I get the Parseltongue kink in Drarry fics but what about Parseltongue as a PTSD trigger? 

Draco loves the early weekend mornings when both he and Harry are finally home together. He loves waking up before his lover to pad downstairs and make a drink from the espresso machine Hermione had given them as a wedding present. He never really appreciated the muggle contraption until one day when Harry had offhandedly admitted he preferred the pureblood’s lattes to the ones at the nearby cafe.  

Today though, Draco doesn’t find Harry sprawled out at his side. The Gryffindor is nowhere to be seen as the blond dresses in his day clothes and wanders into the kitchen. “Krecher, where’s Harry?” Malfoy inquires as the house elf hunches over the stove, his bony arms and legs tremble as he stirs a boiling pot. 

“Master is in the garden sirs.” It’s not the reply Draco had been expecting but he wastes no more time in making his way out into the crisp autumn morning. The sun hasn’t been out long. Draco can tell by the fading reds and yellows in the sky and the nip of cool air brushing across his nose… Still, despite it being a bit too chilly for the button up shirt and slacks he’s wearing  he can’t help but grin when he spots the mop of messy hair hunched over a rose bush. 

Harry is kneeling on the floor, rake laying forgotten at his side, along with a small pile of early fallen leaves. His back is facing the blond, his arm stretched out in front of him. “Is he petting something?” Draco muses as he moves quietly forward. Stray cats find themselves in their yard sometimes and he doesn’t want to be the one to chase it off. Besides, Harry is mumbling fondly to the creature, his voice soft and gentle and strangely endearing. 

At first, the words are incoherent but Draco finally draws close enough to see the thin, pointed nose of a snake reaching up to sit face to face with Harry. The scaly body is curled around itself, swaying to and fro every so often as it’s new friend hisses conversationally back at it. It’s a small, green garden snake, a common, harmless thing. Draco has seen hundreds of them before now but it’s not the tiny intruder that has him frozen to the spot. 

Harry’s words reach his ears then. Soft and caring and familiar, but the onslaught of memories rush through Draco’s mind like a tidal wave. Voldemort sitting in a chair with Nagini draped around his neck. Voldemort, making the same, low, hissing noises through his grey mouth. The macabre sing-song language Draco had listened to for more than a year back at Malfoy Manor…  It had served as a warning then, a summoning call, a battle cry, an announcement of death… And now… Now even knowing the difference, even hearing the change of tone and volume… It wasn’t enough to reassure the Slytherin. 

Draco shrinks back, suddenly feeling seventeen years old again. “D-Don’t…” They’re the only word he can’t force through his clenched jaw. 

Harry spins around in surprise, noting the terror filled face of his lover. “Draco?” He asks in confusion, moving to stand and paling as the blond takes another step back. “Draco what’s wrong?” Harry urges, reaching a cautious hand out, not sure why the Slytherin looks as if he’s seen a ghost. “Dre?” 

“D-Don’t do that!” Draco suddenly lashes out in anger, but his eyes are still wide and wet and more wild than Harry has ever seen them. “Don’t talk like that!” Draco snarls. 


“I don’t ever want to h-hear-” But he can’t say more than that. It’s too much, too soon, too raw for him to relive those memories. Already he faces them in his dreams, does he have to deal with it in his waking life as well? 

“You mean parseltongue?” Harry asks gently. It’s like talking to a child, Draco notes. The way Harry inches closer, afraid to scare him off, and maybe for good reason. Draco isn’t sure he could handle him touching him at this moment. “Draco, tell me. Did I do something wrong?” 

No. No he didn’t, and that’s what makes it worse. Draco doesn’t know how to say what he’s feeling. Emotional talks had never been a strong point for the Malfoys. He’s opened up more now that they’ve been married but moments like these… when the dark, haunted past creeps on them both… He never knows how to explain himself. So he shakes his head, not sure what that means either but Harry is patient. He’s always patient with him. 

“Dre, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know this would upset you.” Harry explains. They’ve both had their share of nightmares. On more than one occasion, Harry has woken to the sound of Draco’s pleading screams.. More than once has the blond held Harry’s arms down on the bed in an attempt to keep him from harming either one of them in his sleep. There have been many too many nights of cries and begs and an occasional, uncontrolled spell. Neither one ever brings it up the next day, they don’t ask about the other’s nightmares but now Harry sees the same, confused, haunted look in the pureblood’s eyes as he does every other night. Except it’s worse, it’s worse because this time, Harry knows he’s the cause of it “Draco I-” 

“He used to speak like that too…” Draco finally mumbles, unable to  stop the crack in his voice and Harry feels his heart sink to his stomach as he realizes what Draco is saying.  

“Voldemort.” Harry replies. Draco winces at the name, he hasn’t in a long while but today he looks as young as the Draco Malfoy on top of the Astronomy tower. 

“Just. Don’t.” It’s more of a plea then a demand but Harry is nodding all the same, feeling the frustration and anger at himself growing. He has tried so hard to keep those memories in the past. They don’t speak about the Death Eaters, about Lucius or Dumbledore or the battle. He doesn’t question Draco’s decision to wear a long sleeve shirt all day, every day of the year. He doesn’t talk about his day at work with the Aurors, or bring up Snape. Hell, Draco won’t even step foot into Diagon Alley. But this… This Harry hadn’t accounted for.

“I won’t. I promise. Not again.” He reassures the blond, taking a tentative step to his husband. “I’m sorry Dre.” 

Draco nods and though he doesn’t move away from the hesitant embrace, it takes a moment longer for him to relax against the brunette. 

Harry knows that tonight, Draco will sleep curled against his side, the pale fingers clutching onto his shirt for reassurance. It’ll begin as mumbles, then words. Small pleas about keeping Narcissa safe, pleas to stop the crucio curse… And Harry will lay there in those torturous moments, listening to his lover beg and he’ll wake him when the words turn to screams. Sometimes Draco cries himself back to sleep, sometimes, he pushes Harry away and leaves the room. But now, now Harry knows why on some nights, Draco asks him to sing to him. 

Harry will tell him he doesn’t know any songs and that his voice is terrible. And Draco will agree but insist anyways and tonight, tonight Harry won’t make a fuss. Because now, he knows that his words will drown out the other voices in the pureblood’s head and he knows Draco would do the same for him. 

  • JK Rowling whilst writing the HP-series: Slytherin is the "evil house". The guy who bullies Harry, Ron and Hermione goes there with all his mean friends. Slytherin and Gryffindor, the house I put ninety percent of my main characters are always competing. Also lord Voldemort was a Slytherin. They only care about being from a rich and well-known family. Their password to get in was literally "pureblood". Only REALLY fancy/elite kids go there. Pretty much every death eather was a Slytherin. Their head teacher is the scary-scary Snape. Wow. Such evil
  • JK Rowling after finishing the series: WHO TF TOLD YOU SLYTHERIN WAS THE "EVIL HOUSE"??????? NO NO NO THEY ARE NOT ALL HOUSES ARE EQUALLY GOOD!!!!!11!!1!1!