Prince of Serpents

Harry stood in front of the steam-misted mirror, examining himself carefully. A few weeks before, on the train home from Hogwarts, Hermione had made an offhanded remark that he had changed a lot since she had first met him. He wondered at first what she meant, but now, looking in the mirror at the reflection that looked back at him, he had an idea of what she had meant. At least in regard to his appearance.

He started first with his face. He still had the wild mess of ebony hair that he had always had, but it seemed thicker and silkier now, slightly damp and ruffled from the rough towel drying he had given it. It fell long enough to brush his ears and shadow his brilliant green eyes. His eyes, too, had changed. The pure emerald colour was now shot through with dark forest green, making his eyes seem darker even through the bright glow of the lighter green. He still wore glasses, but they were sleeker, more elegant looking. Then he went on to other things. As he was wearing only a pair of scrub-faded blue jeans, all he had put on after his shower, he was easily ably to see everything from neck to waist. His build was no longer lank and skinny, but lithely muscular, thanks to many hours of Quidditch training. He stretched out one arm, watching muscles slide smoothly beneath his damp skin, reminding him not to slack off on his physical training just because he couldn't practice Quidditch.

And there was also, of course, his tattoo.

Harry looked down from the mirror to examine the small dragon tattoo that curled around his navel. Ron's brother Fred had managed to talk him into getting in some time during that year. It was almost identical to the Hungarian Horntail he had faced during the Triwizard Tournament during his fourth year, hence why he had chosen it. Aunt Petunia had shrieked for hours about how disgusting tattoos were after finding out he got it, but that just made him like it even more.

"Get out of there, boy!" shouted a deep, extremely irritated voice from the other side of the bathroom door, accompanied by a series of loud bangs.

Harry looked up from his tattoo, rolling his eyes slightly. "Coming Uncle Vernon."

He gathered up his shirt, socks, and shoes, then unlocked the door. He twisted the handle and opened it, seeing exactly what he expected on the other side.

Vernon, with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes narrowed in annoyance, glared at him.

"About time," he growled at the dark-haired boy. He was still unnerved by the fact that he now had to look up at his nephew, who had grown to at least six feet over the school year.

Harry just shrugged, he was so used to his uncle's grumbles and raves. He passed Vernon and went down the hallway to his own room, tossing his shirt down carelessly on the back of a chair.

"Hey Hedwig," he said to his owl, smiling. She hooted softly in return, nipping his hand affectionately when he reached into her cage to lightly stroke her. He pulled his hand back and went over to his worn, beat-up desk in the corner of his room.

"Up to delivering a letter?" he asked as he shuffled through the papers on the desk, looking for the letter he had written to Sirius the night before by the light of a flashlight.

The snowy owl clicked her beak expectantly, shuffling on her perch.

Harry finally found the piece of parchment he had been looking for. He read the letter over carefully.

Dear Sirius,

Is the trial still on Friday, the first after school starts? If it's changed or something, make sure to tell me, I don't want to miss it. I know you'll win, especially since that rat Peter has been caught. Ron said that his dad was there when they confronted him with Veritaserum, and he admitted to everything.

And there's something else I wanted to talk to you about when I saw you. It's . . . kinda confusing, so I don't think I could get it all down in a letter. But I promise to tell you everything on Friday.

Can't wait to see you, hope you're well.

Harry

Harry nodded absently; that sounded good. He rolled the letter and carefully attached it to Hedwig's leg.

The snowy owl hooted gently as Harry carried her to the window.

"It's for Sirius, ok?" he told her.

She opened her great white wings and alighted from his arm, out the open window in into the night. Harry, leaning his head out the window, watched her silently until she had disappeared. Then he sighed and turned back to his room, throwing himself down on his bed. He glanced over at his open trunk in the corner, and the many things spilling over the sides. There were random piles of books that he had bought for school a few days before in Diagon Alley. When his eyes passed over his seventh year Defence Against the Dark

Arts book, 'The Dark Forces: Shield From Shadows', he wondered absently who this year's Defence teacher would be.

He sighed, as he knew thinking about the dark arts had lately, for some reason, made him think of Draco.

He chided himself for a moment; everything made him think of Draco these days. Harry wasn't sure when the blonde boy had charmed his way into his heart. In fact, last time he checked he'd hated the snide, arrogant Malfoy. But somehow, he had fallen in love with him, so subtly he hadn't noticed until it had grown from a hidden crush into full-blown secret love.

"How did you do this to me?" Harry whispered as he thought of Draco. His eyes were closed, his head leaned back against his pillow, and his mind was filled with a picture of the blonde boy. Sleek, silvery blonde hair swept back, grey eyes sharp and passionate, an arrogant but oh so beautiful smile curling his lips.

Harry hummed to himself as he thought about Draco's mouth, about how kissable it might be . . .how soft his lips might be . . . how he would taste . . .

Harry found his fingertips brushing across his own mouth, imagining that it was Draco that he was kissing. Would he be a soft kisser? Yes . . . that's what Harry thought. Soft at first, then maybe a little harder as they both got more into it. He imagined Draco's hand at the back of his neck, gently pulling him closer.

His free hand floated down to trace around where he knew the tattoo circled his navel.

"Nice tattoo, Potter," he imagined Draco telling him, his grey eyes bright with lust as he memorised Harry's tattoo with his fingertips. Then he would come closer, enough to capture Harry's mouth with his

own.

Harry's mind painted a picture for him of how everything would look and feel. How soft Draco's silky blonde hair would be as he wove his fingers through it. How the boy's grey eyes would flutter closed as the passion of the kiss overwhelmed them both.

Then a loud, rude voice shattered his dream.

"What the hell are you doing Harry?"

Harry's eyes snapped open and he jerked his hand from his mouth. He looked up to see his immensely obese cousin Dudley standing in the doorway, looking pleased with himself for having caught Harry in the middle of something. Harry cursed himself for leaving the door open and not noticing.

"Get out," he spat at his cousin, trying to keep the fierce blush that threatened his cheeks at bay.

"Are you gonna make me?" Dudley taunted in return.

Harry snarled and started to dig into his pocket, the place where he always kept his wand. Or at least that's where he had made a point of telling his cousin he did. Dudley's face turned chalky white and he turned and raced down the hallway whimpering.

Chuckling quietly to himself, the green-eyed boy stood and crossed the room to close the door. He pulled his hand from his empty pocket, the smile on his face one of small triumph. His cousin hated him; the feeling was mutual.

His smile slowly faded as he remembered what he had been doing before his cousin happened to interrupt.

He sighed deeply; it would never happen. No amount of dreaming or hoping could ever make it happen. His bright green eyes wandered the room until they chanced to fall upon his wall calendar, where he had dutifully marked off the days, counting down until the new school year. It would be his seventh and final year at Hogwarts.

Three days left . . .

Draco absently swept back the few loose strands of silver-blonde hair that had fallen in front of his eyes when he had been leaning over his trunk. He looked down at the full trunk, mentally checking off everything that he had packed to make sure he had all he needed.

"Draco, are you ready yet?" called his mother impatiently from downstairs.

"Almost!" he called back.

"Well hurry up! You'll be late for the train!" she shouted.

Draco grumbled under his breath, "Yeah, yeah, I'm coming bitch . . ."

He slammed the lid of his trunk, smiling slightly as that brought another scream from his mother about how she would throttle him if he damaged his trunk. He pulled out his wand and pointed it at the heavy trunk. "Cipherus," he said softly. The lightweight charm cast a soft white glow over the trunk that faded in seconds. Draco pocketed his wand carefully, then leaned over and picked up the trunk with one hand. What should have been impossible to lift was now like lifting a mere box of feathers onto his shoulder. He went out the door and down the stairs with the trunk carefully balanced on one shoulder. His mother stood impatiently tapping her foot at the base of the stairs.

"I can Apparate on my own you know," he said coldly. "I don't need you to watch me."

She merely glared at him, watching him like a hawk as he pulled out his wand, as if calculating his every move.

"Wait Draco."

The blonde boy stifled a groan when he heard his father's command.

"Father?" he asked, keeping a mask of calm on his face.

Lucius Malfoy stalked into the room like a panther, eyeing his son maliciously.

"Remember to keep clear of that Potter boy and his Mudblood gang," he warned in a deadly quiet voice.

"Yes, father," answered Draco flatly. He wondered what his father would say if he told him the green-eyed boy had haunted his every thought, every dream, since school had ended. If he said the last thing he wanted was to ignore Harry, and what he really wanted was to confess his deep, heated passion for the Boy-Who-Lived. To hold him, and claim his mouth in a burning kiss.

But Draco could say none of those things, lest his father disown him right then and there.

Lucius nodded, satisfied with his son's answer.

"Bye," Draco muttered, pointing his wand at himself. He got no answer; he hadn't expected one.

Draco muttered the Apparation charm, sighing with relief as the room and his parents melted away, the sights and sounds of King's Cross taking their place. He looked around, taking in the groups of students, some in their robes, some not, chattering loudly amongst themselves. The long red Hogwart's Express sat waiting for its passengers to board, smoke pouring like water from its steam chimney.

Draco himself had not yet changed into his black school robes. He planned to do that on the train on the way. With his trunk still balanced on his shoulder, the blonde boy started off towards the train to get himself a compartment.

"Hermione!" called Harry happily, waving as best he could with his free arm without spilling his load.

"Hi Harry!" called the girl back, smiling at him.

Harry's mind drifted back to Hermione's comment so many weeks before on how much he had changed.

'That rings true for all of us,' he thought as he watched his two best friends approaching.

Hermione had grown into her looks, for sure. Her bushy chestnut hair had turned into sleek, elegant curls as the years progressed. Her body was slim and toned, with just the right amount of curve. She had sparkling chocolate coloured eyes and a beautiful smile. Harry could understand what Ron saw in her, even though he had no interest in girls.

His green eyes travelled to examine the tall redhead that walked hand in hand with Hermione. Ron's flame red hair was cut short, accented by his many freckles and light tan. The boy had gotten taller even than Harry had, standing at about 6'2 now, making the petit Hermione seem even more so. And, like Harry, he had grown out of his lanky body.

"Hey you two," he said, smiling when they reached him.

"Hiya Harry," said Ron with a boyish smile.

"How's everyone at the Burrow?" he asked, grinning at Ron.

"Crazy, as usual," answered Ron with a laugh. "Dad is going berserk trying to talk Percy out of running for

Minster for Magic."

All three of them started to laugh.

"Come on, boys," Hermione said, smiling and giggling slightly. "Let's go get on the train."

They all picked up their charm-lightened trunks and headed off towards the train.

Harry was chuckling quietly to himself until he heard Hermione exclaim, "What is that boy wearing?"

"Who?" he asked curiously, looking around.

"Malfoy," answered Hermione promptly, gesturing across the platform, and Harry felt his stomach tighten.

He looked in the direction Hermione was pointing, and his jaw almost dropped.

Draco looked as if he had been poured into a pair of black leather pants that clung low on his hips. His black shirt was raggedly sleeveless, showing off his muscular arms and shoulders. The soft black material of the shirt seemed to cling to him, and the entire outfit seemed designed to show off as much of his body as possible. A silver and crystal stud glittered in one ear; his right, Harry noted absently. His blonde hair was long and silky, falling all the way to his shoulder blades. A small silver snake pendant, the symbol for

Slytherin, his House, hung around his neck. On his feet were black dragon scale boots. Around each wrist was a leather band studded with small silver spikes. He looked dangerous . . . cold . . . and beautiful.

Harry sucked in a breath as he watched the blonde walking towards the train, muscles sliding beneath his clothes as if the material were a second skin.

"Sick," said Hermione in distaste, mistaking Harry's expression of surprise lust for shocked disgust.

"Uh, yeah," choked out Harry, tearing his eyes away from the tempting sight before him.

"Agreed," said Ron, wrinkling his nose.

They started off towards the train, and Harry didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed when Draco disappeared from his sight.

"Ugh, I don't think there's any empty compartments left," muttered Ron once they were in the train.

"Let's try the one on the end, it looks empty," answered Harry with a slightly smile. He knew how much

Ron hated sharing a compartment with anyone else.

They hurried down to the compartment at the end car, and Hermione slid the door open. Harry poked his head inside and went deadly pale.

"Hello, Potter," Draco said coolly. He was lounging casually in the seat, reminding Harry of a cat warming itself it the sun. The feline smile on his face made him look even more so.

"Malfoy," Harry heard Hermione say coldly from behind him. "Where's your little band of Slytherins?"

Draco waved a dismissive hand and answered, "I'm not in the mood to deal with them right now."

"Is this compartment taken, then?" asked Harry in a somewhat choked voice. Ron hissed behind him and poked him hard in the back, but Harry glanced behind him at the other boy, his eyes asked, 'What choice to we have?'

"Not at all," answered the cool blonde smoothly. "That is, if you Gryffindors don't mind sharing it with a Slytherin."

He smiled at them, his grey eyes cold. Harry noticed they Draco refused to meet his eyes, and looked at only Ron and Hermione.

"Just keep your tongue to yourself, Malfoy," answered Hermione scathingly.

Harry knew that she meant for Draco not to insult them, but the comment had double meaning for him and he almost choked when he heard her words.

"As you wish," answered Draco in a cold, reptilian hiss. His tongue darted out to moisten his lips, almost as if he were mocking Hermione's statement. Harry felt his knees weaken at the sight. How was he going to spend the entire ride to Hogwarts in the same compartment as the boy he had been lusting over all summer?

"Maybe you should get your robes on, Harry," said Hermione quietly. "We're almost there."

"Hmm?" Harry looked up from the window where he'd had his eyes fixed since they pulled out of the station so that he wouldn't stare at the blonde boy seated across from him. "Oh, yeah, you're right..."

Hermione and Ron both already had their robes on, having changed before coming to Platform 9 ¾.

Hermione glanced at Draco, who was still in his leather outfit. She stood up hastily.

"I'll leave so you two can change," she mumbled, heading towards the compartment door.

Ron, not really wanting to be there either, started to follow her. "I'll go with you, 'Mione."

Before the compartment door slid shut, Harry saw them link hands affectionately, and he smiled slightly.

"Cute," he heard Draco mutter, and his smile faded when he realised his situation. Not only was he stuck, alone, in the same compartment as the blonde, he would have to watch him changing clothes as well.

He coughed slightly before leaning over to dig through his trunk for his robes. He found them near the bottom and pulled them out hurriedly. Tossing them on the seat, he started to unbutton his white shirt.

Though he tried to keep his eyes away from Draco, it was hard once the boy started peeling off his clothes.

First came the sleeves black shirt, revealing a splendid display of toned muscle and chiselled abs. He carelessly unclipped the spiked bracelets from around his wrists and tossed them in his trunk. Then came the liquid leather pants that Draco seemed to have no trouble getting off, no matter how tight they looked.

So, in the end, it left a very revealed Draco in only a pair of black silk boxers.

'Oh God, Oh God, Oh God,' the thought kept echoing in Harry's head as he pulled off his own clothes and tried not to gawk at the beautiful body that was being revealed to him.

He pulled on his school clothes as fast as he could, watching Draco from the corner of his eye as he did so.

The blonde pulled on his loose black school pants and white button down shirt. He easily did up his green and grey tie, knotting it carefully at the base of his throat. Then pulled over the shirt and tie was the common grey cardigan sweater edged with green. Lastly, over everything, the long black school robes.

Harry himself was dressed in much the same, but where Draco's clothes were grey and green, Harry's were dark gold and red. House colours.

"We're done guys," Harry called out of the compartment in as much of a normal voice as he could muster.

Ron poked his head into the compartment with a grin, "Perfect timing, cause we're here."

"Wonderful," said Draco coldly from the corner, earning himself a glare from Ron, which he pointedly ignored. He bent down to pick up his trunk, and Harry was amazed at how easily he seemed to do it.

"How do you do that?" he asked without thinking.

"Featherweight charm," answered Draco, glancing back at Harry from the doorway, who looked back at him blankly.

"My father taught me," grunted Draco. "Here I'll do it for you."

He pulled out his wand and pointed it at Harry's trunk, which was on the floor.

"Cipherus," he said clearly.

Harry watched as a pale white glow enveloped his trunk, then faded soon after.

"Pick it up and see if it worked," mumbled Draco.

Harry immediately obliged, bending down to pick up his trunk. He expected it to be at least a little heavy, but it was light as a feather, and he almost fell over with the extra effort.

"Thanks," he started to say, turning gratefully to the doorway. But Draco had already disappeared.

Instead, he came face to face with Ron and Hermione, who both looked slightly shocked.

"Did you just get helped by the Prince of Serpents himself?" asked Hermione incredulously.

"Prince of Serpents?" asked Harry curiously.

She shrugged, "Just a nickname I thought suited him."

"Yeah, I guess I did," answered Harry softly, looking down the middle of the car where he caught the barest glimpse of blonde hair before it disappeared.

There was a second of silence, and then Ron broke in.

"Come on you guys," he told them. "Let's go, we don't want to be late for the Sorting."

Harry nodded absently, following his two friends off the train and towards the castle. But the Sorting was the last thing on his mind . . .

"Hufflepuff!" shouted the old Sorting Hat as it sorted the last new student into their House, to a roar of cheers from the Hufflepuff table.

"Good, we can eat now," said Ron gleefully, looking down at his plate expectantly. Both Harry and Hermione snorted with laughter at the expression on his face.

But Dumbledore seemed to have other ideas.

"Attention everyone," he called from the High Table, silencing everyone with a few short claps of his hands. "Before we continue, I have a few things to announce. Firstly, there is the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."

Harry looked up expectantly; he was extremely curious as to who the Headmaster had hired.

"Please welcome our new teacher, Professor Black," said Dumbledore cheerfully.

An entire room of jaws hit the table as Sirius Black himself stood from his seat at the High Table, grinning widely at Harry from across the room. After a moment of silence, thunderous cheers filled the room, the loudest from the Gryffindor table. Everyone knew how famous Sirius Black was now, after surviving Azkaban and more than two years on the run after finally being proclaimed innocent.

"I thought the trial was this Friday," said Harry incredulously.

"They let him go without one. Peter's confession was more than enough for the Ministry," explained Hermione, grinning.

"You knew about this?" asked Harry in shock, and the girl giggled and nodded.

"He told me not to tell you, said he wanted it to be a surprise," explained Hermione, trying to stifle a fit of giggles.

Harry shook his head and started to chuckle, his green eyes glittering. Then a thought occurred to him. Now he would be able to talk to Sirius about the problem he's mentioned in his letter a few days before. The problem . . . with his crush on Draco . . .