The Meaning of Dreams

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The Meaning of Dreams

Chapter 1: When You Thought You Knew Yourself... Surprise!

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“Class, if you’d be so nice as to lend me one minute of your attention I’d be eternally grateful.”

Harry smiled at the sarcastic remark coming from the thirty-something raven-haired woman at the teacher’s desk. Katherine Jenkins’ so called ‘academic modus operandi’ was something they had grown to love during the time she had been teaching at Hogwarts. Although strict and really exigent, the current Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor had a humorous vein that showed in her classes, which had gained her the worshiping of most of her students - specially Ravenclaws, house she had belonged to at her Hogwarts years. Even the Slytherins seemed not to hold a great amount of distaste for her, and that was saying a lot.

Besides, she was one hell of a demonology teacher, and that was one of the more popular themes in the 6th year programme. Harry firmly believed that was the reason the Slytherins were so thrilled with her classes, looking at all those demons must make them feel like home…

And on top of everything, she held the honour of being the longest lasting Defence teacher to the record since Harry had come to Hogwarts. In her first year at the school, she had ruined lots of polls among the students that had betted about the possible evil nature of the newcomer. She had been teaching for a year and half now, and she hadn’t started to do satanic rituals sacrificing virgin students nor planning world domination yet. That had made students decide that maybe she could possibly be not evil after all.

So she was up there, right after Remus Lupin, in the Most Likeable Defence Against the Dark Arts Teachers List. Nobody really minded that the other teachers in the list had been loyal followers of You Know Who or down right incompetent vain gits.

But fun or not fun, it was always highly recommendable to pay attention when she required so. The 6th year Gryffindors went silent to hear what their professor had to say.

“Good. I see that you actually can follow a suggestion.” The woman offered her class a smile and some of the students giggled. “I know you are awfully busy with next Quidditch game preparations, but the nasty reality imposes its presence and requires that you have to apply your brain cells on something besides Snitches, Quaffles and brooms.”

Seamus Finnigan opened his mouth to raise his objection to that particular idea, but Jenkins fixed him with a mocking glare.

”Yes, mister Finnigan, there are other things besides Quidditch, no, Quidditch Through the Ages isn’t the official text for this class and since Quidditch isn’t a religion, no you cannot accuse me of heresy and you can’t plead that professing it impede you to work on the assignment I’m about to tell you all about.“

Seamus closed his mouth and sulked in his seat muttering something that greatly resembled to “Merlin, forgive her for she doesn’t know what she is saying.”

Katherine Jenkins ignored Seamus comment and widened blue eyes dramatically in feign terror while bringing a hand to her chest in affected manner. “Oh my, now I’ve blown the surprise!“ She watched her class perk up at the mention possible added work, and she winked deviously at them. “So tell me, dearest students o’mine, how does a little extra research project sound to you?”

The Gryffindors erupted in a massive choir of groans at the news. Well, Harry noticed, everyone groaned minus Hermione, who was looking at Professor Jenkins with something akin to adoration in her brown eyes. Trust Hermione to go all ga-ga over an assignment. And in Jenkins’ class the dark haired boy had seen his friend do that quite often – The woman had a fetish with assigning essays, to Hermione’s eternal delight - Harry exchanged a glance with Ron and both boys rolled their eyes in unison, a reflex they had mastered during the years they had known Hermione. They saw the girl raise earnestly her hand.

“Yes, Miss Granger?”

“Does this project give us extra points for our end of year evaluation?”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Hermione. Even I am not that sadistic to propose an extra project and not give points for it. Those who decide to do it and present their essays before Easter break will gain 2% for their final grade. Besides the purely materialistic point of view, I highly recommend you consider taking this project. It’s not because it’s my idea, but it’s really, and I mean really, interesting.”

Professor Jenkins offered them an angelic smile belied by the mischievous twinkle in her cobalt eyes and suspicions raised to frantic levels in the Gryffindor class. After a year and half of knowing Katherine Jenkins they had learnt that when the woman went all innocent and seemingly inoffensive on them they had to start fearing what was to come. Some of the students squirmed uncomfortably in their seats, Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown looked warily at each other and even Hermione narrowed her eyes waiting for what Jenkins had in store for them.

The teacher merely looked at them in silence, waiting patiently for the words that her students were obviously avoiding to pronounce. In Harry’s opinion, she had this ‘I can wait as long as you want, but you are SO asking’ smug expression on her face, that meant they had no chance to escape whatever they had coming.

“And what’s the project about, Professor Jenkins?” Realizing that no one in the class was going to ask the dreaded question and that Jenkins would never let them go from the classroom until she had had her fun torturing them with the answer, Harry, being the hero he was, took for himself the responsibility.

With a smile the 6th year Gryffindors would classify later as positively evil, Jenkins took a little wooden box from the floor next to her desk and after opening it, she grabbed a little vial with a silvery fluid within and balanced it between two fingers. “I was starting to think that you were never going to ask.”

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“So, what do you think about this Somnus Veritus potion, Herm?” Harry said while looking warily at the silvery fluid within the vial in his hand. He had decided he was going to do the project after all, since extra points never hurt.

Almost all the class seemed to share that thought since except for a couple of students, everyone else had signed for it.

“It’s Veritas, not Veritus,” corrected the girl offhandedly. “I’m sure it will be greatly interesting. Most of Jenkins’ extra assignments are.” Hermione scowled at Ron, who was walking next to her. “I’m glad you have chosen to try it, Harry. Unlike others.” The brunette girl muttered under her breath.

Ron, obviously, had been one of those few who hadn’t taken the project – Parvati being the other. His excuse had been that his duties as Gryffindor Quidditch Captain left him very little free time and, in the redhead’s word’s: ‘He wasn’t going to waste it on a project only worth 2% of the grade.’

“I’m sorry Herm, but I’m far too busy planning Quidditch practices to serve as a guinea pig for Jenkins. That woman may not be an evil minion of You Know Who, but she is a Sadistic Lady of Academic Evil. I’m telling you, she enjoys too much giving us thousands of extra assignments. And there are some of us who have lives outside the academic world, you know.”

Hermione looked positively offended at this.

“I do have a non academic life, thank you very much, Ron Weasley. And I’m also sure that some of us will be having one hell of a problem when NEWTs come next year. They will be pleading for as many extra points as they can get by then, and sadly it will be too late.”

“Herm, sarcasm doesn’t suit you at all. It makes your hair look bushier than usual. Why don’t you be a good little girl and leave the subject alone?”

If looks could kill the flame haired boy would have been a nice pile of dust on the corridor’s floor right then. Hermione snorted in a very unladylike manner and stomped towards the Potions dungeon as if she were the bearer of the Divine Ire. Harry and Ron watched their mutual friend storm off and sighed.

“Ron, don’t tease her. You know she is right.”

Ron shrugged.

“I know, I know, but sometimes she gets on my nerves.” Seeing Harry’s raised eyebrow, the redhead conceded a smile. “Ok, she drives me up the walls most of the time. I know she does what she does for our well-being and all, Harry, but sometimes she is worse than my mother. And you know my mother…”

Harry smiled. He could see Ron’s point. Hermione worried about the both of them, but she was especially insistent and overbearing where the young Weasley was concerned. He sarcastically wondered why.

“So, quoting Herm here, what do you think of Jenkins’ assignment? Don’t you feel a little uneasy about having to drink something Snape prepared?”

Ron’s voice brought Harry out of his musings and the boy shrugged. “I really am with Hermione on this one. The project seems really interesting.” Harry gave a casual glance at the vial he was carrying in his hand. “I mean, it’s like the Mirror of Erised all over again. You know what Professor Jenkins told us back when she was teaching us about illusions and mental manipulation: ‘There’s no better defence against external elements trying to control you that a deep knowledge of yourself’. And that’s precisely what this little silvery friend grants us: Dreams that will show us our deepest feelings, desires, a totally unbiased view of our thoughts and impressions. And it also guarantees you’ll remember everything when you wake up. I think it’s pretty neat.”

“Yes, yes, but knowing Snape made the potion…”

“Oh, come on, Ron! The man has had almost six years to poison us at his class any time he wished so and here we are, alive and kicking. Snape can be as hateful as you want, but he is damn right competent in his job. Do you really think he would mess up with the potions just to get rid of us? And having to endure being criticised for being negligent? His pride would never allow something like that to happen and you know it.”

Ron admitted defeat grudgingly, but he kept on muttering that he could have no choice but potion-testing in Snape’s class, but he would be as far as possible from anything with Snape signature on it outside the Slytherin Professor’s dungeon.

“Oh well, don’t you think we should imitate Hermione and make our merry way to Potions? My day can’t wait to be lightened by Snape and his totally adorable Slytherins.”

“Yeah, me too,” was Harry’s dry reply. Nothing better to cheer you up than two hours of double Potions with Slytherin and Snape.

“So, Harry…” Ron hesitated and the raven-haired boy knew what was coming. “Do you think Herm is really angry at me this time?”

Harry sighed. “Yes, Ron. I think she is quite pissed off at you right now. You should know better than make fun of her academic obsession that often. And that ‘not being sarcastic remark’? A big no-no. Of course, that little remark didn’t matter all that much.”

Ron’s shot him a questioning look and Harry merely shrugged.

“You had already crossed the ‘I have a death wish’ line when you commented on her hair. It was quite a miracle she didn’t throttle you right then.”

“Oh.”

The redheaded boy fell silent and dragged his feet along the stone covered floor of the Hogwarts corridors. He seemed to be weighing what would be the worse evil right now. Dealing with the usual nastiness of Snape of having to face Hermione’s patented Avada Kedavra glare at the desk they shared.

The Boy Who Lived To Witness The Ron And Hermione Saga sneaked a glance at his best friend seeing the deep-down-in-thought-and-more-than-slightly-scared look on his face couldn’t suppress a smirk.

The way those two behaved was the main source of amusement for the residents of the Gryffindor Tower. The way they conducted their un-relationship was endearing, really, in a please-get-over-with-the-dramatics-and-start-smooching-already! kind of way. For Merlin’s sake, there were bets running among the Gryffindors to see when the two of then would - finally - get together and even first years were participating!

Ron threw him a quizzical look when he noticed the smirk but Harry simply shook his head and after a light tap on his friend’s shoulder started racing towards the dungeons. Thinking about Ron and Hermione and their never-ending courtship was fun but he definitely preferred not to deal with a furious Snape for having arrived late at his class.

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The rest of the day had gone considerably well for Harry.

Snape had yelled at him, as per usual, but the amount of points taken from Gryffindor by the sinister Potions Master had been noticeably low for his standards.

At lunch hour Malfoy and his cronies had engaged Ron and him in their usual sparring match. After exchanging some witty remarks, nasty insults and a few death threats, Ron had come up with a brilliant ‘Ferret Boy’ remark that had allowed them to get to their table leaving an enraged red-faced Malfoy behind. The Gryffindor community greeted them with a large collection of ear-to-ear grins.

The afternoon had been pretty uneventful, mostly due to the lack of Slytherin/Gryffindor forced time-sharing during the post lunch hours.

Thankfully before afternoon classes started, Ron and Hermione had called a cease of hostilities and had gone back to speaking terms. No sane Gryffindor would like to have a class with the two of them when the air cracked with suppressed electricity.

Herbology and Charms had been better than usual, in fact, since Neville Longbottom hadn’t caused any irreparable disaster, and the Quidditch practice had gone smoothly. Harry was the first to acknowledge that Ron was doing a great job with the team this year. It was thanks to his intensive trainings and deeply studied strategic plans they were leading the Interhouse Cup.

At dinner round two in the Slytherin/Gryffindor verbal battle had been less virulent than the standards and Harry found himself somehow disappointed.

Honestly! You couldn't trust Slytherins on anything…

When bedtime had finally arrived it was the moment when stronger emotions came into play inside Gryffindor 6th years dormitories.

Mostly, glaringly obvious distrust directed to a certain silver coloured potion. Besides Neville who, given his urging need to raise his grades, had offered his friends a helpless look and subsequently drowned the silvery liquid and gotten into bed, the rest didn’t seem to have things that clear.

Or to be that desperate.

It was really easy to see that both Seamus and Dean Thomas were having second thoughts about the whole matter. And of course, Harry noticed, Ron was wearing a sarcastic smirk on his freckled face.

“What guys, afraid the little nice potion will jump out of the vial and bite you?”

Dean Thomas glared at him but said nothing. Seamus simply shrugged. He, like Neville, needed the grade boosting, but still...

“Be quiet, Ron.” Harry waved a hand at his friend and the redhead responded with a widening of his smirk. ”There is something I don’t understand, if you are afraid of the project why pick it in the first place?”

“It’s not that I’m scared of drinking the potion, Harry,” Dean explained. “It’s what I could be shown in my dreams that I fear.”

“Yes. What if we see something we wouldn’t want to,” Seamus continued. “They say ignorance is bliss, you know.”

Dean and Seamus’ words brought silence to the room. Understanding glances were exchanged and Harry realized that their friends had every reason to be wary. After all, there isn’t anything worse than discovering something you don’t like about yourself.

“Oh yeah, imagine if you dream of Snape in a pink tutu, that would scar you for life!”

Ron’s words lightened the atmosphere in the room and Dean and Seamus laughed out loud. Harry smiled at his best friend thankful for his intervention. Trust Ron to make the sour mood go away.

“Thank you, Ron.” Seamus’ voice dripped with sarcasm. “Now, that was an image I didn’t really need.”

The Irish boy and Dean went into a fit of chuckles and Harry offered Ron a little evil grin.

“So that’s the real reason you didn’t take the assignment.” The green-eyed boy raised a dark eyebrow at his friend. “Do you have something to tell us, Ronnikins?”

“Hey!” Ron’s highly offended exclamation served to send the other boys into another fit of laughter. “Fine! But don’t come to me tomorrow looking for a shoulder to cry on when you have to deal with the repercussions of a whole night being chased by a suggestively clothed Snape!” The redhead gave up then his feigned indignation and joined his friends’ laughter.

After a while, the peace was finally restored in the Gryffindor 6th year dorm and Seamus, Dean and Harry, after exchanging glances, raised their vials in a toast.

“So,” Dean started, “we are doing it, right?”

“Yup,” was Harry and Seamus’ reply.

“Then down with it.”

“To Evil Potion Masters and Fluffy Pink Dance Garments!”

The three boys glared at Ron who in response smiled beatifically at them. After dissipating the very disturbing image their friend’s words had conjured, they drank their respective potions and climbed into bed. Ron followed their example.

“We should be feeling sleepy really soon,” Harry analysed after directing a glance at Neville. “He has been sleeping all through our mad laughter, so I think the potion must have some kind of sleep-inducing component.”

The only response he got was a couple of muffled yawns from the other two boys in the experiment and a ‘Shut up, Harry’ from Ron. The dark haired boy sighed and got comfortable in his bed, his last coherent thought being: If I’m dreaming about Snape I swear I’ll go to Madam Pomfrey to be put out of my sufferings…

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The dream started in the most complete darkness. Harry knew immediately this wasn’t like his other dreams. Such a perfect blackness hadn’t been present before. No, those were either nightmares, in which most of the time Cedric Diggory or his parents took lead roles, or too vivid views of the evil he had to battle, where he was only an impotent witness.

This one was definitely different.

Despite the total blindness he was subjected to he didn’t feel threatened at all. The velvety quality of the surrounding darkness made him feel somehow safe, comforted.

His skin was tingling with a pleasant sensation induced by the silky strands of nothingness wrapping him and he was experiencing something he had only known when riding his broom across the skies.

Utterly perfect freedom.

Here, floating in the middle of nowhere with blackness for only company he felt more at ease than he had ever felt before.

It was strange… but good.

Then everything changed.

The pure frame of darkness started dissolving, leaving its place to lighter shades of colour. Harry marvelled at the complete impossibility of what was happening: an artificial sunrise lacking its sun. But it was all there. Morning colours swaying in the chilling breeze, the sound of birds that didn’t exist but that offered their songs nonetheless, ghostly drops of water wetting soft strands of black hair. His hair.

Where there had been nothingness there was now a complete world of blinding beauty and perfect irrationality. Never had the mornings held such a vivid display of vanity.

He absently realized that he was only wearing his pyjama bottoms and that he should be suffering the effects of the cold morning air. But he didn’t.

It seemed that in this incomparable scenario anything could not exist that would mar the perception of the surrounding beauty.

Harry knew he couldn’t help the unavoidable.

He fell in love with the breathtaking landscape. His only desire was to stop time and freeze the wonder before his eyes for him to be able to stay there forever.

Gone was the safety of the night, replaced by the excitement of a just born day. The comfort the darkness had previously offered had parted to leave its place to the sense of being alive danger provided.

His heart was beating in the same tempo of the swaying blades of grass and his consciousness wrapped itself around the tiniest of the details he saw all around him: the delicate flying of a butterfly, the sound of the wind rustling the trees’ leaves, the smell of humid earth under his feet…

When a soft hand touched his shoulder he didn’t even feel the surprise that should have been there. If perfection was what surrounded him then it could never be enjoyed in solitude. He turned his head around and offered the figure behind him a sweet smile.

The smile was returned in such a tender way that Harry could feel his heart doing a funny flip-flop and his knees turning into melting wax. Utter happiness wrapped him; amazed that such a little gesture could make his dream world even more perfect than before.

Slender but strong arms went around him and he found himself in the sweetness of an embrace, the bare skin of a masculine chest pressed against his back. Turning around in the circle of those ghostly arms he faced his dream visitor and also sneaked his arms around the other’s torso, returning the hug.

How he had known even before he had been touched by those tender hands that his mysterious visitor was a man escaped Harry, but he had the deeply engraved sensation that he knew this one who made him feel so content.

Feathery fingers traced the line of his jaw and Harry allowed his eyelids to flutter closed, instinctively knowing that giving up his ability to see would trigger a deeper appreciation of the moment. When the touch stopped he instantly felt the coldness of the missing contact and opened his closed eyes in a look of disappointment and reproach.

The mysterious figure let out a deep chuckle that made shivers ran down Harry’s back and complied at the silent request he could read in the green eyes of the dark haired boy. Where once fingers had been, now lips tasted Harry’s skin. A whirlwind of sensations washed over the green eyed teenager and he felt his perfect world dissolve until there was nothing more than he and his dream visitor standing alone in the nothingness.

He felt overwhelmed by such a sweet assault and wanted nothing more than to surrender totally to the person seducing him so, offering the talented dream lover anything – everything - he wanted.

The part of his mind that still was able of coherent thinking told him that it was indeed seduction what he was experiencing, the sensations evoked too intimate to be otherwise. Yet, he didn’t feel the rush of adrenaline commonly associated with sexual desire. The touch of this familiar stranger was like the one offered by the darkness in the beginnings of the dream: comforting, cherishing, adoring…

For this moment to never reach an end he was willing to give up the beauty the awakening day had brought to him. For this stranger to love him he was willing to lose himself in his touch and never look for a way back, not now, not ever again.

Harry realized neither of them had talked yet and he was deeply grateful for this fact. He just knew there was no way he could put into words what he wanted to tell the other man. That only the contact of skin against skin, only feathery touches dropped like phantom kisses, could barely aspire to express what transpired between them.

An unnecessary attempt to vocalize the sensations electrifying the air around them would only spoil the magic of such an intimately shared moment.

When cool lips trailed down his neck with slow deliberateness, Harry abandoned himself to the miracle of being loved like that. A warm tongue traced his collarbone and the dark haired boy’s breathing quickened at the contact. In an unconscious movement he threw his head back to grant his seducer better access to his skin and this made the other man smile against him.

Depositing a deep and wet kiss just below Harry’s Adam’s apple, the mysterious lover retraced his path on the dark boy’s skin and found his way up his neck to reach one tempting earlobe. Chills of pleasure found again their way down the raven-haired teenager spine and he pressed himself against the other’s bare chest, tightening their embrace.

It was as if Harry tried to melt into his lover, creating a unique entity where two had previously existed.

He finally ventured one slender hand upwards and let his fingers entwine in the other’s mass of silky hair.

The Boy Who Lived marvelled at the softness of the impossible silvery blond strands, tilting his head up to let himself be surrounded by their intoxicating fragrance, a mix of exotic flowers and a touch of lemon.

Slowly, his hand trailed down to find the smoothness of pale skin, delicately cupping the other man’s cheek. The joy Harry experienced when his pale lover leaned into his touch was comparable to nothing he had ever felt before.

The seducer was being now seduced.

This simple truth made the green eyed boy ridiculously happy.

In a moment during which reality shattered and was built again, their lips touched and Harry’s previous statement was proved wrong. If touching the other man’s skin had gifted Harry with incomparable joy, the warmth of their mouths melting in what could only be described as perfection made The Boy Who Lived realize that he would never feel complete if not in this pale figure’s arms.

Hot and cold washed over Harry, making him tremble with the igniting of his deepest passions.

Comfort turned into desire; safety into a craving for possession.

His tongue started a sensual dance with his lover’s and the blood roared in his veins wishing for more, wanting everything the other man had to offer. They kissed knowing their dream world could be gone just like a flame under the rain, ardently and with underlying desperation.

During those moments when they were one, nothing else mattered.

Smiling, Harry pulled back from their kiss trying to catch his breath and found himself gazing deeply into the silvery depths of tender eyes that mirrored his affection.

He reached up with his hand to tenderly brush pale fringe off his lover’s forehead and he was gifted with a heartbreakingly beautiful smile.

In that very moment Harry knew that things were as they always should have been.

And then, as suddenly as every other change in his dream had taken place, the foreignness still masking the other man was no more. Everything fell into place bringing painful realizations and with sharp accuracy the dream shattered around them…

… Making Harry wake up in his bed at the Gryffindor dorm, pure horror running like fire in his veins.

“Oh god, no.” The boy buried his face in his hands, tremors running through his body. “Please, no. Not this, not him.”