I cannot honestly tell you where this fic came from. It is a strange, wondrous piece to me, one that I find myself reading over and over again, hoping against hope that some kind of understanding would suddenly impart itself to me. I'm guessing that this is the creation of my Mental-Harry, who apparently wanted to speak for once.

(sighs) I've been off for awhile, and aside from this, I've written next to nothing. I've thought up some interesting challenges/plot ideas if anyone wants to take a crack at them. They're in my profile, under Random Plot Bunnies.

Life's been rather interesting. I'm bored out of my mind, though, so you'll probably see some more one-shots pass through here.

And I'm dreadfully sorry about my Christmas Present. I totally forgot about it!! I had several chapters to update, and a couple of one-shots for your enjoyment, but I totally forgot it until last Tuesday. (sheepish chuckle) I'm going to hope that you guys aren't too disappointed in me.

DISCLAIMER: Certainly J. K. Rowling wouldn't refuse writers having a little free for all fun, even if it is at the character's expense? They don't seem to mind, after all. All the characters in this fic are hers, and no money has been made, or copyright infringement intended.

Serpent's Tale

One-shot

By: Ceris Malfoy

I honestly can not remember when the longing started. The desire to be one with the sky; to be free to fly. I do remember never caring that it was an impossible wish; the sciences of my day do not take kindly to dreams of fantasy and magic. I knew it was impossible, but I did not care. I also found that if science did not take kindly, then society as a whole both feared and loathed dreams. It was a point driven home when my Uncle would beat me for mentioning my dreams.

So I learned to hide them.

They became a private world that only I could fully appreciate. In my mind, I could almost feel the wind rushing past me as I soared through the skies, teasing the clouds and dancing with the stars. I could even smell the scent of the air around me. I found myself retreating deeper and deeper into my vast world. A world that was starting to change.

It started with the snake-incident at the zoo. Talking to a snake I knew instinctively was not normal, but like my dreams of flight, I gave little thought to it. I also knew I was speaking something other than English; it was too …right flowing from my lips. I needed no guide or teacher for this, whatever this was, it was my mother tongue.

And my private world began to grow. Winged serpents flew with me, bringing the scent of brimstone and earth to play along my senses. And below us, forests formed, and mountains rose; my flying began to get wilder and more erratic as I flew through landscapes that grew ever more challenging and dangerous.

It changed again, less noticeably, when I met him, Draco Malfoy. Oh, I didn't know his name then, but I knew him none the less. When I first saw him, I was tempted to speak my mother tongue, for surely here was a serpent made flesh. But I pushed back the temptation, and was rewarded with hurt. The picture of my beautiful shining thing crumbled to dust to reveal an arrogant prat that did not deserve to know me and mine.

In my mental world, a single dragon, black as night and twice as treacherous started flying alongside me.

In my second year, I met Draco's father, Lucius Malfoy. I hated him immediately, even as I adored him. He was a Greater Serpent, or so the instincts my mother tongue gave me told me. Certainly much greater than me, although that as of yet had yet to be determined whether it was due to age or ability -I was betting on age by the way he seemed so fascinated by me. But even as I recognized in him the Greater One, there was a scent, a tangible stench that curled my toes and begged my senses to quickly retreat. I didn't learn until the end of the year that this was the stench of death and blood.

And in my world, landscapes of ice and snow developed. Innocent and beautiful looking, but even more dangerous than that of a forest. The scents of winter and death haunted those vast landscapes, but I could not resist flying there as well.

Nothing changed until I met Voldemort -in the flesh- in my fourth year. The Year of Disaster, as I now call it -what else could it possibly be? This tall snake-ling with his poisonous barbs and great cunning…I was both awed and disgusted. For here was a snake masquerading in human skin, but who had become tainted by the madness of its human shell.

My world quickly grew vast volcano fields and endless oceans -both of which could be as docile and as calm as the cutest bunny, but could also be twice as deadly as the Avada Kadavra.

Nothing changed for years.

The urge to fly unrestrained and uncontained by mortal hands grew stronger as the years passed, but could always be soothed by interaction with my devious not-snakes. They kept me from committing the worst mistake I could ever have made: to kill the Dark Lord.

I can hear what you're thinking you know, and I'll not have such thoughts running through your head. So stop thinking right this instant, and listen to me. THEN you can think.

Right. Now where was I?

Oh, yes. The Dark Lord.

See, I was the Prophecy Child, or so my main captor told me. It took me three long years to work out the truth of the prophecy, and by the time I did, my urge to fly grew exponentially with each passing second. Shall we look at it line by line? No? Well, I suppose I could get on with it as it were.

That serpentine madness of his… there are no words to describe the fear it fills me with, the total mind-numbing fright that spreads it's black wings inside my heart of hearts. For surely, a creature black as pitch and twice as foul chased me now, the icy chill of something not quite dead, but nowhere near alive, rasping behind me.

It was Draco, my spoiled little brat, that gave me true reprieve. Somehow within a summers time, he had matured. Like a snake-ling that sheds its skin, so he shed his previous manner. In place of the boisterous bravado and hilarious attempts at terrorization came there to be a cunning mind and fierce coldness. There was a hint of calculated cruelty with every breath he took, a hint of subtle rebuke in his tightened lips, a masterful manipulation with every movement of his pale body.

He captured my attention. For again, he stood before me, and again I was changing my mind about him. For no longer stood the petty human child, but a True serpent made flesh. I spoke to him but once, in my mother tongue, and he responded most beautifully -he showed me the key to flight. I gained alternate form, much as he had. His was a dragon, not black though, but a pale, shimmering blue. He breathed ice instead of fire, and was formed more like a Great Wyrmm than a dragon. But it mattered not. He was beautiful and deadly.

And he showed me my form within a conjured mirror, and I knew bliss. For a Winged Basilisk stared back at me, eyes a brilliant Avada-green, armor a gleaming black that reflected light like oil did -in rainbows. My spikes were a deeper green. My wings started out the same shimmering black of my armor, but gradually faded into the Avada-green. I was beautiful. I was deadly. Moreover, I could fly.

Our first flight together was like what I could only dream of for so long, only now, the little things became more apparent. Such as the way the wind whistled a cheery melody, as if welcoming me home. The way the ground appeared so detailed, so intricate, so tiny. The way his tail would occasionally brush against mine, teasing. The way wings felt as they beat, muscles constantly moving. The sheer mind-numbing bliss of becoming free. And how unbearably perfect a mating dance was within the air. A battle of tongues and fangs, tails and wings, venom and ice.

I came out on top, but we expected nothing else.

He revealed to me my passion, so I revealed to him his. I gave him his secret world: a world were he was free to do as he willed. No Master forcing him to commit heathen acts on the helpless, were he would not be forced to bow to any man. I gave him that in a form of treatise: I stayed out of the war, and me and Draco were immune from the Dark Lord's scaly fingers. Had he not of taken a Blood Oath on it, I would never have believed him, but as it stands, we live a good life. Peaceful, quiet, with the wind in our ears and between our massive wings; two coiling serpents with wings flying.

Like I said, it's strange. But drop me a line and tell me what you think. Love it? Hate it? Need more stuff in it? Should I make this a chapter fic? Or just leave it as it is? Make a sequel, a prequel, what?

By the way, Requiem Overture is on hiatus for a few weeks. I've been finding myself doing little sections here and there, but nothing definite, so instead of taking the chance that I'll screw it up, I'm taking a break. And I know I've said this before, but this time I mean it: the next chapter of Demeter's Daughter will be up shortly.

Love ya,

Ceris Malfoy