Title: Ut Exsisto Liber
Summary: What happens when seven-year-old Harry meets a snake who mysteriously wandered into his cupboard, and who tells him about the wizarding world? What if Harry practised magic, and used it against Muggles? Could he still turn into the Gryffindor Golden Boy Dumbledore hoped to mould? What if, instead, he went Dark? Includes Dark!Harry, Powerful!Harry, Independent!Harry, Slytherin!Harry, and Manipulative!Dumbledore.
Rating: T
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter in any way, shape, or form. Although I wouldn't mind owning a certain Dark Lord... or a certain blonde-haired Death Eater...
A/N: I've been meaning to submit this for a long time now. Sorry for the delay.
Chapter 1
A Bit Young
"Boy! Get up now!" a voice yelled, shaking his cupboard door, and unlocking it from the outside.
Harry instantaneously recognized the voice, even in his half-asleep state; it could only belong to his Uncle Vernon. With this piece of information at hand, nothing else needed to prompt him to quickly scurry out of bed. He almost considered picking up his glasses, but decided against it, seeing as they didn't improve his vision. If anything, they made it worse.
Harry stood as far from his uncle as possible in the limited space of his dreary cupboard, idly wondering just why his uncle was the one to wake him up this morning – usually it was his aunt. Not that it really mattered, since both of them always glared at him in contempt. However, today, his uncle's anger was considerably more.
"You worthless little freak!" Vernon began with a loud voice, which the neighbours – to his fortune – could not hear all the way in Harry's cupboard. He stood in the doorway of the cupboard, not quite wanting to enter the place Harry inhabited.
Harry took note of every detail; the way his uncle's voice had slurred, the slight sway to his stance, the purple tint to his face, the slightly protruding eyes, even the saliva emitting from his mouth. He could tell that his uncle was enraged, but at this point, his "sorry"s would not cut it. Actually, with Vernon, "sorry"s were not accepted. It was a beating, and locked his cupboard without food.
All of these observations did Harry little good; he already knew what was to come. Not only that, but it spaced him out, further provoking his drunken uncle.
Vernon walked inside the cupboard, past the doorway, which barely allowed him entry. He then backhanded Harry, forcefully knocking him onto the wall only a few inches behind him.
"Boy, you weren't listening!" Feeling as though his roars were doing no good, Vernon lowered his voice and put on a menacing tone. "I should have shipped you to some orphanage the day I got you! Actually, you should have died in that accident with your freakish parents!" Vernon hiccuped, now looming over the frightened seven-year-old. "Isn't that right, boy?"
Harry was used to his uncle screaming nonsense about his parents. He dismissed them all as lies. When had he ever been told the truth by his uncle? The boy was more angry for being struck. His uncle had no right to hit him. I don't want to get hit like this for the rest of my life! Harry inwardly promised himself, not for the first time, One day, I won't let it happen.
With his usual blank face, he answered in a rehearsed manner, "Yes, Uncle Vernon." Anything less would have landed him the belt for being insolent, and he avoided getting hurt as much as he could. At this point, Harry could only hope that his uncle's mood would pass and he could go about his daily chores.
"Do as I say, and finish before Petunia gets home! Understood, boy?" Uncle Vernon spat, his face mere inches away from Harry's.
"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry recited, his eyes, darkening with emotion, boring into his uncle's hate-filled eyes. His stare let up, and he stood stiffly, waiting for his uncle to leave him be.
Vernon stalked away. At the doorway he turned and sent one last spiteful glare at the green-eyed child. Upon leaving, he roughly slammed the door to Harry's cupboard, enclosing it with the familiar darkness.
Harry immediately wiped the spit from his face, then sent an irritated look in the direction where his uncle had left. It was days like these when he wished his uncle had followed his first instinct: shipping him off to some orphanage. If he sent me to an orphanage, that would be like a birthday gift to me, Harry thought. But it wasn't as though he had ever received any birthday gifts so far, and he doubted he would receive any next week, when he turned eight.
Enough wishing, he reprimanded himself. He hadn't even heard what he was supposed to do, how could he have time for such things? And another beating was not what he would like. Another beating meant another time when he would be helpless. It meant another time when he would be at the mercy of his uncle.
Harry walked back to the tiny mattress on which he slept, the light from the slits on the cupboard door briefly patterning his face. He sat down on the edge of the mattress, elbow on his knee, chin resting on the heel of his hand. Harry was trying to remember what his uncle had said, yet at the same time, dark thoughts of vengeance flickered in his mind.
At that moment, a snake slithered through a hole in the darkest corner of the cupboard that Harry had not noticed. It crept slowly and quietly, its body making low sliding noises against the smooth floor.
The snake had seen what had happened through the hole in the wall. It briefly looked up at the human remaining in the room
"What a loud human, that one was!" the snake hissed in distaste at the memory of Vernon. It sent a look that could only be described as a glare towards where Vernon had recently departed. Its reaction to the man was similar to what Harry's had been.
The child's back straightened immediately. His eyes wandered to the source of the voice. Green met red. Harry's dark emerald eyes suddenly focused more. The snake had spoken.
Then Harry relaxed his tense position and sneered. Snakes could not speak. It was impossible. After one last glance at the snake, he returned to his train of thought.
Hadn't his uncle mentioned something about a birthday? Maybe it was his aunt Petunia's birthday... But that still didn't help him! Just what was he meant to do before she returned? Prepare a big birthday breakfast for her, and bake a cake for later? Or was he supposed to stay out of her sight the whole day? Harry most likely had to do both, the latter being something he was getting good at.
For the six, almost seven, years he had lived with the Dursleys, Harry had been unwelcome, and they'd made that clear. He didn't know why, and refused to think it was his fault. Honestly! Since the time that Harry had learned to walk, they had enforced the rule that he had to "earn his keep". Meaning he cooked their meals to perfection, tended the garden, mowed the lawn, vacuumed the house, and did various other chores Petunia put him up to. All of that in order to receive the scraps of food the family hadn't eaten. Harry had been getting quite good at the chores – he knew they thought so too! - but no, it was never enough. When he had realized this, he quit trying so desperately to please them.
His relatives constantly reminded him that they didn't want "a useless freak" like him, and that no one would ever want him. Harry knew that there was some truth to their words – of course not the part about no one ever wanting him; he was special, and the Dursleys had to be jealous! But the truth was in the "freak" part, which he was sure they confused with special.
Harry knew he was special. A few years ago, after Dudley had broken his glasses, his aunt had given him tape, all the while threatening that he would not be getting new glasses. Harry hadn't needed the tape. He had concentrated on how mad he was at Dudley, and how Dudley didn't even get punished! And he had ruefully remembered how his glasses had looked before they were broken. Like magic, it was fixed! Aunt Petunia had obviously been jealous – she had probably never done that before! - so she had sent him to his cupboard without supper. Since then, odd things had happened around him, always earning him a punishment from his relatives.
He had been told that his parents had been freakish too – to his delight – but they'd been drunks who got themselves killed in a car accident. So his relatives had been landed with him. All in all, to the Dursleys, he was only stealing food out of their "Dudders'" mouth.
A freak didn't deserve a bedroom, Uncle Vernon had told him, so he didn't live in his cousin's spare bedroom, which was used for Dudley's junk: old toys that he had begged his parents to to buy, and the likes, now collecting dust. Instead, Harry was confined to the cold, dark cupboard under the stairs. Other than the hand-me-downs from his cousin Dudley – which were much too large for him – he had very few possessions. So, outside of his cupboard, there was nothing to prove that he lived there. That is, except the always freshly mown grass, weed-free yarn, and nicely tended rosebushes.
Harry was still thinking, looking distracted. He most likely had to make a special birthday breakfast for his aunt, and he was assuming she wasn't home. So that meant he had to hurry.
He was idly turning his glasses around in his hands, which, somewhere along the way, he had picked up off the floor. Harry knew that the glasses, although repaired by him, were not good. They weren't prescription, rather, they were something his aunt had bought from the convenience store. Aunt Petunia had bought them only after several complaints from his teacher about his bad eyesight. Sure enough, she had come home with the cheapest glasses she'd managed to find. Typical Petunia.
Harry stood up to stretch his legs. Whilst he was deep in thought, he failed to notice that he'd nearly stepped on a snake, one that had seemingly appeared from nowhere.
"Don't step on me, stupid human child!" the snake hissed angrily at the boy, shooting him a look of indignation.
Harry snapped out of his thoughts, slightly startled, and his eyes pierced into the snake's own. "So you can talk," he said in an amused tone. This must be another special ability, he thought to himself.
The snake raised its head and peered up at the small boy. "You speak?" it asked with honest curiosity.
"Yes,humans have this wonderful thing called speech," Harry drawled. "I should be asking you that question, in fact."
"Of course us snakes speak!"the snake sneered, both offended and surprised by the manner in which the child spoke to him. "We have always been able to! Most humans just can not understand us," the snake explained to the child, slithering towards him, while flickering its tongue in and out. It inched closer and closer to the boy, eventually pausing in front of him, continuing to flicker its tongue in and out.
"Most," Harry repeated. "I'm an exception," he stated easily, his confidence growing that he was special.
Harry was more special than all of those cruel people outside his cupboard's walls. Cruel people he was supposed to call aunt, uncle, and cousin. People who beat him, locked him in his cupboard, and sent him to his cupboard without supper. And people at school, who blatantly ignored him, and stayed away from him. Who didn't try to befriend him, stood by while he was getting bullied. People who watched it all, who believed his aunt and uncle's lies. Harry couldn't forget this last one; those cruel people who left him here to suffer. He was more special.
"It is a rare ability for wizards to speak our language. I have heard there were only a few Speakers in existence," the snake informed the boy, lying on the same spot on the floor, tongue flickering in and out of its mouth.
"A wizard," Harry mused, finally having a term for his specialness. That was what he was. And what he did was... magic.
Harry then frowned in realization. Wizards. Plural. So he wasn't completely special, since there were others like him. Speakers, the snake had also said. Plural. No matter, he brushed it off; he would prove himself. He would show them all, all the cruel people, all the wizards too, just how good he was.
"This is a language?" The child quirked an eyebrow. He was sure he was speaking plain English.
Harry then crouched down to get a better look at the snake. Apparently, it was a light brown colour, with scales and a sort of pattern extending across its body. The snake probably was from the garden and had somehow wandered inside.
"Young one, you are speaking the language of the snake. Wizards call this Parseltongue," the snake informed him, its red eyes staring into his green. "Not many of the wand-carriers, wizards, can speak to us."
Harry smirked. He was special indeed. His eyes were unwavering as he made it a point to not break the snake's gaze. "How does one get this... ability?"
"Speakers of Parseltongue are all descendants of Salazar Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four." The child once more raised an eyebrow, with a look that pressed the snake to elaborate.
"Salazar Slytherin was your ancestor; a founder of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He and three others – Godric Gryffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Helga Hufflepuff – created a school a thousand years ago for children ages eleven to seventeen to receive magical education."
"Really..." Harry remarked, taking it in.
He was a wizard, soon to be attending a school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, with others of his kind. Harry felt an unfamiliar sense of belonging course through him. Others of his kind. That was a first.
His lips pulled into a slight smirk. The school must be for wizards only. Meaning: Dudley and his cronies would not be there, and he would have a chance. No, not a chance. Without them, he would have several chances. A chance to make friends – something Harry had given up on. He had deemed them unimportant, if he could make it through school without them. Harry could also have a chance to show his true potential. He was truly an intelligent child, though his marks in school didn't show it. He couldn't score higher than Dudley, of course.
"Another three years, then."
"Three?" The snake glanced up at the child in bewilderment.
"Yes, three years," the child confirmed dryly. "Can't you hear?"
The serpent glared at him, once more offended. "You look as though you are five! Are you not?"
"Of course not!" It was Harry's turn to become offended. "I'm going on eight next week!"
He could understand where the snake was coming from. In all truth, he knew that he looked younger than his age. It was the Dursleys' fault that he was malnourished.
"Okay," the serpent said, trying to mask his surprise."Am I correct in assuming you won't put those three years to waste?"
"Yeah, I'll control this magic before I have to go to that school, if that's what you're getting at."
"Oh?" the snake challenged the child, amused at the thought of watching him grow stronger. It craned its neck to get a better view at Harry, and taunted him, "Are you quite sure you can manage? You're a bit... young."
"Of course," Harry sneered, ignoring the snake's last comment. Age had nothing to do with it. "The only question is: Where to start?"
"There is an ability that is rarer than even Parseltongue," the serpent began, hoping to enthral the boy with the temptation. It theorized that he was prideful, and susceptible to the idea of being special. Unique. Powerful.
Curiosity sparked in the boy's eyes. The snake's theory proved correct.
"What is it?"
"Wizards call a person who can use it a 'Shadow Mage'. It is not one particular ability, it is more like a field of abilities, involving the shadows. The most common of which is Shadow Walking.
"Shadow Walking is a quick means of transportation, similar to Apparation – a wizard's way of disappearing in thin air and reappearing elsewhere."
The child watched as the snake now had its back turned to him. It was slithering away as it spoke.
"I sense a human coming. Likely the loud one from earlier," the snake couldn't help but say in disgust. "Meet me in the back garden now, and try to use that Shadow Walking ability."
Before Harry could get a word in, the snake had left. This annoyed the boy. The snake hadn't thought of what would happen if Harry wasn't a Shadow Mage and couldn't travel through the shadows.
How careless! Harry thought irritatedly, brushing his fringe out of his face. He then chided himself, No, it's not the snake's problem if I have to face the wrath of my uncle. The boy narrowed his eyes in realisation. Sneaky.
Harry wondered how to do the Shadow Walking. He'd never done it before. Then he remembered the one time he had escaped from Dudley and his...gang...for lack of a better term.
Their favourite game happened to be "Harry Hunting", in which they chased him around the neighbourhood until they could catch him and beat him up. Since Harry was always outnumbered, he personally deemed his cousin a coward. Dudley just had to outnumber him all the time, although he likely could pound him without backup anyway. Perhaps he wanted witnesses for when he complained to "Mummy and Daddy" about how "the freak" did something bad to him.
Because of them, Harry appreciated the days he had to do indoor chores, where he wouldn't have to be chased by them. Although they could never catch him. He was far too fast for Dudley, and even if his friends could actually catch up, they would get it from Dudley for outrunning him. But Harry couldn't understand why anyone would be friends with that bully.
Well, anyway, he could recall the time he had escaped from Dudley and his gang. If he had to put it into words how he did it, he just couldn't. What Harry remembered was the desperation; his desperation to escape. And he had ran past one building to the next, the sun briefly covering his face between each one. His feet had felt heavier with each step, his overly large shoes had slapped the asphalt, and his heels had been slipping out of the back of the shoes. At some point he had felt as though he'd tripped, into the shadows, if you will. Harry had thought that he would have fallen flat on his face, and he had accepted the fact that he would get beaten up – which had happened before, when he'd been too tired to outrun them, or couldn't find a suitable tree to climb up. To his surprise, he had found himself in the shade of a chimney – he had been on the school roof.
The pounding steps, indicating that his uncle was approaching, broke Harry out of his thoughts. He had only seconds before his uncle would enter.
The boy was thoroughly displeased at the idea of getting beaten up again. So he walked the few steps to the dark wall, concentrating on his disgust of being humiliated that way again, being helpless like that again. He brought forth desperation, as he had before. In his mind, he superimposed the image of the back garden from his memories onto the shadow-enclosed cupboard wall.
As Harry had intended, he successfully stepped onto the grass of the garden. It was as though he was stepping through a door. For some strange reason, he had expected the experience to be more exhilarating than it was. But, similar to his first experience of Shadow Walking, he'd barely noticed that he was travelling as such. However, this time Harry had been more aware of what he was doing, so he could say that this time he felt slightly colder than before. Still, that wasn't much of a difference.
Upon entrance to the garden, he noticed the familiar-looking snake from his cupboard, lying on the grass, waiting expectantly. Harry walked over to it, grinning triumphantly, and the snake noted the gleam to his eyes. The dark emerald eyes pierced into its own, as if saying 'I told you so.'
"'A bit young'," the child quoted cheekily.
The snake snorted. Of course the boy would bring it up. Well, at least it knew that the child was determined. The serpent suspected that the boy would be very ambitious. 'A Slytherin quality,' it mused. 'Yes, a good Slytherin he would be. This child would make his house proud.'
When Harry was through with being smug, he took more notice of his surroundings. Harry could see the various rosebushes he had tended to, and flowers he had planted. And he could see the window, which now had light-coloured curtains draped over it, blocking the view to the garden. For this, Harry was grateful.
He walked farther into the back garden, to the more secluded part.
"We haven't really had any introductions, have we?" Harry noted, manoeuvring around the various plants.
"No, we haven't." The snake slithered behind him, surprising him with its stealth.
"Yes, well, my name is Harry Potter," the child said, slowing down to glance at the few withering plants he had not watered in a long time. "And your name is?"
"Us snakes have no use for such things," the snake said with an air of superiority.
"Leaving me nothing to call you," Harry concluded, moving forward again.
"Call me what you wish then," the snake drawled. It then warned, "Provided that it is a male name, seeing as I am a male, and not something ridiculous."
It wasn't very far before Harry reached the little clearing, with the garden snake apparently trailing behind him silently.
Harry remembered gardening this portion of the garden several times before, although it was way towards the back, where no prying eyes could see. His aunt Petunia's priority was the front garden, which everyone could see, as opposed to the back garden. Although this very secluded section of the back garden couldn't be seen by the neighbours – nor anyone looking out number four's windows – Harry was forced to garden back there as well. It was one of those chores he had to do to keep him busy and "out of trouble".
Harry didn't think his uncle, or his aunt, had ever stepped there before. Dudley was even less likely to have been there; Harry doubted he had even been in the back garden at all! Because their "precious Duddikins" spent all of his time indoors, watching the telly, or playing video games.
The little clearing was darker than the rest of the back garden, because one of the larger plants towered over it, and a few rosebushes surrounded it. It was a perfect place for the two to sit without interruptions, Harry noted. He also noticed the shadows, which could be useful for some of the Shadow Magic the snake had been talking about.
"How about Serpe? It's short for serpent," the child said, taking a seat on the dry grass, his back against the side of the house, the large plant's leaves towering a few feet over his head. Harry's left arm lay lazily on his knees, in front of him, levelled just below his chin, while his right arm hung motionlessly on his side, touching the ground.
"Very well," the snake accepted in amusement, having decided the name wasn't too horrendous.
"Ensuring your privacy?" Serpe then queried from his spot a few inches to the right of Harry. He had noticed the boy's safety measures: bringing them very far from the house, and at a location so carefully concealed.
"Of course," Harry said, as if it were the most obvious thing to do, and grinned.
If the serpent had eyebrows, he would have raised one. "You know that you are one strange child, correct?" He was not only addressing the child's careful safety measures, but also his precociousness.
Harry chose not to reply, and simply rolled his eyes.
"So it's true; I am a Shadow Mage," Harry stated with pride in his voice. "The Shadow Walking thing was pretty interesting, and I want to learn more of those Shadow Abilities. Is there a place I can go for this?"
"Yes, there is..." the serpent said. "There is a book store in the wizarding shopping centre where you can read about it."
Harry lifted his gaze from the grass, which was swerving in one direction due to the warm breeze, and met the snake's eyes in unmasked delight. "When can we go?"
"Let's wait until next week," Serpe suggested. "Until then you can practice wandless magic."
"Hmm, next week, you say?" Harry mused, carefully extending his right arm to pet the snake's torso. As his hand ran down the brown scales on the snake's back, he realized he was wrong. Contrary to his initial thoughts, it was not slimy; it was dry, smooth, and cool to the touch. "We might as well go on my birthday, the 31st, so I can buy my own gift."
And it's not as though the Dursleys get me anything anyway, Harry mentally added.
"You look young for your age," Serpe brought that up again. He knew fully well why he looked so small and scrawny.
"My relatives," Harry said, as though that was enough of an explanation.
"I see," the snake hissed, feeling the tension in the air. He noted that the child had stopped stroking him. "Well, I assume you won't have to deal with those relatives of yours anymore. Not after you have learned magic."
"Not a chance." The boy sounded as if this were the most absurd thing he'd ever heard. "When I'm stronger, I'll make them hurt. I'll make them pay for what they did."
"Yes, yes," Serpe said, brushing off the child's dark remarks. "But it will take time for you to learn. Don't expect to up and be wonderful at magic. It is a complicated thing."
"Yes, yes," Harry mimicked the snake, smirking. "Whatever. When can I start?"
"You can start any time," Serpe began, mentally rejecting the previous thought of the boy being mature. "But, until you turn eleven, you'll have to do wandless magic.
"I have heard it is more difficult to perform magic without a wand as opposed to with it. It supposedly takes a lot of magic out of you, and it's harder to control. So, this will take some hard work."
"Okay," said the boy, mentally listing the things that he would like to do with magic. His mental list included learning to heal himself and trying to do more shadow magic. Especially learning to do spells to make his remaining three years at his relatives' home easier - including curses to get back at them.
It was then Harry heard the sound of a car coming up the driveway, engine roaring. He could hear the sound increase, then cease as it stopped in front of the garage. The boy assumed it was his aunt, coming back from wherever she had been. And he was proven correct as he heard some feminine-sounding laughs emitting from the area of the garage. It appeared that Harry's aunt was dropped off by her friends.
The child understood that he needed to prepare a special breakfast for his aunt, and had not much time. Outside he now heard his uncle, greeting his aunt and her friends.
"Hold onto my arm," Harry instructed the red-eyed snake, seemingly for no reason. Yet the snake obeyed, with only an inquisitive glance, while the boy explained briefly, "I'll Shadow Walk to the kitchen."
After the snake had curled itself around his arm, and he was sure it would not fall off, Harry abruptly stood up. And, true to his word, the boy was going to Shadow Walk.
He strode the few steps needed to reach the darker shadows, in a way which was unlike a seven-year-old. It was in one swift movement that the two plunged into the shadows and emerged into a neat-looking kitchen.
"Put me down," hissed the snake, unwrapping itself from the child's arm.
Harry raised an eyebrow, but moved his arm towards the kitchen counter. Serpe then gracefully slithered onto it, while the child briefly wondered about the snake's reaction.
"How was my way of travel?" Harry absently joked, hand resting on the top of a kitchen chair. He was staring at the bronze handle to one of the wooden cabinets.
"Sickening," Serpe summed it up in one word. "Are you not feeling as I am?"
"Maybe it's a snake thing," Harry shrugged, gaze still resting upon the handle. Not long after, it made a small jerking movement backwards.
The child had a faint smile on his lips. He concentrated harder on the handle. As though in response to this, the cabinet door swung open, loudly hitting the other cabinet.
Harry winced at the sound, but let a grin spread across his face. "Magic is pretty cool."
"Child, you have much to learn," the snake remarked after seeing the boy's first attempts at magic.
Harry felt that Serpe was challenging him again, albeit indirectly this time. He'd show him! So, with an air of confidence, he pointed his index finger in the direction of the wooden cabinet. Harry then whipped his finger towards the dinner table. It had the desired effect.
Three plates soared through the air and landed on the dining table, if a bit roughly. Admiring the surge of power he had felt, the boy imitated his earlier movement, and followed the three plates with three glasses, and silverware.
And thus, the table was set, leaving the food to be prepared. Harry doubted his uncle could stall his aunt much longer, so he had to prepare the food.
Knowing there was no time to actually cook food, he decided to magically prepare it. Harry Summoned Aunt Petunia's cookbook to him. He randomly opened the cookbook to one of the various dog-eared pages, and found out that those were his aunt's favourites.
It didn't take long for Harry to decide on what to prepare. So, the boy walked to the dinner table, cookbook in his left hand. He hovered his right hand over the table. Shutting his eyes, he pictured the meal on the plates.
All that accomplished was a small portion of food on each plate, not at all as appetizing as it should have looked.
As Harry caught sight of it, he grimaced. He had thought it would turn out fine! After all, he had superimposed the image of the food onto the plate, as he had done when Shadow Walking, and he had used his hand, as he had done when Summoning the plates, glasses, and silverware. So why didn't it work this time? And why did he suddenly feel a little tired?
Harry shook his head in frustration and was going to try again. This time, he heard the front door open, and the sound of his guardians' voices. So he was further motivated to succeed.
He repeated his earlier attempt, with more determination this time. And the small portion of food looked more appetizing, the rest of the meal added next to it.
At the sight of this, Harry sighed in relief. Yet, he now felt extremely tired, as though he had been running miles. It was sheer willpower that kept the boy on his feet.
He held onto the table for support as he pointed at the glasses and refilled them will refreshments. His knees almost buckled.
His guardians were walking towards the dining room. Harry could hear his whale of a cousin stomping down the stairs, under the impression that he was in the cupboard, with the intent of dropping plaster all over him.
The boy made some finishing touches. He tapped the dining table, exchanging the tablecloth for something more exquisite. And he flicked his finger in the direction of the cabinet, shutting the door which he had forgotten to close earlier.
"Let's go," Harry choked out, cautiously stepping towards the kitchen counter. He extended his arm again so that the amused-looking snake could come with him back to the cupboard. Harry grunted at the weight of the snake, especially since he was so exhausted.
His relatives arrived in the now-empty dining room, a delicious looking breakfast calling for them. Meanwhile, the two of them had arrived inside his cupboard, with Harry sprawled on the floor, unconscious.
A/N: 05.21.10: I edited a few minor things to make it compatible with the next chapter, which is on its way.(: