These Dreams, a harry potter fanfic

DISCLAIMER: This little one-shot was inspired by the song These Dreams, performed by the band Heart and written by Martin Page and Bernie Taupin. These characters belong to the Harry Potter series and J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made.

WARNING: Pre-slash. If this bothers you, go elsewhere!

A/N: Just a little one-shot that popped into my head after hearing the song the story is titled after. Please look up the song and have a listen if you haven't heard it already! It's one of my all time favourite songs, performed by one of my favourite bands! There really isn't much plot to the story, just a drabble of sorts! Please enjoy and review!

These Dreams

It was so dark; he couldn't even see his hand in front of his face. Someone else was there, he could tell, but he didn't know who. Suddenly, a candle appeared to him, and he scooped it up, the wick lighting itself.

There were dense trees all around, a thick, unnatural mist swirling through the leaves, illuminated strangely by the candle's glow. A flash of white, a sharp whiff of a familiar scent. He looked up and saw the full moon, wondering how the bright white of the moon did not penetrate the darkness around him.

The candle could only cast light so far, but at the edges, where he could no longer see, there were shadows, dancing, enticing him closer. But as he moved closer to these shadows, the light hit them, and they disappeared. Reaching into the pocket of his robes, he pulled out his mother's pocket watch, hoping to figure out at least what time it was. The watch had no hands.

He looked up and saw the shadows dancing, teasing him once more as he started to wake. He wanted to see them clearly, to come closer than this, but all that he could remember, were these dreams in the mist.

Every time he closed his eyes, he'd see this strange place. Every second of the night, he lived another life. The cold nights chased these dreams away. But every moment he was awake, the further he was away.

Living cloak and dagger, hiding from the truth, he wondered what these dreams meant. He knew neither head nor tail of the details when he was awake, but as he slept on, the questions began to become more and more. Could it be Spring or Fall? Were the leaves dry and golden, or crisp and green? He could never recall.

Then the dreams changed. Through the forest he walked, the trees growing so thick he nearly had to crawl through the narrow space. Suddenly, there were no trees, just a stain glass wall, similar to the one he'd often seen in the muggle church in Little Whinging. He tried to walk around it, but something stopped him. His logic told him to simply walk through the wall, and so he did. He'd made it through without a cut. The trees were even thicker on the other side, and he gripped the candle closer, trying to call out, but the words fell formless from his lips.

Every time he closed his eyes, he'd see this strange place. Every second of the night, he lived another life. The cold chased these dreams away, but every moment he was awake, the further he was away.

He realized there was something out there, something he was searching for that he couldn't resist. The shadows that had been pulling him were tangible, were real, and he reached out for them. He hid in these dreams, from the pain of what he'd been forced to do, the pain of his supposed betrayal, and his loss of trust from every person he had ever grown to care for. There was something out there, something he couldn't resist.

The dreams changed again. This time, he could hear something, like faint music, far off in the distance. When he strained his ears to the furthest extent, it all seemed to go unnaturally silent. It was the sweetest song he'd ever heard.

He'd realized as he looked down to track how far he'd come that his feet never touched the earth. He was floating upon the mist that swirled around and carried him through the dense trees. Ironic, really, that in dreams, your feet never touch the earth.

Up ahead, just there! He'd seen someone at last; that flash of white, that whiff of a familiar scent again. The light of the candle finally illuminated the elusive shadow. He knew that his only freedom from these dreams in the mist was a kiss, but the prince hid his face, and turned back to the shadows, but not before he'd seen who it was, at last.

S~S~S~S

Severus sat bolt upright in bed, his breathing ragged and strangled as he tore the tangled covers away from his recently thrashing legs. These dreams had been haunting him for so long now; he couldn't even remember having ever dreamt of anything else. He'd never been able to figure them out, until now. He'd finally caught up to the shadow; he'd seen the man's face.

Lupin.

The man had recently been making a bid for friendship, whether out of desperation or pity, Severus didn't know. He'd obliged the man very slightly by being civil, or as civil as one could expect from Severus Snape, but he hadn't allowed himself to be taken in, to be befriended. There was far too much at risk to start giving in to flights of fancy and foolish feelings. So what if his heart seemed to skip a beat every time the werewolf entered the room? He told himself it was residual fear from long ago, when he had nearly been killed by the snarling beast this man became every full moon. That's when the dreams had started.

He knew what had to be done, and he was so relieved that he finally knew how to get rid of these dreams, that he wasted no time in seeking the ageing werewolf out. As expected, he found the man in the library during the early hours of the morning, pouring over maps of England and Scotland, marking a specific pattern with a muggle marker and a clear overlay. He didn't look up when Severus entered the library.

"Lupin," Severus said lamely, trying to draw the man's attention away from the slightly crazed mapping work. It worked, and the slightly bewildered but warm smile he received made him realize he was doing the right thing.

"Oh, hello Severus. I didn't think anybody else would be up at this hour. I was having some difficulty sleeping, so I came to try to take my mind off things. Would you care to help?" the careworn man asked gently, spreading his hands to gesture at the scattered maps and piles of notes.

Severus took a seat beside the man, not bothering to look at any of the maps, or pretend that he had any intentions to help. "I've been having quite a bit of trouble sleeping recently as well. Must be something Molly's feeding us," he said dispassionately, surprised when Lupin fixed him with a pointed look.

"Why have you had trouble sleeping, Severus?" Lupin asked quietly, yet intently. Though the question sounded simple, it was loaded with all kinds of meaning. Severus could hear it plainly in his voice.

"These dreams in the mist...I've been chasing shadows through a very dark forest, with only a faint candle to light my way. I know there's someone else there, and sometimes I can see a flash of something, and there's a familiar smell – "

Severus paused abruptly, realizing that the smell – that smell – was permeating the room at that very instant. He locked eyes with the other man, who looked just as shocked as Severus felt.

"How very peculiar. I've been having dreams that sound very similar, only...I'm being pursued through that dark forest, but I haven't even got a candle to light my way, just the light of the full moon. It doesn't make sense, because I'm human in the dream. But there's someone there, someone looking for me, but they can't find me. When I try to show them that I'm there, the shadows pull me back."

Severus' chest was heaving as he listened to the man detail his dream. He knew it now without a doubt; Lupin was the prince, the one hiding in the shadows. He tried to calm himself down, but he couldn't help the slight tremble in his voice as he asked, "How does your dream end?"

Lupin studied him carefully before recognition dawned on his prematurely aged features. He set the muggle marker aside as he turned fully towards Severus. "I catch a glimpse of dark hair and dark eyes; someone holding a candle, and then I wake up."

The two men stared at each other in astonishment as the truth of what they'd realized settled in around them, like the dense mist swirling in their obviously connected dreams.

"It's you," they mutter simultaneously. A clock strikes the early hour somewhere off in the distance as the sunrise begins to shine faintly through the grimy windows of Grimmauld Place's library.

They meet in the middle, both leaning in for what they know they have to do. And to be quite honest, it's what both of them have been waiting for, wanting for so long. As their lips press together and tentative tongues explore and entwine, they both know they'll never have those dreams in the mist again.