The Letter
Mrs. Cole came back the next morning.
Days passed after the Sister Mary spectacle, and the orphanage fell back into routine. Harry and Tom turned 10 together and moved back into their original room. At 11, they started secondary school, or what was the first public school they had ever attended.
Over the years, they also developed a taste in genre, something that had never been allowed before. Harry loved history books—books of Chinese dynasties and Vikings and foreign worlds. Tom on the other hand, focused on philosophy and politics. He had never actually returned The Prince and instead had recently added The Art of War and Nichomachean Ethics, books that Harry had read but had found more disturbing than anything. But then again, this was coming from the Harry that had reread The History of the French Revolution a minimum of five times, enough to worry the school librarian that he wasn't actually digesting the advanced material.
With their daily lessons, his magic, as well as Tom's, had progressed far more than he had anticipated. They levitated and manipulated and banished objects with ease, finding difficulty with only the most tedious magics—those that involved altering humans. Illusions and sensory blocks were terrible to perform and usually went haywire if attempted—Tom had learned that the hard way.
Likewise, Harry continued to find himself victim to accidental bursts of magic. He tumbled into tables, set things on fire, exploded pillows, and vanished to the roof. Both he and Tom were becoming extremely used to these fits, however, and more annoyed than surprised when they occurred. Tom, curiously, seemed to be able to feel when they would occur, usually helping to mitigate the damage by extinguishing flames and mending broken furniture.
As the years passed, Tom hit a growth spurt, standing at 5'8" and not stopping anytime soon. For a year, Tom was a good 5 inches taller, much to Harry's dismay. Fortunately, Harry experienced a growth spurt before he almost died of annoyance, shooting up to only an inch shorter.
Harry also noticed that Tom, after the scare he had experienced of losing Harry, was slowly but surely coming to terms with the new concept of showing affection. On the outside, his façade of indifference and elitism didn't fade, but when he and Harry were alone...that was a different story.
It began with the wrist holding, an odd mimicry of holding hands that Harry ultimately noticed served the same purpose for Tom—comfort. Almost as though Tom was afraid that Harry would disappear, he gripped Harry's wrists constantly. Eating dinner, Tom would unconsciously wrap his fingers around his skin; while practicing magic; while reading. Tom didn't seem to notice, but Harry certainly did, and it filled him with the unfamiliar warmth of being needed.
Eventually, Tom began to administer soft touches to his waist as he guided Harry away from chaos. And then he would thread his fingers though Harry's hair as they read. Before Harry's eyes, Tom opened himself up and allowed Harry to reside within a part of him never before seen.
They devoured books together, but it was no more a facsimile of friendship like before. Now, they sought each other out for comfort, climbing onto one of their beds and leaning on each other as they read. Sometimes Tom against the headboard with Harry's legs sprawled across his lap, other times laying side by side.
And Harry was the happiest that he had ever been.
On the morning of Harry's 16th birthday, Harry awoke to a soft rapping on the bedroom window. He froze as he sat up in bed, watching as a large tawny owl pecked at the windowpanes of their bedroom. Harry looked to the bed across from him, finding Tom in an equal state of bewilderment, already awake and mid-page a thick tome.
Harry curiously moved to the window and tentatively opened it. The owl stuck its leg out obviously, and Harry looked back and forth between its eyes and the letters in its claws before undoing the twine and receiving the messages.
Two letters sat in his hands, both sealed with wax and labeled with their names in a calligraphic font. Tom came over and read the front of the envelopes over his shoulder.
“Hadrian?” Tom inquired, the hints of a mocking smile at his lips.
“Marvolo?” Harry turned and smirked back.
They opened their respective letters and for a short moment, the room was silent as their eyes quickly scanned over the written words once, and then twice, and then three times.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Armando Dippet
Dear Mr. Hadrian James Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
Harry looked up at the same time as Tom and their eyes met, scanning each other’s expressions to growing grins.
“Magic school?” Harry asked.
“Magic school,” Tom affirmed, and turned back to the window after scrawling something in his neat penmanship on a blank sheet. “You can take this back as an RSVP,” He told the owl. It bobbed its head down and flew out the window, a new piece of paper in its claws.
"Honestly grates my nerves though," Harry said, frowning. "Because," He stopped then, knowing that elaboration wasn't necessary. Tom tacitly understood, anyways.
Tom nodded and surprisingly filled in. "There's a magic school, which implies a magic world, which we've been secluded from while we deteriorated in an orphanage,"
"And then an invitation nonchalantly arrives on our doorstep, as if nothing is out of the ordinary."
"We know, at least, where the magical community stands on taking care of their own," Tom said, eyes narrowing.
Harry huffed a sigh and glanced back down over the attached supplied list. “Anyways, where exactly do you suggest we find these materials?” Harry asked. The materials ranged from dragon hide gloves to cauldrons.
Tom looked down to his list and frowned. “Attentive, Harry. I couldn't tell you,"
A sharp rap on the door sounded then, and Mrs. Cole's voice called: "Tom, Harry. You have a visitor."
She ushered in a tall, wizardly old man dressed in the atrocious combination of a lavender trench coat and an assortment of other unmentionable colors and patterns before closing the door. Harry very nearly choked on his spit as he saw the man enter the room and took to coughing his lungs out instead.
Tom fared a little better, fighting through a hitch in his breathing to smooth over his expression.
"Can I help you?" Tom asked smoothly, sliding the letter onto the bed and standing politely.
The man, who's floor-length beard Harry had to avoid looking at lest he cry, smiled rather intensely when he saw the two of them. "Hello Tom, Harry," He nodded at the two of them in turn, eyes glittering with something that Harry could not decipher between malice and goodwill.
Tom seemed to have encountered the same problem, as he repeated, "Can I help you?"
The man's smile intensified, and he waved a hand, erecting what Harry felt as a sound barrier but was invisible in every other sense.
"My name is Professor Dumbledore, and I teach at a certain school, a school that I've come to invite you to," He said kindly. When neither of them responded, he continued, "You may have gotten the letter today, to Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?" How convenient…
Harry started vibrating with excitement but concealed it at Tom's quick glance.
"You can do magic?" Tom asked, and Harry tacitly understood what move Tom had chosen to take. In the face of the unknown, Tom had decided to play the ignorant. They had both noticed the barrier that the man had erected, but the man didn't know that they knew.
"And so can you," The professor replied. "You can do things, things that other children can't."
"I accidentally set things on fire," Tom fed into the professor's narrative.
'And at will erect sound and material barriers, create illusions, levitate and summon and banish and talk to snakes.' Harry thought amusedly.
"Sometimes, I randomly end up on the roof," Harry added.
The professor laughed heartily and patted Harry's shoulder. "Well, that's magic. If only accidental," He said. "At Hogwarts, we will teach you how to control it, how to be wizards. You can learn to set things on fire at will, like this!"
And their shared wardrobe was consumed by flames. Harry jumped and it took all of his will not to wave his hand to immediately extinguish the flames. Their clothes were in there! Tom's diary!
"Impressive," Tom said tersely, not impressed at all. "Can you extinguish it too?" Harry nearly breathed a sigh of relief when the man removed the flames.
"How do we get these supplies?" Harry asked, hoping to avoid another instance of the man demonstrating his magic. He could tell Tom was also at his wit's end, standing rigid and with a smile far more polite than anything Harry had ever seen. The wardrobe catching on fire must have stricken a nerve.
"Oh, I see you've noticed that these aren't your average school supplies?" Professor Dumbledore chuckled. "You can find what you need at Diagon Alley. I can accompany you if you-"
"That won't be necessary." Tom cut in, "But thank you,"
"Are you sure? It wouldn't be a hassle-"
"Can you write down the directions to get there?" Harry asked.
"I…of course," Dumbledore said, and Harry watched as the man rummaged around in the pockets of his coat in search of paper. Out of the depths came a lighter, several miscellaneous candies, cigars, a wand--which Tom's sharp eyes studied from a distance--and finally, a quill, bottle of ink, and a scrap of parchment. He placed all of the items back into his pocket once he found the needed items and let out a little embarrassed laugh. "Lemon drop?" He asked, to which they both declined.
They stood in silence while Dumbledore removed his coat, hung it on the edge of the singed wardrobe, and sat down at their single desk to write. After a tense four minutes, during which Dumbledore attempted small talk to no avail, Harry found himself holding a descriptive and still-drying paper.
"There you go," Dumbledore said. "When you get into Diagon, head to Gringotts--that’s the bank--and ask for your Hogwarts stipends. Just try to avoid the muggles milling around the front of the Leaky Cauldron,"
"Muggles?" Tom asked.
"That's what the wizarding community calls non-magic folk," The professor answered, waiting to see if there were any other questions. Usually, the children he encountered would hold him for hours, eagerly demanding more displays of magic to their and their parents' awe. In contrast, these two boys stood stoically and regally, creating an air which made him feel distinctly uninvited.
"Well, if that's all, I'll best be on my way," Dumbledore frowned, moving towards the door. The conversation had been far shorter than he had expected from two muggle orphans, even if one of them was a Potter. Neither had had any exposure to the wizarding world, according to their records, and he suspected that the Potter child was a distant relative or just a simple coincidence. Despite this, he hadn't had seen any sort of amazement past the initial reveal--what strange children they were.
"Good bye," Tom said.
"Thank you," Harry added.
With disappointment, Dumbledore waved a hand to nullify the silence field, shrugged on the coat he had taken off for only a minute, and headed out the door.
Back in the room, Tom and Harry waited in silence until they were sure he was gone before Harry took the initiative to erect a sound field.
"He had wand , Tom," Harry burst out laughing. "Are we in a fairy tale?"
Tom smirked. "I suppose witch hats and brooms are next?"
Harry fell back onto his mattress in bemusement. Remembering the notes he was clutching, he lifted it up to his eyes and read.
"At least it's in London," Harry said, sitting up on the bed and scanning over the instructions while Tom checked the condition of the wardrobe.
"It's fine," Tom reported. "Singed on account of that fool, but fine."
"Good," Harry said. "How are we getting to…'Charing Cross Road'?"
"Randomly setting things on fire should do the trick, that absolute pillager-"
Harry threw a nearby lighter at him. "Tom, focus!"
The silver-green metal cannister spiraled through the air straight at Tom's head--curtesy of Harry's uncanny accuracy--and Tom reached up his hand and caught it--curtesy of Tom's instinctual reaction time. Tom glanced at the unfamiliar object and raised it up for Harry to look at.
"Where'd you get this?" Tom asked.
"Oh, isn't that Dumble- Professor Dumbledore's?" Harry answered, scrutinizing it from across the room.
"Yes," Tom said, flicking it open. The room went dark as the room's single lamp turned off, a glowing ball of light floating through the air and entering the lighter.
They both stared at it with expressions of awe as Tom repeated the motion several times, the lamp glowing on then off, on then off.
"He will not be getting this back," Tom decided, pocketing the lighter.
Harry would have returned it, but his moral compass only extended to himself. Whatever Tom did was none of his concern.
"Fair enough," He said. "So about Diagon Alley?"
"We can head out tomorrow, Mrs. Cole will allow us," Tom said. "I want to figure out this magic world as soon as possible, seeing as we only have a month before term starts."
"Ok," Harry agreed. "We can take some money and ride the underground in the morning,"
***
They awoke the next morning at 5am, and Mrs. Cole didn't protest their excursion, forking over a bit of money for transit--after all, they had gotten her her job back.
Harry and Tom donned their coats and scarves before heading out onto the street, deftly avoiding any crowds by keeping their heads down like everyone else. They sat through ten minutes on the train and emerged onto Charing Cross Road. It took another five minutes to find the Leaky Cauldron, a pub who's name somehow matched the run down exterior and thus wasn't at all hard to find.
They entered the pub one after the other, blinking as the warm interior thawed their cold fingers. They both headed to the bar, catching the eye of a young bartender.
"John?" Tom asked the man.
"Right yer are, Diagon Alley I'll take it?" The man replied heartily.
"Yes, please," Harry said.
"I'll be with you in a sec, just gotta close out these fellas," John nodded, bustling away with a few empty glasses.
Harry took the time to look around, noting the dim but welcoming interior. The bar stools sparse--it was six in the morning--but some of the tables were occupied with spreads of breakfast and newspapers. When Harry turned to meet Tom's eyes, he found the other boy studying a newspaper which lay open on the bar counter.
"The pictures, they're moving," Tom pointed out, and Harry's eyes widened as he saw the front page photo, a young woman posing and turning from side to side as she showed off her most recent publication. The title read "Bathilda Bagshot releases award winning History of Magical Creatures" and framed it as an important breakthrough for the magical world, but Harry and Tom were more concerned with the moving picture.
At that time, John finished up and came back over, noting their intense focus on the newspaper and misinterpreting their reactions as interest in the content.
"Pretty interesting book, read it meself," John boasted. "Ms. Bagshot's got some talent, breakthrough author for someone so young,"
Harry nodded absently while Tom continued to stare at the photo.
"Well then, Diagon Alley," he moved to the back of the bar, Harry and Tom following after him. They stopped at a wall, or rather, Tom and John stopped at a wall. Harry's magic took that opportunity to propel him into it, and his side hit the brick with a thud.
"Harry," Tom said, concerned.
"Fine," Harry replied, straightening up with an annoyed look.
"You alright?" John asked, looking from the wall to Harry and back again.
"Just accidental magic," Harry explained.
"Strange, accidental magic usually doesn't hurt the user like that," John said, perplexed.
At Harry's disinterested shrug, John turned and pulled out his wand to tap a certain brick. Immediately, the wall pulled back, the bricks magically rotating away to create a large crevice in the wall and exposing a colorful and busy street.
John walked away with a "Have fun boys!" and left them to their amazement.
Harry was speechless as he stared, head whirling with sensory overload. There was just so much. Store fronts towered overhead in every color imaginable, cursive font sprawled across signs reading 'Scribbulus Writing Instruments' and 'Second Hand Brooms.' People walked the cobblestone road wearing just as many colors, robes brushing their ankles as they floated parcels up above them. Owls and cats and every pet imaginable hung from this store. Eyes and beetle wings and pressed flower petals in vials sat on display in that shop. And all in all, the air thrummed with magic.
"Brooms, Tom. Witch hats," Harry meant to laugh but instead a strangled sound escaped his throat.
"Harry," He heard Tom's voice and turned, meeting the other boy's gaze with a pained smile. Tom understood. For the two of them who had only ever known orphan life in World War II England, to witness such a happy and thriving magical world was simultaneously euphoric and bitter.
"Let's go," Harry said finally. They ventured out into the street, scanning the store fronts for anything labeled 'Gringotts.'
Tom found their destination first, grabbing Harry's wrist as he veered left through the crowd. They arrived at the bank in due fashion, standing before a marble building with two large columns flanking a pair of bronze doors. Without hesitation they entered, the inside just as grandiose as the storefront.
Velvet waiting chairs lined the walls, sparsely occupied, and solid oak desks housed goblin tellers. Harry nearly stopped breathing when he saw the goblins, inhaling sharply as he rationalized. It was a magic world--of course there would be magical creatures. He followed Tom up to one of them.
"We're here for our Hogwarts stipends?"
"One person per teller," The goblin growled, and Harry exchanged a quick glance with Tom before moving to another booth.
"Meet me at the chairs when you finish," Tom whispered in his ear as he passed. Harry nodded and relocated to an identical counter.
"I'm here for my Hogwarts stipend," Harry spoke to the new goblin.
"Name?" The goblin said monotonously.
"Harry Potter," Harry answered. The goblin flipped through a large tome several times the size of the largest book Harry had ever seen and searched for what Harry assumed was his name.
"Seeing as this is the first time you've been here, you'll be needing a blood test," the goblin sighed. "You'll be seeing Brunr-" The goblin noticed Tom being led around the counter by said goblin. "Not Brunwick then, Griphook," he corrected with a bored tone.
The goblin Griphook appeared behind the teller and gestured for him to come around the counter and Harry obliged. They walked down a short corridor and entered a small room, sparsely decorated save for a table and two chairs. Griphook sat down in the one closest to the door which left Harry to find a seat opposite him.
The goblin pulled out a blank sheet of parchment and a knife. "Just cut enough to draw blood and drip it onto the parchment," He instructed.
Harry grimaced and nicked the tip of his finger with the edge of the knife. Blood welled up immediately, a rich crimson, and dropped down onto the paper.
After a few moments, the blood dissolved into the paper and ink began to appear beginning from the top.
“Hadrian James Potter,” The goblin remarked as his name appeared in a calligraphic font. “A Potter! The second one this year?”
Dread coiled in the pit of Harry’s stomach, thick and dark. “I…assume the Potters are a well-known family?”
“One of the Sacred 28,” Griphook affirmed, looking at him strangely. “Surely you would know,”
“No,” Harry said, staring as more ink welled up onto the paper but really seeing nothing. He was a member of a well-known pureblood family? Unless the Dursleys had lied to him about his family name, there was simply no way that his parents had died in a car crash—they were wizards! Harry panicked slightly, thinking of his association with the Potters. If he was truly a scion of the Potters, then the potential repercussions of allowing that to be known could be diastral! “Griphook,” He began. “What are the legal steps to undergo in changing one’s name?”
“Gringotts can do anything if you have the coin,” Griphook said, smiling. “Do you have a name in mind?”
Harry made a cursory glance over his paper—unusually long, for being but an inheritance check—and found two blood inheritances at the top.
Most Noble and Ancient House of Potter
(Heir) Most Noble and Ancient House of Peverell
“Peverell,” He began, “Is this a common name here?”
Griphook raised a brow. “It was long believed that the Peverell line had died out,” He said. And then, with a slight waver of disappointment, “You are an heir?”
It was later that Harry read that upon an inheritance not claimed for three generations, Gringotts was eligible to claim all possessions. Harry was the third generation and it was so that Harry came to be henceforth legally “Hadrian Peverell,” paid for in its entirety by Hogwarts’ trust fund. He hoped Hogwarts wouldn’t receive a receipt.
Griphook returned after a short leave with a marble box. "Your heir ring," He said.
"I get a ring?" Harry asked. "Does it serve a purpose?"
"Only as a symbol of status," Griphook said. "All heirs and lords of Most Ancient and Noble families wear them," He opened the box without dramatic flair.
Inside, cushioned on a bed of silk, was a silver ring framing a blue sapphire. The sapphire was set on a unique triangular frame with a sharp silver line starting from the point and bisecting the base of the triangle, ultimately bracketing the sapphire in place. The band itself was engraved with a variety of runic symbols.
When Harry placed the ring on his hand, it adjusted to his slender pointer finger and flashed soft glow before settling.
"Congratulations Heir Peverell," Griphook said.
The rest of the paper was filled with a variety of properties that he apparently inherited—none of them could be of any use since he couldn’t risk being discovered by the existing Potters. The only Peverell inheritance was an extensive wealth and one property titled “The Greer.”
Harry didn’t plan on living at the orphanage for his seven years as a student. “Griphook,” He began, “You wouldn’t have an idea how to…get here.” He pointed at the property in question with an finger.
“Floo powder should work just fine, you can obtain some in one of the stores. Besides that, I believe the inheritance includes a matching heir necklace,” Griphook said calmly. "Should I direct you there?"
“Yes, please,” Harry replied, taking the initiative to stand. They left the small room and exited back into the main hallway, this time taking several turns to arrive at the entrance to a rail-lined mine shaft.
Griphook pulled a lever and with a squeal a large cart came into view and stopped in front of them. Harry entered first, gingerly stepping into the swaying metal cart and taking a seat. Griphook entered behind him and stayed standing, this time pushing a button inside the cart.
Without warning, the cart flew into motion, taking its occupants down a long stretch of tracks that descended into magic. Harry clung to the edges of the cart, wind blowing his hair into an even worse state of disarray. After a series of maneuvers, the cart stopped and Harry rushed to leave the cart, head spinning.
"Vault 12," Griphook announced, pulling out a key and turning it in an indistinguishable location. The goblin stepped back and handed the key to Harry after he finished, and they watched the gears turn and unlock one after the other, eventually opening the doors in a fashion reminiscent of the entrance to Diagon Alley.
Harry swallowed when he saw the sheer amount of gold he found inside the vault. It stacked to the ceiling, accompanying some smaller piles of silver and copper coins.
"What are the monetary units?" Harry asked with a slight tremor in his voice. He was an orphan!
"The gold coins are galleons, the silvers are sickles, and the coppers and knuts," Griphook patiently explained. "There are 17 Sickles in a Galleon, 29 Knuts in a Sickle. I believe the current conversion is about 20 pounds to a galleon."
Harry's mouth went dry. He estimated that there was over a million Galleons in his vault--that was an immeasurable number in standard pounds! Before he entered, Griphook had handed him an expandable velvet pouch in exchange for one gold coin, a pouch he explained would directly draw from the vault when he needed. For now, they were only here for the portkey to the Greer.
Harry traversed the sea of gold carefully, only looking for the locket. Harry found it fairly easily, silver and matching his ring as it was, but couldn't open it--was it difficult due to age? Not having much time, he left the vault with the locket around his neck and tucked under his shirt. The pouch and key he kept inside his pocket.
They resurfaced at ground level, much to Harry's relief, and after thanking Griphook Harry returned to the lobby. Harry saw Tom waiting on one of the chairs and approached him, immediately noting the gold ruby ring adorning his hand.
Harry grinned and outstretched a hand, his ring conspicuously obvious. "Greetings, my name is Hadrian Peverell,"
Tom quickly caught on and gently grasped his palm with a cool hand. "Greetings, Heir Peverell. I go by Marvolo, Marvolo Gaunt,"
"Heir Gaunt, I presume?" Harry laughed. Tom nodded, lips upturned in amusement.
"We should go collect our supplies," Harry said, stopping their little farce. They exited Gringotts and systematically went through the supply list, dipping in and out of stores to collect the necessary materials. Harry ended up with floo powder, the directions for which he had explicitly described for him, a solid oak trunk for his supplies, and a variety of the other items on his list.
At Madame Malkin's Robes for all Occasions, they were fitted for their robes and, as Tom was obsessed with his image, Harry left him to discuss with an overwhelmed Madame about a full wardrobe for the both of them.
Meanwhile, Harry wandered down a dark branching street off of the main road. It had screamed forbidden which was one of the reasons why he had entered--the way the people down Diagon made a wide arc around it was enough to pique his curiosity.
Several shady men and women offered to sell him miscellaneous and equally shady goods, but used to post-air raid scammers as he was, Harry had no problem avoiding their incessant offerings. Harry, for one, had his eyes set on a peculiar pet shop further down, the other reason for his excursion.
He had spotted it from the main road, and the bats hanging in clusters along the rafters was sufficient cause to draw near. Harry spent a few minutes examining the bats and the clouded window before entering the store, a friendly chime sounding out of place in the gloom. He didn't wait for a shopkeeper to come. Instead, Harry walked up and down the different aisles just looking.
There were rats of varying sizes scampering around a cage that was far too small, right beside an ironically larger cage of dead ones for feed. Stacked on top and around every cage were boxes of dried food and accessories.
The cats didn't live in cages. Instead, they prowled around the store free-range; Harry estimated around 10. Besides the bats out front, a few birds perched on some precariously placed branches. What drew Harry's attention the most was a giant kiddie pool at the back left corner, filled halfway with green water and home to a variety of mean-looking fish.
There was one snake, and it sat curled into itself behind the glass of its cage, the cage so filthy that Harry couldn't clearly see the snake at all.
"Hello," Harry tried.
"I hate this life. I should really end it all,"
Frankly, Harry was surprised to find such a pessimistic and suicidal snake. Considering the state of its habitat, maybe it shouldn't have been surprising. Harry had no desire to adopt a snake, but he figured since he had nothing better to do while he waited on Tom, keeping a snake company would be his good deed of the day.
"You're cage really is in terrible condition, have you been here long?"
"Oh, you're a Speaker? Lovely. Care to let me out?"
"I can try," Harry said. "Excuse me? Can I handle this snake?"
An old crone of a woman appeared and she cackled, heading to the cage and unlatching the top. "Make sure you buy it, dearie. It's been here too long." Her frail hands reached down inside and quickly retracted. "No biting! I'll throw you out if you stay here another month you little bitch!" She tried again and this time she succeeded, bringing into view a dark green snake about as thick as a garden hose.
Harry immediately recognized it.
"Louis?" He called out, eying the black, oil-dipped tail.
"Yup, this here's Louis," The woman snorted sarcastically.
The snake looked to him with dead eyes as it was deposited into his arms. "What Louis. Louis is what, exactly,"
Of course the snake wouldn't recognize its name, even if it was Louis. And Harry had named him in the future. As the storeowner walked away, Harry racked his head for some surefire way to identify him, even in the younger state that he was.
"Do you have a…name…by chance?"
"I have no concept of names, Speaker,"
"Then do you have something you want to be called?" Harry prompted.
The snake lifted its emerald body and rested its anvil head on Harry's shirt, looking up at Harry vertically with amber eyes. Then, it said seriously:
"Supreme Master of All Living and Dead, the Ultimate Lord over all that Slithers and Walks, the Greatest of All Time-"
"I'll take him!" Harry cried urgently.
While the woman happily hummed and processed the exorbitant twenty galleons he had paid,--Harry vaguely felt that he was being exploited-- Harry stroked Louis's scales where he had curled warmly inside his pocket.
"I'm Harry. You can be called Louis," He whispered happily.
"Louissss," The snake said. "Louisssssss,"