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Deconversion	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 23334 -:- Recommendations : 4 -:- Currently Reading : 9
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Chapter Twenty—Like a Dancing Serpent

            Draco took Harry to his bedroom.

            He could see Harry pausing on the threshold to look around at the mirrors on the walls, the thick blankets on the bed, and the steps that led up to a bathtub positioned in one corner of the room, surrounded by charms to keep the carpet from getting damp. “You don’t have a separate bathroom?” Harry asked, turning to him. The venom sacs in his cheeks had swelled out again.

            Draco had no idea why Harry should find it threatening that he didn’t, but he had accepted that Harry’s instincts could be triggered by things that wouldn’t alarm Draco himself. “No, I don’t,” he said, peacefully, pulling off his shirt with a casual motion that drew Harry’s eyes to his chest. “Does that bother you?”

            Harry flushed, for what could be any of several reasons, as Draco approached him. “It just makes me feel a little guilty about taking a room that does have one,” he murmured, but closed his eyes and leaned back as Draco kissed his cheek.

            Draco laughed gently into Harry’s mouth, and shook his head so that his hair brushed Harry’s cheek. “Don’t you think I know the specifics of all the rooms in the house? And that I could have given myself a separate bathroom if I wanted one?” He curled his fingers in and stroked down Harry’s face, delighting in the way that the scales around his brow and the venom in his cheeks and the slight bumps of the fangs against the sides of his mouth changed things. “I wanted you to have it because I think you’ve had little enough luxury in your life.”

            Harry’s eyes were slitted as they turned on him, and it looked as though the eyelids might be growing transparent, fading. “What do you know about that?”

            “Only what I see about you, what you choose to tell me,” Draco whispered, and swayed into him, kissing him, trying to make him think about taking his clothes off instead of something else that, frankly, didn’t need to occupy their time as much.

            “I didn’t choose to tell you anything,” Harry said, and strained his neck up, like a rearing cobra. That let Draco get in under his chin and begin taking his shirt off, though, and from the way Harry jumped, he hadn’t been expecting that at all. He eyed Draco warily for a moment, then grunted. “I mean, I didn’t complain to you about my friends or the treatment I received at Hogwarts.”

            Or the treatment that you received as a child? Draco thought, but only graced his fingers down Harry’s chin and neck instead of saying it. “Let’s get you out of this,” he whispered. “And you might think about what your body tells me. Such as that you’re aroused right now.” He had unbuttoned enough of Harry’s shirt to slide his hands under it and touch those ribs, and the sleek, slender flesh that covered them.

            Harry closed his eyes and reached up to slide his hands around Draco’s wrists in turn. Draco waited, faintly smiling, and not looking away even though he could see Harry shivering and knew Harry might have preferred it. This was the kind of intimacy that Draco had wanted with him, even more than he had wanted the knowledge of Parseltongue studying Harry might give him.

            Really? I want it that much?

            Yes, he did, Draco thought, as Harry finally yielded from his stupid stiff posture and began kissing him back, and that was something new, to know that he wanted something more than knowledge, his obsession and his specialty as a Dark wizard. He had Harry to thank for teaching him.

            It carried him further than he had come before, into something perilously close to love, and he laughed into Harry and curved further over him, shoving him towards the bed with sheer force of desire.

*

            Harry had no snakes with him now, and he didn’t know if that meant he trusted Malfoy or if he felt he didn’t need them here.

            But he had felt he needed them everywhere he went in the Manor so far, not just dangerous places like Malfoy’s lab or the Department of Mysteries. Why wouldn’t he need them in the inner sanctum of a man who had so recently been his enemy, and still acted as though it was Harry’s duty to give him more information about himself?

            Because I feel safe with him, Harry finally admitted, as his own shirt bared his chest and he felt Malfoy bend to flicker a tongue that wasn’t forked up and down the edges of his muscles. Because I’m not in danger here.

            So finally he could give way to the flooding heat within him, and dismiss the guilt and the fear over the idea that Malfoy had sacrificed his own comfort to Harry’s. Harry had to smile now as he thought about it. Was Malfoy really the kind of person who would give everything up to Harry?

            “That’s better,” Malfoy said, and stepped back, and slid out of his trousers and pants as smoothly as a snake.

            Harry sat up and watched him. Malfoy was less slender than Harry had thought he was the last time they did this, but then, he’d been behind Malfoy in the shower and not able to see him that well. Now Harry could make out that the leanness wasn’t dangerous. It was the voluntary leanness of someone who burned up all his energy the minute he got it. Malfoy stalked towards him and looked down at him, and increased the resemblance to a predator.

            I’m not the only one. I don’t have to be the only one. I don’t have to take up the burden of my own safety forever.

            The idea rolled over him, and made Harry’s muscles shimmer and melt. He could have taken off his own trousers easily enough, but he spread his legs instead and guided Malfoy’s hand to the buttons.

            “Ah, yes,” Malfoy said, and half-closed his eyes as he worked his hand in and down. Harry gasped as slippery fingers touched his groin. Malfoy opened his eyes fully again and smiled at him. “You mean that you never learned non-verbal charms for lube?”

            Harry swallowed and shook his head. He thought his own throat was thicker than usual, probably with the venom in the sacs under his cheeks, but if Malfoy didn’t find that horrible, then Harry would try not to, either. “I thought—I didn’t see you wave your wand,” he said, although given how distracted he was, that didn’t mean much. “And I didn’t know I was gay until now.”

            “Not gay, if you don’t want to call yourself that,” Malfoy murmured, and bent to suck at Harry’s neck, so skillfully that Harry placed a hand on the back of his head to keep him there. Malfoy pulled away with a little shiver and laugh. “What matters is that you want to be here, with me. That’s what I find most arousing of all.”

            “Yes,” Harry whispered, and turned his head to the side to feel Malfoy’s straight tongue against his own forked one.

*

            This time, it took fewer minutes for Harry’s inhibitions to melt. And he looked as if he was enjoying himself, and spending less time brooding on whether this was a Dark wizard thing to do or not.

            Draco intended to make sure that he kept enjoying it like that.

            He knelt at Harry’s feet and coaxed his legs to spread, then reached out and rested his slick fingers on Harry’s hole. Harry panted and paused for a moment. The next moment, his hands had moved beneath his knees and he was hauling his legs up, holding them poised above his head, spreading them and grunting with effort as he tried to keep himself in the position where Draco had the best access.

            “Yes, I like that,” Draco whispered, and gave Harry a dazzling smile as a reward—from the way he blinked, Harry would have liked to watch it forever—and reached out to run his fingers over the faint patterned scales around Harry’s arse.

            Harry hissed. Draco let the sound caress his skin the way his fingers caressed Harry’s, waited until it ceased, and slid two fingers inside, hard and fast.

            Harry cried out this time, a falling hiss with a bit of a human sound on the end. Draco stroked and petted him until he heard his panting slow. “Is this all right?” he asked, leaning back to look up into Harry’s face, and trying not to let his new learning—how hot Harry was all around him, how overwhelming—drown him.

            Harry stared at him and narrowed his eyes, which was impressive because of the way that his pupils had already narrowed. “It’s the kind of hurt I can take,” he said.

            Draco rolled his eyes. “I’m bored of your guilt and the way that you put up with displeasure and think that it’s good for your soul,” he said, digging his fingers in and crooking them to the side. “Because there’s nothing that needs to be that way, really. I want you to feel good, and I wouldn’t have touched you like that if I thought it wouldn’t.”

            Harry opened his mouth, then shut it. “That feels good,” he said, and squirmed down the bed with his heels digging in.

            “I thought it would,” Draco murmured, touching his tongue to the shimmer of dusty golden-brown that grew on Harry’s ankles, and set about working him open in earnest.

            Harry still grunted and sighed as though this was new, and once reached down as if he would grab Draco’s hand. Draco smiled up at him fearlessly, moving his wrist, knowing that Harry had only to summon serpents to stop Draco if he really didn’t like this. That was the wonderful thing about being with someone so powerful, the thing that Draco knew he wouldn’t trade in for a more human lover: the way that Harry could force him and hold him down and make him stop.

            But he didn’t want to, not if Draco was actually succeeding at making him feel good.

            By the time that Draco rose to his feet and canted his hips in, he was tight with exhilaration and Harry was loose with pleasure. He blinked at Draco, and looked once down, and then looked quickly back up.

            “It looks big,” Draco said. “But I promise that I can use it as well as I use my fingers.” He moved forwards as he spoke, and now he was right next to the warmth and the slickness, rubbing slowly back and forth. “You don’t need to worry about that. I can make you feel the way that you’ve never felt before.”

*

            Harry thought about retorting that Parseltongue also did that, and it hadn’t been a universally positive experience so far.

            But he found that he didn’t want to. He reached out, and Malfoy leaned in so Harry could touch him. He shut his eyes, and he thrust suggestively towards Harry’s arse as if that meant that Harry would get on faster with things, but he didn’t try to pull away. He didn’t act as though having Harry’s fingers there was an act of violation.

            So soon after seeing Parkinson’s disgust, Harry discovered that that mattered more to him than it had so far.

            He slid his hand up and down. Malfoy wasn’t bigger than he was, or at least Harry didn’t think so; he had never been one of those men who obsessively compared sizes, because he’d known from the time he was a teenager that he was never going to have a normal relationship with anyone else. It would always be determined on other things, and whether people found the scar on his forehead attractive or not, they couldn’t ignore it.

            Malfoy seemed to, though. Or at least his eyes were all for Harry’s fangs and fingers and face, instead of his forehead.

            Harry thought about this slick, warm thing going into him, and his legs twitched in response. In want. Maybe he was doing this in part because they were going on an expedition that could kill them soon, or maybe it was a fuck-you to the people who had rejected him because of his Parseltongue.

            What mattered was what he felt, though.

            “Yeah,” he breathed, leaning back, and pushed himself down the bed towards Malfoy, letting his hands collapse above his head. “Yeah.”

            Malfoy’s face was open and shining. He bent to kiss Harry, and proved his claim about how well he could wield his cock by sliding into Harry as he moved. Harry opened his mouth and gaped, and kept on gaping, as he was hurt and polished and as Malfoy gasped and grunted above him, as overwhelmed, as present, as there.

*

            Draco couldn’t believe how much he wanted this.

            Of course, he had wanted all sorts of things, and he had wanted Harry in some way ever since he saw him in hospital, but this desperate craving was new to him. He wanted to spend days watching the way that Harry’s throat flexed and moved. He thought that his chest was beautiful, even though it was probably the place on his body that had the fewest scales.

            He wanted to be inside him forever.

            He shoved, and Harry was taking pleasure from it, Draco knew he was, from the violent flush that made its way down his chest as much as the way that grunts issued from his mouth. He kept tilting his head back, and his hair dripped in his face and straggled across his eyes, and he put his hand to his mouth and bit it in a way that made Draco have to bite him, to trace his tongue across the same scales and faint jagged edges to his nails that Harry had touched.

            Harry sometimes looked at him, sometimes looked at the ceiling, but far more often drifted somewhere in his head that had no name, and gave him a bright, permanent smile. Draco touched his cheek, and pushed down, feeling the sac, while his hips moved without him, pleasure dancing and blending in body and mind.

            “I could be content to stay with you for the rest of my life,” he whispered.

            Harry turned his head to the side, pressing his cheek into the pillow. Draco couldn’t be sure whether he had heard or not.

            But when he felt the vicious pleasure rising in him, it seemed to matter less. He bent down over Harry and locked his knees on the bed beside Harry’s, his eyes shut as he hammered, as he thrust, as his hands wandered over Harry’s sides and he tried to touch as much as he could, to hold as much as he could.

            And Harry yielded, a squall sweeping over him and out his mouth, his fingers suddenly almost gone as he writhed on the bed and his eyes shut and scales spread over his face, dappling his cheeks, dappling his lips, shutting his mouth. Draco shuddered and came, unable to take his eyes off Harry.

            Harry shifted to the side as though he resented the cessation of movement, and then he stilled. His hand flew up to his lips.

            Draco’s hand was there, faster, gripping his wrist and holding him back when Draco thought he might have begun to tear at the scales. He bent down on Harry’s right side instead and whispered into his ear, disregarding the way that Harry thrashed beneath him. “You’re still beautiful. Anyone who looks at you would know that. I know that. I love the way you look.”

            Harry stilled, and came. Draco watched him for every reaction, and listened to the writhing until it died into silence.

            Then he lay down beside Harry and took him into his arms. He would have talked if Harry had wanted to, but from the sound of things, Harry wanted to lie there with his arm over his face and forget what he had looked like when he came. Draco could already see human skin creeping back.

            He kissed Harry’s ear and shut his eyes. They would need their sleep before their raid to rescue Weasley and Granger. He only hoped that Harry would sleep as well as he would.

*

            Harry woke and fumbled at his mouth for a moment. But no, the shape of his face was right, and he could feel smooth human lips there, not the band of scales that he had felt changing him, shoving his mouth further forwards so the fangs would stick out in different places and dulling and retracting his other teeth.

            Thickening his throat. Making him the kind of snake that could swallow someone or something else whole, without needing to pause to chew. Losing the mouth that could touch, that could taste, that could kiss.

            No wonder Parkinson had been disgusted with him.

            “I can tell the way you’re thinking when you stiffen up like that, and I wish you’d stop,” came Malfoy’s voice from the side. He rolled over and draped his hand over Harry’s chest, watching him with sleepy eyes. “Does it matter what you looked like in a moment of passion? You might not like the way that Pansy orgasms, either.”

            Harry shuddered. “Don’t make me think about that.”

            “My point is proven,” Malfoy drawled, and rolled on top of him, lowering his mouth. Harry kissed him back desperately, and tasted his tongue with all the delicate sensation that his own forked one could give him.

            He could control the changes, he reminded himself. Most of the time, it simply wasn’t worthwhile to control things like the sharpening of his fangs, because they did him no harm and he might need them for protection any minute. But he was ultimately in charge, not lost and helpless in a cloud of madness like the one that had almost consumed him in hospital. He was the one who made the decisions.

            “That’s better,” Malfoy said—Draco said—and pulled back to smile at him with shining eyes.

            Because he was Draco, not Malfoy, and Harry tangled his fingers in the blond hair above him and shut his eyes, bowing his head. He could finally give people their proper names when they had sacrificed for him and rescued him, perhaps. He could do a great number of things for Draco’s sake that Draco had done for his.

            Draco understood without asking, and kissed Harry’s fingers, and then moved towards the Floo as it flared, where he would answer the firecall from his friend. Harry sat up and leaned forwards, resting his cheek on his knee, because he needed a moment to breathe, and feel the combination of skin and scales that was there.

*

            “Ready.” Millicent nodded in response to Draco’s question, rolling her seed from hand to hand and smiling in a way that boded no good for the Unspeakables.

            Draco smiled back and stepped away, making sure that his body was between Harry and Pansy. Pansy had her reasons to feel the way she did, but he doubted that Harry wanted to hear them just at the moment, or needed to. Draco could spend a few minutes negotiating between them, giving them time to remember that they were allies.

            “Ready?” Draco asked Pansy, as he had Millicent, and Pansy snapped out of staring in Harry’s direction and nodded. Her keys gleamed on her robes and around her neck, and her hands rested gently but implacably in her sleeves. Draco was glad that there would be Unspeakables around this time to learn how deadly she was. Seeing the aftermath of her openings in the Department of Mysteries was not the same thing.

            “Good,” Draco said, and turned to Harry. “Then that only leaves us.”

            Harry snapped his hands out in front of him in response. The white serpent was back on his shoulder, and Draco could see teasing swirls of other colors around his legs like a cloak of soot. Now and then he made out a blunt head or a tapered one or a fang near Harry’s wrists.

            Unlike last time, however, Harry didn’t go clad in snakes from head to toe. He was wearing scales instead, and a black threaded with silver instead of the golden-brown that grew all over him normally. Draco asked with a look, because the last time he had done more than glance at Harry, shortly after Blaise had told them where Granger and Weasley were, he hadn’t been this way.

            Harry gave him a short smile. “Growing scales on top of my skin changes their color, I find,” he murmured. “And hardens them.”

            Pansy twitched. Draco ignored her. “As long as you can move,” he said.

            Harry took a deep breath that sucked in his stomach and waved his hands about, showing that his elbow joints could bend. Draco nodded, secure in his trust in Harry, and secure in the feeling he could see shining in Harry’s eyes. Harry was beginning to trust him to do more than show him new Dark Arts and make love to him.

            Draco paused and thought about that sentence in his head. Those did sound like rather large things to trust someone with, actually.

            But he and Harry were the only ones who knew how much deeper their intimacy could run, and Draco didn’t feel like sharing it with the others any more than he felt like explaining Pansy’s jumpiness around shapeshifters to Harry right now. Instead, he turned and clapped his hands. “Blaise told me that they’re in the Department of Mysteries.”

            Pansy stared. “But why would they bother, when they know how easily we opened a way there last time?” she asked, her hand coming to rest on the key nearest her pulse. “It’s arrogant to think they can close off the Dark paths.”

            Harry snorted. “That’s the Unspeakables, though,” he said. “They always thought they could take over investigations from me when I worked in the Aurors, just because they always thought they knew more about the Dark Arts and any artifacts we’d found that they wanted. They invoke knowledge that they never actually share the origin of. They can’t conceive that someone else might know spells they don’t.”

            Draco nodded. “And they can actually structure the Department as a series of rather brilliant traps. It’s their home ground. Just because we wouldn’t do it that way doesn’t make it impossible for them to use it.”

            Pansy sighed. “All right. As long as you’re sure that the information Blaise gathered can be trusted.”

            Draco raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think you could find someone in the Ministry who doesn’t owe a favor to Blaise or know someone who owes a favor to Blaise. That’s the point. He found the most trusted information he could, because he knows Unspeakables, and there are some things they value even more than secrecy.” He glanced once more at Millicent, at Pansy, and then at Harry.

            It was Harry who would have made him determined to go forwards with this if he wasn’t already. Harry’s eyes were that fervent green that Draco loved so much, and his slit pupils glowed from the back, and his hands moved in graceful arcs as he reached up to stroke the white serpent’s head.

            He was both human and snake, the perfect blend of both, and Draco knew so many Slytherins who had aspired to that that he was a little surprised Pansy’s disgust could persist.

            “Forward, then,” he said, and tore open the air before the Dark path.

*

            SP777: There is a reason, but it’s private.

            Thank you. I appreciate knowing that.

            Talltree-san: Pansy does have her reasons.

            The white snake is connected to Harry’s emotions and thoughts, so it can access his memories even though it doesn’t necessarily see those experiences right now.

            Seiren: Thank you! Sorry you didn’t get to see the distraction or the snakes here yet, but that’s for next chapter.

            And thank you for saying that you’re enjoying the story.
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