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She remembered the warmth of her homeland fondly, in the way that snakes living in the British Isles were wont to do when the weather began to turn cool. She had been born in a hot country, lush with greenery that stole the warmth of the sun until the rich soil beneath her scales was a welcome, blessed coolness in the cloying heat.
She had traveled away from her homeland when she’d just begun to grow out of her snakelet phase, a mere foot in length and her body only about half the size of a man’s wrist. It had taken a few days before she had learned the name of her new minder: Aleksander Dimitrov. A wizard, she knew, for it had been a wizard who had captured her in the jungle.
It was such a despicable thing, magic. The two-legged humans had corrupted it as soon as they had gained access, twisting the pureness into shadows as they used it for nothing but their own convenience.
Animals, she knew, had their own magic, gifted to them by the earth and sky, the fire and sea. (Even those of them that had never seen the sea until recently.)
You’d never catch an animal using their magic to hunt down a human, whether it be for prey or not. They do things the proper way.
She spent days locked in a dark cage, the magical closures reinforced with chains that became hot when they brushed against her scales. The earth shifted and roiled beneath her weight and she swayed to and fro reminiscent of the rushing river water she had spent part of her youth transfixed by.
When she was finally allowed out, the light bright and artificial against her lidless eyes, the air was frigid in a way she’d never experienced. The room was stones stacked atop each other to create walls, most of them lined by transparent containers holding other animals. Snakes, mostly, though some held spiders, cold-blooded amphibians, and insects. Some were recognizable to the snakelet; most were not.
The other, older snakes became agitated as she was lifted from the transport carrier and placed into her own enclosure. It was set up to mimic her home, though it stank of human magic to her tongue. A few more animals were placed and then they were left alone.
You shouldn’t be here came a hiss from her left. She turned, bumping her nose against the barrier.
Where is here?
The answer was a cacophony of sibilant hisses and croaks as each creature attempted to answer.
The road to Death. The final answer came from one of the oldest creatures there: a runespoor. One head was nothing but a stump, the end shiny scar tissue. One of the remaining four eyes was clouded and hazy. The lengthy body was coiled but scarred lines, made by a blade of some sort, were visible.
What happened to you? What happens here? She hated how small she sounded, much smaller than she had ever felt even when she was a new hatchling.
Dimitrov… experiments.
With us? It was a foreign idea for the snake. What help could they give?
With us. On us. It’s an improvement, really.
How?
He no longer kills us. There is a chance for freedom.
How many make it?
None. Yet.
If she could have gulped, she would have.
The following days, weeks, months were a blur of artificial light and darkness. Sometimes, a wand was pointed at her and she knew nothing for an indeterminable length of time.
She grew, her enclosure having to be enlarged twice. How long had she been held captive here? Dimitrov had disappeared multiple times, bringing new brethren. More enclosures were added, the inhabitants of some were killed, either through experimentation or when Dimitrov lost his temper.
The runespoor spent three days lying in a heap on the bottom of its cage before Dimitrov noticed it was dead. Its shiny coils had dulled as time passed, its sight had gotten even worse. If snakes hadn’t eaten by recognizing heat with their tongue, it would have died much faster.
She was almost five feet long when she had her chance. Speaking to the others, gauging Dimitrov’s comings and goings, she estimated that she was around four human years of age. In the intervening years, Dimitrov had pulled her from the enclosure often. Her body felt… heavier… then she thought it should. Her mouth began to tingle sometimes, after she woke up with retracting fangs similar to some of her brethren.
It had taken days to figure out how to eat with these new fangs. It had taken longer (and many experiments of her own) for her to control the venom that coursed through the glands that were now a part of her.
Her cage was now kept chained, something Dimitrov had ignored when she was younger.
It was late one night when her cage wasn’t chained completely.
She struck, her fangs sinking into Dimitrov’s flesh. His screams echoed and she battered at the cages with her muscled body, They crashed to the floor, the magic holding them disintegrating as Dimitrov’s screams became first whimpers and then silence.
It was cold when she made her way out of the human enclosure and into the surrounding forest. It was dark but not just because night had fallen. The forest was filled with dark creatures and spine-tingling auras swept through the shadows.
She made her way through it, senses burning, alive in ways she hadn’t been since she’d become a captive. She caught her own food, as she should have all along.
She made a new friend, something she hadn’t had since the runespoor had passed. It was a darker shadow that slunk along the leaf-littered ground, occasionally inhabiting smaller prey items that it could overpower. It called itself Voldemort and she wondered at the name. Who had given it to him?
As she traveled with him, skirting wizarding settlements far too closely for her liking, she herself received a name.
Nagini.