Chapter Text
"Help!"
Harry was not exactly inclined to go near his Aunt Petunia but even he could not help reacting when he heard her screaming fearfully for help. Uncle Vernon and Dudley were out and if she was already in the garden by then she would not know it. There was only him.
Wand in hand – you never know – Harry rushed outside and stopped at the absurdity of his aunt balanced precariously on the garden table, terrified of a snake that lay between her and the house. Was that it? Then he realised that yes, that was all, and for Muggles that was enough.
Not everyone had come across three-headed dogs, Basilisks, Hippogriffs, Dementors or Werewolves when they were young to desensitise them to small, everyday animals.
"Aunt, please calm down, I'll take care of it."
"How do you expect me to stay calm?!"
"Noise makes it more nervous, it makes things worse, you make it want to attack you."
It was a complete lie, but it had the merit of making her stop shouting, which was a relief to Harry. Aunt Petunia had an unpleasant voice.
"Hey, do you understand me?" He asked softly, crouching down to try and sound less threatening.
He had no intention of killing it, just of taking it away.
As if by magic, the snake stopped before turning towards him.
"Yes. That's the first time a biped has spoken."
"I know, it's very rare," Harry replied, trying not to wonder too much how he was doing it when he sounded to his own hears like he was speaking English as usual. "Look, this place isn't safe for you, you need to get away where the other bipeds will hurt you."
"I've been trying to escape from this maze of stone and wood for days."
"If you let me lift you, I can take you further away, away from humans, to a natural place."
The snake's head twitched for a moment before it stretched out and crawled towards him.
"Thanks."
Taking this as permission, Harry took the snake in his arms before finally removing his jacket to put it inside and hide it from view.
"I'll set it free in the wild, see you later," he said as he left without looking back.
His aunt said nothing and Harry did not care enough about her to check on her when he already had something to do.
He made sure to leave the animal somewhere quiet and warned it to keep a safe distance from humans from now on and went home, surprised to find his aunt in the living room, staring at a cup of tea before giving him a strangely blank stare when she saw him.
"You really do talk to snakes," she muttered.
Harry rolled his eyes and headed for the kitchen to get a glass of water before stopping dead in his tracks before walking through the door.
You really talk to snakes? Like, had anyone told her he talked to snakes? It certainly was not him, so who?
"Who told you that?"
She put her cup of tea down on its saucer, her hands trembling. She looked deeply shocked.
"My sister and I didn't speak any more, but she sent me a few letters. She wanted me to know that I had a nephew. When she told me that you talked to snakes, I couldn't believe it, it sounded like the kind of stupid joke your father could have written to mislead. I had no idea it was true."
"But I can only talk to snakes since they're dead," Harry objected.
Dumbledore said it was a gift he got from Voldemort when he tried to kill him.
"What are you talking about? "His aunt asked confusedly. "Who told you that? You were talking to snakes before you even spoke English."
"Someone trustworthy told me."
An angry expression crossed Aunt Petunia's face, but for once she did not get angry with him and got up, going up the stairs to his room where he heard her moving things up before returning with the same furious step, placing a letter on the table before returning to sit down with dignified move as if nothing had happened.
"I know what I'm saying."
Doubtful, Harry took the letter anyway and read it. It was not Aunt Petunia's handwriting, or Uncle Vernon's, or Marge's. It was and unfamiliar handwriting and very quickly the words spoke of a complicated family situation, regrets and him. A healthy, lively baby who loved animals, and yes, it really was written, talked and played with wild snakes as if they were tame.
Harry did not understand what he was reading, because it did not make sense, again, Dumbledore had said... but Dumbledore could not know everything, he clearly could not be right all the time, this letter was proof of that. With her hatred of Wizards, Aunt Petunia had never spoken of his parents or magic if she could avoid it, there was no reason for her to have a letter supposedly from her sister that spoke of magic. There was also the fact that the letter had been carefully put away where no-one would look, away from prying eyes, that the paper was slightly yellowed and the ink had faded a little, showing the passage of time.
"Did you keep anything else of my mother's?"
"My parents are the ones who kept most of her things."
But Harry's maternal grandparents were long dead, were not they?
"So you don't have anything that belonged to her."
"She was married, Harry, and even before that she wasn't living a normal life. She erased us from her life and forgot us."
"My mother-"
"She denied her origins and abandoned us," her aunt snapped curty. "She made no effort to understand our lives when she was the one who was different. Everything was always so easy for her, everything was allowed, everything was always adapted so that the little witch felt comfortable and accepted... ah, what a good idea that was. If they hadn't sent her to that school, she'd still be alive today. Just go to your room and do your freak stuff, I've put up with enough abnormal things for today."
Harry took the water he had come for and complied, preferring to walk away rather than get angry. It would not do any good anyway. She hated him like she hated his parents, nothing would change that.
He did not return the letter though, and examined it for a long time in the privacy of his room. He reread it several times, and after the thrill of realising that this was the first time he had read his mother's handwriting when he had mostly heard about his father, he realised that he had a huge problem on his hands.
If he could not talk to snakes thanks to Voldemort when it was a hereditary gift associated with Salazar Slytherin line... then how and why could he be in possession of this rare skill?
Chapter Text
Harry had hesitated for a while before finally contacting Sirius, but boredom and curiosity were too strong for him to just sit in his room doing nothing for the rest of the summer break, so he had written a letter explaining his problem and waited for the reply. He had received it in the middle of the night, the owl had slipped it through the letterbox while he had been waiting for Hedwig so he had snuck out to retrieve it without the Dursleys being any the wiser. Sirius had been quick considering that he could be anywhere in the world right now.
The first line beyond the greeting was something of a surprise when it probably should not have been.
What your aunt told you is true, you used to talk to snakes when you were a baby.
The boy had looked in the direction of his aunt's room, almost surprised that it was real. He was never sure with them. He did not trust them.
What your aunt told you is true, you used to talk to snakes when you were a baby. I'm surprised you seem not to have known before, but it's true that the Dursleys live in an environment where there would be little opportunity to come across snakes. To answer your question, none of us knew at the time why you were able to talk to snakes.
It is true that it is a question full of mystery, even back then I could not comprehend where this hereditary gift could have come from. You have to understand that Pureblood families like your father's or mine have the habit of marrying with Purebloods of the same prestige to preserve the purity of their blood and the transmission of the rare magics that are supposed to symbolise their superiority. In the Black family, for example, we have an innate gift of physical metamorphosis, the effects of which resemble Polyjuice potion.
These gifts are jealously guarded and coveted in the wizarding community, they set you apart, and it is exactly the same with speaking Parseltongue, it is a hereditary gift which, at least in the collective imagination, is only attributed to the descendants of Salazar Slytherin.
I thought about it after I received your letter. I do not know what happened, I know that until you were born the Potter family was considered pure-blooded, but I know a bit about the Potter genealogy (all Blacks grow up learning about the family trees of their ancestors and those of their relatives, trust me I wish I had not). There are no descendants of Salazar Slytherin in the Potter line. However, perhaps a Squib or disowned child of that line exists in Lily's line?
In any case, remember that a gift is just a gift, it does not determine who you are or what kind of person you are: even if you are a descendant of Salazar Slytherin, you are an amazing young man who is in no way responsible for their nauseating visions of the world. It is not a symbol of misfortune, quite the contrary, if you had seen your father's face the day he saw you crawling through the grass wriggling as if you were a snake… it was so hilarious and will remain engraved in my memory forever. Not as much as the day you had a snake wrapped around your neck, sleeping there, but that's close.
There is nothing wrong or shameful about talking to snakes, I hope I have at least comforted you a little with the idea.
I'll let you get back to me if you need me,
Sirius.
Harry had to reread the letter several times as each part was so emotionally taxing to read. He had learned more about his parents in one letter than he had in a lifetime. He could see his childhood, barely mentioned but made so real, alive and tangible by a few little words that were nothing, just a few lines of ink on a piece of paper, but created something real inside him.
A father and godfather born and bred in a racist society who had not given in to expectations. Parents worried about their little boy with strange gifts, even for a wizard. An ordinary baby doing ordinary baby things.
It was not until the most raw and emotional aspect of the situation related to these discoveries of fragments of his past and his parents that Harry remembered the very reason he had this letter in his hands. A Parseltongue speaking Potter did not make sense. It was not supposed to be possible.
Sirius's assumption was actually very clever and Harry was tempted to go with it, but it was also kind of painful. It would be an absurd coincidence that his Muggle-born mother was actually descended from one of Britain's most famous wizards... and also a very terrible thing, because it would imply that Voldemort had unknowingly attacked his own blood. Or perhaps it would explain why Harry was not dead? Maybe there were magics that prevented a Parseltongue speaker from killing another? Who knew, everything was so complicated with magic.
Harry did not even wait for dawn, he took out some paper and started to write.
Dear Sirius,
This question is eating away at me, until now I thought I had this ability from Him, from that night, at least that's what Dumbledore thought.
Do you think there might be a way for me to clear things up once and for all?
Perhaps you know of a more effective way of checking it than Muggle genealogy, as I sincerely doubt I could easily find anything about the maternal family beyond my great-grandparents.
I'll be waiting for your reply.
Your godson,
Harry.
"Sorry, Hedwige, are you feeling up to it?"
His owl spread its wings as if it understood him and flew off without a sign of fatigue.
He had trouble falling asleep that night, and waited three more days for a reply. In the meantime he had received a letter from Ron, and was glad to hear from him, even at the Dursleys'. It would seem that they no longer intend to prevent him from communicating with people for fear that the damage will be terrible again, as with the story of the bars on his window and the Weasleys' flying car.
The paper was tiny but Harry hid it carefully.
Dear Harry,
I'll take care of it, I've got someone in mind.
Sirius.
He could not wait to find out what he had in mind.
Chapter Text
Harry was staring at the ground at the time, he did not even look up to see the person he was passing on the pavement. He did not like any of the Dursley neighbours anyway. They all thought he was bad seed.
"Harry Potter?"
Harry slowed as he turned towards the unfamiliar voice that had called him. A witchy-looking woman, about forty, indeed unknown. And she had apparently been waiting for him a few streets from his house.
Nobody knew where he lived.
"It's me, what do you want?" He questioned suspiciously, reflexively touching his wand.
He was not allowed to do magic outside Hogwarts but he would not hesitate.
"A mutual acquaintance has informed me that you may appreciate my expertise," she replied mysteriously, doing nothing to reassure him.
Harry took a step back, an Expelliarmus ready: what was she-
"Incidentally," she added with a rather open smile, "my name is Andromeda Tonks, born Andromeda Black."
Black- Sirius!
"Are you Sirius's sister?" Harry asked, immediately appeased.
"His cousin," she replied even more friendly as he relaxed, looking pleased without him really understanding why. "I didn't expect him to contact me, let alone for you, but I'm really glad he did."
"What do you mean?"
"I got married when he was a young teenager and I haven't been around my family since. He was imprisoned in Azkaban, accused of being a Death Eater... I married a Muggle-born, you know. I thought he'd finally given in to his family's beliefs about blood purity. I have to say I was suspicious when I got a message from him, but I'm glad to see you two are really close."
"He was falsely accused instead of someone else."
"I can't imagine what he's had to endure all these years, it's such an injustice," she murmured sadly. "But I digress, come on, the walls have ears here."
Harry looked around, confused. There was only Mrs Figg coming back from the groceries and no one else in the street. Then again, maybe she was not just talking about curious Muggles peering through their windows at their neighbours out of boredom.
"Where are we going?"
"Somewhere a bit more private and confortable," she replied with a smile, taking a step back to let him know that he should do the same.
The Knight Bus appeared exactly as Harry had seen it the first time, and Andromeda got in without listening to the welcome speech, paid and led him to a seat.
"If there's one thing I hate, it's people who put their noses into people's personal business. Tell me, son, do you like tea?"
It was not a drink worse than any other, so Harry answered positively and was almost thrown into the centre aisle, caught at the last moment by a serene and absolutely undisturbed witch who pulled him back into his seat.
"Easy, stay with me, we're almost there."
"Where-"
This time the bus came to a complete stop and they got off, arriving directly in front of... a tearoom. Seriously?
"I love this place. Don't look at me like that, my in-laws are Muggles and have introduced me to this kind of cool places I'd never have discovered otherwise."
They got a secluded table and Harry looked around uneasily as she tapped her wand on the table before putting it away.
"Instant forgetting spell," she explained with a smirk. "Anyone would know something was wrong if they didn't hear anything, so they'll hear everything but forget it straight away."
"It's a very practical spell."
"Yes, my family loves practical things that can make it possible to do or say terrible things without anyone knowing," she giggled mirthlessly. "Before we talk about what brings me here, perhaps you have a few questions for me? I understand if you feel uncomfortable sharing private things with someone you know nothing about."
On the contrary, she was not just anyone, she was Sirius's cousin, recommended by Sirius and not a Pureblood supremacist, he already thought she was trustworthy, but if he had the right to be curious then he was going to be curious.
He was curious as to how she was going to manage DNA testing without any ancestors to compare it to, he really wondered what kind of ability was needed for that.
"What do you do for a living? Something medical?"
He had understood that the category of scientist did not exist as such among wizards, you were a researcher in a category, like potions or metamorphosis, but it was not a category in and of itself that was particularly recognised.
Quite the opposite, in fact.
So she was probably some sort of doctor specialising in biology.
"I've got some basic knowledge but I'm not really a healer, no."
"What profession do you practise then?"
"I don't know if you can really call it work... well, I'm rich. I know, surprising, isn't it?" She laughed at the look on his face. "The thing is, I don't really need to work because I had personal resources before I was disowned by my family, and what's in your personal vault at Gringotts will stay there, no matter what anyone else wants, that's the advantage of Goblin for you. You'll see when you're older but I think the same situation will apply to you, your Potter predecessors made their fortunes in potion in particular."
"So you don't work at all?"
That was probably the Dursley's dream.
"I try to help Muggle-borns to get the jobs they want at the Ministry," she finally explained, looking down at the tea in the cup in her hands. "Since I was born into wizarding high society, I know all the tricks, so I teach those who don't have the codes to behave like Purebloods, talk like Purebloods and think like Purebloods so that they can progress in their careers."
"It shouldn't be necessary."
"Tell me, Harry, do you know how many Muggle-borns have become Minister for Magic?"
From the question alone, Harry could tell there were not many.
"I don't know, five?"
Since the 1700s that would be reasonable.
"Only one, Nobert Leach, from 1962 to 1968. And he fell mysteriously ill before the end of his term, if you know what I mean."
He could see very well.
"There's a reason the Purebloods can be so openly racist without fear of repercussions, they are the absolute masters of the wizarding society. To work towards overthrowing them, you have to do it from the inside by agreeing to play by their rules until you're strong enough to change them yourself."
"Let me guess, Slytherin?" He asked with amusement, as the way she spoke showed a deep reflection on how to rig the system through trickery and the manipulation of people's expectations.
"I'm unashamedly proud of that title. What's wrong with being ambitious and going all out for your goals? Slytherins are the most hard-working of all but also the most pragmatic, and that doesn't stop them from being brave, loyal and caring. Be careful not to judge others as harshly as they judge you, or you'll never be better than those you criticise if you pigeonhole them too according to what a hat said of them when they were eleven."
Well... she certainly had a way with words because Harry had rarely felt so ashamed in his entire life, especially considering he was talking about Slytherins of all people. She was right though, it was only logical. Saying Slytherin the way he did was not really any better than Malfoy saying Mudblood.
"I apologise."
"You're excused. Now, how about you tell me about your problem? Sirius didn't give any details apart from the fact that he thought I might be able to help you."
She seemed capable of taking a straightforward explanation, right?
"To put it simply, I'm a Parseltongue speaker and as it's not a typical Potter magic, I'd like to know if it comes from my mother who, we assume, was probably a descendant of Salazar Slytherin."
She froze, her mouth half open, her lips a few millimetres from her tea, and stood there staring at him.
"What did you just say?" She finally asked, putting down her cup without touching it.
"That I could be a descendant of-"
"Of course you would be, it would be the biggest joke of the century and your father loved tasteless jokes," she interrupted, already knowing that she had heard correctly. "Sweet magic... you Potters are far too dramatic."
Between one cousin in prison and the other disowned by her family, Harry seriously doubted he was the one with the most dramatic family, but hey, he was not going to judge.
"Can you help me?"
"I'll think of something. With a bit of creativity and an advanced education, anything's possible."
Harry smiled behind his ucp as she took out a notebook and began to write with a fountain pen that was almost unnatural in a witch's hands.
"Let's see..."
Chapter Text
Harry returned home feeling surprisingly exhausted. Andromeda had confused him, discussing her ideas in a manner that suggested she was attempting to explain them simply, yet he was unable to comprehend them. He was not so bad at casting spells, especially in Defense Against the Dark Arts, but theory? He was not wired for theory.
It was at times like these that he realized how far behind he was between what Ron considered obvious and what Hermione had studied. He was like a stranger to this world, even after three years. Being at Hogwarts, a place that was ultimately secluded and protected from the real life of the wizarding communities, did not really help him.
On the other hand, even if he tried, he did not feel he had much time to do more research on the wizarding world. Between his classical studies, Quidditch, and a different deadly danger each year, he was already busy enough without asking too many questions about the outside world. He really hoped that next year would be calmer.
He walked through the door of the Dursley house shortly before dinner time and decided to make the most of it. His mission was to collect some of his aunt's hair, since for obvious reasons he could not collect his mother's, and send it to Andromeda, who was going to pore over potion manuals to find something that perfectly suited what she had in mind.
"Potions are such fascinating things, you know?" She said cheerfully. "They can do anything, their versatility is a veritable goldmine of endless possibilities."
Harry globally agreed: he was not very good at it, and Snape was a terrible teacher, but the subject itself was quite exciting.
"What kind of potion could help us here?"
"A magical revelation potion. Do you know what that is?"
Harry did not know, although he could sort of guess from the name.
"They reveal the presence of an awakened magical core. Most wizards show signs of magic from early childhood, but sometimes these signs are weak, go unnoticed, or are simply not outward manifestations of magic such as divination. To ensure that the child is not a Squib, this type of potion was developed very quickly. They are very rarely used, but it still happens, especially among Purebloods."
"Why use my aunt's hair and not mine?"
"Because we already know you're a wizard, Harry. What we want to know is whether magic runs in your family, even among the non-magical members."
"But my aunt isn't a witch, so doesn't that mean she doesn't have a magical core anyway?"
"Not necessarily, although it is obviously a possibility. To explain in more detail: it is commonly accepted, even among Purebloods, that Squibs are not devoid of magic, they are just unable to access it. With this in mind, descendants of Purebloods through a Squib have a magical energy, and so it works. If she doesn't have one, then that means there is no witch ancestry and your mother is a true "Muggle-born", which will answer your question in any case."
"What if the results are inconclusive?"
"We'll look elsewhere. Now that I'm on it, I'm not going to stop until I find out."
He had hoped to go up to his room without being spotted when his aunt appeared in the kitchen doorway, frowning.
"Where were you? Mrs. Figgs saw you leave on a bus."
"In town, I just went for a walk, I needed some air."
"She saw you leaving with a woman!"
"We just enter the bus together, I didn't even know her," he sighed as he climbed the stairs. "Is that all?"
Since she did not say anything, he took that as a yes.
He had not realized she had seen him leave. Why was she meddling? Having been his – lousy – babysitter ten years ago did not give her the right to meddle in his affairs or get him in trouble with his family, who were just waiting for that!
Then, once in his room, he realized what his aunt had said. She had seen him leave by bus. By BUS?! It was not just any bus, it was the Knight Bus! How could she have seen it? Muggles normally could not see it!
He grabbed a piece of paper and immediately asked the question in his message to Andromeda: no need to put Sirius in danger by sending him unnecessary letters.
Dear Andromeda,
I just heard the most surprising thing when I got home: my neighbour, Mrs. Arabella Doreen Figgs, saw us get on the Knight Bus.
I don't understand, I thought only wizards could summon it and see it, was I wrong?
Thank you in advance,
Harry.
Waiting until everyone was downstairs having dinner without him, Harry slipped into his uncle and aunt's bedroom, invisibility cloak under his arm just in case, and rummaged around until he found a hairbrush from which he tried to retrieve several hairs without making it obvious to her if she came back and remembered she had not cleaned it. He slipped his find into an envelope, which he sealed very carefully, and waited until nightfall to open his window and hand her new mission to Hedwig.
"Be careful, you must deliver this intact to Andromeda Tonks."
With a quiet sound of approval that made Uncle Vernon grumble in his bedroom, the owl grabbed the letter and flew out the window. Harry watched her disappear into the distance, so excited that he knew he would have trouble sleeping.
He could not wait to get his reply.