The trip to the zoo was meant to be routine—simple and uneventful.
Dudley's birthday outing, carefully choreographed to keep up appearances for the neighbors, was a chance to pretend, just for a few hours, that everything was normal under the Dursley roof.
Void and Harry had been given clear, uncompromising instructions:
Stay quiet. Stay invisible.
Blend into the background like shadows that didn't belong.
But fate, as always, had its own plans.
As they moved through the winding paths of the zoo, the chatter of families and the distant calls of exotic birds faded into a dull hum. Then Harry's steps slowed.
His eyes locked onto the reptile exhibit.
The python lay motionless behind the thick, polished glass of its enclosure—its scales dull, unmoving, as though it had long ago resigned itself to captivity. The glass felt cold beneath Harry's small palms—an unyielding barrier between two worlds.
He leaned closer. Breath fogged the glass. And from somewhere deep inside—somewhere not entirely his own—a whisper slipped free.
A low, sibilant hiss.
"Free me..." the voice was faint but urgent, scraping the edge of the ordinary.
Suddenly, Dudley's loud banging interrupted the quiet."Get out of the way, snake-boy!" Dudley shouted, pounding on the glass with childish frustration. "This stupid thing needs to move!"
The python shifted uneasily, its dark eyes flicking toward Dudley's outburst.
Harry's heart raced. The snake's voice grew stronger, more insistent.
"Free me... free me... your voice holds the key."
Summoning courage, Harry pressed his hands firmly against the glass, whispering in Parseltongue.
"You are free you."
Then, without warning, the glass shimmered and vanished.
Before anyone could react, Dudley, caught off-guard, stumbled forward—and fell headlong into the enclosure.
A gasp rippled through the nearby visitors. Screams erupted. People scrambled back, stepping away from the open enclosure in terror.
The Dursleys panicked instantly. Vernon grabbed Dudley's arm, yanking him toward the edge. Petunia shrieked, tugging Dudley's other side. Together, they pulled him out, Dudley wailing and thrashing, clearly shaken but unharmed.
"Get away from there! What have you done?" Vernon barked at Harry and Void, eyes wild with fear.
But the python remained calm, its massive head fixed on Harry and Void with unyielding focus.
Void stepped forward instinctively, placing himself between Harry and the freed serpent. Shadows clung softly around him, though he said nothing.
The python lifted its massive head, eyes black and gleaming like polished onyx.
It regarded them both with an ancient intelligence.
Slowly, it spoke in that strange, sibilant tongue—soft, deliberate, carrying the weight of ages.
"You have freed me, Speaker. The cage that held me has fallen by your voice."
Harry's heart hammered. He glanced at Void, who remained still and silent, but the serpent's gaze shifted toward him.
"And you..." the snake hissed, tone curious and reverent, "you carry old blood. A trace I feel like a distant echo beneath the skin."
Void's eyes flickered, but he did not respond.
The python flicked its tongue, tasting the air between them.
"I am no ordinary creature," it continued, "a keeper of memory, bearer of forgotten time. Your blood sings a song older than the oldest magic. It hums with fire and shadow—ancient."
Harry swallowed hard, looking between the two.
"I didn't mean to free you," he said quietly. "I just spoke..."
The serpent's eyes narrowed slightly, not with anger, but with understanding.
"Your words are more than sound. They carry the truth of blood, the language that is forgotten and feared in this land."
It turned its gaze back to Void.
"Though I do not know you, your presence stirs memories long buried. The pulse of old magic runs through you—not yet awakened, but there."
Void's breath caught, but he said nothing.
Inside, a flicker of something ancient stirred—a whisper of a life he could not quite remember.
The python's voice softened, almost kindly.
"Walk carefully, Speaker, and you—bearer of old blood. The world is not ready to remember what you carry."
Void's voice was low but firm. "You should leave before the zookeepers arrive. If you don't want to be captured again."
The serpent hesitated, then asked quietly, "Will you help me find a new place? Somewhere safe, away from these walls?"
Void glanced down at his loose, baggy clothes—the perfect hiding place.
After a moment's thought, he nodded. Without hesitation, he motioned the python to coil gently beneath his cloak and into the folds of his shirt, the snake's sleek body disappearing into the fabric.
Suddenly, the glass snapped back into place with a sharp, echoing crack.
Voices called urgently nearby.
The zookeepers were arriving.
The python's head peeked briefly from Void's shirt, eyes gleaming with gratitude and warning.
"Call for me if silence grows too deep. Until then, guard your voices well."
The snake slipped fully inside the folds of cloth as Void stepped back, heart pounding, ready to disappear into the crowd.
Harry looked up at Void, breathless.
Voices shouted urgently, footsteps pounding on the paved paths. The zookeepers burst around the corner, eyes wide with shock at the open enclosure.
"Open the gate! What happened here?" one barked, scanning the area.
Dudley, red-faced and bawling, was yanked away by Vernon and Petunia, both shouting angrily. Vernon's face was flushed with fury.
"Look what you've done! Dudley could have been killed!" Vernon snarled at Harry, who stood frozen, heart racing.
Petunia, anxious and afraid of causing a scene in public, quickly grabbed Vernon's arm, pulling him back. "Vernon, not here. Not now," she hissed nervously, her eyes darting around.
Dudley, still bawling, rubbed at his scratched hands, glaring at Harry with wild resentment.
Meanwhile, the zookeepers hurried to secure the enclosure
No one noticed the faint flicker of shadow where Void stood, the python safely hidden beneath his baggy clothes.
A murmur rippled through the crowd as the zookeepers exchanged panicked whispers. Not one, but two snakes were missing—the python and a rare baby horned snake from another exhibit.
After a brief, tense conversation, the Dursleys hurried away from the enclosure. Vernon's posture was rigid, every inch the stern patriarch determined to keep the family's reputation spotless. The zookeepers lingered nearby, exchanging concerned glances as they tried to catch Vernon's attention.
"Are the boys all right?" one asked cautiously, eyes flicking toward Harry and Void, who stood quietly on the fringe, still shaken.
"We're fine," Vernon snapped sharply, his voice clipped and hard. He took a deliberate step forward, brushing past the zookeepers as if swatting away their questions. He made sure to mask any sign of weakness or neglect—the image of a perfect family was more important than the truth.
Petunia stayed close to Vernon, her lips pressed into a thin, pale line. She avoided looking at the zookeepers or her sons, her gaze fixed stubbornly on the path ahead. The weight of the day's events sat heavy on her, but she said nothing. Her silence was a shield against the growing unease inside her.
Dudley trailed behind, stomping with exaggerated sulks, his scraped hands tucked tightly into his pockets. His eyes flashed with resentment toward Harry, as if blaming him entirely for the chaos. The tantrum from earlier hadn't quite faded, and the bruises on his knuckles only added fuel to his simmering anger.
The zookeepers watched the family retreat, worry etched deep in their faces. They had seen too much to ignore the tension rippling beneath the surface, but Vernon's domineering presence made it clear they wouldn't get any answers today.
After the zoo, the punishment was immediate and merciless.
The moment the front door slammed shut behind them, Vernon's rage exploded. No shouting this time — just cold, quiet fury that made the house feel smaller, sharper.
Void and Harry were dragged up the narrow staircase without a word, their shoulders gripped tightly, their steps stumbling as Vernon threw open the attic door.
"In here. No meals. No light. No more chances," Vernon growled, his voice low and trembling with restrained anger.
The attic was barely a room. Just old floorboards, cobwebs, and dust-choked beams. A single cracked window near the ceiling let in the faintest sliver of moonlight. The air was dry, still, and suffocating.
The lock clicked shut behind them.
No food. No water. No explanation.
Just silence.
Void said nothing, settling into the corner like a shadow fading into the wood. He moved with the silence of someone who had learned long ago not to disturb the dark.
Harry sat beside him, legs pulled tight to his chest, his stomach hollow with dread and hunger. His ribs ached with every breath, not from bruises — not yet — but from the emptiness gnawing at him inside. The cold seeped through the floorboards, curling around their ankles, whispering through cracks in the beams.