CHAPTER 8: COLLISION AT DIAGON ALLEY
Harry swiftly comprehended the urgency in the man's voice but was nonetheless irritated by the repeated physical contact. He managed a curt nod in response to the man's query about Diagon Alley, noticing the distress etched on the man's face, evidence of a brewing storm within.
"You'd do well to make haste in the opposite direction," Harry advised, his tone less frosty but still laced with caution. "Diagon Alley's the other way."
Before he could step away, the man's grip tightened once more, eliciting a flash of impatience in Harry's eyes. "What are you doing here? It's not safe," the man insisted, oblivious to the fact that he was perilously close to testing Harry's patience to its limit.
Forcing a strained smile, Harry attempted to disengage himself politely. "I have my reasons. Now, if you'll excuse me..."
But the man's worry was palpable as he interjected, "You don't understand. This place... it's dangerous, especially for someone like you."
Harry's eyebrows arched, a mix of curiosity and exasperation playing on his face. "Someone like me?" he prompted, his interest piqued despite his inner urge to distance himself from the stranger's concerns.
"It's not for good folk," the man muttered, almost to himself, his eyes scanning the dimly lit surroundings as if expecting shadows to come alive.
A hint of amusement danced in Harry's eyes. "Good folk, huh?" he echoed, half to himself. "Well, rest assured, I'm not as delicate as I might seem."
The man, clearly alarmed by Harry's lack of understanding, leaned in closer. "But dark forces lurk here. You don't belong," he insisted urgently.
Harry's lips curved into a wry smile. "You'd be surprised where I've been and where I belong." With a gentle yet firm movement, he freed himself from the man's grasp, taking a step back. "Good luck finding your way, sir. But I must be on mine."
As Harry turned to leave, the man's frantic warnings echoed in his mind. Yet, his own intuition and experiences guided him, setting his course down the alley, where shadows whispered secrets and mysteries awaited, stirring his insatiable curiosity further.
Harry's demeanor remained as frigid as ice, his emerald eyes betraying none of the thoughts swirling in his mind. The man's attempt to exert authority over him only fueled a flash of defiance in Harry's gaze, a silent warning that went unnoticed by the man.
"Threatening children now, Weasley? I expected... more," a voice drawled from behind them, cutting through the tense air. Harry and 'Weasley' turned, their attention drawn to a figure with long, sleek blonde hair and an air of aristocratic arrogance. It was unmistakably Malfoy, his cold grey eyes fixed on the disheveled redhead.
The tension in the alley thickened as 'Weasley' acknowledged Malfoy with a curt nod, his expression hardening. Harry observed the interaction, swiftly deducing 'Weasley's' allegiance to the side of light.
"Ah, he must be a follower of the light," Harry surmised quietly to himself, seizing the opportunity to slip away from 'Weasley's' hold.
With a dismissive glance at 'Weasley,' Malfoy's attention shifted to Harry, who remained shrouded under his hood. "I must be off..." 'Weasley' trailed off, retreating in the direction Harry had earlier pointed.
"I must thank you, Lucius, for ridding me of that Blood Traitor," Harry remarked slyly, his words laced with veiled implications, as he peered at Lucius from beneath his concealing hood. The familiarity and informality of addressing Lucius by his first name visibly irked the older man.
Lucius's features contorted briefly with suppressed anger at being addressed so casually by a mere child. His cold gaze flickered between Harry and the departing 'Weasley,' a myriad of thoughts concealed behind his composed facade. Harry's inscrutable demeanor gave nothing away, the hood shielding his face like a veil of mystery.
As 'Weasley' disappeared from view, a pregnant silence enveloped the alley, leaving only the echoes of their brief encounter lingering in the dimly lit shadows. Harry lingered for a moment, studying Lucius's reaction before melting into the obscurity of the alley, his mind ablaze with the unfolding events and the intriguing characters he had encountered.
Harry's reaction stifled 'Weasley's' words, the man swallowing his protests abruptly as his eyes caught sight of Coilis peeking out from Harry's sleeve. The honorific title spoken in hushed tones, "Young Lord," silenced any further outburst, prompting Harry to nod in acknowledgment before veiling himself once more under the cloak's hood.
As Harry prepared to depart, his keen eyes caught sight of a young, fair-skinned boy, unmistakably Draco Malfoy, exhibiting a curiosity for a small pawn shop, particularly the peculiar array of severed Dragon skulls. Harry mused silently, recognizing the resemblance to Lucius in the boy's features, and acknowledged the wisdom in Lucius's decision to keep Draco distanced from him. Without a trace of acknowledgment, Harry vanished down an alley, apparating back to the manor.
In the secluded grounds of the manor, Harry passed through the iron gate effortlessly, almost as if it were a mere wisp of air. The two Death Eaters stationed as guards were taken aback, exchanging astonished and breathless whispers as they struggled to comprehend the moment they had just witnessed.
Harry Potter was an enigma, a figure steeped in legend and myth within the Death Eater circles. Few had ever laid eyes on him, and those who had were usually among the higher echelons of the Dark Lord's followers. The whispers about him circulated fervently; he was seen as an auspicious omen. Rumors swirled that any raid or mission Harry joined always culminated in resounding success. His very presence carried an air of invincibility, an aura that had yet to witness failure on any mission he partook in.
The intense chill emanating from Harry was palpable as he loomed over the two awestruck Death Eaters, fixing his gaze on the one to his left with an icy intensity that made the man visibly tremble.
"Where is my Father?" Harry's voice sliced through the air like a blade, each word carrying an unforgiving edge. The Death Eater's stuttered attempts to respond were stifled by fear as he locked eyes with Coilis, the sight of the serpent flicking its tongue adding to his panic.
"In... th-th-the th-throne r-r-room," the man stammered, the terror seizing his voice rendering him barely coherent.
Silently, Harry passed by the quivering pair, the brush of his Dementor-like cloak sending shivers down their spines. His ghostly presence invoked fear in those who crossed his path, imagining the horrors he might unleash.
The Throne Room doors swung open before him, revealing a scene that held Harry's fascination for a fleeting moment. Wormtail twitched on the floor in agony while his Father stood above, his bone-white hands clutching his wand with precision as he subjected the traitorous servant to the excruciating agony of the Cruciatus Curse. The palpable rage that emanated from his Father caused Harry's scar to prickle, even through his Occlumency defenses, the intensity of the anger piercing through.
"You have failed me the last time, Wormtail," his Father hissed, his pupils narrowing into feline-like slits. Wormtail writhed and whimpered as the torment subsided, leaving its lingering effects in its wake.
"Avada K—"
"Father, I believe Wormtail may still be of use, particularly concerning knowledge of an Animagus," Harry interjected just before his Father could unleash the Killing Curse. The hesitation in his Father's gesture gave a fleeting moment of relief to the plump, trembling man on the floor.
His Father lowered the wand, the rage within him momentarily tempered by Harry's words. The air in the room crackled with tension as Harry's intervention staved off the imminent demise of Wormtail, leaving a sense of uncertain reprieve hanging in the Throne Room's heavy atmosphere.
The abrupt shift in Voldemort's demeanor left a chilling silence in the wake of Wormtail's expulsion from the Throne Room, the heavy doors closing with a resonating thud that echoed through the chamber. The weight of the moment dissolved into a chuckle that bubbled up from Harry, breaking the silence that enveloped them.
"Always for the dramatics, Father?" Harry teased, the tension giving way to a lightness that mirrored his Father's suppressed smirk.
"Severus has certainly left his mark on me, it seems," Voldemort replied, the remnants of his anger dissipating as he mirrored his son's wry smile.
Harry reached into his bag, retrieving an old leather-bound book, tossing it lightly in the air toward his Father. Voldemort deftly caught it using wandless magic, his hand extended to receive the book as it zoomed toward him.
"You've done well, Shadow," Voldemort praised, his crimson eyes scanning Harry with a discerning gaze. However, he didn't miss the subtle undercurrent of conflict in his son's expression, a hint of something amiss that stirred his concern. The Dark Lord, known for his unyielding resolve, couldn't help but feel a twinge of worry at Harry's unease.
"Is something wrong?" Voldemort inquired, his concern a rare display of paternal worry that flickered in his eyes.
"I received the letter as you predicted. I've taken the necessary steps, changed my name, and responded. Now, it's a waiting game, hoping the databases align," Harry explained, his tone carrying a weight of cautious optimism.
Voldemort nodded thoughtfully, his gaze sweeping over the expanse of the Throne Room, a space that bore witness to many of his triumphs and schemes. Despite the uncertainty, not a trace of concern lingered in his eyes, a testament to his unwavering confidence in their plans. The greatest Dark Lord of his time, unshaken even by the impending unknown, exuded a quiet assurance that belied the turmoil beneath the surface.
The air in the room crackled with an unspoken understanding as Harry met his father's unwavering gaze. Voldemort's assurance carried a weight of certainty, a quiet confidence that permeated the space between them.
"You're immensely powerful for your age, Shadow. There's little that should cause you fear," Voldemort reiterated, his voice a calm reassurance that contrasted sharply with the gravity of their conversation.
"I know," Harry acknowledged with a sigh, letting the tension ebb away as he closed his eyes and lowered his hood, revealing his features evenly.
"You understand your purpose in this, don't you?" Voldemort inquired, his crimson eyes gleaming with an eerie intensity.
"To spy on bloody Daemon and the old coot?" Harry retorted with a snort, his barely-contained rage simmering beneath the surface. The mere mention of their targets ignited a fiery anger within him. Voldemort allowed himself a brief smirk, acknowledging his own violent fantasies involving the demise of the old coot, Albus Dumbledore. Long ago, an unspoken agreement had been forged between them: Harry, known as Shadow, was entrusted with the task of ending Daemon's life, while Voldemort would handle Dumbledore's demise.
"I wouldn't be surprised if you eliminate Daemon within the first few hours," Voldemort remarked casually, observing Harry with a glint of amusement. The prospect seemed entirely within the realm of possibility given Harry's ferocity.
"Why, Father," Harry feigned a wounded expression, hand dramatically placed over his heart, "I'm insulted that you would think I'd do such a... Gryffindor thing!"
Voldemort snorted, shaking his head while rolling his eyes, his attention momentarily diverted to the expanse of the throne room.
"Just remember, Shadow—" Voldemort began, his tone shifting into a more serious timbre, intending to impart a final piece of advice or caution.
Harry's recitation of the anticipated castle attack and the Sorting Hat's fiery fate prompted an eye roll from Voldemort, who muttered about the impudence of a 'cheeky brat.'
"Tomorrow, you shall depart. Lucius will escort you to Diagon Alley, allowing you to adopt any disguise you deem necessary for your schooling years," Voldemort declared, his tone authoritative, prompting Harry to nervously nibble on his lip.
"About that..." Harry trailed off, hesitating as he attempted to articulate his thoughts.
"Yes?" his Father probed, raising a single eyebrow in curiosity.
"Do I truly need a disguise?" Harry finally questioned, his voice tentative, uncertain about how his Father would receive his suggestion.
Voldemort's expression shifted, a mix of slight anger and confusion coloring his features in response to Harry's unexpected inquiry.
"I mean, the blood adoption has altered my features significantly. Very few would recognize me. The only ones who know my true appearance are Bellatrix, Lucius, and Wormtail," Harry explained, looking up with an impassive expression—a perfect poker face, rivaling even the most skilled Occlumens.
Voldemort's crimson eyes narrowed as he regarded Harry, contemplating the validity of his son's statement. A flicker of realization crossed his features, acknowledging the truth in Harry's words. The blood adoption ritual indeed had rendered Harry almost unrecognizable to those who once knew him.
"Very well, Shadow," Voldemort acquiesced after a moment of consideration. "You may forego the disguise. But remember, discretion is key. We cannot afford any unnecessary attention drawn toward you."
Harry's resigned sigh echoed in the chamber as he pointed out the implication of his decision—necessitating a constant disguise during his time at Hogwarts. He knew he'd often find solace under the hood of his cloak, an ever-present shield veiling his identity.
"I'm aware. I have my cloak, which should suffice to maintain my appearance," Voldemort replied, acknowledging the predicament, although not entirely at ease with the prospect of relying solely on the cloak's concealment.
Under his hood, Harry discreetly crossed his fingers, hesitating to meet his Father's gaze, anticipating resistance to his proposal.
"...I find that reasonable..." Voldemort conceded, a subtle hoarseness in his voice betraying his hidden apprehension. He masked his reluctance, veiling his true sentiments regarding the potential dangers of Dumbledore's scrutiny.
Harry, seizing the moment of agreement, offered a respectful bow before his Father, a sly edge to his tone as he requested permission to depart. The faint hint of taunting wasn't lost in his words.
"May I take my leave, Father? Tomorrow holds a long day of shopping," Harry quipped playfully, subtly teasing.
"Get out of here, brat," Voldemort retorted with a smile, his lips curving into a smirk before sending a playful but stinging hex towards Harry, a display of affectionate mockery.
As Harry made his exit, the air in the Throne Room shifted back to its usual gravity, the brief interlude of banter between Father and son dissipating into the somber ambience of the chamber, leaving only anticipation for the events that would unfold the next day.
Bellatrix's piercing shriek echoed through the corridors, disrupting Harry's slumber. Startled from his sleep, he rubbed his eyes, attempting to ignore her intrusion. The new addition to his room, a magnificent Welsh Green dragon crafted from Obsidian, stood sentinel by the entrance. Few knew of its existence, a secret fiercely guarded even among the Death Eaters.
"Shut up, let me sleep!" Harry hollered back, seeking refuge in his silver pillow, hoping to drown out the noise. Yet, his plea was futile. In an instant, the door was blasted open, and Bellatrix stormed in, her black attire swishing ominously.
Harry's protest was met with an icy deluge, water cascading over him, instantly ruining the comfort of his pillow for hours to come. Before he could react, the bed jolted, shifting to an upright position, mercilessly ejecting him onto the black carpet below.
"In fifteen minutes, Lucius will be at the entry. I expect you to be prepared! And mind your manners with Draco there; don't cause any trouble!" Bellatrix hissed vehemently before spinning on her heel and swiftly exiting the room.
Grimacing as he wrung out the excess water from his clothes, Harry grudgingly acknowledged the need to get ready. With a resigned sigh, he made his way to prepare for the day, the impending trip to Diagon Alley promising a mix of excitement and inevitable chaos in his typically eventful life.
Harry swiftly attended to his appearance and attire, ensuring his soaked garments were dried and his appearance pristine before the imminent journey. Adjusting his clothing and tidying his hair with practiced charm work, he made himself presentable within the short span of time.
Emerging from his room ten minutes later, Harry donned a sleek black cloak, distinct from the traditional Dementor's cloak with an absence of ash-like borders. A small silver clasp secured it, revealing dark green dragon skin pants and a deep green over-shirt made from Acromantula silk.
Coilis, the Diamondcross snake that coiled around his arm, voiced its discontent. "I don't understand why I must change my form!"
"Coilis, you're a rare and lethal Diamondcross snake. If anyone spotted you in your true form, they'd link you to me, setting off alarms for my capture," Harry explained in a deadpan manner, attempting to reason with the stubborn serpent.
But Coilis remained obstinate, unwilling to see the necessity of Harry's argument.
"Here's a compromise," Harry proposed, trying to find middle ground. "You can choose another snake form to shift into, but nothing as conspicuous as a Runespoor. I doubt you'd appreciate having two extra heads to contend with."
As Coilis retreated into contemplation, Harry quickened his stride down the hallway. His passage triggered a deftly cast charm that extinguished the torches, shrouding the area in darkness. It was a subtle yet effective way to remain inconspicuous, particularly if any Death Eaters happened upon his path.
"I'll examine various breeds, and when one appeals to me, that shall be my new skin," Coilis hissed before slithering into the depths of the black bag concealed beneath Harry's cloak.
"Understood. I'll make a few familiar stops," Harry responded, his voice tinged with determination.
He turned the final corner, deliberately dispelling the charm that veiled him, allowing himself to become visible. The calculated move granted Lucius and Draco a clear view of his approach.
Lucius Malfoy, locking eyes with Harry, offered a subtle nod—an unspoken assurance that he wouldn't disclose Harry's presence.
"Hello, Mr. Malfoy. You must be Draco. A pleasure," Harry greeted, his keen emerald gaze assessing Draco from head to toe. The resemblance between father and son was uncanny; Draco appeared to be a miniature replica of Lucius, from his sharply defined features to his steely grey eyes.
Harry maintained his composed facade, offering a serene smile as Draco leveled a scrutinizing gaze upon him.
"Who are you?" Draco inquired, his curiosity apparent as he eyed Harry closely. Suppressing a smirk, Harry made an effort to retain his calm demeanor.
"Obsidian. Harry Obsidian," Harry introduced himself, extending his hand for Draco to shake. A faint hint of disdain flickered across Draco's features as the name failed to register, but hesitantly, he obliged and shook hands.
"Obsidian? That's a unique name. I wasn't aware of a Obsidian family," Draco remarked, maintaining an air of cool indifference. Unbeknownst to Draco, his father, Lucius, seemed on the verge of panic, silently pleading for Draco not to provoke Harry.
"We are an ancient English family that migrated to Romania centuries ago. My father had business there, as did my mother. I've been sent here for negotiations. It's an honor to meet someone from the esteemed Malfoy lineage," Harry smoothly fabricated, weaving a plausible cover story. He was relieved that his earlier brainstorming session with Coilis had yielded a convincing enough narrative to satisfy Draco's inquiry without raising suspicion about his true origins.
Harry glanced around the majestic halls of Gringotts, the air thick with the scent of ancient wealth and power. Lucius, his demeanor as composed as ever, nodded in confirmation to Harry's question. Gripping Draco's shoulder, Harry initiated the Apparition, vanishing with a resonant crack.
The abrupt re-materialization made both Harry and Draco bend their knees instinctively, absorbing the shock that reverberated through their legs. A sudden flare of light caused them to squint momentarily, an effect Harry had learned to counter by always Apparating into alleyways—a habit formed to protect his enhanced eyesight acquired through the blood adoption.
"Gringotts, right?" Harry quipped, a sly grin playing on his lips as Draco affirmed with a nod. Their trio directed their steps toward the grand white marble edifice. The doors were propped open by small creatures, neither earning Harry's reverence nor disregard, as he maintained a neutral stance towards them.
Approaching a teller, Harry's gaze casually swept over the vacant seats nearby. He already possessed a considerable amount of gold safely tucked in a small pouch, adjacent to Coilis, the serpent coiled comfortably on a miniature heated rock, a fixture always at hand—a warmth as comforting as a light pillow despite its petite size.
"I've got the gold covered; I'll be waiting over there," Harry murmured to Draco, who nodded with a hint of disappointment. Settling into the oddly comfortable seats, Harry placed his black bag on his lap. A sudden flash of orange drew his attention upward, revealing the familiar red-haired man from earlier—Weasley—and an entire entourage. A woman, four boys, the man from their previous encounter, and a new addition, a red-haired girl. Catching sight of Harry, recognition dawned on the man's face, prompting an exuberant smile as he eagerly made his way toward Harry.
"Oh no," Harry muttered under his breath, resigned as he adjusted his posture.
As the Weasley family repositioned themselves, Harry's gaze slipped past them, landing on another family engaged in animated conversation with the older twin boys and the woman. Vibrant red hair, tousled black locks, and mousey brown hair—the Potters, the ones on Harry's kill list.
Daemon Potter seemed to loom larger in Harry's vision, an image of a robust boy retaining all his childhood chubbiness, with watery eyes and a cocky demeanor that grated on Harry's nerves.
"He's a jerk, just… like… Michel," Harry thought, memories of his orphanage bully flickering through his mind, thankfully the only tormentor who met a dark fate in that chamber of horrors.
The red-haired man drew nearer, making avoidance impossible. Harry sighed and reclined, preparing for the inevitable barrage of questions.
"Hello! You made it out of Knockturn Alley! Malfoy didn't hurt ya', right?" The man's sudden concern nearly elicited a snort from Harry.
Promptly, the others gathered around, encircling Harry with rapid-fire inquiries.
"You got into—" "Knockturn Alley? We've—" "Been trying to do that for—" "Years!" The red-haired twins exchanged quips, sporting mischievous smirks that hinted at some unsanctioned plan.
"Fred! George! If I ever catch you in Knockturn, you'll be de-knoming the yard for a month!" The matron of the group scolded the twins, who attempted an innocent facade. It struck Harry as odd, reminiscent of Bellatrix's reprimands, though confined to manor mischief or raids.
"I assume you're the Weasleys, and you… you must be the Potters," Harry stated icily, tamping down the deep-seated rage simmering within him as he looked at his 'mother' and 'father'.
Daemon's boastful declaration rang through the air, his chest swelling with arrogant pride. Inside, Harry's inner voice snarled in contempt at the display of arrogance, the insult to his home, and the disrespect to his father. 'You're a dead child, Potter!' his mind seethed. Yet, externally, Harry meticulously arranged a mask of indifference.
Daemon misinterpreted the blank expression as an insult, his face quickly flushing into a nasty shade of plum violet. "Yes, yes Daemon Honey. I'm sure this unknowing boy respects y—" Lily Potter began in a nosy voice, attempting to interject, but her words were abruptly cut off by Harry's smooth and cutting tone.
"Excuse me? I'm fully aware that you are the Potters, but your lack of intelligence doesn't grant you the right to question mine," Harry retorted, his eyes glinting with an icy chill. Silently, he reached down, wrapping his hand around his wand. James snarled, seizing his own wand and glowering down at Harry threateningly.
"How dare you! You filthy worthless ch—" James began, his voice dripping with venom, but before he could finish his sentence, a sudden commotion interrupted the tense standoff.
"Well, well, Mr. Potter. I would expect better of you," Lucius drawled from just behind the two groups. Draco sported a smirk aimed at the youngest redhead and Daemon, while Lucius fixed a hard stare on Potter. James, knowing better than to provoke Lucius, held his tongue. Lucius held a high position within the Ministry, one that Potter held no regard for.
"After all, there are too many… witnesses around to try and pull something off," Lucius drawled, casting a hateful glare at James. Though the comment seemed directed at James, Harry caught the dual meaning and nodded slightly. He gathered his bag, housing a pouch of gold and Coilis, and quietly moved over to Draco.
James Potter growled, his fingers tightening around his wand. Harry glanced around, noticing a few Pureblood families engaged in hushed discussions about withdrawal; thankfully, most of them were aligned with the dark.
Eventually, the two families of light recognized the shift, taking a few steps back, aware that engaging in a confrontation would lead to their downfall. The tension hung heavy in the air as both parties stood at a precarious stalemate, wary of the consequences of any reckless actions.
The trio made a hasty exit from the store, Draco tossing a few derisive remarks as they passed, but both Lucius and Harry chose not to dignify them with a response. Lucius excused himself, offering to procure Draco's books—though it was clear to Harry that Draco remained oblivious to the fact that Harry already had everything he needed.
"Come on! I need a new owl; the manors won't be able to come to Hogwarts," Draco explained, nudging Harry into the shop.
"Keep your eyes open, Coilis," Harry hissed to the serpent, his words drowned out by the cacophony of animal sounds—cats, owls, toads, frogs, rats, ferrets—all clamoring within the shop.
"How much for that one?" Draco inquired of the man behind the counter, pointing to a sizable Eagle owl fixating its unblinking gaze on him. The bird trilled loudly, swooping down to perch on the storekeeper's arm.
"Seven galleons," the man sighed, awaiting payment. Draco sneered as he secured the owl, also obtaining a much-needed cage and treats. Only the finest would suffice for Draco's selection, a testament to his discerning taste.
Harry was jolted from his thoughts by Coilis's hiss, drawing his attention to a black snake barely discernible amidst the shadowy confines of the glass enclosures. Peering inside, he beheld a giant serpent, reminiscent of Nagini in some ways, yet with a facial structure that curved more prominently, tapering to a sharply pointed tip. Its substantial bulk coiled within the cage, making it challenging to gauge its exact size—roughly three and a half feet, Harry estimated.
"Hello, great serpent," Harry murmured softly, trailing his fingers along the glass. The snake lifted its head, flicking its tongue in response.
"You are a speaker. I've heard tales of a speaker roaming the lands. It seems the rumors were true," the snake hissed, its voice carrying a melancholic tone. Harry blinked, offering a reassuring stroke to Coilis.
"You seem saddened, with those yellow eyes. What troubles you?" Harry inquired, trying to discern the cause of the snake's distress.
"I am a Gaboon Viper, an African breed, not of the jungle lineage as the fool believes. I thrive in heat, not the damp and chill I endure here," the snake hissed back, its head drooping with a hint of sorrow. Coilis nuzzled against the tank in a comforting gesture. Harry bit his lip, pondering how to assist the disheartened serpent.
"What is your name, Yellow eyes?" Coilis hissed, studying the snake intently. The Gaboon Viper's head lifted in surprise at the inquiry.
"A Diamondcross? Alas, my brethren knew of a Diamondcross, but a local dragon ended her life, poor thing. I am known as Sangia. And what is your name, great Diamondcross?" the Viper responded.
"I am Coilis, and my master's name is Shadow, though he'll be departing on a mission and adopting the name 'Harry Obsidian,'" Coilis conveyed.
Sangia lowered his head in a somber bow. "Ah, I see you've noticed our new Python!" the storekeeper interjected excitedly, rushing over. Sangia hissed in displeasure.
"Correction, this is a Viper," Harry corrected, discreetly concealing Coilis within his sleeve. The storekeeper appeared stunned.
"What?" he stuttered, scrutinizing the snake once more. Harry sighed, feeling a sense of offense at having to tolerate the ignorance before him.
"He's a Viper, a Gaboon Viper if I'm not mistaken. They inhabit southern Africa, dwelling in desert scrub. Placing him in water like that might be detrimental to his well-being," Harry explained calmly, prompting an immediate wave of shame to wash over the man.
"I-I—" the man stammered, visibly flustered.
"Don't apologize to me. How much is he?" Harry interjected, withdrawing his pouch of Galleons. The man, now visibly embarrassed, struggled to compose himself.
The storekeeper's emotional response almost verged on tears, much to Harry's inward amusement. 'Such a weakling,' Harry mused to himself as he lifted the lid off the enclosure, eliciting Sangia's immediate reaction.
"What? What is this?" Sangia demanded, unsettled by the sudden shift as dry air replaced the previous moist environment. Disregarding Sangia's apprehension, Harry delicately gathered the viper, lifting him out of the enclosure.
"Shadow? You're taking me? I am honored, I cannot express my gratitude," Sangia articulated, curling gently around Harry's neck.
"See? He just needed some care. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be taking my leave," Harry declared. The flustered man nodded and hurried back into the inventory.
"Fools," Harry muttered under his breath as he settled Sangia into the bag alongside Coilis. Surprisingly, Sangia weighed just a fraction more than Coilis.
"Master? Shall Sangia come home with us?" Coilis inquired.
"The manor is a refuge for serpents fleeing the cruelty of the outdoors. I'm sure one more couldn't hurt," Harry replied with a hint of assurance. With Sangia nestled safely in the bag, Harry made his way out of the shop, satisfied to have offered sanctuary to yet another serpent seeking solace.
The bag suddenly filled with a jumble of expressions—thanks and expressions of honor echoed within it.
"Harry!" Draco's voice called out, catching Harry's attention. Draco sprinted over, brandishing his newly acquired wand.
"I got my wand! Dragon heartstring!" Draco announced, his face beaming. The two of them stifled laughter when they witnessed an irate Daemon Potter storming out of Ollivanders, shouting vehemently.
"Wonder what happened there," Draco remarked, stroking his Eagle Owl affectionately.
"Probably didn't get the wand he wanted," Harry suggested knowingly, aware of the exact reason behind Daemon's fury.
"Huh, I bet he'll end up in Hufflepuff," Draco snorted, earning a slight grin from Harry.
"Never. Dumbledore will forcefully place the boy in Gryffindor, even if he's destined for Hufflepuff," Harry commented, much to Draco's amusement.
"So, what did you get from the shop?" Draco inquired, displaying his bird to Harry, though they both knew Harry had been there for the purchase.
Harry smirked and reached into his bag, carefully lifting Sangia out.
"Please refrain from biting, lunging, constricting, or harming the boy or the bird," Harry cautioned Sangia.
"Of course, Great Shadow," Sangia hissed quietly. As Harry extracted Sangia from the bag, Draco paled, taking an immediate step back, causing Harry to almost grin.
"I thought you weren't afraid of snakes?" Harry teased lightly.
Draco's retort came swift and somewhat uneasy. "Only the ones that can kill me," he shot back, visibly unnerved. The Eagle Owl eyed Sangia, who leisurely blinked and yawned, revealing long, deadly fangs—far larger than Coilis's, each about one and a half inches in length.
"If I find that thing in my bed, I'm killing it," Draco warned, much to Harry's amusement, though he kept a straight face.
"Snaaake! Bet you're in filthy little Slytherin!" a brash voice interrupted, causing both Harry and Draco to turn. Sangia sensed the tension and retracted his fangs, keeping them hidden.
"I wouldn't know. I haven't been sorted. Have you?" Harry responded icily, much to Draco's surprise.
"Of course! All the Pure-blood families have been! Bet you're a know-it-all Muggle-born!" Daemon retorted, waving his rather short wand in his chubby fingers.
"If I were a Mudblood, why in Merlin's name would the Malfoys be escorting me?" Harry replied calmly, arching an eyebrow slightly.
Draco stifled a quiet snort, observing Daemon struggle to come up with a fitting insult. Apparently unsatisfied, Daemon clenched his fist threateningly.
The echoes of Daemon's shouts reverberated through the crowd of onlookers, a few young witches, roughly in their twenties, gasping as his threats escalated.
"Only a freak would like snakes!" Daemon bellowed, his fist poised to strike Harry in the gut.
'Only a freak!' 'Freak!' 'Why are you all worked up? It's just a stupid snake, no better than a giant worm.' Michel's sneering voice echoed in Harry's mind, his gaze drifting down to the crushed and bloodied form of Grass-Tongue, his first friend.
'Yeah! It's not right to like those things!' Another voice from Michel's gang chimed in, laughing at the anguish visible on Harry's face.
'Only a freak would like snakes!' Michel taunted, before he and his cohorts turned, kicking up dust as they fled, their laughter trailing behind.
Daemon's fist loomed closer, triggering Harry's instincts from his orphanage days. In a swift, practiced move, Harry sidestepped effortlessly, locking eyes with the meaty fist, a flicker of defiance in his gaze.
As Daemon's fist loomed closer, Harry's mental response resounded within him, a silent plea echoing in his mind. 'Break, break the joints… just collapse, little tired bone, just break… it will all be over if you break.' He stared unflinchingly at the approaching fist.
A loud crack pierced the air, and Daemon halted, clutching his injured hand to his chest, screaming in agony.
Instantly, a swarm of concerned bystanders rushed over— a storekeeper, a lady with the fragrance of old prunes, and even a reporter with oversized glasses and curly blonde hair. The crowd enveloped the three, and Daemon continued to wail, seeking attention from the onlookers.
"What happened?" the woman demanded, shooting accusing glances at Harry and Draco. Draco seemed incensed, but Harry maintained a composed facade.
"Yes, do tell us what happened," the reporter pressed, her quill racing across the parchment.
"I saw what happened!" one of the twenty-year-old witches spoke up, glaring at the still-crying Daemon. "That boy suddenly started hurling insults at these two boys! They didn't retaliate. No, this young man calmly responded to the provocations. Then this… this brat lunged and attempted to punch him! But this young man dodged, and the brat's hand continued until it hit a wall, breaking his knuckles! Now he's seeking attention, wailing like an infant!" The twenty-year-old ranted, casting scathing glares at Daemon.
Whispers began to spread through the crowd. Harry caught snippets of murmurs from the witches nearby, their voices tinged with disbelief and disapproval.
As the bustling crowd buzzed with excitement, the air was charged with anticipation. The incident involving the children caught the attention of onlookers, murmurs echoing across the cobblestone streets.
"My little one's barely seven months old and already better behaved than that child," remarked a mother, shaking her head in disbelief.
"Quite the arrogant tyke! Hogwarts might have its hands full with that one," another passerby chimed in, eyebrows raised in concern.
Amidst the commotion, a voice cut through the crowd, "Isn't that Daemon Potter?"
The reporter, quick on her feet, darted toward the scene, her quill poised to capture every detail. She ushered Draco and Harry away, eager to glean insights into the unfolding events.
"Can you confirm if the boy attacked you out of jealousy?" the reporter inquired, her quill scratching furiously against the parchment.
"We were simply chatting, showing off our new companions," Harry began, his words deliberate. Draco nodded in agreement, prompting Harry to continue, "It wasn't about jealousy. Draco here has a magnificent owl, and I have an equally splendid snake."
With a sly grin, Harry signaled to Draco, who deftly whistled a soft tune. In a graceful display, the owl swooped down, landing gracefully on Draco's outstretched arm. Meanwhile, Harry reached into his bag, conjuring an illusion to make Coilis resemble Sangia. With a flourish, Harry gently placed Coilis on his lap, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he addressed the perplexed reporter.
"Yes, indeed," Harry chuckled, watching the reporter's reaction to Coilis. Draco, meanwhile, petted his majestic bird, exuding an air of calm authority.
With a playful glint in his eyes, Harry extended the offer, "He's actually a viper, known for being one of the larger snake species. Would you like to hold him?" The woman recoiled slightly, edging away.
"Um, no, thanks. I find snakes a little, well, slimy," she replied, her nose crinkling as she glanced at Coilis with a hint of unease. Harry gently ran his hand over Coilis, emphasizing, "He's a desert snake," and then guided her hand along Coilis's smooth scales. The desert-dwelling snakes were always dry, shining under the light, their agility well-suited for navigating diverse terrains.
"Here," Harry explained softly as Coilis, sensing the apprehension, turned and delicately nuzzled the woman's hand, eliciting a surprised giggle. Her initial discomfort gave way to a faint smile as Coilis playfully flicked his tongue against her fingers.
"That's actually a very elegant snake you have," she remarked, her perception shifting as she finally recognized Coilis's beauty. Draco nodded in agreement, understanding her sentiments.
"Many people are too afraid of snakes to see their true magnificence," Draco chimed in, bidding farewell to his majestic Eagle owl as it gracefully departed into the sky.
"Apologies, but we must return to our parents. Have a splendid day, Mrs..." Harry began, to which the reporter supplied with a wink, "Skeeter. Rita Skeeter." With a wave, she bid them goodbye and departed, leaving Harry and Draco to exchange glances before setting off to find Mr. Malfoy.
Once they were out of earshot, Draco turned to Harry, crossing his arms in mock disapproval. "You managed to embarrass Daemon Potter, acquire a potentially deadly companion, and charm a famous news reporter. You're truly something else," Draco shook his head in a mix of disbelief and amusement as they made their way to Mr. Malfoy's location.
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