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“Dad!”
Harry turned at the sound of Tom’s voice, nearly dropping the shovel in his hand at the sight of his son holding a snake.
It was a type he recognized, but only because Ron had gotten bit by one a lifetime ago. It was magical and poisonous, a combination that had nearly taken his life. Adults were capable of blending into their surroundings with no trouble, even if parts of their body were on two vastly different looking surfaces, and they hadn’t noticed the damned thing until its fangs had been embedded in Ron’s ankle.
Tom, his lovely son, had the snake in a choke-hold. It must have still been young, because its head and up were the same color as Tom’s fist, but the rest of the body that dangled out of it was the light orange of its natural color and not the blue of Tom’s shirt.
Tom was grinning away, holding the snake even higher as if proudly showing off his catch. Harry had no doubt that he wasn’t actually trying to strangle the snake; he had only just turned two, and being gentle wasn’t something he was great at yet.
This wasn’t the first snake to make its way into his garden. Hermione had told him once that snakes seemed to be attracted to Parselmouths, and they definitely seemed to find Tom quite often. Harry had made a habit of relocating them simply because he didn’t know if they would tolerate a toddler poking and grabbing at them even if he was a Parselmouth, but now he could see he didn’t have anything to worry about.
“Frien’” Tom claimed, waggling his hand a bit. His brown eyes turned down to the snake and he dissolved into excited hissing.
The snake probably would have replied, but Tom’s grip was a bit too tight for it to do that. Harry steeled himself and reached out, prying open Tom’s grip with practiced ease and let the snake fall to the ground. Instead of slithering to safety or lashing out, the snake just moved to Tom’s feet and started to hiss back.
Harry watched as Tom squatted down and kissed the snake on the top of its head and knew he was already screwed. It was unfortunate that his ability to speak and understand Parseltongue had died along with the horcrux that was inside of him, because he would have to learn what to feed the thing somewhere else.
“We can keep it,” Harry sighed, already resigned to his fate. “But I get to name it.”
And he already knew exactly what he would name it. Just imagining Ron’s face at having the same kind of snake that almost killed him named after him was too funny to pass up.