Chapter One REPOST


Lilith Eden, and it's her very first story. She would appreciate reviews, and constructive criticism. Flames will be ignored, because flaming is rude and unnecessary—even for the "worst" authors, of which there are none.


The characters are NOT mine, as we all know. J.K. Rowling is the goddess who, though in my opinion did not do the greatest job on the fifth book, created the characters used in this story. I believe the plot line is my creation, as I have never seen this done before, but if someone has, I send my sincerest apologies.


Alrighty, homophobes, you can just click that cute little "Back" button at the upper left hand corner of the screen, because this story is SLASH. The flames your closed mind has your hands type out will be ignored!


Harry Potter & Draco Malfoy… And possibly mentions of others.


Harry Potter is going out of his mind from boredom. But, luckily the Ministry ignores his illegal magic use, and Harry decides to conjure up some reptilian company. Meanwhile, Draco Malfoy has found an interesting spell in the Malfoy Library…

Other Important Info:

Sirius Black never died. Why? Because I love the guy too much, and I don't want this story to be very angsty. Therefore, Lucius Malfoy never went to Azkaban. In my story, just picture that Sirius was never sent through the veil, with a little help from a certain Death Eater, and all Death Eaters made it out in the nick of time.

And now presenting…


Bottle green eyes looked disinterestedly at the glowing red lights beside him. 4:59 AM read the clock's display. His alarm was to go off in about, 'Four, three, two…'


Harry swung his long legs swiftly off the edge of the bed, sort-of-uncomfortable from lying in the dip Dudley's large body had worn into it. Grabbing some clothes out of the beaten dresser, he slipped quietly out his bedroom door and down the hall to the bathroom.

Leaving the lights off, Harry whispered, "Lumos," and let his wand rest on the edge of the tub. Feeling slightly foolish for being girly—as he did when he was here every morning, before quickly brushing it off with "Well, I am gay," as his reasonable excuse—he reluctantly allowed himself to pour a small amount of bubble bath into the rapidly flowing stream of water, bubbles erupting over the top of the liquid surface.

Once it was filled, Harry stepped lightly into the water, letting out a relieved sigh as the warm water worked it's magic on his sore muscles. Uncle Vernon decided this summer that, since Harry was a little older now, he could do much more physical labor around the house, and Harry's body was showing the slightly painful, yet attractive results.

Long, strenuous days of working for his Uncle had developed lean muscles under a surprisingly flawless layer of golden skin. He had filled out perfectly. His broad shoulders tapered into a chiseled torso, featuring a little hoop through his left nipple, and long muscular arms. Not only was his nipple pierced, but he also had a silver stud on the lobe of each ear, and a thin barbell in the cartilage of his right. A line of jet black hair led from his belly button down under one of the many pairs of faded jeans he so loved to wear—he had some wizarding money turned Muggle and went for a long over-due shopping trip—that fell dangerously low on his slim hips and gripped his butt lightly. His hair had grown out slightly, the unruly locks spiking out stylishly. A self-performed eyesight correction spell had lost him his trademark glasses, freeing his unbelievable eyes to shine to their full luster. Only his hands showed the signs of his laboring—a thin callousing roughened the pad of every finger.

Harry frowned slightly as the very soft bubble bath scent invaded his nose. When he had gone shopping, the fragrance had struck him, and he had bought it immediately. Whenever he used it, he had gotten an irritating sense of déjà vu, which led to a lot of early-morning-bath contemplating. These mornings had been for a relaxation before the hard day to follow, and all he could do was try to determine where he had breathed in this particular scent before.

When finally he realized from where he remembered it, he wished he had never thought of it in the first place.

The Golden Trio ran towards Potions, breathing heavily. They were late, and there was going to be hell to pay. Thankfully, their sixth year was almost over, and they would have the whole summer away from Snape and the other Slytherins.

Ron, ever the graceful one, flung the heavy door to the classroom and every eye was watching the three of them.

"Professor Snape, sir, before you-" Hermione began.

"No excuses, Granger. Go to your seats!" Snape roared. The three stood confused for a moment, wondering why he hadn't issued detentions, or deducted house points. "Well?! SIT DOWN!" There was an odd smirk on the snarky bastard's twisted face.

It didn't take them long to realize just why Snape hadn't given them detentions. There would be plenty of chances later, for there were, as usual, only enough seats in the room to hold each student in the class and no more. Two were by each other, and the other was next to…

'No flippin' way!' Harry thought, eyes turning to his friends.

Ron and Hermione, who were already looking sympathetically at Harry, dashed to the two seats by each other, leaving Harry to sit by his loathed arch nemesis—well, besides Voldemort, that is.

Draco Malfoy looked at him as he took the spot in the seat next to him, quickly looked to see if Snape was watching, and said in an odd, quiet voice as he turned back to him, "Well, Potter. Looks like we're to work together today, hm?" Odd because it wasn't his usual sneering. Harry looked at him suspiciously.

"Way to state the obvious, Malfoy," he whispered back harshly, but being careful to not rouse Snape's attention. Lucky him, Snape was already explaining today's potion, and once he started he didn't hear anything but his own voice. Harry didn't need to worry much about listening to him, seeing as how he was partnered with Malfoy who knew seemingly everything about potions.

Malfoy gave him a weak glare in response and turned his attention to the front of the room, to Snape, and appeared to become immediately immersed in what was being taught, regardless of the negative, albeit short, conversation that had passed between them.

'What's with him?'

Snape told the class to gather the supplies from the storage closet, and Harry stood up prepared to get them for himself and Malfoy. Malfoy was standing, too, and their eyes met. Both boys' eyes narrowed in an icy glare. If looks could kill, these two pairs of lethal eyes would have been considered illegal weapons. Harry, his eyes the color of the Avada Kedavra killing curse, and Malfoy's that of a deadly, swirling ice storm.

As earlier, Malfoy's glare just wasn't up to its usual freeze, and was melting into an emotionless stare. Harry's glare turned confused, and he became uncomfortable with this new attitude of Malfoy's. Unnerved, he headed towards the storage closet, vaguely aware that Malfoy was a step behind him.

They came to the closet as the rest of the students were returning to their seats. Walking deep into the long closet, Harry began to gather the ingredients.

Once he had gotten all the items from the far end of the closet, he turned to head back out to the classroom. Malfoy was on his tiptoes, apparently having trouble reaching something off of a high shelf nearer to the closet door.

"Haven't gotten your growth spurt, eh, Malfoy?" Harry said, hoping to get a normal, angry response out of the boy. Malfoy sighed, rolling back onto his heels, and turned to him. Malfoy's eyes raised to look directly into Harry's, and he gave a little half smile that made Harry take a small step back. Malfoy let out a soft chuckle and shrugged.

"What can I say? My father isn't all that tall, and my mother isn't even near it. Just my luck, huh? Isn't all that bad, I suppose, just a bit hard to reach things higher up sometimes." Harry nodded slowly, more confused than ever at the sudden change in Malfoy.

"Uh, yeah… Heh-heh," Harry began awkwardly, walking towards Malfoy and the last item they needed. He stopped a foot away from him, but Malfoy wasn't moving from the spot. Harry stood a good six inches over the ashen blonde. Harry looked down at Malfoy, and their eyes once again locked. This time there wasn't any animosity, only a little apprehension on Harry's part, and slight amusement from them both. "Wow, you really are short!"

Malfoy laughed, this time with a little more enthusiasm, and some light lit his molten silver-blue eyes. Harry almost choked, but held his composure. Instead, he reached up to grab the pickled newt eyes off the top shelf, so high up that even he had to stand up on his tiptoes.

'How on earth did everyone else get this? Most people aren't tall enough to-" his thought was cut of by a sharp intake of breath. Still on his toes, arm extended and holding the jar, Harry looked down to see Malfoy looking at him oddly. Harry slid slowly back onto his feet.

Malfoy looked to be debating about something, and suddenly he closed the small space between the two. Their chest brushed slightly, and Malfoy looked down at the contact point. It was a hardly noticeable shift of eyes, for just as quickly as he had looked down, he was leaning his face towards Harry's ear and whispering slowly, "I'm not the person you think I am, Harry Potter." And the milky white neck and shimmering, silvery hair by Harry's tilted head smelled of wintergreen.

Harry shook his head to rid himself of the memory of the beginning of his reluctantly changed view of Draco Malfoy. Things had changed, not that he ever showed Malfoy that. Once Dumbledore had told him about the Malfoys, he had been disbelieving, but eventually realized, from Draco's obvious personality switch, that Dumbledore had not lied to him again. So, Malfoy wasn't who he thought he was, but that only made Harry more determined to keep his attitude towards Malfoy the same as always. If someone was killed because of him, he would just… Harry would never be able to forgive himself.

Forcing himself out of his thoughts yet again, he brought his hand out of the water and noticed that his fingers were pruned. He looked to the clock on the wall and figured there was enough time for a quick shower. After draining the water, Harry turned on the showerhead, washed and conditioned his hair, lathered his body with soap and rinsed, and stepped out of the shower to prepare for the decidedly predictable day ahead.

And away from the alluring scent of wintergreen bubble bath.

Much later that day, well into the night really, Harry collapsed exhaustedly onto his bed. The day had been like every day the whole summer. He got up, took his private bath, got dressed, cooked breakfast, cleaned dishes; then, he went outside to trim the perfect hedges, mow the manicured lawn, and tend to the bright flowers and the colorful garden. By that time, it was time to go inside to make Petunia and Dudley, who came home from school to stuff his face with food, some lunch, then clean the dishes, then dust the house, then… It was all the same way through the whole day, every day. Cook, work, clean, work… Work, work, and more work!

The worst of it was, to Harry, the lack of company. During the course of the monotonous days, the only talking Harry did was, "Yes, sir/ma'am/Dudley," or "I'm sorry, sir/ma'am/Dudley," and occasionally a "Thank you," on the rare times that Aunt Petunia allowed him to eat with them, seeing how absolutely famished the boy was and feeling the smallest calculable amount of pity for him.

The letters from his friends and Sirius just wasn't enough. He needed face-to-face contact with someone… Or, something

This utter loneliness and boredom led to this moment—Harry was holding his wand as he opened his mouth to call a spell that would hopefully change the remainder of his summer for the better. Funny how the spell was learned from his, well, ex-arch enemy, he supposed, and had gotten him into heaps of trouble.

He looked out his bedroom window and saw the full moon glowing unnaturally bright in the perfectly cloudless inky blankness of the summer night sky. Wasting no more time, Harry lifted his hand and pictured Draco Malfoy in their second year, the Dueling Club, and waved his arm in a mimic of the graceful arc Malfoy's arm had swept that day.


A Week Earlier…

"Draco? Draco, are you awake yet? I'm coming in," Lucius Malfoy called from outside Draco's bedroom door.

Draco sat up in his bed, straightening his black silk pajamas. He answered his father with a smile gracing his groggy morning face.

"Come in, Father!"

Lucius Malfoy walked into the room with long strides, as was custom of the Malfoy men. Coming to the edge of Draco's bed, he helped himself to a seat next to his only child.

"I'm off to see Albus," Lucius said quietly, as if fearing that Voldemort himself would hear him speaking and come to kill him. 'As if,' thought Draco. 'There are so many secrecy spells on this house, I doubt that we even know all that goes on around here!'

"So early?" Draco replied, voice slightly raspy from the night of disuse. Lucius chuckled heartily, running a hand through Draco's hair to mess it up. It was his biggest pet peeve, and Lucius took every advantage to use it against him. He often teased Draco about it, too, for Draco now wore his hair in a very Muggle way, and very Harry Potter way—longish and, he admitted, attractively messy.

"Draco, your hair was messed up before I even walked into the room," Lucius drawled, rolling his eyes at his complaining son.

"It was perfect before you came in and ruined it, Father!" Draco whined indignantly. "It's called style, not like you would know, obviously. You still wear your hair long like you were living in Great-great-great-grandfather Malfoy's era."

"I give in," he laughed. "Immaculately messy. My son is such a poof!" Lucius said, throwing a jovially arm around his son's shoulders.

"Dad," Draco murmured, his suddenly trained on some spot on the thick carpeting. "Dad, there's something I need to tell you." And Draco looked into his father's eyes.

"Draco! It's nine forty-five in the morning!" Lucius shook his long-haired head in amusement. "I'll be gone all day. There is much for Severus and I to tell him about the Death Eater meeting last night…" These days, Lucius was always awkward when talking about Death Eaters and Voldemort. He worried that Voldemort was suspicious of him and his godfather. "He may have found a way to use his wand against Potter, and-"

"Alright, I'll see you later," Draco said, effectively cutting his father off. Lucius just nodded, understanding why Draco didn't appreciate this conversation. He ruffled Draco's hair once more, and left to meet with Dumbledore.

An hour and a half later found Draco standing in front of his ornate full-length mirror, which was spouting off complements to the gorgeous blonde.

"Ohhh," the female voice of the mirror cooed. It seemed this particular mirror was good with words, in Draco's opinion. "Draco Malfoy with his iridescent violet-blue eyes! The most amazing eyes in the world!"

'I could think of an exception to that one,' he thought bitterly.

"Look at those abdominal muscles! Is that… Is that metal in your navel?" the mirror let out a flirtatious giggle, "You have a bar in the bottom of your belly button? I never thought I'd find something so utterly… Mmm, scrumptious!" Draco smiled widely at that. He had been nervous when getting that done, worried how it would turn out. He was pleasantly surprised to find that the little silver bar, protruding from the skin below his belly button, was as attractive to someone—thing?—as he thought it was.

"You must work out! And, oh… Your hair! Those lustrous locks! So blonde it's almost silver! If only I had hands to touch it—it would feel softer than it looks, softer than the finest silk!"

Draco smiled and winked at the mirror, and he heard—her, it?—let out a deep sigh. He couldn't say he didn't enjoy being endlessly praised. He quite liked it, actually, even though it was only a mirror. He grabbed a pair of Muggle jeans, which he had become fond of, and found to be very comfortable, and slid then over his narrow hips. This seemed to egg the mirror on.

"If only I was human! Those hipbones—so delicious! Dear, you don't know just what jutty hips like that can do to a girl," she purred seductively, "or possibly to a handsome young man!"

Draco, now to the point of laughing nervously in sudden embarrassment, said his good-byes, and promising his return, to the mirror now mourning his departure, though temporary. He walked the many corridors of the Manor to the family Library.

Draco was becoming irritated. He had been searching the Library for almost an hour and hadn't come across anything that looked remotely interesting. Feet dragging, he turned the corner leading to another row of books. His eyes skimmed the bindings, hoping to see something that would keep him occupied for the rest of the day. It was always boring when his father was away, so hard for him to keep-

'The Art of Animagi?' His eyes widened. Why had he never seen this book before?

It looked like the not only this day, but the rest of the next week, was going to be very, very interesting.

The end of the week was here, and Draco felt as if no time had passed at all. He had been so completely engrossed in the process of becoming an Animagus that he had hardly even spoken to his father. Though, when he had spoken to him, he had told him of his plans on becoming an illegal Animagus. His father, a true Slytherin, couldn't have been more proud of his son's plans.

It had only taken Draco a few hours to read the details on becoming the Animagus, but the process was what had taken him the full seven days. He had worked diligently and had completed the essential steps for the preparation.

Draco now stood out in the Malfoy Botanical Gardens looking up at the most beautiful nighttime sky he could ever remember witnessing. He walked up to his favorite fountain, the statue of a gorgeous wood sprite, wings and all. He especially loved it for the fairies that seemed to gather around it on particularly beautiful nights. As he lay down on the thick railing around the flowing fountain, said fairies flew slow loops and circles around his body, shimmering dust falling from their wings and disappearing a split-second before it touched him.

Draco closed his eyes and mused at the advantages of becoming an Animagus. Being the Slytherin that he was, immediately his mind went straight to spying. When he was in his Animagus form, he could go unnoticed by his peers, find out all their secrets and whatnot. He could spy on Harry Potter, even. And he would, as that was the only way, it seemed, that Draco would ever get to be around Harry Potter and not feel the burning hostility aimed at him.

Draco smelled the freshly cut grass, and thought of Harry. Harry always smelled like spring and grass.

He thought that after that day in Potions, Harry would begin to give him a chance.

Dumbledore had called Draco to his office that morning before classes and discussed with Draco the possibility of telling Harry that Draco was, believe it or not, on the side of the Light. Draco didn't need convincing. He had always wanted a chance to be friends with Potter. He could have been friends with Harry Potter. He had always been bitter after Harry rejected him that first day of Hogwarts…

"Well, then, my boy! If you don't mind, I'd like to tell him tonight!" Dumbledore beamed. Draco nodded his head in grateful acquiescence.

Draco walked out of Potions with a smile, and Crabbe and Goyle thought the world must be ending. They were casting worried glances his way, and Crabbe had even go so far as to ask him if something was wrong with him. Draco replied by turning to face him and smiled even brighter. They were now sure that there was something wrong with him…

Draco really couldn't find it in himself to really give a damn. He had just had a civil, even kind-of pleasant, conversation with Harry. And, Potions was the last class of the day, meaning that Harry was most likely on his way to Dumbledore's office that very moment. He couldn't wait until the following day when he would get to see Harry's reaction to the news.

The next night Draco collapsed on his bed in the sixth year Slytherin dorm room. Casting numerous privacy and locking spells on the thick curtains surrounding the four-poster, he recounted his day. He threw his arm over his eyes and took in a shaky breath. The day hadn't turned out at all as Draco had expected.

When Draco had offered him a smile from across the Great Hall during breakfast, he had been sent the coldest glare he could imagine. Harry Potter had rejected him again.

With a new, stronger determination, Draco lifted the complicated potion he had been creating the past week, downed it, and braced himself for the inevitable searing pain that was guaranteed to come with the first transformation.

As fire seemed to spread through his veins, and bones twisted and reshaped, Draco fiercely held back the scream threatening to break through his lips. A few minutes later, pain slowly fading, Draco caught a quick glimpse of his new reptilian shape—a teal Ceylonese viper. But, before he could relish in the new form, a whispered voice flooded his mind, and he felt his body lifting.


End Serpensortia: Chapter One

HELP! I feel dumb for asking, but I need to figure this out. When I uploaded it in the HTML, the italics and underlining formatting was working, but the spacing was off. When I uploaded it in the Text Only, the spacing was working, but the italics and underlining formatting was off… Do you know what the hell's up with all that? UGH! I wish it were EASIER THAN THIS! :P lol

And LOTS OF LOVE to my reviewers:

Lyonessheart- Thanks for the help! Just my luck it won't fully work, though!




Prophetess of Hearts

Hell bitch, darkness and light

Lady of Serpents



And the anonymous reviewers!