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TITLE: (Bitter) Sweet Dreams
AUTHOR: Relala
BETA: lady of scarlet
FANDOM STATUS: Fanon
It's in the silence of that evening, long hours after the panic of gazing at the Dark Mark in the velvet blackness of the sky had been pushed reluctantly into the catacombs of Harry's mind, when things begin to come alive. Memories of that night replay within his head - -but they are not memories which one might guess at. These are the subdued fantasies of a madman, the dreams of a young man dependent upon some form of happiness and stability within his life. These are daydreams created within the middle of the night when all other life is nestled in sleep.
Dreams of kisses and caresses from the only person who has ever treated him like a man in a world where he has never been seen as anything but a troublesome child. A boy who had approached him as if he were a young wizard right from the beginning, extending a hand in an awkward offer of friendship and understanding. We're men, that handshake had said and to this very day Harry can remember vividly the firmness of those hands and imagine them dancing strongly across his skin.
This is the sweetness of a dream:
Percy Weasley's hands are clasped tightly around his waist, pinning him down to the bed as his slender body moves overtop him. He almost smiles as Harry tries to squirm free of his grasp - almost - but it's just the barest hint of mischief around his lips and a slight sparkle in his eye that lets the Boy Who Lived know that the third Weasley is actually enjoying what he is doing.
Percy's breath is as scorching as tea poured straight from the kettle in the middle of the wintertime, hot enough to thaw the frost of reluctance inside his heart as it slides along the skin of his neck. His lips are warm, boiling with passion as he presses them along Harry's skin, graceful fingers grasping at his robes and yanking them down -
"Percy, Percy," he hisses into the darkness of the tent, bucking his hips upwards as if to fall back into the fantasy, chomping down on his bottom lip to keep from saying it in anything more than a whisper. "Percy!"
Harry is too wrapped up in his own little dreams to realize that he is not the only one awake in his bed anymore. Too caught up in this sweet passion to notice that a set of brown eyes, framed by horn-rims, are gazing up at him in puzzlement from the bed below.
"Harry, Harry, Harry," Percy chuckles bitterly to himself, a slow blush sweeping up his face and colouring the backs of his ears.
THE END
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