Chapter Text
Harry stared blankly at the glass wall opposite him, the view beyond it unfocusing and refocusing as he pitied himself greatly. If you had told Harry he would die by Voldemort’s hands – he’d believe you. But if you had then told him he would appear in another dimension as a snake – he would’ve told you fuck off.
Sadly, no one warned him about this. It had happened all so fast, he couldn’t have prevented it. One moment, a bright green flash which rivaled the colour his eyes were famed to be, and the next, someone was sticking a rat in his face to eat.
He had obviously refused it, hissing and snapping at the offending hand. He had only been in the pet shop (?) for around an hour, and he was already sick of it. No other snakes were in the glass case with him, but he could see other glass cases full of multiple snakes, so it wasn’t due to some preference of the owner; but it was surprisingly cozy.
He’d never been a snake before, so he had no point of reference, but he could say that this snake he took over must’ve been well-liked. It’s case was much bigger than the others, and it had more items around it. Harry slithered over to a wooden log and entered it, sick of staring at the people walking around the shop.
He sighed internally, as his snake body somehow doesn’t do that, and he mourned. What were Ron and Hermione doing right now? Did they win the war, were they dead, were they perhaps also snakes and this was some odd and cruel punishment that Voldemort had thought up one night and had decided it was a right joke.
If it was a plot crafted by Voldemort, he would be so angry.
Suddenly, a tapping sound rang throughout his environment, causing him to hiss in annoyance. Don’t people understand that if you can’t see the snake, it obviously doesn’t want to be disturbed? He poked his head out of the log, squinting at the large face that covered the view outside of the case.
A pale, angular face with grey eyes and long blonde hair met him, and he immediately veered in disgust. He would recognise those pompous features from a mile away. However, it was a Malfoy, not Draco Malfoy. He could argue that it was Lucius Malfoy, but this Malfoy seemed way younger.
Curiosity peaked, he slithered even further out of the log, metaphorical eyebrow raised. This better be entertaining or he would find a way to break out of this case just so he could bite the hand of this guy.
‘Oh, my Lord, this one is beautiful!’ The Malfoy exclaimed, turning to address another person Harry hadn’t even noticed. Harry flicked his gaze to the other, and he stifled back a scream – because, right in front of his face, was Voldemort!
Not the Voldemort he had just seen an hour ago in the Forbidden Forest, but instead, it was an older, shockingly handsomer version of Diary Voldemort. Tom Riddle. His eyes were a deep, captivating brown without a single hint of scarlet; his skin was pale, but not in the sickly sense, but in the royal sense; he was finely aged, like wine, and was dressed impeccably.
Harry closed his snake eyes, and something deep inside of him finally accepted that this was definitely not his world.
Voldemort leaned over to survey him, inspect him, and Harry twitched, feeling as if he was a toad splayed out in front of a high school student – one that had a cold, clinical, sort of attachment to the specimen in front of it.
‘It certainly is… Unique.’ Voldemort said, every syllable clear and concise, intoned in a velvet, rich, tone. Harry found himself appreciating every difference of this Voldemort and his Voldemort, though he could guarantee this Voldemort was still most definitely an evil Dark Lord.
‘Look at his scales, and those eyes!’ Malfoy fawned, cooing at him and tapping at the case once more. ‘Speak to it, my Lord.’ Malfoy practically begged, as if Voldemort’s Parseltongue abilities were something he admired rather than a thing that he would flinch at.
Harry certainly remembers Lucius Malfoy always cowering whenever Voldemort spoke in the sibilant language, so the difference was jarring.
Voldemort emitted a noise that sounded strangely like a fond huff, before his brown eyes were back onto Harry. ‘Hello, little one.’ Harry felt an involuntary shiver run down his snake spine as Voldemort slipped into Parseltongue.
Harry rarely ever spoke the language, as honestly, Voldemort and all the avoidance and accusations from his second year had ruined it for him. Except, he still really liked the way it sounded. The way it always sounded as if spoken in a whisper only meant for the person addressed to hear, the way it clung to his ears and puffed around his lobe like a warm breath of air.
Harry blinked, something clicking in his mind. Voldemort was looking for a pet snake. A plotting and conspiratorial part of him awoke, smirking. Now this was interesting. Harry knew that he did not want to spend all his snakey time in this pet shop, but he also knew he would probably die of boredom being just anyone's pet snake.
He could also monitor Voldemort’s evil deeds.
‘Hello.’ He hissed back, coming closer to the glass of the case.
Voldemort smiled, and Harry had to look away from it, lest he be trapped. ‘Do you have a name, little one?’
He did have a name – Harry – but he didn’t know if it was fancy enough for Voldemort. But then he scoffed at himself, wondering how he could ever sound insecure in the face of that man. His name was great, and Voldemort would just have to deal with it.
‘Harry.’ He replied smugly, daring Voldemort to question it.
Harry quietly enjoyed Voldemort’s momentarily stumped expression before it slipped away into a normal one. This Voldemort seemed to have stronger hold on his emotions, as his Voldemort probably would’ve sneered and walked away by now.
‘I’ve never met a snake with such a human sounding name. Did you used to have an owner?’ Voldemort questioned, leaning closer.
Harry swayed his head side to side in disagreement. ‘No. That’s just my name.’
Then, Voldemort did something Harry would’ve never expected. He laughed. Not a dark chuckle, like he would’ve expected from this Voldemort. But instead, it was an ugly, half snort, half guffaw, reminiscent of his Voldemort.
‘Abraxas, go get the owner. I’ll take him.’ Voldemort commanded, an easy grin still on his face as those warm brown eyes gazed upon him, basking Harry in an odd attention Harry never would’ve believed Voldemort would ever cast at him.
Harry suddenly got the sinking feeling that he had maybe jumped into this too blind.