned to look into the fire.

            Harry stood there stiffly. This wasn’t something Snape did often enough that Harry had got used to it. And he only seemed to do it when Harry had just risked his life or he was afraid he might, most of the time.

            Snape didn’t let go and react in an embarrassed way, though. He went on holding Harry, and gradually Harry leaned against Snape and relaxed, even resting on him a little.

            That seemed to be what Snape needed. He closed his eyes, and although Harry had no illusions that he would go to sleep, at least this way he could think Snape was getting some more relaxation himself.

            You are doing very well, said Dash softly into the back of his head. The both of you.

*

            Draco stretched and stood up with a yawn. He’d been sleeping hard lately, probably because he’d spent the week before the Second Task lying awake and worrying about how Harry would survive, who would be his hostage for the Task if Draco didn’t volunteer, and so on. At least his body was letting him make up for it.

            He bent over the bed and held out a hand. Usually, in the winter mornings, Conflagration would crawl out from under the bed and curl onto his wrist, and then Draco would go sit by the fire and warm him up for a while.

            This time, Conflagration didn’t come out right away. Draco rolled his eyes and hissed the word “Come” in Parseltongue, so practiced by now that he didn’t even have to stop to think about how many s’s it had.

            Conflagration still didn’t come out. Draco drew his wand and cast Lumos, frowning in concern. Sometimes Conflagration still escaped and went wandering, and there would be trouble if he had burned up someone’s books accidentally, or worse, their bedding.

            He could see dusty darkness beneath his bed, and nothing else. Draco sat up slowly, wondering if he had spent the night somewhere else. Sometimes Conflagration went down to the fireplace on his own.

            “Something wrong?”

            That was Blaise, who had grown more distant from him lately, but did look concerned enough now. Draco said softly, “I’m not sure. Conflagration comes out of most of the time right away, but…” He bent down and considered the underside of the bed again, and this time, his light flashed off green scales.

            “Conflagration!”

            He didn’t move, not even when Draco gave another Parseltongue command. Draco gave in to concern and used a Summoning Charm—safer and faster than trying to stick his hand under there if Conflagration wasn’t in the mood to move. Still, Draco prepared himself for a bundle of writhing, snapping snake to land in his arms.

            It didn’t. Conflagration sagged to the side when he got there, head dangling on his limp neck. Draco stared at him and then stroked his back, suddenly worried. Conflagration still didn’t move. His eyes were fixed and motionless, his mouth slightly parted as if he had started to bite something and stopped halfway through.

            “I think he’s sick,” Draco said, when Blaise repeated his question. “I don’t—I didn’t even know magical snakes could get sick.” His mind leaped and turned in several different directions. Should he go to Professor Snape? But he didn’t know if Snbape had any potions that could help sick snakes. Should he go to the library and look for information on snake diseases? To Madam Pomfrey? To Professor Sprout, who seemed to know all about the kinds of plants animals ate when they were sick? To the half-giant, even?

            But in the end, Draco couldn’t be sure that any of them would have answers. He had to reach Harry, and ask him to ask Dash to speak to Conflagration and find out.

            Blaise tried to say something as Draco ran out of the bedroom, but Draco didn’t pay attention to him. Conflagration was more important. If Blaise was a real friend, he would know that and wouldn’t mind being brushed off.

*

            Blaise gave a slow, shaky breath and sat back on his bed for a second. Seeing Draco’s flame cobra affected by the poison had affected him more than he had thought.

            But why should it? It proved the poison worked. It affected magical snakes. That was what it was supposed to do. And Conflagration slept in Draco’s bed most nights.

            Blaise shook his head. Of course it would be upsetting for Draco if his snake died, but soon the basilisk would be gone, too. And then things could get back on a more normal keel.

            Without his basilisk, Draco wouldn’t find Potter half so fascinating. That meant he would start to act more like a normal Slytherin again, and pay some attention to his own future and the way he would have to act to survive the Dark Lord’s war. Blaise assumed his mother would support the Dark Lord at some point, the only sane thing to do. He would have had to fight on the opposite side from Draco if that happened and Draco was still with Potter.

            He had brewed the potion correctly. Draco might be running to Potter even now, and he would probably touch the basilisk with the poison on his skin. That was all how Blaise had wanted it to happen, had even designed things to happen. This was the result of the most Slytherin and clever plot he had ever come up with. He should sit back and enjoy as it played out.

            Which didn’t explain why he felt as breathless as if he was still on the edge, staring down from a cliff.

            Blaise shook his head again. He just wasn’t used to the experience. He would get used to it, he was sure.

            All he had to do now was wait. And be safe.

*

            Harry nearly fell out of his seat at the Gryffindor table when Dash abruptly coiled up and around him, using his body as a trellis to climb higher, like one of Aunt Petunia’s roses. His tongue was lashing out and curling in the air, seeking something Harry couldn’t sense even when he fell more deeply into the bond and tried to smell with Dash’s power.

            Dash, what—

            Draco is coming. And he carries something with him that could be dangerous to me. Link to me.

            Harry hardly had time to breathe, or even voice the thought that someone must have tricked Draco, before he found himself falling into that starry depth he had only seen once before, when he and Dash found the magic to expose Dumbledore. Blue-black whirled past him, like seeing through the inside of a night-colored sapphire. And then Harry was back in the Great Hall, but hovering above his body, hearing but unable to respond to his friends’ questions.

            The scent was soft and subtle, a little like some of the potions that Dash had smelled when he was in Snape’s classroom with Harry. But this was worse. This was something that was meant to cause death to snakes.

            How can you know that? Harry asked Dash, even as he fell on his belly and began to crawl towards the doors.

            Because I can smell death, and not many things can cause death to me, Dash answered shortly, and then he twisted to the side. I cannot touch Draco when he comes in. It will be up to you to do that.

            Harry only shook his head in bewilderment, but he was one being in two bodies now, and they would both do the same thing because they had to. He ran after Dash towards the doors, and smelled with Dash’s flickering tongue again.

            Yes, the scent was thick and heavy and made him think of roses dreaming on their stems. But those roses would open and jab out with thorns that might pierce even Dash’s scales.

            When Draco turned the corner and ran straight towards Harry, with a limp Conflagration in his arms, Harry did what he had to do. He drew his wand and cast a powerful Shield Charm between them. It was stronger now with all the practice that Snape had made him do, pushing Harry in the privacy of their quarters.

            Draco slid to a stop and stared at him. His expression was so betrayed that Harry winced and pulled some of his attention away from Dash to explain.

            “Sorry, Draco, but Conflagration was poisoned. The poison might hurt Dash, too. I have to make sure it doesn’t before I help you.”

            Draco snapped his arm as if he would actually throw Conflagration at the Shield Charm, and Harry tensed. Maybe Draco was too upset to stay at a distance the way Harry needed him to.

            But it was only Draco making an instinctive motion of protest. He came a step closer, but only so he could whisper, “Poison? You’re absolutely certain of that?”

            “Dash can smell it, and right now I’m bonded pretty deeply to him. So, yeah.”

            Draco studied him through the barrier of the Shield Charm one more time, then turned back to Conflagration. “I was counting on Dash to know how to heal him. I thought—he was sick. Does that mean he’s going to die?”

            Harry started to answer, but Dash’s voice rode down the link and emerged from his mouth in a burst of hissing instead. Draco backed up a little, although he also seemed to be listening intently to the Parseltongue for a word he recognized.

            “The poison must not be able to harm a human, or Draco would be in pain by now, too. Take Conflagration from him and hold him down where I can see him. I won’t approach.”

            Harry nodded and said, carefully, in English, “You haven’t felt sick or had any symptoms this morning, Draco?”

            Draco caught on quickly, his eyes widening a little. “No. You think that means—it’s harmless to humans?”

            “Probably.” Harry dropped the Shield Charm, and Draco came running towards him, thrust Conflagration into Harry’s arms, and grabbed him around the waist. Harry winced a little as he held his friend. Draco’s hold was pretty tight.

            Remembering what Dash had said, he turned and bent down, holding Conflagration carefully in his hands above the floor.

            Dash slid towards and around them, but at a distance that meant (well, Harry hoped it did) that none of the poison could drift to him. Then he said, Wipe your hand across Conflagration’s scales.

            Harry did it, feeling the movement of his hand the way he did the ripple of Dash’s muscles, nothing of it separate and distinct. Then he looked down and heard Dash hiss in triumph as some grains on his hand rolled and tumbled. They were black, the color of Draco’s robes.

            That’s it. The poison is invisible and someone probably put it in Draco’s bed. We need to learn who did it, so we can tell what it is. Potion or spell or something else.

            Harry looked up. “Someone who would have access to your bed and want to hurt me or Dash. The poison was on your sheets and could probably change color.” Now that he knew what he was looking for, and had two pairs of eyes to use, he saw a few more grains on Draco’s hair and robes. “Yes, there it is. Quickly, Draco!”

            Draco shut his eyes and obviously tried to force his brain to stop running in circles around his fear of poisoning Conflagration and go in the direction he wanted it to, instead. Harry empathized.

            “Neither Greg nor Vince would ever do something like this to me,” Draco said. “They’re loyal to you, now, because you’re loyal to me.”

            Harry blinked. Not something he’d thought about, but he appreciated it all the same.

            “And I suppose Theo—but no, he hasn’t seemed to care about anything but his books since we were Sorted. He’s never mentioned Dash, or acted afraid of him, or even acted interested in Conflagration. But now I have to wonder if he’s just a good actor and the indifference was all a—” Draco stopped abruptly. “Blaise.”

            “What?”

            “Blaise asked me twice this morning if something was wrong,” Draco whispered. “And he knew how obsessed I was with Parseltongue, and he acts—distant sometimes when your name comes up. I didn’t even think about him as a possible enemy, but—”

            “Go find him,” Harry said, barely managing not to slip into Parseltongue. He was speaking now as both himself and Dash, their fury pounding and riding in his veins. “Bring him to Professor Snape’s office as soon as you can. I’m going there.”

            “You think it’s a potion?”

            “It might be,” Harry said with Dash’s knowledge. “And anyway, he’ll know better how to deal with this than anyone else.”

            Draco galloped off towards the Slytherin dorms. Bearing Conflagration gently in his arms, Harry raced towards the Great Hall, where he’d last seen Snape. Dash flowed in front of him, and Harry asked, What are you doing? even as the answer came pounding into his head.

            Clearing the way.

            People did scream and rise from their tables as Dash arrowed across the floor of the Great Hall. But Snape was already down from the High Table, and he met Harry’s eyes.

            “Poison,” Harry said, ignoring the way that made even more people flinch. They could resolve the rumors later. “Draco’s snake has been poisoned. Come on. We need to go to the dungeons.”

            And Snape nodded and followed him, and Dash looped away from them. Harry tensed when he did that. What are you doing this time?

            Helping Draco secure the troublemaker.

            Even though he winced a little each time Dash was away from him, Harry nodded and let him go. The deep bond would inform them immediately if something happened to one of them, and he—

            Well, he was nearly as secure with Snape striding at his side as with Dash, and he could acknowledge that now.

            Instead of worrying about his safety, Harry bent his mind grimly to figuring out what the hell had happened.

*

            SP777: I mostly wanted to leave it there to keep it from being so long, but, well…

            moodysavage: Thank you!
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A Brother to Basilisks