Work Text:
“You want us to do what?” Potter asked, his eyes widening.
“Do keep up, Potter,” Draco replied, though the question was clearly directed at Robards. “You need to interview the snake.”
“Intervi—” Potter started incredulously, but Robards held up a hand to stop him.
“We just need to gain access to the dungeon. There could be all sorts of evidence in there that could further the case. There’s only one way in and the snake is guarding it.”
“And you can’t just…move it?”
Robards sighed, rubbing a palm across his forehead.
“How much do you know about the silver-eyed pit viper?”
Draco felt himself straighten in his seat, and resisted the urge to shove his hand into the air like he were still at Hogwarts.
“Er…nothing?” Potter said. Robards made a face that looked rather constipated and was about to launch into speech when Draco beat him to it.
“It’s considered to be the largest viper in the U.K., having been brought here illegally by wizards from Sri Lanka as part of a magical breeding scheme. They were breeding Muggle snakes with magic and trying to pass them off as newly discovered species. The Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office and the Improper Use of Magic Office were working on it last year.”
Draco was acutely aware of Potter’s bright eyes boring into him from his side, but he kept his face forward.
“Correct,” Robards said. “Problems with magical breeding of Muggle animals are…too many to name.”
The Head Auror sighed again, running a hand through his more-salt-than-pepper hair.
“We can’t Stun it,” he continued. “Spells don’t seem to work on it, it’s like they’ve imbued them with some sort of Shield Charm. Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures has been trying to get a hold of one to properly study it, but they’re hard to catch. Can’t use magic, and they’re quick, easily startled, and venomous. It’s been hard enough trying to keep them away from the Muggles, and not an entirely successful venture at that.”
“Right,” Potter said, scratching at the back of his neck. “And you want me to…talk…to this understudied, unpredictable, easily startled, venomous snake?”
“Yes,” confirmed Robards.
“Do I have a choice?”
“No.”
**
“I cannot believe we are doing this,” Potter mumbled under his breath as the two walked towards the dilapidated house. Draco tried to keep a smile from forming on his face. A disgruntled Potter was just such fun, so easy to further rile up.
“Where’s all your Gryffindor courage gone?”
“Oh, shove off, Malfoy. You’re coming with me, you know.”
Draco hesitated, as Potter showed their approval slip to the M.L.E.S. officers standing guard outside the house.
“Well, I…yes, of course,” Draco said, trying not to let his unease show. Potter smirked and shoved at him lightly, leading the way into the house.
“Don’t worry, you can stand behind me.”
“I will do no such—oh, Merlin.”
The stench that assaulted them upon entry of the house was horrific, and Draco felt his brain shoot him back in time. Suddenly he was seventeen again, sent to clean up the dungeons, the smell of decaying flesh surrounding him, a ringing in his ears as he tried not to look at their faces and swallow down the contents of his stomach threatening to come up.
He hadn’t realised he was gripping onto Potter’s arm until Potter’s hand came to rest upon his.
He blinked, refocusing on Potter, who was looking at him with a concerned expression.
“Are you alright, Malfoy?” he asked.
Draco forced himself to release Potter’s arm, despite it being very warm through his Auror robes.
“Yes, of course, I…” Draco sighed. He wondered when he was finally going to really trust Potter. After all, they had been working together for over two years now, and had saved each other from messy situations at least a dozen times over. Draco could easily say he trusted Potter with his life, and he liked to think that Potter could say the same, but that didn’t mean he trusted him with…information. With details about his personal life. With his history. It was harder to talk than to duel sometimes, particularly to Potter. And yet Potter seemed to find it so easy, casually mentioning his family dinners at the Weasleys’, and nightmares about the war, and doubts about himself, all just spilling out of him as if he were discussing the weather. And Draco would stumble over himself and try to come up with an adequate reply that reflected the seriousness of the subject matter, but then Potter would just follow it up with something inane like “have you had the lemon scones in the cafeteria? They’re always gone by the time I get there.” It was all just open vulnerability with Potter and Draco was terrified of it, partly because he couldn’t imagine doing so himself, and, perhaps, partly because there was something so…wonderful in feeling like Potter was welcoming him into his inner circle. Having Potter’s trust felt warm somehow, comforting and inviting.
“What is it, Malfoy?” Potter said, some urgency in his face. He must have thought Draco had noticed something pertinent to the case about the house. A sharp curling sensation in Draco’s chest forced him to speak, to reassure.
“It’s nothing,” Draco said, trying not to choke. “Just…the smell, it—the smell of corpses.”
Potter blinked at him, then a shadow crossed his face. His lips tightened and he nodded.
“Are you good to go on?” he asked.
Draco heavily swallowed and nodded. He had handled a lot worse than the smell of decomposing flesh.
They travelled through the house, Draco’s hand unconsciously hovering over his wand holster the whole time. He knew that the house had been mostly cleared, but Dark Magic tended to linger, as Draco knew very well from his return to the Manor after the war.
Draco had memorised the floor plan of the house, and as Potter started to turn down the wrong corridor, he reached out and pulled Potter’s arm, steering him into the right direction instead.
It was down a hidden set of steep and uneven stairs—Draco taking careful steps and catching Potter every time he nearly tripped—that they finally found the entrance to the dungeons, and the worsening of the rancid smell did nothing to boost Draco’s confidence. A turn of the corner at the bottom of the stairs and even Draco couldn’t pretend that his sharp intake of breath was anything but a terrified gasp.
Draco had never really been afraid of snakes, having been raised in a Slytherin family. Nagini had been rather horrifying, but that had more to do with her owner, and—as it turned out—her having a piece of her owner’s soul inside of her than her reptile-hood. Having to witness Nagini eating from a human corpse atop the Malfoy dinner table, Draco had been sure there wasn’t another snake on earth who could scare him the way she did.
Perhaps if he didn’t have the knowledge he did—which was that very little knowledge about the silver-eyed pit viper existed—it would be less frightening, however there was something about standing nearly face to face with a nine-foot-long viper, knowing that your magic was useless and the only thing standing between you and certain death was…well, admittedly, a war hero, but that war hero was Potter, who once showed up to work with his button-down inside-out and didn’t even notice until Draco pointed it out to him.
The snake was coiled up on the ground, but it had lifted its head at their arrival, eyes unnaturally shining. Draco felt his heart thumping erratically against his chest, feeling like it was moving higher and higher, into his throat, until he felt like he had to swallow it down. The snake’s eyes seemed to be singularly focused on him, unblinking, and it reared back as though preparing to strike, when a sharp hiss seemed to stop it in its tracks.
Draco’s eyes snapped to his side, where Potter was calmly looking at the snake, his tongue bitten between his teeth. The snake’s eyes were now on Potter as well, its body seemed to sway slightly, before it released a low hiss.
“What did it say?” Draco couldn’t help but ask in a whisper.
“She’s asking why we’re here.”
Potter spoke again, a series of odd sibilant sounds. Draco couldn’t tell if the gooseflesh rising up on his arms was from the hissing or from the chill of the dungeons.
After a series of hissing back and forth, Draco tugged on the sleeve of Potter’s robe as a request for a translation.
“I told her we need to access the dungeon,” Potter said, eye contact with the snake never breaking. “She said she cannot let anyone past. I asked her why. She said her master will punish her. I’m going to tell her we have everyone in custody.”
More hissing. Draco slowly felt his fear abating, as the snake seemed to settle back into a less defensive position, and as Potter’s posture remained relaxed. He found himself curiously listening to the strange sound of Parseltongue coming from Potter’s mouth. Potter was rather clumsy with the English language, stumbling over words and muttering lots of “er”s and “erm”s. Admittedly, Draco didn’t understand what he was saying, but Parseltongue seemed to be so natural to him, like he didn’t even have to think when he spoke. It flowed out of him with an almost graceful ease and yet such power in the sounds, harsh and pointed.
“She’s willing to let us in if we promise to feed her,” Potter was suddenly saying to Draco, who blinked, trying to turn his attention to Potter’s understandable words now.
“What exactly are we promising to feed her?” he asked, and Potter rolled his eyes.
“You’re a little too big to be snake prey, Malfoy, relax. It’s mostly rats and rabbits she wants anyway. I’m going to ask her if she’d be willing to come to the Ministry with us. I’m sure the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures will be willing to supply her all the rabbits she wants if she lets them study her.”
He turned back to continue his hissing conversation, and Draco watched him, still feeling slightly confused at the immense difference between an English-speaking Potter into the Parseltongue-speaking Potter, and how quickly he shifted between them. He watched as the snake made a long hiss and something of a spitting sound and Potter paused.
“What?” he asked, curious. “What did she say?”
“She—er, well—she asked about you.”
Draco blinked, chanced a glance at the snake, who was still calmly coiled upon the ground, looking at Potter, and then looked back at Potter himself.
“What about me?”
“She was asking why you were so nervous, and, well, I said because she was a venomous snake, and she said that…well, she said that you looked…comfortable.”
“I look what?”
Potter sighed, finally turning away from the snake and looking at Draco, his expression almost imploring.
“She says that she’ll come with us to the Ministry if you…carry her.”
“What in the name of Merlin kind of snake wants to be carried?” Draco exclaimed, darting a nervous look at the snake again as his volume increased.
“Honestly, Malfoy, I have no clue. Maybe she likes your pointiness. Maybe she can smell that you’re a Slytherin.”
Draco narrowed his eyes dangerously, but Potter only snickered.
“She won’t hurt you.”
“Easy for you to say,” Draco mumbled. “You’re the one who speaks snake.”
“Come on, I’ll be with you the whole time.”
Draco took a steadying breath.
“Alright. Alright, I’ll carry the blasted snake.”
Potter gave him a wide, toothy grin.
**
“I cannot believe that you walked into the Ministry Atrium with a nine-foot long viper draped over your shoulders,” Potter said, for the umpteenth time, chuckling before taking a long gulp from his pint.
“And I cannot believe that I am sitting in this disgusting pub with you after handing off an enormous deadly reptile to Luna Lovegood,” Draco said, shaking his head incredulously.
“Come on, you have to admit, that was fun. This was a fun day.”
“You and I have vastly different definitions of fun, Potter,” said Draco, reaching out for his gin and tonic. Still, he had to admit it hadn’t been the worst day at work. “Although I will say the look on Finch-Fletchley’s face when we walked in was priceless.”
Potter snorted.
“Can’t blame him, they don’t get many snakes down in the Portkey Office.”
“What a snake,” Draco said, thinking of those alarming eyes, shining and piercing.
“She honestly just seemed hungry and tired. They were clearly hurting her to keep her as a guard animal,” said Potter, seriously.
Draco looked at him.
“You were nice to her,” he said.
“I—well, yeah, we wanted her to let us past.”
“No, I know, I just mean. You weren’t afraid. Even at the beginning. You were just nice to her right away.”
“Yeah, I…I dunno, I was never really afraid of snakes. Not sure why. First time I talked to one, I was eleven. It just wanted to be free, which I could understand. They’re just trying to live their lives.”
“You spoke to a snake when you were eleven?”
“Yeah,” Potter said, a grin starting to form on his face. “I helped it escape from a zoo.”
“You helped it—you—Potter—what?”
Potter was laughing now, warmly, and Draco found himself not even wanting to push and demand for the story, but rather just wanting to continue hearing Potter’s laugh. The thought sobered him slightly.
“You’re different, you know,” he said, softly, after Potter had finished laughing, “when you speak Parseltongue.”
“Different how?”
“Just different. Your posture, your demeanour. It’s like your whole body changes. You’re more confident, more sure of yourself. It’s a good look.”
Potter stared at him.
“How much have you had to drink?” he asked.
Draco chuckled.
“Not enough,” he said, and then, feeling a bit of courage—he had, after all, carried a monstrous venomous snake on his shoulders today—added, “But I’ll take another, if you’re offering.”
Potter’s eyes widened for a brief moment before he quickly recovered.
“Right,” he said. “Buy you a drink, Malfoy?”
“I’d like nothing more.”