AN: I started this story last October. Happy late Anniversary readers! Since the events in the Chamber of Secrets have unfortunately taken many months to write with big breaks in between, I suggest going back to Chapter 16 and reading from there up through the new stuff in here for best enjoyment and comprehension. This is a massive chapter (almost 17k words) where we finally get through the main events of the Chamber. Hooray! Sorry for the wait, but I can't do small 2k updates like some authors because that never feels like a real chapter to me and my perfectionist streak rebels against it. I mostly find such small updates personally unsatisfying anyway—like a single nibble when I want a full meal! Gluttony is a personal failing. So I have bigger gaps of time but in reward you get bigger chapters. YMMV but I hope you can be understanding of the wait. Thanks to my extremely helpful beta for this chapter, Iforgottocall! Enjoy the chapter!
Whispers in Her Hair
by Indygodusk
Chapter 18: Second Year - Flag of Victory
The Basilisk still managed to look terrifying, even with his head coated in pink goo like an upended bowl of strawberry ice cream. Valeria's spell contained the danger of the Basilisk's gaze but did nothing to constrain the movement of his huge body or deadly jaws, which held a veritable armory of dagger-like teeth. Dark yellow venom dripped from protruding fangs as the Basilisk hissed furiously at the air, making his terrifying teeth glisten wetly in the light from the magical fires flickering lowly after getting splashed by water.
Harry bit his bottom lip to muffle the scared sounds trying to escape his mouth and desperately seized onto the distracting thought that since water actually put these fires out, the Chamber must use very old light spells indeed or the runework had degraded. The magical fire spells people used now were impervious to water. He'd learned that first-hand when Draco had lit his robes on fire during Viper School and they had kept burning despite the toilets and sinks in Myrtle's bathroom constantly spewing water that drenched him to the bone.
"➿Do as I say and kill them! Crush their bones! Sink your teeth into their hot blood and steaming flesh!➿" Tom ordered viciously, dragging Harry right back into the horror of his current circumstances.
Feeling lightheaded and queasy, Harry saw the blinded Basilisk cock his head, flicking out his forked tongue from between his teeth in a way that made goosebumps rise across Harry's skin. Seeing the Basilisk's face was so much worse than just staring at his tail. Long strings of pink goo swayed against his neck like the fringe on a shawl as he moved his head from side to side. It should look ridiculous. Instead, it just added to the creeping horror.
The Basilisk's head slowed until it was pointed directly at Harry. The Basilisk was using his other senses to find them! Harry realized. He froze, not even daring to breathe. Surely the Basilisk must hear the furious beating of his heart. Harry's lungs burned and spots swam across his eyes. He needed to breathe but that would make noise. Noisy boys got eaten, he thought almost hysterically, slapping a hand over his mouth to keep himself quiet. Though at least if he passed out from a lack of air, he wouldn't be awake to experience the pain and terror of being killed and eaten. Small mercies.
After a moment of hovering with his snout pointed straight at Harry, the Basilisk's head moved away. About to collapse in relief, Harry instead found himself choking in horror when the Basilisk's head snapped to the side and he lunged at Valeria, crossing the distance faster than seemed possible for a creature that size, his sharp teeth on a collision course.
Eyes going wide, Valeria cried out and jerked back, stumbling over a piece of rubble and falling. She barely caught herself on a pillar with her wand hand, trapping the wand between her palm and the stone as she fought to remain upright. The pillar—perhaps the tallest in the entire chamber—had been damaged at some point, cracks covering its surface and gravel gathering at its base. The cracks widened as she leaned against it.
The Basilisk was too close. Valeria didn't have time to cast anything, much less escape. She was going to die and just like with his parents, it was going to be Harry's fault.
"NO!" Harry screamed, unable to bear it. He stomped his feet and waved his arms. "Over here!" Switching to Parseltongue, he shouted shrilly, ➿I'm over here, you banshee booger! You want me, remember? Over here! Or are your brains really dragon dung? Pixie Piss!➿"
Whipping away from Valeria, the Basilisk tossed his head and hissed, teeth bared in temper and dripping venom as it surged towards Harry instead.
Brilliant. Now what?
"Run, Harry!" screamed Hermione. "Run!"
Yes, that. Great idea. Thank you, Hermione.
Mouth drier than yellow grass in August, Harry stumbled backward three steps before pivoting on his heel and breaking into a run. Seeing a downed pillar fallen at a slant against its neighbor, blocking his retreat, Harry leaped up onto it with barely any loss of momentum and scrambled to the top, jumping over to the next pillar and then the next, wishing desperately for a broom to fly away on.
On his next jump, he barely avoided tripping on a bowl of enchanted fire. Harry kicked it towards the Basilisk's face, but the rapidly approaching sounds of crunching stone and scales slapping over rock didn't slow at all. In fact, they were gaining on him.
Just as Harry was about to begin his next desperate leap, a giant balloon flower unexpectedly appeared. The Twist and Swell Hex was still going strong, twisting the Basilisk's long body into a veritable circus of grotesque animals and unsettling plants. Unfortunately, that was working against Harry now as the balloon flower was too big to dodge. Between one blink and the next, it swatted Harry off the top of the pillar. It felt like taking a sledgehammer to the chest. Air exploded from his mouth. He couldn't breathe. His lungs felt broken. Everything hurt. Harry's entire world became pain.
Someone was screaming. Not him, though he would be if he could actually find his breath. One of his friends.
He felt like the porcelain vase Dudley had gleefully shattered with a cricket bat last summer and then blamed on Harry. Was his chest actually caved in? Were broken ribs protruding out of his back? Were pieces of his body flying off into space—ears to the left and toes to the right? Was this really the end for him?
Despite all the jostling, his glasses had managed to stay on his face. How unfortunate. Without glasses he wouldn't have been able to see the poisonous green scales surrounding him on all sides or the Basilisk's head sliding out of the shadow between two pillars and zeroing in on Harry's falling body like a heat-seeking missile, opening his mouth wide to swallow Harry down.
So it came as quite the shock when the Basilisk abruptly jerked to a stop and snapped his teeth just shy of Harry's leg, catching and ripping through his robes like they were wet paper but completely missing his skin. The jerk of the fangs as they left the fabric made Harry's robes strangle around his neck and spun him around to bounce off a coil of the Basilisk's body bent into a balloon leaf. He slid down the stem, the contorted and raised scales scraping up his back—though what was one more injury at this point? Hitting the ground, he flipped end over end before skidding to a stop.
Miraculously, he'd survived the landing with his neck unbroken. Through watering eyes and floating black spots, Harry noticed that an inflated flower petal in the middle of the Basilisk's body had looped over the base of a broken pillar. The spellfire from Valeria didn't seem to bother the creature at all. Jaws snapping futilely in the air, the Basilisk strained forward against his tether, sending cracks through the pillar. It must've been what saved Harry from landing in the Basilisk's mouth. Thank God, Merlin, Hecate, and all four Founders (especially Slytherin for including so many pillars in his Chamber of Secrets) that the Basilisk was trapped too far away to reach where Harry lay sprawled on the floor.
Harry's diaphragm finally decided to start working again and let his lungs inflate. He sucked in a big breath of air and immediately started coughing. The air felt like acid in his throat and his chest burned. Tears leaking down his temples, Harry struggled with spotty vision as he shakily pushed himself up onto his knees, swallowing back a sob that tasted like fire and blood—at some point he must've bitten his tongue.
Wiping his face dry with his sleeve, he took a quivering breath and reminded himself that he had to keep moving. He couldn't just give up, he wouldn't (no matter how tempting the idea of laying back down and closing his eyes felt). None of his reasons had changed. Nothing had been fixed and Harry Potter wasn't a quitter. He had to keep going. He had to.
Forcing his broken body up one foot at a time, Harry stumbled away even as the Basilisk shrieked and whipped his body through the air, trying to get his loop unstuck from the pillar. Chips of rock skittered across the floor as the pillar began to fracture. It wouldn't be much longer before the Basilisk was free.
To be honest, it wouldn't be much longer before Harry's body gave out either (pep talks and a high pain tolerance could only do so much). His luck was running out. He couldn't keep going on like this. There wasn't a single place on his body that didn't hurt. He was exhausted. Without the stamina gained from Valeria's grueling and borderline sadistic training, he'd probably already be dead and digesting in the Basilisk's belly by now.
To survive much longer he needed a miracle. That or—or some kind of magic. His rambling thoughts screeched to a stop.
The voice of Hagrid boomed out of his memories, "Yer a wizard, Harry!"
Duh. Harry had magic. Was exercise-induced amnesia a thing? He was claiming it as a thing.
Feeling extremely stupid, Harry shoved his hand into his wand pocket—only to find it empty of everything but soggy lint. Frantic, he ran his fingers up and down his damp robes, being careful not to use his broken pinky finger as he searched. He was so careful and so frantic that the angle of his remaining fingers led him to accidentally push down too hard on his badly bruised ribs (he refused to believe they were broken because he didn't have the energy to worry about dying of a punctured lung in addition to everything else terrifying him right now). The rough touch caused electrifying pain to bolt through his chest like a cattle prod. His knees went weak and his vision darkened. Sucking in a shaky breath, he dropped trembling hands to his knees to keep from collapsing and swallowed down a whimper.
His wand was gone. He must've dropped it. Harry cursed breathlessly in hopes it would somehow make him feel better. It didn't. Gritting his teeth, he opened his eyes to floating spots and fuzzy edges. There wasn't time to worry about it so he'd have to ignore it and hope it somehow got better.
Wrapping the arm with the broken pinky around his aching chest, Harry pushed himself upright and started jogging away, though he suspected that he looked less like an elite Slytherin Quidditch player and more like a frazzled Gryffindor bumbling into class after pulling an all-nighter studying in hopes of not bombing another potions exam. The idea that he might look like Longbottom or Weasley right now was appalling. He could easily picture the disdainful look on his friends' faces… and now he was picturing being glared at by Snape! Great, just what he needed. Harry's temper rose in a knee-jerk reaction. It unexpectedly cleared his vision and gave him a boost of energy to quicken his pace from slug to snake—well, a cold garden snake at least... if he was being generous. Certainly not Basilisk speed.
Stupid Basilisk.
And stupid Snape! He was supposed to be the Head of Slytherin House, so just where was he when his students were in danger? Why weren't the adults down here saving the day and leading the charge against the Basilisk and Tom freaking Riddle-mort? Instead, there was just Harry.
The red light of a spell cut through the shadows and hit the Basilisk's neck before dissipating harmlessly. It didn't seem to do any damage, but it did remind Harry shamefully that it wasn't just him fighting down here—there was also Valeria and Myrtle, not to mention Hermione, who wasn't a passive victim like the unconscious Ginny Weasley or still petrified Halle Harper.
Actually, how had Hermione become unpetrified?
The sound of stone cracking jerked his thoughts back to the present danger and made him flinch. That reminded him of the pain in his body. He needed to stop wondering about Hermione and think of a new plan to either escape or stop the Basilisk. He pressed his back to a pillar and tried to pant more quietly. Unfortunately, all he could think about was that everything hurt and he was an idiot who'd voluntarily come down to confront a Basilisk and then lost his wand.
Then again, he told himself as he moved past another pillar, would having his wand really have made a difference against the Basilisk? Valeria had shot countless spells at the Basilisk and the only one that had done any good was the pink goo over his eyes. Everything else had just bounced off those green scales. It was unlikely that Harry knew better spells than Valeria. Sure, the Twist and Swell Hex had affected the Basilisk, but it barely counted as more than a nuisance so far and Harry would never dodge the Basilisk long enough for the spell to become deadly enough to kill, especially not at his current speed.
It was almost enough to make Harry want to give up.
But over the cacophony of stone breaking, water splashing, the Basilisk thrashing, Myrtle shrieking, and Valeria casting... he could hear Tom laughing. Harry hated being laughed at. It was a harsh, mocking sound, reminding him of his relatives and the bullies that had tried to make him miserable and convince him that he was worthless. Harry felt angry—and small, scared, and one more hit away from shattering—but he chose to focus on the angry. He refused to give his relatives the satisfaction of hearing that magic had led him to a bad end just like they'd always expected.
Even more, he refused to give Tom the satisfaction. Tom didn't deserve to succeed in killing Harry where his older self had already tried and failed—and failed twice! No, Harry wouldn't make his death easy. He'd fight to the bitter end and then in true Slytherin fashion pull a cunning trick out of his sleeve just when it seemed all was lost. (He just needed to figure out the trick.)
The Basilisk released a triumphant shriek as he finally freed himself. Harry cried out and clapped his hands over his ears as the sound pierced his head like a spike. That was a mistake.
Whipping around, the Basilisk zeroed in on Harry's voice. The time for thinking was over. Harry had to move. He forced himself to dodge and weave, doubling back and circling pillars when he noticed it tangling up the Basilisk's inflated body, though nothing slowed the Basilisk for long. At least the Basilisk seemed to be moving slower as the Twist and Swell Hex progressed. It gave Harry a slightly better chance of surviving. Only slightly better, but he'd take anything he could get right now since injury was slowing him down too.
Seconds still passed like hours. How long had they been down here? Years? Distantly he noticed his friends trying to attack and distract the Basilisk from chasing him, but nothing worked. The creature was completely focused on Harry. Harry's feet felt like cement blocks. He needed a new plan besides running until he dropped, but he could barely even catch his breath, much less find the focus to think of something clever. Some Slytherin he was.
He faintly heard Hermione's voice. "Basavilbaso! Look over there, where it's tightly twisted! Basavilbaso!" Harry was too busy to turn and look. Valeria didn't turn either, either not hearing or not caring for Hermione's opinion.
Harry hopped over a still smoldering pile of embers from an overturned brazier blocking his way, sending a lance of pain through his ribs on landing. Tears of pain turned his vision blurry as he stumbled. Only willpower and dogged determination kept him on his feet.
"Valeria!" Hermione shouted again, her voice hoarse and straining. "Valer—oh for—Moaning Myrtle! Look! Over! There! Moaning Myrtle!"
"I hate that nickna—Oh. Oh! Valeria! Quick, Valeria over here! Here here here!" Myrtle's voice rang shrilly through the air, cutting through the noise much more effectively than Hermione's pained rasp.
Sweat dripped down Harry's face as he circled around a fallen pillar to trap another ballooning coil trying to flatten him, though he'd lost sight of the Basilisk's head. He blinked hard and shook his head to clear his stinging eyes, catching sight of Myrtle waving her arms wildly and pointing. She was hovering over a section of the Basilisk's body twisted so tightly that it had become a fraction of its normal size.
"Quick! Cast a Severing Charm here! Right here!" Myrtle cried.
Harry couldn't help but wince as he watched the Twist and Swell Hex in play, twisting the Basilisk's flesh as if trying to wring water from a towel, thinning the area between two distended ballooning sections until the midpoint was only as thick as Myrtle's ghostly, girlish waist. The ballooning area on the left slowly started to bend into a loop. The flesh beneath Myrtle twisted again, becoming barely the width of Myrtle's leg. With a sickening squelch, the edges of the dark green scales on either side of the constricted whitish-pink flesh popped up at an angle, like a military honor guard crossing their swords and waiting for someone important to pass beneath.
From the light in Valeria's eyes, she'd decided to take that invitation. "Yes!" she hissed, her face flushing dark purple as she moved out from behind the tall, crack-riddled pillar to get a clear shot at the vulnerable spot.
"No!" Tom thundered.
"Diffindo!" The Severing Charm's pale green light sped from Valeria's wand just as the Basilisk moved, causing the spell to shoot past him and through Myrtle's transparent stomach, making her shriek and dive sideways with a wail, arms flailing dramatically.
The second years had just started to learn the Severing Charm in class, so Valeria had made them focus on it in their most recent session of Viper School. So far Harry was the only one who'd successfully cast it up to Valeria's standards—meaning while under stress and at a moving target. He'd only managed it once, but no one else had even gotten close. Daphne still couldn't even cut a piece of ribbon sitting still on her desk.
Before the echo of Myrtle's protest had even faded, Valeria cast Diffindo again. Fingers curling around the shape of his missing wand, Harry watched the ballooning sections on either side of the twisted flesh begin to move closer together, making the Basilisk's entire body shift at just the wrong moment. Valeria's second spell hit but it was off-center. The pale green light splashed over the dark green scales and dissipated without any visible damage. The Basilisk didn't even seem to notice.
Sagging with disappointment, Harry flashed back to casting his first Severing Charm. He hadn't managed it in charms class, but had succeeded later on under the pressure cooker of Valeria's tutelage. Like now, sweat had stung his eyes and his lungs had burned from running around trying to stay safe, though that time instead of an ancient and deadly Basilisk he'd been dodging "minor" hexes cast by Valeria to "motivate" them to learn more quickly and give a supposedly "realistic'' feel to their practice (ignoring the fact that the overwhelming majority of people casting Severing Charms did so on stationary targets in safe environments). He could practically taste the lingering flavor of the Toothflossing Stringmint he'd eaten that night after dinner, hear Draco's muttered curses whenever he managed to catch his breath, and picture how the moonlight traveling through the waters of the Great Lake cast a rippling pattern on the floor beneath the basement windows where they ran and dodged. Seeing his Severing Charm slice so easily through the stolen practice dummy Valeria had spelled to chase them had been sobering, making him wonder if the creator of the spell had ever dreamed of such uses considering she'd only been a seamstress trying to sew dresses more quickly.
Like everything lately, learning a new spell reminded him of a past conversation with Hermione, when he'd coaxed her to be more confident while flying and she'd explained about spell creation and why English wizards spoke a version of Latin and used wands to shape their magic. He wondered if she'd managed to cast any spells wandlessly yet. Even though most magicals never learned the skill, he wouldn't bet against Hermione mastering it. When (not if) she did, he'd have to ask her to teach him too.
Though considering how dire things were right now, it couldn't hurt for him to at least try to cast something wandlessly. Motivation was easy to find when you were running for your life from a gigantic and deadly Basilisk while simultaneously trying to keep your other friends safe and rescue your girlfriend—girl friend that is, with the space between the words because he and Hermione weren't that close, weren't even friends the last few months, no matter how his friends teased him about his obsession. Harry wasn't obsessed—a baseless and ridiculous charge. They were obviously just imagining things. There was no proof that he was obsessed. Really. Facing down a terrifying and deadly Basilisk to rescue Hermione, risking almost certain death for both himself and Valeria (and potentially ruining Myrtle's afterlife), was something Harry would do for any friend or casual acquaintance….
Oh alright, so maybe that last bit was a lie. But only the last bit! Harry's face felt hot. He shifted uncomfortably.
A-a-anyway, back to figuring out wandless casting!
Harry had noticed that when he was really focusing and cast a new spell for the first time with his wand, his magic gave him a jolt of recognition—like the feeling of snapping your fingers when someone gave you an answer that had been hovering on the tip of your tongue or perhaps what it felt like when coming home to a place you wanted to return to. After Hermione's lecture in first year, he came to suspect that it was his magic recognizing the established form of an old spell. Each new spell he learned had a slightly different feel to it, but it was always a strange blend of familiar and unique. It made mastering new spells special and exciting. There was a visceral thrill to it, especially as both the spells and the feelings of recognition and belonging became more complex.
The feeling of casting the Severing Charm for the first time had been almost indescribable—but only almost because suddenly Harry could clearly remember the exact shape and feel of his magic when he'd done it and could replicate it in his head without even moving his hand or making a sound.
Could that be it?
In the distance, Tom hissed more orders at the Basilisk, though Harry was too distracted to listen to the exact meaning. Nevertheless, it made Harry's thoughts shift fluidly over into Parseltongue again, a shift he was just starting to get a feel for when it happened. He focused on making his magic feel like it had before when casting a Severing Charm for the first time, though part of his attention was still focused on the scene in front of him as Valeria's jaw clenched and she shifted, planting her feet above her shoulders as she widened her stance before beginning to cast again.
Air hissed slowly through Harry's teeth, the sibilant sound vibrating his lips and making them tingle. Thoughts still in Parseltongue, he pictured the visceral feel of casting the Severing Charm, seeing his magic with the sinuous movement of a snake rising and falling in sync with the movement of Valeria's lips and wand. As the spell left her wand he simultaneously pushed at his magic and pictured casting the Severing Charm, believing with everything he had that it would work—for both him and Valeria.
Again a pale green light left the tip of Valeria's wand. A faint, iridescent greenish-yellow glow slithered out from Harry and engulfed Valeria's spell light, merging into something bigger and stronger. The joined spells passed over stone and water to slip precisely between where the Basilisk's scales stood at attention, the scintillating green and yellow light hitting the whitish-pink twist of exposed flesh and slicing through, cleanly severing the Basilisk's body into two pieces.
The now-unconnected back end of the Basilisk collapsed with a BOOM and SPLASH, convulsing uncontrollably. Rocks and debris flew through the air like a cloud of mosquitoes the size of bowling balls. With an ear-splitting shriek even worse than the last, the Basilisk threw back his pink-capped head and writhed in pain, shock, and incredulous rage.
Something sharp clipped Harry's ear. Yelping, Harry ducked down and wrapped his arms around his head. A hot line of blood trickled down his sweat-chilled neck. He didn't want any more injuries; he just wanted to rescue Hermione, get away to safety with all his friends, and have this be over.
The Basilisk's tail, still twisted into the shape of a balloon toad, twitched hard, falling off the edge of the path and into the lake with a mighty splash. The inflated sections shot past Harry like a water tube towed by a speedboat, only to jerk to a stop and bob disturbingly in the water as the piece of the body still onshore kept it from going any farther.
Tom showed no sympathy, shouting at the convulsing Basilisk, "➿You idiot! Hurry up and kill them—kill them NOW before they do something even worse and ruin my return!➿"
"Watch out!" Myrtle shrieked.
Harry flinched and turned to look, but Myrtle wasn't talking to him. The Basilisk was still too distracted by pain to attack. He followed Myrtle's panicked gaze to see that she was actually talking to—
"Valeria!" he shouted, panicked.
Valeria was standing in front of the tall damaged pillar she'd used to keep herself from falling earlier with her wand still tracking the Basilisk. She didn't seem to have noticed that the pillar at her back was crumbling, looming over her shoulder like a Professor during an exam. The fast-growing cracks through the stone reminded Harry of menacing vines, like the sudden appearance of a Devil's Snare just before it tried to strangle you. At any moment the pillar was going to break free and crash into Valeria—killing her.
Valeria hadn't noticed, too busy staring in satisfaction at the injured Basilisk. Random little bits of stone facade began shearing off the pillar at her back. The tilt became worse. Valeria was going to die and Harry was too far away to save her.
Head jerking up in response to Harry's call, she started to turn towards him—completely missing the deadly danger at her back.
"Watch out!" he cried.
Her eyes went wide and she stepped back... closer to the pillar about to fall on top of her before looking back to the Basilisk warily.
Desperate, Harry stumbled forward as he tried to wandlessly cast a Dancing Feet Spell to force her to move out of the way. Nothing happened. "Tarantallegra," he cried again, followed by a rapid-fire mumbling of every other spell he thought might be even remotely useful. They all failed. The correct feeling of his magic eluded him completely.
He was a failure and Valeria was still in the pillar's way. Harry's blood turned to ice, his throat locked up, and his thoughts became screams. He was powerless to do anything but watch.
The next few seconds seemed to happen as if in slow motion.
A corner broke free from the pillar's base, causing previously undamaged pieces along the sides to begin cascading off in sheets. Unbalanced, the column swayed back and forth, each rocking motion causing more of the base to crumble and the angle to become more extreme. In a moment it would break loose and finally fall.
At that same moment from out of the shadows burst Hermione, unexpectedly swooping in with her ripped robes flapping as if flying on a broomstick instead of running on two feet, propelling herself off a broken piece of rubble and through the air at Valeria's back with an inarticulate shout.
Valeria's wrist immediately twisted to a torturous-looking angle to point her wand behind her back. Between one blink and the next, she fired off a Severing Charm. The spell hit Hermione mid-leap and made her head snap back forcefully.
Heart in his throat, Harry gave a choked-off cry.
Valeria's mouth twisted into a snarl as she started to whip around, but before she could complete the movement Hermione had slammed into her side. Valeria staggered sideways beneath Hermione's weight. She'd moved out of the path of danger.
Valeria was going to live!
But poor Hermione… a red stripe the same color as her Gryffindor tie rose on her temple and across her forehead. For a moment it didn't seem that bad. Then bright red blood began dribbling out, more and more, faster and faster, until between one blink and the next it seemed like the entire side of her face and neck were coated in red that soaked into the white collar of her shirt, dripping off her chin and even onto Valeria. The sight made Harry queasy. If the spell had hit a second earlier, Hermione would've been scalped; a second later, beheaded.
Valeria shook her body violently as she tried to fling off her supposed attacker. Despite seeming dazed, Hermione managed to wrap her arms around Valeria and cling tightly. Valeria reached back to claw and shove at Hermione's face, but her hand kept slipping in the blood. Hermione barely kept from being flung off as Valeria twisted again.
Opening her mouth to either explain or swear (perhaps both), Hermione was abruptly cut off when Valeria's next jerk jabbed her shoulder into Hermione's throat, making Hermione choke and slip down her back. Valeria spun wildly in a bid for freedom, but Hermione tightened her hands into claws and grimly tucked her face back into Valeria's shoulder.
Harry realized with dismay that Valeria's struggles had taken her right back into the path of danger. Anguished, he watched as the damage to the cracked and crumbling pillar finally became too much and the front collapsed, sending the pillar lurching forward on a collision course towards not only Valeria but now Hermione too.
He was going to lose both of them. They were going to die and he was too weak and useless to do anything but watch.
Still ignorant of the danger, Valeria clawed at Hermione's arms, continuing to try and rip her off even as the pillar fell towards their heads. Face white beneath a scarlet veil, Hermione stubbornly bared her blood-stained teeth and wrapped her arms around Valeria's neck, lifting her feet and winding her ankles around one of Valeria's legs like a boa constrictor before wrenching her body back and forcing the older girl to take all of her weight.
Overbalanced and caught off guard, Valeria toppled to the side with a strangled shout... just as the pillar fell through the place where they'd been standing and hit the floor with an earth-shaking BOOM!
The sound echoed around the chamber, even over the Basilisk's cries and Tom's shouting, the pillar breaking into four big chunks and thousands of chips and shards. Harry felt several hit his arms and legs like bee stings, breaking him from his stupor and returning his sense of time to its normal speed.
The two girls hit the ground hard, the impact flinging Hermione's arms and legs akimbo and sending Valeria flipping over Hermione's body. Valeria rolled several times—her head making an audible crack as it bounced hard off the ground with no hair to cushion the blow—before skidding to a stop. As the debris settled and the echoes faded, the two of them lay sprawled out and lifeless like broken dolls.
Fearing the worst, Harry sucked in a breath past his burning lungs and battered ribs and forced himself up and forward. He was so focused on trying to scrape up the energy and willpower to convince his body to keep moving for more than three strides that he almost missed seeing the Basilisk coils flop right into his path. Arms windmilling, he managed to lean back out of the way just in time to avoid running into what looked like a balloon dog. There were no features on the dog's face, just bulging scales, but it still felt like the balloon dog was staring at him like a junkyard dog with dead eyes and bared teeth. Harry held his breath. A few seconds later it slid away behind a pillar, leaving behind only a long, bulbous shadow and the unnerving sound of scales rasping across the ground and crunching over bits of rubble.
Harry realized that the Basilisk had gone quiet and retreated into the shadows. For a moment he felt like he was stuck in a circus horror movie with Tom as the villainous snake charmer. If an evil clown appeared next, Harry was done.
Shaken and distracted, his muscles took the opening to rebel as his already pitiful "run" became a walk that almost immediately devolved into slow, dragging footsteps. Harry was exhausted and everything hurt. His legs felt like they'd been hit with a Jelly Legs Curse and his feet like they'd been transfigured into lumps of burning, crumbling charcoal. Even his fear began to feel like just one more weight instead of a sharp jolt and call to action.
Only stubbornness, loyalty to his friends, and the irritating whine of Tom's voice in the distance kept him moving—and even then it was a tough sell to convince his body to keep going. If Tom would actually shut up, Harry might just lose that internal battle and allow himself to sink to the floor and blissfully pass out. Probably just as well that Tom seemed obsessed with the sound of his own voice.
Harry was pulled back to the present when Valeria groaned and rolled over and up onto one elbow. Something in his chest unclenched at the proof of life. Valeria stared at the broken and fallen pillar for several seconds before shaking her head and slurring out a curse. She pushed herself up onto her hands and knees. Her skin looked more grey than brown—and it wasn't just because of the dust. It made Harry worry.
As Harry dragged his aching body over, he saw even more color leave her face. Her neck drooped down like the stem of a spent flowerhead and her eyes glittered with unshed tears. She looked as frail and battered as old parchment—almost like a stranger. His eyes teared up in sympathy.
"Valeria," he called, or at least he tried to except his voice came out as a squeak instead of a shout. Embarrassed, he cleared his throat and tried again. "Valeria, are you okay?" This time he sounded mostly normal.
Valeria started to lift her head in his direction... before abruptly jerking forward and throwing up.
Wincing, Harry remembered that vomiting could mean a concussion after hitting your head, not that he could do anything about it if Valeria was concussed. Choosing to ignore that and his current lack of a plan on how to get any of them out of this mess alive, he focused his attention on just getting his overworked muscles to keep moving forward.
After only a couple of heaves, Valeria stopped throwing up, wiping the back of a shaking hand across her mouth and leaning back on her heels, though she stayed on all fours with her head down so she missed seeing Hermione sit up.
Scarlet blood coated half of Hermione's pale face like primitive war paint, making her eyelashes clump and her normally warm brown eyes look like burning embers of reddish-gold split by elliptical pupils—
Wait, what…?
Harry paused to push up his glasses and rub his eyes. He was exhausted and it was hard to think. That combined with dirty glasses and the flickering firelight in the chamber must be causing him to hallucinate. If he saw a circus clown holding balloons next he really was going to scream like a baby and throw himself onto the floor… where he'd be lying down so he could comfortably rest and fall asleep…hmmm…sleeeeep…
...aaannd if he kept his eyes closed for much longer he was going to fall asleep standing up. Chin on his chest and drool puddling on the edge of his mouth, Harry snorted hard and shook his head sharply. He pried up his heavy eyelids and shoved his glasses back into place even as his face twisted in a yawn and his traitorous eyes tried to close again. Focusing was hard, though when his gaze was caught by a twinkle of light in the shadows just shy of the girls that turned out to be Hermione's still active Quidditch flag, the corner of his mouth twitched in what would've been a smile had he more energy. Taking a deep breath, he forced his feet to start moving again—though it felt like trying to pull a wheelbarrow with square-shaped wheels… with Hagrid's Fluffy inside... up a rocky slope… with his hands coated in grease and his shoelaces tied together.
Blowing out a long breath, he saw that Valeria hadn't moved much. As for Hermione, she touched her forehead gingerly and looked down at her blood-coated fingertips. The position cast her eyes into shadow, though they seemed normal-looking enough now. Harry's mind must've been playing tricks on him before. If not…well... he had no idea. He was tired and magic was weird. Even after two years at school he still found himself surprised by things. Whatever it was, he'd figure it out later. After sleeping.
But no sleeping until he reached his friends! One step at a time. That's all he had to do right now. Eyes trained on his destination, Harry had the fuzzy thought that perhaps he was forgetting something important, but he was too tired to care. He would figure that out later too. He didn't have the energy to focus on anything else.
Grimacing, Hermione wiped her blood-stained fingers on her robes. At least she didn't seem about to throw up like Valeria. If they were both vomiting when he got there, his body might just decide to join in and Harry really didn't need that added level of suffering. He was already in enough pain, thanks. Especially since he had to climb over several broken pillars keeping him from his friends and his body was being very vocal about how much it didn't like the exertion. Traitor.
Hermione tugged the torn fabric of her sleeve over her hand and wiped hesitantly across her bloody forehead and cheek, but that just made the mess on her face worse, smearing blood over several patches of previously spared skin on her ear, neck, and the tangled coils of her hair. What little skin she'd managed to clean was soon coated again as new blood welled from the slice on her forehead and dribbled down to replace what she'd removed, though at least the bleeding seemed to be slowing and she didn't have any other wounds.
Wait, hadn't she been all scratched up before? Or was he misremembering? Whatever. It didn't matter.
First things first he'd bind Hermione's head wound with something. That was a friendly thing to do and would make him seem useful. (She'd want to be his friend again then, right? Hopefully?)
Sliding over a downed pillar, Harry grunted hard as the landing jarred his ribs and forced himself to breathe through the pain. Gritting his teeth, he trudged on. He had to go slow to avoid twisting an ankle on the uneven ground as he wound through and climbed over the jagged field of rubble, exhausted at how long it was taking him to get to his friends. (Hermione would have to think of him as a friend again after this, wouldn't she?)
The room had gone quiet. Strange. He didn't have the focus to remember why it was strange. Oh well. It was all he could do to keep moving forward through the pain and exhaustion. Step by step. No stopping. He was almost there.
Up ahead Hermione gave Valeria a sour look and broke the silence by asking begrudgingly, "You alright?"
Valeria stiffened but didn't acknowledge the question. The swollen lump and sluggishly bleeding scrapes on her shaved scalp along with the nearby vomit made any attempt to answer yes an obvious lie, but saying no to a virtual stranger was probably more weakness than Valeria could bear showing.
Obviously irritated at the silence, Hermione pursed her lips. "Uh-huh, well, feel free to thank me for the help and apologize for attacking me. I saved your life, you know."
"I'm fine." Moving only her eyes, Valeria glared at Hermione through her lashes. "And I didn't need your help."
Hermione scoffed and rolled her eyes, only to stop and wince, gingerly touching the slice on her forehead while silently mouthing ouch.
"You're the damsel in distress here, not me," Valeria gritted out through her teeth, sitting up and moving away from her sick as if nothing had happened. Stopping, she sat back and finally looked directly at Hermione, arching a brow judgmentally despite the way it made her opposite eye squint and start watering. "And I'm only in danger because we came down here after your useless mop." She casually wiped an arm across her cheek and turned her head to hide the problematic eye. "I blame you for this, Granger."
"What? I'm not useless, thank you very much. I found the Basilisk's weakness and I saved you. Even after you attacked me! I have nothing to do with any of this!"
"Really, little Miss Gryffindor?" Valeria started blinking rapidly and her voice slurred. "Then whyz aren't youz still petrified, huh?"
"I—I don't know… unless…." Hermione trailed off, her face twisting in sudden denial and revulsion. "No." Eyes going unfocused, she shook her head back and forth sluggishly. "No no, it can't be that. Impossible…." She worried at her bottom lip.
Harry looked down at the feel of his foot splashing through a puddle.
When he looked up again a second later, Valeria had her wand aimed at Hermione, though it was pointed more over Hermione's shoulder than at her head. Unlike Harry, Valeria hadn't dropped her wand despite all of the tussling and tumbling. Valeria really was amazing—mean as a—well—a snake, and twice as suspicious, but still amazing. Harry wanted to be as awesome as her when he grew up.
A spell shot out of Valeria's wand. Considering how close they were, Harry was surprised that it missed Hermione. He just had to get to them before they killed each other. No problem. Then they'd all leave and the girls would learn to love each other. Or at least to stop fighting. When he was around.
"Hey, whoa now." Hermione held her hands out in a silent bid for restraint.
Valeria's wand tip moved unsteadily, weaving in increasingly large loops. She put her other hand up for a steadying two-handed grip. Even with that the aim still looked too wide to hit Hermione. Blinking rapidly and shuffling backward, Valeria swayed on her knees. "Behi…," she slurred only to trail off as her eyes rolled to the back of her head and she collapsed to the floor, unconscious.
"Lovely," Hermione sighed, dropping her hands and rolling up onto her knees with a grunt. She crawled over to Valeria, moving the older girl onto her back and slapping her cheeks to no effect, leaving red fingerprints behind. "C'mon, wake up, Basavilbaso—"
Harry was almost there, only five or six big strides away if you overlooked the last pillar blocking his way. The top came up to his armpits. To Harry's overworked muscles it might as well have been tall as a mountain. His first attempt to scale it ended with him sliding pitifully backward onto his knees.
"—I haven't even won our argument yet. C'mon, wake up or I'll tell everyone you're a wimp. Valeria!" Hermione shook the older girl's shoulders. "Please, don't make me be alone again." She sucked in a quivering breath. "Look, no one will respect you anymore if you don't wake up. Open your eyes!" she snapped.
Valeria didn't respond.
Harry's friends needed him. Taking a big breath, he launched himself at the fallen pillar again, scrabbling at the gritty stone until he heaved himself up onto the top of it belly first. Panting with his cheek pressed against the cold rock, trying to ignore the increased throbbing of his ribs and desperate desire to just stop there and rest, he moved one knee over the top, followed by the other, and slowly slid down the other side, letting gravity do the rest of the work for him.
The landing this time wasn't actually that bad except for how his robe had bunched up around his neck and started choking him. Yanking them back down into place, he coughed a few times to clear his throat, pressing an arm around his chest to stabilize his aching ribs. You're almost done, he lied to himself, trying to believe it.
As he started moving again his gaze was drawn to the pink glowing HG hovering in the shadows behind Hermione. He blinked slowly. Just the Quidditch flag. His thoughts came heavy and slow. His head pounded in time with his heart. His scar felt like it was attached to a weight trying to drag him to the ground.
It took him a moment to notice that the glowing G was facing backward, and another to remember that he hadn't ever spelled the flag to float... or to glow pink—especially not the pink of Valeria's favorite goo spell. Harry slapped his cheeks and pounded a fist over his scar, trying to jog his brain. Something about that was important. He needed to think!
"I saved you and you're going to admit it even if it makes you choke, so wake up. You're too tough to go down like this. C'mon, Basalvibaso. Valeria, please! You have to be okay and help me get us out of here. Please…."
Staring at the pink glow, Harry's mind finally started working. Understanding let to terror. He choked, eyes going wide as he realized that it wasn't Hermione's Quidditch flag hovering in the shadows. It was the reflection of the flag in the shiny pink shell coating the Basilisk's head as he hovered right behind Harry's oblivious friends.
"➿This has gone on long enough. Now's your chance, fool. Stop fumbling around and just kill them!➿" Tom's adolescent voice hissed through the cavern, reminding Harry of all of the things he should've been worrying about instead of just getting to his friends. "➿I, the heir of Slytherin, command you! Stop hesitating and avenge yourself! Killing is your pride and purpose, so obey me!➿"
The Basilisk bowed his head and made a sound like steam escaping a rusty kettle full of rocks. Jerking his head up, poison-stained fangs opening wide, he moved out of the shadows towards the girls.
Only for Myrtle to unexpectedly fly up into the Basilisk's face and slap her hand across his snout like a disobedient puppy with a newspaper. "Don't!" Myrtle cried shrilly. Whether the Basilisk felt anything from the ghost was unclear. Nevertheless, the goo-blinded snake jerked back from the unexpected noise directly in front of him, putting him farther from the girls on the ground.
"That's right, shoo! Go away!" Myrtle cried haltingly, her voice wavering and breaking on the words despite her brave actions.
The Basilisk drew back farther and Harry dared to hope that this might be it. Maybe Myrtle had scared him off and they could all make a run for safety.
That hope died a quick death when the Basilisk abruptly lunged forward and closed his jaws around Myrtle with a juicy snap that sent spittle and poison flying through the air to spatter across the floor.
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!" Myrtle's terrified scream was so awful it made Harry's breath catch. Tears flooded his eyes and dripped down his cold cheeks as he watched her being killed and eaten by the monstrous snake—
—only to slide out of the Basilisk's throat a second later.
Swallowing a sob, Harry pushed up his glasses and quickly wiped his eyes, feeling both grateful and stupid. Myrtle was already a ghost. She couldn't be killed and eaten—she was already dead.
Myrtle must've forgotten too because she stayed floating in mid-air, wailing with her arms wrapped around her head. Shrieks going up an octave, Myrtle peeked out through her arms. "Ahhhhh!" She paused and let out a more hesitant scream, "Ahhh...?" She started to straighten up just as the Basilisk's teeth closed around her again. "Aiiii!" Myrtle shrieked, dropping down into a ball again, half her body disappearing under the floor.
The blinded Basilisk reared back and tilted his head to the side. His tongue flicked out of his mouth. He carefully closed his mouth around her several more times, each bite getting faster and harder as he became more confused and frustrated. Snap! SNap! SNAP!
Myrtle screamed, stopped, screamed again, stopped. "Nooooooooooo…ooo?" Lowering her arms, she peeked up at the Basilisk with one eye squinted shut. The Basilisk bit through her again and this time she flailed her arms at his face. Neither managed to hit the other.
Lowering her arms cautiously and floating up and backward, Myrtle drew in a deep breath and stared at the creature who'd once killed her. A wondering smile grew on her face. Bouncing on air, she pointed a finger at the Basilisk. "Ha! You can't hurt me, not ever again you big pink booger! You can't hurt me! Nah-nah nuh nah-nah!" She stuck out her tongue and blew him a raspberry.
Mouth futilely snapping around the ghost one more time, the Basilisk snorted sulkily and turned away. He moved his head from side to side and flicked his tongue through the air, hesitating a moment in the direction of Harry before homing in on Valeria and Hermione again. Snapping his teeth, he beelined for the girls, now completely ignoring all of Myrtle's attempts at distraction.
"Stop! ➿Leave them alone!➿" Harry cried from behind a fallen pillar, but the Basilisk ignored him too, too focused on his prey.
Hermione was desperately trying to drag the unconscious Valeria away over the rubble-strewn ground. She'd gotten surprisingly far but hadn't realized she was taking them deeper into the room instead of towards the tunnels back out. Stumbling into the ritual circle holding Ginny Weasley, she tripped over Ginny's outflung arm and dropped Valeria.
Tom appeared next to her with a smirk and crossed his arms smugly. "You're dead, girl. Give up."
Releasing a hiccuping sob, Hermione jerked away from him and bent down to grab Valeria under the arms, hauling her up and dragging her away again. She hadn't gotten far when the Basilisk slid up over a pillar with an excited hiss, and charged.
Crying out, Hermione stopped and dropped, curling her body over Valeria protectively. "Stop!"
Harry was astounded when the Basilisk actually listened, his massive head pausing even as cloudy yellow poison dripped from his primed fangs and puddled on the floor by Valeria's feet. The Basilisk flicked his tongue through the air and cocked his head to the side, hissing something too soft for Harry to hear.
Hermione looked up at the beast above her, eyes fear-wide and pupils dilated large enough to swallow all hints of brown. "Please don't," she choked out. Tears dripped down her face and off her jaw in pink drops.
"➿Why are you stopping? Ignore her!➿" Tom ordered from his position in front of Ginny Weasley, fists dropping to his side and clenching. "Kill them—➿"
Inhaling sharply through her nose, pale face still half-scarlet with blood, Hermione set her jaw and unexpectedly glared over her shoulder at Tom and then back at the Basilisk, eyes now burning with defiance as she stayed crouched over Valeria. "Don't you dare. Kill me and you'll be alone again, forever—"
"➿—hate them, hurt them!➿"
"—so back off, because I won't!"
The Basilisk seemed conflicted, mouth closing even as he stayed hovering over Hermione.
"➿Ignore her and feed!➿"
"I won't let you hurt anyone else and I won't give in to you! I won't! So go away!"
"➿See, she'll never be your queen. She's worthless. Useless. Destroy her! Obey me and smite them, feed your hunger and prove that you're the king of snakes!➿"
The Basilisk's head wove from side to side, seemingly torn between Hermione's and Tom's voices. He slid away from Hermione only to twist around and move back, circling her position hawkishly.
Hermione's voice was strained but firm. "Leave us alone."
"➿Now! Do it now, you fool, or when the ritual finishes I'll teach you a new level of suffering!➿"
Harry was completely lost and his head hurt. The pain made it hard to think. It made no sense, whatever mystery they were all referencing, whatever Hermione becoming a queen had to do with all this, whatever ritual Tom was attempting. Harry was so tired he wasn't sure he even cared anymore. He certainly didn't have time to sit and stew over it, nor did he trust the Basilisk to suddenly change his tune, turn around, and quietly leave them alone.
Not after the last few violent... hours?
No, it only felt like hours.
Realistically it couldn't have been more than a few minutes that he'd been running for his life from the huge snake and getting beaten black and blue. It was only a matter of time before the Basilisk got over whatever was holding him back and attacked Hermione. He'd chosen violence again and again, seemingly more upset at being kept from killing and eating his victims than by anything else.
Harry needed a weapon but he had nothing. No wand or sword or gun—nothing. He looked around anyway. The flashing flag caught his eye again, an irritating and useless distraction right now. It gave him a sliver of sympathy for the Gryffindor Quidditch team during their last match (but only a sliver). The glow caught on a shiny splatter of pink on the brown skin of Valeria's outstretched arm (her wand impressively still in hand despite her falling unconscious and being dragged). Unfortunately, there was no way for Harry to get to the wand and take it without the Basilisk sensing him coming and biting him in half.
About to turn away, Harry suddenly realized that the pink splatter on her arm could've only come from one place.
His eyes jerked up to see that the pink goo coating the Basilisk's head was starting to melt, the pink fringe turning into slimy rivulets running down his jaw and neck and dripping onto the floor. Once the Basilisk's eyes were free he wouldn't even have to kill them on purpose. An accidental glance would be just as terminal. Harry would be dead. His friends would be dead. And Tom and the Basilisk would win and go on to do who knows what horrible things.
The disturbing image of poor Halle Harper's petrified feet sticking up out of the water after being tossed away like trash sprang to the forefront of his mind. Harry couldn't let his friends end up like that. He had to do something. He had to!
The Basilisk circled the girls again, going wide around the Ritual circle holding Tom and Ginny. If Harry was going to do something to save his friends it had to be now, while the Basilisk was farther away.
Glancing around frantically, Harry found his attention caught again by the flashing little flag. It wasn't much in the grand scheme of things, just a short metal rod, a strip of fabric, and some painstakingly layered spellwork. A small item for a big gesture—but it had worked.
An idea darted into his mind like the sudden shine of a golden Snitch in the midst of a stormy Quidditch match. He snatched it up and pulled it close, hope fluttering inside his heart and giving him one last spurt of energy. He hoped it was enough for what he needed to do, because after this he just knew he was going to collapse, though if this didn't work he was dead anyway. Harry hesitated as he second-guessed what he was about to do. Even if this did work he still might die... but at least Hermione and Valeria would live. He didn't have any other ideas and his body was about to give out. What other choice did he have?
Please let it be enough, let him be enough.
Blowing out a slow breath, Harry saw that the pink goo over the Basilisk's left eye had become thin enough to reveal an eyeridge and the murky shadow of a dilated pupil. Time was up.
As the Basilisk finished circumventing Tom and started slithering back towards Hermione, she pushed back the tangled coils of her hair and hid her shaking hands in the folds of Valeria's robes. Staring out over the underground lake instead of at the Basilisk she announced with grim finality, "I'd rather die than join you."
At her words the Basilisk went still, his only movement the flaring of his nostrils.
For the space of three heartbeats everything felt frozen. Time felt balanced on the tip of a knife.
Then Harry blinked and the Basilisk was moving—jaws gaping wide and body slithering forward. Maybe to kill Hermione and Valeria… or maybe to go for Tom or run away, however unlikely.
Harry couldn't risk it and would never know for sure because at that moment he fully committed to his plan, shaping his thoughts and pushing his magic out, demanding it obey even as he moved to meet his fate. The Quidditch flag leaped off the floor through the air and smacked into his open palm. The pain reverberating through his broken finger was a distant thing as he focused everything he had on saving his friends, moving forward with the daring and decisiveness (even if not the speed) that had earned him his place as Seeker on the Slytherin Quidditch team. It only took four loping strides across the floor to get between his friends and the charging Basilisk.
Harry didn't let himself think about what he needed to do next; he just acted. Shoving his hand into the Basilisk's open mouth, holding his breath against the putrid stench, he felt a distressing mix of cold goo and hot saliva spatter his exposed skin. "Engorgio!" Harry shouted with all he had as the Basilisk's jaws rapidly closed on his arm.
He was too slow.
Just as the last syllable of the Growing Charm left Harry's lips he felt a jolt. It reminded him of the thud of a knife sinking into a carving pumpkin. Glancing down in shock, he saw a tooth disappearing into his arm and realized that in this scenario he was the carving pumpkin about to get his guts ripped out. Unable to keep from screaming at the excruciating pain, his hand spasmed and he dropped the flag.
But it didn't matter.
He'd done enough.
Harry's Growing Charm caused the flag to explode in size inside the Basilisk's mouth, wrenching it open. The abrupt motion flung Harry backward and broke off the tooth in his arm. Falling to one knee, he cradled his arm in agony and fought to stay conscious. Through tearing eyes and floating spots he watched the metal flagpole thicken and stretch, bowing with the strain of keeping the enraged Basilisk's jaws from closing.
A single, ear-splitting screech clawed out from the Basilisk's throat before the metal flagpole reached its maximum size and—with a sickening pop and squelch—pierced down through the Basilisk's tongue and up through the soft palate on the roof of his mouth to penetrate his brain. The giant snake convulsed, his body flopping around behind him even as his head was pinned in place by the flagpole embedded through his jaw into the stone floor.
Harry scrambled back to avoid getting hit.
A fetid, rattling breath blew over Harry before the giant snake became completely still. No movement. No breathing. Nothing.
Was the Basilisk dead?
The light from the flag strobed Harry's robes and the saliva pooling in the back of the Basilisk's mouth. Harry gulped and forced himself to step forward and nudge the jaw with his boot.
Nothing happened. It really was dead. He'd done it.
He kicked the head for good measure. "Ha, take that!" Harry wheezed, his lungs feeling unexpectedly tight as the room spun. His impaled arm throbbed like it was being repeatedly hit with a nail-studded bat. He couldn't bring himself to look. Maybe it wasn't really that bad. It was possible.
As he examined the Basilisk warily for signs of life, he noticed that the pain was slowly starting to feel muted. Huh. Maybe it was just a scratch and there wasn't really a tooth in there at all. Maybe it was just a really bad bruise. Unpleasant tingles moved up his arm and into his chest. He couldn't feel his fingertips at all. Unnerved, Harry looked down. His fingers were still there, but so was the giant tooth impaling his arm. And quite a bit of blood and cloudy yellow venom.
Hermione was staring up at him with too-wide eyes, mouth agape. Her cut had finally stopped bleeding. It didn't even look that bad. Good. Valeria was still unconscious and only a little behind them he could see Ginny Weasley curled up next to Tom's damned diary.
"You—you did it, Harry." Hermione looked back and forth between Harry and the dead Basilisk several times. "Stopped him. With my flag—I can't believe—I mean—" her speech stumbled to a halt. "You killed him. It's over." She started laughing, soft at first but then louder and louder, sounding more and more unhinged. Pressing her hands over her face, smudging the blood with her shaking fingers and muffling the sounds, her laughter trailed off into sobs.
Harry needed to sit down. Scraping up the last of his energy, Harry forced his rubbery legs to move. Good thing Hermione was only three steps away, because he was already starting to collapse on step two as the room spun and flipped around him. He blinked and found himself thudding onto his knees at her side, spent. That probably should've hurt more, he thought, though tingles were spreading up his neck like biting fire ants. The tingles hurt.
Hermione looked over, her lashes clumped with tears. Releasing a quivering breath, she swallowed down her sobs, wiped her eyes, and cleared her throat. "Thank you, Harry. You were amazing. Thank you for—" her eyes dropped to his arm and she went silent except for the hitching of her breath. "Oh no. No." Lips pressing tight, two large, crystalline tears welled from her eyes and dripped down her cheeks. She shook her head in denial and reached out, fingers hovering over his arm but not touching.
"Yeah." Harry tried to give her a comforting smile but wasn't sure how successful it was. "I don't feel so good, but hey, at least I saved you."
The broken tooth impaling his arm looked vicious and ugly. Wrong. Not thinking, he grabbed it with his other hand and pulled it out. The pain spiked anew, breaking through the numbness with a vengeance. Ow. Bad idea. Ow ow really ow. Maybe the numbness wasn't that bad after all. Harry sucked in air through his teeth and fought off the tunnel vision. If he passed out he wasn't sure he'd ever wake up again. The angry tingles swarmed up his arm and bit across his chest to his other side, stronger this time. The agony in his arm peaked before slowly subsiding into a dissonant throb. Everything felt weak. Wrong. The broken tooth fell unnoticed from his fingers.
"Oh Harry." Hermione pressed her red-stained hands over the wound in his arm, mixing their blood. The pressure didn't hurt. Probably a bad sign.
"I need to stop the bleeding." Yanking off the ripped sleeve dangling at her wrist, Hermione frantically wound it around the wound and tied it tight. Harry could only tell what she was doing by watching. In only a few seconds the arm itself had gone completely numb. She tied the fabric into a bow and then froze, eyes darting from side to side. "Or should I encourage bleeding to drain out the venom? That will surely kill you before blood loss does. Right." She started undoing the bandage in a frenzy.
"He's dead either way," Tom was floating in the air over Ginny and glaring at them with hate-filled eyes. "So are you."
"Shut up!" Hermione snapped, unwinding the cloth and rubbing Harry's arm to make it bleed faster.
Tom sneered. "How pitiful. Maybe if we're lucky he'll live just long enough to see me kill you."
"Don't. You. Dare." Harry bit out, trying to hide how exhausted he was. If (human) looks could kill, Tom would be dead. "I killed the Basilisk. I'll kill you too."
Tom laughed cruelly and held out his arms. "I dare much, Harry Potter. Look around. Am I not about to regain a body because of my daring?" He gestured dismissively at Ginny Weasley before putting the hand on his hip. "Besides, you couldn't kill a flobberworm right now. Soon the venom will reach your diaphragm, stilling your lungs and suffocating you in your own body. I've heard it's quite painful and terrifying for the victim. I'm going to enjoy watching that. Maybe when the ritual completes, I'll even take pity on you and step on your chest to hurry it along."
Matted curls filled Harry's view as Hermione put herself between them. "You won't touch him!"
"Your naivete is almost amusing, little mudblood, but as soon as I have my body back you're going to be just as dead as your dear Harry Potter."
Head going back, Hermione hissed, her voice taking on a strange echo, almost like a chorus of dangerous voices had joined her in anger. Harry wished he could see her face but moving was quickly becoming almost impossible.
Pursing his lips, Tom cocked his head to the side and looked Hermione up and down with unsettling intensity. "Or maybe not. Breaking your spirit would be so much fun and, after all, all sorts of creatures thrive in the mud and muck. Now that my Basilisk is gone," a muscle twitched at his temple and his lip curled in rage before he took a quick breath and smoothed out his expression, "I'll need a new monster. Maybe that's you. You look easy to enslave and even easier to torture and kill when I inevitably get tired of you. Maybe I'll even keep Potter's body in stasis and force you to eat his rotting corpse in front of that meddling Dumbledore and the wizarding public when I need to make a statement." He gave a toothy smile. "If you aren't insane already, that will surely do it."
"Eat this!" Shrieked Myrtle as she unexpectedly dived from the shadowed ceiling and landed on Tom's back, slamming him face-first onto the ground and putting him into a headlock, something she must've learned watching Millie during Viper School. "Ha! Take that, you murdering bas—" Head snapping up, she met Harry's eyes gleefully. "The diary! He's linked to the diary! Destroying it destroys him!"
Since they were both spirits, Myrtle could actually hit Tom, unlike with the Basilisk. However, that also meant that Tom could hit back and he was at least half a meter and several stone heavier than Myrtle. It only took an instant for the tables to turn. Tom ripped Myrtle off his back and threw her across the floor. The ghost rolled through several pieces of rubble and skidded to a stop with one translucent leg sunk inside a pillar up to the knee.
Snarling, Tom straightened and drew his wand.
Myrtle had just started to sink into the floor when Tom's spell hit, yanking her up into the air. Tom cast another spell and she screamed and started to writhe, almost disappearing altogether as parts of her ghostly body flickered between a barely visible grey and the merest impression, like air rippling over asphalt at noon.
"The diary!" Harry croaked, pointing a shaking finger at the book next to Weasley and trying to jump to his feet, only to fall flat on his face instead. Gritting his teeth he told his body to get up, but it refused to obey. He rolled over onto his side but that was as far as it would go. What muscles weren't overworked were numb and unresponsive. Planting his good hand on the ground he tried to push himself up, but his palm just skidded over the dirt and gravel, getting him nowhere.
Thank goodness he wasn't alone. While he was falling flat on his face Hermione was leaping forward and snatching up the diary. Teeth bared, she tried to tear the book in half, accidentally knocking herself in the head with one corner and breaking open her scab again. Snarling, she twisted and ripped at the book, but the diary resisted her every effort. "It won't rip! I need—I need something to—" she looked back at Harry desperately as fresh scarlet blood trickled from her temple and down her cheek.
Gritting his teeth, Harry tried to push himself up again. It still didn't work but his hand landed on the broken off tooth, giving him an idea. The broken base sliced into his palm, but it felt more like a light pinch so he ignored it. "Here." Clumsily picking it up, he twisted his wrist and threw. The tooth skidded across the short distance and stopped by Hermione's foot, spinning in place.
"Put down that diary!" Tom turned from torturing Myrtle's almost invisible ghost, wand swinging towards Hermione.
Dropping to her knees, eyes wild, Hermione grabbed the jagged tooth, dropped the diary to the floor, and raised her hand high, ignoring the blood dripping down her wrist from where she'd cut her hand on the tooth's broken base.
"Stop!" Tom thundered.
Looking fierce, Hermione slammed the venom- and blood-stained Basilisk tooth into the diary with a battle cry. The tooth sank in deep and tore a ragged gash in the cover.
"No!" Tom screamed in rage and denial as he staggered back and started to flicker and dim.
Black ink spurted high into the air like a nicked artery, rapidly forming a puddle around Hermione's knees. She jerked at the tooth, making the tear in the diary wider.
"I will not lose! You can't kill me!" Tom spat even as his spirit became harder to see. He scrambled back as a thick black smog poured out from the diary and started moving towards him through the suddenly foggy air. He flew over Ginny Weasley and kept retreating. When the smog crossed the ring of runes they flashed an electric blue and turned to ash, drifting up to join the dirty fog. The smog reached Ginny and hesitated as if confused. It coalesced into a coal-black cloud and began sinking down, making her hard to see.
Triumph and cunning flashed across Tom's face as he slowed his retreat. Too busy gloating, he didn't notice the diminished Myrtle gathering herself at his back, near invisible except for the shadowed edges of her silhouette illuminated by a nearby bowl of magical fire. She glided up behind Tom, barely perceptible through the fog, and shoved. Tom stumbled forward, arms windmilling through the air and the tip of his finger grazing the edge of the smog.
Reacting as if dropped in the midst of a violent storm, the black smog swirled away from Ginny's body and the floor, coalescing around Tom and muffling his screams of denial and rage as it engulfed his spirit and sucked him back into the diary with a final splash of black ink and puff of black powder.
The air cleared and everything became quiet except for the guttering of the fires and the susurration of water on rock.
"I think he's gone," Hermione said, voice shaky as she dropped the tooth with a clatter, turning away from the destroyed diary and stumbling back to Harry's side.
"Then I should probably get going too," the shimmer that had become Myrtle said softly.
Harry's head shot up. "What? Myrtle, no!"
"Don't worry." Even though he couldn't see her face, he could hear the smile in her voice. "Besides, I'll see you as soon as you die." Her giggles bounced off the rocks and echoed across the water.
"He's not dying!" Hermione said fiercely, moving in front of Harry. "Keep away from him!"
"If he dies it won't be my fault," Myrtle snapped sulkily, making Hermione flinch and drop her head. Hermione shrank back against Harry's side guiltily and then jerked forward as if she'd done something wrong, rising up onto her knees to move away.
"Hermione." Harry grabbed her arm. Even though there was no strength in his fingers she stopped. After a moment she sniffled softly and gingerly returned to her position pressed against his side.
Myrtle heaved a long sigh. "Being dead isn't that bad, but anyway... Harry, if you survive can you look after Halle for me and make sure she's okay? Maybe have Valeria teach her how to be super scary so she doesn't get bullied anymore. Oh, and tell Valeria when she wakes up that I moved on and it's my choice and that I was really brave and really strong today, okay? A total hero. And not to forget me. Ever. Either of you. And if you two ever become ghosts—you and Valeria I mean, not the Gryffindor—" she flapped her hand dismissively at Hermione, who stiffened at the insult "—send word and I'll see if I can come back and join you in haunting this place, but for now... I need to go. I want to. I'm ready."
"Goodbye Myrtle. Thanks for being my friend," Harry told her softly.
"Good luck," Hermione said curtly, pressing the cuff of her remaining sleeve against the once-again seeping cut on her forehead.
Myrtle's shimmer came close and for a moment Harry felt her chill like a soothing balm against the biting tingles and discordant numbness attacking his body. "Thank you, Harry. Goodbye," he sensed more than heard and then, as her spirit crossed over, he felt a sweet rush of peace—the most he'd ever known. It felt like living for just a moment in his childhood daydreams, like being cuddled in the lap of a mother, relaxing together in a puddle of warm sunlight, his eyes closed, listening to nature play a gentle symphony of birdsong, babbling brooks, and wind-tossed leaves while slowly drifting off surrounded by beauty and love. Tears filled his eyes and Harry yearned to follow her.
Then Myrtle was gone and the broken feeling of his body rushed over him again like a riptide, almost taking him over the cliff into unconsciousness. The room spun as if he was trapped on an out of control broom about to buck him off (a familiar experience thanks to Dobby the crazy house elf). Harry breathed through his mouth and slammed his eyes shut, but that just made the nausea worse.
Swallowing hard and forcing his eyes open, he found Hermione leaning over him with her lip caught between her teeth. He focused on her face, trying to get the room to stabilize. "Harry, you've got to stay awake." She smoothed his hair back from his forehead. It felt nice. It was hard to keep his eyes open. He could feel the jagged scrapes on her palm from the broken tooth as she pressed her hand against his brow and cheek. She wasn't showing any symptoms from the venom, thank goodness. Just him.
"We should probably stop the bleeding in your arm now. You," she hesitated, the edges of her lips going white, "you don't look so good. Brace yourself." Her hand moved to clamp down on his wound. It was weird to see it but not feel anything. She bit her lip, causing it to split. A bright drop of blood beaded up, one of the few clear things he could see. His vision was going hazy no matter how often he blinked to clear his eyes. He'd think he'd lost his glasses, but Hermione had just straightened them after bumping them crooked.
Harry's life had made him a realist, not an optimist. Second by second he was losing control of his body. It was getting harder to draw a breath. All signs pointed to his imminent death.
Myrtle had said that being dead wasn't that bad, but Myrtle had also haunted a bathroom for fifty years so he wasn't sure how much he could trust her opinion on the matter. Not that he had any choice. However, if he was going to die, he was going to do it with as few regrets as possible.
"Hermione, listen." He paused to lick his dry lips and pull more air into lungs that felt too tight. "I'm so... sorry."
In the distance he could faintly hear an approaching cacophony. After a few seconds he could make out the sounds of birds screaming. "Cock-a-doodle-do!" Roosters. The Bane of Basilisks. Heh. That would've been useful a few minutes ago. Not now.
"Harry, no," Hermione said thickly, tying the make-shift bandage around his arm again with a hard jerk that rocked his body. "Save your strength."
For what? He was dead either way. "Please... forgive me for... being a bad... friend." He'd said it in the infirmary but he wasn't sure how much she'd actually heard or even remembered. "I missed… everything... about you… this year." His eyes traced her features, trying to commit them to memory even as the edges of his vision dissolved into a pulsing gray fog. "I'm so... sorry." He sighed with relief. There, he finally said it when she was fully awake.
He could feel Hermione trembling against his side as she answered, "I've missed you so much, too. Of course I forgive you, Harry. You're my best friend. I should've forced you to talk to me or—or done something about us a long time ago. I'm sorry too, so sorry," Hermione's voice quivered. "But we're together now," she cleared her throat and lifted her chin. "Nothing will tear us apart ever again. You just have to hold on. You can't die." She looked bossy and fierce. "You have to stay with me."
"Not… my choice but… you're worth dying for." He meant it too. He wasn't just saying that to make her feel better. The world needed a Hermione Granger more than a Harry Potter any day.
Despite his fuzzing vision, Hermione was curled over him close enough that he could still make out her expression. It was a mixed blessing. At his words she completely crumpled and started to weep. It made his heart hurt even through the numbness.
"Sorry," he rasped. "Tell… Valeria… sorry too." His lungs felt they were full of cement, stiff and increasingly unwilling to move.
"No, you have to stay and tell her yourself! Stay with me, Harry. Please stay." Tears carved tracks through the blood on her face, dripping off her chin and leaving sharp salty copper splatters on his lips. Harry involuntarily swallowed. Strange, it almost felt like the taste was opening his throat and making it easier to breathe. He must be imagining things, especially since it looked like her tangled curls had thickened into ropes and started moving of their own volition. Despite all of that, she was still the most beautiful girl he'd ever known.
"Lovely," he breathed. It was true. It was Hermione. He'd been so stupid this year.
"Oh, Harry," she sobbed.
The taste of her tears lingered in his mouth. His gut suddenly cramped as if under a Twist and Swell Hex of its own, perhaps the Basilisk's final revenge. His eyelids became too heavy to keep open even as the numbness receded and the pain started to climb. Gritting his teeth, Harry breathed through his nose and swallowed down his whimpers. He was grateful for all the practice he'd had in ignoring and pushing through pain. Right now he just wanted to focus his remaining senses on the girl hovering over him until everything faded to black, it stopped hurting, and he followed Myrtle in crossing over (please let him cross over and not linger in a bathroom or even worse—in this wretched chamber).
Through wet sniffles Hermione was mumbling to herself. It was hard to hear through the increasing loud sound of the rooster calls echoing through the pipes and tunnels. "There's got to be a way… if I really am…? Impossible. No…. But it would explain…. Well, for the sake of…. What do I... on the bottom of the page there was… it said… think! Idiot, why did you skip that part! Okay, okay... muggle myths say...um... Perseus, that's right, Perseus... cut the head... her blood… one side kills and the other side heals, but which side heals? Which?! Okay, calm down, calm down... got to at least try... What've I got to lose?" Her voice had become so thick it was almost unintelligible, not that what she was saying made any sense anyway. "What've I got to lose? Only Harry. Oh God, what should I do? Help me, please."
Harry couldn't bear how anguished she sounded. Using the last of his strength, he raised his hand and cupped her damp cheek, brushing his thumb beneath her wet eyes to wipe away the tears. "It's… fine…. Be… happy…. Fly... fast," he managed to pant out in farewell. Energy gone, his fingers slipped off her cheek. He was so cold.
Hermione caught his hand and pressed it back to her face. "Please don't die, Harry. Please," she begged. He could feel the comforting heat of her as she curled closer. "Live. Please, for me. Live!"
He would if he could. He didn't want to die but it was out of his hands. Harry felt the warm feathering of her breath across his icy cheeks and thought that at least he didn't have to die alone.
"Please… please let this work," she whispered. "Fight with me, Harry. Fight!" Then Hermione's closed lips were pressing against his—kissing him—desperate, demanding, and sweet. So sweet. Was this what love felt like? Was he already dead? Or dreaming? He wasn't sure, he just knew he wanted it to last forever.
Hermione pulled back and wiped her fingers across his mouth. Perhaps she was trying to dry his lips, but instead her fingers left his mouth even more sticky and wet. She rubbed his mouth again, dragging his bottom lip down. A fingertip slid across the tip of his tongue and the sharp taste of her blood flooded his mouth, a hundred times stronger than before. It felt almost like a cherry tomato bursting between his teeth, except this was more like the explosion of a habanero chili mated to a dragon.
He didn't mind the blood, even though he should be grossed out. Not that it really mattered. All that mattered was that a dream wouldn't taste like this… and wouldn't have kissed Harry like that. That meant it had to be real, right?
There were worse ways to die than with a kiss from a girl friend who might one day have been a girlfriend.
Harry swallowed and something in his body abruptly flipped. Everything woke up. He felt like he needed to choke, except his body refused to choke, pulling the blood in like it was a falling meteor caught by planetary gravity, the super-heated rock burning a bright path down his throat and crashing into his stomach to explode. Jerking, Harry felt fiery ripples overflowing across his chest and into his limbs, vibrating through his toes and fingertips. The world was a tornado of sparks and each spark burned like acid eating through his flesh and forging it anew.
Tears trickled down his temples. Harry breathed in through clenched teeth and forced his body to go limp. It was a waste of energy to stay stiff like that, though the fact that he had the energy at all was something of a miracle (or magic). It didn't mean he wasn't still dying though, he reminded himself cynically.
"C'mon, Harry," Hermione breathed, her voice barely audible over the sound of the roosters, who had gotten so close and so loud that half of them had started to sound like they were hissing instead of crowing.
Why couldn't he die in peace?
Fingers stroked through his hair again. At least that still felt nice, distracting him from the noise and making him realize that the pain had started to subside. He probably didn't have much longer then. His eyelids felt too heavy to open.
Harry realized that he'd never touched Hermione's hair, even though he'd always wanted to. She kissed his forehead. "Please." The kiss felt like a brand, one he freely accepted. He'd always wanted to belong to someone who wanted him. "C'mon, please heal. Please."
Harry wanted her to kiss him again and he wanted to touch her hair. It seemed only fair since he was the one dying. He pursed his lips but she didn't take the hint. Huffing, Harry went for objective two. His muscles were still burning and barely responsive, but he managed to lift his arm and slide his fingers into Hermione's hair. He expected cool, softly curling strands that tickled across his skin or a puffy tangled mass like sheared wool. Instead, he felt warm, butter-soft coils that moved beneath his fingers and wound affectionately around his wrist.
Hermione kissed his cheek and her lips glanced over the corner of his mouth, putting his confusion on hold. He liked the kissing. "Please, Harry." Her breath tickled his face, though not as much as the little tongues licking across his fingers and the base of his palm.
Wait.
What?
Jerking back, Harry's eyes popped open. What? He didn't understand. He didn't want it to be true but there was no other logical explanation.
No. No!
Hot medusa was kissing him. Not Hermione. Hot medusa from his favorite tapestry in the Slytherin common room.
Which meant that this was all a hallucination… and he was actually alone.
Harry felt devastated. He couldn't catch his breath and there was a ringing in his ears. Closing his eyes he turned his cheek to the gritty floor. None of this was real. Hermione wasn't here at all. There'd been no reconciliation and no kiss. He was all alone. No Valeria. Not even Myrtle to see him to his last gasp. He was going to die alone. As unwanted and lonely in death as he'd been most of his life. Had he even managed to save Hermione and Valeria? Had he really killed the Basilisk and defeated Tom? Or was that all a hallucination too? Was he dying a failure? Tears leaked from his closed eyelids, trickling over the bridge of his nose and down his temple. His heart felt more broken than his body.
Despondent, Harry waited to die….
And waited….
And waited….
Why wasn't he dead yet? And... what had happened to the crippling pain? Nothing hurt anymore and nothing felt numb. In fact, everything had turned to golden syrup. He felt… floaty. Like a balloon. Made of syrup.
The Basilisk had been turning into a balloon before Harry killed him... or dreamed he'd killed him. How silly. Harry smiled dopily and opened his eyes, flopping onto his back and spreading his arms wide. The ceiling was pretty. Why hadn't he noticed that before? Lots of shifting shadows and shiny rocks, with ripples of light reflected off the water. Pretty. Maybe he'd float up there and bounce around with them, dripping syrup everywhere. Maybe the Basilisk had become a pancake. Harry just needed a fork. He giggled. Drip. Drip.
"Harry? Harry!"
His view of the ceiling was blocked by Hermione's face. He looked up at her and laughed even harder, wrapping an arm around his middle and rocking back and forth. She had her black robe wrapped over her head and tied under her chin, completely hiding her hair. "You—you look like a Catholic nun!" he gasped through his giggles. "So silly! Still pretty Hermione, but silly!"
Mouth opening and closing, she stared at him wide-eyed. Maybe she was waiting for him to feed her? "I haven't found the forks yet, but I'm the syrup," he told her earnestly. "Drip."
Shaking her head, Hermione gave a wet laugh. "You're okay." Her already red and swollen eyes filled with fresh tears. They spilled down her cheeks and dripped from her chin.
Harry didn't like her dripping. "Hey, I'm the syrup, not you."
She pressed her hands over her eyes and sat back on her heels. "It worked. Thank God it worked!" she sobbed.
"I'm so sorry!" cried a girl's voice.
Harry looked over lazily and saw Ginny Weasley sitting up and staring at them. She had very orange hair, but no forks. It made Harry thirsty for pumpkin juice. Wait, no, he didn't like pumpkins anymore for some reason that had to do with carving knives. Abandoning that thought, Harry looked at Ginny's hair again and decided on orange juice. Oranges would taste good and didn't need forks.
"He made me do it; he tricked me. I didn't want to. I'm so sorry!" Ginny wrung her hands.
Swallowing back her tears, Hermione rubbed an arm across her face and grunted noncommittally, moving to block Ginny when she tried to reach out and touch Harry.
Just as well. The syrup would get her hands all sticky.
A rooster ran past them. It's feathers looked painted-on instead of real. How silly. Another rooster appeared at the top of a toppled pillar. He flapped down to the floor and bustled off into the shadows, clacking his beak irritably. Maybe he didn't like his purple and blue flower-shaped feathers. The first rooster crowed loudly and scurried after him. "Oooh, watch out," Harry said. McGonagall was probably going to take off points for the partial transformations.
"Really Hermione, please. I am so sor—ahhhhhh!" Ginny had finally noticed the dead Basilisk with its mouth pinned open by the still flashing Quidditch flag and started screaming bloody murder.
Didn't she know that all the murder was already done? Harry really had done a good job on that. The flag he meant. Though really he'd done a good job the murder too. "Go meeeee..." he trailed off, distracted by the Snitch fluttering around on the flag's bedraggled fabric. He wanted to catch the Snitch. "I need a broom… or a Hermione."
"What?" Hermione grabbed his hand and squeezed.
Nice. Her grip was too-tight and kind of sweaty and tacky at the same time, but he still liked holding her hand, especially when his pinky didn't hurt. Yay no pain! Yay floating syrup!
Drip!
Hermione leaned closer, the fabric tied around her head undulating strangely for a moment. The edge of the fabric slid over her shoulder and onto his chest. Unfortunately the robe didn't fall completely off her head. He missed her curls. His eyes got watery and started to sting. What if they were gone forever? He sniffled.
"Harry? What's wrong?" Hermione sounded frantic. "Do you need something?"
"Curls," he whispered brokenly. Ginny stopped screaming long enough for Harry to be heard in-between the cawing of roosters, but Hermione still didn't seem to understand. That or she was just being difficult. Rude. "Fine," he sighed sulkily. "Pancakes?"
Hermione rolled her eyes and started to lean back. Panicked, he gripped her hand and tugged. "Wait, Snitch? Snitch?" That's what he'd been thinking about. He looked at her hopefully. "Seeker Hermione, yeah?" He sneakily tugged at the hem of her headcovering, but it stayed stubbornly in place. Darn. Maybe if he was more direct? "In braids. I liked the braids. Or big curls. I like those too." He gave her a big smile. "Harry likes Hermione."
She looked down and to the side, a shy smile tugging at her lips. Pretty. What had they been talking about? He forgot.
He still felt floaty and golden. "I could give you syrup," he offered earnestly. Had he said that yet? "But no pancakes or fork," he apologized. "Only drip." He bit his lip hopefully and looked up at her.
Snorting, Hermione put a hand over her mouth and shook her head, the edges of her eyes crinkling. "You are so high."
"Yes, floating," Harry said happily, smiling up at her. Maybe she'd come floating with him? "Whoosh~!" He waved his arms through the air. "Together?"
Suddenly they were surrounded by roosters, though over half of them had obviously been transformed badly since their resemblance to birds was rather crude. McGonagall was going to give everyone a stink face. One hopped up onto Harry's chest with flapping wings and crowed loudly, hurting his ears and separating him from Hermione.
"Rude bird," Harry grumbled.
A boy on a broom flew into the room. He was wearing ginormous mirrored goggles and was looking down instead of out in front at where he was going. Roosters with bulging eyes and bound feet were dangling from the front and back of his broom, crowing constantly. It looked very silly.
The rider shouted, "Valeria!" and barreled towards them. Harry finally put together the voice and the flying style and realized it was Marcus Flint. Flint was good for Valeria.
"Captain!" Harry exclaimed happily. "Did you bring forks?" When Valeria woke up she'd probably want pancakes too.
Noticing the Basilisk, Flint veered away sharply, exclaiming, "Son of a lich!"
A lich was a corpse. Could corpses have kids? Even with magic, Harry didn't think so. He'd have to ask Hermione. She'd know.
A few seconds later another broom rider flew in, making Harry forget his question. His nose was very big and his hair very greasy. Harry easily recognized Snape. The professor looked both furious and terrified as he started yelling at Flint, only to cut off mid-word on finally noticing the Basilisk in the bezel and gold-framed mirror mounted on the front of his broom. Drawing his wand (Valeria would be appalled by his reaction time), Snape released a barrage of spells in almost every color of the rainbow. He may be slow, but at least he knew a lot of unusual spells.
"Ooh, pretty," Harry breathed. He liked rainbows. Not really Snape, but the pretty colors were making him rethink that. Hermione liked rainbows too. Harry decided magnanimously that Snape could stay as long as he kept making pretty rainbows. Maybe Snape even had forks.
A spell ricocheted and hit Flint's broom, sending him into a barrel roll and making feathers fly through the air. How rude.
"Stop! It's already dead!" Hermione cried, covering both Harry and Valeria with her arms as more spells flew overhead. "Stop!"
"Stop it!" screamed Ginny Weasley.
Being unable to see the colors anymore made Harry feel grumpy. Plus, Snape obviously didn't believe Harry was awesome at murdering things since he was still attacking the Basilisk's corpse. Very rude. Harry was tempted to say something sarcastic. Though he'd have to stop enjoying his currently cozy position under Hermione to do that so maybe not. She was warm. She was also stinky but that was okay. He probably was too.
Oh! He'd thought of something clever and cutting to say. He should tell Professor Snape that his efforts were too little too late, probably a lifelong pattern of failure, and also that his hair looked like it could grease a frying pan. Draco would smirk and give him an approving nod for insults like that.
The syrup in his head started rising until he couldn't see anything but golden bubbles. It made him dizzy. Between one blink and the next Harry passed out.
.
.
.
.
Harry woke up in the infirmary. Snape was gone and Harry frustratingly couldn't remember the clever thing he'd wanted to say. He did remember thinking that Draco would approve. Anything Draco approved of was probably a bad idea. Oh well.
He was comfy and warm and nothing hurt. He could open and close his fingers without his pinky even twinging. He was alive and safe. Seeing Hermione and Valeria sleeping peacefully in the flanking beds was enough to send him back to sleep with a contented smile. There was time to be clever and figure out all of the mysteries bobbing along the edges of his mind later. They had survived. Everything else could wait.
AN: We finally made it out of the Chamber! Whoosh, writing that was an uphill battle. Did you see the use of the flag coming? What was cool or surprised you? Did you like it? I really really hope you did.
Next I'm going to write a scene with Dumbledore/the diary/Dobby/Lucius, some fallout, and then a scene of the kids departing on the train to wrap things up and then second year will finally be over. If there's anything you really want to see or want to know about before that, tell me in the comments, because then I'm going to take a break from this story and maybe even HP and try some other things, maybe Star Wars/Obi-Wan? Or a time-travel fic? I love that trope. Maybe that original story I've been knocking around for years? Who knows? Not me.
But I have a massive ambitious outline for other events in other years in this story so I will hopefully find the drive to come back and write a sequel continuing this story for future years. My hope is also that the other years will be much shorter or at least much easier to write and finish than the second year turned out to be. For instance, Harry is going to end up throwing Valeria and Sirius together and trick them into taking care of each other and becoming close friends / found family and it will be a bit violent and beautifully epic and healing. Hermione will team up with the Slytherins to rescue Harry over the summers. The Weasley twins will be grateful for Harry saving their sister and give him the map. Ron won't know whether to be nice and grateful to Harry now or jealous and go on hating him like before. It will be very frustrating for him. Hermione also has to learn to use her powers to, you know, heal a few people and kill/petrify a whole lot more (try some up close and personal torture now, Bellatrix, and you'll be in for a surprise). Harry and Hermione also have to dance the awkward dance of teenage romance (and maybe a Yule ball).
I love this story but it has beat me up almost as much as poor Harry in the Chamber so I need an escape for a bit once year two is finally over. I own a small home bakery business and I've gotten so busy with orders (cakes, caramel apples, cocoa bombs, stroopwafels, etc.) this year that it's been hard to find the energy to keep up with fun things on top of taking care of my kids, my husband, and my chores. The fingers on my right hand have also started going numb regularly when I'm working or laying down on my side, which is extremely inconvenient. However I won't give up on my writing dreams!
Thank you for reading! Please leave me a review as I need the push to wrap this year up well and I thrive on a supportive audience. Thank you all so very much!
