I want to see a fanfic where Harry hatches a basilisk.
I want to see a fanfic where he looks up “magical snakes” as soon as he gets to Hogwarts because that thing at the zoo always bugged him, and so the Trio works out that it’s a basilisk immediately after the first petrification in Second Year. But they don’t know how it’s getting around or where it is or anything, so Harry is just like WELP SET A BASILISK TO FIND A BASILISK while Hermione and Ron are like HARRY NO.
I want to see a fanfic where Harry sticks a chicken egg under a toad and makes all these plans about how he’ll talk to his huge deadly snake and get it eye-blinkers and shit so it doesn’t kill people and make sure it’s not too aggressive, and somehow it never occurs to his twelve-year old brain that the chicken egg has a total volume of about four tablespoons and he is not going to get the giant King of Serpents he is expecting.
I want to see a fanfic where it finally breaks out of the shell and Harry finds himself with a bb!basilisk too smol to even have the murder-eyes yet, who can only petrify someone for about half an hour before the effect wears off. She eats spiders and gets tired very easily and demands that he wear a hood she can curl up in and sleep.
(She is also the same vivid green as his eyes and already hideously venomous, but doesn’t like using her fangs because she says they get cold and give her brain freeze when she unsheathes them.)
I just… I really want Harry with a haughty, demanding, arrogant danger noodle who has an overinflated sense of her own importance, views Hedwig as a TERRIFYING MENACE because she isn’t big enough to eat owls yet and keeps up a steady stream of insults hissed in Harry’s ear whenever she’s near someone who has a Dark Mark (which she can sense at close range). And who is basically useless as a familiar because she refuses to slither across anything other than sun-warmed stones or Harry, hasn’t got a very powerful gaze yet and doesn’t like biting people.
(Except snake-arm-people. She finds snake-arm-people confusing and annoying, and would probably make an exception on the no-biting thing where they’re concerned.)
I mean there are obviously a lot of factors influencing snake growth rate but if we assume basilisks just get stupidhuge because they grow their whole lives and are immortal, this snake is probably going to be at least 8 feet long by Deathly Hallows, which is a significant and intimidating chunk of scaly muscle that is intelligent enough to do what it is told. Like, you know, hey, bite this necklace.
So I mean by like his fourth year it’s going to be pretty hard to hide this snake that is nearly as long as he is tall and it’s not going to do much for his reputation that the Boy Who Lived has a pet fucking basilisk but holy damn does it make book seven a whole hell of a lot shorter.
I feel like I should write this
can you just imagine him ron and hermione coming up with increasingly ridiculous excuses trying to hide their pet baby basilisk in the dorms (hagrid would be so proud). how long do you think it’d take before harry’s pet basilisk is just a really badly hidden secret between all of gryffindor? and the ensuring antics of the entire house as they try to keep mcgonagall from finding out? (she knows something is up, but even just thinking of what could be big enough the entire house is trying to keep it from her makes her want to break out the firewhiskey)
ron gets the idea to try and practices parseltongue with baby basilisk since he hears harry talking in his sleep with it all the time anyway (and ngl, baby basilisk is kind of adorable and eats all the spiders in the dorm so he doesn’t have to deal with them, he’s pretty smitten once she hatches), and as soon as hermione overhears him trying it, she’s dragging him and harry to the library because, well, parseltongue is a language, why can’t they learn it? so it’s the two of them alternating between hissing at harry and hissing at the basilisk and harry is trying so hard not to laugh because 90% of what they’re saying is utter nonsense and the basilisk doesn’t even bother, because she likes these two humans but wow are they dumb, that’s not how words work.
What about once the basilisk gets a bit big the eyes start being an issue and after Ron accidentally gets petrified one evening and it sticks until he misses History of Magic the next morning (he isn’t complaining and Binns sure as hell didn’t notice but if it’s Transfiguration next time there will be a Problem) they have to find a way of dealing with the eyes because one of these days there will be enough power for the permanent kind.
So after a lot of false starts with, like, goggles and shit, Hermione appears with a stack of advanced transfiguration books and the beginnings of a plan to give it eyelids or at least nictitating membranes that the petrification can’t pass through, but even with her being super smart it’s a few years beyond her abilities.
And then Harry sets eyes on the invisibility cloak and says “if you can’t see the eyes, they can’t petrify you.” Well a snake in a cloak doesn’t work too well, but Hermione has heard of the Disillusionment Charm, and that would also solve nearly all of their problems keeping a snake hidden in the dormitory.
So Sibilance Gloriana Theophania Sunstone (she didn’t quite completely name herself, she and Harry had a little conversation about what she likes and what human names mean and also she’s like a six-year-old in snake years so she is named after hissing, two queens, and her favorite thing to sleep on) is now the Invisible Snake of Gryffindor.
Out of necessity, her existence ends up being shared with a few people, either because they’ve tripped over her (Neville, Oliver, Parvati), they’ve accidentally been petrified by her (Neville, Fred), or their twin has found out about her and shared (George).
Fred and George are very keen to have an invisible house snake, and are brilliant at finding new spells to help out: she gains the ability to crawl up the walls like they’re more floor, to levitate and slither in midair, and to fill her venom sacs with substances other than venom; it is extremely rare that she wants to actually kill anything besides dinner, and it is so much more enjoyable to be able to bite people and use her fangs as a delivery system for itching powder or the line of nondrinkable potions Fred and George are in the process of inventing.
By the time the dueling club rolls around, she’s about three feet long and plump on rats and spiders and mice. She bites Lockhart when Snape sends him flying, and Snape ends up taking over the dueling club entirely while Lockhart hurries to the hospital wing with a set of massive boils on his ankle.
When Draco summons the snake with Serpensortia, Harry squeaks with delight and grabs the snake, hissing at it in greeting, and so the whole school learns Harry Potter is a parselmouth by means of an adorable scene with a very friendly, cuddly snake, which doesn’t strike anyone as particularly Dark Lordly at all.
The new snake, of course, can detect the presence of Sibilance, and Sibilance is delighted to have a serpent companion, so they’re happily engaged in conversation as Harry, Ron, and Hermione return to the dormitories. This scene of adorable domestic bliss is interrupted when they get up to Harry’s dorm room with one more snake than usual, and Ron’s pet rat Scabbers suddenly turns into a man and runs shrieking down the stairs.
(Harry has explained Scabbers to Sibilance back when Sibilance was smaller than Scabbers, and she has never attempted to eat him. The new snake, however, has not received this conversation and it’s a very different thing hanging around with a snake who you watched come out of the egg than meeting one that’s several times your size from the get-go. Absent introductions, the new snake assumes it’s dinnertime and Peter Pettigrew, faced with something very like what the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets would look like from Harry’s perspective, decides discovery is a slight improvement on dying and drops his animagus form.)
It is Peter Pettigrew’s poor luck to run into the Entrance Hall just in time to meet Severus Snape, who can put two and two together as well as most people and who is, easily, one of the fastest duelists Hogwarts has seen in recent decades.
Pettigrew’s capture and interrogation result in the release and exoneration of Sirius Black, who has one conversation with Harry, one conversation with Albus, and one conversation with Vernon and Petunia Dursley; the deal they all come to is that after precisely two weeks at Number Four, Privet Drive, during which time Vernon and Petunia will be scrupulously polite, Harry will go and live with his godfather.
Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore agree that a snake is an acceptable pet, and the new snake takes the name Hex, quite a bit of delight in the spells Sibilance has had adapted for her, and the unofficial position of Gryffindor house mascot.
There is widespread interest in learning Parseltongue, and with Harry translating, a number of students take time to learn at least some basic words. Chief among these is Ginny Weasley, who is desperate for someone else safe to confide in about the blank spaces in her memory.
It is Sibilance, not Hex, that finds out about the diary, sneaking down from Hermione’s dorm looking for spiders (really, where have they all gone to?) in time to overhear Ginny crying as she writes in a book that really, really reeks of dark magic.
She bites the book, of course, and then there’s an awful mess and Ginny furious and distressed that the diary, and with it, her friend Tom, are no more. It takes some doing for Sibilance to explain her existence, the nature of the book, and what was likely happening to Ginny; eventually Harry has to be tracked down to translate.
With Tom Riddle gone, they all speculate on the Chamber of Secrets and it’s Ginny with the suggestion that Moaning Myrtle might be the one who died last time the monster was released. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Sibilance, Hex, Ginny, Fred, George, and Neville all head to the bathroom, and from there to the Chamber, where they stand with their eyes closed while Sibilance calls out the massive basilisk.
It’s a long, interesting conversation, and it ends with several spells cast, promises made, and a fascinating comedy of errors as they sneak an invisible basilisk out of the Chamber, through the school, out the main doors, and into the Forbidden Forest where its newfound flying, climbing, and poison-switching abilities will enable it to joyously predate upon the acromantula colony for decades to come.
They all get detentions over the matter when they are caught sneaking back in, less for the Forbidden Forest trip and more for McGonagall’s near heart attack at hearing the whole thing, but there are no more petrifications, the affected students are eventually awoken, and Gryffindor wins the Quidditch Cup, much to Oliver’s joy.
Hex and Sibilance enjoy warming themselves curled up on the fireplace hearth until Sibilance gets too big, and eventually Snape discovers her existence by tripping over her, but that’s another story.
“But Alpha, purple is simply not appropriate.” Quinn’s growly voice somehow edged into whining.
The rest of the werewolf pack tried to shush him, but the damage was done.
“I beg your pardon!” Sandalio de Rabiffano, newly minted
Lord Falmouth, better known to the rarified fuzz and fang of the
supernatural set as Biffy, Alpha of the London Pack, nearly leapt to his
feet… at the dinner table. He was that offended. Of course, he
remembered himself long before he could commit such a profound breach
of etiquette. He was, after all, still Biffy.
He narrowed his eyes instead. “I assure you, purple is a perfectly
delightful color and is more than appropriate to all venues, ages,
genders, and species!”
“It doesn’t hearken to nature,” Phelan came to his pack mate’s
defense with an intellectual argument. He cocked his head socratically,
his studied air rather defeated by the fact that he had to stop stuffing
his face with steak and kidney pie in order to talk. Biffy swung his
discerning glare onto him, judging his manner, his decision to speak
against his Alpha, his choice of argument, and his ill-judged belief
that Quinn had opened the floodgates of objection.
This anti-purple rhetoric would be nipped, most sharply, in the bud.
“Plenty of lovely natural things are purple: sunsets, sunrises for that
matter, iris, aubergines, oysters.” Nip nip nip! “Although” – he
frowned, and then remembered he didn’t like the way this wrinkled his
forehead, so stopped – “these are all different shades of purple. Is that the true objection? Should I choose a different shade?”
A chorus of groans met that. They’d already been at this for an hour,
Biffy finally settling on this particular deep, rich, dark plum velvet.
Ordinarily, the pack didn’t care about interior decorations and would
rather he choose without involving them. Ordinarily, he would have. But
this was a communal curtain situation and they were his pack. Curtains
should matter to his pack. And now, it seemed, of a sudden they did matter.
Biffy pursed his lips. He knew this was the correct color.
Knew it in his very bones. Bones that moved and shifted and broke every
full moon, so possibly not as reliable as they might once have been, but
still… “Why are you arguing with me on this particular detail? Purple
would suit the room best. You never usually care two tail shakes for
this sort of thing.” Why object now about something I know is right?
Adelphus, who was at that moment wearing a purple evening jacket (not
plum, more violet, but still), looked monumentally uncomfortable. He
fiddled with one of the fabric samples set out before them. Biffy
suppressed the instinct to slap the man’s hand away – Adelphus might
leave a grease stain. But no, it was fine, Adelphus was mostly tame. “I
simply feel the green…”
“In that room? Are you mad?” Biffy tried not to let the frustration
color his voice. He knew what he was talking about. This was what he
did. He made rooms beautiful. He made people beautiful. Or he used to,
before he lost most of his soul and creativity.
Doubt, his old friend, shook him then. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe the
purple is unpleasant. Maybe I’ve lost my eye for color as well as
everything else. No. Stop second-guessing. It’s the purple or nothing. And nothing was not an option in a house full of werewolves. Sunlight being rather more of an issue when one was allergic to it.
He took a breath. I’m the Alpha, for goodness’ sake. Aren’t they supposed to listen to me? Instinctively obey me?
“God’s teeth, it’s only curtains!” Even Rafe, the most easygoing of the pack, was getting annoyed.
Biffy huffed. “Curtains,” he explained slowly as though to a very
thick child (which, to be fair, rather defined Rafe’s character), “are a
serious business.”
“Don’t you think they’ll be too dark for the room?” Hemming was
clearly not at all sure of himself. It sounded as if he were trying to
come up with an excuse. As if he really had some other reason for
objecting. As if they all did.
What is going on here?
Biffy swept a critical gaze over his nervous pack. “All right, chaps, what’s the truth here? What’s actually wrong with purple?”
His pack all looked collectively guilty. They exchanged glances.
Finally, they all turned to Adelphus as if he were the one best at
calming their new, young, purple-minded Alpha.
Poor Adelphus. He isn’t my Beta, but he keeps getting cast in that role. Biffy
winced away from that thought, like touching a sore tooth. He didn’t
want to think about his Beta. He didn’t want to miss him.
He’d agree with me about the purple.
A nice dark plum, ideal to show off the daring ash furniture and
sumptuous cream brocades he’d chosen for the rest of the drawing room.
With some luscious ferns scattered about, and a few other plants,
shelves of books, and other knickknacks. It would look rich and striking
yet bright and welcoming and…
Adelphus looked uncomfortable. But at least he’s stylish. Perhaps I should listen to him. We have something in common.
Biffy paused to think a little on that. It took a great deal of
effort for a werewolf to have style. Getting naked once a month, ripping
clothes constantly, and turning into a slavering beast was only the
start of the afterlife’s many dandy challenges.
Something for me to be proud of. Biffy had come a long way from the lonely, scruffy want-to-be vampire of his first few years as a werewolf pup. My hair alone was a complete shambles.
Certainly, he still wasn’t a very good Alpha. He’d no idea how to run a
pack. He’d never successfully metamorphosed a claviger, and he was
still looked down upon by other Alphas. In fact, the litany of his
failings over the past twenty years since his metamorphosis filled his
brain, but… At least I am a werewolf with style. And I can bloody well pick out curtains!
He fully glared at Adelphus, putting Alpha will behind the look.
Adelphus crumpled. “See here, Alpha. I mean no disrespect and no insult to your former life.” His eyes were wary.
“Go on,” said Biffy, trying not to let his voice sink into a growl.
“But, sir…”
Now that felt weird. Adelphus was at least a hundred years his senior, possibly twice that, and sir was an honorific Biffy did not feel he deserved.
“Yes?”
“Purple is a vampire color.”
Biffy let out a long sighing kind of snort. “Oh, for goodness’ sake! We have colors now?”
Quinn tried to help. “It’s accepted all ‘round as standard practice
for spaces and coaches and cushions and that sort of thing.” He failed
the dismount.
“That sort of thing?” Biffy let his outrage show.
“It’s only, Alpha, this is a big step, us moving away from Himself
next door. We don’t want any reminders of previous intimacies.” Hemming
was trying to be kind.
What he was saying was actually: We don’t want you to have any reminders.
Biffy suddenly understood. They were worried he was pining for lost futures. How sweet of them.
“How many times do I have to tell you I’m not upset about being a werewolf instead of a vampire?”
Incredulous looks all ‘round.
“Fine, I’m not upset anymore. Honestly.”
All the werewolves were displaying varying degrees of disbelief.
Biffy had made no secret, at first, that werewolf was not what he wanted
for an afterlife. Back then, it had been hard to hide, he was so
wounded, knowing he could have made it. To have enough excess soul to
become a werewolf meant he might have become a vampire instead. Vampire
would have suited him so much better – his personality, his plans, his
future, his soul (or what was left of it). But that wasn’t what
happened, and he’d had twenty years to come to terms with that. Purple
curtains were not going to sway him into flights of his former
melancholy.
I assure you, he wanted to say again, I’m not pining! Except
that he was. Only it wasn’t for a state of undead – it was for a
person. It wasn’t so much an ache, a void at the edge of his
consciousness, as a missing piece. The same piece that was missing from
his pack, the balance point that they all yearned for. The one who
could, so easily and gently, have settled the matter of purple curtains.
Biffy told himself for the millionth time that it was nothing more
than an Alpha’s need for his Beta. He refused to believe that after
twenty years, his heart hurt for a connection it had had so long ago,
for such a short space of time. He forced his mind not to go in that
direction. There were too many other things, too many important things
that he must deal with, and pining for his Beta (non-sexually or
otherwise) wouldn’t solve anything.
With a sigh, he capitulated. Which likely wasn’t a good decision.
Alphas were supposed to be strong, commanding, hold to their point of
view. Or something like that.
He went with his second option. “I suppose blood red is out, too.”
The pack all looked at one another.
“We werewolves customarily get outdoor colors like browns and greens and such.” Phelan was trying to help.
Biffy glared. “I am attempting to give us an aura of sophistication!
It’s 1895. We live in London. Earth tones are so very last decade!”
The werewolves now looked as though they were trying not to laugh. At least a few of them did.
“Why do vampires get to have purple? Is it a rule? Something to do
with royalty?” Biffy had learned there were lots of unwritten rules to
immortality. The werewolves called them protocols, but really they were traditionally codified rules.
Adelphus smiled. “Not officially. It’s more to do with Rome.”
Biffy grinned back. “Oh, yes, ancient history, is it?”
Biffy knew he had a bit of a lax attitude about tradition. But then
again, wasn’t that part of his role? In his lucid days, before the
previous Alpha went mad with Alpha’s curse, Lord Maccon would say, This is your time, Biffy. Bring us into the modern age. We
have to learn to accommodate the present, or we are going to become
obsolete. You’re important to all werewolves – you represent a new kind
of Alpha.
I’m failing. I’m failing him. And I’m failing them. Well, us, I suppose I should say. He looked at his pack sitting around the dinner table, worried, uncomfortable.
Biffy stood. He wasn’t particularly tall, but he had good form and
excellent posture. He was a practiced gentleman and he called upon that
sophistication (in lieu of arrogance) so that he could put his
beautifully shod foot very firmly down.
“Purple curtains. End of discussion.”
Adelphus opened his mouth. Biffy glared. “End. Of. Discussion.”
Adelphus snapped his mouth closed and tilted his head quickly to show his neck. “Yes, Alpha.”
With a start, the others followed suit.
Biffy marched from the room. Feeling a little faint. Which he
attributed to not having had time to eat – too busy arguing about
curtains.
hey everyone should watch b99, i’m clearly amy santiago because i am an overachiever, i crave validation from authority figures, and i am weak for jake peralta
what i do is not up to you 