Illicit Dreaming
Prequel to Strange Bedfellows
Prequel to Open Wounds
Harry coughed, the cold of the stone floor of the dungeon seeping into his knees. He silently wished he could wear his winter cloak to these sessions, as Snape did not appear to be remotely inclined to light a fire in the classroom's broad hearth. After what he did during his fifth year, Harry did not really blame the man, but he did worry after his chilled limbs.
"Weakness," Snape spat, the flickering candlelight making him appear more menacing and bat-like than ever. "Weakness that the Dark Lord will not hesitate to exploit!" He narrowed his coal dark eyes. "I doubt you have practiced at all, despite what you have done when the Dark Lord leads you astray."
Emerald eyes flashed, but Harry did not say anything. He had forced himself to formally apologize to the Death Eater turned spy and lashing out at his only possible mentor was not an option. No matter what barbs Snape threw his way, Harry had vowed to take them silently. Despite working together for months now, Snape had not seemed to notice. If anything, he was taking more joy in torturing his student.
"Have you been practicing?" the spy demanded.
Hunching his shoulders, Harry lifted himself onto one knee. "Yes. Hermione lent me a book on Buddhist meditation and it helps me clear my mind."
"You will learn Occlumency without the aid of that infernal know-it-all, Potter. And if you have been practicing so much, why is it that I can get into your mind effortlessly?"
'Because I'm tired,' Harry wanted to protest. "Because I had nightmares and visions last night. Because I just had two hours of Quidditch practice. Because I'm thinking about my 24 inch essay on the goblin wars, my Charms chapter, and how to transfigure an orange into an apple into a rabbit.' He said nothing, though.
"We will try again until you get it right." Harry flinched, his thoughts flying back to his homework. "It is March and you have, by all appearances, learned nothing." Snape's voice fell to a hiss. "When you leave tonight, you will know something."
Harry forced himself to his feet. Perhaps Ron or Hermione would sneak out of the Tower if he did not return by midnight or one. He had already been in the dungeons since nine o'clock and Merlin only knew what time it was now. It hard to keep track of reality when Snape was walking through his memories.
"Legimens!"
Harry flinched again and screwed his eyes shut, feeling himself falling once more to his already bruised knees. Hermione now kept warm lavender butter mixed with lacewing flies on hand for his bruises. He could feel Snape in his mind, a most disturbing sensation.
Harry was six years old, frying eggs for his cousin Dudley, who himself was watching his favorite television program. Harry desperately wanted to see the program, but did not dare to leave the stove unattended.
Harry was in third year Defense Against the Dark Arts. Professor Lupin was lecturing about the dangers of swimming with kelpies. Harry took studious notes.
Harry was eight and locked in his cupboard for turning his teacher's wig an interesting shade of blue. He watched the spiders run up and down his arms, talking to them softly as if they could understand.
Harry was a first year and at one of his flying lessons. He had left his stomach on the ground, but could not escape the thrill he always found when swooping over the earth, finding a freedom and grace he never had on the ground.
Harry sat on the edge of his bed in Grimmauld Place, staring at the blank portrait of Phineas Nigellus. Ron and Hermione stood in the doorway, under the lintel, talking about him quietly, but Harry did not care. All he could feel was an overwhelming sense of loss.
"Protego!"
When Harry opened his eyes, the stones on the floor were a blur and he reached out to where his glasses had fallen. "Occulo Reparo," he murmured, touching his wand to the broken lenses. Merlin, why would Snape not just hex his kneecaps off and get finish this pain?
"Not good enough, Potter." Snape, as usual, swooped down upon Harry as soon as he could see properly again. "If I were the Dark Lord, I could have found anything I wanted. He is stronger than me. He is more powerful than me. I don't think you are taking this threat seriously, just tossing it aside like everything else. I begin to wonder if you even want to learn this skill."
The blood drained from Harry's face. No! He had to learn Occlumency; he could not just lead his friends into danger as he had in his fifth year. No one else could die because of him! "No, Professor!" Harry protested, telling himself he was not begging. "Please, I need to learn this! Please! I'll try harder!"
Snape stared at him darkly, the candlelight flickering in a draft and casting strange, dark shadows across his angular face. "Very well. Legimens!"
Harry did not even have enough time to empty his mind, so Snape sifted deeper and deeper into his memories.
Harry was in his fourth year and outside in the courtyard. Fred and George came up from behind him and pelted him with snowballs. With a warning cry Harry spun around and threw snow at them. Hermione and Ron, returning from the library, joined them, laughing loudly. Harry was happy to forget about the Triwizard Tournament for a while. The mock-fight only ended when the five friends were soaked to the bone and escaped to the Gryffindor Common Room to enjoy the fire and some fresh Butterbeer Fred and George bought from the Three Broomsticks.
Harry, still new to the magical world, sat on the edge of his four-poster bed staring in awe at Ron and Seamus, who were explaining the innate intricacies of Exploding Snap. Then they demonstrated and Harry laughed and commented until they let him join. He won the first game.
Harry, over the past Christmas holiday, stood in a darkened hallway in Grimmauld Place. Remus Lupin appeared out of one of the closed door and approached Harry, murmuring soft words of comfort. Harry reached out to his former professor and they embraced in a manner slightly more than familial. As Remus reached between the two men –
"Protego!" Harry cried. Snape, no matter if he was the only teacher Harry could have, had no business going there.
Snape bristled quietly above him, now resembling more an angry panther than an overgrown bat. Harry, still on his heavily bruised knees and panting, stared up at his professor, half enraged and half afraid. Would his teacher reveal his secret to his crush?
"What...was...that?" Snape drawled slowly, his voice dangerously low. The man's body was taut as a bowstring and ready to lash out.
Harry paled and tried to catch his breath. "Er... ah... You know what that was," he gasped.
The Death Eater took two dangerous steps closer to Harry. "I can assume what that was, Potter. I can make many assumptions about that particular memory, but I have serious doubts that you would like any of them."
Harry stumbled to his feet. "Well, er, you understand, don't you? I mean, it, ah, happens to everyone?" He really did not want to think of Snape as having erotic dreams, but surely he did.
Snape raised an eyebrow, as if torn between sardonic amusement and ice-cold anger. "I should hope that Remus Lupin does not happen to everyone."
Feeling the blush rise to his cheeks, Harry stared at his feet. "I didn't mean it like that, Professor. Just that that sort of thing happens to everyone, sir."
"So, it just happened?"
Hearing the calculations behind the question, Harry looked up. "Well... I suppose it sort of developed, but I didn't really notice... I mean, lots of the girls think he's attractive."
Snape's eyes widened slightly and, if Harry did not know better, he would have thought the man flabbergasted. "And that makes this proper?" Snape hissed.
Harry paled even more at this question, his ivory skin shining like ice in the candlelight, stark against his raven hair and pitch uniform robes. "I- I didn't think of it like that, sir."
Circling him like an overlarge bird of prey, the spy watched him with his angry, black eyes. "Breaking rules left and right, Potter, is something the Headmaster might let you get away with, but breaking the law is something else entirely."
Harry's eyes clouded with confusion. "What? Law?"
Snape spun, his robes billowing like so many clouds of black smoke. "Laws, boy! There are most definitely laws about this sort of thing and you have most certainly broken them! You are, what, fifteen?"
"Sixteen, sir. But I'm not sure what you are talking about," Harry began slowly.
Snape scowled at him. "That last memory of yours, we are speaking of that. Your memory of relations with Lupin."
"Memory?" Harry gasped. "Remus wouldn't – he didn't – Professor, that was just a dream!"
Snape's eyes flare angrily and his scowl deepened. The man looked like something out of a particularly gruesome horror movie: long black robes, a full six feet of unmodified height, demonic eyes, a scowl that would unnerve Cerebus, and only faint candlelight highlighting his severely angular features.
"What?" Snape's voice was frightening normally, but his tone could have frozen molten lava now. Harry could almost feel the temperature in the classroom drop.
Truly frightened, Harry backed into one of the lab tables. "Just a dream. I only dreamt about Remus, sir. He wouldn't want anything to do with me, anyway."
"No one in their right mind would, Potter," Snape sneered. "But that was a particularly vivid dream for me to think it was a memory. Are you lying, Potter?"
Harry screwed his eyes closed as he felt Snape's presence in his mind. As disgusting and unnatural as it felt, Harry knew he could not defend himself against this attack, or Snape would assume he was lying. And, Merlin knew, Harry did not want to offend or hurt Remus by making his feelings public. The man was probably straight, anyway!
"Very well," Snape conceded as he removed himself from Harry. "You did not lie, this time."
Harry gulped, waiting for his punishment.
"I will be watching you," the Death Eater continued. "If you do something abysmally foolish and Gryffindor, I will not hesitate to make Lupin fully aware of these events. He would not be pleased to learn the James Potter's son was lusting after him."
Harry flushed, scarlet shading his formerly pale cheekbones. "Yes, sir," he replied, knowing full well that Snape was blackmailing him.
Snape carefully placed his wand on his desk and began collecting essays to grade. He washed his hands under the gargoyle, found his red ink, and sat down behind his desk.
Harry shifted from foot to foot, wondering what this had to do with Occlumency.
The Potions Master looked up. "Get out! Your lesson is over!"
Without hesitation, Harry left the dungeons and retreated to the Gryffindor Common Room, where no one knew his secret. He was greeted by Ron and Hermione near the tower, both bearing the promised lavender butter and lacewing flies. As he plastered his knees with the mixture, he and Ron debated Quidditch statistics while Hermione read her Advanced Arithmancy text. Not once did Harry mention his feelings for his former professor.
Author's Note: I wrote this trilogy backwards, starting with Open Wounds in March of 2004, followed by Strange Bedfellows in April/May of 2004, and Illicit Dreaming in July of 2004. So, if you wanted me to mention something in this in a sequel – it won't happen.
I also know that this isn't the most popular ship in the world, but would greatly appreciate any feedback. Also, if there's a grammatical problem, this is the only one in the trilogy that has not been beta-ed.
Harry coughed, the cold of the stone floor of the dungeon seeping into his knees. He silently wished he could wear his winter cloak to these sessions, as Snape did not appear to be remotely inclined to light a fire in the classroom's broad hearth. After what he did during his fifth year, Harry did not really blame the man, but he did worry after his chilled limbs.
"Weakness," Snape spat, the flickering candlelight making him appear more menacing and bat-like than ever. "Weakness that the Dark Lord will not hesitate to exploit!" He narrowed his coal dark eyes. "I doubt you have practiced at all, despite what you have done when the Dark Lord leads you astray."
Emerald eyes flashed, but Harry did not say anything. He had forced himself to formally apologize to the Death Eater turned spy and lashing out at his only possible mentor was not an option. No matter what barbs Snape threw his way, Harry had vowed to take them silently. Despite working together for months now, Snape had not seemed to notice. If anything, he was taking more joy in torturing his student.
"Have you been practicing?" the spy demanded.
Hunching his shoulders, Harry lifted himself onto one knee. "Yes. Hermione lent me a book on Buddhist meditation and it helps me clear my mind."
"You will learn Occlumency without the aid of that infernal know-it-all, Potter. And if you have been practicing so much, why is it that I can get into your mind effortlessly?"
'Because I'm tired,' Harry wanted to protest. "Because I had nightmares and visions last night. Because I just had two hours of Quidditch practice. Because I'm thinking about my 24 inch essay on the goblin wars, my Charms chapter, and how to transfigure an orange into an apple into a rabbit.' He said nothing, though.
"We will try again until you get it right." Harry flinched, his thoughts flying back to his homework. "It is March and you have, by all appearances, learned nothing." Snape's voice fell to a hiss. "When you leave tonight, you will know something."
Harry forced himself to his feet. Perhaps Ron or Hermione would sneak out of the Tower if he did not return by midnight or one. He had already been in the dungeons since nine o'clock and Merlin only knew what time it was now. It hard to keep track of reality when Snape was walking through his memories.
"Legimens!"
Harry flinched again and screwed his eyes shut, feeling himself falling once more to his already bruised knees. Hermione now kept warm lavender butter mixed with lacewing flies on hand for his bruises. He could feel Snape in his mind, a most disturbing sensation.
Harry was six years old, frying eggs for his cousin Dudley, who himself was watching his favorite television program. Harry desperately wanted to see the program, but did not dare to leave the stove unattended.
Harry was in third year Defense Against the Dark Arts. Professor Lupin was lecturing about the dangers of swimming with kelpies. Harry took studious notes.
Harry was eight and locked in his cupboard for turning his teacher's wig an interesting shade of blue. He watched the spiders run up and down his arms, talking to them softly as if they could understand.
Harry was a first year and at one of his flying lessons. He had left his stomach on the ground, but could not escape the thrill he always found when swooping over the earth, finding a freedom and grace he never had on the ground.
Harry sat on the edge of his bed in Grimmauld Place, staring at the blank portrait of Phineas Nigellus. Ron and Hermione stood in the doorway, under the lintel, talking about him quietly, but Harry did not care. All he could feel was an overwhelming sense of loss.
"Protego!"
When Harry opened his eyes, the stones on the floor were a blur and he reached out to where his glasses had fallen. "Occulo Reparo," he murmured, touching his wand to the broken lenses. Merlin, why would Snape not just hex his kneecaps off and get finish this pain?
"Not good enough, Potter." Snape, as usual, swooped down upon Harry as soon as he could see properly again. "If I were the Dark Lord, I could have found anything I wanted. He is stronger than me. He is more powerful than me. I don't think you are taking this threat seriously, just tossing it aside like everything else. I begin to wonder if you even want to learn this skill."
The blood drained from Harry's face. No! He had to learn Occlumency; he could not just lead his friends into danger as he had in his fifth year. No one else could die because of him! "No, Professor!" Harry protested, telling himself he was not begging. "Please, I need to learn this! Please! I'll try harder!"
Snape stared at him darkly, the candlelight flickering in a draft and casting strange, dark shadows across his angular face. "Very well. Legimens!"
Harry did not even have enough time to empty his mind, so Snape sifted deeper and deeper into his memories.
Harry was in his fourth year and outside in the courtyard. Fred and George came up from behind him and pelted him with snowballs. With a warning cry Harry spun around and threw snow at them. Hermione and Ron, returning from the library, joined them, laughing loudly. Harry was happy to forget about the Triwizard Tournament for a while. The mock-fight only ended when the five friends were soaked to the bone and escaped to the Gryffindor Common Room to enjoy the fire and some fresh Butterbeer Fred and George bought from the Three Broomsticks.
Harry, still new to the magical world, sat on the edge of his four-poster bed staring in awe at Ron and Seamus, who were explaining the innate intricacies of Exploding Snap. Then they demonstrated and Harry laughed and commented until they let him join. He won the first game.
Harry, over the past Christmas holiday, stood in a darkened hallway in Grimmauld Place. Remus Lupin appeared out of one of the closed door and approached Harry, murmuring soft words of comfort. Harry reached out to his former professor and they embraced in a manner slightly more than familial. As Remus reached between the two men –
"Protego!" Harry cried. Snape, no matter if he was the only teacher Harry could have, had no business going there.
Snape bristled quietly above him, now resembling more an angry panther than an overgrown bat. Harry, still on his heavily bruised knees and panting, stared up at his professor, half enraged and half afraid. Would his teacher reveal his secret to his crush?
"What...was...that?" Snape drawled slowly, his voice dangerously low. The man's body was taut as a bowstring and ready to lash out.
Harry paled and tried to catch his breath. "Er... ah... You know what that was," he gasped.
The Death Eater took two dangerous steps closer to Harry. "I can assume what that was, Potter. I can make many assumptions about that particular memory, but I have serious doubts that you would like any of them."
Harry stumbled to his feet. "Well, er, you understand, don't you? I mean, it, ah, happens to everyone?" He really did not want to think of Snape as having erotic dreams, but surely he did.
Snape raised an eyebrow, as if torn between sardonic amusement and ice-cold anger. "I should hope that Remus Lupin does not happen to everyone."
Feeling the blush rise to his cheeks, Harry stared at his feet. "I didn't mean it like that, Professor. Just that that sort of thing happens to everyone, sir."
"So, it just happened?"
Hearing the calculations behind the question, Harry looked up. "Well... I suppose it sort of developed, but I didn't really notice... I mean, lots of the girls think he's attractive."
Snape's eyes widened slightly and, if Harry did not know better, he would have thought the man flabbergasted. "And that makes this proper?" Snape hissed.
Harry paled even more at this question, his ivory skin shining like ice in the candlelight, stark against his raven hair and pitch uniform robes. "I- I didn't think of it like that, sir."
Circling him like an overlarge bird of prey, the spy watched him with his angry, black eyes. "Breaking rules left and right, Potter, is something the Headmaster might let you get away with, but breaking the law is something else entirely."
Harry's eyes clouded with confusion. "What? Law?"
Snape spun, his robes billowing like so many clouds of black smoke. "Laws, boy! There are most definitely laws about this sort of thing and you have most certainly broken them! You are, what, fifteen?"
"Sixteen, sir. But I'm not sure what you are talking about," Harry began slowly.
Snape scowled at him. "That last memory of yours, we are speaking of that. Your memory of relations with Lupin."
"Memory?" Harry gasped. "Remus wouldn't – he didn't – Professor, that was just a dream!"
Snape's eyes flare angrily and his scowl deepened. The man looked like something out of a particularly gruesome horror movie: long black robes, a full six feet of unmodified height, demonic eyes, a scowl that would unnerve Cerebus, and only faint candlelight highlighting his severely angular features.
"What?" Snape's voice was frightening normally, but his tone could have frozen molten lava now. Harry could almost feel the temperature in the classroom drop.
Truly frightened, Harry backed into one of the lab tables. "Just a dream. I only dreamt about Remus, sir. He wouldn't want anything to do with me, anyway."
"No one in their right mind would, Potter," Snape sneered. "But that was a particularly vivid dream for me to think it was a memory. Are you lying, Potter?"
Harry screwed his eyes closed as he felt Snape's presence in his mind. As disgusting and unnatural as it felt, Harry knew he could not defend himself against this attack, or Snape would assume he was lying. And, Merlin knew, Harry did not want to offend or hurt Remus by making his feelings public. The man was probably straight, anyway!
"Very well," Snape conceded as he removed himself from Harry. "You did not lie, this time."
Harry gulped, waiting for his punishment.
"I will be watching you," the Death Eater continued. "If you do something abysmally foolish and Gryffindor, I will not hesitate to make Lupin fully aware of these events. He would not be pleased to learn the James Potter's son was lusting after him."
Harry flushed, scarlet shading his formerly pale cheekbones. "Yes, sir," he replied, knowing full well that Snape was blackmailing him.
Snape carefully placed his wand on his desk and began collecting essays to grade. He washed his hands under the gargoyle, found his red ink, and sat down behind his desk.
Harry shifted from foot to foot, wondering what this had to do with Occlumency.
The Potions Master looked up. "Get out! Your lesson is over!"
Without hesitation, Harry left the dungeons and retreated to the Gryffindor Common Room, where no one knew his secret. He was greeted by Ron and Hermione near the tower, both bearing the promised lavender butter and lacewing flies. As he plastered his knees with the mixture, he and Ron debated Quidditch statistics while Hermione read her Advanced Arithmancy text. Not once did Harry mention his feelings for his former professor.
Author's Note: I wrote this trilogy backwards, starting with Open Wounds in March of 2004, followed by Strange Bedfellows in April/May of 2004, and Illicit Dreaming in July of 2004. So, if you wanted me to mention something in this in a sequel – it won't happen.
I also know that this isn't the most popular ship in the world, but would greatly appreciate any feedback. Also, if there's a grammatical problem, this is the only one in the trilogy that has not been beta-ed.