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jessicaqueen
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rarepair_shortsAuthor: flaminia_x
Recipient:jessicaqueen
Title: Daydreaming
Pairing: Harry Potter/Neville Longbottom, Harry Potter/Gilderoy Lockhart (sort of)
Rating: R
Word Count: 2470
Summary: In addition to Memory Charms, Lockhart had a few other specialities up his sleeve. But when people starts noticing odd changes in Harry's behavior after detentions with him, will they figure out what's going on?
Author's Notes: I hope this is along the lines of what you'd like, jessicaqueen! I don't write this pairing so I appreciate the challenge. Also, everyone's of age, as it's sort of an 8th-year fic, so feel free to create your own version of why Lockhart is teaching at Hogwarts.
“Detention, Mr. Potter,” Lockhart smiled gleefully. “Be at my office promptly at 8:00 this evening. Perhaps this time you'll remember to finish your homework.”
In the back of the room, Harry slumped in his chair.
“Blimey, Harry, that's the third one this week,” Ron said in alarm.
“I know, Ron!” Harry whispered.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “If you'd just finish your essays … I told you I'd look over them! Just because the war is over doesn't mean we don't have to pass our exams.”
Harry snickered as Ron mimicked all of her words. Merlin knew they'd heard the speech enough.
“It's not funny, Harry! Lockhart's bad enough in class, but after each of his detentions, you look … odd,” Hermione said worriedly.
“Odder than usual?” Harry asked darkly, wincing when she smacked him on the arm.
“I mean you look foggy, dazed. Oh! Harry! He's not … he's not molesting you,” she gasped, clapping her hands over her mouth.
“I'd think I'd remember that,” Harry said, shifting uncomfortably on the hard bench. He was sore this morning, but that had nothing to do with detention, not that anyone needed to know that.
“But what if you can't, mate?” Ron asked in concern. “All he does is brag about his Memory Charms. What if you were Obliviated or something?”
Across the room, Neville cocked an eyebrow at him curiously. Harry shook his head, motioning that he was alright. Neville nodded, winked, and looked quickly back at his work. A small smile tugged at the corner of Harry's mouth before he sighed. “I don't think Lockhart would Obliviate me … and why? I don't know anything the world doesn't already know.”
“Dunno, but you do come back looking all … woozy-like,” Ron said. “Maybe McGonagall should look you over.”
Harry groaned. “Alright. I promise, if I come back from detention tonight looking however you think I shouldn't look, take me to McGonagall. But I don't think anything's happening,” he said, rubbing his head.
***
At 8:02, Harry showed up at Lockhart's office. He sighed, knocking on the mahogany door.
“Ah, Harry!” Lockhart said jovially, beckoning the young man inside. “Welcome. Care for some tea, Butterbeer?”
Harry took the Butterbeer, sitting awkwardly in one of the leather armchairs. Lockhart sat in the other, nursing a snifter of brandy. “I suppose you know why you're here,” he started.
“Yes, sir, you told me so in class. I didn't complete my assignment,” Harry said. Because I was in detention with you half the night, and with Neville the other half, you big git, he finished silently in his head.
“Right. Now, I know you want to do well. After all, fame won't get you everything,” he joked. “So I'm inclined to go easy on you. Just … enjoy your Butterbeer while you sign these photos for me, alright?” Lockhart stood up, handing Harry one of his special Autograph quills. He stared at Harry for a moment, then went to his desk to grade papers.
Harry shook his head. Lockhart was an odd one. At least he had nice quills. Better than Umbridge's, for sure. He gulped half of his Butterbeer, then began to write.
Within minutes, he found himself daydreaming. His hand kept moving automatically, but his mind drifted off to last night. After he left Lockhart's office, he wandered exhaustedly back to Gryffindor Tower, intent on one thing only – spending the rest of the night with Neville. They had connected on some level after the war. They hadn't talked about it much, no declarations of love or commitment. But Neville was willing and trustworthy, and so at the end of a very long, very boring detention, he wanted nothing else but to be shagged to sleep. He and Neville had spent the rest of the night doing just that, under the secrecy of some strong Silencing Charms.
Harry found himself reliving the evening in detail, eyes glazing over as he thought about how strong Neville's hands were, how his torso had become lean and muscular from his work in Herbology. How he had lost all of the baby fat he had carried when he was younger, how the war had made his eyes shine like steel, how compassionate he still was, regardless. He shivered as he remembered the sleepy taste of toothpaste on Neville's lips, the feel of his warmth tucked around him, their legs entwined. And how, afterward, Neville wrapped his arms around Harry, falling asleep before his head hit the pillow.
“Harry?” Lockhart's voice sounded in Harry's mind, shaking him awake. “Are you well?” His face was flushed, a sheen of sweat glistened on his brow as he bent down.
Harry came to in surprise. “Oh, Professor, sorry. I must have … drifted off.”
“No, it's alright,” Lockhart said nervously. “I think you've done plenty. Off with you now. Go on.”
Harry grimaced as he blinked his dry eyes. He must have been staring into space. Well, better than staring at Lockhart's winking face for hours … Shaking his head, he walked back to Gryffindor Tower.
***
Watching Harry close the door, Lockhart groaned in frustration and relief. Minutes later, he lay sated on his red silk sheets, chuckling again at his own intelligence.
Those quills were a brilliant invention, if I do say so myself, he thought giddily as he walked over to his Pensieve. Drawing his wand, he pulled out a silver thread, placing it in the bowl. “That one will be so good later,” he said. “Thank you again, Potter … and Longbottom.”
***
When Harry walked into the Common Room, he found Neville, Ron and Hermione waiting for him.
“Alright, how do you feel?” Hermione asked anxiously, but Harry only had eyes for Neville.
Walking over to Neville, Harry looped his arms around his neck, whispering, “I want to go to bed. Please, Neville.”
“I'm sorry, Harry,” Neville said, “but we need to make sure you're alright. It'll only take a minute, okay?”
Harry nodded tiredly and turned to Ron and Hermione. “Well?”
“Well? How do you feel?” Ron said.
“I … I dunno,” Harry said, stumbling over to the couch. “Really tired. And -” he glanced over at Neville, blushing, “-really horny.”
“I see,” Hermione said, her own face flushing a bit. “And is that how you normally feel when you get done with Lockhart?”
Harry raised an eyebrow in her direction.
“Oh … I meant … oh, hell, I meant is that normal for you when you finish detention with him?” Hermione clarified, beet-red.
Harry thought for a moment, then shrugged. Neville sat next to him. “I can answer that,” he said. “Harry always comes to my bed after one of his detentions with Lockhart, and he's always … in the mood. Insatiable, really,” he finished. “I hadn't really thought about it until now. I mean, it's always really late, so I just chalked it up to having a rough day and being really tired.”
“Harry, does he do anything to you in detention?” Ron asked. “You can tell us.”
“No!” Harry exclaimed. “All he does is offer me a drink, and then I sign more bloody pictures. The house elves bring the tea, I watch him open the Butterbeer himself. He doesn't slip anything in it. And I always use one of his Autograph quills, the ones he keeps because they replicate his signature. Then ...”
“Then what, Harry?” Hermione asked quietly.
“Then … nothing. I just daydream, I guess. I never actually remember signing all the pictures. Lockhart just stops me after a while and shoos me off,” Harry said.
Ron, Hermione and Neville glanced at each other. “You don't remember anything, Harry?” Neville asked worriedly.
“Not really, just … thinking about you. Us, really,” Harry said, looking up at Neville with a tiny, private smile.
“Is that his quill?” Hermione asked.
Looking down, Harry realized he was still holding Lockhart's quill. “Oh. Yeah, here,” he said, handing it to her.
Hermione didn't touch it, but instead wafted it into her rucksack with a wave of her wand. “Come on, Harry. We're going to see McGonagall,” she said grimly.
The four of them trundled off to the Headmistress's office. Hermione whispered her password - “Glenfiddich” - to the big stone gargoyle, and minutes later, they all were huddled together in front of her desk.
McGonagall sat behind it, bundled up in a tartan robe, her hair in a loose bun on her neck. “Miss Granger, this had better be of the utmost importance,” she said.
“It is, Headmistress,” Hermione said. “Harry's been acting odd after every detention he has with Professor Lockhart. He can't remember anything that happens during them, only that he is asked to use one of these quills.” She sent the quill sailing over to rest lightly on McGonagall's desk. “He comes back to Gryffindor Tower in a daze, and then … well, that's private,” she finished.
“This certainly is an unusual quill,” McGonagall said, running her wand along it in a series of complicated gestures. “What do you do with it, Mr. Potter?”
“It's an Autograph quill, Professor,” Harry answered. “Lockhart told me he'd charmed it to replicate his signature so I could sign all his fanmail for him.”
“I see,” she said, turning the quill over. “And you can't remember any of it?”
“Not really,” Harry fidgeted. “I can remember when I start to sign the pictures, but then everything … blurs. I daydream, I guess, but signing all those photos of Lockhart isn't exactly exciting.”
“No, I imagine not,” McGonagall said again. “May I keep this, Mr. Potter?”
“Of course, Professor. May we go?” Harry said anxiously.
“Certainly, but I must impress upon you the importance of minding your thoughts, Harry. I will let you know if I find anything suspect,” McGonagall stated. “Good night to the lot of you.”
“Good night, Professor,” the four chimed together, leaving her office.
***
As her door shut, McGonagall looked more closely at the quill. She had thought she had seen something … there! How unusual; was that a modified Daydreaming Charm? Certainly that would explain how Harry couldn't keep his mind focused. But surely Lockhart wouldn't want a student to sit through hours of detention doing nothing? Why on earth would he give a student a quill with such a charm on it, unless … unless somehow he could see their thoughts. That must be it. The quill was meant to transmit daydreams to another person. Lockhart was spying!
I can't censure him without proving it, though, she thought to herself. Grimly, she gripped her wand and muttered a guttural charm at the quill. Seconds later, she was thrown back in her chair. Her face flushed, her hand fluttering at the buttons to her robes. Her breath came in short gasps. She saw … she saw … “Potter and Longbottom?” she said disbelievingly.
***
“Lockhart!” she thundered, bursting into the other professor's quarters. “Get up. Now!”
“Why, Minerva!” he said sleepily, throwing a robe on. “Is something the matter?”
“You! You – you thief! You pervert! You charm those quills so you can steal memories from children!” she barked, furious. Looking around, she spied his Pensieve in a corner of his bedroom. “I bet you store them in here, so you can look at them over and over! Don't you?”
“My dear Minerva, I don't know what you're talking about,” he stammered, clutching his robes more tightly around himself.
“Oh yes, you do,” she shouted. “I examined your quill, the one that Potter left with tonight. I saw!”
“Oh, that,” he laughed nervously. “I assure you, I can explain -”
“You'll explain nothing! I have no doubt that if I were to take a look in your Pensieve, I'd find scads of similar memories, wouldn't I?” she asked scathingly. “You're coming with me, Lockhart. Now!” Shrinking his Pensieve and pocketing it for evidence, she marched Lockhart at wandpoint through his Floo.
***
The next morning at breakfast, Lockhart was nowhere to be found. Harry tried to catch McGonagall's eye, but for some reason she studiously avoided looking at him.
Later that day, though, McGonagall called the four of them to her office and explained what had happened. They were to be praised, she said, for not ignoring the signs of memory tampering, which had been a result of the Daydreaming Charm, and Harry and Neville were reassured that Lockhart's Pensieve, which had contained over three hundred memories, had been destroyed. And, she added, they each had earned Gryffindor House fifty points for helping to catch and convict a voyeuristic pedophile.
As they walked back to their Common Room, Neville looked at Harry. “So, can I ask you a question?” he asked softly.
“I think you just did,” Harry rebutted.
Neville laughed. “I just meant … was the only reason you came to me all those nights because of Lockhart, or … was there more?”
“Neville, Lockhart didn't make me do anything. It's just that the only thing I was thinking about for hours was … sex, and you, and when I could finally get out of there, your bed was the only place I wanted to go,” Harry explained.
“So you really wanted … me,” Neville queried.
“Yeah,” Harry answered. “I did. I do. I know we've never really talked about anything, but I wouldn't mind seeing where things go, if you're interested.”
Neville smiled at Harry. “Yeah, I think I'd like that. But Harry … if you use one of those quills again, can you charm it just for me?”
Harry grinned widely. “Definitely.”
flaminia_xRecipient:
jessicaqueenTitle: Daydreaming
Pairing: Harry Potter/Neville Longbottom, Harry Potter/Gilderoy Lockhart (sort of)
Rating: R
Word Count: 2470
Summary: In addition to Memory Charms, Lockhart had a few other specialities up his sleeve. But when people starts noticing odd changes in Harry's behavior after detentions with him, will they figure out what's going on?
Author's Notes: I hope this is along the lines of what you'd like, jessicaqueen! I don't write this pairing so I appreciate the challenge. Also, everyone's of age, as it's sort of an 8th-year fic, so feel free to create your own version of why Lockhart is teaching at Hogwarts.
“Detention, Mr. Potter,” Lockhart smiled gleefully. “Be at my office promptly at 8:00 this evening. Perhaps this time you'll remember to finish your homework.”
In the back of the room, Harry slumped in his chair.
“Blimey, Harry, that's the third one this week,” Ron said in alarm.
“I know, Ron!” Harry whispered.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “If you'd just finish your essays … I told you I'd look over them! Just because the war is over doesn't mean we don't have to pass our exams.”
Harry snickered as Ron mimicked all of her words. Merlin knew they'd heard the speech enough.
“It's not funny, Harry! Lockhart's bad enough in class, but after each of his detentions, you look … odd,” Hermione said worriedly.
“Odder than usual?” Harry asked darkly, wincing when she smacked him on the arm.
“I mean you look foggy, dazed. Oh! Harry! He's not … he's not molesting you,” she gasped, clapping her hands over her mouth.
“I'd think I'd remember that,” Harry said, shifting uncomfortably on the hard bench. He was sore this morning, but that had nothing to do with detention, not that anyone needed to know that.
“But what if you can't, mate?” Ron asked in concern. “All he does is brag about his Memory Charms. What if you were Obliviated or something?”
Across the room, Neville cocked an eyebrow at him curiously. Harry shook his head, motioning that he was alright. Neville nodded, winked, and looked quickly back at his work. A small smile tugged at the corner of Harry's mouth before he sighed. “I don't think Lockhart would Obliviate me … and why? I don't know anything the world doesn't already know.”
“Dunno, but you do come back looking all … woozy-like,” Ron said. “Maybe McGonagall should look you over.”
Harry groaned. “Alright. I promise, if I come back from detention tonight looking however you think I shouldn't look, take me to McGonagall. But I don't think anything's happening,” he said, rubbing his head.
***
At 8:02, Harry showed up at Lockhart's office. He sighed, knocking on the mahogany door.
“Ah, Harry!” Lockhart said jovially, beckoning the young man inside. “Welcome. Care for some tea, Butterbeer?”
Harry took the Butterbeer, sitting awkwardly in one of the leather armchairs. Lockhart sat in the other, nursing a snifter of brandy. “I suppose you know why you're here,” he started.
“Yes, sir, you told me so in class. I didn't complete my assignment,” Harry said. Because I was in detention with you half the night, and with Neville the other half, you big git, he finished silently in his head.
“Right. Now, I know you want to do well. After all, fame won't get you everything,” he joked. “So I'm inclined to go easy on you. Just … enjoy your Butterbeer while you sign these photos for me, alright?” Lockhart stood up, handing Harry one of his special Autograph quills. He stared at Harry for a moment, then went to his desk to grade papers.
Harry shook his head. Lockhart was an odd one. At least he had nice quills. Better than Umbridge's, for sure. He gulped half of his Butterbeer, then began to write.
Within minutes, he found himself daydreaming. His hand kept moving automatically, but his mind drifted off to last night. After he left Lockhart's office, he wandered exhaustedly back to Gryffindor Tower, intent on one thing only – spending the rest of the night with Neville. They had connected on some level after the war. They hadn't talked about it much, no declarations of love or commitment. But Neville was willing and trustworthy, and so at the end of a very long, very boring detention, he wanted nothing else but to be shagged to sleep. He and Neville had spent the rest of the night doing just that, under the secrecy of some strong Silencing Charms.
Harry found himself reliving the evening in detail, eyes glazing over as he thought about how strong Neville's hands were, how his torso had become lean and muscular from his work in Herbology. How he had lost all of the baby fat he had carried when he was younger, how the war had made his eyes shine like steel, how compassionate he still was, regardless. He shivered as he remembered the sleepy taste of toothpaste on Neville's lips, the feel of his warmth tucked around him, their legs entwined. And how, afterward, Neville wrapped his arms around Harry, falling asleep before his head hit the pillow.
“Harry?” Lockhart's voice sounded in Harry's mind, shaking him awake. “Are you well?” His face was flushed, a sheen of sweat glistened on his brow as he bent down.
Harry came to in surprise. “Oh, Professor, sorry. I must have … drifted off.”
“No, it's alright,” Lockhart said nervously. “I think you've done plenty. Off with you now. Go on.”
Harry grimaced as he blinked his dry eyes. He must have been staring into space. Well, better than staring at Lockhart's winking face for hours … Shaking his head, he walked back to Gryffindor Tower.
***
Watching Harry close the door, Lockhart groaned in frustration and relief. Minutes later, he lay sated on his red silk sheets, chuckling again at his own intelligence.
Those quills were a brilliant invention, if I do say so myself, he thought giddily as he walked over to his Pensieve. Drawing his wand, he pulled out a silver thread, placing it in the bowl. “That one will be so good later,” he said. “Thank you again, Potter … and Longbottom.”
***
When Harry walked into the Common Room, he found Neville, Ron and Hermione waiting for him.
“Alright, how do you feel?” Hermione asked anxiously, but Harry only had eyes for Neville.
Walking over to Neville, Harry looped his arms around his neck, whispering, “I want to go to bed. Please, Neville.”
“I'm sorry, Harry,” Neville said, “but we need to make sure you're alright. It'll only take a minute, okay?”
Harry nodded tiredly and turned to Ron and Hermione. “Well?”
“Well? How do you feel?” Ron said.
“I … I dunno,” Harry said, stumbling over to the couch. “Really tired. And -” he glanced over at Neville, blushing, “-really horny.”
“I see,” Hermione said, her own face flushing a bit. “And is that how you normally feel when you get done with Lockhart?”
Harry raised an eyebrow in her direction.
“Oh … I meant … oh, hell, I meant is that normal for you when you finish detention with him?” Hermione clarified, beet-red.
Harry thought for a moment, then shrugged. Neville sat next to him. “I can answer that,” he said. “Harry always comes to my bed after one of his detentions with Lockhart, and he's always … in the mood. Insatiable, really,” he finished. “I hadn't really thought about it until now. I mean, it's always really late, so I just chalked it up to having a rough day and being really tired.”
“Harry, does he do anything to you in detention?” Ron asked. “You can tell us.”
“No!” Harry exclaimed. “All he does is offer me a drink, and then I sign more bloody pictures. The house elves bring the tea, I watch him open the Butterbeer himself. He doesn't slip anything in it. And I always use one of his Autograph quills, the ones he keeps because they replicate his signature. Then ...”
“Then what, Harry?” Hermione asked quietly.
“Then … nothing. I just daydream, I guess. I never actually remember signing all the pictures. Lockhart just stops me after a while and shoos me off,” Harry said.
Ron, Hermione and Neville glanced at each other. “You don't remember anything, Harry?” Neville asked worriedly.
“Not really, just … thinking about you. Us, really,” Harry said, looking up at Neville with a tiny, private smile.
“Is that his quill?” Hermione asked.
Looking down, Harry realized he was still holding Lockhart's quill. “Oh. Yeah, here,” he said, handing it to her.
Hermione didn't touch it, but instead wafted it into her rucksack with a wave of her wand. “Come on, Harry. We're going to see McGonagall,” she said grimly.
The four of them trundled off to the Headmistress's office. Hermione whispered her password - “Glenfiddich” - to the big stone gargoyle, and minutes later, they all were huddled together in front of her desk.
McGonagall sat behind it, bundled up in a tartan robe, her hair in a loose bun on her neck. “Miss Granger, this had better be of the utmost importance,” she said.
“It is, Headmistress,” Hermione said. “Harry's been acting odd after every detention he has with Professor Lockhart. He can't remember anything that happens during them, only that he is asked to use one of these quills.” She sent the quill sailing over to rest lightly on McGonagall's desk. “He comes back to Gryffindor Tower in a daze, and then … well, that's private,” she finished.
“This certainly is an unusual quill,” McGonagall said, running her wand along it in a series of complicated gestures. “What do you do with it, Mr. Potter?”
“It's an Autograph quill, Professor,” Harry answered. “Lockhart told me he'd charmed it to replicate his signature so I could sign all his fanmail for him.”
“I see,” she said, turning the quill over. “And you can't remember any of it?”
“Not really,” Harry fidgeted. “I can remember when I start to sign the pictures, but then everything … blurs. I daydream, I guess, but signing all those photos of Lockhart isn't exactly exciting.”
“No, I imagine not,” McGonagall said again. “May I keep this, Mr. Potter?”
“Of course, Professor. May we go?” Harry said anxiously.
“Certainly, but I must impress upon you the importance of minding your thoughts, Harry. I will let you know if I find anything suspect,” McGonagall stated. “Good night to the lot of you.”
“Good night, Professor,” the four chimed together, leaving her office.
***
As her door shut, McGonagall looked more closely at the quill. She had thought she had seen something … there! How unusual; was that a modified Daydreaming Charm? Certainly that would explain how Harry couldn't keep his mind focused. But surely Lockhart wouldn't want a student to sit through hours of detention doing nothing? Why on earth would he give a student a quill with such a charm on it, unless … unless somehow he could see their thoughts. That must be it. The quill was meant to transmit daydreams to another person. Lockhart was spying!
I can't censure him without proving it, though, she thought to herself. Grimly, she gripped her wand and muttered a guttural charm at the quill. Seconds later, she was thrown back in her chair. Her face flushed, her hand fluttering at the buttons to her robes. Her breath came in short gasps. She saw … she saw … “Potter and Longbottom?” she said disbelievingly.
***
“Lockhart!” she thundered, bursting into the other professor's quarters. “Get up. Now!”
“Why, Minerva!” he said sleepily, throwing a robe on. “Is something the matter?”
“You! You – you thief! You pervert! You charm those quills so you can steal memories from children!” she barked, furious. Looking around, she spied his Pensieve in a corner of his bedroom. “I bet you store them in here, so you can look at them over and over! Don't you?”
“My dear Minerva, I don't know what you're talking about,” he stammered, clutching his robes more tightly around himself.
“Oh yes, you do,” she shouted. “I examined your quill, the one that Potter left with tonight. I saw!”
“Oh, that,” he laughed nervously. “I assure you, I can explain -”
“You'll explain nothing! I have no doubt that if I were to take a look in your Pensieve, I'd find scads of similar memories, wouldn't I?” she asked scathingly. “You're coming with me, Lockhart. Now!” Shrinking his Pensieve and pocketing it for evidence, she marched Lockhart at wandpoint through his Floo.
***
The next morning at breakfast, Lockhart was nowhere to be found. Harry tried to catch McGonagall's eye, but for some reason she studiously avoided looking at him.
Later that day, though, McGonagall called the four of them to her office and explained what had happened. They were to be praised, she said, for not ignoring the signs of memory tampering, which had been a result of the Daydreaming Charm, and Harry and Neville were reassured that Lockhart's Pensieve, which had contained over three hundred memories, had been destroyed. And, she added, they each had earned Gryffindor House fifty points for helping to catch and convict a voyeuristic pedophile.
As they walked back to their Common Room, Neville looked at Harry. “So, can I ask you a question?” he asked softly.
“I think you just did,” Harry rebutted.
Neville laughed. “I just meant … was the only reason you came to me all those nights because of Lockhart, or … was there more?”
“Neville, Lockhart didn't make me do anything. It's just that the only thing I was thinking about for hours was … sex, and you, and when I could finally get out of there, your bed was the only place I wanted to go,” Harry explained.
“So you really wanted … me,” Neville queried.
“Yeah,” Harry answered. “I did. I do. I know we've never really talked about anything, but I wouldn't mind seeing where things go, if you're interested.”
Neville smiled at Harry. “Yeah, I think I'd like that. But Harry … if you use one of those quills again, can you charm it just for me?”
Harry grinned widely. “Definitely.”
no subject
Date: 2011-01-20 02:31 pm (UTC)