Curse of the Basilisk
By Adalanta
Disclaimer/Notes: Thanks so much to you all who reviewed my first chapter. Your encouragement means a lot to me. Let me know what you think! All previous disclaimers apply.
Chapter Two: An Unexplainable Reaction
A scream shattered the early morning silence, bouncing off the walls of the Burrow like a crazy Bludger let loose.
Molly Weasley stood frozen in the center of the kitchen – one hand clutching the back of a rickety chair in a white-knuckled grip, the other shakily covering her mouth. She had just sent their new messenger owl, Last Chance, off with a letter to Professor Dumbledore when she'd heard the soft pop of someone apparating behind her and turned around with a gentle smile, ready to welcome Harry Potter into their home for the third summer in a row. Expecting a short, green-eyed boy to be grinning at her, she had instead been met with her husband carrying a blanket wrapped body. She did the only logical thing – she screamed.
For what seemed like an eternity, no one moved. The scream echoed through the house, up all five floors, and out the unshuttered windows. Then…silence.
"Molly, dear, you could be a bit more helpful." Arthur Weasley stated in a strained voice. "We need someplace for Harry to lie down."
Snapping her jaw shut with an audible click, Molly grabbed her wand from the pocket of her brown robe. Now that she had something to do, she would be fine. After all, I didn't panic when Percy started growing that second head after eating the twins' candy, now did I?
A few hurried spells later, and the living room sofa had turned into a good-sized soft bed for Harry. Unfortunately, the bed (being much larger than the sofa it replaced) took up so much room that a person could not get around it. This problem was solved rather quickly, too; the walls of the living room were simply moved back a few feet, adding the much needed room and allowing the Weasleys to breath again. Molly absently noted the surprised expression on Ron's face and wryly thought, He's probably wondering why we didn't do that before now. She could not take the time to explain that at the moment, though.
Mr. Weasley gently eased his burden onto the red and gold bedcovers. Molly gulped as she caught her first glimpse of Harry when her husband began to cautiously unwrap the silent boy. The sight of his deathly white face, topped by unruly black hair plastered to his forehead, tore at her heart. Reaching out a trembling hand, she brushed the damp bangs from his face. Only when she felt the intense heat sear into her palm did she realize the high degree of his fever.
"Arthur," she whispered softly so Ron, backed up against the far wall in shock, could not overhear her. "His fever is so high but his skin is clammy. That's not normal…"
Her husband shook his head and continued to pull the blankets away, an excruciatingly slow process. "I know." When he pulled the top blanket away from Harry's right arm, he realized he had made a ghastly mistake. The wound had reopened sometime during the escape and bled extensively, causing the lower blanket to adhere to his arm like a second skin. Cutting would be the only way to get it off. He flipped the blanket back over Harry's arm and weakly turned to his wife who was tenderly caressing the boy's face. "Oh, god, Molly. Go get some scissors." He said hoarsely.
Returning with the needed tool, she handed them over with a puzzled frown. "Why…" she questioned.
"He's got a compound fracture in his arm, and it bled sometime when I moved him." He glanced up, wide brown eyes filled with agony. "I didn't want to move him – but I couldn't just leave him there with those –" He carefully cut the blanket several times and then literally peeled it off and dropped it to the floor. The arm was finally free and in the open.
Molly gasped, appalled at the grotesque wound and averted her face. "If his arm is that bad…Arthur, he has to be hurt somewhere else." She glanced involuntarily at the arm, and shivered. "Thank Merlin he's unconscious. The pain would have been unbearable."
"He wasn't totally out when I tried to move him." He blanched, hearing the heart-wrenching cries once again in his mind. "He finally passed out." He cleared his throat, pushing back the horrifying memories for later. "We need to get it fixed to stop the bleeding. Then we can check him for any other injuries." He paused for a second, staring down at the still figure on the bed. "You can repair his arm, right? I think I remember you telling me that one of the boys…"
She nodded and the corners of her mouth turned upward slightly. "I've got just the spell. Step back a bit, dear." She uttered a few words and a white film drifted out of the tip of her wand, enveloping the injured arm. It started to glow white, then suddenly altered to a deep green. "What the –" She began but faltered.
Harry was convulsing.
His back arched completely off the bed, and a tortured scream was torn from his throat, a sound that Molly knew she'd hear forever in her nightmares. She watched in horror as the young boy began to shake uncontrollably, limbs flailing, head thrashing from side to side.
But as terrifying as the sight was, the sounds he made were unbearable. Harsh grunts and agonized cries emerged from the convulsing child.
After a moment of petrified shock, Molly rushed forward with her husband and tried to hold Harry down, restraining him from further injury. But the seizure had lent the boy unbelievable strength, and seconds later he tore loose from their hands. He rolled over, writhing precariously on the edge of the bed.
She didn't know where to hold him. His right arm was out of the question. Putting a hand on his chest and firmly pressing down, she felt the bones move beneath her hand and cried out in shock. His ribs are broken! Sobbing silently, she took hold of his shuddering right shoulder instead. Arthur had regained his grasp on Harry's other shoulder, but they still could not control his wild movements. She felt first one finger loose its grip. Then two. Three. A drop of sweat slipped into her already tearing eyes, and she blinked in pain. I – can't – hold – him. He's – going to – fall. She groaned aloud in frustration. And just as she lost her hold…
…a small pair of hands appeared beside her on Harry, holding his convulsing body on the bed. Then another pair. And another. She couldn't look up to see to whom the hands belonged. She couldn't think. She couldn't speak. In the back of her mind, she thought she heard someone speaking in a calm, soothing voice, but found it impossible to identify the voice.
After what seemed like an eternity, the racking convulsions and agonized cries slowed and then stopped, leaving behind an utterly still boy. Molly held her breath, unsure if he was still alive. Her brown eyes were riveted to his chest, and in those few seconds, she prayed more fervently than ever before.
Harry's chest began to move upward as if against its will as he drew in a raspy gasp for air and then began to breathe shallowly. Letting out a heavy sigh, she moved her intense gaze up to his face, appalled to see the pale grayness that had replaced the whiteness. She carefully slid the pillow back underneath his head, hoping the small bit of leverage might ease his breathing, and smoothed back his sweat-dampened hair.
Molly stepped back from the bed and lifted a trembling hand to her damp face, pushing back darkened tendrils of her disheveled red hair. Closing her eyes, she tried to slow her own pounding heart by taking deep breaths. It didn't seem to help. She was still shaking, completely unnerved and unprepared for what had just transpired in her living room. I don't understand, she thought numbly. What happened?
She barely felt the steady arm that wrapped around her quivering shoulders and led her away, smoothly settling her into a nearby chair. Realizing she was at the kitchen table, she dropped her swimming head on her pillowed arms and attempted to relax. A light hand remained on her shoulder the entire time, lending strength and support, as for the next few minutes, she concentrated wholly on her breathing and slowly regained her composure. Finally feeling ready to face the situation again, she opened her eyes –
- and looked directly into the concerned brown eyes of her daughter Ginny.
*******************
Ginny bolted upright in her dark bedroom, instantly awake, and clutched the covers to her chest. She wasn't quite sure what had caused her to wake. She had been in the middle of the weirdest dream – a strange creature she had never seen had been attacking her brother's best friend, Harry Potter, trying to bite him. The oddest thing about it, though, was the fact that she had been right beside Harry, encouraging him in the battle.
Why would I be dreaming about Harry Potter? I haven't even seen him since the ride home on the Hogwarts Express. I didn't even ride in the same compartment! She shook her head dismissively. Dreams usually didn't make sense.
Then a memory crept into mind, one she had been trying to bury for the last year. Upsetting images assailed her mind. The magical diary. Tom Riddle. The Chamber of Secrets. Harry Potter covered in blood. The basilisk. She closed her eyes tightly to keep the tears from escaping. She still felt terribly guilty about the whole mess even though everyone (even Dumbledore!) reassured her that it was not her fault. She had a hard time believing that.
I must have been thinking about what happened. But the dream felt so real…Oh, come off it, Ginny, she told herself harshly. Get a hold of yourself. You're not a little girl anymore! Lying back down, she snuggled into the lavender sheets. She felt her body begin to relax and let it, welcoming sleep with the open arms of the weary.
An agonized scream pierced the air, scaring Ginny half to death. What is going on?! She leaped out of bed, grabbed her purple robe, and wrestled into it. Snatching a scrunchie from her dresser, she gathered her long, red hair into a ponytail as she hurried to the bedroom door and twisted the knob with a trembling hand.
As she rushed out into the hall, she noted the sound of a door slamming on the floor above. She bolted down the stairs and tripped but a frantic grab on the handrail saved her from embarrassment and/or injury. By the time she recovered her balance, the twins swept past, forcing her to hang on again. Muttering oaths of annoyance, she raced down the last flight of steps and barely halted in time to keep from running into the backs of Fred and George, who had stopped just inside the living room. Only when she had paused did she hear the inhuman noises coming from inside. The twins weren't moving so she roughly pushed her way between them. She froze, paralyzed by the sight.
Her mother and father were bent over a figure on a bed (a bed? Where did that come from?). The figure seemed out of control, writhing on the bed and uttering terrifying sounds of torment and pain. The convulsing figure twisted free from her parents' holds and almost rolled off the side of the bed. His face turned towards her.
"Harry!" she gasped. Her paralysis, now broken by shock, disappeared. She heard her mother moan and saw her begin to loose hold on the shuddering figure – the same hold that was keeping him from tumbling to the floor! She lunged forward and grabbed hold of his right hip just as her mother lost her grip, taking all of Harry's weight into her arms at once. They began to burn from the unexpected weight.
Fred and George moved over to help, each one latching onto a leg, relieving most of the burden from her. Between the twins, her parents, and herself, they finally managed to restrain the jerking body of Harry Potter. Only when she felt he was secure could she examine the older boy to see what was wrong.
Ginny blanched when she saw his arm. It was clearly broken, the bloody bone poking out of the skin. At least now she knew where all the blood was coming from. The arm was the only injury she could see due to the convulsions causing his body to twist continuously. But there had to be something else. She was sure of it.
Without realizing it, she began speaking to the writhing boy. She didn't know what prompted her but she felt like she had to do it. "Harry, Harry, calm done. Shhhh, it's all right. Everything's going to be all right. You're safe now. Nothing's going to hurt you. It's all right, Harry." The murmured words flowed from her mouth until the seizure subsided. She winced in sympathy as Harry endured one last violent spasm and then was still.
For long moments the room was completely still. Then, sudden movement caught her attention. She turned to see her mother raise a shaking hand to her white face. Ginny watched in concern, seeing the glazed look in those brown eyes – a blank look that she had never seen before. Fearing collapse, she guided her into the kitchen. Alarm filled her as her mother all but crumpled onto the table. She remained nearby, keeping a small hand on her mother to reassure both of them, and watched as her father said something to the twins who lost all existing color in their faces. I wonder what that was all about?
Turning back to her mother, Ginny noted with relief that her color seemed a trifle better. Her mother raised her wan face and met Ginny's eyes. "All right now, Mum?" she softly inquired.
Mrs. Weasley visibly gathered herself. "Yes, dear, I'm fine. Just got a bit light-headed there for a spell. All the excitement, you know." She smiled wanly. "I'm glad you came when you did, though."
"Thanks, but we couldn't have done it without Fred and George. They got here just as I did."
Her mother peered over at the three red heads on the other side of the room and truly smiled. "For once they did something notable without causing a ruckus or blowing anything up." Slowly standing, she stretched and winced, frowning in discomfort. "Oh, I ache in muscles I haven't felt since your father and I tried…well, let's just say you shouldn't try everything you read in books and leave it at that. Now, let's see how Harry is doing."
Mr. Weasley looked up at his wife's approach. "Molly, the boys and I were just talking about that time you fixed Fred's broken leg. I described what happened when you tried to do the same thing to Harry's arm." Turning to George for verification, he inquired, "You're sure that the veil stayed white the whole time? You didn't turn away even for a second?"
"No, Dad. I was too involved with watching the spell work." He flicked his eyes briefly to his brother standing beside him. "I tried to convince Fred to let me brake his other leg so I could see it work again, but he absolutely refused. I thought that was quite unfair."
"Yeah, well, you weren't in that much of a hurry to let me brake your leg, were you?" Fred shot back.
"But brother, dear, the spell worked so marvelously on you. How's that old Muggle saying go? 'If it ain't broke, don't fix it?'"
"Bloody brilliant, George. Why don't we – "
Mrs. Weasley interrupted, "Boys! Arthur, I'm sure I did that spell the same as before. I must have seen it work a hundred times, and it's always stayed white." She thought for a second then walked to the shelf and plucked a book from the shelf. "Let's see what You Moron, What Did You Do?: The Most Common Magical Blunders in Home Remedy Spells says about it." She flipped through the pages, murmuring absently, "Hmm. Scaldings, Burns, Rat bites. No, no, no. Decapitations – how can you help that?! Ahhh, here it is – Broken Bones…Arthur, this doesn't say anything about the healing veil turning green. I don't –"
A soft pop cut her off. "Professor Dumbledore!" Mrs. Weasley gasped.
Albus Dumbledore nodded gravely, but Ginny could see his attention was already solely focused on the still boy lying on the bed behind them. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley hurried to keep up with his lengthy strides as he moved to take a look at Harry. "Arthur, Molly, tell me what happened?"
Arthur Weasley quickly explained the rescue, then turned to his wife, who picked up the tale. His face grew longer and graver as she told him about the spell and Harry's reaction to it. When the story was complete, he stood there deep in thought, staring down at the unconscious boy, seeing but not seeing, searching his brilliant brain for some clue to this strange mystery. Finally, he spoke slowly. "You said the healing veil turned green?"
"Dark green, actually." Mr. Weasley affirmed.
"Hmmm. Let me take a closer look at that arm. Arthur, would you mind…"
Quickly muttering "Lumos" so his wand lit brightly, Mr. Weasley held it closely to the bloody wound, providing more light. Dumbledore bent his gray head so low over the bed that his long flowing beard touched the floor. He touched the damaged arm and gingerly turned it to examine it more thoroughly. Ginny bit her lower lip as a pained whimper came from the bed and unobtrusively stole to Harry's side, lightly smoothing back his black hair in an attempt to calm him.
Completing his examination, Professor Dumbledore straightened and turned to the family waiting anxiously nearby. Ginny stared. He looks like he's aged ten years! Her shaking hand left Harry's forehead and moved to twist nervously with the other behind her back. She waited as Dumbledore took a deep breath and began to speak.