Scrawlings - [Ziel's Collected Works]

[Ziel]

The Way

The first video was crude. It had the shaky, grainy quality of a home movie, and the out of the box transition effects of a bad amateur effort. It was posted anonymously on four different video sharing websites on September 9th, 2001. None of the sites had much traffic – the internet was still too new, and the technology just wasn't there.

The video hit the airwaves nearly a week later. VHS copies had been sent to seven major news stations, post-dated for the 9th. The tapes were marked with strips of tape, labeled with permanent marker. Each one was titled simply, "The Way."

Later tracing efforts would follow the mail trail back to a post office in Dublin, Texas. The post office, a small branch in an unremarkable suburb, had no cameras. It was considered a dead end.

Three of the stations called the Protectorate. Three more only discovered their copies of the tape during later investigation, and never aired them.

The seventh station showed the video in its entirety.

XXX

The video is black for 7 seconds. Static crosses the screen, and the picture solidifies by 10 seconds.

The camera wavers, jittering up and down, as it films a man from behind. The man has short, dark hair, and is walking away from the camera. The surroundings are a gray, barren city. Rows of decaying Soviet era buildings line a street full of abandoned cars.

The man continues walking. He passes through the headlights of a car that is still running, its driver's seat empty.

The camera person and the man continue walking for 1 minute, 30 seconds.

Sounds of thunder can be heard in the distance, and other, loud noises like cannon fire. The skies are black, and plumes of smoke can be seen on the other side of the city.

The camera cuts.

It resumes after 6 seconds of blackness.

The man faces the camera now. He wears a plain, black suit, his only adornment a white priest's collar. His face is bland, unremarkable. Dark eyes. Thin eyebrows. A broad smile.

Thunder is heard again, loud enough that sound is momentarily lost. The ground shakes. The camera person nearly falls, but the man stays upright with ease.

"I spent quite a lot of time trying to write a sermon for this," the man says suddenly. His voice is dry and drawling, with the twang of the American South. "But it finally hit me – I was trying too hard." His smile shows teeth. "This is something you need to see to believe."

He spreads his arms.

The ground shudders again, and a building crashes down in the background.

Another building barely fifty feet from the man erupts in a plume of fire, rubble raining down across the streets. A car is hit by one of the meteors and explodes, its gas tank adding its own burst of fire to the storm.

A shape- a person hurtles into sight from a side street. They're brightly clothed, flying a dozen feet above the ground. They fire an actinic ray from their hands at something down the street, but the bolt curves in midair and rebounds upon them. The figure is incinerated in an instant. Ash paints the street below.

The ground shudders again, continuous now, but pounding ever more.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the man says. "Behold."

Behemoth, taller than the buildings, only unseen because he was out of frame, steps into view. Other capes, some flying, others fleeing on foot, come into the picture as they scurry away from it. The Endbringer lashes out with jerks of his gnarled hands, burning and striking the capes with every motion.

The defenders flee toward the camera.

The man dressed like a priest turns and folds his hands behind his back.

A cape flies overhead, his passage shaking the camera. The recorder tumbles, nearly drops the camera this time. They recover in time to catch Behemoth drawing back his head.

He roars.

The sound obliterates all other noise. Windows across the street shatter in a single wave, and concrete breaks behind it. Most of the capes fall. Few get up.

The man stands calmly, even as capes fall screaming and bleeding around him.

He turns back to the camera.

Behemoth moves forward in the background, drawing nearer. Every step shakes the view. He comes within a hundred feet.

The man does not die, even as one of the capes beside him combusts within Behemoth's aura. Behemoth takes a second step. A third.

He steps over the man and the camera person without so much as looking at them.

The camera turns to follow Behemoth for a moment before returning to the man.

The man fishes in the neck of his suit and withdraws a symbol on a chain. It is jagged and black, obsidian carved into the shape of a sun.

"The gods have returned," he says. "They have come to punish the sinners and the nonbelievers. I have heard the Word. And the Word is thus: 'Worship us. Worship us, or die.'"

He lets the symbol fall against his chest.

"Join with me, and let us adore them."

The video cuts to hissing static.

XXX

The first Endbringer cult began two weeks later. Within six months, more than five hundred independent religious groups associated with Endbringer worship existed across the United States. Within nine, there were nearly four thousand reported across the globe.

September 9th, 2002 was regarded as a holiday to these groups, and the man, the first priest, showed himself once more.

The second video was much the same as the first.

The priest stood before Leviathan.

And the rain waters parted around him.

He was untouched.

===

A repost of a fic I keep forgetting I wrote. I do love fictional religions...

Inspired by this snippet. Not as polished as it could be, but I wanted to get it out so I could move on.

Think of it more of a prompt than a full oneshot. I'd love to see someone else roll with it. I always loved the idea of EB cults spreading like in Cult City, and this was kind of in that vein.

 

[Ziel]

Ars Goetia

"So... ah, I don't really know much about you guys."

Oracle- Lisa, I corrected myself, we were out of costume, smiled at me. "That's okay. We prefer to run under the radar. Hitting Lung was our first real public gig." She began climbing the stairs into the loft, motioning me to follow up behind her. A beaded bracelet jingled at her wrist as she moved, and the feathers braided into her hair bounced with every step.

"Lung is... a bit out of our league," she continued. "We're more smash and grab, you know?"

I didn't, but I nodded anyway. Lisa and Brian had unmasked to me earlier, but I was still wary of the Undersiders. I'd been burned one too many times to just go along blindly. Lisa crested the stairs and stepped aside, waiting for me.

"It's a little much to take in," she said gently.

"I'll manage."

I climbed up into the loft. The space was open, with a seating area in the center, and a galley kitchen in the back. A short hallway off to one side held closed doors, each labeled with a drawing, a symbol. A slim, black-haired boy, maybe my age, maybe a little younger, sat on the couch, his feet up. He had a girl on each side, his arms around them. The girls were limp, their heads down, while he watched tv.

An alarm went off in my head. Were they drugged?

The boy turned, glanced over at me, and then returned to the tv. The girls didn't move at all.

"Lisa, what is this?" I hissed.

She slowed, her smile faltering slightly. "It's- it's nothing. They're part of his power. Don't worry about them."

I stayed where I was. "Explain."

A door slammed in the hall, followed by the sound of footsteps. A man emerged, and I stared. He was... odd. Tall and thin, his blonde hair pulled back into a bun. That, and his clothes, neat and stylish and more expensive than anything I owned, and the thick glasses he wore, made him look almost hipsterish, but for his tattoos. He had fangs etched around his mouth, poking up and down from lips painted purple.

Lisa saw him and went to him, almost floating across the loft. Her smile was back. She molded herself to his side, but the man gave her barely a look.

"Lee, how are you? Did you sleep well?"

The man ignored her question. His glasses caught the light, turning opaque as he looked at me.

"This is the new girl?" he asked.

Lisa nodded. "Taylor, this is Lee. Lee, Taylor. She-"

Lee put a finger to her mouth, and she fell silent.

He strode toward me, leaving Lisa behind, and I took an involuntary step back. Something was wrong here. Something was very wrong. Lisa's behavior. The boy on the couch. The slumped, huddled girls.

"Hello, Taylor," Lee said. There was a twanging drawl in his voice, but he spoke softly.

I took another step back as he approached. My swarm gathered around the warehouse, beginning to slip in through the cracks and crevices to hide in the shadows.

Lee stopped, towering over me, his inked mouth quirked into a smile I didn't like. I knew that smile. It was cruel, ready to watch me suffer.

"You met Oracle," he said. "That's Forneus." He jerked a thumb at the boy on the couch.

"Yeah. And I met ah- Brian, earlier."

"Shax. His cape name is Shax." He paused. "And you're Taylor."

Lee tipped his glasses down, and I saw his eyes for the first time. Blue-green so sharp it almost glowed, and there was... something... moving... and-

"My cape name is Valefor."

His hands came out to catch me as my legs folded. The world spun.

"Welcome to the team, Taylor."

Everything went black.

===

There is not nearly enough Fallen stuff out there, and virtually nothing but Cloudy Path that plays up how dangerous Valefor really is.

Nothing to stop him from say... co-opting the Undersiders.

A repost that I completely forgot about until today, when I found it by coincidence while looking for The Way.

Flip a coin whether this or Heartless are more disgusting in their implications.

 

[Ziel]

Parselbrat


"Out! Supper is at 6. Be back in time to set the table. If you aren't, your portion goes in the bin. Understand?"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia."

Left unsaid was that Aunt Petunia gave her this speech three times a week. But then her aunt shoved her out the back door and sent her stumbling into the yard, and it stopped mattering.

Harry adjusted her smudged glasses and pulled up the set of Dudley's hand-me-down jeans she was wearing. It was too hot for them, Surrey in July, and the equally inherited sweatshirt she had on, but they were by far the best option.

The alternative was for Aunt Petunia to convert some of Dudley's old clothes into girly equivalents. Trousers to dresses, and so on. Her relatives had quickly decided that was too much work, and that Harry being seen as a 'tomboy' was an acceptable trade-off for not having to buy her clothing.

Four steps took her off the concrete patio and into the grass. Another dozen took her to the fence. She opened the gate and slipped out into the narrow alley that divided the fenced yards from one another. It only ran the length of the adjoining yards, but the fences were all tall enough that she couldn't see over them. Later in the day, they'd also be tall enough to block out some of the sun, but for now, it was high noon, and her shadow was a tiny pool underfoot.

Harry sidled along, hands half in her pockets, head bowed, trying to keep the sun out of her eyes. It just meant her hair caught it and heated up.

A bead of sweat dropped off her forehead to splat against the inside of her left glasses lens. Harry sighed, pulled them off, and cleaned them. Another drop hit them barely a meter down the alley.

Too bloody hot for this.

She tugged at the neck of her jumper, trying to fan some air through the thick cotton. No such luck. The air coming off the tarmac was so warm it was like standing over a fireplace and trying to catch a breeze.

She needed to get some shade or there'd be nothing left of her but a husk by the time supper came around.

Harry picked up the pace a little. She exited the alley- checking left and right for any of the neighborhood kids who might want to bother her. The street was deserted. They were all inside, enjoying the AC.

Bolstered, if not a little jealous, Harry crossed the road and turned left. Down the street to the corner, then right. The neighborhood fell away for a roundabout, and a little further down, an overpass, but Harry's eyes were on the playground.

The slide was a solid sheet of metal- literally hot enough to cook on, and she stayed well clear. But the jungle gym that housed the slide, sprouting a swingset from one side, was her destination. There was a little oasis of shadow under the platform, a space just big enough to fit into if she crawled. It was enclosed on three sides, covered over by the stairs and other parts of the gym.

Harry dropped to her hands and knees. She'd hidden here before. It wasn't a good spot for it. If there were other kids on the playground, they'd inevitably point her out to Dudley and his gang.

Not today though. That was the only real bonus of the heat.

The dark, loamy mulch was thick under her palms, and under the space, the mulch was actually a little damp. She was going to get dirty, but there was nothing wrong with a little moisture on a day like this.

Harry crawled in, circled like a dog, and then stretched out. It took a bit of fidgeting to find a position that made lying in the mulch bearable, and a bit more to adjust her clothing to not suffocate her.

For the first time since she woke that morning, Harry relaxed. She sank back against the nearest wall, wiggling like a worm to get the mulch indented beneath her and-

Something touched the back of her legs.

Harry stilled.

Just a bit of mulch?

She reached down and back, groping for the offending object.

Her fingertips brushed across something dry and scaly.

Initial thoughts of it being some odd piece of litter died beneath a much more basic instinct.

Snake!

Harry yelped and rolled away, scrabbling for the exit. She pushed off from the back wall and lunged for the sunny exterior.

"Ouch!" someone said.

Harry squirmed frantically away from the play gym, not stopping until she was two meters away. What if it came after her? Were there any poisonous snakes in Britain? She didn't really know.

"Rude," someone said.

Harry squinted. The voice had come from beneath the platform.

"Hello? Someone there?" She paused, suddenly frowning. Something clicked in the back of her head. She knew this game.

It was a trick. There had been a kid underneath there also, probably trying to get out of the heat, and they'd played a joke on her with a rubber snake. Just like last spring when Piers had got her with that fake spider in class.

"That's not funny!" she called. "Come out!"

"Kicks me in the head and says I'm not funny. The nerve..." the voice said. It was dry, and not just in tone. Like someone hissing under their breath. But… it didn't sound like a kid. It sounded like a man was under there.

And that was definitely impossible. The space was barely a meter across on all sides. A kid could maybe have hidden there without her noticing. But an adult? An adult lurking under a play gym like some kind of troll? Hadn't Aunt Petunia always warned Dudley about people like that?

"Come out. I'm not playing around. I'll- I'll call the police!"

"Rude. Rude and loud. Always tramping about on their legs." The voice hissed angrily at that. "This is my cave. Go away."

Another hiss, louder this time, and something stirred in the darkness.

Harry stumbled backward and fell as the snake- for it was definitely a snake, slithered out of the mulch. She'd missed it for good reason. It was pure black, its scales shining in the sunlight.

"Go away!" it said.

Harry stared.

"Get!"

It could talk. A talking snake.

"Weird!"

And then it hissed louder than ever at her, baring a set of needle-like fangs, and Harry bolted.

XXX

She came back the next evening.

It was, at the end of the day, the single most interesting thing that had ever happened to her on Privet Drive.

A talking snake.

Harry crouched near the jungle gym. "Hello? You, ah- Mister Snake? Are you there?"

Silence.

"Sorry for stepping on you. I brought food. Is that okay?"

Silence.

Then-

A voice floated out to her."What kind of food?"

XXX

His name was Blackscale.

According to him, his siblings had been born with the typical rippling brown and black pattern that most adders had. He'd been pure black. It wasn't that rare, but it was enough to earn him his name.

Blackscale enjoyed the hunk of chicken Harry had kept from last night's dinner. He enjoyed it enough to forget any ill-will over her kicking him, and invited her to join him in the 'cave.'

Harry declined.

She sat against the side of the play gym frame, legs spread out, drawing patterns in the mulch with a finger.

"So…" she said slowly. "You're a talking snake."

"All snakes talk. Humans just don't listen. You… you are a speaker."

"Meaning?"

"Human that speaks like snakes."

"Ah."

She rocked back and forth a bit, mulling that over.

"Uh… how do I do that?"

Blackscale gave a low, uneven hiss. Her mind translated it as a snort of laughter, but now that Harry was paying attention, she could hear the separation.

"Magic."

XXX

She took him home with her that night. Around her neck like a boa, his weight and texture both unfamiliar. Blackscale had been unsure of leaving his cool burrow under the playground, but she'd reassured him with stories of how lush and cool the Dursley's garden was.

They were technically true. She watered it frequently, and the leafy bushes would be cool to lay beneath if she was the size of an adder.

Harry didn't want to be away from him now.

A snake of all things, had voiced the answer to a question she hadn't even known she'd had. An explanation for all the weirdness, for why the Dursleys didn't like her, of the sense that she got sometimes that if she just pushed a little harder somehow, something would happen.

And the issue was definitely her.

With Blackscale's help, Harry had sought out three other snakes on the way back to the Dursleys, and unless every random snake in Surrey was talking, then she could talk to snakes.

She. Was. Magic.

It took a long time to fall asleep that night, half-baked in the stuffy cupboard as always, but now with the added thought of magic whirling and sparking through her head like an errant lightning bolt.

Her dreams were just as muddled. Scenes of long, dismal hallways and doors. Boys and girls in ragged clothes. A boy bending, a baby snake twining through his fingers. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia melding and separating, a yelling mass. A green sun.

They were forgotten by the time she woke. She stumbled through breakfast, and was already heading for the door when Aunt Petunia started into her 'be back for supper' spiel. Her aunt didn't even notice that Harry had gone.

Outside, Harry crouched in the bushes at the back of the yard. Blackscale surfaced from beneath one, winding his way through the roots toward her.

"Speaker."

Harry smiled. "I brought some bacon."

She didn't think a snake's eyes could light up, but Blackscale made a good show of it.

It was only after, when he was sleepy, his midsection slightly lumpy with the food, that Harry leaned in.

"What can you tell me about magic?"

He blinked dully at her. His tongue flicked in, then out. And then he shook his head.

"How would I know?"

Her jaw dropped. "What?!"

"Human magic. Not snake."

"Oh." She scratched the back of her head, combing a kink out of her curls before she answered. "You don't have… snake magic or something?"

Blackscale gave a snort of laughter. "What use do I have for magic?" He snickered again before yawning. "Doesn't mean I'm completely ignorant. Keep feeding me, and I'll tell you everything I know, Speaker."

There was a flash of wariness at his words, and Harry's thoughts went to, of all things, the handful of church sermons she's been to. The Dursleys did Christmas and Easter service, if they remembered. The Biblical serpent and the apple. And there's something else there as well, a snake coiling through a boy's hand, circling and coiling, endlessly.

But there was never anything in those stories about the serpent snatching up rashers of bacon, or lurking in a playground because it was too hot. And… Harry found she doesn't care either way. Because things were changing. The world her aunt and uncle had laid out was tearing apart at the seams.

Harry smiled. "Deal."

XXX

Blackscale kept his word.

He knew more than Harry had imagined a snake could. More importantly, he genuinely seemed to like telling her. She wondered sometimes over the humid weeks that followed if he was lonely too, or if he was just lazy and preferred the easy meals she provided.

He taught her about nature. Magic, he knew nothing about, beyond some humans (HER!) apparently being able to do some things. Who and what, he neither knew nor cared.

Instead, she got long lectures about which birds were smart, which were dumb, the ones who left their eggs unprotected, and which ones were cutthroat enough to point him toward their neighbors. Speeches about the plants in the forest- there was a wooded area, maybe a few acres square, a mile or so from the Dursleys' home, and Harry found herself taking a walk there nearly every day she wasn't occupied with chores.

Blackscale couldn't name any of the plants or trees, but he could point out which ones held fruit or thorns, where bees tended to nest, which plants the rodents he preyed on would eat.

Harry took in his facts, digested them, and then asked questions. That in itself had taken a while. Too many years of getting whopped by Dudley in primary for being 'a dirty swot' had made her wary of probing too much. But Blackscale reveled in them. Asking questions stroked his ego, gave him something to ramble about ever more.

And from her questions, Harry learned. She extrapolated which plants were safe for her to eat, which were poisonous. How to search for mushrooms in the dark and damp, but not to even think of eating until she had a chance to look at them in the light. Insects that would bite, and the plants that kept them away. Vines that split open to spurt foul-smelling innards. Bark and leaves that could soothe a wound.

It was not magic, but there was a magic to it.

The forest quickly became not just a day trip, but a refuge as well. There were no pointed fingers and raised voices there. No accusations and unhappy eyes. It was cool and quiet and safe. For the first time, Harry found something that was hers. Her place. Her woods. Somewhere where she could be as loud as she wanted, or run around like an idiot, or gorge on wild strawberries and morels until she could hardly move without bursting.

There was time for magic as well.

Harry couldn't really do anything. Not at first. She drew off raw instinct, groping for a feeling, an idea of how to work magic. Started small. Little things. Staring at a leaf, trying to move it without touching it. To stir the water in a puddle. Speak to other animals of the wood.

It took weeks. Furious hours of staring and wanting, needing something to happen to prove her right. In the end, it was Blackscale's reassurances that 'A speaker is of magic.' that gave her the push to keep going.

It was not just wanting or needing magic to happen, but knowing she could do magic, and that it should happen. She'd been winding herself up on a nice, throbbing headache, staring at a twig, willing it to break, not because it could, but because it should, and she wanted it to, and- something of her frustration leaked out, and she remembered the times before that something strange had happened.

Desperate, terrifying times. Dudley's gang. Aunt Petunia with the kitchen scissors. Uncle Vernon's bellowing anger.

"Come. On." Hissed between gritted teeth.

Something clenched behind her ribs. Twisted. And then unfolded. Heat and joy filled her limbs, twining around her bones, lifted her chin. Opened her eyes.

Harry gasped, as a dam broke and something burst-

The twig exploded like a firecracker.

XXX

Her thoughts slowly filled with trees and greenery, until the Dursley's home, with all its artificial wood and fluorescent lights, felt more alien than ever before. Every morning, she would wake from dreams of snakes and a gray, industrial London, Blackscale curled in a knot against her side, and it would begin anew.

And it was in the woods one morning, that things set into motion. Harry crouched behind a log with Blackscale, watching for prey, letting the snake show her how they hunted.

A shadow passed overhead, and she looked up.

Blackscale hissed angrily, sliding under the log. "Hide from hunting-birds, Speaker!"

There was a rustle of feathers, and then a bird alighted on the log.

An owl. Black and brown, yellow eyes meeting her green.

It held its leg out to her.

Harry reached out numbly, dumbly, and took the letter it offered her.

Thick, brown paper, and a crest with animals around an ornate letter 'H.'

She opened it. The owl took flight.

Harry waited until Blackscale emerged from beneath the log before she read the letter.


'Dear Ms. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you...'


XXX

This concept was an amalgam of a couple different things. I wanted a Parseltongue study. I wanted a fic about Nagini. I wanted something that wasn't the godawful parselmagic bullshit that pervades the worst part of Harry Potter fandom.

Enter Parselbrat. A fic where it turns out that the ability to control snakes is honestly kind of lame. Because snakes are basically legless cats, and there's no plausible reason for them to know shit about magic. So it ended up being less about Parseltongue, than about the doors it opens. No super OP powers. Just an early reveal of magic, and a friend who happens to be scaly.

Because seriously Wizarding Britain- controlling snakes is like literally the least terrifying thing that Voldemort can do.

Expect 2 more chapters, max.

Oh, and a rec for this fic, which inspired some of the mood here, and features a lot of fluffy Harry Nagini stuff.

 

[Ziel]

She slept poorly that night. Questions she couldn't answer churned and buzzed behind her eyes like so many bees.

A school, but where? Platform 9 ¾? That was… nonsense. And how was she supposed to buy her school supplies? Some of it she could improvise, given time, but a cauldron, dragonhide gloves? It wasn't as though there was a magic-mart just down the block beside the Tesco.

Harry had drifted off, dozed, woken, dozed off again, and was just starting the cycle once more when Aunt Petunia rapped a knuckle on the cupboard door.

"Get up and set the table. Hurry up before your uncle comes down!"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry murmured, rubbing her eyes.

The latch clicked, and Harry took a moment to pull on her clothes before nudging the cupboard door open. Morning was always blinding after nights spent under the stairs. She winced, rubbed her eyes some more, and then leaned back into the cupboard.

"I'll bring you something. What do you want?"

Blackscale opened a yellow eye. "Just water. Too much food makes me sluggish."

"Okay."

She was just turning to close the cupboard when there was a booming knock at the front door. Harry went wide-eyed at the dust now sifting down from the stairs, and then looked at the door.

"Get the door!" her aunt yelled shrilly from the kitchen.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry called back.

She scurried to the front door and glanced through the frosted windows on each side before she undid the lock. Whoever was outside was big enough to cast both windows into shadow.

Harry shrugged.

As long as it wasn't Aunt Marge, she didn't really care.

She opened the door.

A man- a giant man filled the space outside. Dark eyes beamed down at her from a beard thick enough to hide her in its entirety.

"Hullo, Harry," the giant said.


XXX


Harry was coming to reconsider her feelings on London. She'd only visited the city a few times, but this round she was finding especially overwhelming. Part of that was the revelations that Hagrid had brought about a secret society of witches and wizards, and part of it was the noise, the bustle, and the people.

Any hope that the wizards would be better was quashed as soon as she stepped foot in the Leaky Cauldron. People wanted to meet her. To shake her hand. A man actually wept with joy when she shook his.

She'd had fantasies of being important, being famous. Hard not to when she was about as popular with the Dursleys as dry rot. But to actually be famous. To have people know her. To turn their heads when she walked by.

It made her skin crawl.

The steady thrum of the crowd in Diagon Alley was a relief after the pub. She vanished into the crowd, becoming just another shopper. Not Famous Harry Potter.

What she was famous for, she hadn't quite figured out yet, even if everyone else seemed to know. Hagrid had tried to explain it, something about a dark wizard and her apparently vanquishing him? But how was a one-year old supposed to do that? If she had that kind of power, then how come Dudley had always been able to knock her silly?

Hagrid was a steady presence, tugging her along, her hand wrapped around one of his huge fingers. He parted the crowd with his size, and that alone made the street less cloying. But there was also his smell, like woodsmoke and leather and earth, and the way he had leaves caught in his beard like some kind of ancient tree spirit. It was like walking with part of the forest.


XXX


They shopped.

Gringotts. A ride through the tunnels and caves that she enjoyed, even if Hagrid didn't. And then-

Money.

She was still dazed with the image of that gold-stacked vault by the time they made it back to the surface. Hagrid, still somewhat queasy as well, sent her towards Madame Malkin's so he could have a break.

Robes were… kind of itchy. And a bit too hot for the summer sun. But no one else seemed troubled. Was there a magic for that as well? She wouldn't mind learning that one first.

A blond-haired boy joined her during the fitting.

He gave her a once-over, taking in her scrawny, tanned limbs and over-large sneakers. The set of Dudley's jeans she'd cut off into capris. The snarl of black hair that she'd given up trying to tame and finally just twisted back with twigs like hairpins.

His lip curled, and he turned away.

Harry wasn't sorry to leave the shop.

Hagrid was waiting outside with ice cream. She'd forgotten the sneering boy by the time she'd taken her first bite.

"Where next?" Hagrid rumbled, his ice cream scaled up to match his size, nearly the size of a traffic cone.

"Books?"

"Alright 'en."

They parted the crowed once more.

Something he'd said earlier came back to her. Harry tugged at Hagrid's index finger.

"Hagrid- did you say there are dragons at Gringotts?"

His face lit up. "Aye. Never seen em myself, but yer can 'ear em sometimes. Always wanted a dragon..."

"So… Dragons are real?"

"Course they are."

She grinned up at him. Did dragons count as snakes? She hoped so. "Can you tell me about them?"

The duo that entered Flourish and Blotts was a tower. Nearly fifteen feet high, a slip of a girl riding on a giant's shoulders, her shoes dangling from skinny legs as she balanced an ice cream.

Hagrid had tired of talking down to her and pulled her up to his level so she could hear him better.

And he knew a lot about dragons.

Flourish and Blotts was familiar in an odd way, in that it reminded her exactly how little she knew about everything. Not just about magic in all its facets, but the things she thought she was just getting a handle on- nature, plants, animals, apparently all had magical variants.

Harry snatched up every book on "Herbology" and "Magizoology" she could, enlisting Hagrid to help carry, and then for advice. She hadn't given much thought to what a groundskeeper was, but Hagrid seemed to know as much about magical flora and fauna as he did about dragons.

She left the store with enough books that the bookseller had thrown in a complimentary 'Flourish and Blotts Extended Expanda-bag' to carry all of them.

"Les get yer wand now, I think," Hagrid said, checking her list.


XXX


Holly and phoenix feather.

"After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things. Terrible! Yes. But great."


XXX


She departed Ollivander's much quieter than she'd entered it.

Hagrid, seeming to sense her discomfort, slowed and patted her on the head. "Don' pay him any mind. He's a weird ole bloke. Been there forever, I think."

"Yeah." Harry nodded. That Hagrid honestly seemed to care she was upset made her feel a bit better.

"Cmon, pet shop's up 'ere. Might be nice if you get an owl. You and yer friends can write to each other."

She smiled at that, but her first thought was a long-time mantra: I don't have any friends.

Another voice spoke up, softer than the first.'I've got Blackscale.' Harry looked up at the massive man escorting her through Diagon. Her smile became truer. 'And Hagrid.'

And that shut the nagging little voice up right sharp.


XXX


As it turned out, she couldn't speak to lizards, frogs, toads, or salamanders. Not even slowworms, legless lizards that were for all intents and purposes, snakes. Apparently her speech only worked on 100% snakes.

It worked well enough on the massive Brazilian Mirror Viper in the far corner. His tank was marked with "HIGHLY POISONOUS! COLLECTORS ONLY!", but that didn't stop Harry from having a quick talk with him about his life in the petshop.

The store clerks wouldn't sell him to her though, and she didn't have enough money on hand anyway.

Hagrid, distracted by owls and owl accessories, hadn't noticed her conversation with the viper, but he did catch on once the clerk started yelling at him to fetch Harry away from the "incredibly deadly serpent."

He'd been put-off by her interest, she could tell, and Harry allowed him to lead her away.

It didn't rekindle her interest in an owl, and she was forced to admit to Hagrid that she wouldn't have anyone to write to anyway, and that he should save the money.

The tall man looked at her for a long, heavy moment, his thick brows knitted.

"Next year, 'Arry. Next year, yer'll need an owl. Promise yer that. I'll get yer one then."

He took her hand and led her out of the emporium. Harry waved goodbye to the Mirror Viper as she went.


XXX


"So… yer like the Mirror Viper? Those're something. I know yer'd take good care of 'im, but McGonagall'd have my head if I let yer bring that into the school." He smiled ruefully at her. "Tell yer what. I've got loads of beasts at school that plenty of people're too scared of to 'preciate. Yer can come see 'em any time."

Harry found herself matching his smile. "His name was Rain-slick-slither-skin. He had a weird accent, but he was nice."

Hagrid stopped so suddenly that the crowd had to part around them like a river around a rock.


XXX


Hagrid tried his best to explain what she'd done wrong, and that he wasn't mad, but Harry still ended their trip sure that she'd messed up somehow.

So apparently certain people had magic, but certain people who had magic also had magic that other wizards didn't.

Hagrid led the way back to the Leaky Cauldron, Harry still holding his hand, but trailing a few steps behind now, her eyes down.

Parselmouth. Parseltongue.

There was something ugly and jarring about the terms that she didn't like. Being a Speaker meant having a title. A role. Something that snakes understood and respected.

Being a Parselmouth was just another one of those things she didn't understand. That no one had ever bothered to explain, but that everyone but her seemed to know. It was too much like being with the Dursleys or at primary school. All these rules and unspoken understoods. Like playing a game where everyone else already knew the rules.

Warm sunlight gave way to brick and cobble, and then the smoky darkness of the pub.

"I'll floo yer back," Hagrid said. "Don' wanna mess round with apparatin.' Too much strain on yer."

She nodded slowly. What floo was, she wasn't sure. Apparation was teleporting. They'd done that to get to Diagon in the first place, but it had made her horribly nauseous for several minutes, and Hagrid had apologized profusely.

"I think that'll be fine," she said.

They crossed in front of the bar, Hagrid towing her toward a back hallway, when-

"My g-goodness, H-harriet Potter?"

A man sitting at the bar had turned to stare at them.

Harry tugged Hagrid's hand, mentally urging him onward. She didn't want to meet-and-greet anyone else today. But Hagrid had stopped.

"Professor Quirrel. Didn' think I'd see yer round here."

The man, Quirrel, young and pale, built like a scarecrow, stood from his stool. "J-just having a drink b-before term s-starts," he said tremulously.

He wore an odd, purple turban, incongruous beside his European features and his wizard robes. But… it wasn't like Harry hadn't seen a dozen weirder looking people in the alley alone.

"I-is this r-really Harriet Potter?" Quirrel asked.

"'Arry and I were just finishing school shopping." Hagrid patted her shoulder, nudging her forward. "'Arry, this is Professor Quirrel. He'll be teaching Muggle- er, 'scuse me, Quirrel. He'll be teaching Defense agains' the Dark Arts this year at Hogwarts."

"I'm l-looking forward to t-teaching you, Miss Potter." Quirrel held out a hand.

Dutifully, Harry reached out.

He had very long fingers. Thin. Like a spider.

Their hands touched.

Something in her magic shifted. A lurch behind her ribs, on her forehead, at the base of her spine, something stirring, and-

Harry drew back, gasping, her hand halfway to her forehead by the time she realized the feeling was gone.

"'Arry?" Hagrid rumbled. "Yer okay?"

She blinked.

Quirrel was pressed against the bar, his eyes wide, hand still outstretched.

"It- it was nothing," Harry muttered. "Just a bit of magic."

"It's been a long day," Hagrid added, as though that explained things. And then he was drawing her away again, maybe a little more quickly than before.

Behind her, the tall man moved, his robes rustling like snakeskin.

"I'm looking forward to teaching you, Harry Potter."


XXX


Hagrid flooed her home via Mrs. Figgs' fireplace. That, in itself, was a revelation. But it was a discovery for another day. Harry just nodded tiredly at her neighbor, hefted her things, and headed for Privet Drive.

She entered just long enough to stow her things in Dudley's spare- her new room, and then she was off, Blackscale around her neck, headed back to the forest.

There was quiet there, and time to think.

XXX

XXX

In retrospect, this is a fairly standard Diagon Alley sequence. I'd like to have changed things up a bit more, but I think the tone is sufficiently different enough that it's bearable. The most salient points are probably how Harry reacts to what's going on around her, and how quickly dreams of importance and fame sour. I'm pleased with that much.

Oh, and Quirrel's there too.

 

[Ziel]

There were almost three weeks between her visit to Diagon Alley and the start of term. She'd been ditching the Dursleys for the forest nearly every day already, and it swiftly became daily.

There was a nauseous tension in the house now. Dudley skittering from the room like a cockroach when she entered. Aunt Petunia chewing her lip, biting back words that she no longer dared to say. Uncle Vernon, impotent and red-faced, itching to shout or lay hand on her, held back only by his wife's hissed warnings.

Harry woke, made breakfast, did the few chores they still pushed her way, and then set off into the neighborhood. Most days she went to the woods, but she'd been exploring a bit more, venturing in other directions to look for other woody areas.

There was an entire world outside of Privet Drive, and she was itching to see it.

XXX

Dry leaves crackled beneath her. She was spread-eagle on the forest floor, hair fanned out, skin patterned with canopy shade. It was quiet in the center of the woods, the noise of the motorway a dull, distant thing, easily ignored.

"Where was I?"

"The ogres," Blackscale said, draped across her belly like a belt.

"And then- ah, the prince got carried off by the three ogres, and the brave lady knight had to set out to save him. She-"

A little grass snake coiled in the hollow of her collarbone shifted."Are there any snakes in this story?"

"Speaker, may I sun myself with you as well?" A black snake took advantage of the interruption to poke his nose into her cheek.

"Ah- alright then," Harry said. She paused, squinting for a moment to remember where she'd been. "The lady knight saddled her horse and coiled her trusty snake companion around her shoulders." Another pause for the serpents to hiss their approval, and then she continued.

"They journeyed long and hard, passing into the far north, where..."

She lay in the shade, her limbs heavy beneath a score of scaled bodies, and spoke until her jaw ached. One by one, all the snakes in the wood came to hear her. They settled on and around her, drowsing in her body heat and the sound of her voice. When she finished one story, they'd call out suggestions- most were snake related, but there were a few that weren't.

They wanted to hear her, to be in her presence. They stared, but there was a different weight to it, not the furious eyes of her relatives, and none of them skittered away when she came.

It was almost like having friends.

XXX

'Add two drops of armadillo bile, stir counter-clockwise once, and then add one dash of ground snake fangs.'

Harry frowned. "How do you suppose they gather those?"

Blackscale, currently swollen and indolent, digesting a mouse, just twitched his tail in response.

"Snake fangs, I mean. You- you don't think they harm the snakes, do you?" She rifled the pages of her potions text to the very back, scanning the glossary for anything else in that vein.

"Crushed claw of cat, bat wings, beetle eyes… This is horrible. I guess they could use magic, but still."

She spent the rest of the day marking out recipes that used animal components, and the next cross-checking her potion ingredients guide for things that could be possible substitutes. It didn't really go well. She didn't understand half the potion terms, and it kept throwing in mentions of 'symbolic value' and 'ritual weight' that she didn't grok at all, beyond that they were likely what she was looking for, if only she understood.

It wasn't like she was going to become one of those 'animal-loving tree-huggers' that Uncle Vernon occasionally ranted about, but it was hard to think of hurting an animal when she could talk to them. If there were parselmouths, then surely there had to be wizards who could talk to dogs or bats or whatever. She wouldn't be okay if one of the ingredients was 'tongue of Harry,' so why would a serpent be any different?

XXX

Her scar itched.

It had never done that before that she could remember, but it was now. When had that started? When she first used magic, maybe? Or was it when she met the professor in the Leaky Cauldron?

It itched, and that night she dreamed.

XXX

It itched, and in her dream, she reached up. Fingertips brushed inflamed skin. There was a flash of pain and she drew away, only for the skin to come away with her hand, scraps of papery flesh sticking to her fingers like it had been glued there.

The open space on her forehead tingled, cool air against raw skin.

Her hands moved up again. They were long and thin, someone else's, and not under her control anymore.

Pulled.

Skin peeled away. A long strip down her arm.

And there wasn't flesh underneath it, but scales. Glistening black, and new.

She wasn't a witch at all, but a vast serpent wearing a human skin. The Dursleys had always known something was off, because there was, and if everyone said something about her, then mustn't it be true? It-

"Freak."

"An odd boy."

-dug at something deep within her. A secret thought that maybe she was a freak after all. And-

"Get up, Tom."

"Go to your room. No one wants you here.

"Get up, you lazy little bastard! Get-"

"-up!"

A hand against her door and Aunt Petunia's shrill voice.

Harry woke. Blackscale brushed by her wrist and she jumped, a tiny yip escaping her throat before reality reasserted itself.

She blinked once, slowly, shook her head, and got out of bed.

Her scar itched.

XXX

August 31st ended in soft twilight.

Harry leaned against a fallen log at the edge of a small clearing she frequented. Her textbooks were scattered around her, most propped open on rocks. It was too dark to read them now, but the wind would occasionally rustle their pages, and the sound was soothing.

Blackscale, more susceptible to the chilly evening than she, had burrowed under her shirt and coiled up there, smooth scales against her skin. She didn't think he was asleep, but he was still, and she had stopped trying to bother him with conversation when it began getting dark.

The sky turned blue, purple, and then black. There were no stars in Privet Drive. There was too much ambient light from the houses and street lights.

Harry sighed, slumping down against the log a bit more. That was the problem with Privet Drive though, wasn't it?

Too much everything, and not enough room for anything else. No room for things that didn't fit, or people like her. It was like the Dursleys and other, Dursley-ish people had built it for that purpose. Privet Drive was a snakeskin. Something they had layered over the earth so that they could forget it was there. A perfect little world, where there was nothing bad or frightening or disorderly.

Even if the forest was nice, it was still just another part of Surrey. Just a small grove, poking up through the cracks in an artificial landscape. It was a refuge, but it was no real home for her.

She didn't belong here. And tomorrow, she'd be leaving.

There was a whole wide world out there beyond the tiny box that was Privet Drive.

Slowly, she raised her palm to the sky.

Her magic, more familiar now, though still strange, stirred inside her. She'd been practicing, and though she couldn't manage any of the fancier spells in her books that seemed designed for wands, she could do this.

A tiny light, no bigger than a firefly blinked into existence above her. And then another. And another. A dozen. Two score. Countless minuscule points of light bloomed in the canopy.

Harry gritted her teeth, willing a change, and then-

They began to shift. Colors appeared. Lights flashing from hue to hue, all moving in gentle patterns like a school of fish, color rippling down the mass in waves.

She released her hold on it, and the lights lingered, still drifting hypnotically around the top of the clearing.

Harry lay back against the log, eyes reflecting her replacement stars.

The night was quiet, seeming to hold its breath for her. And there, alone in the trees but for a snake, Harry Potter felt like a witch for the first time.

XXX

XXX

A slightly episodic chapter, but nice for the transitionary stuff of a Harry who actually cracks a book before day 1, and some more stuff just being a kid exploring her new powers. This was originally a shorter sequence that was the first part of a chapter covering Kings Cross, the Train, Sorting, and Hogwarts, but the Privet Drive bits are wildly different in tone and focus, so I decided to just put it out as a short chapter. Ended up adding the dream bit and reworking the star sequence, but I'm pleased with how it turned out.

Some nice introspective moments, even if I would like to get things moving, it's nice to take things slow once in a while. There'll be plenty next time, and the next chapter is 90% done.

 

[Ziel]

4

September 1st.

Blackscale had woken her before dawn, announcing that he needed to shed. Even now, he was curled in the bottom of her backpack, shifting rhythmically as he worked his old skin off. His movements pressed against the small of her back, and Harry moved faster with each one, dragging her trunk through Kings Cross, her nerves about school blending with her need to get to the train so she could see to him.

Hagrid had told her- it, where was it? Platform Eight. Nine. And, there was Ten, so it had to be… there. A wall you could walk through. Nothing to it. Just had to get up the nerve. And hope that he hadn't been having her on.

She was still trying to screw up her courage- there were a couple of walls between the platforms and she wasn't sure which one, when an entire family of red-heads passed her.

They vanished into a wall to the left of the one she was eyeing.

"Well then."

Any thoughts about it being a bloody stupid way to catch a train disappeared the instant she saw the Hogwarts Express, a scarlet steam engine surrounded by hundreds of witches and wizards.

There were men and women in red robes the same shade as the train scattered about the platform, directing travelers. After a moment to reason that it was easier to ask rather than get yelled at for not asking, Harry approached one.

The man had just smiled. "First year, is it?" And then he'd flicked his wand and levitated her trunk onto the train without a backwards glance.

They picked a compartment at random – there were two other students already there. Both boys, one her age, the other a little older.

XXX

This wasn't going to work.

The boys, after introducing themselves, had asked for her name.

Harry gave it.

And they hadn't stopped gawking at her.

Blackscale was shifting unhappily in her bag, hissing at her to let him out so he could finish molting.

"So, do you really have a scar?" one of the boys asked.

"Yeah, yeah! My da said You-Know-Who finally died that day, and-"

She tuned them out.

Stood up.

"I'm going for a walk."

XXX

Trunk bumping along behind her, Harry made her way down the train. She was just crossing into the next car when the train lurched and began moving.

She needed an empty compartment. Somewhere without staring eyes and thoughtless questions. Blackscale needed quiet, and so did she.

XXX

Full. Full. Full. Empty- wait- the girl had just been rummaging under her seat. She came out with a large calico. Harry grimaced at the sight and clutched her bag a little tighter.

Full. Full.

Occupied.

Next car.

She stopped.

It wasn't a passenger car, this one. Now that she paid attention, she thought it might actually be the last car on the train altogether. A baggage car, full to the brim with trunks and luggage of all varieties.

It was also completely and totally uninhabited.

XXX

There was some kind of magic on the trunks. Despite being stacked to the ceiling, none seemed to be under any real pressure- there was a glass aquarium holding up a stack near the door without a single crack. And none of the stacks had so much as tilted, even though the train was bumping and rattling along.

It smelled musty, all dust and old wood, but it was quiet and dark.

Harry burrowed down between two of the stacks, hidden by a third from the main aisle, and opened her bag.

Blackscale was out in a heartbeat, half his body milky-white where the scales were peeling away.

"Nearly there," he said softly, voice strained with the effort of shedding.

"Anything I can do?"

"Tug where I tell you."

XXX

"Guess that answers my question about where snake fangs come from," Harry mused.

She was curled up in her trunk fort, back facing out, shielding her friend. Blackscale was sprawled and silent inside the circle of her body.

It reminded her a little of being back in the cupboard, though there'd never been this much light in there, and there were no doors to hold her in here.

Her fingertips found his husk, dry as old leaves, and as fragile. She lifted it like spun glass, and set inside her trunk, cushioned by a set of robes.

His new scales were a fresh, inky black, totally untarnished by wear or damage.

He was beautiful.

"I wish I could do that," she said softly. They were idle words, and it was only as she said them that she realized they were true.

To just… shed it all away. No more scrawny little Harriet who slept in a cupboard. No more scraped knees from running from Dudley, or split knuckles from working in the garden.

No more bloody scar.

Shed everything Harriet Potter and just be herself. With none of the baggage that Harry Potter carried. No lousy relatives, and no dead parents. Because those… those were infinitely worse than just being an unwanted orphan. To know that she'd had parents, and they'd been murdered.

That would be a girl who could sit anywhere on the train and not be gaped at like a zoo animal. No one would crow at how famous she was for having dead parents. She could have friends, and not have to worry that she'd simply replaced one husk- her cousin's hand-me-downs, for another, the skin of Harriet Potter, the Girl-Who-Lived.

She stewed over it a long time, the thoughts circling and winding in her head, biting their tail and repeating. She had no answers by the time the gentle rocking of the train lulled her to sleep.

XXX

The sound of the door opening woke her. There was a rush of wind and noise, and then it closed once more. Heeled footsteps tapped against the wood.

Harry froze where she lay.

The boys had come to steal her things again. The matron would always pretend she didn't know anything, but she smirked behind her fingers, that cow, but-

Harry blinked, then shook her head. The last dregs of the dream she'd been having drifted away.

The footsteps crossed the car, overlaid by an odd, rolling sound, like someone was moving a trunk on casters.

The steps stopped.

"Come on out, dearie," a woman called.

Harry stayed still. She was concealed behind trunks. How had the woman noticed her?

"I've walked this train long enough to know when someone's in need of a bite. Come on out and have something off the trolley. I've got Cauldron cakes, Bertie Bott's Beans, licorice wands… something for everyone."

Slowly, Harry turned over, moving so as not to make any noise. Beneath her, Blackscale caught her eye.

He nodded, and slithered away between the stacks, vanishing to lie in wait.

Harry crept over a few inches until she could peer through a gap in the towering trunks.

A plump witch in an apron and mobcap beamed back at her, immediately on the other side of the stack.

"Hullo there," the woman said.

Harry squeaked.

XXX

Once they got past the initial fright, it turned out that the woman – "Agatha Sweetley, though you can call me Aggie if you feel like it," did in fact have candy, and was not like all the other adults with candy her relatives had always forewarned Dudley about.

Cauldron Cakes were delicious, if Harry did say so herself.

XXX

"So," Agatha said, sitting down on a trunk. "What's got you all holed up in here? You- you have a name, by the way? Troublesome, just calling you 'you' all the while.""

Harry chewed thoughtfully, using the time it took to finish her chocolate frog to find the words she needed.

An image flashed through her head: Agatha's face lighting up, her eyes going wide and flicking up to Harry's brow, just like everyone else's had.

Another scene followed that one: the crowd in the Leaky Cauldron. Grown men and women queuing up to meet her and shake her hand, all saying her name with the kind of reverence usually reserved for the queen.

She imagined those things.

And then she lied.

"Riddle. My name is ah- Harriet Riddle."

XXX

The conversation that followed was a reprieve.

Harry gave a vague excuse about being in the car to look for her pet- Blackscale was sniffing around an empty owl cage, but Agatha didn't know that.

The older witch bought it. The awkward mood broke, and Harry found herself having a long, in-depth conversation with Agatha about wizarding candy. Her own experiences with muggle candy were rather limited, but the wizard equivalents sounded downright fascinating.

That someone would put all this effort into making magical candy. Was there magic food as well?

The floodgates opened, and Harry found herself for the first time, really beginning to imagine all the possibilities. There may well be a magical version of anything she could think of. They didn't have cars, but- but were there magical socks, and she'd seen magical snakes, and-

It. Was. Amazing.

And all of it was underscored with the simple pleasure of just being a face in the crowd. No gawking, no gaping, and no bowing and scraping. It was the first conversation she'd had with a person since she talked to Hagrid, and that had been weeks ago.

By the time she said her goodbyes to Aggie, Harry had come to a conclusion:

She wasn't going to be Harry Potter any longer.

XXX

Blackscale rejoined her, and Harry crawled back into their burrow.

"Did the food witch have anything for me?" Blackscale asked.

Harry eyed her handful of unicorn lollis. "I don't think so."

"I'm going to hunt then," he said. "Shedding is always tiring."

"Alright. Call me if you need anything. And be careful- we're on a train. I don't want you falling off."

"I won't go far." His tongue flicked out. "There is prey in here with us."

Harry let him slide off into the stacks again before she dug out some of her books. No telling how long the train ride was, and this book on how the stars and moon affected plants was really interesting.

She flicked to the chapter she'd dog-eared, and had just begun reading when a word bubbled up to her.

Riddle.

Why that surname? It sounded familiar, like she'd read it somewhere and just forgotten.

It kind of fit though. Riddle. Sort of a nod that her name was a mystery.

"Harriet Riddle," she whispered.

It had a good sound to it. Maybe… once Blackscale returned, she could go back into the passenger cars and see if she had more luck making friends with her new name.

She was smiling as she turned the page.

XXX

"I have hunted well. Do you want any?"

Harry examined the prey Blackscale had dragged back. It was a fat toad, warty sides heaving and eyes bulging as the adder's venom finished it off.

"Sorry," she said to the toad. And to Blackscale: "It's all yours."

"I will wait until it dies. When the poison on its skin dries, then I shall feed."

She forced herself to watch as the toad twitched, croaked feebly, and then went still.

Snakes had to eat. Circle of life and all that. She wouldn't shame the toad's sacrifice by looking away and pretending it wasn't dead.

Didn't mean she didn't cry a little bit.

XXX

It was nearly an hour after that when the train door opened once again.

Harry perked up, wondering if Aggie had come back. She scooted to the side of their hideaway, stepping carefully over Blackscale, who was slowly swallowing the toad whole.

Two sets of footsteps entered this time.

"I don't think he could have gotten in here," a girl said.

"He's- Trevor is slippery. He always gets into places," a boy answered. He sounded worried. "I don't want him to fall off the train."

Harry stiffened. She'd been afraid of Blackscale falling, could it have happened to someone else's pet?

"Trevor, oh Trevor," the boy called, slowly walking down the train. "Come out, Trevor."

After a moment, the girl copied him. She seemed to be moving more slowly; Harry caught a glimpse of her through the stacks, the girl bending to peer behind a crate.

It didn't take long to come to a decision.

Harry slipped out from her spot. "Excuse me?"

The boy and girl turned.

"Are you looking for someone?"

The boy, round-faced, his hair mussed like he'd been running his fingers through it, dashed over to her. "We are! I've lost my toad, Trevor."

XXX

Uncle Vernon had never struck her, never more than a slap at least, but she'd often imagined the way his meaty fists might feel. The impact in her gut in that second was comparable.

Harry gasped.

A cold, prickling feeling crawled up her spine and down her throat, tongue frozen and stupid in her mouth.

The boy and girl were still talking to her, the girl moreso, all hands and gestures.

Harry nodded, seeming in slow-motion.

Blackscale was near, a meter at most, divided only by a mound of baggage. He was gorged, his throat packed with toad.

Something in her brain clicked, analyzing the situation with a sterile, detached eye.

There were two options.

She could tell the boy- Neville, the girl had just called him, could tell him the truth.

That path opened up before her, clear as day. He would be angry. Horrified. Wizards didn't like parseltongue, Hagrid had said. It wouldn't matter if she was Harriet Riddle here; that name would be tainted just as badly as Potter, if in a different way. Harriet Riddle, snake-girl. Weirdo. Primary school all over again. Shunned. Everything ruined before she even made it to school, because children never forgot this kind of thing.

The other path.

Lie.

Was that any different than lying about her name? Something untrue now that she could tell the truth about in the future. Time for Neville to get over his toad, and for Harry to find him a new one. To make amends. And in the mean time, she'd have to live with the guilt, carry it with her like another scar. Complicity. A hidden murder.

XXX


"I haven't seen him."


XXX

Hermione and Neville said their goodbyes.

"You're sure you wouldn't like to come?" Hermione asked. "There's all sorts of interesting things on this train. I can't imagine the baggage car is much fun."

"I'm sure," Harry said. She smiled stiffly.

The idea of searching alongside them, of perpetuating this lie… it made her sick.

Her stomach roiled.

The duo turned and exited the car, beginning their search back up the Express.

Harry lasted just until the door shut behind them. She spun around and ran for the far side of the car. Bursting through the door onto the tiny platform at the back of the car, iron railing fencing it in.

She hit the railing and heaved. Chunks of wizarding candy splattered the train tracks. Her eyes watered, bile and food clogging her sinuses, and she heaved again, convulsively now.

And again.

Again.

She retched, and drew nothing but a clenching pain in her ribs and a thin trickle of water.

Sagging backward, her back hitting the door. The urge to vomit left her, replaced with an angry emptiness.

The guilt hadn't diminished at all.

XXX

Arrival.

Itchy and uncomfortable in her new robes, Blackscale a leaden weight around her neck. She wasn't angry at him. He was just being a snake.

She was the one who should have known better. The letter had said so, hadn't it? She'd read it enough to know it by heart. 'Cats, rats, and toads.' Why else would there be a random toad on a train?

"Firs' years over here! Firs' years, with me!"

Harry craned her neck to smile up at him. "Hey, Hagrid. Can I talk to you about something? Later, I mean?"

"Course yer can."

The dustbin-lid sized hand not holding a lantern came down to pat her head.

XXX

A fleet of little boats streaming across the lake, waves spreading out behind them. And above, a castle big enough to fill the sky, ten-thousand lights warm and waiting.

As one, the first-years fell silent.

XXX

Professor McGonagall was a far cry from Hagrid. Stern and aged, an old oak to his mossy redwood. She paced up the line of new students, voice raised for all to hear.

"You will be called up by name. Go to the front of the hall, put on the Sorting Hat, and it will choose where you belong. Take it off, then go to your table. From this moment on, you are Hogwarts students. Your House is your home for the next seven years. Your actions reflect on it. That is a thousand years of tradition to live up to. Do not let it down."

She passed Harry with barely a glance, but Harry followed her, catching up just as the witch reached the door.

"Ma'am? Ah- Professor?"

McGonagall turned, one severe eyebrow raised.

Harry bit her lip. "I was wondering- you said you'd be calling us by name."

"Of course, Miss Potter."

"Could you..." She swallowed. McGonagall looked as rigid as iron. This was a waste of time. "Could you call me under another name?"

That sharp eyebrow rose a little higher.

"Because- everyone so far just wanted to meet Harriet Potter. They only care because I'm famous. I want people to get to know me."

A pause. McGongall turned slowly, giving Harry her full attention for the first time. "You have your mother's eyes."

Harry blinked, not understanding.

"I taught her, in her time here," McGonagall added. She spoke slowly, the words a burden on her. "She desired something similar. To be seen for herself, rather than her blood status. It was something she had to confront eventually, all the same. This charade won't last, you understand that, don't you, Miss Potter?"

"Yes, Professor," Harry said, wilting.

McGonagall turned to continue into the hall beyond, only to pause in the doorway.

"What name did you have in mind?"

XXX

The Great Hall lived up to its name. A cathedral-sized room lit by innumerable floating candles. Harry kept her gaze up, scanning the vaulted ceiling. ("Enchanted!" Hermione whispered down the line). They were far from the city and all its light pollution, and the stars were amazing.

Harry continued looking up, steadily ignoring the hundreds of watchful students in the hall, breaking her focus only to clap when the students she'd met were sorted.

Gryffindor for Hermione and Neville. The House of the brave.

Braver than her, for sure.

She hadn't really given which house she wanted much thought. A few of her books had mentioned the Houses, but never in much detail. They were a given. Something that witches and wizards were just assumed to know about.

"Patil, Parvati!" A dark-skinned girl went to Gryffindor. The girl immediately after had to be her sister- probably a twin. Ravenclaw for her.

Harry tensed. Potter wasn't far after Patil. Would McGonagall go through with it?

"Pickering, Adam!"

Her spine like a bowstring, taut and waiting. Blackscale sensed her agitation and coiled inward, whether to prepare to strike at a threat, or to comfort her with his presence, Harry couldn't tell.

"Prescott, Gladys!"

Relief. Harry unknotted, exhaling through her teeth.

She was just beginning to grow giddy when it happened-

"Riddle, Harriet!"

She turned.

The hall was already filled with whispers. Students murmuring to each other about prospective sortings, or just catching up with friends after the summer. It seemed to grow greater as she stepped forward though. A dull roar of hissed talk. The weight of their eyes on her suddenly ten-fold.

Harry kept her eyes on the flagged floor in front of her. A stool appeared ahead, holding a ragged looking hat.

She lifted it. Sat.

Put it on.

XXX

"Interesting. Interesting. Where to put you, I wonder? No desire for fame, I see in you. A shame, for fame is something you will live with."

What did she want?

She wanted to be off this bloody stool, not stood up in front of the entire school like some kind of display.

"I see. Definitely not suited for that, then. You have a lot of desire, but… little ambition. No drive for power, child? No need to leave those humble beginnings behind?"

No. Yes.

Those weren't the same things.

"You've endured much. It takes bravery to do so."

She wasn't brave. Bravery would be standing up to the Dursleys. Or telling the truth to Longbottom, Neville, who had looked a little lost when he was sorted, like he was missing a friend.

"What do you desire, then?"

Quiet. Softness. Her forest. Mornings with Blackscale, learning about the land. Or like she'd desired on the train, what she'd really wanted. A couple of close friends. People who knew Harry, but not Potter. A place for her. For what few friends she had. Power just meant more fame. More attention. And if the Dursleys had taught her nothing else, it was that attention only brought trouble.

Somewhere safe.

A change- the hat musing to itself.

"I could send you to Hufflepuff. They welcome all. You would find yourself a home there. But do you prefer safety itself, or what that safety brings, Harriet Potter?"

She blinked beneath the hat.

What?

"The chick must break out of its shell to see the world, child. Yes, yes..." The hat paused, seeming to draw breath. "Better be… RAVENCLAW!"

XXX

The blue-bannered table had been reserved so far, clapping for new arrivals. Even that scattered applause was a bit much, as Harry set the hat back down on the stool and made her way over, face slowly growing hot.

Someone pushed out a seat for her, and she dropped into it.

XXX

"What's this?" And that was all the warning she had before Blackscale dropped out of her hair and onto the table.

The Ravenclaws around her, who were only just beginning to dig in, and were finally ignoring her for a moment, all looked.

A girl squealed. A boy drew back, choking on a mouthful of sprouts.

"I'm a parselmouth," Harry said. She was going to have to do this a lot, wasn't she?

Blackscale, now nosing through her plate, barely looked up at her. "What a strange bunch of food. Where's the mice? Or the pig meat you always give me?"

"How are you even hungry?" Harry hissed at him, suddenly bitter over the reasons why.

"I'm not. Just curious."

"Honestly!" she said to him, exasperated. "His name is Blackscale," she added to the people around her, all of whom were staring now.

The boy sitting across from her, who had pushed his seat all the way back from the table, nodded slowly. "Safe, is he?"

"He rode all the way up in my robes. He's safe."

An older girl just down the table wearing a prefect's badge leaned in. "Leave Riddle alone. We'll have time to talk about her familiar later. Riddle, pass me the gravy please? And no snakes on the table."

XXX

She'd just finished her goulash when something made her look up. It was… instinct. A vague sense of being watched. It should be impossible to really tell in a hall full of hundreds, but she could.

Professor Quirrel sat at the staff table, turned in his chair to speak to a dark-haired man at his left.

Quirrel wasn't looking at her, but she was almost sure he had been.

Something flickered in her magic. Not the all-encompassing blanket of Hogwart's magic, or the wildness of the lands outside. This was visceral. An odd sort of leap in her belly. A quickening of her heart. Her scar prickling.

And a sudden sense of something. The same impulse that had let her find her magic in the first place. If she just reached out and… and did something, it would…

"Riddle. Hey, Riddle, what're you looking at?"

Harry blinked slowly. "What?"

Someone tugged her sleeve. Prefect Clearwater was leaning over to reach her.

"Sit down, please."

Harry sat.

XXX

Dinner ended with a few parting words from Dumbledore. Some nonsense, and some foreboding.

A corridor on the third floor. A forbidden forest. What did that mean? Having all that land out there and not being able to use it made Harry itch.

They finished with the Hogwart's School Song.

Harry realized two things about Ravenclaw: Very few of them could sing. And they were close enough to the Gryffindor table that no one could hear them anyway.

XXX

All these moving staircases and not one of them actually moved upward? Harry didn't usually need an escalator, but it seemed like they just kept going up.

Clearwater, who was leading the pack of new Ravenclaws, just kept saying "A little bit further," directing them up endless flights of stairs and through long, torchlit corridors.

Harry wanted to stop and take in the scenery. Hogwart's interior was filled with life. Paintings that moved. Suits of armor, some mundane, some so fantastic it looked like it belonged in a movie. Marble pillars in alcove that held glowing, rainbow-hued tablets. And above it all, a constant, underlying sense of magic.

It was like her first brushes with it in the forest. That river of warmth and life just waiting to be tapped behind her heart. And Hogwarts felt like that, but moreso, like sinking into the bloodstream of an infinitely vaster creature.

Her own magic tingled, and for the first time in a long day, Harry found herself really smiling, her fingertips twitching at just how wonderful it all was.

XXX

Ravenclaw Tower wasn't what she'd expected. She wasn't sure what she'd expected, but the tall, bookshelved common room, full of desks and chairs, but ringed with arched windows and blue hangings, was an odd mix of library and villa. It was… airy. The sun during the day must be blinding.

Not that she was complaining. Now that she was here, it was sinking in. Magic wasn't just real, it was- it was this, and she was going to be living here. Hogwarts. Not the Dursleys.

And she was itching to dig into those shelves and find out just how much magic there was in the world.

XXX

The dorm itself was the tower above the common room. A curving flight of steps led to the second story and continued on upward, but the first-year rooms ringed the landing.

Two girls she'd met at dinner, Patil and Fawcett, joined her on the landing, followed shortly after by a small herd of others. Sue Li, Lisa Turpin, Mandy Brocklehurst, and Isobel MacDougel rounded out the year, with Clearwater stopping by to point out a few features of their rooms.

"Beds are assigned alphabetically. If you don't like your room, work it out among yourselves. Watercloset is this door here. Showers don't run out of hot water, but this is a big year, and there's only… three stalls, I think, so you might want to work out a schedule. Enter your room, tap the lock with your wand, and say your name. That keys it to you. Anything you want to keep private, you leave in there. Any questions?"

"Aye," MacDougel said. "Is there any easier way to get up here? The stairs are murder."

Clearwater smiled darkly. "No one ever said Ravenclaw didn't value hard work."

XXX

Her room. The thought took a moment to sink in, and it wasn't really clicking yet.

Her room.

And not in the way she'd had a room at Privet Drive. That had been just another one of Dudley's hand-me-downs.

This was hers. It had a lock and a door and a window. Harry stood on tiptoe to peer out.

It faced the lake, a sweeping black mirror far below, glittering with reflected light from the castle.

She was too tired to unpack.

Instead, she shoved her trunk to one side, locked the door- and wasn't that novel, before slipping between the sheets. Her bed was narrow, but still far wider and more plush than Dudley's broken down old mattress.

"Tomorrow will be better," she whispered.

Blackscale curled up beside her pillow, tongue tickling her wrist.

His voice was the last thing she heard before sleep came, his hisses mingling with the sound of wind whirling around the tower.

"Tomorrow will be better."

XXX

XXX

Goodbye, fair Trevor, may flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.

This was almost a much more standard Hogwarts Express ride. My first draft, which is literally 95% done, had her bump into Ron, and end up sharing a compartment with Theo Nott and Ron. The boys bitch at each other. We get some nice Nott snark, and Ron shows why he's kind of a bro to Harry by standing up to her- complete with getting off a fan-fucking-tastic one-liner on Malfoy. Neville and Hermione enter, looking for Trevor. Hermione spots Harry reading a book she's read before, they talk. The two sit down. Everyone sort of talks, gets to know each other.

Hogwarts comes into sight for the first time on the train ride, and Harry muses about how far into the wilderness it is, and how she can feel the magic of the land to it. Gonna recycle that scene for probs next chapter.

When I summarize it like this... it sounds fucking dull. My favorite part was actually Ron, who gets a bunch of great lines, and I had a lot of fun writing. He's such a dickweed in most of canon that I wanted to try and have the good parts of him emphasized a bit more. He's an older brother, if only a little, and fem!Harry wouldn't trip his jealousy factor in quite the same way as regular.

I wasn't happy with that draft and completely rewrote the entire train ride. The Hogwarts section is largely the same.

I debated at length whether to have Harry tell the truth about Trevor or not. Having her tell the truth was... it didn't turn out too well. That's the kind of story route where she basically ends up a pariah. Not to mention that Dumbledore would be all over that shit, since to him it would look (reasonably so), like Tom Riddle 2.0 just came to Hogwarts. It was an unpleasant idea, and having her lie about it gives her a nice bit of opportunity for character development in making it up to Neville.

 

[Ziel]

5

The sun rose at exactly 6:23 on her first morning at Hogwarts. Harry knew this because that was the moment she woke, the first rays through her eastward window gold and blinding. A small, squishy, nagging part of her, somewhere down in her gut, urged her to get up, because the Dursleys would want their breakfast.

Harry ignored it. She resisted the urge to pull her window shade as well. Rising would break the moment.

Inhale. Then slow exhale, settling into her mattress, limbs growing boneless and soft, warming in the sunlight. Another deep down part, like a rod in her spine, was relaxing as well. A tension she hadn't even noticed was fading away.

She lay there, and for the first time in her life, luxuriated

XXX

Harry was drowsing by the time someone knocked on her door.

"Riddle, hey, Riddle. You up? Flitwick wants everyone downstairs in ten," the girl outside called. Harry hadn't quite matched name to voice, or even to face yet, but she thought it might be Turpin.

Harry stirred and stretched, arms reaching, her back popping. A low, satisfied groan escaped her before she managed to form actual words. "Ah- alright, thanks."

Turpin yelled an affirmative, and then thumped down the stairs, leaving Harry to get ready.

Where putting on her robes had been an ordeal the day before, like preparing for the curtain to rise on some daunting new task, now it was like… settling in. The new order of things. Robes and wand and a blue tie round her throat.

Harry tugged her hair back into a loose ponytail, wondering if she might do something more with it now that she… well, now that she could. She giggled at the thought. No Dursleys here to watch over her.

Blackscale, still dozy and warm from her sheets, got draped around her shoulders like a shawl.

She was dressed.

XXX

Professor Flitwick was a tiny man, barely chest-high even for Harry, who was the shortest girl in her year. They stood waiting in the common room until the last few boys trickled down, rubbing their eyes, and then he spoke.

Flitwick's voice wasn't as reedy as Harry had expected. It was, but he had a calm, confident tone that gave his words a heft that belied his stature. He held the entire year's attention without effort, laying down the ground rules and his expectations for new Ravenclaws.

"Collaboration is fine, but always give credit where it is due. Do not cheat."

"Intelligence is not wisdom. You will learn this."

And finally: "Never be afraid to ask for help. Hogwarts is your home, and your House is your family. Support them, and they will support you."

XXX

Flitwick concluded by passing out timetables and maps for all the new students, assigning one of the prefects that Harry hadn't met to watch over them.

"Miss Riddle, a word, if you please?"

Harry looked up from her timetable.

Flitwick was looking at her. He had been talking to her.

She swallowed. Did he… did he know about Trevor? Was she in trouble already?

"If you check your schedule," Flitwick said. "You will notice I've modified it with the changes you requested, and took the liberty of informing your other professors."

Harry glanced down at the page, frowned, and then looked up again.

Flitwick winked at her.

"Oh." Harry grinned at him. "That's- thank you, sir. That's a real relief."

"Happy to help." And then he leaned forward just a bit, his voice dropping. For her ears only. "I would suggest, Miss Riddle, that you tell any friends you make about these changes. It will be… easier, in the long run."

"I think that's… I don't know," Harry said slowly. Personally, she thought keeping the secret forever might be the better choice, but… he'd done her a favor. A real favor, with seemingly no strings attached.

"But I think I can try."

XXX

Flitwick's words stayed with her as she went down to breakfast. It hit her suddenly, as Harry was navigating one of the revolving staircases – was she dishonoring her parents' names by going around as Riddle?

Or would they understand?

She would never know.

XXX

Breakfast, and introductions. The ice had been broken somewhat by having spent the night, and Harry alternated bites of her eggs with speaking to her housemates. She didn't have much to say, really, and was having to carefully edit most of her history so as not to out herself as a Potter, or reveal the Dursleys.

MacDougel and Brocklehurst seemed to be bonding over both being Scots, and had roped Turpin into their conversation. Meanwhile, Patil and Fawcett, who Harry had briefly spoken with the night before, sat beside and across from her and discussed some kind of wizarding cultural event Harry didn't quite grasp. Something about Solstices, and the two comparing differences in how their families celebrated them.

Harry found herself listening more than talking, just trying to soak up all the myriad details of wizard life. Su Li, who sat at Harry's left elbow, and who was apparently a muggleborn, seemed to be doing much the same, but Harry was grateful to her- Li asked a lot of questions, most of which Harry had been wondering herself.

"Hey, Riddle."

She looked up from scrutinizing a platter of bacon. The idea of eating a creature was unappetizing. She wouldn't eat Blackscale, so how was a pig any different?

"Yeah?"

"You're a parselmouth, right?" Fawcett said, leaning forward. "Where'd you get it from?"

Harry frowned. "What?"

"Well, it's… you know," Fawcett said, gesturing vaguely with her hands. "It's dark. I heard Slytherin was one, and that he only got it cuz he bathed in the blood of a hundred snakes."

A few of the other girls started at that, and the hiss of whispers flashed around Harry.

"That's ridiculous," Patil interjected, scowling at Fawcett. "Parseltongue is a respected tradition in India, and it's well-known that it's a family trait. You inherit it, like being a metamorphmagus or a bone-singer."

"Oh." Harry found herself staring at the bacon again as she thought. Her appetite had gone away entirely at some point. "Well… my dad was a wizard, and I guess my mother was…" Aunt Petunia was a muggle, so… "A muggleborn. But they both died when I was little, so I grew up with my muggle relatives."

There was a break in the conversation as the other girls digested that fact.

"So she doesn't know," Li said thoughtfully. "Do wizards keep family registries?"

The implications to that sank home at once.

"Can… can we not?" Harry said, picking her words carefully. Her cover would fall apart instantly. And she honestly didn't care where her talent came from. Finding out would take all the magic out of it, like something that had made her special was just a quirk of genetics.

Another break in the conversation, this time with most of the other girls exchanging loaded glances that Harry didn't miss.

"It's still dark though. So Riddle's family is probably dark, aren't they?" Fawcett was leaning forward again, looking around at everyone for support. "We could look them up, I bet."

Something in her tone, a wheedling, giddy sort of excitement, was familiar. It was the same voice Dudley used when he said things like "Hey, Mum, look what she's doing now." The same that the girls in primary had used. "Hey, Potter, how's the folks?" "Potter, tomorrow is parent-teacher conferences- oh wait."

"Leave it alone, Fawcett. I didn't even know my parents, and I don't want to talk about it."

The other girl opened her mouth again, but her response was lost in the sudden bong of the school bell going off.

Breakfast was over.

XXX

The decision to explore was a sort of group-idea. All the first-year girls had drifted out of the Great Hall, but none really had anywhere to be. Someone had gotten the idea, and here they were.

Harry found herself ambling along at the back of the pack. Patil was leading the charge, her map in hand, seeming determined to document every inch of the castle before next period. Fawcett, now paired up with Turpin, was talking about something that didn't seem to involve Harry.

Harry was content to keep it that way and just take her time. Blackscale had shifted to rest his head on her shoulder, and was using his vantage to watch the castle.

"It's beautiful," Harry said to him, gesturing toward the courtyard they were currently walking through.

Hogwarts was a citadel. Clifftop above a vast lake, and high enough that even in the low courtyard, she would see down onto the grounds, and peer out over the forest.

There was a knot of tiny buildings a few miles away from it, but that was it.

Just the castle, the village, and the forest.

And so, so much forest. There were mountains to the north, but forest ran to the eastern horizon, miles and miles stretching as far as she could see. It filled the air with the scent of sap and pine, and the rustle of leaves.

Her little grove in Surrey felt pitifully insignificant all of a sudden. It was like they'd driven straight off the map of Britain and into somewhere beyond things like maps and names. A place where the land was still primeval, the forests untouched by man.

She was so focused on the scenery that she nearly walked into Turpin.

The other girls had stopped at a juncture and seemed to be debating on where to go next.

Patil wanted to go up and find the easiest way to Ravenclaw Tower. Li and Fawcett wanted to explore the dungeons- start low and work their way up. Brocklehurst wanted to go find the library, while MacDougel and Turpin were getting bored and wanted to just hang out.

Harry was okay with any of these but the last. Any new bit of Hogwarts was fascinating, and it was honestly overwhelming trying to think of what she wanted to see first.

Truthfully, though, she just didn't really want to speak up. The other girls minus Fawcett were alright with her thus far, and she'd somehow not blown her secret, so that was good. But Harry was waiting for the other shoe to drop. For another moment like Trevor to come along and ruin her day.

Back in Surrey, the boys had disliked her on principle, but the other girls… They'd always known she was different, and had homed in on it. The longer she spent around the other girls here, the sooner they'd find the cracks in her story, or ask a question she couldn't answer.

Even now, they were beginning to form groups. They had common ground. Things to talk about. Hobbies and interests. Shared history pre-Hogwarts.

Harry had none of those things. She had a decade of a cupboard, and solitude so profound that she'd named each and every spider under the stairs. No friends, no hobbies, no history to draw on. The Dursleys had worked so hard to quash the magic in her that they'd hammered down everything else that might make her a person.

The group split.

Harry drew a ragged breath, worrying her lip with a canine.

She turned and walked the other way.

XXX

The Hogwarts grounds were sprawling, sloping gently down until they reached the forest. The single cobbled road leading down to the gates divided the grass, and Harry followed it for a ways before veering off.

She had an idea in mind, but the specifics weren't there yet. It had been something she was planning to leave for a couple days, but now the need was overpowering. Something, anything, to get her mind off her peers.

The forest outskirts grew up around her, sparse trees replacing bushes, and dead leaves replacing grass. Harry stayed on the edge, walking west until the trees broke in front of her.

A small stream crossed the grove, coming off the lake to head deeper into the forest. The flow was stolid, the water muddy.

Harry smiled grimly and pulled off her shoes.

XXX

Blackscale was laughing at her.

She was shin-deep in the in the tributary, robes shucked, and her pants rolled up to mid-thigh. She was also bare-footing it across the squishy, unnameable muck that covered the creek bottom, utterly soaked, and had yet to catch a single toad.

"Hatchling, please, have mercy," Blackscale called from his perch on a flat lakeside rock. "If you wanted to hunt toads, you should have asked me." The sound he made was just sporadic hissing, but her power translated it as mocking, grating laughter.

"This is your fault in the first place!" she snapped back at him.

Something splished in the reeds ahead, and Harry lunged hard enough to splash water all up her front. The frog vanished into a tangle of roots. She hadn't even been close.

Harry used a few of the choice swear words she'd heard from Uncle Vernon.

She was just repositioning, moving down the marsh to find a better spot, when someone hailed her.

"'Arry, what're yer doing there?"

XXX

Hagrid was possibly the world's hairiest angel. Not only had he cleaned all the muck off her with a single flick of his umbrella, but also dried her as well.

They were walking slowly toward his cabin- Harry jogging to keep up, calling up to him to explain the situation.

"Toads? Thought those were outta style. Who'd yer say had a toad?" he said.

"Neville ah- I think it was Logbottom?"

"Longbottom." Hagrid hmm-ed at that. "Good family, them. Suppose I could maybe..." He squinted for a moment back at the lake, then made a motion with his umbrella like he was tugging something. "Accio toads."

There was a surprising amount of catharsis in watching twenty odd toads rocket out of the stream, all croaking madly. There was less in Harry getting bombarded with squishy amphibian missiles.

XXX

Tea and biscuits in Hagrid's cabin. It was… him, distilled into the form of a home. Everything handmade, all rough stone and weave and wood, bundles of herbs and flowers hanging from the mantle to dry. It smelled like fur and earth and of a faint musk she thought was Hagrid's sweat.

"'Arry Riddle, huh?" Hagrid took a gulp from his bucket-sized teacup at that. "Dunno if I get it, but I trust yer to do what's best for yerself. Hope yer not gonna take after that other Riddle."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He grimaced at her, his smile fading. "Got me expelled from Hogwarts. Sneaky bastard, he was."

Harry set down the rockcake she was chiseling apart with her fork. "Oh. I'm sorry, Hagrid. I didn't know."

"Not yer fault. He was always up to no good. Head Boy, and all that, but still running around with all those pureblood maniacs in Slytherin. No idea what happened to him though. Probably nothing good."

Harry found herself matching his grimace. "Sorry anyway. How about- why don't you just keep calling me Harry then?"

"'Arry it is." Hagrid paused for a moment before leaning in conspiratorially. "Enough of this doom and gloom. I know yer like magical beasts. I've got summat you might like to see."

XXX

The third floor corridor wasn't forbidden if you had staff with you, apparently.

"...you named it 'Fluffy,'" Harry said, craning her neck to try and take in the entirety of the enormous, three-headed dog filling the room.

"Ain't he grand?" Hagrid boomed, patting the dog's shoulder. "Fluffy, this is 'Arry. Say 'hullo' to her, will yer?"

Six feral eyes turned on her.

"Let 'im smell yer first."

She lifted a trembling hand. Could wizards regrow limbs?

A damp nose the size of a dinner plate pressed against her palm. The center head withdrew, with the left, then right taking their turns to sniff her.

Harry tried her best not to quiver. Magical beasts were fun to read about, but seeing them in person was a whole different animal.

Hot breath blew her hair back. All three heads were lowering toward her.

"Pat 'im," Hagrid called.

She tapped a hand against Fluffy's center head. His fur was thick enough for her hand to disappear into, but also layered, the stiff outer coat giving way for a downy underlayer. Before she realized it, she was raking her fingers through it.

Fluffy whined, then bumped his other heads at her hard enough to knock her flat.

She kept petting him.

Harry had imagined having a pet before. Blackscale was more of a friend, but this… this was… something. Viewed without the lens of mortal terror coloring her perceptions, Fluffy really was a sight to behold. He was constantly in motion, tail wagging, each head moving of its own accord. His shoulders were broader than a normal dog's, to house all three thickly-muscled necks, and he carried an odd sort of… aura around him.

Wizard magic was like light off a fire. It radiated. Or at least every wizard she'd seen thus far had done that. Her closest comparison was Hagrid. His magic stuck close to him. Fluffy wore a thin layer of magic like another coat of fur. It tingled around her fingers as she patted his bony head, warm and reassuring, proof against anything that might harm him.

His eyes closed, center, left, then right, and Fluffy lowered himself to the floor so she could better reach him. There was a trapdoor there, probably in case Fluffy needed to use the bathroom. Harry stepped over it and began scratching his ears.

XXX

There was something to be said for getting to sit on Hagrid's shoulders so she was tall enough to give Fluffy a belly rub.

XXX

Hagrid escorted her out.

Harry retrieved her bucket of toads, and Blackscale, who had adamantly refused to come in.

"Hagrid, that was…" She waved sticky, dog-slobbery hands, trying to illustrate the enormity of what had just happened.

He beamed at her. "Knew yer'd like that, and Fluffy really took a shine to yer. I got more like 'im. Not cereberuses, I mean, but other magical creatures. Yer ever wanna come see them, yer jus let me know."

She smiled at him. And then the purpose of her toad-bucket, and why she'd run into Hagrid in the first place resurfaced, floating out of her memory like something dislodging from the lake bottom.

Her smile dimmed. The diversion was over.

"Hagrid, can I ask you something?"

"Anythin'."

"It's just..." She trailed off. The words didn't want to come. Too many attempts, and too many failures. Every adult before Hagrid had been a disappointment.

Before Hagrid. Who had rescued her from the Dursleys. Taken her to Diagon Alley. Watched over her around a bunch of eerie goblins. Invited her to tea when she was hip-deep in swamp mud.

"How… how do I make friends?"

Hagrid squinted at her. "Whadyer mean, 'Arry?"

She half-expected him to smile and make a joke like 'ain't I yer friend?', but he didn't.

Instead, the giant man stopped walking. "You aren't 'aving trouble with the other kids, are yer? Nobody giving yer trouble?"

"No. Not really." She drew a deep breath and opened her mouth. What she meant to say was "It's complicated," but what came pouring out was all her anxieties over the other girls. That she didn't even know how to be a girl. That they had nothing in common. The only thing special about her was her name and that was only because her parents were dead. Hagrid was the first person she'd ever had a real conversation with. How was she supposed to make it seven years at Hogwarts when she was an impostor – someone so barely a person that even her name was fake.

The tears threatened to come, and she bit them back, only for them to choke her throat instead. Her words faltered.

And Hagrid knelt. His arms rose and encircled her.

"'S'all right, 'Arry." He drew her in, pressing her face to his woolly overcoat. "Shoulda known yer'd be worryin about all that. I think yer might be like me. Better with animals than people." One hand patted her back. "But that don' mean I don' have any friends. Jus' means a little more work."

She sniffled and pulled back just far enough to wipe her nose on her sleeve. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Hagrid released her from the hug. His dark eyes were shiny, his beard twitching. "'Arry, this kinda thing… I ain' good at. But right now, I want you ter take that bucket. Take it and give it ter that Longbottom boy. An'- an' then, you talk ter him. See if 'e wants ter be yer friend."

Harry gaped at him. Blackscale had killed Trevor! It was her fault. Hagrid didn't know that, but still. It was- it was perverse.

But then Hagrid sniffed loudly. "Go on then. I ain' good at these things, but I tried ter imagine what yer mum would've said. An' she woulda said summat like that."

And then they were both crying, and there was no way Harry could say no.

XXX

Hagrid let her borrow his handkerchief. It was floral-patterned, and smelled like dog biscuits.

XXX

Where exactly was the Gryffindor common room? Ravenclaw was a tower, so Harry assumed Gryffindor probably was also. But Hogwarts had about a thousand towers, and not all of them matched up the way they should have.

It took Harry a while to figure that out. That just because a tower was adjacent when she looked out the window didn't mean Hogwarts' corridors complied. She just wished she'd figured it out before she was hopelessly lost somewhere on the top floor.

Two boys turned the corner ahead. Red-headed, and twins. Both had red ties.

Harry sped up, lugging the heavy toad-bucket a little harder.

XXX

What the hell kind of names were 'Gred' and 'Forge?'

And 'Furry Mystery' wasn't a good nickname. Where were they even getting these from?

XXX

It took her most of the way across the seventh floor to get the joke.

Every day at Hogwarts better not be as exhausting as this one.

XXX

The twins, both talking intermittently, finishing the other's sentences, were just leading her down a winding side hallway when a portrait swung open.

Two more boys emerged. Another red head – he looked a bit like the twins, maybe a relative. And a short, round-faced boy.

Harry stuttered to a halt.

Neville Longbottom.

XXX

"IheardyoulostyourtoadsoI- IgotyousomenewonesI'mreallysorryIhopeit'sokay!"

Harry thrust the bucket of amphibians at Neville. Her guts were leaden, her throat a pinhole, her mouth the only part of her still moving.

He stared at her. At the bucket. At her again.

"Oh," Neville said.

"Yeah."

The third redhead was staring between the two of them while the twins snickered in the background.

Slowly, Neville reached out and took the bucket. "Thanks?" He hesitated for a moment, looking down at the squirming toads. "You didn't have to do this. Trevor always turns up eventually." Another pause, shorter this time. "I mean, it was nice, though."

Harry nodded. Not so much agreeing as just moving her head. Trevor wasn't going to turn up – she could feel the lump in Blackscale's abdomen pressing against her shoulder from where he was concealed under her robes. And thinking about that made her want to sick up into the bucket.

"Did you catch all these yourself?" the red-haired boy interjected. "You must be really quick. Bet you're a dab hand at Quidditch." He offered her a hand. "Ron Weasley, by the way."

She shook it. "Harry P- Riddle."

"You wanna come down to lunch with us?" Ron asked. "My older brother Charlie told me there's a shortcut all the way down to the first floor around here somewhere."

One of the twins snorted loudly. Ron glared at him.

Every bit of Harry, from the bedrock of her bones to the tip of the tiny hairs on her arms, was screaming at her to say no.

But Hagrid's handkerchief was a soft weight in her pocket, and she could still smell Fluffy's scent on her robes.

Harry nodded jerkily. "Yeah. Sure. That's… fine."

XXX


When are we getting to the fireworks factory? This chapter was originally basically this, then I went in and added her first day of classes, and it bogged down. Cut that, added a lot more Hagrid, and here we are. I swear we'll get to the central conflict next chapter.

As for this. It's not as gut-punchy as the last chapter, but we still run into some issues that Harry has. Like the fact that canon Harry is almost astonishingly well-developed considering his upbringing. Harriet is... less so. Girls are rather cut-throat, after all, and she has all that Trevor baggage weighing her down.

 

[Ziel]

6

"We've been by here twice now," Ron muttered, more to himself than to Harry or Neville.

They trailed two steps behind the red-haired boy; Harry uncomfortable with leading when she was lost also, and Neville seeming to feel similarly.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. Neville was doing the same. When he saw her, he turned away.

He was still lugging along the toad bucket.

Something twisted at the back of her throat.

Did he suspect?

Was he waiting for her to admit it?

She swallowed thickly. Making amends hadn't done nearly as much to make her feel better as she'd thought it would.

"Do- do you like Hogwarts so far?"

Her head jerked up. "Sorry?"

Neville repeated himself, stammering through the sentence while looking down at his hands.

"Oh," Harry said. They walked a few more meters before she had an answer. "It's… rather large, isn't it? And- ah..." She fumbled for something more. Something that wouldn't make her sound thick as a tree stump. "I like how the magic feels. Hogwarts', I mean."

Neville nodded.

Ahead, Ron was muttering what sounded like swears under his breath as he stood at the juncture of five different hallways, none of which looked familiar.

"It's the ley lines," Neville said softly. "I- I think."

"Oh." Harry nodded like she understood what those were.

Ron pointed down a hall. "I think that leads north. That's where we want to go, right?"

Judging by the sun shining in through a tall, leaded window to their left, north would likely be two to the right of that hall. Harry hesitated for a long moment before she voiced it.

Ron turned to look at her, glancing between her and Neville, who after a moment, nodded. "That's north."

The red-head beamed. "Nice. Remind me to ask Mum about the compass spell later. I know she's used it before."

They set off again.

XXX

The break in the conversation seemed to have also broken any momentum Harry and Neville had built up. They'd returned to not looking at each other, continuing on in Ron's wake.

"Third time through here," Ron grumbled, aiming a sulfurous glare at an elaborate tapestry of… Harry squinted. A man and some… giant man-creatures doing… ballet?

She was probably misunderstanding it.

"Where's that door go?" Neville said.

They all looked.

A door had appeared across from the wall-hanging, one that definitely hadn't been there a moment before.

XXX

The room beyond was impossibly large. Literally impossibly. The wall it was on was, judging by the numerous windows, an exterior one. And yet here it was.

It was also entirely empty besides an aperture in the floor. Stone slab stairs descended in a tight spiral.

"Knew there was a shortcut!" Ron crowed.

They lined up at the top of the steps.

"How do you know it's not just a store room or something?" Neville asked.

"Or just another tower?" added Harry, scowling at the idea.

Ron shrugged. "Charlie told me there was one, and he isn't the kind to take the piss. Besides, it's the only stairs we've seen in ages."

Harry was about to say something- agree with him, maybe, when something stopped her.

She turned, cocking her head.

A faint noise, just on the edge of hearing.

She began to notice the room's magic. It felt different than the background hum that the rest of the school had. This was more like… it began, and ended, but in different spots. Like there was magic missing, or out of sight, but all of it was connected somehow.

And beyond that… a sound

A whisper.

Harry craned her neck, trying to hear it over the sound of Neville and Ron's stair debate.

A man's voice, soft and distant, speaking without pause or breath.

Her skin prickled, all the little hairs rising in rows. An ache formed in the soft space beneath her tongue. Blackscale shifted, lifting his head from her robes, his coil a tugging leash around her throat.

The slap of rubber on stone cut through the voice. Ron and Neville were just starting down the stairs behind her.

She shivered once, shaking her head, and the feeling broke.

XXX

If she ever learned anything about magic, it was going to be how to make stairs move on their own.

Two-hundred-ninety-seven bloody stairs to go from the seventh floor to the first.

And the door vanished behind them, so there'd be no using that shortcut again.

Harry sighed, rubbing her temples in annoyance.

XXX

Harry sat gingerly at lunch. She didn't think there was any rule against people from other houses sitting with each other, but it still made her wary to stand out. One blue tie amidst a hundred red was attention-grabbing.

The Great Hall at lunch was loud. Eight-hundred people, most of them children, all talking, trying to be heard over their neighbors, who were trying to do the same in turn. The noise reverberated off the stone walls and the arched roof, magnifying it into a stadium's worth of sound.

Harry set down her half-sandwich to rub her eyes.

"You okay?" Ron asked, frowning around a mouthful of potato.

"Headache," she murmured.

Probably the stress of yesterday heaped onto the frustration of today. It had been simmering as a faint tension since she woke, but the lunchtime tumult seemed to have pushed it over the final hurdle into an actual headache.

"There's an infirmary if you're not feeling good. Fred and George always said the nurse is kind of a battleaxe, but that's just them, you know?"

"It's okay. Go on."

Ron cast another look at her before launching back into their discussion of some wizarding sport called 'quidditch.' She hadn't grasped much beyond it was played on flying broomstick, and wasn't that something to think on later, if only it didn't feel like someone was squeezing her skull in a vice.

"So the bludgers are like- they fly at players. Try to knock them around. Sort of a uh- wild card." Ron made a jabbing motion with his finger, looking expectantly at Harry.

She shrugged.

Ron grimaced. "I'm not explaining it right. It's like…" He picked up a grape from a platter, then a couple carrot sticks. The sticks got placed around the tabletop in a sort of formation. "If my goblet is the goal, and the carrots are chasers..."

He set down the grape and flicked it. The tiny fruit caromed off one carrot stick, ricocheting into the others before spinning off the table.

Harry put down her spoon with a snap. "Don't waste food."

She had never starved at the Dursleys, but when it came down to it, she'd never really been full until Blackscale taught her to forage. Food was food.

The red-head seemed to read some of her annoyance from her face. "Sorry." He paused. "Maybe we could just play a match later. The pitch is open if no one is practicing. Neville, you in?"

The other boy had just finished eating and was looking pensively at the toad bucket. "Huh? Oh, yeah, I guess. I'm not really any good though."

Across the table, a boy accidentally raked the tines of his fork across his plate. The scraping noise grated across Harry's teeth, visceral and unpleasant enough that she could feel it.

"I'm going up."

She rose, lifting her bag to her shoulder. The boys had both turned to look.

"You want us to come up with you?" Ron asked.

Harry frowned. "What?"

"To the infirmary," Neville added. "It- I mean if you're not feeling well."

"Oh. I was just going to bed." Harry managed a watery smile. "I've had enough wandering the halls for today."

She took a step back. Hesitated. "Thanks, though. For asking."

Ron shrugged. "See you tomorrow?"

That stopped her dead in her tracks. Did they actually want to see her again? After she'd run up with a bunch of toads like a lunatic, and then proceeded to stumble through every conversation they had. She'd fallen down stairs more gracefully than she'd navigated her time around Ron and Neville.

She licked dry lips. Swallowed. Squinted through the migraine. "Um. If you don't mind?"

"Cool." And with that, Ron turned back to his plate and began tugging a tray of brownies toward him.

Harry stared.

Neville shot her a smile before quickly glancing away.

Holy hell, she was going to get Hagrid a magical dog toy or something, because his advice had actually worked.

XXX

The disbelieving euphoria of maybe having made some friends lasted all the way up to the sixth floor.

The sixth floor because that was where she got lost and had to resort to asking portraits for directions. Because Hogwarts apparently had talking paintings. That was a fascinating issue for a time when her brain wasn't hammering against the inside of her skull.

The walk was long enough for doubt to creep in.

There had been tricks before. One of Dudley's friends she hadn't met trying to lure her in. Girls in school trying to put her down to make themselves look good.

Just… Ron and Neville had seemed so earnest.

She wanted them to be. Wanted to be their friend.

But if they were lying…

Harry groaned softly and massaged her forehead. The ache had spread to her scar, which was throbbing quietly, an off-tempo beat to the headache's rhythm.

Trying to figure the boys out was just making the pain worse.

"Tomorrow," she whispered.

If they still wanted to be her friend tomorrow. That was enough.

One day at a time.

XXX

Her vision was swimming by the time she made it up to her room. She locked the door, drew the curtains, and curled up under the covers.

Sleep was slow in coming. She was weary, but even parceling through the memories of her first day at Hogwarts wasn't enough to distract from the pounding.

In time with her heartbeat, it felt like. A nerve clenching and releasing.

And in tune with every release was a gnawing, scraping, empty feeling like hunger, only she'd just eaten. It was… as if the hollow darkness of the cupboard under the stairs had a feeling to it.

Blackscale slid across her pillow, his body ringing her head. His head paused beside hers.

"Did you hear it?"

"Hear what?"

Harry cracked an eyelid to look at him. A slitted yellow eye met hers.

"The Ouroboros."

"...the what?" Speaking sent another jolt through her. "Blackscale, can this wait? My head is splitting."

He hissed once, derisively, and then slithered off the bed.

His absence made falling asleep that much harder.

XXX

She dreamed of the room with the shortcut. Only, in the dream, the room was more. There were other layers to it, other rooms overlaid like onion skin.

One of those other layers was a room filled to the brim with objects. A sea of misbegotten furniture and torn clothing, like Dudley's second bedroom stretched to the size of a cathedral.

The whispers were back now, clearer than before. If she only just listened a little harder, she could make them out.

Far off in the room, something shining and silver toppled to land at the foot of an armoire.

XXX

She woke aching.

XXX

The first day of class.

Wonderful. She just had to take classes and tests and do homework and get graded on doing magic. The same magic she'd only known about for six weeks.

Blackscale was surlier than usual, but still consented to go with her. It was only that that gave her the courage to step out of her dorm room.

He said nothing about what had happened the day before, and in the rush of washing and dressing, Harry forgot to ask.

XXX

For once, she was grateful for the other first year girls. Because they were essentially as new to this as she was, and it was much easier to be lost with a group than alone. Harry just stayed quiet and tried to keep beneath notice. Things would work out.

Even if Fawcett kept shooting her looks.

Turpin and MacDougel had apparently found the location of their first class the day before, but when they attempted to retrace their steps, the hallway was gone. It was only the kindness of a few passing upperclassmen to point them in the right direction that let them actually make it to Transfiguration on time.

XXX

Her first class did little to assuage her fears about what Hogwarts was going to be like.

She was trying to give McGonagall a chance. As strict and stern as the older woman was, she'd also looked out for Harry during the sorting. But when McGonagall talked gravely about how much effort transfiguration required, and stated in no-uncertain terms that anyone who couldn't cut it would be chucked out of her class- Harry found it hard not to sweat.

XXX

What.

A desk into a pig? How did that even work? Was it alive? Could you just create life like that?

Did it die when McGonagall transfigured it back?!

Harry was fretting so badly that it took her most of the practical period to get her match to even begin to turn into a needle.

XXX

She lagged behind the herd of girls more than usual on their way to Herbology. Casting spells with her wand was an odd experience- Transfiguration was basically her first go at it.

She'd held her wand, even waved it a bit, but Hagrid had warned her not to use it around Surrey.

But to actually use it to cast magic… She'd imagined her magic to flow like water, but using a wand was more like conducting electricity. Her magic wanted to pass through the wand, and when it did, the wood grew warm and sang under her fingers.

If her raw magic was like trying to paint by throwing a bucket at a canvas, using a wand was like using a brush to draw lines and strokes.

At the same time… why did transfiguring a needle require a wand motion like a half-corkscrew done counterclockwise? Why couldn't they simply will the needle to be different? When she'd experimented in the woods, she'd basically stared at twigs and leaves and demanded them to change color or float or speak.

Most of the time they just exploded. But sometimes… when her magic thrummed through her like wildfire, things would happen.

Harry was staring down at her wand so intently that she nearly walked off one of the revolving staircases. A couple older boys laughed at her, and she dashed down the stairs to catch up with the rest of the Ravenclaws, her face burning.

XXX

Professor Sprout was a delight. Enthusiastic about her craft, and earthy in a way that had nothing to do with the loam under her fingernails. An hour under her eye, learning the basics of Herbology- terms and definitions, classifications of magiflora, and Harry was hooked.

She ended up partnering with Su Li, just by virtue of the other girl being the closest to her when Sprout called for groups. But they had class with the Gryffindors, which meant Neville and Ron were at a nearby trestle table. Ron grinned at her, and Neville gave a small wave, which Harry returned.

"You ever garden much?" Su asked.

"Yeah. For my aunt and uncle. Watered the roses and stuff."

The other girl pulled a face. "I live in a flat. Middle of London. The only plants we have are the rubber ones by the door."

Harry shrugged, looking grimly down at the long list of terms and safety rules they'd be expected to know for everyday Herbology.

It was exciting, but daunting in a way her textbooks hadn't really hammered home. This was an entire new field of knowledge she had to learn. Literally everything she'd learned before magic was in doubt now, because she'd only had half the facts. The basics no longer applied. Was there even such a thing as gravity? Was the sun real, or was it really just painted on the sky like they'd thought in the middle ages?

She'd seen ghosts at the first feast. If there were ghosts, was there an afterlife?

A Heaven? Or Hell?

She needed to get to the library before the top of her head popped off.

Or better yet…

Across from her, Ron and Neville were both running through the list with disconcerting ease. Was it because they had grown up as wizards? What an advantage they must have… Herbology was probably old hat to them.

First opportunity she got, she was getting all the answers she could out of the boys.

"You wanna quiz each other?" Su said, prodding her own paper.

Harry nodded jerkily.

At least quizzes were the same.

XXX

The Potions' classroom was dark and dank. Subterranean. Harry found it claustrophobic, but Blackscale, growing tired of being draped around her, slipped away to cool off on the stone floor.

Professor Snape was… discomforting. He was watching her. She never caught him looking, but his presence was enough. He carried something raptorial in his demeanor. The intensity in his dark eyes, his beaky nose, his hands twisting at his side like talons.

Harry could feel his magic oozing across the room. It was… cold. Something suited to the gloom of the dungeons. But there was also power there. Something she'd caught only in glimpses from McGonagall; and whatever the transfiguration professor did to conceal her ability, Snape did not.

The first lesson proceeded much as Herbology and Transfiguration had. They covered the absolute basics: Snape's expectations for the course, and safety protocol.

Harry stewed over whether he might ask them to dissect something right off the bat, and it was a relief when the bell finally rang with them only having covered proper brewing techniques.

She had to hustle to pack her things and make it up to the front of the class before Snape left.

"Sir. Ah- Professor, do you have a moment? I had a question about something."

Snape stared down his nose at her. "Yes?"

Alarm buzzers were already going off in her head. That was the look an adult gave you when they didn't like you. She'd seen it a lot.

Hesitantly, Harry rummaged in her bag for a moment before withdrawing her potions textbook. "I was reading this, and was wondering about some of the ingredients." She flipped to the listing in the back, marked liberally with red pen. "How are all these animal parts harvested?"

The edge of his mouth curled down. "From an animal, girl. Where else would they come from?"

She flinched under his sneer, taking a step back. "But like-" Harry pointed to a specific line. "If you wanted adder scales, would you just take some from a live snake? Is it… you know, humane?"

Snape seemed about to snap at her for that, only for his eyes to flash down to the serpent coiling around her ankles. He paused for a moment, looking down at her book. "Most potion reagents that come from an animal are harvested from specimens gathered or bred specifically for that purpose."

"Oh."

The professor seemed to take that as satisfactory, because he turned on his heel and walked away, black cloak billowing behind him.

"Wait! Sir, I… I was wondering." He looked over his shoulder at her. "Is it possible to take Potions without using animal ingredients?"

Snape turned fully.

Harry swallowed, tongue dry at his flat expression, and forged on. "I don't want to hurt any animals, so I was trying to figure out alternatives to animal ingredients in my book." She tapped the cover of her potions' text. "But I don't understand most of what they say."

His face didn't change, but he did blink. Slowly.

And then he looked at her for a long, long moment. Uneasy, Harry began to look away, but something stirred in the depths of his eyes. Deep down in the black of his irises. His magic was twining and twisting, curling around the edges of her own. It was like having his hands brush across her skin; Harry shuddered, acid churning in her gut.

"I… see," Snape murmured. He paused, his gaze flicking away.

She gasped as the bugs under her skin vanished.

"I would suggest," he said slowly. "Beginning with symbolic value." His dark eyes flashed across her again, and Harry winced. "An essay. Check the syllabus for a list of what we will brew, and list alternatives. If it is satisfactory, you may substitute ingredients." Another leaden pause, his eyes on her- Harry stared at the floor. "Endanger your classmates in any way, and you will use the standard."

She nodded jerkily, and when he didn't say anything else, blurted a thanks, grabbed Blackscale, and ran from the classroom. She didn't stop until she was up and out into the school proper, hurling herself into the first bathroom she saw.

Harry leaned against the sink, panting, her heart a heavy, uneven rhythm. Even now, she could still feel the touch of Snape's magic on hers. What had he been doing? Or worse- was it always like that? Was she expected to spend seven years with him as a teacher, enduring that creeping dread for hours at a time?

She sighed, exhaling through her teeth, and leaned forward until her head touched the mirror.

And now she had to write an essay for him.

The thought made her hesitate, frowning into the too-close blur of her reflection.

He hadn't said no, even if he was weird. Which meant she could get out of having to mutilate animals for class.

Her tired sigh became one of relief.

XXX

The second day of class started more easily. Charms was another wand-heavy course, but Flitwick was more jovial than McGonagall, and Harry was rather excited about the sheer utility of charms.

There was one for virtually everything, and if there wasn't a specific charm, another could be applied in such a way as to work. Flitwick demonstrated this by filling a glass of water three times with three different charms. Each had a wildly varying purpose, but their end result was the same.

Even the basics would change things for her. Summoning water or food. Constructing a shelter. Warding off pests. All requisites if someone was to say, want to sleep in the woods, rather than spend another stifling night under the Dursleys' roof.

Maybe… if she was proficient enough, it'd just be no more Dursleys. She could hit the road. Just take Blackscale and her meager possessions and go. She had money, and it's not like the Dursleys gave her anything she couldn't get with magic.

By the time she walked out of Flitwick's classroom, her head was spinning. The magnitude of magic was less daunting when she looked at it in terms of being able to do anything.

Realization became certainty. She wasn't going home to the Dursleys. It would take some serious practice- enough to survive on her own with just magic, but it was a possibility. Not the far off daydream of a skinny brat in hand-me-down clothes, but a genuine option.

It felt like chains breaking.

XXX

Harry whispered her intentions to Blackscale as she walked to her next class. A few other students noticed her hissing and starting pointing, talking quickly to their neighbors, and Harry scurried on.

Blackscale listened until Harry had finished explaining, her voice high and breathless with excitement, and then gave a long, lazy hiss.

"It's about time you left the nest, hatchling."

"Humans don't work the same way as snakes."

"Of course not. They're far too complicated. The gods had it right the first time, when they made snakes. No useless parts."

Harry snorted. "I can name two things I have that you would want. It-"

Exactly what had to wait. She took two steps to the left to make way for an older student pushing his way through the crowd. Blackscale hissed angrily at the boy's back.

"Anyway. Taste buds. And… what do you call it… being warm blooded?"

The adder was silent or a moment. Then he sighed. "Tasting all the things you do might be nice. But you can keep your sweaty skin. Easier to just find a good, flat rock." His tongue flickered in and out. "I bet you wish you could smell like I do."

"I wonder if there's a spell for that."

"And scales."

"Don't get carried away."

XXX

Defense Against the Dark Arts was… not what she'd expected. Professor Quirrel was as squirrely as the first time she'd met him, and kept staring at her when she wasn't looking just like Snape had.

The lesson itself was unremarkable. It wasn't a word that she thought lent itself to magic, but after an hour of trying to decipher Quirrel's tremulous, stuttering voice, Harry would have gladly taken another matron like McGonagall, or even a creep like Snape.

Quirrel was the type to walk and talk. He paced the front of his class as he lectured, and even swept up and down the aisles a couple times. Every time he passed Harry, she half-expected him to look at her, or stop beside her, but he didn't.

But she hadn't imagined that odd burst of something when they had shaken hands in the Leaky Cauldron. And he'd definitely given her an eerie vibe during the opening feast.

And his magic. Every adult with magic she'd met so far had been noticeably greater than children. Bonfires beside matches. The degree varied- Hagrid was more subdued. Snape radiated. McGonagall was subdued, but still perceptibly powerful. Quirrel was none of these things. It was like his stutter extended into his magic- a flickering, faltering thing, like a sickly candle.

What was wrong with him? Could someone's magic be ill?

XXX

"Read p-pages fifteen th-through twenty-s-seven, f-focusing on a basic h-hex and its uses. If y-you are c-curious, b-basic hexes are l-listed in the b-back of your books." Quirrel clapped his hands together. "D-dismissed."

Students began packing up and leaving. Quirrel lingered a moment, surveying the room, and then turned and exited through the door to his office.

It was only as the door closed behind him that Harry felt his magic recede. Any effort she was putting into packing came to a halt.

She'd perceived the immediate aura around him, that sour, wasted husk. And she'd been wrong. Not a sickly candle at all, but the towering shadows it cast.

His power. She'd been sitting inside his magic for the entire class.

She noticed not because of anything it did, but because of its absence. Like having his hands on her, unseen, unfelt, perceived only when he stopped doing it.

He'd been touching her with his magic, just like Snape had, and she hadn't even felt it.

XXX

Harry's classmates scattered as they left DADA, already forming groups with friends and acquaintances. Most were talking about how strange Quirrel was, or about how lackluster the lesson had been.

Every doubt she'd had redoubled. What did it mean? What did he want? Was this something wizards just did, and she didn't know because it was a different culture? Maybe it was innocuous and she was just overthinking it?

But it hadn't felt innocuous.

Harry turned and was just heading down a hallway to the south when someone called out to her. There was nothing in her day until Astronomy at midnight. A free period in which she could get her head in order, and maybe hit the library and figure out what Quirrel was doing.

"Hey, Riddle!"

Turpin jogged up, MacDougel trailing a few steps behind her.

"We're going to explore for the best way up to the Astronomy Tower. Li's coming. You wanna come too?"

Harry's steps faltered.

Li was there as well, lingering by a wall sconce. Patil joined her a moment later. Harry expected Fawcett to appear, but she didn't.

"Um. I was going to get a start on the homework," Harry said.

"Oh. Alright." Turpin shot her a grin- she was missing a baby tooth in front. "Maybe you can swap homework tips with us for directions?"

Harry shrugged. "Sounds okay."

Still beaming, Turpin hooked an elbow around MacDougel's, and they both ran back to join the other two girls. They were carried along in her wake like leaves in a wind.

Harry stood and stared, watching as her classmates vanished down the hall.

XXX

It had been an easy lie to tell.

They didn't really have any homework except for Quirrel's and McGonagall's. The first class sessions had been almost entirely reviewing the syllabi.

She began walking. Aimlessly at first, then trying to navigate down to the Entrance Hall so she could go outside.

It was just so… stupid. Frustrating.

Turning down the opportunity to make friends with her closest classmates. Years and years of wishing someone would just pay attention to her, and now that someone did, she just wanted to get away.

But she desperately needed some quiet. Hogwarts was so crowded, full of talk and noise and chaos. And there were too many unanswered questions. Too much going on.

She needed some time to sit and just be. Time where she wasn't agonizing over what magic she had to learn, or what the other girls might be like. Time to put things in order and parse out everything that had happened over the past couple days.

Trevor. Blackscale. Neville and Ron.

Quirrel.

XXX

God, her skin wouldn't stop crawling. What had he even been doing? Had no one else noticed? Or was it just her? Or...maybe she'd been the only one.

This didn't feel like being famous. It felt like being singled out. Watched.

Stalked.

XXX

She got lost again.

The Entrance Hall was like a desert mirage. Half-glimpsed one moment, then non-existent when she thought she was finally getting there. How was anyone ever supposed to get to class on time when Hogwart's layout seemed to change on the hour?

It was sheer dumb luck that found her in a corridor she recognized.

XXX

The third floor hallway was blessedly silent after a day spent among hundreds.

Harry skittered around the final corner, peered back to check for anyone who might see, and then crossed the hallway to Fluffy's door.

The cerberus rose, unfolding when she entered, his lips drawing back, hot breath stinging her face.

Harry gulped. "H-hogwarts, Hogwarts, hoggy-warty Hogwarts!" Her singing was reedy and badly off key, but it was enough to make the dog falter.

He blinked dully for a moment before the tension left his muzzles and he relaxed. The thick stub of his tail began to wag.

Harry let him smell her hand. "Remember me? I'm Hagrid's friend."

All three heads were panting happily. He crouched, lowering himself back down to the floor, and began nudging her with his nose, seeming to probe for treats.

"Don't have anything, sorry."

A tentative pat on his snout.

"Do you mind if I sit with you?"

The head on her right gave what she was a doggy grin.

Harry flopped down against Fluffy's ribs. She could hear his heart, a deep kettledrum against her back.

"Thought you might be bored, shut up in here all day. And…there's nothing wrong if you're not. I'm not bugging you, am I?"

Fluffy didn't voice any objections, so Harry took that as a negative.

His room was tall, the windows set near the very top. Meant to be out of his reach, probably. Or so no one could see him. But he couldn't see out. A dog who couldn't see the sun or go outside. A dog who couldn't be a dog.

"Why are you even in here?" she whispered.

Was he a prisoner? Because that was what it felt like. Like this was just another cupboard.

Fluffy licked her arm- his tongue wide enough to span fingertip to elbow. Harry gave her dripping hand a grimace, and then lifted it to allow him to keep licking. It wasn't like she could get any more drenched with slobber than she already was.

She leaned back, pillowed by his fur.

A few strands had stuck to her robes. She plucked them away and held them up with her spit-less hand.

They were charcoal black.

"How would you look in pink?"

It took a lot of focus to get her magic moving without drawing her wand, and then four tries before she got the hairs to change color rather than burn. The stink of singed hair made Fluffy chuff and sneeze.

XXX

There wasn't any light coming in through the windows by the time Harry could make Fluffy's hairs reliably change color.

All the magic had made her tired. The urge to simply lay back and sleep against his furry warmth was magnetic. If she did, she'd probably miss dinner. And Astronomy.

She waved goodbye to him before slipping out the door.

The torches outside Fluffy's door were unlit, the hallway cavernous and dark.

Harry tiptoed toward the stairs. She knew the way down from here- Hagrid had shown her yesterday. As long as it hadn't changed…

The hall intersected another up ahead, this one lit and inviting. One of the revolving staircases was just beyond.

A hand landed on her shoulder.

Pale and long-fingered. Something jerked in her gut at the sight- and then she looked up to see who had caught her. The sense of unease became something more. Like she'd swallowed an eel.

"M-miss Riddle. Y-you are out of b-bounds." His grip tightened. "D-detention."

XXX

They took a shortcut. Two taps on an unmarked brick, and a mirror at the end of a corridor slid open. A flight of steps down.

Second floor.

Harry didn't know where Quirrel's office was- his classroom had been on this floor, but they didn't seem to be heading in that direction. Quirrel wasn't looking at her. He just walked briskly on, taking turns and stairways with unerring confidence.

It was like Hogwarts was rearranging itself for him. Like he knew all the work-arounds and cheats, and the castle recognized that.

XXX

Whatever she'd expected his office to be, the plain room jammed in the corner of the second floor wasn't it. There were books, many books, but most were still in boxes or stacked in the corner like he hadn't had time to unpack yet.

But there were no personal effects. No pictures of friends or family. No knickknacks on his desk. Just a yawningly empty room that felt no more full for having them in it.

Quirrel sat down behind his desk, gesturing for her to take the seat in front of it.

She sat.

When Harry looked up, the man sitting behind the desk had changed.

It was still Professor Quirrel, but it was also not. He was different. Something quiet, yet palpable in the straightness of his back, and the casual ease in which those long-fingered hands tented on a stack of papers. There was no aura this time. Just a vague, gut-feeling of what it could be. Like his magic was lurking just out of sight, but still perceived, in the way you could smell rain before it came.

Her scar itched.

Something in her magic was beginning to churn, turning circles around her bones. Her heart was still pattering, birdlike, and the familiar sinking sensation of being in trouble was lurking around her gut.

Quirrel's lips formed a thin smile. "As this is only your first day of class, I think we can dispense with the usual detention topics. And I've never seen a use in busy work. This will be… a teaching detention. A learning opportunity for us both."

"Oh. Thank you, sir," Harry mumbled, not sure if she was saying it or asking it.

"I understand that you're fond of snakes," Quirrel said. Harry stiffened in her seat, but he gave no reaction. "How would you like to learn a spell for snakes?"

He lifted a finger. Just one. "Serpensortia."

A weight left her shoulders.

Blackscale dropped into Quirrel's palm, writhing madly, hissing furiously.

"What is this- I do not- release me or I will bite!"

Harry lunged forward. "No! Don't!"

Quirrel was still wearing a cool smile. He turned it on the adder in his hand.

"That's quite enough, Blackscale."

XXX

"You- you speak parseltongue, Professor?"

"I do. Something I picked up in my travels. It has its uses, as I'm sure you can attest."

Quirrel passed Blackscale back to her. Harry took him with numb hands, returning him to around her neck. Blackscale no longer hung limply; he was coiled now, attentive to the wizard in the room.

"Now, Harry, how would you like to summon snakes as well? It normally picks the closest living serpent, but with a bit of practice, you'll be able to leave your familiar alone."

It was a tempting proposal. But it wasn't really a choice was it?

Not because this was detention, but because Quirrel's smile was plastic and fake, and she couldn't forget the way his magic had enveloped her before.

Harry nodded slowly. "Alright, sir."

XXX

"Hold your wand a bit higher. The motion is- close. Right there. An S-shape. Childish, I know, but it was designed to be idiot-proof. Do that five times or so. Until you've got the feel for it."

Quirrel circled her. He was walking and talking once again, but it was all around her this time. Every time he moved, passing out of her sight, Harry tightened up. It was involuntary. Tensing for a blow that had yet to come.

"Long curve at the top of the S. Better. Start over. Now, focus. The intent is the important part. The wand motion is just window dressing."

Harry looked up, eyes wide, her terror momentarily broken. "I'd been wondering that."

"Most wizards are simply too incompetent for anything more than the very basics." Quirrel's eyes glittered, catching the torchlight as he turned to speak to her. "All that truly matters is intent and power. That is why magic is the purest strength there is."

A pause.

"Cast now. Show me your strength."

When she moved, it was not for him. Quirrel was right- magic was strength, but her magic was hers. Not his. Not the Dursleys. Not all the people who adored her for something her wasn't.

Letting him have that would be handing over the one thing that was truly hers in this world.

No.

Harry drew the sign in the air, using her wand like a conductor's baton. Her magic welled up within, surging like white fire, hot enough she thought her breath would ripple in the air, and vast enough there was a sudden flash of fear- a mortal body couldn't hold this in.

She needed a snake. A snake that wasn't Blackscale. The snake needed to be here. Right here. Right now. Right now. She needed. She WANTED.

"Serpensortia!"

XXX

A tiny, green grass snake wound between her fingers, tongue flicking out to kiss her fingertips.

Quirrel held out his hand for it. Harry hesitated for a moment before letting the serpent slide from her palm to his.

"Most children wouldn't be able to cast that so quickly."

"Is she going to be okay?" Harry asked, indicating the grass snake.

Quirrel raised an eyebrow. "I will return her to where she came from. The spell for that is, oddly enough, more advanced."

"Oh."

He snapped his fingers and with a pop, the grass snake vanished. "Would you like to learn it?"

She went still.

This had been detention. She'd had to be here. But any more would be on her own.

With him.

Quirrel was still an unknown quantity. He went out of his way to teach her an incredible spell, but also did things with his magic, and the way his personality had shifted was downright eerie.

She knew nothing about him, and he seemed to know everything about her.

He was a parselmouth too- and wasn't that supposed to be really rare? And genetic, not learned? Padma had said that. She needed to talk to Blackscale about this.

"Why? Why- all of this?" she said, surprising herself with her sudden directness.

For the first time, something genuine crept into his smile. "I enjoy teaching. And you seem to be a more apt pupil than most of your peers." Quirrel turned and began walking to his desk. "If you have misgivings, feel free to think on them. If you would like to return… I have office hours every day from three to six."

He shuffled through a few of the pages before looking up at her. "You may leave at any time."

"Oh. Ah- goodnight, Professor."

Harry grabbed her bag, pocketed her wand, and made for the door.

"Miss Riddle."

His voice stopped her with her hand on the knob.

"You wear the name well."

XXX

 

[Ziel]

7

Time rolled onward.

Some days were blindingly fast, gone so quickly they were memories before the ink had even dried. Others were glacial, dragging on for a week before limping on their way.

On Privet Drive, time had held no meaning. There was simply school, then summer, the days repeating in an endless loop. No change, no memories of a time before the Dursleys, and no real concept of the future beyond a fervent hope to leave them behind.

Blackscale had broken that cycle, and Harry had slowly begun filling her days with him and magic. And then Hogwarts had come along and packed her days full to bursting. Morning, noon, and night, every second packed with some new facet of witchcraft.

It was all very tiring.

Exciting, yes, but tiring.

But all the while, she grew. Shedding scales, one or two at a time. Leaving behind Harry Potter and slowly growing into Harry Riddle's skin.

XXX

September 7th

"I brought this back. Sorry for taking so long. I- didn't know how the laundry worked here."

Hagrid chuckled. "Never be afraid to ask the 'ouse elves for a hand." He took the now clean floral handkerchief she was proffering. "Sorta suits yer, doesn' it?"

Harry tilted her head, not understanding. Hagrid flipped open the kerchief, exposing the full expanse of pattern, flowers rampant on the black cloth, and then began folding. He fiddled for a couple moments, reducing it to a long band about an inch thick.

"'ere you go. Tie yer hair back with it." Hagrid handed it back. "Yer got yer dad's hair. He usually kept it short though, so this didn' happen."

He knelt, and Harry leaned forward to let him fasten the cloth round her head. Hagrid's fingers were as thick as her wrist, but he moved like she was made of porcelain, tying the bandanna with the same careful notions she might use to thread a needle.

"'ow's that feel?"

Harry tugged at it a bit, adjusting her tangled ponytail to sit better in the wrap. The cloth had ended up running over the top of her head, just above her bangs, with the tie at the base of her neck. It didn't really contain her ponytail at all, but it put pressure on her bangs, holding them down just a little.

It made seeing her scar that much harder.

"I love it, Hagrid."

The giant man grinned. "Hoped yer would. Now, tell me about yer firs' week."

XXX

September 10th

Snape plucked her essay on alternative ingredients from her hand. She hovered before his desk, shifting from foot to foot while he looked it over, dark eyes scanning the parchment.

"Passable."

When he looked up, she avoided his gaze, staring resolutely at the center of his forehead.

"You'll be working alone. Take your cauldron and supplies and move to that table." Snape pointed. "Do not entertain any bright ideas of getting your classmates onto this… school of thought. My tolerance for your foolishness only extends so far."

Harry managed a just-barely-sincere smile for him. "Thank you, sir."

"Get to work, Riddle."

XXX

September 12th

Classes quickly fell into a rhythm. Subjects were taught, and the professors continued largely in the same vein they had begun on the first day.

Even Quirrel.

Harry had expected there to be some sort of change in him, some flash of the side he'd shown her in detention, but there was none. Stuttering, frightened-of-his-own-shadow Professor Quirrel stumbled through his lessons, gave homework, and then left.

He wasn't looking at her anymore. And his magic hadn't so much as brushed her.

The more time that passed, the more Harry wondered if she hadn't simply imagined some of his competence that night. That Quirrel was just too far-removed from the shivering coward who taught Defense.

But none of that was an answer to what he wanted from her.

XXX

September 13th

"Wait, so the soil type matters too?"

Neville nodded. "The nutrients and minerals in the soil are- ah- really important?" He poked a finger into the clayish dirt they were using to repot wickerweeds. "Some plants grow better with certain soil. I actually have to salt one of the pots back home to get this one flower to grow."

"Wow." Harry dug a little deeper into her pot, eyed Neville's already repotted weed for comparison, and dug some more. "You grow stuff like this at home?"

Something flickered behind Neville's eyes, like a door closing. He looked away. "Sort of. Yeah."

Harry froze, staring. What had she said? Something heavy lurched against her insides at the unhappy look now crossing Neville's face.

"Sorry?"

"It's nothing." Neville gave her a weak, crooked smile. "Just- Gran doesn't approve of my greenhouse. She thinks plants are a dud subject."

Her lip curled. That was a very Dursley-ish view. If Neville's gran was anything like them, then it was no wonder he was so nervous.

"Magic," Harry said, putting down her trowel, "Doesn't have any dud subjects."

"Except divination," Ron interjected.

Harry ignored him. "Herbology is incredible. And your grandmother is wrong."

"I didn't say I agreed with her," Neville said. He was working a discarded leaf between his fingers, worrying the little scrap of plant until it frayed. "But it's not that amazing, you know?"

And she knew this song and dance.

('No, Dudley is very gifted, he's just not good at History. Daft subject. Taught by Marxists, probably.')

She had hated it then, and hearing Neville repeat it was infuriating.

Words burst forth before she could stop them. "No. Wickerweeds can cure gout. And they're good for feeding sick livestock. Or dyeing your hair green. They're neat. Your grandma is wrong, and just- just because she's your family doesn't mean she's right!"

Ron cleared his throat, and Harry realized she'd not only just vented all over Neville, but snarled that last bit in parseltongue. The entire greenhouse was looking at her.

She blinked, her face heating. "It's- um. Yeah." And they were still staring. Was there a spell to turn invisible?

"Right you are, Miss Riddle." An earth-stained hand came down to pat her head. Professor Sprout beamed at her. "Five points to Ravenclaw for knowing the properties of wickerweed. And for inter-house solidarity."

And when Sprout trundled on to see how Ron and Su were doing on their wickerweeds, Neville leaned over. He spread the hole in her pot with two fingers, lifted the cutting, and then repotted it with a few, easy motions.

The bashful smile he directed at her after was enough to make her forget any embarrassment. Well, any from the class. Neither of them could quite manage to look at each other for the rest of the period.

XXX

September 15th

Their first flying lesson was chaotic. Four classes worth of excited eleven-year olds, all champing at the bit to take off. Harry, still a little dubious on the idea of flight, just did her best to listen to Hooch. She got her broom to jump to her hand when called. Hooch discussed grips, then came around and corrected everyone.

"Forward, Riddle. Up closer to the middle."

And then Neville blasted off like a rocket.

He rose, yelling, his broomstick whirling, and then toppled, falling even faster than he'd gone up.

The noise when he impacted the ground was a terrible whumph of displaced air and his own gasp of pain.

Harry shrieked.

Her broom hit the dirt, and she ran to Neville. Hooch was shooing her away, but Harry ignored her, her eyes glued to Neville's blotchy, tear-stained face. Ron was right behind her, yelling something.

They stuck to his side until he made it safely to the hospital wing.

So what if Madame Pomfrey could fix a broken wrist in a few minutes? It didn't change the fact that it could have just as easily been a broken neck. He never would have made it to the nurse.

Pomfrey finally threw Harry and Ron out when it came time to give Neville a couple potions to finalize the process.

"He needs a bit of rest, Miss Riddle. He'll be along in time for dinner."

Harry sank down against the wall outside, knees to her chest, hands wrapped around Blackscale like a lifeline. The suspicion- the thoughts that Pomfrey had kicked them out not to heal Neville, but because he was actually dying, were overpowering.

"Harry. Harry, it's okay." Ron knelt beside her. He made to speak a couple times, but stopped, seeming to rethink what he was going to say. "It's- look, he'll be fine. My brothers have all gone to Hogwarts, and- and they all got hurt, but Madame Pomfrey always fixed it."

Carefully, and a little clumsily, he tugged at her wrist. "C'mon. We'll go… play chess or something."

She nodded slowly. "'kay." A pause, Blackscale shifting around her throat to whisper calming words in her ear. She wanted to be alone more than anything, to be able to think through what had happened, but even so, she allowed Ron to pull her along.

He led them up and up, to the portrait she'd first met him exiting out of with Neville.

The Gryffindor common room was warm and cozy, if a bit dark and stuffy compared to Ravenclaw.

Ron set up a chess set by the fire. They made it through the first five minutes before he realized she had no idea how to play and had to stop and show her. Learning the game, having that to focus on, was enough.

Her racing heart slowed.

Harry hadn't quite grasped chess by the time Neville limped in through the portrait hole.

His wrist was fine. He was fine.

But the memory of him rising precariously, and then falling, his hands clutching at nothing, would burn itself into her nightmares that evening.

XXX

September 16th

"Episkey!"

"Episkey!"

Harry paused to catch her breath for a moment, lowering her wand to study the textbook she had propped open on her bed. The spell was supposed to heal minor wounds, but the gestures it used changed depending on what exactly that injury was. A broken wrist, for example, would usually take two parallel jabs, to symbolize the radius and ulna, and then a sort of wrapping motion, to mimic binding the wrist to keep it stiff. Fixing a nosebleed using the same exact spell would use a completely different motion.

And that was bloody aggravating.

Episkey wasn't like Alohamora, where it could be reduced to a lesser motion if you had enough intent. The textbook was very clear on that. The motions for Episkey- and apparently most other healing spells, were so complex because they needed to be. Unless Harry had an encyclopedic knowledge of anatomy, trying to cheat the motion and overpower it with intent would more than likely make it worse, because her magic would try to fill in the gaps in her knowledge without knowing how. Fixing a broken wrist by sewing the bone together with blood vessels, and other, disturbingly graphic examples.

The full motion for bruises had taken her over an hour to get working reliably, and she'd moved on to healing the myriad of smaller cuts she had. That one was only working maybe one time in five. She was never going to remember all these stupid wand movements. She'd been trying to learn one spell a day so far, and there were just too many little variables to keep them straight, let alone memorize the… eighty-seven variants of Episkey listed in her book.

How was anyone supposed to heal anything? If Neville got hurt again, was she supposed to just consult her five page glossary of Episkey forms?

With a sigh, she lifted her wand and began practicing again.

Quirrel had summoned Blackscale with a twitch of a finger. He probably hadn't even needed to say the spell- he just did it to demonstrate. So what made him different?

"Episkey!"

The scab on her knee from walking into a desk remained a scab.

Harry sagged. She needed help.

Pomfrey had been a regular battleaxe. And who else was there? Snape was a creep, and she didn't know Flitwick or McGonagall well enough to ask them for a favor. The older students in her house seemed to help out lower years sometimes, but there was always a trade. She had nothing to offer. Hagrid… perhaps. But she couldn't imagine him memorizing the minutiae of spells.

And that left Quirrel.

"Episkey!"

The motion for cuts was at least simple: a flat sweep, literally smearing flesh back together. She gritted her teeth, concentrating on what she needed. Flesh knitting shut. Wounds closing. Her cut healing. "Episkey!"

The scab itched terribly for a moment, and then began bleeding.

"Ow, ow, ouch!"

Somewhere in the rush of hobbling to the bathroom and staunching her leg with toilet tissue, Harry made a decision.

She wouldn't ask Quirrel unless she absolutely had to.

XXX

September 19th

Riding on Hagrid's shoulders was always a little amazing. The chance to get an idea of what he saw every day, head and shoulders above everyone else. Not just taller, but bigger in every sense, like everything in the world was built for children. Only his cabin, which Harry was sure Hagrid had made himself, was sized correctly.

She'd left her bag there, and Hagrid had hoisted her up and made his way into the forest. Harry was grinning as he went.

Finally, a chance to see what was so forbidden about this place.

"We're not goin' too far in. Jus' wanted you to meet a coupla creatures. Not a lotta kids get to see the 'em unless they take Care until OWL year."

"Creatures? What kind?" Fluffy had been a little intimidating at first, and she was still wary of getting in trouble for sneaking in to see him, but Harry had still spent a goodly number of hours just sitting and talking to the big dog. If this was another Fluffy… she was going to have a make a schedule for cuddling.

"You'll see."

Hagrid clumped along for another five-hundred feet or so, humming tunelessly as he went. Harry, nearly fifteen feet in the air, mostly just bent low and tried not to get caught in any hanging branches or vines. One scraped her cheek and she hissed.

The idea of pointing a wand at her face was unsettling. Instead, she pressed two fingers to the scratch and drew them across, concentrating with all her might on what she wanted. "Episkey!"

It worked. Somehow.

The skin knitted, tingling coolly, her magic weaving through, purging then sealing the cut.

Harry squealed with surprise and joy, and nearly toppled off Hagrid's shoulders. He shifted slightly.

"Yer alright up there?"

"Peachy!" Harry rubbed her cheek. Perfectly smooth. "Oh, Hagrid, I just remembered. Do you know anything about healing spells?"

The big man rubbed his beard thoughtfully. "Nope. Not much in the forest that can really hurt me. Yer thinking of becoming a healer, Harry?"

"Just thought it'd be useful."

"I do know a coupla handy plants. Show 'em to yer when we get back to the cabin."

The trees opened ahead of them. Hagrid emerged from under the canopy into a small clearing. Tall grass and weeds carpeted it, interspersed with a few, smaller trees that had yet to grow tall enough to block the sun.

And on the far side were three creatures Harry had never imagined she'd see.

"Unicorns," Hagrid said proudly.

He lowered her, and Harry staggered to a halt.

They were too beautiful to be real. A tall male, and two smaller foals. The male had raised his head to look at them, his twisting, pearlescent horn reflecting the light like a prism. He had a small, tufted beard and cloven hooves like a goat, but his coat and mane were pure white, so bright and clean that they made the sunlight look dull.

And their magic. Oh, their magic. Light wasn't a comprehensive enough word for what their magic was. It was radiant, trailing after them in a haze, everywhere they went just a little brighter. It was warm. Gentle. Calm and inviting, true grace and serenity.

Their magic was more insubstantial than wizards', a loose radius where their magic suffused the world. A circle of light and wonder. Her own magic was drawing away, shying from that sphere, drawing back where they made contact, and yet she couldn't stop herself from taking a few steps forward.

This is what religions must have had in mind when they talked about divinity.

The unicorns were divine.

"Go on then," Hagrid said, his voice a happy whisper. "They don't like men much, but they know me, and they don't have a problem with girls. Let em' come see yer."

Harry took a few steps more, and then stopped in the center of the clearing.

The stallion huffed, padding toward her. The foals stayed back, cautious, seeming to wait for the okay. His aura was palpable now, peeling the edges of her magic away paper in a fire. It hurt. Why? He was so glorious, but just being this close was painful.

The unicorn took another step forward, crushing clover beneath his hoof.

Harry faltered, a small gasp escaping her. It was like being sunburnt from the inside, but she couldn't move away- couldn't leave without meeting him. Slowly, she approached to just outside arm's length of him. Her hand rose, palm up, a gesture of openness.

The unicorn was an unmoving statue in marble, his deep, brown eyes on her.

Stretching her fingers out to try and touch him was like reaching into an oven. There was heat inside her, her magic writhing in protest.

She pushed a couple inches more.

And then it was more than pain. There was a feeling. A sense of disdain. A sudden awareness of herself in comparison to him. He was light given flesh, and she was a sweaty, itching, mass of imperfection, her magic that of a bug under a rock, so low and foul that it burned in his very presence.

She was unworthy, and they both knew it.

He turned, snorted, and then stalked away. The foals moved before he did, vanishing into the undergrowth. And then he too was gone, the last silken strands of his tail disappearing with a flick.

Harry shivered, shaking her head. The burning faded moment by moment, the sense of insignificance going with it.

Hagrid's heavy footsteps moved up behind. He joined her at the center of the clearing.

"That's- that weren't yer fault, 'Arry. They're temperamental. Got 'em on a bad day, I guess. Nothing yer did."

But his tone, hurt and confusion, said otherwise.

XXX

September 20th

The skin on her palm was tender the next day. Not overtly painful, but sensitive and red, the fingers stiff. Harry twitched and moved them absently, staring at her hand, thoughts on the unicorns.

Regardless of what Hagrid said, what had happened had been something she did. He'd expected the unicorns to like her. Instead, their presence burned her like… The image that came to mind was an old one. Dudley staying up late one night to catch a horror movie that his mother would never let him watch if she knew. Some schlocky 70's vampire film, full of blood and gore.

And those scenes of vampires writhing and hissing, their skin steaming in the morning sun, were the closest analogue she could think of to describe what she'd felt.

And why was that?

The unicorns were inherently good beings. So why had approaching them burned her?

Was… was there something wrong with her?

Because there had been something wrong there, and it hadn't been them. It had been her, Harry, whose flesh and soul cried out at the presence of pure and wonderful unicorns.

It was an old feeling resurrected. A surety that she had done something wrong, but didn't know what. A reminder of every time she'd been punished back in Surrey. There had always been guilt and confusion then, but they'd never been as real as this.

There was evidence for it now. Real, witnessed with her own eyes, evidence.

Did…

Or if…

Her thoughts spiraled off, growing deeper and darker with every go.

Harry pulled the blanket over her head. She felt too nauseous for breakfast.

XXX

She was still picking at her palm when Defense ended.

"F-finish the assigned r-reading, and answer the q-questions I passed out. D-due Friday." Quirrel did his usual clap for dismissal. He was already turning to leave when Harry caught up with him.

"Wait! Er- Professor, please, just a quick question."

"Miss R-riddle." Quirrel's quavering smile was so different from the one he'd given her in detention that she almost backed away. "I'm af-fraid you caught me at a b-bad time. Staff m-meeting in a few m-minutes. Additionally, I w-will be caught up with personal b-business for m-most of this month. No o-office hours for a while."

She gaped at him. This was her last chance for weeks.

Quirrel was just beginning to move away again, and she followed, trailing him to the door. Despite his impatience, he paused there and waited until the rest of the class had departed before giving her his attention.

"I s-suppose I can make t-time for you. Now, w-what did you w-want?"

"Sir, please. I just need to know- why would unicorns dislike someone?"

He looked down at her, staring through his lashes, smile still playing across his face. "An o-odd q-question, Miss R-riddle. Unicorns tr-traditionally f-flee from the impure. M-most often, non-virgins, y-you know what that m-means?" Harry nodded, feeling her cheeks glow. "And of c-course, from dark w-witches and wizards." Quirrel chuckled at that. "N-nothing you need to worry about."

"But sir-!"

A wave of his hand cut her off.

"Now, now, Harry." Quirrel bent. His mouth neared her ear. "I will have office hours again in three weeks, but I'll be quite busy until then. Though… I suppose I could look into your problem if you help me with a few of mine." His voice was smoother in parseltongue, more in tune with the sinuous slide of his magic. She was so focused on the sound and his proximity that it took a moment for the words to sink in.

Quirrel straightened, his hand dipping into a pocket. It returned holding a small, gray-white egg. He held it out to her, and Harry numbly raised her hands to take it. The egg was about as long as her thumb, more oblong than ovular, and the shell was a little soft.

"A snake egg," Blackscale interjected, having surfaced to listen to the parseltongue.

"Yes," Quirrel said. "It was to be a project of mine, but I can't devote the time at present. Take care of it for me. You know the warming charm? It-" There was a clatter of footsteps. Students had just rounded the corner, laughing and chattering. A grimace passed across Quirrel's face before he continued in English. "Keep the egg safe and warm. It is bound to hatch soon."

Harry opened her mouth to agree- she had no reason not to, and it was an amazing responsibility. Moreover, if she did this, he would be more amenable to talk to her.

"I will watch over it." Blackscale stretched down, nosing at the shell.

"You will?" Harry said, blinking at his initiative. Didn't he mostly just eat eggs?

"The Ouroboros wishes it."

The phrasing was familiar. He'd said something similar about the layered room on the seventh floor. And he'd meant Quirrel?

Quirrel chuckled. "How apropos. I'm sure you will not disappoint me, Miss Riddle, Blackscale."

His hand rose, then came down. Gentle, but firm, resting on her shoulder. Harry's tongue stilled, suddenly dumb, her full attention on the weight of his hand. Something lurched insider her, shivering at the root of her spine, and the base of her teeth. Like all her bones suddenly ached to lean into the contact.

His magic pressed against hers, a brush like feathers, passing her by. Her own power drawn along in its wake, iron fillings behind a magnet.

There were students passing them, their noise filling the hallway, but they might as well have been in another world.

"Feed your magic into the egg. Just a little every night. Do this and I will tell you about the unicorns."

He pulled away. His hand left her.

His magic was already gone.

XXX

Her room was dim. A single candle beside Neville's Snake Vine, and the cloudy moonlight through her east window.

Harry sat, sleepshirt pooling around her. She'd made a nest of blankets for the egg, though it had taken some frantic practice of the warming charm to get it satisfactorily toasty. The spell was one she'd been meaning to learn, and Quirrel's project had given her all the impetus she needed.

One finger stretched out to press against the egg's leather shell.

Harry drew on the barest trickle, the meanest, tiniest hair of her power. There had been too many explosions, too many twigs and leaves bursting into flame during her practice to overdue this.

It was a task a wand might be better for, but she still couldn't quite trust the tool. It just felt… artificial. Feeding the egg was an act of nature. It needed to be natural.

Magic flowed. The sedate warmth she associated with her power pooled in her wrist, her hand, her index.

She opened the link.

And gasped.

The egg soaked up her magic like water on sand. Something inside- the snakeling, or maybe some of the creature's magic, was resonating, a tiny, sliding, theremin of a sound.

Harry pushed more. And slowly, the egg began to fill. Any worries of how much or when to stop faded.

Little by little.

Just as her power was cresting, about to reach the brim of the egg, the resonance increased.

Bub-bub. Bub-bub. Bub-bub.

Something akin to the liquid light filling the egg bloomed in Harry's chest.

She was hearing its heartbeat.

The egg filled, and reluctantly, Harry drew away, the link breaking off. The tender skin on her palm was throbbing, but it was different now. A good soreness, like exertion after a run.

Blackscale slid out of the darkness to coil around the egg. His amber eyes rested beside the shell, and he hissed approvingly.

"Hey," Harry said, whispering in spite of them being alone in the room. "You told Quirrel you'd watch the egg because he's… an orberos? What does that mean?"

Silence, their shadows dancing in the candlelight.

Blackscale blinked slowly. "The Ouroboros. The snake of infinity." The tip of his tail twitched, settling a little closer to his coils. "Do you not know your own sire?"

She stared at him for a long moment, speechless. And then she began explaining all the reasons that was impossible. First and foremost was that Quirrel was almost certainly not old enough. Secondly was that she'd been informed numerous times by her relatives how damningly she resembled her father. Thirdly, it was Quirrel! Stuttering, weird Quirrel.

Who was a parselmouth, when being a parselmouth was hereditary. And whose magic pulled at her, that drew her. Who seemed to know more about her than she did.

"Impossible." Saying it aloud didn't stop the hairs on the back of her neck from rising.

Blackscale just coiled a little tighter and said no more.

XXX

September 21st

If she'd thought having the egg would change anything, she didn't expect it to change what it did. Blackscale hadn't left the nest except to hunt, and then it was back to guard-duty.

It didn't make sense- he'd been quite clear about his enjoyment of poaching eggs from other creatures' nests to eat, but Quirrel made a request and suddenly he was on board? And all due to some nonsense about Ouroboros-this and Ouroboros-that.

Harry wasn't angry at him. Just… she missed him. They'd barely been apart since she came to Hogwarts, he hunted alone, and she certainly didn't shower with him, but they spent the majority of the day together.

She got up and went to class, but there was no familiar weight at her neck. No warmth. She felt oddly naked and vulnerable, like his scales had protected her as well.

History of Magic was infinitely more boring when she couldn't read ahead in the text and make observations about it to him. Blackscale would respond with something scathing, and Harry would have to stifle her giggles.

Funny how a lifetime alone could lose its luster after a month of cuddling a reptile.

XXX

An older boy approached her as she was leaving Transfiguration. He was Slytherin, not quite an adult yet, but old enough to tower over her. She didn't know his name- most of the upperclassmen were too intimidating to really interact with.

"I was wondering," the boy said. "You can speak to snakes, correct? Parseltongue and all that."

"I can."

"Nice!" The boy glanced around before leaning closer. "I'm trying to get on over on my friend. There's a couple galleons in it for you if you could- maybe make your snake pretend to bite him?"

The oily smile the boy gave her put the slang about slimy, snaky Slytherin to shame.

"No."

"But- okay, five galleons."

Harry glared. "I said no."

Before he could say more, Harry slipped around him and took off running. He yelled, but she didn't hear him come after her. She bounced between other students, barely navigating the stairs down, and didn't stop running until there were three floors between them.

Fear and revulsion had become full-blown anger by the time she got to Charms.

He'd been trying to buy her. Trying to use her in his stupid little games. As though the gift that gave her her first friend was just a novelty to be goggled and gaped at.

Like a freak.

And Blackscale hadn't been there. He would have hissed at the boy and scared the hell out of him.

She was mad at him now, but she was more angry at herself. One little confrontation and she defaulted back to the scared little girl running from bullies.

Her quill smoldered in her clenched fist, dry of any ink.

She took no notes that day.

XXX

September 26th

There were others who approached her. More thrill-seekers, trying to catch a glimpse of an oddity, or trying to buy her time or favor for their own uses. Most were just curious about her ability though.

Harry demonstrated for the first, earnest few, the ones who were genuine in their interest, but by the tenth, she was refusing. It felt too much like being a show-dog. There just to pop off her tricks and then back to the kennel.

The one exception after that was Clearwater. The older girl was doing an essay on magical languages and wanted Harry's insight. That had been a fascinating conversation, where Clearwater posed all sorts of questions that Harry either hadn't thought of, or didn't know the answer to. She initially relayed them to Blackscale, and then translated his replies, but the adder found the back and forth so annoying that he quickly became snippy and crawled under the bed.

So Harry had to make due on her own. Did parseltongue add human meaning or emotion to words where a snake was not capable of giving them, or was it approximating? Further, did it outright enhance serpent intelligence, because snakes weren't capable of conversation on their own, or was adjusting the level of conversation to be understandable by each participant something the magic did? According to Blackscale, snakes simply didn't need to talk normally. And that was another twenty minutes of conversational detour, because how did parseltongue even work to begin with since snakes could barely hear?

The discussion lasted long enough that Harry was nearly late for Astronomy. But in return, the Clearwater corrected a couple of the gestures Harry was using to simplify her spells, and then wrote her a pass just in case.

Harry left the prefect with a smile, and an invitation to return if she ever had any more questions.

XXX

September 29th

"Where's your buddy?"

Harry looked up from her History notes. "Sorry?"

Su, whose paper was mostly covered in elaborate doodles, pointed to Harry's neck. "Your snake."

"Oh. He's… up in our room. Doing snake things."

"Cool. You wanna play hangman?"

XXX

That was the start of it. She played hangman with Su during History, getting stumped when the other girl started using movie titles as entries, and time flew by at a rate unheard of with Binns.

In Transfiguration, she paid attention to where she sat, and ended up having a debate with Padma over how they thought animal transfiguration worked. (McGonagall, who seemed to appreciate a healthy discussion, gave them both five points and extra homework).

Herbology was much the same. She talked and worked alongside Neville, with Ron pairing with a boy named Finnigan. And Harry paid attention.

She was never inattentive, but there was a new, daring feeling to it today. There was no Blackscale, no proverbial safety net for her to talk to if no one else wanted to. Without Blackscale, the people around her seemed easier, more willing to relax without their ridiculous fears of deadly vipers.

So she talked to her classmates, they talked back, and it was all very… very nice, actually.

XXX

October 5th

"So you just grip the broom here. And then- kinda lob the ball like- Harry? Harry, are you listening?"

Harry started, jolting on her broomstick. "Sorry?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "I'm trying to explain Chasing."

"Oh. Sorry."

He began his explanation again, and Harry tried her best to listen.

It was just… a little difficult when they were two-hundred feet in the air above the quidditch pitch, and Hogwarts was sprawling open beneath them. The wind was sharp, but rich with summer scents and the thick smell of old wood and dry leaves that came off the forest. Above, the sun wasn't quite breaking through the cloud cover, but it was close. Enough to heat her back and warm her hair beneath her bandanna, the glow seeping in and making her sleepy.

The urge to take a leaf from Blackscale's book and bask was overpowering. Or better yet- to simply fly, the sun at her back, and just skim those endless treetops. When she left the Dursleys', she was definitely taking a broom. Could she have one of those outside Hogwarts? She needed to-

"Harry! Bloody hell, it's like trying to play with Loony Lovegood," Ron muttered.

"Sorry," she said again. "Do you want to just… fly around or something?"

The redhead sighed. "Yeah, alright."

He acted unenthusiastic, but when Harry dove, whooping as the wind split around her, Ron was right behind.

The land rushed up to meet her, and she leveled out, arrowing over the treetops. Ron drew even with her. They exchanged a glance. No words were said, but there was understanding.

A race.

She pointed. There was an outcrop of stone, a hill that broke the sea of green far ahead.

Ron bent over his broom and shot ahead. Harry copied him, moving faster than she'd ever gone before.

Her eyes watered, the wind biting her face, but her exhilaration was stronger. She wanted to win, not out of any sense of competition, but because it would be something she and Ron had done together. As friends.

The trees blurred into a smear of color beneath them. For the first time, she really felt the limits of her sphere of awareness as magical beings flashed into her senses, only to vanish a second later. The forest was full of unseen wonders, some of the magical signatures so alien she ached to stop and see what they matched up to.

Ron was still ahead, but she was gaining, her lighter weight letting her close the gap. The hill was rising, growing larger. Not so much a hill as a small mountain, the first of the chain leading away from Hogwarts.

She was closing, nearly even and-

Something huge and black burst out of the canopy far to her right. Harry yelped, jerking her broom back to stop.

She skidded to a halt in midair. Ahead, Ron looked back before looping around to rejoin her.

"What's wrong?"

"Look!" she cried, pointing at the creature. It was a horse, but unlike any she'd ever seen. White eyes. Midnight black hide stretched over an emaciated frame. The thing had taken flight on leathery bat wings, soaring away from them with long, beating flaps.

"Look at what?" Ron's eyes narrowed. "If this is the wind-up to you running for the goal, I'm gonna be mad. I get that enough at home."

She shook her head and tried to explain what the thing was. It took a few moments, ending with her trying to mime 'skeleton horse' with her hands, before Ron straightened.

"Ohh! It's a uh- thingy. Bill told me about them. Thestrals, or something. You can't see them unless..." He paused, glancing off in the direction Harry had indicated. The horse creature had slipped back below the treetops. "Unless you've seen someone die."

There was a long, lurching silence, birdsong and rustling leaves not drowning out the quiet of not-talking.

"Uhm." Harry swallowed. She pointed back toward Hogwarts. "Race you back?"

Ron grinned. Then he took off at full speed, leaving her to yell at his back.

He seemed to forget the thestral in the hubbub of rocketing to a photo finish back at the stadium. Or, Harry hoped he had.

They ended up just flying willy-nilly, curves and circles and loops, wearing themselves out with simple motion.

Exhaustion set in, the sun just beginning to descend. Harry draped herself over her broom and hovered, eyes half shut. Ron was nearby, turning lazy circles in orbit around her.

He passed by, and she saw him glance at her. There was a glint in his eye, a stiffness in his smile, just for a second. And then he was by, circling around for another go.

He hadn't forgotten.

XXX

The words resurfaced later. "Unless you've seen someone die." They repeated in her head, a constant echo beneath the layer of her thoughts.

Because she hadn't.

Not even on the television, and she was certain that didn't count for magic.

This was the second sign. First the unicorns, and now these thestrals.

There was something wrong with her. Wrong in her.

Quirrel had said only dark wizards and the impure were shunned by unicorns. And she wasn't the former.

Impure.

XXX

October 12th

Survival spells.

The topic was one she'd originally intended to ask Hagrid about. But after the unicorns, the idea of having him cast more of those sad, worried looks her way was unpalatable. Quirrel had been her second choice.

Blackscale was still adamantly refusing to explain that can of worms, and still wouldn't leave the egg.

So she was alone in the library, researching her true focus in magic, and only occasionally trying to ask Blackscale questions before she remembered he was gone.

So, survival spells, as she'd taken to calling them in her head. Magic that could be used to help her live on her own. Practical stuff. But nothing on impurity. (She'd checked.)

A handful of the miscellaneous charms she'd learned already were applicable, as was transfiguration in a more general sense. Herbology and potions were quickly gaining importance on her list though. Potions could be anything from medicine to enhancement, and the better she was with herbology, the easier it would be to forage.

Harry flipped through one of the books she'd picked out. The glossary didn't hold anything that sounded promising, so she set it aside. The next book however, mentioned something under 'Finding, water.'

Aguamenti, huh? A charm to draw water vapor from the air to create water from the wand. And- Harry's eyebrows shot up. It purified any water taken in by default. That was beyond invaluable. She quickly scanned the overview, jotting down notes as she went.

Casting was a full-circle done clockwise, followed by a wavy motion, and then a jab if she wanted the water to shoot out. It-

Someone pulled the chair opposite her out, spinning it round to sit in it backwards. Harry looked up to find Su grinning across the table.

"Hey, Harry."

"Hi."

"Turpin learned a spell for color changing from an upperclassmen. Originally she was just going to do MacDougel's nails with it, but then Fawcett and Patil wanted in, and it kind of became a thing. So… kind of a first-year girls slumber-party tonight. You in?"

It wasn't really a choice though, was it? Because unless Harry spent the night in the library, she'd basically have to come to the party. And it was going to be all girls, talking about girl-stuff, and doing girly things.

Everything Harry was truly terrible at.

On the other hand, the alternative was sitting here and reading about spells she may or may not even be able to cast, all the while tearing herself up thinking about Quirrel and impurity. Alone. With no warm, sleepy adder at her throat.

She sighed, closing the book on Aguamenti. "Okay."

"Seriously?" Su was gaping unabashedly at her. "Didn't think you'd actually go for it. It- sorry, I didn't mean it that way," she added at Harry's grim expression. "You're just hard to pin down, wandering around all the time like you do. So… you're really in?"

"It… could be fun?"

XXX

And surprisingly enough, it was.

They holed up in Lisa's room, piling blankets and pillows on her rug until it was a virtual wonderland of cotton and fluff. Someone brought candy, and someone else brought an orange drink called butterbeer, and there was more sugar than Harry had ever had in her life.

Lisa had already taught the color spell to Isobel, and the two girls went around the room, charming everyone's nails into different, incandescent shades. Harry, slightly stiff, lurking on the periphery because she wasn't sure what to do ended up with Isobel.

"Wow," Isobel breathed.

Harry nodded, too surprised to speak.

Her nails, normally worn down and crescented with dirt, looked bizarre in violet. But it was a nice shade, rich and clean, with little swirls of lavender running through it. It was like her nails had been transplanted from someone much classier than she was.

"Can you show me how to do that spell?" she asked.

Isobel waggled her nails playfully. "Sure, but you'll need to practice on someone else. I like the colors I have." She demonstrated the wand movement: A horizontal stroke from right to left, angled slightly downward. 3 o'clock to 8 o'clock. "Incantation is 'Colovaria.'"

Harry squinted, trying to commit the gesture to memory. Only when that was done did she look back to Isobel. "Thanks."

"No problem. My mum knows a bunch of cosmetic charms like that. Now that I'm here, she'll probably teach them to me. You want me to pass them on?" She smirked at Harry's enthusiastic nod. "Just cuz we're Ravenclaws doesn't mean we have to be a bunch of boring swots, right?"

"Izzie! Come look at this!" Lisa shouted from across the room.

"Talk to you later, Harry," Isobel said. She rose, hop-scotching over girls and food to reach Lisa.

Harry sat for a moment before she cadged a nearby butterbeer, eyeing her new nails even as she sipped at the drink. Around her, the other girls were loosening up, talking and giggling over each other, topics moving so rapidly that Harry couldn't keep up.

But it was nice. Something she'd never done before. No one minded her being there- not even Fawcett, apparently, and the whole atmosphere was light and relaxed. It was, for a time, possible to forget about unicorns and thestrals and all the magic she still needed to learn.

And then someone brought out the makeup.

XXX

Never. Again.

Judging by the funhouse mirror reflection she could make out in her butterbeer bottle, she looked like a clown. A very clumsy clown.

It had been funny, and rather novel to have makeup on at first. But… goodness, it just felt caked on.

Even if somewhere in the hubbub of applying mascara, and the chaos of Brocklehurst trying to use Colovaria on her hair and turning it rainbow, Harry had forgotten to be nervous.

XXX

She rose slowly, sliding out of the blanket she'd been wrapped in.

It was late, enough that the other girls had largely tired themselves out. Isobel was asleep in Lisa's lap, with the latter snoring loud and proud. Mandy, still rainbow-maned, was drifting, flipping sleepily through a copy of Witch Weekly. Padma was on her back, using her wand to conduct along with the tinny song coming from the wizarding radio by the window.

Fawcett seemed like the only other girl to still be lucid. She was watching Harry, dark hair loose, her eyes bright over a nursed bottle of butterbeer.

"Hey."

Harry stopped. "Yeah?" Her back tightened, the dozy mood falling away. Surely Fawcett wouldn't start a fight here, would she?

"'m sorry."

Harry turned fully to face her. "What?"

Fawcett drummed her seafoam green nails on the glass for a moment before answering. "For the first week. Talking about your family like that."

"Oh." What was she supposed to say to that?

"I was- I was being a bitch. It's just- most of my family got killed in the war. By You-Know-Who. He was a parselmouth, you're a parselmouth… I got carried away. When I saw you helping Longbottom with his Herbology, it just sort of clicked. His family got it worse than anyone's, and he was still friends with you. So… I'm sorry."

Silence. Harry wiped absently at the makeup across her mouth, feeling it smear. Fawcett took a sip.

"It's okay."

The other girl set her bottle down. "No it's not. That was… you didn't have anything to do with it."

And for a second, less than a heartbeat, Harry considered telling her. Not the full secret, but something close. Her family had died in the war too. If she said that, would there be something, some sort of mutual understanding between them?

But was it even fair to call them her family? People who died a decade ago. Her mother and father didn't have faces or voices. They were strangers she'd never known.

So why was Fawcett upset? She wouldn't have known her family members either.

Or… was it Harry who was wrong? Should she be upset over her parents? Was there a connection there she'd simply never learned? That in the same way she'd never learned hair or makeup, she'd never learned grief.

A lingering, ever-present, brokenness.

Just another thing wrong with her.

Fawcett was swirling the last of her drink around the bottom of the bottle. Waiting for a reply.

Harry sighed, suddenly tired of the whole conversation. She just wanted to feed the egg and have some quiet before she slept.

"It's okay. I'm not mad, Fawcett."

"We're square?"

"Yeah."

She bent and picked up her bedding, and headed for the door.

Behind her, Fawcett stirred. Glass clinked against stone.

"Hey. Can I call you Harry? You can call me Sara, if you want."

Harry hesitated in the doorway, arms full of blankets and pillow.

"Goodnight, Sara."

XXX

She dreamt of prayer.

Knees gone numb against flagstones. Hands clasped, knuckles white. Christ on his cross above an altar, face twisted in reverent agony. The matron at her side, praying in a frantic, desperate mumble.

It is a memory. A time long ago, a time when she was young enough to almost believe.

"You must pray harder, Tom. You've the devil in you."

There is more after that, but the dream blurs together. A flood of images and sounds.

Benson and Bishop in the cave by the sea. A dark-haired little girl whispering to toy soldiers when no one else would speak to her. Stubbs and his rabbit. Whalley, screeching with pain. A boy kneeling by his cot, trying to find the words to a prayer that does not exist. A girl weeping, begging to know why. A boy seething, wondering why.

A boy-

A girl-

XXX

Harry woke. A gasp escaped her, relief from leaving the dream. It was followed by a groan. Her stomach was heaving and cramping. Too much sugar and stress knotting it tight.

She slid out of bed and dashed for the bathroom.

Going helped settle her belly, and she moved more slowly on her way out. To the sink, leaning for a moment, the cool porcelain beneath her palms soothing, and then turning on the water.

Harry scrubbed her hands, glancing up at her sleep-muddled reflection.

A streak of black liquid dripped from the corner of her eye.

She jerked back so suddenly that her knuckles scraped across the faucet. The pain brought her back to reality.

Not black sludge. Mascara. She'd forgotten to remove it along with the rest of her makeup.

But just for a second, there had been terror and certainty. That she was so tainted that it was oozing out of her pores. Just her imagination getting the best of her in a vulnerable moment.

Her sickness wasn't trickling out like a nosebleed- even if it was still there. And her eye was most definitely not red. That had just been a trick of the light, catching the flame from one of the torches.

XXX

It didn't really sink in during the first wave of tests and markings. It was only when the second wave began trickling in, A's and O's and E's, that Harry realized that she was actually doing pretty well. She'd done decently in primary, but the teachers had never really been there for her, and getting marked higher than Dudley was usually a good way to get him throwing things at her.

Most of her year mates were pretty sharp as well. Su was better than she was at Transfiguration, but Harry had learned to cast most of the spells in the Charms text by now. Padma was better than both of them, if only just, and was currently vying for top of the year with Lisa, who seemed to be using high History scores to offset low Astronomy.

Potions was Harry's weakest, and most of that was because she was learning entirely different recipes from the rest of the class. Snape had shot her a few half-snide, half-advisory remarks so far, but mostly seemed content to watch her figure it out on her own. But having to essentially adapt every homework assignment he gave to her non-animal curriculum was turning out to be an exercise in hours of effort.

It was Herbology that turned out to be the surprise though. She had the highest first-year grade in Ravenclaw in the subject. Having Neville as a friend, and Blackscale as a handy source of nature knowledge were turning out to be incredible assets.

When she got her third O in the subject, she decided to get Neville a gift. A cutting from a plant at the edge of the forest. It was only a couple meters in, hardly trespassing at all.

Cunaria Ridens: the laughing orchid. A magical plant that responded to joy and laughter by glowing in bright colors.

Neville was so tongue-tied that he couldn't even answer when she gave it to him.

And then he met her with a gift the next day.

A little pot with a Snake Vine. It was tetchy, sensitive to cold, but the vine had a coat of leaves that resembled scales, and that could be plucked and chewed to cure minor ailments.

She put it on her bedside table.

The vine was lovely. It meant something, and reminded her of him whenever she saw it.

It was palpable in a way that grades weren't. Harry enjoyed doing well, being acknowledged by her professors for excelling, but it just… felt like not enough.

An O in Charms wasn't going to help her survive on her own. And another E in Defense didn't get her any closer to solving the mystery of her impurity.

The more she learned, the more she needed to learn.

And the more inadequate she felt.

XXX

October 24th

Neither of them mentioned the unicorns.

Harry passed by the cabin one day during one of her explorations of the grounds. Hagrid asked her if she wanted to help him with something, and she said yes.

And that was how she ended up helping the groundskeeper peel potatoes. He did it by hand, something about magic ruining the taste.

It wasn't her first go with peeling, but it was her choice here. She could choose not to peel and nothing would happen. There would be no punishments. Hagrid was happy just to have her there; he didn't care how many she did.

She kept going. The motion, the rhythm of hand and knife, were calming. A chance to slow down from days of anxious thoughts of her own uncleanliness. To relax and shuck away some of the sleepless nights full of nightmares.

Quiet.

XXX

October 28th

In the dream, she is back in the clearing. She is aware it is a dream; the world is too nebulous. She is nude, yet there is no prickle of the grass beneath her feet, and no heat of the sun on her shoulders.

The unicorn bows his head again. He charges, cloven hooves kicking clods of grass behind him.

His horn penetrates her chest and emerges from her back, smooth as moonlight. It hurts even through the dream. Blindingly, brilliantly white agony, one lung trying to inflate around the rod of bone stuck through it. She gasps, choking on fluids, aware that it is not real, but still fundamentally terrified that death is imminent.

He lifts her, her feet dangling over the clover and heath, and she begins to bleed.

Sludgy, fetid, black blood pours from the wound in her heart.

Her hand rises, trying to staunch it, but it's like trying to plug a dam. It oozes through her fingers, staining violet-charmed nails and the heavy, black-stone ring she wears.

And now her blood is gushing, covering the meadow- not a meadow anymore, but a lake of darkness, lit at the center by an emerald light. She is above the water, the unicorn gone, but she still dangles.

Girls slide beneath the surface, their eyes wide and white and empty.

Lisa. Isobel. Su. Sara.

Harriet.

There is a noise from behind.

Hands come to rest on her shoulders. Long-fingered. Pale as the corpses under the water.

The man behind her whispers something. A hand rises to stroke up her neck and cup the back of her skull. He drags fingers through her hair, and even through the dream, Harry feels a sudden, terrible yearning, curling back to meet the contact.

The other hand encircles, coils round her. A smooth palm presses over her hand, staunching her gushing, pouring heart. Skin to skin, divided only by a coating of gore.

His fingers twist the ring, gem framed with serpents, the stone engraved with a line within a circle within a triangle. He twists it, the motion smearing black sludge.

"You wear it well."

XXX


October 31st

There was a spice in the air. Not pumpkin or food or leaves. Something that was all those and none of those. The castle's magic felt different. Tighter. Stretched taut. The feeling that came to mind was thestral skin. Pulled so tight that everything beneath was pressed into relief.

The spice was enough to ease the nightmares that woke her at dawn. It was vibrant, yet soothing, plucking at the thread inside her that Quirrel always thrummed. Not tense, but anticipatory. Something was going to happen. Or was happening.

She drifted through her morning routine, eyes half-closed, letting the fluctuations and currents in the magic flow around her.

"Speaker!"

Harry stumbled, nearly tripping over her towel. "Gah!"

Blackscale lifted his head from the nested blankets beside her bed. "It is nearly time. We will accompany you."

He came to her hand as she approached, sliding up her arm to retake his spot around her throat. Something out of place within her chest settled, easing.

Harry reached out. The egg was still, but there was enough of her magic in it by now, a month's worth of nightly feedings, that she could feel it throbbing around the shell, constantly attuned to her. The snake's heartbeat was smooth and steady, more rapid than it had been before.

Her hands closed carefully around it, and she slipped it into her pocket. The egg nestled against her belly, a warm, surprisingly light weight.

"Do you know how long?" she asked.

"Soon. When it is ready."

She smiled, heady with magic and Blackscale's return.

"I missed you, you know."

He hissed low and slow. "I never left."

XXX

There was a calendar beside the bulletin board in the common room. Harry did a double-take as she passed it, counting the days. It was about time for Quirrel to be available again, wasn't it?

Excitement flared-

Halloween.

-and then flickered.

No chance he would have office hours today.

She was up earlier than most of her peers, and walked down to breakfast alone. Not quite alone- she amended the thought. There were two serpents with her. She'd speculated on what the new snake might be; it must be magical, and that could mean virtually anything. But now she was giddy, excited to meet the hatchling in a way that feeding the egg hadn't satisfied.

Harry kept one hand on the egg as she walked, the other stroking a thumb along Blackscale's back.

There were lit Jack o'lanterns at every corner in the halls. The suits of armor had been transfigured into extravagantly sinister black knights. Bats clouded the ceiling in the Great Hall, the room thick with autumnal smells of all the unusual dishes whipped by for the holiday.

Harry huffed, still a little miffed at the lack of Quirrel, found a seat at the Ravenclaw table, and began trying to find a type of candy that Blackscale might like.

XXX

Cockroach clusters.

He wasn't that hungry anyway, but it was still pretty funny to watch the girls around her almost lose their breakfast over a snake swallowing caramel-coated roaches. Fawcett- Sara, choked on her orange juice, and gave Harry a glare.

Harry gave her an innocent smile in return.

Neither said anything, but Harry was finding she was alright with that. Whatever strange, sort of amicable, but not friends relationship they had, it was miles better than constantly agonizing over if the other girl hated her.

Harry turned back to her own plate. The house elves had made all the toast rather festive by cutting it into skull shapes, drooling red jam like blood.

She'd just bitten into her second piece when the morning post came in. The swarm of owls usually brought a mad scuffle as everyone grabbed their food to make sure the owls didn't spill it. Harry loaded toast into her free hand and leaned back, letting the birds descend.

A gray-plumed owl landed dangerously close to her pumpkin juice.

It stuck out its leg to her.

Harry chewed, frowning at it.

The owl waved its skinny leg insistently.

"Can I?" Blackscale asked. "I can save half for later, if you help me."

"Not today," she said, and reached out to take the letter.

The little roll unfolded to reveal a few lines of thin, elegant calligraphy.

'Miss Riddle,

I have a small amount of free time tomorrow before first period. If you would like to stop in, I'd be happy to accommodate you.'

There was no signature, but none was needed. Her eyebrows shot up, and she spun, looking toward the high table. Quirrel was absent.

She grinned around her mouthful of bread, excitement restored to a blaze. Not only had he made time for her, but he'd remembered she'd wanted to meet, even weeks later. She gulped down the last of her food and jumped up from the table.

XXX

There was a trick to getting places in Hogwarts.

They had the day free for the holiday, and Harry, sick of the library for once, but also wary of wandering into the forest with a fragile snake egg in her pocket, stayed inside.

It was going to be an exploration day. She'd had several already, but most were outside, wandering around the grounds or into the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest if no one was watching.

She'd explored Hogwarts twice now. The first just to figure out optimal ways to all her classes. The second had been an exploration of the dusty, deserted hallways near Fluffy's corridor on the third floor. An entire wing of the castle had been roped off just to seclude the cerberus, and she still really wasn't sure why. Something to ask Hagrid the next time she saw him.

But there was a trick to navigating Hogwarts. It was simply, not to navigate. The castle responded, like all magic, to intent. If she had a destination in mind, and focused hard, willing it to appear, things would align in such a way as to get her there quicker and more easily.

And if she didn't focus?

The castle turned into a tangle of corridors and classrooms, with entire sections she'd never seen before presenting themselves for exploration. There was no palpable movement of rooms, but familiar paths would give forth unfamiliar doors, or sprout new tapestries for examination. It was like walking through some giant Escher painting, where all the bizarre stairs and geometry were just out of sight.

Footsteps the only sound around, Harry disappeared into the depths of the castle.

XXX

She drew to a halt in a doorway, breathless at the room Hogwarts had shuffled up.

There had been classrooms and closets, colonnades and cloisters. But there hadn't yet been a garden.

Until now.

It was a courtyard, an open space ringed on all sides by towers and walls. There was the sense of stepping into a box canyon, the only exits the door and the sky far above, framed with crenelations.

Rectangular planters ran in neat rows across the space, all overgrown, packed shoulder-high with vegetation. The cobblestones surrounding the planters were torn up, exposing earth beneath, that too sprouting wildflowers and thistles.

Harry walked in a daze, traversing the rows. There was wind, impossible in the enclosed courtyard, but there anyway, thick with pollen and scent. The magic here was blended, Hogwarts and the land's, the mixture more to the latter.

Paving stones inset with colored glass led the way to a small, rusting, iron bench. Harry sank onto it.

Her room was hers, but it was also Ravenclaw's, and the school's. The forest was nice, but it was not hers. It wasn't anyone's, and she was fairly sure it would defy any attempts to change that.

But here, this was a place that could be hers.

XXX

She settled to investigating the planters. They were very weedy, but growing at the heart of Hogwarts had virtually saturated them with magic, and made everything in them hardier, larger, and more lush.

Digging into a nest of creepers in the southmost planter revealed a tiny patch of Worsteria. The pale flowers caused minor misfortune when mixed with most things, but had the side effect of countering jinxes and curses that caused deadly misfortune, and could even be brewed into a Lesser Luck Potion if nullified properly. According to her book, they were rare and difficult to grow, most often springing up at battlefields or anywhere where there had been great disaster.

The planter at middle-right had broken open, the stone cracked down the center to make way for the delving roots of a thorny bush. Harry was eyeing it, considering uprooting it, when she spotted a cluster of shimmering, dewy orbs in the center. They looked almost like frog eggs, only mauve. Nothing she recognized, but an indicator the bush was occupied by some creature.

She left it alone, moving on to the next lot.

The rightmost planter in the center yielded roses, mundane, but still very beautiful.

Top-left gave forth a thick lot of hardy grasses. Her questing fingers had barely brushed them when the blades of grass drew blood. Harry hissed and drew back, cradling her hand. The few beads of blood that had touched the plant soaked in, the grass in that spot turning a vivid red. Some sort of... vampire plant. That needed more-

The egg shifted in her pocket.

Harry went still, riveted on the tiny lump.

It twitched.

"It's hatching!" she and Blackscale cried in unison, Harry nearly toppling into the vampire grass in her excitement.

Only- She had to show Quirrel. It was his egg. He needed to be there for its hatching.

Harry snatched the egg out of her pocket. A minuscule crack had formed at one end. As she stared, it grew a bit larger.

A thought stayed her: if she took off running, then the odds of dropping the egg were high. And it would mean hurtling through miles of corridor, all the while jostling a tiny, infant snake. It'd be lucky if she didn't scramble the poor thing inside the egg.

Harry set the egg down in a patch of earth. She unbuttoned her robes and tugged them off, breathing easier in just shirt and pants. The robes became an impromptu nest around the egg, swaddling it against the stone floor.

Crick-crack. The line in the shell jagged a little further.

"Blackscale, can you get Quirrel?"

"I will not leave the egg."

Harry grimaced. He said it in the same implacable, obstinate tone he'd had whenever the egg or 'Ouroboros' came up.

"Fine. I'll just- uhm." Was there a spell to talk to someone at a long distance? Or better yet, just summon them like Quirrel had with-

"Got it!" She drew her wand. Cumbersome in her hand, but necessary for the urgency of the situation. "Serpensortia!"

A black snake dropped from the tip. It curled round to look up at her.

"I need your help with someone. Can you find someone for me?"

The snake's tongue flickered excitedly. "Speaker. I am at your service."

"A human man- a uhm, male, with a big, purple turban- you know what that is? A hat. On his head."

"Humans all look the same. I will try though, if you wish."

The egg twitched, rocking side to side in the robes.

Impatience crashed headlong into anxiety, and Harry groaned under her breath. How to do this? How to make it understand her? Parseltongue wasn't bridging the species gap.

"You," Blackscale interrupted. He had taken up position around the robes, encircling them with his body. "The human you seek is a speaker as well. He is this speaker's sire. Follow her scent and he will be near. Bring him to us."

"Perfect," Harry said, reaching out to stroke his eye-ridges. "Give me a sec." Wand out again. "Serpensortia!" She recast the spell a half-dozen more times, calling snakes to her. Two more were black snakes, and seemed to know the first. The third and fifth were tiny grass snakes. The fourth, an adder, smaller than Blackscale. And the sixth, some magical breed, its scales sleek, the colors smearing across them like living camouflage, changing from moment to moment.

Blackscale repeated the mission, and Harry picked them up and took them to the door.

"Thank you, but please hurry!" she called, sending the squadron of serpents into the hall beyond.

Back to the egg.

XXX

The temptation was there. To help the snakeling force its way out. But Blackscale had hissed warningly when she'd reached out. Something about it needing to prove itself.

And so she sat, back against one of the planters, watching the egg slowly shake itself open. The sun was just peaking over the edge of the mouth of the garden, casting its light over the scene.

Something wet- albumen, she thought, was trickling slowly from one end of the egg, soaking into the robes. A little chip of shell flaked away. Something wet and slick inside the egg roiled, but the hole was too small to really see it.

The process was hypnotic. The methodical rhythm of a birth, played out in the cracks across a shell.

Without realizing she was doing it until her wand was already raised, Harry began casting again.

"Serpensortia."

The first serpent called was one of the ones she'd just sent off. Harry flushed, sent the grass snake on its way, and cast again, focusing on not calling her seekers.

And again.

And again.

Until the cobbles around her were thick with coiled, writhing bodies, scales shimmering in the sun, dozens of whispery voices filling the garden.

There were other egg-eaters there. And snake-eaters. Species that would gladly prey on their fellows or an egg. And yet, without her saying anything, they understood her intent.

The egg was surrounded, haloed by the magic she'd donated to it, the glow intensifying with each moment.

Crack. A sound like tiny bones breaking. A section at the end of the egg pushed up. The chip was still attached. There was a long pause, the snake inside seeming to muster itself, and then it pushed again.

The chip fell. A glimpse of the pointed egg tooth jabbing through the leathery skin. It withdrew.

Pushed again.

The snakes had fallen silent around her. The process proceeded, slow enough that the sun was sliding over head as the snake was born.

Push. Crack.

Spiderwebbing.

Branching.

Flaking away.

Push.

How long would it take them to find Quirrel? Surely he'd be there soon. He needed to see this. She wanted him to see it.

Push.

One of them began chanting it. "Push. Push. Push." Which she couldn't tell.

Or had it been her?

The snakes were gathering around her, on her, draping over feet and hands, garlanding her.

"Push." A score of parsel voices in one.

The magic around the egg had dwindled. The hatchling was getting tired.

It pushed anyway. A slab of shell lifted, dropped. Lifted. Broke away.

"Push."

A glimpse of the serpent, scales emerald green beneath the fetal slime, heaving against its prison.

Her palms met the stone of the floor, fingers digging into the earth between them. Her back rigid beneath her shirt. Let it be born.

"Push."

A crack. Splintering.

"Push."

Splitting.

"Push."

The word had lost meaning. Coherence. They were chanting it. Unceasing.

"Push. Push. Push. Push. Push."

Leather parting.

She had never prayed, but this was prayer. A plea for birth, told through a communion of serpents.

"Push!"

The tip of the shell split. A tiny snout jabbed out.

Its tongue flicked in. Then out.

Its first breath of the outside world.

Harry reached out to it. None protested this time. It was born.

Her nail traced the shell, her magic moving to slice the shallow cracks open.

The egg opened.

The hatchling was curled inside, not even big enough to coil. Brilliant, poison green, its eyes black and barely open.

Her fingers slid beneath it.

Tiny, lukewarm, trembling with the exertion of breaking free.

Its minute nimbus of magic, like another layer of scales, was trailing along her hand, plucking and exploring her own aura. They were in tune, the same notes played at a different octave.

Harry lifted it slowly, and brought it to her chest. Lowered it, the hatchling nestled in her lap, cradled by the overlarge t-shirt stretched over her legs.

The snake shifted a moment, curling a little tighter, and then stilled. Its eyes closed. Asleep in seconds.

Born.

Slowly, twitching and grinning with the enormity of the occasion, Harry lifted her hands to the sky. Her fingers blocked out the sun.

And then she screamed. Yelled her triumph, the wonder, the joy, shrieked it at the top of her lungs, louder than she'd ever said anything in her entire, silent life.

Around her, the serpents were hissing, chanting again, just as caught up in her joy.

Her lungs deflated, her body quivering, suddenly spent, happily exhausted.

She sank back slowly, letting the snakes reposition. They parted, and then came back together on top and around her.

They were still chanting softly.

"Ouroboros. Ouroboros."

Harry freed a hand from the crawling carpet to wipe her cheeks.

XXX

She waited a long while, luxuriating beneath her guests. Long enough for the sun to touch the other side of the towers.

Quirrel hadn't come.

Harry tugged her robes beneath her head, bunched them into a rough pillow, and closed her eyes.

For the first time in nearly six weeks, the steel left her muscles. So what if the dumb old unicorns didn't like her? She had snakes. And they had her.

It was hard to feel impure when she'd just brought a life into this world.

The baby serpent slept on.

Harry joined it shortly.

There were no dreams.

XXX

 

[Ziel]

Derivative

It was an accident. An inevitable accident. In others, they might have predicted it. Would have predicted it, because it was just so obvious.

Stick a couple of people into close proximity for long periods of time, add stress, stir twice, bring to a boil. Primal chemistry.

Legend found it humbling in a funny kind of way. Even they, with all their powers, weren't immune to something as mundane as an office romance. He was the only one in the entire organization with prior experience in these matters, and he took it with the easy stride of a man who has been there, done that. When Number Man had the inevitable freak-out of all men in his role, Legend was there with a stiff drink and a few choice words.

Alexandria hadn't seen it nearly so kindly. She'd been mystified by it. For her of all people to make such a misstep. Like watching a god stumble. Terrifying.

Seeing it happen was bad enough, but watching it play out was worse, because she had known first. Before Number Man, before Eidolon, before Contessa herself. One of those times having a photographic memory and an intuitive knowledge of body language backfired. She'd read the interaction between the two and figured it out almost instantly.

And she'd kept quiet about it until Eidolon finally figured it out. She still wasn't sure why. Maybe she'd wanted Contessa to be happy for once. Maybe she was a little jealous. It wasn't a choice she'd ever wanted, beyond the occasional imagining, but still... to be denied something, not by choice but by circumstances out of her control. Too reminiscent of when she was ill.

Eidolon, for all his powers, wasn't a people person. He couldn't read his associates like Alexandria could; didn't have the same easy way with them that Legend had. He'd only figured it out by chance; just so happening to cycle the right power at the wrong moment.

Once things really kicked off, he stood back and stayed out of the way. Something he and Alexandria had in common. They could bench-press freighters and punch supervillains till the cows came home, but this? No thank you. They kept to the sidelines. This was Legend's territory.

Doctor Mother had been simultaneously more scared than she'd ever been, and more delighted. On one hand, this could mean their ruination. All their carefully balanced plates crashing down in one awful cascade. But... she'd also doubted it. If they would fail, it wouldn't be from this. They'd weathered worse. Would weather worse in the future.

The delight had been stronger. To see Contessa off balance was... almost refreshing. A reminder that her child, always so perfect, could be human. Could enjoy something so basic, so fundamental to the human experience.

Number Man had had a drink with Legend, run the numbers a fifth time, and then called Jack.
Yes, of course it was an accident. No, he didn't think she'd 'Thinker-Whammied' him. No, Jack wasn't invited. Yes, Number Man would send pictures. Yes, he was still angry at Manton. No, Manton wasn't invited either. No, he did not need Bonesaw's input on the matter.

Contessa had, for once in her life, not used the Path. Let it be a surprise for once. It took a while for it to really settle in, and the temptation to peek had been almost unbearable. Just to get a clue as to what in the hell she was supposed to do. Because this was the kind of thing the Path was made for.

Finally, she'd had Doormaker open a window to her home world. It'd been nearly three decades since she'd last visited. Nearly an eternity. A lifetime spent on their crusade.
As she walked through the tall grasses where her village had once been, Contessa watched the sunrise paint the grass yellow.

She pressed a hand to her belly, only just now beginning to show.

She would let Doctor Mother pick the name.