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Fucking Snake

Summary:

In their eighth year at Hogwarts, Harry and Draco hide a secret relationship that’s become Harry’s escape. But as Draco grows distant and mysterious, Harry begins to question what's really going on. A single discovery threatens to change everything.

I'm so sorry for that, I'm so shit at summaries.

Notes:

My first foray into the Harry Potter fandom, I'm in an angst mood so beware.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The Great Hall echoed with laughter and chatter, but Harry Potter barely heard any of it. He sat among his friends, their familiar voices blending into a comforting blur. It was a new year at Hogwarts, their eighth—something that had never been planned. War had disrupted everything, leaving the survivors piecing their lives back together like shattered glass. Harry had thought returning here, to the school he had called home, would help him heal. He had expected a fresh start, a life without the weight of prophecy or the shadow of Voldemort.

But the reality was more complex.

The weight of loss hung over him like a dark cloud that refused to clear. His chest felt tight when he thought about all the faces that weren’t sitting with them: Fred, Tonks, Lupin, even Snape in his strange, twisted way. They haunted him in the quiet moments, their voices mixing with the distant screams from the battlefield. Harry blinked hard, swallowing the lump that formed in his throat, and took a deep breath.

It wasn't the laughter or the warmth of his friends' presence that helped him feel grounded. No, it was something... someone else. Draco Malfoy. 

Harry hadn’t planned for that either.

He glanced over his shoulder, searching for the familiar platinum blond head. There, at the Slytherin table, Draco sat surrounded by his housemates, expression cool and aloof as always, though a subtle tension radiated from his frame. To anyone else, Draco looked like his usual self—untouchable, sharp, and cold. But Harry knew better. He knew the soft lines that formed around Draco's eyes when he was tired, the way his lips twitched when he was holding back a smile. Harry had memorized every detail over the past few months, their secret moments together the only solace Harry had found since the war ended.

The bond they shared was more than just physical. In Draco, Harry found something raw and real, a connection he hadn’t felt with anyone else. Draco understood the scars Harry carried, even if they came from different sides of the battle. They were both survivors, both changed, and that understanding ran deeper than words. Draco didn’t ask him to be "the Chosen One" or the hero. With Draco, Harry was just... Harry.

But their relationship had to stay hidden, shrouded in secrecy like everything else in Harry's life.

Draco’s parents would disown him if they knew—well, if Narcissa knew. Draco had once confessed to Harry in a rare moment of vulnerability, late one night when they were tangled in bed together. It wasn’t his father’s opinion that scared him—Lucius Malfoy was a cold, distant figure that Draco had long since learned to ignore. But Narcissa… his mother, who had lied to protect Harry in the forest, who had always been the one person Draco could count on—that was a different story. The mere thought of her disappointment, her rejection, was enough to keep Draco silent.

And Harry? Harry knew how his friends would react. They tolerated Draco, barely. There had been no public declarations of forgiveness or friendship after the war—just an uneasy truce. If Ron or Hermione knew that Harry was in love with the boy who had once tried to ruin their lives, who had branded himself with the Dark Mark, their reactions would be explosive. Harry wasn’t ready for that confrontation. He didn’t want to lose them, too.

The secrecy gnawed at him, but what choice did they have? 

He glanced over at Hermione, her brow furrowed in concentration as she animatedly discussed some revision plan for the year ahead. Ron, sitting next to her, shoveled food into his mouth and nodded along, clearly only half-listening. Harry tried to force a smile, but the knot in his stomach tightened. He felt the weight of Draco's gaze burning into him from across the hall. Their eyes met for the briefest moment before Draco quickly looked away.

Something was wrong.


Draco sat stiffly, his fork idly pushing peas around his plate as Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson gossiped beside him. He hadn’t heard a word they were saying. His mind was elsewhere, entangled in the knot of dread that had been tightening in his chest for weeks now.

He could feel Harry's eyes on him. He always could.

And yet, something in him resisted looking back, as though Harry’s gaze was the flame and he the moth, doomed to burn. Their relationship had once been his only refuge from the chaos in his mind, from the shame and guilt that still clung to him after the war. But now… now things were complicated.

The letters had started a few weeks ago. The first one had arrived, unexpected, from Astoria Greengrass, the younger sister of Daphne Greengrass. She had always been quiet, always observing, and she was nothing like her sister. While Daphne moved through Hogwarts as if she owned the place, Astoria had a quiet intensity about her that Draco found strangely disarming. Her words had been polite at first, formal even, but as the letters continued, they grew more personal. Draco hadn’t expected her to be so forward, so candid about her feelings. 

Now, every time he received one, a sick feeling of guilt gnawed at him. He had tried to distance himself from Harry, to stop kissing him so much, stop needing him so much, because he couldn’t face the truth that was slowly unraveling in his mind.

Astoria was safe. She was expected. A marriage to her would solidify his position in pure-blood society, repair the fractures in his family’s reputation after the war, and, most importantly, Narcissa would approve. She would see Draco settled, restored, maybe even proud of him again. 

But Harry…

Harry was everything he wanted but could never truly have. Every stolen kiss, every frantic moment they spent pressed against each other’s skin was like standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing the fall was inevitable. And lately, Draco had begun to pull back.

It’s better this way, he told himself, but every time Harry touched him, every time he whispered Draco’s name in the darkness, that resolve faltered. How could he possibly let go of the only person who had ever seen him for more than a Malfoy?

His hand trembled as he reached for his goblet, taking a long sip of pumpkin juice to steady his nerves. He could feel Pansy watching him, her eyes narrow with suspicion.

“Draco, darling, are you alright? You’ve been awfully distracted lately,” Pansy asked, her voice cutting through the noise. She leaned in closer, her expression concerned but curious. “Is it about your father?”

Draco swallowed hard, forcing a small smile. “Nothing to worry about, Pans. Just thinking about... everything.”

Pansy studied him for a long moment before giving a dramatic sigh and returning to her conversation with Blaise. Draco exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening around the letter tucked inside his robes. Another one from Astoria.


Later that night, in the shadows of the Room of Requirement, Harry lay beside Draco, his mind buzzing with restless thoughts. They had been here for hours, but Draco had been distant. It was a stark contrast to how things had been just a month ago, when they couldn’t keep their hands off each other, when every touch felt like it might tear them apart with its intensity. Now, Draco seemed guarded, his kisses too brief, his touches too restrained.

Harry rolled over, propping himself up on one elbow as he gazed at Draco’s pale, angular face. The moonlight filtering through the window bathed him in a soft glow, making him look almost otherworldly.

“Draco,” Harry whispered, reaching out to brush a strand of blond hair from his forehead. “What’s going on with you?”

Draco's eyes fluttered open, silver and stormy in the half-light. For a moment, his guard dropped, and Harry saw the vulnerability there, the fear that never quite went away.

“I’m fine,” Draco murmured, though his voice wavered. He pulled Harry closer, their bodies pressing together, skin to skin, as if he could keep the truth at bay by sheer force of will. “Just... tired.”

Harry frowned but didn’t press further. He had learned early on that Draco wasn’t one to open up easily, even when he was hurting. Instead, he leaned in to kiss him, slow and soft at first, but the need grew quickly, overwhelming the space between them. Draco responded, his breath hitching as their kisses deepened, and soon they were tangled in each other, lost in the heat and hunger that had once been so familiar.

Harry kissed down Draco's neck, his hands sliding over smooth skin, eliciting gasps that echoed in the quiet room. Draco clung to him, his fingers digging into Harry’s back, but something felt... off. There was a tension in Draco’s body that hadn’t been there before, a hesitation.

“Harry…” Draco gasped as Harry’s mouth traced lower, down his chest, over the sharp lines of his torso.

But then, as Harry moved against him, flipping them over so Draco was above him, Draco groaned—a soft, harsh sound that sent a shiver through Harry. “As…” Draco breathed, his voice barely a whisper, but Harry didn’t catch the full word. His mind was too clouded with desire, and he assumed Draco had been trying to say “Haz” – it was an unusual nickname for him but it was the only thing that made sense, to him.

Harry didn’t notice the way Draco’s eyes flew open, panic flashing across his face, as though he had just made a terrible mistake.

But the moment passed, and Harry continued, losing himself in the feel of Draco above him. For now, all the doubts and questions faded, replaced by the sheer intensity of their connection, the way they fit together so perfectly, so desperately.

It wasn’t until later, when they lay tangled in each other’s arms, breathless and exhausted, that the nagging doubts returned.


Draco stared at the ceiling long after Harry had fallen asleep beside him. His heart raced with fear, guilt, and something else he couldn't quite name. He had slipped—Astoria’s name had nearly escaped him. What was happening to him? Why did he feel so torn between two worlds, between what he wanted and what he needed?

He turned his head slightly, watching Harry's peaceful face, his dark hair messy against the pillow. Harry looked so content, so trusting, and Draco felt the weight of his betrayal like a crushing stone on his chest. How could he be lying here with Harry, pretending everything was alright, when in reality, everything was falling apart?


The following week, things grew worse.

Draco became more distant, more evasive, always disappearing after classes, always clutching letters tightly in his hand. Harry's suspicions grew, and the pit of unease in his stomach widened with every passing day. Draco rarely touched him anymore, rarely kissed him with the same fervor he used to. Harry tried not to let it bother him, tried to rationalize it—he’s just stressed, we’re all stressed—but it was hard to ignore.

One evening, Harry had had enough. After dinner, he decided to confront Draco, to find out where he had been disappearing to all the time. When Draco said he was going to bed early, Harry waited a few minutes, then quietly followed.

He crept through the corridors, his heart hammering in his chest as he approached the Slytherin dormitories. His mind raced with possibilities—maybe Draco was just avoiding him because he was scared of getting too close, scared of his feelings. That had to be it. It had to be.

But as Harry approached Draco’s private dorm, he heard something—soft, muffled sounds coming from the other side of the door. His breath caught in his throat, and he hesitated for a moment, his hand hovering over the doorknob. 

Then, with a sinking feeling in his gut, he pushed the door open just enough to see inside.

His blood ran cold.

There, tangled in the sheets, was Draco—and Astoria Greengrass. 

Harry’s world shattered.


The door creaked as it swung open further, and Harry felt like he was falling into an abyss. The scene before him—the one thing he hadn’t allowed himself to believe—played out like a nightmare. Draco’s body moved against Astoria’s, their gasps filling the air, and for a moment, Harry couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. His chest constricted with a pain so sharp it nearly brought him to his knees.

The door handle slipped from his grasp, and the noise startled Draco. He froze, turning his head towards the sound.

Their eyes met.

And then the world stopped.

Notes:

please leave comments and kudos, I need it!!!