Not Only In Dreams
By Goddess JacquesPierre
Chapter Four
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all associated and/or non-associated things that I don't own do not belong to me. Perhaps it was redundant, but it certainly beats my English substitute, whose comment "Partners is definitely sufficient enough" led me to lose all respect I may have had for her. Anyone who uses the phrase "sufficient enough" should be shot (not necessarily lethal except in the case of the repeat offender. As far as I am concerned, the breed of people who perpetually mix up 'lose' and 'loose' belong in the same category). Moving along, they belong to their respective owners, who are not me. My writing, sarcasm, witty remarks, not-so-witty remarks, comments, ideas, and other creative property, however, do belong to me, and anyone caught filching them without permission will be sentenced to the same fate as those select few for whom loosing their lives is not sufficient enough.
Author's Note: Egads! I have just noticed that the esteemed and glorious website fanfiction.net has been nonchalantly deleting the triple-asterisk that I generally use to mark a scene change! No wonder people have been confused! In any event, now that the situation has been clearly identified as such, I can make every effort to eradicate the error. If other scene breaks are confusing or have been erroneously eliminated, please notify me (the small periwinkle-coloured button with the 'review' prompt on it would be favourite) and I shall clear up the matter. The first three chapters will be reposted shortly with the change, and so I shall desist from my unfortunately pompous rambling.
Ten points to whoever catches the line I couldn't resist borrowing from Aidan Lynch's iUnthinkable Thoughts/i, which is a simply marvellous fic and I reccomend it to anyone who is capable of reading.
-----
Harry dreamed.
-----
It was fourth year, slightly more than twelve weeks into first term, and Harry had just made it to lunch after a spectacularly unspectacular Divination lesson. He had been publicly informed by Professor that she had omitted several of the grislier bits of his death, and the Slytherin element of the class had then proceeded to speculate which fate precisely would befall Harry and which cause of death would be noted on the official documents. Apparently, his star chart clearly stated that his death would come about at least fourteen different times within the next four days, though Harry was unsure as to where it indicated that 'smothered by marshmallow fluff' would be among them, as Ron had bitterly suggested. Professor Trelawney had instantly confirmed it, leading to Harry's increased belief that she was a complete fraud ninety-seven percent of the time.
It was all he needed that, the moment he sat down, he was confronted with a sneer. "Ah, Potter, there you are. Late as usual," drawled Malfoy, who had been obviously waiting for him. "The fourth champion. May I have a word with you, or are you too busy crying over your dead mum?"
Harry pushed back his chair. It crashed loudly into the chair behind him, badly startling the Hufflepuff sitting in it. He had already been in a foul mood before the arrival of his nemesis, and Malfoy's appearance had been the last thing needed to snap the 'nice Gryffindor' exterior and unleash the temper within. "Whatever you want, make it quick!" Harry snapped.
"Now, now, Potter, there's no need to get all hot and bothered." Draco flashed a smirk at the surrounding tables, instigating giggles and blushing from the female contingent of the Great Hall. "I just wanted to pull you away from your beloved Weasley and Granger for a moment. Care to come with me?"
Harry looked at Malfoy speculatively. Crabbe and Goyle were conspicuously absent, and wringing Malfoy's neck seemed like an excellent idea to relieve some of the stress he was feeling. "All right," he said grudgingly.
Malfoy, still smirking, beckoned with his wand. "Follow me."
Draco seemed to float to the door leading to the Great Hall while Harry stormed after him. Miraculously, no teachers saw fit to follow or reprimand them based on their open hostility. After walking for what seemed like both a very long time and nowhere near long enough, Draco pulled Harry into a deserted classroom. It had many desks, but they were all covered in dust and pushed up against the wall. When Harry extended a hand and wiped a streak clean, the wood was riddled with pockmarks and inkstained with what looked like generations of graffiti. The chalkboard was covered in a thick layer of greasy slime, and neither boy cared to think about where that may have originated.
"There is something I've been wanting to try." Draco's voice could only be described as silky. Harry wondered, briefly and irrelevantly, if he had been taking lessons from Snape. "Moody showed it to us, and said you could throw the curse. However, boy wonder, I think I have a far more accurate appraisal of your ability. Let's see how well you can throw the Imperius Curse when it is cast by an experienced and powerful wizard."
Harry opened his mouth to retort, something along the lines of 'well, that wouldn't be you, then, would it?', but he was cut off abruptly by Malfoy's spell.
"Imperio!"
Just as before, Harry felt his mind clouding over with a wonderful feeling. It was a slightly dizzy sensation tinged with a hint of arousal. Harry almost smiled, waiting for the voice in the back of his head to start fighting any command Malfoy might give.
Through the haze of the curse, Draco seemed to be standing closer to Harry than he remembered, and his command seemed husky and somewhat gentler than his wont. "On your knees."
Based on Moody's conditioning, Harry was surprised when the voice in the back of his head failed to kick in. He had sunk to the floor before even thinking about it.
In some part of his mind, he was frightened by the level of complete control the blonde seemed to have over him, but most of it was content to follow the orders given.
The feeling of being divided intensified as Draco began undoing the front of his robes. Part of Harry's mind was rebelling, but the other half was suffused in a dreamy, languid feeling that was enjoying the situation very much. The latter half seemed to be in control.
Draco had hit skin, but Harry was still convinced that he could throw the curse. Even as Draco twisted his hands in Harry's hair to draw Harry's head towards his exposed waist, Harry was unruffled. In some corner of his mind, he was still waiting for the small voice that helped him throw the curse to come into force.
"Show me, Potter, what the mouth of the amazing Boy Who lived can do."
Harry was ready to bite the length of exposed, sensitive flesh centimeters in front of his nose. Then, the voice kicked in. It was giving him helpful instructions.
Several minutes later, Draco was half panting and half smirking. "Well, Mr. Potter. It seems that your title of 'boy wonder' is not entirely undeserved." He walked to the door in a flourish of robe. "I'll see you around." He lifted the curse, opened the door, and sauntered out, leaving Harry on his knees, touching his swollen lips in a state of shock.
-----
When Harry woke, he could still taste Draco on his lips and tongue-- a bit salty, bitter, and very much Draco, with a hint of what Harry guessed was cinnamon. He walked out of his dorm in a daze and found Hermione immersed in a thick book about N.E.W.T level arithmancy.
She glanced up when Harry walked in. "Merlin, Harry, go put some decent clothes on! Then come back and tell me about the dream you had."
Harry stumbled off back to the common room and put on the first thing his hands hit-- one of Ron's maroon jumpers that had made it into his trunk, forest green trousers, his Gryffindor scarf, the socks Dobby had given him fourth year, and a cloak. By the time he had managed to get back to the common room, his wits were beginning to return. Unfortunately, the operative word was 'beginning'.
Hermione winced as Harry tripped over the last step and landed hard, sprawled in a heap next to the table she had left her bag on. She decided not to comment on his fashion sense as she helped him up. "It's okay, Harry," she told him soothingly. "I'll listen."
"He cast an Unforgivable. He cast the Imperius Curse." Harry's tone was flat.
"There's no way Malfoy casts a stronger curse than Moody did," Hermione said.
"I couldn't throw it, Hermione. I didn't want to. Even when he--" Harry stopped abruptly. "Have you got a throat lozenge?"
"Oh," said Hermione meaningfully as she fished in her bag. "So, your dream self wanted to give Malfoy head?"
Harry nodded mutely.
"You're not going to like this, Harry, but I really do think you're attracted to him on some level."
Harry just stared.
Hermione sighed. "Look, Harry, why don't you go back to bed and try to get some restful, dreamless sleep. I'll keep reading and let you know if I find anything."
-----
Harry went back off to bed and took a nap. Thankfully, he did not dream, and so his slumber was completely devoid of Draco.
-----
If one were to ask Harry what had happened in Quidditch practice after his nap, he wouldn't have been able to answer you. The day went by in a blur until he met Draco by the lake at seven.
-----
Harry donned his invisibility cloak at six-thirty and made it to the lake twenty minutes later. Draco was already there, on his back staring at the sky. It was almost dark, but Draco's blonde hair caught what little light remained, giving him an angelic appearance. There was an array of glass bottles next to Draco-- seven contained what Harry recognised as dreams, one was empty, and one was glowing faintly. Despite the peaceful image that the blonde made, Harry could sense that Draco was shaken.
Ever the Gryffindor, Harry walked over to Draco, sat down next to him, and slid off the Invisibility cloak. "What's wrong?"
Draco yelped and sat up. After a moment, he spoke. "Oh. It's only you. Sorry."
Harry suddenly realised that people suddenly appearing from under Invisibility cloaks was not a common sight. "No, I should be sorry. What's wrong?"
"Oh, nothing, Potter. I just had a dream about the boy I've considered my greatest rival for the past five years giving me the best orgasm I had ever imagined possible." He arched an eyebrow. "Plus, I found this." He held up the glowing bottle.
It contained what looked like an iridescent human with gauzy butterfly wings, each wing slightly larger than its entire body. It was carrying a bow and had a quiver of arrows on its back. The tiny figure was scuffing the bottom of the jar with a foot the size of the head of a match.
Harry looked at it blankly. "What is it?"
Draco sighed. "Don't you know anything, Potter?"
"Look, you try being raised by opressive Muggles who hate even the idea of magic for most of your life and see how much you know about the wizarding world!" Harry spat.
"I found it lurking around my bedroom. It's an Eros's Helper."
"A what?"
"An Eros's Helper! You know, Aphrodite's son? Practically Cupid!"
"What, the insipid little boy that is featured on Valentine's Day cards?"
"Take two points for evidence of a decent vocabulary," Draco said. "But you're wrong. The truth is never as pretty as Muggles-- or even sometimes the Ministry of Magic-- would like to believe. Shakespeare said it best." He stopped for a moment, then began to recite:
"She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agate stone...
Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep--
Her wagon spokes made of long spinner's legs;
The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers;
Her traces, of the smallest spider's web;
Her collars, of moonshine's watery beams;
Her whip of cricket's bone; the lash, of film...
And in this state she gallops night by night,
Through lover's brains, and then they dream of love...
O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream...
This is that very Mab
That plaits the manes of horses in the night...
True, I talk of dreams."
He stopped. "Romeo and Juliet, Act I, scene iv. Mercutio's Mab speech."
Harry was staring. "Wow. You have it memorised?"
"No, Potter, that's only part of it. Knowing Shakespeare, however, is part of being a cultured individual. If whatever relationship we have here is to progress, I shall insist that you at least read that, the most well-known of his many plays."
"So... what does the glowy thing mean?"
"It means, Potter, that we have something big on our hands. These are very rare now; Muggles have too often mistaken them for undesirable insects and swatted them into near extinction. They only come out for cases of the purest love now, and only those cases that need help. The theory behind this is that if they're not out and about helping people love, they can increase their numbers. That, actually, is one of the reasons that the modern world is such a sad place-- there are not enough of these to go around." He sighed. "This is probably one of the reasons Voldemort rose to power in the first place..."
Harry was staring again. "Purest love? Does that mean us?"
"Well, it certainly doesn't refer to you and Cho or me and Pansy. Have you ever had sex dreams about her?"
"I don't believe you. There's no way." Harry stood up. "You've got to be kidding. I'm not in love with you."
"I'm not in love with you, either, Potter." But as Draco spoke, Harry had already pulled the Invisibility cloak over his head and disappeared.
Draco sighed. "We have a long way to go."
-----
Thanks to all reviewers; you really do brighten my day.
chisox727-- I'm glad you like my Draco. One of my goals for this story is to not turn Draco into a nice person-- something that is far too easy to do and happens in many Harry/Draco fics. He's supposed retain some of his irritating qualities from the book-- I feel that fics that do not deviate much from the books make a stronger argument for canon Harry/Draco. As for having Draco for yourself, why don't you go off and seduce Tom Felton? That way, you're not stuck with the tedious problems, for example, getting a fictional character to give you a physical hug. It's quite difficult; I've tried it and found it is much simpler to watch the fictional character in question hug other fictional characters instead. Of course, I could be recommending that out of purely selfish motives-- but one never knows.
Slytherin822-- my story is cool? Shucks, I was going for 'hot and moist'-- oh, well, cool works just as well, if not better.
Libazeth-- clever penname! Thanks so much, darling, I'm glad you've enjoyed it.
By Goddess JacquesPierre
Chapter Four
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all associated and/or non-associated things that I don't own do not belong to me. Perhaps it was redundant, but it certainly beats my English substitute, whose comment "Partners is definitely sufficient enough" led me to lose all respect I may have had for her. Anyone who uses the phrase "sufficient enough" should be shot (not necessarily lethal except in the case of the repeat offender. As far as I am concerned, the breed of people who perpetually mix up 'lose' and 'loose' belong in the same category). Moving along, they belong to their respective owners, who are not me. My writing, sarcasm, witty remarks, not-so-witty remarks, comments, ideas, and other creative property, however, do belong to me, and anyone caught filching them without permission will be sentenced to the same fate as those select few for whom loosing their lives is not sufficient enough.
Author's Note: Egads! I have just noticed that the esteemed and glorious website fanfiction.net has been nonchalantly deleting the triple-asterisk that I generally use to mark a scene change! No wonder people have been confused! In any event, now that the situation has been clearly identified as such, I can make every effort to eradicate the error. If other scene breaks are confusing or have been erroneously eliminated, please notify me (the small periwinkle-coloured button with the 'review' prompt on it would be favourite) and I shall clear up the matter. The first three chapters will be reposted shortly with the change, and so I shall desist from my unfortunately pompous rambling.
Ten points to whoever catches the line I couldn't resist borrowing from Aidan Lynch's iUnthinkable Thoughts/i, which is a simply marvellous fic and I reccomend it to anyone who is capable of reading.
-----
Harry dreamed.
-----
It was fourth year, slightly more than twelve weeks into first term, and Harry had just made it to lunch after a spectacularly unspectacular Divination lesson. He had been publicly informed by Professor that she had omitted several of the grislier bits of his death, and the Slytherin element of the class had then proceeded to speculate which fate precisely would befall Harry and which cause of death would be noted on the official documents. Apparently, his star chart clearly stated that his death would come about at least fourteen different times within the next four days, though Harry was unsure as to where it indicated that 'smothered by marshmallow fluff' would be among them, as Ron had bitterly suggested. Professor Trelawney had instantly confirmed it, leading to Harry's increased belief that she was a complete fraud ninety-seven percent of the time.
It was all he needed that, the moment he sat down, he was confronted with a sneer. "Ah, Potter, there you are. Late as usual," drawled Malfoy, who had been obviously waiting for him. "The fourth champion. May I have a word with you, or are you too busy crying over your dead mum?"
Harry pushed back his chair. It crashed loudly into the chair behind him, badly startling the Hufflepuff sitting in it. He had already been in a foul mood before the arrival of his nemesis, and Malfoy's appearance had been the last thing needed to snap the 'nice Gryffindor' exterior and unleash the temper within. "Whatever you want, make it quick!" Harry snapped.
"Now, now, Potter, there's no need to get all hot and bothered." Draco flashed a smirk at the surrounding tables, instigating giggles and blushing from the female contingent of the Great Hall. "I just wanted to pull you away from your beloved Weasley and Granger for a moment. Care to come with me?"
Harry looked at Malfoy speculatively. Crabbe and Goyle were conspicuously absent, and wringing Malfoy's neck seemed like an excellent idea to relieve some of the stress he was feeling. "All right," he said grudgingly.
Malfoy, still smirking, beckoned with his wand. "Follow me."
Draco seemed to float to the door leading to the Great Hall while Harry stormed after him. Miraculously, no teachers saw fit to follow or reprimand them based on their open hostility. After walking for what seemed like both a very long time and nowhere near long enough, Draco pulled Harry into a deserted classroom. It had many desks, but they were all covered in dust and pushed up against the wall. When Harry extended a hand and wiped a streak clean, the wood was riddled with pockmarks and inkstained with what looked like generations of graffiti. The chalkboard was covered in a thick layer of greasy slime, and neither boy cared to think about where that may have originated.
"There is something I've been wanting to try." Draco's voice could only be described as silky. Harry wondered, briefly and irrelevantly, if he had been taking lessons from Snape. "Moody showed it to us, and said you could throw the curse. However, boy wonder, I think I have a far more accurate appraisal of your ability. Let's see how well you can throw the Imperius Curse when it is cast by an experienced and powerful wizard."
Harry opened his mouth to retort, something along the lines of 'well, that wouldn't be you, then, would it?', but he was cut off abruptly by Malfoy's spell.
"Imperio!"
Just as before, Harry felt his mind clouding over with a wonderful feeling. It was a slightly dizzy sensation tinged with a hint of arousal. Harry almost smiled, waiting for the voice in the back of his head to start fighting any command Malfoy might give.
Through the haze of the curse, Draco seemed to be standing closer to Harry than he remembered, and his command seemed husky and somewhat gentler than his wont. "On your knees."
Based on Moody's conditioning, Harry was surprised when the voice in the back of his head failed to kick in. He had sunk to the floor before even thinking about it.
In some part of his mind, he was frightened by the level of complete control the blonde seemed to have over him, but most of it was content to follow the orders given.
The feeling of being divided intensified as Draco began undoing the front of his robes. Part of Harry's mind was rebelling, but the other half was suffused in a dreamy, languid feeling that was enjoying the situation very much. The latter half seemed to be in control.
Draco had hit skin, but Harry was still convinced that he could throw the curse. Even as Draco twisted his hands in Harry's hair to draw Harry's head towards his exposed waist, Harry was unruffled. In some corner of his mind, he was still waiting for the small voice that helped him throw the curse to come into force.
"Show me, Potter, what the mouth of the amazing Boy Who lived can do."
Harry was ready to bite the length of exposed, sensitive flesh centimeters in front of his nose. Then, the voice kicked in. It was giving him helpful instructions.
Several minutes later, Draco was half panting and half smirking. "Well, Mr. Potter. It seems that your title of 'boy wonder' is not entirely undeserved." He walked to the door in a flourish of robe. "I'll see you around." He lifted the curse, opened the door, and sauntered out, leaving Harry on his knees, touching his swollen lips in a state of shock.
-----
When Harry woke, he could still taste Draco on his lips and tongue-- a bit salty, bitter, and very much Draco, with a hint of what Harry guessed was cinnamon. He walked out of his dorm in a daze and found Hermione immersed in a thick book about N.E.W.T level arithmancy.
She glanced up when Harry walked in. "Merlin, Harry, go put some decent clothes on! Then come back and tell me about the dream you had."
Harry stumbled off back to the common room and put on the first thing his hands hit-- one of Ron's maroon jumpers that had made it into his trunk, forest green trousers, his Gryffindor scarf, the socks Dobby had given him fourth year, and a cloak. By the time he had managed to get back to the common room, his wits were beginning to return. Unfortunately, the operative word was 'beginning'.
Hermione winced as Harry tripped over the last step and landed hard, sprawled in a heap next to the table she had left her bag on. She decided not to comment on his fashion sense as she helped him up. "It's okay, Harry," she told him soothingly. "I'll listen."
"He cast an Unforgivable. He cast the Imperius Curse." Harry's tone was flat.
"There's no way Malfoy casts a stronger curse than Moody did," Hermione said.
"I couldn't throw it, Hermione. I didn't want to. Even when he--" Harry stopped abruptly. "Have you got a throat lozenge?"
"Oh," said Hermione meaningfully as she fished in her bag. "So, your dream self wanted to give Malfoy head?"
Harry nodded mutely.
"You're not going to like this, Harry, but I really do think you're attracted to him on some level."
Harry just stared.
Hermione sighed. "Look, Harry, why don't you go back to bed and try to get some restful, dreamless sleep. I'll keep reading and let you know if I find anything."
-----
Harry went back off to bed and took a nap. Thankfully, he did not dream, and so his slumber was completely devoid of Draco.
-----
If one were to ask Harry what had happened in Quidditch practice after his nap, he wouldn't have been able to answer you. The day went by in a blur until he met Draco by the lake at seven.
-----
Harry donned his invisibility cloak at six-thirty and made it to the lake twenty minutes later. Draco was already there, on his back staring at the sky. It was almost dark, but Draco's blonde hair caught what little light remained, giving him an angelic appearance. There was an array of glass bottles next to Draco-- seven contained what Harry recognised as dreams, one was empty, and one was glowing faintly. Despite the peaceful image that the blonde made, Harry could sense that Draco was shaken.
Ever the Gryffindor, Harry walked over to Draco, sat down next to him, and slid off the Invisibility cloak. "What's wrong?"
Draco yelped and sat up. After a moment, he spoke. "Oh. It's only you. Sorry."
Harry suddenly realised that people suddenly appearing from under Invisibility cloaks was not a common sight. "No, I should be sorry. What's wrong?"
"Oh, nothing, Potter. I just had a dream about the boy I've considered my greatest rival for the past five years giving me the best orgasm I had ever imagined possible." He arched an eyebrow. "Plus, I found this." He held up the glowing bottle.
It contained what looked like an iridescent human with gauzy butterfly wings, each wing slightly larger than its entire body. It was carrying a bow and had a quiver of arrows on its back. The tiny figure was scuffing the bottom of the jar with a foot the size of the head of a match.
Harry looked at it blankly. "What is it?"
Draco sighed. "Don't you know anything, Potter?"
"Look, you try being raised by opressive Muggles who hate even the idea of magic for most of your life and see how much you know about the wizarding world!" Harry spat.
"I found it lurking around my bedroom. It's an Eros's Helper."
"A what?"
"An Eros's Helper! You know, Aphrodite's son? Practically Cupid!"
"What, the insipid little boy that is featured on Valentine's Day cards?"
"Take two points for evidence of a decent vocabulary," Draco said. "But you're wrong. The truth is never as pretty as Muggles-- or even sometimes the Ministry of Magic-- would like to believe. Shakespeare said it best." He stopped for a moment, then began to recite:
"She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agate stone...
Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep--
Her wagon spokes made of long spinner's legs;
The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers;
Her traces, of the smallest spider's web;
Her collars, of moonshine's watery beams;
Her whip of cricket's bone; the lash, of film...
And in this state she gallops night by night,
Through lover's brains, and then they dream of love...
O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream...
This is that very Mab
That plaits the manes of horses in the night...
True, I talk of dreams."
He stopped. "Romeo and Juliet, Act I, scene iv. Mercutio's Mab speech."
Harry was staring. "Wow. You have it memorised?"
"No, Potter, that's only part of it. Knowing Shakespeare, however, is part of being a cultured individual. If whatever relationship we have here is to progress, I shall insist that you at least read that, the most well-known of his many plays."
"So... what does the glowy thing mean?"
"It means, Potter, that we have something big on our hands. These are very rare now; Muggles have too often mistaken them for undesirable insects and swatted them into near extinction. They only come out for cases of the purest love now, and only those cases that need help. The theory behind this is that if they're not out and about helping people love, they can increase their numbers. That, actually, is one of the reasons that the modern world is such a sad place-- there are not enough of these to go around." He sighed. "This is probably one of the reasons Voldemort rose to power in the first place..."
Harry was staring again. "Purest love? Does that mean us?"
"Well, it certainly doesn't refer to you and Cho or me and Pansy. Have you ever had sex dreams about her?"
"I don't believe you. There's no way." Harry stood up. "You've got to be kidding. I'm not in love with you."
"I'm not in love with you, either, Potter." But as Draco spoke, Harry had already pulled the Invisibility cloak over his head and disappeared.
Draco sighed. "We have a long way to go."
-----
Thanks to all reviewers; you really do brighten my day.
chisox727-- I'm glad you like my Draco. One of my goals for this story is to not turn Draco into a nice person-- something that is far too easy to do and happens in many Harry/Draco fics. He's supposed retain some of his irritating qualities from the book-- I feel that fics that do not deviate much from the books make a stronger argument for canon Harry/Draco. As for having Draco for yourself, why don't you go off and seduce Tom Felton? That way, you're not stuck with the tedious problems, for example, getting a fictional character to give you a physical hug. It's quite difficult; I've tried it and found it is much simpler to watch the fictional character in question hug other fictional characters instead. Of course, I could be recommending that out of purely selfish motives-- but one never knows.
Slytherin822-- my story is cool? Shucks, I was going for 'hot and moist'-- oh, well, cool works just as well, if not better.
Libazeth-- clever penname! Thanks so much, darling, I'm glad you've enjoyed it.