Title: Dreamland

Category: Harry Potter

Author: Kat

Rating: PG

Summary: What is Remus's subconscious trying to say?

Spoilers: Takes place somewhere in the middle of PoA.

Pairing: Remus/Sirius

Disclaimer: All I own is a set of books, a notebook, and a purple pen. Remus and Sirius are not a part of that.

Author's Notes: Gah.

Remus was dreaming, and he knew it, but the dream was so vivid. Sights, sounds, smells were just as strong as they were outside of sleep.

He was in a bed, a large bed with white sheets, and sunlight was streaming in through a large, open window. He was over to one side, the quilt over covering about half of him. The rest of it was bunched and tangled on the other, unoccupied, side of the bed.

Remus stretched, sat up. He was naked and a bit cold, despite the rays of sun that hit his skin. Looking around the small room, which was plainly decorated and dominated by the bed, he noticed a blue terry cloth robe in a heap on the floor. He leaned over to grab it, then stood up and pulled it on.

There were two doors. One, open, led to a small bathroom. Remus, barefoot, padded over to the other door and opened it to see a narrow hallway, two closed doors, and a staircase heading down. He made his way down the stairs.

Remus felt like two different people. One, the dreamer, was almost separate from the body. He watched cautiously, carefully. The other, the dream-self, was comfortable, relaxed.

Remus's dream-self seemed to know where he was going. He turned left at the bottom of the stairs and stepped into a kitchen, cluttered but clean, with cold grey tiles underfoot. It smelled of coffee and toast, and a dark-haired man, clad only in boxer shorts, sat at the blonde wood table, quill in hand, newspaper open in front of him.

The dream-Remus smiled and walked over to kiss the man at the table, even as the dreamer-Remus tried to stop, to scream, to get away. However, it seemed as if he wasn't in control of the body he was sharing with his dream-self.

"Hello, love." That was his own voice, but he had no control over it. He wanted to shout, to strike out, but he couldn't. He didn't even have enough control to shake with rage.

Sirius smiled absently as Remus rested a hand on his shoulder. "What's a seven-letter spell for removing nose hair?" he asked, poring over the crossword.

_Go to hell!_ Remus wanted to scream. Instead, he heard himself – his dream-self, that was – reply "I'm not sure, I've never needed to use one. Is there any coffee left?"

"A little, maybe. I only made half a pot. Who invented the Riddikulus spell?"

"Augustine Crice," Remus answered automatically, walking over to the counter where the empty coffee percolator sat. He pulled coffee grounds down from a cupboard.

"No, that's not right," Sirius objected. "There's a 'c' where the 's' should be. Don't make that too strong," he added, referring to the coffee.

"It's spelt with a 'c', idiot," Remus' dream-self replied. The dreamer took his attention away from the coffeepot and looked at the man at the table.

It was Sirius, there was no doubt about it. However, it wasn't the young man Remus had known in his own youth, nor was it the haggard, filthy villain the Daily Prophet showed pictures of every day. He looked clean, healthy, with small laugh lines around his eyes.

He was breath-taking.

It wasn't fair, Remus thought frantically. How could someone so manipulative, so cruel, so evil, make his heart ache with beauty?

The percolator hissed, and Remus turned to pull out a mug. There was a sound like wood scratching against tile, and then there were hands on Remus's shoulders, warming his flesh through the thick terrycloth. Then there were lips at his ear, and a soft whisper –

"Are you sure you don't know a seven-letter spell for removing nose hair?"

Remus opened his mouth to reply, but his lips became otherwise occupied. His eyes closed. He might not have been in control of his body, but he could feel what it felt, and the pressure of Sirius's lips against his own was beautiful in its horror.

This was wrong, the dreamer-Remus's mind cried out. Wrong wrong wrong! The man was a murderer, a heartless beast.

And yet his kiss was tender.

The pressure eased off of Remus's mouth, and his eyes opened…

He was back in his own bed, in the large, lavish bedroom he'd been allotted as a Hogwarts professor. He reached out – in control of his body now – and grabbed the clock on his bedside table. He was late for breakfast.

Suppressing the urge to weep, he rolled out of bed.