Chapter Text
1 November 1981
'Petunia, I don't understand why it has to be an orphanage in London. Both fuel and our time cost money, while we could have just picked an orphanage in Surrey.'
Petunia, anxious and uptight, hisses at her husband.
'Vernon, they would find out. They would find us. You have read the letter, you have seen those people. I know perfectly well what they are capable of. We are going to be safer, leaving the boy in London. There's plenty of orphanages there, it's more anonymous, it'll be harder for them to find out about our disobedience.'
Vernon snorts.
'Disobedience? Hmpfff. We don't have any reason to obey those people. We cannot let them intimidate us, Petunia. Besides, it'd be stupid on their part to expect us to raise a freaky child of your loathsome sister. Aren't the freaks supposed to grow up amongst their own? Aren't there any orphanages for freaks of some sort?'
Petunia shakes her head.
'I don't think they have such facilities. Their world is pretty crude. From all I've learned, their development ended somewhere around the Middle Ages. They don't even know how to use a phone, a microwave oven, or a computer...'
'Bunch of savages.' Vernon growls. 'And they still dare to order us around.'
'Pull over here.' Petunia indicates a nice, brick, old-fashioned building at the end of a road.
Vernon stops his Vaxuhall in front of the entrance. Petunia looks back at two sleeping baby boys on the backseats.
'It looks decent.' Vernon states, eyeing the building with a signboard "WOOL ORPHANAGE". 'An old facility, in a decent district, clean frontyard ...'
'It'll be good.' Petunia decides, stepping out of the car. She opens the back door and pulls out baby Harry.
The orphanage looks clean and neat also from the inside. Vernon and Petunia are welcomed by a young woman in her early thirties.
'Good evening, my name's Veronica Cole. How can I help you?'
'Good evening. Petunia and Vernon Dursley.' Petunia introduces them. 'My sister and her husband both died in a car crash yesterday. They had orphaned their one-year-old son, who's been brought to our doorstep a couple of hours ago by my sister's... acquaintances. They wanted us to raise the boy, but, I'm afraid... we are unable to.'
The young woman looks at baby Harry.
'And may I ask, what is the reason of your inability to raise your nephew, ma'am? Are you and your husband incapable financially?'
Vernon snorts loudly.
'Vernon, please.' Petunia hisses. 'No, Miss Cole, I'll be honest and transparent here: we have the financial capability, as well as decent arrangements, to raise this child. The reason is different: me and my sister... were not close, to put it mildly. I'm afraid I just couldn't take care of her son without feeling aversion towards him.'
'I see.' Miss Cole answers flatly. 'In that case, I'll ask you to leave the baby in the nursery room, and follow me to the office to fill in all the formal forms.'
Petunia feels relieved, laying Harry in a crib, in a clean room full of sleeping babies.
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2 August 1983
'Grandmother, it's happening again.'
Amelda Cole looks at her granddaughter over her newspaper.
'Look out the window on the backyard.' Veronica Cole says beggingly.
The old woman, Amelda, stands up with a loud sigh, and slowly approaches a large window in her room.
Orphanage's backyard consists of a playfield for children, and a small garden, where Veronica grows her flowers and vegetables.
Today, as usually in case of a nice weather, the playfield is occupied with a bunch of running, yelling kids. A couple of quiet ones sit on the mown under the oak tree.
One child stands out from the group. Three-years-old Harry Potter kneels alone in the garden patches, with his thick black hair glowing in the full sun.
The elderly woman rolls her eyes.
'He likes to play alone, Veronica. So what?' she growls.
'No, Grandmother, take a closer look.' the younger woman urges, handing Amelda her glasses.
The old woman puts her glasses on and gasps.
The boy is not alone at all.
Two thick, glittering snakes whither around him.
Harry looks calm and relaxed; he gesticulates his small hands, seeming to be saying something to the snakes.
Amelda Cole gasps out a couple of swearwords that make her granddaughter's eyes widen.
'Does that happen a lot?' the old woman mutters.
'Yes, Grandmother, since last month, at least once a few days.' Veronica answers. 'I remember your stories from the old times, when such things were happening; that's why I'm drawing your attention to that.'
Old Mrs Cole swears again.
'Pour me a glass of Scottish Whiskey, Veronica.' she orders, indicating a bottle on her night drawer. When her granddaughter obeys, she goes on: 'I had only one such case in the past, girl, but you must know, that it didn't turn out well for our orphanage... It resulted in a tragedy...'
Veronica waits, until her Grandmother empties the glass.
'A boy who spoke to snakes, yes, I remember him so vividly... The worst nightmare this place had ever faced... Pour me another glass, Veronica...'
'Grandmother, I want to hear the story.' the young woman protests, clenching her fingers on the bottle.
'Stories don't like to be dry.' the old woman snarls.
Veronica sighs and pours her Grandmother another glass of alcohol.
'Tom, the most mysterious ward our orphanage had ever accepted.' Amelda continues, having emptied the glass. 'A bully, but never caught on anything red-handed. Everything I know, is that every single of his encounters with other children had left those kids different. Scarred. Traumatized.'
She makes a pause to sigh.
'My glass is empty, Veronica.' she notices.
The young woman rolls her eyes and pours another glass of Whiskey. Amelda empties it in one gulp.
'He cannot stay here.' the old woman concludes.
'W-what?' Veronica asks, confused.
'The boy.' Amelda growls, indicating the window. 'You must get rid of him.'
'How? What exactly am I supposed to do with him?' the young woman asks.
'I don't care, but he cannot stay.' Amelda snaps. 'He has to leave this place as soon as possible.'
'I won't just throw a three-year-old away to live on the streets, Grandmother!' Veronica answers, outraged. 'We can put him forward on our adoption list, and encourage the potential foster parents to get interested in him, but that's all !'
'That process can take months, if not years.' Amelda snorts. 'You cannot be so reckless to expose other children to this boy's presence, Veronica. If you won't get rid of him fast, I will take care of him personally.'
Veronica frowns.
'I'm not throwing him away. That's inhuman! Besides, Harry is not a bully!'
'You didn't catch him on bullying. That doesn't mean, that he isn't one.' the elderly woman answers. 'I told you, he's one of this kind, Veronica. His presence here is going to bring us trouble.'
'I regret even coming to you with this, Grandmother!' Veronica snaps. 'Stay away from this case. I'll take care of making Harry a more well-adjusted child.'
Amelda shrugs her shoulders.
'You will see for yourself, girl. I'm standing with my opinion.'
Veronica puts the bottle of Whiskey back on the night drawer and storms out of the room, slamming the door behind.
Amelda grabs the bottle greedily just after her granddaughter leaves.
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~Sssso, you sssay you don't remember your Parentssss, young Sssspeaker?~
The raven-haired boy in thick, round glasses shakes his shaggy head.
~I only know they died in a car crash.~ he hisses.
~If you are a Ssspeaker, thay most likely were Sssspeakersss themssselvesss.~ a glittery, squiggly adder says. ~That meansss, that they had to be one of our folksss. Magical folksss.~
~I've already been told by the Grass Snake, that I'm magical.~ the boy answers. ~But not all magical people are speakers, are they?~
~No. It'ssss a rare gift. A very precioussss gift. I know only one other Ssssspeaker, but he is in Azkaban now.~
~Azkaban?~ the boy repeats.
~A prissson for magical folkssss.~ Adder answers. ~But hopefully, the other Sssspeaker issss going to leave Azkaban sssoon. Then, maybe he could take you away from here. Away from thessse Muggles.~
~Take me away?~ The boy asks with hope in his voice.
A light-scaled Grass Snake crawls up, joining the conversation.
~You don't like it here, do you, young Ssssspeaker?~ Harry nods. ~ That'sss because you don't belong here at all.~ Grass Snake declares.
~Your place is in the magical world amongsssst magical folkssss.~ Adder adds. ~And the other Sssspeaker iss definitely one of your relativessss.~
~Relatives?~ Harry asks, confused.
~That meansss that the two of you are family.~ Grass Snake explains. ~The ability to sssspeak with the ssserpent is passsed on via blood.~
~I have a family?~ Harry's skinny face lights up.
~Yessss. Both of you are Sssspeakersss, ssso you two mussst be related.~
Harry opens his mouth to ask more questions about his ancestry, but he feels someone grabbing his little hand and jerking it powerfully.
'Scram! Shoo!' a high-pitched voice cries and a wide end of a shovel shatters the ground powerfully in the spot, where Adder was just a split second ago.
Veronica Cole drags Harry away by his hand and continues striking the patch's soil with the shovel, trying to hit the snakes. Adder and Grass Snake start writhing, trying to dodge the attacks, hissing dangerously.
Harry feels tears forming in his huge, emerald eyes. He runs forward to his guardian and grabs her calf.
'No! Miss Cole, no! Please no!' he cries desperately.
He would like to explain to Miss Cole how harmless Adder and Grass Snake are.
He would like to describe the bond he has developed with both serpents.
However, throughout his short life, Harry has spent much more time conversing with the snakes, than with fellow people. Unlike his ability to speak Parseltongue, his ability to speak English is barely existent. Comparing to other children his age, his English vocabulary is unbelievably poor. Actually, it's limited to the words "yes", "no", and manner words Miss Cole required from all her wards to use, such as "good morning", "goodbye", "please", "excuse me", and "thank you".
~Adder! Grassie! Run away!~ Harry hisses desperately to his serpent friends, still pulling Mrs Cole's calf, trying to drag the woman away from the garden patch.
Veronica Cole stops smashing the ground and turns towards Harry with wide eyes. Both snakes take advantage from the opportunity and disappear behind the hedge.
'Harry.' Miss Cole says harshly. 'I forbid you from playing in the garden patch. From now on, you may play only on the playfield along with other children.'
'No!' Harry cries. ' Please, no, no !'
'Shush it.' Veronica mutters and lifts Harry up. 'Why a bright boy like you would want to play with snakes? Snakes are dangerous. Snakes have no business being around children. There're so many girls and boys you may make friends with. Let me take you to the playfield...'
Veronica speaks gently and soothingly, but Harry breaks into tears.
'Miss Cole, no, please no!' he cries. ~Adder and Grass Snake are my friends, please don't chase them away! Please let me go back to them!~
He switches to Parseltongue, and feels Miss Cole's muscle stiffen.
'Harry.' Her voice turns harsh again. 'If you want to speak to me, please use human language. Your hissing doesn't impress anybody. It can only put you into trouble.'
Harry's crying turns into uncontrollable sobs, fueled by his own helplessness.
Veronica carries him to the playfield, where other children play in the jungle gym and in a sandbox.
'Here.' the woman says, putting Harry down. 'Here is the right place for you. Why don't you play with Chris, Gary, or Victor?' she indicates three boys Harry's age, running around the jungle gym and yelling to each other.
She leaves the boy on the playfield and walks away. She sits on a bench to watch the kids from a distance.
Much to her disappointment, Harry doesn't approach Chris, Gary or Victor.
He stays as far away from other children as possible, without leaving the playfield. He cowers against the oak tree and curls up, sobbing, and waiting for the playtime to be over.