Title: The Meaning of Dreams
Author: Karura Varyin, a.k.a Sirylu
Email: [email protected]
Category: Slash/Romance/Angst
Rating: PG-13 for now. Eventually R
Spoilers: SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF.
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created
and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury
Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money
is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Warnings: This is a Slash piece of fanfiction, so male/male
relationships will be involved. If you're not comfortable with homosexuality,
don't keep on reading this story. The two characters involved in the action
are Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. There, now don't you say I
didn't warn you *grins*
Author notes: The only thing I can do is to kneel and adore my wonderful
betas: Arwena and Jamie, because they made this possible, they accomplished
the impossible and were able to make me make sense *gasps*, they took the mass
of grammatical mistakes and whipped them into the correct shape. Because Arwena
likes silvery blonde better and Jamie loves being cliffhanger-ized. With betas
like this I don't mind to be whipped to keep characters from wandering off-character
*oh! Kinky!! Laughs* This is dedicated for you, girls!!!
Special Thanks: To all of you guys that reviewed the first version of this chapter. You don't really know what you're getting into giving me such an ego boost. Really. Be afraid. Be VERY afraid! Mwahahahaha!
MoD Home on the net: veranoctis.ingrad.net (add the http before the url if you need it)
* * *
The Meaning of Dreams
Chapter 1: When You Thought You Knew Yourself... Surprise!
* * *
Class, if you'd be so nice as to lend me one minute of your attention I'd be eternally grateful.
Harry smiled at the sarcastic remark coming from the thirty-something raven-haired
woman at the teacher's desk. Katherine Jenkins' so called academic
modus operandi' was something they had grown to love during the time
she had been teaching at Hogwarts. Although strict and really exigent, the current
Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor had a humorous vein that showed
in her classes, which had gained her the worshiping of most of her students
- specially Ravenclaws, house she had belonged to at her Hogwarts years. Even
the Slytherins seemed not to hold a great amount of distaste for her, and that
was saying a lot.
Besides, she was one hell of a demonology teacher, and that was one of the more
popular themes in the 6th year programme. Harry firmly believed that was the
reason the Slytherins were so thrilled with her classes, looking at all those
demons must make them feel like home
And on top of everything, she held the honour of being the longest lasting Defence
teacher to the record since Harry had come to Hogwarts. In her first year at
the school, she had ruined lots of polls among the students that had betted
about the possible evil nature of the newcomer. She had been teaching for a
year and half now, and she hadn't started to do satanic rituals sacrificing
virgin students nor planning world domination yet. That had made students decide
that maybe she could possibly be not evil after all.
So she was up there, right after Remus Lupin, in the Most Likeable Defence
Against the Dark Arts Teachers List. Nobody really minded that the other
teachers in the list had been loyal followers of You Know Who or down right
incompetent vain gits.
But fun or not fun, it was always highly recommendable to pay attention when
she required so. The 6th year Gryffindors went silent to hear what their professor
had to say.
Good. I see that you actually can follow a suggestion. The woman
offered her class a smile and some of the students giggled. I know you
are awfully busy with next Quidditch game preparations, but the nasty reality
imposes its presence and requires that you have to apply your brain cells on
something besides Snitches, Quaffles and brooms.
Seamus Finnigan opened his mouth to raise his objection to that particular idea,
but Jenkins fixed him with a mocking glare.
Yes, mister Finnigan, there are other things besides Quidditch, no, Quidditch
Through the Ages isn't the official text for this class and since Quidditch
isn't a religion, no you cannot accuse me of heresy and you can't
plead that professing it impede you to work on the assignment I'm about
to tell you all about.
Seamus closed his mouth and sulked in his seat muttering something that greatly
resembled to Merlin, forgive her for she doesn't know what she is
saying.
Katherine Jenkins ignored Seamus comment and widened blue eyes dramatically
in feign terror while bringing a hand to her chest in affected manner. Oh
my, now I've blown the surprise! She watched her class perk up at
the mention possible added work, and she winked deviously at them. So
tell me, dearest students o'mine, how does a little extra research project
sound to you?
The Gryffindors erupted in a massive choir of groans at the news. Well, Harry
noticed, everyone groaned minus Hermione, who was looking at Professor Jenkins
with something akin to adoration in her brown eyes. Trust Hermione to go all
ga-ga over an assignment. And in Jenkins' class the dark haired boy had
seen his friend do that quite often – The woman had a fetish with assigning
essays, to Hermione's eternal delight - Harry exchanged a glance with Ron
and both boys rolled their eyes in unison, a reflex they had mastered during
the years they had known Hermione. They saw the girl raise earnestly her hand.
Yes, Miss Granger?
Does this project give us extra points for our end of year evaluation?
Oh, for Merlin's sake, Hermione. Even I am not that sadistic to propose
an extra project and not give points for it. Those who decide to do it and present
their essays before Easter break will gain 2% for their final grade. Besides
the purely materialistic point of view, I highly recommend you consider taking
this project. It's not because it's my idea, but it's really,
and I mean really, interesting.
Professor Jenkins offered them an angelic smile belied by the mischievous twinkle
in her cobalt eyes and suspicions raised to frantic levels in the Gryffindor
class. After a year and half of knowing Katherine Jenkins they had learnt that
when the woman went all innocent and seemingly inoffensive on them they had
to start fearing what was to come. Some of the students squirmed uncomfortably
in their seats, Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown looked warily at each other
and even Hermione narrowed her eyes waiting for what Jenkins had in store for
them.
The teacher merely looked at them in silence, waiting patiently for the words
that her students were obviously avoiding to pronounce. In Harry's opinion,
she had this I can wait as long as you want, but you are SO asking'
smug expression on her face, that meant they had no chance to escape whatever
they had coming.
And what's the project about, Professor Jenkins? Realizing
that no one in the class was going to ask the dreaded question and that Jenkins
would never let them go from the classroom until she had had her fun torturing
them with the answer, Harry, being the hero he was, took for himself the responsibility.
With a smile the 6th year Gryffindors would classify later as positively evil,
Jenkins took a little wooden box from the floor next to her desk and after opening
it, she grabbed a little vial with a silvery fluid within and balanced it between
two fingers. I was starting to think that you were never going to ask.
* * *
So, what do you think about this Somnus Veritus potion, Herm?
Harry said while looking warily at the silvery fluid within the vial in his
hand. He had decided he was going to do the project after all, since extra points
never hurt.
Almost all the class seemed to share that thought since except for a couple
of students, everyone else had signed for it.
It's Veritas, not Veritus, corrected the girl
offhandedly. I'm sure it will be greatly interesting. Most of Jenkins'
extra assignments are. Hermione scowled at Ron, who was walking next to
her. I'm glad you have chosen to try it, Harry. Unlike others.
The brunette girl muttered under her breath.
Ron, obviously, had been one of those few who hadn't taken the project
– Parvati being the other. His excuse had been that his duties as Gryffindor
Quidditch Captain left him very little free time and, in the redhead's
word's: He wasn't going to waste it on a project only worth
2% of the grade.'
I'm sorry Herm, but I'm far too busy planning Quidditch practices
to serve as a guinea pig for Jenkins. That woman may not be an evil minion of
You Know Who, but she is a Sadistic Lady of Academic Evil. I'm telling
you, she enjoys too much giving us thousands of extra assignments. And there
are some of us who have lives outside the academic world, you know.
Hermione looked positively offended at this.
I do have a non academic life, thank you very much, Ron Weasley. And I'm
also sure that some of us will be having one hell of a problem when NEWTs
come next year. They will be pleading for as many extra points as they can get
by then, and sadly it will be too late.
Herm, sarcasm doesn't suit you at all. It makes your hair look bushier
than usual. Why don't you be a good little girl and leave the subject alone?
If looks could kill the flame haired boy would have been a nice pile of dust
on the corridor's floor right then. Hermione snorted in a very unladylike
manner and stomped towards the Potions dungeon as if she were the bearer of
the Divine Ire. Harry and Ron watched their mutual friend storm off and sighed.
Ron, don't tease her. You know she is right.
Ron shrugged.
I know, I know, but sometimes she gets on my nerves. Seeing Harry's
raised eyebrow, the redhead conceded a smile. Ok, she drives me up the
walls most of the time. I know she does what she does for our well-being and
all, Harry, but sometimes she is worse than my mother. And you know my
mother
Harry smiled. He could see Ron's point. Hermione worried about the both
of them, but she was especially insistent and overbearing where the young Weasley
was concerned. He sarcastically wondered why.
So, quoting Herm here, what do you think of Jenkins' assignment?
Don't you feel a little uneasy about having to drink something Snape prepared?
Ron's voice brought Harry out of his musings and the boy shrugged. I
really am with Hermione on this one. The project seems really interesting.
Harry gave a casual glance at the vial he was carrying in his hand. I
mean, it's like the Mirror of Erised all over again. You know what Professor
Jenkins told us back when she was teaching us about illusions and mental manipulation:
There's no better defence against external elements trying to
control you that a deep knowledge of yourself'. And that's precisely
what this little silvery friend grants us: Dreams that will show us our deepest
feelings, desires, a totally unbiased view of our thoughts and impressions.
And it also guarantees you'll remember everything when you wake up. I think
it's pretty neat.
Yes, yes, but knowing Snape made the potion
Oh, come on, Ron! The man has had almost six years to poison us at his
class any time he wished so and here we are, alive and kicking. Snape can be
as hateful as you want, but he is damn right competent in his job. Do you really
think he would mess up with the potions just to get rid of us? And having to
endure being criticised for being negligent? His pride would never allow something
like that to happen and you know it.
Ron admitted defeat grudgingly, but he kept on muttering that he could have
no choice but potion-testing in Snape's class, but he would be as far as
possible from anything with Snape signature on it outside the Slytherin Professor's
dungeon.
Oh well, don't you think we should imitate Hermione and make our
merry way to Potions? My day can't wait to be lightened by Snape and his
totally adorable Slytherins.
Yeah, me too, was Harry's dry reply. Nothing better to cheer
you up than two hours of double Potions with Slytherin and Snape.
So, Harry Ron hesitated and the raven-haired boy knew what
was coming. Do you think Herm is really angry at me this time?
Harry sighed. Yes, Ron. I think she is quite pissed off at you right now.
You should know better than make fun of her academic obsession that often. And
that not being sarcastic remark'? A big no-no. Of course, that little
remark didn't matter all that much.
Ron's shot him a questioning look and Harry merely shrugged.
You had already crossed the I have a death wish' line
when you commented on her hair. It was quite a miracle she didn't throttle
you right then.
The redheaded boy fell silent and dragged his feet along the stone covered floor
of the Hogwarts corridors. He seemed to be weighing what would be the worse
evil right now. Dealing with the usual nastiness of Snape of having to face
Hermione's patented Avada Kedavra glare at the desk they shared.
The Boy Who Lived To Witness The Ron And Hermione Saga sneaked a glance at his
best friend seeing the deep-down-in-thought-and-more-than-slightly-scared
look on his face couldn't suppress a smirk.
The way those two behaved was the main source of amusement for the residents
of the Gryffindor Tower. The way they conducted their un-relationship was endearing,
really, in a please-get-over-with-the-dramatics-and-start-smooching-already!
kind of way. For Merlin's sake, there were bets running among the Gryffindors
to see when the two of then would - finally - get together and even first years
were participating!
Ron threw him a quizzical look when he noticed the smirk but Harry simply shook
his head and after a light tap on his friend's shoulder started racing
towards the dungeons. Thinking about Ron and Hermione and their never-ending
courtship was fun but he definitely preferred not to deal with a furious Snape
for having arrived late at his class.
* * *
The rest of the day had gone considerably well for Harry.
Snape had yelled at him, as per usual, but the amount of points taken from Gryffindor
by the sinister Potions Master had been noticeably low for his standards.
At lunch hour Malfoy and his cronies had engaged Ron and him in their usual
sparring match. After exchanging some witty remarks, nasty insults and a few
death threats, Ron had come up with a brilliant Ferret Boy' remark
that had allowed them to get to their table leaving an enraged red-faced Malfoy
behind. The Gryffindor community greeted them with a large collection of ear-to-ear
grins.
The afternoon had been pretty uneventful, mostly due to the lack of Slytherin/Gryffindor
forced time-sharing during the post lunch hours.
Thankfully before afternoon classes started, Ron and Hermione had called a cease
of hostilities and had gone back to speaking terms. No sane Gryffindor would
like to have a class with the two of them when the air cracked with suppressed
electricity.
Herbology and Charms had been better than usual, in fact, since Neville Longbottom
hadn't caused any irreparable disaster, and the Quidditch practice had
gone smoothly. Harry was the first to acknowledge that Ron was doing a great
job with the team this year. It was thanks to his intensive trainings and deeply
studied strategic plans they were leading the Interhouse Cup.
At dinner round two in the Slytherin/Gryffindor verbal battle had been less
virulent than the standards and Harry found himself somehow disappointed.
Honestly! You couldn't trust Slytherins on anything
When bedtime had finally arrived it was the moment when stronger emotions came
into play inside Gryffindor 6th years dormitories.
Mostly, glaringly obvious distrust directed to a certain silver coloured potion.
Besides Neville who, given his urging need to raise his grades, had offered
his friends a helpless look and subsequently drowned the silvery liquid and
gotten into bed, the rest didn't seem to have things that clear.
Or to be that desperate.
It was really easy to see that both Seamus and Dean Thomas were having second
thoughts about the whole matter. And of course, Harry noticed, Ron was wearing
a sarcastic smirk on his freckled face.
What guys, afraid the little nice potion will jump out of the vial and
bite you?
Dean Thomas glared at him but said nothing. Seamus simply shrugged. He, like
Neville, needed the grade boosting, but still...
Be quiet, Ron. Harry waved a hand at his friend and the redhead
responded with a widening of his smirk. There is something I don't
understand, if you are afraid of the project why pick it in the first place?
It's not that I'm scared of drinking the potion, Harry,
Dean explained. It's what I could be shown in my dreams that I fear.
Yes. What if we see something we wouldn't want to, Seamus continued.
They say ignorance is bliss, you know.
Dean and Seamus' words brought silence to the room. Understanding glances
were exchanged and Harry realized that their friends had every reason to be
wary. After all, there isn't anything worse than discovering something
you don't like about yourself.
Oh yeah, imagine if you dream of Snape in a pink tutu, that would scar
you for life!
Ron's words lightened the atmosphere in the room and Dean and Seamus laughed
out loud. Harry smiled at his best friend thankful for his intervention. Trust
Ron to make the sour mood go away.
Thank you, Ron. Seamus' voice dripped with sarcasm.
Now, that was an image I didn't really need.
The Irish boy and Dean went into a fit of chuckles and Harry offered Ron a little
evil grin.
So that's the real reason you didn't take the assignment.
The green-eyed boy raised a dark eyebrow at his friend. Do you have something
to tell us, Ronnikins?
Ron's highly offended exclamation served to send the other
boys into another fit of laughter. Fine! But don't come to me tomorrow
looking for a shoulder to cry on when you have to deal with the repercussions
of a whole night being chased by a suggestively clothed Snape! The redhead
gave up then his feigned indignation and joined his friends' laughter.
After a while, the peace was finally restored in the Gryffindor 6th year dorm
and Seamus, Dean and Harry, after exchanging glances, raised their vials in
a toast.
Dean started, we are doing it, right?
was Harry and Seamus' reply.
Then down with it.
To Evil Potion Masters and Fluffy Pink Dance Garments!
The three boys glared at Ron who in response smiled beatifically at them. After
dissipating the very disturbing image their friend's words had conjured,
they drank their respective potions and climbed into bed. Ron followed their
example.
We should be feeling sleepy really soon, Harry analysed after directing
a glance at Neville. He has been sleeping all through our mad laughter,
so I think the potion must have some kind of sleep-inducing component.
The only response he got was a couple of muffled yawns from the other two boys
in the experiment and a Shut up, Harry' from Ron. The dark
haired boy sighed and got comfortable in his bed, his last coherent thought
being: If I'm dreaming about Snape I swear I'll go to Madam Pomfrey
to be put out of my sufferings
* * *
The dream started in the most complete darkness. Harry knew immediately
this wasn't like his other dreams. Such a perfect blackness hadn't
been present before. No, those were either nightmares, in which most of the
time Cedric Diggory or his parents took lead roles, or too vivid views of
the evil he had to battle, where he was only an impotent witness.
This one was definitely different.
Despite the total blindness he was subjected to he didn't feel threatened
at all. The velvety quality of the surrounding darkness made him feel somehow
safe, comforted.
His skin was tingling with a pleasant sensation induced by the silky strands
of nothingness wrapping him and he was experiencing something he had only known
when riding his broom across the skies.
Utterly perfect freedom.
Here, floating in the middle of nowhere with blackness for only company he felt
more at ease than he had ever felt before.
It was strange but good.
Then everything changed.
The pure frame of darkness started dissolving, leaving its place to lighter
shades of colour. Harry marvelled at the complete impossibility of what was
happening: an artificial sunrise lacking its sun. But it was all there. Morning
colours swaying in the chilling breeze, the sound of birds that didn't
exist but that offered their songs nonetheless, ghostly drops of water wetting
soft strands of black hair. His hair.
Where there had been nothingness there was now a complete world of blinding
beauty and perfect irrationality. Never had the mornings held such a vivid display
of vanity.
He absently realized that he was only wearing his pyjama bottoms and that he
should be suffering the effects of the cold morning air. But he didn't.
It seemed that in this incomparable scenario anything could not exist that would
mar the perception of the surrounding beauty.
Harry knew he couldn't help the unavoidable.
He fell in love with the breathtaking landscape. His only desire was to stop
time and freeze the wonder before his eyes for him to be able to stay there
forever.
Gone was the safety of the night, replaced by the excitement of a just born
day. The comfort the darkness had previously offered had parted to leave its
place to the sense of being alive danger provided.
His heart was beating in the same tempo of the swaying blades of grass and his
consciousness wrapped itself around the tiniest of the details he saw all around
him: the delicate flying of a butterfly, the sound of the wind rustling the
trees' leaves, the smell of humid earth under his feet
When a soft hand touched his shoulder he didn't even feel the surprise
that should have been there. If perfection was what surrounded him then it could
never be enjoyed in solitude. He turned his head around and offered the figure
behind him a sweet smile.
The smile was returned in such a tender way that Harry could feel his heart
doing a funny flip-flop and his knees turning into melting wax. Utter happiness
wrapped him; amazed that such a little gesture could make his dream world even
more perfect than before.
Slender but strong arms went around him and he found himself in the sweetness
of an embrace, the bare skin of a masculine chest pressed against his back.
Turning around in the circle of those ghostly arms he faced his dream visitor
and also sneaked his arms around the other's torso, returning the hug.
How he had known even before he had been touched by those tender hands that
his mysterious visitor was a man escaped Harry, but he had the deeply engraved
sensation that he knew this one who made him feel so content.
Feathery fingers traced the line of his jaw and Harry allowed his eyelids to
flutter closed, instinctively knowing that giving up his ability to see would
trigger a deeper appreciation of the moment. When the touch stopped he instantly
felt the coldness of the missing contact and opened his closed eyes in a look
of disappointment and reproach.
The mysterious figure let out a deep chuckle that made shivers ran down Harry's
back and complied at the silent request he could read in the green eyes of the
dark haired boy. Where once fingers had been, now lips tasted Harry's skin.
A whirlwind of sensations washed over the green eyed teenager and he felt his
perfect world dissolve until there was nothing more than he and his dream visitor
standing alone in the nothingness.
He felt overwhelmed by such a sweet assault and wanted nothing more than to
surrender totally to the person seducing him so, offering the talented dream
lover anything – everything - he wanted.
The part of his mind that still was able of coherent thinking told him that
it was indeed seduction what he was experiencing, the sensations evoked too
intimate to be otherwise. Yet, he didn't feel the rush of adrenaline commonly
associated with sexual desire. The touch of this familiar stranger was like
the one offered by the darkness in the beginnings of the dream: comforting,
cherishing, adoring
For this moment to never reach an end he was willing to give up the beauty the
awakening day had brought to him. For this stranger to love him he was willing
to lose himself in his touch and never look for a way back, not now, not ever
again.
Harry realized neither of them had talked yet and he was deeply grateful for
this fact. He just knew there was no way he could put into words what he wanted
to tell the other man. That only the contact of skin against skin, only feathery
touches dropped like phantom kisses, could barely aspire to express what transpired
between them.
An unnecessary attempt to vocalize the sensations electrifying the air around
them would only spoil the magic of such an intimately shared moment.
When cool lips trailed down his neck with slow deliberateness, Harry abandoned
himself to the miracle of being loved like that. A warm tongue traced his collarbone
and the dark haired boy's breathing quickened at the contact. In an unconscious
movement he threw his head back to grant his seducer better access to his skin
and this made the other man smile against him.
Depositing a deep and wet kiss just below Harry's Adam's apple, the
mysterious lover retraced his path on the dark boy's skin and found his
way up his neck to reach one tempting earlobe. Chills of pleasure found again
their way down the raven-haired teenager spine and he pressed himself against
the other's bare chest, tightening their embrace.
It was as if Harry tried to melt into his lover, creating a unique entity where
two had previously existed.
He finally ventured one slender hand upwards and let his fingers entwine in
the other's mass of silky hair.
The Boy Who Lived marvelled at the softness of the impossible silvery blond
strands, tilting his head up to let himself be surrounded by their intoxicating
fragrance, a mix of exotic flowers and a touch of lemon.
Slowly, his hand trailed down to find the smoothness of pale skin, delicately
cupping the other man's cheek. The joy Harry experienced when his pale
lover leaned into his touch was comparable to nothing he had ever felt before.
The seducer was being now seduced.
This simple truth made the green eyed boy ridiculously happy.
In a moment during which reality shattered and was built again, their lips touched
and Harry's previous statement was proved wrong. If touching the other
man's skin had gifted Harry with incomparable joy, the warmth of their
mouths melting in what could only be described as perfection made The Boy Who
Lived realize that he would never feel complete if not in this pale figure's
arms.
Hot and cold washed over Harry, making him tremble with the igniting of his
deepest passions.
Comfort turned into desire; safety into a craving for possession.
His tongue started a sensual dance with his lover's and the blood roared
in his veins wishing for more, wanting everything the other man had to offer.
They kissed knowing their dream world could be gone just like a flame under
the rain, ardently and with underlying desperation.
During those moments when they were one, nothing else mattered.
Smiling, Harry pulled back from their kiss trying to catch his breath and found
himself gazing deeply into the silvery depths of tender eyes that mirrored his
affection.
He reached up with his hand to tenderly brush pale fringe off his lover's
forehead and he was gifted with a heartbreakingly beautiful smile.
In that very moment Harry knew that things were as they always should have been.
And then, as suddenly as every other change in his dream had taken place, the
foreignness still masking the other man was no more. Everything fell into place
bringing painful realizations and with sharp accuracy the dream shattered around
them
Making Harry wake up in his bed at the Gryffindor dorm, pure horror running
like fire in his veins.
Oh god, no. The boy buried his face in his hands, tremors running
through his body. Please, no. Not this, not him.
* * *
Infamous Last Words: Who is the mysterious dream lover
? *rolls eyes: as if you don't already know...* And how will poor Harry
cope -discarding murder and suicide- with the situation???
All this and a little more in MoD Chapter 2!