Curse of the Basilisk
By Adalanta
Disclaimer: I wish I owned these characters because then I'd be rich, but I don't and I'm not. All characters in this story belong to the creative genius of J.K Rowling. I'm not making any profits from this work of fiction.
Author's Note: Well, I'm back. Finally, I'm sure some of you are saying to yourselves. I'm sincerely sorry for the extended delay, but sometimes life interferes with our plans. Anyway, this is the next chapter. I hope you all like it. Please, let me know what you think by leaving a review or send me an email at Adalanta14@yahoo.com. All feedback is appreciated. Thanks!
Chapter Four - Treatment the Muggle Way
"Molly, dear. It's time. We need to do this now before Harry gets worse."
Molly Weasley reluctantly pushed herself back from her husband, out of his comforting embrace. She saw him raise a thin hand and felt him gently caressing the side of her face in his familiar reassuring way. She smiled into his brown eyes and lovingly pushed an errant thin, red lock of hair back into place on his balding head. Gazing deeply into his steady eyes and gaining enough strength to face the difficult task ahead, she stepped away completely.
"I know, Arthur, I just hate to cause him more pain. I wish so badly that we could cast a spell and heal him that way. It would be so simple…"
"It would be deadly. You heard what Professor Dumbledore said. We can't use any form of magic on him whatsoever."
"All right," she sighed. "The Muggle way, then. Let me see if I can find your old textbook." She paced into the living room and searched the dusty bookshelf. "Hmmm. I know I saw it here last year," she muttered to herself. "And I know Arthur didn't throw it out – that hex I put on it would have protected it from him." She spied a couple of volumes that protruded awkwardly from the rest and removed them, only to discover a book shoved behind them, totally hidden from sight. And mind, she thought wryly, lips twitching into a faint smile. He absolutely hates to be reminded of that class!
"Ah, ha!" she called out. "I found it!"
She plucked out a rather large volume with a squat man on the front cover, waving a shiny handsaw and grinning maniacally. The title of the book, You're In Trouble Now: Muggle Medicine, by Dr. Frankenstein, was written in blood red ink right above the crazy man, who had now exchanged his handsaw for a chainsaw.
Flipping through the volume as quickly as possible, she came at last to the page marked "Compound Fracture: What A Way To Break A Leg (Or Arm)!" She marked the page by whispering a brief spell that, when the book was opened, it would automatically turn to that page. This done, she looked up and saw that Arthur, along with Fred and George, was already at Harry's side. Ginny was there, too, standing once again by the injured boy's head, gently smoothing back his damp black hair.
Molly stepped to her husband's side and led him a few steps away before speaking in a hushed voice. "Arthur, I don't want Ginny to be here when we work on Harry. It…it's going to be hard on all of us, but it would be worse on Ginny. You know how she feels about him. It'll hurt her almost as much as him, when we reset his arm."
Arthur twisted around to stare thoughtfully at his youngest child, and his tight, anxious expression softened a bit. A long moment passed before he nodded, calling for his daughter to come join them.
"Ginny, I need you to do something for me. And for Harry," he added as an afterthought.
"Sure, Dad. Anything." Ginny's soft voice came out calm and sincere, though with a slight tremor. She reached up and absently tightened the purple scrunchie holding her thick, red hair back in a ponytail. Despite the early hour and the unsettling events that had taken place, she seemed to be in complete control of herself.
Molly knew that Ginny meant what she said – she really would do anything to help Harry. Whatever Arthur's going to tell her to do, it had better be good. She's too smart to accept just any excuse. It has to be truly important for Harry's well being.
"I want you to go get Hermione for us and bring her back here. She – "
"But, Dad - " she interrupted. "I can't leave Harry alone!"
"He won't be alone. Look, Ginny, Hermione is one of Harry's best friends. We need her here to help keep him calm. He needs all the help we can possibly give him!"
The young girl bit her lower lip, obviously uncertain. She glanced at Harry, lying so still on the bed in the middle of the living room, to her father standing in the kitchen, and then back to Harry. She appeared torn; she didn't want to leave the young man's side, but Molly knew she was desperate to help him in any possible way. At last, she closed her eyes in resignation and nodded. "All right. I'll go."
Arthur smiled briefly and gave her a quick hug. "Okay. You need to use the Floo Powder to get to the Leaky Caldron. They've just gotten a felytone put in – "
"Telephone, Dad," she corrected.
"Oh, yes. Quite right, my dear. They've just gotten a telephone put in, though I don't know why. Call Hermione from there, then catch the Knight Bus to her house. You'll need some money for the trip."
The balding man reached into one of the pockets of his slightly shabby green robes and frowned. "Hmm," he muttered absently to himself. "Maybe it's in this one." He thrust his hand into the pocket on the opposite side. His red eyebrows came together in bewilderment. "No, not that one. Now where did I put it?" Then his eyes lit up as he tried a third one. "Ah, ha! Third time's a charm." Pulling some coins from his pocket, he carefully counted them, nodded in satisfaction, and handed them to Ginny.
"There. That should be enough for your trip there and back and Hermione's trip back as well. Now, I want you to stay with her while she packs – she's bound to be upset when she hears about what happened to Harry." He paused. "Oh, and make sure she brings enough clothes. We don't know how long she'll be here…" His voice trailed off, clearly unwilling to say more.
Molly squeezed her daughter tightly, immensely relieved, and whispered, "Don't worry, dear. We'll take good care of him until you get back. Now, hurry and run upstairs to change."
While Ginny was busy in her third floor bedroom, Molly and Arthur read through the textbook to see what – if anything – they could do for Harry. They glanced at each other and grimaced. There wasn't all that much they could do for him until he was first cured of the Basiliskum Mortalius; once that was accomplished, they could spell his broken bones together relatively easily.
Molly peered up from the textbook at her husband after memorizing the treatment for Harry's arm. "We know for sure that he has a compound fracture, but I'm not sure what else is wrong with him. From what he told the Professor, it sounds like he has cracked or broken ribs and a possible concussion. But other than that…" She shrugged helplessly. "We'll have to take a closer look at him before we try to treat anything."
Arthur's brown eyes sharpened with worry as he glanced towards the slight figure a few feet away. "What do you need?"
Five minutes later, Ginny stepped into the emerald green flames in the fireplace, firmly announcing, "The Leaky Caldron" and disappeared from sight. Molly and Arthur had just finished explaining to Fred and George how they were going to proceed.
Molly breathed a sigh of relief once her daughter had left. Then, she turned towards her husband and the twins, picked up a pair of scissors, and nodded. "It's time."
*******************
Harry was confused.
He sat in a cold, stone cavern lit by several glowing torches hanging on the smooth wall, staring about him in bewilderment. The wide expanse had a musty closeness to it that seemed to reach right down into his throat, making it difficult to breathe. He was tired, exhausted actually, but he could not remember why.
He'd had the strangest dream. He had been in a blissfully soft bed, surrounded by Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Professor Dumbledore had been there as well. He'd said that Harry was at the Weasley's house, but he couldn't see the room very well – a crashing headache had made it nearly impossible to see, let alone look around the room. It had been a bizarre thing to dream about.
How could I have fallen asleep in here? he thought vaguely, rubbing his arms to provide some warmth. It's so cold and clammy. But then again, he had been able to sleep in that cupboard under the stairs at the Dursleys, so he figured he could rest just about anywhere. But I don't remember sitting up… He closed his eyes, concentrating, focusing on where he had been before he'd come into the stone cavern.
How long he sat in thought, he was not sure. After a time, he became frustrated and uneasy. His mind shifted from one unrelated idea to the next like a feather floating on the breeze, turning this way and that without reason, without a clear destination. He lifted his right arm to run a hand through his unruly black hair, but it froze halfway there.
Something was coming.
A noise echoed faintly around the cavern, making it impossible to identify the direction from which it was coming. The sound seemed familiar, a sliding, shushing that was both frightening and comforting at the same time. He reluctantly pried open his eyes.
A lengthy, thick green snake slid across the stone floor, inching closer and closer to him. His heart skipped a beat, his eyes rounded in surprise. All right. Don't panic. You're not afraid of snakes – remember, you're a parcelmouth. It can understand what you tell it. Just order it to go away.
He opened his mouth to speak, but was left gasping as the oxygen was abruptly sucked from the chamber. The pressure closed in about him, stealing his breath, making it impossible to stop the large snake that now was only a few feet away. He tried frantically to get away, but his struggles were in vain. He could not move.
Harry shuddered as he felt the slippery, scaly body slowly wind itself around his chest and tighten like a vice, squeezing out what little air he had left in his lungs. "Stop!" he ordered breathlessly. "Leave…me…alone!"
The snake raised its head and stared him straight in the face. "I'm sorry, Harry," it said in a worried, feminine voice. "I have to do this. It's for your own good." Those eyes - something was odd about them. As he gazed into their depths, completely mesmerized, realization slowly dawned. Instead of the usual yellow iris with a vertical black pupil, these eyes were humanlike, a milk chocolate brown with a circular black pupil, warm and caring. That…that can't be, he numbly thought. I must be imagining it. The eyes held him in their gentle grasp, conveying love and affection, even as the vice tightened around his torso.
Harry began to relax. His arms, unbound by the serpent's body, fell limply to floor by his side. His legs, stretched out in front of him, sunk bonelessly against the cool slabs of stone. And, although he leaned his head back against the clammy wall, his green eyes remained locked with the brown ones of the snake. He finally realized that he was getting air again, and although his breaths came in light gasps, he found he could breathe without too much of an effort.
It's going to be okay, he thought dreamily. His mind felt as if it were stuffed with thick, fluffy cotton. Nothing seemed to matter. I'm fine. She's not going to hurt me.
Suddenly a piercing pain stabbed his right arm just above the elbow. He gave an agonized cry as his connection to the snake's mesmerizing eyes severed completely. His eyes snapped down to examine at his arm, and he froze in disbelief and horror at the sight. A jagged object stood straight out of his arm, a sickening dirty yellow, a foot long and four inches in circumference.
The basilisk's tooth.
He started struggling, trying to reach his right arm with his left, but he was unable to move. The snake had now wound itself around his left arm, totally immobilizing it and rendering it useless. Harry's thin frame shivered convulsively from the fear and pain that held his body in as firm a grip as the snake. He strained against the scaly body that now controlled him, his chest heaving, desperate for the oxygen that it was being denied.
"Harry, calm down!" the snake called loudly, now in a man's voice. "This has to be done. I know it hurts, but you'll feel better after it's all over. Trust me, Harry!"
"I can't…reach it…Get…it out!" Harry gasped weakly, as another wave of torment crashed over him. Terror forced the words from his pinched lips in sharp cries, using the little oxygen that remained. "Get it out!…I can't reach…Please! Pull it out!"
The sight of the fang imbedded in his body made him feel sick. He was soaked with sweat, and his head swam dizzily. Through his blurring vision, he saw the snake turn its head away from his face and towards his right arm. It opened its wide mouth, encircled the giant tooth…and pulled.
He screamed in agony as pain sliced sharply through out his entire body, his back arching from the wall as if that would physically separate him from the excruciating pain. "Stop!" he screamed. "Stop, please! No more!"
The snake ignored his pleas and jerked on the basilisk's tooth a second time, sending crimson blood spraying across the room and another massive wave of pain that seemed to burn straight through his flesh into his lungs. He moaned faintly and rolled his eyes, trying in vain to stay awake and somehow - anyhow - end his torment. He could no longer think, his mind so overcome with pain that the world around him ceased to exist. It was just he and the pain, blending one with the other, fighting for dominion over his mind and soul. The snake twisted one last time, and somewhere, in what little remained of his mind, he heard a wet, sucking pop as the fang relinquished its place in his body.
It was too much. The fiery agony finally overwhelmed his body's high tolerance for pain. He collapsed unconscious onto the cold stone floor.
*******************
"Sweet Merlin, that was close!" Molly Weasley whispered tremuously as she collapsed into the chair by Harry Potter's side. I didn't know if you were going to make it there for a few moments, lad. Try not to do that again - my heart can't take the strain. She raised a trembling hand to the boy's paper white face, smoothing his sweat dampened hair back from his forehead and then continuing the motion down, caressing his hollow cheeks.
"You're nothing but skin and bones, Harry." She admonished him lightly, ignoring the fact that he was still unconscious. "I know you were always thin, but…" She faltered, unable to continue, unable to pretend that all she had seen and done in the last hour had not really occurred.
She winced as she looked down at him, her misty brown eyes scanning his small form, lingering on the purplish-black bruises clustered thickly about his upper body and stomach. They were obvious despite the wide, white bandage wrapped tightly around his chest, the only treatment available for his damaged ribs. These dark bruises were terrible enough to view, but what tore at her heart were the numerous faded yellow ones - the remnants of past beatings and the undeniable evidence of previous physical abuse. This was not the first time the child had been struck.
Her weary gaze shifted from his purpling upper body to his right arm, studying the contraption that she and Arthur had devised. The Muggle Medicine book had said to clean the area where the bone had pierced the skin, cover it with a bandage, and immobilize the entire arm to prevent further aggravation. Unbidden, recent images flashed through her mind.
She and Arthur had decided, once they had seen for themselves the extent of Harry's injuries, to take care of his ribs first, as it would be the easiest to do. They had just begun to place the wrap around his chest when his eyes had flown open wide and he'd cried, "Stop! Leave…me…alone!" He had started gasping for air and, strangely enough, had stared directly into her eyes. She'd tried to calm him by maintaining eye contact and speaking soothing words. He had gazed up at her, seemingly mesmerized, as she had continued to whisper to him, attempting to convey her love for him and his safety in both her voice and eyes.
The impromptu medical treatment had been going along fine until they'd moved to work on the compound fracture of his right arm. The pain of its movement had broken their connection, and his eyes had screwed shut tightly with pain. He'd struggled fiercely, trying to grasp his wounded arm with his left one, and she'd been forced to order Fred and George to hold down his writhing body. She'd never have imagined that he would have been capable of such movement in his condition. Before long, he'd started shivering and gasping for air, nearly hyperventilating in his delirium.
Fearing shock, she had thrown a thick, brown blanket over his bare, shuddering body. She'd vaguely heard Arthur speaking loudly, trying to somehow reach through to Harry's fevered mind with his familiar voice.
She'd cleaned the bloody wound and placed a thick wad of gauze over the protruding bone and the surrounding area. By now, the boy was screaming in agony, pleading with them to stop. His white face had turned the same sickly gray that it had been after his seizure a few hours earlier. Then, she had raised her stinging eyes to Arthur and given a small nod, the prearranged signal for them to pull the injured arm as straight as possible to splint it.
Grasping the two wide, flat pieces of wood that would act as splints in her white knuckled fists, she'd watched, stomach churning, as her husband pulled firmly on the arm to straighten it by his side.
Harry had given one last heart-wrenching scream and abruptly stopped shivering, his eyes rolling back into his head. Everyone had frozen, paralyzed from fearing the worst, until his chest had heaved and he'd begun to breathe shakily once more.
Molly had finished with Harry quickly, attaching his splinted arm securely to his side for protection. She had then looked up and seen how shaky and pale her "assistants" had looked and immediately ordered them to lie down. The boys had collapsed on the two light green, worn sofas wordlessly, too shaken to speak; Arthur had sunk into a chair at the wobbly kitchen table, his head pillowed on his arms. Now, thinking back to that horrible time, she realized that she had probably looked just as ill as they had.
Exhausted, she pulled her chair close to the side of the bed and rested her head on the soft mattress beside Harry's left arm. Her weary eyes closed against her own will and she felt herself relax.
*******************
A faint moan jolted her out of her light doze, causing her to jump in alarm. Mind still foggy with sleep, she thought at first that she must have been dreaming, but then noticed that Harry's left fingers were twitching on the bed sheets. As she looked up, his eyes abruptly snapped open and began to dart wildly about the room, panic flooding the emerald green depths, matching the terror that flashed so vividly across his face.
"Harry, it's okay. Listen to me. You're safe here. Nothing is going to hurt you. You're safe. Can you hear me?"
He blinked and seemed to relax a bit, but she wasn't sure how aware he truly was. He appeared groggy now that the fear had withdrawn, taking with it the rush of adrenaline needed for him to stay awake.
Molly leaned over him on the bed and gingerly placed a hand on each side of his head to still his restless movements. "Focus on my eyes, Harry. Can you see them? Focus on me. Come on. You can do it." She watched as he struggled to regain some control over his blurred vision. His unfocused, foggy gaze slowly rested on her, and within a couple of minutes, his green eyes had sharpened substantially and were staring straight at her. She let out the breath she did not remember holding as recognition filtered into the confused depths of his eyes.
He licked his dry, cracked lips and tried to swallow. "Mrs. Weasley? I-is that you?" he wheezed uncertainly.
She smiled as she grabbed a glass of water from a nearby rickety stand. "Yes, Harry, it's me." She lifted his head carefully, avoiding the swollen knot on the back, and held the glass to his parched mouth. "Here's a little water for you. Drink as much as you can. It'll make you feel better."
He gulped at the water greedily, the thin, nearly translucent skin covering his throat allowing her to see every single swallow, no matter now infinitesimal. Finally, he twisted his head away from the glass. Molly gently settled him back down onto his mound on pillows. "I thought…it was a…dream." He shuddered, eliciting a weak groan at the involuntary movement of his ribs. "Or a…nightmare."
"No, you're at the Burrow. You're safe here." Pulling up the thick blanket over his sheets for more warmth, she watched his eyes drift close with mixed emotions. On one hand, she felt relieved that he seemed to be more alert than the last time he'd regained consciousness with Professor Dumbledore. She ached to talk with him and find out what exactly had happened at the Dursley's. However, she knew he needed the rest. Besides, bringing up his relatives might agitate him and make his condition worse. She could not cause him more pain, not after what she had just done. Bowing her head, she closed her own tired eyes as silence spread its unseen fingers throughout the room. The clock ticked loudly on the living room mantel.
"I c-can't move…my arm."
His breathless words caused her to jump again, and she just barely held back a startled yelp. Dear heavens, I thought he was asleep! "That's all right, Harry. You have a broken arm. We splinted it and wrapped it to your side so you can't move it." She paused. "Can you feel it?"
"Yes…it hurts." He lay amidst the gold and scarlet bedsheets, eyes still shut. "Can't…breathe…well."
Molly hastened to reassure him. "It's normal. You've cracked your ribs, as well."
He nodded faintly and lay still for a few moments, and then opened his eyes. This time, however, they appeared dark and lost – the awareness had slipped away.
"Where…am I?" He asked slowly, his fragile voice slurring the simple words.
Molly bit her lip to keep from crying, but one silvery tear slid down her round cheek, quickly chased by a few more before she angrily dashed them away. Poor lad, she thought, he doesn't know what is going on.
"You're with the Weasleys, Harry, at the Burrow," she repeated in a quivering voice. "Don't you remember?"
He was silent as he tried to process her words, visibly confused. "No," he replied in a small voice.
She raised a hand to his brow and frowned at she felt the heat sear her palm. It's the fever, she told herself. It's taking hold of him. She reached over to the adjacent stand to grab a cloth from the water filled basin. Wringing it out, she pressed the cold, damp cloth onto his forehead. He sighed in relief as the cool moisture came into contact with his fevered skin.
"Hermione?" he croaked suddenly. "You…there?"
"She will be, Harry, she's coming. Any minute now." Glancing nervously towards the fireplace and its cheery flames, she silently urged her daughter to hurry. "Just hold on."
His glazed eyes began to wander about the room, searching in vain for someone or something he could not even see. "Ron…Ron…where…are you?"
Ron.
Oh, dear Lord. Where is Ron? Raking the room with a worried gaze, she frantically shifted through her memories for the last time she had seen her youngest son. The last three hours since Arthur and Ron had brought back Harry had gone by in a blur of fear and anxiety. The last time that she remembered seeing Ron was when she had unknowingly sent Harry into convulsions after casting a spell on him. I haven't seen him since - and that was over two hours ago! Where could he be? And why isn't he here helping Harry?
Fear coursed through her body. Something must be wrong - Ron wouldn't leave his best friend when he needed him. She ached to go find her son, but she could not leave Harry, not the way he was, not even for a minute. She thought about sending Arthur, but one look at the slumped, snoring figure at the table banished that thought. And sending the twins…that would probably make matters worse. Dipping the now-warm cloth in the cool water and placing it back on Harry, she continued to berate herself. How could I have forgotten about Ron - my own son! I should have known something was wrong, that he would be upset. She'd been so intent on Harry that she had neglected everything else.
Harry's weak voice brought a halt to her silent self-accusations. "Ron," he whispered faintly, his eyelids fluttering closed, desperately trying to stay awake and find his friend. Finally, the battle became too difficult, and he lapsed into an uneasy sleep.
"Ron," Molly Weasley spoke a loud to herself, staring down at the sleeping boy before her. "Where are you?" She needed to find Ron, but she couldn't do anything until Ginny returned with Hermione. At least Harry will have Hermione with him then, she thought to herself. Maybe I can get Ginny to stay here while I go search for Ron.