Author's Notes: Huzzah, my first Ron/Harry. And I swore I never would. ^_~

The Best and Worst Dream Ever

By Darkangel Rose



“What is it, Harry?” Ron asked, voice both sleepy and laced with concern, “’Nother vision? He attack anyone else?”

Harry sat bolt upright in his bed, shaking like mad. He twisted the sheets up with his hands. His eyes were fever-wide and shocked, his skin shining with a light sheen of sweat. His black hair was rumpled worse than usual. Ron sat anxiously at the foot of Harry’s four-poster and prompted, “What happened?”

Harry opened his mouth and then closed it abruptly as a wave of nausea surged through him. He shuddered, jumping out of his bed without preamble and rushing into the adjoining boy’s loo.

He could hear Ron’s footsteps following as he was violently ill. Once he had finished he felt no better than before, and his scar burned as though it were on fire.

“God, mate, what’s it this time?” Ron queried weakly, face pale.

“You do NOT want to know.” Harry assured fervently, voice raspy.

“You aren’t going to –tell- me?” Ron accused, incredulous, “That’s cold, Harry.”

“I meant what I said,” Harry insisted, “Really, I’d gladly not know if I were you.”

“Was it about You-Know-Who?”

“Ugh …” Harry spat, pretending Ron had not spoken. He looked down at his hands, face contorted with revulsion, “That was the most disgusting…” he mumbled, trailing off. Ron looked at him expectantly.

“The most disgusting…?” he prompted

“Ew. No, Ron, I can’t tell you … you’ll be scarred for life.”

“But I – ,”

“God, I’ll never be able to look Malfoy in the face again!”

Ron stopped dead. A pained expression decorated his freckled face, “You didn’t…!” he groaned, sounding a though he were dreading the answer.

“I didn’t what?” Harry wondered aloud, curious as to what prospect would frighten Ron so.

“…dream about Draco Malfoy, did you?” Ron dared, “Because you were making all sorts of noises in your sleep, and *none* are sounds you want associated with dreaming about that blonde git.”

Harry sniggered, understanding Ron’s horror, “No, don’t worry, Ron. I wasn’t having a fucking wet dream about Draco Malfoy.” The sour, disturbed look returned to his face, “That would’ve been better. The dream I had was worse”

“Worse?” Ron sounded faint, “How much worse can you get?”

“You have no idea.” Harry’s voice was grave.

“Tell me?!” Ron begged, “If you do it might make you feel a bit better.” He added a Harry bent over the toilet and heaved again.

“Promise not to tell a soul, ever?” Harry inquired, “Even Hermione?”

“Even Hermione,” Ron swore, meaning it.

Harry sighed deeply, resting his back against the ‘porcelain god’. “You know, Ron, when I have those visions – it’s like I am Voldemort.” Ron winced but Harry paid no attention, “I can see what he sees, feel what he’s feeling, all of that.”

“What was he doing?” Ron asked, worried. All of the colour had drained out of Harry’s skin.

“Oh, he wasn’t doing much of the ‘doing’ at first.” Harry corrected in a darkly cynical tone. Ron shot him a puzzled look. Harry drew in a long, slow breath to calm his protesting stomach, eyes sliding closed.

“Lord Voldemort.” Harry ignored Ron’s flinch again, “was… erm …yeah. He was having sex-,” Ron gave a dramatic gasp, “…with Lucius Malfoy.”

The silence lasted for years. Ron’s body had gone completely limp, his expression disbelieving. Harry nodded glumly and retched into the toilet a bit more.

“…and … and you … -saw- that?” Ron whispered breathlessly, looking quite ill himself. Harry scrunched up his nose, the bile rising in his throat.

“Felt it too, mate…” he confided, ducking his head to be sick again.

“Yuck.” Ron declared fervently, coming back to life suddenly. He looked beyond repulsed.

“Yeah.” Harry replied shortly, cynicism dripping from his voice, “I know.”

“You have the most awful luck…” Ron decided, and Harry nodded fiercely in agreement. “Now I see what you mean. Damn, Harry, the next time I see that little Slytherin prat I’m going to puke.”

“I’m traumatized for life.” Harry noted, sounding seriously depressed. Ron’s head snapped up at these words, eyes fixing on the bent form of his best and closest friend.

“I mean, what… what was it like?” he ventured tentatively.

“That’s the worst part!” Harry burst, “It was –,” he froze mid-rant, realizing he was speaking aloud. Ron raised an eyebrow and asked the taciturn question with his eyes.

“It was wonderful,” Harry said in an undertone, “Which is sick!” he explained, “I mean – I shouldn’t have liked it at all, and the fact that I did is what makes me so sick. But while it was happening it felt –,”

“So right?” Ron finished in a whisper, his ears going dark red.

“How did you kno- ” Harry’s words were stopped immediately as Ron’s mouth covered his. They both pulled back instantly, Ron’s face amused while Harry’s was horrified.

“You taste like a vomit-flavoured Bertie Botts…” Ron observed aloud.

“Oh, thanks.” Harry snapped, severely shaken.

“Hold still.” Ron said patiently. He cast a very gentle cleaning charm on Harry mouth.

“Where did you learn that one?” Harry questioned a little too quickly, eager to divert the conversation from what had just passed between them.

“Hermione.” Ron shrugged, smiling softly as Harry’s heart sank. Hermione…

“But you like Hermione…” he argued, saddened inexplicably. Had he wanted Ron to kiss him? But that didn’t make sense…

“Yeah, sure I do, Harry. You keep telling yourself that.”

“But what about Fleur and…”

“Fooled you, didn’t I?” Ron beamed widely, “I never really asked her to the Yule Ball. I-I was hoping that if Cho turned you down and you thought I’d been let down hard, too, you’d take me. But… that doesn’t matter now.”

The redhead pressed his lips tenderly against Harry’s, coaxing the green-eyed boy until he began to respond. Harry noticed that Ron tasted a little like bittersweet coco butter, so unlike the tangy, almost nectary flavour of Lucius that still lingered in his mind. He let go of all of his worries and lost himself in the moment. His friend’s arms felt warm and safe around him, and everything past that point blurred into a delicate, soft glow.


“POTTER!” Snape barked. Harry scurried to his feet, pushing his glasses back on, “What on Earth was that last vision?” The professor’s face was tense and suspicious. Harry was beginning to tire of his Occlumency lessons very much.

“I – er … had another Voldemort dream.” Harry whispered reluctantly.

The corner of Professor Snape eye twitched, “THAT was from a vision?” he whispered dangerously, “I couldn’t quite see it clearly, Potter, but it looked an awful lot like Draco…”

“No - Luicus.” Harry corrected, figuring there was no avoiding the truth now, “He and Voldemort boinked and, lucky me, I got to watch. Now that’s what I call a nightmare…”

Snape hissed softly in fury. Harry held up his hands in defense, “Hey, they are the ones who scrumped, don’t blame me, I had no control over it.”

“You insolent…”

“Hey, I have no control over who Voldie shags, OK, don’t get mad at me…” he stopped, considering something, “You aren’t jealous, are you?” he asked coyly, throwing caution to the winds.

“What?” Snape’s eyes narrowed virulently.

“Nothing…” Harry chirped in a sing-song voice, now sure that the Potions Master was envious. Just wait until he told Ron…

The thought of the lovable redhead brought a calm, detached happiness to Harry. He did not notice as Snape’s face drained of all colour, and he started to shake violently.

“Get out.” Snape hissed.

“Hmn?” Harry inquired, snapping out of his daydream.

“I said leave now, you irritating, big-headed idiot. Out.”

“But our lesson’s only half -,”

“If you are not out that door in two seconds, Potter, I will take it upon myself to enlighten the entire school on your little nighttime exploits with Weasley.”

Harry froze, insides turning to lead, “How…?”


Harry was gone in an instant.


Return to Archive