The Serpent's Way

"No, Sspeaker, like thiss." Regila had hissed, and Harry had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. In his defence, watching the snake try and mimic human movements was pretty funny.

That didn't mean he wasn't taking the lessons seriously, though, because he was. Honestly, the snake was a slavedriver! Harry had learned very, very quickly that serpent culture was probably the most intricate magical culture in the world.

At the thought of magical culture, Harry's nose scrunched up distastefully, remembering Malfoy's exaggerated bows and social posturing all thanks to his station as the 'Scion of a Noble family.'

'Pureblood culture,' Harry had reminded Hermione telling him once. 'Not Magical culture.'

Harry found that a little too close to home, as Regila echoed the antithesis of that same sentiment.

"You are a Sspeaker," she had been hissing at him hours before. "As much we revere your kind, it would be highly insulting to all snakes if you were not to be educated in our ways."

And when Harry had indignantly protested that he wasn't planning to interact with many snakes, Regila had informed him that any snakes in his vicinity would be attracted to him sooner or later, as the 'Speaker's Aura' he emitted would increase tenfold, thanks to the spells he had been casting in Parseltongue.

It was only after the rush of adrenaline from escaping the hellhole that was No. 4, Privet Drive settled that Harry realised just how tired casting in Parseltongue made him. He'd been a bit disappointed to learn that Parseltongue had no true effect on the power of his spells, and casting in the language was more a manipulation of how he channelled his intent than anything else. Even Regila didn't have an answer for why it made him so tired.

She had also told him the language could be used in 'other ways' but that such knowledge was 'not suitable for Hatchlings.' Harry was still trying to figure out what it was.

Furthermore, Regila had also told him that the language sounded different when spoken by parselmouths, and there existed different tongue and tail movements, which all indicated different things.

There were also hissing noises – that didn't exactly make words – but were still used within the language, often between snakes in signs of greeting or goodbye. Harry was further informed that it was also possible to sing in this way as well, and Harry wanted to learn (definitely not because he wanted to use it to scare the pants off Malfoy), but Regila refused to teach him until he was 'properly educated in the Way of the Serpent.'

Harry's living arrangement hadn't changed much either, and he was still sneaking into the Dursley home at night to sleep. Neither Vernon nor Petunia had begun the process of changing his 'room' back into Dudley's personal storage closet, and the Whale Heir didn't seem to be making a fuss about it either.

Regila had gone so far as to inform him about the latest neighbourhood drama, which for this week, entailed Petunia attempting to undo the damage of the Polkins' running out screaming their heads off at the family. Of course, Petunia was laying the blame all on him – The Freak – but the damage was already done. Harry had to admit it was all very entertaining, as did Regila.

"Non-magical humans are fascinating," she had said. "But I would be more amicable to them if they did not make a habit of imprisoning my kind." At that, the snake's eyes had tinged with green anger and its tail flicked in uncontrolled rage.

Originally, Harry had planned on threatening the Dursleys and revealing his ability to circumvent The Trace, but that was only before his serpent friend had reprimanded him harshly and stopped him from 'such a foolish endeavour.'

"What is to say they will not snap your wand while you look the other way, Sspeaker? Who is to stop your aunt from contacting your magical government? Tell me, Sspeaker, do you even know any spells to incapacitate?"

Harry had nothing to say to that. His resolve at the end of his previous year at Hogwarts came to mind, and he was ashamed to admit that he hadn't even bothered to take the initiative to look up something as simple as a spell.

After skimming through his books he'd been able to sneak out – and hide in the quickly overgrowing garden (which Petunia was horrible at maintaining, and without his care, was already degrading) – he'd found the stunning spell. Stupefy.

To his delight, he was able to cast the spell. To his dismay, the magic manifested in what was ultimately a very weak stunner.

The fact he wasn't completely defenceless with a wand now brought very little, but some, comfort, but it wasn't nearly enough to combat the sheer terror that reverberated through him to this day after watching as Basilisk venom ran through his veins and nearly kill him. The way his skin turned blue, the way his heart pounded against his chest, how his lungs constricted in his chest and the simple act of breathing made it feel as if his ribcage was going to snap, and time ceased to exist as he edged terrifyingly near to death...

Harry winced a little, remembering his horrible treatment of both his friends and McGonagall after killing the Basilisk. He didn't exactly feel sorry, but it did embarrass him a little how out of control he was.

"Ah! Ah! Miserable old dog – out out, will ya!" He heard a hoarse voice grumble unpleasantly a couple of metres away from him.

Harry had already thrown on his cloak, and was watching the car door – the car had just pulled up – before he heard that familiar, awful bark. He shivered. Ripper.

A plump woman who much resembled a toad stumbled out of the vehicle, and Harry instantly knew who it was. Marge Dursley.

She rang the doorbell and banged on the door rather obnoxiously, for good measure, and Harry watched as Petunia answered with a frown initially – probably grouchy that Harry wasn't there for her to order around – before plastering the fakest smile Harry had ever seen on a person and greeting Marge in what she probably thought was a warm tone of voice. "Lovely – just lovely! It's so wonderful to see you! Vernon!" And Harry tuned the conversation out.

Harry frowned as Marge and Ripper made their way into the Dursley abode, and he turned around to head to the other side of No. 4, peaking into one of the Dining Room windows.

The boy snorted. Of course, the first they'd do was eat. He could also faintly hear the television on in the living room. He pressed his ear to the window to try and get a listen, but all he made out was something about a prison break.

Tipping his way back, Harry pulled out his wand and cast the dirt-digging spell (in Parseltongue, of course). He remembered it vaguely – they'd learned the theory in First Year, but never got to try it in class. From rereading his Transfiguration book for said year, magical gardeners used it frequently, and the spell had a long history of modifications, all in an attempt to find a way to maximize its efficacy.

It'd been a bit stronger than he intended and created a bigger hole in the dirt than he'd wanted. It also meant that he spent more time trying to recuperate from the spell. If he could find the person that thought of the Trace…

It took a good minute, but he recovered. And so, Harry sought to spend the rest of the day as he found himself usually these days – practising. For now, all he truly cared about were offensive spells.

"Stupefy." And he would spend a minute or two catching his breathe, before doing it again. And again. And again. And again.

"Stupefy." Harry cast in a hiss. And he'd pant, and pant, and pant, and he'd do it again.

"Stupefy!" Harry cast more confidently, frustrated at the lack of results.

Okay, maybe his idea of 'results' was a little too ambitious, but still.

"Stupfey!" Harry cast once more, a little forcefully, and the stunner he had produced would have notified the entire Dursley family of his presence (having an invisibility cloak didn't shield his paranoia anymore) if it were not for the Muffliato he had cast beforehand.

Seeing what the stunner he had cast did to the ground before him, Harry couldn't help but smile. That was something stronger than what he was casting before. It was still probably weak compared to the average stunner, but that didn't matter right now. He was panting and it took everything in him not to fall to the ground and pass out on the grass, but no matter. It was exhilarating.

He panted until he could feel himself able to cast again, and Harry raised his wand once more. One week of this same routine and Harry wasn't deterred. One week in the Dursley home did not vanish away the terror that pierced his soul that day he almost died. Nothing like that would happen to him ever again, he promised.

His hands were now tingling from the magic that reverberated throughout his wand after casting, but even that felt good. He was sweating, he was nervous, excited, terrified, and this was only his fourth attempt at casting the spell today.

If Harry didn't know better, he might've said he was even addicted.

"Harry," greeted Dumbledore from outside the door, brightly. "Come in!"

Harry walked in, ceasing the nervous wringing of his hands and looking the man straight in the eye – something he did not do very often – and opened his mouth to speak, but no words came.

Dumbledore seemed unfazed by Harry's glowing eyes and determined aura, which contrasted with the boy's nervous posture and shaking fingers. He continued in a softer tone. "I would be a fool, Harry if I were not able to guess what you are here to discuss with me," said the Headmaster softly.

Harry swallowed. He'd rehearsed exactly what he was going to say and exactly how the conversation was going to go so many times, but all of that seemed to vanish from his mind the moment he walked into the room. Why was this so difficult?

"Yes, Headmaster," answered Harry finally. (he was surprised he didn't stutter) "I can't stop thinking about it."

"Professor McGonagall has informed of your newfound ambitions, Harry," said Dumbledore, his expression now neutral. Harry didn't know if it was disapproval or if the man thought continuing to smile would've been inappropriate. Nonetheless, the boy chose once again, to remain silent.

Dumbledore peered at Harry thoughtfully for a moment. "You haven't yet spoken with your friends about what happened yet, I presume," he prodded gently.

Harry instantly tensed. "They wouldn't get it," he crossed his arms. "They weren't – they weren't there." He glared at Dumbledore lightly.

"Wise of you," the man remarked as he toyed with one of the many trinkets on his desk, his smile back and now sad. "I daresay Mr Weasley or even your bright friend Miss Granger would not have the capacity to understand what you went through down in that Chamber, Harry, and for that, I apologise."

"What?" Said Harry, bewildered at the fact Dumbledore was agreeing with him. He was expecting the same nonsense from McGonagall about 'opening up.' "You did nothing, Headmaster. I don't understand why you're sorry."

"It is not an apology, Harry, but a lament," said Dumbledore very softly, though he refused to elaborate.

It would take a very, very long time for Harry to understand what that meant.

"So, what am I supposed to do?" Harry asked in a small voice, unlike himself those past few days – who was nothing less than a ticking time bomb around those unfortunate enough to be around him.

"I find that near-death is something that can only be truly understood by those who have experienced the same," said Dumbledore gently.

"I don't want to talk about it," Harry hissed in Parseltongue. 'Not this again,' he lamented in his head.

Somehow, Dumbledore made sense of what Harry was saying, and he smiled serenely. "You will not have to talk about it, Harry. I'll be the one doing the talking if you so mind," the Headmaster remarked with no small amount of cheek.

Reluctantly, Harry agreed with a nod of his head, not trusting himself to say anything else.

Little did he knew, it'd be one of the most enlightening conversations he'd ever had.

Harry smiled at the memory. In his opinion, the Headmaster was truly one of the last few hopes to himself that not all adults were incompetent morons. Unlike other professors or adults Harry had encountered, Dumbledore was never one who spoke down to him or leveraged his experience in order to dismiss the the thoughts and opinions of younger people. He greatly admired that part of Albus Dumbledore, even though he wasn't fond of the secrets the man kept.

"Sspeaker..."

Harry was snapped out of his daze at the sound of the hiss. He turned his head towards the snake – whom he now recognized as Regila (his ear wasn't trained yet to recognize the differences in snakes' hisses) and displayed his confusion.

"Regila?" He questioned. "What are you doing back here?"

"I need your help, Sspeaker Potter," she hissed, inclining her head downward in a show of deference – probably to soften the blow of what she was going to ask.

"With what do you need my help?" Harry questioned, wary. It had to be something if Regila was making a big deal about it. Then again, snakes were very melodramatic creatures.

"I have been challenged to a Serpent's Duel," she hissed. At Harry's questioning look, Regila elaborated. "A Serpent's Duel is a challenge to the death between us snakes. The serpent who has challenged me is much stronger than I, Sspeaker."

"And I can help with that how?..." Harry kept inquisitive.

"Your word, Sspeaker. I have no chance of winning a duel against this serpent. If you declare it dishonourable… my fellow serpents will defer to you."

Harry frowned. "Isn't that, in and of itself, dishonourable?"

The snake seemed to shrink under his calculating gaze and nodded. "It is,"Regila hissed. "But I do not wish to die."

Harry's eyes widened in attentiveness. That hit a little too close to home. Harry, not even a month ago, had edged near the terrifying prospect of death. He could understand the fear gripping the serpent – how could he not?

"And, pray tell, noble serpent, where will this duel take place?"

"Near Diagon Alley." She spoke vaguely.

That wouldn't do, Harry frowned to himself. "Inform your serpent friends that the duel will be taking place here in the garden. For incentive, tell them they'll get to meet me. Serpents are obligated to defer to speakers, no?"

Regila seemed hesitant in her acceptance but bobbed her head. "I will inform you of the proper way to declare a duel dishonourable when the time comes."

Snakes may have been intelligent creatures, but they were just as fallible, if not more so than humans. Harry quirked a small smile once he noticed that Regila missed he hadn't said anything about accepting her offer.

"It will take place 2 weeks from now… I shall you then, Sspeaker Potter," and with that, she slithered off. Had she seriously came all the way here just for that? Maybe there was something the snake wasn't telling him. Then again, he wasn't exactly being honest with the snake himself.

"What is that insufferable hissing?" Came a loud, screeching voice, seemingly out of nowhere.

'Shite," Harry muttered to himself. He'd forgot to cast Muffliato! And besides, why could they hear it anyway? Did his Parselmouth aura increase the volume of the tongue?

He was still under his invisibility cloak, but Harry couldn't help but sweat slightly when Vernon came over and fumbled around in the overgrowing garden. He pivoted slightly when Vernon came too close, and soon after, the oaf gave up.

"Probably just the Tellers' children, Vernon!" Screeched Petunia, loud enough to reach outside. Seriously, how was that even possible?

Harry smiled again. It was near evening now – and they'd probably disturbed more than a few neighbours, either dining or about to sleep.

"KEEP IT DOWN, WILL YA?!"

'There it is,' Harry thought mindlessly as he opened his book.

Spell-chaining, rapid-casting, or rapid-fire casting is a tactic utilized in duels most commonly to overwhelm an opponent's shield, though it also has usages in other defensive aspects of a Wizards' Duel. Spell-chaining is a fundamental aspect of a Wizarding Duel and is vital for anyone looking to succeed in a fight. Spells commonly chained include the stunning spell, blasting curse, cutting curse, banishment charm, water-making charm, bird-conjuring spell, ascendio, and others including many of the dark arts.

To perform rapid-fire casting of any spell, the caster must have first mastered the spell in question to properly time a sequence and manipulate the impact of the spell so the caster does not miscast the spell. Overpowering each spell in the spell chain is a sure-fire way to shatter your opponent's shield, but will equally ensure your opponent an opportunity to exploit weaknesses if you cast poorly. The calculated manipulation of each spell is something that cannot be taught – the number of spells in the chain, type of spell, intent, and a multitude of other factors come into play when chaining. Thus so, it is recommended that beginners learn to manipulate the power behind individual spells before performing the manipulation while rapid-casting…

When Harry looked up, he noticed the sky was already that much darker. Was he that much of a slow reader? He lamented in his mind.

Already, the prospect seemed daunting to Harry. Of course, the only section in any of his books on duelling would be this. So much to already consider, 'and you can barely cast a stunner,' he reminded himself.

Maybe start with a simpler spell than the stunning spell? After all, Stupefy easily outclassed any spell he'd cast so far, and if he remembered correctly, the spell wasn't even taught till fourth year, and few mastered it until their fifth.

It was all so very confusing. That didn't stop Harry, though, because the next thing he did – "Wingardium Leviosa!"- before he realised he hadn't even thought about he was going to 'manipulate' the spell.

Harry yanked out a weed from the garden and placed it in front of him. The weed would hover for no more than 5 seconds, and land gently, he decided.

"Wingardium Leviosa." And it did, indeed, hover for no more than five seconds, but it frustrated Harry that he couldn't tell if it was because he wasn't strong enough or because he willed it to.

Again, it was all so very confusing.

A question came into Harry's mind – why are you doing this?

He stopped for a moment. Why was he? Wingardium Leviosa wasn't going to save him from Voldemort, or Death Eaters, or Basilisks. Why not sneak off to Diagon Alley and get books on the most destructive magic he could find? Okay, maybe that one was a bit impossible, logistically speaking.

There was no time to crawl if he was being chased, after all.

"Wingardium Leviosa." He cast all the same.

For a moment, Harry was silly enough to consider that he might've been doing this for more than just survival.

I was a bit conflicted on how I was going to write Parseltongue. I think that having Parseltongue increase the power of Harry's spells or give him any sort of advantage bar circumventing the Trace would undermine the goal of this story, which is to create a Harry's who actions guide the plot – not a Harry guided by the plot. Similarly, I also wanted to avoid having Parseltongue be nothing but a plot device in the name of giving Harry a way to 'break free.' I hope I struck an okay balance.