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Potter’s Parselprostate (and the Chamber of Secrets)

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“Thank you, Headmistress. With the five year mark approaching, we’re hoping this will be the last of it.”

“Yes, Miss Granger, as are we. Closing the Chamber of Secrets permanently has been of perpetual concern to the board and our faculty, never mind the owls from parents.”

Malfoy nodded in agreement even as Harry sank further into his seat and pulled his attention away from the portraits lining the wall behind McGonagall’s desk. “But nobody can even get into it!”

“That may be, but it doesn’t stop them from trying. Now that Weasley’s story about getting into the Chamber is public knowledge, it’s only so long until somebody stumbles on the password.”

“But if you could stop them from trying –”

“If we could, we most certainly would!” McGonagall turned the full force of her gaze on Harry. “However, as you may well recall, students are not so easily thwarted when it comes to discovering Hogwarts’ secrets. On Tuesday Mr. Filch caught half the Gryffindor Seventh Years hissing at fixtures in the girls lavatory. Last month it was the Slytherin prefects. If Granger and Malfoy say they’ve got a solution, it would be irresponsible to ignore it.”

“But you don’t know what you’re asking!”

“I realise it’s been some time since you’ve had cause to use these particular skills, and that they may bring up some unfortunate memories.” Harry opened his mouth to object, but the Headmistress held up a hand for silence. “We’ve all had that experience a time or two during the process of rebuilding. Perhaps you can find some solace in using Voldemort’s skill to undo his damage. And, while it may not be any more fair now than it was then, you are, I’m afraid, the only person who can complete this task.”

Harry crossed his arms and looked away, avoiding Hermione’s hopeful stare in favour of a close examination of the rug.

“Potter, do we have your cooperation?” Harry nodded once, still refusing to look up. “Wonderful!” The Headmistress stood to shake hands with the trio, ushering them towards her fireplace. “We’ll make sure you have access when the time comes. Until then, Granger, Malfoy, Potter – Hogwarts is in your debt.”

They had barely stepped out of the Floo to Hermione’s office before Harry turned on her, teeth gritted and face flushed. “That was not fair.”

“You promised you’d come in and let me make the argument!”

You, Hermione. I promised to hear you make the argument. Here!”

“What difference does it make? It’s the same argument. We’ve been working on this for years, this is the last bit remaining, and you’re the only one who can do it.”

“I can’t do it.”

“What do you mean? You just agreed to do it!”

Harry collapsed back into a chair. “I had to! It was – It was McGonagall. It was Hogwarts. You knew I wouldn’t say no. But that doesn’t mean I can.”

“I don’t understand. You will, but you won’t, because you can’t?”

“Yes. Yes. That’s exactly it.”

“But you can. That kind of ability doesn’t go away. Besides which, we know it hasn’t.”

Harry’s voice fell to a furious whisper as he tilted his head towards Malfoy, who was leaning, legs crossed, on the edge of Hermione’s desk. “I am not talking about this here.”

“Please, Potter, do continue. I’m rather enjoying your imitation of an angry Quaffle.”

“Harry…” Hermione sent him her most sympathetic look. “Draco and I have been working on this project together. He’s the one who found the texts –”

Harry snorted.

“—AND he supplied the works that confirmed that it’s in Parseltongue. He’s been critical to the project all along.”

“Oh, yeah, Hermione?” Harry turned towards Malfoy. “Throwing money at things and holding on to dark books? I can see how he’s been instrumental to change. Definitely want to discuss the Chamber of Secrets with Lucius junior here.”

“Harry!”

“It’s fine, Granger. If the quality of his insults is anything to go by, Potter’s still stuck in sixth year. Must make it very difficult to understand change.”

“Seriously, Hermione. I’m not working with him.”

“There’s nothing Draco doesn’t know about the project, and his insights into how Voldemort would’ve protected the Chamber during the battle have been instrumental. Besides which, we’re almost certain that the ritual will take two people, and he and I are the only Reconstruction Committee members who are willing. He has to know everything.”

“Hermione…”

“No, Harry. This is too important. And you’ve promised McGonagall. And anyway, if there’s actually a problem maybe we can fix it.”

“Doubt it.”

“Harry, come on. What is it?”

“No.”

“Harry, look – ”

“Hermione. How do you know that I can still speak Parseltongue?”

“You told me so.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did. A few years ago, at the Burrow, we were all sitting around the fire, and Ron asked, and you said –”

“No, I didn’t. Who actually told you?”

“Ron asked, and you – oh, I guess... I guess originally Ginny did. But we all figured you’d be able to, anyway. Why does that make a difference?”

“Has anyone else heard me speaking Parseltongue?”

“No.”

“And how many times did Ginny hear me speak Parseltongue?”

“She only mentioned it that once, but why –?”

“And how close was that to the end?”

“I don’t know, a month before? A few weeks? Does that have something to do with it?”

“After we broke up – what changed?”

“You stopped being able to speak Parseltongue?”

“No.” Harry dropped his head into his hands. “Something else that... she told me she’d told you. Then. That she… We tried… I realised –”

Hermione clapped her hands over her mouth, and her soft, “Oh, no,” was muffled by her fingers.

“Oh, yes.”

“That’s – that’s what – oh.”

Yes. And since then it’s only happened in the same... circumstances. Which ruins that anyway. And there’s no one to, now, so, I can’t.”

“But what if you... alone?”

Harry flushed. “Doesn’t work. It’s not enough to... there has to be, you know, someone else.”

“But with magic, there must be a way.”

Harry shook his head miserably. “There isn’t. I can’t, you know….”

“Reach?”

Focus,” he hissed. “Magic takes focus.”

Hermione flushed. “There’s a Muggle device, with a suction cup, that –”

“No! Hermione, no. I just can’t, okay? Just wait a few weeks and tell McGonagall it didn’t work, alright?”

Hermione’s pleas were cut off by a snort.

“Or you could just have me fuck you.”

Two heads snapped towards Malfoy.

“Please. You must realise I’m not actually a first year Hufflepuff, and your quasi-euphemisms are hardly sophisticated. Potter here needs it up the arse to translate, fine.”

“Fine?” Harry squeaked.

“Unless you’ve got a secret boyfriend, I hardly see another option.”

“No!”

“Me neither. So glad we agree. I’ve got Slytherin’s texts, my office is three doors down and across the hall from Granger’s. Tell the Welcome Witch you’re there for the Hogwarts Reconstruction Committee. Tomorrow. I have a lunch meeting, so let’s say four.” Malfoy raised a pale eyebrow. “Unless you want to fail the wizarding world, of course.”

Neither Harry nor Hermione managed a word for several long moments after the door clicked shut.

* * *

Hermione’s apologies were profuse but, Harry realised after the fact, not actually accompanied by retractions or alternatives. So he found himself gritting his teeth in the Ministry lift and knocking on Draco Malfoy’s office door at ten past four.

Malfoy waved the door open without standing and gestured to the two overstuffed leather wingback chairs that sat in front of his desk. Harry took one and crossed his arms, studying Malfoy’s darker, greener version of the rug in Hermione’s office.

With a sigh, Malfoy pushed his chair back from the mahogany desktop and retrieved a intricately carved box bearing Slytherin’s mark from the shelves behind him, setting it down gently in front of Harry.

Silence loomed.

Harry traced the rug’s patterned border with the toe of his right trainer. In between rounds of furious wanking, he’d come up with several dozen objections in the day since their last meeting. He was fairly sure it was illegal, and immoral, and wrong. He could explain why. He had alternatives. True, he couldn’t quite reach that spot just yet, but it wasn’t for a lack of trying. And, upon further consideration, Hermione’s sex toy suggestion seemed perfectly reasonable. Certainly more reasonable than letting Malfoy fuck him in a Ministry office. And he would explain all of that, except perhaps the bits about fingering himself, just as soon as he started talking. Which he would surely do, just as soon as he got over the idea of talking to Malfoy about the whole affair. Which would happen at any moment.

“You realise, Potter, that the Ministry workday ends at 5? Perhaps we could get on with it?”

Harry’s spluttering was rather less coherent than his planned explanations were meant to be. Malfoy ignored it entirely, standing and beginning to unbutton his robes instead.

“I assume you need to see the texts in order to translate them. If you’d bend over the desk and drop your trousers, you ought to have a satisfactory view. There’s pen and paper on the desk. If you’ll be unable to write, a standard surveillance spell should adequately record a verbal translation. Granger or I can transcribe it tomorrow.”

Malfoy had draped his robes over his desk chair and moved on to rolling up the sleeves of his black button-down as he spoke. It was paired with grey trousers and a black leather belt, which he moved to next. “I don’t anticipate interruptions at this hour, but I’ve cast deterrent wards on the door and blocked the Floo regardless.” His belt landed on the desk with a heavy thud, inches away from the box, and Malfoy’s hands came to rest on the button at his waistband. “This might move a bit more quickly if you stand up, Potter.”

“No!” Harry gripped the chair’s armrests and looked up. “Malfoy, listen, this is crazy. Just – just keep your trousers on and I’ll figure out another way to do this.”

“Oh? Like what?”

“Like, I can – things that are none of your business, okay? Just, give me the box and I’ll work it out.”

Malfoy dropped his hands into his pockets. “Ah, I see. Just let you walk out of here with the near-priceless ancient texts that are the key to securing Hogwarts, so that you can translate them in some as-yet-to-be-determined manner, which may or may not involve losing or staining them?”

Harry nodded desperately.

“Yes, because after five years of work, I’m prepared to fail at securing Hogwarts because you spill a takeaway on Slytherin’s plans for the Chamber of Secrets. Do you think that’s particularly likely, Potter?”

“I’m not gonna spill on the books!”

“No, because they’re not leaving my sight. We have a plan, and while you may not particularly like it, you have agreed to translate the texts.”

“But…” Harry trailed off, his eyes darting around the room as though he might find an alternative in the bookcases.

“Unless you’d rather try this with A New Theory of Numerology, you might find dropping trou a bit more useful than craning your neck like a first year in Flourish & Blotts.”

Harry remained silent, and Malfoy sighed. “I realise this is not the ideal situation. But short of advertising for a replacement, which I assume you’d rather not do –” Harry shook his head furiously “—this is the most ideal situation possible. For what it’s worth, I’ve no interest in selling any sordid details to the Prophet, nor do I particularly anticipate enjoying the experience. But, having done this before –” Harry’s eyes widened “— yes, Potter, having done this before I can guarantee that I won’t cause any injury. And if you have another suggestion, I’m happy to entertain it.”

“Suggestions!” They’d flown out of Harry’s brain right about when Malfoy had shed his robes, but he’d had plenty. “Yeah, I have suggestions.”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “Well, then?”

“I was thinking, it doesn’t have to be, you know, your... You know.”

“For Salazar’s sake, are you entirely unable to say the word?”

“Excuse me if I’m not used to talking about this with you, of all people!”

“Cock, Potter, is the word you’re looking for. But do continue.”

“Fine. Your cock. If the issue is that I need to… you know.” Malfoy sighed. “Fine! Need to get fucked up the arse, is that better?”

“Loads.”

“And I can’t do it myself, and there isn’t anyone else to do it, then it still doesn’t have to be your—your cock, okay?”

“How do you figure that, exactly?”

“You could use your fingers. Or a...toy, of some sort. It could work. It worked when…”

“When the Weaselette strapped it on?”

Yes. God, Malfoy. Do you have to be so bloody crude?”

“If it gets us somewhere. You do realise you’ll still have to stand?”

“Wait – you’ll…?”

“Fuck you with a hand? If it gets the job done, Potter, I’ll fuck you with my favorite quill.”

“Uh, no. That’s really okay.”

They stared at each other for a long moment before Harry stood, nervously crossing his arms in front of him. “Right then, so. Should I just?” Harry nodded at the edge of the desk.

“It seems easiest.”

“Right.”

Harry took a deep breath and stood. “I’m going to have to talk to it.”

“Talk to it? You mean your…?” Malfoy gestured vaguely at Harry’s middle and looked extremely skeptical.

“What? No! The box. The snake on the box.”

“Oh.” Malfoy sighed, relieved. “That would’ve been a bit... unusual. Even given the rest of this.”

“I do actually know the difference between snakes and... well, you know, I think cock, Malfoy, is the word you were looking for.”

“Yes, Potter, very clever. Why do you need to talk to it?”

“Well, Parseltongue isn’t so much a reading language, usually. Snakes... not really big writers. So whatever’s in there, the snake will most likely have to read it to me.”

“Do you seriously mean to tell me that you’ll be making conversation with a wood carving while I finger your arsehole?”

“This wasn’t exactly my idea!”

“Good grief. Very well, then. And you can’t start talking to it until we’re mid-act, as it were?”

“Believe me, I would if I could.”

“Yes, lovely. But you can’t. So. Writing or surveillance spell?”

Harry grimaced. “Neither. My handwriting’s shite enough as it is and you’ll just hear hissing.”

“Fine,” Malfoy huffed. “Are you actually going to remember?” Harry nodded once, still focused on the box. “Fine. Then I do believe that’s all the logistics save the main act.”

“Right. Er, do we – should we, that is...?” Harry turned and gestured back and forth in the space between them.

“Oh for – you’re the Parselmouth, Potter, but I don’t feel a particular need to have you gnawing at my face.”

“Fine. I just thought...whatever. Can you just give me a moment?”

“A moment for what, exactly?”

“To get in the mood a bit, I suppose.”

“If I turn back around and you’re wanking…”

“Christ, Malfoy. What the fuck do you think I’m here to do? There’s not a translation spell buried up there. It takes a little effort.”

Malfoy threw his hands up in obvious exasperation and turned his back. Harry tried to ignore him completely, even as he started to restlessly tap his finger against his arm. Shutting his eyes, Harry dropped his hand to his jeans and gave himself a cursory sort of palming, trying to fill his mind with pictures of cocks and arses and muscular backs and long, lean legs.

He couldn’t bring himself to take anything off, but when he felt his cock stir he bent over the edge of the desk, burying his head in his folded arms and letting his hair fall forward to obscure his peripheral vision.

He spread his legs and felt the denim stretched tight over his arse. He tried to keep those random images on a loop through his head as he took a deep breath. “Okay, you can turn around.”

He heard Malfoy walk around him slowly, tried to ignore the sensation of being examined from afar. The soft footsteps stopped as Malfoy came to stand behind him in the space between the wingback chairs.

The leather squeaked, as though Malfoy was leaning on it. “You do realise you’ve still got your clothes on.”

“Malfoy –” Harry sighed and shook his head into his arm before lifting an arm and reaching down to unzip his flies.

He’d begun to push at his waistband one-handed, head still buried, when Malfoy slapped his hand away. “Let’s not add to the absurdity of the situation, eh, Potter?”

Harry nodded, and brought his arm up the desk again.

His back tightened when Malfoy slipped his fingers into Harry’s waistband and pulled. Harry spread his legs apart further, keeping his jeans from dropping below his thighs, and tightened his arse. Malfoy laid a hand on the middle of his back. “Relax, Potter.”

Harry nodded and tried to draw in in a deep breath when he heard Malfoy release one. A hand made its way up Harry’s thigh before moving to slip a single finger between the clenched muscles of his arse.

Malfoy pushed forward when Harry gasped, circling his hole and beginning to wedge his finger into the tight ring he found there. It stung, and Harry jerked forward and away from him.

“Uh, Malfoy?” He pulled his head up an inch or two, though was still steadfastly focused on his own forearm.

“Yes?”

“Uh, did you. Lube?”

Malfoy sighed and withdrew his hand. “No, I did not. Is there some ridiculous Muggle concoction you prefer?”

“Left pocket.”

Harry felt Malfoy squeeze a hand into his jeans and wriggled to try and make room. He imagined Malfoy’s likely reaction to the suspiciously well-squeezed container of Blackbeard’s Bottom Boysenberry Boy Butter he’d stuck in his pocket, just in case. He flushed when he heard a snort behind him, though Malfoy had the… well, courtesy was a strong word, but he coughed to try to cover it up. He rested what Harry assumed to be the the lid on Harry’s back. Harry heard a wet squelching noise, then Malfoy reached forward to shove the whole affair back in Harry’s pocket before straightening. “Alright, then?”

Harry nodded and bowed his head again. As soon as he felt Malfoy's hand slide into the cleft of his arse he pushed back, so that Malfoy’s finger suddenly drove through the lingering resistance.

Neither moved for a long moment. Harry’s shallow breath had grown faster, and he thought Malfoy’s might have as well. The hand that had rested on Harry’s back was gone, and he thought he heard fabric rustling behind him.

Harry tried not to imagine how he must look. How Malfoy’s fingers must look, buried knuckle deep inside of him, the tight muscle of that pale forearm in stark contrast to the black hair and dark pink skin that Harry had seen in the mirror.

Harry pulled forward and then pushed back, jarring Malfoy into a rhythm. Harry raised his head and muttered, “More.”

Malfoy’s obliged, slipping another finger in beside the first and twisting them so that Harry arched his back and moaned lightly.

He thrust back again, trying to encourage Malfoy’s fingers to hit the necessary spot, and when it came close he released a low, promisingly sibilant, “Yesss.” He pulled his head up and faced the box, swallowing heavily and sliding into a series of low moans when Malfoy’s fingers sped up.

The wood carvings began to shift as the snake at their centre uncoiled and began to writhe.

Yes,” Harry moaned, “Hello, snake of Slytherin.”

Malfoy stilled when Harry spoke, and Harry plunged back against him impatiently.

Will you reveal the secrets—” Harry wiggled his arse backwards, still trying to direct Malfoy’s half-buried hand, “—of your master?” The snake on the box had stopped moving. “Mister snake, I seek your contents.”

Malfoy snorted behind him and Harry snapped his head around and glared. Malfoy seemed either chastened or shocked, and Harry didn’t much care which so long as he started moving again.

When Harry turned back to the box, the wooden snake was returning to its original state. “Misssster ssssnake,” he hissed.

“Potter.” Harry whipped his head around again, about ready to explode. Malfoy held up his free hand. “You’re speaking English.”

“What?”

“Mister snake? You’re not speaking Parseltounge.”

“I – what?”

“You were for a minute, but then...English.”

“Oh.”

Malfoy withdrew his fingers. “Rather.”

Harry was left, pants around his thighs, arse to the air, while Malfoy went in search of a handkerchief.

“You’re giving up?” Harry’s voice was half hope, half frustration.

Malfoy pulled a cloth from his desk and scrubbed at his fingers while Harry yanked his jeans back up and stood, zipping his flies.

“What the fuck, Malfoy? You call me in here to stick a finger up my arse and then just quit?”

“I think you’ll find that Mister Snake beat me to it.”

“I think you’ll find that Mister Snake was rather uninspired.”

“Pardon?”

Harry’s eyes widened at the sharp edge to Malfoy’s voice, but annoyance won out. “I told you, it’s not enough to shove something in there, and you can bet your arse I wouldn’t be here if that’s all it took.”

“What are you on about, exactly?”

“It works because I have to be distracted. It’s not like learning another language. I have to just... zone out and get into it.”

“I hope you’re not telling me that the Weasel was doing that all through the war.”

“Fuck’s sake. The constant threat of death was really enough, thanks.”

“If you need me to threaten your life, you could’ve just said so.”

Harry scowled. “Thanks, but I think it’d have to be a credible threat.”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. “It would be.”

“Right,” Harry scoffed. “Unless your killing’s better than your fucking, I think not.”

“What exactly are you implying, Potter?”

“That you’re either a terrible fuck or a lazy one, and that if you’d like me to do you this rather large favour, you might try putting in a bit more effort.”

“Might I remind you that it was your brilliant plan to use a finger?”

“Yeah, to fuck an arse, not call the bloody lifts.”

“It’s not exactly inspirational, poking around there like your healer.”

“Oh, no?” Harry cast a pointed look at Malfoy’s tented trousers, “It seems your Mister Snake would beg to differ.”

Malfoy spoke through gritted teeth. “I am a young gay wizard who’s just had a willing arse bent over his desk. Of course I’m hard.”

“Is that why you’re doing this? Can’t pull on your own, so you’ve got to do it on the job?”

Malfoy’s belt buckle clattered against the box when he stepped forward. He bumped into the desk as he leaned over to grab Harry’s t-shirt, twisting it in his hand and pulling Harry forward until Harry could feel the heat of his breath.

“Let’s get one thing clear, Potter. You’re the one who’s here because he can’t get a date; you know nothing about my life or my skills, so you can shove your petty insults right up your arse. My fingers have left plenty of room.” He released Harry’s shirt and sent him reeling backwards.

Harry steadied himself on an armchair and looked up. Malfoy’s fists were bunched at his sides and his face was flushed, pupils dilated and his mouth slightly open. He was breathing heavily and his shoulders were tense. The bulge in his trousers was beginning to recede though, Harry noticed, it was still impressive. Rather like Harry’s own, which was, for reasons he didn’t especially want to consider, becoming larger.

Malfoy clenched his forearms, fine blond hair and pale skin rippling over tightened muscles, and Harry felt his breath catch. Draco Malfoy was quite attractive. He hadn’t considered that in all of this. And even if he’d been a bastard about it, Malfoy was right that it had been a while.

“Whatever, Malfoy. But you’ve still got a problem to solve.”

Malfoy took a deep breath and exhaled slowly before continuing in marginally calmer tones. “I’ve got a problem? You’re the one who’s made promises to McGonagall.”

“Which was your and Hermione’s idea. It’s going to look pretty bad if you can’t deliver.”

“Likewise.”

“Fine, then. We’ve got a problem.”

“Obviously.”

“Well?”

Malfoy crossed his arms. “Well, what? You’re the one with a Parselprostate. What is it going to take?”

“I’ve already told you, it has to be good sex.”

“Which would be a bit easier to manage if you weren’t quite so priggish.”

“And if you’d make a bit of an effort.”

“If you’d make it worth making.”

“Well maybe if you weren’t so damn official about everything.”

“Merlin, you actually do want to gnaw on my face.”

“I don’t want to do any of it!” Harry shouted. “I want to go home, pour myself a stiff drink, and forget this ever happened. But I can’t do that, can I?”

“Potter, what did you just say?”

Harry looked confused. “That I want to go home?”

“Before that. You may have actually had a solution.”

“I did?” Harry followed Malfoy’s gaze to the cut crystal decanter on the sideboard between Malfoy’s bookshelves. “Oh. I did.”

“Rather.”

“Right then. Well. Okay. What have you got?”

“Not here, Potter. There’s only so drunk one can get on the job, and this is going to take a bit more dedication to the task. Tomorrow night.”

“I can’t. It’s pub night.”

“And that’s a problem because?”

“I’m not skipping pub night to help you with this. Even Hermione will be there. Night off, Malfoy.”

“Potter, I realise that you are not renowned for your intellect, but isn’t it possible that going to pub night and setting out to get drunk may not be wholly incompatible?”

“Oh. Right. I thought you meant that we should drink together.”

“I think I can do without that particular experience, thanks. Proceed with your pub night. I’ll key you in to the wards, you can take the Floo to the Manor when you’re ready.”

“To the Manor?” Harry wrinkled his nose.” You want me to have sex with you there?”

Malfoy scowled. “Problem, Potter? We have a vested interest in keeping the texts safe. The Ministry isn’t secure enough and Gringotts is too inaccessible. With the exception of this outing, that’s where they stay.”

“You can’t just bring them over?”

“To pub night? To your hovel?” Harry glared at him. “No, Potter. Much as it pains us both, I’m afraid I have to invite you into my home.”

“Not afraid Daddy’s going to find you engaged in buggery?”

Malfoy stared. “Are you stupid, Potter, or just too illiterate for the Prophet? My father’s in France and, if Snape’s portrait is to be trusted at all, it turns out buggery is one of his preferred pastimes.”

“Oh.” Harry muttered. “Okay. Right.”

“Shall I expect you around eight?”

“Eight? Jesus, what kind of a lightweight are you?”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “What kind of a masochist are you, to enjoy the drunk Weasel’s company for any longer than that?”

“Watch it, Malfoy.”

“Fine. What would you suggest?”

“Ten. I’ll be buzzed, but it’s not too late to get on with it.”

“Fine. Ten o’clock. And Potter?”

Harry looked at him expectantly.

“Do avoid getting so drunk as to foil our plans, would you?”

“You’re the one who’s got to perform, Malfoy. My arse will be in fine condition.”

“Will it?” Malfoy smirked.

Harry’s cheeks heated and he tried not to avoid Malfoy’s eyes. “Guess you’ll find out.”

“I’d say I was looking forward to it, but let’s not stretch credulity.”

“Same to you.”

“Till tomorrow, Potter.”

Malfoy reached for the box and set it back on the shelves behind his desk. Harry watched him moving, trousers clinging to muscular thighs and a tight arse, and then shook his head to clear it. “Right, Malfoy. See you then.”

* * *

The grey, stone foyer of Malfoy Manor was almost entirely bare save a tapestry, an enormous crystal chandelier, and the set of fireplace tools that Harry unceremoniously knocked over whilst trying to extricate himself from the Floo.

He’d almost managed, too, by the time Malfoy appeared in the doorway.

“I heard a catastrophe in progress. Stood to reason you’d arrived.”

Harry was so preoccupied with trying to balance the poker on its stand that he almost missed the insult. Too late for a proper retort, he settled for adding a glare to his greeting.

In lieu of a response, Malfoy turned and strode from the room, leading Harry down a dimly lit corridor.

Malfoy leaned into one of the heavy wood doors that lined the hallway, pushing it open with his shoulder to reveal a parlor complete with overstuffed furniture, several landscapes and, Harry noticed, a full bar. Malfoy walked directly to the bar top and retrieved a tumbler full of something clear and looking, as it sloshed up the sides of the glass, slightly more viscous than water.

Harry watched him tip his head back and down the remaining liquor. He slammed it down on the bar and swallowed. “Ready, Potter?”

“What are you drinking?”

Malfoy quirked an eyebrow. “Vodka. Fawley’s. I suppose you’re unfamiliar?” Harry nodded. “One of the old families distills it in France and markets it to Muggles under a different name. Horrific estate, full of off-colour geese. But they’ve done it for ages. Delicious.” He pulled down another glass and poured a measure. “Try some.”

The glass was cool to the touch, and the liquid slid down Harry’s throat as though it was water. “Wow.”

“Better than that tripe they serve at the Leaky, no?”

“Yeah, it’s really good, actually.”

“No hangover, either,” Malfoy drawled. “Want another?”

Harry nodded and proffered the glass. Malfoy matched him as he downed it, and refilled their glasses as soon as they’d both hit the bar. They drank another in silence before Malfoy cleared his throat. “Ready now?”

Malfoy was leaning against the bar, his elbow braced against the wood, his legs crossed. He was long and lean and watching Harry intently, so that the latter had to resist the urge to squirm under his gaze, staving off the intensity of his focus with a meager “You’re awfully eager.”

“We’ve got students to save and Basilisks to vanquish. And I believe I’m supposed to plunder your arse while we’re at it. Or are you just here for the company?”

“No,” Harry laughed, then stopped abruptly. “I mean…I didn’t mean it like that. Just, it’s more the plundering and world-saving. For you too, I’d wager. Cause we’ve never really, you know.”

“Not best pals? Yes, I’d noticed that. Plundering, then?”

“You really are keen, aren’t you?”

“No!” Malfoy shouted, then looked sheepishly at his drink. “It’s strong.”

Harry shook out his limbs. “Yeah, a bit.” He grinned. “Not gonna get in the way of your performance, is it?”

Malfoy snorted. “Never. Yours?”

Harry shook his head. “Told you my arse would be fine.”

“Believe it when I see it.”

“Oh yeah?”

Malfoy stepped closer to him, and almost whispered. “Yeah.”

Harry launched himself at Malfoy, pressing their lips together and lacing his fingers through Malfoy’s hair. He heard a surprised sort of a noise but pressed onwards, opening his mouth ever so slightly and feeling the corners of Malfoy’s lips turn up as he returned the kiss. Harry felt Malfoy’s chest press against him and arched forwards, seeking Malfoy’s tongue with his own.

His attentions were returned and he found himself pressed against the bar, the hard oak top pressing into his back and forcing his pelvis forward. His body met Malfoy’s and he rolled his hips, searching for evidence of returned interest.

Malfoy found it first, pulling away to grin. “Who’s keen now, Potter?”

Blinking, Harry stared at him. Malfoy’s pupils were dark and wide, his usually pale skin flushed pink. He was rolling his bottom lip with his typically perfect teeth and breathing a bit quickly and looking at Harry with an excited, focused attention that Harry hadn’t known he craved.

Sucking in a breath, Harry pulled back to study the man in front of him. Strong, narrow shoulders, and a firm chest, and collarbones that created shallow concavities that begged to be licked. And Malfoy was studying him too, eyes seeming to be trained first on the mess of his hair, then on his neck, then on his lower lip, which Harry knew had to be swollen.

Malfoy’s gaze travelled the length of his body, closely followed by an exploratory hand, which traced the outline of Harry’s bicep.

“Why are you doing this?” Harry blurted, startled by the touch.

There was the slightest wobble to Malfoy’s movements as he stepped back. “What?”

“Why’re you doing this? For real?”

“Saving the world, obviously. Not just your thing, you know.”

Harry snorted. “Not really yours either.”

“Potter,” Malfoy started, then wavered, stopped, and turned to pour himself another glass. “Just shut up, would you?”

“Make me.” The slurring was so indistinct Harry thought Malfoy probably hadn’t noticed it at all, really.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Malfoy threw back half of his drink, descending into a coughing fit when Harry responded.

“Yeah.”

Malfoy cleared his throat and turned towards Harry, swirling the transparent liquid in the bottom of his tumbler. “Would you? Would you like that, Potter? Want me to fuck you over the bar? Want me to fuck your arse until you’re begging for it?” ”

“Well,” Harry drew out the syllables, imitating Malfoy’s drawl, “if it’s to save the world, I suppose I’ll have to make do."

A familiar, competitive spark flared behind Malfoy’s eyes. “Make do?” Malfoy pushed him back up against the bar, grabbed Harry’s hand, and brought it to rest on the distinct bulge at the front of his trousers. “Make do with this, why don’t you?”

Harry started leaning into the desire to grab Malfoy through his trousers, but he withdrew his hand before he got a firm grip.

Instead, he sank to his knees, pulled open Malfoy’s flies, and drew out his cock.

Malfoy was, for once, speechless.

Harry locked eyes with him as he flicked his tongue into Malfoy’s slit and then slipped his mouth over the head of his cock.

Malfoy gasped and tried to thrust into his mouth, only to have Harry pull away, swirling his tongue around Malfoy’s tip and wrapping a hand around his shaft.

“Fuck, Potter.” Malfoy cupped the back of Harry’s head and canted his hips forward, eager to be immersed in Harry’s mouth.

Harry withdrew entirely in response to his efforts, letting Malfoy’s cock fall free of his mouth with a wet pop. “Like that, Malfoy?”

The pause lasted just a moment, but it was long enough for Malfoy to narrow his eyes, size Harry up, and jerk him to his feet. “Not as much as I’m going to like your arse.”

He spun Harry around and pushed him towards the bar, coming up behind him and gripping his hips. Harry pushed back into the touch, feeling Malfoy’s fingers knead his hipbones.

Then Malfoy was sliding his hands to Harry’s waistband, unzipping his flies and yanking his jeans down round his thighs. “Bend over, Potter. I want to see your arse before I fuck it.”

Harry, swallowing deeply and finding it rather hard to think, spread his legs and felt a single fingertip trail down his crack and over the swell of his bollocks, until Malfoy dipped his hand into Harry’s jeans, cupping them and humming his approval when Harry pressed back into his hand.

“You like that, don’t you?” Harry nodded. “You want to show me your hole, don’t you, Potter?

“Yes,” Harry whispered.

“Wait here. Don’t move.”

Harry closed his eyes and gripped the edge of the bar as cool air glanced across his arse. He heard Malfoy stumble over the edge of the rug with a muttered profanity, then wood scraping against wood, then a thud as Malfoy set something down in front of him.

He opened his eyes again to find himself face to face with the box containing Slytherin’s plans, its serpentine carvings entirely dormant.

Then Malfoy was behind him, the heat of his body covering Harry and the bulge in his trousers pressing into his arse and a gravelly whisper in his ear. “Save the world, Potter. I want to see you do it with my cock up your arse.”

Harry groaned and nodded, arching forward when Malfoy’s hands came to the hem of his jumper and began to tug it over his head.

It landed in a pile, closely followed by Malfoy’s top and trousers and, with Malfoy’s encouragement, Harry’s jeans and trainers.

Naked, Harry spread his legs even further, trying to focus on the task at hand while Malfoy murmured an unfamiliar incantation and slipped a finger into Harry’s arse. Harry felt the first joint push though the tight ring of muscle, then the second, and then Harry let out a guttural, keening sort of sound when his knuckle came to rest against Harry’s skin.

“Like that, do you?”

Harry moaned.

“Tell me, Potter.’ Malfoy twisted his finger, hitting the spot that made Harry arch and cry out. “Tell me you like it.”

“Yes.”

“Tell me.”

“I like it.”

“Tell the snake, now. Tell the snake what you want me to do to you.”

Harry tried to relax, tried to focus, tried to assimilate the sensation of Malfoy pushing into his arsehole over and over, striking up a steady rhythm that made him want nothing more than to be spread open and fucked till he forgot his own name.

He raised his head to look at the carving on the front of the box and swallowed, trying to let the sensations wash over him.

Almost. Almost. Instead, he murmured, “More, fuck me,” and pushed back against the incursion.

“More?” Malfoy sounded torn between lust and amusement. “You want me to fuck you? Is that it?”

“Yes!” Harry gasped, pushing his arse backwards to show Malfoy his hole, naked and wanting

“Yeah?” Malfoy sighed, leaning forward so that Harry could feel the heat of his breath in his ear.

“Fuck, yes. Fuck me.”

Malfoy stepped back.

“Listen to me Potter, and don’t turn around. If you turn around, I’ll stop. Got it?” Harry heard the telltale sound of skin against skin. “Are you listening?”

Harry nodded.

“I’m wanking right now. I can come just like this, come on your arse and be done with you. Is that what you want?”

Harry shook his head rather vehemently.

“No? You want me to fuck you instead?”

Harry nodded, head buried in his arms.

“What was that?”

“Fuck me. I want you to fuck me.”

“How?”

“Hard.”

“You want me to stick my cock in your arse? To fuck you till you’re begging me to let you come?”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

Harry swallowed. “I want your cock.”

“Where?”

“In me.”

“Like this?” Malfoy pressed the head of his cock against Harry’s hole.

“Yes,” Harry groaned. “Fuck, Malfoy, yes.”

“Talk to the snake, Potter.”

Harry swallowed again and trained his focus on the box in front of him. His vision was swimming, his heart pounding, and it took all his effort to narrow his focus.

“I’ll fuck you when you talk to it, Potter.”

Nodding, legs shaking, Harry relaxed into the promise and trained his sight on the snake. “Snake of Salazar, I beg you, awaken.”

The smooth syllables slipped over Harry’s tongue. He could feel Malfoy shudder and lean forward behind him.

Awaken for me, snake of Slytherin. Come to me now.”

The snake began to uncoil, and Harry could feel Malfoy’s hands trembling around his waist.

Great snake, I call to you. Tell me your secrets, show me your ways.”

The snake slithered to the edges of the border and raised its head from the box. “What is it you seek, Heir of Slytherin?

The blunt head of Malfoy’s cock pushed against Harry’s arsehole.

I seek your plans for the Chamber of Secrets.”

Harry was distracted by the slow burning push of Malfoy’s tip breaching his hole and struggled to focus on the snake’s response.

Will you open the Chamber of Secrets, young Heir?

I seek…” Harry trailed off into a long hiss as Malfoy suddenly thrust forward, burying himself in Harry entirely and sending sparks shooting up Harry’s spine. “Fuck, yes,” Harry hissed, “More, fuck.”

What is this, that you seek?

I want…oh…harder…fuck.”

Malfoy sped up, as though understanding Harry even across the language barrier. Harry felt himself filled over and over again, his hole wet and open now, as Malfoy drove into him.

You speak nonsense, Heir of Slytherin.”

Fuck…yes. Snake...snake of Slytherin. I seek your plans for, for the Chamber.” Harry was breathless, struggling to speak between thrusts.

You have said this already. What is your purpose? Why do you seek your heritage now?

Malfoy dug his fingers into Harry’s hips, pulling Harry back to meet him until he was buried so deeply that Harry could feel Malfoy’s bollocks slapping against his own. Then he rolled his hips and Harry half-grunted, half-screamed as Malfoy hit his prostate perfectly.

Harry descended into incomprehensible moaning until Malfoy leaned forward, covering his back and biting his earlobe before whispering, “Talk to the snake, Potter. You stop, I stop.”

Groaning, Harry shook his eyes open and tried to focus on the snake in front of him. The snake was staring at Harry, leaning forward and flicking its tongue over its wooden fangs.

I seek…I need to study the chamber, to see the plans. Show me, please, snake of Slytherin.”

You must reveal your purpose, Heir of Slytherin.”

Behind Harry, Malfoy was starting to chant as he fucked Harry. “Fuck, Potter, yeah, you want it, open up for me, let me fuck you.”

I want…want you…need to get inside, to open…open the…let me…inside, yes.”

You speak little sense. Do you or do you not seek to open the Chamber, young one?

No…No…Need to close it. Close the Chamber. Need the plans.

The snake reared back and took Harry in. “A most unusual request, young Heir. Why must this be done?

To protect…protect the…open me, open me, fuck, yes.”

But you do not want to open the Chamber?

Malfoy had grabbed the base of his cock to keep from coming and was thrusting, quick and shallow, into Harry’s arse. Harry arched his back to pull Malfoy in and it took a sharp slap to the arse to bring his attention back to the snake.

The monster inside of the Chamber is dead.” The snake hissed and shot forward, hovering no more than a few inches from Harry’s face. He scrambled to appease it. “It was slain by…bad, very bad wizards. Protect…must protect its corpse, close the Chamber.”

The snake coiled into itself, its head peaking out from its body. “You will honor Slytherin’s child?

Harry shuddered, though he didn’t know whether it was at the implication or at Malfoy’s tortuously slow drive forward. “Yes, I will. Will you tell me how? Please, snake of Slytherin?

I will do this, yes.

Thank you,” Harry’s relieved exhale was disrupted by a hard shove forwards. “Thank you. May I see your plans?

I contain Slytherin’s plans.”

Yes…yes. Please, let me view them.”

You misunderstand, young one. This is my home. I hold the plans for the Chamber. There is nothing to show but the key.”

“Fuck, Potter, I’m gonna come, too fucking tight.”

“No!” Harry snapped his head around. “Don’t stop! Fuck, Malfoy!”

Taking a deep breath, Harry turned back to the snake. “Do you mean you have to tell me about it?

As he spoke, Malfoy began to pound his arse, moaning low in his throat and grabbing at Harry’s hip and the edge of the bar.

The snake bobbed its head in an approximation of a nod. “I will tell you all you need to know, young one, if you will take me to the bones of our ancestor and draw the sign of the Heir. If you will swear to honor our forbears.”

Yes...thank you, Mister Snake, thank you, fuck.”

The snake began to retreat. “You are very odd, Heir of Slytherin. Very strange.

Any other commentary was lost to the guttural moan that came from Malfoy’s throat as he stilled, spilling into Harry’s arse and collapsing over his back.

Their rough breathing filled the room but neither spoke until, beginning to soften, Malfoy withdrew from Harry’s arse and Harry felt a warm trickle of come flow over his bollocks.

“Fuck, Malfoy,” Harry murmured, still speaking to the once-again dormant box.

Malfoy’s voice was still low and breathy. “You were right about your arse.”

Harry smirked and turned to face him. “Your performance on the other hand – got a bit enthusiastic, didn’t you? Got a secret thing for snakes?”

“No!”

Something clicked as Harry watched him flush, turn away quickly, and start searching for his pants. “Oh, Merlin. You do, don’t you?”

“Do not.”

“Fuck, Malfoy. That’s why you’re doing this, isn’t it?”

“Saving the world, remember?”

Harry grabbed Malfoy’s trousers out of his hand. “Is that all?”

“Yes.” Malfoy adjusted the waistband on his boxers. “That’s all.”

“So, you don’t want to do it again, then?”

“What?” Malfoy had started trying to grab his trousers back, but dropped his hand abruptly.

“I said, if you don’t have a Parseltongue thing you probably don’t want to do it again.”

Malfoy blinked. “What are you on about?”

“Well, it’s happened before, you know. Seems to scare people off. Too much of an association with evil, the war. You seemed to get excited for a minute there, but if it’s too much for you, too…”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No?”

“You could never be too much for me, Potter.”

“Seems I just was, actually, since I’m still hard as a rock,” Malfoy’s eyes flew to his erection, “and you just fucked me harder the longer it went on, didn’t you? Could barely last once I got going.”

“I had my cock up your arse, of course I fucked it.”

“But you wouldn’t want to fuck it again? Since you don’t especially enjoy it.”

Malfoy choked over his own refusal, seeming to change his mind halfway through, and eventually settling into a silent, stony, sulk, his arms crossed over his chest.

Harry felt the warmth of the liquor in his veins and the come in his arse and advanced on him. “You don’t have to deny it, you know.” He smirked. “You weren’t half bad, Malfoy.”

He grinned at the sputtering that followed and planted a hand on Malfoy’s chest, pushing him backwards across the room and on to a low settee.

Malfoy landed with a thunk, and Harry lowered himself between Malfoy’s knees, eyeing his flagging cock and settling back on his haunches. “If you’d just admit it, I’m sure we could find something to do about it.”

“You’re mad.”

“And a Parselmouth. There are plenty of mad blokes around, so I’m guessing it’s the other.”

Malfoy pressed his lips together and refused to speak.

Grinning, Harry started nibbling his way up Malfoy’s thigh, pulling away as Malfoy shifted forward, when Harry was just inches from his cock.

“Just say the word, Malfoy.”

A lazy grin replaced Malfoy’s stubborn stoicism. “Why don’t you make me then, Potter?”

“You’re forgetting the nature of the problem. First the fucking, then the Parseltongue. Although…” Harry was momentarily thoughtful, then dropped back on his knees and spread them apart, “I have been practicing.”

Locking eyes with him, he rested one arm on Malfoy’s knee and reached the other behind him, slipping two fingers into his still-slippery hole and beginning to rock back and forth on them.

Malfoy’s eyes slipped to Harry’s cock, which was bobbing as he worked himself open. He was entranced until Harry spoke again. “Getting close…could start any time now.” He caught Malfoy’s eye. “Suppose you want me to stop, hmm?”

There was a pause, then, “I didn’t say that.”

“Thought you didn’t have a thing about it.”

“I don’t.”

“Then why’s your dick getting so hard?”

“It’s not over that.”

Harry spread his legs further and sank down on a third finger. “Then you won’t care if I can’t speak.”

“Of course not. Better that way.”

Harry grinned “Just remember, all you have to do is ask.”

Leaning forward, he swallowed Malfoy’s cock to the base and began bobbing his head over it.

He established a rhythm, rocking forwards until Malfoy’s cock hit the back of his throat, then pulling away slowly until he was fully impaled on his own fingers, with just the head of Malfoy’s cock resting on his lips. It wasn’t long before he felt Malfoy’s long fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer to meet the shallow thrust of his hips.

Malfoy’s grip tightened and he began to plunge himself into Harry’s mouth with increased vigor.

Then Harry pulled away, licking one last long stripe from the base to tip of Malfoy’s cock. “Is that how you want it? To come in my mouth?”

Pushing himself up, Harry straddled Malfoy’s lap. “Or do you want to come with me hissing in your ear?” Malfoy’s cock twitched. “Do you want to come up my arse? Again? Fill my sloppy hole again?”

A growl rose from Malfoy’s throat as he grabbed Harry’s hips and tried to pull him down.

“No,” Harry resisted, “Not until you say it.”

“Fuck,” Malfoy breathed, “Fuck, Potter, fine. Fine.”

“Fine what?”

“I want to fuck you.”

“You want me to shut up while you do it?”

Malfoy shook his head. Harry leaned in, letting his cock brush against Malfoy’s. “Say it.”

“I want you to talk to me,” Malfoy whispered.

“In English?”

Malfoy swallowed and shook his head again.

“How, then?”

“In Parseltongue,” he murmured.

“Cause you like that, don’t you? Cause that gets you off?”

“Yes,” Malfoy agreed.

“Say it.”

Malfoy shook his head.

Harry caught Malfoy’ cock between his thumb and two fingers and brought it to his hole. “Say it and I’ll give it to you.”

“Fuck.” Malfoy was panting, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he fought to control his reaction. “Fuck. Yes. I want it. Parseltongue. I want to fuck you while you speak Parseltongue.”

Harry laughed breathlessly. “Fuck, Malfoy.”

He sank down on Malfoy’s cock, eliciting a low, throaty moan. Bracing himself on Malfoy’s chest, Harry began to roll his hips, silencing Malfoy’s string of curses with a bruising kiss.

Malfoy whimpered into his mouth and Harry pulled back to ride him faster, resting their foreheads together and rolling his hips to draw out the delicious drag of Malfoy’s cock against his rim, then sinking back down until Malfoy pressed against his prostate and he clenched around Malfoy’s cock.

It wasn’t long before Malfoy was thrusting up into him, and Harry was leaning down to whisper, “Fuck me, Malfoy, Fuck me till you come inside me.”

With a needy gasp, Malfoy urged him on. “Just like that, fuck, talk to me, ride my cock.”

Gonna ride you till you can’t take it, gonna take you so deep.

Malfoy grabbed his hips, pushing Harry on to him with even more force.

Like that, do you? Want to fuck me rough? Want to fuck me till I can’t take any more? Think you can do it, Malfoy? Think you’re a good enough fuck? Better fucking show me. Yeah, that’s it. Show me how hard you wanna take me.”

He broke off in a moan as Malfoy increased his speed, and Harry wrapped a hand around his own leaking cock, stroking it in time with Malfoy’s fucking and sinking down to meet each thrust.

“Talk to me, Potter, fucking talk to me while I fuck you.”

Harry nodded and leaned forward, his breath ghosting over Malfoy’s lips. “I wanna come with you inside me, want you to fill my tight fucking arse, want to make you come,” he hissed. “Want you to come from watching me ride you, come from the sound of my voice. Come for me, Draco.” He rolled his hips for emphasis. “Come for me, now, wanna watch you come.

Then Harry felt a tightness in his bollocks and began to ride him furiously, muttering curses and demands in Parseltongue until he felt Draco shudder and jerk beneath him. Harry sank down, taking his whole cock and clenching around it, and Draco was arching back, his mouth falling open as he stilled and came, his whole body tensing as he shot into Harry’s arse.

He was still softening in Harry’s hole when Harry spilled over his hand, the overflow pooling on Draco’s stomach as Harry collapsed onto him.

“Fuck,” Harry muttered.

“Yeah.”

“Fuck. Do you – should I?”

“Shut up, Potter.”

With a groan, Draco slumped back against the upholstery, sprawling sideways and taking Harry with him, until they were wedged together on the settee.

“You sure you don’t want me to…”

“I said shut up, Potter,” Draco mumbled, half asleep, before closing his eyes entirely and passing out on Harry’s chest.

* * *

There was a pinch, a groan, and a cough, and even after Harry’s eyes flew open it took him a moment to figure out where each was coming from.

The first was the easiest to discover. His neck was aching and twinged when he tried to lift his head, which was at an odd angle on an unfamiliar armrest.

Unfamiliar because it was, in fact, Draco Malfoy’s armrest. Draco lifted his head off of Harry’s chest, blinking the sleep out of his eyes and, as soon as they were open, groaned again, lifting a hand from Harry’s bare thigh to cover his face.

Then the cough came again, and they both paused at the realisation that it wasn’t coming from either one of them.

Draco, peeking between his fingers, looked towards the bar and let out a plaintive moan, flattening himself over Harry to, it seemed, try to hide behind the arm of the settee.

“Draco? What –?”

“Shhhhh, Potter,” he hissed, “don’t move, maybe he’ll go away.”

Harry followed along, though perhaps more due to the proximity of Draco’s hip to his morning wood than to any interest in obeying a Malfoy.

His erection rapidly ceased to be a problem when a terrifyingly familiar voice issued an acerbic rebuke from behind the bar.

“Hiding in the presence of Gryffindors? Really, Draco, must you fulfill only the worst parts of the Slytherin reputation?”

Harry worked his mouth open and shut helplessly and Draco, otherwise unmoving, reached a hand up to cover it.

“Your arse looks even more like your father’s than the last time you engaged in this particular sort of debauchery.” When Draco didn’t emerge, he continued. “Or is that you, Lucius? Perhaps we can reminisce a bit. Do you remember that stakeout in Manchester? Dead of winter, ‘79, was it? No heating charms allowed anywhere in the warehouse on penalty of Cruciatus, and you’d only share your fur-lined cloak if I got on my knees for it? Though,” he chuckled bitterly, and Draco cringed, “if I recall correctly, you were rather too warm to keep it on by the time I –“

“Enough!” Draco yelled, popping over the seatback and glaring fiercely. “You know perfectly well my father’s arse is neither this pert nor this firm, and I’ll thank you to keep the details to yourself.”

“Why, Draco. Good morning. Deigning to raise your head out of the upholstery to greet the peasants – how kind.”

Harry, pinned down by Draco’s legs, could practically feel the scowl, though the voice that followed was gravelly with fatigue and dehydration. “Is there a particular reason you’re gracing the parlor this morning?”

“Glover Hipworth took a turn through the Savannah last night on his way to the laboratory in the library. When I met him there he said he’d heard the unmistakable sounds of Parseltongue in this neck of the woods. I, of course, was terribly curious as to what the only living Parselmouth would be doing here. Sadly for all of us, Hipworth has good enough sense to have omitted a report of the other sounds he must have heard.”

“You were here all night?”

“Whilst I am not under the impression that portraits can lose their eyesight, it’s not the sort of claim I wish to test empirically. The single eyeful was quite enough. Though I’ll concede, Draco, that my curiosity remains. And since Potter is hardly the type to make an ungallant middle-of-the-night exit, I’d wager he’s still between your legs. Am I correct?”

With an embarrassed groan, Harry raised his hand over the back of the sofa and gave a feeble wave.

“Mister Potter. Is the rest of you here as well, or did Draco make do with your hand alone?”

“Thought you’d already know that.”

“Impertinence, Potter. I assure you, I’ve done my best to forget.”

Kicking free of Draco’s legs, Harry took a soothing breath and joined Draco in kneeling on the cushion, finding himself behind the seatback as he faced Severus Snape, backed by tall grasses and a few Baobab trees.

“Good morning, Professor.”

“I see you’ve forgotten your tie, Mr. Potter. If only the dead could take points. Or,” he drawled, “if only the living were in possession of their full faculties. Draco, what is the meaning of this? And do stopping staring at Potter’s rear end.”

Draco snapped his eyes to Snape’s portrait, and Harry couldn’t help a tiny smile at the realisation that they’d wandered. “Buggery and depravity, sir. I thought you were rather well acquainted.”

“Parseltongue, Draco? Really? A Parselmouth terrorises your home for a year and you come away with a new fetish.” Snape rolled his eyes and sighed. “Only a Malfoy.”

Harry was suddenly indignant. “You’re one to talk! Stalking around, watching other people…you know.” He trailed off, embarrassed, and tried to regroup. “And why aren’t you at Hogwarts, anyway?”

“My whereabouts are hardly your concern. Though, now that you mention, I do have other portraits to visit.” Snape turned to Draco with a tight smirk. “The one in Paris, for example. Any messages to convey to your father? Beyond the obvious, of course.”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “You wouldn’t.”

“And miss the opportunity to provoke your father’s competitive spirit? No, I think I’d best be off.”

With a swirl of his oil-painted cloak, Snape swept from the frame, and Draco sank down on the seat and let out a noise halfway between a groan and a whimper.

“Is it really that bad?” Harry asked, dropping down beside him. “Snape telling your father, I mean?”

“No, no. Lucius will hardly be surprised by the general sort of activity. The choice of partner, on the other hand. Not to mention the noble intentions behind it… well, let’s hope he never finds out about that bit.”

“Uh, isn’t he underwriting the committee?”

Draco sprawled out on the couch, resting his head on the back of the seat and giving Harry a clear view of his prick, substantial and inviting even lying soft over his bollocks.

“Up here, Potter.” Harry blushed as Draco continued. “Of course he is. What was it you said? ‘Throwing money at things and holding on to dark books’? The Malfoy way?”

“Is that what you’re doing, then?”

“Well,” Draco surveyed Harry, whose skin heated, “it’s not as though I’m not getting anything out of it.”

“S’pose not,” Harry muttered. “Do you really have a Parseltonuge thing?”

Draco stood and went in search of his trousers. “Didn’t hear you complaining.”

“I’m not.”

Draco stiffened. “Pardon?”

“I wasn’t complaining.” Harry grinned at his back. “Just curious about whether you meant it.”

“Surely that much is obvious by this point.”

Yanking on his jeans, Harry went to stand behind Draco. “Then you might be interested in what the snake had to say.”

Draco, pale and standing ramrod straight, turned to face Harry, his trousers still undone and framing a few curly, dark blond hairs against the pale skin. Harry was so entranced he had to ask him to repeat his response.

“Academically, of course.” His voice was formal and clipped and – like his arse, apparently – rather resembled Lucius’.

“Academically?”

“Of course.”

“Hmm.”

“Oh, for – What is it, Potter?”

“The snake said it doesn’t have the plans, it has a key. And it’ll show me if I take it to the Chamber.”

“Take it to the Chamber? What do you mean, exactly?”

“The box is its home, so we have to take it there, and it said something about drawing the sign of the Heir? And honoring its ancestors? Or ours – its and mine, I mean – I guess.”

“Merlin. What did you tell it, exactly?”

“That we needed to see the plans, and when it asked why – well, I didn’t think it would be that keen on having the Chamber closed forever, so I might’ve told it that we were protecting the Basilisk bones. It made me promise to do that, and then said it’d tell me the rest once I took it there. Why? Is that a problem?”

“That’s not exactly the ritual Granger and I had researched. The sign bit, yes, but having you there, not having the plans in advance…”

“Is that a problem?”

“There’s a reason Granger and I are the only two members of the Reconstruction willing to perform the ritual. It could be a bit dangerous. The element of unpredictability only adds to that. We’d assumed it required two people, but it may be, if it has to be present, that the snake counts as one. Having a third shouldn’t be problematic, but it does raise the issue of the particular requirements involved in having you talk to the snake.”

Harry shuddered. “Don’t exactly fancy doing that in front of Hermione. What if we tried again beforehand?

“And tell the snake you won’t be keeping your promise? Does that strike you as a wise course of action?”

“No.” Harry sighed. “What if you and I did the ritual together, instead?”

“Did you miss the part about it being too dangerous for anyone else to be willing?”

“Yeah, cause I’ve never done anything dangerous near the Chamber of Secrets. Can’t possibly imagine what that would be like.”

Draco quirked his lips. “I suppose you make an uncharacteristically clever point.”

“Was that a compliment, or did the drinks get to your head?”

“The drinks, obviously.” Draco’s lips were threatening a proper smile. “It will be quite perilous, you realise.”

“You don’t say.”

“And very complicated.”

“A magical ritual designed by the original Slytherin? Never would’ve guessed.”

“And I’ll have to bugger you again, of course.”

“Noticed that bit, did you?”

“Though,” Draco frowned, “We don’t know how long it’ll take, for you to translate and for us to do what the snake tells you.”

“You might have to keep it up for quite a while. So to speak, of course. Not up to the challenge?”

“You wish, Potter. Your arse is mine.”

“We’ll see about that.” Harry raised an eyebrow. “Not that last night was too shabby, but you’ll have to do a fair sight better.”

“Better? That was the shag of your life.”

Harry shrugged. “Like I said, not too shabby. But a ritual in the Chamber…well. You know what my arse can do,” he grinned and advanced, “twice. Is your cock up to the challenge?”

Draco stepped forward, bringing them almost chest-to-chest. “Slytherin’s snake won’t be the only one you’re begging for more.”

“We’ll see about that. Time and place.”

“This Sunday. Half two. Hogwarts.”

“I’ll be there.”

* * *

“Mr. Potter, did you really obtain your NEWTS without learning how to cast an adequate Impervius?

Harry grinned sheepishly at McGonagall and shook the water from his hair, missing Draco’s scowl when some of it landed on his jumper. “Sorry, Professor. You know Hermione’s always been the Charms wiz.”

“Well, come in from the rain, all of you, and never mind about the charms right now. At least Granger and Malfoy wont leave puddles as we go.”

McGonagall turned and began to lead Harry, Hermione, and Draco past the Great Hall and up the staircase. Hermione fell into step with her and began describing the ritual while Draco and Harry trailed behind, not looking at each other and refusing to acknowledge the glares of Snape’s portrait, which followed them through the final corridor.

They drew to an abrupt halt in front of Myrtle’s bathroom and Harry had to jump aside to avoid stepping on Hermione’s heel.

After a stern pause, McGongall took up again. “I believe this to be our best chance yet at closing the Chamber and securing our students’ safety. Your work is appreciated and not, I understand, without risk. While we are all eager to close the books on this era of Hogwarts’ history, it is not worthwhile if it comes with additional loss of life or limb. Merlin knows we’ve all seen quite enough of that. If things take a wrong turn, you are to stop immediately. Am I understood?”

They nodded.

“Excellent. Quidditch begins in fifteen minutes and will minimise the possibility of unwelcome student interruptions. The game may take some time in weather like this – hopefully Bellweather will keep his head on straight regardless, that child… In any event, Miss Granger will cast all the necessary repelling charms just in case. Malfoy, Potter, you are to send me a Patronus immediately at the first sign of anything unexpected. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a game to attend. Best of luck to you all.’

The tension that built between Harry and Draco at McGonagall’s departure was interrupted by a thunderclap. They all jumped, and Hermione picked up where the headmistress had left off, casting several charms and turning to them. “Right then. We’ve reviewed the ritual and established as many safety precautions as possible. I’ll be in the library and have spare supplies if you need anything.” She patted a well-worn beaded bag. “If you need to send a Patronus to McGonagall, you’d better send one to me, too. Though at this point, nothing should go wrong. We’ve run through all the possibilities, and –“

“Yes, Granger, we have. We’ve got charts and supplies and the box and one happily willing Parselmouth. We’re as well prepared as Ravenclaws on the eve of an exam.”

Hermione opened her mouth to speak again, but Harry interrupted. “Really. We’ll be fine.”

“Promise you’ll let me know the second anything strange happens? Or, unusually strange, anyway?”

Harry laughed. “Yes. Promise.”

“And you’re okay to…you know.”

Nothing helped Harry suppress a blush like Draco’s rolled eyes. “Yeah, ‘Mione. It’s fine.”

“Alright then. Do try not to destroy anything, would you?”

Harry nodded and hugged her, gently guiding her away from the bathroom in the process. “Not if we can help it, promise. And we’ll come find you as soon as it’s done.”

“Alright. Be careful. Both of you.”

Draco returned her nod, and then she was off, leaving the two of them in the middle of the hallway.

As soon as she was out of sight, Harry turned and strode into the bathroom. He poked his head around the doorway when Draco didn’t follow, only to be met with a teasing smirk. “Who’s eager now?”

With an exaggerated sigh, Harry grabbed Draco’s robes and yanked him inside, leaning back against the stone wall and pulling him into a kiss.

Harry felt something hard and heavy press against his hip and rolled up against it.

He was panting heavily by the time Draco pulled away, grinning. “Not that I’m unhappy to see you, Potter, but that’s a ritual candle you’re humping.” He laughed, breathy and low, at Harry’s confusion. “I do appreciate the enthusiasm, but perhaps you’d best save it for the ritual.”

“Oh. Right.” Harry carded his hair. “What’s next, then?”

Draco drew his wand and marked a giant, shimmering “S” on the floor, with one end at their feet and the other a few feet from the pipes under the sinks. He set a ring of unlit green pillar candles around the symbol, wide enough so that the last two sat to either side of the non-functioning tap.

Finally, he took the box out of his robes, laid it on the floor at the edge of the symbol closest to the sinks, and turned back to Harry.

“That’s all we’ve been able to discern from what we’ve gotten so far. Now you strip, I fuck you, and we hope the snake tells us the rest.”

“We just…go to it?”

Draco quirked an eyebrow. “I’d ask if you need a diagram, but Granger did actually draw you one.”

“And I did actually read it. So sorry for double-checking,” Harry scoffed. “Can’t imagine why I’d want to make sure there aren’t any extra steps in the dark ritual.”

Turning towards the taps and away from Harry, Draco huffed, “Yes, it’s entirely likely that either Granger or I left something out just for fun. Since this isn’t especially important to either of us.”

“Hey, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Rain against the windows filled the silence between them.

“Really, I didn’t. I’m nervous, alright? But it’s not that I don’t trust you or anything like that.”

“Fine.”

“Really. Do you think I’d be here if I thought you were up to something?”

Draco’s posture softened, though he didn’t turn to face Harry. “Self-preservation has never been your strong suit.”

“I’ve only died twice.”

“But thrice would be a bridge too far?”

“Exactly.” Harry crossed the room and put a hand on Draco’s arm. “Draco, come on. “ When Draco didn’t turn, he continued. “Unless you’re not actually up for the challenge. In which case, I’ve brought you a present from the Muggle world.”

Harry pulled a silicone ring from his pocket and slipped it into Draco’s hand.

Draco rolled it between his fingers, but still didn’t turn.

“Are you not going to talk to me at all? Shall we leave the room and start over?”

After another’s moment’s pause, Harry started heading for the door.

“Wait.” Draco turned. “You can’t leave the circle now you’ve entered it.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Are you sure you read the diagram?”

“Yes,” Harry retorted, then paused. “I might’ve gotten a bit distracted just then, is all.”

“You’re not even naked yet.”

“Well, you were just standing there not saying anything. It’s a bit unnerving, you know.”

“Yes, well. It’s not every day the boy wonder confides his trust.” Draco rushed on when Harry smiled. “Or when I’m presented with some ridiculous Muggle – I’m assuming this is a sex toy?”

“You’ve never seen one?”

“Not made of this ridiculous material. Please,” Draco threw it to Harry and dipped a hand into the pocket of his robes to retrieve a broad, ridged gold band. “Wizarding toys, Potter. You’ve never seen one?”

Harry licked his lips. “How’re you going to get that on, exactly?”

“Who said I was going to?”

“You mean,” Harry looked down, “me?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “No, no. As you so kindly pointed out last time, this ritual may require exceptional endurance. And, well. Your arse is rather tight. And it’s necessary to take all due precautions.” Harry looked at him, brow furrowed. “Oh, never mind. I’ll put it on myself.”

“Oh!” Harry’s eyes lit and he grabbed the ring from Draco’s hand. “No need. I – sorry, bit slow.”

“That’s not exactly news.”

“Though…if I’m going to put it on you, you’ll have to take off your robes.”

Draco sighed, “Yes, Potter. Have you already forgotten that I told you to strip?”

“Just…strip?”

“So that it doesn’t get in the way of the ritual if we stop to take clothes off later.”

“We? So, you’re going to, too?”

In response, Draco unhooked the clasp on his robes and levitated them to a hook inside one of the stalls. “Make sure everything lands outside of the circle.”

Draco moved to the buttons of his waistcoat and Harry slipped the ring over his thumb to tug at his trainers, stuffing them with his socks and tossing them clear of the candles.

His jumper followed, and then Harry stripped off his jeans and pants in one go, almost stumbling over the waistband and hoping Draco hadn’t noticed. He balled it all up and aimed for a far corner, grinning when he made it.

Harry was naked, with a gold cock ring in one hand and his wand in the other, before he realised that Draco, whose shoes had just landed side by side under his robe and shirt, was still half dressed.

Draco’s fingers moved to his waistband and he flicked the top button free, then the next, and the next, and Harry’s eyes widened ever so slightly as Draco pushed the fabric over the rise of his hipbones, stepped out of his trousers, and levitated them to rest over the stall door.

Draco’s cock was half hard, head just slipping free of his foreskin, nestled in a bed of curls that descended from Draco’s abdomen, and Harry startled when Draco interrupted his attempt to memorise the image.

“Well, Potter?” Draco nodded at Harry’s hand.

“Right! Right.” Harry took a step forward, looked into Draco’s eyes, and grinned. “So, if we diverge from the ritual a little…”

“Diverge?”

“If, for instance, I put this on you with my mouth.”

Draco swallowed. “Probably not a good idea. Too much of a risk to go off-plan.”

“Too bad.”

“Rather.”

“Rain check?”

“Mmm.”

“Then why don’t you let me watch instead? Avoid the temptation to diverge.”

Draco took it from Harry and slid it over the head of his cock. Harry was hypnotized as Draco slipped it towards his pelvis, his cock and bollocks standing even further from his body as he settled the ring around them and exhaled. “Right, then.”

“Right. So.” Harry tore his eyes away. “The ritual.”

“Yes. The ritual.” Composing himself, Draco shook his head and blinked. “We need to bisect Slytherin’s mark. Usually you’d stand on the center of it and face the sinks, but there are two of us. You still need to face the sinks, but may not want to stay standing the whole time, so it’s best if you’d kneel, facing the sinks.”

“Just, right there?”

“Yeah.”

Harry turned and walked to centre of the circle and, with a last grin over his shoulders, dropped to all fours and spread his legs. “What next?”

Draco came to kneel behind him, running a hand down his back and coming to rest at his hip. “The snake tells us the rest.”

Harry was about to respond when he felt warm lips on his back, kissing a trail down his spine and to the small of his back. He arched into Draco’s mouth and whimpered when the tip of Draco’s tongue traced a path towards his arsehole.

“What are you doing?” Harry whispered.

“You asked if I was up to the challenge,” Draco hummed, lifting his head while dragging his nails down Harry’s back. “A Malfoy is always prepared.”

Harry gasped as Draco’s tongue slid towards its quarry, as Draco ran it around the rim of his hole and then slid over it. Fingernails raked down his back again, and he gasped and keened when the trail ended in a hard slap against his arse. And then Draco was lapping at him, and Harry’s arsehole clenched in an effort to pull him in deeper.

“Patience, Potter.” Harry could feel the smirk in his voice and tried to hold still.

He gave up and started grinding against his face when Draco worked his tongue inside of Harry. Draco purred contentedly, and the vibrations sent Harry reeling.

He choked back a moan when Draco’s hand wrapped around his cock and struck up a slow rhythm, bucking his hips forward instead, jerking into Draco’s fist.

Then Draco pulled away and Harry whimpered, bereft, stopping only when he felt the head of Draco’s cock press against him, and Draco’s body fold over his owns. “Ready?”

“Yes,” Harry panted.

Draco’s free hand slid up Harry’s side. “Can you feel how hard I am for you?”

“Yes, Merlin, yes.”

“Are you going to talk to the snake for me?”

Harry nodded furiously.

He heard Draco murmur a charm, and could feel warm wetness dripping from his hole. “You’re gonna be so tight, aren’t you?”

Harry rolled his hips against Draco, searching for the head of his cock.

“Is this what you’re looking for?” Draco slid his cock into the crevice of Harry’s arse. “D’you want me to fuck you?”

Harry nodded again.

“Say it.”

“Fuck me. Please, Draco.”

“Merlin,” Draco breathed, and Harry felt the head of Draco’s cock come to rest against his hole.

“Want you. I want you.”

“Do you?” Draco had stopped.

Harry sat onto his knees, stretching around to find Draco staring at him. He looked a bit more contemplative than Harry was used to at this particular point in the proceedings and, Harry thought, a bit lost.

He took in Draco’s furrowed brow, the tightness in his shoulders, the way his bottom lip was stretched between his teeth, and he grabbed Draco’s head and pulled him into a searing kiss.

He didn’t relent until he felt Draco relax, felt his shoulders fall back and his hips push forward. Until Draco’s nipples were hard between his fingertips and Draco was breathing raggedly into his mouth. “Of course I do, you fucking arsehole.” He pulled away, looking Draco in the eye. “Fuck me, would you?”

Draco nodded, still short of breath, and pulled Harry into another kiss. Harry moaned into his mouth and returned it, pulling away only to nip at Draco’s ear and whisper “I want you, Draco.”

Draco closed his eyes and drew a deep, ragged breath, followed by a smooth exhale.

When he opened them again, Draco’s were filled with a sort of steely determination that Harry hadn’t seen in an age. Draco leaned forward as though to whisper some encouragement in Harry’s ear. Harry’s breath caught when Draco licked his way up Harry’s neck instead, not pausing until he was rolling Harry’s earlobe between his teeth.

Then he was grasping Harry’s shoulders and pushing him down onto all fours again, and his cock was at Harry’s hole, and he was sliding inside, and the burning heat, the fullness of it, the desperate sob that came from Draco’s chest sent Harry’s head spinning.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight.” Harry groaned his agreement. “I want to hear you talk.”

Harry forced his eyes open and tried to focus. Draco’s cock was fuller and larger than the last time, and he was rolling his hips so that it brushed Harry’s prostate on each stroke, so that Harry wasn’t sure whether lightning or Draco was responsible for his flickering vision. He stared at the snake and felt the world slipping away. He let his mouth fall open, his gasps coming in time with Draco’s strokes, and then words began to issue from his lips.

Snake of Slytherin, I call to you.”

Draco’s fingernails dug into his hips.

Oh, mighty snake, I have brought you to honour our ancestors. Awaken and instruct me.”

The snake began to uncoil and lifted its head to stare at Harry. “You return, Heir of our father. Have you brought me to the bones of our brethren?

Yes, great snake. I have done as I promised. Please, will you show me how to protect the bones from those who seek to disturb them?

Draco drove into him, seating himself so deeply that Harry could feel the cool metal of the top of his cock ring against his arse.

I will do this, yes.”

What must I do, great snake?

The candles around them flared to life, bathing the room in soft, flickering light. The snake raised its head, slithering towards Harry and flicking its tongue to taste the air.

The Chamber behind me. You must open it.”

And then?

We will say goodbye and I will show you the key.”

Harry nodded. “Draco?”

“Yeah?” Draco’s breaths came in short gasps.

“I’m going to open it, okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Draco?”

“Yeah?”

“You feel really fucking good.”

Draco grunted and bucked his hips so that he was buried entirely in Harry, who opened his knees even wider to take it.

Swallowing, Harry tried to focus his attention on the sink. “Open,” he hissed.

A white light emanated from the tap and it began to twirl until it was spinning so quickly as to be a glowing blur. Porcelain scraped stone as the basin began to sink. It disappeared, leaving behind a wide, metallic opening. The entrance to the Chamber.

Draco stilled for a moment. “Is that it?”

Harry nodded. “Don’t stop now.”

Draco’s bent forward and gripped Harry’s shoulder. “Don’t stop, yourself.”

Grinning, Harry nodded and shoved himself back onto Draco, rocking back to encourage a rhythm. “No chance.”

Heir of Slytherin, you speak the language of Wizards.”

Sorry, er. Sorry, great snake. I have opened the Chamber. Will you reveal your key?

First, we honour our ancestors.”

Right.” Harry grunted as Draco thrust forward with renewed force. “How?

The snake began to slither towards Harry, breaking free of the box entirely when its head reached Harry’s shoulder. It coiled around his arm and hovered by his ear. “We must mourn it. We must tell it of our sorrow at its death.

Will you, oh! ” Harry’s eyes fluttered shut and he suppressed a moan as Draco shoved into him fast and hard. “Show me how?

The snake turned to the faucet and hissed, low and quickly, too fast and quiet for Harry to make it out, then turned to him. “You must tell it your sorrows, your regrets.”

My regrets?” Harry stilled and Draco followed suit.

“Alright?”

“Yeah. Just…yeah.”

Heir of Slytherin, speak now.”

Harry took a deep breath and continued. “Oh, Snake of Slytherin. I come to mourn your past. I’m sorry you were not allowed to grow freely. I’m sorry you were made to hurt, to kill. I’m sorry your light is a secret to so many. I’m sorry that you were consigned to the dark by those who doubt your goodness.” The words flew from his mouth, accelerating as he went on as though urged forth by something outside of him “I am sorry I could not care for you. I’m sorry I never knew you. I’m sorry I did not find you in your youth.” Harry’s chest heaved as he fought for breath, his eyes beginning to burn. “I am sorry that I could not save you when it mattered. We were young and afraid, but I know now that you were so much more. Snake of Slytherin, forgive me.”

The snake, its eyes closed and tongue flickering, brushed Harry’s face. “You are salty, Heir. You mourn our brethren with honour.”

I do,” Harry whispered. “And seek to honour his life in mine.”

Then I shall show you my key.”

The snake began to move towards its box, its body blending with the dark wood.

Harry felt Draco’s fingers against his shoulder. “Is it working?”

Harry half laughed, half sobbed. “You could say that.”

The snake sank its fangs into the edge of the box and it slid open to reveal a short, oblong, piece of rounded marble, maybe three inches long and two inches around.

Take my key, Heir of Slytherin.”

Harry balanced himself on one arm as Draco slowed to aid his stability. He lifted it out of the box and it glinted in the candlelight.

This is the key?

“Harry, is that a –?”

This is the key. You must close the Chamber and seal the opening.”

“No,” Harry panted. “Looks like it though. It’s the key. Gotta close the…fuck. Slow, yeah?”

Draco doubled over, and Harry could feel him nod against his back.

You hold the key to the Chamber. Close it now.”

Close!” Harry shouted, and the basin began to re-emerge, and the tap spun back into existence.

Now you must fill the entrance.”

Fill…yes, fill it.” Harry paused, and Draco’s thrust grew slower and shallower behind him. “If I stand, I may not be able to speak to you any longer.”

There is no more to say, Heir of Slytherin. Close the door, protect our ancestor, do honor to great Slytherin. Will you do these things?

Yes,” Harry promised.

Stand, then, and go forth.”

The snake bit into the box again and the lid slid closed. It slithered into the border and took up its position across the top again.

“Stop for a second.”

Draco froze. “Stop? Is that –?”

“I have to fill the thing.”

“Ah. Right.” Draco gripped the base of his cock and pulled it free of Harry, who rocked backwards and tried to follow. Draco smacked his arse. “Duty, Potter.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Harry stood shakily and walked to the sink. He rested the tip of the marble against the faucet and pressed it upwards. The tap glowed again and seemed to absorb the stone as Harry pressed it upwards.

The candles flared and Harry almost jumped when a thunderclap rattled the windows. When he looked back, the key had been absorbed into the tap, filling the opening so its edges were flat.

The candles dimmed again and their crackling faded, and Slytherin’s mark had disappeared, so that Draco and Harry were left, once again, with only the rain to fill the space between them.

Draco cleared his throat. “Is that it?”

Harry nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

“Did it work?”

“Yeah.”

“Well. Good.” Draco rocked back on his heels and stood, turning away from Harry and towards the stall that held his clothes.

“Yeah.”

Draco reached for his trousers.

“Wait.”

Draco’s hand fell to his side, but he didn’t turn. “Yes?”

Harry, unable to find the right words, crossed the room, cupped Draco’s neck, and pulled him in for a kiss.

Draco kissed back fiercely and Harry pulled him back into the circle. He broke away when Harry began to tug him down. “What are you doing?”

“I –“ Harry paused. “I want you.”

“We did the ritual.”

“Yeah.”

“You said it worked.”

“Yeah. It did.”

“So?”

“Um. Test drive? Just to make sure? Or…” Harry trailed off, then squared his shoulders and kissed Draco again.

Draco was still until Harry’s tongue met his, and then his hands were on Harry’s back and in Harry’s hair, and Harry pulled him down until Draco’s weight covered him, his back arching towards Draco and away from the cold stone floor.

Harry crossed his ankles around Draco’s back, pulling him in so that he was pressed against Harry’s arse. “You’re still hard.”

“Yes.”

“Fuck me.” Harry reached between his legs to grab Draco’s cock, lining it up and stroking it slowly. “Come inside me.”

Draco kissed him urgently, grasping at the floor and rocking forward until the head of his cock slipped past the edge of Harry’s slick, open arse.

Desperate for more, Harry snapped his hips upwards to take Draco’s cock. “More,” he whispered.

“You sure?”

“Yes,” Harry hissed, slipping into Parseltongue when Draco grazed his prostate. “I want you, Draco. Want you.

Draco slammed forward, driving into Harry with renewed force and dipping his head to Harry’s neck.

Harry arched, baring his pulse point and releasing a guttural sigh when Draco started suckling at it.

“Tell me.”

Harry nodded into his neck. “Yes, want to feel you. Fuck me. You feel so good.”

Draco jerked his hips, building up speed, and Harry writhed beneath him. “Yes, fuck, Draco. Never knew…never knew you. So sorry. Want you, want you now.”

Harry pulled Draco towards him and rolled them over, so he was straddling Draco’s hips. “Want you.”

Draco’s pupils were dilated, his breath shallow and quick.

Harry pulled away and sank down again, impaling himself until Draco’s cock ring rested against his arse. “You’re so fucking hard, Draco. You’re so fucking good.”

Draco moaned when Harry rolled his hips and flicked Draco’s nipples. He bent over to take one into his mouth, rolling the other between his fingertips and smiling when Draco buried his fingers in Harry’s hair.

Harry’s sweat-slicked chest slid against Draco’s when he moved up for another kiss. Draco moaned at the skin-to-skin contact, and again when Harry withdrew, still hissing. “So beautiful. So fucking hot, you’re so fucking…waited too long. Too long before you…fuck. Fuck me.”

Without translating, Harry began to ride him in earnest, pulling Draco up to sit facing him and twining his fingers through Draco’s hair as he bore down on the hard cock below him. “Want to take you in, want to know you, fuck, Draco.”

Draco’s pupils were almost black when his eyes met Harry’s. They both stilled.

“What are you saying?”

Harry set his arms on Draco’s shoulders in a loose embrace. “Telling you. That I want you.” He swallowed. “Tell me, now?”

“That I want you?”

“Whatever you want.”

“Oh.” Harry could feel Draco’s shoulders tighten under his arms. “I want you.”

“Yeah?”

Draco nodded and reached for Harry’s cock. “Yeah. Want you riding my cock just like this.”

“Yeah?”

“Want you spread open on your knees like you were, with your arse in the air.”

Want that. Want you.”

“Want to suck your hole until you're open for me.”

Open, open for you.”

“On your knees begging for it, so greedy.”

Yes, more. More.”

Draco bucked forward, throwing Harry off balance. Draco grabbed his knees and pushed him onto his back.

The pale skin glistened in the candlelight, almost reflecting against Harry’s own when Draco slipped Harry’s legs over his shoulder. Harry canted his hips to open himself for Draco and repeated, “Yes, Draco. Open, so open for you.”

Draco was trembling when he drove back into Harry, and Harry heard the telltale clatter of metal against the floor, closely followed by Draco’s relieved moan. “Gonna come. Want to come in your arse.”

Fuck, yes. Come for me.”

A voice emerged from Harry’s left. “Very strange, Heir of Slytherin. You close the Chamber yet would call for it to open.”

Startled, Harry’s hips crashed against Draco’s as he searched for a response. “No, not trying to open it. Just talking to someone else.”

Another Parselmouth?

No,” Harry’s breath hitched as Draco plowed into him, his thrusts coming faster and more erratically. “A Wizard. Not the Chamber.”

Very well, Heir of Slytherin. Because the Chamber cannot be opened again, can no longer hear our commands.”

Ever?

Correct. You have closed the Chamber forever. Now you must go forth, and leave me to sleep.”

Sorry to, oh!” Harry tried to steady himself as Draco began stroking him in earnest. “Wake you.”

You are very strange, Heir of Slytherin. Do not wake me again.”

The snake seemed to shake its head before lowering it into the edgework once more.

Sorry…won’t.”

Draco’s hand sped up, skating over the head of Harry’s cock and down to the base again until Harry was hissing and writhing, begging him to come, to let them both come.

Harry moaned when Draco’s hips stilled, when Draco’s eyelids fluttered and his breath caught. He felt Draco’s hand speed up around his shaft and then he was spilling over it, gasping Draco’s name as he came.

Draco’s softening cock slipped free when Harry relaxed back against the stone, but Draco stayed where he was, kneeling stiffly above Harry, eyes wide open.

He sat back suddenly. “Right. Job well done, Potter.”

He stood and crossed the edge of the circle, and the candles were all extinguished.

Harry saw him reach for his trousers and pull them on, fastening them quickly and reaching for his shirt.

“You don’t do things the Malfoy way anymore, do you?”

Draco looked over his shoulder and gave Harry a withering glare.

Harry propped himself up on his elbows. “I mean, the way your father did them. Just giving money and things. You’re…that would’ve been hard to do if you didn’t care about…well, about the ritual. If you hadn’t got a little bit invested.”

Draco shoved one arm and then the other through his crisply starched shirt and started on the buttons.

“And you were right, you know.”

Draco snorted

“About it being pretty alright.”

Turning to face Harry, Draco raised an eyebrow.

“Good, even.”

Draco raised the other and crossed his arms.

“Alright, okay. Shag of my life, and all that.”

Harry got to his feet, trying not to be shaken by the intensity of Draco’s gaze. He bent to retrieve the open golden ring that lay on the stone tiles. “This is yours.”

Draco reached out an open palm and Harry dropped the cock ring into it. “Nifty device.”

“It’s charmed to open at the appropriate moment.”

“Ah.” Harry shifted his weight and tried to ignore his own nudity.

“Do people really leave over your…abilities?”

“Er, yeah. They…it reminds them of the war. You know. Or just freaks them out, sometimes.”

“And it always happens?”

“Um, just about. Or, not always. But always when it’s any good. And when it’s not…”

“No use in continuing on.”

“Right.”

The weight of Draco’s attention grew uncomfortable. Harry turned to retrieve his clothes. “Guess that’s it, then.”

He’d zipped his flies when he heard a cough behind him, and was halfway to cursing himself for turning around so eagerly when Draco spoke.

“Not quite it, actually.”

“No?”

“We might need to double check. To be certain it’s worked.”

“Ah.” Harry’s heart fell. “It worked.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I, uh, was saying a lot of things about…I may have inadvertently asked the Chamber to open. The snake told me the Chamber can’t hear me anymore. All plugged up.”

“Ah. Yes. That was quite an interesting shape for a key.”

“Yeah.”

“An enterprising Wizard could think of plenty of other things to do with an item like that.”

“Pretty sure it’s in there to stay.”

“Yes, well. There are others like it.”

“S’pose so.”

“There’s also…” Draco cleared his throat. “There’s also the benefit.”

“The benefit?”

“This is the last bit of the Hogwarts reconstruction effort, remember? Once we’ve confirmed a result there’s to be a celebratory fundraising gala. Add to the library, create additional scholarship funds, that sort of thing.”

“Oh. Well, that’s a nice idea.”

“Yes.”

Harry reached for his jumper.

“Potter.”

“Yeah?”

“The benefit. Are you going?”

“Oh, uh, I don’t know. They haven’t sent out invitations yet, have they?”

“No, but as a member of the committee I’m sure to get one.”

Harry shrugged into his jumper. “Right, well. Guess I’ll have to wait with the rest of the non-committee members.”

“For Salazar’s sake.” Draco sighed heavily. “I was actually joking about your lack of mental acuity. Unless it takes this long for the blood to return to your brain?”

Harry tilted his head to one side, taking Draco in with some curiosity.

“Are you really going to make me say it?”

Comprehension dawned, and the edges of Harry’s mouth turned up. “Say what, exactly?”

“For goodness sake. Potter, will you go to the gala with me?”

Harry’s response was interrupted by a girlish giggle and a heavy sigh.

“Soooooooooo dreamy.” Myrtle’s transparent figure floated down from ceiling.

“Myrtle?” Harry asked weakly. “Been here long?”

“Of course I have. The portraits are all a-twitter about the two handsome young gentlemen in my bathroom. And Harry, how you’ve grown!” She squealed and dove through the floor, popping up again behind Draco. “You didn’t even try to kill each other. Though,” she flitted her eyelashes at Harry, “you’re still welcome to share my toilet.”

“Thanks, Myrtle, but I’ve got to go.”

“To the ball?”

“Yes, Potter. To the ball?”

“Er, yes. I’d like that.”

“Oooooooooh!” Myrtle clapped her ghostly hands soundlessly. “Just wait till I tell that ghastly old bat. He said it would never happen, and I said, and the Fat Lady said, and Sir Cadogan said, that he was just being a mean old grouch. Not true love, he said! Hmph.”

Draco shivered as she brushed his cheek. “You look so much better that you used to. In and out of your trousers.” She removed herself and floated through the wall. “Eat his words, he will. Hmph.”

Harry coughed after a moment. “We should probably go tell Hermione and McGonagall.”

“Yes. Well. Unless Myrtle does it first, I suppose.”

Harry cracked a smile and started for the door.

* * *

The beacon of Ron’s hair was the only thing that got Harry into the Great Hall safely and he had no idea how Draco, who’d run the same gauntlet of camera flashbulbs, wasn’t also blinking like an idiot.

“How are you so composed?” Harry whispered.

“Living with Dark Lords does wonders for one’s constitution,” Draco murmured. “And I’m just following Weasley’s head.”

Ron’s head was moving swiftly towards the bar, and Harry and Draco followed gladly, grabbing two Fawley’s from the bartender and downing them quickly.

“Careful there, mate. Don’t want to give the press even more of a field day.” Ron pointed, almost covertly, at a lime green purse sitting on the other side of the bar.

Hermione piped in beside him. “They certainly are following you both closely.”

“Putting us in on the front page for the third day in a row, Granger. The development committee is hardly complaining.”

Harry smiled at that and raised his eyebrows pointedly at Hermione, who returned the smile. The owl who’d delivered his morning Prophet had practically had to fight her way out of the house to stave off the influx of love letters, hate mail, and autograph requests, and Hermione had barely talked the Hogwarts Reconstruction Committee out of sending last-minute appeals plastered with that morning’s headline: “POTTER AND MALFOY TO HEADLINE HRC GALA.”

That Harry may have told her, confidentially, that he rather liked the paired photos of he and Draco separately shopping for robes, and that the look of concerned concentration on Draco’s face had made his morning, was mostly immaterial.

Ron missed the silent exchange entirely, and plowed ahead. “Should say not. It’s a full house, right ‘Mione?”

“It is now, yes. Though it probably wouldn’t hurt if our star attractions circulated a bit.”

Harry wrinkled his nose and gestured the bartender for refills.

“Bit late to play the blushing saviour, Potter. “

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks for the reminder.”

“Thought you were rather looking forward to the reminder.”

Harry grinned. Draco quirked an eyebrow. Ron coughed. Loudly.

“Need a good slap to the back, Weasley?”

“Not if you’re saving them for Harry, thanks.”

“Ron!” Hermione interjected, “That’s…well. Not when there are reporters around, alright?”

Ron grinned down at her. “So you’ll want to discuss it more later, then?”

“I think we need to circulate.” Harry took Draco’s arm and waved goodbye to his friends, trying not to let his vodka splash over the sides of his glass.

He plastered a smile on his face and dragged Draco towards a circle of friendly faces lingering near the front of the Hall.

Then, with a tug of his arm, he felt himself pulled into the crowd. “Draco, what?”

“Shhhhh,” Draco hissed. “They might not have seen us.” He pulled Harry around a plump Wizard in an unusually tall hat. ”Just stay quiet and we can get to the door without –“

Draco pulled up abruptly. “Mother. Father. How good to see you.”

“Draco,” Narcissa smiled. Lucius’ curt nod avoided Harry entirely.

“Surely you remember Harry Potter.”

Lucius looked a bit like he'd been served Hippogriff droppings for breakfast. “Indeed.”

“Mister Potter,” Narcissa intoned. “It’s lovely to see you again. I trust you’ve been well?”

“Quite well, thank you. And you, Mrs. Malfoy?”

“Very well, thank you. Though not nearly as impressive as your recent contributions to the committee. We’ve heard all about your deep dedication to the rebuilding cause.”

Draco whispered “Snape” out of the corner of his mouth and Harry smiled tightly. “Yes, well. Your son was very dedicated as well. I mean – I just mean that when he and Hermione Granger brought it to my attention, its importance was obvious. It would have been irresponsible of me not to, really.”

“Always a do-gooder, weren’t you, Potter?” Lucius interjected with just the faintest hint of bitterness.

“Darling,” Narcissa soothed, “go get a drink, why don’t you? Then perhaps a turn past the portraits in the dungeons?”

Lucius nodded curtly and excused himself.

Narcissa hummed contentedly. “He’s become so adept at taking orders since Severus became a portrait.”

She smiled at Harry’s bewilderment and Draco’s appalled understanding. “Well, I’ll leave you two boys to it. Though Draco, I must say, you looked lovely on the cover of the Prophet this morning. Blue really does suit you. Now, have either of you seen Aurora? We were discussing family naming traditions last night and got so terribly off-topic. Quite rude to leave such a good story unfinished.”

Harry worked his mouth open and shut. Draco pointed towards the head table.

“Thank you, darling. Do say goodnight before you leave, would you? If I’m still here, that is.” With a polite smile, she swept towards the front of the room.

“Was that just –? Professor Sinistra? Are they –? Do they both?”

Draco nodded grimly. “Pureblood arranged marriages. Everyone’s against them, no one stops to think about what they were arranged for.”

“They—you mean to say that – for how long?”

“Since they were first engaged, Potter. Their families made the match for a reason. Though romancing portraiture is a fairly unusual choice, even for the pureblood elite.”

“Are you going to – you know?”

“Marry a rich young witch and dally with professors and portraits?”

Harry nodded.

“No, I expect not. Not doing things the Malfoy, pureblood way, remember? Even if it does have occasional benefits.”

“Benefits?”

“You didn’t seem too distraught over our exploration of archaic pureblood tradition.”

“No, I guess I wasn’t.”

“One might even say you seemed to enjoy it.”

“One might. That same one might say that you did too.”

“Yes,” Draco conceded. “I did.”

A pair of whispering ghosts floated past them, snickering into their hands.

“Seems the word is out,” Harry sighed.

“Yes. Hopefully Skeeter won’t think to interview Myrtle.”

“Oh, god.” Harry gulped. “Can you imagine?”

“Malfoy Revives Slither-In Reputation.”

Harry laughed. “Potter Potty in Hogwarts Potties.”

Draco grinned. “Parselporn takes Ghosts by Storm.”

“Malfoy: Bigger than a Basilisk?”

“Potter’s Chamber of Secrets, Revealed!”

“Heir of Slytherin Charms Slytherin Heir.”

Draco quirked an eyebrow. They fell silent and surveyed the room.

“Do you know, Potter, what I find strangest of all?”

“That we’re at a banquet, together, in honor of the successful deployment of my arse and your cock in thousand-year-old magical ritual?”

“No.”

“That Hermione, Ron, your parents, the Hogwarts ghosts, the Hogwarts portraits, and most of the wizarding world know we’re here together, and no one’s tried to hex us yet?”

“Not what I had in mind.”

“That your father is getting off with a rumormongering portrait?”

“Certainly not.”

“Stranger?”

“Yes.”

“Oh?”

“I seem to be enjoying your company, though you’re neither bent over nor hissing.”

“Ah. Yes, that is strange.”

“Mmm.”

“Is it more or less strange that I’m enjoying yours as well?”

“More, surely.”

“Hmm. Any idea what’s brought this on?”

“It seems you’re tolerably well behaved and reasonably clever.”

Harry snorted and raised his glass. “Best watch your compliments. My head might explode under the influence of such effusive praise.”

“Didn’t think that’s what made your head explode.”

Harry coughed on his drink. “Thanks for that.”

“Not at all.”

Harry cleared his throat. “You know, we’ve really no idea how long this’ll go on. You liking me without the hissing and whatnot.”

“I suppose not, no.”

“So, we probably shouldn’t push it, really.”

A hungry grin crossed Draco’s face. “Think we could make it to the bathrooms and back before McGonagall’s speech?”

“While avoiding Skeeter, the photographer, Myrtle, and your parents?”

“Yes.”

“So that you can fuck me over the sinks till I’m hissing your name?”

“Quite.”

Harry grinned and took Draco’s hand. “Only one way to find out.”