White Heather for Protection

Ditching the Shackles

"No!" Heather watched in horror as Hadrian crumpled like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Her vision tunnelled to focus solely on her brother as she rushed forward. Falling to her knees, she cradled him carefully in her arms.

The bloody wound in his arm stood out in stark contrast to his rapidly paling skin. Reaching out with her magic, she attempted to draw out the venom. It fought viciously, like the beast it was produced by. Despite knowing that basilisk venom was fatal, she couldn't help but try anyway.

All she succeeded in doing was bleed Hadrian out further.

"Miss Potter!" A firm but gentle hand shook her. Professor Snape. Right, he had come with her.

"Professor!" She looked desperately at him. "Do you have a potion, any potion?! Please, you need to save him!" In her panic, she almost missed the fiery mass of feathers on his shoulders.

He shook her, more roughly this time. "Calm down, child! Let the phoenix do its work! Think! What are the properties of phoenix tears?"

Slowly, she let up, giving space for Fawkes to land on Hadrian. "Healing. Phoenix tears can heal almost anything."

"Correct, now breathe." The Professor's hand on her shoulder provided a steadying presence to her tattered nerves. She took a deep, shaky breath and let it out.

Calmer now, she watched the phoenix cry lifesaving tears on the gaping wound. The almost-blue blood gradually lightened to a more normal shade and the flow slowed down to a trickle. Eventually, the wound sealed up, leaving behind a circular dark pink scar.

She all but cried her own tears at the sight. Hadrian would be okay.

~~~

The girl sat at her brother's bedside. Her eyes hadn't left his prone body since Poppy had seen to him. That damnable luck had saved the boy again.

A Merlin-be-damned basilisk!

The boy had slain a basilisk. And lived to tell the tale. Well, not quite yet. He was still unconscious.

He should smack himself for not realising it earlier. All the signs had been there. The roosters, the petrifications. Yet mere students had deduced it quicker.

If he'd known that it was a basilisk they were dealing with, he'd never have let Heather Lyra go. In fact, none of the students should have entered the chamber! Why hadn't they informed any of the Professors? Why hadn't she informed him?

'But they didn't need your help, did they, Severus?' a mocking voice in his head said.

No, they hadn't. Potter had single-handedly killed a giant basilisk and only had a scar to show for it. And that Weasley girl hadn't even been injured.

Still, he was angry. No, furious. Furious at Heather Lyra for rushing into that like an impetuous Gryffindor. Furious at Albus for allowing it to happen on his watch. Why else would his damned bird have known to come to the rescue? Most of all, he was fuming mad at the accursed boy for running headlong into danger, with no thought for any consequences.

Consequences, namely, the anguish he caused his sister.

How many times, was it now, that Heather Lyra had sat at this very same bedside in self-reproach and grief, blaming herself for things she couldn't control? Very much like a Gryffindor in that respect, her martyrdom. He blamed it on the company she kept.

Disgusted, he left the room. The boy couldn't feel the burn of his glares while unconscious anyway.

~~~