Chapter Text
Forest had been right: magic was wonderful. It was now early March and the Dursleys had no idea a snake was living among them.
Harry still couldn’t wrap his head around it.
Because magic, Harry hatchling, Forest answers, slithering through the bushes Harry was pruning one muggy afternoon.
I know that, Harry sighs. But what part of magic? How does it work?
Your magic knows it wants me to stay hidden. So, I am. Simple.
But why can’t I control my magic in other ways? He asks his friend, tossing plant detritus into the bin next to him.
You have, before, several times.
But those weren’t helpful. Well, teleporting –
— Apparating —
— Apparating Harry corrects, wiping sweat off his brow. On to the school roof was helpful, but turning my teacher’s hair blue?
It certainly helped bring her down a branch or two, Forest sniffs haughtily, flicking his tongue out repeatedly in hopes of catching a tasty scent.
It wasn’t worth the punishment Uncle Vernon gave me when I got home, Harry murmurs, frowning down at his clippers.
Forest stops his search some yards away from Harry and returns to his side, slithering up his arm to nudge Harry’s cheek with his snout. I know that, Harry hatchling, and I am sorry I couldn’t do anything to stop him from hurting you.
Harry looks away. They’ve been over this.
I still say you let me bite them and be done with it. Forest says petulantly.
Forest.
I have not failed a hunt yet, Harry hatchling, they may try and hurt me or you, but they will lose.
As morbid as it is, Forest’s reassurance does soothe Harry’s nerves. Thank you, Forest. But with my magic, why can’t I summon food or take a bath or unlock the cupboard?
Food is difficult to summon and impossible to conjure, Forest says, moving across Harry’s neck and shoulders. But with practice, you will be able to wash your scales, escape the darkness, and do almost anything whenever you want.
What’s the difference between summon and conjure? Harry queries, pausing his trimming.
Summoning something brings it as it is from one place to another, Forest explains patiently. But conjuring means you create it purely out of magic. Food cannot be conjured or transformed, it is against magic’s laws. It’s better to make food like you do and put a preservation charm on it to keep it safe to eat for a long time. If I knew you could create food so easily, I would have had you make me lots and lots of tasty snacks during our days in the darkness.
Harry snorts softly at his friend’s slightly forlorn hiss. How do you know so much?
I have seen many trees sprout and wither in my time, Harry hatchling. My home was never silent and those who listen to the whispers of the forest learn the most. Now I need quiet, I want to find a nice tasty lizard or frog before we go back inside.
Harry allows him to do so, withdrawing into his thoughts even as his hands mechanically go through practiced motions. He wishes it were as easy as making food appear out of nothing, that would solve a lot of his problems. But maybe he can practice summoning some. If he did it from the fridge or pantry, he’d have to be careful that none of the Dursleys noticed it missing. And would the food fly through the air? If it did, then the fridge door and his cupboard would have to be open, so that’s not very helpful. Maybe it apparates? Pops out of the fridge and into his cupboard a moment later? That would be nice, but again he’d have to be careful. He’ll ask Forest or test it on a night when he’s sure the Dursleys are fast asleep and won’t hear the creaking of his cupboard door opening.
Being able to wash himself more often than the once-a-week hosing down Aunt Petunia gives him in the background would be nice. Same with making his cupboard smell better, yet he doubts the reeking smell of pee, blood, dust, cleaning supplies, and sweat will ever be washed out of anything in there, let alone Harry’s memory.
It’s a nice thought though.
A couple hours later, the bushes, trees, grass, and flowers in the front and back garden on their way to recuperating from the winter months. Harry is grateful, his body’s been fluctuating between shivering and roasting as his skin becomes more and more damaged beneath the unbiased sun.
I’m done, he hisses in the direction he thinks Forest is.
So am I, he hears. Forest emerges from the tidy undergrowth, belly distended with an unfortunate prey.
What did you find? Harry asks, helping Forest wrap around his chest.
Forest lets out a pleased hiss. A gecko! It tried to run but my strike is too fast!
Harry grins at his concealed friend. You are an impressive hunter, he praises. Receiving a proud hiss in return, Harry gathers everything, meandering to the backyard shed on stiff legs. Tools replaced and rubbish taken care of, Harry goes to the courtyard pavement, brushing off as much dirt as he can from his person, wiping his bare feet repeatedly on the coarse shoe mat.
When he’s sure it will be up to Aunt Petunia’s standards, he knocks on the greenhouse door. He’s made to wait nearly ten minutes, even though he can see her sitting at the table reading a catalogue, before she decides to get up and acknowledge him.
“What?” She sneers once the door is open.
“I finished,” Harry says, keeping his voice subservient and eyes downcast.
“Front and back? All the weeds in the flower beds?” She demands, glaring down her nose at him.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“They better be perfect, Freak,” she growls, stepping aside to let him enter. When he passes, she wallops him upside the back of his head before going back to her seat at the table. “I don’t want your stupidity ruining Vernon’s day when he gets home.”
“Yes, Aunt Petunia,” Harry responds in the same pleasant tone as before, fixing his glasses from where they’d been knocked askew. He closes the door before standing off to the side just within her view, suddenly overwhelmed with how parched he is.
“What now?” She snaps, furious that he’s still there.
Harry attempts to moisten his chapped lips with a tongue sticky from dehydration. “Please, Aunt Petunia, may I have some water?”
“No,” she declines immediately. “I know you drank plenty from the hose, don’t you try and steal any more from us! No, you can finish the laundry and clean the toilets.”
“Yes, ma’am,” is his reply, blank face showing none of his anger or desperation, because no, he certainly didn’t drink from the hose, he knows he’s not allowed to. Well, if he plans the timing just right, he can sneak some water from the tap, even if the water from them does taste yucky.
Better than nothing.
So Harry spends the rest of the afternoon folding his uncle and cousin’s gigantic and stain-ridden clothing (he never does Aunt Petunia’s she refuses to let him go anywhere near her lady clothes), smiling slightly at the disgusted comments coming from his friend. He scrubs the two loos clean; layers of skin on his hands and knees rubbing free in the process, but he does get enough sips of water to slake his stinging throat. He's sore at the end of it but Aunt Petunia shrieks for him to get his hide downstairs, so he books it despite his locked-up joints.
“Yes, Aunt Petunia?” He asks once he’s on the main floor standing in front of her in the hallway.
“Get in your cupboard, boy,” she orders, politely opening the door for him. “I want you out of our sight for the rest of the night.”
She barely misses Harry’s ankle when she slams the door closed after he scampers in, but Harry’s okay with it. Out of sight means out of fist range.
He sighs, resituating on his mat, pulling his shirt away so Forest can slither out.
Are you alright, Harry hatchling? Forest asks, flickering out his tongue.
Harry smiles. I am. Are you?
Forest bobs his head. I am. I do not like the smells in the those odd human washrooms though. I do not like them at all.
Me neither, Harry huffs in agreement. They sit for a little while, listening to Aunt Petunia moving around upstairs until Harry remembers his earlier thoughts. Forest, how does summoning work? Is it like apparition or just floating the object from one place to another?
Both, Forest hisses, coiling the lower half of his body so he’s more eye-level with Harry. There are spells that do both. Are you thinking about summoning prey for me to hunt in here?
Harry breathes out a laugh. And food for me.
Then all you would have to do is picture the lizard or hatchling food that you want; imagine where it is and how it looks, then picture it appearing right in your hands. You must focus and want it more than anything else.
Okay, Harry says slowly, already considering which food items he might try to summon. So, I have to know where it is? I can’t think really hard about a package of those Jaffa cakes that Dudley’s always eating and my magic summons it from Tesco or whatever stores Aunt Petunia shops at?
Not yet you can’t, Forest admits. Maybe when your magic has had time to grow.
Harry sags. It might be stealing, but it would be better trying to get food from anywhere other than the Dursleys’ supply. Okay, he hisses in a whisper. I’ll try tonight when they’re all asleep. What about other spells?
Spells are helpful for focusing what you want your magic to do, but they are not required. Your intentions are what’s most important. I would bet my fangs that you can do any magic you want without a spell or a wand. You may be a hatchling, but you are mighty.
Like you? Harry teases, but his throat does catch on the at Forest’s faith in him.
Exactly! Forest hisses, weaving a bit in the air. How about we try cleaning your scales?
Are you saying I smell bad? Harry jokes, casting a weary eye to the ceiling when he hears Aunt Petunia walking across the landing.
Yes, Forest says bluntly, twisting to watch Aunt Petunia’s shadow move across the cupboard’s vent slot. When she passes into the kitchen, he turns back to Harry. Since you can’t shed your scales like a proper hatchling, using magic to clean is the next best thing. Do you think you can focus enough?
Harry nods, even as he hears the garage doors opening and Aunt Petunia opening the door to great Uncle Vernon. Harry is happy to hear that the Dursleys are going out for dinner. It means less work and time spent around his loving relatives. When Dudley comes home a little while later, they all leave, thankfully without disrupting Harry’s solitude.
He breathes out a sigh of relief when the garage doors close and the house falls silent.
Ready to try? Forest asks patiently, swaying his tail.
Yes. What should I do?
Think about the smelly toilets and the dirty clothes. You were able to make them smell like plants after you removed all the gross parts, yesss? At Harry’s nod, he continues. Now imagine doing that to your scales; getting rid of all the yucky stuff on top, leaving your beautiful scales beneath.
So Harry tries, closing his eyes and imaging it as Forest described. He begins to feel a tingle in the back of his mind; something swirling that evades his reach until he coaxes it closer. Brow furrowing, he guides the swirling, indescribable mass forward, feeling it caress him from the roots of his hair to the tip of his toes. It leaves him warm and giddy, a giggle escaping him before he sighs as the swirling retreats to the back of his mind. His skin tingles in its wake.
Yessss, Harry hatchling! You could feel it! I could taste it; you felt it and covered your scales with it! His tongue flickers out to taste Harry’s skin and he emits an exuberant hiss. Your scales are clean! You don’t smell like the sssssmelly bathrooms anymore!
Harry laughs breathlessly, still riding high from the sensation of his magic helping him. I can’t believe it worked!
Of course it did, silly hatchling, Forest says, rolling his eyes as much as a snake can. Now try to create a light so that you can see how well you did.
Harry frowns, unsure if he can do that as well, but then he closes his eyes, imagining the exposed bulb that used to illuminate his cupboard before Uncle Vernon took it (a Freak wasn’t worth the electricity costs). He imagines the sun and its infinite light and the brightness that glows from within Forest’s eyes whenever he is happy with his latest meal or proud of Harry.
Steadily, Harry feels his palm and fingers warm up, a glow turning his eyelids pink. He opens his eyes, blinking at the brilliant white light flickering in the palm of his right hand. Forest releases an overjoyed hiss and coils closer to Harry’s hand, drawn to the emanating heat that is nothing like the scorching afternoon sun, but rather like the dozing fire in the sitting room that always makes Harry feels cozy when he’s nearby in the winter months.
You did very well, hatchling, Forest praises. His tail comes around and nudges the light, revealing that it is a barely tangible ball floating just above Harry’s palm.
This is amazing, Harry breathes. He raises his other hand, pressing feather-light pokes against the light, exhaling shakily at the warmth that seeps into his very bones.
Would you like to try and unlock the door? Forest poses, hissing a laugh at Harry’s eager nod.
***
The days continue to pass with Harry practicing and experiment with his magic under Forest’s encouragement. Come mid-summer, he’s able to guide his magic to cleaning things, summoning objects (the Dursleys have yet to notice the missing slices and cans of food), warming or cooling things down, illuminating or removing the light from rooms, unlocking and locking any door, floating objects, pouring water (Harry was very pleased that it tasted much better than tap water), fixing anything broken, turning broken crayons into different tools (he made a hairbrush and tried to tame his hair to appease his aunt and uncle, but it stuck out even wilder than before), and – most importantly – healing injuries.
Both he and Forest were quite pleased with his progress. While he only spent a couple hours a day practicing while locked in his cupboard, Harry was able to relax slightly with the knowledge that no matter what his relatives did to him, Harry could do something to fix it.
Of course, that all shriveled up the day Dudley turned 11.
It was a miserable start to the day as Dudley loudly complained about the number of presents currently covering half the kitchen and sitting room.
“THIRTY-SEVEN?! LAST YEAR, LAST YEAR I HAD THIRTY-EIGHT!”
Aunt Petunia is quick to comfort, not enjoying seeing her darling son so upset. “Now now, sweetums, don’t you worry about a thing, we are going to be buying you two more presents at the zoo today. How’s that, darling?”
“So that would be thirty--- thirty---”
“Thirty-nine, sweetheart.”
“I want forty!” Dudley cries, fake tears already welling up at the injustice of it all.
Uncle Vernon chuckles from his seat. “You heard the little tyke, Pet, our big Dudders gets to choose three more presents, doesn’t he?”
“That’s right,” Aunt Petunia agrees, smoothing Dudley’s straw hair across his forehead. “How about you open some of your presents now before breakfast, darling?”
“Fine,” Dudley says, eyes eagerly choosing one of the bigger wrapped boxes and tearing in to it.
Harry is finishing sautéing the diced potatoes when the flap in the front door rattles.
“Get the mail, boy,” Vernon orders, glaring at Harry over the newspaper propped in front of him.
“Yes, Uncle Vernon,” Harry responds, eyeing the potatoes with trepidation. Knowing they’re close to being done, he turns down the heat, wiping his hands on the tea towel tossed over his shoulder- his uncle hates seeing any smidgen of evidence that Harry’s touched something.
Harry flits through the half-open kitchen door, not needing to open it all the way to squeeze through. He spots the pile of mail on the welcome mat and picks it up, mindlessly shuffling them together so they’re mostly straight and even for his uncle to look at.
He’s nearly past his cupboard when one of the envelopes catches his eye. It’s much thicker and heavier than the others and is a weathered yellow compared to the whites of the other letters and junk mail. Curious, he lifts it up, only for his mind to come to a grinding halt.
It’s a letter.
For him.
Forest senses something’s wrong and shifts around Harry’s chest. What is it?
I’ve got a letter, Harry says dumbly. He flips it over and sees a fancy wax seal keeping the – is it even paper? – envelope closed. Who would be writing to me?
Forest’s head pops up out of Harry’s shirt collar, his tongue flickering away as he hisses excitedly. I taste magic, Harry hatchling!
You sure it’s not my magic you’re tasting? Harry says doubtfully.
Forest harmlessly whacks Harry’s ribs with his tail. Of course I’m sure! He hisses, cross at Harry’s lack of faith. Whoever wrote that letter has magic!
Harry blinks, turning it back over to re-read the address.
Mr. H. Potter
The Cupboard under the Stairs
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey
They know I live in the cupboard, he thinks out loud. They must be magical to know that. No one else would know.
Don’t open it, Forest warns, sliding back down to hide under Harry’s shirt. Put it in your cupboard to read later.
Good idea, Harry says, stashing the envelope under the cupboard door just as Uncle Vernon shouts for him.
“Hurry up, boy!” When Harry returns to the kitchen, he hands his purple-faced uncle their post, going back to the cooker to finish the potatoes. “Stupid freak. Can’t even follow the simplest instructions, can you?” Uncle Vernon spits while sifting through the letters. “Oh dear, Petunia, it looks like Marge has fallen ill…”
Harry ignores the insults and his aunt’s simpering words, doing his best to make the perfect meal. He doesn’t want to give his relatives a reason to trample him.
Not that they need one.
Dudley so helpfully reinforces this reality when Harry is bringing the heaping plates of food over to the table. Problem is, the table’s more presents than table and Harry’s arms are starting to tremble under the strain.
“What are you waiting for, boy? Put the plates down!”
At Vernon’s furious words, Harry hastens to obey, deciding to nudge one of the stacks of boxes out of the way with his elbow. Apparently, Dudley does not approve.
“HEY!” Dudley yells, and next thing Harry knows, he’s flying back, his only thought being sheer panic at Forest possibly getting hurt. Then his world erupts in pain and chaos as he slams into the corner of the cabinets and smacks down on to the unforgiving floor, food and plates flying everywhere. “DON’T TOUCH MY PRESENTS, FREAK!”
Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia are already in a screaming tizzy, but Harry can’t make out anything they’re saying over the throbbing pounding in his head and screaming pain in his back.
The room spins when he tries to sit up, so Harry remains where he is. One arm wraps around his chest to frantically assess if Forest is okay while his other hand tries to staunch the blood crawling down his forehead. He hears quiet angry hissing and feels Forest shifting his coils but doesn’t get to think a reply when a disgusted shriek distracts him.
“Disgusting brat!” Aunt Petunia yells, looking utterly repulsed at the messy scene before her. “You’ve ruined everything!”
Harry only has time to blink blindly at her before a meaty hand grabs his neck, dragging him through the kitchen and into the hallway. He hears the sound of his cupboard door creaking open and he’s tossed inside, banging his shoulder against the wall.
“You vermin!” his Uncle bellows, spit flying into Harry’s face. “Trying to infect our son with your freakishness?! I won’t have it, boy, WON’T HAVE IT! When we get back, you’re going to be cleaning this house top to bottom then you’ll be in your cupboard for the REST of the SUMMER!”
Then the door is slammed shut and Harry’s left to his confused misery in the darkness, listening to his relatives frantically make sure each other are okay and if any of Harry’s blood got on them or Dudley’s presents. With many platitudes about extra presents and taking Dudley out to breakfast with Piers Polkiss before they go to the zoo; they abscond to the garage, zooming away from the source of all their problems: the Freak in the Cupboard.
Harry slumps back, body protesting heavily as he reaches up to bring Forest out.
Are you okay? He hisses, terrified that his friend is injured.
Forest moves in his lap, tensing and untensing his long body in slow movements. I believe so, he finally concurs, and Harry sighs in heavy relief.
I thought I fell on you, he says, running a shaky hand down Forest’s smooth and thankfully undamaged scales.
You did, Forest admits, turning his head to nuzzle Harry’s hand. But I am unharmed. You protected me.
Harry sniffles a little. Forest uncoils, slithering up Harry’s arm to wind around it and squeeze comfortingly. You are a good hatchling. The best.
A wet laugh escapes Harry and he feels a warm drop land on his leg.
You need to stop the bleeding, Forest says, flicking his tongue out. Can you?
I think so, Harry nods but stops immediately because he feels like he’s going to throw up even though there’s nothing in his stomach. He concentrates, Forest’s encouraging hisses helping him guide his magic to the stinging wounds and knit them closed, soothing away any bruised flesh.
When he’s done, he exhales heavily, relishing in the freedom of doing so without feeling pain in his ribs and spine. Well done! Forest praises. Harry continues to apply a cleaning charm on himself to remove the blood and bits of food. He’s debating if he should eat a bit of blood flavored egg when Forest suddenly reminds him of something very important. Your letter, Harry hatchling!
Harry startles, realizing he had already forgotten the mysterious post. Creating a light in his palm, he finds the letter partially hidden under his mat. Adjusting his bent glasses, Harry studies the red wax seal, holding it out for Forest to see better. Do you know what this seal means?
Maybe, Forest hisses. Open it.
Harry does so and sees:
HOGWARTS SCHOOL
of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
A school. For magic.
He goes on to read about an ‘Albus Dumbledore’ and sending an owl, but his brain is quickly becoming inundated save for one thought: there are others like Harry, which means he must not be a Freak.
This changes everything.