Harry did not sleep well that night. He was troubled by nightmares again; dark, phantasmagoric shapes filled his dreams with terror…

Towards morning, as the first pale blue light streamed through the ancient stained glass windows of Gryffindor Tower, he finally fell into a more restful sleep.

He dreamt that he was sleeping.

In his dream, he was sleeping in a large four-poster bed in what appeared to be a comfortable bedroom in an old wizarding house of sorts. In his dream, his consciousness slipped back and forth between being the sleeping teenage boy in the bed, and seeing himself from the outside. Then he became dimly aware that there was another person next to him in the bed. And he saw that the other person was professor Snape.

Normally, Harry would have been terrified to find himself in such a position with his dreaded potions master. But in his dream, Snape's presence was natural, even comforting to him. Harry (now somehow observing from outside) saw that Snape was sleeping restlessly, his dark eyelashes fluttering against his pale cheeks.

Suddenly, the half-conscious, half-sleeping Snape turned toward Harry, reached for him, and put his arms around the sleeping boy. And Harry, now as the half-conscious boy in the bed, embraced Snape, held him tight, and searched for the man's lips with his own. Their lips met in a kiss that sent a river of fire through Harry's body. The kiss seemed to last for an eternity. When they finally pulled apart, Harry, now awake (in his dream) looked at Snape's face in wonder. For Snape's face was no longer arrogant, hostile, grim, as he had so often seen it, but completely, utterly transformed by a look of the utmost tenderness.

---

When Harry woke up, he was horrified. How could he dream about –Snape? The memory of his dream filled him with shame, with disgust… and with something else, a slight lingering sweetness… No! No!

He shook the dream off as best he could, got dressed, and went to breakfast with Ron and Hermione. But he found that he had no appetite that morning.

Later, in potions class, the memory of the dream started flooding back. Snape stood in front of the class, black-clad and grim as always, with an expression of doom on his pallid face, as he lectured. And yet, Harry could not help but remember Snape's other face, as he had seen it in his dream.

Which one was the potion master's true face?

Harry's eyes dwelt on Snape as the master spoke. His words were harsh and filled with sarcasm…but for the first time, Harry noticed the potions master's mouth. How strange that he had never noticed the soft curve of Snape's lips….

Suddenly, Snape stood in front of him, a look of cold rage on his face.

"POTTER!" he exploded. He leaned over Harry. "Potter, would you kindly repeat to the class what I just said?"

Harry looked up at him. How odd… Snape's lips still had the same softness about them….

"I don't know, sir," he said automatically, waiting for another explosion.

Snape gave him a look of the utmost disdain. "My study, Potter," he said coldly. "Detention. Eight o'clock this evening."

"Yes, sir," said Harry.

---

At eight o'clock, Harry knocked at Snape's door. Why was his heart fluttering so strangely? This was detention, for God's sake.

Snape opened the door and acknowledged his presence with a curt nod. "Sit," he said coldly.

Harry sat in the stiff, uncomfortable chair in front of Snape's desk.

Snape leaned towards him, his dark eyes flashing. "Soooo," he said icily, "clearly the Chosen One has more important things on his mind that paying attention to his lessons…"

Snape went on and on, his voice cold and harsh, his eyes shooting flames at the boy in the chair. But his mouth, oh God, his mouth….

"POTTER!" Snape was furious. "You are ignoring me again, you insolent brat. Pray, tell me, what great thoughts go through the mind of the Chosen One when you master is speaking - ?"

And suddenly Harry felt his mind giving way. Something was intruding on his thoughts…. Oh, no! Snape was reading his mind…

Harry tried, desperately, to push the memory of Snape's lips pressed so softly against his own out of his mind.

Too late! He heard Snape gasp, and saw the potions master stagger backwards, his face even whiter than usual.

"What – " Snape could not quite get the words out. "What.. is the meaning of this, Potter?"

Harry studied the carpet intensely. Finally, he found his voice. "I just…had a strange dream last night, sir. That was all."

" A dream - ?" Snape's voice was shaking. "I see. But… there seemed to be certain…emotions attached to those dream images as well, Mr. Potter?"

Harry felt his face flush. "Yes, sir," he whispered. "I can't explain that, sir."

Snape was silent for what seemed like an eternity. Harry did not look up, but he felt the potions master's intense glace scrutinizing his face.

Finally Snape spoke. His voice was unexpectedly soft.

"You know, Harry, I always thought of you as very similar to your father. You have his looks, his easy charm, his confounded luck… I suppose I expected you despise me as your father did."

Harry glanced up, met Snape's dark eyes.

"Your father, Harry, was a cruel man at times," said Snape softly. "He did not hide his disdain for me, nor did he pass up an opportunity to remind me that I was a laughable human being…"

He was silent for a while. "I naturally expected you to feel the same way," he whispered. "But perhaps you are not your father, after all, Harry."

Harry looked at Snape. There was sadness in the man's eyes, and pain… Impulsively, Harry leaned forward and stroked Snape's cheek softly, ran a finger gently across his lips…

"I am not him," he whispered hoarsely. "I am just me."

Snape's hand grabbed Harry's, held it still against his lips. Harry closed his eyes. He heard Snape sigh softly, and suddenly he felt the potions master's lips against his own.