disclaimer: JKR has money, and I don't. Oh and she also has Harry, and I don't. I will though. One day. One day Harry will be miiiiiine *evil laugh* warning: nothing much, really. but it's slash. H/D, sorta kinda. wishful thinking. dragons are scary. a/n: Damn, I have to stop writing these interludes and get to the plot. um. But hey, they're kinda fun. ~~summer~~lights~ Harry dreamt he was walking underground, in an earthen tunnel, narrow and dank, muddy water and decaying plantlife swirling about his feet. He felt uneasy, almost frightened, but something kept him walking, and it seemed he was looking for something, he didn't know what. His eyes couldn't make out much, but he heard a rushing, repetitive sound, rhythmic and strangely familiar, like Harry imagined the ocean would be. He started breathing in concert with it, not noticing it as he did. The ends of his fingertips were tingling, as well as that vulnerable area between his shoulderblades. He took off his shoes, so as to feel the mud between his toes more clearly-- he didn't know why, but he had to. Harry felt at his pockets again and again, feeling adrift without the reassuring presence of his wand. He could really do with some light summoning right now, he thought. His soggy robes were continuously on the verge of tripping him, so he had to keep holding them up, feeling a bit like a prissy prince out of his element. He stopped suddenly, closing his eyes. He smelled something rich, lush and almost fruity in the air, with a hint of fungus, of the sort you get from slightly burnt mushrooms-- a burst of warm wind rushing past him. It made his head feel light and gave him a strange sense of falling. He stuck out an arm, leaning against one wall to hold himself up. When he opened his eyes again, he saw a red, flickering light straight ahead of him. It was growing ever-brighter, and more mesmerizing. Unthinking, he walked towards it. Somewhere in the background, very quietly, he was wondering if lights could hold the powers of an Imperious Curse within them. Strangely, it didn't seem to matter, but he was still curious. His mouth was dry and his head strangely clear. All he felt was a sort of calm anticipation. And then he was in a huge, open hall, too smooth and round and endless-seeming to be a cave. For a moment he forgot to breathe. The red lights were now focused on him, and they were brilliant, crimson eyes. It was very dim in this place, so at first all he saw were the huge cauldrons of red, now paling, changing in hue, becoming a sort of burnt orange, then a clear amber. There were flickers of gold all around him, and at first he thought it was some vast treasure, as in countless legends. Then his eyes adjusted, and he realized what he was seeing were dragon scales. Looking polished and metallic and glistening brighter than gold, there seemed to be an endless expanse of them, a coiling loop as far as he could see. He smelled that scent again, now strongly reminiscent of wet, old leaves and orchids, and realized it must be the dragon breathing, in these great big puffs of strangely flavored air. The eyes were still focused on him, inscrutable and unmoving. Harry was rooted to the spot, completely unable to imagine interacting with this creature, or giving up and going. Of course, he couldn't if he wanted to. Harry was completely under its thrall, unlike any dragon he'd ever before encountered. He realized there was nothing he wouldn't do for this majestic creature. There was nothing it could -want- from one such as him, there was nothing he had to give. Falling to his knees, he mindlessly reached out to touch the dragon's smooth, cool side. "Mmm... took you long enough," the voice said, reverbrating in his mind, seeming wryly amused. "W-what??" Harry was well and truly lost at this point. His confusion was greeted by a deep, intimate-feeling sort of laugh, which buzzed all the way through his body, leaving him shaken and feeling somewhat burnt around the edges. "You really don't know, do you? Well, no matter, Mr. Potter. I know just what to do with ones such as you," the voice Harry was starting to suspect was that of the dragon continued, quite casually. "You do?" Harry said, feeling somewhat uncharacteristically dull. "Why yes. Are you afraid?" Harry took the time to consider this. He was deliciously warm, he was wrapped in the most unbelievable garden of scents, he was feeling his fingers caress the electric-seeming surface of the dragon's scales, completely involuntarily, lost in the sheer pleasure of this small contact. Overall, there was something disturbingly arousing about this whole situation, though he couldn't seem to find it in himself to be truly disturbed. Though being conscious of it made his stomach clench and twist in a nervous manner. Being painfully self-conscious didn't count as afraid though, he supposed. "No. I feel weird, though," he said, honestly, laughing at himself a little. "Oh. Well that's alright then. Is this better?" His eyes weren't open, and he was afraid to see, now, because his fingers were suddenly clasped in anothers', a cool and soft sort of touch, undemanding, tentative even. He felt like he was dissipating into some gaseous substance, unable to keep a hold on himself or his perceptions or emotions any longer. His fingers tangled in the other's, gaining comfort he didn't know he wanted. "Any second now, you're going to breathe fire on me and reveal that you're secretly Voldemort, I just know it," Harry said blandly, not particularly concerned, though slightly amused by this idea. "Of course not, you silly git, this isn't that sort of dream," the reply came, after the smallest of pauses. This proved to be enough to push Harry out of his haze, and his eyes snapped open, in something close to shock. He was getting so... relaxed. His eyes searched the chamber he was in frantically, but there was no sign of the dragon, just a lingering scent, barely noticeable unless you knew what to look for. Then he noticed he wasn't alone, was in fact in close proximity to someone whose features were obscured by the dim, grey shadow cast on everything around him. Their fingers were still just barely touching, Harry found, and jerked his hand away. "Who...?" "Figures. You were never the brightest light, were you Potter?" came the drawl, this time not inside his mind, but rather coming straight from the figure next to him. It was then he realized he was looking straight into a pair of smokey grey eyes, cool and teasing, but not really taunting him right then. Harry sighed. Will the stupid arse -never- leave him be? This was definitely the last place he'd thought to find a Malfoy. Suddenly, he realized that he had places to go-- a lot of places-- all of them, outside of this chamber. "Running, are we?" the cool voice commented, the face still in shadow. "What the hell are you doing here, Malfoy?" Harry demanded, indignant. The grey figure advanced the few steps towards him, and he saw that Malfoy's lips were curled in an infuriating smile. He was suddenly so close to the other boy, he could feel his breath fanning across his cheek. It reminded him of something... something he didn't quite remember anymore... something that had a flavor of strong, pungent greens, and the tantalizing hint of orchid. Harry shook his head, to clear it, and the scents were gone. "Here to make your life a nightmare, as always, Potter," the boy said, in what was almost a whisper, up-close and strangely intimate. "You can depend on me," he added, mockingly. "Well, feel free to go away," Harry said, firmly. "You don't mean that, do you?" the reply came, from a mouth drifting closer and closer to Harry's own, to his horror. "Mmmm, I know you don't." And then, the mouth was on his, soft but insistent. "Mmf!" Harry was sputtering, his arms moving to push Malfoy away from him, grasping onto the other boy's forearms, but succeeding only in tightening his grip more and more, as his body responded to the intensity of the sensations those lips were provoking. It was only moments before they were molding the curves of their bodies tightly against one another, and Harry was letting out small, feeble moans, still in something meant to be protest, but drenched with pleasure. `Draco... yes... yes... want... now... now, I... want... want you...,' he thought, hazily, until the idea actually penetrated. When it did, he was jolted harshly back to reality. Harry sat up in his lumpy old bed, coated in cold sweat. No way, he thought. There's no way. I'm really losing it. Because there's just, no way. He fell back, suddenly feeling exhausted. There's just no way, he thought again. Fleetingly, he considered memory charms, almost desperate enough. There's just no way, not Malfoy, not now, not ever. Still, another part of himself was smirking at him-- "Just keep telling yourself that, Potter," it told him, in a suspiciously familiar drawling voice. ~~