Here we have the next part featuring a little more of an explanation about why Harry is a snake and Voldemort attempting to manipulate Harry even more.


There were things about Harry Potter that had always been strange to Lord Voldemort. Somehow things had never quite fit. How could a boy with no exceptional magical talent ever avoid him for so long? He had assumed it was something to do with the prophecy; the little ball that had been shattered must have provided the answer.

However, he started to gather there was something more. Potter somehow had skills he never should including a gift for Parseltongue and an ability to see into his mind. Voldemort could sense there was something more. The connection was too strong and the pull to Potter's presence was more like how he had felt towards Nagini, his horcrux.

The relationship was too similar. The more he examined the issue, the more it seemed to suggest it may be the same with Potter. He could not imagine how he could ever accidentally create a horcrux, but, that Halloween Night so long ago, had been filled with so many events that could never be described. He certainly had split his soul when he had killed the Potters and, when he was ripped from his body, the remnants had been uncontrollable.

It was at least a possibility. In light of that, he had no desire to kill Potter and his possible horcrux. He might have been more persuaded, but Potter was now the only horcrux that remained; he had heard the diary was destroyed, he had seen the ring, locket, cup and diadem missing and then he had seen Longbottom kill his precious Nagini when they had attacked the castle. They had eventually been victorious in quashing the rebellion at Hogwarts, but the loss of his horcrux had impacted him more than he revealed.

So, until he could discover if it was safe to create a new horcrux, his last horcrux would be kept safe.

He could have kept Potter in a cell rotting away, but then he risked his Death Eaters overzealous torture killing him.

The loss of Nagini gave him another idea.

Potter could be kept with him. His previous enemy could be manipulated into something else. His preference would have been as a faithful follower, but that was impossible as Potter would never become loyal and he could never trust him to stand in line. He would need something to ensure Potter could be submissive and, at the same time, reduced as a threat.

He needed a new Nagini and now he had one. As a snake, no one could talk to Potter but him. He was free from any other possibility of interference and, because, as a snake, his ability to be a threat was minimised to nought. More than that, he knew he could manipulate the boy so he was mostly loyal.

It was already starting.

Voldemort lifted his scarlet eyes to the corner of the room. Trying to avoid his attention and refusing to look at him, the emerald green scaled body of Potter curled itself into a tight ball.

Smirking, Voldemort returned to stare into the flames.

It was so simple.


Harry had been in his cell for a month. He had eventually stopped trying to bite the hand that fed him and accepted his mice without fuss.

It did not mean he had given up his will.

At every point he longed for a way to escape and to return to being human so he could kill Voldemort like the bastard deserved.

However, he had grudgingly accepted the accommodation change.

After a month of waking up to stone walls, his eyes had opened to an antique and elegant room. It was covered in dark green wallpaper, cream trimmings and brown simple furniture. It was all extremely minimalistic as if someone did not really live there.

On that morning, he had been by the hearth. Curled within himself, he had woken to the feeling of a warm flame burning pleasantly next to him and, for the first time in a month, a woollen rug underneath him rather than hard stone

It had not meant he was pleased.

It had been an eerie feeling to know how easily he could be stunned and moved like he was a bag of bones rather than a boy or, rather, a snake.

The sight of Voldemort's snake like face had angered him as was the inevitable knowledge that this was his room and he would share it with him.

As always, he had tried to escape.

Over and over again, he had circled the room whenever Voldemort disappeared for wherever he went during the day. The first time he had been overjoyed to discover one of the doors slid open once he nudged it, but it soon turned to disappointment with the realisation that it had only revealed a bathroom.

When escape seemed impossible his next option was obvious: Revenge. Harry could never say he had thought much of it before, but it had been surprising to see Voldemort emerge from the bathroom one evening in simple black cotton pants and a long sleeved button pyjama shirt before he had moved into bed and settled beneath the covers.

It was the same this evening as he watched the whole scenario from the shadows as he glared up at his most hated enemy. For hours he waited until he assumed Voldemort must be asleep and it was the right time to strike.

Unwinding his serpentine body, he slithered along the thick woollen carpet, all the while his eyes focused on the quilt that covered Voldemort's sleeping form. He was close to the side of the bed so it was so simple. Drawing himself up to his height, he lashed out aiming straight for him.

It failed.

His teeth felt like they connected with an invisible shield before he was even five feet away. Like he was a tennis ball, he bounced back and landed in a crumpled heap beside the bed.

Hissing angrily in frustration, he glared up at Voldemort. Red eyes stared back at him in amusement as Voldemort turned away and went back to sleep with confidence.

Harry could have known Voldemort would have used some form of protection, but he had to try.


It was a mark of how long he had been trapped that Harry had already shed his skin. The whole process had been strange, but he had got the hang of it; it had almost like peeling away the skin of his old fingers. It had been weeks since that had occurred, though Voldemort still left the remains there. From what Harry could see from Voldemort's room, he did not seem the type to leave mess around. Harry could only assume there was a reason for his action, perhaps to mock him about how long he had been trapped.

To emphasise his powerlessness.

The only thing Harry saw was the confines of Voldemort's room which was as much a prison as the cell. Harry thought it was even worse when he was so close to his enemy who he could not harm no matter what he tried. Voldemort seemed even more arrogant about the entire situation. He would try to talk to him and, always, Harry would try and ignore him. He only failed when the topic was too intriguing for him to resist the temptation to inquire.

"I heard about your friends today, Harry," Voldemort said calmly in Parseltongue as he idly flipped through the Daily Prophet in front of the hearth. "Do you want to hear how they are?"

Harry wanted to bury his head in the carpet or even into his shredded snake skin, so he would not hear his words. Instead the words just seemed to echo in his mind.

"Answer me, Harry," Voldemort repeated fiercely. Harry tried to ignore him and continued to stare down at the fireplace he was close to. "Do you want to hear about who is torturing your friends?"

Normally he would have waited for a curse to make him answer, but Voldemort's words were more effective than any curse could have been. Darting up, he faced Voldemort boring his black eyes into Voldemort's face.

"Tell me," he hissed in Parseltongue. He wanted to leave it at that, but he wanted answers and there was only one way to achieve that. "Please."

Amused, Voldemort curled his lips up slightly. "Good pet. Now come here."

Extending his hand, Harry would have preferred to bite him, though, resigning himself to the inevitable, he slid closer as he eyed the long thin fingers. They crept closer and nudged the top of Harry's head in what could have been seen as a caress. It made Harry feel ill, though he allowed himself to be lifted onto Voldemort's knee. It was bony and chilly even through his robes. Harry wanted to dart off straight away, but he resigned himself to the unavoidable and instead sat tensely.

"Since you have been good I will tell you." Harry wished Voldemort would not sound so smug and he wished he would stop caressing him. "I assume you want to know about the young Wealsey boy and the mudblood?"

Reluctantly Harry nodded quickly with his heart filled with anxiety and his mind filled with terrible images.

"Bellatrix has them," Voldemort replied calmly with a smile, but it only made Harry more terrified. Even though he was a snake, he felt ill as he tried to get away from Voldemort in protest. He was unsuccessful when hands clenched around him and he could not move an inch. "She is treating them as a mudblood and a blood traitor deserve, but, as far as I am aware, they are alive."

It made Harry feel a little better, though he still continued to squirm and to hiss angrily.

Coolly, Voldemort lifted Harry higher so only his tail was trailing on Voldemort's lap and his head was level with Voldemort's. He could not help but snap, though, as soon as he did, the place where Voldemort was holding him erupted in pain like he was burning. He tried to flail away as he it seared his skin and made him let out a pitiful whine of a hiss.

"Behave pet," Voldemort snapped like he was teaching a naughty dog. "If you are well behave I may allow you to see them. Would you like that?"

Harry tensed, yet it made him more comfortable and Voldemort's words repeated over and over again as the desire to see them fulfilled entered him. "Yes, please," he hissed quietly so as to pretend he was not being so obedient to his foe.

"Good pet."

That mocking smile was back. Voldemort placed him on the floor and he slid as far away as he could.

"But you will need to do something for me," Voldemort said simply as he remained in his armchair. Even as both stayed unmoving Harry felt the words fill him with dread. "But you will won't you? You will Harry so you can see your friends?"


Freedom had never been so welcome.

It was only limited. Sliding his serpentine body beside the long and swift stride of Voldemort, Harry knew he never had a chance of escaping since they were still only in Malfoy Manor, but it was a relief to see something other than Voldemort's room or a cellar. Every new portrait, every new piece of furniture and every flicker of natural light that fell upon him improved his mood.

Every time his black beady eyes looked up at Voldemort or he remembered why he was here, his heart plummeted to its usual rocky depths.

He did not know where he was going or what he was doing; all he knew was that he had made a deal with the devil to see and try to help his friends. He could never regret that action, but it did not mean it exactly pleased him.

It did not help that Harry had a vague idea where he was going.

As they moved on their path down the various stair wells, into the Entrance Hall and across the Drawing Room to the hidden staircase, Harry started to have an idea where he was going. It may have been months ago, when he was still human and Ron was still with him, but he recognised the path- he was going to the cellar again.

It appeared the same as when he was trapped here; it was still all blood encrusted stone and murky depths. The only differences were the lanterns that Voldemort enchanted to flare to life when they entered and the black robed body of a figure crouched against one of the walls.

As soon as they entered, he lifted his head, but, once he met the pitiless red eyes of Voldemort, his gaze shot back down in fear. Harry was not exactly sure who he was, but he somehow looked vaguely familiar.

"Master, please," The man whimpered softly as he stared at the dungeon floor before him. "I'm sorry Master. I'm sorry. It will not happen again. I ju- I just panicked and ran. Master –"

"Enough," ordered Voldemort his voice thick with authority like the crack of a whip. He spoke in English, but Harry was relieved that he could still understand the language. "No more excuses, Avery. That was your last chances. I do not grant mercy to fools who do not deserve it."

That was where he recognised him, Harry thought as he curled himself into a ball near the entrance to the dungeon and looked at the other man. Harry had seen his picture in the Prophet and through Voldemort's eyes, more than two years ago, when Avery had provided Voldemort with false information about the prophecy. However, it did not help clear up why he was here. If Voldemort intended to punish his follower why was he needed?

"Come here pet," Voldemort hissed as he switched to Parseltongue and turned his head slightly to Harry. "You want to see your friends. This is your chance."

With considerable reluctance, Harry obeyed; his head full of images of Ron and Hermione. For them it would be worth it. Reaching Voldemort's side, it was strange to not be recognised by the man. He only looked at him with fear.

Voldemort flicked his wand and the man in front of him was thrown onto his back and ropes emerged from nowhere to bind him tightly. Harry felt ill at the thought of what this might mean.

"Kill him, Harry," Voldemort said simply as if he was asking for a cup of tea. "Do it to see your friends."

"NO!" Harry cried out in Parseltongue, immediately twitching back from the figure. "I won't!"

How could he ever kill someone?

His enemy only laughed. "You will. You want to see your friends do you not? It is simple. You have tried to bite me before. This is exactly the same. Sink your fangs into his side and it will be over."

Harry did not care that it was simple. He could not kill anyone. He supposed he had thought about killing Voldemort, but that was different. He could hardly be classified as a person.

"Do it!" Voldemort repeated his voice forceful as his eyes gleamed in the dim lighting. "Why hesitate? He is your enemy is he not? Besides if you do not kill him he will die anyway. Do this and you will see your friends."

Over and over again Harry's heart screamed, 'No'. It was so wrong to kill someone like this and to do it on Voldemort's orders was even more appalling. It was like he was one of his followers! Still, another part of his heart, the one that was focused on Ron and Hermione said, 'Yes'. They were suffering. They were with Lestrange. He needed to see and help them somehow.

That side won.

With his mind focused on Ron and Hermione, he moved closer to Avery. He was screaming and withering, trying to get away from his fate. Harry wanted to let him, but he knew this was his only option. With a shuddering hiss, he closed his eyes and sunk his fangs into the man's flesh.

It was for Ron and Hermione.

It was only for them.