Snakes and Lions Extended Ending

Reputation

Harry wasn't at all surprised when Blaise Zabini was glaring at him during dinner. He tried to make things easy by leaving the room alone, but Blaise didn't follow. During the next few days, this situation continued. Harry could tell Blaise was studying him, but he never came close enough to address, except during classes, when they were surrounded by other students. On Friday of the next week, Blaise was still watching, and they still hadn't spoken.

"Are you coming to Hogsmeade with us, this time, or going with Malfoy?"

At the query, Harry tore his attention from the Slytherin table to look at Ron. Hermione was leaning over to catch his reply.

"Draco isn't allowed to go --" he began.

"What?"

"Because he'll be a major witness in the trial." Harry shrugged. "I offered to loan him my cloak, but he's not particularly interested in risking it."

Ron was smiling, although he appeared to be trying not to. "Too bad," he said insincerely. "So you'll spend the day with us?"

"I'd been going to, but --"

"Harry! You are not staying --"

"But Snape's being sent away on an errand, and won't be back until late. So Draco and I can finally --"

"You're always with Dr-- Malfoy."

"Not recently! But yes, I haven't done much with you and Hermione, this year. So ..." Harry shrugged. "Well, I'll walk in with you, and spend the morning, but I'm coming back early."

Ron looked like he was going to protest, but Hermione yanked his arm down, as if he couldn't speak if he couldn't gesture.

"That's wonderful, Harry. We'll be happy to have you along."

Harry slipped into the Chamber of Secrets with a collection of sweets, a package of frivolities from various stores, and four pint bottles of butterbeer. Draco was seated on the now-furry inflatable couch, seemingly intent on his schoolwork. Harry felt a smile stretching at his cheeks.

"Hi."

Draco looked up a bit coolly. Harry wasn't surprised. He remembered how it felt to be kept at school for his own protection.

"Did you enjoy your excursion?"

"Loads," Harry answered, as if he hadn't noticed Draco's resentful tone. "It's fun to have someone to shop for, though I expect it would be more fun to have you along."

Draco, as Harry had expected, perked up immediately. "What did you get me?"

"Oh, just little things," Harry said casually. He sat down next to Draco and tossed the first package at him. "Sweets, of course, with lots of Tease Toffees, because we both like to chase."

"You can get those anytime," Draco said stormily.

"Treats for Susara, too, of course -- I couldn't neglect her."

"Yes, Harry. Now what did you get me?"

"Two color-changing ink pots, for notes -- or papers, if the professor doesn't mind that sort of thing." (Snape, of course, insisted that all essays be done in black ink.) "With matching self-cleaning quills." The quill he handed Draco was quite beautiful -- the shop-clerk had said it was a fwooper feather. Draco began to look mollified. "And the stationer just happened to have two books bound in the undyed skin of a white goat --" (This, of course, had nothing to do with an owl Harry had sent several days earlier.) "-- so we can redo some old work."

Harry didn't mention the tiny emerald that he had secreted in his bag. That was for the next time Susara shed her skin. He sat back and opened two bottles of butterbeer. "Cale. What do you want to do first?"

For answer, Draco turned and kissed him.

For a first item, it took rather a long time. Harry hadn't understood, a few short weeks ago, how much time one could spend in kissing. Draco's hands shifted uncertainly down his body before settling at the small of his back. Warmth spread out from them as Harry heated at the touch, and he put the energy into binding through Draco's mouth. It was a long time of lips, soft and firm, and agile tongues, and wet warmth, and perfect, blinding, trusting desire before their mouths parted, and Draco, with a slight moan, leaned into Harry's chest.

"God. My brain melted."

"Good thing I'm not working for Voldemort, then."

"Mm."

Slyly, Draco brought his hand around and slid it under the waistband of Harry's jeans.

"Draco...." Harry pulled awkwardly back, and Draco brought his hand out.

"You don't have to do anything."

"Just ... no, don't, okay?"

"Why not?"

"Because ...." Harry wrapped his arms more firmly around Draco and tried to think how to explain without sounding afraid. "Look, this is almost too much. Let me get used to it."

"Scared?"

"No, I.... It's just too good to waste." That was it, he decided. He finally met Draco's eyes. "I don't want to rush through it."

Draco rubbed his forehead. "I cannot believe I think that sounds sweet. I'm going to explode of frustration, you know, wondering if it's time yet."

Harry shifted back, daring a parting pat at one cheek of Draco's arse. "Look, not this term, all right? Sex, I mean. So you don't have to wonder."

"Marvelous." Draco scowled. "I think I preferred suspense." He smirked. "I'll tell Blaise you really don't."

Harry shrugged. "If you must."

"I still don't think you've explained that adequately." Draco sat up, his back straight, and focused intently on Harry. "Not the part about me -- that whole scene."

Harry frowned. He had been thinking about this during the walk back to school.

"Professor Dumbledore," he said, "noticed that two of my three Dark Arts spells were control spells. He suggested I might want to combine my reputation with what he called my 'not-inconsiderable charisma' to find what obedience I could draw without it. I've never really tried to do that, though -- I mean, sometimes people follow me, but I haven't worked at making them, except for the Quidditch team, and I have a lot of experience with Gryffindor Quidditch players."

Draco snorted. "And if you do draw in a group of young Slytherins? What will you have them do?"

"I don't know. Just not become Death Eaters, I suppose."

"Oh no." Draco shook his head. "Have a plan, or give it up. If you get them, you better have orders for them. Cecilius, especially." He twisted back slightly. "That fourth-year boy, Hugh Cecilius."

"Maybe I better give it up, then," Harry admitted. "It was an impulse thing."

Draco laughed. "I'll talk to them sometime, and see what they thought of you."

"Are things getting better in Slytherin?"

Draco shrugged. "I can't tell. A little, I suppose; people have switched to staring curiously, rather than glaring, and my notes weren't 'accidentally' destroyed at all, this week. How are things for you?"

Harry shrugged as well. "Oddly better with Ron, and Seamus has been looking quite smug. I keep expecting a howler from Sirius, but it hasn't happened yet. I wonder if he hasn't heard about that kiss, or if he's not that angry, or if he's just too angry to write."

Draco's eyebrows came down as he frowned. "Are you sure he's okay? He won't hurt you, I mean?"

Harry started. He hadn't thought about how his worries might appear to Draco. "No, of course not." He grinned. "He's just loud. And I hate disappointing him."

"Because he's 'loud?'"

Draco made the word sound like a euphemism. Harry knew it could be, but it wasn't here. "Because he has enough problems. He deserves to have something work out, you know? I mean, his life has been a mess since my parents were killed, and I just wish I could make it better, but I can't. I can't give him twelve years back; I can't even give him his freedom."

"Perhaps you should write to him, then." Draco rolled his eyes. "You'd get it over with, at least."

He opened a second butterbeer and looked contemplatively at Harry. "So, if you won't have sex, exactly what does being your boyfriend entail?"

"Er..." Harry tried to think. Draco was smirking at him, in satisfaction at his discomfort, he expected. "Rather like being friends, with snogging?" Harry tried.

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Of course," he drawled. "My Good Boy."

Harry laughed. "Yeah, right!"

Harry was still feeling contemplative when he went back to Gryffindor after dinner. He took out a length of parchment, and wondered what to say to Sirius. Dear Sirius, you remember how I killed Bellatrix Lestrange? Dear Sirius, if Dumbledore told you that I have been studying Unforgivables, please don't worry. Dear Sirius: I hope you don't mind that I kissed another boy in front of the entire school.... He sighed.

While he was staring at the still-blank parchment, the door opened. Glad of the distraction, Harry looked over.

"Hi, Dean."

Dean's face tightened, but not in any identifiable way. "Just getting a book."

"I wouldn't mind company. I'm just not-writing a letter...."

But Dean had grabbed his book and heading out the door again. Harry returned to scowling at his parchment. After a few minutes, he grabbed his bag and went down to the Common Room.

The problem was, he decided as he sat there, ostensibly working on a Transfiguration assignment, that he was too accustomed to ignoring people. Now that he was paying attention to Dean, it was obvious that his roommate was avoiding him. In fact, there were several people who might be avoiding him -- who had edged around his space rather than tell him to move his books -- and one of the chairs next to his was empty, even though it was a prime spot, right by the fire on a rainy spring night. While he was staring glumly at the chair, Ron came and planted himself in it, and Hermione landed, giggling, in Ron's lap.

"All right there, Harry?"

"Mm." Harry looked desperately at his essay for something he might have been thinking about. "Just trying to remember the term Professor McGonagall used for last week's demonstration -- you know, when the silver went nearly molten without actually being hot?"

"Plastification," Hermione said promptly. "Honestly, Harry! How can you forget that?"

They talked about classes, and he got safely through the moment, but he caught more than one person watching furtively and developing conspicuous interest in something else as soon as Harry looked back. He excused himself early for the privacy of his bed.

There, he stared up at the canopy and thought. He'd told Draco that the Gryffindors didn't care, but perhaps some of them did. It had to be about Draco -- no one knew about anything else. Well, unless it was about killing Bellatrix, but that seemed unlikely. Most people had seemed impressed by that. Harry thought he would have more respect for his house if it had been the other way round.

He wasn't even doing anything with Draco! Well, he was doing some things, but not much, compared to what he suspected Ron did with Hermione, or what Dean claimed to do with his latest girlfriend.

He dreamed about Draco. He dreamed about fucking Draco, although his subconscious seemed even less clear on how that might work than he was -- as soon as he woke, he was sure the position was impossible, but Draco had been practically glowing, and when Harry moved, he found that he was alarmingly relaxed, and his sheets were sticky.

He cast a cleaning spell. It helped physically, but not beyond that. Harry hoped he hadn't cried out, like Ron sometimes did in his sleep. For a while, he lay staring at the canopy. His head hurt. He wanted Draco, and everyone knew it. Well, everyone at school, apparently. The question of his godfather kept coming back to him. What exactly did Sirius know? His letter hadn't sounded like he knew anything past the official story. Exhaustion, Harry decided reluctantly, wasn't going to be near enough to get him back to sleep.

Dear Sirius,

I'm not sure what you heard about the night that Bellatrix died. I did a lot of things that you might object to, that night. The one that I can't feel sorry about is the one that my house seems most upset by -- I kissed a friend of mine. Not a girl friend -- another boy. I hope you aren't disappointed. I don't know if Dumbledore told you that, or about any of the rest of it. If you have to be angry at me, I'd rather it was about one of the other things. You said you weren't angry, but I'm not sure you know anything except that I killed Bellatrix Lestrange. I hate wondering.

Please write back.

Harry

He slipped on his invisibility cloak and walked up to the Owlery while he was still sufficiently groggy to send the letter. When he got back, he was already half-regretting the post.

He woke up to Ron pushing him.

"Breakfast, Harry! Wake up!"

Harry shook his head, trying to clear a morass of incompatible thoughts. Slowly, he sat. He was still wearing a shirt over his pajamas.

Dean threw on his robes over a half-buttoned shirt. "Don't be disgusting before I leave the room," he said, but he was already leaving as he said it. Harry blinked.

"Um, sorry?" he said to Ron. "I'll tell him we're not--"

"He knows, well enough," Ron returned, glaring at the door. "He's just being a git." He looked ruefully at Harry. "You were out, last night."

"I went to the Owlery to send a letter." Harry rubbed the back of his neck. "You know -- one of those things I might have had too much sense to send in the morning."

"To Malfoy?"

"To Snuffles."

Ron's eyes widened. "Oh." After giving Harry an encouraging pat on the shoulder, he stood up. "Look, Harry -- I know it's a mess, but the Gryffindor/Slytherin game was just announced, and it's in only two weeks. You need to have breakfast and call a practice."

Harry practically levitated out of bed.

During the afternoon, he tried to talk with Seamus about Dean, but Seamus brushed it off. "You can't expect no trouble at all, Harry. Just carry on like you usually do, and he'll get over it."

Alone, Harry walked along the lakeshore, stones rattling underfoot, and a raw wind pulling at his hair. The problem was, he thought, that he could not recall how he usually carried on. Nothing seemed normal, now, even if he doggedly ignored thinking about Bellatrix. He had a boyfriend, except that he didn't, and he had got Snape in trouble instead of the other way round, and he was dreading hearing from Sirius and finding out if he had driven away his closest link to his parents.

He looked up and back towards a half-repaired greenhouse, and saw a skinny, dark-haired boy watching him. Zabini, he decided. Deliberately, he turned and walked towards his watcher, who did not come to meet him, but did not retreat, either. Five feet from the Slytherin, Harry stopped, and was greeted with a cool nod.

"Potter."

"Zabini." Harry shook hair back from his face. "I think we have something to discuss."

"Optimistic of you."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Look, I wanted to apologize for the other day. I was in a horrible mood from a run-in with Horsyr, and I was being a complete arse."

"I don't think I'm the one you need to apologize to."

"Oh, I did to Draco minutes later. Just ... Look, I don't want to leave you with the impression that I'm using him. I--" Harry kept himself from saying "love." "He matters to me."

"Because you have him well in hand."

"I don't think I do, really. But whether I do or not, I'll take good care of him. I promise."

Zabini shrugged, and took a step back, but his shoulders, which had been held high, stayed down.

"That's hard to believe, but I'll give you a chance." Zabini snorted. "Not like I have a choice. Just keep in mind that I'm watching you."

Harry shrugged. "All right, then. Likewise, I can't stop you."

That evening, he and Draco had their second meeting with the quiris. They looked just as terrible, and reacted as badly to his and Draco's presence, but both of them were more prepared for it, this time, and Horsyr had them in harnesses that kept them close to her. Her touches seemed to calm them slightly.

Afterwards, Harry led the way to an unused classroom, and without preamble, pulled Draco against him and into a kiss. It went on for minutes, and when their mouths finally parted, Draco sighed pleasantly.

"Mm." He cuddled against Harry. "You're getting more comfortable."

"Yeah." Harry laughed. "Well, I seem to be getting the hang of this kissing thing, anyway. I still think that if you want wild sex, you'd need to lead me into it slowly."

"What if I want very tame sex?" Draco asked innocently.

"Prat. Not this term."

"May I touch?"

Harry was ready to move Draco's hands from his flies, but Draco stroked up, rather than down, exploring the front of Harry's robe until one hand was over each of his nipples. Harry was startled by how good the slight motions of his fingers felt there.

"Um..." Harry tried to think. "That -- yeah, you can ... do that."