Title: Life as a Snake
Disclaimer: I own nothing…but the plot.
Summary: What do you do when the only person you know can understand you is your most hated enemy? And I don't mean this figuratively people. Harry, after making some weird witch mad, has found himself seeing from a different angle, with no arms and with scales.
He is a snake, very literally.
How the hell is he supposed to defeat Voldemort now! Or does he want to after meeting Nagini from a different perspective.
Warnings: SLASH(Male/Male parings) Dark Harry, Snake Harry
Parings: Lord Voldemort/Harry, Severus/Remus, Draco/Hermione
Spoilers: Books one – five, I will not include book six, and though I am finally getting around to reading seven, I will not include it either. Dumbledore is alive. Also, please refer to the HP Warning on my profile, please.
" Parseltongue "
"Mind link between Voldemort and Harry"
A/n: This story has been edited, fixing certain elements that have been annoying me, and finally updated. I never thought this story would get so reviews, alerts or faves. Every one you guys sent me helped me along just a little bit. I have to tell you though, the main reason I have not updated to long is because my external HDD took a tumble it did not recover from.
It had all of my art work, countless pictures, and every single fan fic I had been working on. I lost everything but what I have already posted. So work with me here, please, it was a great blow.
I hope you enjoy this chapter, it has been in long coming.
Chapter: The Oath
The day after his and the Dark Lord's dreamland meeting, Harry learned more about Potions than he had in the past six years at Hogwarts from his place dapped over Tom's shoulders. It was like watching a skilled artist bring a canvas to life with only a paintbrush, the way the older wizard brewed his potion. His body flowed with every movement to prepare and add an ingredient.
Harry had been so mesmerized by the Dark Lord's method that he had been unable to stop his tongue from asking questions. Truly he had not expected an answer, but answer the Dark Lord did, explaining the potion and all that went into it in detail he is sure no book would ever touch on.
If Snape had even bothered to teach half of the things Tom had, Harry would have fallen in love with brewing in his first year, and never looked back.
But, being so breathe-taken with the art of potion brewing could not distract him that much from his worry of being discovered. For the very potions the older wizard started brewing under his star-struck gaze is the sure-fire way to find the missing Boy-Who-Lived that the Dark Order came up with.
And all they need is a few drops of blood.
The potion in question had originally been commissioned by a Potions Master to help a worried mother to find her missing child, and so is intended to find close relatives when one does not necessarily have a blood sample from the missing relative to direct the potion's magic.
So unlike the potion Snape is brewing on the other side of the lab, the one the Dark Lord is hovering over does not need his blood, the blood of the intended 'target' of the potion, just the blood of a close relative.
At first, Harry had been confused, not sure how the Potion would work because last time he checked, the Dursleys had flown the coop and he has no other blood relatives. But, any hope he had of not being found went down the drain the second he was reminded by the Dark Lord of the very ritual that gave Tom back his body, that night at the graveyard two and a half years ago.
Harry's very blood was used to give the Dark Lord his current body, and it still runs through Voldemort's veins.
In terms of blood relations, one does not get much closer than that.
The Boy-Who-Lived's only comfort is that the potion takes a month to brew because of its complexity and the power of magic needed to back it up.
It crosses his mind that he will be legally an adult in the Wizarding world by the time the potion is completed, but it is a fleeting thought, because in his current position the Boy-Who-Lived very much doubts it will matter.
He has hopes that once he is found out that there will be enough between him and the Dark Lord ; enough to know that he will at least be given a chance to explain himself before he is killed, but those too are a fleeting thought.
Harry watches from Tom's shoulders, head resting on his own coiled body, as the older wizard sprinkles in one more ingredient, a powdered root of a tree he has never heard of before, changing the color from an ugly grey to a crystal clear teal.
In all his self studies, never had he touched on potions, feeling too incompetent in the subject to learn anything he could not learn in class. But watching Tom, he could not help but want to try out a potion or two with his new understandings.
"Now we wait a day," Tom's use of 'we' does something to Harry he does not wish to dwell on, "The potion has to simmer at room temperature for no more or less than twenty-four hours."
The green boa bobs his head in understanding, watching as the older wizard puts out the fire under the cauldron and keep an eye on the thick liquid till it stops boiling. As soon as it is cooled to a simmer, the Dark Lord flicks his yew wand, wordlessly setting a timer before starting to clean up the tidy mess that covers the bench he is working at.
As ingredients are packed away, Harry buzzes on with his questions, using the distraction to not freak out about the fact that he only has a month to live.
"So," he hisses, "The longer a potion brews the more the magic builds up?"
"Yes," the Dark Lord answered, carrying the ingredients back to the cabinet where they were held because simply magicing them to their place might ruin the magical properties, "Think of the ingredients as the instructions to a means, each one does something different, and different combinations can do even more; depending on what is needed of the potion, it needs to gather the magic in the air, because the directions cannot be met without the right amount of Magic behind it to power it."
Harry frowns, thinking, "But in the time is so specific, twenty-four hours, no more, no less, than wouldn't the amount of magic in the air effect it? Like a Magical building over a Muggle building that has never had a magical occupant and vice-versa?"
"This is an excellent point Drake," Harry pushes down a stupid grin at the compliment, "What students of the art are not aware of until they choose to take the path of a Master, is that the Magic in a Potion Lab is critically controlled to a worldwide regulation. This allows for the perfect environment for brewing no matter the location. This is why brewing out of a Lab is frowned upon, not just because they would be doing so without adult supervision."
"What kinds of consequences are there if the magic level is not controlled, like the potion is brewed out of a lab?" As the question slips over his forked tongue, Harry cannot help but think back to his second year. Where they just lucky?
"There have been studies," the Dark Lord starts, placing the last jar on a shelf before going back to the bench to tidy up his tools, "But potions are tricky, sometimes it does not matter, and other times the brewer is lucky if the potion does not blow up in their face. Everything is so precise; it takes Masters years into their training before their master will even allow them to experiment."
Harry winces, not wanting to think about what could have happened if anything went wrong while his bushy-haired friend had been brewing the Polyjoice Potion. Good thing not that many people use magic in a bathroom many avoid.
He is jostled out of the somewhat terrifying thoughts when a hand rubs the coil that drapes down the front of his perch's robes, "You are so full of questions, Drake. If you were human I am sure you would excel at this."
Harry takes a hidden peak across the room, taking in the completely relaxed look on the usually emotionless Potion Master's face, "It just fascinates me," he mutters, pushing his head against the palm of the Dark Lord's hand when those magical fingers (no pun intended) rub just the right spot, "You wizards are capable of such amazing things."
"That we are," the Dark Lord hums, "Of the good and bad verity."
When they had left the headquarters, the two talented bookworms did not leave even a drop of evidence that they had snuck out or of what their intentions were.
Hermione had silently packed up her things, everything she could possibly need for the task she and her old Professor has set up for them. She did not bother with extra weight, and against her wishes, she left most of her books behind, only packing away the few she treasured most and then the two or three Harry had recommended she read over the summer.
They are hardly illegal, but dark enough that if left behind will arouse more suspicions than needed.
They are already flying the coop, why leave behind something that would incriminate them even more?
When she was finished packing, she made her way to the hallway, and as the young witch made it, she turned slowly and flicked her wand towards her lone roommate. Hermione held her breath, waiting for any sign that the removal of the silencing ward might wake the other witch up.
When nothing happened, she, with the aid of spells Remus had just taught her, silently tiptoed out the dark room and slowly shut the door.
If she had not of known that the werewolf was going to meet her there, she would have screamed when he placed a hand on her shoulder; she was so jumpy.
Wordlessly they met each other's eyes, his golden hair helping her calm down greatly. Nodding that she was ready, they slipped through the nearly silent house, using the snoring of certain occupants to cover any sound they might make.
Knowing that going through the front or back doors would be far too obvious, they slipped into one of the ground floor bathrooms and slid a window open.
Within five minutes they were out, not leaving a trace of having left.
Hurriedly stalking away from the house and away from any world that would detect any further magic, Remus hugged his ex-student to his form, and apparated away from the place that had been his best friend's own personal hell.
Over the week since his near death experience, Harry has found himself draped around the Dark Lord's shoulder more often than not. Nagini had gone as far as to joke about him being a 'Boa'.
Glaring at her only made her laugh harder.
It is from his favorite perch, using the hood of Tom's battle robes as a small cave to hide under, that he watches the first Death Eater meeting that he has ever actually been invited to. His coppery eyes gaze from the shadows of the dark clothe, eyeing the masked individuals as they come into the gathering room, kneeling before the large discus that the Dark Lord stands on with Nagini at his feet.
After bowing before their Lord, who is once again wearing the illusion of the snake-like thing, the grey Masked Death Eaters scurry (for there is no other work to describe their jerky movements) towards that back of the room, standing behind rows of white masked wizards and witches.
Up closest to Tom are those with silver masks, the Inner Circle. They are the only ones that do not have their hoods up, the one that stand the proudest.
There is so much Dark Magic in the air because of the gathered Dark Wizards and witches that Harry cannot help but feel a little buzzed. It does not help that Tom's magic is pulsing in the air around them, made active by the pent up anger brought on by the break in and his near death.
Harry knows what this meeting is going to be about, and he is curious to see if he is going to get a glimpse of the Dark Lord the world knows. For some reason this excites him instead of scaring him like it should.
The topic of the meeting is to fortify the loyalty of the Death Eaters with a new Oath; one that Tom has made sure there are no loop holes in. He does not want another Peter incident and any Death Eater who will not submit to the new Oath, Harry knows, will not leave this room tonight.
When all the Death Eaters are in place, and Tom is satisfied that everyone that needs to be there is, he sweeps his magic over the room, calling attention without having to speak a word, so when he does it is low and dangerous in tone.
"All of you ssshould know by now, but not long ago thisss Manor wasss broken into with help from sssomeone on the inssside," the room shivers at his voice and the slight hiss that slips in for added effect.
"We are here tonight to ssstop that from ever happening again, for betrayal isss unforgivable and death isss too good for Wormtail and anyone elssse that even thinksss about being traitorousss." Tom steps forward, sweeping his arm in an arch motion, getting the inner circle to step forward to be the first to set an example.
"Tonight, you will renew your Oathsss, or you will not leave thessse groundsss alive."
The treat that hung in the air would have raised Harry's hair is he had any, as it is it made him seek comfort from the warmth of the body below him and the magic that curls around his serpentine form.
This is the Dark Lord he remembers from his nightmares, the pure fury and hate that weaves around him and in his hissing voice. This is not that man he is coming to trust, this is the man that the wizarding world fears, that they once expected him to save them from.
While reminded of why he fears this man, confusing excitement builds up within when the first Death Eater steps forward, removing their mask to reveal Lucius Malfoy, and dark magic becomes so thick in the air that it is almost impossible to breathe.
At his name that proud pureblood kneels on a knee, bowing his head with his arms spread out to reveal weaponless hands.
"Ssstand and give me your Oath."
Suddenly the static magic that had been building up is suddenly moving, flowing around the blonde before them, lifting his cloak and long hair in an eerie way as he stands before his lord and makes eyes contact, making red and silver clash.
Having briefly touched on Oaths in the dark arts, Harry knows that as soon as the Malfoy Lord speaks, his magic will be bound to his word, and if he should ever break that word, he will lose his magic, and eventually die a slow and painful death because of it.
"On my life and magic I swear that
I Lucius Malfoy, am here before you by my own free will.
I accept Lord Voldemort as the Dark Lord, the protector of our Goals.
I pledge my loyalty to you, Lord Voldemort, leader of the Dark Order.
I want to be a member of the Dark Order, of the Death Eaters.
I will keep the secrets of the Dark Order from our enemies and fight for the victory over those that oppose our goals until my death.
So mote it be."
The magic Harry could only feel before became very visible, swirling around Malfoy in shades of purple and dark green.
Tom placed the tip of his wand upon Malfoy's crown and the magic gained order, "Ssso mote it be."
The magic pulses and that which is visible sinks into the Death Eater's form, making him glow green and purple for a split second before it fades. When all is done Lucius stands and steps back into line. As his wife steps forward to go next Harry lets his eyes sweep over those gathered.
Not a single one of the light colored masks are looking away from their Lord and the young wizard can almost feel their loyalty to the man in their stances and in the magic filling the air.
He starts to think to himself, the words of the Oath being repeated over and over again with every Death Eater that steps forward, the words slowly being etched into his brain. His inner Slytherin plots.
He is already too far into the Dark Order to let himself be killed off by his own fear of telling the truth.
The shiver that ran down Remus' back was not at all because of the sudden drop in temperature as he appeared in the middle of a snowy field; his weathered cloak is after all covered in enough warming charms to stop him from feeling the bitter cold of the high speed winds kicking up the snow around him.
But he likes to tell himself it is. Gryffindor or not, there is always some fear in him when he willingly travels to the stomping grounds of his sire and alpha when he has been trying so hard to not get involved with the person the ruined his life.
It is only because of his missing pup, and the terrified Hermione hidden away in one of the cottages he owns because of Sirius and James, one that not even Dumbledore is aware of, that he is even stepping foot on these grounds.
Securing his hood, the tawny haired wizard starts to walk against the wind, knowing by heart the instructions to his destination that were given to him all those years ago when he made well known the fact that he refused to accept the creature he has become.
Moony would not let him forget the disappointment and sadness in his alpha's blue eyes when he turned his back on the older wizard.
Invariantly, no amount of Fire Whiskey could wipe the contents of the letter from his memory.
That is why he knew where to Apparate to, and which way to walk from there.
And knew to expect that when he had not gone a mile through the magically blown winds that he would be surrounded by five growling werewolves with wands pointed directly at him. A human would not have noticed their appearance, but for him the wind could not hide the threatening growls.
He stopped in his tracks and turned to face the hidden wizard to his right, knowing because of Moony growling deeply in his mind that is the 'alpha' of this formation. In the same step he looks through the snowy winds to connected gazes with the gold flinted green eyes of the other werewolf, letting him know without a doubt that he knows they are there.
The green eyes narrow at him but the growls lower as he stalks towards the newcomer with liquid grace even in the two feet of snow. Feet away he stops, and Remus can take in the barest of detail about the other as he snarls at him with bared teeth, issuing more of a challenge than any kind of threat, "Who are you?"
Standing with a confidence he does not fully have, the Marauder pulls down his hood and notes the recognition in the eyes of the other werewolf. The growling stops completely.
"You already know who I am."
Remus can feel the eyes on him, judging him, and knows that they are rightful to feel distrust in him. He turned his back on this pack many times. But despite how much he despises being a werewolf most of the time he knows the rules of the pack very well.
Even though he never accepted his place in his sire's pack, he knows it is still there.
Remus spent much time with other wolf packs under Dumbledore's orders and he hates to admit it, but each time he got special treatment, first pick in a meal right after the inner circle of the pack.
Because in the circles of Werewolves, the Pack his sire is the alpha of is number one in the pecking order. His sire might as well be royalty.
And no matter what the Wizarding world thinks, Remus Lupin is the lone sired pup of one Fenrir Greyback.
That is why the five guard wolves can do nothing but comply with what he says next, no matter the distrust they have in him.
"I wish an audience with my sire."
Long legs stride down the narrow corridors of the housing units of himself and his co-workers, each step taken with sureness, but with a nervousness, he is sure he only felt twice before in his life. Once when he got married to a fiery red-head, and second when said red head threatened to castrate him at the birth of their son.
His heart aches at the thought, but that is why he is walking the way he is, to find out the truth that has been kept secret from, just as he has been kept secret from the world.
He now knows that everything he has been told all these years is a lie; because there is simply no way he can forget that he bloody died.
In remembering it had been like a dream, and the subject of many nightmares. But once he realized it was more than a dream, but a shredded memory piecing its self back together he did everything in his power to piece together his last moments.
Because all these years, believing that he is the only survivor of the Dark Lord's attack on his family, he knows now that he was the first to fall when the powerful wizard took his firsts steps into their home.
After hiding away from the world for so long, because he was told it was for his own safety that the Dark Lord not knows he survived, or how he did, Unspeakable James Potters wants answers.
And they better be bloody good ones or there will be a price to pay.
Nobody messes with his family.
A/n: I am not entirely sure about this chapter. It has been so long I am hoping it does not interrupt the flow of the fic, and that it does not disappoint any of you.
Next chapter I promise that the secret will be revealed, even if I have to make the chapter really long and ignore all the other side plots that need to be written…If I have my way it will solely focus on the bond between Harry and Tom..
Well, any way, tell me what you think, how did I do, what do I need to work on besides grammar and such?