Disclaimer: This is based on the J.K. Rowling's World of Harry Potter. Everything you recognize belongs to her.

A loud crack ripped across the cloudless sky. One or two denizens of LIttle Hangleton looked up and shook their heads. Who was hunting in July? Then they went back to the unchallenged doldrums of monotony known as their lives.

If they had happened to look upon the side of the road just beyond the village's wooden sign, they would have seen the sudden appearance of a man which coincided directly with the loud bang. If his inexplicable arrival had not been enough to set tongues wagging, then his age might have for he really wasn't man, but rather a boy on the verge of adulthood. At the tender age of fifteen, he was much too young to be able to arrive in such a fashion without assistance yet there he was as if he had performed this bit of magic many times already. His face reflected an innocence that his soul did not possess. He carried himself with the self-assurance of someone who knew he was special, of someone who was on a mission of great importance.

However, his arrival by apparition was unnoticed both by the locals and by the Ministry that was supposed to keep track of such underage activities. He glanced at the sign and began the slow descent down to the valley of Little Hangleton. He strode with purpose but took the time to observe his surroundings carefully as if attempting to understand the entire village through this singular stroll down the path. Before he reached the village, however, he stopped short and paused at a gap in the overgrown hedge which led to a road that was definitely less traveled by, If one had observed more carefully, one might see the ornate stick which the young man cautiously pulled from his pocket before he ventured deeper along the potholed path.

The path became even more treacherous as it led down to a copse of trees. Over the years, the trees had grown into gnarled twists and turns around each other until one could not determine which branch belonged to which trunk. Nestled in the middle of the boscage was a shack for calling it anything grander would cause one to question the observer's eyesight.

The young man crouched low among the tall grasses in order to observe the hovel. The walls were covered in moss and mold. The roof had lost so many tiles that the rafters were exposed to the elements in many places. Nailed to the door was the withered and decaying body of a snake.

The building could only be described as destitute. He wrinkled his nose in disgust of the place. Was this the home of the Gaunts? Is this where his mother lived? His already poor image of his weak, hapless mother increased with every detailed he inspected. Any sympathy he might have had for the woman was whisked away in that moment. This was the home of the bloodline of the great Salazar Slytherin? It looked more like a cancer growth, a growth the needed to be trimmed as much as those trees that surrounded it.

Suddenly the door opened and a man stumbled out. His hair was so matted with grime that the color would remain a mystery and his eyes looked in opposite directions simultaneously. His clothes were torn and stained with blood and excrement and even from a distance once could get a whiff of the stench.

He slammed the door so hard that the snake's carcase fell to the ground. He stepped on it several times in his staggering. Finally, the man fell to his knees and retched the contents of his stomach into the grass. After several minutes of heaving, he wiped his mouth with the back of a stained sleeve. As he did, something glinted in the sunlight-a ring on his finger. It was a gold ring with a black stone, the young man observed. Even from the great distance, he could tell that the jewelry was old, had value, and looked very out of place on the finger of the dipsomaniac. It intrigued the hidden visitor who immediately determined to find out more about it.

As the drunkard, attempted to stand up, something caught his eye and he peered deeper into the grass. As he did, the young man could hear him hissing in Parseltongue.

Hissy, hissy, little snakey,

Slither on the grass

Come closer to the house

So I can nail your slippery ass

The grass undulated a bit despite the lack of wind. A young snake obviously heard the man's words, and meandered for a closer look. The fact a biped could speak her language obviously intrigued her and the grass rustled as she slithered about while deciding what course she should take.

The man's words made the teen nauseous, not so much the words and the man's intentions towards the animal but the realization that the vagrant was speaking parseltongue. There was a good chance that this man was related to him. This could be his grandfather, Morvolo. The thought made the teen shudder even more-definitely a connection that needed to be abolished immediately. No pure blood should allowed themselves to sink to these depths.

Just as the snake passed by the young man's hiding spot, a momentous decision for the future was made. This drunken fool deserved no pity and no reward, that included the snake. The snake had just slithered past the teen when the youth called out to it in parseltongue.

Hissy, hissy, little snakey

Ignore that foul stench fool

Come hither closer to me

I will show you how to rule

Confused, the snake turned around and began to move toward the second voice. This angered the man. "Damn snake. Where the hell did you go?" He tried to call out to it a few more times in the snake language, but the young man already had her wrapped around his wrist hidden deep in the weeds. Cursing several times, the man picked up the dead snake's remains and threw it in their general direction. "Then, take your damn brother." He stumbled back inside, the door shuddering with complaint as he slammed it.

Slowly the snake slithered up the boy's arm as he talked softly to it. She was a python and very friendly to ones who spoke her tongue. How she came to the wilds of Little Hangleton, she wasn't sure but she was not native to the area. Once the young man explained the intent of the drunken man, her tone turned thankful as she slithered along his shoulders.

He inspected her carefully. She was fast, strong and had an uncanny intelligence behind her eyes. She was also still a young snake, so still easily moldable. "I must go inside and deal with the crude man," the teen explained. "But afterwards, come with me. I can teach you amazing things and show you a world, you haven't even imagined."

The snake studied him for a moment her tongue slipping in and out tasting the air around him. Then she slowly nodded her head, sealing her fate.

The snake and human studied each other for a moment more before the latter declared, "You need a name. Something distinguished for such an honored species." He mused over the possibilities for a moment. Back at the orphanage before he understood his true destiny, he had read Rikki-Tikki-Tavi. Kipling had named the snake Nagaina or something like that. Urdu had a similar word meaning female snake. Yes, that would work. "Your name shall be Nagini," he pronounced. It seemed to fit the green reptile perfectly who curled up his arm and whispered into his ear. "My name?" the boy asked his face turning into a scowl. "My birth name isn't important and in a few minutes any trace of its connections will be dead. You may call me Voldemort. Come now, I believe there is something inside for you to eat." The young man and snake turned toward the shack and walked up to the door. The Fate of the Magic World had been sealed.