Adventures in Parseltongue

Draco Malfoy was perfectly normal. It was a fact in which he took a great deal of pride, that there existed no real oddities or abnormalities about him; certainly he was very unique, a leader among his peers, but Draco Malfoy was perfectly normal. Except... possibly that one thing. With the snakes.

Draco could have gone through his entire life without knowing about it, too, if it hadn't been for stupid Lockhart and his stupid dueling class and stupid Potter... Since that incident, he'd spent a lot of time wishing he'd never conjured that snake... It hadn't been so bad when it first happened, when Potter had started speaking in that... tongue... Parseltongue, to be exact, and whatever signs Draco had shown were surely not noticed beneath the shock and fear rippling through the Great Hall at Potter's hidden ability... But it had been the weeks that followed that were most telling, most disturbing...

After that duel, and hearing Parseltongue the sibilant language had seemed to twist itself around his dreams; particularly, Draco noted, those which tended to leave him waking either breathless, or, otherwise, sticky. It wasn't that he dreamt about Potter--his dreams, as they'd been before the incident--had only ever involved encounters with faceless strangers, or, unimaginatively, his own hand. Yet somehow it was Potter's voice that was there--rubbing at the edges of his consciousness at first, but growing stronger as the dream progressed, hissing louder as the intensity mounted, breathing new energy into those dream-sensations with words Draco heard clearly but could never understand. By the time Draco could feel his muscles tensing, preparing to spasm, those hisses and pauses and growls had blocked out all else--gone were the faceless strangers, gone were all other details, completely, and it was as if he had dreamt only of those words the entire time--they were all he heard, saw, felt, tasted, until he woke with a start, and, many times, in need of a long shower.

Draco had ever since tried to think of some reason why hearing Potter speak Parseltongue had produced such an effect on him. Surely it wasn't Potter, but the language itself... He had, since then, heard the Dark Lord speaking to his snake Nagini in the same manner and had felt nothing at all of the sort... but surely that was only natural. Only someone completely mad could feel anything... pleasurable... when Voldemort was speaking. Probably, Draco decided, if it were anyone else, any one but Potter or the Dark Lord, he might have enjoyed it even more.

The dreams had been all too frequent for a few months after the dueling class, but never disappeared entirely. Even now, four years later, Draco was still having the occasional Parseltongue dream--and it seemed that what these dreams lacked in frequency, they greatly made up for in impact: just one instance of these dreams was enough to render Draco quite absentminded and dazed for the next day or two.

It happened to be one of these nights when Draco was heading back to the dungeons from an after-hours engagement. As he passed the statue of Boris the Bewildered, however, Draco paused. A collection of sounds suspiciously reminiscent of Parseltongue had reached his ears, it seemed, and Draco wondered whether he was hallucinating. After all, he was tired, and bits of the previous night's dream had been drifting in and out of his head all day. But the sound was drawing closer, and seemed to be turning corners as it did so. 'Shit,' thought Draco. It had to be Potter. It made no sense for Harry Potter to be walking the same corridor as he was in the middle of the night, speaking Parseltongue, no less, but it had to be Potter. There were no other known Parselmouths at Hogwarts, and he'd recognize the voice of his rival of six years anywhere; it was definitely him.

Draco tried desperately to think of a plan of action, but already the sounds Harry was making, combined with fatigue and confusion and a slight hint of panic, were already starting to take effect, clouding his mind and awakening his nerves. Draco shivered as his body continued to respond to the noise, cursing his bad luck, and hoping for the unlikely event of avoiding a confrontation with Harry.

But there he was, turning the corner, continuing to hiss in a low voice, until--"Fuck!" Draco exclaimed under his breath--he he caught sight of his rival a few feet ahead, whereupon he fell silent, approaching Draco at a speed much greater than Draco would have liked.

"Potter," Draco nearly shouted when he'd arrived, almost startling himself with the unintentional volume of his voice.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong with you, Malfoy?" He took a moment to look Draco up and down. Draco squeezed his hands into fists as Harry's eyes lingered just exactly too long on the front of his trousers for him not to have noticed the coarse language's effect on his body. Harry smirked. Draco's hand moved to his pocket to grip his wand. He ought to just hex Potter now...

But then Potter started up again, with that slithering, sibilant tongue, the long string of strange words infiltrating his mind. Draco held his breath and gripped his wand tighter, quite a useless move, for his logical abilities seemed to have been driven away by the influx of new chemicals to his brain.

"What the hell did you say?" Draco demanded harshly with the breath he finally let out after a few moments.

"I said," he began, taking a step closer, "It's the Parseltongue, isn't it?"

"What? H--" he stopped himself from asking how Harry knew about this anomaly, refusing to admit to it so readily.

"How did I know?" Shit, it was too late. "I saw the way you reacted that day when I talked to the snake. You weren't afraid, or confused, or anything like everyone else was. I didn't know what it was then, but I thought I'd figured it out after a while. And you've just proven me right, Malfoy. It's very... Slytherin... of you. Are you all like this?"

Draco ignored his last comment. "I haven't proven anything to you, Potter."

"Really?" I could have sworn I was right about you and Parseltongue. But if I need more proof..." He bent to put his mouth near Draco's left ear. "I know its the Parseltongue, Malfoy." His words had turned back into drawn-out, hissing syllables, and, forgetting where he was, Draco whimpered quietly, closing his eyes for a moment. "You get hard when I talk to you like this. That's my proof. And I think I know why. Your name may mean 'dragon,' but you're a snake. You're a lying, filthy, plotting snake, Malfoy. I'm surprised you're not the Parselmouth here."

Draco was squirming as Harry spoke; he could only imagine what Potter was saying--no doubt he was taunting him, and here he was, too weak to retaliate, too weak to do anything at all, save making noises he'd never wanted to make in front of Potter--let alone in response to him. "F-Fuck you, Potter," he finally managed.

"You'd love to, wouldn't you Malfoy?" Potter seemed to be enjoying himself immensely.

Draco shuddered, trying desperately to keep his composure. "Speak English, Potter. I don't have scales."

"But you're enjoying this so much more," Harry hissed into his ear, and this time Draco's knees nearly buckled; he leaned into the wall to steady himself.

"Fuck, Potter..." he whispered hoarsely.

"You want me." Harry was speaking English again now. Despite himself Draco felt the tiniest twinge of disappointment.

"No, I... fuck." Draco couldn't think. He didn't want Potter... did he?

"I'm going to keep talking." Harry couldn't help himself; he was relishing in his newfound ability to exert power over his enemy. With just a few simple words in the snakes' language, he could render Malfoy speechless--a few more and he was swaying on the spot. He wondered what just a bit more could do...

"You're not so tough like this, Malfoy. I know your weakness now. I know your secret... what turns you on most. And I can use it against you whenever I want. And believe me, Malfoy, I will. I can make you so turned on you can't think straight... I already have, haven't I? Look at you; you've had your wand in your hand for how long? But you haven't hexed me. I'll bet you don't even know what's in your hand. I'll bet this, what I'm doing right now, made you forget how to even do magic at all. Is that true, Malfoy? You're completely harmless now. Completely helpless. I wonder how much more it'll take to make you beg..."

Draco's full weight was against the wall now; his face was flushed, his head tilted back, showing off his pointed chin, his eyes closed and mouth just slightly open. His breathing was heavy and uneven. He broke the silence with a small, pathetic noise from the back of his throat. He thought he could hear Potter laughing.

"I'm going to keep talking," Harry continued. Draco writhed against the wall as the slow, deliberate sibilance fell again from Harry's mouth. "You're evil, Malfoy. That's why Parseltongue turns you on so much. You're vile. And now you're pathetic. And do you know what else you are, Malfoy?" he paused, and Draco could feel his breath hot upon the side of his face and neck. "You're mine."

The last of Harry's words came out as a long, low, growling hiss, and Draco shivered, moaning aloud. "Please..." he groaned.

"Please what, Malfoy?" Harry asked with an air of impatience. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No... please..." Draco didn't give a fuck about his dignity, or about how much he hated Potter; he couldn't anymore. He grabbed the Gryffindor's tie to pull him closer, leaving the wand he'd long since forgotten to fall to the floor with a clatter he hardly noticed at all. "Please."

"I'm going to keep talking." Again. Harry began unfastening the silver-and-green tie as he spoke, the silk slithering along his fingers like a serpent of Slytherin. "I knew it wouldn't take long to get you to beg." Draco was whimpering softly with every other word now, and he let out a hiss of his own when Harry had finally removed his tie and was working on his buttons, exposing a pale and heaving chest.

"I haven't even touched you, Malfoy. All I have to do is talk. I could say anything, anything at all, and it would drive you crazy. And you've admitted it, Malfoy. You want me." Then again, in English, "You want me."

Draco could not help it; he nodded. "Keep... keep talking." He pressed his hips desperately into Harry's lower abdomen. "Fuck," he breathed as he discovered he was only just barely able to brush against him.

"What would your Death Eater friends say if they saw you like this, Malfoy?" Harry was nearing the bottom of the shirt. "Driven to near madness by the sound of my voice... begging for me to touch you. So embarrassing." He'd reached the last button now, taking his time with it before pushing open the bright white shirt to reveal Draco's almost equally pale torso.

Draco slumped to the floor, now lightheaded, as Harry ran one finger along his collarbone, his touch slow and painfully light. Harry was quick to kneel beside him, continuing to hiss in his ear.

"Are you certain it's only the Parseltongue, Malfoy? I touch you just once--like here--" Draco arched his body to meet Harry's fingers in the center of his chest--"or here--" Harry's fingers stroking the top of Draco's abdomen earned him a sharp gasp--"and you can't even stand anymore. Look what I've reduced you to, Malfoy. You love me touching you. You're not even trying to hide it."

Suddenly Harry raked the nails of his right hand down Draco's front, leaving a trail of raised pink lines, dotted with shimmering red beads where he had broken the skin. Draco let out a long, cracked moan, pressing up into the piercing assault on his body. "I can hurt you," Harry said, and Draco could almost feel the words slithering out of his mouth and into his ear, "I can hurt you, and you just sit back and enjoy it. I could kill you, right now if I wanted to, Malfoy. You are mine."

Draco bucked his hips upward at the sounds, at Harry's hovering hands. "Please, Potter. Please."

Harry placed one hand flat on the blonde's tense stomach. "Not yet, Malfoy. This is going to count. I want you to remember everything. Always." Draco squirmed and writhed and panted under Harry's hands, whose palms were now running along his front and sides as he hissed, low and incessant, into his ear. "You will remember this, Malfoy. You'll remember how I could bring you to this point, barely able to think, barely able to speak; how you were completely at my mercy. You'll remember how I made you beg me, with just my voice and this language... How I could hurt you any time I wanted--" Harry proved this point by dragging his nails down Draco's abdomen again, stopping just above his belt; Draco let out a frustrated cry, raising his hips nearly a foot off the floor--"and you never fought back. You're going to remember how much you want me right now, Malfoy."

"Potter," Draco whined breathlessly. Sweat shined on his forehead from his efforts to get more, more, more from Harry, and Harry was almost certain he saw tears gathered in the corners of his heavy-lidded gray eyes.

"You can't last much longer, can you?" Harry spoke in the language Draco could understand. Draco shook his head, blinking in an effort to contain the tears he hoped Potter hadn't seen.

"I saw, Malfoy," he hissed with renewed intensity, an extra edge of malice added now. "I want you to remember how you cried for me. So pathetic." Harry slid his fingers down the smooth, heated skin of his rival until he reached his belt buckle. Draco shivered and shuddered as Harry began to unfasten it.

"This is what you want, Malfoy. You want me to keep talking to you, and you want me to make you come." Down went the zipper on Draco's trousers. Harry moved his fingers just out of reach from Draco's arching hips before he continued, mouth so close now Draco could feel every movement of his lips against his cheek and earlobe.

"Do you know what this means? It means from now on, every time you fuck your whore girlfriend Pansy Parkinson, you'll be thinking of this--" Harry allowed his hand to settle just above where Draco needed it most--"my hand on your cock. You're going to hear my voice and feel my hands on your body. She may not even realize it, but you and I will both know. You belong to me now, Malfoy."

Harry slid his hand down that one half-inch now to grip Draco's cock. "Mine," he hissed, squeezing tightly; Draco's head snapped back as he let out a strangled moan. "Mine, Malfoy." Harry's breath was hot and steady on his ear and neck and his fingers were right around him as he worked to pry Draco's orgasm from him, and Draco caved, yielding to Harry's touch on his body; to the slow, sibilant hissing that had tormented him for four years--he came, harder than he could have imagined, Potter hissing into his ear and his eyes squeezes shut and his hands clutching at the stone floor beneath him as soundless cries came from his open mouth; it was suddenly impossible to breathe...

And then there was Potter, standing, now, looming over him, as he struggled to drag his mind back to higher function. Potter didn't bother waiting for him.

"Don't forget this, Malfoy."

And he was gone.