Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Harry, I brought you a present!” Luna called, her placid voice lilting through the halls of Grimmauld Place.

Harry hastily finished chopping the last carrot before gathering the pieces and dropping them in the pot, then turning off the heat. His soup would have to wait. He wiped his hands on his “Mr Good Lookin’ is Cookin’” apron before taking it off and hanging on the hook by the pantry and heading upstairs.

On the way, he stopped by the tree stand by the window in the dining room to pick up Luna. Luna the snake, that is. He carefully unwrapped the sun-warmed python from the branches and placed her around his shoulders.

“Ten galleons says it’s a new snake” he hissed, tickling gently under her chin.

“Deal,” Luna hissed back, tail coiling around his neck.

Luna (the human) was already seated on one of Harry’s aging purple velvet settees, humming to herself while rifling through the bowl of surprisingly lovely cinnamon-scented potpourri that had appeared on his coffee table the last time she had visited.

“Hi Luna,” Harry said, senses assaulted with cinnamon as he approached. Snake-Luna made the mistake of flicking out her tongue to taste the air and winced, no doubt getting a blast of cinnamon as well.

Human-Luna seemed to have found what she was looking for when she picked out a small pinecone and tucked it into the front pocket of her dungarees. “Hi, Harry!” she said again, brightly. “I brought you a present!”

“So you said,” Harry said, biting his lip to keep from smiling. He noticed she had a small cloth bag next to her on the cushions. “Is it a snake?” he guessed, rocking back on his heels.

“Oh, Harry, however did you know?” Luna asked with a guileless smile up at him.

“You’ve only been bringing me ‘presents’ since you brought me Luna,” Harry said to human-Luna, giving snake-Luna’s thick, strong body an affectionate squeeze.

“You owe me ten galleons,” Harry hissed at snake-Luna.

“I don’t have any money,” the snake responded. Harry pursed his lips. He probably should have thought of that.

“I think you'll like this one, Harry,” Luna said, picking up the bag. “Of course, you’re the kind to like them all, but this one might be a bit of a…challenge.”

Uh-oh. Luna was the queen of understatements, so Luna saying this snake was a “bit of a challenge” probably meant that Harry had his work cut out for him. He was suddenly extremely curious and apprehensive.

“Here, let me—” he said, transfiguring one of his armchairs into a glass terrarium on a stand. He would make a proper enclosure once he knew more about what he was dealing with. At least the snake looked pretty small, but Harry knew that size meant nothing when it came to difficulty.

Luna stood up and slowly, carefully, poured the snake into the terrarium.

Sensing freedom, it came careening out of the bag, hissing up a storm. It was small and thin and wickedly long, about three feet by Harry’s guess, and green. It immediately started running along the perimeter of the terrarium, looking for an escape. Upon finding none, it started reaching up, seeking egress that way.

Harry hurriedly transfigured an old copy of The Quibbler into a lid for the terrarium, just in time. The snake bumped its pointy nose on the screen of the lid, tilting back down to the floor of its confinement, thwarted.

Harry kneeled down and peered through the glass at his new acquaintance. “It’s okay, you’re okay,” he hissed. “You’re safe here.”

The snake paused, staring at him with beady, black eyes, but said nothing.

Looking closer, Harry could see that the snake was indeed a gorgeous light green, but with dark green edging on his scales, which Harry thought made them look a bit like the keys of a piano. He was quite pretty.

“I know what this is, Luna,” Harry said. “It’s a boomslang.”

“Is it?” Luna asked. “They mentioned he was venomous.”

“Yeah, very. He’s pretty young, but definitely an adult; the babies are more brown. Their shed is used as a potion ingredient.” Harry paused. “They’re not from around here and they’re definitely not pets. What’s his story?” he asked warily.

“He was in an explosion,” Luna said simply.

“An explosion?” Harry asked, bemused. That was not what he had been expecting.

“Yes. He lived at an apothecary. The owner made potions in the back and they are guessing that something went wrong with a potion he was brewing and it exploded. The other potions reacted and the whole place was leveled.”

“Christ,” Harry said, watching the snake watch him. He looked fine, at least.

“The owner wasn’t so lucky. He’s at St. Mungo’s, but they’re not sure when he’ll be waking up.”

Harry winced. “That bad, huh?” What could have happened that the man couldn’t be healed or fixed magically?

“It seems so,” Luna hummed.

“Well, this little guy sure seems sprightly,” Harry said, nodding at the snake, who was currently attempting to bite the glass. His mouth was open comically wide, fangs and gums rubbing uselessly against the flat surface, unable to gain purchase.

“He doesn't seem very friendly,” Luna commented with amusement.

“Are you okay? I heard you’ve been through quite a bit. You are safe here,” Harry hissed.

The snake stopped biting the glass and resettled its jaw in place. It regarded him with shiny, black eyes. Harry could have sworn it was scowling despite not having any eyebrows. Then the snake hissed.

Harry blinked. He did not know those words. While he wasn't perfectly fluent in Parseltongue, it had been a long while, years even, since he had encountered words he didn't recognize or couldn't get from context. Before he could ask Luna (the snake) what the boomslang said, she laughed— a wobble of her head accompanied by wordless hissing.

“Rude,” she said.

“What did he say?”

“He was very impolite. He told you to…how shall I say it…leave him alone?”

It was Harry’s turn to laugh. “Luna,” he said. “I think this snake just told me to fuck off.”

Human-Luna giggled.

Harry leaned right up to the glass. The snake’s scowling intensified. “I think I know what I’m going to name you,” Harry grinned.

The only warning Harry got was a slight tickle before Malfoy bit his arm.

The snake, that is.

“Malfoy!” Harry scolded, plucking the bastard off him, leaving just two tiny pinpricks of blood beading on his skin as the only evidence. “Why, buddy, why?” he hissed, before depositing Malfoy back in his quarantine tank. He had been looking sorta off-color, a little yellowish, so Harry had tried to be nice by letting him out into his new enclosure early while Harry finished it up, but look where being nice got him? “You know I’m not going to hurt you! And I know you understand me,” he scolded.

Malfoy just laughed. His laugh was similar to Luna’s in that he hissed wordlessly and wobbled his head, but he had his mouth open just a little as well and if Harry weren’t so pissed it would be sort of cute.

“Very funny indeed. You know, if I die, there will be no one to feed you,” he threatened, waving a hole in the glass before stepping out from Malfoy’s enclosure back into his living room.

Harry was frustrated. He hadn’t been bit by one of his snakes since…well, actually ever. Once they could understand each other, the need for biting was gone, since the snakes could just tell Harry all of their needs, no matter how small. Leave it to Malfoy to break his streak. His namesake always had a way of getting under his skin, too.

“Arsehole,” he muttered. That was another swear that Malfoy had graced the snake sanctuary with. Well, it translated more to “cloaca,” but the effect was the same.

He took another look at the tiny puncture marks and sighed. Time for a visit to St. Mungo’s.

He cast a quick Patronus to let Ron and Hermione know where he was going, then went to find Luna.

“Luna, our new guy bit me, will you be fine here while I take a trip to the hospital?” Harry asked Luna who was sunning on her tree stand, as usual.

“I will let out all the snakes and we will take over your house. One bite will be the least of your worries,” she drawled, half asleep.

“Brilliant, thanks.”

“Hello, welcome to— sweet Merlin you're Harry Potter,” said the startled receptionist, dropping the quill she had been twirling absently onto her desk.

Harry forced what he hoped was a winning smile onto his face. “Yeah, hi,” he said. The woman sort of just kept staring at him. He held back a sigh. “I've, er, been bitten by a venomous snake?” He said, lifting his arm and pointing at the tiny drops of drying blood to show her.

Should he have put a plaster on? It was just a little blood, but he could have. Is showing up at a hospital while openly bleeding in poor taste? Harry figured it was sort of expected but the plaster wouldn’t have been much trouble really. Well, too late now.

“Oh— oh , right, of course! So sorry! I'll page Creatures.”

“Who?” Harry asked, but she was already speaking. She brought what looked like a bouquet of snapdragons to her face and spoke into them like a microphone.

“Attention Head Healer Pye, healers, and trainees of Creature-Induced Injuries, Harry Potter is on his way with a snake bite.”

“No, you don't have to— I can—” he said, gesturing weakly to the open chairs amongst the other wixen waiting to be seen.

“Nonsense, you should get that bite looked at straight away!” she exclaimed, putting the flowers back in a small vase and lining them up with a series of other vases filled with different types of flowers. She stood up, straightened her skirt, and walked him to the Floo herself.

Harry tried not to frown. Judging by her pencil skirt and kitten heels and lack of any healers robes, this was not her usual job. Special treatment again, it looked like. “You don't have to—”

“First Floor, Creature-Induced Injuries Emergency Floo!” she stated excitedly. The Floo flared to life and she started ushering him through. “Alright, away you go! On behalf of everyone at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, we hope you get well soon! And thank you for your service!

Harry made the mistake of rolling his eyes when he stepped through the floo and as a result, got disoriented and stumbled into a poor unsuspecting mediwitch, who, to her credit, held her ground and didn't fall down.

Harry did, however.

The concerned face of the mediwitch appeared in his view. “Whoa there, are you okay sir?” the girl said, kneeling beside him, looking him over for any visible wounds.

Harry was mightily embarrassed and scrambled to sit up. “I'm fine, honestly. Well, I mean, I'm here, but I'm fine. The woman just—” he bumbled, hooking a thumb over his shoulder and feeling awfully dramatic. It wasn't like his organs were shutting down or he was bleeding out or anything. It hardly felt like an emergency. But he reminded himself that boomslang bites were serious business and it was best to take care of them early. Hard to do that from the floor, though.

The girl, trainee Platt according to her name tag, cut him off. “No worries sir, please, let me help you up,” she said, and two more trainees appeared to help.

“You know, Potter, usually the direct floo is for emergencies. But as usual, the rules don’t apply to the Chosen One.”

Harry would recognize that voice anywhere. “Malfoy?” he asked incredulously, scrabbling around on the floor seeking out that familiar voice, overcome with the strangest nostalgia. His eyes landed on the familiar boy— no, the man— leaning on a nearby counter, arms folded across his chest.

“Well spotted! It's nice to know those glasses are good for something,” Malfoy said with a smirk.

He was wearing the standard white healers robes, but with an emerald green stripe down both sleeves and some sort of delicate purple flower pinned to his lapel. He had on a white dress shirt underneath, tucked into tailored black slacks that made his legs look a mile long. His pale, platinum blond hair was haloed gold by the overhead lights and artfully coiffed in an effortless and trendy style, a little shorter on the sides and a bit longer on the top.

Harry could hardly believe that he was looking at the same pointy little git from his youth. Malfoy had certainly grown into all those sharp angles. Those cheekbones…

He thought back to all those months he’d spent stalking Malfoy in sixth year— all those hours watching him in the Great Hall, memorizing the set of his shoulders, the tilt of his head, how he took his tea, like they might somehow be clues. In hindsight, he had to admit, not all of those observations may have been strictly necessary for figuring out if Malfoy was up to something. He can maybe see where Ron and Hermione were coming from now when they told him he was unhealthily obsessed.

Luckily, Harry had already had his sexuality crisis a few years ago. That would have made this really awkward. As it was, he found he was having a new kind of crisis, one where he found that he was suddenly and considerably attracted to Draco bloody Malfoy.

Uh oh.

“You're a healer?” Harry blurted, stumbling awkwardly to his feet.

“Right again!” Malfoy said, as though he were humoring a small child. He pushed off the counter with his hip and walked towards Harry. “You know, I always thought you were awfully dim, but now I can really see why they gave you an Order of Merlin.”

Harry snorted.

One of the mediwixen who Harry just noticed was casting diagnostic charms on him looked at Malfoy with alarm. “Are you sure you should be talking to Harry Potter like that?” she piped up bravely.

Malfoy waved her off with an elegant flap of his hand. “Nonsense. He likes it,” he said with a smirk, thin pink lips pulling devilishly crooked across his handsome face.

Harry found that he kind of did. Was Malfoy always this funny? His barbs sure hit differently when Harry wasn't constantly worried for his life. The irony was not lost on him that he was currently being seen for a life-threatening snake bite, but it's no homicidal megalomaniac, you know?

Malfoy looked him up and down and Harry tried to stand up a little straighter. Malfoy was just a couple inches taller than him (unfair!), and it had been a while since Harry had to look up to kiss—

Luckily, Malfoy cut off that train of thought. “The announcement said snakebite. Now you don’t look like you were hunting down a Basilisk in the sewers of London, so what manner of horrible beastie did your hero complex compel you to vanquish this time?”

Harry rolled his eyes with a smile. “A boomslang. A regular-sized venomous snake this time.”

“You’ve got to get your thrills somehow then, I suppose,” Malfoy said and smiled, for real this time. Harry's stomach flipped. Gone was the sneer of his youth, replaced by an honest to Merlin smile. It spread brightly on his face and just slightly crinkled his striking grey eyes. It looked good on him. Really good.

Harry was in trouble.

“Mr. Potter, if you would please…” one of the mediwixen said, trying not to physically push him, but trying very hard to corral him to an exam room.

“Well, I must be off,” Malfoy drawled, twirling a small drawstring bag on a long, elegant finger before snatching it in his hand. “It’s not every day that some poor sod comes in covered in Shrake Spines,” he said with a wink that had Harry’s heart skipping a beat.

“You're not…staying?” Harry asked, irrationally disappointed.

“Nonsense, I don't work on this floor,” Malfoy scoffed, pocketing the bag. “I’m sure you’ll have St. Mungo’s finest seeing to you; only the best for the Golden Boy, of course.”

“Not by choice,” Harry objected, crossing his arms, but Malfoy waved him off.

“I’m sure there will be many bosoms to kiss and babies to sign on your way out. Ta!” he called and began walking towards the Floo and Harry wished he could see his bum better through those healers robes. Malfoy threw some Floo powder and said “Third Floor, Potion and Plant Poisoning."

“Mr. Potter, sir, please, right this way…” the mediwitch said again.

Harry let the mediwix team lead him a few steps backwards, eyes still on Malfoy. “I thought you said that was for emergencies?” he observed with a smirk.

Malfoy tapped a long finger against his chin and tilted his head innocently. “Did I?” he said and stepped through before Harry could say anything more.

The antivenom process was easier than he expected— just a potion and some monitoring— and before he knew it, Harry was back home.

He stalked right up to Malfoy’s quarantine cage and crouched down with a huff. “I’m just fine, in case you were wondering,” Harry hissed. Malfoy was still chuckling, the twat. “Yeah, hilarious. Don’t do it again.”

Malfoy made no motion to show he either understood nor agreed.

Harry resumed working on Malfoy’s permanent enclosure. The space was tall and deep enough to house a miniaturized Acacia tree with a gnarled, twisting trunk and plenty of meandering branches. Around the tree were various shrubs and grasses. He waited until he was completely done before putting Malfoy in it this time. He wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice. 

“I hope you like it, Malfoy. I did a lot of research. If there’s anything you like or don’t like, feel free to tell me. Not that you will. But I mean it.”

True to form, Malfoy did not answer. Instead, he hissed some random sounds (probably more creative swear words he would have to ask Luna about later), gracefully wound his way up his new tree, and draped himself across some low hanging branches. Then he stared right at Harry and laughed some more.

“Glad you like it,” Harry said dryly.

Harry stepped through the floo to the Granger-Weasley residence and into the usual chaos.

“Oh! Harry! Are you alright? Give us a moment, would you–” Hermione said, chasing a chunky, trouserless Hugo who was toddling at top speed towards the fireplace.

“Oh no you don’t!” Harry said, scooping Hugo up and hefting him up under his arm sideways. Hugo shrieked with joy.

“Wait! Where did Hugo go, hm?” Harry teased, exaggerating looking up, down, and side to side, taking Hugo along for the ride. “I can’t seem to find him anywhere!”

Hugo giggled wildly, arms flailing. “Unca Hay! I’m here! I’m here!”

“Wait, did you hear that?” Harry asked dramatically, and Hermione grinned at him and said a quiet thank you before dashing off to the kitchen where Harry could hear Ron consoling a crying Rose.

He marched around the sitting room, Hugo under arm, leaning every which way to look behind and on top of every piece of furniture. “I can’t properly search for Hugo with this massive bag of potatoes under my arm, I don’t think,” Harry said and Hugo laughed some more. “I think I’ll have to put these potatoes down on the couch!” he said, flinging Hugo gently onto the plush cushions.

Hugo squealed with laughter as he tumbled around on the well-loved couch. “Unca Hay! Here I am!”

“Oh my— Hugo?” Harry said, feigning shock. “Where did you come from?” he asked, before picking Hugo up the normal way. “I am so glad I found you. Should we go find your mum and dad?”

“Uh-huh,” Hugo said, eyes bright and cheeks as red as his hair. “Mum,” he said, pointing towards the kitchen.

“Right you are, Hugo. You’re a clever boy, aren’t you? Let’s go find her,” Harry said, carrying Hugo to the kitchen. He was all smiles.

“Is everything alright in here?” Harry asked, handing Hugo over when he made grabby hands at Hermione. She took him and propped him on her hip.

“Thanks so much, Harry, we just needed a moment. Rose tripped and busted her lip. We healed her right away of course, but I think it surprised her more than anything,” she said.

“You’re alright, aren’t you, love?” Ron asked, smoothing a hand over his daughter’s frizzy auburn hair.

Rose looked up at her dad, tears obvious.

“It takes more than just a busted lip to take our Rose down, right?” Ron asked. “She’s tough like that.”

“Oh yes, Rose is very tough, I’ve seen it for myself,” Harry said sagely.

Rose puffed up her chest and sniffed away her remaining tears. “Yeah, I’m okay,” she agreed. “I’m tough.”

“I’m sorry it hurt so much, mouse. Want me to pick you up?” Ron asked, and Rose thrust her arms up. He hoisted her up with a grunt and she buried her face in his neck. She was almost too big to be picked up like that anymore, but if you asked Ron, he would say she would never be too big.

Between Ron holding Rose and Hermione holding Hugo, Harry felt like he should be holding someone too. He should have brought Luna.

(The snake.)

“So, St. Mungo’s, Harry? Are you alright?” Hermione asked, putting a kettle on while holding Hugo, showing off an impressive display of parental strength and multitasking. Harry nudged her aside and took over tea duty.

“Yeah, I’m okay. My new snake, the boomslang, bit me. I went in straightaway so there weren’t any effects or anything. The worst part of the whole thing was that the antivenom potion tasted awful,” he said, grimacing at the memory. It tasted like grass and flat soda, but had the consistency of sludgy coffee. He was not interested in repeating that experience.

“That’s a relief,” Hermione said, putting Hugo in a highchair and pouring some cereal onto his tray. He immediately smashed some in two chubby fists.

Harry pulled the kettle off the stove and set to work on the tea. “Yeah. They’re highly venomous. I know you tell me I should keep some antivenom around, but that’s the first bite ever and I really don’t think— oh right!” Harry blurted, interrupting himself. “You’ll never guess who I saw?”

“Who?” Ron asked, setting Rose down on a chair and starting some toast for her.

“Draco Malfoy!” Harry exclaimed.

There was a beat of silence as Ron and Hermione looked at each other. “Oh yeah?” Ron asked, looking like he was bracing himself. Strange.

“Yeah! He’s a healer apparently!”

Hermione looked at him. “Is that so?” she asked after a moment, taking one of the mugs Harry offered her. Harry gave another one to Ron.

“Yeah! I can’t believe he’s a healer. He was on the creatures floor, but said he didn’t work there. I wonder which floor he does work on. Why would he go into healing?” he mused, stirring milk and sugar into his cup, remembering 

Ron set down his mug with an exasperated sigh. “I can’t do this with you again, Harry, I won’t,” he groaned.

“Do what again?” Harry asked with a chuckle. “It was just a question!”

“It’s never ‘just a question’ when it comes to Malfoy, is it Harry?” Ron accused, buttering Rose’s toast before smearing a hearty amount of strawberry jam on it. Rose seemed delighted and happily took a very large bite, getting strawberry jam on her upper lip in a sticky moustache.

“We haven’t seen him in years, I think I’m allowed to wonder what an old classmate is getting up to!” Harry defended, thinking that he sounded very reasonable indeed.

“I heard he did his study and internship in France before moving back here and taking a job at St. Mungo’s,” Hermione said with the air of someone who was trying very hard to be casual.

Harry sipped his tea loudly and narrowed his eyes at her. “And just how do you know that?” he accused, trying to stay serious, but the smile kept breaking through.

“I just hear things!” Hermione said, defensively, not meeting his gaze. “I hear a lot of things in my job at the Ministry, and sometimes things just come up. Did you know that Millicent Bulstrode has started a cat cafe? The first of its kind in Diagon Alley! Oh and just the other day I heard that Neville and Hannah have started dating, isn’t that sweet? You remember Hannah Abbott, don’t you? They’ve been dancing around each other for ages, Harry. And of course, Neville has been doing some consulting with St. Mungo’s regarding some rarer species of plants and their various effects, which Draco said— oh!” she squeaked, cutting herself off, suddenly very interested in vanishing the crumbled cereal Hugo had managed to get all over his tray and the floor around him.

“Hermione!” Ron admonished with a grimace but it was too late.

“Draco?!” Harry guffawed. “I’m sorry? You’re on a first name basis with Draco Malfoy? And you didn’t tell me?” Belatedly, Harry realized that last question probably did make it sound like he cared more than he should. Which he didn’t.

“Mate, it’s nothing. We’ve barely even talked to him,” Ron said, but the look on his face said that he knew he had just made a mistake.

“We?!” Harry exclaimed.

“Mate, mate,” Ron said placatingly, “it’s— he’s Pansy’s best friend, right? And she’s my Auror partner and all, and she invites him to trivia nights at the Leaky sometimes, and—”

“Ron!” He felt betrayed. Some friend!

“—he doesn’t usually show up, and you would know this Harry if you ever agreed to go—”

“—I’m not an Auror anymore, and there’s too many people, Ron, you know that—”

“—and you’re always invited to play at our table. It’s just people you know, I swear, not even just other Aurors, even Luna shows up sometimes and—”

“Were you ever going to tell me?” Harry demanded, laughing. Why was he laughing? This wasn’t even that funny.

“Nnnnn…” Ron trailed off, letting the sound carry for a long time like he was debating on changing his answer but just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“Well?”

“...nnnnnnn…”

“Ron.”

“...nnnnno,” he finished with difficulty, his face a complicated combination of contrition and defiance.

“Great. What if he’s—”

“—up to something?” Ron finished for him. “Come on, mate, it’s been nearly a decade. I still may not like the ponce that much, but if he were up to something it would have happened by now. He doesn’t have the patience for the long con, at least not one that lasts seven years!”

“And how would you know that?” was what Harry meant to ask, but what came out was “Beel haba dooba wawa?”

For a few painfully long moments, no one said anything. “What did you just say?” Ron blinked.

Harry blinked right back, smiling. What? “Braba toony gratabula?” he said.

Oh boy.

“Harry, are you feeling okay?” Hermione asked, letting Hugo smash cereal to his heart’s content and coming over to feel Harry’s forehead.

“Jumanga veledurant!” Harry insisted, growing increasingly alarmed. Was he having a stroke? Why couldn’t he stop smiling?

“Merlin’s tits, Harry, are you having a stroke?” Ron asked, echoing Harry's spiraling thoughts and darting around the table to see him closer as well.

“Tits, tits, tits,” Rose said to herself around a mouthful of toast.

Hermione, apparently not having found the answer on his forehead, was patting down the rest of his body. Harry wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but hoped she would find it. He was trying very hard to stay calm.

“Yatoobi,” Harry said pathetically, meaning to say “help”, hoping the point got across anyway. He imagined the effect was a little lost, however, because he could not stop fucking laughing. What was going on?

“Harry, have you taken any potions?” Hermione asked, having unfortunately not found any answers on the rest of his body and had returned to feeling his forehead.

He most certainly had not, but wished he had because then this would make sense. “Toodle!” Harry said, shaking his head with a burst of laughter. 

Ron laughed at him unhelpfully.

“Has anybody given you anything? Have you eaten anything outside your home today? Have you gotten any strange letters or packages lately?” she asked.

That was too many questions to answer even when Harry wasn’t otherwise indisposed, but the answer was no to all three, so that was convenient. He shook his head, pointing to the bandage on his arm and miming drinking.

“Just the antivenom potion?” Hermione guessed.

Harry nodded, stupid smile still forcing its hold on his face. Suddenly, his nipples felt a little funny and wasn’t that just the cherry on top of whatever the fuck was happening? He reached up a hand to surreptitiously rub one.

“Ron, would you drop the kids off at the Burrow?” Hermione asked, but Ron had already Accio’d the diaper bag and was already on his way to grab Hugo out of his highchair.

“See you soon,” Ron said, stopping to kiss Hermione on the cheek.

“Harry, I think we should go back to St. Mungo’s,” Hermione said, grabbing her purse.

“Beeg nop boogop,” Harry laughed in agreement.

The second visit to St. Mungo’s was remarkably like the first. Harry and Hermione were greeted by the same eager receptionist and ushered through the emergency Floo again with another “thank you for your service!” Harry stumbled again (but didn’t fall this time). The healers were still falling over themselves to treat him and far too many people were ogling.

The only thing that was missing was Draco Malfoy.

Harry tried not to get his hopes up.

As it were, he was sitting on the exam table in exam room two surrounded by Hermione, three trainee healers with nameplates that said Green, Singh, and Timms,  and a middle-aged man with a black ponytail named Healer Truman (too many cooks, in Harry’s opinion). Everyone was gathered around the diagnostic charm of the youngest looking trainee, the information hovering in front of them in muted, pastel colors and beeping faintly.

Harry had a splitting headache and was a smidge nauseous, but that was probably because he had not had anything besides toast, tea, and antivenom so far today. He rubbed at his temples, willing his stupid body to stop laughing.

“Back again, Potter? Did trouble find you again or are we having a reprise of sixth year where you somehow turn up wherever I happen to be?”

Harry whipped around to see Malfoy leaning (again with the leaning) on the doorframe. “Malfoy,” Harry tried to say but what came out was “poodoo.” Then he laughed because he couldn't help it.

Malfoy stood up straight and blinked in surprise before breaking into what Harry could only describe as an evil grin. Hermione patted his arm consolingly.

“I see! Well, whatever is wrong with you this time? Apart from the usual things, of course,” he said, flapping a hand.

Harry opened his mouth to answer, but dissolved into giggles instead, not like anything that came out would have made sense anyway.

“What’s the matter Potter, Kneazle got your tongue?”

“Fuck off,” Harry tried to say, flipping him off as well. The effect was lost between the gibberish and the laughing. Malfoy seemed delighted.

Healer Truman huffed. “Healer Malfoy, he seems to be under the effect of some potions. I’m sure I’ve got this covered, there’s no need—”

“Well, luckily, you’ve stumbled into the right place,” Malfoy said, fully ignoring the healer and sauntering into the room. He cast a wandless sanitizing charm with a practiced flick of his elegant wrist, his pale hands briefly sparkling as the spell washed over them. Harry tried not to be dazzled.

“They’ve determined he’s most likely under the influence of a laughing potion as well as a babbling potion,” Hermione supplied, and Healer Truman grunted in agreement, apparently resigned to having Malfoy steamroll into his exam room.

“Ah, you mean this isn’t normal? Given your usual lack of ability to string a sentence together, Potter, I could hardly tell,” Malfoy teased, pulling up a stool.

One of the trainees hovering around Harry turned to Malfoy. “Healer Malfoy, that’s— this is Harry Potter, are you sure you should be talking to him like that?”

“Yes,” Malfoy said simply. “He needs it.” He propped one impossibly long leg on the highest rung of the stool. Harry wondered if his legs would look even longer with one thrown over Harry’s shoulder, the other around Harry’s waist as he—

His nipples suddenly twinged again, cutting off that alarming train of thought. He rubbed his left one, but the discomfort remained. His headache was worsening and the nausea wasn’t going away, and while definitely out of place, he hoped that his nipple situation was just a strange side effect of whatever was going on that would vanish once they figured out his treatment so he wouldn’t have to bring it up.

Of course, luck wasn’t always on his side in that regard.

“Now, Potter,” Malfoy said, and Harry lowered his hand hastily, straightening his shirt and grinning like an idiot. “Are you sure you haven't drank anything untoward today? You’ll need to think. I know that’s hard for you.”

Malfoy drew his wand and Harry controlled his flinch, blood rushing faster and hand twitching reflexively to draw his own wand for a duel. Malfoy would be mad to attack him here, now, and sure enough, he wasn’t. Harry watched as Malfoy caught his eye and instead conjured a small chalkboard and some chalk with deliberate movements and handed it to him. Harry took it, surprised. He would have thought Malfoy would rather prefer he couldn’t talk back. He probably shouldn’t have doubted Malfoy would take healing seriously.

Chalk in hand, Harry scribbled, I get a lot of fanmail, so I try to limit myself to drinking one mystery potion a day, laughing all the while.

Malfoy laughed, a real actual laugh. His eyes crinkled at the corners and his face was so soft and open and radiant that Harry was a little startled by how lovely it was. He had never laughed like that at school, Harry would have remembered. “Ah, then perhaps you deserve your giggly fate, Scarhead. What is it the poets say? ‘Play stupid games, win stupid prizes’?” Malfoy teased, smiling.

“Healer Malfoy, I'm sure I didn't just hear you say that. Is that any way to talk to our esteemed patient?”

Harry tore his eyes away from Malfoy’s gorgeous smile to see a compact, silver-haired woman step into the room accompanied by a waft of the ever present antiseptic charms as well as a hint of lavender. She leveled Malfoy a look that reminded Harry a little bit of McGonagall— mostly reprimand, but a smidgen of amusement— that made it instantly clear she’d known him long enough to expect a little bit of trouble.

Malfoy threw up his hands. “Why does everyone keep saying that? It’s called ‘building rapport,’ Agatha. Surely you haven’t made me attend the Patient Relations Workshop three times just for a laugh, have you? I’m putting my study into practice!”

“For the last time, it’s Head Healer Greaves. Call me anything else and I’ll write you up,” the woman threatened, coming to join the fray around Harry’s bed, the trainees hovering around her like remoras.

Great. More special treatment. More cooks.

“Perhaps we should assign another healer to his care?” Greaves threatened again.

From the back of the crowd, Healer Truman cleared his throat. “Well, actually, I’m assigned exam room 2 for the day and—”

Malfoy didn’t even spare him a glance. “C'est absurde, madame! I'm immune to any of the ill-effects of hero worship that’s always robbing the rest of you of rational thought, so I am obviously the best suited. Plus, he laughs at all my jokes. Isn't that right, Potter?”

Harry laughed because he couldn't not, but Malfoy really was on a roll today. Harry had never enjoyed being insulted so much. The barbs were playful, not cruel, and his 17 year old self would never have believed that he would ever in a million years actually enjoy being on the receiving end of Malfoy’s sharp tongue.

Perhaps that was the wrong way to phrase it. Harry licked his lips, eyes falling to Malfoy’s pretty mouth.

“If it is a laughing potion, he can’t really help—” Trainee Singh began to say, but Malfoy cut him off.

“Ah! Trainee, please, let me have this. Potter has finally realized my comedic genius, don’t take this away from me.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Yes, because that’s obviously the most important thing right now.”

“Healer Malfoy,” Greaves added in an exasperated tone.

“Oh, fine, if you insist. Blast that Hippocratic Oath. Trainee Timms, would you fetch the antidotes for the laughing and babbling potions? Let's see if we can't get Potter back to his usual Saviour self.”

Head Healer Greaves huffed but with the smallest hint of a twinkle in her eye. ”Healer Malfoy, sometimes I think we need to put a leash on you.”

Images flashed in Harry’s mind of Malfoy with nothing on but a dark leather collar, standing out against a column of pale, creamy skin as Harry pulled the leash taught, drawing him towards Harry so he can—

“Agatha! You of all people should know that I can’t be restrained!” Malfoy chided.

Head Healer Greaves heaved a put-upon sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose, no doubt to stave off a Malfoy-induced headache. “Don’t I know it,” she grumbled.

Harry shifted in his seat, cock plumping in his trousers as new images filled Harry’s mind of Malfoy in the Auror-grade handcuffs Harry nicked before he quit, Malfoy tied in nothing but the ropes from an Incarcerous, Malfoy with Harry’s old Gryffindor tie wrapped around his pale wrists as he—

“Healers, Mr. Potter’s heart rate seems to be elevated,” squeaked Trainee Green.

Harry barked out a laugh, watching everyone look to the trainee’s diagnostics that were showing increasingly darker red squiggles that Harry assumed was displaying the rapid beating of his traitorous heart. He tried to think of the least sexy things he could: Hagrid in a bikini; shoe shopping; that time his constipated European ratsnake shit down his arms.

“Oh, never mind, false alarm,” she said, perplexed.

Phew.

Harry grabbed his chalkboard as a distraction. You’re a menace he wrote.

Malfoy looked proud of that fact.

Trainee Timms appeared at Malfoy's elbow and handed him two vials. 

“Bottoms up,” Malfoy said, handing Harry the vials one by one.

Harry dutifully drank them while under heavy charms. He didn’t know what the healers were seeing, but he hoped it was good. His head was pounding.

Malfoy took a step back, hands on his hips, looking confident. “Well, Potter, are you feeling literate yet?”

“Literate is for reading, git,” Harry said, or at least tried to say, because unfortunately it still came out as gibberish. Then he started to laugh again and this time, the laughter wasn't dying away.

Malfoy frowned.

“Draco, how fast are those antidotes supposed to work?” Hermione said with a note of worry in her voice.

“Immediately,” Malfoy said, still frowning, looking serious for the first time since he had arrived. “Potter, is there anything else I would need to know that we may have overlooked?”

Harry dutifully wrote out everything he had consumed that day including the few sips of tea he’d had at Ron and Hermione’s, as well as listed everything he was feeling, his laughing making his handwriting a little messier than usual. He left out the thing about his nipples, which were itching something fierce now.

“How long have you had the headache?” Malfoy asked, elbowing the trainees around Harry aside and drawing his wand to cast his own diagnostic charms again and Harry didn’t even flinch this time. Malfoy smelled like crisp citrus and disinfectant and was standing nearly in the v of Harry’s legs, and Harry didn’t think he would mind too much if Malfoy had to touch him for some reason, maybe to—

“Potter, what the fuck is that?” Malfoy asked sharply, gesturing to the front of Harry's shirt. Harry looked down at his chest, mortified. It seemed as though his nipples were lengthening and protruding outwards, tenting the fabric.

“Language, Healer Malfoy,” Head Healer Greaves admonished distractedly, taking a gander herself.

Gone was his hope that he could get out of this nipples unseen. There were seven other people in this little exam room, and of course, everyone’s eyes were locked on his chest.

Laughing against his will, Harry lifted his shirt to reveal that, to his horror, his nipples had been transformed into pink and white checkered party horns. As soon as they were freed, they unfurled like they were blown, filling the suddenly silent room with the cheery sound of a party celebration.

That was, of course, when Ron walked through the door.

No sooner had he crossed the threshold and witnessed Harry’s nipples celebrating, he laughed like it had been punched out of him, revving up like a car until he was howling with laughter.

Harry’s laughter was already contagious, but Ron’s laughter was a verifiable plague. He was laughing so hard he drowned out all conversation, face as red as a tomato, and he had the entire room laughing along despite themselves.

Not that he needed much help, because Harry’s nipple party horns were stealing the show. They went off every few seconds, mostly together, but sometimes they took turns.

The trainees couldn’t maintain their charms through their laughter, and healer Truman looked poleaxed, an involuntary smile stuck on his face. Hermione was clutching Ron’s arms tightly, trying to help him calm down, but unable to do much around her own giggles. Head Healer Greaves was trying incredibly unsuccessfully to keep a smile subdued, and Malfoy was laughing that beautiful laugh, eyebrows raised high at Harry’s inability to suffer things by halves.

”Harry, you—it’s—ha! You’ve got—they,” Ron gasped out between screeches of laughter. “Fuckin’ tooters!” he finally managed, letting out a noise like a deflating balloon.

Harry could either find it mortifying or find it hilarious, so it might as well be funny. His body was already laughing uproariously without his consent anyway.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he tried to say, but of course it was all nonsense, which just made everyone laugh harder.

“Ow, ow, my stomach, Harry, sweet fucking Circe,” Ron wheezed, clutching his middle and falling to his knees. Harry’s nipples just kept on tooting.

He pulled his shirt down to try and smother the horns, but all it did was make them push against his shirt and emit shorter honks, unable to be fully contained. Ron laughed so hard, he was nearly silent, tears streaming down his face.

Then Harry’s nose started bleeding.

The healers jumped to attention casting more charms and a trainee summoned some tissues. The laughter died down, except for Harry, of course. Ron was panting on the floor, trying to catch his breath.

“It’s one thing after another, with you, isn’t it?” Malfoy said, sounding concerned and inexplicably fond, stepping back to let the trainees see to Harry’s nosebleed. A trainee Collins vanished the blood and Harry shoved some tissues up both nostrils.

Harry drew a sad face on his chalkboard.

“Founders’ fuckmeat, mate, that got me. That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever seen in my fuckin’ life,” Ron wheezed. He climbed to his feet and leaned heavily against his wife, overcome by giggles every time Harry’s nipples tried to party. “Where did you get that potion, anyway? I thought George said it wasn’t out yet?”

“What do you mean, Ron?” Hermione asked, holding him at arms length, wearing her investigative eyebrows.

“It’s a joke shop potion. George was telling me about it, but they haven’t started selling it yet I don’t think,” Ron clarified, wiping away the last of his tears around some residual chuckles.

“If it’s not for sale, where did Potter get it?” Malfoy asked, raising one perfect eyebrow.

”Good question. Ron, can we call your brother up on your mobile?” Hermione asked, patting at the pocket on his trousers.

Ron seemed delighted to use his new Muggle device and after fumbling through the buttons and menus, he had George on the line.

Remember you don’t have to yell, Harry wrote on the chalkboard.

Ron flipped him off. “Alright, George? It’s Ron,” he said, probably unnecessarily. “We’ve got a question for you. The uh, the potion that—” Ron started laughing again and couldn't talk.

Hermione took the phone from him. “George, where would Harry have gotten a potion that turns his nipples into party horns?”

She listened for a while then relayed the information. “He says that they don’t carry it yet because it’s undergoing final testing at…” she grimaced slightly, “...Bubba’s Potions and Potion Supplies.”

Oh. This was strange.

“Bubba’s?” Malfoy asked, and Harry thought it was surreal to hear that word in Malfoy’s posh accent. “That place just exploded. Some sort of potion accident. Bubba is being held in long-term care, I’ve heard. A shame, too—he was one of our best suppliers.”

“George is going to message us the potion ingredients and antidote,” Hermione said, ending the call.

I think my snake was in that explosion, Harry wrote on the chalkboard. What an odd connection. Harry should really stop being surprised by things.

Malfoy frowned and stared at his sentence for a long time, so long that Harry thought maybe he was illiterate after all and turned it around to check.

“The one that bit you this morning?” Malfoy finally asked.

Harry nodded. His nipples honked. He was giggling constantly now, tissues stuffed up his nose, headache raging, and every now and then, little nonsense words escaped his mouth unbidden.

Malfoy lifted his lapel and spoke into the purple flower. “This is Healer Malfoy on the third floor, could I get someone up here who treated Harry Potter this morning for a snake bite?”

“You mean he’s still experiencing the symptoms of the bite? Didn’t he take the antivenom potion this morning?” Hermione asked.

Harry was getting tired of people talking for and about him, but he had given up on trying to contribute. He had resorted to covering his mouth with his hands to muffle his constant laughter, and jamming his elbows to his chest to reduce the tooting just to hear the conversation.

“He did indeed,” said Head Healer Pye. She had supervised his treatment that morning, and he liked her. She seemed young, but very competent, and wore a wristwatch, which Harry noted was odd for a wix.

“And he’s taken the antidotes for the laughing potion and the babbling potion, to no effect?” Hermione continued.

“Correct,” Malfoy said, staring at Harry and obviously thinking very deeply about something.

“And his symptoms keep getting worse, so what are we going to do?” Hermione prodded.

“We should do another round of each antidote, monitoring to see—” Head Healer Greaves started.

“No, that won’t work,” Malfoy said, biting his lip, obviously stuck on a thought.

Greaves looked nonplussed at the interruption, eyebrows raised high. “No?”

Malfoy stood up and began to pace. “Go with me on this journey.”

Harry snorted around his fingers.

“These are the facts as we know them. Potter was bitten by a boomslang this morning. He sought treatment before symptoms presented. Then he began to laugh uncontrollably, babble nonsense, and…” he stopped pacing and waved a hand at Harry. “...whatever is going on with his nipples, yes?”

Harry winced. “Correct,” Greaves responded.

“All of this was accompanied by a headache, nausea, and a nosebleed, which are typical symptoms of boomslang envenomation?”

“Also correct,” said Pye.

Malfoy took a breath, held it, then released it in a rush. “I posit that, for some reason, all of Potter’s symptoms are the result of being bitten by his snake.”

Everyone started speaking at once.

“How do you figure?” Ron rumbled out over the din.

“I believe that somehow, Potter’s snake didn’t escape the explosion at Bubba’s unscathed. I think it was exposed to the very potions affecting Potter, gained their properties somehow, and passed them on through its venom.”

“Draco, if what you’re saying is true, then Harry might not have much time,” Hermione said anxiously.

Harry, Ron, and the trainees all whirled around to look at her. “What do you mean?” Ron said, echoing Harry’s thoughts exactly.

“Well, if the potions are infused with the venom, and the venom is fatal, then by that logic…”

Harry did not like that logic. A hysterical laugh escaped around his hands.

“But the antivenom potion didn’t work,” Ron pointed out, wide-eyed.

“No known antidote will work,” Hermione said, way too calmly for what her words were implying.

“So we’re going to have to make our own,” Malfoy agreed, standing up and waving his wand and opening a cabinet, rolling out a desk with a thick, pewter cauldron on top.

“Healer Malfoy, are you suggesting we brew an experimental potion and give it to Harry Potter?” Greaves said, eyebrows up to her hairline.

“What do you propose we do then, let the Saviour of the Wizarding World die? That wouldn't look very good at our annual review, now would it?” Malfoy said, waving his wand some more and throwing all the cabinets open, revealing various vials, jars, and other various potion ingredients.

Greaves put her hands on her hips and studied Harry assessingly. She did not look impressed by Malfoy’s reasoning, but she did look concerned by Harry’s worsening symptoms. “I’ll start the paperwork, then we can—”

“There’s no time,” Malfoy said, summoning a few things from down the hall, narrowly avoiding hitting the heads of everyone loitering at the door. “Shoo, shoo!” he said, waving his wand again and bringing up an opaque barrier at the doorway. “Head Healer Pye?”

Harry scrabbled for the chalkboard.

“I’m afraid he’s right. His symptoms are following the clinical course of envenomation, although at a seemingly accelerated rate. If left to progress naturally, the hemotoxic nature of the venom will kill him,” Healer Pye said.

Harry’s heart was beating faster and he wasn’t sure if it was the cold fear rising in his chest or the venom in his veins. Sure, the antidote sounded like a last resort, but it was experimental, and it was Malfoy, and no matter how hot he was now, that combination left Harry uneasy. The last time he’d been at Malfoy’s mercy, Malfoy had left him immobile on the floor of a train compartment with a broken nose, choking on his own blood.

Plot? he scribbled and showed the chalkboard to Hermione, but of course Malfoy saw it.

Malfoy frowned severely. “Oh yes, Potter, I spent years studying healing in France rubbing my grubby, evil little hands together just preparing for the day that Harry Potter would get bitten by a snake I didn’t know he had, and that, despite defying the laws of magic as we know them, has been magically infused with random potions that aren’t even designed to do harm?”

Harry flinched, but Malfoy wasn’t done. “Then, when given the opportunity to literally save the life of Britain’s most beloved hero, instead plot to feed him poison under the careful eye of two head healers and his two closest friends?” Harry felt himself grow hot with embarrassment. He shifted uncomfortably, sweat pricking in his armpits, his uncontrollable laughter incongruous with the situation.

“Not to mention, why the fuck would I plot to give you party horns for nipples? Although, I must admit, it is quite funny. Not on my Harry Potter adventure bingo card, that's for sure,” Malfoy finished, arms crossed, grey eyes bright as he held Harry’s gaze.

“Language, Healer Malfoy,” Greaves said distractedly, letting Malfoy’s rant hang heavy in the air as she assisted in collecting and organizing ingredients.

Harry suddenly and viscerally remembered that actually, the last time he had been at Malfoy’s mercy, Malfoy claimed to be unable to recognize him so he wouldn't get turned over to Voldemort. One of the points Harry brought up when he testified on Malfoy’s behalf at his trial.

Shit.

Harry vigorously rubbed the chalk away with his fist and wrote trust you.

Whether he could believe it or not, he had no reason not to. Not anymore.

The room was silent except for Harry’s infuriating laughter and the beeps of monitoring charms.

Malfoy, searching Harry’s eyes, eventually nodded.

Head Healer Pye took a big breath. “I’ll fetch the ingredients for the boomslang antivenom potion.”

With the recipes and piles of ingredients for all of Harry’s wonderful afflictions assembled, the room set to work. Somehow more people had piled in, ostensibly to watch the potion masters at work, but also more likely to see Harry Potter make (read: suffer) history yet again.

He was laughing nearly as hard as Ron was earlier, tears forming at the edge of his eyes, stomach aching from a combination of unending belly laughs and general nausea. He had given up on trying to cover his mouth, random words leaving his lips whenever they felt like it, putting the majority of his attention on muting his nipple horns.

His head was killing him, making his vision swim even beyond the tears, but he had been denied any relief over the concern that more potions might influence the impending experiment.

He decided to lay down.

“Well, it can’t be as easy as mixing them all together, can it? That’s what they’d do in his stomach,” Hermione said.

“No, it needs to be a whole new solution if they aren't working independently,” Malfoy agreed.

“I’m afraid you're correct, Healer Malfoy,” added Greaves.

Harry didn’t think starting a snake rehabilitation center and sanctuary would eventually lead (potentially) to yet another untimely demise. Sure, he had plenty of venomous and dangerous snakes. Cobras, adders, ashwinders, he even had a runespoor for a short period of time before he sent it to a reserve. He could magically extend each snake’s enclosure to be pretty large, but a fully grown runespoor was pushing it.

“Won’t the candle smoke from the Wheeze’s antidote react with the crocodile tears from the laughing potion antidote?” Greaves said.

“We’ll have to make due with alligator tears then,” Malfoy said.

“I’ve never seen it done, but I think you’re on to something. Do you think it will affect the efficacy?” Greaves asked.

“Probably not,” Malfoy said.

“Reassuring,” Ron croaked.

No, this was all because of Malfoy. The standoffish, rude, belligerent, biting git. The snake, he meant. He’d never been bitten by one of his snakes before but Malfoy just refused to be befriended and rejected any attempts at geniality.

It was incredible how much that description matched the boy he knew at school. But that was the thing, wasn’t it? The boy he knew and the man in front of him were not the same. Harry couldn’t quite tell what it was. Malfoy’s tongue was just as sharp and his insults just as cutting, but they were delivered with a smile, almost teasingly, like inside jokes.

But they weren’t friends. They hadn’t even seen each other in nearly a decade. So why did it feel so comfortable?

“Something’s missing,” said Malfoy. “It needs a binding agent. Something to hold it all together that won’t cause a chain reaction nor make it unsafe to drink.”

“What do you mean ‘unsafe to drink’?” Ron wailed.

“I’ve got an idea, but you’re not going to like it,” Malfoy said, ignoring him.

“You know I hate it when you say that,” said Greaves.

“Chimera blood.”

“Healer Malfoy, that’s one of the few ingredients in this entire hospital that involves paperwork.”

“I know.”

“But I think you’re right. I’ll make a call.”

Harry could hardly breathe anymore. Every bit of air was devoted to hysterical silent laughter and the occasional burst of wordless noise. His head was throbbing in time with his pounding heart and he thought he could taste blood around his teeth.

A shadow fell over him. Malfoy had approached with a vial.

Harry had already used up enough luck in this lifetime, and if this didn’t work, he didn’t think he’d get a third chance to come back. But Malfoy seemed confident. He had always been good at potions and Harry could see why he chose that specialty of healing, although his bedside manner could use some work.

Malfoy was also fit, funny, and interesting, and didn’t think Harry was some infallible monolith like so many did. Harry pawed at the chalkboard, blindly summoning the chalk. If this was going to be it—if this was the last thing he ever did—he wanted to go out having at least tried.

Someone helped him sit up. Barely able to see, he managed to scrawl trivia night? with shaky fingers and shoved the chalkboard around towards Malfoy. No one could say he didn't go for it.

As Malfoy held the potion to Harry’s lips he could have sworn that Malfoy’s cheeks were pink. 

Harry had indeed made history yet again.

The experimental antidote worked, nearly perfectly, and Harry only had a sore throat, sore abs, and a bit of a residual headache to show for what was most likely an extremely close brush with death. The experience of the potion itself was a bit like slurping raw liver with a hint of peat bog and sprinkle donuts, but it was a small price to pay for his life, he supposed.

Malfoy conveniently took his leave right before it came time for all the paperwork, but stopped at the threshold on his way out, Harry having caught his eye. He gave Harry a smirk and a wink (a wink!), waggling his long fingers in the air in goodbye before disappearing into the chaos that was St. Mungo’s.

Malfoy, the snake, was fine, of course.

He was back to his usual green self, not a hint of any laughter or babbling, which wasn’t fair at all. Malfoy just got to get over it and Harry had to nearly die? Again?

The bastard didn’t even have any nipples.

“You’re a menace,” Harry said, in the strangest déjà vu.

Malfoy stuck his tongue out at Harry. At least, that’s what it looked like.

Luna was back around his neck now. Harry felt himself relax the longer her familiar weight was on his shoulders. She was one of his best friends and if being best friends with a snake made him weird…well. Harry had seen stranger things.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Luna said, and Harry embraced her in his arms as best he could to give her a hug. She opened her mouth and placed her jaws against his jaw gently, mindful of her backwards facing teeth. Harry giggled at the affectionate gesture. She carefully lifted her mouth back off him, leaving just a whisper of wetness as the air hit Harry’s face.

“Love you too,” he said.

He busied himself with feeding all the snakes and tidying up their enclosures. He took a moment to watch his ashwinders. They didn’t need much besides a magical fire, and although it was one of the more difficult habitats to maintain, Harry was proud to provide such a stable environment for one of the world‘s most endangered snakes. Without fires, they died just as quickly as an ember on the breeze. They were wildly misunderstood creatures and although inherently dangerous, were actually surprisingly good company.

He wasn’t in the snake rescue business for the potion ingredients, but the ashwinders laid eggs regardless of if Harry wanted them to or not, and Harry gathered those eggs. Some went to other conservation efforts, and some went to various places to be potion ingredients. Ashwinders eggs could be used as a cure for ague, as well as used in the Edurus potion. Harry was happy to be able to help and the ashwinders didn't mind.

Boomslang skin was used in Polyjuice potions and Harry knew through Ron that the Author department used it occasionally for undercover operations. Harry wondered if he could collect Malfoy's shed. No, he would probably eat it as soon as he shed it like some kind of ouroboros of spite.

“Teddy is coming soon, isn’t he?” Luna reminded Harry after a while.

Names didn’t translate directly in Parseltongue, especially not from English to the snake language. Because of this, Harry didn’t actually know Luna’s real name. He knew the sound for it, and that’s what he called her, but he didn’t know the translation. However, Luna and Harry had come up with Teddy’s name in Parseltongue together: colorful boy.

He cast a quick Tempus. A colorful boy that was due to arrive in under 30 minutes.

“Shit, thanks Luna,” he said. It was Tuesday, and Teddy and Andromeda always came over for tea and snake-time. He had completely forgotten. He should probably have rescheduled, but it was a bit late to do it now. He felt…mostly fine.

“That boomslang is a bad influence on you,” Luna complained.

“Bad influence? He’s expanding my vocabulary!”

“What is the expression you taught me? I am chopped liver?”

Harry laughed. “Luna, you are invaluable to me, you know that,” he said, brushing a speck of dust off her pretty snout. “I wouldn’t be who I am today without you,” he said, and he meant that.

Luna the snake had been a gift from Luna the human when Harry was in one of the darkest places in his life. He had quit the Aurors after one too many panic attacks and accompanying blasts of accidental magic and had spent over a year wallowing in the dark, dank, run-down hovel that Grimmauld Place used to be. When Luna had come into his life, he hadn’t even known what month it was.

Harry hadn’t known he could still speak Parseltongue. He thought the ability had gone when the part of Voldemort that was in him died, but Harry found that he still knew the words he had spoken when he had the ability. It turned out that that was enough and Luna had very patiently taught him every word he now knew.

Except for those fun new swear words of course.

Luna was his best companion, his therapy dog (she hated that joke), and an ambassador to the new snakes that showed up at Harry’s wayward sanctuary. Harry couldn’t live without her.

“I know, I am your favorite,” she said, gently biting his bicep this time.

“That you are,” giving her a kiss on her pretty head.

“Harry!” Teddy yelled, barreling into him, his turquoise hair turning into a shaggy black. Was that what his hair looked like? Yikes. He patted it self-consciously but there wasn’t much he could do. There never was. It was probably especially bad at the moment though given that he had spent a not insignificant amount of time writhing around literally dying of laughter. Alas.

“Hi Harry! Hi Luna!” Teddy said, jumping in a quick circle around Harry before stopping in front of him again. “Where’s Puppy?” he asked, looking up at Harry with honey-brown eyes that quickly cycled through the colors of the rainbow in order before landing on green, a trick Teddy was very proud of.

Puppy was a spider morph ball python that had been rescued from an irresponsible breeder. All pythons bred for the specific spider pattern had neurological problems. Puppy had wobble syndrome, which made it hard for him to balance and control his movement, and also gave him some problems eating.

But Teddy and Puppy had a special relationship. Teddy had met Puppy the first week Harry got him. He was only a few weeks old at that point and very small and delicate. Teddy loved him at first sight and had wanted to take him home. He begged his grandmother, to which Andromeda had said “Absolutely not. You know, most kids your age are asking for a puppy,” and Teddy, the cheeky urchin, had declared the snake’s name Puppy. Andromeda still said no.

Harry had spent the next few weeks reluctantly coming to terms with the fact that Teddy might be destined for Slytherin house.

“Patience, Edward,” Andromeda sighed, with the tone of someone who said that a lot.

“Sorry Granny,” Teddy said, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Hi, Andy,” Harry said and she smiled at him, a little tiredly, but still warm.

Harry got Andromeda situated with her tea, her book, and some almond biscuits, and she settled onto the couch with a small smile. It would only be about thirty minutes, but Harry was happy he could give her a break.

Then Harry got down on the floor with Teddy and had him practice the same three things they always did.

First, Harry had Teddy practice a wandless Accio and try to summon an egg across the floor. The egg had been getting a few wiggles the last few sessions, but Teddy hadn’t managed to pull it towards him yet.

Then they practiced a wandless cushioning charm. Harry had Teddy cast the charm on a piece of parchment and then drop the egg on it from as high as he could reach. It would inevitably break, but Harry would repair it.

But the last time Teddy tried, instead of splatting all over the floor like usual, it only cracked. Teddy jumped for joy and almost broke the egg anyway.

Since Teddy insisted on playing with Puppy every week, Harry thought the cushioning charm would be helpful and Teddy loved practicing. Selfishly, Harry also hoped that all this practice with wandless magic would mean that Teddy would be ahead of the other kids when he got to Hogwarts in a few years, but that was a secret.

Lastly, Harry had Teddy practice his Parseltongue.

“Hi, my name is Teddy. Do you want to play with me?” Teddy asked in a lispy approximation of the sibilant hisses.

“That’s the best I think you’ve sounded yet!” Harry said, proud.

Teddy beamed at him, hair turning bright pink to match his excitement. “Can I go get Puppy now?”

Harry let him go and dragged out the chest of legos that Teddy had enjoyed building with recently as well as a few toy trucks he had outgrown, but still gave Puppy rides in.

As Teddy settled into building a lego house for Puppy, Harry sat down on the couch with Andy. She set down her book, grabbed her tea, and turned to face him with a fond smile.

“He loves you, you know,” she said.

Harry did know, but hearing it made him beam. “I love him too. As his godfather, I am honored to be in his life.”

“And he’s lucky to have you,” she added. “Now, Harry, tell me how you’ve been?”

Harry filled her in on his admittedly boring life, but eventually she needled out of him his unfortunate escapade, although Harry left out all the parts that would indicate it was a near-death experience.

“Oh, you’ll never guess who my healer was?” Harry said excitedly before he remembered his present company.

“Who, Harry?” Andy said, sipping her tea.

Harry took a bite of an almond biscuit and chewed it slowly as though Andy might get distracted and forget, which of course didn’t work, but was worth a try.

“Draco Malfoy,” he said carefully.

Andromeda’s eyebrows raised, but she didn’t say anything for a long moment, teacup at her lips. She took a few sips and watched Teddy play before responding.

“Is that so?” she said, not giving anything away in her statement.

“Yeah, he was—” Harry paused, unable to read what kind of look Andromeda was giving him. “—he, er, saved my life actually.”

Andromeda looked at him a little less surprised than he expected. He never could get anything past her. She put her teacup in her lap and held it with both hands. “We’ve exchanged a few letters,” she said, circumspect.

“What? Really?” Harry asked incredulously, probably a little too intensely, because why did everyone seem to know Malfoy except him? He wasn't jealous, he was just…

Hm. He decided he’d think of a better word later.

“He…explained a few things and updated me on his life. He expressed an interest in meeting Teddy, but I haven't arranged anything yet,” Andromeda said, holding Harry’s gaze.

“He’s not who he used to be,” Harry blurted, then bit his tongue to keep from saying anything more. He’d seen the man twice, he needed to stop before he got himself in trouble.

Andromeda stared at him for a long, uncomfortable time. Harry tried not to fidget. “I trust your judgement, Harry,” she said finally.

Harry nodded at her, sure something big just happened, but not sure what.

“Harry?” Teddy said, bounding over to the couch with Puppy carefully wrapped around his wrist.

Grateful for the distraction, Harry ruffled his hair and gave him a biscuit. “What is it?”

“When’s Puppy’s birthday?” Teddy asked around a mouthful of biscuit.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Andromeda chided.

“Sorry,” Teddy said, mouth still full of biscuit, but he swallowed hastily and didn’t take another bite, awaiting Harry's answer.

“Uh, well, I believe he hatched just a little bit before your birthday actually, so in about a month,” Harry said.

“Can we have a party?” Teddy asked, then shoved the rest of the biscuit in his mouth.

Harry looked to Andromeda who rolled her eyes, tired but fond, the corners of her lips upturned. “Do you know what? That sounds like a brilliant idea. I’ll talk to your grandmother and we can make some plans,” Harry said.

Harry helped Teddy clean up and put Puppy away and saw his guests to the Floo.

“Thank you for the tea and conversation, Harry, and for entertaining Teddy,” Andromeda said, pulling Teddy to her side and running a hand through his now turquoise hair.

“It’s the highlight of my week,” Harry said honestly. “You know, Teddy should come over for another weekend sometime. I’d love to have him.”

“Yes!” Teddy said, jumping around in Andromeda’s hold, jostling the poor woman. “Please please please please please please—”

“That sounds splendid, Harry. I’ll owl you,” Andromeda said, speaking over Teddy.

“I don’t suppose you’ll let me take him flying yet?”

“Absolutely not,” Andromeda grumbled, but shot Harry a wink.

“Aw shucks,” Teddy said, but his wink was a lot less subtle.

It wasn’t until the middle of the night when he woke up in a cold sweat, not because of a nightmare, but because he remembered that he asked Malfoy to trivia night.

Shit shit shit.

Would Malfoy go? Did he think it was a date? At the time, Harry thought he was pretty clear, but it was just two words on a chalk board before he basically passed out. Friends asked friends to trivia night. But they weren’t even friends.

Yet, said a stupid annoying little voice inside his head.

“Shut up,” he said to himself.

Good thing trivia was only every other Friday. Harry had plenty of time to freak out.

But Harry apparently wanted to get started freaking out right away. He tossed and turned, exhausted and body aching, but unable to fall asleep. Finally, he sat up (abdominals screaming, that was basically a sit-up, what was he thinking) and summoned some parchment and a pen.

        Malfoy,

        I just realized I don’t think I thanked you properly. I know when I woke up I was very worried about my nipples, but I promise I was worried about my life as well.

        So yeah

        Thanks

        See you next Friday

        HJP

He sent off the owl before he could second guess himself.

Harry received an owl back the next morning during breakfast. A stunning and stately eagle owl elegantly muscled its way in through his kitchen window. It dropped the letter in the center of Harry's kitchen table before snatching all the bacon right off Harry's plate and flying off without waiting for a letter back.

“Hey!” Harry called after it, baconless, but it was too late. Grumbling, he set to reading the letter.

        Potter,

        I don’t know how often you lie awake thinking about me, but I would prefer that next time you send your effusive gratitude at a more appropriate hour. 

        I am glad your nipples are okay.

        Do try not to die again.

        DM

Chagrinned, Harry finished what was left of his breakfast and tried not to dwell on Malfoy's letter back, but failed miserably.

Malfoy had said ‘next time.’ Did he mean next time Harry wanted to thank him or next time Harry wanted to send him a letter? Did he expect another letter?

Harry also noticed that Malfoy didn’t mention Friday. Harry kicked himself for not being more direct and tried not to stress about it.

Harry stressed heavily about it. The days seemed to crawl by. Never had a week and a half felt so long. He tried to keep himself busy.

He visited the Granger-Weasley household again the next day for a non-potion-emergency visit for afternoon tea and an exhausting game of pony rides.

He had Teddy over on Saturday and took him flying in a field outside their favorite park (under heavy muggle-repelling charms of course). Teddy's broom (the only one Andromeda would approve of) was for children so it didn't go higher than 4 feet and went so slow Harry could walk faster, but Teddy went feral for it so it was all worth it. They practiced throwing a (soft, squishy) ball to each other. Teddy wasn't very good at catching it, but he was surprisingly good at throwing it, even if many of those throws led to him nearly tumbling off his broom and making Harry lurch forward in impotent panic every single time.

Afterwards they had lunch and made invitations for Puppy's hatch day party, which Harry duplicated so they could be shared around.

Sunday was brunch at the Burrow, which was always nice, if a little overwhelming. No one minded that he brought Luna.

He had Teddy and Andromeda over again the next Tuesday, then Thursday he had a consultation with the magical division of the London Zoo about possibly starting an ashwinder conservation effort and exhibit.

All the while Harry tended to his snakes. Some ate every day, some ate once a week, some, like the ashwinders, didn't eat at all. He kept their enclosures clean, spoke with each of them, and gave each of them attention and exercise.

But Malfoy continued to make Harry’s life difficult.

The snake. Although the human Malfoy wasn’t blameless either given the anxiety Harry was nursing with his countdown to trivia night.

Harry quickly figured out that Malfoy the snake was very picky. He only wanted thawed, dead quail chicks, but they had to be so dry they were fluffy and he could tell the difference when they were charmed dry versus air dried, and of course he preferred them air dried. He also would throw a fit whenever his water source got specks in it (which were often his own fault), so Harry had to install a little self-filtering water feature.

Malfoy also tried to bite him at least three more times. Each time he didn't, Harry felt inordinately pleased, like he got one up on the smug bastard.

He had to get out of the house. He had beef with a snake.

There were far more people at the Leaky Cauldron than usual because it was trivia night. Every table was full and some extending charms had to be cast and some extra chairs conjured. The beer was flowing and there was a jovial buzz about the place.

Harry quickly spotted Ron and sitting next to him was Hermione. Across from him were Dean and Seamus and, while it shouldn't have been surprising, Pansy Parkinson. Harry knew Pansy was Ron’s Auror partner, but Harry didn't see her much and thus didn't know her beyond the snobby, brash girl she had been at Hogwarts.

Harry vowed to himself not to bring up the fact that Pansy had wanted to turn him over to old no-nose. Memories like that didn't make friends. She was probably a different person now anyway. They all were. Harry was, Ron was, Hermione, Luna… Malfoy.

Speaking of, where was Malfoy? He scanned the bustling venue. He spotted a bright blond head of hair up by the bar and smiled before he could stop himself.

He quickly wiped the smile from his face, taking stock of his body. Uncontrollable laughter? Nope. Babbling?

“Thanks again for coming with, Luna,” he said.

“Of course,” Luna replied, so nope.

Nipples?

No, he had to trust that they were alright. He wasn't about to rub his nipples in the middle of the Leaky Cauldron. He could only imagine the headlines.

He headed towards the bar where Malfoy was waiting to order. He was a lot more casual but still way overdressed for the occasion. While Harry had on one of Sirius' old band tees and some jeans, Malfoy looked like he had just stepped out of a magazine. He was wearing charcoal grey trousers and a well-fitted pale blue jumper that accentuated his trim waist and delightfully broad shoulders that had been hidden under his healer’s robes. A crisp, white shirt peeked out at his wrists and collar, making him look very prim and posh.

It was a very nice look. Not to mention the trousers made his arse look amazing.

“I wasn't sure you'd come,” Harry said, coming up behind him.

Malfoy squeaked and jumped a foot in the air.

“Salazar’s taint, Potter, you've aged me five years,” he said, straightening his clothes and trying to pretend he wasn’t startled, eyes darting between him and Luna. “For all that blundering about you do, you really need a bell.”

“Sorry,” Harry chuckled weakly. Merlin, he was already fucking it up. He ran an anxious hand through his hair. “Let me buy you a drink?” he offered, heart thumping.

Malfoy seemed to have recovered and looked down his nose at Harry, assessing. “Yes, you do owe me for saving your life and all that.”

“You mean the satisfaction you get from a job well done isn't enough?” Harry joked, ordering them each a pint. He wondered if Malfoy would turn his nose up at the peasant beverage, if he would demand Harry buy him wine or something, but he took the pint readily, sipping some of the foam off the top.

“Satisfaction doesn’t pay the bills,” Malfoy sing-songed with the tiniest smile.

“Well, neither does a beer,” Harry pointed out, and Malfoy rolled his eyes.

“We’ve got a table, let’s sit down and you can introduce me to your lovely friend,” Malfoy said, nodding towards Luna. “That's not the one that bit you, is it?” he asked warily.

“No,” Harry chuckled. “That snake’s an arsehole.”

They made their way over to Ron and Hermione’s table, which erupted in cheers once they noticed Harry. Ron pulled him down to sit next to him and Malfoy sat down in the open spot across from Harry and next to Pansy.

“Mate, glad you could finally make it!” Ron shouted despite being right next to him, obviously already a few pints in.

“Welcome, Harry,” Hermione added, leaning around Ron. “It’s always good to see you.”

“I hope there's a snake category tonight,” Seamus said, cheersing his glass with Dean.

“Speaking of,” Pansy said, giving Harry an inscrutable look. “That's a…lovely snake you have.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, trying not to be bothered. Maybe she just didn't like snakes. Some people didn't. He thought it would be unfortunate to not like snakes and be sorted into Slytherin, though. “Her name is Luna.”

Pansy raised her eyebrows, glancing pointedly at the end of the table. Craning to see, Harry noticed Luna had sat down on the end by Hermione.

“No relation,” Harry grinned. “Long story.”

“Why did you…” she trailed off, looking them up and down, pug nose slightly upturned.

“She's my therapy dog,” he said. Luna placed her jaws on his face in a gesture not unlike her kiss, but this one had decidedly more pokey teeth. She also wound her body around his neck, squeezing threateningly.

At both Pansy’s and Malfoy's startled expressions, Harry grinned again. “She hates that joke,” he choked. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry, let me go!” he hissed.

“I didn't know you could still speak Parseltongue,” Malfoy said, then snapped his mouth shut and shot a glance towards Pansy who had a sharp smile on her face, looking like the Cheshire Cat.

“Oh, yeah, it's not like, just a part of me any more? I had to learn, just like any language,” he said, breathing a little easier now that Luna had eased up on his throat.

“Say something else,” Pansy said suddenly, leaning forward in interest and tugging on Malfoy's sleeve.

“Pansy, tais-toi, je te l'ai dit en toute confiance,” Malfoy hissed at Pansy, frowning and yanking his arm out of her grasp.

She waved him off, eyes on Harry.

“Er, like what?” Harry asked, a little distracted by Malfoy's French. It rolled off his tongue so naturally and it sounded so sultry. He wondered what he said.

“Anything!” she entreated cloyingly.

“How about…” he thought for a moment, deciding since no one could understand him anyway, he could say whatever he wanted. “Malfoy, you look good in those clothes but I bet you'd look even better out of them.”

“What did you say?” Pansy asked, enraptured, her smile growing teeth. Malfoy looked a little flustered and had turned his head to watch the bar instead. Had Harry done something wrong?

“Er, I said, ‘it's good to be here tonight.’”

“Coward. This is who you named the boomslang after?” Luna said, leveling her head with his to look at Malfoy.

“Oh, yeah. We went to school together. He was a little shit. Not so much anymore, though,” Harry answered.

Malfoy turned back to find Luna looking right at him. Malfoy's eyes flitted between Luna's and Harry's.

“He is pretty. For a human,” Luna hissed.

“Isn't he?” Harry said with a smile.

“What! What did she say?” Pansy asked, unduly captivated by the exchange.

“She said she thinks you're pretty for a human,” he said boldly, nodding at Malfoy. Pansy clapped her hands together in delight.

Malfoy sat up straight, hands folded on the table in front of him, but his cheeks were decidedly pink. “Well then, she has good taste,” he preened.

“If your answer was ‘hippogriff,’ you are correct! Remember, spelling is flexible!” the announcer yelled, and the parchment in the center of the table went up in a burst of multicolored flames, their team's tally increasing by one on the floating scoreboard at the front of the room. Harry was abysmal at trivia and was no help at all. He finally knew the answer to the question “what magical creature has the front half of an eagle and the back half of a horse?” but so did literally everyone else, so Harry gave up.

Ron and Pansy quickly abandoned the conversation to argue about who’s job it was to do the paperwork if it was the other person’s fault there was paperwork in the first place (Ron was saying they should split it but Pansy was arguing on the side of “if you smelt it you dealt it,” which Harry secretly agreed with but he wasn’t about to pick sides in that minefield), so in between questions, Harry and Malfoy talked. Harry shared how he started the snake sanctuary and in turn, Malfoy shared where he had been the last seven years. He told Harry about how he went to France after the war and how since a stipulation of his sentence was that he wasn’t allowed to use a wand for two years, he enrolled at a French muggle university in a pre-med program for those two years.

“A muggle university?” Harry repeated, eyebrows raised. He was hard-pressed to imagine Malfoy communing with muggles at all successfully, or respectfully for that matter.

“I think I would have gone spare if I had to just sit around for two years. It was mostly for my image at first, which was in tatters, as you can imagine.” He sniffed and turned up his nose. “However, I also figured it would be beneficial to learn all I could, even if it might not all be applicable in the end. I ended up quite liking it. But let me tell you, it was the steepest learning curve of my life,” he huffed.

“I bet,” Harry smirked, sipping his beer and imagining Malfoy faffing about with muggles, confused on why they had to walk everywhere, not knowing any of the slang, and never having seen a telly.

“I didn’t even know what a pen was, let alone even the most rudimentary of biology. I told all my classmates I had been homeschooled and grew up in a cult, which, if you squint, isn’t that far from the truth. And—oh! Don’t get me started on washing machines!”

Malfoy started up on what sounded like a well-rehearsed rant and while he sounded annoyed, his lip was curled upward into a slight smile and his grey eyes were captivatingly bright. Harry laughed for a long time.

The next round of trivia was about magical history, about which Harry hadn’t the foggiest, but Malfoy and Hermione seemed to know the answer to every question and would try to beat each other to writing it on the score sheet.

“You’re such a swot, Granger,” Malfoy complained when she was able to recall the name of the longest serving minister of magic before he was (Harry nearly spit out his drink at the name Faris “Spout-Hole” Spavin).

“Like you're one to talk, Draco. And for the millionth time, it’s Granger-Weasley now,” she corrected.

Malfoy wrinkled his nose and smacked his lips like he had just tasted something that had gone off. “I can't say that word, it offends my delicate sensibilities,” he said.

“Oi! I'm right here!” Ron objected.

The conversation shifted, and Malfoy picked up his story again and explained how he transferred to a magic medical academy in France before moving back and getting a job at St. Mungo's.

Harry noticed by the end of it, Malfoy was only telling him, the other people at the table tuning them out, having their own conversations.

Like they had heard it all already.

Harry felt the familiar and unwelcome flash of jealousy but this time tinged with the bitter feeling of betrayal by being left out. Malfoy had been back for over a year and no one told him? Did they really not trust him to not…what? Attack Malfoy? Threaten him? Stalk him?

He didn't have the most amazing track record of being normal around Malfoy, but to be fair, Malfoy had ended up being up to something. But it had been years. Harry was different now.

Malfoy was different now.

And pretty. Distractingly pretty. 

When the room got particularly loud, Malfoy would lean forward, elbows resting on the table, face close enough that Harry could see that he had just the faintest dusting of dainty freckles across his sharp nose. He moved his hands expressively when he talked, long fingers and bony wrists helping shape his stories.

And his eyes! Up close, Harry could see that the striking grey had flecks of blue, and Harry felt his heart beat a little faster whenever Malfoy looked at him, which was often.

Harry felt brave enough to battle the crowd to get the table another round and when he returned, Harry asked Malfoy why he chose to be a healer.

“I’d done enough harm,” Draco said simply, but with a sharp look, holding Harry’s gaze as if challenging him to say something.

When Harry didn’t, Malfoy continued. “I also enjoy it, of course. It’s like a puzzle, figuring out how to help someone. And I’ve always loved potions,” he said, fiddling with the button on his cuff.

Merlin, but he was lovely. “I’m glad you came,” Harry blurted.

Malfoy leaned back and tilted his head, regarding Harry curiously. “You invited me, did you not?”

“I was hoping I didn’t hallucinate that,” Harry grinned.

Before Malfoy could respond, the announcer’s voice rang out over the crowd.

“And now, it is time for our next round! The topic is everybody’s favorite Saviour of the Wizarding World, the Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived…Harry Potter!”

Harry’s heart stopped. He felt an intense instinct to flee, but was caught in the booth as all eyes turned to him and the room erupted into a deafening cheer that drowned out the announcer.

Malfoy’s face was lit up with what Harry could only imagine was schadenfreude. “You always have to be the center of attention, don’t you Potter?” he said with a smirk, having to raise his voice to be heard over the crowd.

Harry groaned and slumped in his seat. He strongly debated just apparating away. Greenland was probably nice this time of year or something. Ron lifted a hand and thumped him hard on the back. “We’re gonna crush this one, mate! That gift card to Fortescue's will be ours!”

“Oh, Draco, darling, you'll be good at this one,” Pansy drawled, voice saccharine, and Malfoy turned and hissed something in her ear, to which Pansy laughed.

“Oh, what’s this?” the announcer said, blinking dramatically and rubbing his eyes like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Is that Harry Potter in the building with us tonight?”

The room erupted into cheers and applause again. Harry flumped forward onto the table and buried his face in his arms, Luna squirming around him to avoid getting too squished.

This was his worst nightmare. Why did he come again? 

“It’s been years,” he whined into the table. “Surely there are better things to talk about by now?”

Hermione reached around Ron to pat Harry’s shoulder. “Apparently not.”

Across the room, Neville cupped his hands around his mouth. “Hey! That’s not fair! Harry’s table has an unfair advantage!”

Laughter rolled through the crowd as Harry caught Neville’s eye and got a cheeky salute in return.

“You know what, the man has a point,” the announcer said, holding up his hands. “To keep things sporting, Mr. Potter is officially banned from answering tonight’s questions about him.”

The crowd booed and cheered in equal measure, Harry’s table unbothered—between Ron, Hermione, and the rest, he was sure they knew everything about him. Some high fives were exchanged.

Unfortunately, the announcer had them pegged. “And actually,” the announcer went on with a grin, “anyone who was in Gryffindor with Harry Potter during his school years—yes, you lot—is also benched for this round.”

That got the crowd going.

“Bollocks!” Ron bellowed genially, cheeks flushed with drink.

“Thanks a lot, Neville,” Dean yelled across the room, giving Neville a much ruder kind of salute, which Neville returned.

“Oh well, we’re still going to win. We’ve got Luna here with us!” Seamus said cheerily.

“I’ll do my best” Harry heard Luna say.

“And dearest Draco, of course. I know I won’t be much help,” Pansy offered, and Malfoy elbowed her sharply when all eyes turned to him.

“It’s up to you mate, don’t let us down,” Ron said.

Malfoy tried for a superior look, nose tilted upwards, but his cheeks were starting to redden. He glanced at Harry just briefly before giving a tight nod.

“Harry Potter is not only The Boy Who Lived, but the Boy Who Lived Twice! What two years did Harry Potter survive the killing curse?”

Already off the bat the question wasn’t entirely accurate. He had low expectations for the rest of them. He just hoped he would escape the evening with at least a little of his dignity intact. He scowled into his pint but Ron kicked him and he dialed the scowl back to a frown.

“Oh, Draco, this one is an easy one,” Pansy said demurely, swirling her drink. The announcer had spelled all the Gryffindors silent if they tried to give the answers. He had spelled Harry too, but Harry shook it off. Hermione was grinding her teeth trying to fight the charm to give the answer.

“1981,” Luna piped up.

“And 1998,” Malfoy added. “Easy.” he said, finishing off his pint, his pale throat working as he swallowed. Harry tore his eyes away and back to the safety of his own beer.

“Even I knew that one,” Pansy said breezily. Seamus moved to punch her companionably on the shoulder but thought better of it at the last second, which was probably a smart move considering the side eye Pansy gave him.

“What is Harry Potter’s favorite dessert?”

“Treacle…tart,” Malfoy said, faltering when the whole table raised their eyebrows in suspicious surprise.

“I love treacle tart, good choice, Harry,” Luna said.

“And how do you know that, Draco?” Pansy asked.

Malfoy’s cheeks were dusted with pink again. “Oh, come off it. Everyone knows that one, he hardly keeps it a secret. He liked it back when we were at school. Didn't you, Potter?”

Harry just looked at him over the rim of his glass, eyebrows raised, as he wasn't supposed to answer.

“Oh, like you didn’t have your eyes on my business for the entirety of sixth year,” Malfoy said, looking away from Harry and flushing even further. “I’m sure you know what my favorite dessert is as well.”

Harry had indeed had his eyes on Malfoy’s business for the entirety of sixth year. Malfoy had a huge sweet tooth and ate all the desserts that Hogwarts had to offer, but Harry was pretty sure his favorite dessert was lemon meringue pie.

Harry grinned and shrugged, staying silent. Malfoy rolled his eyes.

“Oh, Draco, what was that article you showed me?” Pansy said casually, looking at her fingernails.

Malfoy glared at her. “I’m sure you all saw it, of course,” Malfoy said airily, “but Witch Weekly did a multi-page feature one Christmas where they had Potter sample different treacle tart recipes and the best ones got printed.”

Harry remembered that interview, but it was a number of years ago now. That Malfoy remembered that was…interesting. He hadn't even been in the country and Harry was pretty sure they didn’t distribute Witch Weekly in France unless you had it on special order. How and why did Draco know this?

“Oh, mum’s got that one on the bulletin board at home,” Ron agreed.

Malfoy looked vindicated, but still a fetching shade of pink.

Hermione leaned forward to study Malfoy with a curious expression before turning that same gaze on Harry. Harry looked away, as if hiding from Hermione had ever stopped her from figuring him out before.

“Since 1999, Harry Potter has been voted Witch Weekly’s Most Eligible Bachelor every year except for one. What year was he not?”

“Well, Malfoy, you should know this one, given you’re a Witch Weekly subscriber,” Ron goaded, downing his pint. “I’m getting another round, I’ll be back.” Harry hadn’t been to many trivia nights, but it looked like the table still honored the compromise they had agreed upon a while ago: most prizes went to the Granger-Weasley’s because they were usually the only couple at the table to have children, but Ron bought everyone a round or two in exchange.

Harry scooted and let Ron out before sitting back down. “Well?” Hermione said, holding back a grin.

Malfoy looked caught, and very, very pink. Harry was rapidly becoming obsessed with the flush that was traveling down his long neck and down under the collar of his jumper. Harry had an insane urge to reach out to tug at his collar to see how far down it went. “2003,” Malfoy sniffed, arms crossed, avoiding everyone’s gaze.

Harry frowned, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. He was already reluctant to believe that Malfoy was such a Witch Weekly enthusiast that he had it delivered to France, but even if it was true, there’s no way Malfoy should have that fact about him committed to memory, unless…Harry took in his red face and defensive posture and wondered if Malfoy had been keeping tabs on him. Now why would he do that?

“Why not that year, Draco?” Pansy asked.

Malfoy straightened up. “Do you—no. I’m not answering that. It’s not the question,” he said, looking flustered. Pansy just laughed.

That was the year Harry had dated Callum Rowe, a desk jockey for booking in the Auror department. They had met at a ministry Christmas party Ron invited him to. Some sneaky reporter followed them after a date and got pictures of them kissing on Callum’s doorstep. It was those pictures that got published in the Daily Prophet, outing him to the world (“Harry Potter: the Bi Who Lived!”). They continued dating until Callum asked him for a threesome with his ex that it turned out Callum was still sleeping with. That didn’t make the paper, but their breakup did. Callum told the Prophet that Harry was a switch and afraid of commitment. Only one of those things was true and Harry would face Voldemort again if it meant that random strangers stopped asking him about those things in public.

He prayed to every god he had ever heard of that that wouldn’t be the topic of the next question.

Ron came back with a pint for everyone (and some sort of fancy cider for Pansy who had literally turned her nose up at what was on tap). Harry took a couple gulps of his beer, the cold beverage settling warmly in his stomach.

So Malfoy knew he was bi. Well, so did everyone and their Crup, but still.

Was Malfoy bent? He sure had a close relationship with Pansy— always had.

But Harry had a feeling.

“How does he know all this about you?” Luna asked.

“He reads the paper and magazines, I guess. It's all public knowledge, regrettably.”

Malfoy had one hand curled around his fresh pint, watching Harry’s conversation. His gaze flicked down to Harry’s mouth briefly when he hissed.

“I don't know about that,” Luna said.

“I know a lot about him, too. Or, well, I used to. We’ve always been like that with each other,” Harry clarified.

“What, obsessed?”

“Shut up,” he said, turning to glare at her.

Hermione caught his eye. She was giving them that look again.

“We all know about the Golden Trio, but did you know that it was once a Golden Love Triangle? Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger are now happily married, but what school year did Harry date Hermione?”

Nearly their entire table threw their hands up in the air like some sort of synchronized dance. Hermione looked exasperated. Ron was cackling.

Malfoy put his head down on his arms on the table. Pansy patted his shoulder daintily.

“Now that's not fair,” Malfoy said into his arms before sitting up, face growing redder still.

“You know the answer to this one as well, Draco?” Pansy teased.

“I do, because I started the rumor.”

“Draco!” Hermione said, scandalized, but with a huff of laughter. “That was so annoying, honestly,” she grumbled. She leaned into Ron. “Your mother didn't like me much for a while after that.”

“That she did not!” Ron agreed, wrapping a proprietary arm around his wife's shoulders. “Thanks for that, ferret! You were a right git.”

“That I was,” Malfoy agreed readily, which made Harry grin into his beer. “It was fourth year and Rita Skeeter was haunting the place because of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Salazar, I had fun with that. Seeing your faces every morning in the Great Hall when the paper was delivered was truly a delight.”

Malfoy knew the rest of the questions as well. He knew what position Harry played in quidditch (obviously), he knew what Harry thought amortentia smelled like (or what he told the paper most recently, anyway), and he even knew what month Harry was in the Ministry’s celebrity charity calendar (May, even though his birthday was in July).

Luna, obviously leaving it to the professional, gave up on helping and instead had engaged Dean and Seamus in a conversation about what sounded like the magical potential of quidditch superstitions.

Between Malfoy and Hermione, their team had dominated at trivia, to no one’s surprise. The scoreboard at the back shot off fireworks that zoomed over to their table to go off above their heads. The coupon appeared in the center where the answer sheets used to be.

“Finally Malfoy's good for something!” Ron chuckled good-naturedly, picking up the coupon.

“At last you recognize my genius,” Malfoy snarked back. Harry thought Malfoy's cheeks might be permanently pink. It was very endearing.

“I didn’t know that being a Potterhead counted as genius,” Pansy said, sipping what must have been her fifth cider of the night and looking just as unaffected as she did when Harry got there.

Malfoy gasped dramatically. “A Potterhead? You take that back! Besides, it's not my fault Potter can't sneeze in public without it making it into the paper,” Malfoy defended.

It was true and that was exactly how it felt sometimes.

”Well, I must be off. Weasley, Granger, I hope your children enjoy the ice cream that I secured for them,” Malfoy said, standing up and banishing his glass back to the bar. A live band had just started playing and it was just slightly too loud, so he had to raise his voice a little to be heard.

Harry found himself standing. He didn’t want Malfoy to leave yet.

“I'll walk you to the apparition point? Luna wants to go home anyway.”

“I said no such thing,” snake Luna hissed at the same time human Luna said “I think I'll stay a bit longer, thanks.” Then she leaned over and whispered to Dean in a stage whisper; “I like to pretend he’s talking to me.” Harry gave her an indulgent smile.

Hermione was giving him A Look, not bothering to hide it. Her eyebrows were raised high as if to say you’re hiding something and she was smirking as if to say and I know what it is.

He looked Harry up and down. “Alright, Potter, I suppose,” he sniffed. He turned to the table. “Au revoir, bonne soirée, merci pour la compagnie,“ he said with a dip of his head, the language pouring musically from his lips. Harry smiled, enchanted by the man that was so opposite of the boy he knew in school, hardly able to believe they are the same person.

Malfoy turned on his heel and stalked off leaving Harry to trot after him. 

“You know, not all of those questions about me were entirely accurate,” Harry said once they were out on the street, the chilly air of an early spring night cutting right through their clothes. Harry cast a quick warming charm over them both.

Malfoy’s shoulders relaxed from where they had drawn up to brace himself against the cold. “I guess I’ll just have to get to know you better, then.”

Harry's head shot up but Malfoy was looking studiously ahead, eyes glued to the sidewalk, cheeks still pink, but Harry wasn’t sure if it was because of the cold or something else, or maybe they were that way permanently now.

Harry took a chance. “Would you like to meet me at Fortescue's sometime after work? We can pretend we got the coupon and I can tell you what the paper got wrong about me,” Harry said, eyes on the sidewalk as well.

“Smooth,” Luna said. Harry twisted her around on his neck like a scarf so her head was hanging down over his back, out of the way. “Rude,” he heard from over his shoulder.

“What did she say?” Malfoy asked.

“She wants to come.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“Well. She did call me pretty,” Malfoy allowed. “I will have to buy her some ice cream. Do snakes eat ice cream?” 

Harry was grinning. “She’ll try anything once. She can't wait to see you again. Monday?”

Malfoy looked between him and the snake, then his lips twitched into a small smile. “Monday.”

“Is it a date?” Harry asked Luna, hanging up his coat.

“Do you want it to be?” Luna replied.

“I would like that, yeah,”

“Well, whatever it is, I guess I’m third-rolling.”

“Third-wheeling,” Harry corrected.

“Whatever.”

“So that was a date,” Luna said as soon as they stepped through the Floo into Harry’s sitting room.

Harry was beaming. “Yeah, I think it was,” he agreed, setting Luna on the floor.

Malfoy had been late and Harry had been worried Malfoy had been yanking his chain, but about seven minutes after their agreed upon time he came rushing in saying he had been held up due to a potion spill (not his!) and he apologized. He didn’t think he’d ever heard Malfoy apologize before.

Harry bought their ice cream (and a sample cone of vanilla for Luna) and they sat at a table in the back and talked for nearly an hour. Harry corrected the trivia facts about himself.

(“You didn't die, Potter, my mother said you were alive.”

“Yes, well, I died and came back.”

Harry told him about it and Malfoy just nodded, like he was thinking. “So what you're telling me is the third time’s the charm?” he said.

Harry barked out a surprised laugh. “You wanker.”

“You know, The Prophet has always held the stance that I am out to finish what the Dark Lord started,” Malfoy said, tapping his chin consideringly.

“What have we learned about the paper?” Harry laughed. “Besides, I've always said that if anyone wanted to kill me, all they would have to do was poison the free samples at Waitrose.”

“Good to know,” Malfoy said, miming taking notes, arching one careful eyebrow and looking dangerously playful.)

After that, Malfoy shared some truly hilarious stories of learning to live with muggle roommates and Harry got to talk more about his snakes.

Every time their knees brushed under the table Harry’s heart sped up and once, right in the middle of a conversation, Malfoy traced the words on the back of Harry’s hand with the pad of his middle finger. Harry had shivered and Malfoy snatched his hand back like he got caught shoplifting, continuing his story with color high in his cheeks.

“I think that next time you don’t need me to sit on your baby,” Luna said once they got home, slithering across the floor to sun on her favorite rock under her heat lamp.

“I’m sorry, do you mean ‘babysit?’” Harry laughed.

“Yes, that,” Luna huffed, coiling languidly.

Harry got to work checking on the other snakes, still smiling. Of all the people in the whole wide world, Harry could hardly believe he was enjoying spending time with Draco bloody Malfoy. Who would have guessed?

He couldn’t wait until next time.

Next time turned out to be the following Friday. Malfoy brought Harry to a muggle bar he liked to visit with Pansy. The place was small, warm, and full of people who didn’t know or care who they were and Harry loved it. It wasn’t as posh as he had expected, but Malfoy had been surprising him a lot lately.

Somehow, between the drinks and the dim light, their talk edged into heavier territory. Harry talked about horcrux hunting and Malfoy talked about what it was like having Voldemort live in his house. Things neither of them shared easily. It was refreshing to talk to someone who didn’t flinch in pity or horror when he talked.

The very next night, Harry surprised Malfoy by asking if he wanted to go dancing. He was sure Malfoy was remembering him as the bumbling 4th year at the Yule ball, but that was a lifetime ago. Harry had picked up some moves since school.

It turned out that Malfoy had too and Harry felt an irrational rush of jealousy imagining Malfoy learning to dance with handsy strangers in some seedy French discotheque.

The club Harry chose was muggle, loud, and blissfully anonymous and they lost themselves in the pulse of bodies and the thumping beat of the music. Their bodies kept brushing—hands, hips, shoulders—but their eyes never left each other, a silent pull between them that made the rest of the room blur away.

Harry wanked later, alone in the shower, letting the hot water erase the night from his skin, though not from his mind—perfect, pale skin in flashes of strobe, piercing grey eyes, and a lithe body moving in the dark just out of reach.

Harry had agreed to go to trivia night again, as long as the trivia wasn’t about him in any capacity. However, he didn’t make it to next Friday before seeing Malfoy again.

Wednesday morning he woke up and started his routine of feeding snakes, cleaning cages, and teaching Dulce, his Venezuelan black-bellied birdeater, human knock-knock jokes.

But he stopped short when he got to Malfoy’s enclosure and nearly shat his pants.

There was a man. There was a man in Malfoy’s enclosure. There was a naked man in Malfoy’s enclosure, lying on the ground and crushing the vegetation. His arms were flung at unnatural angles, one under him straight out, the other flopped awkwardly behind him. Every inch of him was covered in wispy, graying hair except the very top of his head which was bald and shiny. Harry tried very very very hard not to look at his prick, which was surrounded in just as much hair as the rest of him and damn it, he looked.

Harry wasn’t even sure the man was alive until his wide, staring eyes blinked, one at a time.

“Holy fucking Merlin’s ballsack, sir, are you okay? How did you get in there?” Harry said, bringing down all of the glass so he could stop inside and maybe so paramedics—or mediwix? Would mediwixen come? Did they make house calls? What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck—

He scanned the enclosure for Malfoy, hoping against all hope that he hadn't bit the man, but he couldn't spot him. He was probably hiding then.

Harry approached the man and knelt down, hands hovering, looking for injuries but hesitant to touch the man's naked, wrinkly, hairy body.

How did this man get in his home? Grimmauld Place was still under a tight Fideleus Charm and unplottable, not to mention Harry had tons of wards for people entering his home even if they knew where it was. He spared a panicked second to send out his magic to poke at his wards. They were still holding strong, protecting his abode.

“Sir, how did you get here?” Harry asked.

The man blinked again, eyelids nearly in sync this time.

“Okay, sir, let me help you sit up and I'll call for someone to come help…or something, I don't know,” he rambled, grabbing the man by the shoulders and attempting to haul him into a sitting position.

The man was a dead weight. Harry got him a little ways off the ground before he flumped forward and began squirming and hefting himself heavily towards Harry and—

“Ow! Fuck! Did you just— you bit me!” Harry exclaimed, yanking his arms away and letting the man collapse back to the floor. Harry fell back on his arse and examined his arm.

Yep. The man had fucking bit him. Quite hard, too. Harry was bleeding.

“Sir, I was just trying to help. I'm going to go call…I'm not sure, but I'll get us some help.”

The man better not have rabies or something. Harry didn't know if that was curable by magic and he didn't know how long muggle vaccinations for rabies lasted. Was he supposed to have gotten booster shots? Actually, he couldn't remember the last time he had seen a doctor for a regular check up. His thoughts were spiraling, as his mind healer used to say.

As he scrambled to get up, the man spoke.

“Don’t touch me, shithead, I don’t need your help,” he slurred, lips flapping absurdly like he didn't know how to use them, making raspberry sounds around the sibilant hisses of…

No.

No fucking way.

The man had just spoken Parseltongue. It wasn't possible. There was no way that—

No. No way.

Well.

Stranger things have happened.

“Malfoy?” he asked incredulously.

The man, continuing to lie there in all his naked, wrinkly glory just blinked at him again, one eye a couple seconds after the other this time.

“Fuck you, asshole,” the man hissed, lips smacking wetly.

Harry stood up. He walked out of the enclosure, putting the glass up behind him. He crossed the house and sat down in one of the plush armchairs in his living room and just…

He needed to lie down.

“Sir?”

“Hm?” Harry asked, blinking at the gentleman in front of him.

“I asked you your name. Your real name,” he said with a peculiar look on his face, like Harry had just said something odd.

Funny, Harry couldn't recall what he had said.

“Harry. Harry Potter.”

“Mhm, sure,” the man said, writing something on some forms in front of him. “Just have a seat over there, would you? We’ll call your name when it's time.”

“Time for what?” Harry asked, confused.

“For you to be seen,” the man said with a frown.

“Oh, cheers,” Harry said and went to go sit down. He was in St. Mungo's, it looked like, but he couldn't quite remember why.

“Sir? Sir! How did you get in here?” a woman's voice said.

“What?” Harry said. He seemed to be eating a…he pulled it away from his mouth to check. A muffin?

“Sir, you're not supposed to be in here,” the woman said again, stepping into the room and gesturing for him to get up. “This room is for employees only.”

“Oh, sorry,” Harry said, perplexed. “Can I…?”

“Yes, you can keep the muffin,” she sighed. “Now, what is your name?” she asked as Harry followed her out the door.

“Harry Potter,” he said around a mouthful of muffin, brushing crumbs off his shirt.

“Sure it is,” she muttered.

“Bubba! It's been a while! You alright? Sorry to hear about your shop, what a right spot of bad luck.”

“Hm?” Harry said, looking up. An older gentleman with unkempt sideburns, wild eyebrows, and a grey wool flat cap had stopped in front of him on the sidewalk.

Harry blinked. How did he get outside? Strange. His head hurt and his heart felt funny. His pants felt tight, like he had just eaten a huge meal, but he didn’t feel all that full.

“They let you out already? Glad to hear you're okay. You should maybe get a shirt that fits though, mate, just saying.”

Looking down, his shirt was stretched tight and riding up on his round belly. He tugged it down and noticed his hands looked different. They were knobby and hairy. And his I must not tell lies scar was gone. How odd.

Something twinged at the base of his spine, like there was too much pressure on his bones. Something tickled down the leg of his pants.

His heart thudded through a few beats before settling. Maybe he should go to St. Mungo's?

He turned around and saw the familiar empty department store front that was the hidden entrance to the wixen hospital.

Ah, perfect.

The man laughed heartily as Harry walked away. “Ta-ra, you Yankee bastard! See you Saturday for beers with the boys!”

“He seems to be suffering from delusions, general confusion, and may be having some sort of heart trouble,” a man said, looking at a clipboard.

“What?” Harry asked.

“Sir, do you know where you are?”

Harry looked around. He seemed to be in some sort of exam room, much like the ones he had been in during his last visit. What has that been about? Something dangerous, that was for sure.

“St. Mungo's?” Harry guessed.

The man frowned.

“Was that not the right answer?” Harry hedged.

“Do you know your name?” the man asked instead.

“Harry Potter.” Why was no one recognizing him today? He normally hated it but he couldn't say he wasn't used to it.

“We’ll see about that,” the man said crisply. “May I see your wand?”

“Oh, I don't carry it with me anymore,” Harry said sheepishly.

“Whyever not?” the man said, sounding suspicious.

“Don't need it,” Harry shrugged.

“Sir, without it, it's going to be hard to confirm your identity.”

Harry was confused. “The scar isn't enough?” Harry joked.

“What scar?” the man said.

Uh oh.

“Do you, er, could I borrow a mirror?”

The man looked to his companion before conjuring him one. Harry took it and hastily held it to his face. The face looking back was not his own.

“...not necessary, I’d just give her a nettle tea, a calming draught, and a firm lecture about touching unknown slime,” said a familiar voice from the hallway. 

“Malfoy?” Harry said, looking towards the door.

The man and woman in front of him wearing white healer’s robes with red down the sleeves exchange a look. The man steps out of the room and returns with Malfoy.

“He claims that his name is Harry Potter,” the man says.

“Well, I know it's been a few days since he's been in the paper but I would hope that someone with as much schooling as you gave could tell the difference between some old guy and the Boy Who Lived,” Malfoy said, sounding annoyed.

The man huffed indignantly and started in on a rant. Harry chuckled.

Malfoy paused on his way out the door and turned, narrowing his eyes at Harry. “Did you check his wand?” he said to the wixen while staring at Harry.

“Claims he doesn't carry it,” the woman said.

“Hm. And why did you call me in here?”

“He said your name.”

“Is that so?” Malfoy said, abandoning his exit and coming to stand between the man and the woman. “And how do you know me?” he asked, crossing his arms in front of him.

“We went to school together.”

“Everyone knows that. Harry Potter saw me here a few weeks ago. What did he see me for?”

Harry rubbed his temples with his fingers. This headache was killing him. “I, uh, don't remember,” he said.

“He seems to be confused about how he got here and why as well,” the man supplied.

Malfoy sighed, annoyed. “One final question then. Where did you and I meet?”

That one Harry remembered. “Madam Malkins,” Harry replied readily.

Malfoy paused, seemingly surprised. He considered Harry for a long moment before speaking again. “At my trial, you said you were there in the tower. What did Dumbledore say Amycus would get if he were lucky?”

Harry shuddered, searching Malfoy’s stormy grey eyes, the moment suddenly feeling serious. “Old,” he breathed.

“Merde,” Malfoy said, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair, leaving it artfully tussled. “Healers, I don't know what’s going on, but this is Harry Potter.”

“This isn't…these are human teeth marks. Potter, what happened?”

“Malfoy?”

“Oh par Circé,” Malfoy said, eyes scrunched shut, fingers pressing into the creases between his perfectly shaped eyebrows. “Yes, it continues to be me. We have already established the Forgetfulness Potion as one of the ones afflicting you, I’d like to determine the others.”

“Oh, okay, go ahead,” Harry said, shifting in his seat. It felt like he was sitting on his spine wrong. He leaned on each butt cheek before finding comfort by leaning forward on the examination table he was sitting on.

“Splendid, thanks,” Malfoy grit out. He sounded really annoyed. Harry wondered why.

“Drink this,” someone said, handing him a small vial.

Harry knocked it back and immediately felt like he wanted to sick up.

“Good sweet Christ, that's disgusting! Whatever that is, you need to take it off the menu,” Harry said, looking at the offending vial. He smacked his lips, the taste lingering. If it was supposed to be some sort of smoothie, the consistency was right, but it tasted like hair and ink.

“Draco, I don't think it’s working,” Hermione said next to him.

“Oh hello, Hermione!” Harry said brightly upon seeing his friend. “What are you doing here?”

“I'm here to help you, Harry,” she said, but to Harry it sounded a little like she was using the same tone of voice she would use on her children.

“I don't understand where I went wrong. That should have worked,” a familiar voice said, and the vial was plucked from Harry's hands.

“Malfoy?” Harry asked, eyes landing on the pretty blond in front of him holding the empty vial. “You're a healer?”

Malfoy let out a closed mouth scream of what had to be frustration. “J’en peux plus, Potter, if you ask me that one more time,” he threatened. He looked really frazzled. Harry wondered why.

Harry rubbed at his chest. His heart was racing something fierce and he felt woozy.

“Be nice,” Hermione scolded.

Flashes of memories flitted through his mind like barn swallows over the Weasley's garden. “He's nicer than he used to be, Hermione,” he said, picking at the hem of his hospital gown. When had he changed clothes? A slight breeze blew through the thin fabric and Harry shivered.

“Wait, Potter, what do you mean?” Malfoy said, stalking across the room to cast a diagnostic charm on Harry.

“You’re nicer now. Well, you’re still sorta prickly, but I like it. But we went out the other night and you were pretty nice to me then. I had a good time, anyway.” His voice sounded a little funny. Gruffer, unfamiliar.

Malfoy ducked his head to catch Harry's gaze, eyes searching his with intensity. “Quick, Potter, while you're lucid, we believe you're under the effect of an as of yet unidentified potion. Are there any symptoms, no matter how small, that we may have overlooked?”

That sounded serious. Harry thought very hard. “My head hurts?”

Hermione rubbed his arm and he shot her a small smile.

“Got that one, what else?” Malfoy asked impatiently.

Harry bit his lip. “My clothes didn't fit and my voice sounds a little funny. Some bloke outside called me Bubba?”

“When were you outside? No, that's off topic. We already know you've been polyjuiced. And under the effects of a forgetfulness potion. Think, Potter, I know you have fewer brain cells than normal.”

Harry chuckled then winced when he sat back a little too far.

“That, what was that?” Malfoy demanded, stepping closer and running his eyes all over Harry, eyebrows drawn. Harry wished he felt better so he could enjoy the attention.

“Oh, er…” this was embarrassing. “My, er, bum hurts a bit.”

Malfoy looked like he had just sucked on a lemon. “Please no, Potter, pas encore s'il te plaît.”

“I don't know what that means,” Harry admitted.

Malfoy sighed, big and loud. “Okay, Potter, I need you to take off the gown and turn around.”

Well that was awful forward of him. Harry wished he didn't have this massive headache.

“Harry, do you want me to leave?” Hermione asked.

Oh right, Hermione! “No, that’s okay. We shared a tent so it’s nothing you haven’t seen before,” he said, standing up and shucking the gown, holding it in front of his crotch for a little modesty. Malfoy hadn't asked about the front, after all.

“Harry, you’re not you, you're—never mind,” Hermione cringed, averting her eyes.

“Potter, I think you spoke too soon,” Malfoy said, sounding strained. “Is that a tail?”

Harry twisted himself around and looked down and saw the end of what looked like a monkey tail dangling down the back of his sort of flabby, furry thigh and curling against the ticklish back of his knee. “Wicked!” he said, grabbing it and pulling it around to his front so he could stretch and flex it. He noticed the pressure on his spine was gone.

The tail was fully controllable and he started trying to grab and hold things with it. Distantly, he realized that Hermione and Malfoy were talking and other people were coming into the room, but Harry was having far too much fun.

“Of course it’s another Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes potion,” he heard Malfoy sigh. “I’m just glad nothing else got turned into party horns.”

“You and me both,” Harry and Hermione said at the same time. Harry, grinning to himself, grabbed the vial Malfoy was still holding out of his hand with his tail.

Harry’s heart thudded painfully in his chest. He was sitting on the exam table again, bare thighs against the thin sheet charmed to be cool. He looked down and something dribbled out of his mouth. Red liquid dripped onto the front of his light green gown. Blood?

Harry’s mouth was itchy around his teeth, the taste of copper strong in his mouth. Looking up caused a flash of pain through his head that made his vision dim for a moment.

“What’s happening to me?” Harry said, mouth wet.

“We’re trying, Harry, sorry it took so long, we didn’t know,” Hermione said, gripping his arm strongly. Harry’s tail was wrapped around her wrist, holding tight.

“It’s almost ready,” Malfoy said from across the room. He was hunched over a burbling cauldron, stirring it with a large ladle. Other wixen were hovering nearby, casting diagnostic charms, chopping mystery ingredients, and filling the room with a buzz of worried conversation. Malfoy looked harried, corn silk hair in disarray and curling slightly at the ends from bending over the humid cauldron.

Harry concentrated on staying upright, Hermione holding him steady with a tight grip on his upper arms. He reached up to run an anxious hand through his hair but encountered sweaty skin instead. Everything felt wrong.

Although something felt very familiar. The memory was right on the edge of his consciousness, teasing him with an uncanny sense of déjà vu. Malfoy was going to help him somehow. He had helped him before? Harry had let him?

He must trust him. Harry trusted himself enough to recognize that feeling.

“Malfoy, if…” he started to say then had to swallow around a mouthful of blood. If he was going to die he didn't want to go out without having tried.

“Malfoy, if I make it, would you want to go to trivia night with me?” he managed to ask.

Malfoy laughed, which was not what Harry was expecting. But it wasn't malicious. It was…fond? Harry tried to see his face, to see his smile, trying to focus through increasingly tunneling vision.

“We’ve already done that date. Try again, Potter,” Malfoy said, carefully pouring some liquid from the cauldron into a vial and bringing it to Harry.

“Oh, we’re dating already? Brilliant!” he said, unable to stop his grin. Well that was just fab. Harry desperately wished he could remember it. He wouldn't want to forget a single second with such a clever, gorgeous man.

“How about dinner at mine? I make a mean spag bol,” he gurgled, swaying weakly. Hermione laughed softly next to him, although she was holding on to him very, very tightly.

“Harry, if this works, I’ll bring the wine,” Malfoy said, and handed Harry the vial.

Harry didn't pass out this time, which was almost worse. He had to feel his body morph back to his own and his tail pull back into his body.

Then all the memories came back. Or, a lot of them anyway.

He groaned and ground the palms of his hands into his eye sockets. He had no idea where his glasses were. Whose muffin had he eaten?

“Harry, are you okay?” Hermione said from somewhere to his right.

“Yeah, I’m alright,” Harry said, rubbing vigorously at his eyes. “Just…remembering.”

“Careful, Potter, you don't have a lot of room inside that thick skull of yours, might want to be sparing on the memories,” Malfoy taunted.

“Malfoy?” he said, dropping his hands and sitting up. “You're a healer?”

Harry lasted all of five seconds but he couldn't hold in his laugh at the panic-stricken look on Malfoy's face. “You arsehole,” Malfoy scowled, but there was amusement and relief clear on his face, Harry could see it.

“That wasn’t very nice,” Hermione laughed.

Harry held out his hand to the side. It took long enough that everyone in the room was looking at him like he was mental, but eventually his glasses flew into his hand from Merlin-knows where they were.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. “Show off,” he said, lips curling the slightest bit upwards.

When he got home, Malfoy was, yet again, just fine. He was lounging in his tree, long, green body draped languidly over winding branches.

“Being human was a miserable experience,” he complained.

Harry ignored that obvious bait. “I could have helped, but you bit me. Don’t do that again, please.”

“Don’t be in biting range, then,” Malfoy countered.

Harry walked away before he did something drastic, fingers itching to transfigure Malfoy into an actual noodle.

“Potter, at the risk of making your head even bigger, dinner was delicious,” Malfoy said, sipping his wine.

Harry didn’t know his wines, but he could tell the one Malfoy had brought was quality. And Harry had drunk plenty of it. He was pleasantly buzzed and feeling warm and bold.

“You know, you would only say that if you thought I had things worth giving me a big head,” Harry teased.

Malfoy set his glass down and ran his finger along the rim. “Maybe,” he said with a chuckle.

Suddenly antsy, Harry stood up, waving a hand and sending the dishes to the sink. “Would you like to meet my snakes?” he asked.

“I would love to,” Malfoy said, standing up and drawing his wand and setting the dishes to wash themselves.

Malfoy was effortlessly charming and, as always, impossibly handsome. Harry hadn't been expecting him to wear jeans, but the dark, slim-fit denim looked divine on his long legs while still managing to look expensive. His cream colored cable knit jumper was just slightly too big and made him look soft and extraordinarily touchable.

Harry led Malfoy out of the kitchen but stopped them in the doorway. He grabbed his wrist and stepped closer until they were standing nearly toe to toe in each other's space, but not quite touching.

“We are dating, right?” Harry asked, stroking a thumb across Malfoy’s wrist.

“I fucking hope so,” Malfoy said and then they were kissing.

Malfoy's lips were warm and wet and sinfully soft and Harry knew in an instant that he was never going to get enough. Malfoy pressed him into the door frame with his hands on Harry's hips and it sent Harry's heartbeat racing, warmth flooding through him. Harry hooked his fingers into the belt loops on Malfoy's jeans and tugged him forward to keep him close.

They kissed, slow and sweet, Harry's whole body buzzing in nervous excitement, until Malfoy broke the kiss, pressing their foreheads together.

“In front of all your snakes, Harry?” he murmured.

Harry shivered, from the kiss, the night, hearing his name against his lips like that, Harry didn't know.

“They don't mind. Besides, Luna is rooting for me.”

“I regret everything. Don't be gross.” Luna said from her heated rock under her perch by the window.

Harry stuck his tongue out at her.

“Introduce me to them?” Malfoy asked but didn't step away.

Harry pushed him back but pulled him by the arm into the room. They stood side by side and Harry rested a hand on the small of his back. It felt good to touch him, to have him here in his house.

“This is Malfoy,” he said to the room at large. “He's here on a date with me. Everyone say hi!”

The room was suddenly filled with hissing and Malfoy looked surprised and a little flustered. “Hello, er, everyone,” he said with uncharacteristic shyness.

“They like you,” Harry said. Malfoy scoffed but he was fighting back a smile.

Harry walked him through the snakes one at a time and gave a brief explanation of their species.

“And this is Puppy,” Harry said. Puppy was right at the front, unfortunately stargazing a little and falling into the habitat furnishings. Harry had spelled each rock and stick with a cushioning charm but he still felt bad when Puppy tumbled.

“‘Puppy?’ He's darling,” Malfoy said. He really was. Everyone loved Puppy. Harry explained his condition and Malfoy nodded along.

“He's Teddy’s favorite. They play every week, it's very cute,” Harry said.

“Teddy?”

“Teddy Lupin,” Harry clarified. “Oh, he's your cousin isn't he?”

Malfoy nodded before speaking. “I have corresponded with Andromeda, but I have not yet had the opportunity to meet Teddy,” he said, watching Puppy.

“Would you like to come to Puppy's party?” Harry blurted. Malfoy looked at him in amused confusion. “It was Teddy's idea. It's Puppy's birthday soon and Teddy wanted to throw him a party.”

“I would love to, if Andromeda would allow it,” Malfoy said, looking soft and hopeful. Harry wanted to kiss him again.

“I'll talk to her,” Harry said instead.

“Which is the one that keeps biting you?” he asked.

“Oh that's M—” Harry froze. “Uh, that's my boomslang,” he said, trying to sound casual, leading Malfoy to Malfoy's cage.

Oh no.

“It would be fascinating to study him, if you’d be open to it,” Malfoy said, watching the thin green snake, its long body draped casually over multiple low hanging branches of his tree. “What's his name again?” Malfoy asked curiously

“Oh, let me get you an invitation,” Harry deflected, ducking away into the living room, trying not to sound nervous. “Teddy said you can only come if you get Puppy a gift. I tried to tell him that was a bit presumptuous but he said, and I quote, ‘I don't know that word so it doesn't count.’” Harry babbled, fiddling with the parchment Teddy had decorated with drawings of himself and Puppy.

“What kind of presents does one get a snake?” Malfoy asked, following Harry, sounding amused.

“I didn't put any hints because I wanted to see what people came up with,” Harry said honestly, relaxing a little now that Malfoy was away from Malfoy’s cage.

“You’re an agent of chaos,” Malfoy said, taking the invitation and shrinking it to fit in his jeans pocket.

“Yeah, but you like it,” Harry teased, stepping into Malfoy’s space.

“Kiss me again,” Malfoy demanded, but Harry was already moving forward to do just that.

It was just as wonderful the second time. Malfoy grabbed Harry’s waist, pulling him closer, and Harry got his fingertips under Malfoy’s darling sweater, stealing a feel of hot skin hidden by the soft fabric.

Harry had to have more. He turned them and broke the kiss to push Malfoy down onto the couch. Malfoy looked up at him with a delicious smile, lips wet and red from the kiss, eyes bright and alive as Harry climbed onto his lap and reclaimed his lips in a much more heated kiss.

Harry braced himself on his forearms on the back cushion on either side of Malfoy’s head, keeping close and pinning him in place for the kiss. Malfoy didn’t seem to have any complaints, groaning and resting his hands on Harry’s thighs, long fingers squeezing slightly.

Malfoy parted his lips, opening Harry’s, and licked across his upper lip. Harry shuddered, instantly flooded with heat and want. He licked into Malfoy’s mouth, rocking his hips forward into Malfoy’s lap.

Malfoy grabbed Harry’s arse, pulling him hard against his cock, groaning at the contact. Harry writhed shamelessly in his grip, little sounds escaping his mouth unbidden as he lost himself in the feel of their bodies together.

“Healer Malfoy, your presence is required at St. Mungo’s on the third floor, potions and plant poisoning ward. Please report at your earliest possible convenience. Healer Malfoy, your presence is required at St. Mungo’s on the third floor…”

“Merde, pourquoi ai-je accepté ça? Of all the nights, what was I thinking…” Malfoy grumbled, reaching between their bodies to pull a small purple flower from his front jeans pocket, Harry barely giving him any room to do so. Malfoy pinched the petals together to silence the message then threw his head back onto the couch cushion in frustration. Harry took advantage of that and leaned in to press closed-mouth kisses to the tantalizing skin of Malfoy’s neck.

“Harry, I have to go in to work, I’m on call,” Malfoy sighed, but did nothing to push him away, instead tilting his head to give Harry better access. Harry kissed his way down and tugged at the collar of Malfoy’s jumper to place some kisses on his lovely collar bones. “Harry, that feels…” Malfoy shuddered.

Harry smiled into his neck. “Can I…” he asked, then started sucking a mark onto the delicious, delicate skin where Malfoy’s neck met his shoulder.

“People are going to…” Malfoy trailed off, but made no motion to stop Harry, baring his neck to his attentions, hands running up and down the length of Harry’s thighs, his arms, up under his shirt and down his sides, Harry’s body tingling everywhere he touched.

“Mhm,” Harry hummed in agreement, sucking just a little bit harder. He was loath to let Malfoy leave, but a little thrill went through him at the thought of sending Malfoy to work with Harry’s mark on him.

“Oh, that’s…” Malfoy breathed, squirming under him. “Yes, okay.”

After a bit, Harry pulled back to admire his work. The hickey was good sized and mottled purple and red and stood out wonderfully against Malfoy's pale skin. Harry knew it was going to look exactly like what it was. There would be no mistaking it. He licked over it one last time then sought Malfoy’s lips for another wonderful kiss.

“You are making this very hard,” Malfoy murmured against his lips.

“You’re making me very hard,” Harry retorted, pushing his hard cock up against Malfoy’s. Malfoy sucked in a sharp breath and his fingers spasmed against Harry’s thighs.

“That was terrible. You’re not funny,” Malfoy scolded breathlessly.

“It wasn’t, I am, and actually, I’m beginning to think that maybe you mean the opposite of whatever you say,” Harry teased.

Malfoy looked up at him, one eyebrow raised, his smile lopsided like he was trying to smirk but it came out too real. “I really do have to get to work.”

“Sooo you’re staying?” Harry said, running his hands across Malfoy’s broad shoulders, wriggling in Malfoy’s lap, making him gasp. Harry was nothing if not persistent.

Malfoy grabbed his hips and held him close, mouthing at Harry’s neck. Chilly fingers snuck up under the hem of his shirt and Harry shivered. “Harry…” Malfoy warned, voice shaky. Harry almost had him.

Harry swiveled his hips forward once, twice, shamelessly enjoying himself against Malfoy’s body. “How fast do you think…” Harry gasped and then Malfoy was on him, pushing him off his lap and down on his back onto the couch, covering Harry’s body entirely with his own and crushing his lips in a kiss.

“Merlin, fuck, you drive me crazy,” Malfoy panted into his mouth, rolling his entire body against Harry’s in a delicious, sensuous slide, hands everywhere, like he couldn’t decide where he wanted to touch so he just did it all.

“So you’re completely fine–” Harry started, but Malfoy cut him off with an annoyed grunt.

“I think you should keep talking,” Malfoy muttered, tugging at Harry’s bottom lip with his sharp teeth.

Harry smirked, saying nothing, arching up into the press of Malfoy’s body, hot and hard and delightfully heavy on top of him.

“Don’t kiss me,” Malfoy demanded and Harry pressed their lips together, licking into Malfoy’s mouth and drinking the pleased groan that tore its way out of him.

“We should keep our trousers fully done up, shouldn’t we?” Malfoy panted, and Harry slithered his hands between them, blood rushing hotly through his veins. Malfoy propped himself up, hands on either side of Harry’s head, and looked down to watch as Harry popped the buttons on both their jeans and slid down their flies, shoving at the denim just enough to free their pricks from their tight confines.

Malfoy tumbled back down on top of him and— oh, yes, it was so much better that way, even through two layers of fabric. It was a little too dry and a little too hard and Harry had never felt anything better. Malfoy’s cock was an insistent force against his own, the head catching on the ridge of Harry’s cock with every forward slide and Harry could scarcely hold in his noises at the mounting pleasure throbbing outwards from between his legs.

“Don’t stop,” Harry gasped, hoping distantly that Malfoy wouldn’t do the opposite but luckily Malfoy seemed wholly uninterested in stopping, instead panting harshly into Harry’s neck, mouth open and wet against his skin, hips snapping forward in perfect, greedy little thrusts.

“Oh, oh fuck, Harry, ah–I’m—” Malfoy froze, holding Harry impossibly tight against him, and let out a filthy groan into the damp space against Harry’s neck. Harry felt Malfoy’s cock throb against his own, a hot, wet spot growing against his belly and then Harry twitched his hips upwards once, twice, then he was coming too, cock pulsing wet and messy into his pants.

“Healer Malfoy, your presence is required at St. Mungo’s on the third floor, potions and plant poisoning ward. Please report at your earliest possible convenience. Healer Malfoy…”

Malfoy growled into Harry’s neck and Harry shivered in pleasure. Malfoy smiled at that, lips pressed against his skin in a lazy kiss, before he sat up and reached for the flower that had fallen to the floor and silenced it yet again.

“You’re the worst and I don’t like you and I never want to see you again,” Malfoy smiled, looking well-fucked and happier than Harry had ever seen him.

Harry beamed up at him, heart filling all the space in his chest, something warm and happy curling around his ribs.

Malfoy leaned down for a quick kiss before standing, helping Harry up as well. Harry’s softening cock settled in his pants, sliding through tacky, cooling come and Harry winced. “Let me…” he said and twisted his fingers in a slow snap, casting a cleaning charm on them both.

Malfoy jumped at the feeling, placing protective hands over his crotch. “Careful with the merchandise, Potter!” he scolded.

Harry just rolled his eyes.

He walked Malfoy to the Floo and kissed him again just because he could. “See you at Puppy’s party?” he asked, sounding overly hopeful and not really caring.

“I don’t suppose you’ll give me any ideas for a gift?”

“You suppose correctly,” Harry smirked.

“Tosser,” Malfoy grinned, then stepped through the Floo before Harry could retort.

“If you don't like it, then don't listen,” Harry hissed petulantly to Luna while tidying up the kitchen. Luna had somehow gotten on the kitchen counter and he lifted her tail to wipe the surface with a kitchen towel.

“I’m speaking for everyone, unfortunately,” Luna said.

Harry blanched. “Everyone?”

“I may have the luxury of hiding in the kitchen, but everyone else had quite the show. But don't worry, Dulce distracted Puppy with some songs and some jokes.”

“Puppy saw?” he cringed, feeling horribly embarrassed. He suddenly had flashbacks to living in the Gryffindor dorms, desperately trying to find ways to wank in private, hoping no one would walk in or accidentally overhear.

“Because I think you forget this often, you are a wizard,” she reminded him.

“I’ll cast some silencing charms next time at the very least,” Harry promised.

“And you have a bed, I think you forget that too,” Luna added.

Tending his snakes that evening was awkward, but only for Harry. The snakes ranged wildly on a scale between mocking him mercilessly and being happy for him.

“So is Malfoy your mate?” asked Dulce, slithering up his arm while he tidied her habitat.

“Humans don’t really call it that, but I…guess? I’m not sure,” Harry admitted.

“What do they call it?”

“I guess he would be my boyfriend?” Harry said, trying out the word.

“Boy friend? That hardly seems specific enough,” Dulce complained, looking excitedly where Harry had released a dead chick transfigured into a live bird for her to hunt.

“It makes sense to humans, trust me,” he said as she uncoiled herself from his arms and hid herself amongst the grass in her enclosure, eyes glued to the bird. Harry closed up the glass and moved on to the next habitat.

“Is he named after the boomslang?” Puppy asked in confusion while Harry waved the glass open on what he called the “Noodle Pit,” a colony of Plains Garter Snakes that Harry was breeding as part of a conservation partnership with a university in Ohio.

“What? No,” Harry objected with a snort. Puppy had settled right in at the sanctuary, but Harry often forgot he was just almost a year old and didn’t know much, especially about humans. “I’ve known Malfoy for many years, much longer than I’ve had the boomslang.” He released a handful of large centipedes and watched them scatter, seeking hiding places as the Garter snakes emerged from under rocks and rotting bark in pursuit.

“So the boomslang is named after your boy friend?” Puppy asked, still sounding confused.

“It’s ‘boyfriend,’ one word, and, well…yes, I guess,” he admitted, closing the enclosure and shifting his weight awkwardly.

“Why?” Puppy asked, bewildered.

“Well…” Harry trailed off, trying to find a way to explain it. “When I met Malfoy, he wasn’t very nice.”

“The boomslang? Yeah, I heard,” Puppy giggled, falling over sideways.

This was getting confusing. “Okay, I’m changing his name,” Harry declared. “Luna?”

For the human Malfoy, they decided on “dragon man” to mean “Draco,” which Luna was delighted to discover could be shortened further into a portmanteau in Parseltongue. They kept Malfoy for the boomslang.

Finally, after more ribbing and a few invasive questions about human sexual practices, Harry made it to Malfoy’s habitat. He did Malfoy’s last just in case he got bit again, that way he knew the rest of his snakes were taken care of if he had to go to St. Mungo’s. He spotted Malfoy in his tree then cast a protective bubble around him before removing the glass and stepping in.

He was nearly done cleaning and placing Malfoy’s food when the snake spoke.

“That boy friend is too good for you,” Malfoy hissed haughtily, surprising Harry. Not only was Malfoy speaking to Harry voluntarily, but without even a curse word?

“If you hurt him I’ll bite you and I'll enjoy it more than usual.”

Harry couldn’t believe he was getting the “hurt him and I’ll kill you” speech from a snake.

“Thanks for the warning,” he answered carefully. “I intend to treat him well.”

Malfoy just nodded.

        Dear Mr. Harry James Potter,

        Thank you for your recent correspondence regarding rehoming the boomslang in your care. After careful consideration, we regret to inform you that we must respectfully decline your offer. The safety of our staff is our foremost concern and the behaviors and conditions you described make the animal unsuited for our institution at this time.

        We recognize that such circumstances can make ownership challenging. To assist you, we have attached several resources on proper care, feeding, and handling of boomslangs. We trust you will find them useful in addressing the challenges you described.

        Respectfully,

        Dr. I. M. Ndlovu

        Head Curator, Magical Creatures Division

        National Zoological Gardens of South Africa

Harry grit his teeth and held back a grumble as he opened the attachments. He dutifully skimmed the material, finding the information identical to the research he had already done, the books he already owned, and the online forums he already frequented.

His favourite part was when it said “take care not to let it bite you.”

Harry would take that under advisement.

He skimmed through a handful of other email replies that all said something similar to the first before he logged off the computer and stretched, looking around the wixen public library for the children’s section. He had promised to pick up a book of wixen fairy tales to read to Luna. He had been pretty pissed when he discovered that she could understand English the whole time, after only responding to his Parseltongue for nearly two years.

Luna had somehow convinced him to thank her for it.

Ron got Harry to agree to go to trivia night again by promising that they would burn the place to the ground if the trivia was about him again.

Draco also said he was going, so that may have factored into his decision a little bit. Harry had practiced calling him Draco all week to himself and his snakes, getting used to the new name in Parseltongue as well as English. It felt weird not thinking of him as “Malfoy,” as he had for so long, but eventually it started to stick.

The Leaky Cauldron was once again bustling, filled with raucous conversation and the sweet scent of butterbeer. Harry was last to arrive again and the only spot left was next to Draco, which was most definitely fine by him. Ron, Hermione, and Pansy were sitting across from them and the other seats were taken by some young-looking strangers, who Ron introduced as some junior Aurors. The junior Aurors looked impossibly young, like third years that had just gotten parent permission to go to Hogsmeade for the first time.

Harry slid in next to Draco, bumping him with his shoulder and exchanging pleasantries with the table.

“He defended that spot with his life, I’ll have you know,” Pansy drawled, swirling her tumbler of fire whiskey. “A proper guard dog, our Draco.”

Draco sniffed haughtily, nose in the air, the tips of his ears reddening. “Yes, well, as if you all would want Harry to sit at any other table,” he said, flapping a hand in the general direction of Ron and Hermione.

Pansy leaned forward over the table, cleavage on full display in her extremely low cut blouse. Harry saw the junior Auror next to her very obviously leaning over too to stare, which Pansy was ignoring. “Speaking of ‘Harry,” Draco, is there something you’d like to tell us?” she goaded.

“Yes, I believe that there’s something I’d like to know as well.” Hermione smiled knowingly, hands curled around her pint glass.

“I’ll pretend to be surprised,” Ron chucked, taking a few big gulps of his beer.

Harry felt a flush rise to his cheeks as everyone's eyes fell on him and Draco. They already knew, it wasn't a secret, but saying it out loud still made his chest feel tight, equal parts nerves and an exciting, bubbling sort of joy.

Draco put his hand on Harry's knee under the table and squeezed.

Harry called upon his Gryffindor courage. “Well, even though it seems like all you already know, Draco and I are dating,” Harry said, feeling very much like he was bringing his boyfriend home to meet his parents, not that he would know what that even felt like.

Ron sprayed a big mouthful of beer across the table all over Harry, Draco, and one of the junior Aurors and Harry’s stomach dropped, dread prickling at his skin at the thought that he had wildly misread the situation. What would he do if he didn't have the approval of his closest friends?

“What?!” Ron gasped in exaggerated surprise. “You two? Dating?! Who could have seen this coming!” Ron exclaimed, throwing out his hands and hunching his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug.

Harry laughed, feeling relief so strong it made him a little lightheaded. “Ron, you absolute tosser!” He didn’t even care that much that he was covered in beer-spit.

Draco did, however. Harry couldn't help but snicker at the look of sheer disgust on his face.

“Sorry, I’ve always wanted to do that,” Ron chortled, leaning back and not offering any help in cleanup.

“He has,” Hermione agreed wryly.

Draco drew his wand and spelled Harry and himself dry, leaving the junior Auror to draw his own wand with a tiny pout.

As soon as Draco put his wand away, Ron had his own wand drawn and in Draco’s face before anyone could even blink.

“If you do anything, and I mean anything to harm Harry, you’ll spend the rest of your smarmy, poncy life in Azkaban, and that’s if I don’t kill you first,” Ron said lowly, gaze intense.

Hermione looked just as serious, watching Draco with her shoulder pressed to Ron’s. Pansy was watching the whole thing with amusement and the junior Aurors looked horribly awkward, eyes glued to their beers, looking ready to flee.

Draco sat up straight and placed his hands flat on the table. “I accept,” he said, looking boldly between Ron and Hermione.

“Pardon?” Ron blinked.

“I accept your terms. I have no intention of bringing any harm of any kind to Harry. He deserves good things and I would like the chance to be one of them.”

“Oh,” Ron said, lowering his wand, the seriousness slowly ebbing away to be replaced by his usual joviality. “Jolly good then! In that case…” Ron put his wand away and stuck out his hand where his wand had been, but this time for a handshake.

Draco looked surprised, but took Ron’s hand and shook it with confidence.

“I’m still not calling you Draco, Ferret,” Ron warned.

“I would rather die than call you Ron, Weasel,” Draco agreed.

Ron laughed loudly and suddenly everything was fine again.

“I suppose, if we’re issuing threats…” Pansy drawled, examining her perfectly manicured fingernails. “If you break Draco’s heart, prepare to have your every secret printed in the paper, daily, and they won’t be rumors. I know a guy,” she finished, eyes sharp.

Harry had no doubt that she did. He nodded and crossed his heart, not feeling any trepidation at all about that promise.

“The first round tonight is ‘Are You Smarter Than a First Year?’ There will be assorted general knowledge questions that you should have—” the announcer winked, “—learned in your first year of school. Hopefully you took notes!”

“Oh, it’s not about me this time, thank Merlin,” Harry sighed with relief, tension he didn’t know he had leaving his body.

“Child’s play,” Draco declared, leaning back confidently, looking smug. He placed a long-fingered hand on Harry’s thigh by his knee, thumb brushing over his kneecap. Harry suppressed a shiver. Who knew his kneecaps were sensitive?

“Good thing we’ve got you, then,” he said, nodding to Draco. “I probably paid more attention my first year out of all of them, but just like the rest, we spent a not insignificant amount of time foiling the plans of a madman out to get me specifically so unfortunately some knowledge was probably lost,” Harry admitted.

“Too right, mate,” Ron said, reaching across the table to clink his glass against Harry’s. “Although Hermione definitely took notes,” he said, planting a wet kiss on her cheek.

“You probably knew it all already going in,” Harry accused good-naturedly.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but the way she ducked her head made Harry think he was probably right. “They’re just first year questions, this should be easy,” she said.

The questions started and Harry actually would have been alright at this round, but he had no hope of focusing seeing as Draco had yet to remove his hand.

He kept it firmly on Harry's thigh, squeezing every now and then. During a conversation about transfiguration, Draco slid his hand all the way up and down Harry's leg, making him shiver. His hand was impossibly hot, heat seeping through Harry’s jeans to set his skin aflame.

“Clyde, would you be a doll and fetch me another cider?” Pansy asked, handing the boy her empty bottle.

He took it, standing quickly. “Of course, be right back,” he said eagerly, tripping a little as he stood up.

“It’s Clive,” the other male junior Auror corrected.

“Oh whatever,” Pansy said, flapping her hand.

“Pansy, don’t play with your food,” Draco drawled, sliding his hand slowly up Harry’s leg a few inches, fingers curling against his inner thigh. Harry took in a shaky breath.

“She already told him she wasn’t interested,” the female junior Auror said, sounding annoyed. “If he wants to waste his time and money, that’s on him.”

“See, Draco? You don’t have to get your knickers in a twist,” she smirked.

Clive returned with Pansy’s cider and she said something back but Harry didn’t hear it because Draco’s hand had started sliding all the way up and down Harry’s thigh, fingers trailing along his inseam. Harry instinctively opened his legs wider, which Draco liked, judging by the squeeze he gave Harry’s thigh.

Harry listened without hearing as the table discussed goblin history, eyes on his beer and thoughts on Draco’s hand. Harry distantly heard the announcer start talking about something or other, but then Draco slid his hand all the way up the inside of Harry's thigh to settle in the crease of his hip. Harry shifted, rolling his hips forward, making room for Draco’s questing fingers. He felt hot all over, sure his face was giving him away. He had given up all hope of focusing and only hoped that no one would ask him anything.

“Harry?” Ron asked.

Shit. “What?” Harry asked, cursing internally at the breathy sound of his voice. Draco's fingers twitched against his hip, but he did not retract his hand, of course.

“Didn't you hear the question?” Ron asked, looking a little suspicious.

“Oh, uh, yeah, no idea, mate,” Harry said, overly casual.

Draco put his hand directly over Harry's rapidly swelling cock and squeezed.

Harry grunted, stifling it as best as he could by pretending to clear his throat and coughing a little.

“You alright?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, just—”

“I’m back,” Hermione said, plopping down in the empty spot in front of Harry that Harry just noticed had been empty. He hadn’t even noticed that she had left. “What was the question?” she asked.

Ron answered and Harry fucking missed it again, because Draco was shamelessly rubbing Harry’s cock through his jeans now, toying with the shape of it in the fabric, pinching lightly at the tip.

“Harry?”

“Mhm,” Harry agreed, not sure what he was agreeing to, trying not to thrust his hips into Draco’s grip and failing slightly.

“Harry,” Hermione said again and Harry looked up, blinking into focus as he tried to pretend he had been paying attention.

“Uh, yeah?” he said, and Hermione’s eyes flitted all over him, no doubt taking in his hot cheeks and strange posture. Harry sat up, but of course, Draco’s hand followed. He bit his lip, trying not to whine.

“I don’t suppose you’d know the starting date of the first goblin rebellion?" she asked.

“And you don’t?” Draco asked, sounding infuriatingly unaffected. Glancing over, he looked unaffected, too. Bastard probably knew some sort of spell.

“Oh, I do, just trying to give everyone else the chance to answer,” she smiled, but slanted a glance at Harry, looking between him and Draco. Her cheeks were a little pink and she sniffed a small laugh before turning and talking across the table about—who gave a shit, Harry could hardly be bothered, too busy focusing on keeping his hands on the table instead of down his pants.

“What are the ingredients in the potion that cures boils?” the announcers voice boomed across the room.

“Aha! I've got this one!” Draco said, removing his hand fully from Harry's crotch to drag the quill and parchment towards himself. Harry gasped at the loss of contact, cock achingly hard. Draco paid him no mind at all, too busy scrawling the answer. “Are there bonus points for speed?” he asked smugly, throwing down the quill after just a few seconds.

“Not everyone is a gigantic nerd like you, Draco,” Pansy said.

“You're supposed to know the answer too, you—”

“Finish that sentence, I dare you.”

Draco wisely did not.

He did, however, return his hand to Harry’s leg. Harry whined in the back of his throat and he saw Draco smirk out of the corner of his eye. Draco spent the next few agonizing minutes drawing little designs on Harry’s inner thigh, inches away from where he knew Harry was rock hard, and Harry couldn’t take it anymore.

“Draco,” Harry said suddenly, interrupting some droll argument the table was having with the junior Aurors about the rigor of the NEWTS post-war. Good Christ. “We need to talk.”

“Mate?” Ron asked, ever the concerned friend. Hermione stayed silent, cheeks pinking with a secret smile directed towards Harry, because of course she knew, but at least she knew enough not to ask.

But then Pansy got her eyes on him and she looked him up and down shrewdly. Her eyebrows shot up. “Ooh, Draco, you're in trouble,” she sang, with a truly salacious grin.

Harry stood up and pulled Draco out of the booth, then grabbed him by the back of his shirt and pushed him through the crowded room. It probably did look a bit like he was mad but really he was using Draco as a shield to hide his raging erection.

“Mine or yours?” he demanded as they stepped out the door and into the street.

“Yours, Pansy's in the middle of redecorating and–”

Harry grabbed Draco’s arm and turned on the spot, apparating them to his bedroom.

As soon as they landed, Harry pounced, kissing Draco hard and fast, already feeling like he was going to burst.

“I thought you wanted to talk,” Draco smirked.

“You can do the talking,” Harry panted, “I’m going to–” he slid to his knees slowly, dragging his body against Draco's on the way down, ending up with his hands on Draco's hips and his face pressed to Draco's crotch, where he could feel Draco's half-hard cock pressing up against the fabric.

“Sweet Circe,” Draco said above him, stumbling under Harry's insistent press, steadying himself with a hand on Harry's head.

Harry groaned at just the thought of those fingers tangled in his hair and Draco's cock filling his mouth. “Can I?” he asked, fingers already fumbling with the buttons on Draco's flies.

“‘Can you?’ Harry, fuck, you want to?” Draco asked breathlessly and when Harry nodded, reached down to help and shoved his trousers and pants part way down his thighs.

Harry greedily fisted his cock, stroking it to full hardness. It was fucking gorgeous just like the rest of him. It was long and just the right amount of thick and silky soft in Harry's hand. He slowed his hand and watched as precome drooled from the tip, dribbling slowly down the shaft.

Harry flattened his tongue to lap it up before taking the head of Draco's cock into his mouth and sucking, a salty tang exploding on his taste buds.

Draco gasped like it was punched out of him and tightened his fingers in Harry's hair. Harry hummed at the sweet tingle of pain across his scalp. He swallowed Draco's cock down as far as he could, gagging on it a little because that was just good manners.

Draco seemed to like it based on the sound he made— a sort of choked, breathy groan. Harry did it again, bobbing his head, allowing Draco's cock to bump the back of his throat over and over, sucking hard.

“That–ah!–merde, ta bouche, your mouth…” Draco had both hands on Harry’s head now, fingers carding through his hair, never holding on too long. He rocked forward to meet Harry's eager movements, cock gliding across Harry's tongue.

Wanting more, Harry steadied himself and summoned a spell he’d been practicing, just a whisper of it, because he liked to feel it. Magic spilled down his throat in a cool rush. Muscles loosened, the reflex to choke reducing as a protective barrier slid into place.

Harry shuffled on his knees, adjusting his stance. On the next gentle thrust, Harry tilted, changing the angle just enough that the head of Draco's cock slid into his throat.

“Oh! Oh, oh fuck, Harry!” Draco nearly shouted, hips twitching, a hand flying down under Harry's jaw to press careful, long fingers against his throat. “Fuck, Harry, you're–”

“Mhm,” Harry hummed and started to move, sliding up and down, until Draco's thighs started to tremble under his hands. But it wasn't enough.

He pulled off Draco's cock entirely with a filthy slurp. Looking up, he took in Draco's face. He looked drunk, cheeks ruddy with arousal, watching Harry with a look of awe and disbelief. He pumped Draco's cock with his hand, gliding fast and smooth with the copious saliva he left behind. “You can move if you want to,” he said. “And you can pull my hair.”

He opened his mouth and Draco fed his cock back inside and then he was moving, exactly like Harry wanted. He grabbed good, tight handfuls of Harry’s hair and used his grip to fuck into his mouth.

“Look at you,” Draco groaned, looking dazed. “Je t'ai toujours voulu. You're perfect, look at you…”

God, it was so fucking good. Draco's cock moved thick and hot and heavy across his tongue, sliding into the tight space of his throat, squelching obscenely, perfectly. Tears pricked at his eyes and he gagged but Draco didn't let up and he didn't want him to.

“Harry, I—” Draco gasped out. “I’m—”

Harry reached down with one hand to frantically unbutton his flies to shove a hand down his pants to fist his own neglected cock.

“Oh, you're— oh fuck, I’m—I—” Draco's thrusts started to lose their rhythm, then he froze, coming in thick pulses, cock throbbing and leaping in Harry's mouth. His taste filled Harry's senses and he swallowed rapidly to keep from choking.

He pulled off, panting and dizzy, delirious with arousal. Draco stumbled, collapsing to his knees in front of Harry.

“Oh par Salazar, Harry, you've ruined me,” he said, grabbing Harry's face with both hands to kiss him hard.

Harry leaned into it, desperate, and pushed Draco backwards onto the floor. He climbed on top of him, holding himself over Draco with one hand, the other moving rapidly over his leaking cock.

Draco batted his hand away, replacing it with his own. “You gorgeous thing, laissez-moi, I’ve got you,” he said, his lips finding Harry's again.

Harry couldn’t even find the focus to kiss back but Draco didn’t seem to care and pressed kisses to his parted lips, whispering things against his fevered skin.

“You're so lovely, Harry, you're gorgeous. Comment ai-je eu autant de chance? I can not fucking believe that you're mine. Come for me, I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” Draco murmured.

That was it, that was all Harry could take. His muscles locked up and he groaned low in his chest as he came harder than he could ever remember in Draco's perfect, tight grip.

He collapsed on top of Draco. He jammed his face into Draco's neck, glasses digging into the bridge of his nose. “So that was fun,” he panted, voice a little rough, throat delightfully sore.

Draco laughed and Harry smiled at the sound. “How eloquent,” Draco teased.

“We didn't even make it to the bed,” Harry groaned into Draco's neck.

“We’ll do better next time. Practice makes perfect,” Draco said, soft and satisfied, pulling Harry up for a sweet, slow kiss.

Harry sat up and back onto Draco's thighs. Draco was a vision, happy and sated and gorgeous. His softening cock was lying on his belly, the hair at the base shiny and matted with spit. His shirt was striped in Harry's come.

Harry smiled. “Sorry I got you all messy,” he said, lifting Draco's shirt up and leaning down to press a kiss to his belly but something caught his eye and he froze.

“Harry…” Draco said, sitting up on his elbows, but he let Harry look. Draco's stomach was covered in thin, slashing white scars. Harry pushed Draco's shirt up farther, revealing more and more pale skin covered in even more pale scars.

Harry swallowed, throat clicking. “I didn't know it scarred,” was all he managed to say.

Draco put his hand on Harry's. “You know, my muggle biology classes really highlighted it, but I always thought that young wixen would benefit from the study of Latin.”

Harry looked up into Draco's eyes. He was looking at Harry contemplatively, almost…sweetly. Why wasn't he upset?

“Sectumsempra was meant to scar. Sectum, from Seco, means to divide or cut, and Sempra, or more properly Semper, translates to always or forever.”

Harry stared at the angry slashes marring Draco's skin, not a trace of those strong feelings he had when he gave them to Draco remaining.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, tracing them with his fingers.

“We all have scars, Harry. How we got them tells the story of who we are. I deserved them and—” he pressed a gentle finger to Harry's lips, silencing Harry's objections. “I deserved them and they remind me that while I may have done horrible things, I am capable of being better.”

“I stopped Voldemort with an Expelliarmus, I don’t know why I—”

“But it happened. And look where we are now,” Draco said.

Draco indulged him, letting him trace more lines across his skin, then he suddenly shoved Harry off him. “Well, that's quite enough of that. You're ruining my post-coital afterglow.” He reached down and yanked his trousers and pants back up his thighs.

“I'm sorry, your what?” Harry said, standing up and pulling Draco to his feet as well. “Sorry, I’m a terrible host, let me—” he said, cleaning them both up with a flick of his wrist.

“Ah yes, much better,” Draco said, tucking himself away and buttoning up like nothing had happened, save for his mussed hair and still flushed cheeks. “The afterglow, Potter, you ruined it by getting all maudlin. Let's make cheese toasties.”

“Cheese toasties? You?” He looked Draco up and down. Cheese toasties, coming from the man who had once complained that the shepherd’s pie Hogwarts served wasn’t a true shepherd’s pie because it wasn’t made with lamb.

“I eat, Potter,” Draco huffed, crossing his arms.

“If your version of cheese toasties involves, fucking, I don't know,” he waved his hand in the air, “cave-aged artisanal hippogriff cheddar, you're going to be disappointed.”

Draco scoffed. “I’m willing to overlook it as long as you have the gold-leaf dusted ancestral elvin sourdough,” Draco said, leading the way to Harry's own kitchen.

Harry had never been more excited for a party. He didn’t even know who all was coming, which he probably should have been more concerned about, but he didn’t care. He knew Teddy had invited some friends from his day program (a sort of primary school for wixen kids, Harry was pleased to learn), and presumably their parents would come, but Harry had no clue.

However, whoever showed up had to either already know where he lived or be brought by someone who knew, but he trusted his friends.

Ron and Hermione were over a couple hours before the party to make the food (and drink his wine). Ron, despite having Molly cook for him his whole life, had never learned to cook himself, but Hermione was on a crusade to fix that.

However, this was a party for a child’s favorite snake, so special consideration was in order. Ron had the vision and Hermione had the execution so together they were dead set on making it magical.

The only thing Teddy had requested was spaghetti, which Harry is pretty sure he chose because it was the only food he could think of that looked like snakes. Harry had laughed and said absolutely. Spaghetti was probably the worst party food, but Harry loved the idea.

Somehow, Ron and Hermione had given each noodle a cute little pasta snake head and little tapered tail. They wriggled gently around in the sauce, but not so much that they looked like worms, which Harry was worried about. It helped that they lifted their starchy little heads to look around for a fork to wind themselves around.

They were just pulling the mouse cakes out of the oven. As they started cooling, the cake liners fashioned themselves into little legs and the mouse-shaped cakes scampered off to run around on the floor, waiting to be plucked up and eaten.

Molly had tried to hover to help, but she had been put in charge, at least for before the party, of watching Rose and Hugo. At the moment, Luna was helping to entertain them by enlisting their help with decorating. She had them breaking off pieces of different colored party streamers that she would then charm to slither around like snakes up near the ceiling.

Harry heard the chime of his Floo upstairs and then some thundering steps and assumed Teddy was here. He put down the plates he was carrying and turned around just in time to be tackled into a hug by Teddy.

“Harry Harry Harry! I’m so excited! Granny told me to tell you thank you for letting us have this party so thank you thank you thank you!” Teddy said, beaming up at Harry.

Harry’s eyes were suddenly wet. Teddy looked so joyful and unburdened and Harry thought he had never felt more proud of a single thing he had ever done than put that look on Teddy’s face. When Harry was seven, there was no one in his life to throw a party for his pet, let alone a party for him. Harry was so glad he could be that person for his godson. “Never grow up, okay?” Harry demanded, squeezing Teddy so hard he wheezed.

“Okay,” Teddy said, voice muffled by Harry’s body. He pried himself out of Harry’s grip and started bouncing. “Can I get Puppy?”

“Yes, but you both have an important job. You need to help your grandmother and welcome guests, okay? After a bit, when Andromeda says, you can come down and have some snacks,” Harry said, seeing Teddy eyeing the food Ron and Hermione were finishing plating.

Harry summoned a gummy snake while they weren’t looking and handed it to Teddy. “Deal?” he asked.

“Deal!” Teddy nearly squealed, biting the head off and running over to Puppy’s cage, already shouting the Parseltongue he knew on the way there. He heard Teddy shriek which meant he had discovered the tiny party hat Harry had made for Puppy, who had been very pleased to wear it.

More and more guests started to arrive, some he knew, others he didn’t. Hermione had discovered a spell that made it so that strangers who talked to Harry for more than three minutes would find themselves distracted by the need to address something in a different room, ensuring that Harry’s time wouldn’t be monopolized by parents that just came to talk to a celebrity.

Harry could have kissed Hermione, and he said as much, but Ron had brandished a spoon threateningly in his direction and said “if you kiss her, you have to kiss me too.”

Soon enough, Grimmauld place was full to bursting, but there was one more thing Harry was waiting for. With everyone happy downstairs, Harry made his way upstairs just in time to see Draco step out of the Floo. He and Andromeda stared at each other in silence but the silent communication was broken by Teddy bounding up into Draco’s space.

“Hi! Welcome to Puppy’s party! This is Puppy!” he said, gently holding up Puppy who was wrapped around his wrist, still wearing his party hat. Harry was proud to see him take such care. “And I’m Teddy. Where’s your present for Puppy?” he asked, glancing at Draco's hands.

“You’re Teddy? The Teddy Lupin?” Draco asked, pulling out a small box from his pocket and handing it to Teddy.

“Uh…yes?” Teddy said, looking up at Draco. “Who are you?”

“My name is Draco and I’m your cousin. I’ve been talking to your grandmother…” he spared a glance at Andromeda who was watching impassively. “…and I have heard all sorts of wonderful things about you. It’s wonderful to finally meet you.”

Teddy stared at him wide-eyed.

“I have a cousin?!” Teddy yelled, joy exploding on his features. “I’ve never had a cousin before! Harry!” he shouted like Harry would just appear when he called, which Harry did, stepping into the room.

“Harry!” Teddy said upon seeing him. “How do you say cousin?” he demanded.

Surprised, Harry realized he meant in Parseltongue. He hissed the word for cousin. Teddy hissed it back then hissed it at Puppy, then shoved Puppy up at Draco again.

“You’re my cousin!” Teddy exclaimed again. “Can you be my friend too?” Teddy asked, hair changing to a bright, platinum blond.

Draco smiled, a gorgeous, unguarded thing. “If you would like us to be, Teddy,” he said, obviously charmed.

“Cousin cousin cousin!” Teddy chanted, taking turns speaking and hissing it. “Oh!” he said, stopping abruptly. “You’re on the wall thingy.”

“‘Wall thingy?’” Draco asked, amused.

“I’ll show you!” Teddy said, handing the box to Andromeda and offering his now free hand for Draco to take.

Draco paused, looking to Andromeda and then to Harry, hesitant, but clearly pleased. When no one said anything, Draco took Teddy’s hand. “I’d love to,” he said earnestly.

Harry watched Teddy drag Draco off down the hall. The ‘wall thingy’ was the Black family tree tapestry. Teddy’s line had unfortunately been burned off, but Draco’s was indeed on there.

“I will admit, I had my doubts,” Andromeda said, coming to stand next to him, “but I can see it on your face.”

Harry flushed. “See what?”

“You're very selective of the people you choose to be close to you, Harry. I'm honored to be one of those people,” Andromeda said, gathering up some errant presents to take downstairs. “The way you look at him, it's clear you think he is quite special.”

“Yes, well,” Harry said, a little flustered. “He's changed quite a bit since I knew him. All for the better.”

“And I’m sure it doesn't hurt that he's quite handsome,” she said with a wink.

“Andy!” he scolded, unable to stop his massive, embarrassed grin.

Puppy had amassed quite a large pile of presents on Harry’s living room coffee table by the time Teddy declared it was time to open them. Harry was eager to see what people thought a snake would want as a gift. Most of the partygoers were crowding into the room as well, seemingly equally curious.

Teddy had given the honor of holding Puppy to a boy that looked to be Teddy’s same age, presumably a friend from school. Probably his best friend, judging by how seriously he was taking the job. The boy was holding Puppy incredibly delicately with both hands, wiry arms lifting Puppy aloft and presenting him to the room looking for all the world like he was holding the Crown Jewels and not a wobbly noodle in a party hat.

Teddy was bouncing around the pile and Andromeda was seated just to the side in Harry’s most comfortable armchair, handing Teddy one present at a time between calming sips of tea in an attempt to control the chaos. Harry was on trash duty.

Among the whirlwind of present-opening, Puppy received a little knitted sweater from Luna, a box of pinky mice in a cold stasis charm from Ron and Hermione, three jars of Repti-Calcium, a large, flat rock, an eight foot long stuffed toy snake (Harry was going to let Teddy keep that one), a keychain with a cobra on it (also for Teddy), a personalized nameplate for Puppy's habitat, and a small, moving portrait of a rat. Featured also was a hodgepodge mix of nearly the entire set of the apparently popular children's book series “The Historically-Adjacent Tales of Salazar the Serpent,” which was a popular choice from all the people who had no idea what to get a snake for its birthday.

Finally, Teddy got to Draco’s present. Harry was dying to see what it was. Teddy ripped off the paper and opened the small box inside, dumping whatever it was out of the box and into his hand. It looked like a small rock. “What is it?” Teddy asked, searching the crowd for Draco who flagged him down with a hand in the air. He was standing near the back with Hermione and when the crowd turned to look at him, seemed to stand up a little straighter. 

“Tap it,” Draco said, miming the action by tapping one long finger against the back of his other hand.

Teddy did and immediately the rock lit up, projecting pale blue lights about six inches above it. It seemed to be a series of dots, but then those dots connected, slowly turning into the outline of a snake, which then slithered gracefully in a circle before fading back into dots then doing it all over again.

“It’s the constellation Serpens—the snake,” Draco explained.

Teddy rotated it in his grip, showing Puppy too. “Wow, it’s beautiful,” said, as earnestly as a child could. He looked up at Draco in wonder. “How did you know Puppy was afraid of the dark?”

Harry had no idea if that was true or not, but If Draco was surprised at the question, he didn’t show it. “Aren’t we all, at some point?” Draco asked.

Harry’s heart simultaneously ached and burst.

Afterwards, Harry started his demonstration for anyone interested. He had given the demonstration many times before at schools, conventions, and zoos, and he was quite proud of it. It wasn't about putting on a show, it was about educating people on some of the wonderful snakes that lived at his sanctuary and why they needed help.

He also was sure to say that all the snakes were volunteers.

Harry loved to talk about responsible pet ownership and respecting wild animals. He talked about endangered species, conservation efforts, and why sometimes keeping a snake was a last resort because it couldn't be released into the wild.

Luna stayed on his shoulder the whole time except when he was explaining why one needed to do research before getting a pet snake. He placed Luna’s powerful, heavy body on the shoulders of a few brave parents and was clear to say that Luna wasn't even fully grown yet.

Meanwhile, Teddy brought Puppy around to show everyone, both the size difference, and what can result from irresponsible breeding.

Next, Harry presented his king cobra named Pepsi (he had come with that name when Harry got him, but once he explained it, Pepsi liked it and wanted to keep it). Pepsi’s favorite food was baby chicks and he had been relocated after one too many almost-bites by ending up in people's chicken coops.

Next were two ashwinders in a stasis bubble named Agni and Azar, and Zenzile, his Eswatinian death rattler (harmless, despite the name). Harry got to talk about endangered species and the differences and overlap between magical and non-magical animals.

Lastly, was Harry's absolutely charming Pueblan milk snake named Chiqui. He was very friendly and loved attention and volunteered to let the kids navigate him through a maze by shouting directions in Parseltongue that Harry taught them. While the kids were engaged, Harry spoke about the snake language, its misunderstood history, and practical applications.

Then of course he always took questions.  Harry was pleased to discover that the three minute rule on his charm applied here as well and questions were done quicker than ever.

Harry was putting all the snakes away when he felt hands on his waist and then lips on his neck.

“That was a great presentation,” Draco said against his neck. “You did a good job. Everyone loved it.”

“Thank you,” Harry said with a grin, pleased at the compliment. He turned and sought Draco's lips for a proper kiss.

The rest of the party was spent sneaking kisses. Harry tugged Draco out onto the back patio and kissed him while everyone was distracted with Chiqui. Draco pulled him into the coat closet, somehow managing to hide against the back wall when someone opened it for their coat. They snuck into the bathroom together and got in a real, proper snog, before someone knocked impatiently and Harry had to apparate away so they didn’t have to leave at the same time.

Then Draco lured him upstairs saying he had a question about the Black family tapestry but closed the door behind him and proceeded to suck Harry’s brains out through his dick.

Which probably would explain what happened next.

Harry followed Draco back downstairs in a daze. “Pull yourself together,” Draco said, sounding incredibly pleased. Harry just grinned dopily at him and Draco smirked, looking smug and satisfied.

They walked into the kitchen and Harry kissed him without a mind for who would be watching.

“Oi! Gross! Are you serious right now, right in front of my snake cake? My sn-ake? Wait a minute…” Ron said, fussing with said cake. It was nearly fully decorated, ready to be charmed into moving like a real snake where it would slither out to the table on its own before it got cut and served.

“Sorry, Ron,” Harry said, not sorry at all.

Hermione was taking him in with a smirk herself, probably noting his mussed hair, flushed face, and how he felt just generally boneless. “Enjoying the party, Harry?” she chuckled.

“Oh, quite a bit, yes,” Harry answered, rolling up his sleeves and pulling some milk out of the fridge to drink it straight from the jug.

“Harry, what’s that on your arm?” Ron asked, taking a sip of wine.

Harry wiped the milk off his upper lip and looked down at the fading purple and green bruise outlining the shape of human teeth, the skin firmly scabbed over. “Oh, that’s from when Malfoy bit me,” he said before he thought it through.

Ron spewed his mouthful of wine, thankfully missing Harry this time, the spray landing harmlessly on his kitchen floor.

”Okay, that one wasn’t on purpose,” Ron said, wiping his chin. “Bloody hell, Harry, no need to tell me what you guys are into, although as your best mate I’m a little worried for you. Tell me you have a— a safeword and stuff, right? In my opinion, nothing you do in the bedroom should require medical attention. One time, Hermione—”

Harry, who had taken another swig of milk, inhaled a good mouthful directly into his lungs. “Bloody hell Ron, shut up,” he coughed, every breath crackling with liquid. Hermione seemed to agree because she cuffed Ron on the back of the head. The coughing, while painful, gave Harry time to think of some excuse about the name or some funny lie he could tell, but he couldn’t come up with anything fast enough. “Malfoy my boomslang, he bit me while polyjuiced. I’m sure Hermione told you,” he said, chancing a look at Draco.

Draco looked…well, Harry couldn’t actually tell because Draco’s face had shuttered, the amusement and contentment Harry had seen there before replaced with careful blankness and a slight sneer. It reminded Harry of how Draco used to look at him, back in school, and Harry hated it.

“Draco, I—” Harry started, reaching for his wrist, but Draco pulled away from him and took a step back.

“I’ve just remembered I must be off,” he said, a hint of that sneer in his voice. Harry’s heart broke. “I’m on call for St. Mungo’s and I can’t allow myself to be distracted lest I miss the call. Enjoy the rest of the party,” he said, the last few words trailing off in his haste to leave the room.

Harry stood there in his kitchen, watching the empty doorway where Draco disappeared, feeling guilty and confused and indignant.

“I take it he didn’t know he shared a name with your boomslang,” Hermione said, shrewd as always.

“It hadn’t come up,” Harry mumbled, avoiding looking her in the eye.

“He seemed a bit upset,” Hermione stated. She continued when Harry didn’t say anything. “Do you know why?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah, I think so,” Harry said.

Hermione nodded. The kitchen was quiet and Harry could hear all of the activity in the rest of the house— animated conversations, kids shrieking in play, errant hissed words as the snakes conversed.

“I think just give it time, then, Harry,” Hermione concluded.

Harry wanted to go after Draco now, to tell him he didn’t mean it, demand that he understood, but Harry didn’t know quite how to explain it. He could probably use that time, too.

“Thanks, Hermione,” he said.

        Draco,

        I’m sorry.

        I’d like to talk to you about it if you could spare the time.

        Yours,

        Harry

Two agonizing days later, Harry received an owl back.

        Harry,

That was a good sign.

        I would like to speak with you if you would have me. I think I overreacted and would like a chance to explain myself as well as hear what you have to say.

        I have my lunch break at around one tomorrow unless that is too soon.

        DM

Harry was in the middle of a game of Snootball when he heard the Floo chime. Casting a quick tempus, it was only 12:30, so Draco was early. He looked out over the playing field and wondered how he was going to explain this to Draco.

“I’m down here,” Harry yelled and he heard footsteps above him move across the floor and down the stairs. Harry had never had spectators before because Snootball was hard to explain, but it was just like regular football…but with snakes. Hence the name.

“Harry, I’m— what in the world?” Draco said, stopping in his tracks in the doorway to the living room.

Harry needed a clear playing field so he had magicked all of the furniture onto the ceiling, holding it in place in the exact layout of where it had all been on the floor so he wouldn't forget where it went. It was easier than extending the space, but it did make the room look a bit bizarre. Once the floor was clear, Harry spelled it to be like a football pitch, but with soft, short turf for the snakes to have something to grip when they moved.

There was a soft, grapefruit-sized foam ball in play that Harry had charmed to change its mass based on the snake touching it so it was more fair. The ball was currently in play and being pushed across the field by Pepsi who was working to pass it to an absolutely miniscule Fenny snake named Benny.

The snakes liked the exercise and Harry liked managing a team and practicing his Parseltongue, so it worked out for all of them. Even Malfoy was out and getting some exercise, but in a ball Harry had made to contain him, sort of like a hamster ball. Harry wasn't about to let Malfoy out unsupervised, so he had given him the option of staying in his cage or getting in the ball and had left the ball at the base of his tree for him to decide. When Harry came back he was in the ball so Harry had let him join. 

Harry blew his whistle and marked the ground where the ball was. “Alright everybody, break time. Run some drills if you want. I have an important guest.”

Harry carefully brought one of the settees down for them to sit on. Ducking around a standing lamp, Harry sat down and gestured for Draco to sit as well. Draco perched primly on the edge of the cushion, spine straight, watching the snakes.

“Me first?” Harry offered. Draco shook his head.

“I’m…” he trailed off. He nodded towards the snakes who were now aimlessly winding about the pitch, except for Chiqui, who was pushing the ball in a slow circle around Benny. “I must admit, Harry, it’s a bit difficult to have a serious conversation after seeing…”

“Snootball,” Harry supplied.

Draco scrunched his nose like the portmanteau hurt him. “…Snootball. But I…”

Harry stayed silent.

“It’s hard for me to say, alright?” Draco closed his eyes and clenched his hands into fists on his knees. Harry felt his stomach drop. “I’m…”

Harry looked away to watch the snakes, chest tight. It would be easier to take the rejection if he wasn’t looking, if he couldn’t see Draco’s face.

“I’m…sorry,” Draco said in a rush of air.

Harry jerked his head up. “Pardon?” he asked bluntly before he could stop himself.

“I’m sorry,” Draco said again, more confidently. “I got upset and I wasn’t sure exactly why but I had some time to think about it.” He shifted on the couch until he was facing Harry. “I overreacted. I understand that you named him after how you knew me, how I was in school.”

Harry nodded.

“That I get. It's not that I didn't like being reminded of the more negative parts of my life, either. I am, frequently, and should be. I was at best a bully and at worst a war criminal, and while it's nice to forget about that sometimes, it's a part of who I am. I've come to terms with that.”

“I know you’re not like that anymore,” Harry rushed to say. Draco nodded, not like he agreed, but like he was listening. “I like who you are now. A lot, actually,” Harry said.

“My belief in that is fragile, but I am starting to let myself think so,” Draco said, looking Harry in the eye, the hint of a smile on his features.

“But Harry, the fact of the matter is that I don’t necessarily mind that you named your arsehole snake after me, after how you knew me. What affected me more than I anticipated was that after all this time you didn't change his name.”

Harry flinched like the words had physically hit him. He felt sticky shame overcome him, embarrassment pricking up sweat in his armpits and the small of his back, his neck and face growing hot.

Why hadn’t he changed Malfoy’s name?

“Oh,” he said, swallowing thickly. After everything Harry had learned and came to love about Draco, after everything they talked about, everything that had changed, Harry had kept the boomslang’s name as a monument to everything he used to hate about him.

“I should have changed it. I should have changed it after we started dating. Not because…I mean,” Harry bumbled, but Draco let him talk. “I named the boomslang after how I knew you, but that’s not how I know you now. Not at all.”

“I know, Harry,” Draco said, surprisingly kind. He should be more mad. Harry wanted him to be more mad.

“We’ll change his name,” Harry declared. 

They debated all manner of names but nothing felt right. They settled on just “the boomslang,” because Harry vowed never to have another one, making his the only one, ensuring there would be no confusion.

Wanting closeness, Harry tentatively climbed into Draco’s lap. Draco made no move to stop him and Harry sagged in relief, kissing Draco softly. After a while, they just hugged, sitting in comfortable silence.

“I didn’t think I’d ever have a chance with you,” Draco murmured into the privacy of Harry’s hair. “Not in a million years.”

Harry let the words settle and thought about Draco, how much he had changed. He thought about his brilliance, his hard work, his wit, his humor now that he got to be himself, and Harry realized that there was never a chance he wouldn’t have fallen for him. “You have me now,” he said, kissing Draco’s neck.

Draco tightened his arms around him. “I suppose I do,” he said, and Harry could hear the smile in his voice.

Suddenly, Harry pulled back and grabbed Draco’s face and planted a big wet kiss on his lips. “You like me!” he declared.

“Well, yes, I thought that was obvious,” Draco said, bewildered.

“You like me!” Harry said again. “So now when you’re mean to me, I won’t believe it,” Harry said, grinning.

Draco scoffed and it looked to Harry like he was fighting a smile. “It’s not my fault you and the Weasel only share one brain cell—”

“Oh, cram it,” Harry said, and kissed him again. This time he didn’t let up, kissing him deeply, hands running over Draco’s broad shoulders and lean, muscled chest. Draco’s hands snuck up to hold Harry’s face, thumbs caressing his cheekbones.

“Gross,” hissed Chiqui from his spot as his team’s goalie.

Harry reluctantly stopped kissing Draco and twisted around on his lap to yell at Chiqui. “Not you too! You’re all just jealous you can’t kiss because you don’t have lips,” Harry goaded, and the pitch exploded into grumbling hisses in response, all trying to talk over each other.

Draco shivered under him and Harry turned around to ask what he did so he could make Draco do it again when suddenly there’s a loud clatter over by the kitchen.

Harry removed himself from Draco’s lap and went to check it out. He spotted Malfoy’s hamster ball, open and empty at the bottom of the landing on the basement stairs, the snake nowhere to be seen.

“Sweet fucking Meriln, Mal— Sorry, Draco,” he said when Draco frowned. Harry wanted to wring the boomslang’s neck. Luckily, the bastard was all neck, depending on how you thought about it, so it would be easy—as soon as he found him.

He and Draco searched every inch they could of the basement and they couldn't find him. On his second pass through nudging some boxes labeled Christmas decorations, Harry felt something push his leg hard and he lost his balance and fell to the floor.

“Are you quite alright, Potter?” Draco said, coming to stand by Harry and poke him with the toe of his shoe.

“Yeah, yeah, just peachy, now could you— ow!” he shouted, cut off by a sharp pain on his hand.

Draco knelt down in alarm. “What? What is it?” He drew his wand, probably ready to cast a diagnostic charm like the healer he was. Bringing his hand up for inspection, Harry found he was bleeding just slightly from two tiny pinprick holes.

Harry scanned the immediate area, but didn’t see the boomslang. How could he hide? He was three feet long and green. Then something tickled his other hand and he yanked it away to safety, but when he looked, nothing was there. “Holy shit, he’s invisible,” Harry said and they both froze.

Draco brought his wand to his lips and blew gently, and a fine, periwinkle powder flowed from the tip and lightly dusted the area around them. They watched as it settled, lying evenly across the surface of the floor except for one spot—one long, noodly spot—that was already just a scant inch away from Draco’s hand.

“Draco, watch out—” Harry started, but it was too late. The boomslang slithered towards Draco and Harry winced, expecting a bite. Instead, Draco held very still as the boomslang slowly coiled himself around Draco's wrist, smearing periwinkle powder across his pale skin and shirtsleeve as he traveled up and up his arm like it was a tree branch. After a solid thirty seconds of nothing else happening, Draco slowly lifted his arm, and the snake with it, and stood up. The boomslang adjusted to have his head by Draco's elbow and as far as Harry could tell, was making no move to bite.

“I don't like you and I think it's funny to bite you,” a snakey voice hissed and Harry could only assume it came from the boomslang.

“Excuse me?” Harry said in English.

“Should we…” Draco gestured towards the stairs.

“Oh, yes, let's,” Harry said, leading the way, keeping his eyes on Draco, hoping against all odds he didn't get bit.

Draco moved slowly and steadily up the stairs. Harry waved the glass of the boomslang’s cage away and Draco stepped carefully inside. He lifted his hand to a branch and the snake slithered off Draco's wrist and onto his tree, the powder nearly gone.

They backed out of the enclosure and Harry spelled the glass back up. They stared at the space the snake seemed to occupy.

“Well, that was–” Draco started, but the boomslang cut him off.

“I like him,” he hissed.

“Excuse me?!” Harry said again.

Draco whipped his head towards Harry. “What? What did he say?”

“He said he likes you,” Harry said, confounded.

“Well,” Draco said, brushing periwinkle off his sleeve. “That's your second snake with good taste then,” he said with a smirk.

Harry rolled his eyes. “And you say I have a big head.” Harry clenched his fist, feeling the bite throb. "I don't know why he's saying these things, usually he refuses to talk to me."

“Do you think it's the effect of some sort of potion? Is this how it usually starts?” Draco asked.

“Too soon to tell for me, unfortunately, but probably,” Harry said, reluctantly.

Draco looked down at Harry’s hand where Harry was rubbing his thumb anxiously on the skin around the bite. “Harry, we need to get you to St. Mungo's,” he said, worry in his voice.

Harry inhaled, held it, then let it out in a huge sigh. “I know,” he said. What horrors awaited this time?

He led them back to the living room. “Alright, it’s game over because the boomslang bit me and I have to go to the hospital. We’ll pick up the game later. Back to your habitats everyone!” Harry hissed. He picked up Puppy and raised his hand, clenching his fist then releasing it upwards as though releasing a bird, then flipped his hand. The furniture flipped with him and he lowered his hand, placing it all back on the ground where it was supposed to be.

Draco made a strange sound in the back of his throat

“What?” Harry said, turning to look at him. He was inexplicably pink.

“Were you holding all that furniture up there? You weren't using a sticking charm? And where's your wand?” Draco accused, flush deepening.

“Oh, uh, yeah? And I already told you, I don't really need it,” Harry said sheepishly, walking Puppy to his habitat.

Draco trailed behind, watching all the snakes slithering across the floor, following Harry like he was the Pied Piper. “That's very unusual, you know, to have such a command of wandless magic.”

Harry winced. “Well, I am very unusual,” he conceded.

“That's not what I meant at all,” Draco scolded. “What I meant was—”

“Sometimes I use magic to make my dildo fuck me so I can pretend it’s a real person,” Harry blurted then slammed both hands over his mouth, mortified.

He stared at Draco, panicked, and Draco stared back in concerned shock for a long while.

“Did you mean to say that?” Draco finally asked.

“No,” Harry said, moving his hands away from his mouth for just that word before putting them back.

“I see,” Draco said, glancing down the length of his body and back up. “I’d say show me, but I have a feeling we need all the time we can get with this one.”

“I accidentally freed a python from the zoo using accidental magic when I was 10,” Harry blurted, then froze, turning to stare wide-eyed at Draco as they put away the last of the snakes. “I…I can’t go to St. Mungo’s like this…” he said, watching his fingertips slowly disappearing.

“What are you talking about, Harry? We have to go, you—”

“No, I mean…” he looked up at Draco. “I don’t want everyone to know my secrets,” he whispered desperately. He had no idea what was going to come out of his mouth next. It could be the color of his underwear. It could be his address. It could be the location of the Elder Wand.

“Oh,” Draco said, understanding. “We could muffle you?”

“But I’ll be invisible. What if it’s like…” Harry trailed off, thinking of staring unblinking at the ceiling of the Hogwarts Express, stuck under the Cloak with a smashed nose. Based on the look on Draco’s face, he was thinking the same thing.

“I’ll apparate us,” Harry said.

Draco scoffed. “Don’t be daft. You can’t apparate in St. Mungo’s, just the public emergency apparition point, and that is, as the name suggests, public. The anti-apparition wards in the rest of the building are unbreakable, it’s impossible to…” Draco trailed off. “You can, can’t you?” he asked, trepidation clear on his face.

Harry nodded. “Where? Where would be best? Exam room two? The employee lounge? I can apparate as far as Portugal, but I have been too scared to try any farther,” he said, then clamped his hands over his mouth again, squeezing his eyes shut. “That is a Ministry secret, please don’t repeat that, I promised never to tell.”

Draco stared at him wide-eyed before nodding tightly. “Right outside exam room two would be best,” he said. “If it’s occupied there are other exam rooms right next door, one is bound to be empty.”

Harry wrapped Draco up in a hug. “Brace yourself,” he said, then spun them and they were gone. Harry felt them butt up against the wards of St. Mungo’s, the blackness twisting them, stretching them, pulling on their organs. Suddenly, they broke through, like diving through the ice of a frozen pond, and Harry gasped, releasing Draco. His senses returned and he heard alarms blaring and saw mediwixen running about.

Draco took charge before Harry could get himself in any more trouble. He looked a bit green, but to his credit, was holding together well. They probably taught how to power through nausea in healer school, Harry thought, as Draco dragged him to an exam room, alarms still blaring, but a little quieter once they were through the doorway.

“Alright, Harry, you incredible man. Let’s solve another mystery,” Draco said, eyes sparkling.

“I never saw a doctor until Madam Pomfrey,” Harry said, filled with a twisted sort of shame. He was grateful that his head was no longer visible, so he didn’t have to hide his red face.

“Obliviate,” Hermione whispered, flicking her wand the tiniest bit towards Head Healer Greaves.

“Granger, that's illegal,” Draco hissed, looking between her and Greaves, sounding a little scandalized.

Hermione pointed her wand at him. “What's illegal?” she asked.

Draco looked at Hermione’s wand, then at her, then smirked. “You know, now that you mention it, I can't remember,” he said wisely.

Greaves shook her head like she had just spaced off for a moment. “My apologies, what were you saying?” she asked.

“I think whatever potion is making Harry say things uses what he is currently doing or thinking about to determine what he says,” Hermione stated, tucking her wand away.

“The last few were medical related,” Draco agreed. He had a giant textbook of potions in front of him, reading through it to try to find whatever was afflicting Harry.

Obviously there was the Invisibility Potion— Harry looked down to see just his torso remaining. They also discovered when Harry went to move a stool and accidentally flung it across the room that he was being affected by a Strength potion as well. Harry had volunteered to put himself to work to open all of their ingredients jars with stuck lids, but unfortunately Draco seemed to be allergic to fun.

Harry wiggled on the exam table, self conscious of the impression his bum was leaving on the cushioned surface.

“We should try talking about something else. How about…” Hermione said, pursing her lips in thought.

“Food?” Draco suggested.

“No!” Harry and Hermione said at the same time. Harry looked to her gratefully but she couldn’t see him of course. He grabbed her arm and squeezed instead.

“How about Quidditch!” Hermione suggested hastily.

They talked about Quidditch while Greaves received ingredients from trainees at the door and Draco poured over the text.

“Ron would probably be better at holding a conversation on quidditch than I am,” Hermione admitted after a lull in the conversation. “He’s always got something to say about the Canons and why they should have won some match when they didn’t. The way he talks, you would think they played all year.”

“You're fine, Hermione, you know enough,” Harry said. “I once fooled around with the reserve seeker for the Falmouth Falcons in the owner's box during a match,” Harry said, and if anyone were able to see him they would have seen him turn bright red. He grabbed Hermione's arm and shook it.

“Obliviate,” she whispered towards Greaves, pink cheeked. “Harry,” she scolded with a smirk, bumping him with her shoulder.

“The reserve— do you mean Eamon MacKenna?” Draco demanded.

“No, er, the bloke before that,” Harry winced.

“The bloke—do you mean—surely you don't mean Crispin Thatchley?”

“Yeah, that's the one.”

“That's the current seeker for the Falmouth Falcons!”

“Well he was the reserve seeker at the time,” Harry grumbled.

Draco stood up, chair scraping loudly. “I am…” he said, hands flexing at his sides. “...more than one kind of jealous,” he admitted, face flaming.

“What are we talking about and is it relevant to the patient’s treatment?” Head Healer Greaves asked.

“No, ma’am,” Draco said curtly, sitting back down with a gust of breath, staring unfocused at the book in front of him.

Harry wagged his lips plenty more in the next half hour as they got no closer to finding the third mystery potion. Most of them were tame and Hermione only had to obliviate Greaves and one unlucky trainee once more (Harry revealed Minister Shaklebolt’s direct office Floo address).

“Ron and I snuck into the Slytherin common room in second year to see if you were the heir of Slytherin,” Harry said in the middle of a conversation about Hogwarts class schedules. Hermione looked in his general direction meaningfully but Harry thought that secret was pretty benign so he just patted Hermione's arm.

“Potter, you did not,” Draco objected, looking up from the book. “Non-Slytherins haven't seen the Slytherin common room since—”

“I think that statistic might need to be updated,” Harry teased. Draco looked affronted. Harry stuck out his tongue because he could get away with it.

“You know, you—” Draco interrupted himself. He frowned and stared off to the side, clearly thinking deeply about something.

“Hermione couldn't come as she got turned into a cat girl, but—” Harry continued, but this time it was Hermione who was squeezing his arm.

“Speaking of sneaky little miscreants,” Draco said with a sniff in Harry's direction, “do you think the third potion is another Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes potion?”

Hermione sat up straighter. “That would align with the previous pattern. It doesn't seem like their style, but if you're not finding it in your book, then it's worth asking. I'll make a call.”

“Would you like the good news or the bad news first?” Hermione said when she strode back into the room, slipping her mobile into her pocket.

“There’s bad news?” Harry whined, and he would be embarrassed by his pout if anyone could see it.

“Alright, I’ll start with the good news. Draco, you were right. George thinks it's their discontinued experimental potion they were going to call “First Date Magic,” because it was supposed to help you share more about yourself if you were nervous. But early trials were more akin to veritaserum and they didn't want to mess around with controlled substances.”

“Charlie Weasley helped me experiment to figure out if I liked guys,” Harry said, already frantically slapping Hermione’s arm.

“I knew it!” Hermione said, then clamped a hand over her own mouth. “Sorry, Harry,” she said, not sounding very sorry at all. “I'll let you decide, of course, but if you let me tell Ron, he owes me 10 galleons. I’ll split it with you and I’ll sneak you in under the Cloak so you can see his reaction when I tell him.”

“What’s the bad news?” Draco interrupted, bringing the conversation back to more important matters. Harry had been considering it, but he would have to talk to Hermione later about it when he wasn’t potentially going to die.

“George doesn’t have the antidote because they abandoned the project. If anyone would know it, Bubba would, but he’s…” she trailed off.

“Unconscious and in long-term care,” Draco said, frowning.

“Yes. So, that’s the bad news, but I already have an idea,” Hermione countered.

Harry smiled to himself. Of course Hermione had an idea.

“I suggest we employ a Legillimens to penetrate into his subconscious and ask him what the antidote is,” Hermione finished.

Harry could not believe she said “penetrate.” Did she do it on purpose? No…probably not. Hopefully not. Because now Harry was thinking about penetrating and all the fun things that went along with that. He tried desperately to think of something else before a new fun, inappropriate secret wrested itself from inside him.

It had been a while since Harry had penetrated anyone. Or had been penetrated.

“Hermione, I’d love to talk more about what a Legilimens might do,” Harry said, a little too loudly, interrupting whatever she was talking about.

Based on the sideways look she gave his general area, she was probably already midway through answering his question. Oh well. He had to redirect his thoughts.

“Well, as I was saying, Harry, since he’s unconscious, the person would need to go really deep—” fuck fuck fuck “—to reach him. They’ll really need to take their time, it’s not something you can do quick and dirty, you know?”

Harry choked on air. Hermione reached blindly through the air until she found his back to give it some hard slaps.

“Would this person need any sort of protection?” Draco asked, biting his lips to keep from smiling. Harry shot him a dirty glare he couldn’t even see.

“Oh, no, I shouldn’t think so, as long as they’re safe about it. Hopefully they’re experienced— I would hope it wouldn't be their first time, anyway, that seems irresponsible,” she mused.

“Hermione, you have to stop, please,” Harry begged, clutching her arms and shaking her gently.

Draco laughed outright.

“What?” Hermione asked, infuriatingly innocent.

“Hermione, you have children, surely you know what you’re saying,” Harry whined and Draco cackled.

“What do you—” she frowned, mentally reviewing the conversation. “Oh for goodness sake, Harry, I didn’t—” She slowly got more and more red.

Draco, uncharacteristically, took pity on him. “We’ll need to start the request for a Legillimens right away then so that—”

“The other day when I blew you, you were able to fuck my throat because I used a spell from a book I found in Sirius’ old stuff called ‘Self Love: Spells and Potions for the Curious Wizard.’”

The room was dead silent. Hermione was chewing her bottom lip and looking into the middle distance like she didn't know whether to laugh or die. Draco looked like Christmas had come early.

Hermione sighed heavily, pointed her wand at her own head, and whispered “obliviate.”

The paperwork for the use of Legilimancy on an unconscious patient was filed at record speed because he was Harry Potter (even if he was invisible).

His snakebite symptoms slowly started to worsen and he had a headache, nausea, and some brain fog, but his heart was still working normally and his blood, thankfully, was staying in his body, at least for the time being.

Since Harry was still blurting secrets, Harry and Hermione convinced the Healer team to leave them alone in the room with the promise that Hermione would summon help if needed. Hermione cast a silencing spell around them, the same one she would do around the tent in the woods all those years ago, and Harry trusted it.

The safest topic they could think of to talk about was school because Hermione already knew all the big secrets, so the little ones were blissfully mundane, although Hermione squawked indignantly when Harry admitted to cheating on History of Magic essays, but nodded in understanding when he admitted to cheating on divination assignments.

Just when the pain was starting to ratchet up and Harry was starting to feel like laying down and curling up into a ball of self-pity, Draco stepped through the silence barrier.

“I don't know how you managed to do this, but you get to play the hero yet again, Potter.”

“Oh, bloody hell, what have I done now?” Harry groaned.

“Well, the Legillimens was expecting to have to go deep into Bubba’s subconscious to reach him through the coma, but nearly blasted his brain out when they knocked heads so to speak on the first layer. It turns out that Bubba wasn’t in a magical coma at all, just under the effects of a customized Draught of Living Peace, which went undetected as the mediwixen didn’t know what they were looking for. He dictated the antidote through the Legillimens and he is recovering as we speak.”

“And…” Hermione prompted.

“And the antidote to the Wheeze’s potion, of course,” Draco said, already gathering the ingredients.

“Wow,” Harry said. “Well, I’m glad he’s going to be alright.” And he was. But someone was probably going to want to thank him and he didn’t even do anything besides suffer in a separate room, forced to bare his poor, horny soul. He hoped he got to go home before all the excitement started.

Hermione recast the silencing spell, but just around them, and all the Healers left them to their bubble. Draco got started on the potion, allowing Hermione to assist.

Partway through, Hermione stepped out to update Ron and Greaves took the trainees to find some ingredients they forgot and suddenly Harry and Draco were alone.

Harry jumped off the exam table. “I want to kiss you,” he said, crossing the room and grabbing Draco’s hand, pulling him to stand up. “Quick, while I’m invisible! You’ll look dumb and it will be funny.”

“We can't kiss, Harry. I’m your Healer. There's wards that can determine intention with touching,” Draco objected, ignoring Harry’s jibe but not dropping his hand.

“Okay well, let me just…” Harry fingered through the wards until he found the one Draco was talking about and pushed it down. There was some faint beeping somewhere. “Not anymore,” he gloated, pushing into Draco’s space and wrapping his arms tightly around his waist, mindful of his super strength but only after he squeezed a wheeze out of Draco.

“You’re unbelievable, Harry,” Draco said with a breathless chuckle, and then he leaned forward and kissed him. It was slow, sweet, and made Harry feel like he was simultaneously floating away and coming home.

Harry pulled away, pressing their foreheads together. “I think I could fall in love with you,” he whispered.

Draco froze, going stiff in Harry’s embrace. “Was that the potion?” he asked.

Harry thought for a moment, kissing across Draco’s jaw. “Does it matter?”

He rested his cheek on Draco’s shoulder and they stood like that for a while, just holding each other.

Suddenly Draco’s lapel flower crackled to life right under Harry’s chin and they sprung apart. A voice emanated from the flower, the five petals flapping along with the words. “Attention, could we get a member of the magical maintenance team to the front desk for a ward check? Magical maintenance to the front desk for a ward check.”

Harry hastily fluffed up the ambient magic, setting the ward back in place among the others. “Okay, I put it back up, they’ll never know,” he said, smiling winningly, and watched as Draco tried and failed to frown.

Harry drank the antidote and watched as first his fingertips, then his hands, then the rest of him slowly came back into view.

Looking up, Draco could finally look him in the eye and he looked relieved. As a comically large number of healers and trainees piled into the room for debriefing and paperwork, Harry kept his eyes locked onto Draco’s.

When he smiled, Draco smiled back— sweet, unguarded, and just for him. Harry felt his heart burst open.

If Harry didn’t get his cock and Draco in the same room in the next few days he was going to catch on fire.

They had been trying to meet up but between things like Draco having to work some late night rotations and Harry consulting with the London Zoo, they were having trouble finding times they were both free.

Draco was all he could think about. After that kiss at St. Mungo’s, Harry wanted more. He wanted a proper snog and to get his hands and lips and tongue all over Draco’s body.

He suddenly realized that even though he’d blown him, he’d never seen Draco fully naked.

That needed to be remedied immediately.

He adjusted his half hard prick in his trousers, it’s nearly permanent state recently, and made a plan.

“Sweet fucking Salazar, Potter, une cloche, comment le dit-on en anglais… a bell! I’m getting you a bell!” Draco spluttered.

Harry had decided to wait outside Draco’s building for him to get home. He hadn’t known exactly when that would be, so he had brought the Cloak so he could wait and not be noticed. The longer he’d worn it the more he felt like a creep, but in a fit of sunk cost fallacy, refused to do anything about it. He had nearly forgotten he was wearing it by the time Draco arrived. He had approached from behind and goosed his right bum cheek while Draco was unlocking the door, belatedly realizing he should have at least said hello.

Well. Better late than never. “Hello,” he said, leaning in for a kiss.

Draco must not have been too mad because he kissed him back.

He kissed him all the way up the stairs and down the hall to Draco’s door, only stopping to let Draco unlock it and pull him inside. He pushed Draco up against it as it closed, finally getting that proper snog.

They kissed for ages and Harry was in heaven but it wasn’t enough. He shoved a hand up Draco’s shirt at the same time as he tried to shove one down his trousers.

Draco shoved him back with a laugh, pretty and bright. “You’re quite keen, aren’t you?” he teased.

“Yes,” Harry admitted readily, prick already fully hard and aching. He dove back in for another kiss and Draco let him, but slowly walked him backwards to the living room.

A living room that had a couch. Draco was a genius. He shoved Draco down onto the couch and climbed onto his lap, mouth crashing back down onto Draco’s, licking and biting at his lips.

“You are quite fond of my lap,” Draco observed when Harry finally let him breathe.

“It’s a good place to be,” Harry panted, biting Draco’s sharp jaw. “Wanna ride you sometime.”

Draco shuddered powerfully under him, hips pushing upwards like he was thinking about it. “Sometime?” he asked breathily.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, stealing his lips again for a kiss. “If it’s alright with you, though, I’d really, really like to fuck you.”

Draco froze, then started shifting under Harry with a restless energy. “Yes, Harry, merde, alright, I—”

“Gross,” came a voice to the left.

Harry whipped his head around so fast his neck twinged.

“Oh, Pansy, don’t be rude, they’re in love, let them be,” Luna said from her spot curled up on Pansy’s lap in a large, plush recliner. It looked like they were in the middle of watching a movie on the muggle television they apparently owned that Draco neglected to tell him about. He hadn’t seen a movie in ages.

“Well they can go ‘be in love’ somewhere else that isn’t my couch,” Pansy griped, waving a wine glass imperiously.

Draco looked simultaneously indignant and mortified. Harry suppressed a grin. “Your couch? From what I recall, it was a joint venture, and I’ll have you know that—”

“We’ll just be going now, apologies, Pansy,” Harry said.

Pansy just sniffed but Luna smiled. “It was nice to see you, Harry.”

He had never had such a long casual conversation while hard before. “You as well, Luna. Enjoy your evening,” he said.

He turned back to Draco. “Ready?” he asked.

“For what, Potter, what are you—”

“Hold on tight,” he said, starting to twist.

“Harry, you can’t apparate here, this is a muggle building! You brute, you’re going to tear up my—”

Harry felt his Draco’s wards fight him then split open, tearing and spilling them out like roe from a gutted salmon. Then they were in Harry’s bedroom, standing, and Draco was stumbling away.

“—wards. Harry!” Draco scolded. He looked around then looked at Harry accusingly, face reddening. “Fuck, how are we standing? Did you apparate us to standing?” Draco asked incredulously, grabbing Harry’s face and pulling him into a rough kiss.

Harry could hardly kiss back through his smile. He put a hand on Draco’s chest and pushed him backwards towards the bed until his knees hit the edge of the mattress and he let himself fall.

“You just like to push me,” Draco said, looking up at Harry.

“Just like old times,” Harry said, following him onto the bed and lowering his body to cover Draco’s entirely with his own. He was solid and warm and amazing beneath him. He could feel his belly push up against his as he breathed and he felt so fucking alive.

They kissed and kissed. Harry rucked Draco’s shirt up, greedy hands touching as much skin as he could. Draco arched up to take off his shirt and Harry descended immediately to lave his tongue across one pink nipple.

Draco whined and arched up into his mouth, a hand flying up to fist in Harry’s hair. He licked and sucked and nipped until it was red and sensitive before moving on to the other one, giving it the same attention. Harry felt Draco’s cock leap where it was trapped between them and remembered he wanted them to be naked.

Between more kisses, they slowly removed more and more clothing until finally, finally, they were naked. Harry sat up to look.

Draco was a vision. He was panting up at Harry, pupils blown and lips swollen from kissing, a look of wonder on his face. Lean muscles shifted under miles and miles of creamy pale skin, which was flushed a devastating pink all the way from Draco’s cheeks to his chest. He was nearly hairless except for a thatch of blond curls around his gorgeous cock which was hard and leaking onto his belly.

Harry had never seen anything more beautiful.

“You’re gorgeous, Draco,” he said, kissing his way up from his naval to his chin, touching everywhere he could. He slid a hand down Draco’s body, past his cock, between his legs. “Is this okay?”

“How else are you going to fuck me?” Draco huffed and Harry grinned.

He exhaled and cast the cleaning spell and Draco yelped. “Sorry, sorry!” Harry said, jerking his hand back.

“You could have warned me, Potter,” Draco scolded, shifting a little uncomfortably at the sensation.

“Sorry, I’ll uh, er, protection spell next?” he asked, waiting for Draco’s nod before he cast it.

Harry cast a third spell and Draco looked up at him in confusion. “No stretching spell?”

Harry smiled lasciviously. “I like to do that part by hand,” he said, running two lube-spelled fingers across Draco’s arsehole.

Draco jerked, then let his long legs fall open for Harry’s touch. “Well then, by all means,” he breathed weakly.

Harry pushed his middle finger right up against Draco’s hole and pressed lightly. Draco twitched around his fingertip and Harry slid his finger in, watching it disappear inside Draco’s body.

“It’s been a while,” Harry apologized on a shaky exhale, sliding his finger slowly in and out. “But it’s just like riding a bike, right?”

“You’re joking,” Draco said, sitting up on his elbows to glare at him. “A bike?”

“I’m just kidding,” Harry said, pushing a second finger teasingly up against the tight ring of muscle. “Although I can ride you like a bicycle if you want,” Harry said, waggling his eyebrows.

“Next time, remember?” Draco said breathily, collapsing back onto the bed and Harry’s gut twisted happily at the reminder of a next time.

Harry carefully pushed the second finger in alongside the first and felt Draco tense up. As scorchingly hot as it was to watch his fingers disappear inside the hot clutch of Draco’s body, he didn’t want it to hurt, so he scooted up onto his knees and crawled between the splay of Draco’s legs and wrapped his free hand around Draco’s leaking cock, angling it towards his lips and letting it slip inside.

“Sweet Circe, fuck Harry, your mouth,” Draco groaned, writhing under Harry’s hands, pushing up into Harry’s mouth. Harry let him slide all the way to the back of his throat, gagging a little before casting the same spell as before and slowly swallowing Draco’s cock as deep as it could go over and over and over.

“Hm, nope. Mm-mm,” Draco said, sounding strained, grabbing Harry by the hair with both hands and yanking him off his cock.

“What?” Harry asked, barely restraining himself from smacking his lips, missing the taste and feel of Draco’s perfect cock filling his mouth.

“I am going to come if I let you keep doing that. Do you have any idea what that feels like?” Draco asked, hands still tight in Harry’s hair, Harry’s two fingers still moving inside him.

“Well, actually, no, the book is mostly intended for solo use, but I have cast it on myself before with a couple of guys who said—”

“Stop there, I don't want to hear it, I can't handle it. As far as I'm concerned, mine is the first and best cock you've ever seen. If I think about you with other guys I might tie you to this bed and never let you leave.”

“Don't threaten me with a good time,” Harry said, curling his fingers upwards.

Draco jolted then groaned, bearing down on Harry’s fingers. “Oh fuck, right there,” Draco hissed and then it was all frantic energy. Harry fucked Draco with two fingers, greedily listening to Draco’s gasps and groans. He took the head of Draco’s cock back in his mouth, sucking lightly, and added a third finger. He rubbed relentlessly across Draco’s prostate until Draco let out one long, continuous moan, then he pulled his fingers out slowly, feeling Draco clench around them as he withdrew.

He sat up and knelt between Draco's legs, shuffling forward to make room for himself between them. He pulled Draco's arse into his lap, and jammed a pillow under his hips, Draco's impossibly long, coltish legs wrapping around his waist.

“Ready?” Harry asked. He ran his hands soothingly up and down Draco’s sides, thighs, over his hips, his cock sliding deliciously through the excess lube in the cleft of Draco’s perfect arse.

“Oui, oui, yes, okay,” Draco breathed, stormy grey eyes moving rapidly from Harry's face to rake across his body then back up again, a look of awe across his features like he couldn't believe what was happening.

Harry took himself in hand, summoning another handful of lube, and notched the head of his cock against Draco's hole. This was it. He was gonna…

“I’m gonna fuck you,” he whispered reverently and Draco nodded, swallowing heavily, mouth falling open in a gasp.

He pushed forward and the head of his cock breached Draco’s body and Harry had to bite his lip hard to keep from coming. Draco was so hot inside. Hot and silky smooth and wet and perfect. He worked his cock inside in gentle rolls of his hips, making space for himself inside Draco’s body.

Draco took in a shaky breath when Harry was fully seated and before he could say anything, Harry pulled out slowly before pushing right back in, making Draco grunt. Then he did it again.

“Oh, oh fuck, fuck, Harry,” Draco babbled, hands fisting the sheets. “Ta bite est si bonne en moi. J'en veux plus, s'il te plaît, plus, plus…more,” he said and Harry shuddered and gave it to him.

He sunk into Draco’s body over and over, unable to believe how incredible it felt. Sitting up on his knees, he grabbed one of Draco’s mile-long legs and guided it over his shoulder, against his body so he could run his hands up the full length of it all the way to his toes. Draco’s calf was lightly hairy where Harry was mouthing against it, but Draco’s pale, lean thigh was smooth under his fingers. Harry felt the hair below his naval catch and drag against the tantalizingly soft skin of the back of Draco’s thigh with each roll of his body.

Harry grabbed Draco’s leaking cock and fisted it in time with his thrusts as best as he was able. Draco tensed and he whined in pleasure. “Yeah, fuck, does that feel good? You’re gorgeous,” Harry hissed before he realized that was the wrong language.

“Ah!” Draco shouted, hips bucking and back arching, breaking their rhythm, keeping Harry's cock deep.

Harry went with it, swiveling his hips in a dirty grind as he pushed forward. Draco's leg dropped from his shoulders, both wrapping around his waist again instead as Harry folded him nearly in half.

“What was that, love? Did you like that? When I spoke in Parseltongue?” Harry asked, peppering Draco's sweaty temple and cheek with kisses.

Harry pulled out and pushed back in, slow, deep, and hard. Draco keened and nodded tightly, eyes screwed shut, clutching at Harry’s biceps.

Harry took in a shuddery breath, gut tightening at Draco's admission. He found a new rhythm, keeping it slow and deep, and Draco seemed to love it based on the noises he was making.

“Look at me, love, I want to see those pretty eyes,” he said and Draco forced his eyes open. His pupils were blown wide, eyelids heavy, and Harry felt a rush of heat at how fucked out Draco looked. Because of him.

Harry kissed down his jaw to nuzzle into the incredibly soft spot under his ear. “Yeah, love, so good, so good for me,” he hissed, and Draco writhed under him, panting harshly.

“Putain, dis-le encore, dis-le encore,” he gasped and Harry mouthed against Draco’s throat as it worked around the French sounds.

“Yeah, fuck, you’re amazing, Draco, you feel so good, you’re perfect, I lo— I love you,” he finished in Parseltongue, heart thundering in joy and terror at having said it, even in another language.

Draco threw his arms around Harry’s neck, holding him crushingly tight against himself. Harry couldn't take it anymore and snapped his hips forward, fast and greedy. “Fuck, oh, je t'aime aussi, fuck, Harry, fuck,” Draco cursed, getting steadily louder as Harry fucked him. There was no longer any room between their bodies for Harry to stroke Draco’s cock so he just held him tight in his slippery fist, giving him a space to twitch up into and then Draco was coming, clenching hard around Harry’s cock and spurting hot and wet into the tight space between their bodies, oozing over Harry’s fingers.

Harry’s hips stuttered and he thrust once, twice, and then he was coming too, emptying himself in strong pulses deep into Draco’s body, moaning loudly into his neck.

“Just like riding a bicycle,” Draco hummed, releasing his death grip around Harry’s neck and running his hands through Harry’s hair.

Harry felt bloody fantastic and couldn’t help grinning against Draco’s sweaty skin. If Harry could purr, he would have.

He had almost fallen asleep when he felt a sharp pinprick on his bum.

“Ouch!” he said, jerking upwards, softening cock slipping out of Draco along with a gush of come.

Draco squirmed at the sensation. “What?” he asked, sounding sleepy.

Harry sat up and twisted around, trying and failing to look at his own arsecheek. “It felt like something…bit me…” His sentence trailed off when he saw the boomslang floating aimlessly through the air.

“Disgusting, that you would use my language in— in whatever you were just doing to that poor man,” the boomslang scolded, twisting in the air as he bumped into the lamp on Harry’s bedside table. Was it just him or did the boomslang look sort of blue?

“How did you get in here?” he asked, the first of many questions, but then the boomslang was gone, suddenly appearing on the other side of the room, still floating.

Oh dear.

“Well, Harry…” Draco said, sitting up on his elbows.

Harry sighed heavily. “Let’s make history.”

Epilogue

“Harry, if you keep kissing me, I’ll muck up the meringue and then I’ll be…well, I’ll be cross,” Draco pouted, mixing bowl and whisk in hand, but let Harry kiss him anyway. Draco was currently swanning about Harry’s kitchen wearing Harry’s “Mr. Good Lookin’ is Cookin’” apron. It should have looked silly on him, but it didn’t. Maybe because it was true. Harry was having a hard time keeping his hands, or lips for that matter, to himself. Draco was practicing making Tarte au Citron Meringuée (or lemon meringue pie for the plebeians) because his birthday was coming up soon. Harry had offered to cook, but Draco insisted because he wanted to improve his own skills and of course impress his guests with them. He had been poking through Harry’s cookbooks for recipes to try and Harry was pretending he hadn’t seen Draco pouring over a treacle tart recipe when he thought Harry wasn’t looking

He swept Draco up for another kiss, which Draco accepted easily, even though he complained through the whole thing. Harry wrapped his arms around Draco’s neck for more and then Luna, squished between them, started complaining too.

Then Harry heard his Floo chime.

“Oh, he’s here!” Harry said, planting one last smack on Draco’s pouty lips before bounding upstairs to meet his guest.

Harry opened his Floo and Bubba stepped through. Well, he sort of stumbled, but Harry wasn’t about to comment. Harry’s eyes were drawn to his baseball cap with a picture of a fish hooked on a pole and some words in a stylized font that said “The Rodfather.” Bubba wiped his shoes on the rug in front of the fireplace and brushed some soot off his khakis and took a look around, eyes landing on Harry.

“Well, howdy! Apologies for the mess, I’m not too good at Floo travel. There aren’t a lot of fireplaces in America, especially where it’s hotter’n blue blazes and doesn’t get below 60 even in the winter.” He drew his wand and Vanished the soot before Harry could do it.

“That’s quite alright mister, uh…” Harry fumbled. He’d purportedly saved the guy’s life— fuck, he’d been the man, and he still didn’t know his last name.

“Bubba’s just fine,” the man said with a big, toothy grin. He held out his hand for a handshake. He had thick fingers and a strong, warm grip that was familiar to Harry because he had had those hands. “Now who’s this fine specimen?” he said, looking at Luna with appreciation.

Luna perked up, lifted her head and, Harry could hardly keep from laughing, struck a pose.

“This is Luna,” Harry said, letting Bubba look. Bubba reached up a hand and Luna let him stroke her on her head and tickle her chin gently with just the pad of his middle finger. Luna ate up the attention, leaning into his touch.

“Beautiful,” Bubba hissed to her. “Pretty as a peach.”

“You speak Parseltongue too?” Harry asked incredulously before he could temper his reaction.

“They told me at the embassy that y’all don’t take too kindly to us hissers round here, but where I’m from, it ain’t no thing,” Bubba shrugged, petting Luna’s head down to her nose one last time before dropping his hand. “Hard to talk to snakes without it, though, I reckon,” he winked.

Harry suddenly realized that he had never been anywhere except Great Britain his entire life. He vowed to take Draco on a holiday sometime soon.

“I’ve got your snake just downstairs, as well as all my others if you’d like to meet them,” Harry offered.

“Lead the way,” Bubba said.

Once downstairs, Bubba’s eyes landed on the boomslang’s enclosure and he rushed right up to the glass. “Oh, my baby, I missed you so much,” he said gruffly, and Harry thought he saw his eyes glisten with a little extra wetness. Harry himself found it hard to believe that anyone would miss this particular boomslang that much, but to each their own. Harry waved the glass open for Bubba who walked right in, mostly watching his steps and only crushing a few plants.

Harry expected him to use some sort of spell since he didn’t seem to have any gloves or hooks on him, but Bubba just reached up and plucked the boomslang right out of the tree. The menace curled himself around Bubba’s forearm happily, wrapping around his wrist and tangling in his fingers. “This is a great setup you have for him,” Bubba said, taking in the habitat. “I’ll have to pick your brain sometime about it. I just have some parrot perches at cat trees for him in my shop. Or, well, had I guess. Still rebuilding.”

Bubba stepped back out of the enclosure carrying the boomslang with him. “Anyway,” Bubba continued, “thanks for taking care of Mergatroid for me.”

Harry heard a snort from the kitchen. He slowly turned until he was facing the boomslang, who had his nose up, looking indignant. “That’s your name?!” Harry hissed, beginning to laugh. Even Luna was holding back a chuckle.

“Oh, don’t make fun of the guy, it’s from his favorite movie. Watches it with my granddaughter all the time. What’s it called, something about a brave toaster?”

“It’s ‘The Brave Little Toaster to the Rescue,’ dad,” the boomslang…Mergatroid corrected, uncharacteristically verbose.

Harry blinked several times, certain he had misheard. This couldn’t be the same creature Harry had gotten to know through swearing and threats on his life. Yet here he was, speaking in swear-free full sentences and calling Bubba ‘dad.’ Madness.

Bubba asked to meet the rest of the snakes and they all loved him, which didn’t surprise Harry in the slightest. Harry let them chat and snuck over towards the kitchen where Draco had appeared, hovering in the doorway when he heard all the Parseltongue being spoken. He had a plate of lemon meringue pie and fed Harry a forkful. It was divine and Harry told him so. Draco kissed him, obviously pleased, and disappeared back into the kitchen only to return with a small to-go box with a slice of pie in it for Bubba that he handed to Harry.

Once Bubba was done laughing good-naturedly at Dulce’s knock-knock jokes, he approached Harry once more. “Thanks again for taking Mergatroid in. I hope he didn’t give you too much trouble.”

“Oh, he gave me plenty of trouble,” Harry scoffed. “I took very good care of him, sir, but—”

“Bubba.”

“What?”

“It’s Bubba, son, none of that ‘sir’ business, makes me feel old,” he winked, scratching his belly. Harry tried not to remember what it was like to have that same belly.

“Right, Bubba. I took very good care of him, but you have to understand, he bullied me,” he said, sounding petulant but owning it. 

Bubba laughed. “He’s always been an ornery lil fella, bless his heart, but he’s a sweeite deep down, aren’t you, you little fucker?” he said, holding the snake up to his face.

That’s where he got the language from, then.

“I saw no evidence of any ‘sweetie.’” Harry objected. He sent me to St. Mungo’s multiple times. Not sure what you heard, but each instance was life-threatening.”

“As intended,” Murgatroid gloated.

“Murgatroid, quit being ugly. This man took good care of you. You need to apologize,” Bubba scolded with a little bop on the snake’s nose.

Murgatroid looked affronted. “Really, dad? To him? And in front of all my friends?”

Harry barely held in a laugh. Even Luna looked perplexed. The bastard hadn’t been any nicer to the other snakes than he had been to Harry, as far as he knew.

“Yes. You apologize right now and you better say it like you mean it,” Bubba threatened.

Harry had never seen the boomslang look so livid. His scowl was deadly and was coiled in such a way that it looked like if he had shoulders, they would be hunched.

“Sorry.” he forced out and to Harry it didn’t really sound like he meant it, but he supposed that was the best he was going to get.

Harry walked them back upstairs to the Floo and they exchanged their goodbyes, making plans to talk soon about habitat construction.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Harry said, remembering the box in his hand. “Before you go, my boyfriend—” Harry still got a little flutter in his chest when he said the word, “—made lemon meringue pie, would you like some?”

“I’d love some. Y’all are too kind, thank you,” Bubba said, sounding delighted.

Harry handed him the box and as Bubba reached out his hands to take it, Harry realized his mistake just a second too late. 

Mergatroid slithered down Bubba's wrist, leaned forward, and bit Harry on the thumb.