Resident Evil: Basilisk was the first, and to date, only Harry Potter fic I wrote in the first person. Not the first fanfic I ever wrote in the first person: that honour belongs to my Borderlands fanfic Hooked on a Feeling, told from the POV of a semi-SI OC. I also wanted to capitalise on the success of Henry Ashford and the Goblet of Fire, but I found my interest waning. Therefore, I decided to abandon it and archive it here in The Cauldron. Enjoy.


RESIDENT EVIL: BASILISK

CHAPTER 1:

DISRUPTING THE STASIS QUO

When I thought about where I, Harry James Potter, would be, eleven years after killing Voldemort, one of the many things I never thought I would be would be stuck in a stasis tank, dressed in a skintight combat suit out of some kinky fetish fantasy, and breathing cold oxygenated liquid. But, well, that's where I ended up. It wasn't where I was going to remain, for obvious reasons. Don't get me wrong, I actually didn't mind being in stasis per se. It's an interesting sensation to breathe liquid, even more so when you're doing it without the benefit of gillyweed (I would have appreciated that better during the Second Task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, had I not been scared for the hostages' lives). But there's the fact that I was at the mercy of a narcissistic would-be genocide who looks like a Malfoy got an eye transplant from Voldemort, has the eugenics fixation of both, and who moves, literally, faster than a speeding bullet.

Now, you know that old saying, about how misery loves company? Well, as it turned out, I had a fellow prisoner. In fact, Wesker (the aforementioned narcissistic genocidal bastard with the blonde hair and reptilian eyes) was trying to turn me into a copy of her, complete with kinky battlesuit (mine being more tailored to a male body, obviously), painful mind control device implanted in the chest, and dangerously experimental viral enhancements. Thankfully, unlike her, the experiments didn't turn my hair blonde. Not that I mind blonde hair on most people. It's just that seeing it on the Malfoys sort of put me off for life for having it myself.

I'm still wondering how it happened. I'm guessing, as I don't have ANY knowledge of virology whatsoever, or how magic would interact with them. But when Wesker and that buxom bitch Excella pumped me full of the same shit that my fellow prisoner and guinea pig had in her, well, a link of sorts formed. Don't ask me how. The upshot is that even in stasis, we could talk to each other.

It turns out that my fellow prisoner and Wesker have a lot of history. Her name is Jill Valentine, and she used to be a member of Raccoon City Police Department's Special Tactics And Rescue Squad, aka STARS. Think like an elite SWAT team, almost like a military unit within the police. Anyway, Wesker used to be the head of STARS in Raccoon City, but he was also a top researcher for the Umbrella Corporation, and not a very nice person at all, to say the least. Umbrella, you see, had this front of being a major, respected and very philanthropic pharmaceuticals company, but in reality, was researching biological weapons, particularly one called the Tyrant Virus or T-Virus. Normally, when people are infected by that, they turn into zombies. I'm not making this up. Then again, what happened at Raccoon is now a matter of public record.

Anyway, a couple of months after I beat Voldemort, and was trying to figure out what to do with my life, Jill Valentine and other members of STARS were investigating a mansion in the countryside outside Raccoon City. They were investigating some bizarre murders where the victims were apparently partly eaten. They were forced to take refuge in the mansion from some aggressive zombie dogs. I won't bore you with the details, only that Wesker proved to be a traitor, and was thought to be dead, and the only survivors were Jill, her comrade and best friend Chris Redfield, Barry Burton, a rookie called Rebecca Chambers, and a rather cowardly pilot called Brad Vickers.

Now, because Umbrella had their claws in the city, STARS couldn't convince the authorities to investigate Umbrella. Most of them left Raccoon, though Jill stayed to try and do some further investigations. Then, the T-Virus got unleashed in the city, thanks to a ham-handed attempt by Umbrella to assassinate one of their researchers, William Birkin, and take the new virus he was developing, the G-Virus, or God Virus. Seriously, what the hell is wrong with these people?

I remember reading the newspaper reports of an epidemic in Raccoon City. Not that it created zombies, or that monsters of all kinds were running around. I would learn that later. Jill, of course, was right in the middle of it, being pursued by a big, hulking, fugly monster called the Nemesis. It was thanks to the Nemesis that she got her lovely collection of viruses in her bloodstream. Thankfully, an Umbrella-hired mercenary called Carlos whom she teamed up with found a vaccine. She managed to escape Raccoon with Carlos, thanks to Barry Burton coming in with a helicopter(1).

I should really fast-forward the next little bit. Jill and Chris, being amongst the founding members of the BSAA (Biohazard Security Assessment Alliance), tracked down Ozwell E Spencer, the founder of Umbrella, and all-round megalomaniacal arsehole. Wesker had beaten them to him, and had killed Spencer just before they got there. They fought, and Wesker, having the unfair advantages of superhuman speed, inhuman endurance, and subhuman bastardry, kicked their arses soundly. Jill, in a last-ditch effort to stop Wesker from killing Chris, tackled Wesker and sent him out of a window.

Whether Jill's survival was fortunate or unfortunate depends on your opinion. Long story short, Wesker brought her here, and did all sorts of nasty things to her involving pseudo-scientific experimentation.

I joined her some months ago. Shortly after that whole mess with Voldemort, I realised, I had always had to dance to someone else's tune. Mostly Dumbledore's, but also to the expectations of Magical Britain, as well as being servant to the Dursleys. And now that Voldemort was dead, along with so many friends, I realised I felt hollow.

I couldn't continue with Ginny. She took it well, better than Ron. I told her that she was right, that I hadn't been happy unless facing Voldemort, and now that he was gone, I didn't know what to do. I needed to find a new purpose in life, and frankly, I wasn't sure I could find it in Magical Britain. Ginny let me go with tears in her eyes, but a genuine wish for me to find my happiness. I think Ron and Molly were more upset than Ginny was, and certainly more angry.

As it turned out, being both the Boy Who Lived and the Vanquisher of Voldemort opened more than a few doors for me. I got into a discussion with Kingsley Shacklebolt, who was freshly sworn-in as the Minister for Magic, and after some discussion, he told me of Gringotts having their own security firm. In effect, a mercenary outfit or a PMC. Though mostly used for guarding their curse-breakers and escorting their money, the services of Ragnuk (named for one of the Goblins' most famous figures) were available to those willing to treat with them.

Now, it took a while for the Goblins to accede to the idea. I had, after all, effectively stolen an item from Gringotts, and had withheld one of their most precious items (they had this weird idea that they owned the Sword of Gryffindor) from what they thought was their rightful ownership. But a lot of gold from the Potter family vaults, and a full explanation for what happened, went a long way to smoothing ruffled feathers. And to tell the truth, I know the Goblins considered it a major coup to recruit the Boy Who Lived.

I made a name for myself, working with the curse-breakers, keeping them safe, even Bill Weasley, on the few occasions Fleur would let him out. But even then, I didn't quite know whether I had found what I was looking for. I became known as Basilisk, which was my codename in Ragnuk.

Anyway, that changed for the worse in late 2008. Gringotts had decided to try and mount an expedition to Kijuju, a small country in Africa, and to the ruins of the Ndipaya Kingdom. Recently, the magical leadership of the Ndipaya tribe had fallen silent, with the last message being a curt message to Gringotts saying that they no longer acknowledged their debts to Gringotts. Now, that meant we could do some tomb-raiding, as a form of repossession, though the higher-ups were confused. The Ndipaya tribe, while remote, had some loans from Gringotts to help with their housing, outside of the swamp, anyway, as well as to find ways to preserve their heritage. And the Ndipaya, besides being warriors (which commanded the Goblins' respect), were also very polite to the Goblins, so to have this curt discourtesy was out of character.

As it turned out, well, things went badly. One thing that will haunt me to the rest of my days would be the tribesmen, decked out in war costumes, swarming us. They resisted most of the spells we threw at them, often getting up after what suffering what would have been crippling wounds on others. I remember Bill, who was with us, being hacked to pieces. After that, in my anger, I started handing out Killing Curses like candy, only to be knocked out from behind. As it turned out, Wesker had been watching, and had been astonished to find that the would-be tomb raiders were wizards and witches.

Long story short, I ended up here, at a research facility near that ancient underground city of the Ndipaya. I don't know how long I've been here, only that it has been for some months now at least.

Thankfully, while I am still under his control, Wesker monologues about what he's going to do to the world with some new bioweapon called Uroboros. He's got some sleazy, immature nutbag called Irving as a middle-man. And he's going to have Jill and I as his personal attack dogs for when the BSAA notice what's going on in Kijuju.

Which is why I'm planning a jailbreak. Wesker has noticed that he has had to replace the injector device on my chest once. I didn't dare do so more than that. Apparently using enough magic causes a short-circuit inside it. Plus, I'm hoping that I can get Jill's out with a summoning spell. That's what I've told her. And we've got means of escaping. Unfortunately, our plan is a lot of 'Step 1: Break free', 'Step 2: ?', and 'Step 3: GLORIOUS FREEDOM!' The finer details haven't been worked out. They can't be worked out in advance.

As I float in my cold prison, I hear Jill's voice echo along our link. Heads up, Harry. Wesker's just taken me out. He's about to take you out. Do you think this will work?

I don't know. But it's our best chance of escape, isn't it? I replied. Besides, Wesker ganked me before he could see what I could really do with magic. Be prepared: I've got to use the summoning spell, and it will be painful.

Hopefully, it won't rip out my sternum, Jill said wryly.

I felt the liquid around me drain, and I choked up the cold liquid that had supported me all these years. Wesker hauled me out none-too-gently, and opened up the battlesuit to check on the device injecting the drug keeping me under his control.

Which was when I flared my magic, and caused the device to explode in his face. It was painful for me, but thankfully, all I got were a few cuts and a burn. Wesker, however, clutched at his face and grunted in pain.

As Wesker reeled back, I pointed my hand at him and yelled, "DEPULSIO!" Wesker was sent flying over the railing. We were on a sort of massive elevator platform, surrounded by a massive shaft filled with stasis tanks. Wesker fell over the edge with a yelp of surprise, a far cry from his usual calm and collected self.

As Jill advanced on me, I pointed to her chest and yelled, "ACCIO, CONTROL DEVICE!" With a sickening ripping noise, the device ripped its way free from Jill, who screamed in pain. Thankfully, the only injuries were some small wounds from the device's anchors. I slammed it to the ground and stomped on it, and then rushed to the control panel, and began activating the massive elevator.

Jill, rubbing at her chest, muttered, "I didn't think that was going to work."

I spared a glance at her. Damn, she looked hot in that skintight battlesuit. Blonde hair framing a lovely face, although her eyes were far paler than they should have been. Blame the exposure to the viruses Wesker put into her. But there was no mistaking, even as she recovered from having that device ripped from her chest, that she was ready for action. She could kick some serious arse. As I returned to the panel, I said, "We're lucky it did work. Now comes the hard part."

"Indeed," purred a familiar, hated voice. I whirled from the control panel to see Wesker in the process of leaping off the wall of the shaft back onto the platform. "Clever little bastard, aren't you?"

"Well, I see we have one thing in common," I said, backing away, and grabbing onto Jill's hand. There was one possibility that I could use, but I didn't know whether it would work. "We're hard to kill."

"Oh, I know you're called the Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter," Wesker said with a smile. "But that is mere hyperbole. You won't die yet, as I still have need of you. But your usefulness is coming to an end."

As he blurred towards us, ready to beat us into submission, I closed my eyes, and hoped beyond hope that this would work…


With a deafening crack, Jill and I sprawled to the ground. I hate Apparation. Well, most forms of magical transport, really, save for broomsticks. Riding a Dragon or a Thestral wasn't so bad either. But Apparation? Floo Network? Portkeys? The Knight Bus? No thanks.

I had enough time to realise that we were in the middle of a rather dank and filthy-looking butcher's shop when we were confronted by a man with a hooked nose, wearing a turban, staring at us both. "Who are you?!" he demanded, not unreasonably, in accented English. "What are you doing here?!"

Jill merely glared, and took a battle stance. But then, the man peered at her, and murmured, "Impossible…"

"How do you know her?" I asked.

Jill's eyes roved around the shop, and I saw what she did, things that were partly concealed, things that had no place in a remote butcher's shop, before she looked at the man. "BSAA?"

The man nodded. "Reynard Fisher, West African branch. Agent Valentine…is it really you?"

"Yeah. We'll talk in a moment, we both need first aid. But where are we?"

"The Kijuju Autonomous Zone," Reynard said. He shook his head, turning away. "I had thought that image they had found to be a hoax. Clearly I was mistaken."

"What image?" Jill demanded.

"One of you, Agent Valentine." He rummaged around in one of the shelves, before finding a first aid kit. "I'll treat your wounds. Then, you both have to tell me what is going on…"


Over the next day, we spoke to Reynard, who debriefed us. It turned out that Reynard was one of BSAA's main agents in the area, feeding information about local events to the BSAA. He also turned out to know about the magical world: he was a Squib, and so knew who I was, saving a lot of hassle in that regard. The BSAA was launching an operation to intercept Ricardo Irving, though the knowledge that not only Wesker was involved, but Excella Gionne, head of Tricell, was even more so. Tricell, after all, was one of the companies who had founded the BSAA. And the knowledge that the Las Plagas was being disseminated amongst the populace was only icing on the cake, explaining the xenophobic nationalism spreading amongst the citizens of Kijuju. Jill and I knew that Wesker was using a modified form of Las Plagas to bring the populace under his control.

The intel we sent on Wesker, Uroboros, and Tricell doubtless sent shivers down the spines of the BSAA's commanders, but they didn't intend to cancel the mission, merely expand its scope covertly. Jill had requested that the operative being sent not be told of her status, especially once she learned who it was: none other than Chris Redfield. Another local agent, Sheva Alomar, was to accompany him.

Early the next morning, the two operatives arrived. They were definitely an odd couple, I noted as I watched them approach from a window. One looked like a stereotypical meathead, musclebound and with a handsome face framed by brown hair. But you could see the twinkle of both compassion and intelligence in his eyes, as well as the haunting loss he had suffered. This had to be Chris Redfield.

The other was a young African woman, slim and slender, dressed deceptively casually, but with the gait of a soldier and seasoned operative. She was quite beautiful, I thought. This must be Sheva.

Jill and I made our way to the back of the butcher's shop, and waited for Reynard to allow them in. All that Chris and Sheva were being told were that they would be joined by new operatives, something that didn't sit right with either of them, judging by their apprehension.

After giving them their weapons to check, and telling them where they needed to go, I heard Chris say, "The brass said there were complications, and that our mission parameters have been expanded."

Reynard replied, "Yes. You've heard of Uroboros?"

"Just rumours. Something about a doomsday project." Chris' tone was uneasy. He obviously didn't like hearing about new bioweapons. Given that he had encountered more than one, I couldn't blame him.

"Doomsday is about right, and they're no rumours. Yesterday, two people ended up here by accident. What they had to tell paints a terrifying picture. They're the ones accompanying you to the deal location. While their intel is good, we still need to bring a man called Ricardo Irving into custody."

"Who are these people? Can we trust them?" Sheva asked.

"I know you, Redfield, can trust one of them personally. The other has something of a big reputation in certain circles." Reynard then called out, "You two, come out here."

As we walked around from behind a wall, I could see Chris Redfield's jaw dropping. Sheva looked at us bemused. We were still dressed in the battlesuits (they're surprisingly comfortable, even in African heat), and we were now armed to the teeth.

"Jill? But…"

"Hi, Chris," Jill said. "Been a long time, hasn't it?"

Chris seemed unwilling to believe that it was real. But then, the warring emotions on his face ceased, and he strode up to Jill, embracing her in a massive bear hug. I grinned, and even Jill laughed. Sheva watched on with a bemused but indulgent smile. Reynard, however, had to spoil it all by clearing his throat pointedly and loudly. At least he didn't act like Umbridge, despite the similar throat-clearing habit.

"As good as it is to see a heartwarming reunion, you have a mission. The clock is ticking…"

CHAPTER 1 ANNOTATIONS:

Well, hope you enjoyed that. Jill, with Harry's help, has escaped Wesker's clutches, and there are now four BSAA agents ready to kick Majini arse.

1. I'm taking the best ending of Resident Evil 3 as canon for this work.