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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
- 13
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- 15
Chapter 2 – Nose Over Tail

Snape did not make himself known straightaway that evening, though Harry could sense his approach. He was sitting in the gentle moonlight, his fingers brushing lightly over the petals of the buttercup flowers, little more than sealed off buds closed off from the world. He felt a warmth in his abdomen, a tingle that soon spread upwards to his chest, down his arms, across his legs, before completely enclosing his form. He looked down at himself and found his robes transfigured, white, form-fitting satin replacing the cotton-poly blend of black, with delicate silver embroidery similar to Celtic knots around the cuffs. Bonding robes.

He stood slowly, taking his time turning to face his captor. He glared, while Snape looked on with amusement. “Don't you ever get tired of asking me the same thing seventeen-hundred nights in a row?” Harry asked, gritting his teeth as he waited for a response.

“And if you had used those impressive maths skills for something other than rule-breaking, how different your life may have been.” He smirked, reaching Harry and snaking an arm around the young man's waist, his opposite hand threading his fingers with Harry's. Harry struggled away from him with a noise of disgust. The transfiguration spell broke, and Harry's robes changed back.

“Being near you makes my skin crawl, Snape. My answer is still no, never, no way, nuh-uh, et cetera. Fuck off.” He spun away from him and stalked off, but he reappeared before Harry almost at once. Harry stumbled back in an effort to get away from the wizard, but a strong hand coiled around his upper arm with bruising force. Harry grimaced, struggling to hide the wince of pain.

“You still hold on to that foolish hope that your silver knight will save you?” Snape hissed with cold fury, “my taking you nullified that ridiculous contract. Mr Malfoy has no reason to go chasing after his precious Boy Who Lived. He does not care for you.” Snape threw away Harry's arm, as though it had burned him. Harry staggered, but managed to keep himself from falling. He took several steadying breaths, regarding the older man with a look of deepest disgust.

“You're wrong Snape,” he growled with as much feigned defiance as he could muster, “you can't keep me here forever.”

“Flee if you wish then,” Snape chuckled. “See how far you can get before dawn, my little quadruped.” He barked another laugh and Disapparated. Harry's knees gave way beneath him, and he let out a cry of frustration and despair, his fingers clawing at his hair.

~*~

“Sirius! Are you even taking this seriously?” Draco snapped, storming out of the wood for the fifth time that evening. The shaggy dog bounded ahead of him and a moment later he morphed back into a man. He turned and glared at the youth.

“It's not as easy as lighting a candle Draco,” he snapped, grabbing the young man's blazer off the overhanging tree and tossing it to him. “I've told you at least a dozen times, it's not an instinct that comes naturally to me as it might to a natural dog or wolf.” He spoke levelly, but his annoyance was obvious. “You need to let me get a handle on this before we try it outside our little controlled tests.” Draco gritted his teeth, but he didn't answer back.

“I know you're eager to test this,” Remus said, approaching the two at their meeting site, defusing the situation by clasping Sirius's hand and lightly squeezing Draco's shoulder. “But, it will all be for nothing if we don't perfect it beforehand.” Draco averted his gaze, and kicked at the grass.

“I know.” He huffed a little, watching the blades of grass flutter back to the ground from where his boot had uprooted them. “It's been so long though, and I just want to find him.” He looked back up to find his feelings reflected back at him by the two men.

“We'll find him Draco. We will bring him home.”

~*~

Later that night, Sirius and Remus used the Floo Network to return from Malfoy Manor. While Sirius normally preferred Apparition, Draco's generous offering of his father's stores of Madam Rosmerta's oak-matured mead had made Sirius more than a little unsteady, and he was fairly certain that Lucius would not be pleased if he splinched himself in the parlour. He stumbled out of the grate, and the spinning form of Remus joined him a moment later. His eyes were slightly glazed, and he pressed a hand to the centre of Sirius's back. “Some tea, I think.” He was much steadier on his feet than Sirius was.

“And maybe a generous dose of that hangover draught,” Sirius added, sitting down heavily while Remus conjured the platter. His Bonded chuckled at the request, and summoned the tiny vial with a second flick of his wand. Sirius caught it as it zoomed across the room, and knocked back the violet liquid with a shudder, then accepted the cuppa from Remus -gratefully. “You'd think by now they'd've invented a hangover potion that doesn't taste like a Death Eater's asshole.” Remus huffed in quiet laughter, shaking his head a little.

“I'm sure that's top of the list, right after making a workable cheese cauldron.” Sirius laughed, and he eased back into the armchair. “I don't want you or Draco to despair,” Remus said suddenly, bringing his Bonded's attention back to the activities of the day. He reached over and took his hand, rubbing his palm with his thumb soothingly. “I want find Harry too, but perfecting this and seeing if it will even work...it will take time. Rushing headlong into this will only alert his captor to our plans, and he may...hurt Harry if he feels that we're getting too close.” Sirius was fairly certain Remus had meant to say kill instead of hurt. While he agreed with the sentiment, it was still difficult to hear.

“I know Remus,” Sirius sighed, staring down into cup and watching the dregs of the tea leaves swirl around the bottom. This new plan gave him hope, but with every day that passed Sirius could feel his guilt increase. He was Harry's guardian, and he'd failed in bringing him home safe. “ We can't give up now,” he said, his voice coming out more hoarsely than he had anticipated. “We're getting close, I just know it.”

The following morning, Sirius woke with only a twinge behind his eyes, and thanked the Gods above for the wonders of potion-making. He sat up and shuffled off to ready himself for the day, Remus still sound asleep, sprawled across the bed, looking entirely at peace. The sight made Sirius feel warm, a quiet joy that had been in precious little supply over the last few years. Sirius was loath to disturb him.

Though in the past Sirius had always been a late riser, in recent years his nightmares chased away any desire he had to sleep for longer than was necessary. He padded quietly out of their bedroom and paused outside Harry's room. He moved away before he could allow the grief to settle too securely in his heart.

Sirius attempted to make breakfast once he had washed and dressed, and the billowing black smoke and acrid smells of burnt food was enough to wake Remus. “How many times,” he said with uncharacteristic anger, “have I told you to not try and cook?” He spent several minutes flicking his wand to dissipate the smoke and smell, before using a cleaning charm to rid his pans of the charcoal briquettes that at one time may have been food. “I swear, I have no idea how you managed to not die of starvation before I came along.”

“I'm sorry Remus,” Sirius mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment and looking anywhere but at his annoyed partner. “You've just been so patient with me these last few years...never trying to deter me from...from everything. I just wanted to, I don't know, do something for you in return.” He felt his face grow warm, but he couldn't place why he was feeling so much like a hormonal, embarrassed teenager at that moment.

“Next time try to do something that won't involve burning the building down.” Though it was clear that he was still irritated, Sirius could see the ghost of a smile upon his face. “Sit. I will cook.” Sirius obeyed. He leaned back in his seat and watched Remus work, cracking eggs, frying bacon, and brewing tea.

Sirius loved watching him work in the kitchen. The normally reserved and almost meditative werewolf would allow himself to unwind, and in focusing on the task before him, he seemed truly at peace. Sirius was no stranger to the often brutal treatment his Bonded endured at the hands of many within the wizarding world, and even if it was only temporary, he loved the absolute peace that seemed to engulf him when he was in his kitchen.

“I'll keep that in mind,” Sirius said with a small laugh. “How about some pearls?”

“Don't be an ass,” Remus smirked, “pearls would never go with my complexion.” Sirius chortled and they fell into comfortable silence. Remus levitated the prepared food over to the table, and they both helped themselves. They ate quietly, each man preoccupied with their own thoughts. Sirius's gaze shifted to the empty chair at the end of the small table, and even after five years, it felt wrong for it to be empty. He could still see phantoms of Harry through the years, sitting there eating third and fourth helpings, talking animatedly with his guardians, not a care in the world. Sirius's guilt resurfaced in full measure, and he forced his gaze away from the empty piece of furniture.

After about ten minutes, Remus spoke in a delicate but conversational tone, effectively breaking the silence. “I've been quite surprised by Draco's take on all this...mess.”

Sirius nodded a little in agreement to Remus's sentiment. “I assumed that once the contract had been nullified he would have scarpered, but instead he's been so...devoted to finding him.” Sirius could not help but smile a little. He had despised the little shit ever since the invocation all those years ago, but once he bothered to get to know the boy, he instead found a deeply sentimental and single-minded young man, putting his every effort into finding Harry. In many ways, Draco reminded him of himself.

“We have to find him,” Remus said with more force than he usually spoke.

“We will,” Sirius said, his voice more confident than he felt.

Though it was a Sunday, Remus left early to pick something up at his office and left Sirius alone in the flat. He found himself feeling almost lost; alone with his thoughts and no one nearby to vent them to. His mind went over years as though they were pages in a book, remembering Draco's continued insistence that Harry was alive, even after the Weasleys and Hermione Granger had admitted defeat three years earlier. Sirius was very reluctant to keep in contact with them after that. Sirius wandered back into Harry's room, unable to stop himself, despite the grief that would come with his arrival to the space.

Every time Sirius stepped in, he felt as though his heart had been caught by a tendril of Devil's Snare. But at the same time, he could not turn away from the room. Memories came to him, remembering that timid little boy grow and flourish under their care, and his sudden realization that he cared for that bespectacled boy as though he was his own flesh and blood. Harry had been as much James's son as he was Sirius's.

The bed groaned slightly under his weight, and he pressed his fingers into the cold duvet, tracing the minute creases of the cloth with his fingertips. He looked up, his grief returning to him in full measure, and he looked at the night table, where a framed picture stood. He remembered the pride that swelled within him when he had first noticed it; himself, Remus, and a ten-year-old Harry, laughing and waving on the outskirts of Muggle Dublin.

The memory of that first holiday together filled Sirius with nostalgic joy and bitter pain. He picked up the frame, but his hands were trembling too much and it slipped between his fingers, clattering to the floor. “Damn,” he hissed, though he was relieved that the glass had not broken. As he knelt to pick it back up, his eyes caught something beneath the bed, just barely out of view. Hesitant to invade Harry's privacy but curious all the same, he reached out and picked up the thing. It took him a moment to realize that it was the journal he and Remus had given him as a welcome home present.

Sirius smiled sadly, and brushed the dust off the front of it with the sleeve of his robe. That day seemed like a lifetime ago, and yet he could remember it so clearly. The journal had been used more than Sirius had expected. The cover was careworn and the pages slightly warped, the edges of the paper yellowed slightly with age. Against his better judgment but longing to hold on to a piece of the boy he had lost, he unclasped the journal and looked inside, flipping the pages gently.

There was no concealment charm upon it, which had surprised Sirius at first, uncertain whether Harry didn't feel the need to use one, or if it simply hadn't occurred to him to cast one. Sirius felt warm as he flipped the pages; nearly every sheet had been filled with Harry's rushed scrawl, inky finger and wrist prints obscuring some of the words in the boy's haste at times.

I'm scared, Harry wrote, this whole betrothal-arranged marriage thing is driving me mental. It almost feels like my whole life has been leading up to this point, and I have no idea what comes after. Sirius and I are constantly at each other's throats and Remus just sits there like a bloody Quidditch referee. I'm not actually that angry with them, but I'm no good at venting, and so it comes out as barbs at Sirius's nagging. If we don't find a common ground soon, we'll probably kill each other.

Sirius chuckled, flipping the pages slowly, sometimes stopping to read a little of his godson's thoughts, before moving on. One particular passage made him stop, though.

I sometimes wonder what my life at the Dursleys would have been like if I had been betrothed to a girl. Uncle Vernon made no attempts to hide his homophobia, and I still sometimes have nightmares about his rages, hating me for being abnormal—in his eyes, anyway—on so many levels. Wizard, Queer, Scrawny, etc. I'm not sure what was so bad about being scrawny, but he has no one but himself to blame on that one. Maybe if they'd fed me normal meals I would have grown properly. Thank God I don't have to go back there.

Sirius felt his inside twist with shame and anger. Not for the first time, he felt almost sick when he remembered how he had to send that tearful, pleading boy back into the arms of his abusers. He felt often that no matter how much time passed, he would never be free of the guilt he felt for putting Harry through that, and anger at himself for letting Dumbledore convince them to do it. He flitted through the pages again.

Is sexual virginity really such a big deal in the wizarding world? I mean I know about the use of a virgin's saliva and blood in potions, but this constant hovering from the adults is making me insane. As if I'd be able to get away with normal teenage curiosity stuff anyway, that stupid contract thing would tell them all right away if me or Draco were doing anything naughty. And I know that it's not like that for everyone, I know of tons of kids from all-wizard families who've totally done it. Or at least said they've done it. Same difference. But even if Draco and I hate each other, I'm gonna have the best damn hate sex with him on our 'wedding night' or I might explode. I mean, Draco's an ass, but at least he's good looking.

Sirius snorted, pressing his hand to his face in a mixture of amusement and Harry's naïveté. At that moment, he heard a door slam and Remus's voice fill the silence. “Sirius?”

“In here,” he called, and Remus stepped up to the open door, a worried look upon his face. He held a thick file under his arm, full to bursting. His expression softened when he saw that Sirius was smiling. Without a word, he stood up and pressed the journal into his free hand. “Look.”

Remus hesitated for a long moment, then set aside the file and opened the journal. He flipped through the pages, eyeing it with quiet amazement. “I had no idea Harry would actually use it,” he murmured, perusing it in a similar way that Sirius had, pausing to read a passage or two, then moving on.

“It's like he left a piece of himself here with us,” Sirius said, his voice breaking ever so slightly, before he cleared his throat in an attempt to brush off the emotion.

“This is a treasure,” Remus said, pressing the book back into Sirius's hands, “we should find a safe place for it.” He paused while Sirius folded his arms over it and clutched it to his chest. Sirius watched as Remus's expression fell slightly into one he knew too well. He was not disappointed when he said, “I have some bad news.” He picked up the file, and tucked it back under his arm.

“Is there ever good news these days?” He grumbled, heading out of the bedroom and falling in step with Remus to the sitting room. Sirius summoned a bottle of firewhisky while Remus set aside the file carelessly, and started a fire in the grate. Sirius set down the journal on the table and poured a good measure of the liquor into two glasses, handing one to Remus. He took a fortifying sip before refocusing his gaze on Sirius.

“It's not particularly Earth-shattering, but I received an owl from Draco today, and his father is dragging him out to some sort of kill-things-and-drink-overpriced-scotch sort of thing. Draco swears he tried to get out of it, but his father insisted. You know how Draco is, he hero-worships the man. It would be very difficult for him to refuse.”

“So based on your vague description, they're going deer hunting?” Sirius chuckled and sipped the drink, “I have a hard time picturing Lucius doing anything that messy with his bare hands.”

“That's what I gathered. I suppose we'll do what we can to experiment with this animagus-instinct thing until he returns.”

Remus smiled warmly, clearly relieved by Sirius's calm reaction. “Yes, I think that would be best.”
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The Stag and The Snake