Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Possess me ❯ The Dream. ( Chapter 1 )

I still don't own Harry Potter.

Warnings; Yaoi, foul language, darkness, and random ooc.

A-N; Harry is now in year five. The past four years has been just like in the books, but from now on, things will be a bit different. Say hello to Harry Potter á la Ciiah.

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Chapter one.
"I don't want it."

Harry Potter pulled at his black strands while sighing, boredom written across his scar-decorated face. Potions had never been more boring than this. It seemed that Snape was really planning to make his life a living hell. His glasses were laying by his unmoving hand, for they were covered in some kind of green substance, making it impossible for Harry to see through the lenses.

"Mr. Potter?" The cold voice was unmistakable and Harry knew it was Snape without having to look. But then again... it was Snape's class. "Why are you not working?"

Harry thought about answering, but got stuck in thoughts like, 'Why does he always sound like his jaws are stuck?'

It was obvious his silence both confused and angered the black-haired teacher. Snape's lip started to twitch as Harry didn't respond.

"Potter?!"

Harry sighed and stood up.

"Yes sir?" He asked, trying to sound as polite as possible, which was hard, since he still hated the man in front of him. The muscles above Snape's jaw pulsated with fury.

"Detention, Mr. Potter!" He sneered and did a quick cleansing spell on Harry's glasses. The Slytherins snickered as they took obvious pleasure in Harry's presumed misery. Ron shot him a pitying look.

Harry sighed heavily and sat down, once again letting his mind wonder away. Life was so boring. And it actually somewhat amused him that Snape thought that detention was Harry's worst problem. I mean, jeez... Harry was the boy who lived, He had Voldemort to think and worry about, not to mention the new, slightly disgusting teacher, Professor Umbridge.

Yes... life certainly was a pain. Everything seemed to bore him. Even Quidditch, that had always been his number one interest, seemed to pale.

If Harry had to be entirely honest with himself, he was bored of everything. The people around him were annoying. They never seemed to get it. Harry was “the boy who lived”. He was Harry Potter for crying out loud! How many times had he not saved their asses? How many times had he forced himself to show courage and save the day?

The Philosopher's Stone, the Chamber of Secrets, and then there was the whole thing with Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew. He had gained a godfather, sure, but he had also gained a new enemy. And during his fourth year he had to attend an idiotic contest, risking his life several times, and finally facing Voldemort himself! Getting cut in the arm, and watching Cederic Diggory die. Getting attacked by Dementors and almost getting expelled from Hogwarts. And still... people just wouldn't realize that he was right. Hermione always seemed to think she knew what to do, and Ron always wanted to prove himself, almost getting himself killed every time. They were such idiots.

Harry shook his head and snorted. Dispite all that, he still found his life boring. It was like... nothing mattered any more. He had friends, sure... but something was wrong. It felt like they never gave him any kind of satisfaction. Hermione was a nice friend, and sometimes she was like a sister to him, but she was never enough for Harry. There was always something that disturbed him. It was the same way with Ron. He was truly Harry's best friend, but maybe that was because he simply was the best alternative? The red-head was always so... dumb.

Harry was ashamed of himself for thinking such thoughts about his best friends, but he simply couldn't help it! He had felt like that for several months! But then again... maybe he was just stressed and tired from everything that had happened. ‘Yes, that must be it.’ Harry thought before packing his stuff and he left the dark classroom that now smelled of rotten eggs and smoke.

"Six o'clock, Mr. Potter!" Snape yelled after him. Harry gave a tired nod and exited the room. Not having the energy to really care. He had to concentrate to be able to suppress a groan as Hermione and Ron suddenly came up on each of his sides.

Hermione grabbed his arm and hissed in his ear, "Did you get detention again? Oh Harry! You have got to stop this!"

Harry gave her a semi-glare, which she responded to with her own, less frightening scowl.

"'This'? What are you saying, Hermione? You think I want detention? Don't be stupid."

Hermione looked slightly offended by this and actually shut up for once. Ron chuckled.

"Don't worry about it, mate. I'll sneak in some candy for you," he said and patted Harry's shoulder, making The boy who lived roll his eyes.

"Oh really? And just how are you going to do that?"

Ron stopped in mid-air and seemed to think hard.

"Oh, um... I'll think of something," Ron said with a careless voice. "I'm sure Fred and George can help me."

"Great," Harry murmured and walked a little faster, making it quite clear that he wanted to be left alone. As usual, his friends didn't get the hint and quickly caught up to him. The annoyance only seemed to increase as the day went on. By the end of the day, Harry was so tired of constantly being surrounded by his friends that it almost felt like a relief to go to his detention.

"See you later," Harry said and gave his friends, what he hoped was, a sad smile. "I'm off to Snape."

Hermione gave him a nod and a warm smile. Ron gave him a wink.

"I'll try to sneak in some Bertie Bott's for you!"

Harry laughed, somewhat stiffly. It wasn't funny. Not really.

"Um, that's not necessary Ron, really. I'll be back in two hours."

Finally alone. Harry pondered over that thought for a while. Since when had it been a relief to be alone? When he was younger, all he wanted was a friend, after years of being bullied in school. When he first met Ron he felt so glad. Harry strongly suspected that Ron was the main reason Harry chose to become a Gryffindor. When Hermione came into the picture, things seemed to get even better. At least she was smart, which was more than you could say about Ron.

Harry had always enjoyed being a Gryffindor, and he had always taken pride in it. After all, his parents were Gryffindors, Dumbledore had been one. And he found the people in Slytherin cruel and unfriendly. He wouldn't want to be a Slytherin, not really. But it happened... that he played the thought. What if he had asked the hat to place him in Slytherin? What would have happened? Would Draco be his best friend? Would Harry be the same nice, gentle boy he was today? He strongly suspected otherwise.

Even though Harry sometimes hated Draco more than words could express, he was undeniably fascinated by the pale boy who had blonde, almost white hair. It was only fascination, not admiration. Draco did and said whatever he wanted. That was something Harry had never been able to do. He could imply things when he spoke and he could come up with sarcastic remarks sometimes, but it was more seldom than often that Harry shut up, locking away his mind, telling no one what he actually thought. Not even Hermione or Ron.

He often thought of the day he got sorted into Gryffindor, and what could've been.

"Slytherin would be perfect for you lad."

Harry sighed and entered Snape's classroom. It was darker than usual and smelled of candles, presumably scented with cinnamon and something that resembled old leather. Harry scrunched his nose at the unpleasant smell and took a seat as far from Snape's desk as possible.

"Write this sentence one hundred and fifty times, Mr. Potter. After that you are free to go." Snape hissed from the shadows.

Harry was actually rather startled by the sudden sound; he silently cursed. He could almost hear Snape snigger from the dark corner.

"What sentence, professor?" Harry asked, annoyance clear in his voice. Snape stepped out of the shadows and gave his student a cold look. He grabbed the long stick by the blackboard and slammed it onto the white sentence written on the board.

"This ... sentence," he winced and sounded as if he didn't get enough air; He was really angry. Harry squinted and finally saw the tiny words written on the blackboard.

'I must always pay attention to what my teachers say at all times and during all classes.'

Harry couldn't help but to snort. Snape couldn't care less about other classes. Potions was the most important one, according to him. So why try to act as if he actually cared about the other ones? No one really cares. No one. Unless they got something out of it.

Never the less, Harry took his feather and dipped it into the little bowl of black ink and started writing the words that he loathed and meant so little to him. At the same time, it felt good to relax his brain and think of stuff that he wanted to think about. He didn't see the words he wrote any more. He just wrote.

Whispering thoughts that he couldn't stop kept popping up into his mind. Thoughts he didn't like but at the same time made sense. Somewhere in his mind, he agreed with it all.

"I'm meant for more than this."
"No one understands what it's like to be ‘the boy who lived.’"
"I'm smarter than they think. Why do they always seem to doubt that?"
"It's like I'm not Harry in their eyes... I'm just ‘the boy who lived’, the boy who's going to save their asses."
"Nobody ever asked me what I wanted to do. To stop Voldemort is their highest priority, and they use me for it. What if I don't want to stop him?"

That’s when Harry stopped. The last thought had just popped up, by pure accident. By then his face felt cold and sticky, and his back felt sweaty. He swallowed hard and perked his head up. Snape stood in front of him, gazing at Harry with narrowed eyes, as if he suspected Harry had done something wrong.

"Something the matter, Potter?" He asked with a low voice. Harry stiffly shook his head, still shocked by his own thoughts. Snape's eyes darted from Harry's paper to Harry's pale face again.

"Time's up. You are free to go. Now."

Harry nodded and stood up, feeling slightly nauseous from the strange smell. He cast a glimpse at his paper as Snape took it from his hand. His eyes snapped open as he saw the last sentence. It was written with a smaller style... almost italic.

"You don't know anything yet, Harry Potter. You know nothing."

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What did they mean, those words? Harry pondered as he stumbled his way to the Gryffindor tower. Shock seemed to make his system slow down, and he had to focus to put his feet down properly. Harry had certainly not meant to write those words. He hadn't written them. And what the hell had he been thinking?! He didn't want to stop Voldemort? What kind of crazy thought was that? Of course he wanted to stop Voldemort! Who wouldn't want to stop the person who tries to kill you every year?

And still, to Harry's huge dismay, the thought teased him... tempted him. He didn't want to think such disturbing thoughts. But he couldn't help but to wonder... what would happen if he suddenly announced that he didn't want to stop Voldemort. What would they say? Dumbledore? Ron and Hermione? Would they still be his friends? He doubted it. Hermione would get hysterical and start screaming at him that he had to save the world... that it was his responsibility. Ron would just look at him with cold eyes, telling him to "piss off."

Harry suddenly snorted. Those things would never happen! He wanted to stop Voldemort... of course he wanted to. Right? Hadn't that been his goal the last four years? Or... had it really been his, Harry's goal? Or did he simply do what Dumbledore told him to? In fact, Harry had a choice. He could choose to let Voldemort kill him. Yes... he could. It would actually be the best alternative. What was the purpose of his life? The first eleven years of his life was pure hell. Neglected by his muggle-family, and ignored by the wizard-world, that he had once saved. Only to find out that he was a wizard that had to save the world once again! Basically, he had gone from one hell, to another.

But why did everything seem to bore him? Why did Slytherin still seem oh-so tempting... so daring. Such a thrilling life they must have. The Slytherins. They were basically allowed to be cruel, because they're 'The Slytherins', and everyone kinda expects them to be like that. If Harry was a Slytherin, would he be 'allowed' to pour his emotions over his fellow students? They deserved it in some senses. He was always the one who had all the responsibility and he was always the one who had to keep his cool. He didn't own his life any more. He had never owned it.

These dark thoughts haunted Harry all the way to the Gryffindor common room. And when he got there, he avoided his friends by quickly making his way to the dorm.

He needed to be alone and sighed with relief as he found the room empty of nosy classmates. No Ron, no Neville... no one. Harry undressed and slipped into his huge pajamas, a generous gift from the Dursley's.

What was wrong with him? Why was thinking like this? Why did everything annoy him all the time? It was as if life suddenly made no sense. Up until now, Harry's job had been to gain power to defeat Voldemort. He wasn't allowed to give up. No... he wasn't even allowed to get killed. Nothing satisfied him any more. Even the red and golden curtains around his bed seemed to irritate him. It was all so... good. Yes... Harry was indeed one of "the good guys."

Harry growled and made the lights go out with a quick flick of his wand. The room was dark and the only source of light was the pale moon light. Harry cast a glance at the clock by his bed. Eight thirty... Not even nine yet. Why did he feel so tired? He felt drained. Maybe it was simply the boredom that made his mind want to sleep so that he didn't have to be awake to experience all the boring, tiresome things of life.

Until sleep finally made his eyes drift closed, he really tried to love the golden curtains that now surrounded him and the small lion on his nightstand.

Warmth surrounded him. Made him feel calm and safe and... content? Yes, that was what it was. This is where he belonged. Harry buried himself further into the wonderful source of heat.

"You're meant for more than this, Harry."

The hissing, snakelike voice made sense. Harry nodded sleepily and murmured something that he didn't understand himself. A hand came up around his shoulder and hugged him close.

"You don't know it yet, Harry. You haven't realized how different you are from your friends."

Harry lifted his face and stared at the person in front of him with a confused, almost startled look on his face.

"I haven't?" Harry asked and was baffled at how distant his voice sounded. The person shook his head.

"That's right. You haven't realized it yet Harry. You haven't realized how dark you really are. Deep inside, you know you're not a Gryffindor."

Harry whimpered and buried himself into the warm chest of the person again. The darkness that surrounded them somehow seemed... frightening, yet at the same time it made him feel calm.

"No one was supposed to know about that. How did you know what the hat told me?" Harry whispered, feeling slightly exposed, and shy. The person chuckled darkly again.

"I know everything about you, Harry. I know what you fear, and what you take... pleasure in."

It was something in the way that the person let the word slip out. Pleasure... Harry shuddered. His eyes snapped wide open as the hand that had been resting on his shoulders slowly made its way to his lower back, sending almost violent shutters through Harry's spine. The hand didn't stop. And Harry didn't want it to stop. He felt safe after all. It felt good to be with... whoever it was. He knew who it was, yet he didn't.

"Don't stop..." Harry murmured and moaned loudly as the hand slipped inside his pants and started to massage him. The sensations made his skin prickle, and he slowly parted his legs, urging the hand to touch him in more intimate places. The man held him closer and chuckled with a deep voice in Harry's ear, making the boy groan with lust.

"You're such a good boy..." the man murmured. Harry whimpered and clutched the man's black robes in pure desperation. When the man finally gripped his already dripping erection Harry let out a hoarse yell and bucked his hips wildly. The man stroked the muscle slow and hard, making Harry pant and stutter incoherent things, urging the man to touch him more. As the man lowered his face and nibbled at Harry's neck, before suddenly clamping his sharp teeth into the boy's tender neck, Harry moaned with pure pleasure. The pain seemed to increase his arousal so much, he almost came right then.

"Oh god!" He yelled and gave a sobbing moan. It all felt so incredible. So right. His body shook as he continued to thrust his hips into the curled hand as the man licked his neck.

"You will realize it in time, Harry. And you will have to accept it... we belong together."

Harry nodded furiously. Of course they belonged! It was all so perfect.

"Yes... yes!" Harry moaned. "I'll accept it... I will!" He panted and kissed the man’s fingers as they came up to caress his face.

"Such a good boy..."

Harry practically screamed with delight, insane pleasure as he finally fell over the edge by a single, hard thrust. Oh the pleasure! Oh the ecstasy! How he adored the man who had given it to him. He smiled and whispered the man’s name as he felt himself fade away from the wondrous dream.

"Tom..." Harry whispered and gave the warm, pale cheek one last caress. "My Lord... Voldemort."

Harry sat up in his bed, panting heavily from fear, and exhaustion. He stared in disbelieving awe as a dark spot made itself visible on his sheets. With a disgusted frown he peeked under his sheets and made a face as he saw the sticky mess between his legs. What the hell? Since when did he have wet dreams? And what the hell was that dream?! Harry felt both disgusted and satisfied as small shivers still ran through his body from the powerful orgasm. But when he thought about what had caused it, he felt like throwing up.

"Oh my god..." he whispered, and covered his face with his hands in shame. He had had a wet dream about Voldemort giving him a handjob! It was so incredibly ironic, Harry would've laughed out loud if it wasn't so insane. He glanced at his clock between his fingers; four in the morning. He had slept for a long time. Harry quickly examined his bed and curtains and gave a sigh of relief as he realized that he had laid a silencing spell around his bed before he went to sleep. Who knows what kind of sounds he had made?

Harry murmured a cleansing spell towards his groin and sighed as he tried to go back to sleep. It was hard to say the least. The dream didn't want to go away from his mind. Usually, Harry forgot his dreams relatively quickly, but this one seemed to stay with him. As if it wasn't a real dream... as if parts of it were true. Did Voldemort have something to do with it? Maybe he had somehow made Harry dream it?

Dear Lord, why did that thought excite him? He should be repulsed. But he wasn't. Actually he shuddered with some kind of twisted pleasure as he thought of Voldemort's hands on his body. As if some part of his mind actually enjoyed the thought of not being such a "good guy" as they all wanted to think he was.

But when Harry finally smiled at the memory of the oh-so pleasurable dream, that's when he really started to loath himself. He was getting turned on, wasn’t he? How disgusting!

No. Harry refused to believe it. There was no way in hell that he actually liked the thought of Voldemort doing that to him! No way! But against his will, more scenes from the dream popped into his head.

"...We belong together."

Harry growled with annoyance and pulled the blankets to his chin.

"No, we don't!" Harry whispered furiously and forced himself to fall back to sleep, a faint tingle of pleasure still lingering in his body.

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Okay, that was the first chapter. What'd you think? Please review and tell me.