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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 Seventy-Two—On the Backs of Flames

            Minerva sat stiffly in the chair that Albus—she couldn’t help thinking—had filled so much better, and regarded the three people in front of her, wondering what she had done to deserve this mess being dumped in her lap.

            Severus sat closer to Harry, who had his basilisk coiled around him, than to Blaise Zabini, who stared at the stone cup of tea in his bound hands as if he wished it contained poison. Once, Minerva knew, that would have been unthinkable. Severus would have been hovering protectively over one of his Slytherins and glaring at anyone who dared to come in between them.

            But now…

            Minerva shook her head as the thoughts raced up like flames, threatening to consume her. Things had changed. Severus was Harry’s guardian, his first loyalty was obviously no longer with Slytherin House, Zabini had committed a crime they had to decide how to punish, and she was in Albus’s place.

            “You’re anxious that no one find out exactly how Mr. Zabini was abused,” she addressed Severus.

            Zabini flinched as if from a blow, but didn’t look up. Perhaps he hoped that if he denied the abuse long enough, it would stop being real. Minerva looked at him in pity, but turned away before he could decide that was a sign she wouldn’t be involved in his punishment. They had to do something, to keep Zabini from his abuser as well as to make it clear that what he had done to Mr. Malfoy’s familiar was not acceptable.

            “Of course,” said Severus, his face blank and his bearing upright as Minerva hadn’t often seen it since the war. “And since Mr. Zabini says that his abuser has great power and the ability to find him anywhere, getting him away from here should be a priority. And we cannot tell everyone the truth. But some truth is essential, so that wild rumors do not spread.”

            Minerva nodded, understanding. There would be some people who would think they had kidnapped or killed Mr. Zabini if he simply disappeared, and others who would decide that they could get away with attacks on fellow students’ animals. Dash would probably be the next likely target, but Minerva could imagine the chaos that would spread out from there.

            “There’s nothing you can do that will get me away from him,” Zabini whispered then, gaze firmly on the floor. “He can follow me anywhere. He can find me anywhere. You can’t keep me in Britain and keep me safe from him.”

            Minerva exchanged a disturbed glance with Severus. Well, at least she thought hers was disturbed. Severus continued to sit in his chair like he was made of iron, except for the arm draped over the back of Harry’s chair. He didn’t even flinch when Harry’s basilisk stirred and shifted his weight from mostly on the floor to mostly on Harry’s lap.

            “We will do our best to protect you, Mr. Zabini,” Minerva said. “No child should have to suffer what you did. Even if no child should do what you did, either,” she had to add.

            Zabini looked at her with blank, uninterested eyes, and went back to staring at his hands. Minerva faced Severus. She knew what had to be done, but didn’t have a plan to do it.

            Severus did, though. Or she knew he would have insisted that they remain in his quarters and discuss the problem, instead of removing Mr. Zabini to the surroundings of her office.

            Now, Severus spread his hands a little and said, “There need to be official charges. But not everyone need know what goes on behind the scenes.” He glanced at Harry, who looked up and nodded back. “And it might seem as though we’re the ones on the side of leniency if Harry pleads for mercy.”

            “But Mr. Zabini’s actions affected Mr. Malfoy, not Mr. Potter,” said Minerva. She couldn’t see the broad outlines of Severus’s plan yet, which concerned her. Most of the time, she understood him better than that.

            Although in that case, perhaps what I understand best are his schemes to ensure Slytherin wins the House Cup.

            Severus wasn’t smiling, but he nodded to her a little. “I know that, Minerva. But Mr. Potter is the one that most of the people watching this—the students who have left our school, Mr. Potter’s allies, the Death Eaters—will understand the assault as being targeted at.”

            Minerva sighed a little. She didn’t have nearly the number of political connections that Dumbledore had had. She felt the lack of them now. “So this is about manipulating perceptions.”

            “Always.” Severus looked at her with a faint frown.

            Minerva waved her hand. “I understand the necessity of it, Severus. It’s only that I mourn that necessity, as always.” She turned to Zabini. “Would you be willing to testify in front of the Wizengamot, or wherever else we take this case, that you were acting under orders and didn’t really intend to hurt Mr. Malfoy’s snake?”

            Zabini shook his head, not looking at her. Minerva opened her mouth to press, but Severus said, “He would have to explain why he had undertaken something like this in the first place. And he is not willing to do that.”

            Minerva sighed. “Then what should we do?” Severus had already explained to her Igor’s part in this, which baffled her. She could only assume that perhaps he had intended to win either a basilisk or some advantage for Durmstrang’s Champion in the Tournament.

            “I would like you to make a formal petition to hand this case over to the Wizengamot while giving Mr. Zabini the option not to testify,” said Severus. “Both parts of it. And as quickly as possible. I want this handled before the Third Task.”

            His protective glance cast at Harry said why. Minerva nodded. “I would be happy to do so.” One less thing on my plate as I cope with the intricacies of the Headmistress’s job. “But what will happen because of that?”

            “We will present the case to the Wizengamot, of course,” Severus said, one eyebrow creeping up his forehead as though he couldn’t believe she was this slow. “And Harry will make a plea for clemency. A plea they will be more likely to grant, since they will believe that he was the real target of this plot—as indeed he was—and he has advantages that they cannot discount.” He looked pointedly at the basilisk coiled around Harry’s legs.

            Minerva held back the temptation to say that she wished Harry could be a normal child, and not marked out by the Tournament and You-Know-Who and the basilisk and all the rest of it. But at least Severus and the basilisk had been more good than bad, so she held her peace. “What will that do to Igor?”

            “He will need to appear, of course,” said Severus, and his lip curled even further. “But he will be given mercy, something he cannot underestimate, since he is here in a foreign country without most of his allies. And he will only need to agree to a little bargain we will make him, in return for saying the right phrases in front of the Wizengamot and accepting the right ones from Harry.”

            The basilisk stirred restlessly for a moment. Minerva wondered whether it would have preferred a different end to the plan, but that wasn’t her place to ask, either. She murmured instead, “Are you sure Igor will come instead of fleeing back to Durmstrang?”

            “I have already taken some precautions,” said Severus casually. “Or perhaps it should be said that Dash has taken some precautions.”

            Minerva blinked and looked at Harry. “What does he mean, Mr. Potter?” Even though she had been very informal when talking about Harry to other people in his presence, she still thought it was right to use his last name with him.

            Harry gave a faint smile. “Dash spoke to some of the water-snakes in the lake, Headmistress. They’re keeping a close watch on the Durmstrang boat. It won’t go anywhere.”

            Zabini stirred again. Minerva would have said something, but Severus was keeping a close enough eye on him. She smiled, reluctantly. “Have you told Madame Maxime? This seems like something she should be aware of.”

            “We have not even told Igor yet, or the Aurors who will probably need to bring him before the Wizengamot,” Severus replied, standing. “But that first one is a pleasure I would like to reserve for myself.” He looked almost demented, with his smile, but Minerva could meet it with a similar one of her own. Igor was no friend of hers, and she would be happy to see someone who had tried to harm one of her Gryffindors fail.

            “Very well, then you can do that,” said Minerva, and sighed. “I suppose I’ll inform Maxime, then.” The thought made her feel a little ill, but as far as she knew, Madame Maxime had done nothing wrong, and she deserved to know why the Headmaster of Durmstrang would be up in front of a British court of law.

            A low, hissing sound stopped them. Minerva turned automatically to Harry, thinking he was speaking Parseltongue, but he was only staring at Zabini.

            Who was laughing. He bent over and laughed until his head had to ache, swaying back and forth and clutching his stomach until he looked as if he was going to vomit. Minerva cast a Calming Charm at him, and then a Cheering Charm, but other than changing the tone of his laughter a little, it had no effect.

            “You think that you can keep me safe from him?” Zabini gasped. “You think he won’t know what happened the minute you start announcing this?” He looked up and spoke now as if he was breaking through a thick barrier in the center of himself. “He’s a member of the Wizengamot.”

*

            Blaise felt as if he was falling off a tower. In a way, he was. He had admitted one of the things that might let them identify him, and that meant he was dead already.

            If he was dead and free-falling, then he might as well enjoy it. He had read once that falling was an enjoyable death, if you didn’t let yourself think about what awaited you at the bottom.

            Right now, Blaise was here and he wasn’t in the office, although he was probably thinking about Blaise right now. He would have fun with it.

            “There is only one person the clue fits, then,” said Professor Snape, in a deep voice he probably meant Blaise to find reassuring. Blaise laughed again at the idea that he would think that. “Your mother has a great-uncle, doesn’t she? Jordan Damirini. Who sits in the Wizengamot.”

            Blaise winced as the expected bloody slashes appeared on his arm, and held it out so Professor Snape could see. “Yes,” he said. “You might have spoken of him anyway, and this would have happened the instant you did, if I was in the room.”

            They would have figured it out anyway. I didn’t confess it. I can tell him that, if…

            But Blaise knew there was no mercy in his heart. He would probably laugh when he saw the list of names on the case, but only for a few minutes. Then he would seek out Blaise and kill him, before walking perfectly calmly back to his office and getting ready to hear Potter’s case.

            “He cast this kind of curse on you?” Professor Snape’s voice was almost breathless as he turned Blaise’s arm back and forth, staring at the slashes on it.

            “Of course.” Blaise leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. He was drifting now. It was all over. He would find out and execute him. It might not matter what Blaise told Potter or anyone else—although he did still wish that Potter had kept his mouth shut and not started telling everyone about his abuse, so Blaise would have had a chance of finishing his schooling and leaving Hogwarts. It could have been a nice life. “He didn’t want anyone to find out.”

            Professor Snape cast a few spells. Blaise felt the slashes close. That was a little strange, and Blaise almost opened his mouth to comment on it. They had never healed so quickly.

            Then again, Professor Snape probably knew Dark Arts that could conquer his Dark Arts. Blaise had never had a reason to find out.

            “What did he do to you?”

            Blaise sighed. They knew his name and the consequences that came with someone naming him in front of Blaise, but they didn’t know everything. And they had no reason to. “Why should I relive it for you? I’m going to die anyway. I’d rather not do it with the taste of bad memories in my mouth.”

            Maybe he would spend his last few days reading the books he liked best and writing to his mother. Blaise wished he could see her, but he knew she couldn’t come to school without alerting him at once. Then Blaise wouldn’t even have that short time before he died.

            “Mr. Zabini, we are going to protect you.”

            Blaise opened his eyes and snorted at the way Professor Snape stared at him. He apparently expected Blaise to believe that piece of arrant nonsense. Blaise was pleased with himself for remembering the word “arrant,” and he gave Professor Snape a tolerant smile. “Right. You think you can? Of course you can’t. Not when he sits on the Wizengamot and is—who he is.”

            “That doesn’t mean we are helpless.” Professor Snape’s face was glacial. “I understand now why you didn’t tell anyone before.”

            “Yes, it would be hard for me to,” Blaise agreed, although part of him was shocked. Professor Snape was defending him?

            But, of course, this was part of Snape’s plan. He would never allow his true concern, Harry Potter, to be upset or distressed by the things he wanted to do for Blaise.

            Curious to see how Potter was taking this, Blaise twisted his neck.

            Potter was gazing straight at him, and so was the basilisk—well, the yellow glow that marked his eyes under the clear lids was, anyway. Blaise felt his heart jump, and panted for a moment with his mouth open. This was—this was real? There wasn’t hatred in Potter’s face?

            That’s probably because he sees you as a victim. Someone he doesn’t need to worry about. Someone he can just pity, and then he’ll get you out of the way while he goes and does something else.

            It was still wondrous to think about, and Blaise was still staring at Potter when Professor Snape reached out and pulled his head back around.

            “It will be difficult,” he said. “Especially as we must still present both cases to the Wizengamot. But we will make sure that your—uncle cannot harm you in the meantime.”

            “Oh, well, then things haven’t changed,” said Blaise, shrugging. “Except that I feel a little bit better, so thank you. But he’ll still find out before you get in front of the Wizengamot, and he’ll execute me as soon as he finds out. He can come into Hogwarts any time he wants, you know. Because of who he is.”

            “And I can bar anyone I want to,” said McGonagall, her voice as cold as when she was calling someone out in class for making a basic Transfiguration mistake. “Because I am Headmistress.”

            Blaise glanced at her. That was something he tended to forget, he thought. Both that she had changed posts and that she was here in the room.

            But he had to shake his head again. “If you barred him from coming in for no reason, then he would know something was up,” he pointed out. He knew what the logic was. It was precise and undefeatable. He knew. He’d gone over it in his mind often enough, imagining all the non-existent ways he could escape. “And then he would guess what it was, and he would kill me.”

            “You seem to have decided that you’re going to die anyway,” said Potter suddenly. Blaise turned towards him. There was no reason not to. “So why won’t you let us act to save you? It’s doomed, but you don’t have to lift a finger to do anything.”

            Blaise leaned his head back in his chair as he considered. He didn’t consider getting up and trying to attack Potter again, or something like that. He knew the basilisk would kill him in an instant before he could do that. But what Potter said made sense, and he didn’t seem to hate Blaise, so he wouldn’t suggest something that would get him killed faster.

            “I suppose I might as well,” he said. “You won’t be able to change anything, but like you said, it won’t require any effort from me, either. But be careful, will you? I’d like to speak at least once more with my mother before I die.”

            “Surely she would protect you if she knew?” whispered Professor Snape.

            “But she doesn’t know. He said that he would make sure she was arrested for the crimes she’s escaped arrest for if I told her.”

            Professor Snape set his jaw at that. “We will do something about that, too,” he said, and stood.

            Blaise thought of telling him not to contact his mother, but that would be too much effort for something he shouldn’t have to do at all, as Potter had told him. Blaise closed his eyes and drifted instead.

            “You are a lot like me. I didn’t want to tell anyone, either. And I was convinced they would find out the instant I did.” A pause. “But you have a lot more reason to imagine that he’d find out than I did.”

            Blaise didn’t bother opening his eyes. “Right, Potter. And you couldn’t leave well enough alone, either, while I only acted to defend myself.”

            But the adults were talking, and it was surprisingly easy to fall asleep and dream that he was safe and well, home with his mother, and nothing was wrong.

*

            Draco sat in front of the fireplace in the Slytherin common room, beyond the shimmering of protections and shields that would keep anyone from eavesdropping on his conversation, and ignored the scowls directed his way in a lordly fashion. Conflagration was curled on his arm, asleep except when he had woken up to eat a small mouse Draco had Summoned for him.

            He had almost died.

            Draco had a perfect right to use the fireplace to Floo his father and ask him what was going to be done about this.

            For long moments, he thought either the Floo call hadn’t gone through—which would be strange, since he knew other students had used this particular hearth to contact their parents before—or that a house-self was keeping him waiting for an absurdly long time. But at last the flames cleared away, and Father was there with an inquiring look on his face.

            Draco didn’t even give him time to ask what was wrong. He held up Conflagration and said, “Blaise brewed a poison that nearly killed him today.”

            Father’s face stiffened. It was visible most in the lines around his eyes, Draco thought, fascinated. And he knew a little pride that he was the only one in the world, other than Mother and maybe Professor Snape, who knew what it meant when Father looked like that. No one else would understand how angry he was right now.

            “Why did he do that?”

            “It was a poison that killed magical snakes. He was apparently hoping I would take it and put it on Dash and Harry.” Draco held up Conflagration again. “We caught Blaise—well, Dash and I did—and now they’re discussing how sad it was that he did it, because he was abused. No one cares that Conflagration almost died.”

            Father’s nostrils flared, and he bent close as if he was going to smell the residue of the poison that Draco knew was probably left on Conflagration. Draco tried to look as pitiful as he could. He was sure Father would sympathize with him anyway, but right now, it was especially important.

            “This is intolerable,” said Father at last. “That anyone should try this, and think they could get away with it…” He fell silent, thinking, and Draco was content to wait. There was a warm glow in his stomach. Finally someone was taking him seriously.

            “Why did Mr. Zabini do this to you?” Father asked at last. “I thought you were friends.”

            Draco rolled his eyes. He knew he looked a little dramatic, but he didn’t care. The most important part was that Father had agreed he was right. “He was being commanded to do it by someone who said they would keep him safe. Blaise was angry at Harry for trying to get justice for abused children.”

            “Why?”

            “Because he’s one and he thought somehow everyone would find out his secret,” said Draco, annoyed. His own father wasn’t going to get distracted by irrelevant things like this, was he? “It doesn’t matter. But Professor Snape found out it was Karkaroff who was telling him to do it. You’re not going to let them get away with it, are you? I mean, Blaise and Karkaroff? Everyone was talking about caution and so on, and we can’t just do that! They’ll think they could get away with hurting Conflagration.”

            Father was unusually still for a moment, which Draco didn’t like much. That might mean he was thinking the same way as Professor Snape and Harry.

            But finally, Father nodded. “I think it would be inappropriate to have a simple trial and have that be all that comes of this,” he said.

            Draco sighed in relief. Father believed him. Well, of course he did, Draco scolded himself a second later. Father would never think he was a liar.

            “I will come to the school soon, Draco,” Father said then. “You are to keep quiet until then. Don’t tell Mr. Potter that you want a different kind of trial for Mr. Zabini, or complain too much about your snake. This changes my own position in some ways. That means I must move carefully.”

            Draco stroked Conflagration and said nothing. He wasn’t satisfied. He would have liked to make an announcement about how this wasn’t acceptable, and he knew it because his father said so. He would have liked to humiliate Blaise in front of the entire Slytherin common room.

            On the other hand…

            He had already done that, in some ways, by chasing him down right in the common room. And Dash had helped. At least Draco thought no one would bother Conflagration for a while after that. No one had even tried to get through the barriers he had up around the fireplace, although usually one of the upper-level students would have scowled at a fourth-year for taking this amount of time.

            “Can you do this for me, Draco?”

            Father was appealing to him. Draco felt pride spike up through him, and nodded. He could. And he understood what it meant that he could. Father would trust him with more and more in the future.

            Father smiled. “Thank you, Draco. In the meantime, watch Conflagration well for me. And do not allow Professor Snape to simply return Mr. Zabini to your dorms,” he added. “Good-bye.” The fire flared and disappeared.

            Draco dropped his shields and walked towards his bedroom, triumph in his step. He was right. He was going to get something done. And Conflagration was curled sleeping on his arm, still alive.

            It was enough.



*

            SP777: He would not have appreciated that.

            ChaosLady: Thank you!

            Jester: Thanks!

            Luckily, the kind of tactics Lucius favors are the kind of tactics that Snape and Harry will also need, in this situation, but he can reconcile Draco to them.
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A Brother to Basilisks