To Kill You With A Kiss

~Chapter 5~

"Dreams," said Professor Inigo Imago dreamily, "are the most archaic form of magic. For in our dreams, the ancient wisdom of our hearts speaks of hidden truths that our minds cannot and will not see." His large soulful eyes gazed past the students in his Divination class, as if he were staring at some mysterious truth that lay ever so slightly beyond the confines of the classroom. "But sometimes I ask myself: What is dream, and what is reality? For are not our nightly dreams equally vivid as that dream which we call 'reality'? Who is to say what is real, and what is a dream? Perhaps all reality is, after all, yet another dream?"

He sighed softly. Drawing his midnight-blue robes closer around himself, he whispered in a strange faraway voice: "There was once a wise wizard in a distant land who dreamed that he was a phoenix. He soared through the blue air, and his heart was filled with joy. But then he woke up, and he recalled that he was just a man. But, being a wise man, he soon began to wonder: Was he a man who had dreamed that he was a phoenix, or was he a phoenix who was now dreaming that he was a man?"

"Merlin's beard, I need some coffee!" muttered Abraxas. "This stuff always make me so terribly sleepy."

"Now, please turn to your partner and discuss your most recent dreams. Try to look beyond the surface, try to see with your heart: What does the dream truly mean?"

Chairs scraped, students regrouped, and a quiet murmur of voices followed.

"Perfection..." Harry could make out John Lupin's voice nearby. "That's what I think your dream represents, Araminta. "The crowd that chases the deformed Muggle down the street with spears represents your own inner quest for absolute perfection."

No, I'm pretty sure it just represents her desire to chase Muggles with spears... Harry turned his attention to Abraxas. "So... er... had any good dreams lately?"

"Me?" Abraxas grinned. "Not nearly as good as yours, judging by the little cleaning spell I head you mutter this morning."

Harry felt himself flush. "Oh, Merlin, Abraxas! In didn't know anyone else was awake. Everyone has a dream like that every once in a while."

"I suppose so." Abraxas' grey eyes glittered. "Would you care to share the details of that delicious dream that caused you to... er... use that particular spell?"

"No, I wouldn't. I don't remember any of it anyway."

"That's too bad. I could help you interpret it, you know."

"No, thanks."

It's all your fault anyway, Abraxas Malfoy! You are the one who told me that my bed in the Slytherin dormitory used to be Tom Riddle's. So when he tells me that he's engaged to be married, it's only natural that my subconscious mind starts conjuring up images of what he and his fiancee were doing in my bed last year, on those smooth silver satin sheets. At least, I think it's only natural. I'm sixteen; sixteen-year-olds have weird erotic dreams all the time. Or am I seventeen now, inside the strange dreamworld of this memory? Of course the thought that someone may have made love in my bed affected me. It would make anyone dream strange dreams, wouldn't it? It wasn't really about them, about him and her. She was just a shadowy figure anyway; I can't even imagine what she may have looked like when she was young. And I just imagined his face because... Oh, God, I wish I could go back to dreaming of screaming dementors instead, like I used to. "

Harry cleared his throat. "I had a dream once about a man being attacked by a snake, at the end of a long, dark corridor. How about we talk about that one instead?"

Abraxas sighed. "Oh, all right. But I still think the other one would have been more interesting." He leafed through his Divination book. "Hmm. A man being attacked by a snake? Intriguing symbol - I wonder what that dream was all about..."

Actually, it was about a man being attacked by a snake.

...

Slughorn's soiree turned out to be everything that Harry had feared it would be. Dozens of people were chatting and exchanging insincere compliments around buffet tables laden with glittering crystal punch bowls, silver trays of delicate and absurdly tiny canapes, and elaborate floral arrangements that gave off a sweet, hypnotic scent. Thousands of enchanted candles cast their warm, flickering light over the guests and made already beautiful faces seem breathtaking, and plain faces more alluring.

Slughorn himself, dressed in maroon velvet robes, moved from one cluster of people to another, patting a shoulder here, touching an arm there. Like a collector caressing his prized artworks.

"There you are, Elias!" Slughorn pounced on Harry, pressing a crystal goblet filled with some sparkling liquid the color of moonlight into his hand. "Come here, my boy, there are some people who are dying to meet you." He dragged Harry over to a small group of people by the window. "Here he is, finally, the mysterious Elias Black, the young man without a past. We know nothing of where he came from, or who his parents were, and..." He lowered his voice to a whisper: "... Professor Dippet has warned us that we must not ask. Why must we not ask? Ah, my friends, even that is a mystery! But there are hints, more than hints, that young Elias is someone to be reckoned with. Didn't you tell me, Tom, that he resisted the Imperius curse? And that he is a parselmouth as well?"

"All true, Horace." Tom Riddle looked elegant in dark dress robes. Horace? Six months ago, you must have called him "Professor Slughorn", and now his first name rolls easily off your tongue. How effortlessly you move and laugh among these people, as if you actually enjoy this glittering charade.

"Fascinating..." Oswald Fudge was eyeing Harry eagerly now. There was something almost akin to hunger in his pale blue gaze. "I hear you are an excellent Quidditch player, too? Perhaps we could go and see some matches together, over the holidays. My father has very good connections; he can get us front row seats to any match we want."

"Perhaps," muttered Harry. He stared into his drink, imagining a rogue bludger knocking the pompous head boy into oblivion.

"Oh, damn it!" Tom Riddle, who was suddenly shaking with silent laughter, had spilled his drink all over Slughorn's robes. "I'm so sorry, Horace - I don't know how that happened. Here, let me dry you off."

"Oh, no matter, Tom. Nothing a little drying spell won't fix. Now, Elias, have you met Sabino Sanguini? He's from one of the oldest wizarding families in Europe."

"Enchanted," said Sanguini gravely and gave a little bow.

"And this is Eldred Worple, whose father is a close friend of the Minister himself."

Harry felt Tom Riddle leaning closer to him, and a silver voice breathed in his ear: "Whatever you do, don't make me spill my drink again. I can read your mind, remember."

Harry laughed. "I'll try not to... Oh, there's Dumbledore. I want to say hello to him. I... I want to hear more about his great duel with Grindelwald."

"Of course you do, my boy." Slughorn beamed at him. "I am very fortunate indeed to be able to count the man who may possibly be the greatest wizard of our time among my friends." He lowered his voice. "Rumor has it Dumbledore is under consideration for a very high position within the Ministry, a very high position indeed."

Harry, anxious to escape before Tom Riddle dug any deeper into his mind, hurried over to the other side of the room, where Dumbledore was standing, surrounded by a small crowd, fishing an edible moonflower out of his drink with his wand. He lit up when he saw Harry.

"Ah, here is Mr. Black. If you will excuse us, ladies and gentlemen, we have a matter of some importance to discuss. A confidential matter..."

The murmuring crowd parted respectfully before them as Dumbledore led Harry through a glass door onto a little terrace that overlooked the darkening Hogwarts grounds.

Dumbledore closed the door carefully behind them and leaned over the balustrade, taking deep breaths of the cool evening air.

Harry glanced curiously at him. "A confidential matter, Professor?"

Dumbledore sighed deeply. "Yes, Harry. A confidential matter. Let me tell you, right now, in the deepest confidence, that I detest parties. In fact, I detest people. Now, don't get me wrong; I like human beings. I like them very much, individually. But when they gather in hordes like this, they appear to lose their humanity, and they are transformed into this many-headed, ferocious monster called a crowd."

Harry laughed. "I take it you don't care for you new-found fame, sir."

"Fame!" Dumbledore grimaced. "Why anyone could possibly desire it is beyond me. All of a sudden, people you have never met crave your company, and yet, they care nothing for who you really are. If your name appeared in the headlines, they want to tell their friends that they know you personally. They shower you with unwanted gifts, and yet not one of them understands you well enough to bring you a sensible, useful gift, like... like..."

"A pair of warm socks?" suggested Harry gently.

Dumbledore blinked. "Yes, precisely. How did you-? Hm... We must know each other very well indeed, you and I, Harry."

Harry smiled. "We do, Professor. And I don't care much for fame either."

They stood without speaking for a few minutes, gazing out into the gathering darkness.

Then Harry broke the silence. "Professor? Can I ask you something?"

"Yes, of course. Anything, Harry."

"You..." The words seemed stuck in his chest. "You and Grindelwald..."

"Ah." Dumbledore fell silent again.

"Some people say that you and he were... lovers." Harry could hear the sound of his own heartbeat in the still night air.

"Do they?"

"They do." Harry was waiting, half hoping Dumbledore would laugh it off. But he didn't.

The moon was beginning to rise now; its silver sheen made the familiar landscape below seem wild and alien.

"Does that shock you, Harry?" Dumbledore's voice was gentle.

"I don't know... Perhaps not..."

"It should. It shocks me." Dumbledore stood for a long time, gazing into the night. Then he said softly: "The heart knows no reason, Harry. I'm afraid it's as simple as that. I know who he is, what he is, and yet I can no more stop loving him than I can stop breathing."

"Oh." Harry didn't know what to say.

"So much for my conquering the Dark Wizard of our time, Harry. I may have defeated him in a duel, but he still owns me, heart and soul. 'Dumbledore, The Greatest Wizard of Our Time', indeed!"

Harry gave Dumbledore's arm a comforting pat. "Well, at least you will appear on a Chocolate Frog card, sir."

"I... what?" An expression of delight spread over Dumbledore's face. "Are you serious, Harry? A Chocolate Frog Card? Now, there's a form of fame I actually care for... Do I become a rare card?"

"Er...no. You are fairly common."

Dumbedore nodded gravely. "I see. I still have something to strive for, then."

"There you are, Albus!" Slughorn suddenly materialized behind them. "You mustn't monopolize Elias, you know. There are still so many people who haven't had a chance to meet him. Come, you really must taste the mallowsweet soufflé."

And Slughorn steered them both gently back to the party.

...

After an hour of endless introductions and chit-chat more incomprehensible and meaningless than Ancient Runes, Harry found himself trapped in a corner with Horace Slughorn. The strange drink that kept appearing in his glass had gone slightly to his head, and he couldn't think of a way to escape.

"Finally! I have been waiting for a chance to exchange a few words with you alone, my boy. Did you try the puffapod-braised scallops yet? Oh, I really must insist that you taste one. And your glass is half-empty, too. Here, let me..."

Harry obediently swallowed a delicate little white puff covered in gleaming pink seeds.

Slughorn leaned closer and lowered his voice to a confidential whisper. "I am glad to see that you are becoming friendly with Tom, Elias. He is giving you private lessons, he told me, although he was very secretive about what he will be teaching you. A little bit of forbidden dark magic, I suspect? Oh, don't worry, my boy; I won't ask. It's only natural for an intelligent young wizard to be curious about the Dark Arts. Why, Tom himself charmed me into teaching him a thing or two that I really shouldn't have agreed to, strictly speaking. The two of you have a great deal in common, you know. You are both orphans, both tremendously talented, and of course, both quite good-looking..." Slughorn, sounding slightly inebriated now, nodded his head gravely. "You will both break the hearts of witches from some of the finest families in the land, I shouldn't wonder."

"Er..." Harry, for the lack of something better to do with his hands, helped himself to another one of the white puffs. "Well, Tom is already engaged, isn't he? To Walburga Black?"

To his surprise, Slughorn frowned a little. "Yes. Yes, he is engaged to Walburga. Perhaps a little too hasty on his part, I think."

"Really?" Harry looked hopefully at the potions master. Please tell me that you think Walburga is her cousin Orion's soul mate.

"Tom is really far too young to get married. Why, he's only eighteen! It's only natural, I suppose, that a boy who has grown up as a neglected orphan is eager to assume a position as a respected member of wizarding society. And now that he has won the coveted position of Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts, I am not surprised that Tom dreams of establishing himself as a respectable family man - but this is really much too rushed. Walburga is a lovely young lady of course, from an ancient and noble pure-blood family, but I can't help thinking that her personality is a little too - how shall I say this? - too forceful, perhaps, for a young man of Tom's sensitive temperament."

Harry recalled Walburga Black's future portrait with a shudder and nodded his head in agreement.

Slughorn looked thoughtfully at Harry. "You know, Elias, I was thinking: Since you and Tom seem to get along so well, perhaps you could talk to him about it at some point? About not rushing things, I mean, and about enjoying a few years of carefree bachelor existence before assuming the burden of family life? I'm afraid he only laughs when I bring it up; he says that an old bachelor like myself is in no position to give advice on marriage."

Harry smiled. "I suppose I can always try, sir."

"Excellent! Oh, there's young Miss McGonagall from the ministry; she is a former student of mine. Let me introduce you, Elias."

Professor McGonagall? How very young she looks! She is actually rather pretty with her long, raven hair. Gah, did I just think that? Oh, wait, I recognize that stern look of disapproval she is giving Abraxas Malfoy; now she looks more like herself again.

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Black." McGonagall's voice was still the same. She frowned a little. "Wait, have we met before? You seem familiar to me?"

Harry flushed. "Er... No, I don't think we have met."

Her serious brown gaze lingered on his face. "How odd... It's almost as if I have seen your face in a dream."

"Ah, have you begun dreaming of the future, Minerva? I would never have thought you a psychic after your disgraceful performance in Divination two years ago, but you may still have some sort of hidden talent." Inigo Imago, the Divination professor, had joined the group now.

Minerva McGonagall gave him a friendly grin. "Hello, Professor. Divination was really not my best subject, was it? Much too murky and inconclusive for my tastes, I'm afraid. But at least I passed, unlike poor Sybill."

Harry smiled to himself. How startled you would be if I were to ask you if you mean Sybill Trelawney, a person I have not yet met. And how even more astonished you would be if I were to tell you that she will one day be the Hogwarts divination teacher. You might think I have the ability to foretell the future. And I do, except that I'm not predicting it; I am remembering it. Or is that the same thing? He cleared his throat and said softly: "Excuse me, Professor Imago, I was wondering if I could ask you a question?"

Imago nodded. "A question? Yes, something told me that you would have a question. Go ahead, my dear boy."

"If you have a vision, a glimpse of the future, either in a dream or... in some other way, will the future be precisely how you saw it? Is there a way to change the future events that you have already seen?"

Professor Imago gazed at Harry with strangely unfocused eyes, as if his glance had grown so accustomed to distant visions that he could no longer see this world very clearly. "Ah, are you a Seer, my dear boy? Is it possible that you possess that rare ability to gaze into the future and see what is to come?" He sighed. "What is the future? I fear it is nothing but a dream. And yet it is true, in a strange way, as all our dreams are. Perhaps our memories of the past are mere dreams as well? We think of the future as indeterminate, and our past as immutable, a series of events cast in stone. But is it really so? Perhaps the past and the future are equally unreal, mere dreams and fantasies recalled in the present..." His voice drifted off.

"Thank you, Professor. That's very... helpful..." Harry felt his mind spinning. Perhaps he needed a little more of that sparkling drink.

He caught sight of Abraxas by the punch bowl on the other side of the room and rapidly excused himself. At least he looks real enough, although a bit unsteady on his feet. A little too much moonflower punch, Abraxas?

Abraxas greeted him cheerfully. "Finally able to escape from Slughorn, were you? Was he able to show all his friends and admirers his new prized artifact, the amazing Mysterious Boy With a Scar?"

Harry made a face at him. "Here, let me have some more of that punch. You look like you've had enough already. "

"Enough? Don't be ridiculous, Elias. When I start flirting with Fudge, that's when I've had enough. I saw you have a little private chat with Slughorn in the corner, by the way. What was that about? Did he warn you about me? I can be a terribly bad influence on people, you know."

Harry laughed. "Oh, I don't need anyone to tell me that; I can see that for myself. No, it wasn't about you, you moron. We were just talking about Tom Riddle's engagement. Slughorn didn't seem to like it much, actually; he thinks Tom is too young, that he is rushing into things."

Abraxas chuckled. "Oh, old Slughorn doesn't like it one bit, anyone can see that. In fact, he hates the idea of Tom and the lovely Walburga together. But not just because Tom is too young, I think..."

"What? Is there another reason?"

Abraxas put an unsteady arm around Harry's shoulders and sighed dramatically. "Oh, my sweet innocent Elias, can't you see what's in front of your eyes? Slughorn doesn't want the handsome Tom Riddle to get married because he wants Tom for himself. He doesn't want Tom to marry Walburga because he so desperately wants Tom in his bed, you see."

Harry blinked at him. "What?"

There was a sudden sound behind them, a trembling gasp. Harry turned around and saw that Slughorn was standing there, white as death.

Abraxas flushed, and his grey eyes widened in shock. "Oh, Merlin's beard..."

Slughorn stood frozen for what seemed like an eternity before he finally found his voice. "Get out, Mr. Malfoy! Get out of my sight now. How dare you-? Get out! I never want to set eyes on you again, you foul little-" He was shaking with rage now.

"Abraxas is drunk, sir," said Harry softly. "Too much moonflower punch; he doesn't know what he's saying. Come, Abraxas, I'll take you down to the dormitory."

"Thank you, Elias." All the anger seemed to seep out of Slughorn now, and all his usual puffed-up conceit as well. He looked old and unwell, and Harry felt a stab of pity for him. Poor Slughorn. I wonder if it's true, what Abraxas said-?

"Too much moonflower punch, you say? Yes. Yes, that explains it..." There was a silent plea in Slughorn glance as he looked at Harry, something almost desperate. "Yes, I expect that's all it was, wasn't it?"

"Yes, Professor. Come on, Abraxas. Let's get you to bed before you pass out."

"You are a good boy, Elias," said Slughorn softly.

Harry dragged Abraxas toward the door and tried to ignore the curious looks from the other guests.

"Need a hand?" Tom Riddle rushed over. "Merlin, what happened to him? Too much punch?"

"Afraid so."

"Oh, Merlin, I'm an idiot," moaned Abraxas against Harry's shoulder as they maneuvered him carefully down the stairs to the Slytherin dormitory.

"He was a little... tactless, that's all," Harry muttered in response to Tom's quizzical glance. "I'm afraid he offended Professor Slughorn, but it will all be forgotten by tomorrow, I'm sure." But in his heart, Harry was not so sure at all that Slughorn would ever forgive Abraxas Malfoy.

It was already very late, and the other Slytherin boys were sleeping soundly. Harry and Tom steered Abraxas into his bed and threw his silver sheets over him. Abraxas sighed and muttered sleepily: "Maybe you could undress me first, Elias?"

"In your dreams, Malfoy."

Abraxas smiled angelically and closed his eyes. "Oh, all right. If you insist..." A moment after, he was sleeping.

Tom laughed softly and shook his head. "Exactly how much moonflower punch did he have?"

"No idea. A lot."

Tom glanced around the dormitory with a little smile. "How familiar this place is! This was my home for seven years... This was my bed, right here." He put his hand on Harry's silver pillow. "Oh." A slight flush crept over his cheeks. "This is your bed now, isn't it? All the other ones are taken, so this must be yours..."

Harry nodded silently. The dream. I mustn't think about my dream from last night. No, not the image of his face, flushed with desire... I must think of something else. Dementors. Snape's hair. The ammonia-laced smell of Aunt Petunia's cleaning solutions. Anything...

He tried not to look at Tom, but his glance was drawn, irresistibly, to the beautiful face of the young man who looked so terribly unlike Voldemort. Tom's gaze met his for a moment before they both looked away rapidly. Harry could feel his face grow hot.

"Good night, then, Mr. Black." Tom's voice sounded oddly formal all of a sudden.

"Good night, Professor Riddle."

After Tom had left, Harry sank down on his bed. He rested his burning face against the cool, smooth satin of his pillow, where Tom's hand had been a moment before.