Chapter Text
Sweat drips down Harry’s face as he casts a wary glance at the garden hose, wondering if soothing the persistent, scratchy ache in his throat is worth the risk of Aunt Petunia catching him slacking off while trimming her prized rose bushes. His head feels like it’s positively swimming from the heat, and the branches in front of him are beginning to blur together in a way that has nothing to do with Harry’s poor vision.
He risks another glance toward the hose before spotting movement from the corner of his eye. The unbearably lacy curtain that shields the Dursleys’ kitchen from the outside world is ever-so-slightly askew, and Harry knows better than to think it was caused by a draft. Someone is watching him, and whether that person is Aunt Petunia or Dudley, the end result will be the same if they see him doing anything but what he is expected to.
Harry heaves a sigh before getting back to work. The heat only gets worse as the afternoon drags on, and he can only work so quickly when half of the branches in front of him don’t exist as anything more than mirages created by his exhausted mind.
While it is an exceptionally warm summer afternoon for Little Whinging, Surrey, there are several reasons why Harry Potter is affected so badly by it. First and foremost, Dudley’s cast-offs are several sizes too large for Harry, and while there are a few holes in the ratty fabric that allow some airflow, the excess of material only serves to amplify the heat and weigh him down. Secondly, restricted access to fresh drinking water while the hose is taunting him from just across the yard only makes Harry thirstier and thirstier as he works. And finally, unknown to anyone but Harry himself, he naturally runs quite warm. Working in the middle of freezing snow with shoes that keep more moisture in than out is easier for Harry to handle than even milder summer days.
It is an abnormality. It is another freakish quality that the Dursleys will know about if they ever take Harry to a doctor, and he is incredibly grateful that they never do. He can hardly control his body temperature, after all.
Harry is quite miserable as the sun threatens to set before he’s finished. He’s already in a world of trouble for starting dinner so late; if he doesn’t at least finish the rose bushes first, then he might not see outside of his cupboard for a week. The Dursleys don’t have to worry about the school asking questions during the summer, and they are not shy about taking advantage of that.
“I’m doomed,” he groans quietly. “There’s no way…”
“Why do you smell like prey, little speaker? I cannot sense any predators nearby.”
Harry startles so badly that he almost drops the massive pair of shears that dwarf his tiny, trembling hands. He whips his head around this way and that, but he cannot find the source of the voice and is certain that he’s going around the bend before he hears, “Over here, little speaker.”
A long, dark snake slowly lowers itself from the top of their fence and moves toward Harry with a purpose that doesn’t seem natural. Shades of light and dark brown twine around the snake's body in a pattern that grows clearer as it approaches him, and while he’s not sure what kind of snake it is, he knows that it’s not something native to Britain.
“How did you get here?”
“The dull human’s nest master found me and started screeching like a winged predator before tossing me outside. I’ve been trying to escape the invisible box for years now, so it was no great hardship. Why would I ever want to stay with the dull human when there was a little speaker here?” A quiet hiss follows the snake’s question as it winds around his leg, slowly climbing up his rake-thin form. Harry continues working like nothing is amiss, mind running a mile a minute. He knows that Aunt Petunia, or more realistically, Uncle Vernon once he gets home, will kill him if they see the freakishness happening in their backyard right now. “No, you are special, little speaker. I will be staying with you from now on.”
“I don’t think I’m anything special. I’m just… Harry. You’re the talking snake. That seems pretty special to me.”
“You do not know.” Harry isn’t sure how a snake can sound so surprised, but this one manages it. “We are not speaking one of your human languages, little speaker. You are the one speaking snake language.”
“Oh.” Harry rather thinks that he has enough freaky things happening around him without adding talking to snakes into the mix, but it isn’t like he has much of a choice in the matter. “That’s… Really?”
“Really.” Did a snake just nod at him? Harry is pretty sure that snakes aren’t supposed to do that. “Speakers are rare. Snakes must guide them down the right path, protect them, and since clearly no one else has elected to do so, I will. You have much to learn, little speaker. Allow me to teach you.”
And Harry wants. He wants so badly to accept this snake’s offer, to learn something about the strange things that he does, but he can’t. “The Dursleys will kill me if they see you! It’s not safe.”
“Are they why you smell like prey? All the more reason for me to stay until you grow strong. We have not had a worthy speaker in over a century, and I will not allow them to steal you from us.”
“Boy! What is taking so long?!” Aunt Petunia’s shrill voice has his heart pounding in his chest, and all Harry can think about as he sees the back door creak open is that he desperately wants the snake wrapping around his torso to be hidden. Pale blue eyes level a glare on him that always leaves Harry shaking, but the screaming and panic he is expecting never comes. “I won’t tolerate laziness from you! Get in and start dinner!”
“Yes, very special indeed… You are a powerful speaker. I will keep you safe, and you will keep me safe in return.”
And, well, Harry wouldn’t be Harry if he couldn’t roll with the punches. Strange things are always happening around him. At least a snake is easier to hide than turning his teacher’s hair blue in front of the whole class.
He goes inside, washes up, and falls into the familiar routine of preparing dinner while trying not to think about much of anything at all. He’s only marginally successful.
Harry isn’t sure what he did, but none of the Dursleys can see the snake coiled around his baggy shirt. Whatever it is doesn’t save him from his aunt and uncle’s wrath for not finishing his chores, though. He gets locked into his cupboard without any dinner, and they only let him out the next morning to finish trimming the bushes before Uncle Vernon locks him back up with a firm, “You’ll get no food for the next four days, boy. Keep quiet and we might give you a glass of water or two.”
“Like the freak knows how to do that,” Dudley scoffs. “Always ruining everything.”
“Exactly right, Dudders.” Harry only just makes out a self-satisfied smirk growing beneath his uncle’s hideous mustache before his world is plunged into a familiar darkness. He resigns himself to a very long four days with a quiet sigh.
“Well,” he hisses quietly, very mindful of his volume. “At least I’m not alone this time. I’m sorry that you’re trapped in here with me. Do you think you could fit through the vent, or is it too small for you?”
“You’d be amazed at what a snake can fit through,” his friend hisses proudly. “Nothing can trap us. Except for cursed invisible boxes and their latches that keep me from pushing the metal off of the top of them. You will not put me in one of those things.”
“Of course not! I would never want to lock you away. It’s… It’s a horrible thing to do to someone.”
“You would know, wouldn’t you, little speaker?”
Harry averts his eyes, feeling a bit too seen. “What kind of snake are you, anyway? I’ve never seen something like you before.”
“I will have to teach you the art of misdirection another time.” He swears that it sounds like the snake is laughing at him. “The dull human said I was a ball python, though the distinction matters little to me. I also lay eggs. Humans talk a lot about snakes that lay eggs and those who don’t, so I figure they must think it important.”
“Oh, thank you! Do you have a name?”
“Not one that I will ever claim,” she denies firmly. “The dull human gave me a few but all were insulting, and I will not answer to them nor speak of them.”
“Names are important to snakes, then?”
“Very. A snake’s name is indicative of the respect they hold. Any name that is not a reference to greater powers in this world is an insult, and any snake that accepts such a name as their own will lose the right to ever associate with a speaker. Snakes answer to no master but themselves, and to forget that is to forget what it means to be a snake.”
Harry feels rather as if he’s stepped into an alternate dimension, but he cannot deny how fascinating this all sounds. “That’s so cool! I didn’t realize that snakes had their own rules like that, but it makes sense… Would you like one? A name, that is. I’d have to look through ones that properly honor you once we get out of here, but I’d be happy to do so!”
The ball python nudges underneath his chin with a quiet, “I would be honored, little speaker.”
And for the first time in a very, very long while, seven-year-old Harry Potter thinks that everything might turn out alright for him after all.
-
It takes weeks for his aunt and uncle to be in a good enough mood for Harry to slip away from Privet Drive, but he does so the second they give him the chance. “I’m just glad they eased up on me before the summer ended,” he hisses under his breath. Now that Harry knows what to listen for, he can hear the slight difference between snake language and English, and he knows that anyone walking past them will think that it’s just a peculiar-sounding breeze if they happen to overhear it. “It would’ve been much harder to come out here during the school year.”
Harry briefly worries that the librarian will see his friend curling around his neck and screech at him to get out, but her eyes glance right over her just like the Dursleys did. “You have nothing to worry about, little speaker. You are very powerful. So long as you do not want them to see me, they will not.”
“If you say so…”
“I do.” She slowly raises her head and lifts herself up until she’s, albeit unintentionally, doing a rather impressive impression of one of their nosey neighbors peeking over the fence. Harry stifles his giggles as a small smile tugs at his lips. “I cannot read your human words, so you will have to do the searching for us, I’m afraid.”
“That’s fine. It shouldn’t be too hard to find a section on mythology.”
Harry concedes defeat only a short few minutes later when he realizes that he’s not going to find much of anything with these glasses. Instead, he shyly shuffles up to one of the service desks, the one with the youngest, least-intimidating-looking librarian behind it, and murmurs, “Excuse me, ma’am? Could you tell me where the mythology books are?”
“Oh, aren’t you the cutest?” Harry suddenly gets the feeling that she thinks he’s much younger than he actually is. “Of course, I can! I can even show you if you’d like?”
“Yes please!”
“Let’s go get your parents and we’ll all go together, okay? Do you know where they are?”
Harry freezes in place, and it’s only his friend’s gentle prodding that keeps him from bolting as soon as he snaps out of it. “You can use this, little speaker. Make yourself appear small, unthreatening, and unappetizing until you are strong enough to survive on your own. It is the best way to avoid predators, and you have too many of those as it is.”
“Oh, um, I’m here by myself, ma’am. My aunt and uncle are always so busy, and I don’t want to be a bother… They know I’m here, though, honest!”
Concern shines in the librarian’s eyes, but she does not press further. “Alright, sweetheart. Let’s go find your book, okay? I’ll help you. What are you looking for?”
“Thank you! I wanted to look into different goddesses, I guess? The ones associated with knowledge and wisdom.” His friend is far too smart for a name any less important than that, and her pleased hiss leaves Harry confident in his decision on the matter.
“Alright, that shouldn’t be too hard! You’ll probably have to do some digging since most of our books are written about entire pantheons, but basically every religion has a goddess of wisdom.” Harry follows her as they weave between row after row of books, stopping short once they reach their destination. “You let me know if you need any other help. I’ll check up on you in an hour or so, okay? You don’t want to stay too long and worry your aunt and uncle.”
She starts to turn away, but Harry and his new friend have a plan, a plan that will ensure they are safer and healthier than they are right now. The librarian is already worried about him, and this is simply too good of an opportunity to pass it up. “You don’t have to worry about me, I promise. They won’t care when I come home. Or if I come home…” His words are barely a whisper, but they are still deafeningly loud in the silence that surrounds them. The librarian freezes in place, and Harry almost feels guilty about the stricken look on her face when she looks back at him. Almost.
She takes a fortifying breath before saying, “Then I’ll come back with water and some snacks so long as you promise to be very, very careful with them and not read at the same time. Does that sound good?” Harry nods, not having to fake his surprise and awe in the slightest. “Stay as long as you like, sweetheart.”
“O-Okay.”
Harry still feels as if a feather could knock him over once the librarian is out of sight, and only the hissing laughter of his best friend brings him back to the present. “Wonderfully done, little speaker. You are more snake than you allowed yourself to believe. Now come on, I was promised a name.”
By the time he finds it, Harry has a headache from squinting at the small print on countless pages for hours on end, but he has also eaten more in one sitting than he’s been able to since the summer started and has even more snacks tucked away in his pockets. “What do you think of Nisaba? She’s the Sumerian goddess of writing and grain, and she’s closely tied to knowledge because of that.”
“Nisaba…” his friend hisses contemplatively. “I like it. I have no need for your written words, but humans hold them in high esteem, just as I should be. And mice and rats love to hide in grain. I accept your name, speaker.”
The warmth radiating from Harry’s chest nearly brings him to tears. Nisaba glows with power that neither of them can name, but for once, that power feels like a blessing instead of a curse. Harry walks out of the library with a small, pleased smile on his face and several worried pairs of eyes watching him up until the moment he’s outside the door.
“Today was a good day.”
-
“That poor boy looks like a strong wind could knock him over.”
“And those clothes, goodness those clothes! They’re practically hanging off of him!”
“He was squinting so hard at those books too… I don’t think his glasses are the right prescription.”
“He’s awfully small, isn’t he? The Dursleys certainly aren’t short of food or money if the husband and son are any indication, so why does he look like he isn’t being fed at all?”
“... You don’t think?”
“No, surely not. They might be a bit much, but the Dursleys are good people, aren’t they?”
“He ate those snacks like I was going to take them away the second he let go of them. I watched him slip them into his pockets when he thought I wasn’t looking! Something is wrong in that house, mark my words.”
-
Harry is very satisfied with his trip to the library. The whispers throughout Little Whinging are reaching a fever pitch, and they’re all focused on the Dursleys and how they might be treating Harry. Some of the rumors are outlandish, but many of them strike close enough to the truth to be worth encouraging. He lets his too-large shirt slip off his shoulder and expose purple, finger-shaped bruises as he walks past Mrs. Number Eight, the notorious gossip even amongst a neighborhood of gossips. When Mr. Number Three goes to sit out on his back porch and keeps a steady, contemplative eye on him as he works for hours without any breaks, Harry makes a point of shucking off the old shirt entirely and revealing the way his ribs are on prominent display beneath the baggy clothing. He doesn’t have to utter a word to spur the rumors on further.
When old Mrs. Figg asks him a few probing questions, Harry answers them with wide, innocent eyes, downplaying it all and insisting that his treatment is perfectly understandable since he’s such a horrible burden on their family. It sounds rehearsed. It’s meant to.
Aunt Petunia goes to Privet Drive’s weekly book club meeting for all the stay-at-home mothers and comes back ghost-pale. “What have you done, boy?!” she hisses lowly, and Harry can’t help thinking that it’s a far uglier sound than snakes make.
“I haven’t done anything, Aunt Petunia, honest!” She only smacks him around a bit for his cheek, for daring to talk back to her, and it’s nothing that Harry is unused to in the slightest. But he still makes a point of acting extra skittish around those in the book club, and he can see the moment that they realize that Aunt Petunia is just as complicit in his treatment as Uncle Vernon, the obvious culprit for Harry’s bruises, is.
Revenge is a beautiful thing.
His aunt and uncle try to do damage control, telling anyone and everyone who will listen that Harry is a troubled boy who lashes out at everyone around him and causes trouble on purpose, but they aren’t nearly as clever about it as he is. Everyone in Little Whinging has come to their own conclusions about what is happening behind closed doors at Number 4 Privet Drive, and it is far harder to convince someone that their own opinion is wrong than it is to discredit a single rumor, especially when that rumor is being spread by the focus of an even larger rumor.
“I am proud of you, little speaker. You do serpents a great honor.”
“Thank you, Nisaba. I never could have done it without you.”
The ball python is smug for weeks, radiating contentment even as Harry returns to school and relishes in his classmates’ uncertain rather than outright hostile behavior around him, but Harry refuses to begrudge her rightfully earned pride.
His aunt is nearly apoplectic after two of his teachers call her and express concern for Harry’s welfare within the same week. She’s angry and more than a little scared because Child Protective Services is supposed to be visiting soon, and how is she going to explain away Harry sleeping in the cupboard? He can see the panic in her eyes. It’s the perfect time to put the final nail in the coffin.
“Aunt Petunia, did you hear? Mrs. Number Six thinks we’re too poor to afford clothes for two children. I heard her talking about asking the neighbors for donations for us. Isn’t that nice of her? I know that I’m a huge burden on you all, so I’m glad that someone is stepping up to help out.”
Bony shoulders slump, and eyes that are filled with equal parts hatred and venom that would do any snake proud lock onto his. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, boy. I don’t know how you did it, but I know that you did.”
Harry tilts his head to the side with wide, innocent eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Aunt Petunia. Are you feeling alright?”
“Stop it! Just… Just stop.” His aunt almost sounds like she’s going to cry. Harry can’t bring himself to feel bad about it when she is the reason he spent so many nights crying, hungry and alone, while curled up in his cupboard. “What do you want from us?! What will it take for this to all stop?”
“Don’t lay a hand on me. That goes for all of you. If you, Uncle Vernon, or even Dudley hurts me, then I will make sure everyone finds out about it before the day is up. I need clothes that actually fit me and glasses that are my prescription too. Everyone is going to notice if they don’t change. And I want a bedroom, a real one! The whole neighborhood knows how big your house is and how many bedrooms it has. What do you think they’ll say if it gets out that I’m sleeping in the cupboard under the stairs?”
“Fine! Fine, we’ll do this your way. But you had better make all of this nonsense stop, boy.”
“Do not forget about the food, little speaker. You cannot grow strong without it.”
“A-And I want food! I’m the one cooking it, so it’s only fair that I get to eat some. Every meal.”
Harry does not shrink back from his aunt’s answering sneer, and that is what shocks Petunia Dursley most of all. He no longer seeks her approval. He does not need it. Nisaba is proud of him, and while Harry might have hidden his abuse out of shame before he met her, she has taught him to use any and every tool at his disposal to improve his circumstances. He feels no shame over this now. It’s hardly his fault that the Dursleys are awful people.
“And you’ll make this all go away if I agree?”
“I’ll make sure to tell Child Protective Services what wonderful, kind people you are and insist that I have no clue where the rumors came from. As the bruises fade and I gain weight, the rest will stop believing it on their own. I’m sure they’ll decide that I was playing too roughly with the neighborhood boys or some rubbish.”
“... Deal. But keep any of your freakishness in your room, alright? I don’t want to see any of it! And Vernon is going to be in a foul enough temper as it is once he has to explain to our precious Diddykins that he doesn’t get two bedrooms anymore.”
“Understood, Aunt Petunia. I’ll make the transition period as easy for you as I can.”
An evaluating gaze rests on him for several moments, as if deciding whether or not he is telling the truth before his aunt breaks eye contact with a weary sigh. “Go on then. I’ll start sorting through that bedroom and clear off some space for you. I can hardly trust you to go through sweet Dudders' things and not destroy them, after all,” she huffs. “I’ll call for you once dinner needs making.”
“Yes, Aunt Petunia.” Harry can’t wipe the smirk off his face as he runs out into the backyard, and the power within him thrums with satisfaction and joy. “We did it, Nisaba!”
“You did it. I simply gave you advice, little speaker.”
“You taught me how to carve out a nest for myself and make it safe. A snake acknowledges their debts, and I owe one to you.”
“Find me a fat rat and we’ll consider it even.”
Harry doesn’t burst into laughter, but it is a close thing. His life has not been easy, and he knows that countless hardships await him in the future. Despite this, Harry has hope again. He will carve out his own path, and while his aunt, uncle, and cousin may still look at him and think that he’ll never amount to anything, that does not matter. They do not matter. How could they in the face of something like this?
He catches Nisaba the biggest rat he’s ever seen, though not without nearly getting bit for his troubles, and he watches as she strikes lightning-fast before curling around it and slowly working the rodent down. It isn’t until the tail has disappeared down her throat that she sluggishly slithers over to him and hisses, “You’re so warm. Pick me up, little speaker.” He does so, and she clings to him, still invisible to any eyes but his own, as they make their way back inside. Dinner is a quiet affair, and though he is not allowed to eat at the table, Aunt Petunia sends him up to his new room with a plate of food and a sharp point to the stairs. He’s hardly going to complain. His new room may still be filled with junk, but the bed is clear, it is several times bigger than the mattress in his cupboard, and it is his now.
“Thank you, Nisaba. For teaching me how to be a proper snake.”
“Little speaker was already a proper snake,” she answers dismissively. “But you are a proper speaker now too. Many serpents will seek you out, and you will bond with those who are meant to remain by your side. You can always tell which ones those are, though I'm not sure how I know that. It certainly will not hurt to talk to other snakes and ask around. Maybe one of them will know.”
“You are mighty and wise, and I shall always heed your counsel, Lady Nisaba.”
Something in the tone of his voice must give him away, both earnest and entirely too teasing, because Nisaba levels him with a look and says, “You are a sassy hatchling, but I much prefer it to when you were too quiet and reeked of prey.”
Harry laughs without any fear of existing too loudly and being punished for it, and it is a wild, free thing that lifts both of their spirits. “You know what? I think we’re gonna be alright. I think we’re gonna grow up here, safe and ignored, until we get strong enough to build our own nest and leave this place behind us. Between you, me, and whatever my strange powers are, nothing will get in our way.”
“Of course we will, little speaker. A snake wouldn’t settle for anything less.”