Mama, Chapter One

Nagini had once loved her Master. Why wouldn't she? She had been so so lonely since the Maldictus curse had fully taken her over so many years ago. Years of being alone, years of eating rats in the forests of the world, years of trying to make intelligent conversation with other snakes...had rendered her tenuously sane. When she had first met Tom's spirit, despite her initial misgivings, she had been won over by the fact that he was a Speaker, by the fact that he spoke to her as an equal, by the fact that he was the first person to care for her.

But now she was rather more disillusioned. He may have cared for her, but he certainly didn't care for the human followers that he branded like cattle, and she often worried that he would cast her aside the moment she was no longer useful, like everyone else who had ever cared for her. And besides, the man was mad! He actually offered her human flesh as food, the only thing that she wouldn't touch, and she had to watch him commit horrible atrocities, over and over and over. And his obsession with that boy!

"Harry Potter escaped me again," he would hiss when none of his loyal toadies were around. "His luck will run out this time, though... I will kill him!" and he would proceed to list all the obscenely graphic ways he would accomplish that, while she kept her head close to the ground and her nictitating membrane half over her eyes and pretended that she wasn't bothered, because Merlin only knew what he would do to her if he found out she wasn't so loyal. Then, too, it was quite disturbing that his resurrected body required her venom, and she always hated that his followers, usually the one who smelled like rats or the one who smelled like fear had to milk her venom sacks for him. She had tolerated it the first year, when her master was too weak to do it himself (and also when she was still loyal to him) but she was fast growing tired and resentful of him, and of his dependence on her venom, and of his brutality, for had he been a better man she could have tolerated his idiosyncrasies and his venom-drinking. But sweet Merlin, she found herself longing for anyone else, even Grindelwald, again and again these days. At least he had been charismatic and kind to his followers, even if he had still killed civilians and done a great deal of damage during the war, and even if she had been on the opposing side. Grindelwald had indeed committed atrocities, but not on the scale that her new 'master' aspired to.

And then he put the thing in her. She didn't know what exactly he had done; she had been stunned during the ritual and had only woken up afterwards, her skull pounding, but she could guess, judging by what she knew of him and by the way that he could possess her so much easier, as well as her own quite intimate knowledge of dark magic, and it made her sick. It would have made anyone sick, she reflected, thinking of the mutilated fragment of his soul trapped in her body. All she wanted was to get it out of her, but the few times she had brought it up with Riddle, he'd gone off on some completely mad rant about how she would share in his immortality, and she had been too much afraid to bring it up again. She wanted out, but with his putrid soul in her head it was rather too late.

At the moment, she was in Riddle Manor, her master's home, and her Master, as usual, was contemplating torture. Specifically the torture of an informant who had failed him. And in between wondering whether he should douse the man with wine from his own cellars and set him on fire or let Bellatrix "play" with him, Nagini realized that she didn't have to do this anymore. But she couldn't just leave, couldn't she? Her Master could hunt her down, tracking her by the dark magic embedded inside her, and he would not be pleased when he finally caught up with her. He couldn't kill her, though, not after having embedded part of his soul in her, and she could recover from just about any other method of 'discipline'... And after all her Master- no, call him Tom, she admonished herself- let her out to hunt whenever he wanted, and she didn't have to come back.

But what then? She had grown accustomed to human companionship, and she knew that another ten years alone in the forests of Armenia- or wherever she decided to settle- would break her. She supposed that she could try to make her way to India, where it was rumored that there were parselmouths, but she wasn't exactly small and inconspicuous enough to sneak on a ship or, Merlin forbid, a muggle aeroplane flight, while she could not use the magic she had been born with as long as she was trapped in this form. She could make small talk with the other snakes, she supposed, but that would be a dismal existence, as the other snakes talked of nothing but finding a particularly scrumptious rodent to eat or gathering their friends to form a mating ball, and she was too large and too much like a predator for them to want to talk to him anyway.

And then something new, something totally unexpected occurred to her. There was one other parselmouth in Britain besides Tom, wasn't there? Tom always talked about how "that ungrateful whelp somehow acquired Salazar's gift". Harry Potter was a parselmouth.

That didn't mean he would listen to anything she had to say, Nagini thought miserably. She lowered her head, lamp-like golden eyes slipping closed at the thought. He would probably run screaming before she could explain fully, or hate her because of her supposed master and assume that her visit was just part of some elaborate plot. If she could even get close enough to speak to him. He could be a Gryffindor of the hex first, ask questions afterward variety, and it wasn't like she could take some sort of truth serum or swear on her life and magic to prove herself like a human criminal might be able to. He could also just refuse to listen to her, not to mention that the other wizards probably wouldn't let her come anywhere near the precious Chosen One.

She didn't want to stay here though, not in this miserable place dominated by her self-proclaimed master, stained with the blood of his prisoners and those who he believed had failed him. Who knew if one day she might join that illustrious number, if one day he might tire of her and decide to use her as entertainment, too?

Could she make it to wherever Harry Potter was without being killed? Maybe, maybe not; she didn't know. If only she could know for certain whether she could even attempt escape safely. She may not have been as sane or as human as she had once been, but she wasn't exactly stupid enough not to value her own life.

"Massster?" She knew better than to call him "Tom".

"Yesss, my ssweet?"

Sweet Merlin above, she hated the presumptive familiarity he always treated her with. Always had, as a matter of fact, but she'd been so starved for human contact and intelligent conversation that she hadn't given it any thought when Tom had first began to treat her like a pet, or perhaps a nice little trophy wife. Damn the cost, she had to get out of here, no matter where!

"May I go out to hunt?"

Gods above, she was asking him for permission to do something she had done without qualms for years, when she should have just been able to leave and come back- or not- as she saw fit. She had to get away from here!

"Of courssse. Jusst ssstay ssafe, beauty, and come back ssoon. I will sssend out a sssearch party if you do not return tonight," he said lazily, without looking up from the runic texts he was translating. She half-closed her eyes, keeping her mouth firmly shut to prevent what she thought about that comment and sentiment from escaping. She would go wherever she damn well pleased, and return whenever she pleased too, if ever. Just because he had befriended her didn't make him her master, after all, and, if anything, he owed her a great deal more than she had ever owed him for his companionship, considering that she had given up her freedom, venom, and last shreds of humanity to be his companion, and he had repaid her by graciously "allowing" her to hunt and by planting part of his soul in her through a dark ritual.

"Whatever makesss you happy, Masster," she returned, slithering away as fast as she could without seeming like she was fleeing from his presence. She had to get out of here!

The grounds around Riddle Manor had once been fine, beautiful gardens, but the Dark Lord did not exactly care for aesthetics even had he wanted to advertise that the manor was no longer abandoned. The flower beds were full of hardy, straggling perennials and volunteer flowers, groundcover, and weeds, while the once-exquisite topiary was now nothing more than a collection of ragged, misshapen bushes, monstrous topiary shapes and hulking leafy chimeras. High, rank grass provided her with all the cover she would need, had she actually been intent on hunting, and rodents rustled and squeaked and fled through the grass as she approached. If she hadn't been in a hurry to cover as much ground as she possibly could before dark, she might have even stopped for a snack. As it was, she ignored the tantalizing scent leaking into her mouth and flowing over her forked tongue and forced herself to focus, beating back the snake instincts with ruthless fervor. At least the rank grass and decaying outbuildings provided shelter and camouflage...

Her whole body ached, as well it might, considering that she was undulating on what might have been her stomach (had she been a human) for hours on end, and she had never traveled this far in this form for her entire life. Maybe she shouldn't have left. Who was she kidding? She didn't know where she was, she had no way of asking directions, and the minute she broke cover wizards- and muggles, for that matter- would be on her like nifflers on a jewelry box.

She took shelter under a dilapidated barn that night, though her natural inclination was to curl up in the branches of the nearest tree (she would be a sitting duck up in a tree, after all) and resumed her journey in the morning.

She was constantly on her guard during the next few days, expecting every minute to hear the popping sound of her master's servants apparating, but they didn't come, not yet, and that was when she remembered that Tom had been planning a "Dark Revel", which was the fanciful term he used to indicate a terrorist attack. And if there was one thing Tom Riddle loved more than discussing torture methods with Bellatrix (to be implemented on Harry Potter) it was a Revel. He had likely not even noticed she was missing, as she did sometimes spend more than a night away from the manor, and if Tom was planning said attack, he wouldn't pay too much attention to her absence until he went to order Pettigrew to "milk" her and the slimy rat animagus reported that he couldn't find her.

She had perhaps two more days before everything would crumble around her. Two more days to make it to Hogwarts, two more days to convince the "Light" side that she meant no harm. Two more days before death, if she didn't hustle her tail and talk fast enough.