In Aeternum

A/N: This fic used to be called “Stranger Things Have Happened” but as I filled in more of the details and plot holes in my plans, I decided to rename it. I’ve also redefined the chapters to that they are all roughly the same length. It’s still the same story. For those who had already read all six chapters of the ‘old’ version, begin with chapter 10. Thanks for reading and reviewing!

Disclaimer: I don’t own HP. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

""words"" parseltongue

/-/-/-/-

It was Harry Potter’s sixteenth birthday and he was stuck doing Aunt Petunia’s gardening. He didn’t normally mind chores; it was more that he resented having to spend his entire summer at Privet Drive. He wanted to see his friends, even if only long enough to prove to them that he was slowly working through his grief and anger. He had already received his presents from them. Hagrid had sent inedible rock cakes; the Weasleys had sent him food, some hand-me-down clothes, and samples from Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes; Hermione had sent a potions kit, declaring boldly that she was sure he would need it since he no doubt got in NEWT level potions; Remus had sent an advanced defense spell book.

On Privet Drive, his only friend was a tiny green garden snake named Glynis that lived in the Dursleys’ back yard. It kept him company when he gardened or hung around his neck while he mowed. He liked to tell it stories about Hogwarts, to have someone listen to him. It helped to have to tell the story to someone who hadn’t been there, hadn’t known anybody. The snake thought Harry was crazy the first time Harry told her about basilisks and then the first time he told her about Nagini, she thought Voldemort’s serpent was a snake goddess. Harry liked her company, she was funny and easy-going but she was also perceptive and critical of everyone she learned about equally. Her questions made Harry think, reevaluate.

As Harry trimmed the hedges, his friend was basking on a large grey stone beside him. Harry dropped the clipping shears accidentally and they hit a bruise on his foot. He gasped and bit his lip, waiting for the moderate pain to subside, all the while cursing Dudley for the injury. That oaf had the nerve to bully Harry over appearances; the next time his uncle said something about the wild hair or the shortness, Harry would have to make sure he watched Dudley.

“”Are you ok Harry?”” Glynis asked.

“”Yes. My cousin had already bruised that foot or the clippers wouldn’t have hurt me at all.””

“”Why does he hurt you so much?””

“”He just doesn’t like me. His father says things about how scruffy my hair is and other things like that and Dudley thinks that gives him the right to bully me... at least he doesn’t take it as far as he did before I started learning magic.””

“”He doesn’t like your hair?””

“”No. No one does really. My father would, if he was still alive, because it’s just like his was: all wild so that I can’t comb it flat. He thought it made him look like he had just gotten off his flying broomstick.””

Glynis didn’t say anything for a long time.

Harry returned to work, waiting, but he finally asked her, “”Glynis, what’s wrong?””

“”Well, I like your hair.””

Harry laughed in the thick hissing of an amused snake. “”Thank you, Glynis. I’m glad.””

“”It’s not crazy at all, you know. It’s nice and flat and dark, like a shadow. It makes me think of safety.””

Harry looked at her strangely but then smiled. “”It’s ok, you don’t have to comfort me. I happen to agree with everyone else... it would be nice to have hair like a shadow though.””

“”I’m not joking, Harry. You do have hair like a shadow. You must know because last week was the first time you brushed it flat.””

Harry cast a questioning stare her way. He had looked into the mirror just that morning and his hair had still been messy. “”What do you mean?””

The snake’s bewilderment was clear in her voice. “”The woman that lives with you, Petunia... you have hair like hers but it’s the color of a shadow and it’s only long enough to brush your shoulders.””

Harry considered briefly that sometimes animals could see through illusions (like Crookshanks knowing Pettigrew wasn’t a normal rat) and this might be the cause of confusion, but decided his friend was just being silly. “”Oh really,”” he teased. “”And what else do you like about the way I look, madam snake?””

The snake hissed nonsense words in exasperation for a moment, then said, “”Your eyes are nice too... green like my scales.””

Harry smiled. He liked his eyes too.

“”You should tell those mean people --, or --, or --, or --!””

Harry gaped at his friend. “”Glynis! I can’t tell them any of that; they’d kill me for being that rude!””

Glynis hissed happily, “”Then tell them in parseltongue. They won’t know what you’re saying but you’ll feel better.””

Harry sighed and turned back to his chores. The snake had strange things to say fairly frequently but Harry had grown to value her perspective. He turned his mind back to the bushes, knowing that he would have to finish trimming them before the Dursleys left for Dudley’s evening boxing match in London. Harry was going to have the whole afternoon and most of the evening to himself and he knew what he was going to do with it: brew a potion to stop the burning that plagued his scar.

Every time the Dursleys left him home alone for a few hours, he brewed bruise-balms, burn-salves, pain-remedies. Over the summer, he had made fourteen healing potions already, not including the first two that had gone wrong and he had had to spend an hour each figuring out what he did wrong and four hours concocting a way to neutralize every ingredient in the mixture so that he could just dump them on the rose bushes in the back yard without any ill effects. Vanishing the screw-ups would have been so much easier... pity he couldn’t find a way to use magic covertly.

As it was, his potions books, notes, and skills were getting a workout. Harry wished he had the Dreamless Sleep recipe but he knew no one would give him that when they had all seen the supply of prepared potions he had been given by Madam Pomfrey before he left for summer holidays. So far, he hadn’t trusted himself to brew anything more difficult that the potions in his third year text, not believing in his abilities or the safety of brewing magical remedies in a muggle kitchen. Today, he promised himself that he would make a burn-salve from the recipe in his fifth year text perfectly.

Two nights later, Harry was awake at 3 am, applying his salve to his blistering forehead. He had seen another vision of a Death Eater meeting. It wasn’t even in the top ten worst visions he had seen but it was still gory. In celebration of the latest Azkaban breakout, four muggles were tortured and Nagini ate a muggle girl alive, then Voldemort had cast the Cruciatus on several Death Eaters. Harry had seen that coming and had consciously decided to leave Voldemort’s mind and see from Nagini’s instead, even if it did mean listening to her pleasure at being well fed. Harry was getting better at controlling these visions. He still couldn’t end them but he could move between Nagini and Voldemort at will. He had tried other minds as well but there was only one Death Eater that he saw from time to time that he could visit also. All he knew about the man who kept his face covered and his mind blank was that he was a Parseltongue; Harry could hear him interpreting to himself the side conversation between Nagini and Voldemort. This man, when he was present, offered a more comfortable viewpoint when things got to be too much.

With the burn salve healing his forehead, Harry Potter accepted lack of sleep and opened his Charms notes to his homework assignment.

Four nights of normal nightmares later, Harry was dragged into a week of nightly visions of attacks on muggles and muggle-borns that woke him in the hours before dawn and left him exhausted. His forehead was one giant blistering burn. He spent his early morning hours reading, looking through his small collection of potions books for a better burn salve, and sneaking outside to talk to Glynis. By the fifth night, Harry had seen enough attacks to realize that he was accustomed to them. He began to see beyond the pain and suffering and look at the strategy of the attacks, especially on known wizards. He was beginning to understand a few things, like why attacks took place at night; terror and surprise kept many witches and wizards from fighting back.

On the sixth night, Harry saw another meeting. He was thankful that the Parselmouth was there and immediately took that man’s point of view. It was easier to cope with what he was seeing when there weren’t maniacal thoughts floating through his host’s mind. Harry heard only one thought not his own as the man bowed in greeting to Voldemort: ‘He doesn’t look well.’ Harry considered the evil sorcerer in front of them. This Death Eater was right... something strange had happened to Voldemort’s already frightening body... he looked weak, sat rather than paced, and didn’t use magic at all.

Harry woke more gently from that dream. He spent the day weeding the front garden with Glynis. She listened while he told her about the visions. She was particularly interested in the Parselmouth whom Harry saw in the vision. She asked if the man was evil like his master. Harry started to say no but then snorted to himself. That was foolish; of course he was evil... he’s a Death Eater. Harry finished his chores, left Glynis to her sunbathing, and went to do homework.

That afternoon, a barn owl flew in the window with his Hogwarts supply list and O.W.L. scores. Harry stopped thinking about the potion for a moment and opened his letter. He set aside the supply list and read the other three pages. The first was a form letter stating that the Quidditch season at Hogwarts in the coming term was to be cancelled due to security concerns. Harry groaned loudly at this but quickly slapped a hand over his mouth and reminded himself to keep quiet. There was also, Harry noticed, a hand written note at the bottom of that page:

Mr. Potter,

It is my pleasure to inform you that, despite the lack of Quidditch this term, your life-ban has been lifted. You will see, spell-o-taped to the back of this letter, your Firebolt: tap it three times in quick succession with your wand and it will return to normal size (Don’t worry about the restriction; this isn’t you doing magic, it’s a standard shipping spell reversal). Enjoy the rest of your summer and I look forward to seeing you at start of term.

Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

The third page was a response to his previous letter to Dumbledore about his latest vision.

Harry,

I investigated your vision and I assure you that the information it provided was helpful. However, I cannot tell you about it in a letter. Furthermore, I must ask you to practice your Occulmency exercises more often so that you will not be subjected to visions. I know that this is a difficult thing for you to do but it is for the best.

-Albus Dumbledore

Harry scowled and crumpled the letter up angrily. He threw it as hard as he could and watched it bounce off the wall and land behind a bookshelf. Harry hated being sheltered and he hated having to stay all summer with muggles who hated him. With a sigh, he turned his attention to the Firebolt and did as McGonagall had instructed. He hugged the normal-sized broom lovingly before tucking it gently into his school trunk.

Harry forced himself not to resent the Headmaster because that just returned his thoughts to the events of the spring and he would not think about that. He walked around the room, carefully collecting all the books and clothes and tucked them into his trunk. He liked to be packed and ready to leave at any time, just in case. He took the jars from his bed and the potions books and notes and set them on top of his closed trunk. He still needed to deal with that. He would do so after reading his O.W.L. scores.

Returning to his bed and the letters, he looked over the last page.

Mr. Harry Potter,

The Wizarding Examinations Authority is pleased to provide the results of your Ordinary Wizarding Level tests (aka O.W.L.s). Below you will find your subjects and a grade each for the theory and practical tests. The final grade is your combined score on all portions of the test. Your total number of O.W.L.s is listed at the bottom of the page.

Subject Theory Practical Combined

Astronomy P A A

Care of Magical Creatures E E E

Charms E O O

Defense Against the Dark Arts O O O

Divination P D P

Herbology A E E

History of Magic P - P

Potions E E E

Transfiguration E O E

Total: 7

Harry sighed dejectedly. He hadn’t qualified for Snape’s advanced potions class. Now he wouldn’t be able to become an auror, though he supposed this was a mixed blessing since class with Snape was dreadful. Harry wasn’t sure what to do about this. He decided that he would consider what he could do about potions class later.

That night, Harry was almost immediately swept into Voldemort’s serpent’s vision.

A tall blond man and two burly dark men ran down a long, dark corridor. They turned into the last room, their feet skidding on the flagstones. A giant snake barely managed to whip her tail out of the way as the last man misjudged and slammed into the wall before turning into the room. The snake followed, glaring at the men as she coiled herself around an armchair that stood between her master’s bed and the roaring fire. The whole room flickered between dark shadow and red flame but she could smell everything perfectly, from the fear of the three servants to the decay of her master’s body. The small room swirled with other scents as well: stone, sweat, fur, blood of the recently killed but truly tasty rat-man, the magical silver of his arm that still sat on the chair she was coiled around. He had been foolish and her master had no patience. Oh how she loved sinking her fangs into live prey.

“Luciusss,” her master hissed, trying to sound menacing, even in his humiliating state. Since when did evil reincarnate fall ill?

“Yes, Master,” the blond man said, dropping to his knees and bowing his head as the other men followed his example.

“Luciussss, you have made the travel plansss?”

“Yes, my Lord. The foreign safe house is ready. I have the portkey here,” he reached into his right waist pocket and removed a fine silver emerald ring which he offered to his master. “The finest and most skilled healer money can buy is awaiting your arrival, as is the finest dark witch.”

“Tell me,” Voldemort hissed, weakness beginning to creep into his voice, “where did you find thessse people? Are they loyal?”

Lucius took only the briefest hesitation before answering proudly, “The healer believes in the cause and will serve proudly. The dark witch considers aiding you an intellectual pursuit and wishes for fame. It was judged that you, with your talent for charm and persuasion, would be able to work with this.” Lucius hid his uncertainty well but the snake could smell it.

“Very well, Luciusss.” He turned to the snake and spoke to her in her language, “”Nagini, darling, come and wrap yourself around me. We must take a holiday.””

Turning back to his subjects, he said weakly, “Activate the portkey. The three of you, myself, and my dear Nagini will depart immediately.”

The enormous serpent raised herself up, approaching a large four-poster bed. Her head cleared the pile of furs and she saw her master’s face, skin falling from the bone, red eyes feverish.

A terrible pain exploded from Harry’s scar and he woke abruptly in the middle of the night, barely able to catch his scream of pain in his throat. As soon as the burn subsided, the boy let out a shaking breath and then a long stream of whispered parseltongue profanity. He climbed out of bed and walked across the small room, avoiding his scattered schoolbooks and the crumpled up letters. He reached into his school trunk and removed a small jar. Harry opened the jar and applied a thin layer of his burn salve over his scar. It worked well enough and the pain had soon lessened enough that he could return to his bed but not enough that he could go back to sleep.

Resigned to another sleepless night, Harry took a sheet of parchment and a self-inking quill. He penned a careful description of what he had seen in the vision and sealed it, setting it on the windowsill to give to Hedwig when she returned from hunting.

Harry sat back on the bed wondering what to do next. The ache in his scar had nearly vanished but the after-effects of its magical burn were still painful. He was wondering if he could try to ignore it and sleep when it occurred to him that he would have another chance to brew potions at the end of the following week, when the Dursleys took Dudley out all day for the last weekend before term; Aunt Petunia had already warned Harry that he would be locked in his room all day that day and he had already found his lock picks and hid them under the loose floorboard. Harry retrieved all his potions notes and six of the potions texts that he had: five years of schoolwork and one he had accidentally borrowed from the Room of Requirement during a DA lesson and never returned. Harry laid the books out in an arch on the bed in front of him. He opened to the burn salve he had made last time, took a few sheets of parchment and his quill, and set to work charting the ingredients and analyzing the potion like he had done so many times for Snape.

There was a vast difference, Harry had found as he worked this summer, between doing work for Snape and actually caring about the information. Normally, Harry would be increasingly frustrated, knowing that no matter what he wrote, it would be wrong but now, as he neared the end of his analysis, he was still thinking about the potion. He had several ideas and hurried to consult his notes and other texts and began another page for his ideas. He listed possible ingredient additions or substitutions that he thought might strengthen this potion. He flipped through the borrowed potions book, which, in his boredom, he had read twice already that summer. The entire book was on healing potions with two chapters on burns and one devoted entirely to scarring. He flipped through the pages of potions. There weren’t any that he could make in the time that the Dursleys would be out but the lists of ingredients and the procedures were helpful.

After two hours, as the glow of first light began to show, Harry had eight feet of parchment containing possibilities for adapting the burn salve potion. He set to work choosing what he wanted to do, checking the warning sections that were half of every potions text, and crossing out ideas that would likely result in explosions or other danger. By the time the sun was fully above the horizon, Harry had two new variations that he wanted to try and he had begun double-checking the procedures against his notes and the textbooks to make sure that his potions wouldn’t react badly at anytime during the brewing. He was nearly ready to get up and make breakfast when he decided on impulse to look at the section on scars more closely.

An hour later, he had nervously added a third potion to his brewing plans. He would have just enough time to brew if he spent the entire day at work. He took his lists and went to check his potions kit. With a sigh, he made another list of the ingredients and amounts he wanted. He attached an order form he had clipped from the Daily Prophet the previous summer when he had contemplated, but never tried, to make Dreamless Sleep potion. He filled in the payment information, marked the number of his Gringott’s vault, and put the form with the list. He folded the pages and sealed them, setting it on the windowsill for Hedwig to take to the Diagon Alley apothecary.

Once he had made breakfast for the Dursleys and been given a piece of plain toast for himself to eat, he returned to his room and found Hedwig waiting. He greeted her lovingly. He was a bit annoyed that she didn’t have a return letter for him but he suppressed a scowl and gave her an owl treat and some water before tying both his letters to her lag and telling her to fly first to Order Headquarters and second to Diagon Alley.