Curse of the Basilisk

By Adalanta

Disclaimer: The characters used in this story are the property of J. K. Rowling, although the plot (such that it is) is mine. This story was written purely for fun (and to get the idea out of my head so I could actually think!). I'm not getting a dime from this. This is my first fanfic, so please Read and Review. I welcome all comments so feel free to email me at adalanta14@yahoo.com. This will be a multi-chapter story, and if you all seem to like it, I'll post the rest as soon as my schedule lets me write them.

I'm giving this a PG-13 rating for violence but I think that's a stretch.

Chapter One: The Closed Window

"Stupid boy! Watch what you're doing! Do you want us to starve?!" Vernon Dursley shouted as the young boy carrying his breakfast stumbled.

"S-Sorry, Uncle Vernon." Harry Potter stuttered. Cautious of his uncle's terrible temper, he quickly moved to the other side of the table and began serving the marinated steak and fried eggs to his aunt rather than his uncle in a futile attempt to keep away from Vernon's heavy fists. He hoped his uncle would not notice the change in routine. He was wrong.

"Don't call me that!" Mr. Dursley snarled. "I'm no relation to you! Hurry up! And why are you serving her? You know I always go first!"

He could see Vernon's face turning red with rage and couldn't help but cringe inwardly as he finished serving Aunt Petunia and moved on to Dudley. The fat boy gave him a malicious grin, knowing what was going to happen, as he placed a large mound on steak and eggs on his plate. The Dursleys had finally given up on Dudley's diet. He had not lost a single pound since his parents had started him on it before Harry had left for school more than a year before. Little did they know that Dudley had been stealing money from them and smuggling food home from school. Harry could hear the pig-like sounds of gorging coming from his cousin's room late at night when his aunt and uncle were asleep.

Now finished with Dudley, Harry braced himself and began serving Vernon. Trying to hurry, he accidentally dropped one tiny piece of steak onto the lemony-yellow linoleum floor. He never saw the massive fist move.

Crack! Harry flew back against the wall and fell to the floor, momentarily stunned. He didn't move when Vernon grabbed him by the collar and began dragging him up the stairs. He only vaguely heard him muttering about "freaks" and "unnaturalness" and "beating the nonsense out of the boy."

He closed his eyes to reduce his pounding headache, trying to keep himself from vomiting on his uncle. That would only make him angrier and prolong the beating. He felt the floor come up to meet his body, smashing the air out of his lungs. The last thing he heard was the door of his room being slammed. He didn't even feel it when Vernon began punching and kicking him furiously.

*******************

Time blurred. Whenever he tried to move, he nearly screamed with pain. Harry bit his lower lip to keep from crying out. He would not give his uncle the satisfaction. After several failed attempts, he managed to crawl the whole three feet to his bed and feebly clawed a thin blanket from the bed. He weakly tried to cover himself with it one-handed.

Harry didn't know how long it had been. He had completely lost the ability to track time. The only thing he knew was day and night from the amount of light shining in from his miniscule window.

He finally was alert enough to assess his injuries, despite the pain that racked his thin frame every time he moved. The most painful of his injuries was his right arm. It was clearly broken just above the elbow with the bone piercing through the skin, causing his whole arm to jut out at an odd angle from his body. Just looking at it made him feeling like vomiting, or was that still from the large, bloody lump on the back of his head? He wasn't quite sure which.

It hurt to breathe. Sharp, stabbing pain filled his chest whenever he took a breath. Because of this, he'd been forced to take short gasps for air. He'd had a crashing headache every time he'd awoke but now was beginning to feel lightheaded as well.

For a while, Harry lay on his back, staring up at the dull white ceiling. He weakly raised his bruised left arm and wiped his face to relieve a strange tickling sensation. Only after feeling the dampness on his hand did he realize that he was sweating profusely. I wonder why, he thought vaguely. I suppose it is rather hot in here. He closed his eyes and let his mind wander.

He thought about his best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. In his mind, he saw Ron sitting in his bedroom, red hair clashing with the orange glow of the room from all of his Chudley Cannons posters and pictures. He looked happy, laughing at some joke that Fred and George were playing on Percy.

He saw Hermione bent over her desk in study, looking through one of her numerous textbooks, chewing her lower lip in frustration. He heard a woman's voice calling her name. Hermione glanced up from her book, eyes unfocused and sighed in frustration. "I'm coming, Mum, just give me a minute. I need to finish this chapter!"

Just thinking about his friends gave Harry a small measure of relief. No matter how badly he was hurt, at least his friends were all right. If he could survive three different attacks by Lord Voldemort, he could take a few beatings from a Muggle. He would make it – as long as nothing happened to his friends. His exhausted body finally caught up with his wandering mind, and he drifted to sleep.

*******************

A snowy white owl flew through the night, feeling happy. She was almost home – only three streets away. It had been so long. She missed her master. He talked to her. He scratched her head just the way she liked it. And best of all, he gave her treats whenever she came back from message delivery. Ah, there went that row of houses. Only two more.

She flung out her wings and let the air currents push her this way and that. She loved the freedom of flight. It was one thing that her owner's nasty relations couldn't take away from her. She remembered the fight that her owner and that horrible fat man had gotten into when he'd tried to lock her in the shed. She'd almost clawed that awful man's eyes out when he'd struck her master. She would have, too, if her master hadn't stopped her. Ever since, her master had kept his window open. So she could escape, even if he could not.

Okay. Only one street left. She was beginning to feel tired. She had gone a long way this time. It had taken her a whole week to find the strange dark-haired man. He had been very kind though. He reminded her of her master. And the smile on his face when he received her master's letter…

There. Her master's home. She drifted down, hurrying to see her master – and narrowly missed smashing into his closed window. Closed? Why was it closed? He never closed it. He hadn't all summer.

She fluttered anxiously outside his window, trying to see into the dark room. Her sharp yellow eyes did not see anything at first. Her master was not in his bed. Where was he? She decided to take a chance and lightly tapped the window with her beak. Nothing. She tried again. And again.

Finally, she saw movement. A dirty blanket moved on the floor. Wait a minute. That was not just a blanket – that was her master! She flapped her wings, trying to get a better view but soon gave up.

She knew something was wrong with her master. He would let her in if he could. He must be hurt. She had to get help! The closest place was her master's friend. And it was so far…It did not matter. She gave a soft, reassuring hoot to her master and then soared off, flying swifter than ever before.

********************

"Hurry, Dad!"

"I am! Just give me a minute, Ron!"

"I just know something's wrong with Harry!" Ron muttered as his father finished pulling on his green robes. Hedwig had arrived just minutes earlier, hooting and pecking at Ron's bedroom window. Ron knew at once that Harry was in trouble. He'd never seen Hedwig act that way, especially when it was three in the morning. He nervously paced the length of his parents' bedroom as his father finished dressing.

"Arthur, do you think something's happened?" Mrs. Weasley asked anxiously. Harry was practically part of the family, especially after taking care of him that summer right after he had been "liberated" from his uncle's by Ron, Fred, and George. "I'm going to contact Professor Dumbledore! Surely, he can help Harry if he's in some kind of trouble."

"Fine, Molly, fine." Mr. Weasley muttered distractedly. He was searching his bedroom for his misplaced wand. "Ah, here it is!" He gave a quick kiss to his wife. "Don't worry. Everything will be fine. Come on, Ron!" Mr. Weasley flicked his wand and uttered a disapparation spell. Ron felt a brief moment of fear as his world went black.

The Weasleys reappeared in the middle of a quiet suburban street bracketed on both sides by medium-sized well-kept houses. Ron looked at his father in frustration. "Why didn't we go straight to Harry's house, Dad? This is an emergency!"

Mr. Weasley shook his head and started walking in a fast pace, forcing Ron to almost run to keep up with his father's long stride. "We can't. After that first scare with You-Know-Who two years ago, the Ministry of Magic decided to take some precautions to protect Harry during his summer break."

"Harry never told me."

"That's because he doesn't know. Mr. Fudge didn't want to alarm Harry, which is crazy because Harry already knows that You-Know-Who is after him." Mr. Weasley snorted in disgust. "Anyway, the Ministry decided to make this area a Blackout Zone for Apparation and Disapparation. It interferes with wizards and witches trying to come within a full kilometer of Harry's house. The side effects of the spell are quite nasty. Although I've never been officially told what happens, I've heard some of the rumors from those who helped conjure it." He stopped talking for a few seconds, trying to catch his breath. "Something about…well…I don't want to make you more upset than you already are, Ron. I'll tell you when you're older."

If Mr. Weasley expected Ron to complain, he was mistaken. Ron was too busy worrying about his friend to care about the specifics of any spell. He glanced over at his father and saw the concern shining in his eyes. It was full moon, so there was no need for his father to create any light with his wand.

"There it is." Mr. Weasley slowed to a stop a couple houses down from Harry's but had to grab Ron's arm to keep him from bolting into the house. "Hold it a second. Now, listen. We can't just walk up to the door and demand to see Harry. We're going to sneak in through his bedroom window upstairs. That way we won't wake the Muggles and make this thing worse than it already is. After all, we don't know for sure that Harry's in trouble. Do you understand, son?"

"Yeah. I guess. What are you going to do?"

"I don't have time to explain. Just stay close to me, okay? I'll go in first and then bring you up."

Ron nodded and they both took off, slipping silently through the shadows of the nearby houses. When they had finally reached Harry's house, Mr. Weasley leaned over and whispered, "Which room is Harry's?"

"That one. The third from the end."

Walking cautiously, Mr. Weasley moved closer until he was directly underneath Harry's window. He pointed his wand at himself and whispered a levitation spell. Slowly, he began to rise into the air, and just when Ron thought his father was going to overshoot his objective, he saw his father's lips move again. Mr. Weasley stopped directly in front of Harry's window. Ron watched intently as his father pointed his wand at the bars holding his friend captive. He jumped back in alarm when the bars transfigured into five tiny garden snakes that fell from above, almost landing on Ron. For a brief second, he smirked at the snakes, wondering what Harry would say to them if he were here. Sensing his father's movement above him, he jerked his attention away from the green wriggling things just in time to see his father enter Harry's room.

*******************

Arthur Weasley didn't know what to expect as he crawled in through the open window, but even his wildest imaginations could not prepare him for what he found.

As he'd levitated outside the window, he'd tried to see inside the dark room. But the moon was on the other side of the house, leaving him to work in shadows. Once he'd dropped into the small room, he couldn't see a thing. Frustrated, he muttered "Lumos," and his wand began to glow. Sudden light pierced the darkness. He automatically moved towards the bed in the corner but never made it.

One moment, he was tiptoeing through the room and the next, his foot caught on something, and he was falling. He flung his arms out to grab something – anything – but could not catch himself in time. THUMP!

He froze, listening intently for a sound from one of the other rooms, holding his breath. An eternity passed, but he did not hear a sound. Oh, thank Merlin! Annoyed, yet curious, he turned to see what Muggle contraption had caused him to trip…

…and froze in horror.

It was Harry. Lying on the floor. Bloody. Pale. Not moving.

Arthur dropped to his knees beside the still figure partially covered with a dirty blanket. "Harry! Oh, my –". He reached out a trembling hand to touch the boy's cheek and was shocked when Harry flinched at his light touch. He drew back his hand as if burned. The boy was burning up and covered in sweat, his black hair matted to his forehead totally obscuring the scar on his forehead. Sweet Merlin, Harry, what did they do to you? What happened? Arthur felt a small measure of relief, despite Harry's upsetting reaction. At least he knew the boy was alive. Barely.

He pushed the terrifying thought to the back of his mind. He had to get Harry out of here – now. He glanced down at the boy and quickly made up his mind. He yanked a thin blanket off of Harry's bed and began to maneuver it around the semi-conscious teenager, but stopped when he moaned loudly in pain. Dear heavens, what's wrong now? He carefully peeled the bloody blanket from Harry's body.

He gasped loudly when he saw the bloody, broken arm with the bone poking through the skin. The sight almost made him sick, and he was forced to turn away and take a deep breath to calm his stomach. He hated to move the boy and cause him more pain, but it was better than the alternative. He would not leave him in this house for one minute longer.

Gritting his teeth, Mr. Weasley dropped the bloody blanket that covered Harry and continued to wrap him in the other blanket, all the while trying to ignore his agonized moans and whimpers and murmuring reassuring phrases to sooth both himself and his young charge. Just when he thought he couldn't take one more second of the heart-wrenching sound, Harry passed out from the pain, and his body went limp in his arms. At least he won't feel me move him. He gathered the limp bundle to his chest and carefully levitated back out the window to freedom.

*******************

Ron watched his father disappear into his best friend's bedroom. He stayed still and listened but couldn't hear a thing, which he figured was a good sign. If he couldn't hear them, then the Dursleys' probably couldn't either. Tearing his gaze away, he nervously shifted his slight weight from foot to foot and thought about his friend.

He hadn't heard from Harry since they had returned home from Hogwarts about a month ago. He figured it was because Harry's relatives were keeping him from answering his letters, assuming he had even received them. Ron glanced up again, expecting to see his father leaning out of the window, ready to levitate Ron up. The window was still empty.

Next, he stared up at the full moon, wondering about his latest Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Remus Lupin. Ron had only discovered right before the end of the term that Professor Lupin was a werewolf. He shivered, remembering how close he had come to being attacked by him; without the help of Sirius Black, falsely convicted murderer and Harry's godfather, he could have been killed or even worse, been bitten and become a werewolf himself. Still, he had no bad feelings against Professor Lupin. He had been a good teacher and a trusted ally – when he was not in his werewolf phase. Ron grinned ruefully.

He fidgeted. What was taking so long? Why hadn't his father come to get him? Was Harry gone? He had paced a few feet from the house when he heard a soft bump behind him and his name called in a strangled voice.

The first thing he saw as he twisted around was his father holding what looked to be a pile of blankets. He couldn't identify what it was in the shadows. The next thing he noticed was his father's extraordinarily pale face. "Dad? Where's Harry?" he whispered.

Mr. Weasley just stared at him, then replied in a hushed voice, "Not now, Ron." With those words, he started walking swiftly away from the house, not looking back to see if Ron was coming.

Ron ran to catch up with his father, furious that they were leaving Harry behind and confused with his father's behavior. "What are you doing?! We can't just leave him there! Where is he? Why didn't you let me come up? Why –." He choked as a limp, white arm fell out of the pile of blankets, glowing palely in the full moonlight. No. Please, no.

His vision began to grow fuzzy about the edges and a dull roaring filled his ears. He couldn't move – his legs were cemented to the ground. He stared in horror at the bundle. Now he knew what it was – a person wrapped in a shroud. Harry. "No," he whispered, his throat so tight that the sound barely came out.

He's dead. I was too late. He's dead.

"Ron. Ron! Snap out of it!" A familiar voice brought Ron partially back to his senses. "We don't have time for this! We have to get him home NOW if we're going to have a chance to save him."

"S-Save him? You…you mean h-he's not – not dead?" Ron mumbled through the haze that obscured his vision. He couldn't have had heard his father right. No one could be that pale and still be alive, he thought numbly.

"No, he's not dead. Not yet. But he's hurt very badly and needs help. Now move!"

Ron's vision swiftly cleared as the adrenaline rush swept through his body, and he began running stiffly after his dad once more. He kept repeating one phrase over and over: He's not dead. He's not dead. He's not dead. His father's footsteps seemed to fall in time with the phrase, each footstep taking his best friend closer to safety.

He blinked when his father came to a sudden halt and carefully laid Harry on the soft grass beside the road. He withdrew his wand from his pocket and then knelt beside the boy and pulled him back into his arms, trying not to jostle him. Ron barely had time to realize that they had reached the edge of the Blackout Zone and were free to apparate back to the Burrow before his father whispered the spell, and they vanished. The only trace of their presence was a small area of brownish-red grass by the edge of the curb.