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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
- 7
- 8
- 9
Chapter 8 – Time

When Harry was younger and Hagrid told him about Hogwarts, he thought it would be brilliant.

But time was a strange thing, and coupled with the chaos of each passing year, he felt as though everything was going too fast, and despite his exclamations, it wouldn't slow down. Amidst summers with the Dursleys, then the Malfoys, then finally with Sirius and Remus, every year the betrothal came closer, and every year he hadn't the nerve to tell his two best friends about it. At the same time, he had been subject to what it felt like to have real parents—in particular, the nagging part.

Harry, (Sirius wrote,)

Whose brilliant idea was it to fly a Ford Anglia all the way to Hogwarts, yours, or Ron's? This is a whole new plateau of stupid for you...

Harry,

What the hell were you doing outside, out of bounds, with Snape and Remus during a full moon? You're damn lucky none of you were turned or killed, you wait until I get hold of you...

Harry,

Did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire? I know you wouldn't be daft enough to go looking for trouble...

Harry,

Are you deliberately trying to break your contract? Talk to Draco again outside of your supervised time together, and there will be hell to pay...

Harry,

Do you plan on performing your Bonding in detention? I know Umbridge is unpleasant, but you need to try to resist the urge to antagonize her...

With each letter that Harry got from his godfather, the less he sounded like the Sirius Harry had known and the more he began to sound like Mrs Weasley. It was unnerving, and the overbearing protectiveness was exhausting to deal with. Along with the letters were gentle suggestions that Harry maybe should consider telling his friends about his post-secondary nuptials.

Harry,

Your Bonding is in four years. I know you don't want to hear this but it will be better to tell your friends soon, instead of springing it on them. Maybe once things have settled down after the Tournament...

Harry,

I know you haven't told Ron and Hermione yet about your Bonding. Would you like me to help you decide what to say? After your OWLs we can discuss it...

Harry,

You need to tell Ron and Hermione about the bonding. Perhaps at Slughorn's Christmas Party (I know he invited you, don't deny it) maybe it'll be easier to tell them after a few glasses of eggnog...

Harry,

Next year's Lughnasadh Ball where your Bonding will be announced is going to be extremely public. Daily Prophet reporters will be there, it's not something we'll be able to keep quiet...

Where had the time gone? Harry felt as though he was watching water trickle through his cupped hands, and suddenly he found himself staring at an empty dormitory, the Hogwarts Express ready to take him back to King's Cross for the last time. He felt cornered, with his Bonding, wedding, whatever, looming before him like some great beast. He still had no idea how he could break the news to Ron and Hermione, much less the fact that he was queer, and it was Malfoy, on top of everything.

While it was one thing to know that the wizarding world had no issues with sexuality, it was quite another to really know it. He had spent a good chunk of his childhood and adolescence being subject to Uncle Vernon's absolute disgust for nancy boys, as he called them, as well as the nasty barbs thrown his way when they realized his betrothal partner was not, in fact, a girl. Dudley was curiously absent whenever he was around after that. Not that Harry really minded so much, it wasn't as if Dudley had ever significantly impacted Harry's life, not counting the times his fist impacted with Harry's face.

Remus and Sirius had done their best to quell his internalized homophobia, but at the end of the day he knew it was something he'd have to work out for himself. Having them around for a good chunk of the year had helped, but he still struggled with that last tendril of shame that clung to the corners of his conscience, and refused to accept his inclination towards boys.

In spite of everything, he was almost too excited to care. He was going home, his real home, finally. He never had to see the Dursleys again. Sirius and Remus had broken the news to him a few days before he was due to leave for the start of his seventh year, and that fact alone was enough to make him forget about the Lughnasadh Ball. Almost.

“Harry?” Ron's voice snapped him out of his daze. Harry turned to see him standing uncertainly on the stairs that led out of their seventh year dormitory. “You coming?”

“I—yeah,” Harry forced a small smile, “in a minute.” Harry watched Ron eye him curiously, before disappearing down the tower's staircase. Harry turned back to the empty dormitory, and felt a small pang in his chest. Empty wardrobes, stripped four-posters, and yet Harry could all but see the mad memories he had made in this room. Insane wrestling matches that never ended well, swapping chocolate frog cards, Christmases long past...Harry couldn't stop thinking about everything. It had gone by so quickly, and he almost felt as though he'd never stopped long enough to appreciate the years he had spent in the castle.

But now, it was all over. He felt as though his entire life had been leading up to the first of August. What would happen after, he had no idea. He'd been so busy trying to not think about August, and Draco, and the stupid betrothal, all his determined not-thinking seemed to make it come closer in leaps and bounds. And of course, things with Draco had been weird all year.

Sirius had informed Harry at the beginning of the autumn term that given that he and Draco were both of age, the Contract viewed them both as adults. “This means,” Sirius had said, “that you and Draco can associate with one another outside our supervision, if you want to.” Ha! Harry almost laughed at the memory. As if he had a burning desire to spend more time with that git.

Unfortunately, Draco seemed to see this new freedom rather differently. Though far from his usual attitude of humiliating or ignoring Harry as he'd done in summers past, he instead sought out Harry's company when he knew Harry would be alone.

The first few times, Harry had genuinely expected the other boy to hex him, or attack him, or something. Instead, the silver-white Slytherin would stalk forward, all smooth, languid movements, and pin him to the nearest flat surface. Harry learned early on that Draco was an amazing kisser.

The problem was, Harry didn't want to like Draco, or his kissing, or anything else about the little shit. He'd spent years being harassed by him, and suddenly Draco wanted to kiss and make up? It was deeply unsettling. “I can't help it Potter,” he would purr when Harry wrenched himself away, “you grew up pretty.” He would smirk in that self-satisfied Malfoy way, and stalk off without a backward glance.

The Pretty remarks left Harry feeling both hot all over, and deeply ashamed. In many ways, he felt like that descriptor absolutely didn't apply to him, and it also felt demeaning. Girls were pretty, not boys. Did Draco see him as some kind of...womanish man? With or without the cutting remarks, Harry struggled to completely stifle his growing desire every time they shared an encounter. Puberty had not been entirely unkind to Draco, and more than once the Slytherin had snuck in to his more erotic dream sequences, making him wake up gasping and sticky.

Lost in his thoughts, Harry barely noticed as he descended the steps from the dormitories and slipped out of the portrait hole for the last time, barely glancing up as he went. He did, however, notice when he walked straight into someone, they holding their ground so firmly that Harry lost his balance and fell back onto his buttocks.

“Damn, I'm sorr—” Harry cut himself off as he looked up and saw Snape in front of him, towering over him with his arms crossed and regarding Harry with a cool, blank stare. Much to his surprise, Snape reached forward and dragged Harry to his feet.

“Perhaps in the future it would be advisable that you watch where you are going, Mr Potter.” Something in Snape's normally scathing tone seemed muted, somehow, and Harry eyed him quizzically. Snape's hand was still lightly grasping his forearm, and he seemed almost reluctant to let go. He narrowed his eyes at Harry, and he swallowed, refusing to let Snape intimidate him, not anymore.

“I'll try and remember that, sir,” Harry said in as even a tone as he could manage, while he pulled his forearm out of the man's grip. The gesture seemed to anger the Potions Master for some reason. Harry hesitated a moment longer, then hurried past Snape and rushed to the carriages waiting outside.

~*~

The ridiculous nostalgia of the seventh years on the Hogsmeade platform was enough to temporarily distract Harry. People hugged, cried, and made empty promises of staying in touch. His eyes momentarily caught Draco's through the cluster of over-emotional bodies, and he gave Harry a small nod and a wink. The fact that Draco had slipped into his dreams again the night before definitely didn't help him keep his composure.

“Harry, are you all right? You look very red.” Harry spun around and saw Hermione eyeing him with concern and thinly veiled suspicion.

“Er, yeah, I'm fine.” I suppose it's now or never, Harry thought as he climbed onto the train with his trunk and Hedwig, struggling to get a handle on his blush. Ron and Hermione followed him onto the train, more slowly as they tried to navigate through the clusters of bodies, trunks, and cages.

Harry found a compartment near the back of the train that was completely empty, brushing off more than one person along the way who had attempted to join them. His frayed nerves left little room to feel guilty about the hurt looks Neville, Ginny, and Luna had given him at his brush-off. Ron and Hermione followed him in, and he stacked up his trunk and Hedwig's cage near the window. He opened and closed his fists repeatedly in an attempt to quell the trembling, though it did very little to actually calm him.

Harry took every excuse that presented itself to postpone his Big Reveal. He bought everyone pumpkin pasties, he played several games of Exploding Snap with Ron, while Hermione buried her nose in a thick volume and tutted as their games grew more and more raucous with every rematch. Harry glanced up after the fifth game, and felt his throat tighten. They were already halfway to King's Cross, and Harry felt himself wondering again, Where had the time gone? He pulled back from the game, and raked his fingers through his hair, making it even messier than usual.

“Er, I have to tell you guys something,” Ron looked up from the cards he had been shuffling, his brow furrowed, and Hermione's face emerged from behind her book. “I—I've been trying to figure out how to tell you for a while, but I, er, didn't exactly know how.” He paused, gnawing the inside of his cheek nervously. Was he really ready to do this?

“Spit it out Harry,” Ron said after a moment of tense silence. “You look like somebody died,” Harry almost laughed. Yeah, I wish.

He swallowed thickly and took a deep breath to steady himself. “When I was little, my aunt and uncle signed me up for a—er—Rite of Betrothal.” He could feel himself going red, and he buried his face in his hands. The only sound that Harry could hear was the steady chug chug of the train, and the muffled chatter of people outside their compartment.

“What? Harry are you absolutely sure?” Ron sounded aghast, and for once, Hermione was quiet. Harry nodded mutely, his face still in his hands.

“Wait, betrothal? Harry, you're engaged to someone?” Hermione sounded confused, and Harry could hear Ron sputter with shock.

“It's more than that Hermione,” Ron said seriously, ignoring the fact that Harry still had his face buried in his hands, hiding the fact that he had gone bright red, “it's a binding magical contract set up by Harry's guardians and the Ministry. There's absolutely no way to break it. I've heard of people actually dying when they tried to break their contract, or if they postponed the Bonding Ceremony for too long.”

“Oh Ron, don't be so dramatic,” Hermione said dismissively, waving her hand. “It can't be that bad, can it Harry?”

“Believe me,” Harry mumbled into his hands, “it's bad.”

“Who's the lucky bloke?” Harry's hands fell from his face, and he started so suddenly at Ron's words and almost toppled out of his seat in shock. Ron didn't even have the good form to hide his grin.

“How did—I mean,—why did, I mean—”

“Harry, breathe.” Hermione reached forward and gripped one of his hands in an attempt to calm him.

“You don't think you weren't being discreet about it, did you mate? You checked out Diggory's arse enough times in fourth year.”

“This is a nightmare,” Harry groaned, burying his face in his hands again, but Hermione huffed and pried his hands away from his face.

“Really Harry, you're being ridiculous. Just tell us: who is it?” Harry looked from Ron's amused expression to Hermione's concerned one. Was he really going to do this? He felt like he had better chances of facing off with a horde of Blast-Ended Skrewts and coming out alive.

“um, Draco Malfoy?” His voice sounded very small.

Their reactions were so predictable, if Harry hadn't been so mortified he might have laughed. Hermione's eyes went wide and she clapped her hands to her mouth, and Ron's mouth dropped open, doing a remarkable impression of a basking shark.

“Harry are you sure?”

“Draco Malfoy?”

“Why didn't you tell us?”

“Draco effing Malfoy?!”

“It's not like I had a choice!” Harry snapped, more angrily than he had intended. They both went silent.

“I've been forced to hang out with him for one week a year for the last twelve years.” Harry raged, throwing up his arms in frustration. “We loathe each other. When I was five, he led me into the woods and left me there. When I was seven, he stole Lucius's wand and set my hair on fire! When I was twelve he almost got me killed by his mother's prized venomous tentacula! Do you think I'm happy about this?” Harry couldn't remember when he had stood up, or when he started yelling. Both Ron and Hermione had gone very quiet.

Harry sat back down, breathing deeply in an attempt to calm down. It didn't help much. “I don't want to do this. The only good thing that ever came out of this whole mess is that I got to start living with Sirius and Remus when I was really small. Before that I was living in a fucking cupboard.” He looked out the window, and away from their mute shock. “I don't want to do this,” Harry repeated, though more softly. “I really don't, but I have absolutely no choice.”

“What about Sirius?” Hermione asked in a very small voice, clearly afraid that Harry would start yelling again, “he can't be exactly happy about this. I mean...” she trailed off, and watched him cautiously.

“Even if he wanted to do anything, he can't. Y'know, unless he wants to off his godson.” Hermione rolled her eyes. Ron offered Harry an apologetic half-smile.

“Sirius said he tried to stop it, but since he's not my legal guardian, there wasn't much he could do. Maybe if Dumbledore—” he cut himself off and shook his head. His feelings towards the old headmaster were so conflicted, he had no idea how to finish the thought.

“Dumbledore was only doing what he thought was best,” Hermione said, though she sounded sad. Not that he could blame her, the man had been dead for almost a year, but it still felt like a bad omen to speak ill of him. “I'm sure he didn't mean for things to turn out this way...”

“Yeah, I'm sure it was a brilliant idea to let me stay with people who hate me, and treat me like crap, and then tell my...tell Sirius and Remus to not tell me anything about the wizarding world. It makes no sense, Hermione.” Harry wasn't entirely sure why he was suddenly so angry, but he was secretly grateful that they had deviated so far from his revelation. He wasn't exactly keen to talk about it.

“I'm with Harry,” Ron said, unwrapping a chocolate frog as he spoke, “what kind of kid wants to grow up like that? Even if Harry had known about everything, it's not like he'd go looking for trouble.”

“I never had to,” Harry said with a small laugh, “trouble usually finds me.
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The Stag and The Snake