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Chapter Text

The boy tore through the dense underbrush of the forest. The small limp grass snake still clutched to his chest. His threadbare shirt snagged on briars, thorns digging shallow cuts into the thin skin of his arms as he fled the larger boys who had been pursuing him. He could hear them shrieking as they stomped towards the trail which led back to small park adjacent to their cookie cutter neighborhood. He could hear their jeering threats of telling the adults what they had caught him doing ringing through the trees.

He knew he shouldn’t run deeper into the woods. That it would only be worse when he finally did return to Number 4. Harry had realized at a very young age that his Aunt and Uncles punishments where more tolerable when dealt with immediately. The longer they had to sit and think about whatever unnatural failing Harry had committed the worse and more creative the punishment would end up being. But fear had stolen all logic from the small boy and his instincts demanded he keep moving. 

He imagined his Uncles face turning a familiar deep angry red and then purple when Dudley would finally make his way home to tell them. Imagined his Aunts pursed lips as she asked if anyone had seen, had heard . And Dudley would say yes. That Piers and Jacob had been there too. That they had seen how freakish, how unnatural, how Demonic Harry was.

His guardians hated every part of him. Made sure he knew it too. But the thing they hated the most, the thing they had tried to crush out of him the hardest, was how he Hissed. 

He had heard them talking about it once through the slats in his cupboard door. He couldn’t have been more than five or six, the crib mattress he slept on still accommodating his slight form. 

“We knew he was going to be like them, Pet, with all their disgraceful unnaturalness,” his Uncle had soothed. “He just needs a firmer hand. We can control it.”

“No, Vernon. You don’t understand the way I do. It’s more than just the regular freakishness,” his aunt gritted out. “It was evil. I found him, right there,” Harry could imagine her boney hand pointing out the kitchen window into the back yard where his most recent crime had taken place, “he was- he was- Hissing .” 

“Hissing?” Vernon's voice parroted back in confusion.

“Yes!” The woman exclaimed in a near whisper. Harry pressed his ear to the crack in the door to make out the rest of her words. “To a snake! And it, it seemed to be listening! Like they were talking to each other! Now, Lil- She was always strange. Doing weird, unnatural things. But never something like that. Something so obviously- so utterly evil. ” The last word was hissed out. The vitriol of the statement had the small boy cringing away from the door in fear, shrinking in on himself. His small hand rubbed against the finger shaped bruises which enveloped his bicep, pressing into the discolored skin and increasing the dull throb. 

“There’s a coldness to him, Vernon. Something deeper than just being so obviously different,” The last word was spoken like a curse. “Even that trashy boy She used to let hang around never did something so weird, never acted as strange as the Boy. And I’ve heard the little Freak hissing before. Almost like he’s talking to himself or- or to something we can’t see. ”

“You don’t think-”

“I do think! With how strange and disgusting their world was is it such a leap to imagine? And he’s just- he’s disturbed, just all wrong, Vernon. I know it! He should have died with them, but he didn’t! And now theres something putrid about him. Something Demonic. The Hissing , Vernon! It’s going to drive me mad!”

The Boy felt a shiver of fear run down his spine at the hate in his aunts voice. 

“He probably is Demonic. Such a foul little Freak.” His Uncle had agreed. “We can still fix that though. Now, you see, my sister was right about the Boy. I’ll ring Marge first thing in the morning, ask her for her Priests number. She said that he was known for curing such nasty things. That he has his ways of banishing unnaturalness.”

His aunt had muttered something the Boy could make out, seemingly lost in her own emotions.

“Now, now, Pet,” His Uncles deep gruff voice soothed his wife. “We promised to raise the Boy to be a good, normal person, no matter what it took. I’m willing to keep fighting for that. Even if we have to break him apart to make it happen.” 

Father Milton had come two days later. All sallow skin, imposing height and dark, cold eyes. He had listened with rapt attention as the Dursleys described the strange behavior of the reedy, curly haired boy before him. The man didn’t leave the house until late that same night, the Dursleys shaken by what they had witnessed, but resolved to use a firmer hand at the urging of the daunting man. 

“The Devil deserves no kindness,” Father Milton had said in parting, “Nor do those who Host him.”

But as hard as he tried, Harry couldn’t stop the Hissing. It didn’t only happen when he talked to snakes, it was whenever he was alone too. He had stopped talking to himself as he completed his chores for his Aunt, because whenever he did he would apparently mutter in that singsong Hiss. Fast as a bird of prey his Aunt would swoop down on him, striking him with whatever makeshift weapon she happened to be holding, a rage filled order of “Quiet!” forced past her pursed lips.

Soon he found it easier to just never speak. Unsure if he would somehow be responding to something his relatives had only thought, not said. Unsure what language would emerge from between his lips.

The worst time to Hiss was when he was afraid. His Uncle would be advancing on the emerald eyed boy and the fear would steal his words away, the only sound escaping would be pleading hisses. This would always enrage the man more, tenfold whatever punishment Harry would have been about to experience. And he wouldn’t be able to stop. No matter how much his Uncle demanded he spoke normally nothing but sobbing hisses would come.

And then Father Milton would be called. 

The thought had the boy stumbling as he ran, panic making his stomach roll. He didn’t want Father Milton to come again. He didn’t think he would survive another visit from that horrible man. His breaths were coming in painful gasps as he dodged through the trees, his head swimming with the lack of oxygen. 

He had to keep running. Had to find somewhere safe. He remembered the desperation he had felt to escape when Dudley and his friends had been Hunting him in the school yard. He remembered the deep pull inside his bones that had seemed to answer his unspoken need to flee to somewhere safe. He had suddenly found himself on the roof of the school, looking down on Dudley and his pack. Harry had been punished for finding unnatural behavior, but the satisfaction of escaping had been worth the consequences.

In his bones had felt the way his fingers did when he pushed out dim lights in the crushing darkness of his cupboard. The way his skin did when he would press down on his different scrapes and cuts and will himself back together, will the blood to stop. The way his hands had felt the one (and only) time he had moved to block his Uncles swing and somehow pushed the man across the whole kitchen, without touching him. 

He tried desperately to call on that same intangible feeling, that rolling shimmer within his bones.

“Please,” The Boy begged the unseen force as he continued to run, “ Take me away. Somewhere Safe. Please.”

The snake in his hands weakly curled its tail around his wrist. He could almost feel that shimmering, tingling power dancing all around them at his desperate Hissed words. 

“Please,” The pleading Hiss seemed to ignite the air with heat; green light enveloping the boy and snake. Between one step and the next, he was gone.

In a heavily warded drawer of the Deputy Headmistress' office laid a self filling book. The names and addresses of all the Wixen children of the United Kingdom were recorded in its pages. 

Perhaps if someone had been in the office they might have noticed the slight ripple of emerald magic that moved through the drawer. But no one was there. No one noticed the name and address that suddenly vanished from the pages.

Chapter Text

Between one step and the next, the trees disappeared from view. Harry found himself sprawled across the muddy ground, his face impacting with half buried stones, the grass snake protectively clutched to his chest. 

The boy lay panting, the abrupt silence causing him to freeze, hard taught instinct making him assess his surroundings before he moved. The air hummed around the small boy. A visible static danced across his skin, sparking across him with soft golden light, before defusing unnoticed by the boy into the air. A soothing warmth pushing across his flushed skin, a living force of energy seeming to welcome him.

With shaking limbs the boy pushed himself on to his knees cautiously taking in his surroundings. His eyes widening in shock at the sight that greeted him. 

A worn, half buried cobblestone road spread out before him, winding up a sudden steep hill, overgrown with massive trees with thick weeping branches on the left of the road and a rolling hillside which flattened out on the right. The grasslands stretch a massive distance before being cut through with a large stone wall, which curved through the field, disappearing from view behind the cliff like hill the road wound up. About every kilometer a round tower was built into the wall.

“ Where are we?” Harry wondered in shock. 

“ How should I know?” The grass snaked hissed back angerily. “ You’re the one who brought us here.”

“ I brought us here?” The boy echoed in confusion.

“ Yes, obviously. You’re very silly for a Speaker.” The small boy blushed at the abmonishment. “ Now let me go. If you keep squeezing me I’m going to regurgitate my toad and it took me all morning to catch it.” 

“Oh, sorry.” The wild haired by gently placed the snake on the ground infront of him. With a slight feeling of abandonment he watched the brown snake hurriedly slither into the tall grass to the right. He shouldn’t be surprised, he reflected. He had met many snakes in his short nine years of life and not one stuck around for more than a day. While snakes tended to not be great conversationalists, really only ever telling him about the best places to hunt or warm spots to sun, it was better than the isolation he faced at the Dursleys and the existence of social outcast he was at school. The snakes were always intrigued to meet a “ Speaker” and would humor him for a few minutes.  

 Breathing a deep sigh, the boy shakily rose to his feet. His jeans sported a new tear in the left knee and his worn trainers were caked in mud. All and all, not too bad for having run for his life from Dudley and his two friends. As he brushed the dirt from his hands the boy began to turn in a circle, taking in his surroundings. He froze at the sight directly behind him. A massive metal gate was so close it nearly brushed his nose. It was easily six meters tall and intricately carved with fierce looking serpents which oddly enough seemed to have feathers on their heads. The large stone wall he could see seemed to lint to this ornate gate, the wall disappearing into the woods.

Harry took several stumbling steps backwards, Wide eyes fixed on the snarling fanged mouth of one of the serpents. 

“ I don’t think I’m in Surry anymore.” The boy hissed to himself.

With no other options the boy decided to follow the winding cobblestone road up the hill. He had been walking for what felt like forever and ever, his thin legs burning from exertion, he watched as the summer sun steadily crept closer to the grasslands horizon. He and Dudley had gone to the park after lunch and played (or in Harry’s case hid) for several hours, so Harry figured it was close to Seven PM now. Dudley would have made his way home hours ago and told his parents about his Freakish behaviour. Vernon and Petunia would have had hours and hours to get angrier and angrier. Father Milton was probably at Number 4 right now, sipping tea in the family room, waiting for Harry. 

The boy suddenly sat down on the muddy road his thin hands clenched in his tangled hair. All energy leaking from him. He wouldn’t go back. He would rather die in these stange woods than go back to the Dursleys and Father Milton. 

He might be lost and stranded, but he could live in these woods. Just like that Swiss family in that movie he had watched while cooking dinner one night. Well, Dudley had been watching it, but Harry stole enough glimpses he thought he could replicate it. He didn’t have a shipwreck to repurpose, but he was a self respecting nine year old boy, so he was sure he had some useful items with him. 

Resolved, the small boy turned out his pockets, spilling his treasures on the stones in front of him. He was rather disappointed by the turnout. He had two army men, a perfectly round blueish stone he found in the flower garden while weeding, his uncles bicc lighter he nicked, a length of yellow yarn as long as his arm, an orange crayon and a peppermint that was broken in half. 

Putting the peppermint in his mouth, he reflected that building a house in the trees was probably going to take more than a single night anyway, so he had time to gather more supplies. 

The setting sun had the boy scurrying up one of the trees close to the road. He had slept high in the branches of trees before, when the Dursleys had locked him in the yard overnight with Aunt Marge's near rabid dogs. The thick weeping branches under him felt far more secure than the spindly sparse trees the Dursleys had in their back garden. 

Leaning his back against the thick trunk of the tree the boy watch the red sun sink lower and lower. Tomorrow he would find water, he thought, his mouth uncomfortably dry. Maybe he could find another snake to give him directions. 

Petunia Dursley wasn’t worried when her nephew never came home that night. Angry? Most definitely. But not at all worried for the doe eyed boy. He had spent many nights outside of Number 4, the flighty little boy too lost in his own vapid mind to make it home at an appropriate time. He was always curled up on the back patio come morning, waiting for his Aunt to unlock the door. He would apologize with tear filled Green eyes (she would have to look away, those eyes haunted her everyday, she couldn’t bear the sight of that wretched boy, soaked in Her death as he was) and beg to be let inside. 

Petunia was embarrassed to have Father Milton witness how little control she had over the brat as they sat waiting in her parlor late into the evening, sipping tea with idle chit chat. When the street lights finally turned on Father Milton took his leave, promising to come back when they next called for him. The man was familiar enough with the Demonic boy she knew he wouldn’t judge her too harshly. Father Milton was always eager to assist the Dursleys in their battle against the Evil inside the boy. 

Petunia reflected on how grateful she was for the willowy man as she watched the morning sun slowly illuminate her dew covered garden. 

The boy hadn’t been waiting for her to unlock the door. Petunia knew he would be home soon. She had been hoping to throw the boy in his cupboard before Vernon even woke, least the sight of the freak anger her poor dear enough to ruin his day before it even truly started. 

The hateful creature was no doubt lurking in her flower beds, hoping to sneak in without her noticing. Hideous little thing was always creeping around, trying to go unnoticed. More and more often Petunia would nearly have a heart attack when she would realize the boy was silently in the same room as her. Those Green Green eyes peering at her through a messy fringe of near matted curls. And that scar. That hideous hateful scar. 

Petunia remembers the first time she had seen the boy. That horribly frigid November morning. How gorgeous she had thought the little baby as she glimpsed his sleeping form in the basket. Like a perfect Cherub, gorgeous brown curls, a round face with fat cheeks, red cupids bow lips. Petunia loved her own Dudley more than any mother ever had loved any other baby, but even she knew his eyes were just a little too close together and his nose a little too pig like to be considered a truly beautiful baby. But the baby in the basket was perfect enough to be the Gerber baby. How enraged she was that someone had left something so precious out all alone in the cold. 

And then she had read the letter. 

And moved the blanket away from where it partially covered the babes head. 

Blood was smeared down the round face, caked and dried into those perfect brown curls. Like someone had taken a hammer to a porcelain doll, thin bloody lines cut across the babies forehead above his left eyebrow, snaking into his hairline over his ear. 

Like someone had tried to crack his head open and failed. 

And then he opened his eyes and they were Green. Even more Green than Lily’s, they seemed to glow with a sickly light, like toxic waste. His Green was nothing like Lily’s green. Lily's was like sunlight shining through leaves and the color of everything alive and Lily was dead and Petunia hated this little bloody baby and hated the old fool for leaving him with her and hated Lily most of all for dying.

Petunia had yelled for Vernon to grab Dudley, that they needed to go to the hospital. The boy was a damaged, horrific sight, but Petunia hadn’t wanted him dead. 

He had nowhere else to go. 

Harry was very thirsty. He had woken to the birds singing all around him and promptly continued his trek up the hill. He knew from experience that a day or two without food wouldn't hurt him, but he had never gone a whole day without water. 

The boy peered into the woods to his left. He wondered if he could find a stream in the forest, but some deep instinct urged him to stay on the curling cobblestone path. Almost like a warm hand was pressing on the small of his back urging him forward. Trees slowly began to dot the right side of the road, creeping closer and closer until the boy was fully in the overgrown woods. The cobbled path narrowed until it was as thin as a deertrail, crowded with thick foliage.

After what Harry estimated was another hundred hours of walking (but was more accurately about 40 minutes) the boy rounded a curve in the trail and stumbled to a stop. In front of him the trail widened into a collapsed stone bridge arching over a shallow creek. The small boy hurriedly left the path and slid down the steep bank of the, splashing noisily into the water. His pants were soaked up to his knees but the boy didn’t care as he cupped the crystal clear water in his shaking hands and hastily drank handful after handful. He waded deeper into the moving water and used his wet hands to wash his face. The sweat from all of his running had left his skin tight and salty. 

“So long since I have had such large prey,” a quiet voice whispered through the leaves. 

Harry froze with his hands still in the water. Had he heard a voice? He thought he had. But as he peered through the shrubs on the other side of the creek he couldn’t see anyone. The birds and other animals had gone silent in the trees, a sudden hush pressing down on the boy. With damp hands the boy pushed his dirty hair from his face and waded through the water to the bank, wide eyes darting as they looked for the invisible threat. He must have imagined it. With tired limbs the boy pulled himself up to continue on the cobble path. 

Harry gazed longingly at the creek for a moment, wishing he had a canteen to take some water with him. If only he could find a coconut tree like in the Swiss people movie. Then he could have coconuts and something to carry water with. With a forelone sigh the boy began his forward trek again, resolved that if he didn’t find some sort of shelter soon he would come back to the creek and build his treehouse near by. 

Harry hadn’t taken but two more steps on the trail before the sound of leaves rustling had him looking to the right and then flinching away from a pair of slitted eyes. Before he could get any farther than a single step he found himself sailing through the air, a large dark shape seeming to materialize from nothing and encompass his whole body. 

Thick coils of muscle wrapped around the struggling boy, pinning his arms to his sides with dizzying force. He wasn’t strong enough to do more than writhe weakly in the hold of the beast. The pressure was so tight he couldn’t draw air to scream as he came face to face with the open mouth of a large snake. Huge fangs dripped venom as the snake angled its mouth over the boys tossing head. 

“Don’t eat me!” Harry hissed out with the last air in his lungs. 

The snake froze, its body which had been steadily contracting tighter halting its movements. Slowly, the serpent closed its mouth and drew its head back so it was peering into the boy's face. 

“A little Speaker?” The snake seemed to be asking itself. Harry could do nothing but nod back as black began to creep into the edges of his vision. At his nod, the pressure abruptly decreased, but he was still wrapped chest to toe in the snake's coils. “ Truly? You can understand me?”

Taking great gasps of air, Harry nodded again, “Yeah, I understand you. Please don’t eat me, I’m sure I would taste horrible. I’m so boney and scrawny and everyone says I’m disgusting so I would probably give you a stomach ache or something.” 

“Oh, little one, I won’t eat you. I would never eat a Speaker. What on earth are you doing here? And all alone?” The serpent had a lilting feminine voice, Harry was fairly certain it was a girl snake. The snake began shifting Harry in its hold, seeming to be checking over each of his limbs to the boy's confusion. Finding the tear in his jeans the snake flicked it’s tongue out, tasting the thin cuts from the boy's fall. Faster than Harry could track, the snake was facing him again, tongue darting out to smell his cheek. “ You smell just like someone I know.”

“Uh, well, that’s nice,” Harry stuttered out. The snake hissed a laugh in response. “I don’t know how I got here. Yesterday I was just running away from my cousin and I wanted to go somewhere safe. I fell down and then I was in front of a huge gate with bird snakes on it. I’ve just been following the road since.”

“Oh, sweet little Heir,” The snake tightened her coils in the approximation of a hug. Harry found himself going nearly limp at the comforting pressure combined with the sweet tone of voice. Or maybe it was just a prey response to being squeezed by such a massive predator. He could feel the snakes massive head shifting through his curls, her tongue smelling his ear, “ You must have called out to the family magics for protection. You’re a powerful little thing to have managed that.”

“Family magics?” 

“Yes, yes, very very Ancient and the Absolute Most Noble of all the Family Magics,” The snake pulled back from investigating the boys hair to give a snakey eye roll at her own statement, as if she was quoting and mocking someone else. 

“That doesn’t make sense. Magic isn’t real.” Harry said with a sceptical shake of his head. 

“Magic isn’t real- child, how else do you think it’s possible for you, a little boy, to be able to talk to me, a snake?” The serpent asked in exasperation.

“Oh, well thats obvious. It’s because I’m possessed by a demon or something.” Harry shrugged as best he could from from the ground while being constricted. 

“Possessed,” The serpent echoed in a flat voice, and then to herself, “ My master would go on a rampage if he heard his own Heir suggesting such a thing.” She shook her head, “Kid, wait- what’s your name?”

“Harry.” 

“You’re not possessed, Harry. You’re a Parslemouth, which is a decendent of a magical creature called the Naga.”

“Oh,” The boy blinked once, “Are you sure I’m not just possessed by Satan or something?”

“Positive,” The snake dryly replied, “Now let’s get moving. I’ll take you to the castle.” 

The snake released the boy with liquid grace, leaving him sprawled on the muddy ground. 

“You have a castle?” The boy gasped in astonishment and scrabbled to his feet, carefully stepping over the snakes tail as he jogged to catch up with her head. The creature was easily 20 feet long, at her widest point being as big around as Dudley after three servings of dinner. Her scales were a deep green, so dark they shown black in the low light of the foliage. He had never met a snake so huge, but he figured if a snake was going to have a castle it would be one as magnificent as her. 

The snake let out a hissing laugh, “No, silly little Heir. Since the magics answered you, a more accurate statement would be that you have a castle.” 

“Oh,” Harry paused, confused and fairly certain he didn’t have a castle. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s true. I also still don’t know anything about magic.” 

“That’s alright. I can teach you and my master left many of his books in the library so you can learn through those as well.” 

“Are there other people like me there? People who can ‘call on the family magic’ or whatever?” The small boys heart clenched at the idea of finding someone like himself at the end of this winding path. Someone just as freakish and devilish who wouldn’t hate him for talking to snakes. If someone else was capable of calling on the “Family Magic” did that mean he had more family than the Dursleys? 

The snake was silent for a moment as she continued up the path. 

“No, it’s just me in the castle now.” Her voice, which has been so enthusiastic, took on a somber tone as she spoke. “My master was like you. A Parslemouth. It’s his castle. But he left a long time ago and hasn’t come back.” 

“Oh,” Harry stuttered out. “I’m sorry you’ve been all alone.” 

“Sweet little Speaker,” The Snake said with a huff, her tail quickly coiled around his ankle and gave a short squeeze. “Well, I’m not alone now, am I?”

“No, you’re not.” The boy shook his head decisively. He had never met a snake who wanted to talk to him so badly and was willing to stay in his company for so long. “I’m very glad to have found you, I was sure I was going to have to start living in the trees like a monkey.” 

The snake hissed out a chuckle and the two continued on the cobblestone path, side by side.

“Do you have a name? Most snakes I’ve met don’t.”

“Well, I’m not like most snakes.” She snickered with a snakey shrug. “I’m Nagini.”