Harry Potter:blood legacy

He jumped back as if he had actually been bitten, while Aunt Petunia screamed again but couldn't get up from the couch as Dudley screamed and jumped into her lap, despite probably weighing more than her—or at least being close to it.

"What is that?!" Vernon demanded, stepping back to a safe distance.

"What are you doing?!" Harry whispered to Jet.

"Why are you hissing at him?!" Vernon raised his voice. One of the side effects of Parseltongue was that to those who couldn't understand it, it just sounded like hissing.

"Don't worry, I have a plan," the snake reassured the boy.

"What?! What plan?!"

"Boy, I—" Vernon began but was cut off again by hissing. This time, however, it wasn't coming from Harry or Jet. All three Dursleys screamed in terror as a small army of snakes slithered into the room, surrounding the three of them and positioning themselves between them and Harry.

"Stop it!" Petunia shrieked, but she was powerless to do anything as she and the rest of her family froze in fear. Most of the snakes weren't venomous—not that the Dursleys would know that. But a few were mildly venomous, their bites causing pain but not fatal harm.

Soon, the floor was covered in snakes. Some climbed onto the furniture, moving closer to the now-silent Dursleys. Even Dudley had stopped screaming, realizing it was safer to stay quiet and avoid drawing attention to himself.

"How in the world did this happen?" Harry gaped, demanding answers from the only likely culprit.

"Last night, when you were asleep, I slithered outside and met a few of my kin," Jet hissed proudly. "I told them you needed help, and they brought others."

"We will protect the Speaker," one of the snakes hissed.

Before Harry could stop himself, he started laughing. At first, it was a light chuckle, but it quickly grew louder, transforming into a full-blown, joyous laugh.

Meanwhile, Dudley was desperately trying to make sense of the situation, and Petunia and Vernon were coming to the conclusion that perhaps it had been a mistake to mistreat a boy who would eventually grow up to become a wizard.

Several years passed, and Harry was now eleven years old. He was sitting on the bed, reading a book in the room that used to belong to Dudley—at least until Harry had kicked him out and taken it over. Ever since befriending Jet, Harry's life had improved beyond anything he could have imagined. The Dursleys were now afraid not only of him but also of the snake, who occasionally summoned his kin to remind them why they shouldn't mess with their nephew.

Though Jet himself was usually enough of a deterrent. He had grown much longer over the years, but he was still small enough to coil comfortably on Harry's shoulder.

The Dursleys had initially tried to rebel against the new status quo, but their efforts quickly ended thanks to the snakes' assistance. Despite the temptation, Harry never allowed them to bite the Dursleys... too hard. He was smart enough to know that things would get complicated if someone ended up dead. For the most part, the snakes simply slithered up to hiss in their ears or coiled threateningly around their necks. Only the non-venomous ones were allowed to actually nip at them.

"Harry," Jet hissed softly in his ear. "You have a visitor."

Harry frowned and looked out the window, spotting a bird flying toward his room. The bird turned out to be a brown owl carrying a letter tied to its leg.

"Can I eat it?" Jet asked eagerly as the owl landed on the desk.

"No," Harry replied, rolling his eyes. He stood up, with Jet still draped over his shoulders, and cautiously approached the owl, hoping not to scare it. The bird eyed Jet warily but otherwise remained calm, lifting the leg with the letter attached.

"I suppose this is for me," Harry guessed, untying the letter and opening it to read.

Dear Mr. Harry Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. Please send your response by owl.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

"Hogwarts," Harry whispered, quickly grabbing a piece of parchment to write his response. Once he finished, he turned to the owl, which was still perched on the desk.

"I assume you'll be taking my reply back?" he asked, and the owl nodded. Harry wasn't too surprised; after all, he'd spent years talking to snakes. Calmly, he tied the letter to the owl's leg.

"All done."

The owl hooted, spread its wings, and flew out the window.

"Hogwarts," Jet repeated. "What kind of name is that?"

"I don't know, but I finally get to learn magic," Harry replied excitedly.

"You can't just learn magic," Jet retorted. "You have to master it!" the snake hissed enthusiastically. "You're my master! My master must be better than all those foolish wizards and witches!"

Harry laughed and shook his head in amusement.

Bathsheba Babbling, a nineteen-year-old professor of Ancient Runes at Hogwarts, arrived at Number Four, Privet Drive, to speak to Harry Potter about his admission to the school. Normally, this wasn't part of her duties—in fact, she had never visited Muggle-born students or those raised outside the magical world to introduce them to magic.

Imagine her nerves at starting with Harry Potter, the most famous child in the wizarding world. It was hard to find anyone in their community who didn't know the Boy Who Lived.

"Oh, Merlin, why me?" she muttered under her breath, reminding herself why she'd been chosen. Usually, one of the four Heads of House handled such visits, but Professors Sprout, McGonagall, and Flitwick were all unavailable. Professor Snape, being his usual unpleasant self, had outright refused.

Hagrid couldn't do it because his size would attract too much attention in a Muggle neighborhood, and Dumbledore was busy with some international event. Other professors had their own reasons for being unavailable—like Binns being a ghost and Trelawney being a drunken fool.

In the end, it came down to her or Septima Vector, the Arithmancy professor. Bathsheba had tried to argue that, as the youngest professor at the school, it shouldn't be her responsibility. But Vector had simply said, "Not it," and walked away.

"Great. Just try not to embarrass yourself in front of Harry Potter, or you'll never live it down," she told herself as she approached the house where the Boy Who Lived was supposed to reside. She hoped she had the right place—all the houses looked the same.

Knocking on the door, she waited until it opened to reveal a handsome eleven-year-old boy with messy black hair and dazzling emerald-green eyes.

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