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 Where
the Apple Falls Harry lay in bed, curtains drawn, thinking of a plan that had been forming in his head for several weeks. He had decided that since Snape would not answer his questions, he would just have to find out by himself. He knew that the pensieve in Snape's office held memories of his father. If he could acquire the object for a few days without Snape's knowledge, he could investigate those memories on his own. The problem, of course, was that Snape used the pensieve at every lesson. He would most certainly notice should it go missing. Harry would have to wait for a break in the lessons, and such a break would only come at Yule, nearly a month away. Since Snape had acquired the pensieve specifically for the Occlumency lessons, Harry hoped that he would not use it when the lessons were on hiatus. His desire to know what Snape thought of his father was still as strong as it had been when he first asked, but the reasons behind it had changed somewhat. He felt that he had gotten to know Snape a bit better. It was an inevitable product of the lessons. He had, on occasion, entered the man's mind. He had felt his emotions. And then, that night, he had delved deeper than he ever had. Snape had pushed him back at the very last minute. They had both lost control, pushed too hard at one another. How else could he explain the ruins of the office afterwards? Harry wanted to know what it was that Snape had pushed him away from. He got out his photo album, flipping through the pages until he came to a picture of the house at Godric's Hollow. It was the house he had seen in Snape's memory. Unfortunately, Seamus chose that moment to come into the room with his bedmate-of-the-night and remind Harry of an entire set of other problems he had to work out. At some point during the summer, Seamus had discovered (somewhat simultaneously) sex and boys. Upon his return to Hogwarts, he had come out of the closet. Doing so had forced nearly every boy in Gryffindor tower into some sort of identity crisis. Most had already worked through it. Ron had done so rather quickly, proving his virility by snogging Hermione in front of everyone at nearly every given opportunity (much to Hermione’s embarrassment and pleasure). Dean had begun courting Lavender. Neville had quietly admitted that he fancied Ginny. Everyone seemed to use Harry's short and uneventful flirtation with Cho as proof of his manhood. Harry, on the other hand, was not quite as convinced as everyone else seemed to be. He couldn't help thinking that perhaps Seamus had provided him with an explanation of some things that had bothered him. Cho's kiss had not excited him. It had shocked him, but had inspired little emotion. His date with her was quite simply annoying. He had not been at all hurt by her rejection. In fact, he had been relieved. Instead, Harry found himself occasionally daydreaming of warm bodies that were distinctly male. He had awoken one morning damp and sticky after a dream involving the twins. He had apparently been caught flirting with Justin Finch-Fletchley (earning an odd look and admonishment from Hermione). He had quite frankly gawked at the grace of Draco Malfoy in flight. And Snape's voice gave him chills that were no longer caused by fear. Harry quickly put up a charm to block out the moans coming from his roommate's bed. He made a mental note to ask Hermione to teach Seamus a silencing charm that he hopefully couldn’t blow things up with. Then, he rolled over and went to sleep. He could always think about the rest tomorrow. Two warm bodies moved together in a vague but intensely pleasurable synchronicity. He was kissing someone deeply, and that someone moaned a name that was not his own. Somehow, the mistaken identity did not disturb him, and he kept at his ministrations. It seemed that the body he was in did not quite know the mechanics of the thing, but that did not stop him from using it. He bent down between the legs of the unknown someone and tasted him. Using his talents with an unfamiliar mouth proved rather difficult, but he seemed to provoke a favorable reaction. When the stranger climaxed, he looked up to watch his face and was shocked at what he saw. Severus Snape awoke with a start. Nightmares were a common occurrence for him. They were the reason that he avoided sleep except when necessary. Nearly every night he was forced to experience the various tortures that he had seen inflicted on others, and some that he had been guilty of himself. The dream that had awoken him that night was the polar opposite. Oh, it had been torture, all right, but it had been torture of a completely different sort. The stickiness of his sheets attested to that. He cursed. That hadn't happened since he'd finally outgrown that hideous experience known as puberty. And he was almost certain that he would never have an erotic dream about Remus Lupin of all people. If he were completely honest, he would have to say that the werewolf frightened him. He certainly didn't arouse him. No, this was definitely not one of his dreams. He wondered if he had somehow managed to channel some young girl's dreams, but then remembered that the body he had shared in the dream had most definitely been male. Yet, in a castle filled with hormone driven adolescents, such a thing came as no surprise to him whatsoever. The dreamer also had to be inexperienced. The dream had been vague, at least until he had taken control. It was possible, he supposed, that he had tested a botched potion that had given him temporary telepathy. But something about the dreamer had been familiar. He thought back to the moment that he had awoken that afternoon to look up into bright green eyes. Why the hell was he suddenly sharing Potter's dreams? And did this mean that Potter would be sharing his? It was enough to send Snape out prowling the hallways, unable to go back to sleep. He knew that eventually he would have to, but even a dreamless sleep potion would not keep him from experiencing someone else's dreams.
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