The serpent lord

Harry Potter: the Serpent

By: NHunterLord

Remstered by: loftyBreeze

Here we are, Harry. Go get... um, your robes…" Hagrid said as they approached Madam Malkin's shop. "I'll be at the Cauldron... ugh, those carts make me feel queasy…" Indeed, the giant of a man looked quite pale. Harry quickly nodded.

"Okay." He stepped inside the shop. Madam Malkin's appeared rather empty, with several robes hanging on pegs along the walls and an unoccupied counter—Madam Malkin was nowhere to be seen, nor were there any assistants. The only other person in the shop was a girl about his age sitting on a stool next to the counter, waiting for her robes to be fitted. She had grayish-blue eyes and pale blond hair styled in a braid, exuding an air of aristocracy enhanced by her expensive, well-tailored clothes and her emotionless expression. Deciding to wait for now, the green-eyed wizard sat down on a nearby stool, and for a minute, the two preteens sat in silence.

"Hogwarts too?" the girl asked in a flat tone without turning to look at him.

"Yes," Harry replied with a nod, unsure if she could see it.

"My father is getting my potion supplies, and my mother is browsing books." The girl informed him before inquiring, "What about your parents?"

"I'm an orphan," Harry answered after a brief pause. "But both of my parents were magical." He didn't know why he added that last part, but it felt right for some reason. This time, the girl turned to look at him, though her face maintained an emotionless mask.

"My condolences," she said, pausing before continuing, "What house do you think you'll be sorted into? I'll be in Slytherin, like the rest of my family."

"Isn't that something that gets decided during the sorting?" Harry asked, trying to mask his ignorance of Hogwarts and the magical world. The girl nodded.

"That's true, but shouldn't there be a house you want to be in the most?" Harry contemplated for a moment before responding.

"Well, they all seem good enough." As he spoke, he noticed a flicker of distaste briefly cross her face—she appeared to be a Slytherin enthusiast. Despite what Hagrid said about Slytherin being for the manipulative, ambitious, and dark-hearted, Harry wasn't naïve enough to think everyone from that house was like that. While it was less desirable, Slytherin remained an option in his mind. The silence stretched until a woman in her early fifties entered from behind the counter, carrying several sets of robes.

"Here you go, miss. Sorry for the wait," the woman—Harry deduced to be Madam Malkin—said, handing the finished robes to the girl, who accepted them with a nod. The girl then glanced out the window and, spotting someone, quickly got up from her stool and headed for the door.

"Thanks for the chat! I hope we can talk more at Hogwarts... I'm Draconica Malfoy, by the way." Harry opened his mouth to introduce himself, but before he could, someone—perhaps Draconica's father—called for her, and she disappeared through the doorway.

After successfully getting his robes, Harry managed to persuade Hagrid to split up their shopping to save time. This allowed him to sneak into Gringotts to exchange some of his galleons for pounds for his later Muggle shopping. Now, he was focused on the last—and most important—item on his list: his wand. Frustration bubbled within him as none of the fourteen wands he had tried thus far seemed to want him.

"Perhaps you should try this one: holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches?" Mr. Ollivander suggested, handing Harry another wand. It produced a few weak sparks, but nothing more.

"Not quite there, but better than the others, Mr. Potter," the elderly wand-maker remarked. "If none of my wands choose you, this will serve as a temporary wand while I craft one tailored just for you. The Ollivander family prides itself on finding the perfect wand for any wizard, and I'm determined to match you with yours!"

"Okay…" Harry replied, unsure how to respond.

"Let's try this one: cedar and unicorn mane hair, twelve and three-quarters inches," Ollivander said. However, as soon as Harry touched the wand, the old man abruptly took it back. "No, definitely not." How he could know that was beyond Harry's understanding.

"Well… how about this one? Ar'ar tree and a heartstring from an Irish horned dragon, ten and one-quarter inches." Harry took the wand carefully, as though it might burst into flames like the fifth one he had tried, but instead, it felt just right.

"Wow…" was all Harry could manage, watching as a small fountain of greenish-gold sparks erupted from the tip.

"Looks like we have found your match, Mr. Potter. Ar'ar tree and dragon heartstring, ten and a quarter inches, quite rigid. A powerful wand, ideal for healing and charms..." Here, Ollivander lowered his voice, so only Harry could hear. "And darker magics…" Then he returned to his normal tone. "It should perform well in any area requiring a wand." Harry nodded.

"Is there anything you recommend buying along with the wand?" he inquired.

"Definitely. A polishing kit to keep your wand in good condition. Also, a holster would be wise."

"How much will that all cost?" Harry asked, as Ollivander rummaged through his cabinets for a polishing kit.

"For a wrist holster?" the wand-maker queried. When Harry nodded, he continued, "That will be nine galleons for the leather one, and ten for the dragon-hide version."

"I'll take the leather one, please," Harry stated, placing nine shiny gold coins on the counter. After receiving the holster from Ollivander, Harry attached it to his right arm and placed his new wand inside. He grabbed the polishing kit and stepped toward Hagrid, who was waiting by the door with a beautiful snowy owl in a cage and the remainder of Harry's shopping piled at his feet.

"Oh, Mr. Ollivander, if it isn't too much trouble, could you shrink my things and make them lighter? I don't want to impose on Hagrid for the trip back to my relatives, but I'm not sure I can carry all this on my own…"

"Harry…" the half-giant began, trying to dissuade him, but Harry was resolute.

"Hagrid, I truly appreciate your offer, but I'm sure you have more important things to do than take me home," he insisted. After a brief pause, he added, "I'll be fine on my own."

"Of course, Mr. Potter, it would be no trouble for me to do that at all," the old wand-maker replied. Approaching Harry's supplies, he waved his wand with a flick, shrinking them instantly. Another wave sent a pale blue glow shimmering over everything—they were now feather-light.

"Thank you very much, Mr. Ollivander," Harry said, tucking the miniature purchases into his pockets. He then took the cage from Hagrid, and together they left the wand-maker's shop.

/ *** \

Thanks to overly enthusiastic shopping assistants at the Muggle mall, Harry barely returned to Privet Drive before ten in the evening. The Dursleys, of course, were displeased with his absence and for not cooking for them. They were particularly annoyed by his new clothes and glasses; nothing fancy, but at least they were functional unlike the old, decrepit ones he previously wore. Their discontent escalated further upon seeing the owl Hagrid had gifted him, though Vernon decided to scold Harry about the clothes first.

"Boy, where did you acquire all of this?" Vernon bellowed, his face turning a deep shade of purple. "God help you if you stole a single penny to pay for those!" Used to his uncle's rants, Harry barely flinched.

"Don't get so worked up, Uncle Vernon. You see, the school has a fund for those without sufficient funds. And their money is different: you can buy an entire wardrobe of normal clothes for the amount needed for just one good-quality suit in their shops. I just saved enough to look presentable at school. Don't you want me to show them that normal things are better?" Harry strategically avoided using the words "magic" and "Hogwarts." This seemed to diffuse his uncle's anger a bit. "I even managed to save enough to get myself to London on September first, so you won't have to drive me there."

This comment finally put Vernon in a slightly better mood. "Looks like we managed to instill something good in you," he said. "Because you're demonstrating that normal people are better than those no-good freaks like you, I might just tolerate that thing…" he pointed at the owl. "If you keep it in your room and keep it quiet."

"Yes, Uncle. I'll do just that," Harry replied, being careful not to provoke his uncle.

"Go to your room. I don't want to see you again tonight. But just because you skipped chores today, don't think I'll allow you to laze around."

"Of course, Uncle Vernon," Harry replied. Once his uncle nodded, he gathered his belongings and made his way to his room.

/ *** \

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore sat in his grand armchair in his office at Hogwarts, lost in thought. The reason for his ponderousness was simple: all the plans he had constructed based on the assumption that Harry would receive a specific wand from Ollivander had crumbled—the wand imbued with Fawkes' second feather hadn't chosen the young boy.

"Did I err in my assumptions all those years ago?" the old man wondered. "But Tom went after the Potters; surely Harry must be the chosen one, right? Or is the absence of any marks the true indicator, and Neville is the one? I've heard Augusta plans to send her grandson here with his father's wand… I need to suggest to her that no matter how much she wishes to see Frank in Neville, the boy will still need his own wand." Dumbledore considered. "If it so happens that one chooses Neville too, I'll have to declare him the chosen one, as only the one with the brother wand can stand against Tom."

He paused, popping a lemon drop into his mouth. "But what if Neville too is favored by another wand? I'll have to wait and see for other signs to help me determine which boy is the true chosen one…"

/ *** \

Ollivander, as Harry discovered the following morning, had cleverly placed charms on his belongings that were merely temporary. By morning, Harry's items had returned to their original size and weight, allowing him to do some pre-school studying. So far, he found potions and charms to be the most compelling subjects. Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts appeared promising too, albeit filled with a bit too much theory initially. Herbology held potential as well, but the chores outside had left him indifferent to the subject. Astronomy intrigued him, yet it seemed outdated compared to its Muggle counterpart. Harry was well aware of the Hubble Space Telescope and its capabilities, not to mention the radio and gamma observatories employed by Muggles both on Earth and in space. Magical people still relied on simple refractors, at most five inches in size. History seemed utterly irrelevant, as how could all that had transpired in the magical world reduce to mere goblin rebellions? After all, Voldemort was a factor, as were the Hogwarts founders, Merlin, and many others.

As September first drew closer, Harry decided that he didn't want to travel to King's Cross from Privet Drive early in the morning. It would be far more sensible to arrive in London a day early and spend the night at the Leaky Cauldron. That way, he could use magical transportation to get to platform 9¾ from the pub. With this plan in mind, on August twenty-ninth, Harry approached his relatives.

"Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia…" he began, trying to draw their attention.

"What do you want, boy?" Vernon snapped. "Don't you have chores to finish?"

"I'm done for now," Harry replied honestly. "I want to ask if I could leave your home a day earlier. I'm sure many people will be up early on September first, and they might see me with... my things. And I'll be leaving in the evening, so I'd only miss one chore…" He watched his uncle's face carefully.

"Hmm… I suppose skipping one chore won't be too terrible if it means we can have you out of our hair a day sooner," the walrus of a man replied. "Just make sure to leave your trace at our house by eight that evening."

"Thank you, Uncle Vernon." With that, Harry hurried back to his room.

/ *** \

On the evening of August thirty-first, Harry found himself regretting a small oversight: he hadn't considered that rooms at the Leaky Cauldron might be fully booked. Thankfully, he was able to secure the last room, and Tom, the bartender, kindly explained how to reach King's Cross using magic. Though apprehensive about traveling through the Floo network, Harry found it to be a quick and reliable means of transportation.

At ten in the morning the following day, he stood in front of the fireplace at the Leaky Cauldron, his belongings beside him, including an empty cage—he had released his owl, Hedwig, to fly to Hogwarts on her own.

"So, I need to throw some powder in the fire, call out my destination when it turns green, and step through?" Harry checked with Tom, who nodded with a toothless grin.

"That's right, Harry." Grateful for Tom's assistance, Harry grabbed some Floo powder from the box near the fireplace and threw it into the flames.

"Platform 9¾!" he called out once the fire turned vibrant green. Taking a deep breath, Harry picked up his things and stepped into the flames...

When he emerged on the stone floor of platform 9¾, the green-eyed wizard decided that Floo travel was not his preferred method of magical transportation. Nevertheless, he stood amidst the bustling platform, where a train bound for Hogwarts awaited, its vibrant red steam engine billowing smoke. Realizing he should find a compartment before they filled up, Harry stepped into the nearest car.