Book 1: Sapere Aude
A Noble Endeavour
"And what is it that you seek, Sspeaker?" The snake asked, the sibilance rolling off of its tongue in a wave of something akin to euphoria. Even now, Harry didn't know what to make of Parseltongue.
"Food," Harry eventually hissed back. "Petunia won't feed me any more than she has to, though." The boy spoke dispassionately, peering at the serpent in front of him.
"It is unbecoming of you, Hatchling," the snake hissed disapprovingly, flicking its tongue out momentarily, "To not hunt your own."Harry blinked slightly, frowning when the snake referred to him as 'Hatchling.' He was not little!
"We're not like you," Harry ended up answering back. "We humans don't hunt anymore, not like you. I think we used to."
The smooth snake stared at Harry, bobbing its head once in a nod of understanding and goodbye. "I hope you find the food you seek, Speaker," it hissed before slithering out of the garden, just in time for Petunia to come and inspect his handiwork.
Harry sighed. As frustrating as she could be sometimes, he had come to value the snake's company and their conversations were no doubt the highlight of his day. It was certainly preferable to Petunia's nagging and The Whale of the House's taunting. Speaking of nagging…
"Boy!" She barked. "Vernon will be working until the evening. I want you to prepare something for him." She said, shooing him off into the house, while Harry's ever-growing urge to punch the woman in the face became truly an appealing prospect.
Once he was inside, Harry rolled his eyes. As if the oaf needed any more food. Oh well. At least it kept him safe from The Whale of The House's Heir, for now. Dudley was off in his room, stomping around and doing Merlin-knows what. It was quite distracting, honestly, but Harry would manage.
Absentmindedly, Harry turned on the stove and began cycling in his mind all the low-effort meals he could prepare without being punished for them. Of course, there weren't many. But it did give Harry time to think about something else.
Ever since he had met the smooth snake on his second day tending to the garden, he'd been thinking about ways to use the snake in order to escape his predicament. Hogwarts had given him the sweet taste of some freedom, and there was no such thing in the residence at No. 4, Privet Drive.
Truthfully, the snake couldn't do much. It was only a common smooth snake, had absolutely no venom, and it's fangs weren't anything special. But it was also a snake, and that in and of itself could prove to be useful.
What about Parseltongue itself? Could he use it to call on other snakes? Was there such a thing as 'Parselmagic,' or was that just one of the many, many superstitions surrounding his ability? Harry still didn't know what to make of it, but most of all, he was looking to find a way if it could circumvent The Trace. Once again, he cursed himself for not trying to learn more about wandlore. And it wasn't like he was going to wait till he could go to Diagon Alley and ask Ollivander about it.
… or maybe he didn't have to wait. Harry had flirted with the idea many times before, of course. Running away was always a thought in the back of his mind, but he had no clue where he'd go. The streets would hardly be any better than the Dursley Hellhole. Maybe the snake would know? On that note, he did need a name for her. As for now, all he had were questions. And it appeared it be staying that way until tomorrow when he'd be able to ask the snake. He quite liked the feeling, too. The strange sibilance that ran off the snake's tongue was comforting for some reason - as if infused with magic.
Wait.
Harry made the connection between spellcasting and speaking Parseltongue – as if every time he spoke the language, he was casting a spell. Thinking about it, he could make some connections. The magical residue he'd pick up on if the spell were strong enough, the slight tiredness that came upon him if he spoke the language for too long. And if speaking Parseltongue truly did have the same effect as if casting a spell… Well, there weren't any ministry letters headed his way.
Harry stopped dead in his tracks. He ignored Petunia's obnoxious steps up the stairs as he completely neglected the oaf's meal. When he was sure she wouldn't hear, he darted to where his cupboard was, and run his thumb down longingly on the lock, where Hedwig, his schoolbooks, and school supplies lay locked away. The bird stared sadly and longingly at Harry, but with no small amount of curiosity, wondering why her friend was acting this way.
Harry licked his lips, taking in a deep breath, before speaking in a low hiss so his aunt wouldn't hear. "Alohomora."
Nothing. Harry frowned, his excitement dimming. Maybe he needed to channel the intent the same way he did as if casting normally?
"Alohomora," he intoned in a deeper, more vibrant hiss.
Harry felt something click inside of him, as if the final piece of puzzle being put in. It was that same euphoric feeling from before, but subdued slightly.
And just like the click that rang throughout himself, so did the lock on his cupboard. Harry frantically positioned the lock so that Petunia and Vernon wouldn't notice it being open, and even her enraged steps down the stairs at the smell of burnt food didn't take the smile off of his face.
Harry Potter wouldn't be eating anything for a very, very long time. He was sure of it.
'But it'll be okay,' he thought to himself with a wider smile, as Petunia began screeching.
"Boy!" Vernon had barked at him the next day as he sat in his so-called bed. He hadn't slept at all the night before. "Up, up, out! The Polkins' are coming over today. You'll be cooking for us. You will be on your best behaviour, boy, or we'll make it 4 weeks…" The Whale of The House glared at Harry, who stared on impassively.
"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry answered neutrally, following the oaf out of the room. "I'll be on my best behaviour for your very important friends, and I will do my very best to have my cooking meet your impeccably high-class standards," he answered, in the most Hermione-voice he could muster.
Vernon instantly turned purple, growling menacingly and stepping in front of Harry, grabbing him by his collar. He slammed him against the wall, speaking at a low whisper.
"I'll have none of your cheek, boy… first, you nearly burn my house down, and now, you dare disrespect not only the life I've built for me and my family, but our friends too…" The man stopped, taking a moment to slam Harry against the wall once more, clearly relishing in the pain visible on the boy's face.
"Vernon!" Came the sickening screech of his wife. "They're here!"
Harry barely suppressed a sigh of relief. The look Vernon gave him as he forced him downstairs with no small amount of shoving was nasty and one that made the man look even more hideous than usual, and once again Harry relished in the fantasy of turning the tides.
In the corner of his eye, he saw Mr. & Mrs. Polkins sittingpompously at the Dining Table, their faces somehow inherently smug. He'd never seen them before, only their piteous excuse of a son, but they were everything he expected. And the couple had yet to even say a word.
"Breakfast," Petunia commanded gruffly as she sat across from Mrs. Polkins, as they began to idly chat. Vernon followed suit as Dudley sat in Petunia's lap, much to the amusement of Piers, who sniggered from his seat. They gave one glance at Harry – the look of, 'we haven't tormented you in a while' – and went back to discussing whatever rotten, spoiled children liked to discuss.
As was muscle memory at this point, Harry turned on the stove and began to plot. Today, he'd get his questions answered (or not) and if he played his cards right, he would no longer be helpless this summer.
"Aha!" He heard Mrs. Polkins laugh nasally from the table, "Reminds me of my father – used to have this big ole' cane he carried with 'em. Got it a few times meself… not a pleasant thing, that," she muttered the last part, before chuckling nasally once more. "Settin' him straight, are ya?" She asked, and Harry knew she was gesturing to him.
"How do you live with yourself," Harry muttered under his breathe. Since when did he become so prone to back-talk?
"Of course, of course, but there's only so much we can do, you know," Vernon spoke in faux-solemness. "You know these types… drunken fathers, mothers sullying themselves for the highest bidder, drug dealers and the like. There's only so much you can do before bad blood gets in the way, you know?"
"Oh, you don't have to tell me," interceded Mr. Polkins, chuckling. "Still, good thing you're doin', taking the boy in."
At that moment, Harry thought he was going to chip parts of his teeth off. But more importantly, he was trying even harder not to bounce in glee. Three, two, one…
"Oh my God," Harry spoke in shock and shame, staring at the spilt eggs, crunched toast on the floor, and gleeful ants, coming out of the woodwork for their feast.
"BOY!" Roared the incensed Vernon Dursley. "OUT, OUT! TO YOUR ROOM, NOW!" The man shooed him off, before turning to the horrified Polkins' family and their whimpering son, who much resembled Dudley at that moment. "I am so incredibly…"
Harry didn't need to be told a second time. Making sure that only Dudley and Piers had a view of the corridor where his cupboard lay, he pretended to trip and fall near the cupboard, opening it ever-so-slightly.
Wand and cloak. Wand and cloak.
Time to test his theory, or at least he hoped… "Wingardium Leviosa," he cast, grabbing his cloak, floating in the air with the spell, which he had just cast with his newly reacquired wand, hanging near the crack of the cupboard door.
Burying his stuff under his baggy clothes and pushing the cupboard closed, locking it with a charm, he darted up the stairs as he heard Petunia and Mrs. Polkins' fuss over their sons.
Into his room, he went, and he smiled victoriously. Harry caressed his wand as he pointed it at the wall, and cast, "Expelliarmus."
He didn't have a letter screaming in his face at that moment, so Harry knew that his theory was correct.
The words danced deliciously on his lips, but he knew that was only the beginning. Freedom. Now to wait.
He threw on his cloak and stood as still as possible in the corner of his room. A few minutes later, Vernon came barging in, still incensed.
"BOY! HOW DARE-"
Vernon stopped, dead in his tracks once he failed to spot Harry in the room. After a moment of stomping and peering around the room, he yelled, "PETUNIA!…"
Harry had already made his way out of the room by then, and out the door. He sat by the garden under his cloak, and sweeping over the surrounding area with his eyes, he made sure no one saw him. Once he felt safe enough, Harry took off his cloak. He smiled at the snake who was already nearby and motioned for her to come over.
"Hello, noble serpent," Harry greeted, somewhat fondly.
"Greetings, Sspeaker," saluted the snake, bobbing its head down agreeably. "How goes your hunt for food?" Apparently, the snake hadn't gotten the memo from last time, but Harry didn't mind.
He couldn't help but grin at the serpent in front of him. "I think," he said, "I've made some good progress."
When the snake bobbed its head, Harry pressed on with his line of questions. "What do you know about Parseltongue, serpent?"
The snake seemed to consider the question by flicking out its tongue. "Not much," she said, and Harry's heart sank, but she continued, "All snakes can sense speakers of the Noble Tongue. It is inherently magical, but only snakes and speakers alike can sense its magic," the serpent hissed. Harry nodded.
"Is that why our government can't detect the magic?" Harry asked, looking for further confirmation.
The snake bobbed its head. "Most likely, yes. Magic cast in the Noble Tongue leaves a residue only detectable by us serpents and other speakers, and leaves no mark on the wand unless the core is that of a serpent horn."
"You seem pretty knowledgeable about all of this," remarked Harry curiously.
"I only know what my fellow snakes have told me. Us serpents are not fond of secrets," the snake said. "It is frowned upon to not share your knowledge with others."
"Interesting," Harry hissed, thinking of Dumbledore for a moment. "Would you like a task, serpent?" Harry asked, rubbing the back of his neck worriedly, hoping the snake would be agreeable.
"I would be honoured, Sspeaker," hissed the serpent, peering at Harry reverently, shocking the boy. Excited, Harry pressed forward.
"I need information about the Magical World. I'm looking for a place to stay or at least a way to escape from here."
"Freedom," hissed the snake, reverently. "A noble endeavour. Would it be agreeable to you if I were to propose a condition for our arrangement, Sspeaker?" The snake seemed hesitant, and Harry knew it was likely because demanding anything of a 'Most Noble Speaker' was frowned upon in serpent culture.
Harry finally nodded. The snake seemed relieved, and he could swear the smooth snake was smirking at him now.
"Give me a name."
Harry, of course, could only oblige.