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“Give me details, Jenkins,” Draco said, striding briskly through the halls of St. Mungo’s. “Today, if you please.”
“Thirty two year old male, found asleep and unresponsive to external stimuli.” Jenkins unconsciously wrung his hands as he spoke; it was a habit that made Draco want to grind his teeth. The Healer trainee tended to look even more worried when Draco did that, however, so he refrained. Barely. “Arrived via Floo, it’s unknown how long the patient has been in this state.”
“Any sign of intoxicants?”
“No,” Jenkins said. “We’ve got him in the ward up ahead. All the diagnostic tests have come up inconclusive, though. He just registers as having a really good sleep.”
Draco wracked his memory for any similar cases that he’d treated that might suggest further tests to perform. As he pushed open the door to the patient’s room, Jenkins added, “Also, you should know one more thing, he’s—”
Draco stopped abruptly in the doorway as his eyes were drawn to the patient lying in the bed. It was unmistakably Harry Potter, and Draco felt his stomach lurch, but his professional training kicked in immediately.
“I’m Healer Malfoy,” he said, and it felt like it came out far too calmly. “Who can tell me what happened?”
“Malfoy?” came a surprised voice. Someone with red hair turned around, and Draco was unsurprised to find Ron Weasley sitting alongside Potter’s bed. “What are you doing here?”
“Healer Malfoy,” Draco repeated, trying not to roll his eyes. “I’m the Healer assigned to… Mr. Potter’s case. I specialize in mind-related ailments. Are you the one who brought him in?”
Weasley boggled for a moment, and under normal circumstances Draco would have allowed himself to enjoy it a bit. The other man appeared to pull himself together quickly, however, so at least there was that.
“Yeah, I found him,” Weasley said nervously. “In his office at Hogwarts. I was dropping by as a surprise, and he was just… sitting in his chair at his desk, but slumped over. At first I wasn’t even sure he was breathing.” He shuddered. “When he wouldn’t come to, I got Madame Pomfrey. When she also couldn’t get him up we decided to stick him in the Floo to bring him here.”
Draco nodded. “I’m going to check for traces of any curses inside of him,” he said. “It’s a slow process, but please share any other details that might be relevant. Healer Jenkins will act as my scribe.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Healer Jenkins scrabble in his robes for a quill. Draco suppressed a sigh as he brought his wand out and began to wave it in circles above Potter’s dormant form on the bed, beginning with his feet. He muttered the incantation for the diagnostic charm under his breath; wisps of bright light drifted down from the tip and landed on Potter’s body, fading away almost immediately. If any of them changed colour before they disappeared, it would mean that they had encountered traces of curse magic in that region.
“His head was laying next to his computery thingy,” Weasley offered. “That thing with all the letters on it; I can never remember the names. I don’t use the things myself. George is keen to hook us up to this new WixNet thing, but we’ve got along fine by owl post as long as I’ve been alive. Don’t see what the fuss is all about, really.”
Draco suppressed an eye roll. It always took more effort than he wished to sift useful information from the vast amounts of unnecessary detail that laypeople reported to him. He had to endure several more minutes of musings about the magical internet as he slowly moved his wand from one end of Potter’s body to the other. He was preparing to wrap up the charm as the final wisps fell towards Potter’s forehead, but the abrupt change in colour as they touched his skin quickly banished his complacency.
“Hmm,” he said, and it was enough to make Weasley nervous.
“What is it?” the other man asked, leaning forward to get a closer look at the changing wisps. Draco resisted the urge to pull him back away from the patient. “What did you find?”
“There are some minute curse magic traces in the frontal lobe region,” Draco said, for both Weasley and Jenkins’ benefit. “They’re suspicious, but curse magic can also linger for a long time. Do you know if Potter suffered any curse-related incidents within the past month, particularly ones that struck in this region?”
Weasley shrugged helplessly. “Not that he told me about, but also, it’s Hogwarts, you know? Not that anybody would intentionally curse a professor, but there’s a lot of magic that goes on there.”
“Indeed.” Draco smoothed down his robes absently. None of the prior tests had shown any acute magical changes taking place inside of Potter’s body, but he worried about the curse traces. “Well, all of our tests suggest that Potter is enjoying a particularly deep slumber, probably even dreaming while doing so. With your consent, I’d like to go in and wake him up.”
“How?” Weasley asked. “He didn’t even stir when we pushed him through the Floo, and he usually hates the feeling of going through it.”
“I specialize in mind-related healing,” Draco said. “Legilimency is a large part of my practice. In fact, a modified form of legilimency has recently emerged as one of the best treatments for magically-induced sleep—we enter the sleeper’s dreams and deliver a shock of some kind. Something that pushes their mind out of the comfort of the dream and into wakefulness.”
“You’re serious,” Weasley said slowly. “You’re going to see what he’s dreaming?”
“And do my best to make him uncomfortable enough to wake up, yes,” Draco said impatiently.
“Merlin,” Weasley said. “That’s too wild.” He stared at Potter’s slumbering form as the man’s chest rose and fell for a few breaths. “Alright,” he decided. “It sounds weird, but I’m sure you know what you’re doing.” He gave Draco a nervous glance. “You do, don’t you? You must, if they let you work here.”
Draco scoffed; what a reassuring vote of confidence that was. “Yes, I have successfully woken up other patients with this method. It’s often quite straightforward.” He took his wand in hand and pointed it at Potter’s head. “At the very least, I should be back soon with more information,” he said. He gave Weasley a professional nod, then turned his attention back to Potter. “Legilimens dormeo.”
Draco opened his eyes and found himself in a room that was recognizably Hogwarts. A fire crackled away merrily in the hearth, surrounded by stone walls, while a large solid desk absolutely covered with loose sheaves of parchment sat in the middle of the room; it was otherwise sparsely decorated.
As Draco was still getting his bearings, Potter himself emerged from a small doorway at the back of the room. He drew up short upon seeing Draco, his face taking on a look of confusion.
“Malfoy?” he asked. “Why are you here? Do you need help with the assignment?”
One of the advantages of dreams, in Draco’s opinion, was that the mind would attempt to incorporate any kind of new idea or stimulus into the dream, regardless of how unexpected or unrealistic it was. It certainly made it easier to find justifications for surprises, because when prompted appropriately the dreamer would generally go along with anything.
The downside of dreams was that they were largely driven by the attention of the dreamer. Like watching a Pensieve memory, the surroundings tended to get fuzzy at the edges when the dreamer stopped looking at something. It meant that non-dreamers would often get swept along by the dreamer’s whims, which in Draco’s experience could make for frustrating interactions.
“No, I don’t need help with the assignment,” Draco replied. He took a seat in the chair that sat on the other side of Potter’s desk as he gave himself time to think. Potter left his doorway and came and sat across from him. Draco decided to go for the most likely avenue for shocking a professor, in hopes that they would be kicked out of this dream as quickly as possible. “It’s about my son. He’s a student in one of your classes. Potions, actually.” He smiled to himself at the notion of Potter teaching Potions. What an absurd concept.
Potter blinked. “But I don’t teach Potions,” he said. He sounded uncertain, though. Draco found that communicating with dreamers often ended up becoming a test of wills.
“I believe if you look at the list of classes being offered this term, you will find that it disagrees with you,” Draco said smoothly. “I think it’s on that parchment to your left.”
Harry looked to his left a bit wildly, grabbing a piece of paper off the top of the mess that consumed his desk. He scanned it, mouthing words to himself as he did and shaking his head.
“The course listing disagrees,” Harry said eventually. He looked up and met Malfoy’s eyes, looking relieved. “I only teach Defence Against the Dark Arts.”
“Are you sure?” Draco asked calmly. “I am quite certain that you are supposed to teach Potions this term. My son says you have missed every class, and it’s nearly the end of term.”
Harry handed the paper to Draco. “See for yourself,” he said smugly. It came out far more confidently than Draco was used to hearing from a dreamer.
He glanced briefly at the course listing that Harry’s dreaming brain had conjured up, but he was no longer certain that this would be a productive conversational avenue. Defence Against the Dark Arts was there, taught by Professor Potter, along with Quidditch Through the Ages with Professor Hooch. There was also an entry for Potions that was crossed out and labelled CANCELLED FOREVER. Draco stifled a sigh and handed the paper back.
“You’re right,” he said. “My mistake. My son must be… indulging in a prank.”
Harry’s face cleared. “Oh, that’s alright,” he said, magnanimously. “I remember being that age. I’m just sorry that you had to come all this way for nothing.”
Draco smiled politely. “Oh, it’s no bother. Perhaps we can review my son’s work in your class while I’m here, though. You know his name, of course.” The trick with dreams, Draco had found, was never to get hung up on one single approach. You had to be on the lookout for any detail to latch onto that might be enough to get the dreamer to wake up in a panic if you just prodded roughly enough at it.
“Yes, of course, your son,” Harry said. A moment of confusion passed across his face, then cleared. He smiled. “Your son Albus Severus Malfoy.”
“What,” Draco said, taken aback despite himself. He had no son in real life, of course; he had neatly avoided his parents’ attempts to pair him up with some society woman. But for Potter’s mind to conjure this for him? It could not be borne.
“Yes, Albus is not doing as well in my class as I had hoped, to be honest,” Potter said, pulling another piece of parchment out of his disaster of a desk and glancing it over. “He had a very promising start this term, but he has not handed in any of the three most recent assignments. I suspect it’s the company he’s keeping, but he won’t explain why he’s not turning anything in.”
“Yes, of course your suspicions would fall on his Slytherin friends,” Draco retorted. “How typical.” This probably wasn’t a productive line of conversation, but trust Potter to get under Draco’s skin even in a dream.
“Slytherin?” Potter asked. “Oh no, he runs in a pack with his housemates. The Gryffindor Gang, they’re called.”
Draco was left speechless for a long moment as Potter busied himself with more useless shifting of papers. The audacity of Potter’s dream-brain to insist that Draco’s son would be a Gryffindor named Albus Severus… to be fair, Draco wouldn’t have minded naming a child of his after his godfather, but really, this was going too far.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Potter says, “My wife should be here momentarily, so I really must finish getting ready to leave. It’s our date night, you know.”
Draco interest was piqued by that detail. “Your wife?” he asked innocently. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that you were married. Who’s your wife?”
Potter gave him an odd look. “It was all over the papers last year when we got married; I’m surprised you missed it. The Potter-Weasley Wedding Bash. I think that’s what The Daily Prophet insisted on calling it, anyways.” He pulled a face.
Something about the moment felt off to Draco. Yes, Potter and Weasley had been married, back in their early twenties, but they’d also gone through a divorce only five years ago. While it wasn’t unheard of for people’s dreams to regress to earlier parts of their lives, integrating older memories, it still seemed odd.
“I think you must be mistaken,” Draco said. “The two of you haven’t been married for years.” It seemed like as good a subject as any to prod at to provoke a reaction from Potter. Maybe being reminded of how things turned out would be shocking enough to kick them back to the world outside Potter’s uninspired head.
“Haven’t been…” Potter scowled. “Is that some kind of joke? She’s on her way over right now.”
“I guarantee you that you’re wrong,” Draco said, putting steel into his voice. “The last time that The Prophet wrote about your marriage, it was about how the divorce proceedings were going.”
Potter stared at him for a moment. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he finally said, frostily. “But I think you should leave now.” A swift rapping at the office door dragged his attention away from Draco. “Ah, that will be Ginny,” he said, getting up from his chair and striding over to the door. “Please don’t let me keep you.”
Draco looked over his shoulder, but Potter was filling the doorway and he couldn’t quite make out who the new visitor was. It was clear his plan was backfiring somehow; Potter either possessed a ridiculous, brazen confidence in the face of conflicting information, or else he had remarkable mental fortitude against the power of suggestion, even while deeply asleep.
“Hello?” Potter called, which was odd. Draco craned his neck to see what the other man was doing, but the doorway just appeared to lead to a deep darkness, as if Potter hadn’t bothered to dream up an actual corridor outside his office.
Draco turned back to Potter’s desk and abandoned chair, but the office rippled around him, and he felt the hairs on his neck stand up. The lighting was suddenly different; the midday sun wasn’t shining through the window any longer, instead a pink and orange sunset could be seen above the Forbidden Forest. The desk in front of him was suddenly clear, no longer cluttered with papers. Everything resembled the previous scene superficially, but slightly perturbed.
Draco turned around again and looked at Potter. Correction: he looked at where Potter had previously been standing, but the office door was shut once again and the other man was nowhere to be seen. While these changes could be explained away as the product of a flighty dreamer, moving on to a new scenario when the previous one no longer held their attention, Draco wasn’t sure that explanation made sense. Not with the weight of Potter’s attention and convictions in their conversation so far.
As if sensing his cue, Potter once again emerged from the back room, this time clad only in a towel, his hair dripping. “Malfoy,” he said, a smile appearing on his face. “I’m glad you could make it. Sorry about…” He made a half-hearted motion towards the broad expanse of warm brown skin that Draco was having a hard time ignoring. “It was the faculty Quidditch match, you see. It went longer than expected.”
“Well,” Draco said, quite at a loss for words at this new development. “That’s quite alright. Here I am, anyways.” He wrenched his eyes up to Potter’s face, away from that indecently muscled abdomen and the small thatch of hair peeking out— “You wanted to talk about something?” he hazarded.
“It was a whim, really,” Potter said, making his way over to a chest of drawers against the wall. The towel slipped a little bit as he bent down to open a drawer, but Potter just reached back and adjusted it, seemingly unconcerned. “I heard you’re a full Healer at St. Mungo’s now. I thought it might be nice to catch up.”
Draco wasn’t sure what to make of that. Was Potter’s brain incorporating information he had heard while asleep on the bed under Malfoy’s care? This wasn’t a memory of an actual conversation that he and Potter had ever had. Oh, they had occasionally bumped into each other in social settings—galas and the like—but while Draco would privately admit that he liked to keep tabs on what Potter was up to, and sometimes daydreamed about approaching him and striking up a conversation, he had no reason to believe that Potter ever gave him a passing thought.
“That’s right,” he said. “I’m a Healer now. Where did you hear that?”
Potter stood up to pull a shirt over his head, and Draco told himself that he wasn’t disappointed by this development. “People tell me things,” Potter said, waving the question away. “They say you’re a very good Healer. I have to say, those work robes suit you very well. It’s a very… striking look.”
Draco looked down at his clothes; he had arrived in Potter’s dream wearing his Healer robes, which were unfashionable and very workmanlike. Draco had learned early on in his Healing career to accept that; there were too many opportunities for his nicer clothes to get ruined while working with patients. However, his work robes had been replaced without his knowledge by… well. The best word to describe the new outfit was sleek. There was a base waistcoat, sitting snugly around his chest, with a thin, dark outer robes that caught the light as they flared around his trousers.
Is this how Potter saw him, Draco wondered? Or at least, imagined him? Did Potter actually spend time imagining him? The idea was ridiculous, of course. It was foolish to read too deeply into dreams, which were simply the product of an overactive unconscious mind. And yet…
“In any case,” Potter continued, seemingly unaware of the confusion he was sowing in Draco’s head, “congratulations on the new job. I’m sure you’ll make a great Healer.” He smiled over at Draco once more. “Sometimes I can’t believe it’s only been a few years since we were pointing wands at each other in these same corridors. It feels like so much has changed.”
The longer the conversation dragged on, the more Draco felt he was losing the plot. Potter was showing an even more uncertain grasp of life events than he had previously; Draco couldn’t remember any other patient who had demonstrated such a flexible understanding of the linear passage of time.
He was saved from having to come up with an answer by another knock at the door. Potter frowned. “Not a moment’s peace around here,” he muttered as he went over to open it.
Draco turned his whole body to watch this time, and once again Potter was greeted by an expanse of darkness behind the door where a corridor should be. This time, as Draco watched, the darkness appeared to flow past him, slowly but surely engulfing walls, ceiling and floor as Potter looked around himself in confusion.
“What’s this?” he asked. “Is this your doing, Malfoy?”
The darkness spread more rapidly the further into the room it penetrated, as if spurred on by Potter’s agitation. Draco held himself very still as it approached him, coating the floor and chair, and then what was left of the room rippled—
They were in a room that Draco had to assume was the Gryffindor common room this time. He had no personal experience with the other houses’ common rooms, of course, but this one featured an abundance of sofas and an enormous portrait of Godric Gryffindor on the wall above the fireplace, so Draco was pretty confident in his guess. The fireplace wasn’t actually putting out any warmth, despite how close Draco found himself standing to it; it was just one more unimportant detail to the dreamer.
Potter was sitting on the sofa opposite the hearth, looking around a bit dazedly. “Malfoy?” he finally asked. “Where’d you come from? What are you doing in here?”
“We were just talking in your office,” Draco said. He still wasn’t sure what had just happened, but it seemed wise to try and maintain some kind of continuity. “We decided to visit some old haunts in the castle, for history’s sake.”
“My office?” Harry asked, sounding uncertain. “Is that another change for eighth years? Why can’t McGonagall just give us a normal school year?”
The hairs on the back of Draco’s neck stood up. “Every professor gets an office,” he said slowly. “And you’re the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.”
“No, that can’t be right,” Harry argued. “I don’t even have my NEWTs yet. There’s no way I could be a full professor.”
“Potter, what do you remember about after you finished eighth year?” Draco asked. He had a terrible suspicion that the answer was about to make his job more difficult.
“Remember?” Potter asked. He appeared baffled by the question. “I’m going to join the Aurors. It’s why I need my NEWTs.”
Draco worried at his lip. His mother said it was a bad habit, one that suggested poor self-control, but he had never been able to help himself. Potter had never joined the Aurors; maybe that had been the plan at one point, but upon leaving Hogwarts he’d continued on to secondary education with Granger and Weasley instead.
Draco had the sinking feeling that whatever that spreading cloud of darkness was, it was actively feeding off Potter’s memories. If that was true, then Potter’s ill-timed nap was almost certainly related; memory modification turned out to be much easier while the victim was asleep, with only their subconscious mind as the last line of defence.
“Well, never mind that,” Draco said. Deciding on a new tack, he put on a haughty air. “Come on, I won’t have you lazing about and making me do all the work for our assignment.”
“Our assignment?” Potter asked, sounding confused. “What assignment?”
“You didn’t show up to Potions today,” Draco said, pretending to be put out. “There’s only so long you can coast on being the saviour of the wizarding world. Nobody wanted to be my partner, so Slughorn decided to put us together. I’m sure he thought it was hilarious.”
“How could I forget to go to Potions?” Harry asked, distressed. “I need that NEWT for the Aurors! ”
“Well, you’re lucky that I took notes today, in that case,” Draco said. He liked the direction this was heading. Potter was actually responding to the power of dream suggestion for once. “Maybe I’ll let you see them if you actually do what I say.”
“Ugh.” Potter flopped backwards across the sofa, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Must we do this now?”
“No time like the present!” Draco declared. “Come on, we need to go collect research materials for our assignment. To the library!”
He had the general shape of what to do next outlined in his head—this was the kind of twisty case that he had built his reputation as a Mind Healer upon. Clearly, he needed to investigate the problem of Potter’s regressing memory before he could safely bring the other man out of his induced sleep. If the missing memories were still accessible, it should be possible to convince Potter to manifest a physical representation of them inside the dream. The symbolism of dreams was often meaningless nonsense, but at the same time the mind was also quite adept at finding meaning in noise. Draco just had to get Potter to interact with the representation of his memories to stimulate the recovery of them, then wake him up as soon as possible to prevent any further damage.
It was a straightforward plan. Well, about as straightforward as any plan that involved delving through Potter’s unconscious mind could be. Draco was depressingly confident that Potter would continue to find ways to make his life difficult.
They crept through the darkened halls of the school. Draco caught sight of the darkness out of the corner of his eye a couple times along the way, but he was careful to focus Potter’s attention on other things. He made wry comments about Potter’s rule-breaking tendencies, or how it probably wouldn’t even matter if they were caught because of the special treatment that Potter would undoubtedly receive. The other man invariably began to snipe back at him in whispered tones, and when Draco checked again he could no longer see any sign of the cloud.
Draco’s current working theory was that it either fed off of Potter’s attention somehow, or the sustained focus of a particular dream environment. Maybe if they kept moving it wouldn’t bother them, or perhaps that was just coincidence. Unfortunately, in Draco’s experience, dream motion was too unpredictable to be relied upon indefinitely. Sometimes the dreamer would just be transported to their destination immediately; other times their dream brain might focus on the journey, but there would just be indeterminate, liminal spaces between the two points.
In any case, to Draco’s relief they arrived outside the library without further mishap. He felt like he deserved that win; not only had Potter turned out to be more resistant to Draco’s attempts to steer the dream than he’d anticipated, but there was also the mysterious cloud pillaging Potter’s memories. If they escaped this dream intact, it could make for a compelling paper in the mind-magic research community.
Potter hesitated at the library’s threshold, peering in through the doorway. “Where’s Madam Pince?” he asked quietly. “I don’t see her anywhere.”
“All the better for us,” Draco said, chivvying Potter ahead of him into the main room. “That way there are fewer suspicious glances as we try to find the book we need.”
“What book are we looking for, anyway?” Potter asked as Draco marched them towards the far corner of the room. “You’re being awfully secretive about this whole assignment.”
“I just want to ensure we get a good grade on it,” Draco said absentmindedly. “But we’re looking for a book about…” He paused as he tried to come up with a reasonable lie. “Using memories as potions ingredients?” he finished uncertainly after a moment. It was the best he could come up with on short notice, sadly.
He kept an eye out as they walked, vigilant for the approach of the dark cloud. He couldn’t help noticing that Potter’s dream version of the library was made of stacks that loomed over them, extending far enough to disappear into a gloom that hid any actual walls. It lent the space an eerie atmosphere, and Draco began to regret his impulsive plan to bring them there.
“Wait, are we going into the restricted section?” Potter asked. He sounded excited at the prospect; Draco rolled his eyes. Typical of the man, really. He would take any opportunity to break a rule he could get. “You’re just planning to walk right in?”
“I don’t see anything stopping me,” Draco pointed out.
“I’m just saying, I would have brought my invisibility cloak along if I’d known,” Potter groused. After a furtive look around the library, he stepped over the chain at the entrance to the section; it honestly did very little to keep students out, in Draco’s opinion.
“Of course you have an invisibility cloak,” Draco said in disgust. “Because why wouldn’t you? And did you have that when you were in school, too?”
“I am in school,” Potter said, looking puzzled, and Draco silently cursed his own inattention. Potter’s exterior dream self was still his thirty two year old body, despite the memories that had apparently been taken from him, and Draco kept forgetting to keep up the charade that this was eighth year for both of them.
He settled for a dismissive “Yes, of course,” as they looked around the dimly-lit restricted section of the library. There were so many aisles to choose from; they really needed some kind of guidance to know where to look.
“So now where to?” Potter asked.
“Slughorn said it would be obvious,” Draco said. This plan would only work if Potter were the one to find the substitute for his missing memories. “See if anything catches your eye.”
Potter huffed, annoyed. “This is the most ridiculous assignment,” he said as he gazed around them. He paused as he looked down one aisle in particular that Draco hadn’t paid any attention to. “What about that one?”
“With the ladder?” Draco asked. There was indeed a giant ladder leaning against a shelf perhaps twenty feet away from them. Draco had a sinking feeling as he looked at it.
“Yes, the enormous shelf with the fuck-off ladder,” Potter said. “I’d say that it caught my eye. Did it catch your eye as well? I find it quite eye-catching.”
“Twat,” Draco said, and Potter actually grinned at him. The man was truly a mystery.
They made their way over to the base of the ladder and stared up its towering length. When Draco looked over at Potter, he found the other man gazing back at him. “Well, what are you waiting for?” he asked. “Up you go.”
Potter scoffed. “Why do I need to scale that monster? You go.”
“Ah, I guess you don’t actually want to see the notes I took for that Potions class that you missed,” Draco said smugly.
Potter rolled his eyes, but he stepped onto the bottom rung of the ladder and began to climb. “This is a terrible idea,” he warned as he scaled it. “If we get in trouble for it, I’m pinning all the blame on you.”
Draco waited until Potter was level with the highest shelf. Given the way the dream had gone so far, it seemed the likeliest place to find Potter’s missing memories, tucked away somewhere difficult to reach. “Ok, now read off some titles that you see,” Draco called up to him.
“It’s literally just Hogwarts: A History volumes one through twenty,” Harry answered. “They’re all massive, too. I don’t know what you’re expecting to find here.”
Draco cursed Potter’s terrible, antagonistic dream brain. “Look more closely. Does anything look out of place?”
“I don’t know what I’m looking for!” Potter argued. “How do you expect me to find a book when you won’t tell me anything about it?”
“You’ll know it when you find it!”
“This is ridiculous. Why don’t you come and look for it, since you seem to know so much about it?”
“Fine,” Draco grumbled. “Stay there. I’m coming up to join you.”
“Let me come down first—”
“Too late, I’m already on my way,” Draco said as he began climbing up the ladder. It shifted distressingly under their combined weight the higher he went, but it remained in position.
Draco was confident that his plan wouldn’t work if Potter wasn’t involved in choosing the book. As the non-dreamer, Draco had very little ability to influence the dream’s actual content except through his suggestions to Potter. Potter’s mind was the source of the environment and the objects within it, so he needed to be the one to conjure up the book that he would then be able to find. Draco just needed to nudge him in the right direction.
“You’re insane,” Potter told him as Draco stopped climbing a few rungs below him. “Just tell me what I’m actually looking for here and we can get off this death trap.”
“Slughorn said…” Draco wracked his brain for something that could catch Harry’s attention. “He said the book we need might be tucked in between some other unrelated books. And you may feel a slight tingle when you touch it.”
Potter let out a sound of disgust. “Slughorn is a terrible professor,” he said. “But fine, I’ll touch all of the books and find the one that gives me a shock.” He ran his hands along a third of the books crammed into the shelf before he suddenly jerked his hand away. “I felt it!” he said, shaking his fingers out a bit as he looked down at Draco triumphantly.
“Great,” Draco said. “Now pull it off the shelf so we can get off this thing.”
A motion in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He spared a glance to his right, and realized to his dismay that the darkness from before was advancing along the ground, slowly spreading out to fill neighbouring stacks as it went. His mouth went dry; he didn’t have a lot of faith that they could outrun it, if it came to that.
“Malfoy,” came Potter’s voice from above him, and the note of triumph from before was gone. “What the fuck is that?”
Draco looked up again and found Potter looking nervously towards the encroaching dark cloud, the book hunt abandoned. “It doesn’t matter,” he said curtly. “But you really need to grab that book right now.”
“What do you mean it doesn’t matter?” Potter hissed at him. “It’s clearly.. I don’t know, malevolent or something. And it’s coming toward us.”
“And you staring at it is really such a big help right now,” Draco hissed back. “Pick up the fucking book, Potter. We’re not leaving here without it.”
Potter turned back to the bookshelf, muttering something that Draco was pretty sure was not complimentary. Draco stared up at him, willing himself not to look at the encroaching darkness. It wouldn’t help, and it might even make things worse, if it truly did feed on attention. He focused instead on observing the lines of Potter’s backside, which was several rungs higher than his head and therefore unavoidable, really. It truly was unfair that Potter remained in top physical condition even as a school professor.
Potter yelped as he presumably made contact with the book once more. “I’ve got it,” he said, sounding exasperated. “Most Potente Memories. What do we do now?”
What they needed to do was give Potter a chance to read that book. Draco wasn’t sure what that experience would be like, but he didn’t have high hopes for Potter getting through it in their current situation.
“Where would you go for some privacy?” Draco asked desperately. “If you wanted time alone.”
Potter stared at him. “What?” he asked. “What are you talking about?”
“Wherever you would go, just… picture it,” Draco said impatiently. “Think about it really hard. Like when you’re about to Apparate.”
“I swear, Malfoy, if I get consumed by an evil cloud because I’m too busy making a fucking wish, I’m coming back to haunt you.”
Draco barely kept from laughing at that; he was pretty sure it would have come out a bit wildly. He glanced around them; the darkness had advanced down their aisle almost to the base of the ladder, but Potter did actually have his eyes closed, which was something. “Take my hand, Potter,” Draco said, trying to inject confidence into his voice.
Surprisingly, Potter actually transferred the book he was holding to his other hand that was gripping the ladder, awkwardly stretching his now-free hand down towards Draco. Draco reached up to grab it, and found that Potter’s grip was strong; their palms fit together perfectly, like pieces of a puzzle. He didn’t allow himself any more time to consider the matter, however. “Now, we jump,” Draco commanded, and he stepped off the tall ladder, dragging a shocked Potter with him.
The thing about dreams, in Draco’s experience, was that falling was one of the most reliable triggers to radically change the experience. Sometimes it was enough to wake the dreamer up, but Draco suspected that was unlikely for a magically-induced sleep like Potter’s. Draco had bet that Potter’s dream brain was resilient enough to make sense of the new development and get them the hell away from the library.
When he opened his eyes, it took Draco a moment to recognize the space that he and Potter found themselves in. He let out a long breath as he looked around; the room of hidden things in Potter’s dream was much smaller, less cluttered with junk, than when he had last been inside of it. There was much less all-consuming fire, too, which he supposed was a good thing.
“What the fuck was that?” Potter asked. Draco supposed it was a proportional response to what Draco had just put him through. Potter released his grip on Draco’s hand to run his own through his mess of unruly hair. “Are you actually trying to kill me?”
“If I were, it would appear that I have failed,” Draco pointed out. He tried not to feel smug about Potter’s bewilderment; Potter did tend to bring out unprofessional reactions in him.
“How did we get here, anyways?” Potter asked, looking around them. “You can’t Apparate inside Hogwarts. Hermione tells me that all the time.”
Draco considered his options. The common opinion in the mind-magic community was that making the dreamer aware that they were dreaming made interventions more difficult. A mind that understood that anything could be possible would no longer be shocked as easily. Draco figured he had a better chance continuing to string Potter along at this point.
“Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it?” he hazarded. “I think the castle is looking out for us.”
Potter appeared to consider this for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, that makes sense,” he said. “But what do we do now?”
“You read that book that we risked our lives to retrieve,” Draco said. “I’ll think of a plan while you do.”
Potter pulled a face at him. “Do you really still care about Slughorn’s assignment?” he asked. “Aren’t there more important things to think about, like how there’s an evil cloud devouring the school?”
“I refuse to allow the fact that you’re so easily distractible to affect my grades, Potter,” Draco said haughtily. He braced himself for a battle of wills; he didn’t know what he would do if Harry refused to interact with his missing memories. His whole plan depended on it. “We’re not going anywhere unless you finish that book.”
“You’re insane!” Potter hissed. “Your priorities are completely backwards. I don’t even know why I’m listening to you.”
“And you’re one of the most obstinate, stubborn men I’ve ever met!” Draco retorted. “You barely even listen to me as it is, even though I’m the only one of us who knows what’s going on.”
Potter cocked his head. “So what is going on, then, Malfoy?” he asked, and it came out low and a bit dangerous. “I know you’re keeping secrets from me. Tell me what’s happening, or I’m leaving.”
Draco’s mounting frustration was abruptly replaced by dread. He had walked right into that one, allowed himself to be goaded by Potter just like when they were younger. “I…” he said helplessly.
“Tell me,” Potter insisted, moving closer. “I need to know.”
“Merlin,” Draco muttered. “Ok, look. I’ll make you a deal, Potter. If you read… Oh, I don’t know, the first few pages of that book, after that I’ll explain everything.”
Potter eyed him consideringly for a long moment. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll read the beginning of Most Potente Memories.” He ostentatiously opened it to the first page and began to read, then looked up and caught Draco’s gaze. “Don’t watch me,” he said. “It makes it hard to focus, knowing that you’re just standing there staring at me.”
Draco turned his back on Potter without saying anything. He needed to figure out what to tell the other man; he needed to find some way to salvage the situation. He began to pace, listening to the sound of pages being turned. What would Potter’s reaction be when his memories started returning? Was there any believable lie that Draco could tell that would explain the whole thing? Their situation felt like it was close to unraveling, and Draco was unaccustomed to that state of affairs. He always tried to have some kind of plan that he would work towards.
“What the fuck,” Potter muttered to himself. “What the actual…”
Draco interrupted his pacing to wheel around and check on Potter; he couldn’t help himself. “Have you—” He caught himself before he asked anything too leading. “Do you have any questions?”
Potter flipped another page and appeared to skim it, before his whole body shuddered and he slammed the book shut. “What the fuck is this?” he asked uncertainly. “I’m not even sure I can tell you what’s on the page, but it’s doing something to me as I read it. It’s like when I try to read something in a dream.”
Draco’s heart sank. Trust Potter to make the connection immediately. “Oh?” he asked, feigning nonchalance. “Really?”
Potter appeared to be lost in thought, however. “In fact, a lot of this feels like a dream, when I stop to think about it,” he mused. “The way we came here instantly from the library. The way the darkness…” He paused for a moment, his brow furrowed. “I’ve seen that dark cloud before,” he said slowly. “In.. an office? My office.” He turned to glare at Draco. “You were there.”
Draco stepped towards Potter, holding up his hands placatingly. “You’re probably dealing with a lot of new information right now—”
“You promised to tell me what’s going on,” Potter said, taking a step backwards, away from Draco’s reach. “Now’s your chance.”
Draco sighed. He had no plan, no idea of what to do, so he resorted to the truth. “You’re right,” he said. “You are dreaming. Not only that, but you’re actually trapped inside this dream. Your body is in St. Mungo’s and I’m trying to wake you up through legilimency.”
Potter gaped. Whatever he had been expecting, it clearly wasn’t that. “Ok,” he said slowly. “Let’s say that what you’re saying is true. What’s this book doing to me when I read it?”
“It’s returning your missing memories to you,” Draco said. “The dark cloud appears to be tracking you, and when it catches you then it steals some of your memories and hides them away.”
“I’m dreaming of a cloud that steals my memories?” Potter said, sounding unimpressed. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“I think the cloud is the way your unconscious mind is trying to make sense of something that’s happening in your brain,” Draco said. He was honestly just thinking aloud at this point, but as a theory it explained quite a lot. “Something very real is stealing your memories, and your dreams are trying to incorporate it however they can.”
“So the book is a… representation of my missing memories?” Potter asked uncertainly. “This is extremely weird.”
Draco shrugged. “Dreams aren’t known for being logical,” he said. “Unfortunately, we still need to find a way to wake you up once you regain all the missing memories. I probably just made it more difficult by revealing all of this, because now your brain will be primed to recognize surprises as part of the dream.”
“Huh,” Potter said. “Ok. I’m inclined to believe you. That explanation was far too complicated to be some kind of secret plot.”
“Such confidence,” Draco said sarcastically. “I’m touched by your faith in me, Potter.”
Potter flipped two fingers at him. “So… I guess I should read the rest of this book?” he asked. “And you’ll think of some way to get us out of here?”
This time, Draco actually was touched by Potter’s faith that he would be able to save them. He nodded brusquely. “That’s right,” he said. “Let me know when you’re finished.”
Potter nodded back at him, then conjured himself a chair and sat down in it. Draco marvelled for a moment at how effortlessly Potter seemed to adapt to the situation; his first act upon learning that he was actually dreaming was to take advantage of that fact by shaping the world to his liking. Shaking his head, Draco began to pace the room, wracking his brain for a way home.
It must have only been a few minutes later that Potter called him back.
“It’s not working,” he said as Draco approached his chair. He sounded concerned. “Something’s different this time. I still have no idea what’s on the page as I’m reading it, but I’m not remembering any new details, either.”
Draco suppressed a groan. “Merlin,” he said. “You know it’s not real, and you’re devoting your full attention to it, so your brain isn’t treating it like anything other than a normal book now.”
“Do we need to go back to the library and get a new one?” Potter asked. “…Does the library even exist any more?”
Draco shook his head. “I don’t think that will help,” he said. “We need to trick your brain, somehow. Find a way to distract you so that it’s like you’re experiencing it in the dream state again.”
“Well, that’s just great,” Potter groused. “Fantastic. Did you come up with any ideas for escaping this dream?”
“Maybe you can help with that,” Draco said. “Can you recall any particular dreams you’ve had that were interrupted? Maybe they can inspire us. Anything would help, really.”
“Well, there’s always the falling ones,” Harry said, sounding doubtful.
Draco was already shaking his head. “That didn’t work even when you didn’t realize it was a dream,” he said morosely.
“Well, if it’s things that wake me up,” Harry continued, and then trailed off with an inexplicable blush. “Er,” he said. “It’s… never mind.”
“Potter,” Draco warned. “I swear, if we end up trapped here because you’re fucking embarrassed about a dream you once had…”
Potter refused to meet his eyes. He just kept turning the book in his hands over and over, like he hoped to discover inspiration on its unremarkable cover.
Draco sighed. “Dreams aren’t real, Potter. They don’t mean anything. All of this—” He gestured around them, trying to encompass the whole ordeal they’d been through together. “It’s just your brain trying to make sense of your experiences, the same as any other night of your life. So go ahead and tell me whatever’s got you all twisted up, and I promise to be professional about it.”
“It’s sex dreams,” Potter blurted out.
Draco tried to keep himself from smiling. He had encountered patient fantasies in his mind-magic work over the years; it was unavoidable, really. They were always far more embarrassed about it than he was. “What about them?” he asked, attempting to keep his tone neutral and non-judgemental.
Potter’s blush deepened. “When I have them, I don’t think I ever… you know.” He put his face in his hands.
Draco raised an eyebrow. “Do you want me to guess how that sentence ends, Potter?” he asked wryly. “Because I can imagine a lot of different ways that could go.”
“Finish,” Potter said through his fingers. “I always wake up just before I’m about to—. God, please don’t make me keep describing it. I don’t know why I even brought it up.”
Draco’s mind began to race. Climaxing in a dream as a way of waking Potter up certainly had potential, as far as Draco was concerned. Oh, the logistics of it might well turn out to be a nightmare, but the concept was sound. Sex had the advantage of being a prolonged activity that could potentially act as a distraction for Potter, too. Perhaps they could solve both of their problems.
“Listen,” Draco said carefully. “You might actually be on to something.”
Potter raised his head out of his hands and looked at him nervously. “…Really?” he finally asked.
“Cards on the table, Potter,” Draco said. He really felt like he was gambling at this point. “If getting you off will get us out of this dream, there’s nothing to stop me from making that happen. I’m gay as a maypole, so I know what I’m doing. However, the real question is what your feelings are on the matter.”
Potter gaped at him, his embarrassment apparently forgotten for a moment in the face of Draco’s matter-of-fact delivery. “You…” he began. “You’re really suggesting that we…”
“Bump uglies?” Draco offered. “Have a little rub and tug? Engage in some heavy petting?”
“God,” Potter said. “I just didn’t expect…”
Draco huffed. “If you don’t want to say yes, then we’ll just keep brainstorming other possibilities,” he replied curtly. “It’s fine, Potter. It wouldn’t really be any use anyways unless you would actually enjoy it, or at least find it pleasurably distracting.”
“I’m not saying no!” Potter said quickly. “In fact—I’m saying yes. I… I will definitely find it ‘pleasurably distracting.’ Although I’m impressed that you can make even sex sound pretentious.”
Draco eyed him doubtfully. “Are you sure about this, Potter?” he asked. “This isn’t exactly the optimal time for experimentation.”
To Draco’s surprise, Potter laughed at that. “I’ve slept with men before, you git,” he said. “I’m not a virgin or anything.” He squared his shoulders and looked Draco in the eye, suddenly appearing decisive. “No, if you’ve nothing against the idea, then I think we should give it a go.”
“Well,” Draco said, suddenly put out. “Ah, in that case… how would you like to proceed?”
Potter’s gaze travelled up and down Draco’s body in an open appraisal that made Draco’s mouth go dry.
“A bed,” he said decisively. “We need something more comfortable.” He pointed behind Draco. “I think that one should do, don’t you?” he asked, sounding smug.
Draco turned and looked. In what had previously been an empty space in the room of hidden things, there was now a four-poster sitting there instead. It was exactly the right size for two people to fit snugly together, complete with perfectly fitted sheets, and fluffy, plump pillows. Of course Potter knew how to consciously manipulate dreams. It figured; it was just one more thing in his life that came naturally to him.
“It looks adequate, I suppose,” Draco allowed. Potter snorted, but Draco ignored it. “Shall we?”
They made their way over to the bed, Draco trying not to let on how nervous he suddenly felt. He told himself that it shouldn’t feel any different than picking someone up at a club. It was a transaction; they both knew what they were getting out of this. That Draco had always felt a certain attraction to Potter shouldn’t make a difference. If anything, it should have made the whole thing that much better.
Draco shifted his weight, staring at the bed. This was actually nothing like picking up someone in a club, he decided. This was like picking up someone in an office in the cold, harsh light of day. This was a terrible idea.
“Malfoy,” Potter said from beside him. “Look at me.”
Draco looked at Potter, who had apparently had the time to remove his shirt while Draco was in the throes of an existential crisis about the whole thing. “Oh,” he said, feeling like a fool as he gazed at that expanse of warm brown skin. “My.” He suddenly recalled the dream from earlier, in Potter’s office, when he’d seen a similar sight. Perhaps this wasn’t a completely utilitarian exchange from Potter’s perspective either.
“Do you still want to do this?” Potter asked carefully. “We don’t have to.”
Draco firmed up his resolve. “Yes, of course,” he said quickly. “I was just devising a plan of attack, that’s all.”
“So what’s the first step, then?” Potter asked, smiling broadly.
Draco stepped closer. “Get on the bed and face away from me,” he said. It came out huskily.
“But...” Potter said, looking surprised. “Then I can’t reach you.”
“This isn’t about me, Potter,” Draco said. “This is about me tormenting you until you’re half out of your mind.”
Potter’s breath caught at that. “Oh,” he said. “Yes. I think that will work.” He got onto the bed, kneeling down and facing away from Draco submissively. “Like this?” he asked. The only sign of tension in his body was how tightly he was gripping the book of memories.
“That’s perfect,” Draco said, joining Harry on the bed. He knelt just behind him, not quite touching any part of the other man’s body. He reached out and trailed a finger down Potter’s neck, tracing the line of a shoulder blade. Potter’s breath caught, and his body responded to the touch, arching towards it.
“You’re such a tease,” Potter said, but he didn’t move.
“And you’re doing so well,” Draco said with a small smile. Potter shivered at the praise, which Draco filed away for future reference. He shuffled closer, placing his legs in between Potter’s, and reached around Potter’s chest with both hands. He ran them tantalizingly slowly from collarbone to midriff, stopping to toy with the other man’s nipples, feeling them start to harden under his touch. Potter leaned back against him, seeking more stimulation of his hyper-sensitive skin the longer that Draco played with it.
This time, Draco breathed lightly on the skin on the side of Potter’s neck as he moved his hand across Potter’s jeans, just brushing his crotch. He could feel a bulge forming, and Potter hissed at the sensation, thrusting a bit to force more contact with Draco’s hand.
“Ah, ah,” Draco said lightly. “None of that now. You’re supposed to be reading, if I remember correctly.”
Potter let out a long breath. “I can’t believe you,” he said, but he opened the book anyway and began to read it. He was remarkably pliant now that Draco wasn’t trying to win a battle of wills against his dream brain. As positive reinforcement, Draco ran his hands down Potter’s chest again, stopping to cup and squeeze the man’s swelling cock through his jeans when he reached the bottom.
Potter gave a little moan at that, but remained focused on his reading. Draco lay his face against Potter’s warm back and breathed in the scent of him, revelling in the experience. He found that his hips, moving of their own accord, had shifted forward, pressing his own crotch against Potter’s lower back and grinding a bit.
“Fuck,” Potter said breathily. “Why does that feel so good?”
Draco abruptly decided that their current position was insufficient for the purposes of tormenting Potter. “Straddle me,” he ordered, laying down on the bed. “If you can talk coherently, I’m not doing my job correctly.”
Potter turned around to face him. “Just as I was getting into the reading?” he asked, smirking.
“Nobody likes a smartarse,” Draco muttered as he began to undo the buttons on his robes.
“Allow me,” Potter said, pushing his hands out of the way as he lifted one leg over Draco, so he was sitting tantalizingly close to Draco’s crotch. Potter leaned forwards and focused on removing Draco’s shirt, causing their cocks to brush against each other through their trousers. Each time it happened, Draco felt all thoughts leave his head as his focus narrowed to that small point of tantalizing contact.
As soon as Draco’s chest was freed, Potter leaned forward and placed his hands on Draco’s pecs, then allowed himself to slide backwards and forwards where they were joined at the crotch. They both moaned at the sensation, a delicious, sinful sound from Potter and something that sounded like a dying animal coming from Draco.
“Come on,” Draco breathed, trying to keep his mind on his task. “Back to your reading. You’ve had your fun now.”
Potter pouted at him, rutting against him several more times for good measure, but picked up the book again. Draco kept up a steady rhythm by rolling his hips; it was too much fun to observe the way Potter bit his lip when Draco hit just the right angle, when he grabbed Potter’s waist while doing it and ground their bodies together. It was delicious; it was making him uncomfortably hard.
Potter stilled above him on the bed. The sudden absence of motion caused Draco to groan, and he pressed their crotches together a few more times to convey his disappointment.
“Malfoy,” Potter said, and the sudden dread in his voice made Draco stop and look closely at him. “It’s here. The cloud.”
Draco looked around them. Slowly, ever so slowly, he could make out the leading edges of the darkness extending their tendrils between the piles of objects that filled the room of hidden things. He swallowed.
“Better get on with it, in that case, Potter,” he gasped. “Maybe try skimming instead of reading every word.”
Potter continued to watch the cloud as it wound its way towards them. Draco ran his hands up Potter’s chest, tweaking his hard nipples along the way, to remind him of what he could be focusing on instead.
Potter shuddered in a gratifying manner. “Fuck,” he finally said. “I just keep thinking about losing my memories again; it’s really killing the mood. I don’t think I can concentrate on reading while it’s here.”
Nothing in Draco’s life was ever easy, he decided. Even enjoying a dream romp with an attractive childhood nemesis turned out to have life-or-death consequences attached to it. “Your problem, Potter,” Draco began, “is that you think too much.” He reached out and unbuttoned Potter’s trousers, then glanced up to confirm that the other man was watching his actions. “May I?” he asked, shimmying further down the bed underneath Potter until his head was just about level with Potter’s crotch. He palmed Potter’s hard cock through his pants. “I think I can help with that.”
Potter’s breath caught. “Are you going to—” he started, then he hissed as Draco freed his cock from its confines. “Yes,” he said breathily. “Yes, please.”
Draco cradled Potter’s dick in a loose fist, wanking him slowly. “Do you think a blowjob would help your concentration?” he asked, his voice light. “You were doing so well, after all. Such a good job.”
“Fuck,” Potter gasped, rutting into Draco’s fist. “Yeah. I reckon it would.”
Draco gave Potter a lascivious smile, refusing to break eye contact as he moved his mouth steadily closer to the head of Potter’s cock. The other man’s breath quickened until Draco was vaguely concerned that he might hyperventilate. Draco darted out his tongue, licking just under the tip and around the glans. Potter groaned, long and drawn out.
“That’s all you get unless you start reading again,” Draco said smugly.
“You’re such a git,” Potter said, gritting his teeth. He shifted how he was holding the book so that he could keep an eye on Draco’s oral activities.
“The worst,” Draco drawled. He kept jerking him off slow, stroking the hard evidence of Potter’s arousal. He knew he probably shouldn’t be focused on how gratifying the other man’s response was, but honestly, who could blame him for it?
Draco waited until Potter’s gaze returned to the book, then abruptly ducked his head forward and engulfed Potter’s cock in his mouth. He heard a strangled “Oh, fuck,” from above him as he bottomed out, straining to keep his gag reflex in check, then he dragged a stripe along the underside with his tongue as he retreated. He pulled off and began wanking Potter again, wrapping a loose fist around the spit-wet, dark skin.
“Jesus, Malfoy,” Potter said. He was staring at Malfoy again, his pupils blown.
“More reading, less chit-chat,” Malfoy said. It may have come out a bit gleefully. Tormenting Potter turned out to be such a turn on. “Come on, Potter, try to keep up.”
He didn’t give Potter a chance to respond, just started bobbing his head around the tip of Potter’s cock as he continued to stroke the remainder with his fist. This actually appeared to motivate Potter, somehow; he redoubled his efforts, a confused mixture of arousal and concentration visible on his face as he continued to turn pages in the book.
Continuing his ministrations to Potter’s dick, Draco took the opportunity to sneak a glance around them. The outlook was... not good, he decided. He couldn’t see what was happening behind him, but the cloud of darkness appeared to have cut off any potential exit behind Potter’s back. The bed they were using would eventually be isolated from everything, one small point of light in a sea of darkness; tendrils were already sneaking along the floor towards the legs of the bed.
“Not to rush you, or anything,” Draco began, trying to sound casual and unconcerned. “But how much more would you say you have to go?”
“I’m nearly there,” Potter said tightly. “I just...” He stilled again, and Draco felt the other man’s stomach muscles clench. He looked up at Potter’s face; he was looking out at the surrounding darkness once again.
“Focus, Potter!” Draco said sharply. Letting go of Potter’s dick, he reached out with both hands and placed them on the other man’s arse. It really was a fine specimen, he thought. It fit wonderfully in his hands. He gave a little push against it, forcing Potter to thrust his cock into Draco’s mouth and eliciting a hiss of pleasure from him. “Or do you need some more encouragement?” he tried to ask around it. “Perhaps you’d like to fuck my mouth?” The words came out a bit garbled, since he still had the length of Potter’s dick to contend with.
At least he had Potter’s attention again. “Sorry, what?” Potter asked, looking down at him.
Draco pushed against Potter’s hips, moving them backwards so the man’s cock was no longer interfering with his speech. The suction in his mouth caused a popping sound as the head emerged once more. It bobbed appealingly in front of Draco’s lips as he made direct eye contact with Potter. “I said you should fuck my mouth.”
Potter’s breathing sped up, and his hips began to move without any assistance from Draco, pistoning his cock in and out of Draco’s mouth. Draco just relaxed his throat and took it; he’d always found it an incredible turn on when a partner let loose on him like this. He tried to assist by swiping his tongue along Potter’s cock as it retreated after each thrust—every time he did so, Potter gave this little grunt that steadily increased Draco’s desire to flip him over and just have his way with him, damn the consequences. Surely there were worse ways to go.
“I—” Potter panted, still continuing to use Draco’s mouth as he pleased. “I finished the book.” He was still holding on to it with one hand; the other had fisted itself in Draco’s hair at some point. His eyes looked wild—he seemed half out of control as he chased his impending orgasm. “What now, Malfoy?”
Draco grabbed Potter’s hips as his cock pulled back across Draco’s lips. He held Potter there, the tip of his cock bobbing just beyond the reach of Draco’s mouth, and Potter began to strain against his grip, desperate to continue his interrupted rhythm.
“Fuck, Malfoy,” Potter gasped. “What are you waiting for?”
Draco looked him in the eye, then opened his mouth and slammed Potter’s cock forward until Draco’s nose was tickled by the dark hairs at the base. Potter moaned as he was deepthroated, a breathy, urgent sound that lit Draco up, and the fist in Draco’s hair tightened deliciously. Draco held Potter’s dick at the back of his throat for a long moment, then pulled back just before he could feel tears starting to form in the corners of his eyes. He kept watching Potter’s face as he began to jack him off again, with quick, urgent motions.
“Come on, Potter,” he said. He meant for it to be a bit salacious, a bit lascivious and over the top, but it actually came out far breathier than he anticipated. “Time for the big finish. I want it all.”
“Fuck,” Potter said, squeezing his eyes shut, then opening them again as if he couldn’t bear not to look at Draco while this happened. “Fuck me.” Another long blink, before his eyes popped open again with a sudden look of concern. “But wait, you didn’t get to—”
“Potter!” Draco interrupted, exasperated. “I can’t believe you’re trying to be a gentleman about this, now of all times. I promise I’ve enjoyed myself; just come on my fucking face already!”
Somehow that appeared to assuage Potter’s concerns. He bit his lip as he watched Draco wanking him, his fingers a thin, pale blur as they moved against the dark skin of Potter’s cock. His breathing was getting more erratic, his face flushed, and Draco realized that yes, he truly wanted this. He wanted nothing more than to feel Potter come apart over him, under Draco’s control.
Draco felt it begin in Potter’s thighs first, as they clenched around his chest. Draco was as hard as he’d ever been; he thought he might actually be in danger of coming, too.
“It’s—” Potter ground out. “I’m going to—”
“Yes,” Draco whispered urgently. “Do it!”
Potter threw his head back and gave a guttural moan as Draco kept jerking him, and Draco felt his lips part in preparation—
Draco blinked and found himself back in the familiar surroundings of St. Mungo’s, sitting next to Potter’s bed. He was also obscenely hard, if discreetly so, under his Healer robes. That was probably better than actually coming in his pants, he rationalized, but it certainly wasn’t a comfortable sensation. He stood up, startling an oath from Jenkins as he did so, and looked down at Potter’s body, searching for signs of wakefulness.
Jenkins immediately reached out and cast a diagnostic charm, but Draco could already see Potter’s eyes beginning to flutter open. “He’s waking up!” Jenkins announced, unnecessarily, as Potter yawned and stretched.
“Thank Merlin,” Weasley said from behind him.
“Oh, goodness, yes,” came a new, feminine voice. Draco spared a glance over his shoulder and saw Hermione Granger sitting next to her husband; she must have arrived while he had been inside Potter’s dream.
Draco looked intently at Potter’s face. The biggest risk at this point was the effects of the memory loss. Had his attempt to reconstitute Potter’s memories in the heat of the moment been effective? Whatever that dark cloud had been, they had to hope that it had been disarmed by Harry’s subconscious defences upon waking.
“Potter,” Draco said. “I hope your long nap was refreshing. You’re in St. Mungo’s; there’s no need to be alarmed. I was asked to perform a special legilimency operation for you.”
Through another yawn, Potter looked up at him quizzically. “Malfoy?” he said. “I had a… it was the weirdest dream.” His cheeks suddenly flooded with colour, which Draco took to be a good sign in this particular case.
“Well,” Malfoy said briskly. “No need to read too much into this particular dream. Can you tell me where you work?”
“Hogwarts,” Potter replied dutifully. “I’m the DA professor. Why?”
“And your marital status?”
Behind him, he heard Weasley say quietly, “What is he—” before Granger shushed him.
Potter gave Draco a weird look. “Divorced,” he said cautiously. “But what’s this all about?”
“Just testing your powers of recall,” Draco said. “It certainly appears as if we were able to avert any lasting damage to your memories.”
“His memories?” Weasley yelped. “What was wrong with him?”
“The root problem was as I predicted,” Draco said, turning away from Potter to face the others. “Mr. Potter was trapped inside a dreaming state, and I was able to assist him in exiting it by creating a sufficient shock from inside the dream.” He resolutely didn’t look back at Potter’s face, nor elaborate about the nature of that shock. Some things were best never discussed again. “However, there was a foreign element present that I haven’t encountered before, which appeared to be seeking out Potter’s memories and… hiding them, somehow. My theory is that Potter was deliberately placed in an enchanted sleep to reduce his mind’s natural defences against this assault on his memories. Perhaps if we knew what had triggered his involuntary nap, we may better understand how these pieces fit together?”
All eyes in the room swung to Harry. “Wait, you mean this was… an attack or something?” he asked, eyes wide. “Why?”
“Let’s focus on what actually happened,” Draco prompted. “What do you remember doing before you woke up here?”
Potter’s brow furrowed in concentration. “I was…” he began. “Checking my wixmail? That’s all, just reading and answering messages on my computer.”
“Was anybody else in the room with you?” Weasley asked.
“No,” Potter said, shaking his head. “My door was closed, and it squeaks really loudly as it opens. I would have noticed somebody coming in.”
“Ok, so you were reading wixmail, and… what? You just suddenly passed out?”
Potter closed his eyes, apparently trying to reconstruct the scene. “There were several student queries about the latest assignment… then there was the message to all the faculty about scheduling exams… and there was the leak about the upcoming Firebolt, but the details were in the attachment… oh. Bollocks.”
“Harry!” Granger exclaimed. “You didn’t!”
Potter opened his eyes again. He looked sheepish. “Um. I guess I did?”
“I can’t believe we’ve learned nothing from Muggles,” Granger said angrily. “Magical attachments to wixmail! Honestly!”
“So, Harry was hit by one of those magical viruses?” Weasley asked. “But why did it go after his memories?”
“Ransomware, I expect,” Draco said. “The goal would be to keep Potter asleep long enough to demand a ransom to wake him up, and threaten removing his memories if the ransom isn’t paid.”
“That’s twisted, that is,” Weasley said, sounding shocked.
“Yes, well, perhaps a high-profile victim could make a compelling argument for some reform,” Draco said. “Do think on it; I’m sure the press would love to hear your story, Potter.” He ran his gaze across Potter, checking for any other visible signs of injury. Potter’s cheeks flushed again under his scrutiny, which was… well, gratifying. He could admit that in the privacy of his own head. “In any case, you seem to be out of immediate danger, and no longer require my particular skills. I will leave you in the capable hands of my colleague, Healer Jenkins.”
Jenkins had been standing by, letting Draco take the lead, but he shook himself and stepped forward. “Yes, thank you, Healer Malfoy. Now, Mr. Potter, I’m going to start a series of diagnostic tests, if you don’t mind. We’ll start with your lower extremities. Keep your legs still, if you please?”
“Oh, er, I’m sure my lower extremities are fine,” Potter said quickly. “You should probably start at my head instead.”
Draco quietly removed himself from the crowd around Potter’s bed while attention was focused on the tests being performed. As he let himself out of the room, he turned back for one more look, only to find Potter gazing after him inscrutably. Draco paused for a moment, just to see if Potter would do or say anything else, then he gave the other man a professional nod and allowed the door to swing closed.
A week later, Draco rounded a corner in Diagon Alley and tripped face first over Harry Potter’s terrible professor shoes.
“God, I’m sorry,” the other man said, reaching down to help him off the ground. “I shouldn’t have—Malfoy?”
“Yes, pardon me,” Malfoy said as he rose, stepping to the side as he brushed off his trousers. They were going to be covered in dirt; he’d probably have to resort to a scourgify. As good as chuck them in the bin, given the way the spell would wear on the fabric. “There’s a whole street available to you, and you felt you had to lounge on this corner like a delinquent,” he said. It came out slightly more aggrieved than he intended.
Potter barked a laugh. “Yes, that’s what I turn into over the school hols,” he said. “Just lying in wait to trip unwary members of the public.”
Draco smoothed down the sides of his coat. It was probably unnecessary, given how thick it was, but it made him feel better. “I knew it,” he said. “You were always a rule-breaking terror. Don’t know how the press continues to overlook it.”
“It requires a very complex web of blackmail and mind control magic,” Harry said. “Honestly, it’s exhausting keeping it up. I’m thinking of turning myself in.”
“As you should,” Draco said primly. He felt a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “The wizarding world deserves a higher class of saviour than you, honestly.”
Potter grinned at him, and Draco abruptly couldn’t think of what he was supposed to say next. The silence went on slightly too long, and Potter’s smile dimmed for a moment.
“Listen,” he said, and Draco started to panic a tiny bit.
“What?” he asked, too quickly, too loudly.
“I just wanted to say—thanks. For, you know. They’ve taken my computer to try and trace whoever sent me that magical virus, but I just want you to know—I appreciate what you did for me.” He eyed Draco for a moment, as if considering something. “It can’t have been very comfortable for you.”
Draco snorted. “It wasn’t exactly ideal circumstances, but it didn’t make me uncomfortable.”
“Oh,” Harry said, and he looked vaguely disappointed for some reason. “I guess that makes sense. You must deal with all kinds of weird stuff as a Mind Healer.”
“Sometimes,” Draco allowed. “However, your… situation was not out of my comfort zone.”
“I guess you have to get good at being professional about it,” Potter said. “And you were. Very professional. So, thanks again, I guess.”
Draco had to refrain from rolling his eyes; the man was a willfully oblivious fool. “Listen,” he said, as Potter appeared to have every intention of just striding away in a huff. “I am only going to tell you this once, and then I am going to walk away and we don’t ever have to discuss it again.” He took a quick breath before plunging onwards. “I chose my… method… for extracting you from your dream mostly because I was desperate. But also I think we may have been flirting? Earlier in the dream, I mean.” Despite his mother’s loathing of the habit, he found himself biting his lip again. He hated exposing his feelings this way, like some kind of emotional exhibitionist, but there might not be another way to get the message through Potter’s extraordinarily thick skull. “Dreams are strange beasts,” he continued, “so I’m not going to read anything into it. However, here’s my card if you need anything from me in the future.” He grabbed a business card from his coat pocket and handed it to Potter, who stared at him.
“If I need anything,” Potter said slowly, looking from the card back to Draco. “Like… more legilimency help? I’ve been given a clean bill of health, you know. I should be fine now.”
Merlin wept, Draco thought to himself. “It’s my number,” he snapped. “In case you ever want to get a drink with me, just as a completely random example.”
Potter’s eyes went wide. “Oh,” he said. “Oh, yeah. Er, yes. Good.” His eyes darted to the card again, then met Draco’s once more. “God, I wasn’t sure if you would want that. After, you know. The, er. Well. But you do!”
There was another pause, and Draco refused to be the one to take the next step. Potter may not be his patient, but Draco was still the one who had pushed boundaries so far, and he wanted to be sure that Potter actually wanted this. “Well,” Draco finally said, when Potter just kept glancing at the card and licking his lips nervously. “I’m glad you’re feeling better, Potter. Do give me a ring if the fancy ever strikes you.” He bestowed another one of his professional nods in the other man’s direction and continued on his original path.
He had hardly gone twenty steps when his mobile rang, and he had to fumble in his coat pocket for it. He always felt ridiculous answering it in public, but modern society demanded these inconveniences.
“This is Draco Malfoy,” he said curtly. He consciously reminded himself to moderate his tone; he may be disappointed by how the interaction with Potter concluded, but it wasn’t something he needed to take out on others.
“Have a drink with me,” Potter’s voice said, the words tumbling out of the mobile’s tinny speaker. “Tonight. Or right now even. Are you free right now? We could go to the Leaky.”
Draco turned around to regard Harry Potter, who was staring at him determinedly further down the street, mobile pressed against his face. He allowed the corners of his mouth to curl upwards as he said, “I’d like that very much.”