July 29, mid-day
Harry sits in the small garden area behind 12 Grimmauld Place. The garden hasn’t been well taken care of, which isn’t surprising since he’s never heard of Sirius being much of a gardener. Harry has come out here to draw. For some reason, he’s always wanted to and his doodles from notes aren’t terrible. He once read in a muggle book that it’s important to have some creative outlet for your emotions, especially conflicted ones. So Harry has decided that if he can improve his drawing skills, maybe he can draw his dreams, or rather, nightmares. This morning’s dream has left him feeling disturbed and a bit frightened.
It wasn’t a vision. It wasn’t Voldemort standing in a circle of worshiping minions. It was him.
Harry sighs and angrily crumples up the paper and throws it on the ground. He hears a noise, or hiss, to be more precise.
Stupid human. Throw your garbage somewhere else.
Harry looks around and then crouches on the ground. Poised beneath a bush is a small garden snake. He smiles.
Hello. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was frustrated, Harry said. The snake regarded him for a moment.
You can talk, the snake says.
Yes, Harry replies. I was born with the ability to talk with serpents.
I have never met a human who could understand us. Most are too stupid to even hear our tongue and the language is far too complex.
Harry smiles and ignores the layered insult. Do you live around here?
Yes, humans don’t come out here very often.
Well, it will probably only be me out here most of the time, so you don’t need to move.
Hmmm. Good. There are good rodents in the house beneath ground. I am hungry. Goodbye, snake-man.
Harry watches the snake slither into the garden and disappear. He knows the snake only called him snake-man because he can speak with serpents, a combination of the two because the snake probably hasn’t ever met another parselmouth. He hopes. Harry shrugs it off and sits down again to draw.
It wasn’t a vision. It wasn’t Voldemort standing in a circle of worshiping minions. It was him.
Harry sighs and angrily crumples up the paper and throws it on the ground. He hears a noise, or hiss, to be more precise.
Stupid human. Throw your garbage somewhere else.
Harry looks around and then crouches on the ground. Poised beneath a bush is a small garden snake. He smiles.
Hello. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was frustrated, Harry said. The snake regarded him for a moment.
You can talk, the snake says.
Yes, Harry replies. I was born with the ability to talk with serpents.
I have never met a human who could understand us. Most are too stupid to even hear our tongue and the language is far too complex.
Harry smiles and ignores the layered insult. Do you live around here?
Yes, humans don’t come out here very often.
Well, it will probably only be me out here most of the time, so you don’t need to move.
Hmmm. Good. There are good rodents in the house beneath ground. I am hungry. Goodbye, snake-man.
Harry watches the snake slither into the garden and disappear. He knows the snake only called him snake-man because he can speak with serpents, a combination of the two because the snake probably hasn’t ever met another parselmouth. He hopes. Harry shrugs it off and sits down again to draw.