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Pleasant Dreams	By : newyorican Category: Harry Potter Crossovers > Slash - Male/Male Views: 17572 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling and Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 7
- 8
Chapter 7 – Thoughts and Rules

“If you think you’re free, there’s no escape possible.”

/Jacob/Harry

Harry woke slowly, slightly disoriented but overall feeling better than ever. It was slightly confusing until the memories of his dream came rushing back to him, and Harry shot up in his bed gasping. He glanced at the dreamcatcher with amazement. It had worked. He’d only taken it to humor Sirius originally, but the dreamcatcher actually worked! Harry snuggled back down into his bed with a small, relieved smile.

The nightmares were becoming too much. He hadn’t wanted anybody to know he was constantly having them, but Sirius had somehow found out anyways. It wasn’t like Harry hadn’t wanted to seem weak or anything—no, that wasn’t the excuse where his need for secrecy had stemmed from. Rather, he didn’t want to burden anyone with problems caused by his inability to save a fellow classmate.

Harry didn’t know of any potions or remedies for the terrible nightmares that constantly plagued him, but he didn’t need to worry about that anymore. The dreamcatcher actually worked. His thoughts immediately focused on the incredibly well-toned stranger that had held him and fought the Voldemort in his dream. A blush rushed to his face as he recalled his reaction to the stranger’s protectiveness.

Ever since he came into the Wizarding world, Harry had had to fight for his life. Third year was his only reprieve, and that didn’t even fully count since, although he wasn’t in any true danger from Sirius, he had still believed a madman was after his blood. Not to mention the fact that Professor Lupin had forgotten to take the Wolfsbane potion and actually had tried to kill him. Granted, he wasn’t in the correct state of mind, but that didn’t necessarily excuse Remus neglecting to take care of his condition.

Still, the fact remained that he always had to fight. Like Ron had told him first year, “Harry, it’s you that has to go on. Not me, not Hermione; you.” Never before had he been able to step back and let someone else take over for a while. He had to save the philosopher’s stone, he had to save Ginny Weasley from the Chamber of Secrets, he had to protect himself from an Azkaban escapee (and a werewolf), and he had to unwillingly participate in the Tri-Wizard Tournament or lose his magic.

For some strange man in his dreams to actually defeat his nightmares and protect him…Harry blushed again. It felt nice to step back and let someone else take control, if only for a little while. And the way the man had held Harry made him feel safe, loved.

Harry shook his head. He hadn’t thought he was anything but straight, and the crush on Cho Chang last year had emphasized that, but Harry really hadn’t entertained the idea of being with a man. Despite that, the man that had held him in his dreams awoke something inside of Harry. He found he didn’t mind feeling attracted and drawn to the strange man as opposed to his peers who probably would’ve freaked out. That might have been because the man was in his dreams and, therefore, not real, but still. The realization that your sexuality might be different than you’d thought would warrant screams, denial, and probably self-loathing.

Well, Harry already loathed himself enough for Cedric’s death. He certainly didn’t care about whether or not he was gay. Harry had bigger things to worry about—like whether or not dream Voldemort had been right. Was Voldemort truly gone, or was it just like that night almost fourteen years ago? Could someone truly achieve immortality?

A part of him wanted to disregard everything Voldemort had said. It was obviously his guilt making him paranoid. He’d seen and heard Voldemort dying, smelt the ash his body had become. The Dark Lord had died. Period.

…but what if he was immortal?

Harry frowned, clutching the sheets under him nervously. What if Voldemort came back? He didn’t want to have to fight all over again. His eyes narrowed slightly as he recalled the strange man in his dream having been a wolf and devouring the sneering Dark Lord. He remembered the black liquid that had seeped out of the bite marks adoring Voldemort’s body, and he especially remembered the black liquid that had leaked out of Tom Riddle’s diary in the Chamber of Secrets.

Harry shook his head to clear it. He didn’t want to think about anything. Standing up, he stretched and smiled in satisfaction when his back popped slightly. He didn’t know how long he’d been sleeping, but he felt completely relaxed. With a small yawn, Harry made his way out of his room and to the bathroom. The house was quiet, which wasn’t completely unusual. However, Malfoy, the stupid prick, was still in the house and Harry had expected the boy to still be having his little bitch fit.

Turning on the light in the bathroom, Harry glanced at his reflection and gaped. Black liquid was smudged where his scar resided, and Harry shakily reached up to touch it. He brought it to his nose and sniffed hesitantly. It had a coppery scent, almost like blood, but it was blacker than Snape’s wardrobe. Harry bit his lip and washed it off. His hands shook slightly as confusion seeped into his mind and overtook his senses.

What the bloody hell was that supposed to mean?

Harry stared at his horrified green eyes in the mirror. There was still black liquid on his forehead, and he almost angrily scrubbed it off. His heart pounded furiously and he couldn’t even understand why his eyes began to tear up, but he furiously dried his face with the hand towel on the rack. Voldemort was dead.

…but that black liquid…

Harry took a deep breath to calm his frazzled nerves and let it out slowly. In, out, in, out. His breathing evened, and Harry let out a small smile. He just wasn’t going to deal with the mystery of the Voldemort-that-was-in-his-head, nor was he going to ponder over the protective and oh-so-attractive man that appeared in his dream.

No, Harry was going to step out of the bathroom with a shit-eating grin and he wasn’t going to think about anything else other than getting through a day with Malfoy in the vicinity. For some reason, Grimmauld Place didn’t seem nearly big enough for the both of them.

A soft knock on the door had Harry blinking into reality. He hung the hand towel back on the rack and glanced at his reflection one more time. The black liquid was, thankfully, removed completely from his face. His eyes were a little too puffy to be considered normal and he scowled; it was obvious he’d been crying, and he did not want anyone to know. The knocking on the door became somewhat insistent and Harry cursed, knowing there was no time to call Dobby and ask the loyal elf to weave another glamour over him.

With a soft sigh, Harry opened the door and stared into somewhat panicky grey eyes.

Sirius mentally cursed as he took in Harry’s features and he scowled. “Are you okay?” he asked gently, almost hesitant that Harry would recoil and shut down even further.

Harry gave a jerky nod. “Fine,” he said somewhat tightly.

Sirius snorted. “We talked about insulting my intelligence,” the ex-convict chided gently. “Besides, Malfoy squealed it out as soon as we returned to the living room and, to our surprise, he was still there looking guiltier than when he’d broken my aunt’s—that’d be his grandmother’s—very expensive vase.”

Harry shook his head. That was Malfoy, alright. He could talk and act big, but when it all boiled down, the only thing the blond really had going for him was his father’s money and the prestige of the Malfoy name. Considering the fact that he was surrounded predominantly by what he’d consider enemies, it wasn’t too shocking to hear that the coward spilled his guts in an attempt to lessen any punishment on himself.

“I’m fine,” Harry repeated. “I actually had a nice nap.”

Sirius perked up. “No nightmares?”

Harry smiled a little, his earlier excitement at that returning somewhat. “None,” he said, his tone brightening. “I haven’t slept that peaceful in…well, I can’t ever remember sleeping like that.”

Sirius beamed. “That’s fantastic,” the older man exclaimed. “Now, thank goodness you’re awake because it’s dinnertime and we all need to have a lovely discussion down stairs.”

Harry didn’t quite like that regretful glint in his godfather’s eye. “What kind of discussion?” he asked suspiciously, his feet automatically leading him towards the kitchen.

Remus and Malfoy were already seated at the table. Malfoy’s face was scrunched up as if something foul were in the air, and he tried his hardest to keep his distance from the kind werewolf. Remus smiled pleasantly at Harry, an amusedly smug and somewhat hurt air about him. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why. Malfoys were old and Pure, as they liked to boast, and of course they believed that werewolves were scum and all that hogwash that everyone liked to spread. Though it may be somewhat amusing that the little idiot thought being in the same area as a werewolf would somehow contaminate him, Harry knew how much it hurt to not be accepted.

He’d suffered the same thing every time he was at the Dursley’s. Dudley, once he’d gotten over his catch-the-freak-and-beat-the-unnaturalness-out-of-him stage, had tried very hard to keep as much distance as he could between himself and his freaky cousin. Harry’s immediate reaction had been amusement, and he tried his damndest to always be at least four feet within Dudley’s comfort zone just to see his idiot cousin squirm unpleasantly. He stopped, however, when he saw the utter revulsion and disgust shining in Dudley’s eyes.

Because rejection hurts, no matter who it’s from.

Harry took a seat next to Remus and across from Sirius. He would have felt bad for Malfoy having to sit somewhat away from them if it weren’t for two reasons. One, Malfoy chose to alienate himself. Two, Sirius quickly fixed that problem with a snap of his fingers. Kreacher appeared, a scowl on his face and grumbling about forcing the lovely, Pure Malfoy to sit next to dirty filth.

Malfoy’s scowl deepened as he was forced to sit next to Sirius and he eyed the food with distaste. His grey eyes snapped towards Harry after a moment and bore holes into his forehead. “You said the elf wouldn’t be back until the end of the week, Potter,” Malfoy grit out angrily.

Harry’s lips curled upward in a small smirk. “And you believed me? That seems rather Gryffindor for you, Malfoy,” Harry replied pleasantly, taking a sip of his pumpkin juice with ease.

Malfoy’s pale face flushed lightly with anger. “Stupid—”

“Enough,” Sirius cut in, stopping the fight before the insults could fly. “That is enough.”

“From both of you,” Remus chided in gently. “You two will have to live together for an unforeseeable amount this summer. We’re certainly not asking the two of you to become friends, however, whilst you are under this roof, there needs to be some sort of temporary truce.”

Harry glanced at his food, feeling a little guilty for having sunk to Malfoy’s level.

Sirius pursed his lips. “It will obviously be difficult, given your rather…exciting…past history.”

Malfoy snorted at what was perhaps the biggest understatement of the century, but quickly hid behind a mask of indifference at Sirius’ stern look.

“Anyways,” Remus coughed, drawing the attention back to him. “To try to make this summer run as smoothly as possible, we’ve decided to come up with some…rules.”

Sirius’ tiny pout told Harry that it was mostly Remus that came up with the rules, but he wisely kept his thoughts to himself.

“Rule one will be absolutely no fighting, verbal or physical,” Sirius said, looking at the two teenage boys in his care. “There will be consequences to both of you should you break this rule.”

“The consequences will be dependent on the severity of the fighting,” Remus continued, easily slipping into teacher mode. “For example, if the fighting doesn’t go beyond mere words, you’ll be dusting the library without magic.”

“What?” Malfoy yelped, his eyes widened. “I’m not some common Muggle, that I cannot do anything without magic!”

Sirius cocked an eyebrow. “There are wards surrounding this property to prevent the use of underage magic. If you wish to receive a letter and disappoint your parents, by my guest and use your wand.”

Malfoy opened his mouth to retort angrily but stopped, slammed his mouth shut, and glared furiously at the table.

“Rule two will require everyone’s attendance at all meals at all times,” Sirius stressed, subtly glancing at Harry. “There will, of course, be some exceptions, like you’re on your deathbed, or you’ve just undergone a tremendously painful Muggle surgery, or your stomach vanished into the Netherlands.”

“Rule three will be to do your homework before the hols finish,” Remus said sternly.

“It doesn’t have to be done right away,” Sirius amended quickly.

Remus glanced at Sirius dryly. “No, not right away,” he repeated. “But, again, it must be done before you have to return to school.”

Harry nodded his head somewhat solemnly. The rules weren’t incredibly harsh or ridiculous. He could follow through with them. Glancing at Malfoy, he inwardly sneered. Malfoy would be another situation entirely.

The rest of the evening was spent in thick silence. Harry picked at his food and ate a little, his mind still replaying what his dream-Voldemort said. He didn’t want to believe it. Voldemort was dead for good; finally gone, and now he could relax. Harry didn’t need to fight anymore.

…but what if Voldemort comes back?

HE WON’T! Harry mentally screamed. It was just paranoia and guilt trying to convince him of something impossible. He knew Voldemort was gone, had been sick to his stomach as dying screams escaped the snake-like man’s lipless mouth. Nothing would bring him back. Nothing.

…just like nobody could survive the Killing Curse?

“Harry, are you alright?” Sirius asked worriedly.

Harry looked up. Remus and Sirius exchanged somewhat nervous looks, and Malfoy glanced at him condescendingly with his eyebrow cocked. “Fine,” he choked out, easing his grip on his fork. He hadn’t even realized he’d been holding it so tightly. “Just a bit tired still, I guess.”

“You know you can tell us anything, right?” Sirius murmured quietly.

Harry stared into those grey eyes, so full of truth and want and compassion. He wanted to tell him about his dream, about the black liquid that had seeped from his scar, about the extremely handsome man-wolf in his dreams, about his growing doubt concerning Voldemort’s demise.

He really wanted to…but Sirius already had enough to deal with.

“I know,” he replied, easily slipping his fake smile across his face.

Besides, they were just doubts.
- 7
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Pleasant Dreams