Author's Notes: Hello, if you're a new reader, I strongly recommend that you read Lionsnake Chronicles I: Harry and the Viper's Chess and then Lionsnake Chronicles II: Harry and the Captured Pawn, to better understand how Harry ended up living with Snape as his legal guardian and how he settled in at Hogwarts during his first and second years as a Slytherin. If not, I understand that I made the first two arcs cohesive enough that you don't have to precisely read it in order if you don't want to because these arcs largely follow canon with a twist.

This is a Slytherin!Harry fanfic. There's still no pairings with Harry yet, though he's becoming more aware of how his classmates react to one another. I like canon-based characterizations, but will throw in fanon ideas or scenes found in the films to keep things interesting.

I know I said I wouldn't post anything for a few months, but it's been agonizing for me to sit on this chapter when there's nothing wrong with it or the arc besides a few consistency errors that I've already fixed.

May you enjoy your reading adventure.

Harry Potter was an unusual boy in many ways. For one, he enjoyed doing homework over the summer break between school terms. For another, he was rather obsessed about learning methods to survive. Living to adulthood was likely a concept that ordinary very-nearly-thirteen-year-olds took for granted, but not Harry.

He also happened to be a wizard.

It was nearly midnight, and he was lying on his stomach in bed, the blankets drawn up his back to keep the chill off him. By oil lamp, he was reading The Art of War by Sun Tzu, an ancient Chinese military strategist. Even as he struggled with the concepts within, Harry pushed the bridge of his round glasses up and continued to read carefully. Birthday or not, he had a feeling he'd be quizzed tomorrow during breakfast by Severus Snape, his legal guardian.

Harry had been receiving Owl Post from Hermione Granger and his Slytherin year-mates all summer, excepting Draco Malfoy, Gregory Goyle, and Vincent Crabbe. Crabbe had never written anything to him before, so that didn't bother him so much, and Goyle had only written sporadically on occasion. It was Draco who normally sent post at least twice a week, and Harry found that he missed those sarcasm-laced letters. At least Theodore found the time to pen a note about his international travels with his dad twice a month.

Harry knew it was his fault that Draco's letters had stopped, since he'd tricked Draco's father into releasing his house-elf, Dobby, from a life of abusive slavery with the Malfoys. In response to Harry's concerns, Snape had made him promise not to send a letter to Draco. Harry had thought his guardian had been overreacting, yet swore he wouldn't unless Draco sent a letter first. At the time, he'd hoped that Draco would pick up a quill and write something to him… But, so far, it seemed that Lucius Malfoy wouldn't allow any correspondence between his son and Harry.

Looking up from his book, Harry sat up and peered through the open, partly curtained window. He didn't see Hedwig in the moonlit night. Her large cage was open and stocked for her return. The silence in the house was so complete that Harry wasn't about to step across the creaking floorboards to the bathroom for a cup of water though his mouth was parched. He turned his head to look at the spring-loaded mechanical clock on his desk. It was one o'clock in the morning. Harry's stomach jolted. He'd been thirteen years old, without realizing it, for a whole hour.

Before living with Severus Snape, Harry had never looked forward to his birthdays as he had never received cards and his gifts had been absolutely terrible when he'd lived with his Muggle relatives. Exactly one year ago, Harry had gone on a trip to Hogsmeade with Snape, and it ended in disaster. He had been grounded for nearly a month; of course, wherever Harry was involved trouble flocked to him as if he'd been marked for it. And in a way… he had been.

Harry gazed out the window, the cool night air pleasant. Though still rather small and skinny for his age, he had grown over five inches the last year, four in the past month and a half. His joints felt tired and achy when he forgot to take the daily potion Snape insisted he imbibe. Harry's jet-black hair was just as it always had been—stubbornly untidy, whatever he did to it. The eyes behind his glasses were bright green, and on his forehead, clearly visible through the fringe on his forehead was a thin scar in the shape of a lightning bolt.

Of all the unusual things about Harry, this scar was the most extraordinary of all. It was not, as the Dursleys—his Muggle relatives who had lost custody of him two years ago—had pretended for ten years, a souvenir of a car crash which had killed his parents… Harry had been left with the scar by Lord Voldemort. Because a car crash hadn't killed Lily and James Potter. They had been murdered by the most feared Dark wizard for a hundred years… and Harry should have met the same fate as his parents that day. However, Voldemort's curse had rebounded. Everyone had thought the evil wizard was dead… Yet still he lived, and his spirit actively sought revenge against Harry.

Harry didn't feel as if he was being melodramatic about that. He had so far met Voldemort in some form face-to-face every year he had attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Once as the aforementioned spirit possessing the now-dead Quirrell during Harry's first year and then last year it was Voldemort's memory as a Hogwarts student, who'd possessed a first year Gryffindor by the name of Ginny Weasley and made her do horrible things.

Harry was very lucky to have reached his thirteenth birthday, a fact that he was beginning to attribute to his Slytherin placement. Where better to learn self-preservation than in the Hogwarts house of self-serving, cunning wizards and witches? Sometimes he wondered if he would have fared any better in any of the other houses without Snape to protect him or whether he would have continued to live with his awful magic-hating Muggle relatives. After all, Harry had normalized the Dursleys' mistreatment. It hadn't seemed all that strange to be locked into a cupboard under the stairs since it had been his room at number four Privet Drive in Little Whinging for as long as he could remember. However, Harry had learned that while children may be sent to their rooms for misbehavior they were never locked inside and consistently deprived of basic amenities like food and toilet use for punishment.

He stood carefully and leaned against the windowsill while he scanned the starry sky for a sign of Hedwig. She had been gone a whole two days already. As much as he tried not to worry about her since she'd been gone longer before, he knew being Harry Potter's snowy white owl couldn't be easy. Gazing absently over the rooftops of dilapidated buildings, Harry saw something lopsided was flying towards him. It took a few moments to understand what he was seeing.

Silhouetted against the golden moon and growing larger every second were two owls carrying something as they flapped their wings. Harry watched cautiously and stepped back, sinking into his bed.

They sunk lower and lower and then swooped straight into his room. Two large owls and a smaller one landed next to him with a squeak of bed springs. The third one was unconscious and had been held up by Hedwig and another tawny owl Harry didn't recognize.

Harry lightly prodded it with a finger. "Hullo? Are you alright?"

With a soft hoot, the third owl finally fluffed its wings and weakly kicked out its feet where it laid on the comforter.

Recalling why the patterning on the small owl looked familiar, Harry identified him as Errol, who belonged to the Weasley family. There was a package attached to one of Errol's legs that seemed to dwarf the owl's twiggy leg. Harry untied the cords to take off the parcel and carried Errol to Hedwig's cage. He set the exhausted owl on a perch next to Hedwig's water bowl. The owl gave a feeble hoot of thanks and began to gulp some water.

Harry stepped towards Hedwig perched on his windowsill and lightly brushed her white feathers. "Hullo, Hedwig. Good work."

She nipped his fingers affectionately and looked very pleased with herself. Harry removed her burden, another parcel, and she flew to her cage to join Errol.

On his bed, the last owl was perched on top of a large package tied to its leg; in addition to that it held a letter in its beak, bearing the Hogwarts crest. It had to be a Hogwarts owl. It didn't stay for a drink when Harry relieved it of its burdens and thanked it. It ruffled its feathers and then took off through the window into the night.

Harry opened Errol's package first, curious to know who had sent it. When the brown paper came away, he discovered a present wrapped in gold paper and his first birthday card of the year. He slipped a finger under the lip and tore it open. Inside was a letter and a newspaper clipping, which had clearly come out of a Wizarding newspaper since the people in the black and white photo were moving.

He unfolded the letter.

Dear Harry,

Happy Birthday!

I hope I'm not being too forward sending you a letter and all. I actually had to corner my dad about when your birthday was since I couldn't find it anywhere in the books I borrowed from the library. I thought that since you saved my life and everything that it was okay. It is okay, isn't it?

It was horrid enough trying to keep your birthday present a secret from my brothers; all of us Weasleys are in Egypt, you see. Dad won the Daily Prophet Draw, a total of seven hundred Galleons! It's almost all gone because Mum and Dad wanted us to take a holiday together as we'd never done that before.

Egypt's an exciting place to be. Bill—that's my oldest brother—took us to visit the tombs. I wasn't able to see the last one. 'Old Egyptian Wizards were nasty curse-makers.' That's the reason I was given. Ron bragged that there were mutant skeletons of dead would-be Muggle thieves. I don't see what the fuss was all about and why I couldn't go. I wanted to see all of it while I was here, but my brothers think I can't take care of myself. What happened last year scared them badly. It scared me too but you don't see me hiding under my bed about it.

Sorry. Here I am trying to wish you a happy birthday and all I can do is complain when I'm in Egypt!

Best wishes on your thirteenth birthday,

Ginevra Weasley

P. S. I hope you like your birthday present.

Harry grinned at the letter. It was interesting to say the least as he had never been on good terms with his Muggle cousin, Dudley, to have any sort of sibling-like relationship. He could imagine being the only girl among boys might be difficult.

He pulled out the newspaper clipping, scanning the moving photograph. All nine Weasleys were waving furiously at him while they stood in front of a large pyramid. Plump little Mrs. Weasley; tall balding Mr. Weasley; six sons; and the shortest and youngest one, a broadly grinning daughter with a dimple on her cheek. Harry knew all of them would have flaming red hair if he could have gone to Egypt to have a look. Around Ginny's shoulders was Ron's protective arm. He was tall and gangly with his pet rat on his shoulder. Next to Ron was Percy with his horn-rimmed glasses. With a matching set of mischievous grins, the Weasley twins were hovering over Ron and to the side of them were two others, both as tall as Mr. Weasley, except one was muscular and stocky with an earring and the other thin and gangly with long hair; They must be Charlie and Bill. He wondered which was which.

Harry thought it was wonderful that the Weasleys had won a large pile of gold. The Weasleys were a pureblood family, who were mostly nice and extremely poor. He hoped that they'd at least replace Ron's broken wand with the money.

Looking at Ginny again, Harry didn't envy her position as the youngest child and the only girl. He remembered how it was like visiting Pansy Parkinson with her three female companions the summer previously. His interests had been tossed aside for the sake of the majority's enjoyment. Picking up the present, he opened it carefully. Inside was what looked like a miniature glass spinning top. There was another note from Ginny.

This is a Pocket Sneakoscope. If there's someone untrustworthy around, it's supposed to light up and spin. Bill said it's rubbish sold for tourists and isn't reliable because it kept lighting up at dinner last night. None of us told him that Fred and George had put beetles in his soup.

I hope it's useful to you.

Again, Ginny signed with her full name. Her signature was neat and slanted.

Harry put the Pocket Sneakoscope on his bedside table, where it stood quite still, balanced on its point. It reflected the luminous light from the moon. Since it was doing nothing else, he picked up the parcel Hedwig had brought.

In this was a wrapped present, a card, and a letter from Hermione. The card just said, "Best wishes on your birthday!"

Harry opened her letter and read. Hermione asked how he was doing and wrote that she was in France with her parents for the summer. When she wanted to deliver his present and she wasn't sure how, Hedwig had appeared much to her delight. Hermione expressed longing to go to Egypt since the ancient Egyptian wizards were 'fascinating' after she had seen Ron's family photograph in the Daily Prophet, and then spent lines of ink about how she'd been able to research local history of French witchcraft and added what she learned to her History of Magic essay. I hope it's not too long—it's two rolls of parchment more than Professor Binns asked for, Hermione wrote. Harry very nearly rolled his eyes in amusement. Hermione Granger was Hogwarts' very own overachiever. Ron says he's going to be in London in the last week of the holidays. Can you make it? Will Professor Snape let you come? I really hope you can. If not, I'll see you on the Hogwarts Express on September First!

Love from,

Hermione

P.S. Ron says Percy's Head Boy. I'll bet Percy's really pleased. Ron doesn't seem too happy about it.

Harry grinned as he put her letter down and picked up the very heavy parcel. Knowing Hermione, it was sure to be a large book full of difficult spells—but it wasn't. His heart gave a huge bound after he ripped the paper off and saw a sleek black leather case with silver words stamped across it: Broom Servicing Kit. He thought Hermione was trying to make up for giving him such a hard time last year when everyone had thought he was Petrifying students with a basilisk.

He unzipped the case and nearly gasped in excitement. There was a large jar of Fleetwood's High-Finish Handle Polish, a pair of gleaming silver Tail-Twig Clippers, a tiny brass compass with a broomstick clip for long journeys by broom, and a Handbook of Do-It-Yourself Broomcare. "Thanks, Hermione," Harry murmured.

Harry's most prized possession was his Nimbus Two Thousand racing broom. Seeing the kit made him sorely miss Quidditch—which was a highly dangerous, very exciting sport in the magical world played on broomsticks.

Gingerly zipping the bag up, he set it aside and opened the last package. From the untidy scrawl, Harry knew it was from Hagrid, the Hogwarts Gamekeeper. Harry tore off the brown paper and saw something green and leathery. Before he could unwrap it properly, the object gave a strange quiver and whatever was inside it snapped loudly—as though it might have jaws.

Harry immediately hopped away from it, landing on the floor quietly. He knew that Hagrid would never send him anything dangerous on purpose, but then Hagrid didn't have a normal person's view of what was dangerous. The half-giant had been known to buy vicious, three-headed dogs and sneak illegal dragon eggs into his cabin.

Reaching for the quarterstaff Snape had gifted him at the start of summer by his bed, Harry used it to poke the parcel. It snapped loudly again and then suddenly the paper was torn off in a spray of brown confetti. Harry had only a moment to register that it was an animated book emblazoned with the golden title The Monster Book of Monsters before it scuttled right off his bed like a crab and crashed loudly onto his floor. It growled and snapped its jagged cover at him, blowing confetti at him in a menacing manner.

"Uh-oh," Harry muttered, feeling woefully adequate with only a thick rod of wood in his hand. He suddenly wished he hadn't forbidden Dobby and Nanua, two overbearing house-elves, from entering his room.

The book shuffled straight for him. He danced around it trying not to let it catch him, but it feinted to the right and latched onto his stationary left foot. "Ouch! Get off of me!" Harry beat his quarterstaff at the book while it gnawed his foot. He managed to knock it off. His foot was rather severely scratched up and bloody from the book's sharp paper teeth.

It scuttled across the room and hid under his desk. Harry grabbed the belt from his wardrobe and walked slowly towards it, ignoring the sting of scratches on his foot. Slowly pulling out the chair, he stuck the quarterstaff below the desk and the book suddenly let out a vicious snarl and lunged forward taking a chomp. Dragging it out, he jumped onto it with a loud THUD. Taking the belt, he wrapped it around the struggling and snarling book and tightened as hard as he could. Then he buckled it and jumped off the book. Harry stared at the book which quivered and scurried back and forth, trying to rid itself of the belt. Since it could no longer bite, it quickly darted back under his desk, growling threateningly.

His bedroom door swung open. Harry did a turnabout brandishing the chewed quarterstaff like a cricket bat.

In his usual black robes, Severus Snape was staring at him like he'd lost his mind. "Why are you awake at this godforsaken hour?" He demanded, sounding quite alert for it being in the wee hours of the morning.

"Er, a book. A book attacked me," Harry said pointing at his desk. "It's hiding now. Hagrid sent it to me for my birthday. And then it started chasing me."

"Sit down."

Harry sat on his bed. The skin of his left foot looked very shredded and several toes were still oozing blood.

Leaning over, Snape held an opened jar of salve in his right hand and smeared a great gob of it over the entirety of Harry's foot. He closed the jar. "Go to bed. You can celebrate your birthday when you've woken in the morning."

Always amazed by magical salves and potions, Harry ran his hands over the now unblemished skin.

His guardian stood, swinging his wand to send the chair back in its place under Harry's desk, and ignored the renewed growling from beneath the desk. "Next time, be more cautious opening parcels."

"Yes, sir." Harry leaned the chewed quarterstaff beneath the windowsill.

Snape raised his wand, and the door slammed shut behind him as he exited.

Rubbing his neck after that short-lived excitement, Harry saw that there was a card on his bed where a piece of brown paper still was. It was a note from Hagrid wishing him a happy birthday and simply stating that Harry would find the book helpful the next school term. Harry thought it was quite ominous that Hagrid thought a biting book would come in handy.

Now there was only the Hogwarts letter left. He tore it open with a finger and pulled out the thicker letter.

It stated the usual morning departure for Hogwarts Express—eleven o'clock—at King's Cross and the list of school books needed for the year. On it, Harry saw The Monster Book of Monsters, which explained Hagrid's cryptic message. What was new was the permission slip to visit the village of Hogsmeade 'on certain weekends'.

That would be great to visit Hogsmeade once again. He thought surely Snape would sign it for him, since his year-long ban was up. He glanced at the clock. It was two in the morning. After being told to go to bed, his guardian wouldn't sign it right away even if it was Harry's birthday.

Harry extinguished the oil-lamp and crawled into bed. He closed The Art of War and set it on the floor next to the kit Hermione had given him. Taking off his glasses and setting them next to the silent Pocket Sneakoscope, Harry pulled the covers up and went to sleep.

He expected more presents would arrive by the time he woke up.

The book growled the entire night.