𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐏𝗼𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 | 𝙴𝚕𝚢𝚜𝚒𝚊𝚗

The Serpent's Whisper

The Dursleys were not accustomed to uncertainty, but as they drove through the foggy streets of Little Whinging, a strange apprehension hung over them. In the back seat, a mere infant, Hadrian Potter, lay swaddled in a blanket, his emerald eyes wide and alert, taking in the world around him. He was far from the ordinary child they wanted. He was one of those freaks and Vernon and Petunia wanted nothing to do with it. 

"Are you sure this is the right place?" Petunia Dursley asked, glancing uneasily at the looming silhouette of Wools Orphanage in the distance.

"Just drop him off, Petunia. No one will care," Vernon grunted, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. Dudley, oblivious to the weight of the moment, toyed with his latest gadget, blissfully ignorant of what his parents were going to do. 

As they pulled up to the orphanage, Harry sensed something. A whisper slithered through his mind, a soothing voice that felt oddly familiar. You are destined for greater things, little one. He couldn't comprehend the words, but they resonated deep within him, awakening a flicker of power.

Vernon opened the car door, and Harry, unbothered by the chill of the autumn air, felt an unexplainable urge to speak. "Sssslither," he cooed, his infantile voice startling even himself. The Dursleys exchanged horrified glances, but Harry continued, reveling in the strange sensation coursing through him.

"Don't talk nonsense, freak," Vernon snapped, lifting Harry from the car with all the tenderness of a sack of potatoes. "You don't get to choose your fate!"

As they approached the iron gates, the caretaker, Miss Thorn, emerged from the shadows, her expression inscrutable. "What do you want?" she barked, eyeing the child with a mix of curiosity and disdain.

"Just dropping it off," Petunia muttered, her voice tinged with a hint of relief. "It's not ours."

With a practiced disdain, Vernon threw Harry  to Miss Thorn, who accepted him with a gasp of surprise, her brows furrowing. 

"Good riddance," Vernon huffed, climbing back into the car, while Petunia shot one last glance at the infant before the door slammed shut.

As the car faded into the distance, Harry remained in Miss Thorn's arms, a smile creeping across his face. He felt the darkness of the orphanage embrace him, wrapping around him like a protective shroud. In the corners of his mind, the whispers intensified. Seek your kind, little serpent. The world will bow before you.

Days turned into weeks, and Harry discovered he was not alone. The orphanage had its share of inhabitants, but what caught his attention were the snakes that slithered through the grounds. Drawn to him as if by an unbreakable tether, they seemed to sense the latent magic within the child.

"Teach me," he would whisper, and the snakes obeyed, sharing secrets of the dark arts in hushed tones. They taught him how to weave shadows without a wand, to call forth whispers of power with mere thoughts. In the solitude of the orphanage, Harry thrived, his spirit entwined with the darkness that flowed through him.

One night, as the moon hung low in the sky, he sat in a hidden corner of the orphanage's garden, surrounded by his serpentine friends. They coiled around him, their scales glinting in the silvery light. "You have a gift," one of the larger snakes hissed, its tongue flicking as it spoke. "Embrace it."

"I will," Harry replied, his voice steady and assured. He felt the weight of destiny pressing down upon him, and with every hiss and whisper, he understood that he was born for something greater.

It was during one of these nights that he felt a powerful pull—a sensation that whispered of another, someone who shared his darkness. Tom. The name floated through his mind like a spell, igniting a fire in his heart. The name belonged to a boy who would understand him, someone with ambitions that matched his own.

As he grew, Harry learned to communicate with the snakes more fluently, forging a bond that transcended words. They became his confidants, sharing ancient knowledge of dark magic, the art of persuasion, and the secrets of manipulation.

He began to experiment, crafting small spells without wands, bending the world around him to his will. It was intoxicating. Each success fueled his hunger for power and understanding. With the whispers of the snakes guiding him, he felt the stirring of ambition deep within, a longing to carve his own path in a world that had cast him aside.

But as the days turned into months, Harry knew he was not just an orphan; he was a future force to be reckoned with. And somewhere out there, Tom Riddle was waiting, just as eager to embrace the darkness that beckoned them both.

11 years later...

As he grew older, the orphanage became a crucible for Harry, where he honed his skills in secrecy. The other children, unaware of the darkness swirling around him, were drawn to his strange charisma. They whispered tales of the boy who spoke to snakes, the boy who could make shadows dance at his command.

One stormy evening, as rain lashed against the windows, Harry sat in the garden, the snakes coiling around him, their scales shimmering like gemstones. The air crackled with anticipation; he could feel the magic pulsing through the night. It was then that he heard it—a faint whisper that made his heart race.

Find him.

The voice resonated deep within, urging him to seek out Tom. Harry had learned much from the snakes, but this was different. This was a call to destiny, a summons from someone who shared his dark affinity. With a determined glint in his emerald eyes, he decided it was time to take action and something told him that the tall man with greasy black hair and long robes is the first step to finding him. A small smirk formed on his face. Let the games begin....