Its a dark and thick forest that he wakes to; not the same place that he first fell, the air too moist, to chilled, the trees to free, no crowding masses like the Black Forest. Instead, the grass is greener, rain slick and the trees curve and curl as they please. Harry remembers someone telling him about that, Neville maybe, how trees grow tall and thick when crowded close, competition for sunlight, and how they grew which everyway they wanted when fewer.
It has a certain beauty he thinks, the soft sound of birds, rain trembling down on leaves, his breathing even. He waits for a moment, wonders if anyone will come to search him out, wherever he may be, but no, there is nothing to disturb his surroundings.
He thinks about panicking for a moment, thinks about the fight that he left behind, the scarlet train that had passed him by as he wandered out through platform 9 3/4. Should he have waited, would that have lead him back to the forest, the right forest; to Death Eaters and Voldemort.
He can hear slithering, winding closer and closer, can hear the slipping tongue as he lays still, looking up through a sparse canopy. The angry words cut off for a second, then the sound of loud complaining started up, where once was just mindless mutterings to ones self.
He was going to turn, going to ask the snake he could feel now, what it was that was bothering it. Its words got to him sooner, the snake's notions of humans; great lumps just tossing themselves about where ever they pleased, when they pleased. His brows rose slowly but surly as the snake made its way around him, stopping on occasion to gather some of his warmth.
There was another sound that had both he and the snake tensing, it crowded more closely to his arm, he held still, eyes shutting gently, and relaxed his breathing. He hoped he was doing a good job, the snake was hidden from the angle of the sound.
Small footsteps became louder, he could hear more hissing, hear the words curl around a young tongue, calling out for a friend to talk too. His breath hitched, his arms and legs tensed more, relaxation and normalcy a past issue.
There was only one other who spoke so sweetly to snakes, so gently, and commanding. Harry could imagine him still, like a walking dream that had yet to leave him since it haunted him from a pensive. Hair slicked back, neat, sharp blazer and matching shorts; oxford crisp and cream colored, small shoes tied, socks peaking from their cuffs.
The boy stopped not to far from Harry, stilling quickly, hissing stopping, and calculating gaze burning across his body. He could hear the little boy creep closer, hissing softly, hissing out for a little friend. He could feel the snake begin to move, raising its head to look across Harry's chest.
"Little snake, come away from him." the boy stayed away from Harry, a good distance, Harry decided, to keep from suspicious individuals.
The snake began to crawl over his chest, he could feel its cool, smooth , light weight as it glided across him.
"Now," Harry began to say, his own hissing halting the snake and making the boy jump, "It's not polite to ignore someone and then use them as a walk way, is it Tom?"
Harry turned his eyes to the young boy, just a few years younger then when Dumbledore had gone to meet him. His eyes were wide, excitement, caution, and desperation melting into their depths.
Well, Harry thought, if there was a better way to finish it all, it would no doubt be at the very beginning, now wouldn't it.