Authors Note:

Drem Yol Lok, dii braan joor. Hello, everyone. Ashtheking here once again, with the next update. I'm sorry for the lack of an update; I had a very busy weekend, and could only find time to work on the chapter recently. The quarter is ending this week for me, so I've been really damn busy. To top it off, I'm starting to develop a bit of a sickness, and that's never fun. So I'm afraid you'll have to take a rain check, as I promise I'll release an omake for Year 7 at some point soon, to make up for the lost week.

Now, let's move on to the story itself. I've been asked some very thoughtful questions, and I'll do my best to answer them without any major spoilers. Now that the warning has been given, if you don't want to hear any, just skip ahead to the story proper.

My first question, by the wonderfully-named Shinkicker, was about Dumbledore, and whether he'd realize something's up about Harry. Truth be told, I'm a bit wary of old Dumbledore. He's a shrewd guy, and a master of manipulation and reading people, even without adding in magical mind raping. So I'd have to say that while it'd be easy to make him paranoid enough to know the situation at the Dursleys, I'd say he won't suspect anything until the Troll scene, which I've got planned out already. In addition to his question about Dumbledore, Shinkicker has also asked about the Dragon scene in Goblet of Fire (not Prisoner), but I'm going to have to decline answering that, though if you read the text carefully, you might pick up some hints.

My next question, by the insightful Lady Salazar, asks about the Beast folk, such as the Argonians and the Khajiit. I'll add to the list "Orsimer", "Akaviri", and "Maomer", and title it "The List of TESV Races I Forgot About". Thank you for bringing it to my attention, as I hadn't really considered it much apart from an "oh yeah, they exist". I realize that I do owe it to my readers to explain, and I'll attempt to give more information about them in the coming chapters. That being said, I'll tell you here and now that they exist in smaller numbers, in the harder to see places, and that magic holds ways to disguise one's features, allowing them to blend in with humankind.

A friend of mine pointed out I should have a disclaimer, so here it is.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related characters and concepts are the creation and property of J.K. Rowling, along with her publishers and Warner Bros., as regards the movie material. The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, and all things related to the Elder Scrolls universe belong to Bethesda Game Studios, and Bethesda Softworks. I do not, and will never own them. The character of Bjorn Stormhold, along with any others introduced later, however, is my intellectual property, and should not be used without my permission. Certain of the scenes in this story are from Harry Potter and the Philosophers Stone. I trust the intelligence of my readers to recognize them when found.

As always, please read, review, and recommend!

Faal Sen Voth Dovah Sos

Nearly ten years had passed since the Dursleys had woken up to find their nephew on the front step, but 4 Privet Drive had hardly changed at all. Only the photographs on the mantelpiece really showed how much time had passed.

Today was a joyous day for the Dursley family. The reason why would be evident quite soon, as the patriarch of the family, Vernon Dursley, rapped sharply on the door of his nephew's room. "Get up! Now, boy, you're needed at the stove!"

Nearly a year ago, Harry Potter was moved from the Cupboard under the Stairs to the second bedroom in the house, owing to the fact that Harry had secured a job working for a Professor of Oxford. The Dursleys were afraid (and rightly so, though they were ignorant of his knowledge) that it would reflect badly on their family as a whole if it got out to the professor accidentally that he lived in a cupboard. As such, he was moved to Dudley's second bedroom, and treated slightly better than before he met his teacher.

While it was true that Bjorn Stormhold was indeed a professor at Oxford University, teaching classes in Ancient History and Societies, he also belonged to a rather exclusive life-long organization. Known to the mundane world as the Society of High Hrothgar, a group of history professors and enthusiasts who dedicated their lives to learning and collecting information about the past, and were quite selective in their application process, it held a far older and more distinctive name. To the more esoteric sections of the world, this organization held a name which once struck awe and reverence into the hearts of all those who heard it, both for their actual and attributed prowess and mysticism. It was, and still is, known as The Greybeards.

You see, Harry Potter was no normal ten year old boy. He was the student of Bjorn Stormhold, in the arts of the Greybeards, most specifically magical lore and draconic. He was also a wizard in training, though he really only knew a few spells, all Novice level, as he was too young to really learn anything else.

He cast one of these spells at his uncle's voice, lighting the room instinctively with a low level Candlelight spell. A soft white glow illuminated the room, illuminating it in lieu of Harry reaching a light switch. He groaned softly, and slumped back down onto the bed, tired.

On Friday, the day before, he had gone through his weekly combat training with Master Stormhold, learning how to use a sword, and incorporating some spells into that. It was not that severe, but taxing to a young boy like Harry. As such, Harry was still tired, both mentally and physically. He knew that his Uncle would get mad, however, if he stayed silent, and so responded.

"Yes Uncle Vernon, I'll be there quickly!"

He then rolled over, and got up slowly. Master Stormhold had trained him more harshly than most weeks, as he was gone until Monday, and so Harry couldn't be trained on the weekends for the full day, like normal. This meant that this week would have less instruction, as Harry did have to go to school, even if he first went to, and came back to, the Stormhold residence. Master Stormhold was going to a meeting of some sort for the Greybeards, something to do with a new member or some-such, and as such couldn't mentor Harry over the weekend.

Today was Dudley's birthday, apparently. The date had slipped Harry's mind, as he was rarely home nowadays before curfew, and spent maybe an hour or two in the Dursley's presence. It worked out well for both of them, but it meant that things like this were forgotten.

I might have even given him a present, if he had told me. Harry was joking, of course, but Dudley had been nicer to him, no doubt on the order of his parents. "Harry Hunting" was no longer a favorite activity of his gang, though that might be because Harry was now agile enough to evade them.

Regardless, Harry watched with a sort of benign amusement and twisted jealousy as Dudley tore through his pile of presents, whining at the supposedly small number. I get a fifty pence piece from the Dursleys for my birthday, and he whines about that many presents?

Harry had learnt under Master Stormhold for nearly two years, now, and had gained the sort of "monk" mentality the Greybeards proscribed to. As such, he was a lot more mature for his age than most, and didn't really care about the presents the Dursley's gave for him. That being said, a part of him was still a malnourished (if not as much as before), unwanted, and somewhat abused child. Harry had read enough to know that much about himself. And that part of him wished that someone loved him that much.

For all that Bjorn Stormhold was enthusiastic and energetic, and took joy in seeing friends and coworkers happy, it must be said that he is not that skilled in acts of care and devotion. For the most part, Harry thought of him as a favorite uncle, and most assuredly his favorite mentor and teacher, but he was not a father figure, as much as Harry knew what a father figure was.

So Harry stood there, focusing on cooking, and almost missed his uncle's statement. "I'm sorry, what?" he asked, surprised.

Uncle Vernon scowled, and responded. "You're coming with us, boy. I won't have you here alone, and there's no one to take you now that the professor's off for the weekend."

Harry had never gone to one of Dudley's parties, apart from that camping trip a while back, mainly because the birthday boy didn't want him there. Unfortunately, there was no other option, as Ms. Figg had broken her leg, and Professor Stormhold was off at Oxford for the weekend.

Dudley had whined and thrown many a tantrum, but there was no getting around it. So Harry sat in the back seat once again, sandwiched between Dudley and Piers Polkiss, as they attempted to beat him into submission while Aunt Petunia wasn't looking.

It didn't work that well, of course, as Harry had taken stronger injuries when training with Master Stormhold, but it did hurt.

As they arrived at the Zoo, Uncle Vernon took him aside, and informed him in no uncertain terms that any funny business (which Harry took to mean accidental magic), and he'd be locked away until Christmas. This didn't include Master Stormhold, of course, as they didn't want to make a bad impression, but pretty much everything else, including breakfast and dinner, were off the table.

After lunch they went to the reptile house. It was cool and dark in here, with lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of wood and stone. Dudley and Piers wanted to see huge, poisonous cobras and thick, man-crushing pythons. Dudley quickly found the largest snake in the place. It could have wrapped its body twice around Uncle Vernon's car and crushed it into a dustbin – but at the moment it didn't look in the mood. In fact, it was fast asleep.

Dudley stood with his nose pressed against the glass, staring at the glistening brown coils. "Make it move," he whined at his father. Uncle Vernon tapped on the glass, but the snake didn't budge. "Do it again," Dudley ordered. Uncle Vernon rapped the glass smartly with his knuckles, but the snake just snoozed on.

"This is boring," Dudley moaned, shuffling away. Harry moved in front of the tank and looked intently at the snake. He wouldn't have been surprised if it had died of boredom itself – no company except stupid people drumming their fingers on the glass trying to disturb it all day long.

The snake suddenly opened its beady eyes. Slowly, very slowly, it raised its head until its eyes were on a level with Harry's.

It winked.

Harry stared, not knowing of any species of mundane reptile that would do that, and not recognizing it as magical. Then he looked quickly around to see if anyone was watching, not finding any. Unsure what the proper procedure was, he looked back at the snake and winked back.

The snake jerked its head towards Uncle Vernon and Dudley, and then raised its eyes to the ceiling. It gave Harry a look that said quite plainly: I get that all the time.

"I know," Harry murmured through the glass, though he wasn't sure the snake could hear him, not to say anything of understanding him. "It must be really annoying."

The snake nodded vigorously. Harry blinked, shocked. Unsure of whether he was just imagining it, he asked tentatively, "Can you… understand me?"

The snake raised an eye ridge, and nodded once. Harry leaned back, astounded, as nothing in all his studies had implied that snakes were sentient. He read the sign hanging on the wall, and suddenly felt sympathetic. He felt sorry for the snake, really. Before he had met Master Stormhold, he was stuck in his cupboard for most of his life, but at least he was able to explore the house. Making a split second decision Master Stormhold would no doubt scold him for later, he asked a question.

"Do you want to get out, perchance? It must be awfully boring, being stuck in there for your whole life."

The snake looked excited, and nodded fast. Harry shifted, moving closer as to make sure no one saw what he was doing. He gestured silently for the snake to move back.

Taking a deep breath, he concentrated. Spell chains like this were hard, as they had to repeatedly cast the only spells he knew, which were Novice level, and still challenging for someone his age to use do to the unstable nature of his magical core. However, magic at its core was about imagination, and intent. The greater the challenge, the more will required. In an alternate universe, Harry Potter had removed the entirety of the glass on the snake habitat with a burst of accidental and uncontrolled magic, without really knowing what he was doing. What Harry wanted to do here was far less impressive, and he had received training in using magic, and could actually cast the spells that were needed to do so, and he wanted for it to work. A simple application of both the spells Flames and Frostbite, which are two Novice level Destruction spells, and… there!

Harry gestured to the relatively small section of glass he had superheated and then rapidly cooled. "Break through here, the glass will be really weak. Let me just stand back a bit."

The snake nodded, and coiled itself. Suddenly Harry was pushed aside and to the floor, as Piers Polkiss gave a loud shout which startled both of them. "DUDLEY! MR DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT IT'S DOING!"

Dudley rushed over, and Harry looked at the snake and nodded. It would be nice, Harry mused, to get some payback for what Dudley had done over the years, without Uncle Vernon being able to blame me for it.

The snake nodded back, and coiled, striking rapidly at the pane of glass right by Dudley's face. Dudley, startled, moved back a bit. The snake shook its head and tried again, shattering the glass with its second attempt.

People throughout the reptile house screamed and started running for the exits. Dudley's face had several light cuts on it, due to the glass, as did Piers. Even Harry had a small gash, from where one of the pieces had struck him. The boa slid by Harry, and reared its head, as if it were about to strike.

Harry tensed slightly, as the snake was a predator, even if it normally ate rats and other small critters. He didn't have to worry, though, as the snake opened its jaws and spoke.

[Thanks, amigo.]

Harry was shocked, but managed to respond despite that. [No problem.] As he spoke, he realized that he was speaking another language, in a similar fashion to Draconic: As if it were English, until he himself realized the difference.

Now that he knew, he realized his actual response was a collection of hisses, much like what a snake would sound like. Before he could do anything but realize that fact, the snake nodded and slithered away toward the entrance, scaring the security guard as it did so.

The keeper of the reptile house was in shock. "But the glass," he kept saying, "We paid good money for that glass."

Ultimately, that incident was judged not to be Harry's fault, as it seemed that the snake had simply broken through some shoddily made glass. The zoo director had apologized personally to Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, and offered to pay for any injuries caused by the glass.

Harry, however, was more interested in the odd language he had instinctively spoken to the snake in. He pored over his notes, looking for anything he might have missed in his teachers' lectures, waiting for Monday with a fever, so he could ask Master Stormhold.

It could be the fabled language of the Argonians, Harry mused, looking at his notepad. Except that I'm no Argonian, and they're not exactly human, after all. I think I'd know if I had scales and claws. And they're native to South America and the Amazon jungle, and rarely venture beyond there in any case.

Harry had tried speaking it again, and could, with some practice, but it was odd, and he kept reverting to English as he went on. I suppose I'd have to find a snake to try it out again. Pity I haven't learnt any Conjuration spells yet, I'd love to be able to summon a snake right now.

Sadly, while Harry had learnt many Novice level spells from the spell books he was given, it was decided by both Paarthurnax and Master Stormhold that the forces of Oblivion are not to be called upon by a ten year old, no matter how mature, and that raising the undead is not something done in polite company.

Master Bjorn Stormhold returned at approximately 11:00 on Sunday night, and rested for the remainder of the night until roughly 8:30 in the morning, where he was almost run over by an excited ten year old.

"Master Stormhold! You're back! Drem Yol Lok. I have a question to ask you." Harry babbled excitedly.

Bjorn raised an eyebrow, and responded. "Drem Yol Lok, Harry. I ask that you focus on the first word, and have some peace. Calm down. What is your question?"

Harry concentrated, and spoke again in the snake tongue, as he called it. [What is this language, Master?]

Bjorn looked shocked, and shook his head slightly. "Is that Parseltongue? I never knew that was a trait of the Potter family. Odd, it'd have come up once or twice before it was."

Harry tilted his head slightly to the left, and asked curiously. "What is Parseltongue, Master? I've never heard of it."

Bjorn nodded, answering the question. "Parseltongue is the language of the serpents, and shares many similarities with the Language of the Hist, as you may have guessed. As far as I know, the language came about ages ago, when an Argonian servant of the local Dark Lord taught his master the basics of their native tongue, which was then used in a ritual to confer intelligence to the Dark Lord's favorite serpent. It backfired, as far as we can tell, and conferred intelligence to every serpent which he interacted with, via his magic, but left them otherwise normal. The trait was passed down in his blood to his descendants, and was lost to time. There are a few famous serpent speakers, many of whom have given the language a Dark connotation. I'd refrain from using it public, if you can."

Harry nodded, and wrote it down in his notepad. It was charmed to never run out, and for the pages never to wear or tear, and would only display its notes to Harry, or those who Harry allowed to look. Master Bjorn was on the list, as were the rest of the Greybeards, but no one else. The pad, like a lot of stuff that Harry had obtained from Master Stormhold, had the insignia of the Greybeards on it, a stylized depiction of a Dovah flying over the Throat of the World.

Master Bjorn drew his attention, speaking sharply. "Now, how did you find out about your affinity for serpent speech?"

Harry considered the fact that he had used magic unsupervised, in public, for no reason other than a sense of shared loneliness for a potentially dangerous animal, and shuddered, considering that Master Bjorn was more severe in training when annoyed. Maybe I should've just left the snake in the cage…

Authors Note:

Well, there's the chapter, and it turned out nicely, in my opinion. I re-wrote a bit of it once or twice, trying to make Harry's thought process and interaction with the snake believable, and this is the best I feel I'll get at this time. Next chapter, Hogwarts! Incidentally, there was no draconic in this chapter, as odd as it might be. There won't always be any in a given chapter, but I'll certainly try to make one or two new words, if I can make them fit. Harry doesn't talk much, mostly to his mundane relatives, who he obviously can't speak Dovahzul around. There was a possibility of putting it into his interaction with Master Bjorn, but I decided against it.

I hope you liked the chapter, and I again apologize for the lack of a chapter last week. I look forward to your reviews, everyone, they're all quite excellent, and very heartening to a writer, as it means that people like his work. I favorite/follow many works that I think are marginally okay, but reviews are only for the best fanfics.

As always, please read, review, and recommend!