The corridor of the orphanage was dimly lit, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows along the cold, damp stone walls. Harry was hunched over a tattered book, the rare and worn pages of The Book of Monsters offering him a fleeting escape from his dreary life. His bright green eyes were fixed on the pages, drawn into the world of mythical beasts, when a sharp, gruff voice suddenly echoed through the stillness.
"Oi, Potter! What're you playing at?"
Startled, Harry dropped the book, the thud of it hitting the floor louder than he expected. Three older boys—Mark, James, and Alex—approached, their smirks gleaming maliciously in the flickering light.
"N-nothing," Harry stammered, heart racing like a hippogriff taking flight.
Alex, the tallest of the trio with cruel eyes, stepped closer, his sneer widening as he bent down to pick up Harry's book. He flicked through the pages, his eyes narrowing at the illustrations of fantastical creatures.
"What's this rubbish?" Alex scoffed, tossing the book aside carelessly. "You think you're special, don't you?"
"I-I don't think I'm special," Harry replied, trying to steady his voice. "I just like to read."
"Well, we don't like freaks who think they're better than us," Alex spat, and the other two flanked Harry, their hands like iron clamps on his arms. They dragged him into an empty room, slamming the door behind them. The scent of dust and old paint stung Harry's nostrils as he was shoved against a cold, damp wall.
"You're just a weirdo," James sneered, tightening his grip. "And we don't need weirdos around here."
"Let me go," Harry managed, voice barely a whisper. His heart pounded in his chest as he searched the room for an escape, but it was small—just a broken chair in the corner and a dusty window too high to reach. The only light came from a crack beneath the door, casting eerie shadows on the stone floor.
Before he could react, Alex's fist connected with Harry's stomach, sending a wave of pain crashing through him. Harry gasped, vision blurring. He slumped against the wall, the metallic taste of fear flooding his mouth.
As the pain spread, something else stirred inside him. It was warm, then hot, a surge of anger wrapping around his spine like a living thing. His eyes narrowed instinctively, pupils dilating into slits, mirroring the snakes that seemed to slither in the depths of his mind.
The room fell silent, the bullies frozen in place. Harry's body tensed, and when he met Alex's gaze, the older boy's smirk faltered, his hand frozen mid-air. Harry could feel something strange and powerful rising inside him—an ancient, serpentine force—and the realization hit him: he was no longer afraid.
James and Mark stared in confusion, but Alex's face had gone ashen, his body stiffening, almost like he was paralyzed. Harry wasn't sure what was happening, but he could feel the energy radiating from him, like it was a force beyond his control.
The words slipped from his lips before he could stop them. "Let me go."
The command in Harry's voice was low, almost serpentine, and it was enough. Mark and James released him as if burned, their faces pale with fear. Harry stood shakily, the pain from the punch forgotten, replaced by an unfamiliar power coursing through him.
He moved toward the door, his body almost on autopilot, the strange energy still pulsing under his skin. The door creaked open on its own, and Harry stepped out into the dark, silent hallway. His thoughts raced, but the only question that kept repeating in his mind was, What am I?
That night, as Harry returned to his room—a small, shabby place in the orphanage—he was taken aback by a sight that made his breath catch in his throat. A black snake, easily six feet long, coiled on his bed, its green eyes gleaming in the low light. For a moment, they locked eyes, Harry feeling a strange connection, as though the snake knew him—or perhaps, was waiting for him.
"You're one of my kind," the snake hissed, its voice smooth, dark, and almost regal. "An extremely powerful one at that."
Harry blinked, dumbfounded. "What do you mean? And how can I understand you?"
The snake smiled, if such a thing was possible. "All will be explained soon, my king." Then, without warning, it lunged forward, sinking its fangs into Harry's arm.
The pain was excruciating, and Harry's vision blurred as memories, ancient and alien, flooded his mind. He felt as though his very soul was being torn open, raw knowledge pouring in at an overwhelming pace. He saw his true heritage—the dark family that Dumbledore had kept him from, and the reason why. Harry was no ordinary child. His connection to the basilisk bloodline had been dormant, waiting for something to trigger it—something like Voldemort's attack on his family.
The snake's venom, the rush of forbidden knowledge, threatened to break him. But, somehow, Harry held on. His mind was overwhelmed with truths he wasn't ready to face, but there was no turning back now.
One year later
A small hooded figure walked down Knockturn Alley, the shadows seemingly swallowing him whole. His movements were deliberate, his posture one of confidence, as if he belonged in the darkest corners of the wizarding world. His bright green eyes, slit like a serpent's, glowed eerily in the dim light.
Harry Potter had come a long way in the past year. Gone were the days of hiding in the shadows of the orphanage, terrified of his own power. He walked now like he owned the place—because, in many ways, he did.
He stepped into Blackthorn Wandcraft, the unmarked building standing quietly at the end of the alley. Inside, the air smelled of old wood and magic. A gruff voice greeted him from the back room.
"Welcome back, Mr. Potter," said Leo Blackthorn, a burly man with a weathered face. "I assume you're here for your wand?"
Harry nodded, a flicker of anticipation rising in him. He had been here earlier in the week, but now, finally, the time had come. Leo led him into the back of the shop, where a sleek black wand box awaited. He handed it to Harry with a serious expression.
"12 inches. Elder wood infused with basilisk venom. Dual cores—basilisk fang and dementor essence," Leo explained. "It's the most powerful wand I've ever crafted. I don't know how or why you need something this powerful, but it's free of the trace, so you can use magic freely."
Harry looked down at the wand. It was mostly white, but there were black snakes spiraling down the shaft, coiling from the top toward the base. The design was intricate, mesmerizing. He could feel the magic humming from within it, ancient and alive.
As he held it, Harry felt a strange presence in his mind—like something had awoken within him. He raised the wand instinctively and whispered the name it had been given: Soulfang.
A black glow bloomed around him, pulsating with dark energy before disappearing as quickly as it came. Harry's pulse quickened, and for a moment, he thought he might lose control. But the wand remained in his hand, and the power was his to command.
After paying for the wand, Harry slipped it into his robes and left the shop, moving quickly through the back alleys of Knockturn. He had business to attend to. He'd been staying at the Crows Nest, a rundown inn in the area, for the past month. It was far from the safety of the orphanage, but it was a place where he could be free—free from the watchful eyes of those who didn't understand the kind of power he now wielded.
"We need books," he muttered to the black serpent that had appeared at his side. "Soul magic books, parseltongue magic... and robes. Good ones. And a wand holster."
The snake's eyes gleamed. "We'll find what you need, my king."
A.N: if the first few chapters seem rushed it is only because I want to get to Harrys Hogwarts years then they will slow down.
hope you enjoy.