A Man Cannot Control His Dreams

To his utter horror, Harry found both Ron and Hermione waiting for him in the common room when he returned, leaving him no time at all to think of a suitable lie. Ron, excited, leapt to his feet when he saw Harry appear.

“Hey Harry! Wow, you look spooked. What was it?” He was practically bouncing.

“N-nothing,” Harry murmured back. “It was nothing.” Ron’s face fell.

“What’dya mean nothing?”

Hermione chimed in from behind a textbook:

“You see, Harry? I told you it wasn’t worth it.”

“Yeah,” Harry chuckled half-heartedly. “Yeah you did.”

“Well there you go.” She returned to her reading contentedly. There was a strained pause while Ron considered starting a row with Hermione, but Harry recognized it and cut in.

“I’m, uh, going to go take a shower.”

“Right, Mate. I’d feel greasy too after digging through that head.” Again, Harry forced a laugh:

“yeah,” before making a hasty retreat. That had been too easy, he knew. He knew too that he’d have to come up with a better story to satisfy Ron later. Now, however, was not the time. Now, he just really needed to stand under a hot stream of water. For perhaps the next hour or two. Or three. Maybe until he died of hunger.

****

Snape seated himself numbly at his desk. That… that scene had been exactly what he’d been trying to avoid. Stupid of him, really, to think that Potter’s interest wouldn’t have been piqued by what he’d seen during practice. Who wouldn’t want to know more of another’s obsession? Stupid too, to think that Harry wasn’t foolhardy enough to simply burst into his quarters. Stupid. And yet…

The whelp’s reaction had been unexpected, to say the least.

Once he’d seen Potter’s cloak on the floor beside his desk, Snape had known what had been done, and dove immediately into the memory. Stepping up behind Harry was easy enough… Potter’s attention had been focused totally on the image of their coupling. And, if he wasn’t mistaken, the boy had been warmly flushed with color, His eyes wide and dilated. Unexpected indeed.

5th Year Potions was his last class before lunch come Monday. And for once, he was looking forward to it.


****

“Ingredients are on the blackboard. Instructions may be found on page 238 of the text. You have one hour. Begin.”

Snape gave the class his usual amount of warning time once they were seated: none. A collective sigh whooshed out from the students among a clatter of knives and measuring spoons.

“Never gives us a break, does he?” Hermione whispered. Ron and Harry looked at her incredulously. “What? I don’t have to want to brew a Befuddlement Draught. I mean, for goodness sake what a ridiculous potion!”

“Silence Please!” Snape’s smooth voice shocked them quiet.

As usual, once the students had settled into a rhythm of adding, stirring, and heating, Snape set out to throw them off balance. He hovered behind each one, making disapproving noises and clearing his throat. Passing the Gryffindor Trio’s table, he saw with certain satisfaction the tensing in Harry’s shoulders.

Harry dropped his pairing knife with a clatter and a hitch of breath at the soft brush of fingertips across the back of his neck. His head snapped to look behind him, but Snape had already passed on.

“You alright?” Ron whispered. Harry retrieved his knife slowly, ignoring his Goosebumps.

“Yeah,” he replied. ‘No,’ he thought.

Snape didn’t touch him again for the remainder of the class. Harry even started to think he may have imagined the slight contact; which somehow, was an even more worrying option.

****

When Snape finally called for their potions, a little over an hour later, Harry managed to wheedle Ron into turning in the both of their samples. For a few moments Harry even thought he was home free, as he packed up his bag and cleared away his supplies without incident. Perhaps he was being ignored. He was mere feet from freedom when:

“Mr. Potter, a word, if you please.” The icy, rumbling tones sent chills up his spine, and Ron and Hermione looked back sympathetically from the door. They didn’t hesitate longer than a moment, though, before leaving him there.

Harry kept his eyes on the rough-hewn floor as he approached the front of the classroom, but then, he didn’t need to see it to feel Snape’s dark, scrutinizing eyes on him like a heavy hand. He stopped his uneasy approach when the Potion’s Master’s boots just entered his field of vision. “I believe we need to discuss your coming detention.” Harry looked up at this. He hadn’t thought Snape’d been serious, not after…

“Sir?” he asked, a little incredulously.

“Yes, Potter. Your detention. Friday evening preceding your ‘remedial potions,’ perhaps?” Harry was astounded.

“Professor Snape I hardly think that’s appropriate!” he blurted.

Severus looked at him for one, calculative moment, considering the boundary he was about to cross. It was a very clear line. Stepping away from his desk, he approached the Gryffindor slowly, and reached out a hand.

“Oh, don’t you?” he asked, seizing Harry’s jaw with long, slender fingers. “Perhaps you’d prefer to serve your detention right now?” There it was. Crossed. Harry’s mouth worked wordlessly for a moment.

“I-“ his skin flushed hot where Snape’s hand gripped him and, unbidden, his mind flashed back to the dream he’d witnessed: Snape’s slim hands around his wrists, his shoulders, his throat. He felt a shudder rush through him, and it took him a moment to regain eye contact. However, as soon as he did, as soon as he saw the look on Snape’s face, he realized that those thoughts were not his own. He jerked his head back from the Potions Master’s grasp. “Stop it!”