Accompanied By Snakes
Title: Accompanied By Snakes
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Romance/General/Humour
Length: 5619
Pairings: Harry/Draco, Draco/snake
Warnings: first person and bestiality
Summary: Harry Potter has a snake, and it annoys the bloody hell out of Draco.
Note: Written for hd_falling's Merry Month of May fest with the photo prompt of a green snake.
A gigantic thank you goes to sktypied for the beta work. ♥
Snakes are all right, in principal. They're the Slytherin mascot, after all, and I may be hiding with the bleeding Order, never to return to Hogwarts again, but I'm still a Slytherin. Just like I'm still a Malfoy, regardless if my father disagrees. Knocking someone's name off the fortune and being on opposite sides of the war does not change my blood. Nor my birth certificate. Nor the vault in Gringotts that has been under my name since birth, and that no one can touch, not even me, since I'm in hiding.
But I'm pretty financially set. More so than the Weasleys will ever be, even if they all combined money. More so than Potter. I think. He steadfastly refuses to discuss monetary values with me.
Oddly enough, he likes to discuss anything else with me. Except for house-elves if Granger is around. I learned the hard way that's a no-touch issue with her. That Mudblood has evil birds from hell!
I was talking about snakes though. Right. It's not surprising I lost track. Potter is sitting next to me. The blasted green gardner snake is in his lap.
Ginny Weasley got the snake, Gretchen, for him as a birthday present.
I never even got to eat any of his cake because it was only a week after my mother had dropped me off outside the wards surrounding the Burrow -- and I think the name in disdain. They still weren't sure if I was spying.
I wasn't though. I'm not. I'm hiding, as I said before. And I hate it. My mother is hiding too, somewhere. My father escaped from Azkaban a month ago, and Potter tells me he is searching for me, that I can't leave the house. I don't doubt it, but I also think Potter needs to get his hero tendencies under control. Does he realise he's trying to keep Draco Malfoy alive?
The snake twines around Potter's wrist, its skinny pink tongue darting out and licking up the spidery veins. I wonder what that feels like.
"What are you doing?" Potter asks, drawing my gaze away from the still licking snake to his huge green eyes, the exact same shade as the snake. Don't get me wrong, I didn't stare into Potter's eyes or anything to come to that conclusion. Anyone with ears, and some without, heard Weasley screaming that it was the same colour as his eyes when she'd handed it over.
"Sitting," I reply crisply. I don't like to talk to Potter unless I'm interested in the topic. I'm not interested in small chat.
"Ahh." Potter nods his head as if it's the most intelligent thing he's ever heard me say or like he must think about it. I can't decide if Potter had just degraded himself or insulted me.
Probably both.
I sneer, just in case. Besides, I enjoy sneering. The way my lips curl and my nose wrinkles ever so softly never fails to shoot a thrill of satisfaction up my spine.
Suddenly, Potter hisses, the silken syllables rolling through the air and burying under my skin. The snake ceases its licking but Potter keeps hissing.
I'm rather creeped out. And turned on.
Odd... Am I attracted to snakes?
Confused, pondering what strange perversions are hidden inside me that I'm none the wiser about, I stand and exit the living room, ignoring the lopsided grin that accompanies Potter's hissing.
The sharp bite of my mother's well groomed nails can still be felt on my forearm, digging into the Dark Mark and punishing me for my wrong doings even though it has been three months. She had been wearing her honeysuckle perfume, the smell permeating the air and lingering even at the fast pace we were walking. It's my father's favourite perfume, the one she wears whenever she wants something. Or wants to get out of something.
Either way, the scent is never a good one.
"There's nothing I can do, Draco," she says, her voice somewhere between a moan and a groan. Her nails tighten and there are sure to be indents for the next few hours, maybe even days.
"You did this to yourself. Certainly, I knew you wouldn't be able to do it, and I tried to get you out of it, I did."
Not hard enough.
"But you were so eager and now look at you." She stops, tugging me to face her. I'm still shorter than her and that makes me frown. I'm seventeen now, have been for a little over a month. I should be at least as tall at her. "He's going to have you killed -- the Dark Lord is. This is for your own good."
She looks to the side and I notice we are a ways off from a creaky old home that looks rather like the leaning tower of Pisa, except less extravagant. Nothing I would want to walk into.
"You realise, depending on the outcome of the war, that I won't be able to talk to you ever again. Your father will disown you, I'm sure. Snape said the Dark Lord is breaking him out. But I'd rather have you alive and in the enemy's hands than dead by our own side."
I'm utterly confused. What is she rambling about? But before I can question she takes a step towards the house and gasps in pain when a ward shimmers around her shoulders.
One look, closeted and numb, and she Disapparates.
Just as quick, the Order is surrounding me, and I understand. They search me and force-feed me Veritaserum, questioning me until the sun goes down. Then they lock me in a room.
All in all, it hadn't been one of my best experiences.
"And then I said to them -- I said, 'Why are we keeping him in there? I mean, he's got to have a chance to prove himself.' So, you see, I tried to get you out of the room. They wouldn't listen to me though, until Hermione finally agreed with me." Potter grumbles, staring at the worn sitting room carpet for a second. Then he looks at me with a lopsided grin, biting his lip in a way that reminds me of a pet dog I had when I was seven. His name was Thithlyn, since I had a lisp at that age and couldn't pronounce Slytherin. I had to practice the Unforgivables on him. One day my father had got so mad at me for my inability -- my mother said he always tried to teach me when he was drunk and that's why he thought I'd be able to master it at such a young age -- and used Thithlyn as a demonstration on how the killing curse should work.
The next day my mother bought me a new dog. I charmed a heavy rock around its neck and let it drown at the bottom of our in-ground pool. We never had any pets after that, save for owls, but they're more tools than pets.
Potter clears his throat. "Did you really think I thought you deserved to be stuck in there so long?"
"Really, I don't give a flying fuck," I snap. He brought up the topic himself and I'm not interested in it. I don't like to think about it. Besides, it's in our past now; I've been allowed free reign of the house for two weeks. Though the house is so tiny it's no comfort. But what else should I expect from the Weasley's hovel?
In a huff, Potter flails for a moment, slouching lower on the opposite end of the couch as a result, and crosses his arms. He looks pathetic. I laugh.
"You're so ungrateful," Potter mumbles, and then he looks over, waiting until I've finished laughing before saying, "I don't think you're, you know, that bad."
In the following silence that is my answer, something moves heavily over my sock-clad foot. I yelp and tuck my legs under my arse.
"Gretchen," coos Potter, picking the snake up. He looks the snake in the eyes and says, "Did you scare poor Draco?"
I'm pretty sure he meant to say that in parseltongue but I don't say a word. It's actually rather annoying how ever since I've stopped being treated like a prisoner Potter calls me by my given name. I wouldn't have any problem with it if he was someone I liked, such as Pansy, or Crabbe or Goyle even. But he's not; he's Potter. He may not be as bad as I once thought but it's the fact of the matter. I never gave him permission. He just went ahead and decided to use it. Really shows his nasty character, it does.
The couch protests loudly as Potter shifts to face me, legs bent in front of him. I glare pointedly at his shoes being on the furniture but he doesn't acknowledge it -- plebeian.
"You don't, erm, hate me, do you? Like back in school?"
The snake pauses in its movements and stares at me; I have an audience. I wonder what Potter and Gretchen say about me. Can snakes even hold intelligent conversations?
"I guess not," I answer slowly, weighting my words and looking for weak spots. It's difficult to read Potter this time. Is he mocking or sincere? But Potter instantly glows, leaning forward, and I know it was sincere. Just as I'm contemplating the best response to make Potter's face fall, Molly Weasley's voice rings through from the adjoining room, calling everyone to dinner.
Potter stands and gives me a sidelong look, scrutinizing me. I sneer, and he's off, pounding across the floor like a hippogriff.
I'm bored to death. I've just watched the minute hand on the clock in the kitchen make a full rotation for the second time. There's nothing to do. Everyone else residing in the Weasley's house is gathered in the kitchen too, awaiting the return -- or non-return though no one will speak it aloud -- of Potter, Weasley, and Granger.
It's the third time this has happened in the brief month I've been here. Each time they returned, assured everyone they were all right, and hid up in Potter and Weasley's room to discuss their defeat. I'm annoyed to not know what they are doing, but I'm chuffed that no one else seems to know.
"Do you think they'll be all right?" Ginny Weasley asks, looking petulantly at her mother. Molly Weasley nods, her eyes grave.
There's a strong desire welling up inside me to say that, no, they won't be okay. I want to say something that will make her cry. Though, I must say, I like her much more than Weasley or Granger. She doesn't hold as many qualms against me, though she's annoying with her pestering about whether Potter's said anything about her to me. Apparently since we talk, we must talk about girls.
Well, anyway. Not talking about girls doesn't mean a thing. It just means that...you know, who cares. I smile at Weasley. "Want to play a game of chess?"
She stares at the board. Tonks had set it up three hours ago. Only the twins ever played a game on it.
"Sure." She smiles gratefully and slips away from her parents, shoving her brother out of the seat across from me and commanding the pawn to move.
She beats me soundly. I scowl and demand another round. By the time she beats me for the sixth time, I'm fuming. I always beat Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy, my mother, and the house-elves. I never lost before. She's cheating.
Everyone else is laughing now. If I were someone else, say Potter, I would be happy to make them feel better for a bleeding moment, but I'm Draco Malfoy, so I stand and stomp to the front door.
It opens in my face.
"Hey, look!" Weasley is shouting. "We got it!"
Granger shuts the door and tilts her head at me. I attempt to sneer but I'm clutching my bleeding nose so it has no effect on her. She smiles apologetically at me though and hits me with some silent spell that makes my nose stop bleeding. The fucking Mudblood! I don't need her help.
Everyone suddenly leaps from their chairs, as if just realising the cause of their distress walked through the door, and huddles around the trio, asking them if they're all right, and why they're brandishing a giant dead snake of all things.
It's massive. Its head is about as big as mine. They must have a lightening charm on it because Weasley's waving it about like it's candy floss. I wonder where Gretchen is. Doesn't she have any qualms against her master killing off one of her own species?
I don't even bother wondering why they killed a snake. A long time ago I decided the whole lot of them were barmy.
"Draco." Potter's suddenly standing in front of me, voice all tender and tentative. What curse hit him?
My eyebrows raise when he takes another step closer. He's looking at me intently and I have the feeling he's trying to read something from my eyes. I make sure to project give me breathing space loud and clear in them.
He can't read. He moves even closer and I can't move back any further because there's a wall behind me. He breathes, "Draco" once more, and then he's kissing me. I gasp in shock and he slides a tongue in, swiping my teeth, tongue, the roof of my mouth.
The room is silent. I can feel them all watching us -- Potter, because I have no part in this except that it's my lips he's kissing, my hair he's grabbing, and my body he's pressing against.
And then my body catches up with my mind. I shove him away, hard, so he hits the end of the table with his hip.
There's nothing else to do. I run.
Because, really, it is one thing to completely defy Voldemort and my family history in the process, but it's another thing entirely to turn gay for Harry Potter. Truthfully, I've always had these disgraceful thoughts, albeit not about Potter (I did date Pansy because she had a slightly boyish figure, after all), but it's just like Potter to bring them to light after I had shoved them in a dark, dank corner.
I feel ill. I'm too afraid to leave my room for the loo. What if I come across Potter and he kisses me again? I had been too surprised the first time, but what if the next time I kiss him back?
What kind of bleeding idiot kisses the same sex in front of a bunch of people? How thick is he? Just because he's Harry Potter does not mean everyone will suddenly change their views and decide homosexuality is fine.
Something tells me Potter can't be that thick. Anyone with some form of a brain knows homosexuality is one of the greatest sins a wizard or witch can commit. I should know. Blaise and I used to kiss when we were very young. I remember the first time anyone saw us kissing was at one of my mother's Christmas parties. We were five and pretending to be my parents -- not his because his new father had just died a few days ago.
"Get me my shoes!" Blaise commanded, shoving a foot out.
I stare at his foot. "Thereth already a thoe on it," I pointed out. "And get the houthe-elveth to get it, you lathy thod."
Blaise frowns pointedly, wiggling his foot about and nearly dropping his glass of punch.
And then it hits me. "I'm not playing the wife! You are. You're wife material."
Blaise laughs for a very long time. "Then what else do we do?"
I shrug, already bored with this game. Maybe we can go back to stabbing the elves with the fireplace pokers.
Pansy's parents sweep by us, depositing Pansy on the floor. "I'll go get some wine. You keep an eye out for Narcissa or Lucius," her mother says, kissing Pansy's father on the lips before floating away.
Pansy instantly drops her head to the ground and starts bawling, clutching at her fluffy pink dress tragically. Her father tries to stop her.
"I've got it," Blaise says, grabbing my wrist. "Mummies and daddies kiss. Want to try?"
Sometimes I really don't understand this boy. We always do that. Our mothers always kiss each other goodbye on the cheek and we want to be grown up so we do it too.
I lean in for his left cheek but he tilts his head and my lips land on his. I'm angry at first that he would change things but then I remember the few times my parents kiss and that's always on the lips.
Pansy stops her crying. But then her father moves towards us and she falls back again, her head hitting the marble floor hard, and she's gasping through her gulps of tearful breath. It's disgusting.
"Don't do that," her father hisses. Blaise stops kissing to stare wide-eyed at him. I, on the other hand, don't like his tone of voice. No one is allowed to tell a Malfoy what to do. I draw myself to my full height and grab Blaise's ear, tugging him so he stumbles against me, and I smack him on the lips. Then, for good measure, I stuck my tongue at Pansy's father.
"Draco!" This time it's my mother. I turn to her, smiling, but she slaps me lightly across the face. I don't understand. Father always says to let no one boss me around.
I don't see Blaise again until our first day at Hogwarts.
Their voices carry through the bedroom door easily. No Imperturbable charm. Ginny Weasley is next to me because she caught me creeping across the landing. She keeps sending me suspicious looks, a deep sadness underlying it, but she doesn't say a thing.
I wish Potter would just die.
"I don't get it," Potter says. A bed squeaks. "It worked with Ginny."
The girl beside me draws in a sharp breath and she looks at me. I sneer, then realise what it could look like and stare intently at the door handle.
Granger heaves a sigh. "Malfoy's not Ginny. He's Malfoy."
"He's a bloke," Weasley puts in, voice monotone.
No one speaks for a moment. Then Potter says angrily, "I didn't think you would have a problem with this, Ron. I thought we were friends through thick and thin." The last bit he says mockingly.
I don't stick around for Weasley's reply. I've heard more than enough. I don't want to think about it. Leaving Ginny Weasley to clutch at the door with some last shred of hope, I walk back to my room and curl on the bed. It occurs to me that it shouldn't matter if people think I'm a pouf. There's no one to take pride in me anyway.
I hope Weasley ends his friendship with Potter. That would make a nice side article to the sure-to-be upcoming article titled Harry Poufter?. I hope he hurts.
I wonder what would have happened if I'd kissed him back.
Potter finally corners me late the next day when I'm brushing my teeth. He leans in the doorway, staring. I spit the toothpaste residue into the sink and check to make sure no strands are hanging from my mouth before washing it out with water.
"I'm apologising for yesterday," he finally says, once I'm standing directly in front of him and motioning for him to get out of my way.
I answer in such a way as to give him an option to shut up about it. "What happened yesterday?"
Instead of taking the hint like any other normal person would, Potter rolls his eyes and doesn't budge. "For kissing you. I thought you felt the same way as me. Must've been wrong." He half grins. There's no sadness in his eyes. What's he getting at?
"Same way as you?"
Potter nods, blushing. "Yeah. That I fancy you." He pauses and I raise my eyebrows, in amusement, I think, but also in warning. He continues anyway and what he says makes me shove him out of the doorway and storm into my room.
"I want to shag you through the floor. You're so beautiful and pointy."
When I was twelve the Ministry raided our home on account of some anonymous tip. I remember this incident clearly because no one had told me about the raid. I had been visiting Pansy's house and when I flooed home, I slipped upstairs for a bath. When I was walking down the hallway, I saw a form enter my room.
Fear that someone had come for me though I'd done nothing wrong, I dashed into the loo, screaming the whole way and locking the door behind I me. It wasn't until a house-elf found me a few hours later that I found out it was a Ministry raid.
So when I found Potter slipping into my room when I had the shower going, I had to investigate. Is he so sour about my dismissal of him that he's trying to find grounds for kicking me to the street?
When I push open the door, Potter isn't in sight. I frown and eye the closet. I had left my shampoo in there -- no way would I use the Weasley's cheap type -- and I knew he was hiding in there because the door was slightly ajar.
I turn to face my dresser, grinning evilly at the wood. Sighing, I flop onto the bed and hitch my towel up around my waist. There's a gasp from the closet. I tilt my head back and fist my cock. Either knowing Potter is watching makes me hard or it's just the thrill of having someone watch. Hopefully it's the latter. But I'm escalating quickly enough so I bring it home. "Potter," I moan.
I have to squeeze my eyes shut in order to not burst out in laughter. Won't that just turn his crank! And then I can deny him again and it'll be like a never-ending cycle of hurt for Potter. He'll wish he'd never fallen for me.
Hissing issues from the closet. I cease stroking myself at once. Does he speak in parseltongue when wanking?
The door creaks open a bit but only his snake come out of the darkness. I close my eyes and start moving again, my hand working faster and waiting for Potter to exit so I can throw it in his face.
Something faint taps me on my inner thigh. My eyes fly open, and I sit up to find Gretchen between my legs. Potter and it are hissing back and forth. I wonder if Potter's having the snake reveal all the details of my cock.
I frown at my cock in alarm. There doesn't seem to be anything odd with it. Nothing to be embarrassed about. Good.
Ignoring the creature, I flop back and resume my ministrations. I really do get my jollies off someone watching because just knowing the snake is right there, and having its tongue-flicking reminder every few seconds, heightens all my senses.
Potter hisses, his voice deeper and yet breathier. My body betrays me by shivering. Of course, I may have shivered because Gretchen unexpectedly brushed against my balls. Either way, I couldn't help but stiffen and snap my hand away. Potter's name is on the tip of my tongue when the snake wraps around my cock, it's tiny tongue flicking the head and feeling so bloody good and disgusting.
I should have just forgotten about my clothes and taken a shower.
Potter's hisses grow quiet and I can hear the sound of skin slapping skin. Satisfaction shoots through me at the knowledge that Potter's jerking himself off to me. Warning alarms go off in my head that there's something wrong with that but I ignore them because the snake's scaly body is moving around my cock and there's a deep heat in my belly. I want to moan but I hadn't placed any charms around the room so anyone could hear.
There's a prodding at my arse. As if on their own accord, my knees bend and legs widen. The snake feels weird going in. There's no lube or lotion, such as I use when fucking myself, but the snake is so thin that it doesn't matter much. It has some trouble going up but once it's in, the slight pain is gone and all I can think is oh my fuck, I'm being shagged by a snake.
And the snake -- or should I say Potter? -- has wicked rhythm. She doesn't pause in slithering around my cock and her tongue never ceases. Her other end keeps twisting in me, and then she hits my prostate and I'm writhing with her.
I can feel it building, my toes curling and balls tightening. My eyes pop open at a hesitant touch to my feet. Potter is standing at the end of the bed, staring down at me, and I flush, although he's the one who commanded the snake to fuck me.
"Tell me you want me," Potter pleads, his voice still silken and smooth like his parseltongue. He has one hand down his trousers and I can see the fabric moving with his steady strokes.
At first, his words strike me as funny. If he wants me to fancy him, why is he having his pet snake fuck me instead? And then I get angry because he's keeping me from the brink of orgasm.
"I was fucking kidding, Potter, gods." Gretchen pushes inside me farther, pressing insistently at the perfect spot and I can't help it, I'm coming all over my stomach and the snake. Smiling, I go limp.
Potter clears his throat.
"I don't want you to touch me," I mutter, knowing as I say it how inane it sounds. I just shot my load because of a bloody snake and I don't want a person to touch me. Gretchen twists out of me and curls on my stomach, as if she can hear my thoughts. It feels all so filthy and I grimace at her, wishing she'd go away now.
Potter storms out.
Ginny Weasley collapses into the kitchen seat across from me, her face drawn. "Did Harry give you Gretchen?"
For the past three days the bleeding snake has been following me around. I don't dare tell Potter to take her back though because Potter is ignoring me now. I don't want to break that routine. So I'm hoping Gretchen will die soon. Maybe of drowning. Or poisoning, if I can get my hands on some.
"Well?" Weasley asks again, and she sounds so pitiful I debate saying that yes, he did give the snake to me. Maybe I'll add in that we're dating now and Potter gives the most brilliant blowjobs. I wonder how red her face would turn.
I wonder if he can give good blowjobs. Pansy was able to give pretty nice ones, but I've always heard that blokes could give them better.
Gretchen uncurls from her spot next to my plate and the tip of her tail taps the back of my hand, almost as if saying, hey, you're thinking about him again. I sneered at the bloody snake. It's not my fault. If Gretchen wouldn't follow me around then I wouldn't constantly be reminded of Potter.
"Malfoy," Weasley says, leaning across the table and placing her hand on mine. I snap it back in disgust.
She makes a vague sound of discontent then asks, "Are you and Harry...together?"
There it is, a half second after the words leave her mouth: that scrunched face, lips curled back, disgusted that she's talking to a poufter.
There's a soft snort from the front door and I turn to find the twins leaning against the doorjambs, staring at me in amusement. I raise my eyebrows at them and one flicks me off.
Weasley growls quietly. "Look, Malfoy, just fucking tell me if you're dating Harry, okay? It's not that hard. A simple yes or no will do."
I narrow my eyes at her. "Why don't you ask him yourself? I want nothing to do with the berk, but he insists on...pestering me."
She grins. "So you two aren't dating?"
"I'm pretty sure he's gay and unless you're hiding something..."
"C'mon, Ginny," one of the twins says. "Don't be consorting with this bleeding fruit."
"We have some new products we want you to check out. Let's go to the shop," the other finishes, striding forward and taking Weasley's elbow, Apparating her. The remaining twin gives me an unreadable look before following his siblings.
I bet they hadn't said a thing to Potter. In fact, I bet everyone thinks it's my fault Potter wants to engage in deviant activities.
Gretchen curls around my wrist, heavy against my pulse, and I instantly think of Potter.
That's it; I've had it. Potter won -- he bloody well won. He has me thinking about him every bleeding second. And sometimes, in disgusting, immoral ways. Quite a feat. I'd congratulate his underhanded Slytherin tactic if I weren't so mad.
Then again, he probably doesn't even recognise the severity of leaving Gretchen with me.
I find Potter in his and Weasley's room with Granger. "Get out!" I yell, pointing to the door and glaring at Granger.
"Don't have to be so rude," Granger mumbles as she passes me. I turn to snipe back but the door slams shut.
I realise I'm in a room with Potter and I don't know what to say.
Gretchen tightens around my wrist. I thrust it out. "Take it back."
Potter smirks and stands from the bed. Maybe he wasn't talking to me because he thinks I stole his snake and he's angry about it. I'm all wrong. Potter didn't do it to make me think about him.
Potter's hand closes over my wrist, Gretchen squirming between, and he leans forward and kisses me. It's terrible. Just as I had suspected, I kiss him back this time. He tastes like sugar. And his lips are so soft. It shouldn't feel this nice kissing another boy.
I shouldn't even be kissing another boy. I pull away. Potter's so frustrating. "That's not what I meant." And it's not. I don't understand how he mistakes such simple commands. He's worse than Crabbe and Goyle.
Carefully, with much concentration, Potter removes his snake and tosses it on the bed. I'm rather amused that he finds me more important than his snake. So I had been right.
"Er." Potter looks up at me, his green eyes shining. "Do you want me?"
Apparently some traitorous part of me. I say nothing.
He breaks our gaze and looks at, I suppose, the door behind me. "We'll take it slow; let it develop."
I snort. "Yes, because snake fucking and kissing in front of people is slow. Do you know how the wizarding world feels about homosexuality?"
Potter shrugs. "Ron told me. After he apologized for his reaction. I bet Hermione put him up to it."
He's infuriating. Surely it has to have some impact on him. "Don't you care?"
His face scrunches. "I care about you."
Potter's so deluded. He thinks that just because he's Harry Potter it doesn't matter if he's gay -- if he takes me down with him.
"I can convince you to want me," he says, a pleading note to his tone.
This is true, I know, because I already want him. I just don't want to want him. There's only one thing to say, to put him off his mark: the truth. "Don't you understand, Potter? This is disgusting. It's sick and twisted, and I shouldn't partake in it. It would be my demise."
Potter instantly answers, "We can hold each other up," and it occurs to me that he probably gave the same answer to Granger and Weasley.
"We're not in love, Potter," I tell him, strained. Is there no way to put him off?
I unsettled something in him because he just stares at me for the longest time. Slowly, looking me stubbornly in the eye, he says, "We could be, sometime. I...I want to remember something nice instead of all this other shite that comes with the war."
Laughter bubbles up inside me. "Oh, and I'm something nice?"
"I fancy you, and not just because I want to have sex with you."
There's about a million and one reasons why I shouldn't besides the whole homosexuality being deviant behaviour. It'll just be another reason for my father to find me -- for certainly this information can't be kept silent. And then there's my mother to think about. I can't deal with her severing whatever form of a connection we have.
But Potter's so earnest and I can't easily ignore my traitorous thoughts. Who knows, maybe we will die during the war and it won't matter much if I give in.
Potter sways closer and raises a hand between us. It's solid and still, not betraying the unease written so clearly on his face and in his expressive eyes. To escape his gaze, I look behind him. Gretchen is curled, her head in the air and she's staring at us, seeming to mock me and my letdown.
At the moment I'm rather sour on snakes, Gretchen in particular, and definitely their whole language.
I reach out and drop my hand in Potter's clammy one. They're going to be my demise.
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Romance/General/Humour
Length: 5619
Pairings: Harry/Draco, Draco/snake
Warnings: first person and bestiality
Summary: Harry Potter has a snake, and it annoys the bloody hell out of Draco.
Note: Written for hd_falling's Merry Month of May fest with the photo prompt of a green snake.
A gigantic thank you goes to sktypied for the beta work. ♥
Snakes are all right, in principal. They're the Slytherin mascot, after all, and I may be hiding with the bleeding Order, never to return to Hogwarts again, but I'm still a Slytherin. Just like I'm still a Malfoy, regardless if my father disagrees. Knocking someone's name off the fortune and being on opposite sides of the war does not change my blood. Nor my birth certificate. Nor the vault in Gringotts that has been under my name since birth, and that no one can touch, not even me, since I'm in hiding.
But I'm pretty financially set. More so than the Weasleys will ever be, even if they all combined money. More so than Potter. I think. He steadfastly refuses to discuss monetary values with me.
Oddly enough, he likes to discuss anything else with me. Except for house-elves if Granger is around. I learned the hard way that's a no-touch issue with her. That Mudblood has evil birds from hell!
I was talking about snakes though. Right. It's not surprising I lost track. Potter is sitting next to me. The blasted green gardner snake is in his lap.
Ginny Weasley got the snake, Gretchen, for him as a birthday present.
I never even got to eat any of his cake because it was only a week after my mother had dropped me off outside the wards surrounding the Burrow -- and I think the name in disdain. They still weren't sure if I was spying.
I wasn't though. I'm not. I'm hiding, as I said before. And I hate it. My mother is hiding too, somewhere. My father escaped from Azkaban a month ago, and Potter tells me he is searching for me, that I can't leave the house. I don't doubt it, but I also think Potter needs to get his hero tendencies under control. Does he realise he's trying to keep Draco Malfoy alive?
The snake twines around Potter's wrist, its skinny pink tongue darting out and licking up the spidery veins. I wonder what that feels like.
"What are you doing?" Potter asks, drawing my gaze away from the still licking snake to his huge green eyes, the exact same shade as the snake. Don't get me wrong, I didn't stare into Potter's eyes or anything to come to that conclusion. Anyone with ears, and some without, heard Weasley screaming that it was the same colour as his eyes when she'd handed it over.
"Sitting," I reply crisply. I don't like to talk to Potter unless I'm interested in the topic. I'm not interested in small chat.
"Ahh." Potter nods his head as if it's the most intelligent thing he's ever heard me say or like he must think about it. I can't decide if Potter had just degraded himself or insulted me.
Probably both.
I sneer, just in case. Besides, I enjoy sneering. The way my lips curl and my nose wrinkles ever so softly never fails to shoot a thrill of satisfaction up my spine.
Suddenly, Potter hisses, the silken syllables rolling through the air and burying under my skin. The snake ceases its licking but Potter keeps hissing.
I'm rather creeped out. And turned on.
Odd... Am I attracted to snakes?
Confused, pondering what strange perversions are hidden inside me that I'm none the wiser about, I stand and exit the living room, ignoring the lopsided grin that accompanies Potter's hissing.
The sharp bite of my mother's well groomed nails can still be felt on my forearm, digging into the Dark Mark and punishing me for my wrong doings even though it has been three months. She had been wearing her honeysuckle perfume, the smell permeating the air and lingering even at the fast pace we were walking. It's my father's favourite perfume, the one she wears whenever she wants something. Or wants to get out of something.
Either way, the scent is never a good one.
"There's nothing I can do, Draco," she says, her voice somewhere between a moan and a groan. Her nails tighten and there are sure to be indents for the next few hours, maybe even days.
"You did this to yourself. Certainly, I knew you wouldn't be able to do it, and I tried to get you out of it, I did."
Not hard enough.
"But you were so eager and now look at you." She stops, tugging me to face her. I'm still shorter than her and that makes me frown. I'm seventeen now, have been for a little over a month. I should be at least as tall at her. "He's going to have you killed -- the Dark Lord is. This is for your own good."
She looks to the side and I notice we are a ways off from a creaky old home that looks rather like the leaning tower of Pisa, except less extravagant. Nothing I would want to walk into.
"You realise, depending on the outcome of the war, that I won't be able to talk to you ever again. Your father will disown you, I'm sure. Snape said the Dark Lord is breaking him out. But I'd rather have you alive and in the enemy's hands than dead by our own side."
I'm utterly confused. What is she rambling about? But before I can question she takes a step towards the house and gasps in pain when a ward shimmers around her shoulders.
One look, closeted and numb, and she Disapparates.
Just as quick, the Order is surrounding me, and I understand. They search me and force-feed me Veritaserum, questioning me until the sun goes down. Then they lock me in a room.
All in all, it hadn't been one of my best experiences.
"And then I said to them -- I said, 'Why are we keeping him in there? I mean, he's got to have a chance to prove himself.' So, you see, I tried to get you out of the room. They wouldn't listen to me though, until Hermione finally agreed with me." Potter grumbles, staring at the worn sitting room carpet for a second. Then he looks at me with a lopsided grin, biting his lip in a way that reminds me of a pet dog I had when I was seven. His name was Thithlyn, since I had a lisp at that age and couldn't pronounce Slytherin. I had to practice the Unforgivables on him. One day my father had got so mad at me for my inability -- my mother said he always tried to teach me when he was drunk and that's why he thought I'd be able to master it at such a young age -- and used Thithlyn as a demonstration on how the killing curse should work.
The next day my mother bought me a new dog. I charmed a heavy rock around its neck and let it drown at the bottom of our in-ground pool. We never had any pets after that, save for owls, but they're more tools than pets.
Potter clears his throat. "Did you really think I thought you deserved to be stuck in there so long?"
"Really, I don't give a flying fuck," I snap. He brought up the topic himself and I'm not interested in it. I don't like to think about it. Besides, it's in our past now; I've been allowed free reign of the house for two weeks. Though the house is so tiny it's no comfort. But what else should I expect from the Weasley's hovel?
In a huff, Potter flails for a moment, slouching lower on the opposite end of the couch as a result, and crosses his arms. He looks pathetic. I laugh.
"You're so ungrateful," Potter mumbles, and then he looks over, waiting until I've finished laughing before saying, "I don't think you're, you know, that bad."
In the following silence that is my answer, something moves heavily over my sock-clad foot. I yelp and tuck my legs under my arse.
"Gretchen," coos Potter, picking the snake up. He looks the snake in the eyes and says, "Did you scare poor Draco?"
I'm pretty sure he meant to say that in parseltongue but I don't say a word. It's actually rather annoying how ever since I've stopped being treated like a prisoner Potter calls me by my given name. I wouldn't have any problem with it if he was someone I liked, such as Pansy, or Crabbe or Goyle even. But he's not; he's Potter. He may not be as bad as I once thought but it's the fact of the matter. I never gave him permission. He just went ahead and decided to use it. Really shows his nasty character, it does.
The couch protests loudly as Potter shifts to face me, legs bent in front of him. I glare pointedly at his shoes being on the furniture but he doesn't acknowledge it -- plebeian.
"You don't, erm, hate me, do you? Like back in school?"
The snake pauses in its movements and stares at me; I have an audience. I wonder what Potter and Gretchen say about me. Can snakes even hold intelligent conversations?
"I guess not," I answer slowly, weighting my words and looking for weak spots. It's difficult to read Potter this time. Is he mocking or sincere? But Potter instantly glows, leaning forward, and I know it was sincere. Just as I'm contemplating the best response to make Potter's face fall, Molly Weasley's voice rings through from the adjoining room, calling everyone to dinner.
Potter stands and gives me a sidelong look, scrutinizing me. I sneer, and he's off, pounding across the floor like a hippogriff.
I'm bored to death. I've just watched the minute hand on the clock in the kitchen make a full rotation for the second time. There's nothing to do. Everyone else residing in the Weasley's house is gathered in the kitchen too, awaiting the return -- or non-return though no one will speak it aloud -- of Potter, Weasley, and Granger.
It's the third time this has happened in the brief month I've been here. Each time they returned, assured everyone they were all right, and hid up in Potter and Weasley's room to discuss their defeat. I'm annoyed to not know what they are doing, but I'm chuffed that no one else seems to know.
"Do you think they'll be all right?" Ginny Weasley asks, looking petulantly at her mother. Molly Weasley nods, her eyes grave.
There's a strong desire welling up inside me to say that, no, they won't be okay. I want to say something that will make her cry. Though, I must say, I like her much more than Weasley or Granger. She doesn't hold as many qualms against me, though she's annoying with her pestering about whether Potter's said anything about her to me. Apparently since we talk, we must talk about girls.
Well, anyway. Not talking about girls doesn't mean a thing. It just means that...you know, who cares. I smile at Weasley. "Want to play a game of chess?"
She stares at the board. Tonks had set it up three hours ago. Only the twins ever played a game on it.
"Sure." She smiles gratefully and slips away from her parents, shoving her brother out of the seat across from me and commanding the pawn to move.
She beats me soundly. I scowl and demand another round. By the time she beats me for the sixth time, I'm fuming. I always beat Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy, my mother, and the house-elves. I never lost before. She's cheating.
Everyone else is laughing now. If I were someone else, say Potter, I would be happy to make them feel better for a bleeding moment, but I'm Draco Malfoy, so I stand and stomp to the front door.
It opens in my face.
"Hey, look!" Weasley is shouting. "We got it!"
Granger shuts the door and tilts her head at me. I attempt to sneer but I'm clutching my bleeding nose so it has no effect on her. She smiles apologetically at me though and hits me with some silent spell that makes my nose stop bleeding. The fucking Mudblood! I don't need her help.
Everyone suddenly leaps from their chairs, as if just realising the cause of their distress walked through the door, and huddles around the trio, asking them if they're all right, and why they're brandishing a giant dead snake of all things.
It's massive. Its head is about as big as mine. They must have a lightening charm on it because Weasley's waving it about like it's candy floss. I wonder where Gretchen is. Doesn't she have any qualms against her master killing off one of her own species?
I don't even bother wondering why they killed a snake. A long time ago I decided the whole lot of them were barmy.
"Draco." Potter's suddenly standing in front of me, voice all tender and tentative. What curse hit him?
My eyebrows raise when he takes another step closer. He's looking at me intently and I have the feeling he's trying to read something from my eyes. I make sure to project give me breathing space loud and clear in them.
He can't read. He moves even closer and I can't move back any further because there's a wall behind me. He breathes, "Draco" once more, and then he's kissing me. I gasp in shock and he slides a tongue in, swiping my teeth, tongue, the roof of my mouth.
The room is silent. I can feel them all watching us -- Potter, because I have no part in this except that it's my lips he's kissing, my hair he's grabbing, and my body he's pressing against.
And then my body catches up with my mind. I shove him away, hard, so he hits the end of the table with his hip.
There's nothing else to do. I run.
Because, really, it is one thing to completely defy Voldemort and my family history in the process, but it's another thing entirely to turn gay for Harry Potter. Truthfully, I've always had these disgraceful thoughts, albeit not about Potter (I did date Pansy because she had a slightly boyish figure, after all), but it's just like Potter to bring them to light after I had shoved them in a dark, dank corner.
I feel ill. I'm too afraid to leave my room for the loo. What if I come across Potter and he kisses me again? I had been too surprised the first time, but what if the next time I kiss him back?
What kind of bleeding idiot kisses the same sex in front of a bunch of people? How thick is he? Just because he's Harry Potter does not mean everyone will suddenly change their views and decide homosexuality is fine.
Something tells me Potter can't be that thick. Anyone with some form of a brain knows homosexuality is one of the greatest sins a wizard or witch can commit. I should know. Blaise and I used to kiss when we were very young. I remember the first time anyone saw us kissing was at one of my mother's Christmas parties. We were five and pretending to be my parents -- not his because his new father had just died a few days ago.
"Get me my shoes!" Blaise commanded, shoving a foot out.
I stare at his foot. "Thereth already a thoe on it," I pointed out. "And get the houthe-elveth to get it, you lathy thod."
Blaise frowns pointedly, wiggling his foot about and nearly dropping his glass of punch.
And then it hits me. "I'm not playing the wife! You are. You're wife material."
Blaise laughs for a very long time. "Then what else do we do?"
I shrug, already bored with this game. Maybe we can go back to stabbing the elves with the fireplace pokers.
Pansy's parents sweep by us, depositing Pansy on the floor. "I'll go get some wine. You keep an eye out for Narcissa or Lucius," her mother says, kissing Pansy's father on the lips before floating away.
Pansy instantly drops her head to the ground and starts bawling, clutching at her fluffy pink dress tragically. Her father tries to stop her.
"I've got it," Blaise says, grabbing my wrist. "Mummies and daddies kiss. Want to try?"
Sometimes I really don't understand this boy. We always do that. Our mothers always kiss each other goodbye on the cheek and we want to be grown up so we do it too.
I lean in for his left cheek but he tilts his head and my lips land on his. I'm angry at first that he would change things but then I remember the few times my parents kiss and that's always on the lips.
Pansy stops her crying. But then her father moves towards us and she falls back again, her head hitting the marble floor hard, and she's gasping through her gulps of tearful breath. It's disgusting.
"Don't do that," her father hisses. Blaise stops kissing to stare wide-eyed at him. I, on the other hand, don't like his tone of voice. No one is allowed to tell a Malfoy what to do. I draw myself to my full height and grab Blaise's ear, tugging him so he stumbles against me, and I smack him on the lips. Then, for good measure, I stuck my tongue at Pansy's father.
"Draco!" This time it's my mother. I turn to her, smiling, but she slaps me lightly across the face. I don't understand. Father always says to let no one boss me around.
I don't see Blaise again until our first day at Hogwarts.
Their voices carry through the bedroom door easily. No Imperturbable charm. Ginny Weasley is next to me because she caught me creeping across the landing. She keeps sending me suspicious looks, a deep sadness underlying it, but she doesn't say a thing.
I wish Potter would just die.
"I don't get it," Potter says. A bed squeaks. "It worked with Ginny."
The girl beside me draws in a sharp breath and she looks at me. I sneer, then realise what it could look like and stare intently at the door handle.
Granger heaves a sigh. "Malfoy's not Ginny. He's Malfoy."
"He's a bloke," Weasley puts in, voice monotone.
No one speaks for a moment. Then Potter says angrily, "I didn't think you would have a problem with this, Ron. I thought we were friends through thick and thin." The last bit he says mockingly.
I don't stick around for Weasley's reply. I've heard more than enough. I don't want to think about it. Leaving Ginny Weasley to clutch at the door with some last shred of hope, I walk back to my room and curl on the bed. It occurs to me that it shouldn't matter if people think I'm a pouf. There's no one to take pride in me anyway.
I hope Weasley ends his friendship with Potter. That would make a nice side article to the sure-to-be upcoming article titled Harry Poufter?. I hope he hurts.
I wonder what would have happened if I'd kissed him back.
Potter finally corners me late the next day when I'm brushing my teeth. He leans in the doorway, staring. I spit the toothpaste residue into the sink and check to make sure no strands are hanging from my mouth before washing it out with water.
"I'm apologising for yesterday," he finally says, once I'm standing directly in front of him and motioning for him to get out of my way.
I answer in such a way as to give him an option to shut up about it. "What happened yesterday?"
Instead of taking the hint like any other normal person would, Potter rolls his eyes and doesn't budge. "For kissing you. I thought you felt the same way as me. Must've been wrong." He half grins. There's no sadness in his eyes. What's he getting at?
"Same way as you?"
Potter nods, blushing. "Yeah. That I fancy you." He pauses and I raise my eyebrows, in amusement, I think, but also in warning. He continues anyway and what he says makes me shove him out of the doorway and storm into my room.
"I want to shag you through the floor. You're so beautiful and pointy."
When I was twelve the Ministry raided our home on account of some anonymous tip. I remember this incident clearly because no one had told me about the raid. I had been visiting Pansy's house and when I flooed home, I slipped upstairs for a bath. When I was walking down the hallway, I saw a form enter my room.
Fear that someone had come for me though I'd done nothing wrong, I dashed into the loo, screaming the whole way and locking the door behind I me. It wasn't until a house-elf found me a few hours later that I found out it was a Ministry raid.
So when I found Potter slipping into my room when I had the shower going, I had to investigate. Is he so sour about my dismissal of him that he's trying to find grounds for kicking me to the street?
When I push open the door, Potter isn't in sight. I frown and eye the closet. I had left my shampoo in there -- no way would I use the Weasley's cheap type -- and I knew he was hiding in there because the door was slightly ajar.
I turn to face my dresser, grinning evilly at the wood. Sighing, I flop onto the bed and hitch my towel up around my waist. There's a gasp from the closet. I tilt my head back and fist my cock. Either knowing Potter is watching makes me hard or it's just the thrill of having someone watch. Hopefully it's the latter. But I'm escalating quickly enough so I bring it home. "Potter," I moan.
I have to squeeze my eyes shut in order to not burst out in laughter. Won't that just turn his crank! And then I can deny him again and it'll be like a never-ending cycle of hurt for Potter. He'll wish he'd never fallen for me.
Hissing issues from the closet. I cease stroking myself at once. Does he speak in parseltongue when wanking?
The door creaks open a bit but only his snake come out of the darkness. I close my eyes and start moving again, my hand working faster and waiting for Potter to exit so I can throw it in his face.
Something faint taps me on my inner thigh. My eyes fly open, and I sit up to find Gretchen between my legs. Potter and it are hissing back and forth. I wonder if Potter's having the snake reveal all the details of my cock.
I frown at my cock in alarm. There doesn't seem to be anything odd with it. Nothing to be embarrassed about. Good.
Ignoring the creature, I flop back and resume my ministrations. I really do get my jollies off someone watching because just knowing the snake is right there, and having its tongue-flicking reminder every few seconds, heightens all my senses.
Potter hisses, his voice deeper and yet breathier. My body betrays me by shivering. Of course, I may have shivered because Gretchen unexpectedly brushed against my balls. Either way, I couldn't help but stiffen and snap my hand away. Potter's name is on the tip of my tongue when the snake wraps around my cock, it's tiny tongue flicking the head and feeling so bloody good and disgusting.
I should have just forgotten about my clothes and taken a shower.
Potter's hisses grow quiet and I can hear the sound of skin slapping skin. Satisfaction shoots through me at the knowledge that Potter's jerking himself off to me. Warning alarms go off in my head that there's something wrong with that but I ignore them because the snake's scaly body is moving around my cock and there's a deep heat in my belly. I want to moan but I hadn't placed any charms around the room so anyone could hear.
There's a prodding at my arse. As if on their own accord, my knees bend and legs widen. The snake feels weird going in. There's no lube or lotion, such as I use when fucking myself, but the snake is so thin that it doesn't matter much. It has some trouble going up but once it's in, the slight pain is gone and all I can think is oh my fuck, I'm being shagged by a snake.
And the snake -- or should I say Potter? -- has wicked rhythm. She doesn't pause in slithering around my cock and her tongue never ceases. Her other end keeps twisting in me, and then she hits my prostate and I'm writhing with her.
I can feel it building, my toes curling and balls tightening. My eyes pop open at a hesitant touch to my feet. Potter is standing at the end of the bed, staring down at me, and I flush, although he's the one who commanded the snake to fuck me.
"Tell me you want me," Potter pleads, his voice still silken and smooth like his parseltongue. He has one hand down his trousers and I can see the fabric moving with his steady strokes.
At first, his words strike me as funny. If he wants me to fancy him, why is he having his pet snake fuck me instead? And then I get angry because he's keeping me from the brink of orgasm.
"I was fucking kidding, Potter, gods." Gretchen pushes inside me farther, pressing insistently at the perfect spot and I can't help it, I'm coming all over my stomach and the snake. Smiling, I go limp.
Potter clears his throat.
"I don't want you to touch me," I mutter, knowing as I say it how inane it sounds. I just shot my load because of a bloody snake and I don't want a person to touch me. Gretchen twists out of me and curls on my stomach, as if she can hear my thoughts. It feels all so filthy and I grimace at her, wishing she'd go away now.
Potter storms out.
Ginny Weasley collapses into the kitchen seat across from me, her face drawn. "Did Harry give you Gretchen?"
For the past three days the bleeding snake has been following me around. I don't dare tell Potter to take her back though because Potter is ignoring me now. I don't want to break that routine. So I'm hoping Gretchen will die soon. Maybe of drowning. Or poisoning, if I can get my hands on some.
"Well?" Weasley asks again, and she sounds so pitiful I debate saying that yes, he did give the snake to me. Maybe I'll add in that we're dating now and Potter gives the most brilliant blowjobs. I wonder how red her face would turn.
I wonder if he can give good blowjobs. Pansy was able to give pretty nice ones, but I've always heard that blokes could give them better.
Gretchen uncurls from her spot next to my plate and the tip of her tail taps the back of my hand, almost as if saying, hey, you're thinking about him again. I sneered at the bloody snake. It's not my fault. If Gretchen wouldn't follow me around then I wouldn't constantly be reminded of Potter.
"Malfoy," Weasley says, leaning across the table and placing her hand on mine. I snap it back in disgust.
She makes a vague sound of discontent then asks, "Are you and Harry...together?"
There it is, a half second after the words leave her mouth: that scrunched face, lips curled back, disgusted that she's talking to a poufter.
There's a soft snort from the front door and I turn to find the twins leaning against the doorjambs, staring at me in amusement. I raise my eyebrows at them and one flicks me off.
Weasley growls quietly. "Look, Malfoy, just fucking tell me if you're dating Harry, okay? It's not that hard. A simple yes or no will do."
I narrow my eyes at her. "Why don't you ask him yourself? I want nothing to do with the berk, but he insists on...pestering me."
She grins. "So you two aren't dating?"
"I'm pretty sure he's gay and unless you're hiding something..."
"C'mon, Ginny," one of the twins says. "Don't be consorting with this bleeding fruit."
"We have some new products we want you to check out. Let's go to the shop," the other finishes, striding forward and taking Weasley's elbow, Apparating her. The remaining twin gives me an unreadable look before following his siblings.
I bet they hadn't said a thing to Potter. In fact, I bet everyone thinks it's my fault Potter wants to engage in deviant activities.
Gretchen curls around my wrist, heavy against my pulse, and I instantly think of Potter.
That's it; I've had it. Potter won -- he bloody well won. He has me thinking about him every bleeding second. And sometimes, in disgusting, immoral ways. Quite a feat. I'd congratulate his underhanded Slytherin tactic if I weren't so mad.
Then again, he probably doesn't even recognise the severity of leaving Gretchen with me.
I find Potter in his and Weasley's room with Granger. "Get out!" I yell, pointing to the door and glaring at Granger.
"Don't have to be so rude," Granger mumbles as she passes me. I turn to snipe back but the door slams shut.
I realise I'm in a room with Potter and I don't know what to say.
Gretchen tightens around my wrist. I thrust it out. "Take it back."
Potter smirks and stands from the bed. Maybe he wasn't talking to me because he thinks I stole his snake and he's angry about it. I'm all wrong. Potter didn't do it to make me think about him.
Potter's hand closes over my wrist, Gretchen squirming between, and he leans forward and kisses me. It's terrible. Just as I had suspected, I kiss him back this time. He tastes like sugar. And his lips are so soft. It shouldn't feel this nice kissing another boy.
I shouldn't even be kissing another boy. I pull away. Potter's so frustrating. "That's not what I meant." And it's not. I don't understand how he mistakes such simple commands. He's worse than Crabbe and Goyle.
Carefully, with much concentration, Potter removes his snake and tosses it on the bed. I'm rather amused that he finds me more important than his snake. So I had been right.
"Er." Potter looks up at me, his green eyes shining. "Do you want me?"
Apparently some traitorous part of me. I say nothing.
He breaks our gaze and looks at, I suppose, the door behind me. "We'll take it slow; let it develop."
I snort. "Yes, because snake fucking and kissing in front of people is slow. Do you know how the wizarding world feels about homosexuality?"
Potter shrugs. "Ron told me. After he apologized for his reaction. I bet Hermione put him up to it."
He's infuriating. Surely it has to have some impact on him. "Don't you care?"
His face scrunches. "I care about you."
Potter's so deluded. He thinks that just because he's Harry Potter it doesn't matter if he's gay -- if he takes me down with him.
"I can convince you to want me," he says, a pleading note to his tone.
This is true, I know, because I already want him. I just don't want to want him. There's only one thing to say, to put him off his mark: the truth. "Don't you understand, Potter? This is disgusting. It's sick and twisted, and I shouldn't partake in it. It would be my demise."
Potter instantly answers, "We can hold each other up," and it occurs to me that he probably gave the same answer to Granger and Weasley.
"We're not in love, Potter," I tell him, strained. Is there no way to put him off?
I unsettled something in him because he just stares at me for the longest time. Slowly, looking me stubbornly in the eye, he says, "We could be, sometime. I...I want to remember something nice instead of all this other shite that comes with the war."
Laughter bubbles up inside me. "Oh, and I'm something nice?"
"I fancy you, and not just because I want to have sex with you."
There's about a million and one reasons why I shouldn't besides the whole homosexuality being deviant behaviour. It'll just be another reason for my father to find me -- for certainly this information can't be kept silent. And then there's my mother to think about. I can't deal with her severing whatever form of a connection we have.
But Potter's so earnest and I can't easily ignore my traitorous thoughts. Who knows, maybe we will die during the war and it won't matter much if I give in.
Potter sways closer and raises a hand between us. It's solid and still, not betraying the unease written so clearly on his face and in his expressive eyes. To escape his gaze, I look behind him. Gretchen is curled, her head in the air and she's staring at us, seeming to mock me and my letdown.
At the moment I'm rather sour on snakes, Gretchen in particular, and definitely their whole language.
I reach out and drop my hand in Potter's clammy one. They're going to be my demise.