Once again the supreme muse that is NaNoWriMo has kicked my butt into gear to finally get this chapter finished!
Fair warning, some readers may find the content of this chapter distressing or disturbing, as this is the chapter that - at least in my mind - really earns that M rating.
~Chapter 21: A Snake, Everted~
"Today you will learn how to turn reptiles into coin pouches," Professor McGonagall said at the beginning of their transfiguration class.
It was halfway through October, and after two weeks of intensive practice they'd all managed to turn their mice into snuffboxes — or trinket boxes, as McGonagall begrudgingly called them after someone in the Ravenclaw-Slytherin class had challenged her on promoting the use of tobacco by minors. Harry didn't care what they called them, he was just relieved his own box had turned out well and didn't squeak in displeasure when he packed it full of a mix of dried nettles and thyme. Neville wasn't so lucky, and had left the class with a skinned knuckle from where the box had snapped shut on his finger in protest.
Harry heard Neville groan in dismay from his seat in the row behind at the prospect of creating yet another container capable of eating his fingers, and for once not even Harry's excitement at learning a new spell could fully dispel the similar sentiment crawling up his throat.
"Will you be okay?" Hermione whispered as they rose from their desk and joined the throng pushing towards the terrariums lining the right side of the room.
The glass tanks were full of lizards and snakes, the latter of whom were watching the students' approach and hissing anxiously amongst themselves. Their voices crashed over Harry as he drew near, and he didn't dare answer Hermione; afraid that if he opened his mouth parseltongue would come out.
Together the three of them fought towards the nearest tank of geckos, but the rest of the class had the same idea and they were met with an impenetrable wall of bodies that defeated all attempts to wiggle past. By the time they made it to the front, all the lizards were accounted for and they had no choice but to select one of the snakes.
"You could ask to trade," Hermione suggested. "I'm sure one of the Hufflepuffs would agree to—"
Harry cut her off with a sharp shake of his head and focused all his attention on her face. "No," he said carefully, feeling out the word with his tongue. "It would look suspicious. I'll just have to be careful. Kick me if I start hissing, okay? Maybe Professor McGonagall won't notice."
"You could just tell her," Hermione pointed out.
Harry sighed. "None of the professors know," he reminded her. "And I don't want them to. Things are hard enough for me now. If they get involved it will only get worse."
"You don't know that!"
Aware they'd never see eye to eye on this particular topic, Harry didn't offer a reply. It was easier than engaging her directly, as she became incredibly stubborn once an idea had lodged itself in her head. Instead, he raised the lid of the terrarium and reached inside, easing a reluctant grass snake off its log. Its scales were a muted brown and it was only a foot long fully uncoiled, less than half Basil's length. The second it passed the lip of the terrarium it went limp in an attempt to play dead. Harry bit his lip. To him it was clear the snake wanted no part in this, but Professor McGonagall was looking their way, no doubt eager to commence the lesson, so he pushed down his apprehension and handed the snake to Hermione, who hesitated only a moment before holding out both her hands to accept it.
Harry lifted another snake, this one a misty green, and let it curl around his hand.
"No, no, no," it hissed, its tiny voice high in distress. "Not again. The moon has not completed its cycle! Why so soon?" Harry's hands trembled at the raw fear in its voice. The snake clung to him, its coils tight enough to send a low ache through his bones. It refused to budge when Harry tried to set it down on his desk, opening its mouth and hissing a warning. Harry let it be. He rested his arm against the top of the desk, keeping enough distance between them to give the snake as much space as he could.
There was a rustling from his bag and it bumped against the leg of his chair. He looked down in time to see Basil's tongue flick out from beneath the flap. He tried to nudge her back inside, but she pushed her nose between his fingers.
"What is it?" she called. "What do you fear?"
Harry's snake shifted restlessly, scanning the top of the desk. "Where are you? Why are you still free?" it asked.
"I am in this bag," Basil replied.
"Then you have been captured too," his snake lamented.
Basil bucked against his fingers. "Of course not! Harry does not capture snakes and put them in tanks — he lets them out!"
"A two-legs would never free us."
"Harry would, for he is a Speaker. And that is almost as good as being a snake!"
"A Speaker?" asked his snake, turning to look up at him. It wasn't the only one. A whisper spread back through the class and Harry had the horrible feeling every snake in the room had swivelled around to stare at him. Even Hermione's had given up its pretence of being dead in favour of peering up at him. "I have heard of those from one of the flat wall-snakes. Are you truly a Speaker, two-legged boy?"
Hermione elbowed him in the ribs, jerking his attention back to the front of the room, where he found Professor McGonagall staring at him expectantly. He panicked, looked at the chalkboard, then back to Hermione. Had the professor asked him a question?
"The incantation, if you please, Mister Potter," Professor McGonagall repeated.
Harry swallowed and focused on her face. It wasn't serpentine. Not in the least. But the snake wrapped around his left hand was hissing in excitement and trying to climb up the sleeve of his robe and it was distracting. Harry gently pushed the snake back down, took a deep breath, and willed himself to speak English. "Sacc—"
"Sacculifors!" Hermione shouted, making him jump and snap his mouth closed. A pair of Hufflepuff boys to their left sniggered into their hands.
"Very good, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said, but her face was stern and she didn't award any points. "Now, as I'm sure you all remember, the key to transfiguration is a steady wand hand and clear pronunciation…"
"He is a Speaker!" the classroom snakes cried in excitement. "We have found a real Speaker! We will be saved!"
Hermione looked anxious as she scribbled a line on the corner of her notes and pushed it across the table at him.
'I'll answer for you.'
He scribbled back. 'If she asks, I have a sore throat and lost my voice.'
She glanced at his reply, nodded, and then dabbed ink over their silent conversation until it was nothing but a long black blob on her parchment.
"Please stop them, Speaker! Don't let them practice their secrets on us," his snake begged, nuzzling his wrist. "I don't want to become a stomach! My skins are not meant to shed that way!"
"It hurts," said Hermione's snake. "It hurts worse than eating a too-big mouse. All my muscles go twitch-twitch and my scales stretch enough to burst!"
Harry took a shaking breath and copied the wand movement Professor McGonagall was demonstrating at the front of the class.
He wasn't going to be able to do this. He wasn't, but he had to. Otherwise she'd know something was off. Why couldn't he be failing transfiguration like Neville? If he were, he could pretend to cast the spell and she wouldn't care that nothing happened.
"Please stop them Speaker!" The snakes called to him, desperation to escape their fate in every soft, sibilant voice.
"Harry would not use a secret that hurts you," Basil assured them, blithely oblivious to the enchanted diagram on the chalkboard, which showed a lizard swelling up and folding into itself until it had become a small, scaled pouch and back again.
Harry swallowed hard as he stared at the shifting illustration. Basil had faith in him, and yet… how could being turned into a pouch not hurt? The more he thought about it, the more horrified he became. What happened to the snakes' hearts, lungs and minds when they were transfigured? Neville's snuffboxes had still squeaked. Did that mean they could still feel? That they knew they were mice despite no longer having a head, legs or tail? How could wizards justify forcing that kind of transformation onto another living creature? With a surge of guilt he realized he hadn't cared when they'd been working with beetles and mice. They'd been nothing but animals to him. If he wasn't a parselmouth he might have felt the same way about the snake before him now. He wouldn't have known they had a language, or that they had hopes and dreams of their own.
They deserved more than a life spent in fear of becoming a test subject for a bunch of unskilled eleven year olds.
Behind him his classmates raised their wands. They chanted the incantation in chorus while Harry sat frozen, overwhelmed by the surge of sibilant screams that followed when the spells struck the snakes' scales. One of the screams shattered, cut off by a loud tearing sound and a wet plop.
Human screams joined those already echoing in Harry's ears, and Hermione's hands flew to cover her mouth.
"Don't turn around!" she said. "Harry, whatever you do…"
His snake constricted around his wrist as though trying to embed its scales in his skin. "Oh no!" it cried. "Brandy! No!"
Professor McGonagall made a tutting sound with her tongue. "Mister Finnigan your pronunciation was off." She drew her wand and Harry's eyes were drawn involuntarily along its path.
The world slowed down, as though he'd fallen into the loch, and Harry forgot how to breathe.
Golden sunlight continued to stream in through the windows, illuminating the specks of dust dancing through the air in Professor McGonagall's wake, but it had lost all its warmth because two tables back, laying in front of Seamus, was a lump of bleeding flesh and intestines. A snake turned inside out.
It vanished with a wave of Professor McGonagall's wand, leaving nothing behind to mark that a snake had just died.
Harry's lungs expanded, but the air wasn't enough to stop the spinning in his head. He clasped a hand over his mouth. It felt like he was going to be sick. Hermione touched his shoulder but he shrugged it off, withdrawing into himself as he began to shake.
"Fetch another and try again," Professor McGonagall instructed Seamus. "And this time be sure to put the emphasis on the second— Mister Potter, are you all right?"
He couldn't stop shaking. He pressed his hands to his ears, but the serpentine scream rebounded inside his head. It was deafening.
"Mister Potter?" she asked again, stepping towards him.
Her words didn't register. His world had shrunk to the sight of Seamus's hand as it reached for the lid to the snake terrarium. In his mind's eye the hand twisted, merging with the carnage of the snake's body, the pale skin tearing into a pulp of viscera and bone. His head ached and there was a roaring in his ears, like a dragon clawing at the inside of his skull, trying to get out.
His fingers twisted in his hair, tugging at the roots. "Stop," he whimpered as Seamus lifted the lid. The words seeped from behind his clenched teeth in a broken hiss."Stop it!"
The dragon in his head gave a final, mighty slam and his vision went black. Pain erupted along the scar on his forehead and his heart stuttered. For a moment he felt giddy, triumphant. Then the pain overwhelmed him and he slid sideways off his seat.
A bloodcurdling shriek rent the air as Seamus doubled over, gagging and clutching his right wrist. Blood poured between his fingers from the mass of mangled flesh hanging uselessly from his arm. It pattered against the floor in quick bursts, pushed from broken veins by his racing heart.
His hand had been turned inside out, just like the snake.
Harry slipped in and out of consciousness as the room descended into chaos.
The Hufflepuff and Gryffindor students jumped to their feet. Some yelled, some cried, and some bent over sick.
Professor McGonagall rushed to Seamus's side, but the wound was beyond her. All she could do was transfigure the sleeve of his robe into a tourniquet. She raised her wand and a silvery cat burst from the tip, its body speckled with points of light that twinkled like stars. She spoke to it. "Pomona, there's been an accident in Transfiguration. Get here as quickly as you can!"
As the silvery cat streaked off McGonagall eased Seamus to the ground, keeping his hand elevated. Even with the tourniquet it was oozing a stream of blood down his arm.
Hermione and Neville worked together to pull Harry up off the floor, but as soon as he came back into sight Ron pointed an accusing finger his way. "He did it!" he shouted. "Just like in our dorm. It's his fault!"
He drew his wand and the students around him followed suit, goaded into action by the rumours of the confrontation in Gryffindor tower and their horror at the creeping pool of blood around Seamus's prone form.
"Put your wands away!" Professor McGonagall ordered, but they ignored her.
"We have to avenge Seamus!" cried round-faced Ernie Macmillan. The tip of his wand was shaking, but his eyes were burning with determination. "Diffindo!"
"Neville, get down!" Hermione yelled, dragging Harry behind their desk as a dull white spell rent the air where her head had been a second before. They hit the floor hard, and the impact jarred Harry from his stupor in time to see mushrooms sprout from Neville's hairline as he was struck by a sickly yellow spell.
One successful hit was all the students needed to unleash bedlam. The classroom strobed with spell-light as every jinx and hex their first year class knew ricocheted off the walls and the polished surfaces of the desks. Spells collided in midair, their energy twinning together and triggering dozens of small explosions that burst like fireworks, showering nearby students with a rain of hissing, sparking magical energy.
"Wands down!" bellowed McGonagall, brandishing her own like a lasso. Before she could utter another word a rebounding spell caught her in the back and spiders began crawling from her mouth. She sputtered and spat, unable to speak around their hairy, skittering legs.
"Flippendo!" Hermione cried, jabbing her wand towards the largest group of spell casters. A bench flew into the air, bowling three of them over before crashing against the wall. "Harry, help me! Do something!"
Harry tried to reach for his wand, but his limbs were full of lead. A spell glanced off his shoulder, leaving his robes smouldering, yet he couldn't summon the strength to pat out the flames even when he felt the heat of the fire on his skin. He felt disconnected — numb.
"The two-legs are attacking the Speaker!" cried the snakes. They'd sought shelter between the heavy wooden legs of the desks when the fighting began, but now they darted out into the fray.
"Stop them!"
"Squeeze them!"
"They must not harm the Speaker!"
The snakes coiled their small bodies around the students' ankles and sunk their tiny, razor-sharp teeth into their skin. The students shrieked and danced about wildly, caught off guard by the appearance of this new threat.
"He's ordered them at us!" shouted Justin Finch-Fletchley as he pointed his wand at his feet and set his robes on fire in his panic. His head had been encased in a pumpkin by a rebounding spell and it made for a haunting sight as smoke billowed up around him.
"Kill them! Quickly!" Ron kicked off the small brown grass snake trying to get under his robes and stomped down on its head. There was a crunch as its skull shattered. Its body spasmed once and then went still.
Harry stared as one snake after another was caught beneath his classmates' feet or struck down by spells. The numbness was wearing off and a horrible tightness grew in his throat until he feared he'd choke. He gasped for breath, his hands trembling as he clasped them over his ears to block out the screaming. It didn't help.
"Harry!" Basil hissed, launching herself from his bag and slithering to his side. "Harry, are you well? Did they hurt you?"
"They're dying… because of me." He couldn't tear his eyes from the carnage. "Stop!" he cried. "Don't attack! Hide!"
"He's giving them more orders!" shouted a voice and Harry looked up into the tip of a wand pointed over his desk.
"Do not hurt my Harry!" Basil hissed. She tried to lunge beneath the table, but Harry caught her by the tail and hauled her back, curling his body around her protectively. A spell struck him along his spine, splitting the skin in a long ragged tear before Hermione blasted the student away.
Her front teeth had lengthened nearly down to her collar and her eyes were red. A steady stream of blood trickled from her nose. "Are thoo othay?" she asked, words muddled.
He gasped, unable to answer. The pain in his back was nothing compared to the wrenching in his heart as the few remaining snakes limped towards him beneath the desks.
The door burst open, revealing Mme Pomfrey in her tall white hat, and she was not alone. The roar of exploding spells and high-pitched shrieks of children had drawn out the professors from nearby classrooms, and both Professors Quirrell and Flitwick followed close behind her. Filch brought up the rear. He was clutching Ms Norris in one hand and a heavy ruler in the other.
"Stop this at once!" Mme Pomfrey shouted, deflecting a rogue spell with a shimmering barrier of light. "Minerva, where are you?"
Professor McGonagall staggered to her feet, finally having cleared the spiders from her throat. "Pomona," she croaked. "Over here! Mister Finnigan's hand is—" She ducked as a blue tinged spell shot towards her head. It knocked off her hat, which began to flop like a fish out of water when it struck the floor.
Professor Flitwick waded into the chaos and within a matter of seconds had disarmed those students still able to grip their wands around cut and swollen limbs. The rest were slumped on the floor moaning as their adrenaline wore off and they began to feel the severity of their injuries.
Pomfrey rushed to Seamus's side. Mercifully, he'd fallen unconscious and couldn't see the dismayed expression on her face. "Was he struck by a curse?" she asked McGonagall.
"I don't know. I didn't see a spell. He was going to fetch another snake after he failed his first attempt at the transfiguration when his hand everted."
Pomfrey's face was tight. "I can't risk a healing spell if he's under a curse. It could cause it to spread." She looked from the unconscious boy to the rest of the children sprawled across the room.
"T-they're suffering from m-multiple negative spell interactions," stammered Quirrell as he knelt beside Ron, who had weeping purple pustules bulging from his chest and stomach.
"I can't treat them all," Pomfrey said. "Quirinus, send word to Saint Mungo's. Tell them we need an emergency team sent over right away!"
"O-of course!" He bolted from the room, eager to get away.
Pomfrey took a deep, steadying breath. She had seen injuries in her time as school mediwitch, but never this many at once, and never this severe. Without quick, decisive actions they risked losing the children under their guardianship. "Fillius, help me stabilize as many as you can. Minerva, send messages to Severus and the Headmaster, we'll need them here when the medical team arrives. Argus, call together the prefects. Have them keep the halls clear. I want the rest of the students back in their common rooms until we finish moving the injured!"
The professors jumped into action. McGonagall sent off two more shimmering cats while Pomfrey and Flitwick moved through the students, helping those they could, and taking note of those they couldn't.
Harry remained behind his desk, overlooked and out of the way, surrounded by dying snakes. He tried to help them, but he knew nothing of healing magic and the severity of their injuries was beyond his ability to imagine away. In the end, all he could do was hiss softly and watch as, one after another, their eyes grew dull and vacant.
"You are hurt, Speaker," whispered a tan snake whose tail had been crushed by a heavy boot and now dragged limp and useless behind her, the skin along her sides split and bulging viscera.
He stroked her head gently. "It's nothing. It doesn't matter. Please… save your strength."
The snake leaned into his touch. "I am dying," she said. "No amount of shedding will stop it now. All I can do, is this." The snake struggled to raise her head. Harry placed two fingers beneath her chin, trying to help, and a pulse of blue light ran up his arm from the point of contact. He felt the magic of the snake's secret pool in the gash on his back. It itched, like being bitten by a thousand fleas. He wiggled and clawed at the wound with his free hand, and beneath his straining fingers he felt the skin knit together.
"You healed me," he said, feeling both grateful and guilty that he couldn't do the same.
The snake didn't answer.
She had died.
"Harry," said a soothing voice, and he looked up into the face of Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts. The headmaster's face was grave in contrast to his soft tone, and Harry was struck with a sense of wrongdoing.
"I tried to save them," he said, hunching his shoulders. "It wasn't their fault. They were just trying to protect me. They never should have died."
He heard a gasp. Professor Flitwick was staring at him, wide-eyed. The short wizard didn't even need to duck to see beneath the desk Harry had taken shelter behind.
"You need to speak English, Harry," said Dumbledore. "We cannot understand you otherwise. Now, are you hurt?"
Harry shook his head, too tired to berate himself for speaking parseltongue in front of the headmaster. He looked around to Neville and Hermione, both of whom were worse for wear. Hermione was propped up against the leg of the desk, her arms wrapped tight around her chest and her eyes unfocused. Neville had slumped to the ground, his pale skin misshapen with colourful boils and sprouting fungi. They were positioned to either side of him, and Harry's breath caught as he realized they'd fought to protect him. Their injuries were his fault. If they died it would be his fault. He lowered his head, ashamed. He didn't understand why they'd risked their lives for him. Why any of them had. He wasn't worth dying over.
Professor Snape appeared at Dumbledore's side. He glared at Harry. "Headmaster, the team from Saint Mungo's is ready for the last group."
"I see," Dumbledore said, his gaze not leaving Harry. "Have Mister Longbottom and Miss Granger moved into triage. Harry, I would like you to wait in Professor McGonagall's office for further instructions. I will have one of the prefects wait with you."
Harry nodded and scooped Basil up in his arms. For a moment he saw Dumbledore's eyes flash with an emotion cold as the depths of the loch and hard as ice, but then the man's attention was called away by one of the green-clad medi-wizards.
As Hermione and Neville were bundled away, Harry trudged into Professor McGonagall's office and pulled the door shut.
It felt as though an eternity passed before Harry was joined by a girl with long, curly black hair and a Slytherin robe. She pulled out the chair next to him and sat down without saying a word.
Harry was curled up with his knees tucked against his chest. He kept his eyes riveted on the quill sitting upright in Professor McGonagall's inkstand as he battled to undo the tight knot of emotions wracking his chest. Basil was wrapped around his shoulders, just beneath his robe, the feel of her scales on his neck a constant reminder of all the snakes who'd died.
"I'm Adella Rookwood," the girl said in a gentle tone. "I hope you don't mind me sitting with you. Professor Dumbledore asked the Gryffindor prefects, but they were all mysteriously occupied."
Harry sighed and dropped his chin onto his knees. Of course they were. None of them wanted anything to do with him.
There was a long silence before Rookwood folded her hands in her lap and leaned forward to catch his eye. "I've heard a great deal about you from my fiancée but haven't had the chance to speak with you yet. He thinks quite highly of you."
"Your… fiancée?" Harry asked, slowly turning his head in her direction. She didn't look old enough to be getting married. Adults got married, not students like himself. His brow furrowed.
"Yes, Alexander Selwyn, the head boy. We've been engaged these last two years and will be getting married once we've both graduated."
"You're going to marry Selwyn?" Harry asked, sitting up a little in his seat. Selwyn had always been nice to him, even if he did sometimes ask too many questions. Harry couldn't dislike him, and this girl was going to be his wife, which meant she was probably likeable too.
She smiled at him, and Harry was too mentally and emotionally drained to wonder if she had an ulterior motive.
"Will you tell me what happened?" she asked.
"I…" It was hard to find the words, everything was blurred together in his memory, but he tried. Both his actions before the fight and his inaction during it weighed on his mind, crushing him slowly. He wanted advice, or at least for someone to tell him that he hadn't been entirely in the wrong. While Basil could offer him many things, she didn't understand human morality. For that he'd need another human.
In broken sentences he told her what had occurred in the classroom.
"I think I turned Seamus's hand inside out," he admitted quietly at the end. "What do they do to students who hurt other students? Will I be expelled?"
She looked pensive. "Did you use your wand?" she asked.
"No," he replied. "I didn't use it all class."
"Then they have no way to prove it was you. As long as you don't tell them, they'll never know."
"You won't tell them, will you?" he asked.
She held a finger up to her lips. "It will be our little secret."
There was something ominous in her small smile, but before Harry could focus on the implication of her words Professor Snape burst into the office. His face was red as a beet and he looked ready to tear Harry's throat out with his teeth. Harry sunk into his chair, trying to make himself a smaller target.
"Do you have any idea what you've done?" he bellowed, flinging spittle all over Harry's face. Some of it flew past Harry and landed on Rookwood's sleeve. She wiped it away daintily, her face twisting with disgust. "The Headmaster and Professor McGonagall are currently at Saint Mungo's being hounded by the press! The fact you triggered a riot at Hogwarts will be plastered over the front page of the Daily Prophet come morning!" He ground his teeth together so hard Harry thought they would shatter. "By this time tomorrow the entire wizarding world will know you're a Parselmouth! They will demand we expel you! And you should be expelled!"
Harry's breath lodged in his throat as the knot in his chest constricted. He hadn't wanted any of this to happen. He couldn't go back to the Dursley's forever. It would kill him to give up the small freedoms and friendships he'd found — the only ones he'd ever known.
The sound of a throat being cleared interrupted Snape's tirade and the professor spun towards the door, ready to unleash his fury on whoever had dared to interrupt him, then his face froze and a strange coughing sound uttering from his throat as he bit back the words on the tip of his tongue. Harry had never seen Snape look so out of sorts. He glanced back over his shoulder.
There was a tall black man standing in the doorway. "Professor Snape, I presume," the man said, his deep voice carefully neutral.
"Auror," Snape replied, sounding very much like he'd just bitten down on a lemon.
The auror walked into the room, coming to stand behind Harry's chair. He placed a hand on the backrest and Harry watched it warily, not liking how close it was. The man's nails were cut close to the quick, and there was a heavy golden ring bearing the image of a gazelle on his index finger. "Severus Snape. How shall I interpret the fact that you are badgering my witness before I can question him officially? You, of all people, should know better than to interfere with auror business."
That sounded too personal to be a mere warning, and Snape reacted as though he'd been struck — flinching away and grabbing his left arm before forcing his hands back to his sides. Beside Harry, Rookwood was holding her breath.
The auror pulled out the chair on Harry's right and sat down. His expression was grave and very serious, but not unkind. Nothing at all like Snape's had been during his tirade.
"My name is Kingsley Shacklebolt," the auror said, speaking directly to Harry. "And I am in charge of the investigation into the fight that broke out a short time ago in your transfiguration class." Harry nodded to show he understood. He wasn't sure what an auror was, but it seemed to be a little like a police officer, and it was best to be polite to people with the ability to arrest you.
"Normally I wouldn't question a minor without their guardian present, but I understand both your guardians are muggles, and these are trying circumstances." He looked at Snape in obvious dislike. "As the headmaster and deputy headmistress are currently occupied, the head of Slytherin house will suffice as a witness — if he can reign in the vitriol I could hear from the corridor outside."
Snape pressed his lips together. He looked torn; half of him wanting to get as far away from Harry as he could, and the other half wanting to stay in order to interject his own opinions into whatever questions the auror was about to ask. In the end he decided to stay, sweeping into Professor McGonagall's chair and folding his hands on her leather desk pad.
Rookwood took this as a dismissal and stood to leave. "You'll be fine," she said to Harry quietly. "Don't forget, there's no evidence you did anything wrong." She closed the door behind her and Kingsley waited until her footsteps had receded before casting a privacy ward over the room. He then pulled a notebook and quill from his pocket. The book he set on the desk, open to a blank page. He sucked on the tip of the quill a moment, and then set it upright on the page, balanced on its tip.
"October tenth, nineteen ninety-one, eleven forty-eight in the morning. Hogwarts, transfiguration classroom. Interview with one Harry Potter. Professor Severus Snape acting as witness," Kingsley said to the quill, and Harry had grown so used to magic since the summer that he was not surprised when it copied the auror's words out in a neat, precise hand. After verifying that his quill was working correctly, Kingsley turned back to Harry.
"Now lad, I need you to answer some questions for me clearly and honestly. Do you think you can do that?" he asked.
Harry tightened his grip around Basil, taking comfort in the feel of her scales against his chest. "Yes, sir," he replied quietly.
"Good. We'll begin with something easy. What is your name?"
That was easy. Harry relaxed a little. "Harry Potter."
"And how old are you now, Harry?"
"Eleven."
Kingsley nodded. "Did anything unusual happen this morning before your transfiguration class?"
Harry stopped to think about that one. "Not to me, sir."
"Did something happen to someone you know?"
"I don't think so. At least, no one said anything to me. There could have been, though. I guess. Unusual things happen here a lot."
Kingsley hummed. "No doubt. Now, Harry, I want you to tell me what happened during your transfiguration class this morning. Tell me everything you can remember from the moment you arrived in the room. Even small things that don't seem important. Do you think you can do that?"
Harry repeated what he'd told Rookwood, carefully leaving out the fact he feared himself responsible for Seamus's injury. The auror's quill scribbled furiously and Harry did his best not to watch it. It was distracting, and he didn't want to lose his train of thought and have to start all over again. There was a moment of silence once he'd finished as they waited for the quill to catch up, and he did his best not to look over at Snape, whose anger was almost palpable, hanging over the small room like a storm cloud.
"Thank you, Harry," Kingsley said, flipping the book to a new page and replacing the quill. "Now I'd like to check your wand for the previous spells cast." He drew out his own wand, which was carved from a heavy reddish wood. "This does not mean we suspect you," he explained. "We will be checking the wands of all your classmates as well to determine what spells were used during the fight so we can better treat their injuries."
"Okay," Harry said, hoping Rookwood was correct in her assurance that they wouldn't be able to identify magic used without his wand. He drew his wand and then hesitated. He didn't want to hand it over to the older wizard. Deep down there was a small part of him that feared the man would snap it in half the second it left his hands.
"Please hold it up, pointing towards me," Kingsley instructed. Harry did as he asked and the auror pressed the tips of their wands together. "Prior Incantato."
Harry's wand jittered in his hand, struggling against the foreign magic seeping into its core before, with a great lurch, it spat out a glowing ball of light. The bubble of light drifted gently through the still air of the office and was quickly joined by a second, and then a third.
"The last spell you cast was the lumos charm?" Kingsley asked, his brows drawn down in puzzlement. Clearly this wasn't what he'd expected to find.
"Yes," Harry replied, relieved that he'd turned down the twins' offer to take a turn of the castle with them the night before, which would have been more enjoyable than what he'd really done, but also far more damning in this situation. "I didn't finish my reading for tomorrow's potions class until late and didn't want to disturb my roommates."
He hadn't actually been reading his potions text, but he'd promised Professor Quirrell he'd keep Herpo's journal a secret, and the way Snape bristled at the suggestion that Harry was trying to keep up in his class was more than worth the risk of being caught out.
Snape lurched forward and growled, "He's lying! He must have overwritten his wand's memory!" His black eyes were burning. "Potter cast a spell in that brawl, mark my words!"
Kingsley looked at the man in distaste, but he couldn't deny the possibility of a wizard — even one so young — knowing enough to hide their tracks. "Please keep your wand steady," he instructed Harry, who was forced to grip the handle with both hands when his wand jumped as if kicked and then began vibrating so fast it hummed.
The fourth spell took a long time to appear, and Snape had begun to crow in triumph when a line of glowing red numbers flowed from the tip of Harry's wand, spelling out a time: 22:00 — ten at night.
Kingsley broke the connection between their wands and the numbers faded away. "The tempus spell confirms your story, Mister Potter," he said. "As I'm sure your professor is aware, it will always show the current time when cast, and cannot be manipulated." He gave Harry a searching look. "Did you have any other classes this morning that would have required you to use your wand."
"No, sir," Harry replied. "And we aren't meant to use our wands in the corridors."
"Minerva — Professor McGonagall has seen him use magic wandlessly," Snape hissed, leaning forward over the desk, determined to score a point. "His memories must be turned over to the auror department and consulted."
Harry felt a chill seep down his spine. Turn over… his memories? As in, take them out of his head? If they did that, how much would they be able to see? Would they be able to hear his thoughts as well?
"Professor McGonagall always insists I use my wand," he said quickly. "She's very strict."
Kingsley studied him. "And do you know why she insists you use your wand?"
Harry blinked slowly. He couldn't remember if she'd given him a real reason, just that it was what was expected of students. In retrospect, that didn't sound like a very convincing reason not to do something, so he turned to the only other reason he could remember hearing mentioned. "Because it's dangerous."
Kingsley nodded gravely. "Indeed it is. Especially for a growing wizard such as yourself. We wouldn't want you to hurt yourself, would we?"
Hurt… himself? Harry dropped his eyes. Shouldn't they be more worried about him hurting others? The sight of Seamus's hand was etched on the backs of his eyelids, and his stomach burned with guilt — and worse than that, fear. What if he'd been looking at Seamus's head instead? He didn't like the other boy much, but he didn't want him dead! And he doubted even a magical hospital could do anything to help someone whose skull had been turned inside out.
"I can only do small things without a wand, like making a light in my hand or making light objects float. Would I have been able to do something like—" He motioned vaguely towards his right hand.
Kingsley stroked his chin. "It is unlikely, at least without causing yourself a great deal of harm. How are you feeling?"
"I'm fine," Harry replied evasively. In truth he was exhausted, and now that the strange numbness that had gripped him had worn off, his heart was fluttering in his chest as he realized how close he'd come to losing Basil and his friends. Why hadn't he fought? He might have been able to protect the snakes, or Neville and Hermione, if he hadn't collapsed like an invalid.
"I should have done more," he said aloud, his hands bunching into fists. "I should have fought. Maybe then some of them would have survived."
"No one died, Mister Potter," Kingsley said.
"Yes, they did." He pressed a hand gently over Basil's head, holding her close to his heart.
"I already promised you I would not try to bite anyone else today," she complained, wiggling slightly in an attempt to free herself. "You don't need to squeeze me!"
"I'm sure your classmates will all make full recoveries," Kingsley said. "There's no need to write them off so soon. Saint Mungo's has dealt with far worse magical injuries than a little spell interaction."
That's not what the professors had seemed to think before the room was cleared, but Harry didn't have the energy to argue. "May I go?" he asked.
"Of course not!" Snape snarled, slamming a fist on the desk. "You've offered no proof that you weren't involved!"
"Actually, he has," Kingsley said, rising to his feet. "The aurors may have further questions for you Mister Potter, but for now you may leave."
"Thank you, sir." Harry's legs were shaking as he rose to his feet, but he avoided tripping over the leg of his chair as he walked slowly to the door.
"A moment!" Kingsley called, and Harry froze, his hand on the doorknob suddenly clammy. The auror came up close behind him and lay a hand on his shoulder. Harry held perfectly still as he felt the man's large fingers examine the seared tear in the back of his robes. The auror stepped back. "Forgive me, I was concerned you'd been injured when I saw the damage to your robe, but it appears you were very lucky. Still, you should report to the hospital wing to be checked for shock. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," Harry replied, pulling the door open and stepping out of the office.
The classroom was in shambles. Chairs had been reduced to splinters, tables were smouldering, there were scorch marks on the walls and smears of blood, slime and putrid smelling pus on the floor. A handful of aurors bustled about, holding their wands out in front of them while notepads and quick quote quills floated in their wake, recording their observations. They stopped what they were doing to stare at Harry as he made his way towards the exit, and Harry could feel the weight of their eyes on him.
He didn't look at the desk he'd sheltered behind. If he saw the dead snakes again he might start crying, and this was no place to break down.
He ignored the instructions to go to the hospital wing, instead turning towards the entrance hall and beginning the long trek down to the dungeons. The cool air felt nice on his skin as he slipped into the abandoned room that was slowly transforming into a secret base, and clapped his hands twice to activate the chandelier. The blue crystals flickered to life, revealing the snarling gargoyles in the corners and the old cloth-covered desks.
He ran his fingers along the wall, the grit clinging to the stones rough against his skin, until he came to his favourite of the four gargoyles. It had a long forked tongue that jutted from between snarling lips to curl back up towards its equine nose and a chipped, blackened fang. He sat down at its feet, sighed, and rested his head back against its scaled legs.
Basil slithered out of his robes and rested her body across his lap. "You are not well," she said.
Harry ran a hand through his hair. "No," he agreed. He really wasn't.
He felt useless. What was the point of learning so many spells if he froze the moment they'd be useful. Even Neville had fought harder than he had, and Neville's magic was unreliable at best. Harry knew he could have done more — he should have done more — and in that moment he made himself a promise. No matter how scared or surprised or hurt he was, he would fight. If he didn't, how could he face his friends again? They'd fought for him, expecting he'd do the same, and he'd let them down.
And the snakes who'd died — he'd let them down too. They'd asked him to save them, to put an end to their suffering, but in the end they were the ones who gave their all to save him.
"Hey, Basil?" he asked. "Why did the snakes fight for me? They must have known they couldn't win. Was it just because I'm a Speaker?"
Basil raised her head, propping it up on his hand as his fingers traced the scales on her back. "Perhaps they wished to speak with you as well," she suggested.
"That's all? There wasn't anything…" He wasn't sure what he was trying to convey. Forced wasn't a strong enough word — he hadn't bullied the snakes into fighting — but it was close. "There wasn't anything magical about it? Like a spell that made them obey?"
Basil flicked her tongue. "When you speak it can be… compelling," she admitted.
Harry's heart sank. "So you have to obey me? Whatever I say? Even if it's stupid, or you don't want to?"
Her tail twitched in irritation. "Of course not. I can do whatever I like!"
Why did he feel she was bending the truth? "Really?"
She hesitated. "Most of the time... except for when you Speak as you did during the fight. Then it is hard, but I still can! I just chose not to since you were so afraid."
"Thanks, but… I want you to promise you won't get into any fights on my behalf if you know you can't win."
"I cannot let you be eaten!" she protested. "It is so much more interesting with a Speaker around! Since I met you I have been to curious places I would have never seen and learned clever things I would have never known if I'd stayed under the flower bush. You even let me steal your body heat!"
"Please, Basil! Just promise me!" he begged.
She gave a little huff of displeasure, but eventually caved. "Very well," she grumbled. "I promise."
He mustered enough energy for a smile and stroked her back. "Thank you. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you."
She turned her head away. "No doubt you would drown in spiders!" she quipped, and Harry let her have the last word.
~End Chapter 21~
So much action in this chapter! And could this be the event that finally gets Harry to stop being so passive in his interactions with the other students?! Only time will tell!
Hopefully no one found the chapter too traumatic. I know I always get misty-eyed when the snake heals Harry's back right before dying - and she doesn't even have a name!
Thank you to everyone who has stuck with this story in spite of my erratic update schedule! Every favourite, follow and comment brightens my day even if I might not always get back to you. :)