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Chapter Text

It starts, predictably, in his fourth year. It’s not enough that his godfather is still a fugitive and that he’s been entered into a competition that might be the thing to do him in. Oh no, of course, that isn’t enough, there also has to be… whatever this shit is.

If Harry had known what kind of letter this owl bore as it landed before him he’d have let Hedwig attack it the way she had seemed ready to – all puffed up and offended. The seal of the letter – not green like the killing curse, but green like his eyes; Slytherin green — is a pretty colour with a looped snake. It looks like trouble, and the way the Slytherin table has gone mostly silent at the sight of the owl that carried it is confirmation enough.

Harry stashes it in his back and forces himself to continue eating despite the weight of the stares on him – no more than there had been before, but with a different kind of weight, less derision, and more anticipation. The owl hoots, Hedwig stares it down and hoots louder, and it settles down to wait.

 .

Perhaps it was incorrect of Harry to say it started in his fourth year – especially when it really started at his birth. Before his birth even — generations ago with a squib who left the family home for adventure and found love. With a squib Slytherin heir that went by another name and passed on none of their history to what they thought were muggle children. With a line that had its first rekindling of magic in the form of a redhead girl with pretty green eyes.

Harry was of the Slytherin line from both parents and had that claim cemented by a bit of soul that was wrapped up, pressed against his own. Harry was also taught nothing of what this meant. He knew not that his first words were hissed conversations with garden snakes. He knows nothing of wizarding society – of creature inheritances or soulmates.

Instead, he knows of the fickle nature of the public; knows of fair-weather friends of abandonment; knows of never feeling like he fits in; knows of danger and fighting. Harry Potter knows of surviving, of never truly living – and he knows of it long before he learns of a prophecy that lays it down like an unchangeable truth.

. 

Lessons have long since ended by the time Harry reads the letter. He is behind the hangings of his bed, drapery spelled shut and sound silenced both ways. The owl is there, but so is Hedwig. They are both waiting for him to open the letter, and he does so with dread crawling up his spine.

Harry Potter, it begins, with no niceties or false shows of familiarity despite the looping calligraphy making his mind drag on a sense of déjà vu. He’s seen this writing before he’s sure, perhaps even his name in this writing. You are wild, feral little thing, it says, and Harry is caught between amusement and offence, but against all sense I want you to be mine, it continues and Harry makes space in his emotions for incredulity. I am willing to negotiate your terms should they be reasonable, the letter ends, with nothing else on the expensive parchment but the signature. It is startling but Harry knows where he's seen the writing a second before he reads the closing ‘Lord Voldemort’ in its damning pretentious deep black ink.

Harry’s brain goes blank. It had been a long day, avoiding eye contact and ignoring everyone to the best of his ability. However, it would have been very hard to miss the way the Slytherins stared at him in anticipation. A part of him is shocked they’d pull a prank like this right now, but really he wouldn’t put it past them. And honestly, it’s either Malfoy and his cronies being absolute tossers or — well, that’s the only option that bears thinking of.

The owl is still staring at him, so he looks for a bit of parchment and scrawls off what amounts to a note before handing it off.

‘I thought pranks would be beneath Slytherins. I have more than enough to deal with — no need to add nonsense to it. Leave me alone. – Harry’

The curtains are closed once more as soon as the owl takes off and Harry settles into the task of reading defence spells, letting Hedwig to her futile attempts at preening his hair.

Chapter Text

When the owl returns, over a week has passed. Harry is still being praised or derided by his schoolmates depending on their house. Hermione seems to believe him, but she’s caught up in her efforts to free house elves and trying so hard to be a mediator between him and Ron that she’s not really there for either of them. When the owl lands before him, Harry doesn’t even notice at first. He does notice Hedwig swooping down to land on his shoulder and pointedly hooting louder than that owl though.

Harry blinks in confusion. He didn’t think Malfoy would actually continue with this rubbish. Maybe it isn’t Malfoy? But then- Harry snorts at his thoughts. It could literally be anyone right now, he’s not exactly short on enemies.

He’s forgotten about the first note (That’s a lie) but then, Harry is good at not thinking about things (that part is true).

He glances behind him and then swiftly turns back to face his food. Why in Merlin’s name are all the Slytherins looking at him? Oh some of them are being subtle about it, but he’s been the focus of attention long enough to know what it feels like.

He takes the letter, which feels as expensive as the first and carries the same pressed green seal with a snake as the first. The owl doesn’t leave. Hedwig hoots at it but it only settles down at pecks at the remains of toast on his plate. Harry laughs as Hedwig hoots again in a decidedly indignant and reprimanding way. The letter goes in his bag and Harry sits there and drinks his tea calmly just to prove he can before heading off to class.

During lunch, Harry sits in one of the many hidden alcoves in Hogwarts and pretends he is not avoiding everyone. He presses himself against the rough bricks, curling up as small as he can and just breathes. Somewhere beyond this little nook, Hedwig is probably searching for him. And somewhere out there are all the people he thought he got along with. People he had begun to trust. Who he thought knew him but clearly don’t. And that’s the crux of it. Because whether or not they think he did it for glory or for money or the fun of it they still think he did it. They think he put his name in that bloody stupid goblet to enter the death tournament. It feels like a betrayal.

Poor Potter, who doesn’t know enough about magic and falls short of the standards set for him. Too small or not smart enough and your father was brilliant at transfiguration you know with the unspoken question of why he’s not. It’s almost the same as you have your mother’s eyes then the look he gets after learning she was amazing at charms. War hero parents and shoes he can never fill from the time he failed to die.

Sometimes he feels like that’s all he is. The Boy Who Lived. A made-up story. A series of stories and his mother’s eyes and his father’s everything else. [Including his skill on a broom, even though flying isn’t something one just has coded into their genes and despite his luck, he actually trained to get as good as he is.] Like a boy playing a role. The wizarding world doesn’t see him as a person. He is a hero and an idea and a story, but not a person. Not a child. No one is surprised when he fights off Quirrell and saves the Philosopher's Stone [for however long it was safe after that]. There is no shock when he fights a basilisk with a ratty hat and a long-lost sword. No gasps when he wins and gets injected with venom yet still lives. There is momentary awe at the patronus, but it doesn’t last. It’s easy to believe that boy fooled Dumbledore’s age line. Of course, Harry Potter can do those things. Just like the stories.

But Harry doesn’t want to be just like the stories. He doesn’t want to be the Boy Who Lived or Harry James Potter or even Potter. He wants to be Harry. Just Harry. [does Just Harry even exist?]

[Sometimes Harry wonders what would have happened if he had ended up in Slytherin. Would he have faced disdain and suspicion from all sides? Like with the Parseltongue? Like now?]

Harry curls up further, as much as possible and closes his eyes. He thinks of the safety of darkness and takes deep breaths. [he tries not the think about why he associates darkness and small spaces with safety he cannot get out, but they cannot get in]

There’s a hoot in the distance and Harry uncurls like a decidedly stubborn flower. He reaches into his bag for the letter, some distant part of his mind thinking that if nothing else, he may gain amusement from this. The seal glows when he lifts it gently, and he wonders if that happened the first time or if that was some sort of hex activating. Maybe he should find a way to check for things like that on items.

‘Harry,

As you signed your own correspondence without your family name I have addressed you as such. Please make it known if you would prefer my usage of it to enforce boundaries. I would never wish to be overly familiar in an instance where you do not want it.

For all that I know juvenile pursuits are not beneath most individuals, including Slytherins, this is no attempt at mockery or indeed a laughing matter.

Forgive me if I misconstrued, but are you saying that one of your terms would be a reduction in the number of burdens your bear? And the other statement? Is that a declaration for want of time before being approached?

I have been patient for quite some time, you wretched, wonderful being, it is no issue to wait for you.

- Heir Slytherin’

For a moment Harry wants to feel hopeful about the contents despite the signature. He wants to believe it. But then he hears laughter as student pass near the nook and he remembers who he is and what role he’s been made to play. He puts away the letter and heads up to the owlery to send off the owl that brought it. They resist a bit but eventually leave without a response and then Harry rushed off to potions.

Barely half an hour later he’s being shuffled off to a wand weighing (whatever that is) and so he exercises his skills of not caring about anything not immediately plotting his demise.

Chapter Text

The owl returns the next day and Harry has the distinct feeling it had not so much as returned to the castle than it perhaps had never left. No, at best it went hunting, but it clearly will not leave without a response. He spends most of the day casting looks at his peers to decide who would care enough to go this far. The Slytherins look back in a self-assured but curious manner. The Hufflepuffs glare and the Ravenclaws are a blend of the others alongside what Harry would label as the urge to put him under a magnifying glass and study him. He finds it hard to think the Gryffindors would do this. Not the letters themselves, but the waiting game involved.

He resigns himself to the owl’s continued presence as he refuses to give into whatever this is and respond.

And then Skeeter’s article comes out and he has even more issues on hand. Of course, she completely ignored the actual champions and made him out to be some kind of overly emotional sod who was mooning after or involved with Hermione. She even made a point to bring up Hermione’s blood status. Great. What else was to be expected? He mentally makes plans to never eat in the Great Hall again. The Hufflepuffs are even more enraged and so is Ron. Even the Slytherins seem tense now.

What do they have to be tense about? He’s the one who’s getting hexed in the halls. They should be ecstatic.

.

Harry does his best to avoid the Great Hall and even outside, spending all his time beyond classes in little alcoves and hidden passages. At first, he considered not going to the classes, but he’s not sure he could research for that long and flying is out so he has nothing else to do with his time. Education it is. Hermione is very proud, or she’d be if it ever crossed her mind he had considered skipping as an option. He still hasn’t told her he may not do the end-of-year exams since that’s a “privilege” he now has. Not that the OWL students can benefit from that. Come to think of it, the privilege is actually completely useless for the actual competitors. So, they’re probably going to class as well.

Since he’s rarely seen outside of class now, obviously when he’s cornered it’s as he’s leaving class.  

He had lingered a bit, enough to not be in the crowd but not long enough to be entirely alone and have to keep hyper-aware for ‘rogue’ hexes. [He’s quite tired of dodging and shielding but he’s quite learned in those actions. Thanks, Dursleys.] Most of those who had still been around disappeared when she approached though.

It was a Slytherin prefect. She was tall [taller than him anyway – not that that’s surprising. Stupid bloody Dursleys. – and had brown hair up in a bun with brown eyes the same shade as her hair. She looked nice, well, for a Slytherin anyway.

“If you don’t respond, even just to offer a rejection, then the owl won’t leave”

He narrowed his eyes at her words, “and why should I respond?”

“What harm would it do, Potter?”

And with that, she walks off.

‘what harm would it do?’

Well, that’s the problem, isn’t it? He doesn’t know. One never knows with Slytherins.

He decides to think about it later.

[Harry is very good at putting things in the ‘think about later’ box. It’s getting quite full – or it would, if the things that went there didn’t usually end up forgotten.]

.

‘Later’ ends up being after Hogsmeade. Quite some time after Hogsmeade, as first there is an enlightening visit to Hagrid and a floo call from his godfather.

[A floo call that Ron walks in on. Harry is certain he caught sight of Sirius but for all the drama going on right now, he can’t find it in himself to believe Ron would snitch. Not yet at least.]

The decision to think of it wasn’t even one he made himself. No, the owl he thought had finally buggered off divebombed him before bed. It released a letter at an angle that, with the aid of flapping wings, arched through the air to smack Harry in the face. He is reluctantly amused and impressed.

It’s on the same poncey parchment with the Slytherin green wax seal with a snake. Upon the front is ‘Harry Potter’ and the boy in question notes that the ink also has a green undertone when it catches the light from the sconces in the dorm. Was it always like that? Or is this new ink?

When he breaks the seal he realises that what he had assumed to be a letter was instead just a stack of parchment he wouldn’t even know where to go to purchase.

It’s just like a Slytherin to demand he respond and disrespect his choice of parchment without actually using words. He snorts derisively and pulls one sheet out, rifling in his bag for the ink Fred had given him before he and George had their own confiscated. What had probably started its life as standard black ink now wrote in Gryffindor red and gold – choosing the colour arbitrarily and flowing from one to the other with no rhyme or reason. It was also likely to set itself and the parchment alight if left in direct sunlight, even after drying. His pen pal had better hope the letter reached them before sunrise. Maybe he’ll find a way to charm the owl fireproof. But then again, the nagging ball of feathers had proven himself smart enough to just drop a letter if he wanted to.

Briefly, Harry considered getting some eye-catching gold wax to seal the letter to match the standard they were trying to enforce. It would hopefully annoy them, which they’d deserve. hmph. Well, if it’s a letter they want.

Heir Slytherin,

I’m fine with being just Harry. Don’t know if that’s something I should allow from you – whoever you are – though. Funny how despite your words this seems more and more as if you do view it as ‘a laughing matter’. All the Slytherins seem anticipatory; as if they are expecting the peak of a massive prank.

“Terms?” what are you on about? You know what? Maybe I do want a “reduction in my burdens” because right now everything is too much.

Bad enough the whole school seems to believe I entered the stupid tournament. But that is on top of Skeeter’s rubbish article which went on and on about ‘feelings’ I never expressed and a relationship that doesn’t exist. Literally, everyone at this school knows I’m not with anyone. If I was dating someone they’d know before Rita fucking Skeeter. Plus, there’s the fact that the first task for the stupid death tournament is approaching. And guess what it is? Bloody dragons! Fire-breathing wizard killing lizards! Which by the way, apparently speak. And I didn’t even get the chance to get any advice from Siri before Ron the Betrayer came into the common room. And I’m sure he saw! And he’s still pissed at me because he thinks I entered this tournament for money and fame – which I already have for reasons I can’t help! As if this isn’t just yet another ‘how Harry almost died’ scenario like the basilisk. Except maybe this time I’ll actually get roasted alive and die.

I wonder if he’ll care.

Just. Eugh. I don’t have enough space in my brain for anything right now. I apparently have to figure out how to still be amongst the living in a few days’ time.  

-Harry’

Harry sat back and looked at the ‘letter’ which was really just an outpouring of his thoughts and emotions. It surprisingly helped a bit to see it all laid out like that. Maybe that’s why people had diaries.

He reached for a blank sheet, to rewrite a shorter and less vulnerable, exposing version. Maybe a nice “I don’t know what you want from me, but I have no time for it.”

There was a low hoot as the owl who had been lingering around – clearly waiting for this moment – swooped down and grabbed the parchment before flying off.

Harry watched in horror before throwing himself face-first into the pillow, drawing the curtains and raising a silencing spell in preparation for a nice cathartic scream. 

Chapter Text

Harry only emerged after he has sufficiently placated Hedwig. She was furious with him for contemplating shooting a spell at the letter-snatching bird. He hadn’t but somehow she knew he had considered it. Or maybe she was actually mad about his sending a letter with another owl and his guilty conscience was speaking. 

Either way, he spent a lot of time offering her treats and compliments as she preened his hopeless hair. 

By the time he left behind the curtains, he could only drag himself to half-heartedly prepare for bed and then plop down on it once more. He falls asleep like that and wakes to himself still face down in the bed. Hedwig is on his upper back preening his hair and his clothes are rumbled and uncomfortable. A spell tells him it’s thankfully not time to rise yet so he shuffles into a more comfortable position for his next bout of frustration.

Harry is many things, but delusional isn’t one of them. Which means those dragons were definitely talking.

He breathes slowly and tries to focus on what exactly he heard in those brief moments.

“How dare these little two-leggers? I ought to -”

“And at such a vulnerable time for the eggs! They have no regard for my nerves!”

“Such loathsome beings, I’ll burn them all!”

Right well. None of that is helpful. Mad enough there are dragons but for them to be talking? Best not to think about it; some shocks are just too much for a bloke.

[It was not as surprising as Harry thought it was. There were signs of course, not that he saw them for what they were. Harry was exceptional at remaining unaware of things not directly related to staying alive or safe at the moment. Understandable really, it’s very easy to be oblivious, especially if your name is Harry Potter.

There was the fluid way he began to move, the hissing when annoyed, the garbled near intelligible hissed words from Norberta he had dismissed as a wizarding thing, and the sensitivity to temperature, but in true Harry Potter nature he was oblivious until it was something he couldn’t miss. That is, the instance near the end of summer when he raised an egg to his face to smell test it and found himself swallowing it whole.

That was when he should have truly begun to ponder things.

He did not.

Instead, he had written it off as hunger and promptly moved on.

Parselmouths are descendants of the original Naga and there’s always a chance of them developing more snake-like traits after their thirteenth winter. They are unlikely to become Naga themselves, but the chance is there.
Harry does not know that. ]

While Harry futilely tries to convince himself he misheard or didn’t hear at all, his ‘letter’ is detached from a very persistent owl who only calms when the parchment is no longer near him.

Voldemort settles at his correspondence desk and absently waves a hand to pull open the curtains and flare the torches as he reads. The Dark Lord had scarcely finished reading when the parchment set itself alight in his hands. His grin is both feral and fond as he windlessly heals his palms and fingertips, pondering both the words – and the trust shown therein – and the method of confidentiality security. His chosen is truly a beguiling little terror.

———-

‘Dearest Harry,

I swear to you, I am entirely serious in my pursuit. If your Slytherin peers (and perhaps others if you cared to notice) seem anticipatory then that speaks only to their awareness and intelligence.

If you are not ready to discuss your terms then I shall be content with knowing I own your time in these moments. I am well aware of the thrill associated with delayed gratification.

Is this ‘Ron’ your chosen Weasley whom you've been distant with recently? The one who accompanied you to save Ginevra? I had nearly forgotten that you’d met Silvanus. Under different circumstances she would have fallen under your thrall as well, I am sure.

Truly, it does not surprise me that others suffer from jealousy in the presence of your wonder in its entirety. Indeed, you are worthy of awe and terror; I covet your attention and despise all those insignificant fools who have the honour of basking in your excellence.

Have you considered using your inherent beauty to charm and ensnare the masses? You are quite a sight to behold, dearest one. As it is, I must admit some pleasure to having your admission that you are not spoken for, not that any of your peers could truly stand against their betters.

Who else could appreciate the danger of your enticing visage and your anger? Who but I could give you all you desire? They would have fled long before you could attempt to set them alight with the flames of your correspondence, to speak nothing of them lasting to survive your passion.

Along that vein, I must express my interest in the ink chosen. Might I enquire how to acquire an ink pot or three in my chosen green? Perhaps one that causes a small explosion if the letter is left open for ten minutes? I’m intrigued by the idea of one with activation for a countdown that starts once the parchment is touched by a different magical signature than the one who wrote with it. Mayhap pairing it with a dicta-quill so that it exploded upon any human contact?

Forgive me, darling, my interest carried me off.

Fear not you terrible, beautiful thing, I am well aware that you did not seek to enter this tournament, and you will neither suffer harm nor face death as it runs its course.

As for relieving you of your burdens, it would be an effortless delight to rid you of the Skeeter problem. I am aware though, that you are very headstrong. If you would prefer to handle things yourself and are amenable to using some of my more favoured solutions to problems, then I will include them for your consideration. They are:

Poison

Dismemberment

Torture

The killing curse

In this aspect of problem solving, I admit we differ but with some inventive thinking I’m sure you could contrive a way to use one, or all of these options to your benefit.

With the certainty that whatever you do will be glorious,

- Heir Slytherin

Huh, Harry thought, interesting options. Of course, Harry had no plans to use silent, subtle death; loud gory death; extremely painful until you crave death; or peaceful sudden death. Back to learning summoning charms with Hermione, it is.

Chapter Text

After the first task, when Ron is half forgiven for being a betraying git and he and Hermione have finished being worrywarts, Harry sneaks off for some peace.

That is when he finally rereads the last letter and has a startling thought.

He begins to think this isn't a prank. Would the Slytherins incriminate themselves like this? Maybe some of them but all of them seem in on it so someone would have stopped this foolishness. So maybe this is them actually helping? But then they have so much fear and respect for Voldemort. Would any of them dare to use his name like this? Would all of them? 

But wouldn't that mean he is writing with Tom Riddle? Since he called himself heir Slytherin and spoke of the basilisk. But then wouldn't he remember setting it on him? Is there more than one memory in books around the wizarding world?

Should he ask to meet up to stop this person from being possessed forever?

When would he even find the time?

Actually, with so many people against him, Harry has more free time than he ever had. Were it not for the people turning against him and the tournament he obviously was put in to die Harry would actually be enjoying his time. He’d always felt safer alone. The cupboard was lonely and dark, but it was safe. [he cannot get out, but they cannot get in.]

He reckons it’s time to contact Sirius again. Let him know he’s safe, and find out how he’s doing. Maybe ask for advice. Away from these people.

.

The response comes with a pretty bird who sort of looks like a clown if a clown got transfigured into a bird.

Pup,

If you’re sure about meeting away from the Hogwarts area I suppose there’s the house I grew up in. I don’t really want to go back there – not the least because of the state it must be in – but for you, I would. Meet me in the shack and I’ll apparate you. Or we will figure something else out.

Your dogfather

Beneath the signature is a pawprint Harry is certain it took ages to remove the ink from. Or maybe there’s a spell for that. Does Sirius even have a wand right now? Harry wonders if that’s something he can help with. Maybe there are some in Sirius' old house? If it’s abandoned his parents or family must also be dead. They must have had wands.

What happens to wands when their wizards and witches die?

.

A day later, when Harry is once again opening the stupid gold egg in an alcove and wondering how much it would be worth if he tried to sell it, another pretty bird arrives.

This one comes bearing a silver-looking ring. On the ring is an engraved crow, and when Harry pulls out the scrap of paper wrapped into it, he reveals to words ‘toujours pur’.

The front of the note says “Don’t worry, I made sure it was free of curses that could hurt you” with an arrow pointed to the right.

Harry finds the implication that it’s still cursed in general bloody amazing. He flips the piece of paper over.

Say the words “I require a meeting with the head of my house” outside of Hogwarts wards [beneath honey dukes should do – Remus said you knew how to get there (good job, pup! You make me proud) so that should be easy]. It’ll bring you to me. I know the words are stupid, but I can’t change them. My family is a mix of pretentious and absolutely barmy, but their methods work (which is great because apparently they can’t be altered).

.

Sirius’ house is dirty and mouldy; covered in layers of dust and filled with the odd noises of magical pests. There is also an ancient elf about as obsessed with blood purity as Malfoy. Harry hopes Malfoy somehow knows someone just compared him to a house elf. Harry spends a few moments in the entryway after Sirius hugs him, then runs through a list of cleaning spells Harry can apparently legally do in wizarding homes – especially ones this old. How is that fair? Harry gets a warning for magic he doesn’t even do but there are people with wizarding homes just casually casting magic all the time? After Siri conjures a sofa they clear up a bit of the tiny room before Harry has expectant eyes turned to him.

The miserable little else lingers in the room, puttering around with something. Harry thinks he doesn’t want to leave them in the “house of the great Blacks” alone. Even this grubby little side room.

“So, you obviously know about the stupid tournament but that isn’t the only thing happening now. It started with a letter…”

Harry is halfway through an explanation of the Heir of Slytherin debacle when Sirius raises a hand to stop him and blinks rapidly. “sorry prongslet, but I think you need to start from the top. Tell me about the letter again” he prompts.

There is an odd look on his face as Harry begins anew, eyes brightening as the story unfolds.

When Harry trails off to an awkward stop after explaining the letter, Sirius has a complicated expression on his face.

Harry peers up at him as he breathes slowly then seemingly decides to tackle things bit by bit.

“Pup. Harry. Have you found your diet changing?”

The gentle way he asks it makes Harry want to bristle, and he has to force himself to un-tense. The urge to lie is strong but, “er, yeah. Just a bit”

Sirius hums in a way that says he’s taking more from Harry’s answer than Harry meant to give.

“I think you’re being courted as a Naga, little one”

Harry puts aside the endearment and the Naga thing what is that? And even the courting aspect what does that mean?! For the more important question:

"you knew I spoke parseltongue? And you don't... Hate me?"

He gets pulled into a hug.

“oh Harry, never. I’d never hate you.”

They separate after a bit and Sirius shakes his head a bit and starts to chuckle, “If I couldn’t hate you when you chose to grab my tail as a baby with your deceptively strong fingers then I can’t hate you now for something you cannot control” Sirius deadpanned with a look in his eye that Harry had never had directed at him before. It made him feel cared for.

Freaks don’t get baby stories, fond looks, and affection.

The feeling wanes a bit as something reoccurs to Harry.

“Wait. So, is it actually from the Heir of Slytherin?!”

Chapter Text

Harry thinks it's absolutely barmy that there’s a new heir of Slytherin. It’s clearly not him, despite how his second year went, and obviously Tom “I am Lord Voldemort” Riddle isn’t trying to make friends or whatever courting means. Well, unless courting means accusing him of something he didn’t do – Voldemort would probably do that.

But well, the question of who is for another day. The task for today is the details of why – that is, what the hell being a Naga means. Sirius had promised to look up the steps of the courtship process in the library.

“Knowing my family one of them must have gotten a book about the process – and that’s if one hadn’t dated a Naga and wrote a book themselves.” Sirius had gotten a look in his eyes after he said then, and with a sigh he’d left to speak to a portrait.

He had looked so sad about the idea that Harry had offered to ask in his place and made his way to the massive paintings near the hallway before Sirius can realize what was occurring.

The curtains move before he can reach them.

And then there is screeching that hurts his ears and floods his body with adrenaline.

He flinches back a bit and then just looks at the massive painting in horror and anger as the woman in it proceeds on her tirade. After a while, when it becomes clear she won't be stopping, his emotions fade into confusion.

However, he has more important things to figure out so he just walks closer and knocks on the frame "Right then" he says when she falls silent. She opens her mouth so he quickly continues continuing before she can abuse his poor ears again, "My name is Harry. Sirius is my godfather. I recently found out I'm a Naga. I think I'm getting – er- well - courted. Are there any books here on the situation? And also ones with spells that could help in the Triwizard tournament"

She blinks at him "Filth! Scum! How dare you besmirch the-" Someone else enters the portrait and shoves her to the side.

"Shut up, Walburga." they turn to Harry and stare at him for a moment. Scanning him in his entirety before smiling softly "Well, you could do with some nutrient and vitamin potions. Maybe something to work on the eyes. And the hair. Plus some etiquette and eloquence training. But you’ll do"

Harry blinks at her. Wondering if he should be offended. Technically she’s saying he’s full of faults but still pretty. "hey!" he says when the entirety of her words sinks in.

"yes, hello dear. We’ve progressed past that part of the conversation. Let the little deserter lead you to the library. I'll meet you there"

She steps out of frame. Walburga returns and stares at him for a moment - as if looking for what the other lady saw. She huffs. "tell my idiot son to update the wards, including the blood ones."

Then she steps out of frame as well.

Harry turns to face Sirius who had run up and stayed out of sight. 

"Library first?" Harry asked and watched as Sirius released a startled and disbelieving laugh.

“Sure Harry, let’s go to the library of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.” He says the last part in a sing-song mocking voice that caries down the hall.

Chapter Text

The library is dark and filled with more bookshelves than maybe even the Hogwarts library. Some of the books didn’t even look like books.

In the library, the woman is in another frame waiting. She makes Harry repeat his story and then has him go back further to talk about his Hogwarts years so far, especially his second year. And then a very upset Sirius is made to explain more about Harry that he was too young to know.

When they are finished she sends the elf that followed them there off with a list of books to collect. The thing is, Harry may not know how these books are – and despite his hope, he doubts there’s a book called “So You Found Out You’re a Naga: The Do’s and Don’ts” – still, none of those sounded like anything but defence and potion books. He shoots the portrait a questioning look.

“In good time little one, and until then nature will breed true. Right now, it’s more important to get healthy and through this tournament”

Harry makes a sound of protest, thinking the Naga thing should definitely be up there in things to learn.

“Well, we could always make them prove their strength as a provider by getting you out the competition”

Harry sighs. As nice as that idea is, he’s not placing his life in the hands of a stranger who suggested murder.

“Alright then, what do we need to do?”

“those books will help with defence, from shields to flaying your enemies, there is also one for spells to adapt to different environs and one with written recipes of foods that will appeal to you more and benefit you. The deserter will also get a list of potions that will help your health and enticement”

Harry blinks at that, and as much as he wants to comment on the last part his mouth says, “he left for a reason, but he is also here against his wants to help me”

“ah yes, you are already a boon to us.”

Harry glares because that was less an apology to Sirius and more a compliment of a sort for Harry himself.

She sighs a bit, “Come along little star, let me guide you through the spell needed to find out what the dear needs”

Sirius listens to her willingly enough.

._.

It is ridiculously easy to sneak back into Hogwarts, and a few hours later Harry is deep into the pile of books from Sirius’s house. He paused earlier to eat from a tray that popped up beside him behind his curtains – sharing some with Hedwig and the other owl.

he spends some time while eating contemplating the idea of secret house elf connections because he doubts the Black house elf decided to come here but somehow he’s being sent a meal from the list they had.

Maybe they had little elf parties and meetups.

The food is delicious and gives him a much-needed boost of energy to get through reading about spells to find things when you can’t talk. How you can cast spells without talking Harry still hasn’t figured out, but the book must cover it.

Harry takes a break from reading to write a letter, reaching into his drawer for the fancy parchment and under his pillow for something else he's collected from the twins.

The letter is brief and glosses over the mentions of Ron and the Heirs’ so-called pursuit of Harry –

Heir Slytherin,

Firstly, I’d like to thank you for your suggestions to deal with my issues. You were right though, when you said there is little overlap with our methods. Know that I’m working on finding a solution and will tell you if I decide otherwise.

Also, considering how little time I spend with others nowadays, you own all my time outside of classes and tournament preparation.

Thank you for the compliments but I don’t think I could twirl my hair and bat my lashes and have my problems go away. My hair isn’t nearly that long.

Have a good day,

Harry.

p.s. – What’s your favourite type of snake?

He attaches an inkpot of deep green ink. He’s still not certain this isn’t a prank, but despite that, murder suggestions and all, this person believed he didn’t put his name in. And yes, maybe they’re just saying that, but they’re one of the only ones to do so. Anyway, if they answer the snake question he can figure out how to summon that type of snake and then see who reacts positively. He had told himself he would not broadcast his parseltongue abilities after the second year but it’s not like his peers could hate him any more than they already do.

Sometime later Lord Voldemort removes the letter and inkpot held in a little sack made of transfigured paper and grins. His eyes gleam as he brings the ink close to his face and a very distinct scent hits him.

After all, a gift covered in one’s scent is an acceptance that veritable screams ‘I’ll allow you to attempt to woo me’ and the Dark Lord Voldemort intends to succeed.

Chapter Text

Harry barely eats in the hall, but he was never the best at eating to begin with so Ron and Hermione just sneak easy things on his plate as usual. He does not bring up the fact that little snacks and light food pop into his pocket throughout the day followed by potions at night.

He goes to the classes and hardly grasps a thing but performs well enough anyway.

There are hours spent under trees and in the library or common room but they are not the same amount of time as before.

Now, he turns in early to read or sneaks into little passages and dusty little nooks to settle himself.

The next letter he receives is twice as long as the one he sent – and then some.

‘Dearest Harry,

I am immensely delighted to learn I lay claim to your coveted time and attention and prmise to never give you reason to allocate it elsewhere.

On another note, your hair may not be of that length, but that is easily fixed – and you are beautiful enough to bequile the masses without such measures.

And now to matters of less importance compared to you, but greater than most else – snakes.

I confess it is against my nature to choose a facourite but I have fallen to the whims of human nature and hold a fondness for my own companion Nagini. She is specially breed to be both constrictor and highly venomous. As you know very well from my interest in you, I am weak to such exwuisitely dangerous beings.

There are of course also the fearsome basilisks, useful adders and ashwinders plus the endlessly amusing and vexing runespoor. You should make the time to speak to one darling, it is an enlightening experience. Did you know…’

What follows is three paragraphs of snake facts before:

‘Now unfortunately I must bow to the rules of propriety and pause here to mention that which this letter also comes bearing.

Tap twice on the little doodle of a snake below and learn the chant it reveals. It will allow you an understanding of the language and dynamics of other magical species until such a time until you cancel it. most are unable to maintain because of the magical power required but it is nothing to one of your caliber you magnificent terror. Do be careful of the headache sustained usage can cause.

Additionally, thank you for the beautiful ink, I will enjoy the imagined look on my acquaintances faces when my correspondence to them burns without reason. Perhaps I’ll send invitations written in the ink and require them for entry to a dinner. Wouldn’t that be entertaining?

Until next time,

Heir Slytherin

Harry cant help but giggle a little at the idea of a fancy invitation disappearing and leaving the type of ponce ‘Heir Slytherin’ associates with floundering.

He fights down a mild blush at the outpouring of admiration and focuses instead on the rant about snakes. He wonders if the name of the Dark Lord’s snake is well known. If not this could be a proper hint. Or proof they’re making things up. If it is they could also just be saying that.

Heir Slytherin,

Shall I grow my hair out to test your theory? Maybe we should do all the things you believe will make it easuer for me to sway the masses.

Nagini sounds sounds very scary but in a good way. It’s wicked! In an awesone way of course. Maybe I can meet her one day.

Thanks for all the stuff about snakes! And the magic drawing. I’m going to test it out on some of Hagrid’s creatures.

Hope you’re having fun.

With thanks,

Harry.

The Yule Ball is announced soon after, and Harry sorely wishes people were still ignoring him.

They’re only staring so far but who knows how long before he had to actually talk to them.

He sent a letter to Siri about it and jokingly asked to be kidnapped or put into a deep sleep instead of being forced to ask someone out.

He decides to just ask someone to go in a friendly way.

…whenever he can work up the courage to do so.

By the time he sneaks out to see Siri again there’s good news and.. interesting news.

Good news is he asked Pavarti to go as friends and she wasn’t upset.

 the other news is she tells him she thoughts he would be going with one of tge Slytherins who were making sure no one asked him to the ball.

.. what was she talking about? No one was stopping people from approaching him.

[Harry thought incorrectly that staring was the full scope of all the attention focused on him. The Slytherins subtlety and his oblivious nature worked together to reinforce this stance.]

He explains everything to the portrait in the library who congratulates him on using jealousy to “ignite the fire of the one who pursues [him]”.

No corrections are accepted but she guided him through the basic steps to a traditional opening dance so it’s still a win.

He takes those where he can.