Chapter Text
“I’m sorry, Harry. I can’t give you any more Dreamless Sleep.”
Harry swallows. He knew Madam Pomfrey would say that, eventually. She told him early on that the potion could only be a temporary solution. If you suppress dreams for too long, you get sick.
Harry sighs. “Okay.”
He knows it’d be pointless to protest. Madam Pomfrey won’t listen to his pleas, no matter what he says. And it’s not like Harry will gain much by one more peaceful night, anyway.
“I’m sorry,” Madam Pomfrey repeats.
Harry hears the concern in her voice and smiles reassuringly. At least, that is what he tries to do. By the way the lines on Madam Pomfrey’s face deepen, it doesn’t look very convincing.
“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”
Madam Pomfrey sighs. She looks sad and conflicted, but ultimately, there is nothing she can do for him, and she knows it. She hesitates for a moment. Then she wishes him a good night and leaves.
The second she is out of sight, Harry grimaces. He is so tired of it all. Tired of fighting, tired of hurting, tired of…
No, not tired of living. Not yet, anyway.
Harry pulls the blanket over his head, trying to block out the world around him. There is only one reason why he doesn’t try to remain awake for as long as possible.
He can’t stay awake for the rest of his life.
***
When Harry opens his eyes, he instinctively knows he’s dreaming. Slowly, he turns around and finds someone standing in front of him, only a couple of feet separating them.
Harry stares at the person, taking in every little detail. One of the first things he notices is that person is male. He has broad shoulders, is considerably taller than Harry, and lacks any characteristics a woman would have. Most obviously, his chest is completely flat. Even his face looks distinctly male, even though Harry can’t make out more than the most basic features. Just like the rest of his body, his face looks blurry, like there is a thick wall of fog between them.
Harry’s mind is reeling. He knows what this dream means, but he doesn’t understand why it’s happening now, of all times. Most people get their first soulmate dream sometime after they turn seventeen. Harry isn’t even fifteen yet. It feels weird to meet the person he is meant to be with so shortly after the worst day of his life.
The man looks back at him, at least as far as Harry can tell. It’s hard to know for sure since everything looks so foggy. Then, like he thinks Harry is a scared animal, the man takes a slow step forward and then another until he’s standing right in front of him. Harry watches as the man raises his hand.
When the hand touches his cheek, Harry feels tension he hadn’t even been aware of leaving his body. The hand is warm and smooth and fits perfectly against his cheek. Harry exhales slowly and closes his eyes.
It’s just a hand, Harry thinks, slightly hysterical. There is no reason why it should make me feel like I can finally let go, like I don’t have to fight to keep my head above water anymore.
Harry knows he can’t allow himself to feel that way. No one can fight his battles for him. Not even his soulmate.
“I have waited decades for this moment,” the man says. His thumb brushes over the skin right under Harry’s left eye.
Harry gets goosebumps, both from the words and from the thumb that sets his skin on fire.
“Decades?” Harry asks, frowning. Dread pulses through his veins when he thinks of being bonded to a full-grown adult. The last thing he needs is a soulmate who treats him like a child.
“Yes, decades.” The hand on Harry’s cheek pushes into Harry’s hair, and his fingertips lightly brush over Harry’s scalp. Again, Harry gets goosebumps and shudders. It’s weird. The man’s hand isn’t even doing anything special, and yet it feels better than anything Harry felt since the graveyard.
“How many decades?”
“Does that matter?” The man raises his other hand and pushes it into Harry’s hair as well. Harry lets out a low whimper against his will. Harry desperately wants to let go and just enjoy his soulmate’s touches and his calming presence. But before he can allow himself to do that, he has to make sure it’s a safe and reasonable thing to do.
“Of course it matters!”
The man makes a noncommittal noise, his fingertips still lightly brushing over Harry’s scalp, making him shiver now and then.
“I will tell you once we meet in person.” The man leans forward until his nose softly rubs against Harry’s. Harry gasps for breath, scared by how much the man’s gentleness affects him. Part of Harry wants to draw back so that he can think more clearly, but he quickly realizes that he can’t. His thirst for pleasant sensations is too strong.
“Who says we will meet in person?” Harry says, careful to keep his head as immobile as possible, so their lips don’t accidentally touch. He feels the man’s breath on his lips and can’t help but wonder how it’d feel like to lean forward.
Would it be weird to have his first kiss in a dream? Everything feels exactly like it does when he’s awake, so he doesn’t think it’d make that much of a difference.
The hands in Harry’s hair become rigid. Harry shivers. Somehow, the less gentle touch feels even better. More real and less like the man is trying to lure Harry into some kind of trap.
“What do you mean?”
The man’s voice sounds sharp and demanding.
Harry bites his lips and tries to make eye contact, only to give up almost immediately. He can see that the man has two eyes, but that’s about everything he can make out. It’s impossible to make eye contact that way.
Harry isn’t worried about everything looking foggy, though. That’s how soulmate dreams work. You dream about each other every night, only seeing vague silhouettes of each other until you have completed the bond.
Harry narrows his eyes. “I’ve heard enough stories about abusive soulmates that I’m not just gonna blurt out my name like a fool.”
The man’s grip gets even tighter. It still doesn’t hurt, but Harry knows that it won’t take much more to become painful.
“I will not hurt you,” the man says with so much conviction Harry almost believes him.
Harry smiles faintly. “Most people hurt me sooner or later. Sorry but I don’t know if I can trust you.”
The man’s grip loosens significantly, and he resumes the gentle touch from earlier. He lowers his head until his lips touch Harry’s neck. Then there is something wet, teasing his collarbone. Harry gasps and instinctively leans his head to the side to give the man better access.
“I will make sure that no one will ever hurt you again,” the man says between the licks of his tongue. “All you will have to do is tell me your name.”
Harry laughs, surprised that it sounds more breathless than incredulous. “You can’t, even if you wanted to. There will always be someone out to harm me. You can’t fend off everyone.”
Especially not Voldemort. There is no way his soulmate is powerful enough to keep Voldemort from going after Harry.
“Yes, I can. I’m the most powerful wizard alive.”
Harry freezes. “No, you aren’t. That’s Dumbledore.”
This man can’t be Dumbledore, right? Dumbledore wouldn’t act like this. He wouldn’t be… wouldn’t be this touchy, this eager to get close to Harry.
Right?
Well. He might be if he had waited to meet his soulmate for over a century. Harry desperately hopes he’s wrong. He doesn’t want to be connected to Dumbledore that way.
The man scoffs against Harry’s neck. “Stop shaking. I’m not Dumbledore.”
Harry exhales sharply, and some of the tension leaves his body. The man shifts his head again, and this time, Harry feels teeth brushing against his vulnerable neck. Harry holds his breath, momentarily too distracted to think about anything at all.
Then he shakes his head mentally. If his soulmate isn’t Dumbledore… and he claims to be the most powerful wizard alive…
Harry gasps.
Frantically, he pushes the man away and stumbles backward.
“You’re Vo-” Harry catches himself just in time and coughs, hoping that his slip-up goes unnoticed. “You’re You-Know-Who.”
Voldemort smiles. At least, Harry thinks he does. It’s hard to tell, considering his face still looks blurry as hell.
Harry’s skin crawls. He never would’ve allowed Voldemort to touch him like that if he had known it was him!
“Took you long enough.” Voldemort cocks his head. “Now, tell me your name. I promise I won’t hurt you, no matter which side you’re on.”
Harry shakes his head. “No.”
Voldemort stops smiling. “You can’t hide from me. You will dream of me every night, for the rest of your life, if you don’t give in. That’s hardly any different from being in my presence for real.”
Harry laughs humorlessly. Voldemort can’t honestly think he’s that stupid, right?
“Yes, it is. You can make me suffer while I’m dreaming, but it won’t affect my body. And you can’t kill me here.”
Voldemort growls. “I will not harm you in any way.”
“Of course, you will. You torture people for fun. You punish your followers with Unforgiveables. Why should you treat me any differently?”
“You’re my soulmate,” Voldemort says like that explains everything.
Voldemort takes a step forward, and Harry stumbles backward so hastily that he falls-
And then, suddenly, he finds himself sitting upright in his bed, a concerned Madam Pomfrey leaning over him.
“I heard you screaming. Are you all right?”
Harry looks around, panting. When he sees that there is no one else in the room, he relaxes somewhat.
“I…” Harry swallows. “No. I’m not all right.”