Edit: Fixed grammar and spelling, in addition to some sentence structures, wording, and information in the text. I'd recommend at least skimming over this chapter to read the changes.

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No. 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey

The little boy who lived at No. 4 on Privet Drive was highly unusual. To most of the people living in suburbia unusual was a bad thing. The boy always wore rags ten times his size. His eyes were too green, and he never looked you in the eye as you talked to him. When his generous aunt and uncle weren't working him in the yard to teach him discipline, he could always be found sitting alone on the playground down the street.

He never played with the other children, even when they offered to let him join in their games. He would just sit there for hours not moving. Sometimes he would even be seen playing with snakes. How scandalous it was to everyone in the neighborhood! The Dursleys explained to any who asked that the boy was mentally retarded after being involved in the car crash which also killed his parents. To everyone, the Dursleys were heroes and Saints for taking in a hopeless case.

To the little boy with shaggy black hair and green eyes, the Dursleys were jailers, torturers, and monsters. From the tender age of one he had lived in the cupboard under the stairs, only feeding on his cousin Dudley's left over bottles, and left to wallow in his own filth until Petunia got tired of his cries or the smell. He spent the first two years under their roof in total darkness. They would only unlock the cupboard door after nightfall, and after all the lights had been turned out. They said it was so they would not have to look upon his wretched, ungrateful face.

They named him Freak and Bastard, until he was of an age to go to pre-school. After that he learned his true name. Harry Potter. The sunlight burned his eyes- a new kind of torture he figured, the first time he was allowed out of the cupboard. The three year old was given his cousins old clothes to cover his nakedness and shoved out the door. They had told him to go to school, failing to realize that he didn't know what or where school was.

For five hours he had wandered alone in the bright world. No one noticed him, even as they bumped into him and knocked him to the ground. The few who took notice frightened him with their attention. The sunlight was the worst. It stung at him and made him blind, robbing him of his senses and eating away at the darkness he found comfort in. The darkness had never brought him pain. He had sought out the nearest place that offered that comfort, a dank alleyway shaded by the overhang of the buildings.

When he had been escorted back to the Dursleys by a police officer, they had acted the part of worried guardians. When the door slammed shut and the patrol car drove off, Vernon had taught Harry that there were worse tortures than the sun. They gave him smaller cast-offs from Dudley to better hide the bruises, and Petunia drove him to school the next day. It was after that the Dursleys realized they could use him.

They set him to work around the house, using every opportunity to vent their anger on him. They sowed lies around the neighborhood of his dementia and mental oddities to stave off questions. Harry learned to loath his family- learned to loath humans in general. That hatred was fueled by his ever escalating mistreatment, and his ability to talk to serpents.

He had learned of this ability his third week of school while on the playground. The other boys had found a garter snake and were taunting it with sticks and throwing rocks at it. Harry never questioned that he could hear the snake's cries of fear, only acted. Dudley had been heading the group, but soon found himself on the ground clutching a bleeding nose with his cousin standing over him.

The snake had disappeared, but there were others he talked to around the school or at the park. After that incident the mistreatment escalated to a new level of horror. His uncle had come to him in the middle of the night, invading the one place Harry felt safe in the house, his cupboard. The man violated his nephew, muffling his cries with a dish rag so as not to wake the house. The child simply thought he was drunk, or enraged that Harry had struck his son; but it soon became a monthly occurrence. After that, Harry learned of the hypocrisies and injustice of the world.

Harry learned his lessons, and learned them well. The passing of his fifth birthday brought in him a sudden change, clarity of thought. For the first time, he could think thoughts of dissent and unhappiness at his position in life. There was no longer a fog enveloping him, no longer keeping him calm and dispassionate in regards to his treatment. For the first time ever, he questioned his relatives. Even if only silently. Over the years he learned many things about the world and under spars teachings at school, realization of what his home life really meant sunk in.

Normal families did not beat and rape their charge. Something sparked in the darkness within him, growing stronger with each passing day. A sensation foreign to him until that moment: Hope. He tried many times over the years to convince adults of what was happening, but the Dursleys were too well trusted. He was scorned as an attention seeker. That spark slowly withered, but never truly died.

From the adults' unwillingness to listen, Harry learned to keep his own council. They turned their backs on him, so his only recourse was to do the same. He refused to speak unless required. He only indulged the privilege of voicing his mind when in the presence of the sparse serpent population around Surrey. They never judged him, simply listened while teaching him the lessons of survival. One serpent in particular helped him learn his true heritage.

The black serpent had come to him one night as he lay in the park. There had been a business meeting at the house and his relatives kicked him out, telling him to not come back until the next day. Harry was nine years old when this happened. The snake had approached him cautiously and seemed shocked when the child spoke to it. This serpent spoke differently than the others. Not in riddles and unfamiliar terms like Harry was used to. It spoke as a serpent, but with a human mind.

September 18th, 1989; 11:30pm, Magnolia Crescent Park, Little Whinging

Darkness enveloped the area underneath the canopy of trees at the farthest corner of the park. A small figure huddled under a bush, trying in vain to keep warm. He wore only a t-shirt and tattered, oversized jeans for protection. His breath came out in puffs of white, fogging his glasses, but he didn't care. It was dark so there was nothing to see. Still alert, he never truly relaxed. Night time was better than the brightness of day, but he no longer sought solace from it.

He reacted slowly, limbs thankfully numb, as quiet grumbling reached his ears. Shockingly, he recognized the hissing quality of its voice. All the serpents of the area were already in the long sleep- what they called hibernation. It was too cold for one to be awake! The only thing Harry cared about was the serpents. Their company was the only reason he was still sane. Without them, he felt that he would have been little better than a dog. He owed them a debt, in his personal view.

He called out in a near silent hiss, "Why are you awake? The cold death is almost upon us!"

"Cold death? Oh, you mean winter. What are you doing awake the-"

Harry removed his glasses and stared around in amazement. A snake who understood human terms was unheard of to him. His eyes picked out a displacement in the shadows of the underbrush. He could see well in the dark. It was only in light that he needed the horrible things. He sat the glasses next to him on the ground and blinked as a dark form slowly revealed itself to what little moonlight pierced the canopy. It seemed to rear back as it saw him.

"Please! I'm not going to eat you. I'm only a speaker."

It was several moments before the serpent spoke or even moved. It unwound itself and slithered closer. It was large, almost as long as an adult man was tall. Harry couldn't see any markings on it, as its scales were inky black even in the dim light. He detected darting movements around its snout and held still, knowing he was being scented.

"How... What is your name, child?"

"Harry Potter. How do you know human terms?" He slipped flawlessly between English and the serpent language. His name had no translation. Nor did snakes take on names of their own. They had no need to identify themselves beyond their markings. This snake seemed to understand his name perfectly, however.

"Indeed. Wonders will never cease. What are you doing out here in the cold?"

"My kin ran me from the nest."

"Normal speak, please! I swear, one would think you were a snake with the way you talk."

Green eyes blinked. This was new. Harry had experienced many things in his life, but never a snake that acted like a human. Hesitating, he repeated himself, his mind taking a moment to process the oddity of it.

"My human relatives kicked me out of the house."

"Thank you. It always gives me headaches attempting to decipher snake-speak."

"But you're a snake."

It seemed to shake its head at him before finally crawling over to curl up at his side.

"Not really. Have you never wondered how you can speak to serpents?"

"No. Snakes make more sense to me than humans. Why would I question it? And what do you mean you're not a snake? You look like one."

"My, you're quick." It was also the first time Harry had ever heard a snake use sarcasm. It seemed that it would be a night of firsts.

"I am not a snake. I'm a wizard. And you are also a wizard."

"What? Wizards aren't real."

"How do you explain your ability to talk to me then?" It responded flatly. That stumped the boy, making him frown. He knew he was the only human he had ever met who could do it. But the Dursleys had always insisted that magic wasn't real. Any time it was mentioned in his presence, it usually led to pain. The thought brought him up short. The Dursleys lied about a lot of things.

"Ah, I see you're finally using that mass between your ears. Listen, and listen well. What I am about to tell you, you can never let on that you know. To anyone."

That night was the first time Harry ever learned the truth about his parents' deaths. The serpent stayed with him until sun rise. It wove many a wondrous tale with its sibilant tones, speaking of men who could not be named, of war, of a mother's sacrifice, and a history lost to time. As the sun turned the skies into a tapestry of color, the serpent took its leave.

It was the first and last time he saw the dark serpent.

Harry knew the full truth now. It took him several days of going over the conversation in his head before the full meaning of it all sunk in and made sense to him. Seething anger burned in his small frame. There was a man out there, who had placed him with the Dursleys knowing full well what they would do to him. All because he was afraid. Afraid of a baby whose mother had used any means available to protect her son.

Harry was wise to the ways of the world. What the serpent described in one of the nameless men brought forth images of a dog. The old dog down the block that was past its prime, biting and snapping at any who would get close to its kennel for fear that it would be usurped. Harry had once been bit by that dog. How ironic that the nameless man who stirred the unbidden images had also done him harm.

For the next year and a half Harry practiced his magic in secret. Not wand magic, but another form of magic. A magic steeped in darkness. A magic of darkness itself. Something in the spell his mother had cast on him as a baby had given him the ability to manipulate shadows. This talent had been suppressed until his fifth birthday. The snake never explained how or why his birthday held such significance as to unlock the power, but had warned him to keep this especially a secret, above all else.

No one knew just what his mother had done to him, but one of the nameless men feared it as being an evil even greater than that possessed by the man who had killed his parents. He had been warned not to trifle with this part of himself for fear of it being found out. However Harry knew that he would need every advantage.

With the Dursleys he was powerless. He was nothing more than a slave and so much minced meat. Once the letter for the magic school arrived though, he would change things. Once he could break free from the Hell he had been exiled to, he would never again be powerless. He refused. It was that driving need that made him concentrate with all of his might on mastering the shadows.

July 21st, 1991; 10:00pm, Hellsing Headquarters, Library

He felt it again. A power unlike any he had ever encountered before. It conjured a memory of that night ten years ago, when he had first been awakened from his forced, twenty-year long slumber. It was as entrancing as ever. It tickled his senses, sang to his blood, set his long dead heart racing in his chest. Just as it had that night.

It surged more frequently in past days, as if growing restless. He had sensed it every night now for the past month and it set him on edge. Something was going to happen. Or had already happened. As with all days, he stretched out his consciousness in an effort he knew was fruitless. Never before had he been able to pinpoint where it originated from. It drove him mad, for he knew it came from within the country.

That Halloween night, Arthur Hellsing died, and three days later a new Master had arrived. A young girl of twelve, afraid for her life from her own uncle. She had shared his cell, seeking comfort in an old corpse, more afraid of a human monster than the one she cried next to. Alucard had been aware. That odd power had lent him strength enough to stay awake. That girl had spilled her heart to him, confessed her fear, yet refused to give into it even as she stared up the length of a pistol wielded by her own kin.

Her blood had spoken to him more than her own words. Her blood had been the first to reach his lips in twenty years. And how it had spoken to him! Such strength the likes of which he had not born witness to in generations! That girl, now a young woman, was his True Master. No Hellsing before her had ever been worthy of the title. She won his loyalty that night.

Alucard believed the flare of power had been an omen of sorts. He did not believe it a coincidence. He would not have been aware to bear witness to his Master's strength if he had not been awakened. Dark times were upon them, and Sir Integra endured where her ancestors would have failed. Without his loyalty to her, the organization would have crumbled ten times over, and all of England with it.

It was exhilarating to think upon what may happen now. For one instance, it had foretold the coming of his Master, and held promises of war and blood. For it to suddenly become so active... A chilling grin split his face and he laughed. Another war was on the horizon and fast approaching.

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