In one fluid movement, Draco aligns his lips with Harry's ear, and places his hand on a bare shoulder. Harry's eyes open, but he doesn't stop dancing. Something moves from under Draco's collar and winds quickly down the bridge of pale arm and onto Harry's body. It's a small snake, less than a meter long – black with a silver stripe down its shiny little back. The Muggles don't even notice as the reptile makes a new home for itself around Harry's neck.
"Thank you for the visitor. I've never seen a more beautiful or appropriate spy," Draco remarks, almost lazily.
There's no translation spell for Parseltongue, but I assume the soft hiss Harry makes is some sort of a greeting to the snake licking at his neck with its little red tongue. Harry strokes the back of his fingers over her head. "She must have slipped out of my pocket that last time we met," he says, slowly looking up through his lashes, his innocent-looking smile fooling neither one of us. "You've taken good care of her, thank you."
Draco plays back with a toss of his head and a bored expression, but the hand on Harry's shoulder pulls him a fraction closer. "Well, spy or no, she's very affectionate, and I am nothing if not an excellent host."
"That's what I've heard," Harry says, sounding oddly out of breath as he locks gazes with Draco.
I know it's against the rules, but I really wish I had a drink. No one should be sober while being forced to watch the two of them play their strange little games.