Part and Parsel

"I'm going to go hallucinate somewhere else." -- Schuldig, Mami-san's SNAFU Chapter 15


WOW. Great response to this. Thanks, guys!! I really appreciate reviews; they keep me going, really!

Special thanks to:

Starscream'sGirl -- Really, Harry/Adrian wasn't on purpose.. XD But since you asked so nicely...

thrnbrooke -- and more you shall receive!

devilfancy -- HOMG YOU REVIEWED MY FIC!!! XDDD Thanks for taking time to read it! I totally agree with you ^___^

Kade -- BEST REVIEW EVER! I love reviews like yours; they make me feel worthwhile as a writer. I'm SO glad you liked it! No, I hadn't read it before posting it, but rereading after your comment, I think I'll have to take away the 'sorry it sucks' comment, because I guess it didn't, after all. XD Thank you for the compliment, and vote of confidence!!

stef -- working on it!! ^__^

isaac -- thank you!
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NOTES:
"This is obviously speaking."
These are thoughts.
"/This is parseltongue!/"
[Anything in here is remembered/in memory etc etc..]

And now, on with the madness!
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Saturday's were always fairly bad for him; there were no distracting classes to keep his mind off his life, and nothing to occupy his time between Quidditch practices. Game-days were the worst, though; all the pressure and excitement of knowing your entire HOUSE was depending on you to catch the Golden Snitch, and win the game, and win as many points as you could while doing it, it was all so stressful.

Added his newfound relationship with Adrian Pucey, and the added bonus of Draco Malfoy...

To say Harry was having a bad day was a severe understatement.

Topping it all off, they were both on the Slytherin Quidditch team, and he'd have to go against them in less than - a quick check of time using his wand - less than half an hour. At least Voldemort's gone, Harry reasoned to himself, ticking that off the mental list of Things That Were Slowly Driving Him Mental.

He wished he knew where his late-night confidence went to when it wasn't occupying him. Under the cover of darkness, with his invisibility cloak and the Marauder's Map close at hand, Harry felt like he was at the top of the world. With more confidence than he felt, Harry left his barely-touched meal in the Great Hall, and reassured Hermione and Ron that he was going to get ready for the game. Ron slurped the last of his pumpkin juice, and offered to follow him.

"Wait up, mate!" he called, and Harry paused, turning in time to see Draco Malfoy slip Adrian Pucey a note. Waiting for Ron, he watched Adrian's lips curve into a smirk and he nodded at Malfoy, then the two of them looked at the Gryffindor table, their eyes seeking.

Not me, not me... Harry wished fervently, reminding himself of his first year sorting. [Not Slytherin, not Slytherin, not Slytherin...]

Malfoy found him first, and pointed, and then Adrian's eyes made their way to him hungrily. Late-night Harry returned with a vengeance as he caught their smoldering looks, and smirked haughtily. Ron finally reached him, and as one, they turned from the Great Hall without a backwards glance.

-----

Draco's legs felt weak simply remembering what had transpired the night before, and Potter's look had done nothing for his semi-hard state. When both Potter and the Weasel had gone, he and Adrian followed Nott and the rest of the Slytherin team out after them, for a quick warm-up before the game.

Changing into his uniform, Draco took the time to admire Pucey's body. Slightly taller than Potter, he was much more bulky, though it was all muscle on them both. He'd never considered Pucey as 'attractive' before, focusing mainly on the ones closest to him - Blaise Zabini, and Harry Potter, not that he'd have admitted to either of them before last night.

Last Night. He felt it ought to be capitalized, even in his thoughts, or else the importance of everything that had transpired might not come through all the way. He'd never ever have even guessed that Harry was gay, much less that he'd be able to overcome the Slytherin/Gryffindor house hatred that had existed for so long that no one was even sure where it had started anymore. A quick talk with Pucey after he'd returned to the Slytherin common room, and they finally found a few things in common - love for Quidditch, and Harry Fucking Potter.

Or fucking Harry Potter.

Or being fucked by Harry Potter.

Hell, so long as “fuck” and "Harry" were in the same sentence, he'd be happy.

Back to last night, he told himself, and considered Pucey's words from the night before. He'd told Draco that he'd never really looked at Potter that way, until Morag MacDougal had come to him and said in no uncertain terms that Harry Potter was the best hand job he'd ever had. Intrigued, Pucey sought him out, and discovered that Parseltongue was an incredible turn on. They'd been meeting several times a week for the past month, and then Draco had found them last night, and together, they hatched a plan.

It was no secret that Draco was in love with Harry -- except, maybe, to himself, he reasoned -- and Pucey was a Slytherin; not stupid. He'd all but leapt on the chance of a threesome. In daylight, Draco found his assurance of the night before gone, and was almost put off by the idea of finally cornering Potter for purposes other than making him miserable. Purposes of making him quite the opposite of miserable, actually.

For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Draco found himself absolutely terrified, with Potter at the heart of it both times. Actually, he wasn't sure how they were going to play Quidditch, with the memory of the night before hanging over them all like a Dark Mark. Pucey and Potter had worked it out; neither of them were going to hold back against the other. But Draco? How was he meant to deal with the match, and the fact that he'd just admitted that not only was he bisexual, he was intensely attracted to the one person who'd hated him from the moment they laid eyes on one another.

A hand on his arm made him jump, and Pucey's face next to his took the edge off only a little. "Don't think about it, Malfoy," he said. "Focus on the Snitch. That's all you worry about now." Thanking him with a nod, Draco took his words to heart, and shoved everything but Quidditch from his mind. Then they were being called out by the Captain to start the warm-up circles, and as he lifted off the ground his eyes closed, the pure freedom of being in the air stealing all the meddlesome worries away from him.

It seemed like it had been only minutes since he'd taken to the air before the Captain was calling them down for a quick meeting before the match. He reasoned it must have been at least fifteen minutes, though, possibly as much as twenty, as the stands were filling up already.

"It's Gryffindor; you know the drills," the captain was saying as he touched down. "Malfoy, as always, it's up to you to get your eyes off Potter's ass, and onto the Snitch - make sure you catch it!" Draco nodded at his scathing tone, used to it by now. He tuned the rest of it out, only turning his attention outwards again when the Gryffindor team made the pitch. Headed by Potter, they were an intimidating sight, he admitted silently. The other teams just didn't have the imposing air the Gryffindors had, but he reasoned that Slytherin had their own 'air' about them; sneaky and not above using dirty, underhanded tricks to win.

Potter's face, when they met at the center of the pitch, was unreadable, but his eyes were bright with amusement, and something else Draco couldn't quite identify. Then they were off, and the Snitch was loose, and both he and Potter were drifting around aimlessly, hoping for a glimpse of it. The game went on below them, and Draco felt that some sort of contact was necessary, drifting closer to him. "See anything yet, Potter?" he asked, modifying his tone to 'just under insulting'.

"Like I'd tell you if I had, Malfoy?" he returned, quirking an eyebrow. Draco felt mildly uncomfortable. He didn't want to insult him, though that's what almost every fiber of his being was insisting he do. They were saved by any other awkwardness by the Snitch choosing that moment to zoom between them, sending them both careening after it. Now it was down to who was faster on the broom, and who could keep it in their sights long enough to grasp it.

Minutes passed, and neither gained the upper hand. Potter had a better broom, and Draco suspected he was just keeping level with Draco for the fun of it. Potter was reaching for the winged ball, inches ahead of Draco, when the Snitch abruptly stopped, and doubled back on itself. Both Seekers shot past it, unable to compensate fast enough for the change in direction. Potter's broom flipped over he stopped it so quickly to turn, and he was flying upside down for at least four or five seconds before he righted himself, and got right back on the trail of the golden ball. Draco flipped himself as well, attempting to turn, and instead of turning back, he continued to roll through the air several turns before he got his broom back under control, and shot off after Potter.

He caught a glimpse of golden light a few feet ahead of Potter's outstretched fingers, and then his heart hit the back of his tongue as they both dropped like rocks towards the ground.

At first, Draco wondered if Potter'd lost control of his broom; he was simply falling with no finesse or control, and then at what had to be inches from the ground he pulled upwards, clutching the Snitch triumphantly. The sinking feeling of having lost the Snitch again was a familiar one, and it didn't drag him too far down.

The Gryffindor stands were going nuts at the victory, and there was a familiar dejected grumble from the Slytherin stands. It was all Draco could do not to go over and smack Potter in the back of his head for such a stupid stunt, and when his feet hit the ground, they nearly went right back out from under him. Leaning unceremoniously on his broom for a few seconds while he adjusted to terra firma again, he watched the Gryffindor team congratulate Potter on his 'fantastic' win.

Pucey sidled up to him, the first stages of their plot hatching into the crowded field. "Malfoy, you horses ass! You couldn't catch the broad side of a barn!" he shouted, sounding realistically angry. Draco was almost worried for a few seconds, before the amused twinkle in his eyes shone through.

"At least I wasn't born in one, you sorry excuse for a chaser," Malfoy retorted. Stealing a glance over at the Gryffindors, he noticed Potter staring at them, and nodded discreetly to Pucey.

"Don't you insult my family, you blood traitor!" Pucey shouted, and Malfoy found his ire up despite himself, and got up into Pucey's face, shoving him. Pucey shoved back, and it degraded into a fist fight quickly.

Potter was closer than Hooch, something they'd done deliberately, and as planned, he got there first, wading into the thick of it.

-----

"Knock it off, you guys!" Trying to drag Malfoy off of Pucey, Harry wondered how the two of them had managed this. Slytherin certainly wasn't above physical fighting, but Malfoy usually was. "Stop it before I hex you, ferret face!" he hissed at Malfoy, who was struggling to reach the smirking Pucey a few feet away.

"Ferret face?!" Pucey snorted, and started laughing, and suddenly Malfoy's wand was out of his sleeve and pointing at Pucey, and Harry's was aimed at Malfoy, and they froze, seconds from hexing one another into next week.

That was how Madam Hooch found them when she finally made it over from a fight between Ron and the Slytherin Keeper, and gave the three of them detentions.

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There was meant to be more to this chapter, but I just can't write anymore! More ParselSmut coming in the next chapter, I solemnly swear!

EDIT: I’m still working on it, I promise, it’s just very slow going. This was beta’d by the lovely Aki-Hoshi, so hop on over and give her fanfics a read. They’re well worth it, I promise.

www.aki-hoshi.com