Dreaming of Silver

Air rushing past him... noise. Loud noise. Roaring. Screaming- no. Cheering. People... hundreds of people. But tiny. Far away- no. Far below.

Flying. He was flying. The cheering people were the crowd- Quidditch! He was playing Quidditch. A flash of gold past his ear- the Snitch! He had to get the Snitch! But- no. Not gold. Silver. Two silver pinpricks- like stars? No, not stars. Eyes. Gleaming silver eyes. He still felt like he was flying but- No. His feet were planted firmly on the ground. Silence- the crowds were gone. Darkness- it was nighttime. And he could still see those beautiful silver eyes. They were filled with some emotion- love? Lust?- But no. That wasn't right. These gleaming silver eyes were familiar- weren't they? Yes- but no. They were usually filled with- what? Malice? Hatred? Both.

Oh, but that didn't matter now, because these silver eyes were looking at him now and they were filled with- what? Lust? Definitely lust. They had a predatory gleam in them and now- A face. He could see a face. He recognised it, he was sure but- whose was it? He couldn't quite... no. He didn't know who this face belonged to. More silver- eyes? No, not just eyes. There were the silver eyes but what else- hair? Silver hair? Yes. Silvery blonde locks, framing the face. Pale, silvery blonde eyebrows, barely visible. And lips. He could see pale lips, smirking at him. And the silver eyes- still filled with lust. A tongue flicked out and licked the lips; oh-so-slowly. Sensually. And he knew that his own eyes were reflecting the lust in the silver ones, because he felt it.

The predatory gleam intensified and- lips. On his. The pale lips were pressed against his own and- oh, it felt good- he couldn't see anymore because his eyes were closed and -oh, this was incredible- he opened his mouth and deepened the kiss, their tongues duelling. He felt the blood rush through his head- through his body and- Oh! Hands on him and- Oh! He felt dizzy and they were still kissing and he could see stars and-

Harry Potter awoke with a gasp. He was tangled up in his bedsheets, damp and sticky with sweat and- something else. He lay there for a few minutes until his breathing returned to normal. He blushed slightly as he noticed his the state of his sheets and pyjama trousers. What had he been dreaming, to have had this effect on him? He didn't know... he couldn't remember. He still felt slightly light-headed. He sat up and grabbed the jug of water and a glass from his nightstand and poured himself a drink. Gulping it down quickly, he frowned to himself. Why couldn't he remember his dream? It must have been good- right? Yet he couldn't remember anything about it. He chewed on his lip, thinking. Trying to remember. Then he shrugged his shoulders and picked up his wand from the nightstand. He muttered a quick cleaning charm before replacing his wand on the nightstand and lying down again. He closed his eyes, trying hard to remember his dream. As he drifted back to sleep, he could almost see a pair of gleaming silver eyes...

*~*~*

"Harry? Harry, wake up!"

Harry was jolted awake by the sound of Ron's voice, shouting at him to get up. He groaned and rolled over, burying his face in his pillows.

"Don' wanna gerup. S'Saturday. No classeses..." he mumbled. Ron stuck his head through the drapes around Harry's bed.

"Harry! Get up, you lazy git. It's after ten o'clock- Hermione will go spare if you don't get up now."

"Ohhh..." Harry moaned, rolling onto his back and squinting up at his red-headed best friend. "Stupid 'mione. I wanna sleep."

"Why so eager to be asleep mate," Ron laughed. "Interesting dreams?"

Harry blushed as he remembered waking up in the middle of the night to find his pyjamas damp and sticky with more than just sweat.

"You could say that, I suppose," he admitted sheepishly. Ron laughed even more at the blush on Harry's face.

"Just get up, Harry. Hurry up so that we can go and get some breakfast." Ron passed Harry his glasses and then left the room. Harry yawned, stretched and then got out of bed and began to pull on his robes. As he got dressed, his thoughts strayed to the dream he'd had. He still couldn't remember any details from it, but whenever he thought about it, something in the back of his brain seemed to be saying 'silver' to him. However, he didn't find anything about silver even remotely arousing, and whenever he tried to focus on it, it disappeared from his head. He sighed in frustration and made his way down to the common room, where Ron and Hermione were sitting together, waiting for him.

"Good morning, Harry." Hermione smiled at him as he entered the room. Ron looked up at him and grinned.

"Looking forward to watching Cho and the rest of the Ravenclaw team thrash Malfoy this afternoon?" he asked excitedly.

"What?- Oh! It's the Ravenclaw vs Slytherin Quidditch match today. I forgot."

He grinned at the appalled look on his friend's face.

"You forgot?" he cried incredulously. "How could you forget about Quidditch?"

Hermione rolled her eyes impatiently.

"Quite easily, I would imagine," Ron turned his scandalised expression to face the bushy-haired girl, looking ready to argue fiercely.

"Oh, come on." she said, as he opened his mouth. "Let's get down to breakfast," With that, Hermione got up and made her way across the common room. Harry and Ron looked at her retreating form for a few seconds, before hurriedly climbing out of the portrait hole after her.

*~*~*

The atmosphere in the Great Hall was charged with excitement as it usually was before a Quidditch match and as Harry, Ron and Hermione made their was across it, they paused at the Ravenclaw table to wish the team and especially- in Harry's case, anyway- Cho good luck. Cho smiled at him flirtatiously and he felt his face flush as he looked into her deep brown eyes and attempted to smile.

"Can I have a good luck kiss please, Harry?" she asked, and he felt his intestines knot up slightly and his face flush an even brighter red. However, he noticed that the twisting in his gut wasn't nearly as bad as it used to be when he was around Cho, so, feeling brave, he leaned down and brushed his lips across hers. She blushed slightly and giggled.

"Right. So- er. Good luck, then," he said as he stepped back from the table.

"Yeah, crush Malfoy and the Slytherins!" said Ron enthusiastically before grabbing hold of Harry's arm and dragging him towards the Gryffindor table.

"Harry!" he cried excitedly, "You do realise that you just kissed Cho Chang in front of the entire school, don't you?"

"I... Um, yeah?" said Harry, wondering what, exactly, Ron was getting at.

"That was great!" cried the exuberant redhead, "Did you hear her? 'Can I have a kiss please, Harry?' She fancies you, mate! Finally, you're going to get to be her boyfriend! You lucky sod!"

"Hmpf," sniffed Hermione, "I wouldn't call him particularly lucky. Just because she's got a pretty face, you think she's wonderful, Ron, when she's really just an empty-headed bimbo, who only wants to go out with Harry because he's famous!"

With that, Hermione turned away from them and went to sit with Ginny at the other end of the table.

"What was that all about?" asked Ron incredulously. Harry shrugged.

"Well, anyway. Why aren't you bouncing out of your seat? Usually you get high if she even looks at you, and you've just kissed her and you're sat there looking like someone's told you that you have to spend Christmas at the Dursleys."

Harry shrugged again. "I dunno," he said, "I guess I'm just tired, that's all."

In truth, Harry was feeling slightly confused. He'd fancied Cho for ages, and now he'd kissed her for the first time, and he didn't feel... well, anything much. He'd thought that it would be brilliant, kissing Cho, but when his mouth had touched her cupid's bow pout it had just felt- weird. He'd looked into her pretty brown eyes and he hadn't been able to help seeing the mysterious silver eyes from his dream of the night before, which led him to remember how his imaginary kiss with the owner of those eyes had felt. It had been- intense, that was for sure. He'd always imagined that when he kissed her, there would be fireworks going off in his head, ringing in his ears, stars behind his eyes- anything. But instead he had felt- nothing. All that had happened was that he'd brushed his lips across her hers and that was that. He thought about it some more and he realised that, no, that wasn't true. He hadn't felt nothing, he'd felt- wrong. Something, deep inside of him, felt that kissing Cho was wrong, despite the fact that it was all he'd wanted for three years. What could that mean? How could kissing Cho be wrong?