Harry Potter and the Second War: Book 2.

The Sneaking Serpent Walks

Disclaimer: With apologies to J.K. Rowling and William Blake. I only own the bits you don't recognise.

Summary: And so begins year 2… As with book 1, the basic thread of the plot will be the same, but events and characters will be different, hopefully in a satisfying and enjoyable fashion. If you haven't read book 1 yet, certain plot strands won't make sense, so read that one first! The books title comes from The Marriage of Heaven and Hell, by William Blake.

A/N: Just a quick reminder; italics indicate personal thoughts, Parseltongue or incantations. It should be obvious from the context which it will be.

Prologue: A Time for Family

It was raining in Surrey. This was actually quite unusual; so far, the summer had been glorious, brilliantly sunny without being too hot to do anything. The streets around Privet Drive were packed with schoolchildren celebrating the end of exams, counting down the days until they would be free of school for more than a month. This was perhaps more true in number 4 Privet Drive than elsewhere, as there were two children at Privet Drive, one of whom attended a prestigious boarding school on the coast of Scotland; his family – the Dursleys - were very much looking forward to his return.

However, while the rain may have been unusual, it was quite appropriate, given the conversation taking place in number 4.

The day before, the Dursley's nephew, Harry James Potter, had been involved in an unfortunate incident at his school. Harry being a wizard, and his school – Hogwarts – being the finest magical school in the country, 'unfortunate incidents' tended to be rather more dramatic than they would have been in the average Muggle school. In this particular instance, the 'unfortunate incident' was the attempted theft of a highly magical object known as the Philosopher's Stone; for a variety of reasons, Harry and his friends had taken it upon themselves to intervene. This had led to the dramatic and brutal death of the thief, a man named Quirrell, one of Harry's teachers.

He had been burned alive, from the inside out, leaving nothing but a pile of smoking ash. And it had been Harry who had done this.

Understandably, Vernon and Petunia Dursley, Harry's aunt and uncle, were rather worried about the effect this would have on their nephew. This concern was not helped by the knowledge that it was not the first 'unfortunate incident' Harry had been involved in over the course of the year. Before the first term had finished, Harry had been attacked by a troll, and had been badly injured. This had led to the discovery that his magical core was being obstructed by what was believed to be the remnant of the Dark magic that had given Harry his distinctive scar, resulting in occasionally dangerous uncontrolled outbursts of magic. And just before Easter, someone had tried to kill him, leaving Harry in a coma for over a month. Perhaps unsurprisingly, they were beginning to have severe doubts about the suitability of Hogwarts for their nephew's education, and it was only the certain knowledge that despite what might be called the little quirks in its day to day running, the actual magical education offered at Hogwarts was second to none.

And now, sitting in the Dursley's living room, was a man they did find it difficult to like; respect, certainly – they were well aware of the man's reputation in the magical world – but like… They found the man rather smug, too pleased with himself, even while admitting that it had been his spells that were responsible for several of Harry's more dangerous wounds. That said, there was no denying that Albus Dumbledore had done them a great service during his last conversation with Harry.

"That's right Mrs Dursley. Harry is under the impression that he has been protected, and will remain protected by his mother's sacrifice. Consequentially, he does not hold himself responsible for Professor Quirrell's death, holding it a tragic accident rather than something he had any control over. Naturally, now you know the truth you may of course pass this on to him at any time, but I believe it would be best for him to remain ignorant of the true cause of his teacher's death. He certainly seemed cheered by it." Petunia nodded vigorously.

"Oh of course Headmaster; it's just a bit of a shock to know Harry can actually do that to someone if he loses control. We'll definitely be a bit more careful about it from now on!"

"A wise precaution I'm sure – although it would be remiss of me not to point out that Harry will in theory be able to do that to anyone he chooses once he gains full control over his magic, which I hope he will do by the time he takes his O.W.L.s. However, I am sure that he will not wish to."

"I should certainly hope not! We've brought him up better than that sir!" Vernon spluttered. Dumbledore raised his hands in apology.

"I meant no offence Mister Dursley; I just wish you to be aware of the possible dangers. I know you have had problems with Harry's accidental magic before, and now that it seems to be getting stronger, I know that you might prefer a more…stable environment for Dudley."

There was a noticeable lowering of temperature. Petunia's eyes narrowed.

"We have been looking after Harry for ten years now Professor Dumbledore. Whatever the technicalities of our relationship, he is just as much our son as Dudley is. I would take it as a kindness if you would refrain from making such a suggestion again."

"Of course. I apologise Mrs Dursley, I just – well, perhaps we should move on." Petunia nodded coldly in agreement. "There is just one more thing before I leave you. As I mentioned earlier, Professor Quirrell believed himself to be acting in the service of Lord Voldemort. Now, while we have no definite evidence whether or not he actually was, it would perhaps be best to keep that little piece of information quiet. There would be an outcry if people believed that he was still alive, even if too weak to do anything at present. Sirius for one has never really been the same since his torture. I will be passing that advice onto Remus and Peter as well. It would be awful for him to have to live in fear once more."

Vernon and Petunia nodded. Even Petunia, who had not been all that fond of Sirius in his youth, had been horrified by the dramatic change in his personality after James and Lily's death. The dashing young man they had known had become a much more sombre, almost haunted person, although there was the occasional flash of the light-hearted prankster he had been.

"Don't worry. He won't hear about it from us Professor."

"Splendid! And now I really must be going. I hope you have a most enjoyable summer; I'm sure Harry is looking forward to seeing you again."

That had been three weeks ago. Now, it was yet another balmy day, the summer holiday was well under way, and Harry James Potter was thinking about more important things than malevolent teachers and whether, somewhere out there, there were the remnants of the Dark wizard who had tried to kill him as a baby; he was trying to avoid his cousin in the nearby park. Perhaps more specifically, trying to avoid being sprayed with the large water pistol Dudley was gleefully charging around in. Harry had one of his own of course, but he found the toy rather trickier to aim than a wand, and was quite definitely losing ground in the pitched battle they were engaged in.

Harry had a suspicion that his cousin was currently hiding behind the large oak tree in the middle of the park, not far from the swings. He cautiously crept towards it, preparing himself to leap around the other side…

There was no-one there. Harry stared. He had been so sure, almost as if he had known… Then he yelled out as a jet of water splashed into his back, spinning round, shooting water himself. The attack finished as Dudley doubled over with laughter, and Harry did have to admit he looked a mess. He squeezed some of the water from his t-shirt ruefully.

"I was so sure you were behind that tree you know Dud…"

"I was! But you make more noise than an elephant Harry, it's almost embarrassing."

"I do not make that much noise!"

"Do so."

"Don't"

"Do."

"Don't."

"Don't."

"Do… Damn it!" Dudley burst out laughing again as Harry scowled. "Come on, let's go and get changed; I'm soaking!

Harry and Dudley set off for their home, carrying on their childish argument as they did so. As they approached the house, they noticed a large black motorbike parked outside; a grin spread across Harry's face, and he ran indoors. Sirius Black, Harry's godfather, was in the living room, having a drink with Uncle Vernon. He looked up, grinning as he saw Harry dripping wet.

"Hey there kiddo! What have you been up to?"

"Dudley and I were having a water fight. How come you're here?"

"Oh, I was in London for some legal stuff with the Ministry, thought I'd pop in on the way back. What's the matter? Not pleased to see me?"

"Of course I am!"

"Harry, perhaps you ought to get changed before you come in here? Your aunt won't be happy if you drip water everywhere you know…"

"I'll be right back!

A few hours later, and the Dursleys, Harry and Sirius were seated round the dinner table, talking and laughing over Aunt Petunia's justly famous roast beef. Sirius was asking Harry and Dudley what they were planning on doing for their birthday celebrations. Harry smiled cheekily.

"Well, I've heard that Gilderoy Lockhart's doing a signing at Flourish and Blotts on the 3rd; maybe you'd take me to that?" Sirius scowled.

"Don't talk about that poncy little git – sorry Petunia – little so-and-so to me Harry. You know I don't like him!"

"Yeah, but it's funny to see you rant."

"Cheeky brat." Harry sniggered, but Dudley was looking confused.

"Who's Gilderoy Lockhart?"

"Gilderoy Lockhart is the most arrogant, self-centered, smug… twerp ever to walk the earth Dudley. He's published a series of very badly written books about how amazing and heroic he is, and because of this is almost as famous as Harry here. I wouldn't be surprised if the whole lot of it was a pack of lies – he was at Hogwarts when I was, a few years older than us. Not a very impressive figure at all; that smile he's so famous for is definitely the work of a Cosmetics charm or two!"

By now everyone was chuckling at Sirius.

After the meal, Sirius took Harry by the shoulder. "Can I have a quiet word Harry?" Harry nodded curiously, taking Sirius upstairs to his bedroom. Sirius closed the door, before sitting down on Harry's bed. He looked up at his godson, a small smile on his face.

"I haven't really had a chance to talk to you about last year yet Harry. I just wanted you to know that I'm very proud of you; you did magnificently! But the fact remains that you shouldn't have been there! You could have been killed! Quirrell wasn't worth that Harry. Did you even stop to think what might happen?"

"Of course, I – I just…" But Harry couldn't tell him why he'd been so desperate to stop Quirrell. Sirius was one of the many too scared to even utter the name Voldemort anymore, and with more reason than most. There was an unspoken pact to avoid all mention of him unless absolutely necessary whenever Sirius was around.

"I just wanted to do the right thing Sirius." His godfather grinned, shaking his head, almost sadly.

"You are just like James sometimes Harry you know that? I know what you were trying to do Harry, and I am very proud of you. Just… try and stay out of trouble this year? Please? Just for me, go on." Harry grinned, and nodded. Sirius pulled him into a hug, ruffling his hair as he did so. "Good boy."

Suddenly, Harry pulled away, his eyes shining. "I've got something to show you! I didn't get a chance over Christmas, and Easter was – well, I didn't get a chance. Recognise this?" With a flourish, he pulled his father's Invisibility Cloak out of his trunk. Sirius stared at it open-mouthed, before laughing loudly, sounding strangely as if he was barking.

"Where on earth did you get that from? I haven't seen it in years! The stuff we did under that cloak…"

"Dumbledore borrowed it from him before they died, he gave it me back last year. It's great isn't it? Just wandering round the school, knowing no-one can see you, it's so much fun!"

"We found out so much about the school you know – did we ever tell you about the Marauders Map? We made a map of the school, showed everyone in the school on it, all the secret passages we'd found… Filch confiscated it in the end, but it was really useful while we had it. It was your dad who did most of the actual construction though, he was really good at Transfiguration. Shame really, we could have made you another. Still," and here he winked at Harry, "at least you won't get caught while you're wandering around." Harry chuckled.

"I thought I was having a quiet, uneventful year?"

"There's a huge difference between breaking the rules and risking your life Harry. Although I suppose if McGonagall's still the same… No, there's definitely a difference Harry."

"Okay Sirius, if you insist…"

They returned downstairs, and shortly afterwards, Sirius bid them farewell, winking at Harry about a surprise for his birthday, and roared off into the night on his bike. Harry knew that as soon as he reached a quiet side-street, he would be flying high above the clouds. One by one, the Dursleys slowly made their way to bed.

There was a brief scream, followed by a flash of green light. Lily Potter slumped to the floor with a quiet thud. His father was already dead, lying in the hall next to the open door. Harry stood in the corner, watching, unable to help them. There was a murky shape hovering over his mother's body; from the rest of the scene, Harry took it to be Voldemort. Presumably he was being obscured because Harry had no idea what he looked like.

The shape walked – almost gliding – to the crib in the middle of the room, which Harry knew was where he, baby-Harry would be. Voldemort stared down into the crib as the baby started crying. He raised his wand, and uttered the incantation 'Avada Kedavra!' Even in the dream, Harry could feel the sickening pulse of truly Dark magic. Suddenly, the curse rebounded from Harry's younger self, striking him in the middle of the face. There was a blinding flash, more white light, a deafening explosion; when the smoke cleared, Harry walked over to the crib he had slept in as a baby. He looked into, curiously. There he was, bleeding from the forehead as the famous lightning scar came into being, crying loudly at the pain and from the exposure to the wind. Harry reached down and put his hand over the scar, as if trying to remove it before it became permanent. Baby-Harry stopped crying suddenly, unscrewing his eyes to stare back at dream-Harry.

The baby's eyes were red.

Harry recoiled in horror, and the baby started to cry again. Harry staggered back to the wall, everything beginning to pale as the dream world faded around him. He tripped over some debris, and fell back, through the fading wall. He let out a shout –

And sat up in bed, sweat pouring off him. He fumbled for his glasses, putting them on one handed as he flicked on the light, stumbling to the mirror on his desk. He stared into it intently.

Green. His eyes were definitely green.

He sat down on the bed, breathing heavily. He had had nightmares about his parent's murder before, but never like that! Before, he had always just heard a scream, and seen a flash of green light. What was worse, it was not the first time he had seen himself with red eyes; when he had woken up after the attack in the Forbidden Forest, he had seen red eyes in the mirror in the Hospital Wing. He had told no-one of this, for reasons he couldn't quite explain, even to himself. Now that he came to think about it, that in itself was quite suspicious…

He ran his fingers through his hair wearily. It was far too early to think about such things, and he forced his breathing to calm. He left his bedroom, walking to the bathroom to wash the sweat off his face. As he rinsed himself off, he winced. There was a dull ache in the centre of his chest, and he rubbed it distractedly. Outside the bathroom, a light clicked on, and Aunt Petunia looked round the door.

"Harry dear? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine; just a bad dream. Halloween." His aunt nodded understandingly.

"Are you going to be ok?"

"Yeah, I'm just going back to bed. Don't worry." His aunt studied him, before nodding.

"If you're sure. Sleep tight Harry." Harry wandered back to his bedroom, and paused in the doorway. He sighed loudly, and Aunt Petunia hurried down the landing to him.

"What's wrong? Oh…" They both looked round the room in silence. When Harry had gone to bed, the room had been a pale, creamy colour. Now the walls were a dark shade of blue. At least that explained the pain in his chest. Harry shrugged, and turned to his aunt.

"Blue's a nice colour at least…"

A/N: Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated!