Title: I Will Drink Your Deadly Poison
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and the gang are not mine/wails/
Warnings: dubious consent, chan, rimming
AN: Written for Sirry Slash Secret Santa 2005 for caleythia. Thank you, VL Red Reign, for the beta. Some parts are cut off due to policy
Harry thought with wariness. He then wondered why he was surprised when he was more than well acquainted with this thing, especially after all the merry rides Dumbledore had made him go through in his sixth year at Hogwarts.
Well, but it was shinier than any Pensieve he had ever come across, he insisted, looking at the tiny bowl containing the silvery substance with curiosity. Besides, it was in a shade more 'yellow' than normal; it almost looked golden even in the dim light. He also wondered why there was a Pensieve locked inside this particular box.
There was a swift inventory of the house last summer, after Harry had discovered that Dung had stolen some things from Sirius' house. They had found so many interesting things and, according to Moody, very dangerous as well. He then had them all everything put together into this box for destroying later. Ron and Harry, both being too curious for their own good, had tried several times to sneak a peek inside the box, but were unable to because of Hermione, who insisted that caution was the a virtue. She had tried and succeeded several times to stop them from messing with the things in the box, only to have them even more determined to contradict her wish. Now that Hermione had gone out with McGonagall to buy supplies for the Order, Harry and Ron gladly took the chance.
Harry was not exactly afraid of what he would find inside the box. After all, for Merlin's sakes, Moody was the one who announced that the kitchen cabinet was possibly a secret pathway for the Death Eaters and demanded it to be removed at once. It was unnecessary to say that after the announcement, Moody's 'instincts' had not been perceived with much reliability.
Harry shook his head and removed the Pensieve from its place in the box. He could always find out later whose memory it stored; now he needed to hurry and pick out anything that he found interesting. He had no chance to be picky when there was an urgent knocking at the door, signaling that some Order members had returned. Ron's red head peeked inside the door immediately after that.
"Hurry up, Harry! I think Hermione is coming up the stairs!" Ron hissed, then went back to look out at the corridor. Harry, suppressing his groan of irritation, quickly grabbed a few interesting trinkets and books from the box, and shoved them under his bulgy sweater.
There was another knock at the door and Harry bolted, throwing his invisibility cloak over the box and jumped on the nearest sofa. He then randomly picked up a book on the table and tried to look as normal as possible when the library door was opened and a certain bushy-haired girl entered along with her redheaded boyfriend.
"Oh, Harry!" Hermione seemed to be surprised to find her other friend inside the library. Ron coming with her to this room was something of a normalcy since they had become lovers.
"Hermione, Ron," Harry grinned, nervously tugged at a corner of the book and glanced down at it. He then realised that the book was upside-down and righted it quickly. Fortunately, Hermione did not notice this, as she was busy placing the books she'd just bought on the shelves.
"Hey mate," Ron greeted and sat down next to Harry, pretending to be surprised by his friend's appearance as well. "So here you are! I've been looking all over the place for you. The twins are looking for you too, said they have yet another new product for the Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes."
Hermione looked disgusted. "I don't know what they've been thinking! Chocolate quidditch figurines? Do you know that they have to bite its head off before the figurine stops trying to fly away? Add to that, its body twitches when it's bitten. It's simply disgusting."
Harry made a face at that. When Harry proposed the idea of little flying quidditch players to the twins, he thought of making a new toy for children. He did not think they would make it into a sweet. That was indeed disturbing.
"Gruesome, really." mumbled Ron.
"Um… I think I'll just… go and take a look, all right? See you at dinner." Harry said, promptly walking out of the room before Hermione could reflect on his odd behaviour.
It was half an hour to midnight that Harry found himself inside the library once again. He had just folded his Invisibility Cloak and was going to put the box back in its place when his eyes caught the sight of a small bowl, almost unnoticeable, hiding behind a tall stack of books near a shelf. He then remembered the Pensieve he found this afternoon. It must have been kicked away when he was in a hurry, trying to make everything look normal under Hermione's shrewd eyes. Strangely, the substance inside the bowl did not seem to have spilled one bit. Maybe it had been charmed not to spill.
Harry contemplated putting it back in the box, because it suddenly reminded him of the poison Dumbledore had to drink in order to get to the necklace, but thought better. It looked harmless enough, he decided, carefully lifting the bowl and peering inside.
Harry thought he saw a flash of golden light in the bowl, but when he stared at it intently, there was none.
He was, however, certain that the room had grown darker and darker by the minute. And when he felt his body connect with the hard surface of the floor, he knew that it was actually his closed eyes that made the world go black...
It was so cold.
The atmosphere was almost thick, if it could be called that. It was like looking through a fogged glass.
Harry lazily rubbed his hands together to keep them warm as he walked down the too familiar path. It was the one constant present in his dreams after the fifth year, and Harry almost thought that this, too, was a dream. Only it was not. He knew that he was in yet another Pensieve, looking through someone's memory.
This memory seemed fresh. Vivid. Almost alive. It seemed so real that Harry felt nervous to be walking down this path, the path that let to some place he would rather not visit again. His hesitation was not the only thing keeping him from moving forward, the thick atmosphere made him felt as if he were wading through thick water, or a spider's web. Even his movement seemed to be hindered by it. It was not something he had experienced with Pensieves before.
There was a glimmer of green light at the end of the path, and Harry hesitated. He knew just what he would find there. A chamber, an arch, a painful memory.
Flashes of events surfaced and Harry almost winced at the pain grabbing his heart. His feet moved him to the chamber and, unwilling but also unable to stop it, Harry let them move him towards the dreadful destination.
It was the same, its settings. Dark, dank, cold chamber, lighted by a few candles. The arch was there, at the same place he knew it would be. As dark, mysterious, and dangerous as always.
This time, however, there was something different.
Harry squinted his eyes and moved further into the chamber. At the far side was the ever-present arch with the veil. Goosebumps running up his arms, Harry walked towards it. It felt...wrong.
Someone was there, in the middle of the arch where the veil should be. It was a man, as far as Harry could tell. He was tied up with some kind of web, dangling lifelessly, like a broken marionette.
Harry moved closer and had to gasp when he saw the man's face. He couldn't believe what he saw.
Harry touched the sunken cheek, lightly, almost afraid that it was all an illusion, and the man would disappear under the touch. He did not, and Harry dared to hope. His hand clumsily caressed the man's pale neck, hoping to find some sign of life. He found none. The skin felt rough under his touch. Cold. Biting like ice. It was lifeless, just as Sirius himself was.
Unseeing eyes looked at him blankly, and Harry had to shiver. It was hurtful to see someone so exuberant as Sirius being this quiet, unmoving.
Is this really Sirius? Harry wondered. Even being this close...
This close? He did not know whether he was moving closer to his godfather or the man was moving towards him.
But that was impossible, was it? Because Sirius was dead and this...body looked like Sirius and Sirius was dead and dead people were not supposed to be moving...
...But this man's eyes looked as if they were following all his movements...
Suddenly, all thought disappeared as an arm wrapped itself around his waist and pulled, tripping him straight into the man's body.
Harry went limp with surprise when his mouth was suddenly attacked. It felt strange, Harry thought fleetingly, both hands automatically lifted up to push at the other's chest.
It was not working at all, and Harry was starting to panic.
The man easily lifted Harry's body and pressed him against the wall. Nimble fingers struggled with buttons on Harry's clothes, butterfly kisses rained on the skin under each button. Harry breathed and stiffened under the dedicated touches, shivering with need and denial.
In a matter of minutes, Harry was naked. There was no need to remove any clothes from the man, as he only wore a small tattered robe that could be easily torn apart. When their bodies touched and Harry felt a very prominent cock nudging at his thigh, his panic surged full force.
"No," he croaked, trying to push the other off of him but failing miserably.
Sirius' cold, cold hand trapped both his wrists over his head and attacked Harry's mouth again with vigor. Lips touching every inch of his face and anywhere else they could reach. Sirius' other hand, too, was touching him everywhere. And Harry felt lost.
They were gentle and strong, Sirius' hands. Harry had noticed this fact the first few times they had met. His fingers were long, lean and tapered more at the ends. His hands were always warm, too warm at times, in fact.
But now they were icy. The nails were jagged, sharp and stinging, and the sharpness seemed to shred Harry's skin wherever they touched.
Harry whimpered and tried to move away from the hands, but could not. The thick atmosphere seemed to affect him more and more, making him dizzy and weak. And all the touching was not helping him much.
But this was Sirius.
Knowing full well that it was pointless, and the idea of surrendering himself to Sirius was strangely arousing, Harry struggled for the last time but it was not nearly a wholehearted attempt.
He was being forced to lie down on his stomach, baring his behind to the man, to his mercy, but Harry shamelessly shivered with anticipation.
A tongue was asking for permission to enter, and to his horror, Harry found himself spreading his legs and secretly wishing for it to come.
He shouldn't be enjoying this, Harry told himself, but his legs spread even wider with each stab of the tongue, and moans escaped his lips, making him quiver, and tense, and quiver again, like a violin string.
"Oh," Harry panted, closing his eyes tightly. "Oh..."
He was a mess of lust and confusion, both wanting and surprised by himself for wanting it.
But this was Sirius. It was Sirius' tongue that was touching him on the inside. It was Sirius' finger that was toying with something inside him, that made him melt and moan and beg.
As soon as the finger was removed, there was something nudging insistingly at his entrance, and Harry was almost afraid of what he knew would happen shortly.
But this was Sirius...
Harry screamed when he felt something breached into his body. Its iciness contrasted with the heat of his body and it made him whimper. His teeth grinding together to stop them from chattering, Harry moved to avoid the brutal thrust, to remove the cold discomfort, to do something, anything, to make him feel better.
But he did not exactly want the other to stop.
Because... This. Was. Sirius.
For what seemed like hours, waiting, willing, wanting, Sirius to continue pounding himself into him, Harry found himself tensing up and keened. Because there was something exploding inside his body, and his cock felt as if it was shattering into pieces, and stars were shining brightly behind his closed eyes, and he came and came and came.
He then felt something running down his thigh. So cold and so green it somehow made Harry want to be sick.
It was green, green, green. It was the same green he remembered clearly.
The faint breathing of Dumbledore after drinking the potion sounded so loud to his ears.
The dull eyes of Inferis when they surrounded him, trying to drag him into the icy water.
Red, red, eyes...
Bright, bright, lights.
All that he could remember afterwards was the dull grey eyes as they stared into his, and the memory of cold hands gripping tightly at his arms. Then he fell into the darkness.
There was light. So bright it hurt his eyes. But it was warm and familiar. Somewhere to the left was the faint noise of people talking. Harry blinked slowly and stared at the white ceiling in confusion. He was in the hospital wing at Hogwarts.
Carefully, Harry lifted his hand to touch his scar. There was no pain there or anywhere else, which assured him that the reason he was in the hospital wing of Hogwarts again was not Voldemort.
But, then again, why was he in here?
"Thank the gods, Harry! You are awake!" Molly cried and rushed to his bedside, and if it was not for Madame Pomfrey, she would have thrown herself on him and smothered him to death.
"What.." Harry blinked and croaked out, watching Molly fussing over his blanket absently. "What happened?"
"Dear lord, Harry. I told you not to mess with anything in that box!" Hermione exclaimed. Her eyes were puffy from crying, but it was clear that she was very angry. Even Ron was looking paler than usual.
"You slept for almost two days, Harry. We were worried sick. I thought you..." Ron stopped himself from saying more, but Harry knew what he thought. "We have to move you here so that Madame Pomfrey could take care of you easier."
"What is that thing?" Harry asked.
"Moody said it's a.." Hermione seemed to struggle for the right word for a moment. "It's some kind of visualizer, Harry. Like the Mirror of Erised. It will make you live through your deepest desire. I thought you'll be in there forever, Harry, I was so worried! They say it's addictive. No one wants to stop being in this thing."
"Don't be like that, Hermione." Ron objected, but he still looked ill. "They say that most people will be kicked out of the thing when their dreams are completed."
"Dream?" Harry whispered, not knowing what he should think anymore.
"Well, if you children are done with the talking, Harry need his rest!" Molly huffed, "Off you go. Let Harry rest."
Ron grumbled, and even Hermione seemed hesitant to leave, but they complied and moved out of the room.
Inside the loneliness of the room, Harry let his mind wander. He suddenly felt so cold.
"All but a dream?" Harry whispered, both arms wrapped around himself protectively, and wondered for the hundredth time whether he was glad or not that it was all a dream conjured by this seemingly innocent thing, and not a memory.
In the dim light, a faint handprint could be seen on his pale wrists. Barely noticeable, but prominent.