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Title: Potter’s Parselprostate (and the Chamber of Secrets)
Author: [livejournal.com profile] dicta_contrion
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 17.5k
Warning(s): (highlight for details): *mild dubcon – Harry is pressured to have sex to help Hogwarts/Hermione.*
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Hogwarts’ future depends on Malfoy’s texts. Too bad the key is up Potter’s arse.

This fic was so much fun to write. I grabbed the prompt in the middle of hurtfest, in search of a break from the unrelenting angst, and it took on a life of it’s own. A crazy, silly life of it’s own. 17k of parselsmut later, I’d giggled, groaned, stressed about the porn, come up with new kinks for Lucius, and gotten pretty far out of the angst zone. All of you who have left comments and kudos and recs, I can’t thank you enough (really, I really can never thank you enough ♥) and I’m so happy to have gotten to share this particular slice of nutty fun.

Special thanks to [livejournal.com profile] zeitgeistic whose prompt left me plenty of room to run wild and whose special request made me cackle with glee, to the mods for being so encouraging when I was all “so…..17k of parselsmut…”and to [livejournal.com profile] disapparater, my beta and brit-picker, whose patience, insight, support, knowledge of canon, and dedication to the term “parselprostate” are all extraordinary.

Potter's Parselprostate (and the Chamber of Secrets) (on AO3)


“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 stepping 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. “Fawley’s Vodka. 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 we see your plans?

I contain Slytherin’s plans.”

Yes…yes. Please, let us 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 star 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.


Continue to Part 2

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