Chapter 1
The cold air in the small English town was blowing over her scales as she silently slithered through the air on invisible strands of power. If anyone saw the massive serpent moving through the air like it was swimming in water, they didn’t notice or care as most were sleeping. Not many in the non-magical world could see her anyway as she moved through the night, using magic to stay in the air without needing to use a more cumbersome broom. The serpent was coiling in the air as she frowned before moving with lightning speed to avoid a flying motorcycle passing her by before it landed on the street below.
Of course, this wasn’t how her day even started at all. In fact, it had been a lot quieter a few days ago, when she arrived in the customs using a very powerful illusion that easily fooled the customs witch. Slithering into London before taking to the sky with a simple spell, making sure her disillusionment charm was still active as she moved her illusion self through the streets like everyone else. She had come back to Britain to visit the father of a friend of hers, Aberforth, before returning on her way to see the jungles of South America.
However, after getting an apartment with a balcony in the non-magical world, she had left to see what was going on in the magical world itself. She flew around before moving her illusion into the hidden alleyway that was Diagon Alley, moving through the shops and stores before leaving. She avoided any goblin run establishments due to their rather high end security, her preference being that of Dwarves of the Northern lands or of Naga run businesses of the Asian continents for keeping her money safe. She soon headed towards the highlands of Scotland to visit Aberforth, reapplying the warming charms across her body.
Being nearly twenty-eight feet in length and twice the size of a man’s thigh was rather annoying to Nagini, the former Maledictus using her tail tip as a surrogate wand. It didn’t help that as a magical witch turned serpent, wand usage was a rather big problem. So, she had learned to use her tail tip as a substitute. Thankfully, she didn’t have the problems other Maledictus had, which was loss of intelligence or magic in the case of witches. However, she had been too far along in her curse to be able to change back into a human.
She remembered who helped her find the man that cursed her mother for not becoming his mistress, Gellert Grindelwald had diverted his network to help her find the man before she forced him to remove the blood curse on her. However, the curse had been in her body for far too long and she would eventually get stuck as a human. There was very little room for a witch that was stuck in a serpent body, if you looked in places like Britain or England specifically. Places like the Magical communities of India accepted serpents as a part of their culture and even revered Parselmouths for their ability to communicate with the serpents.
Nagini flew in slow, lazy spirals over the quiet streets of Little Whinging, her forked tongue flicking out to taste the air. The night carried scents of damp pavement, chimney smoke, and the acrid tang of lingering magic. Below her, the streetlights bathed the tidy houses in a sterile orange glow, their warmth swallowed by the biting November air. The cold did not trouble her, not with the warming charms woven seamlessly into her scales, but she wondered how a human child would fare in such conditions.
Her dark eyes narrowed as she observed the figures gathered on the doorstep of Number Four, Privet Drive. Even at a distance, the presence of Albus Dumbledore was unmistakable—his aura, like a beacon, pulsed against the night. Beside him, a tabby cat shimmered and stretched into the form of Minerva McGonagall, her expression stern and disapproving. And then there was the half-giant, Hagrid, cradling a bundle of cloth against his chest as if it were the most delicate thing in the world.
Nagini’s body tightened midair as she watched Hagrid kneel, placing the bundle on the doorstep. Even from above, she could feel the faint hum of magic emanating from the child within. It was a curious thing, the power nestled in such a small body, raw and untamed. She watched as Dumbledore tucked a letter against the cloth, stepping back with the solemn air of a man who had just placed a burden too great upon shoulders too small.
For several moments, they lingered. Then, with quiet words exchanged, they left—McGonagall first, shifting back into feline form and disappearing into the darkness, followed by Dumbledore, who vanished with a near-silent crack. Hagrid took the longest to leave, his great shoulders trembling before he mounted the enchanted motorcycle and took off into the sky.
Nagini descended.
She moved without sound, the unnatural grace of a creature neither fully beast nor fully witch guiding her to the ground. The wind stirred as she landed, coils shifting over concrete, her head lowering to peer at the bundle. The child.
The boy’s scent was faint, but distinct. There was something of old magic in it, something not entirely unfamiliar. Nagini hesitated, tongue flickering. He smelled of fire and sorrow, of power unshaped. She brushed the cloth away with the tip of her nose, revealing a small, pale face framed by dark hair. A lightning bolt-shaped wound marred his forehead, the edges raw and angry. She could feel the lingering magic there—the echoes of a killing curse, the shattered remains of something else.
Something inside her twisted.
She had never cared for humans, not truly. Her former life had been taken from her by one, her existence reshaped by their cruelty. She had left Britain for that reason, had sought the places where beings like her—those trapped between worlds—could live without fear. And yet, here was this child, alone in the cold, abandoned on the doorstep of people who smelled of dust and stale contempt. She had passed over many orphans in her life, had ignored the pleas of the helpless. What was one more?
And yet…
Nagini shifted, her massive form curling protectively around the boy. He did not wake. He only shivered slightly in his sleep, his small hands clenching unconsciously at the air.
She saw herself in him.
Not as she was now, but as she had been—the girl abandoned to a curse, the girl left to suffer because no one had cared enough to save her in time.
A low hiss escaped her throat.
No.
She would not leave him.
With a flick of her tail, she wove the magic she had honed for years, unseen and unnoticed by the wizards who dismissed her kind. The air shimmered as the child lifted into the sky, weightless, cradled by an invisible force. She laced the warming charms through the air around him, ensuring the cold would not touch his fragile body. Then, without another moment’s hesitation, she took off.
She did not look back.
The houses of Little Whinging shrank beneath her, the neatly trimmed streets fading into darkness as she carried the boy beyond the town, beyond England itself. She flew swiftly, crossing the night sky like a whisper, her mind already turning to the question of where to go, how to keep him safe.
He would never know the name Potter…at least not yet, not until he was older.
He would never be left on a doorstep again.
He was hers now.
Nagini slipped soundlessly through the balcony doors of her small apartment, the wards around it parting briefly to allow her entrance. The air inside was warmer, carrying the faint scent of parchment, ink, and the lingering spices from a meal she had prepared days ago but never finished. The room was sparse, its furnishings chosen for practicality rather than comfort—a low table, a few cushions, and books stacked neatly in a corner. She had never needed much.
The child floated gently beside her, still cocooned in the warmth of her magic, his tiny chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. He had not stirred during the journey, his body exhausted from whatever strange magic had saved him. She eased him down onto a blanket she coiled around to form a makeshift nest, ensuring the warmth did not fade.
For a moment, she only watched him, her mind already racing ahead.
She could not stay here. The wizards of Britain would be looking for him soon, and though they would not think to search in the Muggle world immediately, it was only a matter of time before rumors spread. No, she needed to leave England entirely, and quickly. But where?
India would welcome her, but its magical communities were deeply intertwined. A new arrival with a child—especially one as magically powerful as this—would not go unnoticed. The naga clans would shelter her, but they would ask questions. Too many questions.
Southeast Asia, perhaps. The forests of Thailand or Vietnam, where magic wove through the land itself, ancient and untamed. There were temples hidden from the eyes of non-magical folk, places where serpents were revered, where the knowledge of Parseltongue was not feared but honored.
Yes. That would do.
But then there was the matter of the child himself.
Nagini slithered closer, lowering her head to peer at him. His face was peaceful now, slack with sleep, but she knew that would not last. Infants were fragile creatures, wholly dependent on others for survival. She had no hands to cradle him, no human voice to soothe him. How could she—trapped in this form—care for him properly?
She had seen human mothers in her travels, fussing over their young with a care she could not mimic. He would need food, warmth, comfort—all things she could provide in her own way, but never as easily as a human could.
Had she made a mistake?
Her coils tensed slightly at the thought, uncertainty creeping in where resolve had been.
Then, a small noise.
A soft murmur, followed by a faint wriggle.
Nagini stilled as the child’s tiny green eyes fluttered open, unfocused and dazed from sleep. He blinked at her, his mouth opening as if to cry—
And then he hissed.
A soft, wordless babble, no different from any other infant’s gurgling, but to her ears, it was unmistakable.
Parseltongue.
Nagini recoiled in shock, her mind struggling to process what she had just heard. The boy blinked again, his little face scrunching in confusion at her reaction, before he made the sound again—a string of meaningless syllables, yet clear as day in the language of serpents.
He was speaking. He was speaking to her.
She let out an instinctive, cautious hiss in return, a simple sound of acknowledgment. The child responded immediately, his tiny hands waving as if in excitement. He did not seem frightened by her, nor confused by the language that left his lips so naturally.
Understanding dawned on her slowly, like the first rays of morning light over the horizon.
She would never need to worry about miscommunication.
He could understand her.
A slow, unfamiliar warmth spread through her chest, something ancient and primal. Connection. Recognition.
She had taken him in on impulse, thinking only to prevent another soul from being abandoned as she had once been. But now, she realized, this was something far greater.
This boy—Harry—was hers in a way she had never expected.
And she would make sure he would never be alone again.
With renewed certainty, Nagini curled protectively around him, her mind already shifting to the preparations she would need to make. She would find food for him in the morning, gather supplies before leaving this place behind.
For now, though, she simply rested, listening to the quiet hissing of the child beside her.
Her son.
The early morning light filtered through the thin curtains of Nagini’s apartment, casting a pale glow over the small space. The warmth inside was a sharp contrast to the cold English air outside, but Nagini hardly noticed. Her focus was on the small bundle nestled within the crook of her coiled body.
Harry Potter—her son now, she reminded herself—was awake, his bright green eyes blinking up at her with curiosity. He had been remarkably quiet since waking, save for the occasional hissing babble that had fascinated her more than she cared to admit. He was a Parselmouth, a rarity even among wizards. That alone would make him a curiosity to those who knew what to look for.
He needed food. That was her first priority.
Using the tip of her tail, she levitated a bottle of milk she had retrieved from the Muggle shop nearby. Magic made the process easier, though she found the act strangely… grounding. She had never cared for another being in this way before. As he latched onto the bottle, drinking greedily, she watched him carefully. He was small, but strong. His magic thrummed beneath his skin, raw and untamed.
A powerful child.
And one she needed to keep far away from those who would seek to control him.
As he fed, she turned her attention to the maps and books she had gathered in preparation for their departure. Her gaze flickered over the pages, considering her options. Southeast Asia had been her first thought, a land filled with hidden temples and deep forests, but the more she thought about it, the less ideal it became. The jungles of Vietnam and Thailand were dangerous, not only because of the wildlife but because of the scars left by war. The land itself had suffered, soaked in blood and conflict. Magic there was unpredictable, wild and unstable.
No, it was too great a risk.
Her gaze drifted across the room, settling on a worn, dog-eared copy of The Jungle Book, left forgotten among the few books she had gathered over the years.
India.
The thought struck her with surprising clarity.
The jungles of India were vast and ancient, filled with magic older than Britain itself. The people there did not fear serpents the way Western wizards did. In some places, they were worshipped, revered as symbols of wisdom and power. She would not need to hide as much, would not need to strain herself maintaining an illusionary human form for long periods.
More than that, India was stable. The magical communities there were deeply rooted, their traditions strong. It was a place where she could disappear, where she could raise Harry away from prying eyes.
Yes. India was the right choice.
But the real question was how to get there.
The British Ministry of Magic would soon realize that the boy was missing. The ICW (International Confederation of Wizards) might even get involved once they realized it was no ordinary kidnapping. They would be searching, watching for any sign of him. Traveling by magical means was risky—portkeys, apparition, or international floo travel would all leave traces. The Muggle world, however, might offer safer alternatives.
A ship, perhaps. It would take longer, but it was discreet. Airports were too tightly monitored, even in the Muggle world. But the sea… the sea was vast, and wizards rarely paid attention to Muggle shipping routes.
Yes. That would do.
She would secure passage on a vessel heading east, hiding in the cargo hold, keeping Harry close. It would be difficult, but it was safer than leaving magical traces behind.
As she coiled protectively around Harry, she felt a sense of determination settle over her.
They would leave soon.
And once they reached India, she would make sure that no one—not Dumbledore, not the Ministry, not the remnants of Voldemort’s followers—would ever take him from her.