First Bite

Harry James Potter, no, Hadrian Nalin Iacomus Potter-Black, had experienced a lot of strange things in his life, but he decided that this day actually had to be the strangest, and in many ways, the most terrifying too. He sat beside Dudley in the car towards London, where Aunt Petunia, no, Aunt Cassia, had told them they would be harder to find if anyone should come looking. Dudley was playing on his Game Boy and not even trying to bother Harry. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Cassia were talking in low voices. Discussing where to stop to buy clothes for Harry and if they should try to find an optometrist right now or wait until they knew where they would live for the next week.

That was why this was the most terrifying situation Harry had ever been in. Even more terrifying than the fight with the Basilisk not even three weeks ago, and he still had nightmares every night about that. They were acting like they cared, or at the very least didn’t hate him anymore. They were acting like he thought they might if they maybe, maybe would like him or even … even consider him family. And he had thought he had given up on that years ago. That was the dream of a small child, and Harry hadn’t felt like a child for a very long time.

Aunt Cassia had told him about Mum when he asked, and she had mentioned both Mum and Dad several times without cursing them out or telling him they were good-for-nothing drunks. She had called him dear, and she hadn’t grimaced when she said it or anything. Uncle Vernon had helped him place his broom carefully in the car boot and made sure the bristles wouldn’t be broken or bent when he closed the lid. And he hadn’t looked angry or disgusted at all, even if he was touching something magical. Dudley said he was sorry almost every time he looked at Harry, and Dudley was suddenly smart! Harry couldn’t really believe it, but the question about when and where the curse was placed, that was Hermione level smart. Or at the very least Ron level strategic thinking. Something completely unexpected.

It was hard not wanting to believe it, truly believe that there had been a curse that had changed all the Dursley’s and that he from now on actually would have a family who cared. Or at the very least someone who fed him properly and made sure he had proper clothes and wouldn’t lock him in his room or make him sleep in a cupboard. He might have a family.

But, on the other hand, it was even harder to not actually believe it. Because everything had really changed from the moment when he … when he had smelled that incredible smell and found himself with Aunt Cassia’s bleeding finger in his mouth. The taste of it, the feel of it, the strength of it. He felt so much better now, so much warmer, healthier, and stronger. There had been no pain since he had tasted Aunt Cassia’s blood. No pain at all. He felt like he thought he should feel. He hadn’t given much thought to the … to the blood drinking. He was afraid that he would panic if he did, and Aunt Cassia had told him that there was nothing to worry about and that they would figure it out. She would help him. He didn’t know what to do, anyway, so he just hoped, hoped with everything in him that she was right, that she truly would help him and not suddenly turn against him again.

At first, he had thought that maybe the Dursley’s were playing a disgusting prank on him, but after Aunt Cassia’s fit where she cried so hard and then threw up, she had been different. Really, really different. She was actually the same, but also not. Her voice was different, the words she used was different, her face seemed younger, kinder somehow. And she looked at him precisely as she had always looked at Dudley, with adoration and pride. When she didn’t look like she wanted to cry, that was. She moved differently, less stiff, and often quicker, and she had chosen to wear clothes that Harry never had seen her in before. The black dress should have been severe on her, but it suited her new personality. It didn’t make her seem older or harsher, but younger, wilder and kinder. But that impression might also stem from the fact that Harry had seen her smile more the last two hours than he had ever seen her smile around him before, even if it was a bit tight. He could understand that, though, if she really had been cursed to be someone else for so many years. That sounded frightening. Hermione had assured him that spells that could change someone completely really existed, even if she couldn’t tell him how that actually worked. She would look it up and tell him about it later.

Aunt Cassia had asked him to send Hedwig to a friend while they weren’t home and even gave him money to send with Hedwig to pay for food and for the help with looking after his owl. He had sent Hedwig to Hermione, because he could call Hermione and ask her to send Hedwig back when it was safe. If he sent her to Ron, he wouldn’t see her before school began, and he didn’t want that if it wasn’t necessary.

So, yeah, suddenly Aunt Petunia was Aunt Cassia, or even Aunt Cass. He might try Aunt Cass later if nothing changed, he liked the sound of it. And everything, everything had changed. He might have a family, he might be cared for, he might get a true home, that wasn’t Hogwarts. He might … maybe, maybe …

And he hoped, hoped with everything in him that they wouldn’t turn around and change again. Change back to hating him, screaming at him, beating him, starving him and locking him up. If they did … Well, he had told Dudley that he wouldn’t let the curse have him again, that he would bite them all to stop the curse. He would. He would bite them all again, and again, and again, if that was what it took to keep this … this hope, this dream, of family and home. No matter how many times they beat him or how much they screamed at him. He would not let the curse have them; have his hope of family.

Aunt Cassia had smiled at him and called him dear, not scowled and shrieked that he was a freak. Uncle Vernon had taken his bag to carry down the stairs and to the car without grumbling and he had been careful with Harry’s precious broom. Just the day before Uncle Vernon would have demanded that Harry carry all of their bags without help and in one trip. Dudley had handed over a bottle of water and a chocolate bar at the beginning of the trip, as if he always made sure Harry had snacks at hand when they went on a longer car trip.

Then they stopped outside a shopping mall and the madness truly began. Harry had never shopped for himself in his life, except that one short shopping spree with Hagrid, and that had only been the absolute necessities. Hagrid had refused to let him buy anything that wasn’t on the school list. Not even a few sets of underwear or socks at Madam Malkins.

Now Aunt Cassia led them inside the mall, told Uncle Vernon and Dudley what kind of clothes Harry needed and his approximate size, and led Harry to the shoe section where she told him to pick out a pair of sneakers and a pair of nicer black shoes, either Oxford, Brogue or Loafers she said. Not that Harry had known the difference before she pointed it out to him. Aunt Cassia told him that he would have to come with her to the bank, and it was better to dress nice than not, when speaking to banking people. She looked at him in a way that told him that she was talking about Gringotts’ and not the bank Uncle Vernon used.

He really, really hoped that Aunt Cassia had changed and that she wouldn’t take away all his money for school when she found out that he had it. But it wasn’t actually much he could do about it now. She was his guardian and now that she suddenly didn’t mind going into the magical world, Harry could only hope for the best.

Harry chose a pair of black sneakers and tried to tell Aunt Cassia that it was enough, they would surely go with nicer clothes too and they shouldn’t use so much money on him. He thought that best, just in case they got irritated with him later. Aunt Cassia had held up the pair of black Oxford’s with a nice pattern on the front and the black Loafers, the pairs that had fit him best, and told him to choose. He needed them and he wouldn’t leave without one pair at least, but he could have both if he couldn’t decide. Later he would get winter boots, probably at least one more pair of sneakers and rain boots, too. He looked at her, swallowed and pointed at the Oxford’s, he liked the pattern.

Then they met Dudley and Vernon and a woman who worked at the mall, by the changing rooms and Harry was told to try on and pick out clothes he would like for everyday use, and nicer clothes for bank visits and parties, and jackets and coats and sleep wear and slippers and underwear and socks. He tried to say that two pair of trousers were enough, and Aunt Cassia told him that two pairs of slacks were, but he needed everyday trousers too. He tried to say that three T-shirts were enough, but Aunt Cassia told him that he wouldn’t have any less than seven, and two with long sleeves.

Harry could see the pattern and gave up then. If the curse got them again and he for some reason couldn’t save them, he might be badly beaten for taking so much of their money, but he didn’t know how to stop it either. So, he gave up and stopped trying to resist, and just made the best choices that he could. Even if he didn’t really know what he liked. That had never mattered before, so he had never given it much thought. He went with what Aunt Cassia, Uncle Vernon, Dudley and the shop lady said looked good on him. Most of the times he agreed, but when the shop lady told him he looked good in a brown sweater that hung on him much the same way as Dudley’s cast’s off and he grimaced before he said that he would take it, Aunt Cassia told him that that colour brown didn’t really suit his warm brown skin and maybe he should try another sweater instead? He had liked the deep blue cardigan she had handed him next much better.

In the end, while Uncle Vernon paid for it all, Aunt Cassia had told him that it was a good start on his wardrobe, but not really even half of what he should have. Which Harry took to mean that he needed even more Muggle clothes in addition to wizarding clothes. Just the thought made him feel somewhat exhausted.

He left the mall dressed in black jeans, a deep green pullover with a black T-shirt underneath and black sneakers. He even had new underwear and socks on. He had never ever had so many new clothes on, certainly not at the same time. It felt strange and strangely good, these new clothes. His new clothes. No one had worn them before, and they fit him, and he had a lot of nice colours. Dudley had shown him a lot of different T-shirts with superheroes on them, but he liked the simpler, single-coloured shirts better. And they were all his.

All of them carried bags with his new clothes. Dudley had his two sets of summer pyjamas, his underwear, socks and blue indoor slippers. Dudley had also gotten his own set of sleep clothes and a package of socks, both with some cartoon superhero on them, because he had forgotten to pack his own. Harry didn’t know if he actually had forgotten or if he fibbed to get something new too, but either way, it was a far cry from the tantrums he had thrown to get his way in the past. If it was a fib, then it was positively Slytherin.

Uncle Vernon had Harry’s nice shoes, his black suit jacket, his two pairs of slacks, one black and one dark grey. And his four button down shirts, one black, one white, one deep green and one light grey, and the three ties Uncle Vernon had insisted that he choose, too. One deep green, one deep purple, almost black, and one in a shiny black. Uncle Vernon told Harry that he could find more fun and silly ties later, but that now it was best to get the basics so that he had that in order. Harry had only nodded numbly, three ties that wasn’t for school was two ties more than he had ever believed he would need.

Aunt Cassia had Harry’s everyday trousers, one pair of khakis, one pair of blue jeans and another pair of black jeans, in addition to what he wore. He had liked the black jeans better than the blue and he had never been allowed to choose the colour of his clothes before, so he had chosen black. She also had all his T-shirts, nine in total, two black and two white and the rest in different colours. He had chosen one of the cartoon superhero T-shirts that Dudley had shown him and proclaimed to be wicked. Harry didn’t know anything about that, but Dudley had promised to show him a magazine with the hero in, later. Harry had mostly chosen it to have something to talk about with Dudley and because he knew that this was something boys his age often liked, and he would like to try. Aunt Cassia also had his long-sleeved T-shirts, sweaters, the nicer coat that reached his knees and his everyday jacket.

Harry himself carried what seemed like a ton of toiletries that Aunt Cassia had told him were necessary. Not only did he have a new toothbrush, toothpaste, dental floss, nail clippers and a nailfile, hairbrush, comb and a small handheld mirror, but also his own shampoo, conditioner and soap that he had chosen himself and liked the smell of. Aunt Cassia also told him to pick a deodorant and get used to using it daily. He had reached an age where that was necessary. Everything had fit into his new toiletry bag in brown leather. Aunt Cassia had told him that they would buy him a suitcase or bag at a later date, because she knew that everything wouldn’t fit into the bag he had borrowed from her. 

In addition to all that, Aunt Cassia and Uncle Vernon had given Dudley and Harry ten minutes in a book and game store to pick out three things each to entertain them, as their sudden departure from home had made it hard to bring anything extra. Even if Dudley had managed to bring his Game Boy and Harry had his schoolbooks. Harry had chosen A Wrinkle in Time and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, both books that Hermione had mentioned. He hadn’t read a novel in years, as the Hogwarts library didn’t have any and he didn’t own any himself. The books that Dudley had gotten and didn’t want, he destroyed, so they hadn’t been tossed into his trash room with Harry.   

Then he went to the shelves with games, with Aunt Cassia right behind him, because she refused to let him out of her sight for even a minute. Uncle Vernon followed Dudley around. Harry found it strangely reassuring, while also being irritating at the same time. He looked at all the games before he slowly took the game Operation down from the shelf, read about in on the back of the box and looked up at Aunt Cassia who nodded.

“Good choice, Harry. Lily and I played that when we were children. She almost always won, she had very steady hands.”

Harry gave her a small smile. He thought he could really come to like this version of his aunt. The one who let small titbits of his parents, especially his Mum, fall all the time. He had learned more of his Mum during the last four hours than he had in the last twelve years of his life, including his two years in the magical world.

They met Uncle Vernon and Dudley by the check out. Dudley had chosen a boardgame too, Pizza Party, a cartoon book Harry knew nothing about, and a book Harry knew had magic in it, Narnia. He looked up at Uncle Vernon, but the man looked calm, certainly not red-in-the-face-furious.

While they stood in the queue to pay, Harry spotted a shelf with drawing supplies on it and he thought back to the long days in the cupboard, drawing on scraps of paper and receipts with stubs of Dudley’s broken crayons. There had been little else to do and even if he sometimes found old magazines and newspapers that he brought into the cupboard to read to make the time go by, he had to read by the light of the open grate in the door, and that made his head hurt after a while. It had been easier on his eyes to draw, and he had really liked it. Dean, who he shared a dorm with, often drew and Harry had tried too, but he only had his quills and ink to draw with and it was already hard to write on parchment, it was much harder to draw.

He considered his books and game and the chance that he would be allowed to swap out one book and the game for a pad of paper and a small box of coloured pencils. Surely that would be cheaper than the book and game? Would Aunt Cassia be irritated by him changing his mind? Disappointed that he wouldn’t want the game she and her sister had played? If he could swap out one book for the pencils, maybe he could draw on receipts again?

“I can practically hear you thinking, Harry,” Aunt Cassia said in a low voice, but when he looked up at her, she smiled. “What are you thinking so hard about?”

“I would like to try to draw, Aunt Cassia,” he whispered and wasn’t able to look at her in case she got angry. “Could I please change my choices?”

“What about this, I will buy some simple drawing supplies that you can both share now, and if you find that you really like drawing, I will get you some more professional supplies as a late present?”

“Present?” Harry looked at her, shocked. He had gotten an entire wardrobe and now he was getting books and a game and to share drawing supplies with Dudley, and she mentioned more supplies later! And it would be a present? For him? “Late present?”

Aunt Cassia bent down a little to whisper in his ear. “I do owe my favourite nephew years of Christmas and birthday presents. I will have to make a list to make sure you get it all. So yes, Harry, a late present.”

He stared at her, and she nodded at the drawing supplies and raised an eyebrow. He nodded vigorously, almost without thinking, and she smiled before getting a pad of paper, a colouring book with animals in it and a big box of coloured pencils. Much more than he would have dared choose for himself. Then she looked from the supplies to him.

“Harry, how is your penmanship?”

“Umm …” he swallowed.

“I’m asking because Lily came home that first Christmas almost heartbroken because the professors had marked her down on her essays and exams because she was unable to write as nice and clear as they felt she should. Lily had practised for months before she went to the school and she promised our parents that she had continued to do so at school, but that it was so hard to do, and it didn’t get any better no matter what she did.

“When the same happened the following summer Dad sent a letter to the school and told them that their job was to teach and that they very well should teach those new to their world to write correctly before punishing them for not being able to. The letter he got back told him that it was their job as parents to make sure that their child was ready and able to learn properly. That led to a very long discussion about taking Lily out of Hogwarts, as it was obvious the professors didn’t really care about her education. In the end she went back and completed her education there, but none of us ever forgot the professors’ cavalier attitude to the obvious problem that more children than Lily had.

“So, are you being marked down for your penmanship or has someone actually cared enough to teach you what it took Lily three years to learn?”

“Umm,” Harry said again before he whispered: “No one have taught me anything like that, and … and I’m probably being marked down.”

He knew he was. Both Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall was continuously complaining about his penmanship in the essays he wrote in their classes, the other professors didn’t, not anymore. He was pretty sure they were still marking him down for it, though.

“Idiots,” Aunt Cassia growled. “Then we will do as Lily did …”

Uncle Vernon touched her arm and said in a very low voice “Cass, one thing at a time now. The most important thing now is to make sure we are all safe and healthy. Everything else have to wait.”

“His education is important, and the idiots at that school still don’t care at all! I know what we need, Vernon, it will only take me a moment to find it.” And she was gone amongst the shelves, but back again before it was their time to pay. After Uncle Vernon had paid for it all and given the bag to Harry who eagerly had waited to carry it, Aunt Cassia walked beside Harry and told him:

“I found two fountain pens for you. You can still mess it up while writing with them, but they are a lot easier to write with than quills because you don’t have to use ink bottles. I also found a calligraphy book so you can practice your penmanship with the fountain pen. I highly recommend that you use the summer to do so. I also bought a big package of ballpoint pens and several notebooks. The professors might refuse to accept essays on anything but parchment, but there is nothing in the School Charter that states that you can’t take notes however you want. Believe me, Lily checked, and she had several rows with the professors. Up to and including the Board of Governors. They cannot make a fuss about you using ballpoint pens or notebooks to take personal notes, neither can they deny you the use of a fountain pen to write your essays or exams. If they try, tell them your mother already fought that fight and that your aunt happily will do it again in her name.”

Harry felt himself staring at his aunt, almost in shock. He wasn’t an idiot for not being able to write properly with a quill, despite his professors degrading notations and disappointed looks? His mother had had the same problem and she had found a solution Harry himself could use? His mother, who had ended up becoming Prefect and Head Girl and who had had almost perfect scores on both her O.W.L’s and her N.E.W.T’s, had had difficulties with writing with a quill?

Then they reached the car, Uncle Vernon loaded all of Harry’s new stuff into the boot and they were off again.

They were almost at the hotel that Aunt Cassia and Uncle Vernon had decided to use, when Dudley again showed that he was a lot smarter than the curse had let him be.

“Who would want to hurt you, Harry, do you know?” Dudley asked quietly.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, confused.

“The curse made all of us be really mean to you, and that’s the only thing that everyone did. For instance, Dad became louder, Mom became a gossip, and I became really bloody stupid, and I don’t think any of us really are any of those things. But what we all have in common is that we were all mean to you. So, who would want to hurt you?”

“Umm. I mean … a lot of people…?” Harry thought about Voldemort, the Death Eaters and Lucius Malfoy who had tried to kill him just some weeks ago.

“What do you mean?!” Aunt Cassia turned around in her seat to look at him, her blue eyes big and frantic. “Who do you know that would like to hurt a child?”

“Voldemort and the Death Eaters for one,” Harry whispered and shrank back from her intense gaze. “Because I stopped Voldemort and the war.”

“What?” Aunt Cassia said while Uncle Vernon parked by the hotel. None of them moved to get out, instead both adults turned towards him. They didn’t seem angry, Harry thought, not really. Or not at him at least, just confused.

“Who says you stopped the war? You were a baby!” she asked.

“I mean … everyone? Everyone says that. I survived the Killing Curse when no one else ever have done so, and Voldemort disappeared after casting that curse on me. I’m called … They call me … the Boy-Who-Lived and the Wizarding Worlds Saviour and … and other stuff. When they don’t call me evil and the next Dark Lord,” he added the last bit in a whisper he didn’t think any of them heard. 

Dudley was staring open mouthed. The adults weren’t much better.

Then Aunt Cassia snorted and began to laugh.

“Oh, my … oh my! Such bloody tripe!” she laughed and put a hand over her mouth to stifle the sound, but continued to laugh until Harry could see tears in her eyes and she sobbed twice before stopping abruptly with a strange look in her eyes. She gave a heavy sigh and looked at Harry.

“I’m sorry that your whole world is being turned on its head today, and if not for the consequences that I suspect follow such labels, I would let this slide for now, but … Harry, you did not stop the megalomaniac idiot. Your parents did. I know this for a fact because Lily told me all about the ritual they were going to set up to make sure that you would survive, even if they did not. The first 24 hours after their death, you would be close to invulnerable, because of the ritual that used their lives as a power source. After that you would be more or less a normal boy again, but with some extra protections grounded in myself and a ward stone that Lily and I buried in our garden. Lily told me that it was Blood Magic, and thus seen as Dark Magic and banned here in Britain. But it wasn’t evil, not at all, and it wouldn’t do anything to you. She made very certain of that. You might be the Boy-Who-Lived, but that is because of your parents, Harry, and nothing else. You were a baby and did nothing to make it happen. Do you understand me?”

Harry nodded slowly. He had always thought it was weird that people thought he stopped the monster that had killed so many adult witches and wizards, when he was a baby. But he didn’t know what had happened, as he didn’t remember anything, so he couldn’t actually tell people they were wrong. Well, now he could. Because Aunt Cassia had told him she knew what had happened. And her story made a lot more sense than him managing to do anything to that monster. He wondered if that protection she had mentioned was the same Dumbledore had told him about. The protection that had made Quirrell’s face burn and melt when he had put his hands on him. He hurriedly thought about something else than that night, the fear and pain and horror. The stink of burnt flesh. The bubbling feeling under his palms. The screams … The nightmares had lasted for months.

“Alright, then I want to know why someone thinks you would become the next Dark Lord,” Aunt Cassia said. “Because, again, you are a child and no one should even think such thoughts about any child.”

He hesitated, wondering if this was the thing that would be too much and turn them against him. Curse or no curse.

“Harry?” Aunt Cassia asked. “You don’t have to tell us now, but I very much would like to know at some point, so I can put a stop to it.”

“I can speak Parseltongue,” he whispered, hunching is shoulders. “I can speak to snakes." Because Voldemort had left a piece of himself behind in Harry, the day he vanished.

Uncle Vernon snorted. “Of course you can. I don’t know how many times I had to convince you to let the small garden snakes stay outside when you visited us for the day. You and they made fast friends, every single time. I can’t know for certain, but I think you became fluent in Parseltongue before you properly learned English.”

“What?” Harry stared at his uncle. “I could speak with snakes before … before Voldemort?”

“Parseltongue is an inherited trait, darling,” Aunt Cassia said in a soft voice. “There has been many in your father’s family who have spoken it. Charlus, your grandfather, told me that he had both an aunt and two cousins who could Speak. Those he knew for certain, but he guessed that there probably was at least half a dozen more. The Potters have always had Parseltongue, they are known for it in India. Known and revered. I’m certain that Charlus and Dorea would be so proud if they had known that you have inherited the trait. They died just a few weeks before you were born. I know that Parseltongue is feared and hated here in Britain, but that is only here, Harry. Most other countries welcome Parselmouths with open arms, and lots of job opportunities.”

“Really, so I’m not evil for speaking to snakes?”

“No, you are absolutely not evil for speaking to snakes, or for anything else. You are a child. Children can be mean, but not evil. They just need to be taught better.”

“And … and it has nothing to do with Voldemort, because he could speak to snakes too?”

“No, Voldemort has gotten his Parseltongue from a completely different family than you. You share the talent, but that is all.”

“Dumbledore said that Voldemort left a piece of himself behind in me that night my parents died, and that’s why I can speak to snakes. That that was why I could hear the basilisk and open the Chamber of Secrets,” the last sentence he whispered, more to himself that to anyone else. It had bothered him since Dumbledore had told him about it. It had bothered him a lot. He didn’t want anything from that monster who had taken his parents. Harry felt that he already was too much like him, he didn’t want to have gotten anything from him. Accident or not.

There was a sharp gasp, but when he looked up at Aunt Cassia, she had gone white in the face, closed her eyes and clutched at Uncle Vernon’s hand so hard that his fingers were red. No one said anything before she slowly opened her eyes that were shining with something Harry suspected and feared were tears.

“Dumbledore did not know Lily and James nearly as well as he think he did, Harry,” she said in a small, hoarse voice before it became stronger. “Also, he has no right to tell you such things, even if he thought they were the truth. He is your Headmaster, nothing more. If he thought that something like that had happened, he should have contacted me and let me deal with it. Not spoken to you directly. He has no right to do such a thing. In this case I would most likely not have reacted well at all, that is true, but he still shouldn’t have told you without your guardian’s knowledge and presence. That is against the School Charter and strictly speaking, against the law. He is not allowed to make any decisions about your life, outside of discipline at school. Not even to inform you of anything that isn’t school related.

“As I said, he is your Headmaster and the only, the only, thing he should ever talk to you about, is your schooling, Harry. For anything else, he should talk to me. That he hasn’t even tried to talk to me is … worrying, to tell you the truth. Before today I would have been a rabid harpy about it, but he couldn’t possibly know that …” She looked away and then at Harry again. “For later, please remember, Headmasters do generally not speak to their students about anything other than school. Ask your friends and other people in your House and other Houses too, they will most likely tell you that Dumbledore have only spoken to them about schooling, if at all. He should not single you out so.”

“If Dudley had told us something similar, we would have gone directly to the Board of Governors,” Uncle Vernon stated in a low, but serious voice. “And if the Headmaster hadn’t changed his ways after that, we wouldn’t have hesitated with suing him and the school. That is how serious this is, Harry. A few words of greeting in the hallways are alright, of course, but outside of that a Headmaster should let the professors and Head of Houses deal with the students. And for anything not directly concerning a student’s schooling, a guardian is supposed to be present, by British law.”

Harry swallowed hard. They made it sound so very serious. He hadn’t considered it serious before now. But if Dumbledore hadn’t talked to him alone and believed he knew the whole truth of Harry’s Parseltongue abilities, Harry wouldn’t have worried about it for the last several weeks. So, he could certainly see their point.

“As for your comment on a basilisk at the school …” Aunt Cassia said, “we will speak about that later, Harry, right before I storm the bloody Ministry to sue that damn school and everyone else for child endangerment!” she hissed in outrage, gave him a forced smile and turned around in her seat.

Harry sat frozen in his seat. So much had happened so fast. So much information. So many new things. So much to think about.

Dumbledore had been wrong about Harry’s ability to speak to snakes. He had inherited Parseltongue from his father’s family, and it wasn’t considered evil other places in the world.

Dumbledore had been wrong when he talked to Harry about it. It wouldn’t have gone well if he had tried to speak to Aunt Cassia when she was still Aunt Petunia, but he should not have talked to Harry about it at all. Dumbledore had broken the law when he did.

“I think I remember …” Aunt Cassia suddenly said. “I remember vaguely something about that Boy-Who-Lived tripe. It’s hazy, but I was angry, no, I was utterly furious, because they put that on a child. Because they dared put my nephew on a pedestal when he had just lost his parents and was grieving. I was shouting at someone, at some point … I don’t remember … Maybe I will remember more in time.” She gave a small sigh. “What about you, Vernon?”

“No, I’m sorry dear, this appears completely new to me. But you would have been more involved, anyway, even if it sounds horrific to me, too.”

Aunt Cassia nodded and looked over her shoulder again.

“Alright, boys, let’s check in at the hotel, have some tea and talk through our plans, and then Harry and I will go to Gringotts and see what they can help us with.”

Harry left his Nimbus in the boot, under a blanket, but the three others, his relatives who might actually become his family, helped him get everything else, all his new stuff, into the hotel. No one even complained that they had to carry his things.

“I think it’s so cool that you can speak to snakes,” Dudley whispered before they reached the hotel doors. “You should get one. Just think about talking to your pet for real.”

“I don’t know if Hedwig would like that,” Harry admitted, while thinking that he actually would like a snake for a pet. He had liked talking to the ones in the garden while he had done the gardening. The basilisk had been extremely scary and dangerous, but even then, he had thought it magnificent, and he still beat himself up inside because he hadn’t realised that it was a snake he had heard in the walls. He should have realised it as soon as he heard the hissing, but Parseltongue really sounded like English to him. “Maybe she would try to eat it, or maybe it would try to eat her. Also, I’m only allowed an owl or a cat or a toad.”

“That’s not the same as not being allowed to have a snake,” Dudley pointed out. “You are just not allowed to have both a cat and an owl.”

He had a point, and yet again he showed that he was both smart and cunning. It was confusing after years where he had dealt with a boy who struggled with grasping the simplest concepts or get acceptable grades.

While Aunt Cassia was checking them in, Harry realised that he hadn’t really been able to answer Dudley’s question about who would have wanted to hurt Harry by cursing his relatives into hating him. What troubled him the most about that, was that, according to Dumbledore, no one should even know that he lived with his relatives, much less who those relatives were or where they lived.