Declaration: I don't own the Harry Potter series.

A/N: I'm still working on Elba and About A Boy, don't worry, but I had this whole chapter in my head on the subway ride home and I had to get it down. Plus, I'm always up for writing in the voice of an insolent brat/later teenage angst.

Despite the genres I put, I don't think this is going to be all shits and giggles. Hopefully :P

Please drop me a line if you like it?

One: The Beginning

Like what happened in the Garden of Eden, it began with a deviously plotting snake. A King Cobra, to be exact, and she was at least three times as long as I was tall – not saying much since I was four years old at the time and really quite short. I don't remember exactly how it happened. The entire exchange I recreated from my imagination and Nagini's animated bedtime stories, but Nagini does have the unfortunate tendency to exaggerate. In those moments, it's easy to tell whose familiar she is.

I was four years old and tasked with weaning the weeds in the garden by Uncle Vernon. The sweltering afternoon sun made my baggy hand-me-downs stick to my skin in a most uncomfortable manner. My stomach was growling because they withheld lunch from me because of … one thing or another I did. Then, all of a sudden, I heard a hissy voice saying strange things about master and chosen one and eating little boys.

"Hey!" I yelled out, but my voice sounded soft and unearthly. "It's not right to eat people."

The next moment, a large, large snake slithered out of the undergrowth and stopped before me, rising up until its beady little eyes were on the same level as mine. "Curioussss … You too are a Speaker, Chosen One."

"Chosen – what, me? Chosen for what?" … Plucking weeds?

The snake regarded me for another long, unnerving moment before commanding. "Come with me, man child."

"Why?" I demanded.

"Because you belong with me and my master."

It was the first time in my life that someone told me I belonged somewhere, or with someone.

"If you come with me, Master will take care of you, young Speaker." The snake continued. "You'll never be hungry; never cold; never looked down upon, for you're the heir of Slytherin."

I didn't know what a Sliter-ring was, but I looked back at the Dursley house and remembered how much I hated my life as it was.

"But if I … Aunt Petunia would be so …"

"If you come with me, you'll have a family." That did it. I bit down on the forbidden fruit and then some. The snake slithered slowly out of sight, beckoning me to follow. I threw the small bushel of weed high into the air and around Aunt Petunia's immaculate garden, running to keep up with the serpent, stranger danger all but forgotten. My life would never be the same.

For as long as I can remember, I've been Harry Salazar. The man I consider my father is revered by his associates as the Dark Lord. Somehow I sense that this arrangement wasn't meant to be. Father is an odd man; he all but flinched the first time I referred to him as Father. He almost had a panic attack the first time I called him Dad. He continues to glare death at me every time I force upon him those endearments, but has since relented after some six years of dogged insistence on my part. Father is not an easy man to sway, but I can be very stubborn.

Since an early age, I've realized that Father is not exactly nice to me. But then my old muggle Aunt and Uncle weren't nice to me either. From what I can remember, they were terrible. If I could get enough food to scrape by and escape a good cuffing by either my uncle or cousin, I'd be lucky. So Father's rather detached way of parenting has never bothered me. He's never been affectionate, but that's the pureblood way of life – Draco's father doesn't ever show open affection for him either. On some level, I'm confident that Father cares for me in his own way. After all, he's promised me the world – literally.

I met Draco Malfoy when we were both five years old. It was pure accident. Father had business with Uncle Lucius in the study, and I was left to my own devices in the drawing room until a boy around my age but slightly taller appeared at the doorway. He had ear-length straight blond hair – seemed like a Golden Retriever puppy's fur - so different from my unruly black curls that I had to reach out and pet it. It felt like a Golden Retriever puppy's fur too. One of the Dursley's old neighbours had one of those dogs; it ran away whimpering as soon as I petted it. It was scared of me but not Dudley, imagine that. My small whale of a cousin kicked the puppy in the ribs when it came to him, tail wagging. Stupid dog.

"What's your name?" Draco asked, hair and temper both ruffled.

"Harry. Harry Salazar." I held out a hand, the way Father taught me to. Blondie didn't take it.

"Salazar is not a last name. It's a cuss word."

"It is a last name too. My father says we make our own names." I withdraw my hand, offended.

The Golden Retriever-haired boy sneered. "Well, my father has taught me the names of all the respectable pureblood families in Europe, and Salazar isn't one of them."

We bicker for a few minutes and then stop. I was trying to figure out who started more sentences with the phrase "my father", Draco or me. What Draco was thinking about, I had little idea, but I knew right then that we would be the bestest of friends. We burst out in giggles. By the time the adult wizards returned, we were engaged in a vicious battle of wizarding chess, consisting of absolutely no rules and frequent commands for all pieces to charge at once. Stone pieces flew everywhere and Father considered leaving me at Malfoy Manor for good. Uncle Lucius coyly but adamantly refused.

I didn't get my Hogwarts entrance letter when Draco got his, back in mid-June. At first, we thought it was because I was a few months younger, but my eleventh birthday came and went and there was still no sign of ugly Hogwarts owls. I waited patiently the first two weeks, in jittery the third, and for the past few days, I've been practically bouncing off the walls, nervous as hell that I wouldn't get to attend the school founded by my namesake. Father's been so fed up with me that he kicked me out of the house and sent me on a Diagon Alley trip with Draco and Uncle Lucius. We know what supplies to purchase anyway.

Truly a wondrous feat, I've roped Draco and Uncle Lucius into riding the muggle subway. I never expected in a million years that they would agree, but then again, I can be very stubborn. The blonde-haired pureblood duo stand out on the tube like sore thumbs, but I blend in perfectly.

Despite Father's politics, I have always been fascinated by muggles, once I was saved from the reign of terror of three certain very disagreeable specimens. I love muggle technology especially; cars, planes, video games. Bombs. I talked Father into watching the live feed from Operation Desert Storm on television, and the American war planes lit up the sky and it was spectacular. But then I noticed Father's fists tighten; memories of very old planes dropping bomb after bomb on a very old London flood our mind link, and I was suddenly filled with worry for the little children of Bagdad. I was never more grateful that I've always kept my muggle toys out of Father's scrutiny.

Once we arrive at Diagon, Uncle Lucius disappears into Gringotts, leaving us to our own whims with pockets full of galleons. It was a pact agreed upon between the Malfoy father and son; Draco can be a shrewd negotiator too.

I accompany my best friend to the wand shop first, waiting outside since I already have a wand and I don't like the way Olivander used to look at me. I got my wand when I turned eight. The old wandmaker had me try more than a dozen useless twigs before getting to the right one, and then he kept going on about twin wands and greatness and terrible things. I understood none of it. The old man's gaze lingered for several moments too long on my lightning-bolt scar, and by then I was completely unnerved. I bolted right out of the shop once I paid, but Father told me not to worry about it.

I meet my first female friend at Madame Malkin's. I've done my bit of robes shopping a while ago, but Draco is taking practically forever. It's not like he doesn't have the finest clothes money can buy already … The bell chimes merrily as a bushy haired girl walks in.

"Hogwarts?" I question her lazily.

"Yes! You too? Oh my I am so excited!" The girl practically explodes. "Have you gotten all your books? They look amazing, especially the ones on Ari-Arithmancy. I've never known there was a whole world of magic before, you see, but I've read everything I can find on it and –" A muggleborn? I perk up in interest. I've heard about them but never met one. Draco gives the girl a look of disgust, muttering 'mudblood' as Madame Malkin swats his arms for him to keep still. The girl doesn't catch it.

"- Oh and I read Hogwarts, A History. Isn't the castle just fascinating? I can't wait to…"

"Yes, Hogwarts is an amazing place. I can't wait to see it myself too." I hastily put a stop to her gushing. "Father has told me all kinds of juicy secrets about the castle."

"Your parents went to Hogwarts?" Her eyes grow even larger. "That's amazing. My parents are dentists and I love them, but sometimes I wish …"

"My father went to Hogwarts, yeah, a …" I frown a little. "A while ago." Father has never told me his age, and it confuses the hell out of me as to why. It can't be that long ago that he was in school, I reason. For one, he looks younger than Uncle Lucius.

Draco snickers at me, for I'm usually the one making fun of his habit of bringing his dad into every conversation he ever makes. I suppose I'm a bit of a daddy's boy too, but who can blame me – Father is the most interesting person to walk this earth. He's a mystery, even to me; an enigma shrouded in masks and defences, a puzzle most inviting. And I live for challenges.

"I'm Hermione Granger." The little almost-witch holds out her hand. Draco again sneers at the muggle name. I ignore him and shakes the proffered hand warmly.

"Harry Salazar, at your service."

"Salazar? As in Salazar Slytherin?" She exclaims. The muggleborn has potential.

"Yes, exactly. Slytherin was the greatest of the four founders of Hogwarts." I beam at her. "And I'm going to take a snake with me as a familiar, since it's the House animal of Slytherin."

"But you are not allowed to." Hermione frowns at that. "Besides, snakes are dangerous. They are, sort of, sort of … evil." She bites out.

"Merlin! There is no good or e –" Then I stop. I am not parroting Father to the first girl I might become friends with. The first girl that doesn't resemble Pansy Parkinson in any aspect. I hastily change the topic. "You like books, Hermione?"

She nods eagerly.

"Great. At home we have tons of books on all kinds of magic – and history. I can lend them to you someday and I'm sure you'd enjoy them." I smile at her encouragingly. "Plus, if we become friends, Draco and I will show you all about the magical world. Won't we, Draco?" The Malfoy heir submits to my pointed glance with a nod, and offers his hand to Hermione too, shaking hers quickly as if muggleborns were contagious.

"I-I'd love that. The books and, uh, becoming friends." I have a feeling she doesn't have many friends at the moment. That's all right; neither do I.

"I'll find you at the train station the day after tomorrow." I promise. "Or on the train. You know the way?"

"Nine and three quarters, isn't it? It says on the letter."

"Awesome." Draco has finally been released from the witch wielding the measuring tape, and he's tapping his foot impatiently for me to finish. "We'll see you there, Hermione."

Our last stop of the day is the pet shop. When I walk in, I'm still debating the merits of breaking the school rules even before I arrive, but the moment I lay eyes on a rather small albino cobra curled on a piece of rock, regal as a queen, I know this is it. Blast the rules; by Merlin I'm taking a snake to Hogwarts or I'm not going at all.

"What's your name, queen of the jungle?"

Ruby eyes flash at the voice of a human Speaker; every snake I've met this far has had the same reaction. "I don't have a name – I won't have a name until I have a master. And I've never seen the jungle for I've been in this shop my whole life. People don't like my colour."

An image of a cupboard under the stairs flashes through my brain and I feel a sharp pang of empathy. "I'll be your master and I'll give you a beautiful name to match your unique looks. And you'll have all the fun in the jungle if you come with me."

The cobra hisses her consent and I quickly pay the shopkeeper. He seems relieved to have the menacing looking snake off his hands. A few minutes later, Draco emerges from the other half of the shop, an eagle owl perching haughtily in a gold trimmed cage.

"Nice snake, Harry. What're you calling him?"

I consider the deathly white Indian cobra for a moment. "Hedwig. And it's a her."

"Hedwig?"

"Yes. It's a German name. There's this muggle novel that I've read, about a woman called Hedwig and she lived during World War Two when the Nazis …"

Draco shoots me a look of utter distaste and proceeds to tune me out, which suits me just fine. We go off to find Uncle Lucius and portkey home.

That night, I'm rudely woken up by alarms sounding all over the manor. Someone has breached the wards. It's never happened before since Father's ward-crafting skills are second to none – this must be serious. An attack by the Order, one day before school starts? Instantly wide-awake, I grab my wand from the nightstand and rush to the hallway. Strong hands lift me roughly and deposit me back in my room. "Stay here and don't make a sound." Father hisses quietly before locking the door with a flick of his hand. I know there's no getting out now, so the most I can do is curl up behind my bed, worried to death.

After what feels like an eternity, the lights flicker back on all through the manor and the blasted alarm stops. My door opens and Father walks in holding a half dead barn owl, muttering something about damned schools and their ancient magic.

"My letter!" I yelp in joy, all tenseness from the presumed attack forgotten. I snatch the crumpled piece of correspondence with a seeker's precision and a beater's fervour, completely ignoring Father's glare. Little do I know, the next minute, my whole existence is blasted to hell.

Hogwarts has gotten my name wrong. The letter is addressed to Harry Potter.