'Oh fuck, not that dream again, I can't believe I just had that same stupid dream again.' This was becoming something of a morning mantra for our young wizard, who, despite all the chaos of his life, was still nonetheless a hormonally charged creature. Once every few nights for almost a month, the same dream repeated itself, never progressing or developing, never changing, but simply playing like an old recording. Now you must understand, this dream wasn't the normal kind of dream that troubles teenage boys; he didn't show up to transfiguration without pants on, and he wasn't falling or drowning or making out with Professor Snape, those dreams are easy to figure out, this one was stranger than all that. Harry Potter, our little protagonist as I'm sure you have all realised, is a 17 year old ball of tension, sexual frustration and testosterone. He has somehow managed to defeat death eaters, fight duals, cope with more loss than people three times his age would have to encounter, and yet despite all this, the closest he has come to seeing a girls breasts is when Hermione was attempting to ignore her very pronounced 'development', and squeeze into a top now two sizes too small, that left nothing to the imagination. And as such, almost every dream he had involved sex, but this was nothing new or surprising, he's a teenager. But this dream in particular, this one was freaky; because for the most part, it was brilliant. Essentially, it begins with Harry in Snape's dungeon; he has Ginny Weasley bent over Snape's desk and everything is great. Now, as Ginny turns around, suddenly she isn't Ginny, but instead Parvati, then when they change to Parvati on top, suddenly she is Hermione, and so on. But this dream turns strange when, just as Harry is on top of that hot anonymous 4th year, getting very close to climax, he looks down to see his teacher, and family friend, Remus Lupin, looking back at him. The dream stops dead right there. Well, you know how I said the dream never changed? today there was one. Just as Harry was about to climb out of bed and start his morning routine, he noticed a wet patch in his pyjama pants, a sticky wet patch that bought back instant memories of being 14 again. 'Oh Shit!' thought Harry, a million thoughts running through his head all at once. 'Why did that make me blow, he's my teacher…he's a HE! Oh shit I have Defense Against the Dark Arts today, I have to actually see him…and I'm already late and I'm covered in…Fuck!'.
Admittedly the morning did improve from there on in. The good thing about the Weasley's being, well not overly well off, is that Ginny didn't desperately need new robes at the beginning of the year, and kept her old ones. However, thanks to a mid year growth spurt, the skirt was now a good inch shorter, and the top two buttons didn't do up anymore. 'Merlin, that's enough to cheer a man up' he muttered to himself as she brushed past. And Harry was only more reassured of his heterosexuality as he entered the Great Hall, where shining like a big greasy beacon, was miserable git potions master Professor Severus Snape. If there was anything good about Snape, it was that his awkward form would turn the campest of interior designers into truck driving, naked woman loving manly men. Everything was proceeding swimmingly, until… 'Morning Wolfenstine!' declared Ron, loud enough to make some first years jump in surprise.
'Wolfenstine? Ron if your trying to make a move by coming up with a cute pet name, that one is pretty pathetic, And if that's not the intention, could you kindly tell me what the fuck your on about?' This was all said with a sarcastic and humorous tone, which was laid on as thick as butter, as Harry's thoughts jumped straight back into the dream of his last night, and his ejaculatory response to the Hogwarts resident Werewolf.
'Settle down, It's because your snoring is gettin' out of control, you must be gettin' some great rest because none of us are.'
Harry felt himself shrink a tiny bit 'oh. Fair enough then. But that still doesn't explain Wolfenstine.'
'Oh' said Ron, still oblivious to Harry's intense internal monologue, 'well it kinda sounds like a wolf growling, and I figured a nickname would be nicer than smacking you on the head with a text book and saying 'Shut up mate you snore like a fucking chainsaw!"'
This time Ron was loud enough to engage most of the room. The first years were shocked to hear a rude word, the third years lost it laughing, as did many of the older students, and the teachers all gave Ron a look that made it clear that Harry wasn't the only one at risk of a text book to the head.
It seems that Ron's little outburst did more than just make some students laugh milk out of their nose. The nickname of Wolfenstine was no longer just Ron being a twat, now every corridor Harry passed through was accommodated by a smart little third year making a howling wolf noise. Now even though a little bit of teasing had never bothered Harry before, each howl made him think of Lupin, and each time he did that, he got this strange and uneasy feeling that he hated. He knew that, as with most of the petty and stupid things that spread through the school, it would all be over in a few days, when the mass (albeit short) attention span of the Hogwarts population becomes preoccupied by gossip about third years going at it in a hidden room, or some such bollocks. Nonetheless, Harry was starting to reach the end of his tether with all the howls and growls that the other students were making. As he checked his timetable to see where he was meant to be heading, his day took the final leap into shitsville as he realized the he was not only heading in the complete wrong direction (towards Lupin's office, he noticed but refused to acknowledge), and instead was treated to the pleasure of double potions with Snape. Woo! Harry deliberated whether the arse whopping and potential detention that Snape would just cream over giving him was worth the hour and a half he would gain with his undesirable thoughts, a sudden pain in his face, followed by a bigger pain in his bum, alerted him to the fact that he had in fact just collided with a very solid object and was now on the floor, most likely with a stupid look on his face. As he took a moment to get his bearings and straighten his glasses, he realized that he was confronted with a set of knees, which invariably meant that the solid object he collided with was a person. No, it wasn't Lupin, that would be far to cliché, it was Ron instead, who, upon helping his friend up was proudly proclaiming that he had already been to explain to Snape that they simply couldn't attend class as both he and Harry had discovered a brand new Bertie Botts laxative flavoured bean and were, ahem, indisposed. Apparently this was the best idea Ron could come up with to say 'sorry for making you the laughing stock of the school', and as far as Harry was concerned, he couldn't have asked for anything better.
Harry and Ron spent their now free hour and a half in the empty common room, both gingerly avoiding the blaringly obvious fact that Harry seemed more uncomfortable than Professor Snape in a strip club, chatting about Quidditch and the twins' mischief, and essentially anything that could not lead to that awkward 'man feelings' discussion. This very welcomed distraction was almost beginning to cheer Harry up, until he remembered like a punch in the face that the next lesson was Defense against the Dark Arts. The rest of the morning passed by very very quickly, and before he even noticed that he was standing, Harry was standing, momentarily frozen, outside the doors of Lupin's classroom. 'Ok, man up, Lupin is your friend and the subconscious is a crazy thing, maybe it's normal to dream about….Ok no, no that isn't normal, but still, cant avoid it, get your bony butt in that room and stop being a girl!'. One deep breath and a big step later, and Harry was on the way to his seat. As he was setting up his quill and parchment, the DADA professor entered so quietly that you would have thought it were by magic, which come to think of it was quite likely, but nonetheless there he was, right near Harry. The sexually dumbfounded student was taken aback, first by the sudden apparition of the tall drink of water that was his professor, and then again by the feelings that this conjured in the boy…a feeling of utter indifference. He couldn't believe it, it was plain old boring old Remus 'Mooney' Lupin that he knew and clearly plutonically loved. Suddenly the dreary looking classroom brightened, his stomach unknotted so quickly that he felt a little queasy, and he exclaimed, just that little too loudly 'Oh thank fucking Merlin!!'. Suddenly Harry found himself even more relieved that his teacher's mysterious boner inducing qualities were no more, as his inarticulate choice of words meant that he would be alone in a little room with him for at least an hour tonight, thanks to a detention.
Despite all that Harry had been through, the 'normal teenager' part of his brain was still tempted to declare today as the worst day of his life. He managed to erotically fantasize about his best man friend, make a mess of his pajamas, narrowly avoid Snape, get smacked in the face, get paid out by snot nosed, pimple faced second years, worry himself stupid and get a detention, all in one hit. However things had started looking up, he didn't even mind the detention because Lupin tended to be nice to him and it would be nice to 'hang out'. As Harry headed down the dark stone corridor on his trip back to Lupin's room, he actually laughed at the absurdity of thinking that one silly dream meant he was gay, did he forget the rest of the dream?
Remus had been waiting for Harry to show up for about half an hour. He had his parchments out and his red quill next to it, to make sure Harry was fooled into believing that he was infact Professor Fantastic, though really he had been enjoying a small glass of brandy and a thorough giggle at his duplicate copy of the Marauders map, in particular the fact that the little dot that says 'Severus Snape' had been in the shower for over half an hour, and as we all know, he was hardly washing his hair in there. Despite this fun, Remus was relieved to hear the knock at the door alerting him that his mop headed little friend had arrived. In reality Lupin didn't give an owls fart whether Harry swore in his class, however it did provide the perfect excuse to chat to the boy, who had looked out of sorts all day, and knowing that his young friend was not one for 'sharing' decided that a detention would be the only way to do it. A sudden pang of self awareness hit the werewolf as he realized that his appearance was somewhat disheveled, with his already scruffy off white shirt unbuttoned just enough to show off the slight definition of his chest, and untucked from the ugly tan trousers that he liked to wear on Wednesdays. After brief deliberation he asserted that he was not dressing up for a detention student, and that unless Harry had suddenly become a middle aged woman (Molly Weasley springs to mind), he really wouldn't care about his shirt anyway. He opened to door to the pale young man, giving him a stern, fatherly look of disappointment, before dragging him in for a quick hug.
Apparently Lupin had missed the mark somewhat in assuming that Harry wouldn't care how his friend was dressed, the truth of the matter was quite the opposite. Just as the werewolf opened the door, Harry seemed to psychologically transform into that very 40 year old woman, only one who was in desperate need of some lovin'. His eyes were drawn straight to those unbuttoned buttons, taking in with some surprise just how well defined the man's chest was from all that time in his wolf form. Tearing his eyes away, he looked up to try and meet Lupin's eye, but instead got caught on his hair, and the way it swept across his eyes like so many bad romance novel covers. The hug that followed this little homoerotic adventure was terminated very abruptly by Harry, as he realized that no, Lupin would not believe that that was his wand in his pocket, and that he really was just happy to see him. This instant arousal to the sight of a perpetually tired looking professor at least 20 years his senior and, of course A MAN, came from absolutely nowhere that Harry knew existed, all he knew right now was that his detention was about to get a whole lot more awkward.