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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
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Chapter 3 – Prayer to Cernunnos

“Oh Harry, you know this hurts me more than it hurts you,” Snape purred, stroking the soft down of Harry's neck. He snorted and stamped the ground angrily, rearing his head and swinging his antlers threateningly, though he did not dare attack. The bright midday sun shone overhead, and Harry felt frustrated, angry, terrified...any negative feeling a Dementor brought out in him. Snape had the same the same effect on him, though Harry would never let him see that fear. Snape rarely visited him in the day, and his presence made Harry feel disoriented and nervous.

Snape ignored the reaction and approached Harry again, patting his maw in the way one might attempt to tame a wild horse. “I've been so very patient with you, haven't I?” Harry snorted and skittered back out of his reach again, his head held high in what he hoped came across as an 'I'm not scared of you,' stance, though his hooves still pawed the ground nervously. He was prepared to jump back again if Snape dared close the distance between them. Snape glared, “you should be thanking me on bended knee,” he snarled, his voice jumping to something short of a yell, “but instead you still refuse to accept my request.” He bared his teeth and growled, “make no mistake, Potter. I will have you. Everyone has a breaking point. Everyone. I will see you this evening.” He strode away, his robes billowing around him, completing his long-practiced overgrown bat look, and disappeared into the shadow of the trees.

Harry canted forward, using his keener-than-usual eyesight to ensure that he was gone, then allowed himself to fold into a lying position in the meadow. He twisted his long neck to curl up, conserving the bodily warmth that now never reached his heart.

Harry did not sleep, but he watched the comings and goings of the forest around him. He couldn't exactly communicate with the fauna of the wood, but it was more of a sense than actual words. He was certain his innate magic, even after being without a wand for five years drew them to him. Some would come over, mildly interested, then scamper off if they saw Harry move, while other animals, predominantly other deer, would lie with him, as though trying to offer him comfort. While he was used to the human-animal relationship he had had with Hedwig, this felt different. It was almost more intimate, though never in a sexual way.

Today was no exception as he watched as a light brown, almost grey snake with black checker-like spots along its form wind its way towards him. Its eyes were a strange brown highlighted with orange, and a black streak of its pattern trailed away from its eyes and made its way down its neck. While Harry could no longer speak parseltongue, the appearance of the creature made him feel like laughing. It felt as though the reptile was a representation of how almost-Slytherin he once was. Its tongue flicked in and out of its mouth, tasting the air, though after a few minutes it periscoped and regarded him oddly, as though to say 'I know what you are,' before lowering itself back down and winding back into the trees.

Harry stood, arching his back and tilting his head so far backward he could feel the very tips of his antlers bite into his back—a sensation he had never fully grown accustomed to. He walked leisurely around the edge of the meadow, bowing his head to graze, while listening intently to every sound around him, hoping he would be able to hear Snape before he showed his face, should he decide to visit again before moonrise.

~*~

“But father, I don't even like venison,” Draco complained, his brow knitting in frustration as he slung his overnight bag over his shoulder and stood before the grand Malfoy fireplace with Lucius.

“Nonsense, you've had venison dozens of times. Besides Draco, this isn't a hunt for meat; it's a trophy hunt. There are supposed to be some excellent bucks at this time, and I would not mind another head for the Game Room.”

“Sadistic bastard,” Draco muttered under his breath, yelping in surprise more than pain when his father swatted the back of his head.

“Gnaw your cheek boy. Now come along, we shall spend the night at our destination, then proceed to the wood tomorrow.” Lucius gave Narcissa a kiss goodbye, and she gripped Draco's upper arm gently. He knew what the look of relief in her eyes meant all too well. The assumption that he had finally given up on trying to find Harry Potter. The assumption infuriated him, though at the same time he felt slightly relieved. At least their assumptions kept them from trying to make him feel guilty about his frequent visits to Remus and Sirius.

Lucius threw the glittering Floo powder into the grate, “Horn Cottage.” He disappeared in a whirl of green flame. Draco grudgingly stepped in after him, muttering the same words before he too was whisked away.

The word 'cottage' meant a very different thing to a Malfoy. Whereas most may picture a tiny wooden structure, maybe three or four rooms at most, Horn Cottage was a splendid villa that sat atop a sheer cliffside, overlooking a wide expanse of dense forest. It had three floors, with a few house elves year-round despite the fact that it was rarely used. It was bedecked with wizarding game hunting equipment; disillusionment brooms, bows with quivers of arrows, bottles and vials of fast-acting poisons that would not ruin the meat, and several hunting knives—for those who preferred getting their hands dirty.

In the parlour the two Malfoys tumbled out of the hearth, Draco effectively bowling his father over from his too-fast departure from the flames. Lucius shot him a nasty look, but instead of berating the boy, he simply huffed, flicked his wand, and magicked away the ash. At once two excitedly tittering house elves appeared with a sharp crack and bowed very low in front of them. “Masters Malfoy and Malfoy,” said the first elf squeakily, “it has been many months, yes, but we has beds ready for you, and if you is requiring tea, it is ready whenever you is wanting it. We is prepared everything as you asks Master Malfoy!” Draco cringed a little, their high voices grating on him like nails on a chalkboard.

“Tea would be lovely Cringle,” Lucius said to the first elf with much more kindness in his voice than he had ever bestowed the last elf in their employ. The two elves all but squealed with delight as they disappeared, reappearing a moment later with a large platter adorned with a hideously floral teapot and cups, sandwiches, and cakes.

Draco sat down awkwardly in one of the overstuffed chairs, while he watched his father flick his wand, their bags disappearing with a pop. He sat down next to his son, and Draco busied himself preparing the tea, handing a cup first to his father, before serving himself.

Though the outward appearance was one of father an son enjoying a light meal in companionable silence, Draco felt tension so thick it was as though the room had been filled with a dense fog. He moved stiffly, alternating small sips of his tea and minute bites of food; he could almost not tell what it was, everything tasted like ash in his mouth. Draco felt almost consumed by anxiety, a feeling he was unused to experiencing, and he had no idea how to reign it in.

After several minutes of awkward silence, he took a stab in the dark. “Father,” he began, waiting for Lucius to refocus his attention on his son before speaking, “why did you bring me here, really? Did mother put you up to it?” She had made no secret of her desire to marry Draco off, though his father never spoke of it one way or the other. Following his question, Lucius regarded him with a silent, calculating look. He swallowed, but remained sitting straight in his chair, maintaining the calm, conversational air he had projected earlier, refusing to let his father see how nervous he was to hear the answer.

“Draco,” he began with his familiar slow drawl, “I do not deny that I agree with your mother. You need to settle down, and it is high time that you found a partner.” He help up a hand when Draco opened his mouth furiously, effectively silencing him. “However, I also saw how much you cared for Mr Potter. The contract nullified the same night he was taken, and yet your unwavering faith that he still lives is...endearing.” His mouth twitched slightly in the corners, while Draco struggled to maintain some sense of composure to mask his surprise. He could not recall the last time Lucius had spoken to him with such near-emotion.

“I believe you need closure upon this matter before you will be ready to move forward. I brought you here because it may help clear your mind, refocus your energies. I am not saying you must admit that the boy is lost to you, but if anything else, it will relieve you of Narcissa's nagging for a few days.” This time, Lucius did chortle, and Draco managed a small smile.

It felt as though all the air had gone out of the room. It was very strange for Draco to hear his father speak like this, agree yet disagree, while taking his feelings into consideration. Lucius was a practical man. He cared deeply for his family, but he was never one for grand gestures of love and friendship. It made Draco's throat feel uncomfortably tight and it took several minutes for him to regain his composure enough to murmur, “thank you father,” without his voice cracking.

Draco and Lucius passed the remainder of the day in peace and quiet, Lucius spending a good portion of the afternoon cataloguing the hunting equipment or drinking scotch and staring into the fire in an almost meditative state. Draco slipped outside and explored the extensive grounds, though the sight of the dense forest reminded him of Remus and Sirius, and made his heart clench with guilt.

By early evening, he turned back towards the house to take dinner with his father, though had he been watching the more sparse forest to the west, he may have seen a familiar figure darting through the trees in billowing, voluminous robes.

~*~

Harry trembled as the change took him. It didn't hurt exactly, though sometimes he wondered if that was because after so long plagued by Snape's curse, he had grown used to it. Engulfed in white moonlight, a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature outside grasped his heart, his bones crunched and reformed, his fur changed to thin robes, his skin shone with sweat, and his legs gave out beneath him. He lay trembling in the centre of the meadow, and he felt his entire body tense as he heard the all-too-familiar swish of robes and rustle of the nearby vegetation.

He turned his head, and narrowed his eyes in disgust as Snape swept towards him. Harry tried to stand, but stumbled back in an effort to get away from him. His jailer caught him deftly, and Harry took no time tugging himself out of the man's grasp, regardless of how weak he felt. “Don't touch me,” he hissed, shaking in anger and disgust.

“Harry, Harry, Harry,” Snape purred in that low, almost amused tone that made Harry want to crawl out of his skin and flee, “why must we do this every night?” He stepped forward and closed a hand over the young man's narrow hip. Harry lifted a hand to shove the man away, but his thin lips twitched into a smirk, and he wrapped his opposing hand around his wrist, squeezing just enough to elicit a gasp of pain from him. “I can give you so much more than Mr Malfoy ever could,” he slid his hand from Harry's hip, and up his side to gently cradle his jaw in his hand, “I have been in the world much longer,” Harry tensed, but the sharp squeeze upon his wrist warned him not to move, though he visibly shuddered as his ex-Potions Master moved the hand from his hip to brush his fringe out of his eyes, “I can give you everything you've ever wanted.”

“You can't give me everything I want,” Harry said in an even tone that did not betray his fear or disgust.

“Oh? And what is it that you want?” He moved closer, but Harry's attempts to step back were met with another sharp squeeze to his wrist; this time hard enough for Harry to momentarily lose control of his composure as he gasped softly from the pain.

“Draco.” Harry glared, emerald meeting onyx, and he felt a great sense of accomplishment as Snape growled in anger and threw Harry bodily away from him. He stumbled back several steps, but managed to keep from falling. His chest rose and fell in harsh breaths, his stony visage of bravery crumbling as his fear began to take hold.

“I will ensure that you never have him, Potter. You will be mine.” Each word came out as a growl, but Harry steadied himself and resolutely glared back.

“You would not have me even if you waited a hundred years. I'd sooner die than Bond with the likes of you.” Harry spat his words with equal venom. Snape let out a frustrated sound, somewhere between a yell and another growl. He swept forward so suddenly that despite Harry's alarmed backtrack, Snape coiled an arm around his waist, and cradled his chin in his hand.

Harry's breath caught, eyes wide and fearful. Snape did not allow him the time to wrap his mind around what was happening, and caught his lips in a kiss. It lasted only a moment, and he moved his mouth to hover mere centimetres from the boy's ear, “then you will die.” He did not need to shove the boy, use a curse or hex against him. His own mind caged by despair made him crumple to the ground the moment Snape let go. With a satisfied smirk, he disapparated.

Harry sat in the meadow, feet planted firmly against the ground, his knees bent at a ninety-degree angle, and his arms coiled tightly around his thighs. He clutched at himself, shaking both with fear and anguish. He was uncertain whether or not Snape would make good on his promise, though more than anything at that moment, he felt as though something in his mind had broken.

Pain gave way to rage. Rage at himself for allowing this to happen, rage at Snape for keeping him trapped like an animal, caged by psychological torture and Dark Magic. But mostly, he was enraged that he had allowed himself to become a victim. Harry rolled his shoulders, and looked towards the dark wood that encircled his meadow. He may no longer be able to Apparate, but he sure as hell knew how to walk.

The wood stirred around him. Something had changed, and it seemed its inhabitants could feel it. Harry's magic seemed to be almost a tangible thing, encasing him with a feeling of hope he had not experienced since his early days trapped in the meadow. He took a steadying breath, and slipped from the meadow.

Without a wand or natural light, it was slow going. Harry felt his way along, hands brushing over the bark of the trees, the rough stone of boulders, padding carefully through tangled roots and up small inclines. Harry had no idea what he might be able to accomplish, feeling his way through the dark wood without any idea where he was actually going, and he wondered if he could find help the help he so desperately needed before dawn.

Though he felt fear, both for what Snape might do when he finds him gone, and worry about what he might run into in the dark, but he did not feel alone. The animals of the forest joined him at times, young bucks and does primarily, foregoing sleep to guide him carefully through the more treacherous areas of the forest, steering him clear of Acromantula nests and out of the way of the deeply territorial Hippogriff flocks.

Harry had no idea how far he had gone, though it felt as though it could have been at least a a couple of miles. He felt his heart clench as the fawn and doe that were accompanying him nudged him over a ridge, where the forest thinned but did not end. The thing that made his heart ache was not the seemingly never-ending greenery, but instead came from above. The sky had changed from inky black to deep indigo, and he knew that sunrise would not be far off. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, refusing to give in to panic so easily, he turned to the doe at his side. It did nothing but blink its large, lashed eyes at him, then bowed her head forward and nudged him gently. He did not need to speak animal languages to know that it was her way of urging him onward. Harry reached out and brushed his fingers over the side of her neck, then descended the small hill.

Around him the forest looked significantly different than where he had been mere hours before. It had been deep and dark near his meadow, but out here there was a gap of nearly ten feet between each tree, and the ground was mostly flat, covered with a thin layer of leaf litter and acorns. The doe and her fawn had turned back, reaching the edge of their own territory. and Harry forced himself to press on, doing his best to ignore the slowly brightening sky above him.

Unable to quell his panic over the brightening sky above him, broke into a run, using the relatively flat expanse to cover as much ground as he could. Even so, the change took him before he got very far.

~*~

“Draco, would you like a vial of Phyllobates Terribilis Extract?” Lucius held up the tiny glass container, which contained a thick, yellowish liquid. Draco looked up from his quiver and bow, but shook his head with the faintest trace of a smile.

“I feel it is more honourable to down a creature without the help of toxins.” Lucius chortled at his response, but slid the vial into his own pocket.

“You have clearly been spending too much time with the wolf and his pup. That statement had an unsettling Gryffindor ring to it.” Lucius did not sound disapproving to Draco's ears, and he turned to face his father, but the older man's expression did not give away any hint of whether he genuinely disapproved or not.

“Hunting requires skill and patience,” Draco drawled, trying to regain his composure after his father's out of character reaction, “downing an animal with poison makes it too easy.” Draco could have sworn Lucius had almost laughed. Draco shook himself and shouldered the quiver, gripping the polished wood of the bow in his opposite hand.

The pair were not dressed in their usual robes, but instead had donned traditional wizarding hunting garb. Snug trousers, boots that would not hinder their movements should they need to descend to the ground and give chase, completed with a close-fitting white shirt. The sleeves of the garment stopped halfway down the forearm, and one black archer's glove made of supple leather completed the ensemble. Draco reached for one of the disillusionment brooms, and he felt the cool tingle of the magic spreading over him. Without a word, Lucius took a broom as well, and they headed out.

The pair had risen much later than they had intended, and it was already well past midday. It was warm and breezy out, with the faintest puffs of white cloud dotting the blue sky. Turning to his father, Draco could already see the charm doing its work, and his father was almost indistinguishable from his surroundings. It was very strange, seeing and not seeing someone. He mounted the broom, and looked down to see his hands and the broom melt into the cliffside. “I think I'll head west father,” he said, tucking his bow high onto his shoulder where he would have easy access to it.

“Stay alert Draco. I will watch for red sparks, should you require assistance.” Draco nodded to the cold sentiment, and took off.

Despite Draco's reluctance to come out here, thus effectively delaying his efforts to find Harry, he could not deny that his father had been right, at least partially. The single-minded focus it required was calming, and he felt some his tension drain away. Draco flew down to the forest below, barely skimming the treetops as he circled, looking for signs of the prey he sought. He had to readjust his grip upon the broom more than once, shifting to hike the bow back up onto his shoulder when it became dislodged and tumbled down to dangle from his wrist.

The forest was alive with activity. Birds flitted past him through the air and on the branches below, a vixen and her kits emerged from a den, two chittering squirrels chased each other from tree to tree, but he saw no sign of his prey. Draco moved on, his eyes roving over the land below him with his keen Seeker eyes.

He had not gone far before he looked down and hissed in shock. He could see himself, then not. He flickered in and out of focus like a sputtering candle, before the Disillusionment Charm faded completely. Despite his sudden appearance, none of the nearby creatures reacted to him, and did not even have the good sense to flee when he approached. Though the familiarity these creatures had to humans was slightly unnerving, Draco realized that it would make his hunt almost too easy.

~*~

Harry had resisted the urge to break into a run as he stepped warily through the sparse trees. He had been keeping a close eye upon the progression of the sun in the sky, trying to determine when he would need to get back to the meadow if he was unable to find a way out of the wood. After Snape's visit, he would try again by heading in another direction.

He stopped several times to graze. Though Harry's human form recoiled at the idea of eating grass and flowers and other forms of vegetation like this, in his animal form it felt natural. The brief stops were enough to keep up his strength and he pressed on, using the approximate position of the sun to head east.

Though his adventure was taking him to parts of the forest he had never seen, he could not deny that it was fairly dull. He picked up his pace to a trot more than once to alleviate some of his boredom, but the reprieve lasted only for a few moments, and he slowed back to a walk. Harry desperately wanted to lie down and rest. He was exhausted, but he could not bring himself to stop. Not yet.

The forest changed again, the trees coming more closely together, and a babbling brook appeared amidst towering rowans. Harry bent to drink, and the cool water refreshed him enough to press on without much internal complaint. He picked his way over rotted tree trunks and through passes of moss-covered boulders, when he was joined by another deer, a young buck that was several hands shorter than Harry was.

Harry regarded it with confusion for several moments. It was stamping the ground and grunting in a way that could be either fear or excitement—it was difficult for him to tell. Harry took a few tentative steps back, worrying that he may have unwittingly wandered into the creature's territory. The creature butted him sharply with his small antlers, clearly trying to push him back the way he had come. Harry reared slightly in surprise, but before he could fathom more than a passing curiosity to the animal's behaviour, an arrow shot past them. Harry felt, rather than heard his animalistic cry of his shock, fear, and pain as it grazed his hindquarters.

The arrow landed with a sharp thunk in the ground several feet from where the pair stood. Harry looked up in the direction from where the arrow had come, and his heart stopped. It was Draco.

~*~

Draco couldn't believe his luck. The little buck he had been giving chase to had led him to a real prize. His first arrow had missed, barely, but knowing these dimwitted creatures, his little graze would send the creature into a blind panic. He drew another arrow and took aim, and the stag reared fearfully and bolted. Draco pinned the broom between his knees, holding his bow steady as he followed the animal's progression further west, leaping with alarming speed over logs and under low-hanging branches. After wasting two more arrows, they sinking uselessly into tree trunks or glancing off overlarge stones, he resisted the urge to reach for another. Clearly this creature was more intelligent than the average beast.

Draco slowed, and eased onto a high branch of a larch, thick enough that the limb barely quivered under his weight. The stag he had been giving chase to slowed, and even from so high he could see the beast's chest cavity heaving in fear as it attempted to catch its breath. The graze upon the hindquarter was bleeding slightly, but it was nowhere near a critical injury. Draco crouched low and while gripping the trunk, his broom, and the branch all at once. He carefully moved to a lower place on the tree, and though his movement visibly rustled the tree's foliage when he put his weight on it, the animal seemed not to notice.

He drew another arrow, took careful aim, but as the arrow released, the creature moved and the flying fatality sunk harmlessly into the earth at its feet. The animal grunted a fearful cry and took off again. Draco quickly mounted his broom and sped off after it.

~*~

Run. Harry couldn't think. Joy jumbled up with the blind fear and survival instincts that had consumed his mind. He could no longer untangle what was his human instinct and the flight instinct of his deer mind. All he knew was that Draco was here, and the man was trying to kill him. The blind fear left little room for him to feel betrayed.

He hated his large, bulky body. It was such a mirror opposite of his small and skinny human frame. He couldn't crouch and hide from the hunter, he could only run. As trees, shrubs, and the ground blurred past him in his haste, he wondered if his legs would hold out long enough to get back to the meadow before he felt the sting of a fatal arrow.

Harry wanted to stop to see if Draco was still giving chase, and his body was all but screaming at him to stop and rest. However, each time the urge arose and his pace slowed even one iota, he heard the whistle of another arrow just miss him, and Draco's hiss of a curse. In the haze of his fear, Harry did not fail to notice two things: First, the sky was beginning to darken. Second: they were rapidly approaching his meadow.

~*~

Draco had half a mind to give in and just let this bloody animal go. But with only two arrows left, he felt like it would be a waste to go after another animal at full strength, and this one had to tire out eventually, right? What was especially strange to him was the animal's behaviour. Yes, it acted as any freaked out deer would and pelted away from him, but he could not shake the feeling that it was leading him somewhere. Draco was certain he had seen the beast turn back more than once to ensure that he was still there.

Full dark was falling around him, and he had been forced to abandon his broom and continue on foot as the trees became too thick to weave through. He continued to track the animal, but both he and it were moving much more slowly, and still it would pause for the barest second to ensure that he was still following it.

Suddenly, it came to a full halt just before some sort of clearing. It looked back at Draco, blinking its eyes slowly, and Draco shot off an arrow. It stepped out of the way of the projectile, and Draco growled in frustration. The animal turned from him and walked slowly into the clearing.

Draco ran to the edge of the clearing—a perfectly circular meadow of some kind—and drew his last arrow. The animal was still walking through the meadow slowly, almost leisurely. Draco was exhausted, but determined to get the damn thing. He threaded the arrow into the bow, lifted it, and took careful aim.

The creature stopped in the exact centre of the meadow, and stopped. It turned and stared at Draco, and there was something almost human about that look, and that white zigzag of fur upon the creature's forehead...why did it make him want to drop his weapon? Draco gasped in shock, the bow tumbling from his hands as the stag suddenly reared, and was consumed with a brilliant, white light.

Draco threw up his arms to shield his eyes from the sudden brightness, but when it faded he turned to look for the stag, only to see that it had gone.

“Hello Draco,” said Harry.
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The Stag and The Snake