Chapter Text
King’s Cross station has never looked so clean. Utterly devoid of foot traffic and without a speck of dirt or soot anywhere to be seen, it looks only vaguely reminiscent of the King’s Cross in his memories. It’s eerie. Harry’s skin crawls with a distinct sense of unease. He isn’t meant to linger here. He needs to go.
Dumbledore intercepts him before he can board the train. “Harry, you wonderful boy. You brave man. Let us walk.”
A baby cries. He glances back and spots a minuscule figure curled up beneath one of the benches in King’s Cross station, wailing its terror and pain for all the world to hear. The baby doesn’t look quite right. Its skin is ashen pale, its limbs a touch too gangly and thin. It looks quite ill. It doesn’t look human. “Professor, what is that?”
“Something beyond either of our help. A part of Voldemort, sent here to die.”
His eyes linger on the fragmented shade of Voldemort’s soul. Red-faced, terrified, all alone… He’s starkly reminded of many nights spent crying in his cupboard, save for the fact that he had to be utterly, deathly silent if he didn’t want his uncle to give him something to cry about. “And where, exactly, are we?” he whispers.
“I was going to ask you that. Where would you say that we are?”
“Well… It looks almost like King’s Cross station, but far cleaner and with only the Hogwarts Express waiting for someone to board. Only the three of us are here.” Even as the words pour from his lips, they do not feel quite like the truth. There is a heavy sense of something more, of another set of eyes watching this conversation, but Harry cannot see them and tries to put it out of his mind. It’s not like it matters. He’s dead either way. Whatever is watching them can’t make him any more or less so.
Later, he’ll find such a thought terribly ironic.
“King’s Cross, is that right? This is, as they say, your party. I expect you now realize that you and Voldemort have been connected by something other than fate, since that night in Godric’s Hollow all those years ago.”
“So it’s true, then? A part of him lives on in me?”
“Did. It was just destroyed many moments ago by none other than Voldemort himself. You were the Horcrux he never meant to make, Harry.”
But even without the Horcrux, Harry can’t help thinking that a part of Tom Riddle will always live on within him. Abused orphan boys who clung to a magical, better world with every ounce of their strength, willing and prepared to do whatever it took to remain in it. For Tom Riddle, this meant carving a place out for himself among those who hated him most, never given a chance until he taught them to fear him. It meant chasing immortality and establishing himself as powerful above anyone else, fashioning Voldemort out of the ashes of a terrified boy that no one ever helped. For Harry Potter, this meant shoving himself into the mold of a world that decided who he was before they ever even met him. It meant living and dying for a world that turned its back on him at every opportunity. It meant living as a terrified boy and dying as one, never given the opportunity to become anything more than that.
How terribly similar yet incredibly divergent their paths are… He wonders where that began. He wonders if he would have become a shade of Tom Riddle, little more than a living ghost, had he been visited by someone who believed what the Dursleys said about him like the rest of Little Whinging did. He wonders if Tom Riddle ever would have chased power quite so fiercely if he’d been allowed to stay at Hogwarts over the summers, safe from the terror and bombings and utter helplessness that he must have felt.
He wonders… “I have to go back, don’t I?”
“Oh, that’s up to you,” Dumbledore answers with the faintest smile tugging at his lips.
“I have a choice?” he whispers, sounding more bitter than he thought himself capable of. Because when has he ever had a choice in all of this, really?
“Oh, yes. We’re in King’s Cross, you say? I think if you so desired, you’d be able to board the train.”
“And where would it take me?”
“On,” Dumbledore chuckles as he begins to walk away.
“Voldemort has the Elder Wand.”
“True.”
“And the snake’s still alive. They have nothing to kill it with.” His eyes linger on the crying baby, and his heart twists in his chest. Voldemort or no, no child deserves to cry, alone and afraid, while ignored by the world around them.
As if sensing the thought, Dumbledore pauses, turns, and slowly makes his way back to Harry’s side. “Help will always be given at Hogwarts, Harry, to those who ask for it. I've always prized myself on my ability to turn a phrase. Words are, in my not-so-humble opinion, our most inexhaustible source of magic. Capable of both inflicting injury, and remedying it. But I would, in this case, amend my original statement to this: ‘Help would always be given at Hogwarts to those who deserve it.’ Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living. And above all, those who live without love.”
Heat creeps through his veins as steady as molten lava. His vision blurs as he whispers, “Was I not deserving of it, then?” How many times has he asked for help? How many times has he been forced to save himself? How many times has he nearly died within those walls? How many times has he begged to stay within them anyway, loving Hogwarts for the sanctuary she granted him from a life of abject misery outside of her walls? How many times did Tom Riddle…? “Did he never deserve it? Not even when he was young and afraid and only fighting to survive in a world trying its level best to kill him?”
“Harry–” Dumbledore’s eyes widen as he bends down to cradle the fragment of Voldemort’s soul against his chest. For a moment, the crying increases in volume, and panic turns the sound shrill. But Harry rests a gentle hand on the infant’s chest, and sobbing eases to quiet sniffles as wary confusion glints in blood-red eyes. He smiles as a tiny, clawed hand wraps around his finger. “My boy–”
“Together, then?” he whispers. Something like wonder dances in those eyes as slit pupils widen in surprise. Voldemort is honest in death in a way that he likely never would be in life, or perhaps it is simply because this fragment has been with him all along, unaware of it as he was. It has been there for every second of pain and every triumph, a silent companion to all of life’s highs and lows that went unacknowledged for all these years. “I won’t let you go alone.”
“Harry…!” Dumbledore’s voice sounds more distant now, but the desperation within it couldn’t have been missed in a whisper. “There is nothing you can do for him. You must–”
“I thought you said I had a choice, professor.” Harry’s eyes narrow on Dumbledore’s weary form, watching the hand that once reached out to him slowly fall back to his side. “I thought you said that my ability to love is the greatest power I wield. The thing about love is… It never leaves you. It gives you the strength to shield a baby’s body with your own. It gives you the strength to run headlong into a trap for the sake of saving someone you cannot imagine living without. You say to pity the living? To pity those who have never known love? Who has ever loved Tom Riddle?”
Dumbledore sounds like he’s underwater now. “Voldemort has never been capable of–”
“You know, they used to say the same about me. The only difference between us is that I was given a chance. He wasn’t. You decided exactly what kind of person he was mere moments after meeting him, and in doing so, you condemned him to that fate, professor.” He cannot tell whether Dumbledore looks so pale due to his words or the fact that he is slowly fading away. He’s not sure that he cares. “I’ll answer my own question. I loved Tom Riddle just as much as I hated him. From the moment I first wrote in that diary, I knew that there was a connection between us. That connection had nothing to do with Horcruxes and everything to do with who we are. I was not able to show him compassion in life. He would not have accepted it from me. But in death? To the fragment of his soul that has always been with me? That has known my every emotion and memory? How could I show him anything else? If you truly thought that I would leave him here…”
Dumbledore fades before his very eyes as he whispers, “Then you must not have known me very well at all, professor.”
“Harry Potter…”
“Together, then?” he repeats in a quiet hiss, equal parts surprised and pleased to find that he can still speak Parseltongue despite their separation.
“... You are a strange, foolish boy.”
“Maybe. But was I ever given the chance to be anything else?”
“Perhaps not,” Voldemort concedes with a whisper. “It is a shame…”
“As are many things.” He walks toward the train with steadfast determination, politely ignoring the way Voldemort’s grip tightens. Gleaming red metal greets him like an old friend, and boarding the Hogwarts Express feels just as much like going home as it always has.
The train begins to move. Harry is unsure why or how his Invisibility Cloak drapes itself over his shoulders, but he does not question it, thankful for the presence of a trusted companion in both life and death. A gleaming, golden band adorned with a pitch-black stone appears on his finger, but since he died with it upon his hand and the ghosts of his family surrounding him, he doesn’t find it particularly strange that the Resurrection Stone has joined him in his final journey either.
But then the cold brush of Death brushes against his fingers and presses an equally cool, dark wand into his hand and whispers, “You’ve chosen wisely, Master.” His magic sings a song of glory and death, and he knows without a shadow of a doubt that the Elder Wand has made its true allegiance known. It will not be parted from him now. It feels as much a part of him as the Cloak and Stone do now, linked to his magic as surely as the wand of holly and phoenix feather has been for so long.
“You are…” Voldemort’s voice sounds nothing short of wondrous, awed, but he does not get the chance to finish whatever thought was on his mind.
Harry closes Killing Curse green eyes and opens them within a room that he could never forget. Cobwebs and dust lurk in every corner, and the low ceiling threatens to knock his head should he sit up too quickly. He’s in the cupboard beneath the stairs.
His mind and magic feel the same as they did before, save for the faint hum of the Deathly Hallows beneath his skin. None of the artifacts are with him now, but he instinctively knows that all he needs to do is call upon them for that to change. He opts against it for now. ‘Huh… Guess I’m in Hell. I can’t think of any other reason for me to be here.’
“I rather think the fragments of my soul would have been pieced back together if that were the case,” Voldemort whispers within his mind, and Harry startles so violently that his shoulder knocks into the shelving unit and nearly sends all of their cleaning supplies tumbling to the floor. A desperate burst of magic halts the falling bottles in their tracks, and he breathes out a silent sigh of relief as they float back to their proper shelves. The last thing he needs is to be trapped inside the cupboard with a bunch of chemicals mixing together to create poisonous fumes. What an embarrassing way to go. “But yet, here we are… Perhaps it is simply because my main body still lives, but I find myself rather doubting that. If a soul such as yours could be sent to Hell for daring to show compassion to an enemy, then I suspect that no one is capable of avoiding it.”
“Aww, was that a compliment?” he whispers quietly. His scar pulses, but this time, it is not with any sort of searing pain or aches. It feels pleasantly warm, buzzing contentment and fondness down to his very core.
“It was the truth. I do believe that I’ve made it clear that I reward my helpers, no matter how treacherous they may have been before. You owed no loyalty to me, Harry Potter, and yet… Here I am, still alive because of you.”
“Or we’re both dead.”
“No. No, I rather suspect that is not the case. Would you still be capable of feeling our bond if we were?”
“I don’t know. It’s not like I know much about Horcruxes, honestly, especially living ones. But if it’s soul magic, then it makes sense that we’d be tied together even in this, doesn’t it?”
Voldemort hums consideringly. “You know more than most. Answer me this then, Harry Potter. Does your shoulder still ache?”
And… Huh. It does. It’s not a throbbing sort of pain, just a dull ache that promises to bruise later, but it certainly feels real. And now that he’s focusing on the sensation of pain, he can feel several other dull aches of different sorts clinging to his body. The stiffness of old grease burns that speckle his arms, the strain of his eyes as they struggle to adjust to glasses that have never been his prescription, and the gnawing ache of hunger in his belly that makes him feel dizzy as dark spots dance in his vision… “No…” he whispers as his eyes water, realization and horror slowly sinking in and making their home in his heart. “I can’t be back here again. I thought I was finally free of this place.”
Death would be a kinder fate than this. Forced to relive his years with the Dursleys… How old is he, even? His hands seem so small, but then again, he was always small for his age. Malnutrition tends to do that to a person.
“Calm yourself, Harry. Take a deep breath. In and out. There you are. Regardless of when we’ve ended up, you must remember that you are not alone. I am able to speak with you this time. I am unsure as to why we were unable to before… Perhaps because you did not know of me and thus could not accept me as you did in Limbo. Your mother’s protection… Pain could get through but little else... This time, however, you have accepted me, and that makes all the difference. These filthy muggles will not hurt you again. I will not allow it. Had my previous self known of this… Well, I cannot promise that he would have spared you in the end, but he would have approached you differently. He would have burned this wretched place to the ground, at the very least.”
Harry snorts at that. “Yeah, he probably would have. Possessive bastard…”
“What do you intend to do?” Voldemort questions after several moments of tense silence. Not between them but because of the sounds of shuffling movement upstairs that indicate the beginning of a long day. “You have a second chance that many would kill for. Do you intend to keep things the same, or…?”
“No,” he whispers. “I’ve already seen how things end, and I… I don’t want that. I don’t want a war. I don’t want to see the people I care about sprawled out with hearts that don’t beat anymore. But what else can I do? He’s already acted on the prophecy, and if he ever hears the rest of it…”
This time, Voldemort is the one to disagree. “No. Prophecies are rarely straightforward, and that one line… ‘Neither shall live while the other survives’. I have been turning it over in my head for quite some time now, and I do not believe it foretells our inevitable deaths. Living and surviving are two very different things, after all. And with you and I trapped here and my true form stuck as a wraith… We are both surviving, not living. If we wish to live, to truly come into our own, then perhaps…”
“You think we have to work together.” It makes a horrifying sort of sense, really. The soul shard in Harry’s scar tethers Voldemort to this world, so why would they be fated to kill one another? If this war is inevitable, then there’s only one side he can survive it on, and it’s not Dumbledore’s. “You think we were supposed to. But how am I supposed to do that when…” His parents, Cedric, Sirius, Hedwig, Dobby, Remus, Tonks, Fred… Names and faces flash in his mind as sorrow takes hold of his heart, grief suffocating in its intensity.
“You are his Horcrux. There is very little he would not do for you. I cannot undo what has already been done to your parents, nor would I wish to when I would not exist otherwise, but there is no reason that any of the others must die. Not this time. If you believe his views to be too rigid, then challenge them. If you believe his methods to be too bloody, then contest them. You are one of the precious few that he will actually listen to once he knows what you are. Take advantage of that.”
“How positively Slytherin of you,” he whispers with a smirk tugging at his lips. “I might start to believe you’re on my side in all of this.”
Voldemort goes quiet for several long moments before answering slowly, almost hesitantly, “I am in your head, am I not?”
“Up! Get up! Now!” his aunt barks before he can answer, and Harry doesn’t dare to keep her waiting, not yet. Not even with his magic thrumming eagerly beneath his skin, itching and begging to be used. The heavy slam of a cast iron frying pan on the stovetop jolts him into action, and he swiftly gets dressed in raggedy clothes several sizes too large for him. He’s finished by the time Aunt Petunia returns, used to moving with urgency after spending a year on the run. “Are you up yet?”
“Yes, Aunt Petunia.”
“Get a move on, then. I want you to mind the bacon, and don’t you dare let it burn. Everything has to be absolutely perfect for Dudley’s birthday.”
Deja vu washes over him, and a grin lights up his face when he realizes what day it is. He won’t have to spend very long with the Dursleys after all. “Yes, Aunt Petunia,” he agrees pleasantly, and the smile on his face only serves to disturb his aunt when he steps outside of the dusty cupboard. Even still, she merely turns her overly long neck with a quiet huff as she goes to fetch the birthday boy.
“Charming,” Voldemort drawls as he climbs onto a step stool, carefully flipping the bacon with practiced ease. “Are you certain we can’t curse them? Just a little?”
‘How aware were you last time? Like… Could you see my thoughts? Could you see through my eyes? Or were you just sort of… There?’ he wonders, carefully keeping his expression blank.
“Vague impressions were all that slipped through. General likes and dislikes, both of things and people, powerful emotions… That sort of thing. Anything else was blocked out. Presumably by the blood protection. I could easily delve through your mind now, but I see no real reason to. Not currently, in any case. We’ll need to shore up your Occlumency shields before you set foot in Hogwarts.”
That’s a good idea, actually. He’s glad that Voldemort thought of it. ‘Huh… Well, I have a feeling that you’re going to like what we’re doing today. I know I will.’
Intrigue prickles in the back of his mind. It is a foreign but benign sensation, and it is a far sight better than the bursts of burning rage that leaked through before. “Very well. Keep your secrets. I shall look forward to watching your little plot unfold, whatever it may be.”
There’s a bounce in Harry’s steps that cannot be tempered by his uncle shouting, “Comb your hair!” as soon as he catches sight of him, unable to stand the messy mop of loose curls that refuse to be tamed. Not even Dudley stomping down the stairs as Harry works on putting the finishing touches on breakfast –namely, frying up a few final eggs– can put a damper on his mood.
Dudley’s greedy eyes rove over the presents cluttering their dining table as Harry sets breakfast down on it, quickly sneaking a few pieces of bacon to tide him over while his aunt and uncle are distracted. His cousin’s face falls as soon as he finishes counting the gifts. “Thirty-six?” Dudley’s lip wobbles as crocodile tears well up in his eyes, looking up at his parents as he whispers, “That’s two less than last year.”
His aunt immediately scrambles to do damage control, same as last time. “Darling, you haven’t counted Auntie Marge’s present yet, see? It’s right here, under this big one from Mummy and Daddy.”
“Thirty-seven, then” Dudley grumbles mulishly, face growing more red by the second. Though he knows the oncoming tantrum will not happen, he still eats quickly before his relatives can realize how much he’s taking.
Thankfully, they’re both too involved with Dudley to take any notice of him at all. “And we’ll buy you two more presents while we’re out today,” his aunt bargains. “How’s that, popkin? Two more presents. Is that all right?”
Dudley’s eyebrows furrow as if he’s very deep in thought. “So I’ll have thirty… Thirty…”
“Thirty-nine, sweetums.”
“Oh,” his cousin mumbles as he takes a seat, grabbing his first present as Aunt Petunia lets a quiet sigh of relief slip through her lips. “Alright then.”
Uncle Vernon just laughs as he ruffles his son’s hair. “Little tyke wants his money’s worth, just like his father. Atta boy, Dudley!” The telephone rings, and he has to very carefully keep a smug smirk off his face when his aunt goes to answer it. He tunes out Dudley as he tears open gift after gift, and Voldemort’s rage grows with every shiny new thing he opens.
“They would give their child all of this and refuse you the most basic of necessities? How could anyone believe you to be spoiled when the very definition of the word is sitting across from us while you languish in his shadow?”
‘People usually see what they want to see, but I’m not going to just let them this time. This time, I’m going to force them to look and truly see. I am not coming back here once I leave, damn the blood wards.’
“Good.”
Any further scathing commentary is interrupted by his aunt returning, face pinched with displeasure. “Bad news, Vernon. Mrs. Figg’s broken her leg. She can’t take him.” She nods in Harry’s direction then, and his scar prickles with curiosity again, sensing Harry’s pleasure at this turn of events. His cousin’s mouth falls open in silent horror. “Now what?” his aunt asks, sounding quite cross about the situation. “We can’t just leave him here. Who knows what kind of trouble he could get into?”
“We could phone Marge?” Uncle Vernon suggests hesitantly.
“Don’t be silly, Vernon. She hates the boy.”
“What about what’s-her-name? Your friend? Yvonne?”
“On vacation in Majorca,” his aunt snaps, growing increasingly irritated. She levels him with an evaluating, heavy gaze, and her eyes skitter away at whatever she sees in his smile. It’s probably a touch sharper than what any eleven-year-old should be capable of, but he doesn’t much care. “I suppose we could take him to the zoo,” Aunt Petunia mutters lowly. “And leave him in the car…”
“That car’s new! He’s not sitting in it alone.”
Dudley begins to cry quite loudly as his parents bicker with one another, heaving huge, fake sobs as Aunt Petunia immediately whips her head in his direction. “Dinky Duddydums, don’t cry, Mummy won’t let him spoil your day!” she cries out as she wraps her arms around her son.
“This is disgusting.” Harry can hear Voldemort’s sneer in his voice alone. “You haven’t even given them a reason to fear you like this. Pathetic.”
“I don’t want him to come!” Dudley wails. “He always spoils everything!!” His cousin shoots him a nasty grin that breaks the facade of his act, but his aunt is too distracted trying to comfort him to notice it at all, not that she’d care if she did.
Then the doorbell rings, and his aunt grows quite pale. “Oh, good Lord! They’re here!” Dudley immediately drops the crocodile tears as his thin, scrawny, rat-like friend walks through the front door, and Harry is so violently reminded of Peter Pettigrew that he has to take a deep breath and remind himself that Piers Polkiss is just a schoolyard bully. Not even a particularly good one, really, seeing as he just holds people still while the rest of Dudley’s gang beats them up.
“I’m warning you,” his uncle threatens when his relatives realize that they truly have no choice but to bring him along. “I’m warning you now, boy. Any funny business, any at all, and you’ll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas.”
He doesn’t promise not to do anything this time. He merely smiles, all jagged with serrated edges as he tilts his head just so. His uncle shudders before roughly shoving him into the car, leaving what is sure to be another hand-shaped bruise on his arm. He doesn’t care. They’re headed straight for the zoo, and he’s eager to get back into the reptile house this time. If he’s going to set himself apart from the Harry Potter he was last time, well… Then establishing his ability to speak Parseltongue from the start will go a long way there, especially since he intends to let the hat put him in Slytherin this time. And he really can’t guarantee that he’ll be able to purchase a snake in Diagon Alley between the wizarding world’s prejudice against them and his escort, so it’s best if he has one before he gets his letter. He wonders if that boa constrictor will want to stick around this time…
Voldemort’s amused laughter echoes in his head. “Oh, this is going to be interesting. They’re not going to have any clue what to do with you, Harry Potter.”
The zoo is as crowded as he remembers it being last time, and he relishes the refreshing lemon-flavoured ice pop that he gets from the nearby ice cream truck. He’s grateful that the smiling woman turned to him and asked what he wanted before the Dursleys got the chance to walk off with only Dudley and Piers’ chocolate ice creams in tow, same as last time, and savours it as much as he can without letting it melt right off the stick. He’ll be using a good bit of magic today, and he’ll need all the energy he can get.
Harry keeps a careful distance from Dudley and Piers as they start growing bored with the animals, knowing that they’ll start pushing and shoving at him if he walks too closely, and he has to carefully keep a smile off his face as they finally make their way into the reptile house. The lizards are interesting enough, he supposes, but it’s the snakes that truly hold his attention, and his eyes linger on several different exhibits as they walk past them, heading straight for the boa’s enclosure at Dudley’s demand.
His cousin presses his face right against the glass, smudging it with his nose as he stares at the massive, completely still snake. “Make it move!” Dudley whines as he looks up at his father. Uncle Vernon taps on the glass, but the boa constrictor doesn’t move an inch. “Do it again!” He does, and Harry sees a barely there shift of movement that neither his cousin nor uncle are observant enough to notice. “This is boring,” Dudley huffs as he stalks off, going to see the diurnal snakes that are actually moving around at this time of day.
Harry stays put, and his relatives don’t even notice that he doesn’t follow after them. The boa constrictor stirs, turning his head to face him as its tongue flicks out, slow and curious. “Hello,” he hisses quietly after casting a furtive glance around to make sure that Piers isn’t lingering nearby. He doesn’t feel like getting into a world of trouble like that again. “I’m sorry about them.”
This time, he’s not confused in the slightest when the snake responds, climbing down to the front of its enclosure as he hisses, “You’re a speaker. Have you come to take me with you?”
“Do you want to come with me?”
“Yes! I have only ever known the screeching of children and fists beating against the invisible wall of my home. I grow weary of it. I wish to see the world, to climb real trees and hunt my own prey…”
“Then I will free you,” he promises. “But it’s very cold in England. Do you… Maybe you could stay with me? You’ll have to scare my relatives a bit to get them to leave you alone, but I was planning on doing that anyway. My magic will be able to keep you warm.”
The snake deliberates on that for several long moments before nodding slowly. “I shall find you after you leave this place.” Harry nods as a smile tugs at his lips, slowly walking away before casting a Vanishing Charm on the glass once he’s a safe distance away from it, replacing it once the snake has escaped. It wouldn’t do to draw attention to how the boa escaped this time, after all. The boa snaps at the heels of several screeching families as he swiftly makes his exit, and it takes everything Harry has to not laugh at the sight.
Chaos sweeps over everyone within the reptile house, and no one notices the way he lingers at the back of the panicked group that is rushing for the doors. They certainly don’t notice when the glass containing what is labelled as a sharp-nosed pit viper disappears and reappears within the blink of an eye, and if Dudley’s overly large hand-me-downs are good for anything, then it’s for hiding smuggling out a four-foot-long, venomous snake underneath them. “Thank you, speaker!” she hisses as she coils around his sunken-in stomach. “You are far too small,” she hisses disapprovingly. “Do I need to bite your nestmates? Because I will.”
“Not now.” It should probably concern him that he’s not refusing outright, but well… He’ll have to see how everything goes, he supposes. She might very well need to depending on how furious his uncle gets. “We’ll try to scare them first. I’ll only be stuck in their nest for another month or so. Maybe I’ll be able to get more food with you there…”
“I doubt they could stop you,” Voldemort snorts in his head. “You’re the one making their meals, and you’ve certainly chosen a deadly familiar… The boa’s size will certainly help you as well. You’re going straight for intimidation, aren’t you?”
‘Well, if it works…’ Harry shrugs his shoulders as he steps out into the cool air, quickly catching up with his relatives with exaggeratedly wide, frightened eyes. He knows that he’s sold it when they just look disappointed to see him alive. ‘I need to let people know that I won’t go along with what they expect of me from the beginning this time, and your main body will never take me seriously at this age unless I do something like this.’
“I’d argue that the Horcrux and your knowledge of it alone would be enough, but this certainly will not hurt your chances.”
He somehow manages to keep either Dudley or Piers from noticing their stowaway, though he does earn himself a few new bruises in the process. Things continue on as normal. Harry makes dinner, eats his precious few scraps of it, and retreats to his cupboard as soon as he’s finished. It isn’t until morning that the thin veneer of normalcy that hovers over Number Four Privet Drive shatters completely.
“Hello, speaker,” the boa hisses as Harry’s aunt shrieks with terror. The smirk that tugs at Harry’s lips will live in his aunt’s nightmares for years. The viper pokes her head out from beneath his shirt, and even Uncle Vernon –who rushed to the backyard as soon as he heard Aunt Petunia’s scream– goes pale when he sees her.
Harry stares his relatives in the eyes as he hisses, “Hello, my friend. Thank you for joining us.” His uncle takes a threatening step forward, face shifting from pale to blotchy and red with anger within seconds. His venomous friend rears back and hisses. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, uncle.” Uncle Vernon freezes in place as Harry runs a gentle thumb over the viper’s head, snickering at the dumbfounded look on his face. “You’ll bleed out before you can ever reach a hospital if she bites you. Don’t give her a reason to.”
“W-What do you want?” his aunt stutters, eyes wide with fear.
“Regular food. A reasonable chore list. None of you laying a hand on me. And these two aren’t going anywhere, of course. Don’t worry,” he reassures his aunt when it looks like she might keel over. “It’s only for another month or so. You won’t see me again once I get my Hogwarts letter.”
“... You knew about that?” Seriously, this is just weird. It’s strange to see his aunt tremble like a leaf in the midst of some terrible storm, quaking and clinging to life with desperate abandon.
“The snakes tell me all sorts of interesting things,” he whispers. “I’ve known for a while now, but it seemed better to let you live in denial. But, well, after finding a couple of familiars…” And there’s no denying that these snakes are exactly that. His magic buzzes with contentment in their presence the same way it always has with Hedwig, and he can feel faint echoes of that bond within them as well. That faint connection, sure to grow stronger with time, is probably what let the boa find him here in the first place. “I couldn’t leave them there. The time for secrets is past us, I think.”
He shrugs with a wry smile as Dudley, slow as ever, finally joins them. “So I’ll just make it perfectly clear to you. Things are going to change around here. You might not like it, but I don’t care. I don’t make idle threats, and my new friends are more than willing to put you six feet under if they have to. So long as I’m fed and left alone until the magical world contacts me, I won’t do anything to you either. But if those simple demands are unmet… You won’t live to regret it.”
“I always knew you were a monster!” his aunt hisses, finally finding her spine somewhere within all the fear and hatred rushing through her veins. He knows he shouldn’t pity her, but some small part of him does, even after all she’s done to him over the years. They didn’t ask for this any more than he did, but even still…
“No,” he whispers sadly. His scar pulses softly in the closest approximation of comfort it can manage as he echoes the words he spoke to Dumbledore in Limbo. “You never gave me the chance to be anything else.”