Take My Hand

Chapter 1: A Sspecial Friend

Disclamer: While this is a general re-write of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix and there will be many similarities, I do not intend to use the same phrasing or to in any way plagiarize the work of J.K. Rowling. Neither is any money being derived from this fiction, nor will there ever be. Future installments will contain lines, duly noted, from OOTP and J. K. Rowling will get all credit for them. If there are any sections of this work that contains the same wording as the author's books, and she is not given credit, it is purely coincidental and not meant to steal.

That said, on with the show

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"Boy! You, Boy! Wake your lazy ass up! We don't let you live in this house and eat our food so you can laze about all day! Get up!" Uncle Vernon's booming voice reverberated up the stairs, down the hallway (where the non-moving pictures rattled on the wall), and through the tiny cat-flap to bounce fretfully around the small room across the hall from the bath. An owl sleeping in its cage gave an undignified squawk of protest. It wished to return to peaceful dreams of clear nights full of large, slow-moving mice, and packages swiftly delivered.

The voice, however, did not find the boy it was searching for in the room. Nor was the boy to be found in the hallway, or on the stairwell. In fact, the boy, whose name happened to be Harry Potter, was actually standing behind Uncle Vernon, with sweat drying on his shirt. Uncle Vernon swelled like a balloon as he gathered air for another try. "BOY!!"

"Yes?"

The crisp answer coming from behind him caused Uncle Vernon to deflate in surprise, all his hard-earned air flew right past his vocal cords without pausing to ask for directions.

Uncle Vernon had turned in shock at seeing his nephew up and awake at 6:00 in the morning. Inflating once more, he started in on the skinny boy. "How dare you?! Where have you been?! You went running again didn't you! I told you to stay off those ruddy streets, somebody might see you or those bloody owls! I'll not have you smearing our good name with your…your…" Uncle Vernon's voice dropped down an octave and his eyes shifted about warily. "…Strangeness. Now go see Aunt Petunia and mind you keep a civil tongue in your head. We feed you and cloth you and give you a place to stay and I'll have none of your lip about the work

we ask you to do."

"Yes, Uncle Vernon." Harry said wearily trudging past him towards the kitchen where smells of frying bacon and rising biscuits made his mouth water. Turning the corner, he was confronted with a horsy-faced woman with too much neck and a high-pitched voice.

"Where have you been boy? There's work to do, and I'll not have you lolly-gagging around. Now finish up breakfast, and mind you don't burn the bacon! I'll not have you harming my Ickle Diddykins with your horrible cooking this morning, he's got important people to see today. Isn't that right Popkin?" Petunia's voice instantly changed from hoarse and grating to simpering and sweet as her lumbering son clumped his way down the stairwell.

"That's right Mum," Dudley replied plastering a smile on his face. "The Hutchensons wanted to meet with me during tea time to discuss my chances of moving on to being a professional. "

Dudley had taken up boxing at his school and his parents where overwhelmingly proud of their prodigious son. None of the neighborhood children, or Harry for that matter, was thrilled with this turn of events. Dudley had always been a big bully and the fact that he could hit things harder was not a cause to celebrate.

Dudley had always done his best to make Harry's life as difficult as possible. He had even gone so far as to play a game of Harry-tag where him and his cronies chased Harry about and beat him up when they caught him.

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon however, were blind to such things from their son. Not that it would have bothered them to know that he was beating up on Harry anyway. Dudley had, for the great part of his life, been a fat round porker who's only thought in life was what he could get out of his parents, and how much he could eat. As he got older and moved into middle school, his attention had shifted to drugs and alcohol. Harry had been witness to frequent acts of vandalism by his oversized cousin and had more than once seen Dudley and his 'boys' smoking pot in the park with empty beer bottles littered around their sprawled bodies.

During these times, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon always thought that their son was 'having tea' with one of his friends or a respected adult. They were so proud of their son for being so 'responsible and grown up'. Harry had a hard time most days simply keeping his face straight. Oh, how he would love to set the Dursley's right, but Harry couldn't afford such things. The last time he'd said anything about where Dudley was really going, he had been locked in his room for a week; he'd only been let out once a day to go to the rest room and food had been shoved through the cat-flap set in the bottom portion of the door. No, Harry had learned his lesson, and he kept his mouth shut.

"That's my boy!" Aunt Petunia cried, bursting into tears and enveloping her son in a wet embrace. The two of them retreated from the kitchen and Harry turned wearily towards the simmering stove.

He really knew he shouldn't have come back so late, truly he did, the sunrise was just so beautiful, and it had captivated his attention until it was far to late. Harry usually was up far earlier than anyone else in the house, having woken up from one of his numerous nightmares. They almost weren't worth mentioning anymore, except perhaps to note which ones were the most frequent. Cedric's death was high on his list of nightmares at the present moment, but that could easily change to one of the other half dozen things that plagued him.

He gave a philosophical shrug as he cracked some eggs into a pan. Beyond terrifying him at night, Harry really didn't think too much of his nightmares, he'd had them with horrifying regularity for the past four years and was getting rather good at crying silently at night. Harry gritted his teeth. Well, he was good at crying silently now. Since, at 15, he was still underage, Harry wasn't allowed to do magic at the Dursley's, which had forced him to curb his habit of putting a silencing charm on his bed. He still shuddered to remember what those first few weeks had been like with Dudley tormenting him every morning about what Harry had said in his sleep the night before.

Even now Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would glance at him sideways and try to trip him into answering one of their questions about Cedric. He'd called out one too many times, trying to deny Cedric's death, and his family (even in his mind, Harry sneered the word) was desperate to know if they had a queer on their hands. It was bad enough that Harry had inherited his mother and father's strangeness with his magic, but he might 'like' boys also! It was all just too much. Understanding their intentions, Harry had kept stubbornly quiet about the whole thing. After all, if they were allowed to torture him, he was going to return the favor. He knew he liked girls, but he just didn't see how it was any of their business.

Harry turned down the heat on the eggs and bacon, and popped a few pieces of bread into the toaster as he reached across the countertop for a mitten. Removing the biscuits from the oven, he carefully slid them onto a plate with the scrambled eggs and bacon, and reached for the toast just as it popped up. Quickly slathering generous amounts of butter on each slice, he deftly cut each one into halves diagonally before arranging them on the plate with the biscuits, eggs and bacon. It was all done with practiced ease and was, quite frankly, a dance he could have done in his sleep; a fact, which had been proven one day when he had awoken to the sharp crack of Aunt Petunia's bony hand across Harry's even bonier face. He had been standing in one spot with his 'vacant look' on his face staring at the Dursley's eat while his mind roamed in the realm of dreams.

Giving another philosophical shrug, Harry turned, plate in hand, and entered the dining room where the Dursley's were waiting at the table, sour looks on his Aunt and Uncle's face, and one of triumph on his cousin's.

"Now boy," Vernon said, grabbing a biscuit and taking a large bite out of it. "We've been entirely too lenient with you this summer, and you are going to start earning your keep around here. The flowerbeds around the house need weeding and fertilizing, Petunia will show you where it is after breakfast. Be sure that you get each and every weed, I'll not have this house looking like a bunch of hooligans lived here."

"And," Aunt Petunia sniffed, "The back fence needs painting, there's some paint in the shed. Mind, you, that you cover the whole thing, we needn't have our back fence come out spotty because of your incompetence."

Harry just nodded, he knew better than to argue. If only he could use magic…but no. He'd have to put up with them for a while longer. Just another year, then he'd be sixteen and able to make his own decisions.

He turned and trudged into the kitchen again, his mind wandering off without him to contemplate the ironies that made up his life as he mechanically washed and then dried the morning dishes before grabbing his allotted breakfast: stale bread, a lump of hard cheese and a glass of water. They'd been too lenient with him this summer? How could Uncle Vernon even say such a thing? Harry was the only one who even did any sort of housework ever. He slaved away each and every day while his Aunt gossiped over the fence and his Uncle worked. He snorted. Too bad his 'work' involved endless games of golf with the local contracting company. And whenever they had people over for dinner Harry had to stay in his room silent and pretend he didn't exist. Harry grimaced as a particularly hard piece of cheese stuck for a moment. At least he could eat as much of the bread and cheese as he wanted, though who would want to eat much of the stuff was beyond him.

Gagging the last of the bread down, Harry re-entered the dining room and cleared off the table, washing and drying those dishes too before putting the lot of them away and venturing outside to weed the flowerbeds while there was still dew on the grass. He hoped to finish before the day got truly hot, so that he could paint the fence in the relative shade of the back yard during the heat of the day.

Plopping down listlessly on the grass, Harry reached for the weeds. He was in process of trying to unearth a particularly stubborn one when he heard a horrific shriek coming from somewhere to his left. Whipping his head around he saw his Aunt Petunia jumping up and down on her right foot as she stabbed ineffectually downward with the toe of her left. Curious, Harry rolled to his feet and strode over, his eyes trained on the ground to spot whatever it was she was trying to kill.

A baby snake, no longer than his hand, was sprawled out on the slowly warming concrete of their front walk, remarkably unscathed for the wild motions Aunt Petunia was making. She had the air of a person who desperately wanted some small disgusting thing dead, but was too disgusted by it to actually bring themselves to touch it long enough to kill it, even if it was with something as impersonal as a shoe.

"Sshit."

Harry blinked. Surely not--?

"Sshit, Sshit."

Harry laughed aloud. It had been so long since he'd heard it, he'd almost forgotten that he had one of the rare magical abilities of Parseltounge, that is, the ability to talk to snakes. Wouldn't Aunt Petunia just be terrified to know--? Harry stopped short, eyes widening at the possibilities.

"I'll die before I've lived, Mother wass right."

He grinned his mind made up. Pushing his still shrieking Aunt aside, Harry squatted down next to the baby snake.

"Ssome help little brother?" He inquired.

"What iss this? You can sspeak to me?" The little reptile seemed surprised.

"Indeed, I can. I am a wizard, would you like ssome assisstance?"

"If you would not mind, I am afraid of being trampled. There wass jusst a female human here who wisshed to kill me. I cannot blame her though, I am fearssome." The snake sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

Harry chuckled. "I would be honored to help you little brother. What do you require?"

"A ssafe place to sstay that iss alsso warm. I wass caught in the open lasst dark and was unable to move when thingss became too cold."

"Indeed, wh-" Harry found himself cut off as his Aunt shrieked again.

"What are you doing? Get away from that snake! It's poisonous! Don't you recognize it? That's an adder! The only poisonus snake on the whole British Isles!" Petunia squawked frantically and waved her hands about, reminding Harry strongly of a plucked chicken.

"I know that Aunt. Don't worry. I'll take care of him." Harry smirked, knowing just how he would care for the little reptile.

"Would you like to come with me for a time?" He hissed a little two loudly, ensuring that his Aunt would hear him. "I could keep you warm for a while until you felt sstrong enough to travel on your own."

The snake was silent for a while, and Harry worried that the little creature would turn him down. "Many thankss to you wizard. I will take you up on your offer."

Harry bobbed his head in acknowledgement, despite the fact that it probably couldn't see him. "Here," He said to it, reaching down, "I will carry you to ssafety, have no fear." So saying, he gently placed his fingers on either side of the snake's slender body and picked it up, cradling it in his hands. Bringing his cupped fingers to his face, he gently blew a gust of warm air over the reptile's cold body, trying to warm him up. "You are so cold little brother."

"Yess." The snake said, "It wass a cold night."

Harry turned to find that his Aunt had been joined by his Uncle and that both of them were staring at him with a mixture of anger and fear.

"What are you doing?" His Uncle hissed at him under his breath, reminiscent of the little snake cupped in Harry's hands.

"What does it look like?" Harry replied coolly. "I am taking care of this little snake."

"Put it down this instant!" Petunia shrieked. "It could bite you!"

Harry was confused. When had his Aunt or Uncle ever truly given a damn about his health?

"What would the neighbors say if you got bit?"

Ah, that answered his question.

"Nothing at all, after all, I'm 'That Potter boy.' who cares what happens to me? I'm only fit for St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys anyway."

"You put it down right this instant!" Uncle Vernon roared, striding towards Harry. "We're going to kill it right now!"

"Hold on." Harry told the little adder. "Thingss could get a little unssteady."

"Hold on?"

Before Harry could clarify, his uncle roughly seized him by his upper arm and shook him. "Now see here boy, you'll do as we tell you."

Jerking his arm from his Uncle's grip, Harry stepped back, replying, "I don't think so Uncle. All you do is work me to the bone and then starve me. I have no desire to allow you to kill an innocent creature just because it doesn't fit in with your definition of what the world should be. Heaven knows that you'd have killed me by now if you thought you could get away with it." Seeing his Uncle's face turning an alarming shade of purple, Harry decided it was wise to depart before the explosion occurred. Turning on his heels, he dashed off, hardly knowing where he was headed; only knowing where he was headed away from.

"That'ss it, that'ss it. I've had it with thosse people. They have no more compassion for the resst of humanity than a tiger doess for his prey. No, thatss wrong, at leasst the tiger appreciatess the ssacrifice made by the deer sso that the tiger could live. Thosse people are nothing but sselfissh hypocritess who think only for their own sselfissh dessiress."

"Then perhapss you sshould leave." Harry started at the sound, he feet slowing from a run to a slow walk.

"Wha--?" Then he remembered the baby adder in his hands. Looking down, he inspected the little creature. It was tiny, no longer than his hand and as slim as a pencil, with large black eyes that continually stared. It's scales looked delicate, even fragile, and they were silky smooth where they rested on his skin. With the tip of one finger, Harry traced the zig-zag pattern of brown that ran the length of the snake's spine, and was rewarded with a remarkable purr.

"Oh, I like that. Do that again." It dropped its head onto Harry's palm and slowly flicked its tongue in and out of its mouth at a leisurely pace.

Harry grinned and did it again, this time adding a little pressure and was rewarded again with a purr.

"You are beautiful." He told it, and it was true. Despite it's tiny stature, there was an elegance to its' movements that Harry was envious of. It's slited eyes were the color of polished amber and it's body was the muted shades of brown found in deep leaf litter, save for the jagged pattern of dark brown that traced it's way down the adder's spine.

"What iss your name?"

"Name?"

"Yess, your name. What do other ssnakes call you when you are all together?"

"Oh, you sspeak of a Calling. I am not old enough yet to have been given a Calling. Even if I wass, few of uss are worthy of ssuch honors. We are only given Calling'ss if we do ssomething that ssetss uss apart from otherss." It paused. "I probably will never be given a Calling. I am too foolissh a ssnake to do ssomething grand enough."

"I don't believe that. After all, you've managed to find yoursself one of the few wizardss left that sspeak parseltounge." Harry resumed walking and set his feet towards the park. Perhaps there he could find himself a place to release the snake in safety. "Ssurely that musst count for ssomething."

The snake seemed doubtful. "Perhapss. Ssomeday."

Harry shrugged and continued walking. He had more important things to worry about than a snake with low self-esteem.

What was he going to do about the Dursley's? Harry knew that he would be in a load of trouble when he went back. Even if they hated him, the Dursley's weren't above having him around for free labor. Harry shuddered to think the things he had been required to do for them over the years.

To be honest, cooking and cleaning wasn't really that hard, neither was the weeding and the painting. Truly, none of the things they had Harry do were terrible in small doses, or individually. It was when you added up all of the little things that life got unbearable.

Every night Harry would awaken from his nightmare drenched in a cold sweat. Shaking from his latest night-time terror. Cedric's death had been weighing heavily on his mind for the past two months and each night he would wake to find a denial on the end of his tongue crying to be set free. And each night Harry would

restrain himself, slide out of bed and into a pair of jeans before slipping out of the house to pour out his grief onto the asphalt.

The rhythmic pounding of his worn sneakers on the blacktop would empty his mind of thoughts, and he soon began to crave the solace and quiet of his nighttime wanderings. Sometimes he only jogged, gazing up at the starry sky above or at the trees as he traveled through the forest. Sometimes he walked, listening for the shrieks of the bats above and the scurrying of the mice below. Once he even startled a deer.

But most nights he ran.

His head down and his hands fisted where they pumped at his sides, he would run. Harry would run until the blacktop ended and the forest began. Until his lunges ached and his calves cried out for release. Until his world narrowed to that next step, just that next step. Picking a treacherous rout through the forest so that he

would have to watch carefully or he would break a leg, Harry would run his body till it was exhausted seeking to outrun his nightmares as well.

Harry had found that, if he concentrated, the sound of his feet on the earth and the movement of his body would put him in a near trance, allowing his mind the quiet he it so desperately needed, and did not receive while he was asleep. As his sleeping hours grew shorter and his nighttime truants grew longer, he discovered that the exercise was having an effect on his body as well as his mind. Having never been fat in the first place, Harry's running had burned off what little he'd had and had reduced him to the bare muscles that clung to his frame. When his body did not receive enough calories for him to put on muscle, it settled for making the muscles he had count all the more. Though wry and slim, Harry had discovered a quick strength to his movements that he had not possessed previously, as well as a strange sort of grace.

But none of this truly kept his nightmares at bay. Oh, it was true; the running soothed him, as nothing before or since did. But Harry was honest enough about himself and his mind to acknowledge the fact that running, for him, was escapism. No matter how fast, or how far he ran, he could not escape one simple truth:

Cedric had died because of him.

Harry was a wizard, one of many in a world that did not even believe in magic. He should have done something to save Cedric. Once every five years the wizarding world would hold a competition known as the Tri-Wizard tournament, and Cedric and Harry had been a part of it. One student from each of the wizarding schools was selected by an impartial judge to represent their school in the tournament. Because of a high mortality rate, it had been called off for the past century, but last year it was re-instated, as a friendly way of opening relations between the schools once more. And it had been held at Hogwarts.

Hogwarts.

Home.

Number four Privet Drive would never be home to Harry. Number four where he was resented for existing, where his Aunt, Uncle and Cousin did everything they could to keep him down and broken. Until he was eleven years old he lived in the little cupboard under the stairwell with only spiders as company. Until he was eleven years old he lived with the lie that his parents had died in a car crash. Lies that his mother and father were people to be despised and sneered at instead of the people they truly were; Heroes.

Harry's mother and father, Lily and James Potter were heroes who had given their lives to stand against the most evil wizard of the times, Lord Voldemort. The same Lord Voldemort who had tried to kill Harry when he was one year old and who, inexplicably, had failed.

Harry frowned. No one knew how he had survived, or why. In the wizarding world, Harry was known as the Boy-Who-Lived, but at number four, Harry was the skinny, strange, stupid son of Aunt Petunia's stupid, strange, and useless sister. Unnatural, is what they called her, and by association, him. Unclean.

Harry's lip curled as he turned into the shade of the forest just as the sun's rays began to make the air dance above the concrete. No, Number Four Privet Drive would never be home to Harry. Hogwarts was home.

Hogwarts was where he went to classes with Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Hogwarts was where he was something more than a useless slip of a boy. Hogwarts was where he was given food to eat that wasn't stale or moldy, where the rooms were warm, and where he was judged by what he did, not just who his parents were.

Harry's thoughts flashed to a certain teacher of his. Well, mostly judged by his actions. Snape, the potions master, had gone to the school with Harry's mother and father and had always hated Harry because of that. James Potter had been a schoolyard bully, and though he had grown out of such tendencies by the time Harry was born, Severus Snape, a long time victim, found it hard to forgive a dead man. From the first day of school, Snape had done his utmost to make Harry's life a living hell with cutting remarks and detentions. If he could not lash out at James, then he could damn well hit his son. Harry just didn't trust the man; he was a Death Eater.

Death Eaters were the lieutenants of Lord Voldemort, powerful men and women who though nothing of torturing and killing in the name of their Lord. Many good witches and wizards had fallen to Voldemort's minions in his reign of terror 14 years ago; until the Boy-Who-Lived stopped him and made him vanish off the face of the planet. Peace had returned momentarily to the world, and many Death Eaters were hunted down and sent to Azkaban, the wizard prison. Still, Voldemort wasn't dead, not by a long shot.

That had been proven last year when Cedric was killed. A small slice of pain tore into Harry. Cedric had been a good boy, and he had been killed because of Harry's pride. When the Tri-Wizard Tournament had been held at Hogwarts the previous year, Harry had been (and still was) too young to enter into the competition. But that didn't really bother him, he had no desire to put his life on the line voluntarily, after all, Lord Voldemort was after his head, why make it easy for him?

But the choice had been made for him and Harry's name had come out of the Goblet of Fire, the impartial judge, as the shocking fourth contestant in a Tri-Wizard Tournament. Though he had no desire to compete, and wanted nothing to do with the spotlight, it had been thrust upon him once again, just as his survival had forced the spotlight upon him. He'd done as he was told though, he'd competed. A little weakly, and very ineptly perhaps, but he was too young to know the things he needed! Still, he'd made it, with vast amounts of outside help, and together he and Cedric, the other Hogwarts competitor, had approached the Tournament Cup and had laid their hands upon it at the same time at Harry's insistence.

Harry winced at the remembered feeling of a hook behind his navel as he was yanked away from the tournament at lightning speed and transported, Cedric at his side, to a desolate graveyard where Cedric met his end. "Kill the spare." There, he was bound to a grave stone and forced to watch as Wormtail, one of his father's friends turned traitor, performed a powerful spell to bring Lord Voldemort back to power by providing him with a new body. To this end he used the dusty bones of Voldemort's father, Wormtail's left hand, Harry's blood and a vile-smelling concoction in an over-sized cauldron.

Harry sighed as he settled his back against a tree. Really, it did him no good to re-hash the events of that night. But his thoughts continued on without pause. Afterwards, Voldemort had called up all of his remaining Death Eaters and paraded around in his new body, boasting about how Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts would bow before him and how Harry, still bound and now weak with blood loss, would be the first to die at Voldemort's hands as a sign to the world that he, Lord Voldemort, was the most powerful wizard in existence.

Voldemort had then untied Harry and proceeded to make a mockery of a wizard's duel with him. Somehow, Harry had survived and had managed to escape with Cedric's body back to Hogwarts where he'd broken down in tears. It later had been shown that Mad-Eye Moody, his Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher had not truly been Mad-Eye Moody, but a Death Eater in disguise, and that it had been he who had put Harry's name into the Goblet of Fire for the sole purpose of bringing him to his Master at the Tournament's conclusion.

Then the school year had ended and he was sent back, yet again, to this place that he called Hell. His Aunt and Uncle didn't care that Harry screamed aloud in his sleep at night or that when he woke his eyes were red and puffy from his crying. No, they only cared if he woke them up, and even then their only response was to bang on his door and demand that he "Keep that bloody racket down."

Harry sighed again and looked down at the small snake curled up comfortably in the palm of one of his hands. A small smile came to his face as he remembered the looks Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had given him when they had heard him hissing at a snake, and apparently having it hiss back. It was so funny; he'd do it again in a heartbeat. Besides, Harry frowned, had the snake been cursing when he'd first heard it talk?

He cleared his throat, unsure as to how to broach the topic with the little reptile.

"Uh, pardon me..." He fumbled.

The little snake stirred a bit in his hand and lifted its head quizzically. "Yess?"

"Were you, that iss—did you ssay sshit?"

The snake's scales rubbed against each other in what seemed to be a dry laugh. "Yess, I did. We ssnakess have long ssince picked up ssuch human phrassess.

Esspecially sshit. It iss pleassing in the mouth. Makess the fangss vibrate nicely."

Harry chuckled. "Yess, I can ssee how ssaying sshit would make your fangss vibrate."

"'Your fangss'?" The adder seemed puzzled. "Do you not have fangss.?"

Harry grinned at the snakes naiveté. "No, little brother. Humanss do not have fangss. Though ssometimess, I wissh that we did."

"Ssuch a pity. Fangss are very usseful thingss. They make adderss the King of Ssnakess. All otherss are inferior to uss. Not—," the adder hurried to inform Harry, "that you are lesss than I for having no fangss. But you musst have a hard time hunting."

Harry threw his head back and laughed. He liked this snake! "Yess, it is difficult to hunt without any fangss, but we have ssomething to make up for it: handss."

"Handss? Yess, I have sseen humanss usse thesse 'handss', and they do sseem very nice." The reptile seemed dubious, "But I sstill prefer my fangss."

Harry grinned. He hadn't felt this happy in months, and all because of a little snake! A thought snuck up on Harry from behind the tree he was leaning on and blindsided him. What if the snake came with him? It was small enough to hide, being an adolescent and…it did a lot towards cheering him up. Hmm…

"How do adderss feel about humanss?" He asked, he didn't want to insult the snake with his offer.

"Humanss?" The reptile considered it. "Humanss are to be admired in ssome thingss, feared in otherss, and alwayss resspected."

This just might work. "What about ssnakess that travel with humanss?"

It raised its head and flicked its tongue at Harry thoughfully. "When they are kept in cagess and resstrained, they are to be pitied. But when they travel with wizardss, they are admired and envied. Esspecially," it added slyly, "If the wizard can sspeak ssnake."

Harry felt a little thrill of excitement shoot through him. "Iss that honor enough to earn yoursself a Calling?"

"Yess." The snake bobbed its head.

"Would you like to travel with me?"

"YESS!!" Suddenly filled with excitement, the little adder slithered down towards Harry's hand where it sped around his wrist and headed back towards his fingers where it wove it's way between them before coming back to rest in Harry's palm. "Yess!"

Harry couldn't suppress a chuckle at the little creature's enthusiasm. "Then I ssuposse you need a Calling."

"Ssomething dignified."

Harry nodded his head solemnly. "Yess, very dignified." He thought a moment. "Ebony?"

"No."

"Hmm. Jig-saw?"

"No."

"Sal?"

"No."

"Are you male or female?"

"Male" The snake huffed.

"Ssorry. How about…Sserin?"

"Sserin?" It lifted its head and gave a quick flick of the tongue. "I like that."

Harry nodded. "Sserin you are sso Called then. Welcome brother Sserin, my Calling iss Harry Potter."

"Harry Potter? I have heard of you. You ssaved one of our brotherss from the clear cages. Thiss iss a good meeting." Serin sounded very pleased.

"Ssaved one of—ah yess, I remember. The brazilian consstrictor. Do you know if he ever made it home?"

"Ssorry, I do not know." Serin's head bobbed back and forth in a sign of distress. Harry reached down and again stroked the dark brown line along Serin's spine.

"Do not worry sso little brother. It has been yearss. You were not yet born."

"Sstill, I sshould be able to help my honored wizard. Perhapss—perhapss you sshould choosse another ssnake to be your companion."

"I do not want another ssnake ass my companion, I want you Sserin. Don't worry, there will be time enough in the future for you to help me." Harry continued stroking the snake soothingly and eventually it relaxed.

Glancing around, Harry realized that he had been out in the forest much longer than he had thought and he noted that the sun was beginning to set.

Placing his free hand on the tree to steady himself, Harry groaned to his feet, stretching his aching shoulders and back when they protested at the movement. "Oohh, I can't do that anymore. I'm so stiff!" Transferring Serin from one hand to another, Harry rotated his shoulders to bring some feeling back into them and then walked brusquely back towards Privet Drive. He was going to be in so much trouble. Not that Harry truly cared, he was always in trouble. But not only had he had yet another altercation with his Aunt and Uncle, but he had done it in public and he had run out on his chores. Harry grinned at the thought of what they would say when they saw him walk in still carrying Serin. They'll flip.

Overly pleased with himself, Harry began singing a song that he had on a CD back at Number Four. Ever since he had gone to London for the first time four years ago to get his wizards supplies, Harry had been in love with music. It had been chance that had led Hagrid, his tour guide for the day, to lead him down that particular street at that particular time. Or perhaps Fate had smiled down upon Harry for once in his short life. Either way, he had caught snatches of a song that had been blaring out the open door of a twenty-four hour bar. He'd paused, entranced, at the sounds that had been coming from the doorway. Even though the speakers had been turned up too loud and noise from inside the bar drowned out most of what was sung, Harry still felt something deep inside of him respond to the notes. They were gut wrenching in their purity. He later learned that it was something called 'rock' and that it had come from the United States.

As soon as Hagrid left him, he had gone back to Gringotts (the goblin bank) and exchanged some wizard money for some Muggle (non-wizard) money. He'd then proceeded to go on a shopping spree and bought 10 CD's of 'rock' and a portable CD player, complete with batteries, as a birthday present to himself. Harry had been hooked ever since.

Something about the music spoke to him. Maybe it was the lyrics, so angry and hateful at times, and so sorrowful at others. Perhaps it was the beat, the deep thrumming of the bass guitar and the drums that made his chest vibrate and planted deep in his bones a desire to roar his rage at his life's injustice at the world. But Harry thought it was an indefinable something, the spark that tied it all together that spoke to him. He didn't care. All he knew was that it healed him, gave him an outlet to all the pain and frustration he felt at the lot he had been given in life. It also helped that his Aunt and his Uncle were scandalized that they would bring such 'trash' into their house.

Emerging from the lengthening shadows of the woods, Harry turned with a sigh towards the Dursley's and reluctantly set his feet on the shortest course there. No need to make it worse than it was already going to be by showing up any later.

Glancing up ahead of him, Harry stifled a sigh of relief as he saw his gargantuan sized cousin Dudley heading back along the street ahead of him. At least he wouldn't show up after Dudley that always made things worse. Dudley could show up whenever he felt like it, but if Harry showed up after him, then he was far beyond his curfew. Harry snorted, strange that his curfew was a person.

Harry cut his song short a few bars from the end when he saw Dudley slip into an alleyway. Now why would he do that? It's a dead end… Picking up his pace, Harry jogged around the corner only to come face to face with Dudley.

"Ahh!" Harry cried, jumping backwards. "Don't do that Dudley, or I'll hex you into next week!"

"You wouldn't dare do that, or you'll be kicked out of your stupid school. Besides, what are you doing following me?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm not following you Dud, I was headed back, just like you were." He sent a cutting glance towards his cousin. "What were you doing heading back so early Dud? Got tired of beating up little Sammy? I saw you and your buddies ganging up on his brother Robert two days ago. Must really make you feel like a man to beat the snot out of little six year olds."

"He deserved it!"

"Sure he did. Because he, just like every other kid younger than you, is terrified of you, he'd do anything you told him to. That means he definitely deserved to be beaten up, right?"

"He talked back to me!" Dudley's prodigious face grew red.

"Sure, just like I am, but I don't see you trying anyth—" Harry suddenly cut off as a wave of chilled darkness washed over the two of them. The air itself got thicker and Harry's eyes widened as Dudley put his hands on his neck and stumbled backwards, clawing at his jugular as if to remove an unseen hand.

Harry staggered to the side and leaned weakly against the brick wall of the alley as a second, stronger wave washed over him, leaving his thoughts scattered in its wake. Slowly lifting his suddenly heavy head Harry released a gasp of surprise when he saw, at the end of the alley, two tall diaphanous shapes floating towards him. Two shapes that were accompanied by two death rattles that he had hoped never to hear ever again, but that he knew all too well, Dementors.

Dementors were on Privet Drive.