Warm But Tainted Blood (Drarry)

chapter sixteen

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, Dragon Slayer praised by all, is avoidant to attention like shadows are avoidant to light. Every unwanted touch on his skin makes him want to burn it, even if it's done because he's hugging a friend whose brother has disappeared.

Harry is given attention tenfold the amount he'd received as a child and he turns away from it. He does not want to be their puppet-- subject to their constant expectations and violence. He wants to makes Potions and be just okay at Charms and he wants to be okay and he wants others to be okay. He doesn't want to spend his hours fighting and he doesn't want to spend his breakfasts reading over newspapers that work to compel him one way or another.

But he's Harry Potter. He wants to help people-- wants to solve the Dragon Epidemic, make the disappeared people found-- so he's forced into the spotlight that only proves to blind him.

He does not embrace it. He turns his back and walks away from it. And walks he does-- when he's aquired, by some miracle, free time, he will walk. He'll walk around the castle, in all it's nooks and crannies, and he'll stay away from the people he likes, the people he hates, and the people he's just not sure of.

Draco understands it. Harry hates being a celebrity, hates adults, hates being touched. Harry likes to walk and let his head float above the clouds. Draco sees him, sees what his peers whisper is "such odd behavior." Draco sees him and understands him.

Or maybe he doesn't. Maybe he's just pretending to understand and doesn't really get that Harry would like to be Just Harry, thank you very much. Just Harry, the one who smells like treacle tart, dirt, and smoke and not like the blood of his enemies. But even pretending to understand is enough. Harry doesn't even think to ask for more. It's enough.

Harry walks one evening, not wanting to watch Fred practice Quidditch and not knowing where Draco or Hermione are (or, perhaps, not caring), and it is how he found himself face to face with a talking snake.

Snakes talking to Harry is not something that regularly occurs-- he's not met a lot of snakes in his lifetime-- but it's something that's relatively possible. He's a Parseltongue, after all. Talking to this snake in particular is, however, strange in a way that even talking to the dragons is not.

She is large. A huge ass scary ass snake that seems to have a love hate relationship with Harry, even though they'd only met that evening.

"You remind me of a boy Tom told me about. One he met when he wasss a boy. He never wassss given a name," she says, giving Harry no time to ask who Tom is, "He was friendssss with him, I think. He'd deny it but it'sss true. He'd had a way to achieve immortality before meeting him... and afterwardssss he gave it up. He dessscribed a boy with black hair and Avada Kedavra eyes. You've got the sssame ssscar, too."

Harry rubs at the aforementioned scar on his forehead, almost instinctively. "...But I'm not him."

She pauses then says, "No. I ssssuppose you can't be."

Harry shifts from foot to foot. He's uncomfortable, being mistaken for someone he's not yet again. He's desperate to change the subject-- or get away completely-- but he's not fast enough at either.

"I think he wasss in love with him," hissed the snake. "If he could be in love-- always a debatable fact-- then he was with him and only him. And then he jussst... vanissshed. He ssshifted Tom'sss world and then jussst vanisshed."

"Cool," said Harry blandly, wondering if she would follow if he ran.

"I hate you because you killed him."

Harry, who's fairly certain that he's not killed anyone and is equally as certian this snake is not as sane as she first appeared, repeats, again, "Cool."

"But I won't kill you," she hissed. Harry can tell that they're both having different conversations here and would like to get out of both of them. "Killing you won't bring him back. I don't sssee what'sss the point."

"Thanksss. And sssorry," says Harry, unsure if it's the appropriate response to... that, but fully aware it's the only response. "Erm-- I've got to go--"

"Are you truly ssorry?"

Merlin I've got to get out of here. You're holding me verbally hostage. "I'm harrowed, fully apologetic." He's not even exactly sure what he's apologizing for-- murdering this snake's friend is a solid option except Harry hasn't murdered alone. As far as he's concerned, bugs on the sidewalk and dragons trying to kill you doesn't exactly count. His hands are free from blood so he wishes this snake would shut the fuck up and clarify what he's supposed to be sorry for.

She eyes him-- those huge ass scary ass pupils-- and Harry can tell she doesn't believe the lie. But, with the snake reminiscent of a smile, she hums, "Okay. I accept."

She doesn't believe him but she'll pretend. Maybe that's what matters. (Maybe not.)

It's enough.

Harry won't think to ask for more, even if he should. He personally wants to not ask for anything from this snake-- he's creeped out and bit pissed off-- because he'd not like to talk with her again. A part of knows that he won't be that lucky, though. This won't be the last he'll see of her.

She talks a lot, keeping Harry a lot longer than Harry would have preferred, and tells of how she can "sssmell the sssoulmate on him, who'sss the lucky fellow?" Harry thinks his new "friend" is a few cards short of a deck.

Eventually, Harry insists that curfew is soon-- it's actually half and hour past it, better late than never-- and she stops in her ranting to let him go. As he walks away, she calls:

"The name'sss Nagini, by the way."