Title: Heart's Desire (This is going to change, maybe, this is only a temporary title.)

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all of the wizarding world belongs to J.K. Rowling but this fic belongs to me so I can do with it as I want. grins evilly

Summary: There's a "bug" that's spreading through Hogwarts, people fainting left and right. What's Harry going to do when he can't figure out if he's awake or if he's still dreaming? DM/HP.

AN (Authors Note): Like the title?? Its abbreviations are H.D. LOL. I did that on purpose. Oh, and you will be confused… I think this should be a warning… shrugs But yes, very confused. Even my beta became confused, just bear with me please and all will be revealed in a few chapters. grins

Chapter One: Mirror Mirror

The summer breeze gently whispered sweet nothings, making its way through an open window of number 4 Privet Drive, bringing it warmth upon the messy mop of black hair. On days like these - nothing could go wrong. Well, almost nothing.

A young man no older than sixteen – only in boxers – was curled up asleep on his side, lying on his arm which was cushioned comfortably on a pillow. A small smile graced his features, events of the previous day completely forgotten. He snuggled deeper into his arm causing his hair to cascade down across his forehead, revealing the famous lightning bolt scar.

Such a peaceful scene, it's the kind that makes you feel awful to have to awaken him. But alas, with a sleeping hero where would our story be?

Bouts of warmth randomly, slowly crawled across his body, and feeling extremely uncomfortable he tried to move away by rolling over to his side, only to be stopped mid roll.

"God, I love how you feel," was rasped in his ear, sending an unwanted shiver down his spine.

A big, pudgy hand grabbed him and roughly flipped him right onto his back. Go away! Harry groggily tried to bat those hands away. A low growl escaped from deep within his throat as the hands slithered down to his waist band. Jolting awake, a fist was sent sailing right into his attackers face.

"Dudley?" he gasped at his now bleeding fat oaf of a cousin, who was towering over him at the moment, making the room seem much smaller and Dudley much bigger. (AN: What? Did you really think I was going to have Draco molest Harry so early on?)

Dudley Dursley, the bane of Harry's existence, was the only child of Mr. and Mrs. Dursley. He had a large pink face, not much neck, small watery blue eyes, and thick blond hair. On top of that he had the most annoyingly whiny voice that made you want to throttle him, but his parents just overlooked these painfully, obvious deformities.

Unfortunately, Harry could not point out any of these flaws. After all, the Dursley's did take him in – rather reluctantly – but did nonetheless. Aunt Petunia often said that Dudley looked like a baby angel; Harry often said that Dudley looked like a pig in a wig.

Dudley feigned innocence, "Did I wake you? You know, because if I did, you should just go right back to sleep."

"Oh yes, because it's always been my dream to be raped in my sleep," Harry impatiently snapped back. "Especially, with you bleeding all over me." Ugh, at least wipe off all that blood. He hastily threw on something that must have been one of Dudley's hand-me-down shirts, which was long enough to cover his knees and was the only clothing he could find in his "room", before Dudley got any more crazy ideas. Since when did Dudley where shirts this frilly?

"You dream about me? How sweet," Dudley cooed, emitting a growl of frustration out of Harry and causing him to stomp out of the room. Your face is too ugly to even show up in my bloody nightmares

"Don't forget to make me breakfast!" Dudley yelled after him as the door was slammed in his face.

- - - - -

Harry settled under the lush tree in the front yard, the warmth of the sun and the shade from the tree gave him the right amount of comfort and he found himself slowly drifting off.

Mm… sleep. And with this, Harry promptly fell asleep once more. Well, at least for a few minutes until Dudley became impatient with hunger.

"Harry!" Dudley shrieked.

When nothing but silence returned, Dudley repeated once more albeit whinier, "HARRY!" Is there an echo in here? Ugh, never mind, who'd ever want to hear an echo with a voice like that?

Harry heavily sighed, cracked open his eyes and rubbed the remaining traces of sleep from them. Remembering that he was called, Harry trudged past the door and to the dining room where Dudley was "patiently" waiting.

"Harr-," Dudley cut himself off as Harry came into view, "Finally! Harry, I want eggs- it has to be sunny side up, sausages, French toast, and chocolate chip pancakes, all drenched in butter and syrup. And don't forget my ice coffee with six sugar cubes! Oh, Mum and Dad already ate so you only have to think of me," he said still trying to make a pass at Harry.

You disgusting pig! I hope you choke on all that syrup. "Sure Dudders, just let me get the poison ready," Harry grumbled, just loud enough for Dudley's ears only. Leaving behind completely slack jaw-ed slightly obese cousin, he headed towards the kitchen only to be stopped by-.


"Yes, Aunt Petunia?" Harry asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Where in the world have you been? You're absolutely filthy and you're tracking mud on to my beautiful carpet!!" She shrieked out.

"I was taking a nap outside," Harry replied, shrugging it off like it was a regular occurrence.

"What did I tell you about leaving a trail of your vial germs on my clean kitchen floor?"

"That I have to make sure the kitchen is just as dirty so it won't seem so bad?" he replied innocently. He cocked his head to the side, giving himself an even younger appearance, though it was all for not since this never worked on Aunt Petunia. It was worth a try.

Petunia looked about ready to pop a vein with her face as red as a baboon's ass, "Go take a shower, now!"

"Fine," Harry spat out. Well at least Dudley will now have to wait until I'm done to eat.

With an angry huff, Harry turned and stomped off to the shower room upstairs; successfully slamming the door behind him as he swiftly locked it. He twisted the temperature knob to what he deemed the perfect temperature and brutally tore off his shirt then stripped off his boxers letting them pool around his feet. He stepped under the spray of warm water, a low moan escaping past his parted lips. Merlin, this feels good.

Harry was practically humming by the time he finished his shower. The warm water had slowly massaged away his angry mood. He reached out a hand and plucked a random towel from the towel rack and wrapped it around his mid section. He stepped out of the shower room and made a bee-line for the mirror. Eck, my hair's probably a mess-.

One glance at the mirror stopped Harry in his tracks. No, he thought desperately before everything went black.

- - - - -

The warm breeze gently whispered sweet nothings, making its way through an open window of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft Wizardry, bringing it warmth upon the messy mop of black hair. On days like these – nothing could go wrong. Well, almost nothing.

A young man no older than sixteen – only in boxers – was curled up asleep on his side, lying on his arm which was cushioned comfortably on a pillow. The small smile graced upon his features slowly contorted into a slight frown. With a jerk, Harry bolted upright into a sitting position, now completely awake and- drenched?

It must be sweat. Shivers raked his body as random flashes of the dream played out in his mind, ewwDudley molested me. Recalling the end of the dream, he nervously ran his hand through his messy- long hair?

Feeling a bit panicked, Harry frantically threw off his covers as he scrambled out of his bed and rushed past his dorm mates, fleeing to the bathroom, all the while mumbling to himself over and over like a mantra, "It was just a dream." Harry completely blocked out the gasps as he made a bee-line straight for the mirror.

"No," his voice wavered as a shaking hand reached up to touch his reflection, feeling the cold hard surface and the harsh reality of it all.

A face stared back at him – one he could hardly recognize if it hadn't been for the familiar scar – a face with smooth olive skin and piercing green eyes, lost was the baby fat and the boyish grin. In their place were lush lips, parted in shock and a thin, feminine facial structure.

There was only one thing to be said-

"I look like a bloody girl!"

And with that, Harry can proudly say he did not faint, no, he did the manly thing by becoming unconscious. Yes, manly indeed.

- - - - -

AN: Thanks Red for being my beta!! And for helping me with my fic, without you this would've been thrown in the pile with the rest of my failed attempts. And review! It makes me feel like someone is actually reading these.