The Secret’s in the Telling [2021 Edit]
Chapters: 42/42 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Remus Lupin/Severus Snape Characters: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Remus Lupin, Severus Snape Additional Tags: Werewolf Draco Malfoy, Animagus Harry Potter, werewolves mate for life, Snape absolutely should not be allowed to teach Occlumency, sketchy Gryffindor ethics, AU of Sixth Year, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Creature Fic, Accidental Bonding, Snupin pre-slash
Summary:
Draco Malfoy suffers the unthinkable when he is turned into a werewolf. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things?
(੭ˊ͈ ꒵ˋ͈)੭* . * ･ ｡ﾟ☆
Excerpt:
“We should toast something,” Harry said, as Draco picked up his drink, ready to toss it back without thought.
“Why?”
The Gryffindor shrugged, suddenly not certain. “Dunno. Something to do.”
“Alright… To what?” Draco finally gathered himself enough to ask, ignoring the way the world lurched as he shifted slightly, rearranging his legs more comfortably beneath him. He sat cross-legged on the floor, Harry opposite him in the same position, the coffee table between them. From the corner of his eye Draco caught movement, and turned to glance at Vanima, slithering her way onto the warm hearth of the lit fireplace.
Inspired, he turned back to the Gryffindor, momentarily forgetting himself and allowing an idiotic grin to pass over his face. “Toast something in Parseltongue for me,” he insisted, remembering how the sibilant words had whispered so nicely.
Green eyes blinked in surprise, but it didn’t take long for Draco’s enthusiasm to catch. “What do you want me to say?” Harry asked, grinning. He thought it was a little odd, knowing someone else appreciated the language. Even Ron and Hermione were made uneasy by it, and half the school still considered it Dark.
But then, he supposed that explained why Draco liked it, with his fixation for all magic just this side of legal.
Draco shook his head. “Anything,” he instructed, propping an elbow clumsily on his knee and leaning forward with anticipation. He’d probably regret showing such eagerness later, but he couldn’t help it. He’d heard Potter speak the snake language before, true, but he covetously wanted to hear it spoken directly to him.
Harry frowned in thought, blurrily casting around for ideas before seeming to think of something satisfactory and picking up his glass. He turned to glance at Vanima, concentrating for a second, before beginning to hiss.
Draco held his breath as he listened. He couldn’t quite distinguish individual words within the soft whispers, but Harry’s voice lilted and flowed, slowing down indulgently on certain sounds. Green eyes lost their sharpness as he spoke, becoming lazy and half-lidded not unlike the serpent he was imitating. Draco felt entranced, aware of his own unsteady grasp on propriety. He couldn’t take his gaze off the other’s mouth, fascinated by the sibilant movement of his tongue behind his teeth. He shuffled awkwardly around the corner of the table, wanting to get closer so he could properly examine every soft sound of the beautiful language. Harry looked momentarily bemused, then smiled and finished whatever speech he’d just made with a hissing flourish.
Instinctively, Draco reached out and grasped the other’s wrist, demanding, “Don’t stop!”
“I don’t have anything else to say,” Harry pointed out, grinning. “You don’t even know what I said in the first place.”
“I don’t care,” the Slytherin insisted, shaking his head. “I don’t want to know. Just… do it again.” He rose up so that he was on his knees, intending to stare commandingly down at the still seated Gryffindor.
Unfortunately, the world chose that moment to pitch sideways, and without any decent warning Draco found himself tumbling inelegantly straight into the other boy; who, unhelpful as ever, offered no resistance and the pair ended up sprawled across the floor, only just missing the table corner on the way down.
Flat on his back, Harry looked up at the blond peering down at him, Draco’s weight solid and comfortable on his chest. His vision swam and wavered, a combination of his intoxication and the fact that his glasses were now severely askew. It made a pleasant image, the Slytherin’s pale, sharp features softened and illuminated attractively. Indulgently, without any real thought about what he was doing, he reached up and ran his fingers through the feather-soft strands of hair, brushing them away from the other boy’s eyes.
Draco practically melted against him with the petting. Ordinarily, the reaction might have startled him, so unreserved, so patently un-Malfoy. But right now, in these moments when neither were in their right minds, he revelled in it and repeated the motion, hoping to hear the blond respond with that noise of contentment again.
He did just that, sighing a little, and his breath was sweet with the whiskey. Grey eyes closed partway, thoroughly relaxed, and he even leaned toward the hand buried in his hair. Really, Harry thought, Draco might well have been a werewolf, but this was like dealing with an overgrown cat. Not that he minded. In fact, he quite enjoyed the low, pleased purring that sent waves of vibration through him.
He didn’t realise Draco had moved until he felt his glasses being gently taken from him. He blinked, trying to refocus his eyes without success, and heard Draco deposit the frames somewhere off to the side. He was so tired, and so dizzy, and so warm. Happy, he let his hand trail away from the blond hair, over the vague jut of a shoulder blade, coming to rest on the small of Draco’s back.
It woke him up considerably, however, when the other boy kissed him.
Draco acted on a whim, not quite tentative, but definitely curious and with all the hesitancy of heading into the unknown. It was an experiment, something that had been in the back of his mind for longer than he cared to admit, and which was now impossible to deny. Beneath him, Harry hissed in surprise, and it was so reminiscent of the Parseltongue he’d spoken moments ago that Draco shivered happily. Fingernails scraped across his back as the Gryffindor’s hand clenched in his shirt.
Feeling horribly clumsy, Draco nudged their mouths together again, hoping for a reaction. Harry’s lips were chapped against his own, unmoving as he let Draco do what he wanted. He parted his mouth slightly so that they shared whiskey-sweet breath, awkward only when he happened to open his eyes and was met with a stunningly green gaze, unshielded for once behind glass lenses, and still pinned wide with astonishment.
It was the brief, almost shy flick of Draco’s tongue that finally earned the response he wanted. Harry’s breath came sharp all of a sudden, lashes lowering. His back arched seemingly against his will, and both hands rose to grip the blonde’s waist tightly.
The frustration that had been bothering Harry for weeks finally peaked, and without warning he found himself moving in a surge, not giving Draco time to protest as he flipped him onto his back and rolled so that he was on top. Draco gave an undignified yelp of surprise as he was pressed into the carpet, but his fingers rose immediately to tangle in Harry’s hair and hold him in place, and he seemed to like it when Harry licked into his mouth.