Betrayal

"H-Harry?"

Slowly, he glanced over his shoulder, but he didn't dare look at Lisa.

The silence could only be described as deafening. His breaths, hoarse and frantic, were so loud, but not loud enough to drown out the rapid beating of his heart, nor the shallow whimpers emerging from the girl in front of him.

"What are you?"

Finally, he gathered the courage to look up at her, but he wished he hadn't. It was written all over her face – her pale cheeks, quivering lips, glistening eyes – pure, unadulterated fear.

"Lisa, I-"

She flinched and stepped back in terror. And Harry ran, not daring too look back again.

He didn't know how far he ran, but he kept running, and running, and running, until his feet couldn't carry him anymore. That's when he collapsed on the grass, sobbing.

Why? Why did he have to be such a freak? He'd almost done it – he'd almost made a friend, but then stupid Dudley had to stick his stupid face in it, and then he got all freaky and ruined it!

She was afraid of him! Afraid! He didn't mean to do it, he never meant to do any of it, but it kept happening – the breaking glass, hair growing back at record speed, chairs tipping over, water boiling one minute and freezing the next – why? Why did it only ever happen to him? Why was it only him that wasn't allowed any friends?

He didn't understand. What did Dudley, Petunia, and Vernon know about him that he didn't? Why was he different? Why wouldn't they tell him? There was clearly something wrong with him, but no one ever told him what it was. They told him he was a freak, but they never told him how to fix it. He wanted to fix it, he wanted it so bad. Why couldn't he be normal? Why wasn't he allowed to be like everyone else? It wasn't fair! Why wasn't anything ever fair?

:Are you dying?:

Harry froze, his thoughts freezing with him, before lifting his head and looking around. There was no one there. :Great, now I'm hearing voices too!:

;Of course you're hearing voices, I'm talking to you!:

Harry blinked and his eyes travelled in the direction of the strange hissing sound, coming to rest on the form of a tiny green snake staring up at him with wide black eyes.

Harry gaped. The snake was talking. Snakes can't talk! They only talked in his dreams, to Tom...

:Hey, are you dead now?:

Harry's expression of shock was replaced by a scowl. :I'm not dead.:

The snake made a strange sound, which, coming from a human, would have sounded rather indignant. :Well how am I supposed to know that?:

Harry frowned. The snake had a point. He didn't know where he was, he felt like his legs were going to fall off, and his head felt like it was filled with sand. And then he was talking to a snake. Like he did in his dreams. :I...am I dead?:

:That's what I'm asking you!:

:I don't think I'm dead. I just...snakes aren't suppose to talk.:

:Of course we talk! It's you pink two-legged creatures that can't speak.:

Harry really had no response to that.

:So if you weren't dying, what were those sounds you were making?:

Harry stared at his hands, ashamed. :I...I was crying.:

:Crying?:

:Yeah, it's what humans do when they're sad.:

:Why were you sad?:

:I...I'm all alone. I tried to make a friend, but I scared her away.:

:You're sad because you don't have any friends?:

Harry nodded.

:I'll be your friend.:

Harry's eyes widened, his back straightening as he frantically wiped the tears from his face. :Really?:

The snake bobbed its head up and down. :Sure. I don't have anything better to do.:

Harry choked out a laugh, a near-hysterical smile taking over his features.

:I'm Khasa. What's your name?:

:Harry, Harry Potter.:

:Well, Harry, Harry Potter, I believe this is the start of a beautiful friendship.:

Harry smiled – a genuine smile of pure joy. It was the first time he'd felt it - the warmth, the gratitude...the happiness of not being alone any longer. :I think you might be absolutely right, Khasa.:

Meanwhile, far away from the joy and innocent triumph of the making of a first friendship, something dark and cold bubbled to life, a conscious awareness stirring in the deep, undiscovered reaches of Harry Potter's mind.

"Harry Potter?"

A strange swirl of hatred, anger, and shock erupted at the name, and the consciousness trembled in the darkness, threatening to unleash a torrent of foreign pain on the unsuspecting boy. But then all was still.

"Harry Potter"

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches..."

"Harry Potter"

"Anger was replaced by amusement, fury by a cold, calculating quiet."

"Harry Potter"

"Yes, I could work with that."

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