Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

In Dreams	By : YamiBakura Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 7878 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor any of the characters from the books or films. I'm not making any money from the writing of this fiction.

Chapter List
- 1-In Dreams
- 1
Happy Halloween! Enjoy~

-o0o-

Waking suddenly, Harry found himself tied securely to the bed. A figure loomed in the background, just out of sight, and Harry knew that he was expected to test his bonds. He tugged gently on them, feeling the silken ropes at both wrists and ankles pull slightly but not enough to allow him movement. He felt confined and hated it; he hated feeling helpless. That was, he suspected, the reason behind the ropes – his Master knew well what he liked and disliked.

“We’re going to play a new game tonight, Harry,” said Master. Harry said nothing, only waited. He was not disappointed. A piercing whistle, faint almost to inaudibility streaked by him and something came down heavily on the mattress beside him. “This is a whip, Harry. Do you like whips?”

Harry felt his mouth go dry. He shook his head, not daring to breathe a word. Sometimes the Master let him choose…

“We’ll get to it later, then. Turn over.” Master waved his hand, and suddenly Harry found himself face down. “Starting simple tonight,” Master added, and Harry felt something wide and solid come down on his back, very gently. Master tapped him again, moving the thing over his skin and gently increasing the force of the taps until his ass and upper thighs were stinging and red. Master set the paddle aside and reached for something unseen; Harry heard a muted pop and the scent of vanilla filled the air. Hands came into contact with his sore flesh, and a soothing coolness radiated from them. Belatedly, Harry realised it was oil and his breathing came faster as the two contrasting sensations – the burning sting of pain from the paddling and the cool massage from his Master’s hands – came together and began to feel good.

Harry tried to keep himself still, but against his will he could feel his hips rising to meet the hands. Master swatted him gently, sending a fresh wave of pain through his abused skin. He shuddered.

“Does it feel good?”

Harry nodded, closing his eyes as the smell of vanilla grew briefly stronger. He felt more oil being poured over his back and shoulders, and the bed dipped under his Master’s weight as he adjusted his position. Harry could sense more than feel him kneeling over him, and once again the hands – those wonderful hands, soft and soothing and capable of delivering shattering orgasms – touched him. Harry shuddered again, in pleasure this time. The massage was wonderful, easing the lingering tension from his muscles until Harry went limp with it. Still it continued, spreading the oil deep into his skin and despite the discomfort of his spread-eagled position on the bed, Harry found himself drifting to sleep. Master would be displeased if he nodded off, however, and he made an effort to keep his eyes open even though the darkness surrounding him prevented him from seeing anything. His Master shifted again above him, sighing quietly.

“You’re very beautiful, Harry,” he said in his soft, cultured voice. Harry had never seen his Master, who always came in the dark, but he knew the gentleness of those hands and the loving caresses his voice could pour over him, and he understood that no matter what Master may say to him, it was Master who was the beautiful one. “Very beautiful,” Master murmured again, and then callously pushed two oil-slicked fingers into Harry’s body. Harry jerked forward as much as his bonds would let him, startled by the sudden fullness, and was rewarded in his turn with Master’s chuckle of amusement. “Did I startle you?” The fingers began moving, questing, and Harry writhed under the onslaught. Master’s other hand reached beneath him, found his fledgling erection and fondled it with vanilla-scented strokes. Harry moaned in spite of himself as the sensations increased when Master found his prostate, pleasure like lightning streaking up his back. He couldn’t seem to get enough oxygen as the two-handed assault continued.

“Harry, Harry… My Harry.” Master’s voice was low, amused. “Harry,” he said again. More insistent.

“Harry!”

Harry opened his eyes, exhausted and wrung out. Ron was standing over his bed, a puzzled expression on his face.

“Nightmares again? I thought they’d stopped when…” Ron trailed off and gestured blankly to his own forehead. Harry understood anyway, and covered a yawn.

“Not a nightmare,” he said, and was grateful that the drawn covers prevented most of the morning light from reaching his face and exposing his furious blush.

“Not?” Ron leaned closer. “But you were thrashing and mo- oh.” His face turned visibly scarlet. “Sorry.” He vanished from the bedside, and Harry yawned again. It hadn’t been a very restful sleep, and his body ached as though his dream had been reality. He flushed a darker red, considering the dream. It wasn’t anything like his normal dreams; they usually involved Ginny and a candlelit room. Certainly not another man, and… bondage. Slowly, he eased himself out of the bed and wondered why the ropes bothered him more than his lover. His master. Harry shuddered in remembrance, and pulled his clothes on. Ron seemed unable to meet his eyes, but Harry wasn’t entirely sure he wanted anyone else to know what he’d dreamed. He felt certain it would be written across his face.

At breakfast, Hermione leaned into him, staring hard until he had to pull back. “What’s wrong?”

“You look awful,” she pronounced, and then settled herself again. “Didn’t you sleep at all?”

“I slept,” Harry disagreed. “Just not very well.” He hoped it wouldn’t happen again, but that night, almost as soon as he laid down, he found himself tied again. He must have fallen asleep, he knew, because he’d lain down in his bed and now found himself bound by ropes to the ceiling. His face flamed as his heart began to race. He looked around, but Master wasn’t there yet. With no alternative, he took a deep breath and hung on. He wasn’t disappointed.

“Your friends are rude,” Master said, his voice falling like silk on Harry’s ears. After Hermione’s strident screeching about his sleep and Ron’s incoherent mumbling regarding the dream he thought he’d interrupted, Master’s voice was a welcome relief; Harry felt like a man walking through the desert for weeks who’d just been offered all the cool water he could stand. Master wrapped his arms around Harry’s chest, pressing a kiss to his neck where his throat met his shoulder.

“I missed you,” Harry whispered, and surprised himself as he realised it was true. The dream had been horrifying – disgusting – amazing… He was already getting excited, wondering what tonight’s adventure would bring. I had no idea I’d be turned on by a man, much less by such… terrible things. But there was no denying the excitement tingling through his veins, just because he was tied up again. He felt Master’s lips curl into a smile against his skin.

“I’m glad,” Master whispered, and his voice broke halfway through. “I missed you too. Seeing you here like this… you have no idea what it does to me.” He shifted, bringing a full hardness to bear against Harry’s ass.

If pressed, Harry would have vehemently denied being in any way attracted to other men. Passionately denied it.

But he couldn’t deny that the feeling of Master’s erection, pressed against him like that, sent a thrill of pleasure up his body. He wanted to feel it inside him, wanted to take Master into his body despite everything. He moaned in spite of himself. Behind him, Master chuckled.

“Next time, perhaps.” That smooth, velvety voice… If all Master did was talk to him, Harry felt certain that he could come just from the sound of it. “Today’s lesson is something different. Sadomasochism, Harry. Do you know this word?”

This time a different thrill went through him, one of fear. Harry shook his head as the knowledge settled over him that the time for talking was past.   Master released him, then rustled around behind him. The hands came back, playing with his nipples until they both stood prominently erect from his chest. Harry found himself panting at the attention. Master released him, then almost immediately fastened something to each nipple. Harry glanced down and saw a chain hanging across his chest, held there by two tiny clamps on his nipples. Master gave the chain a quick, gentle tug and Harry grunted as the clamps tightened, pulling on the sensitive flesh. It hurt. But somehow – in a good way.

“You begin to understand,” Master said, and one hand slid down Harry’s abdomen to wrap around his cock. Almost immediately, it began to harden and Harry’s breathing sped up. Master tugged the chain again, and an explosion occurred behind Harry’s eyes. The pleasure of the hand on his erection coupled with the tug on the chain – the chain was pleasurable and the hand was painful and Harry’s mind whited out for a moment. “A very apt pupil,” Master said, withdrawing. “Sadomasochism,” he said again, from further away. Harry concentrated on getting his reactions under control. “A compound word formed from sadism, meaning pleasure in giving pain and masochism, pleasure in receiving pain. Do you like pain, Harry?”

Harry panted, shaking his head. Master chuckled.

“You will learn. You’ll see.” Something clicked, and then Harry heard “Savitas.” A tingling warmth enveloped him, centering on his neck, nipples, cock, hips, and knees. Suddenly he was raging hard and throbbing, almost to the point of orgasm without quite getting over the edge. A helpless cry escaped him. “I love that spell,” Master said, a sort of malicious glee in his unsteady voice. He reached around again and tugged on the chain. Fire radiated from his chest, increasing the sensations and Harry wondered briefly how far he could be pushed without spontaneous orgasm. Harry felt Master step back, leaving an almost palpable void in his absence. He heard a thin whistling, and suddenly his back was on fire. The pleasure was as intense as the pain. Hot lines of flame rippled their way down his skin, and Master swung the whip again. This time, prepared, Harry could feel each line of leather as they traced lines across his back. “This is of course,” said Master, and Harry was amazed to hear the breathiness to his voice as he continued with “a gentler form. Many soft lines, but the effect is…interesting, no?” He couldn’t remember ever hearing Master sound so unsettled, and the desire doubled inside him as he realised that Master had been serious; he was getting off on this. Harry moaned brokenly as the whip connected again. He was going to come – he could feel it rising, overwhelming him.

But the tide simply kept intensifying. He could feel the moment pass, when he would have ordinarily come and been spent, with barely a shudder. And the whip kept coming, and the pleasure kept mounting, and the ragged cries tore themselves out of Harry without his permission. “You want to come?” Master’s voice broke through the haze, and distantly, Harry noticed that he was getting worked up himself. Briefly, he wondered if just this – making Harry lose control – was enough to send Master over the edge. He nodded, a little wildly. Master laughed, a wicked, breathy sound. “Beg me,” he said, and suddenly the true meaning of sadism became clear. Vacantly, he wondered if Malfoy was a sadist; it would certainly be reasonable.

He shook his head, however. I can’t, he thought. He hadn’t prostrated himself before Voldemort; how could he do so now?

The whip came down harder, and for a brief moment the pain overwhelmed the pleasure. “Do it!”

“Please!” Harry gasped. “Please oh please oh pleaseplease let me come please I’ll do anything –” It was unbearable. It hurt but it was so good and if he got any tighter he was going to explode…

“Culmen!” Master shouted, timing his word to a singularly devastating blow, and suddenly the climax was rocketing through Harry’s body, draining him with pleasure until he actually blacked out.

He came to on his bed, body wracked with tremors and aftershocks. He felt weak as a kitten, wrung out and shattered, but his body thrummed with pleasure. Master was leaning over him, doing something to his neck. Harry couldn’t even summon the strength to wonder what he was doing.

“You did so well,” Master crooned. “My beautiful Harry. I don’t think this will last much longer, though.” A bitter laugh. “I find the one person who can satisfy me, and it’s not enough. I fear it will never be enough, so I will enjoy you while I can.” He stepped back with a decisive nod. “Now even your irritating friends will know,” he pronounced, and Harry summoned strength from an unknown reserve to lift his hand and examine the thing Master had left on him. It was a collar. For a brief moment, disgust welled up inside him, but it was beaten back by a thrill of happiness. He belonged to Master, and he was pleased to have been marked. A small disc was attached to it, engraved with something. “M,” Master informed him. “For me, your Master.”

“Thank you,” Harry breathed. Then he knew no more.

“Harry!”

The shriek cut through several layers of consciousness and probably some walls. With a masterful effort, Harry opened his eyes to Hermione’s tearful face. She saw him looking back at her and dissolved in sobs.

“Harry, this isn’t normal.” Ron’s voice, unusually serious. Harry lifted his eyes and took in Ron’s severe expression. “Dreams like that shouldn’t make you sleep all day. You need to go to Madam Pomfrey for some Dreamless Sleep potions. Something. You’ve missed an entire day of classes, and no one could wake you up.” Underneath the sternness, Harry detected worry. He was grateful for his friend’s concern, but a Dreamless Sleep would interfere with his Master. He couldn’t let them do it!

“And where did the collar come from?” Hermione asked, rousing herself. Harry lifted a hand to his throat and was startled to find the collar there. But it was a dream! How could he be wearing the collar?

“I’m not telling you,” Harry said, his fingers clenching around the small tag. “It doesn’t matter. It’s no big deal.”

“It is!” Hermione insisted, her voice rising again. “We even had Neville bang pots together but you didn’t even flinch! Ron said you’ve been having some… strange dreams. You know that dreams can be dangerous! Why do you think Sirius got –” She flinched and cut herself off, and Harry vaguely wondered what expression was on his face. “You’ve got to start working on Occlumency again,” she decided instead. “And see Madam Pomfrey about some Dreamless Sleep! This isn’t healthy!”

“Enough!” Harry said suddenly, fed up with their interference. “Just leave me alone!”

Hermione sobbed once more, but fled. Ron gave Harry a serious look, but slowly retreated after her. Harry flung a hand up over his eyes. He still felt tired, despite having apparently slept all day. Slowly, he eased himself out of the bed. As before, he still felt the pain of his dream, and it suddenly occurred to him to wonder if they were more than they seemed. Master had placed the collar on him in the dream – so how did it come to be on him in reality?

His thoughts skirted the edges of a pit, and he eased away from them. His stomach rumbled, and he realised it was time for dinner. Slowly, he stood up and dressed himself. Every movement sent a fresh wave of agony through his back, but he still tingled in remembered pleasure.

He made it to the Great Hall under his own power, but was stopped short by Malfoy, who reached the doors at the same time. Harry noticed that his face was flushed and there was a sparkle in his grey eyes that lit them up like a fire from within.   Harry’s one glimpse into the mirror before he left the room had told him that his own face looked like death warmed over. No wonder Hermione had reacted like she did.

“Merlin, Potter. You look dreadful.” Malfoy’s voice turned sly. “Been sleeping alright?”

Shock when through Harry like a bucket of ice water. Malfoy knew! Somehow, impossibly, Malfoy knew!   Before he could gather himself for a reply, Malfoy had gone on ahead into the Hall. Harry staggered, putting a hand up to catch himself on the wall. His stomach loudly proclaimed its emptiness, and he steeled himself to enter the Great Hall. He was aware of several people turning to look at him, and the tide of whispers rose at his presence, but he ignored it all in favour of finding an empty seat and drawing some food towards him. Absently, he twisted the charm on the collar as he methodically shoveled some peas into his mouth. His eyes were inextricably drawn towards Malfoy, seated at the far end of the Slytherin table. He was laughing with unexpected abandon at something Pansy Parkinson was doing, and Harry’s attention sharpened. His face had filled out some in the past few months, easing the pointiness that had plagued him throughout most of their school years. His hair was growing longer, too, brushing the top of his shirt with a tiny curl that Harry could barely make out at the distance.

It occurred to Harry with a shock of realisation that Malfoy had become attractive at some point. And then he told himself that he was being bizarre, and that if not for his Master, he’d never have noticed Malfoy was anything besides pale. Though as he considered, a thought occurred to him that brought a chuckle to his lips. Malfoy certainly paled beside his Master.

Several weeks passed before Harry met his Master in a dream again. He was beginning to dread sleeping, because he knew that he wouldn’t see Master again. Although dreamless, his sleep continued to be restless, and he woke every day feeling more and more tired. He laid down one night and before he was even aware of falling asleep, he found himself in a large, candlelit room. Happiness coursed through him. “Master?”

There was no answer, but then he hadn’t been truly been expecting one. His Master would come when he was ready. He lay back on the bed, wondering about the fact that he wasn’t tied. Part of him was disappointed; the rest was glad for the break between dreams now that he understood it was given as a chance for him to recover.

“Why aren’t you naked?”

Master’s voice came from the darkness, but even as adjusted as Harry’s eyes were to the light, he realised he couldn’t see the immediate environs of the bed. He knew the sheets were soft, because he was sitting on them, but he didn’t know what colour they were. The walls were grey, where they weren’t covered over with red and green drapes, and he could see that now because of the carefully situated candles.

“I haven’t taken my clothes off yet,” Harry said, belatedly answering his Master. He wondered for a moment if he was about to be punished, but instead he was rewarded with a rich chuckle.

“That’s alright,” Master said. “I think I’d like to undress you myself.” And he did so, coming forward and easing Harry’s shirt up his chest. Even with the ambient light, Harry could make out no details of Master’s face. The shirt was discarded, Master’s tender caresses sparking a low-burning flame deep within him. Then, to Harry’s profound surprise, the Master turned him around and kissed him with gentle firmness directly on the mouth.

Harry became lost in that kiss. It felt as though all the mysteries of the world were being passed into him, like Master’s lips bore the secrets of the universe. His head grew light, and his breathing shallow as he tried to assimilate the physical with the emotional.

“Lift your hips,” Master murmured, barely taking his mouth away far enough to form the words. Blindly, Harry did so and belatedly became aware that his trousers were being sent the same way as his shirt. He was left wearing nothing but the collar, and Master flicked the little disc with the M before pulling away. “You’re so beautiful,” Master murmured, drinking in the sight of Harry as he reclined on the pillows. Harry felt a stirring in his cock as though the gleaming eyes he could see raking over him were physical touches.

“Not half as beautiful as you are,” Harry whispered back. “I wish I could see you.” He reached out and trailed his fingers across Master’s face, down his throat and let them play across his collarbone. Master relaxed beneath his touch, and Harry knew he had been granted the contact as a privilege.

“Soon,” Master said. Harry whipped his hand back as though he’d been burned.

“Truly?”

“Soon,” Master repeated. “But not now.” He lifted the hem of his shirt and in an elegant arch Harry could barely make out in the darkness, pulled it off and threw it away. His hands went to the waistband of his trousers, and something primal within Harry took over and he lurched forward.

“Let me,” he whispered, and leaned in to kiss Master again. Master, amusement clear in the line of his shoulders and the tilt of his head, allowed the kiss and permitted Harry to pull the trousers off. That was all he tolerated, however, because as soon as the pants were removed he took the lead again, pushing Harry back among the pillows. The full contact between their nakedness nearly pushed Harry to the edge, and nothing had been done yet except some kissing.

“Roll over,” Master commanded, and Harry gathered strength from deep within in order to break the contact between him and his beloved. Finally he managed it, and lay on his stomach, back arched over the pillows while still others cradled his head and arms. There was a muted pop and the now-familiar scent of vanilla filled the room. Harry recognised the oil from the first time, and sighed in anticipation.

He was not disappointed. Master drizzled the oil down his back and onto his legs and then, beginning at his shoulders, massaged the oil into his skin. Working slowly, Master erased the knots of tension coiled in his muscles and Harry felt himself relax almost to the point of sleep. If it had been anyone but his Master, he might have allowed himself to drift off, but simply the knowledge that it was Master’s hands on him sent tiny electric thrills through him, keeping him keyed up and anxious despite the lessening of the stiffness.

By the time Master reached his thighs, his muscles were as fluid as water and his cock was as hard as stone. Several times, Master swatted his rear for wiggling and he knew that every other exhalation was a whimper or a soft moan as his twitching erection rubbed against the silky sheets. It was a slow torture, and one that threatened to undo all the work Master had done with the massage.

Harry had to forcibly restrain himself from begging as Master pulled his hands away for the final time. He didn’t do as well as he thought he had, however, and received another swat for it. The swat merely brought back memories of their other liaisons and only served to make him harder and yearn more for the final contact. He wasn’t disappointed when the smell of the oil grew stronger again and once more, Master surprised him with an ungentle shove of fingers into him. This time, sure, there was no questing, no maddening wiggles as Master sought his prostate. This time the fingers went for it unerringly and behind his eyelids Harry saw stars. It wasn’t until the fingers withdrew that he realised he had been clutching at the pillows and moaning in an unbecoming way, so lost in sensation that he’d been totally disconnected from his body.

“Roll over,” Master crooned softly, and Harry felt like a puppet on strings that connected to that beloved voice. He had no other option; if his Master had commanded him to thrust himself upon a sword, he would have done so simply to make his Master smile. A moment later, his straining erection leaning into the air, Harry received a second shock as Master’s lips closed around the tip. His hips gave an involuntary twitch, which Master stifled with the gentle pressure of his hands, and a helpless moan wrenched itself out of his throat. Master gave a few tentative licks, and while Harry was sufficiently distracted by them he plunged his fingers back into Harry’s body. At the same time, he took Harry’s erection deep into his throat, humming in satisfaction. Harry nearly screamed as his body rapidly spiraled out of his control and before he was even aware of what was happening, he was coming hard, his seed spurting straight down Master’s throat.

Face horribly red, Harry tried to pull himself up into a sitting position as Master sat up. “I’m sorry,” he began miserably, but Master put a stifling hand on his hip.

“Don’t be,” Master reassured him. “I thoroughly enjoy making you lose control. Lay back down,” he added imperiously. Harry had no choice but to lay down again, though he knew his face was flaming. The indignity of having lost control, as Master put it, was undoing the work already put in to making him relax. Master tugged at one of his nipples and Harry recalled the chain that had hung there before with a suddenness that drove all other thoughts out of his head. Gentle touches arranged his limbs in a way that was apparently pleasing to Master while Harry was otherwise occupied with remembered pleasure and it wasn’t until the blunt tip of Master’s cock was pushing at his entrance that Harry was abruptly returned to the present.

“Master…?”

“I want to fuck you, Harry,” Master said, and the punishing coarseness of his language contrasted with his silky voice in a way that set Harry’s nerves singing. “Just once,” he added softly, and Harry could only nod, letting his legs fall open in an unspoken invitation.

Master paused, and Harry saw candlelight reflect off hair that might have been flaxen gold or white-blond. A tiny seed of doubt, planted in his heart the morning Malfoy asked him how he’d been sleeping, sprouted into a flower that blossomed as Master pushed into him. There was pain, oh yes, but he’d learned the lessons well and in the pain was pleasure untold. It radiated out from the point of contact between their bodies and enveloped him, washing away everything but the moment.

The lights blazed. Harry looked fully up into the face of his Master, of his Dream, his Love. Cold grey eyes gleamed with a warm light that had nothing to do with candles, and everything to do with the soft smile that tugged the corners of his lips up unevenly. His pale face was framed with hair so blond it was nearly devoid of colour, and just as Harry suspected, it curled up at the ends. Harry clutched at the pendant on his collar as a second orgasm rose within him, brought on by the sight of his Master.

“M for Master,” he whispered.

“M for Malfoy,” Draco replied. Harry sensed more than saw the candles around him flicker and swim in his peripheral vision, and for a moment he thought he saw an expression of pain cross Draco’s face. “Harry, beautiful Harry,” Draco murmured. “Pour vous l'amour est d'avoir vécu.’’

To love you is to have lived.

Around him, the candles became white. White blond, white grey, white skin. White light.

-o0o-

It was Hermione who first knew it. Hermione who named him for what he was, and Hermione who found the remnants of the boy they’d all loved.

Still, she screamed when she came into the room and found him there, still and white and cold as winter snow on the bed. It was Ron who came in and lead her away, and Ginny who ran for the teachers.

Later, gathered in the Great Hall with all the school, she saw the monster who had taken her friend – though not laughing. He wasn’t as pale, and he seemed to have grown healthier overnight – since she knew this was precisely what had happened, she wasn’t as surprised by it as she might have been. The teachers made the announcement to the school, and while everyone was crying, she studied the incubus and tried to recall everything she’d ever heard about them. The only thing that puzzled her was the look on his face. He’d gotten what he wanted; she thought he might be pleased. Laughing even. She might have killed him then if he had, but there was an expression of true sorrow on his aristocratic face, real grief in the set of his shoulders. It may have saved his life for then, but she knew.

One way or another, the course of her life was set. Even if he continued to get away with it, one day she would hunt him down and kill him for what he’d done. She would become the knight who slayed the dragon.

-o0o-

Happy Halloween!!!

So. This was NOT what I’d been intending. I recently read “The Haunting of Hill House” by Shirley Jackson, and watched the 1963 movie version, “The Haunting.” It’s been a while since I last saw the 1999 remake of “The Haunting” (note; do not read the book or watch the original movie. They both have crappyass endings. The remake, however, is immensely moving in terms of story, and has a wonderful plot.) Anyway. I wanted to write something like that, a horror story that really made YOU as the reader, afraid. But everything that came to mind was a blatant ripoff of “The Haunting” and I couldn’t do it. So, instead I turned to Monsters. And realised that there are dozens and dozens of Vampire!Draco and Vampire!Harry and Werewolf!Harry and Veela!Harry and Veela!Draco and so on and so forth. SO no Veela, Vampire, or Werewolves for my Halloween Monster story. It’s still a horror story, because of course it’s always horrifying when the hero dies. And it’s also a little bit of a gift; it’s been a very long time since I wrote unapologetic smut, and I hope you enjoyed it. I’m posting this a day early because I’m not entirely sure if I’ll be able to get online tomorrow, but it’s only three hours away anyway. Have a good party-and-candy-filled holiday! (And remember that my candy and parties come in the form of reviews, so leave me some good ones! Trick-or-treat!)
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In Dreams