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The Stag and The Snake	By : JBankai89 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 9713 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, I gain nothing from this but a way to pass the time.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
Chapter 10 – Admissions and Surprises

Harry didn't say a word about the conversation he'd overheard to anyone. He brushed off Sirius and Remus's comments that he did not look well, but after what he'd heard, he found it extremely difficult to shut off his mind and sleep each night. He tried on dress robe after dress robe without a word of complaint, and escaped to his bedroom at the earliest opportunity.

Ten days before the Ball, Harry's meditative state—where he was going over what he had heard for the hundredth time—was broken when he felt a weight at the end of his bed. He blinked a few times, and turned to see Remus sitting there, smiling at him placidly. For a moment, he wondered how he failed to notice him coming in, but his train of thought was interrupted by the older man. “Harry, is everything all right? You haven't been yourself this past week, and you seem depressed.”

“I'm grand, Remus. Spectacular. My life is a happy candyland where every day is sunshine and rainbows.” He spoke monotonously, shifting his gaze back to his bedroom wall. “Why would I be depressed? My whole life is being planned for me. I've only ever lived with people who don't want me around. Why would anything be wrong?” His breath hitched a little, but he swallowed the sob that threatened to slip out. He'd never cried in front of anyone, and he wasn't about to start now.

“Harry, what are you talking about? Sirius and I love having you here.” He felt Remus's hand go to touch his shoulder in what was supposed to be a comforting gesture, but Harry flinched away from the contact as though he'd been burned. He felt Remus lean back into his original sitting position.

“Why would you adopt me if you didn't want me?” Harry's voice was barely above a whisper, and he felt as though something inside him had snapped. He trembled, teetering precariously between blind rage and choking anguish.

“You overheard us, didn't you?” Remus asked after several minutes of tense silence. Harry felt as though his throat had closed; he nodded silently.

“Harry, what you need to understand is that we have been petitioning for your adoption for twelve years.” Harry turned his head, roughly rubbing at the corners his eyes with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. Remus was staring back at him with a sad, guilty look. “We were rejected every time. Albus maintained that it was essential for you to say there, to keep it a safe haven for you until you came of age.” The corner of his mouth twitched slightly, but it was a bitter smile.

“Last summer after...after your birthday, we tried again. We thought the way was clear, but we felt that it would be a bad idea for it to be known publicly that you no longer live with your blood relatives.” He looked away from Harry, and he could see the shame written all over his face.

“We decided that we would follow through with the adoption, but maintain a public image that we were only doing it to make the Bonding Rite proceedings easier.”

Harry had listened in silence, and had sat up and folded his legs under him. He wanted to stay mad at them, but it was starting to feel difficult to do so. “Sirius, as you can imagine, hates putting forth the illusion that we only did it for the Rite, and not because we actually wanted you. You need to know Harry, first and foremost, we see you as our son.” Remus paused, and looked back to Harry, his expression almost distraught with guilt. “We both love you very much, we're just trying to keep you safe. We know you haven't had the easiest time—” Harry snorted. Understatement of the year, he thought. “—But everything we've done was to keep you safe.” Remus paused again, and the guilt written all over the man's face made Harry's stomach clench with guilt. “Our most important job, more than anything else, is making sure that you're safe. I'm not saying the way Albus or we approached the situation was right, but...” he trailed off and shook his head sadly, as though he was uncertain how to finish the thought.

Remus was not a hugger. Harry knew that. While Sirius was fairly open with contact, hugging Harry, picking him up and carrying him when he was little, Remus had always been more reserved. Harry could only recall seeing Remus kiss his husband once or twice in the past seven years. In that moment, Harry could not bring himself to respect the man's personal bubble, and he lurched forward and hugged him tightly. “I'm sorry,” he whispered softly. He felt Remus's arms press into his back, and his knot of misery seemed to begin to dissolve.

After his and Remus's conversation, Harry felt as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. At times, it was still difficult to deal with, his mind retreating back to the conversation he had overheard, and it occasionally took time for Harry to convince himself that he was actually wanted at home. Given that he had spent a good chunk of time being used to the feeling of not being wanted around, it was a very strange concept to wrap his head around.

At the same time, he remembered with a wave of panic that the Ball was in one week. The three of them had finally agreed on a set of dress robes, after three more exhausting sessions with Madam Malkin. He'd been put through his makeover, and it was as painless as Ron had promised.

The week flew past much more quickly than Harry would have liked, punctuated with letters from both Ron and Hermione, promising that they would indeed be at the Ball, and to stay calm.

Just breathe mate, Ron wrote, it'll be mad enough without you completely losing your head. Hermione promised to drop a bagful of dungbombs if it gets too bad for you. I think Fred and George have had a bad influence on her.

Harry, wrote Hermione, just pretend it's the Yule Ball back at Hogwarts or something, and don't let Malfoy get to you. I've been looking into this Rite thing, and it looks like Ron was right, it's not easy to break. I read in Wizarding Rites and Traditions of the Twentieth Century some accounts of people who tried to break their contract and it definitely wasn't pleasant. I'll keep looking though, there must be a way to get you out of this.

Harry appreciated her determination, though he privately hoped she wouldn't turn it into another one of her crusades. He could almost see her marching back and forth in front of the Ministry entrance with a huge placard demanding his contract be broken, and he shuddered. The last thing he needed was more publicity.

The day before the Ball, Harry woke and felt a rush of jumbled emotions in quick succession: absolute panic, dread, and then a flicker of happiness, remembering that it was his birthday. Of course, his birthdays hadn't always been fun, and he was still getting used to the idea of being pleased that it was his birthday. This was proving extra difficult with the Ball looming ahead of him, looking more and more like an execution than a celebration.

In a half-asleep daze, he shuffled to the bathroom to shower, shave, and dress, and then shuffled out to the kitchen. “Ah there's the birthday boy!” cried Sirius, throwing his arms in the air in clearly was intended to be a celebratory gesture.

“Hooray,” Harry mumbled as he sat down heavily. It's too early for this shit, he thought, stifling another yawn and reaching for the coffee.

“At least eat something if you're going to drink that,” Remus said, pushing some toast towards him. He took it grudgingly, though his stomach felt as though it was too knotted up to properly eat, and he pushed it away after a few bites.

The few sips of coffee Harry had drunk seemed to feed enough caffeine into his system to properly rouse him. He then nursed it halfheartedly as he tried to not think about the following day, with little success. “So Harry, you're considered an adult in both the Wizarding and Muggle worlds now, feel any different?”

Harry shrugged to Sirius's feeble attempt at small talk. “What I'm feeling is indigestion, mostly.” He stifled a yawn with his hand, and went to rake his fingers through his hair, grimacing a little. He rubbed his eyes and looked up at the pair, whose smiles had fallen a little.

“I'm sorry,” he mumbled, trying to reign in his bad mood, “I'm just stressed about tomorrow.”

“Just forget about it for now, and try to enjoy your birthday.” Remus offered a small smile, and Harry nodded, though he didn't really believe the words.

“I'll try.”

Harry was pleased that he was left to his own devices for a good portion of the day. In the past, Harry could do pretty much whatever he wanted when he was home, but after he had begun to live there full-time, Sirius and Remus had given him a few chores to do. It was nothing compared to what the Dursleys had made him do, and he always did them without complaint. But as it was his birthday, they let him take a day off from them. He sat by the fire, re-reading Flying With the Cannons for the fifteenth time, and grazed on a steady stream of Fizzing Whizzbees and chocolate frogs, pointedly ignoring Remus's gentle suggestions that he should eat something veggie green instead of gummi green.

At some point Harry had migrated back to his room, and in the early evening he heard Sirius calling his name. He walked out, and saw both he and Remus in travelling cloaks. “Everything okay?” he asked uncertainly.

“We thought it'd be nice to go out for dinner for your birthday. Nothing fancy, I promise.” Sirius grinned a little, and Remus elbowed him sharply.

Harry narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the pair. “All right...” he went back to his room and grabbed a sweater and threw it over his T-shirt, and quickly brushed his teeth. When he got back he decided to try and get a less vague answer out of them. “Where are we going?”

“It's a surprise. We're going to take you by Side-Along-Apparition, is that all right?” Harry had a funny feeling he knew what they were up to, but he still nodded. “Wonderful, let's go.” Sirius grinned at him, and Harry stepped over to let him tightly grip his arm.

One uncomfortably claustrophobic moment later, the blast of noise that greeted him verified his suspicions at once. “SURPRISE!”

He recognized where he was immediately. The teetering multi-storey house being a dead giveaway. In front of him he saw all the Weasleys, Hermione, Fleur Delacoeur, and Hagrid beaming at him. They had all cried out surprise at different times they were laughing and beaming at him. He turned to Sirius and he was grinning in an almost sheepish way. Despite his almost overwhelming panic at what was coming, he couldn't help but smile.

“Happy Birthday Harry!” said Ginny, offering him a quick hug as the crowd began to disperse.

“Bonne Fête, 'Arry!” Fleur added, sweeping in to kiss him on the cheek.

“Harry, look at yeh! Eighteen!” Hagrid patted Harry on the back gently, though it was still enough to make his knees buckle.

The group dispersed slowly, offering more well-wishes as they went. Harry looked around the garden once he had gotten over the initial shock, though he still wasn't entirely certain whether he wanted to thank Sirius or throttle him. Three picnic tables that he recognized from more than one Weasley dinner were placed end to end with a white tablecloth draped over the lot, positively groaning under the weight of Mrs Weasley's excellent cooking. Floating above it was a simple banner that read, Happy Birthday Harry. The sentiment made him blush a little, and Sirius chuckled behind him, clapped him on the shoulder, before he too stepped off with the rest.

“Happy Birthday Harry dear,” Mrs Weasley said, pulling him in for a hug. Ron was grinning from behind his mother, and Hermione seemed to be teetering between excitement and anxiety. “I hope it wasn't too much of a shock, we just wanted you to have a real birthday.”

“I—it's great Mrs Weasley, really. Definitely wasn't expecting it.” He laughed a little, and she smiled warmly at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione relax a little, and take Ron's hand.

Mrs Weasley headed off and began to usher everyone to the table, Ron and Hermione falling into step with him. “I hope you're not too upset Harry,” Hermione said, “everyone was adamant about giving you a surprise party.”

“Yeah I've got enough things jumping out at me, thanks,” Ron laughed, “but it's okay Hermione, it's nice. I've never had a surprise party before.” He saw their faces fall slightly, and Harry felt slightly uncomfortable. He hadn't intended for it to sound like he was looking for pity. He offered them an apologetic look, but the two seemed to forget about his comment as they dug into the dinner.

Harry had a funny feeling that either Sirius, Remus, Ron, or Hermione had probably talked to everyone else on his behalf, because throughout the dinner there was no mention of tomorrow. A few times, it looked as though someone was going to ask, Percy and Hermione in particular, but thankfully, they managed to curb their impulse. Harry happily talked Quidditch with Ron and Charlie, discussing which teams most likely to play in the World Cup, and the latest Firebolt model that had been unveiled the previous week. Hermione had turned to Percy and talked animatedly with him about her University plans.

The evening was rounded out with an enormous chocolate cake decorated in Gryffindor colours, and a pile of presents that made Harry blush and grin joyfully in equal measure. From Hermione he got a thick book about Wizarding Traditions, he assumed a more simplified version of the enormous tomes she had probably been poring over. Ron gave him a huge bag of dungbombs. From the twins he got an enormous box of Skiving Snackboxes. Hagrid gave him a lush feather quill, which upon closer inspection Harry realized was a Hippogriff feather.

The other Weasleys gave him small gifts, which included most of his favourite snacks. Remus gave him a pair of golden snitch cuff links, which made his stomach twist in momentary panic as he remembered tomorrow, but Sirius gave him a photo album, half filled with a jumble of pictures of his parents, as well as snapshots of his life with his adoptive parents. It took a great deal of effort to reign in the swell of emotion he felt upon receiving it and offer up a simple, “thank you.” His voice was much croakier than usual.

Harry was fairly certain that he thanked everyone at least three times each, while they laughed and brushed off his thanks with warm, amused smiles. Harry felt slightly overwhelmed by the evening, but for once in a good way. The initial shock had finally worn off, and he allowed himself to just enjoy the evening. He talked, joked, and shared his sweets with everyone. Evening faded into night and Harry hardly noticed, too caught up in Ron and Charlie's Quidditch play-by-play of England's embarrassing defeat against Brazil the week before.

All too soon, Harry felt Sirius grip his shoulder, drawing his attention away from his friends. “Time to go,” he said simply, Harry swallowed his protests and nodded. He could feel his anxiety return in full measure as he thanked everyone in turn and disapparated.
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The Stag and The Snake