Moonswhadow And Lightning Shade

DISCLAIMER: Not mine, never will be. All HP characters belong to JK and Warner Brothers, etc, etc, etc. Making no money off of this.

SPOILER WARNING: The events in this fic take place immediately after Book 6.


Moonshadow And Lightning Shade

The Dream is always the same.

It is dark.

There is a full moon.

His back is to me. I walk up to him, slowly placing my hand on his muscular shoulder. I squeeze it slightly. After a moment, he turns that gorgeous head of beautiful, red hair and looks down at me. His clear, blue eyes catch the moonlight.

He smiles, a wide, encompassing, all-embracing smile, and I fall right into it.

He turns toward me, and I dare to put my arms around him, letting my hands trace the course they have been destined to follow. Over his strong back, down his arms, across his hips, finally coming to rest on his lovely arse. He is warm, supple yet firm, all muscle and velvety smoothness, and still he smiles down on me, and I have no choice but to lean up, and plant my lips onto his, centuries of longing attaining completion in a second.

I must press closer to him, feeling him swell against me, and I drown in him, willingly. Our lips part, and once again I am basking in his smile.

And he silently mouths the words that I have longed forever to hear.

Forever and never, we are one, and none.

The moonlight fades, the darkness once more slides between us, pushing us apart, and still he smiles, the only light in my dark universe.

Darkness falls, the smile fades, and once again, as ever, I am alone.

Darkness and dreams, reality and folly, I survive in all those places.

And as always, The Dream ends.....


~~ ~~ ~~ ~~


Harry sat up with a gasp. He glanced around confusedly, his tortured mind still not sure of its whereabouts. Moonlight streamed through the window off to his left. A multitude of crickets whirred contentedly, almost mocking him. He could see the faint flicker of distant lightning through the open window.

The Dream.

Oh yeah, The Dream.

And as for what seemed like a million times before, Harry realized that is was a dream, and that it hadn't really happened, he hadn't really found him, and held him and kissed him, and he was sitting in his cot, his sheets twisted all about him, in Ron's room in The Burrow.

Dumbledore was still dead, Sirius was still dead, he would leave for his final year at Hogwart's tomorrow, and it had been only a dream.

The Dream.

Again.

Untangling himself from the bedclothes, Harry ran his hands through his hair, and then, almost as an afterthought, reached down and felt his erection, a reminder that The Dream had indeed happened. He quietly stood up, grabbed his glasses from the bedside stand, and not bothering to put his shirt on, padded his way over to the door. He was careful to open and close it soundlessly. He didn't want to wake the ghoul in the attic. Navigating his way down the winding staircase, and avoiding steps 12 and 26, he made his way into the kitchen.

The moonlight flooded through the windows, and Harry had no problem locating a glass, which he filled with pumpkin juice. Standing over the sink and looking out over the moon washed garden, he both dreaded and welcomed leaving The Burrow.

He loved and hated it, all at once.

Everything he wanted, and all that he couldn't have.

He had done this often during the last few weeks, stalking down the squeaky staircase in the middle of the night, just standing and looking and feeling, and he loved the quietness of it all. It was all silence and rest, not at all like the kitchen in daylight.

Harry loved it this way, his way, quiet and lonely.

Absently, he noticed that the back door was open.

Now, this was not right. It was always closed, supposed to be closed.

He walked over to inspect this inconsistency. He stared at the offending open door, his half-empty pumpkin juice glass in his hand, and Harry craned his neck and noticed the figure standing outside in the garden.

In the moonlight.

With his back to him.

Harry gaped.

The glass fell to the floor, bounced once, and shattered, with a self-important plink.

Harry trembled in spite of himself.

There he was.

Just like in The Dream.

He was staring at the figure in the garden. It couldn't be real. It was all just as he had seen in his dreams countless times. The moonlight, the darkness and the shadows, the lightning flashing. And the figure standing there. Harry blinked and rubbed his eyes with his free hand. After many moments, he began to move.

Harry walked out across the damp, wet grass, letting the rickety wooden screen door slam shut with a hollow thwack. He knew he wasn't dreaming, because the little shards of glass imbedded in his feet hurt, and The Dream didn't hurt. The recently mowed blades of grass pricked and tickled his feet as he numbly padded into the garden.

The figure was there, ahead of him, bathed in the moonlight, his lovely broad back to him, just standing there, waiting.

All Moonshadow and Lightning Shade, light and darkness all at once.

Harry remembered to breathe, and took the few steps needed to reach his goal. Lightning streaked above the clouds, paling in comparison to the energy that surged through Harry's hand as he reached up and laid it on Ron's shoulder.

Galaxies flared and died, eternity ended and started anew in those few moments Harry waited for Ron to turn around.

And when the face turned and looked at him, it was The Dream and more, more than Harry could ever have imagined.

Ron's smile burned away all of the pain, all the hurt, leaving only light. Harry reached up and brushed his hand through the gorgeous red hair, and Ron leaned his head into it, closing his eyes as he did so.

Harry leaned up and pressed his lips to Ron's, and once more the lightning surged overhead, this time accompanied by a rolling of thunder. Harry ran his hands over Ron's back, down his sides, and across his wonderful arse. Ron put his hands up to either side of Harry's face, and pulled him still closer, closer than Harry had ever dreamed.

Harry was hard, and began to move his hips tighter into Ron, who allowed it to happen. Harry was falling into him, his dream realized and more, pushing and taking, hungrily devouring his Ron, the only One he had ever wanted, needed, for so long. And Ron responded, gently moving his hips against Harry's, both of them bound as one in the moonlight.

And Ron pushed his own hardness against Harry, and the Kiss went on, and Harry thought that he would drown, submerging into the only thing that now existed, his universe, his Ron.

And Harry let himself spiral down, all muscley smooth-hardness and musky-softness.

After a time, Ron gently pulled away from Harry, his hands still framing the shorter Wizard's face.

And then Ron carefully pulled his lips away from Harry's, his beautiful blue eyes boring into Harry's green ones.

Nothing else existed.

Harry gasped at the withdrawal of his beloved, suddenly short of breath, as if all of his air had been removed.

A flash of lightning bathed both of them, and Ron stared down at him, mouthing the words Harry dreaded to hear.

I love you, Harry.

Those radiant blue eyes welling with tears.

I'm sorry, Harry.

Jagged lightning-pain scorched across the sky, and Harry stood there, as Ron let his hands fall from Harry's face.

The thunder-dark rolled through Harry as Ron left the Last Kiss on his forehead, running his hand down Harry's chest, and he turned to leave him alone in the gathering storm.

Harry turned to watch as Ron walked back into the house.

Lightning flashed, and thunder roiled, and he stayed there in the dark garden as The Dream finally came to its end.

He stood in the ruins of The Dream, waiting, as the rain fell from the heavens, huge pendulous tears, crashing into the earth. And Harry remained there in the torrent, alone, as he was washed clean of The Dream.

Forever and never, as one and none.

~For Jim and Jim