A Dream and Two Butterbeers
Title: A Dream and Two Butterbeers
Summary: A H/Hr fic for a friend of mine. Normally, I must admit, I don't write the pairing or write HP at all, but I had fun writing this.
When Harry opened his eyes, the only thing he could clearly focus on was a wonderfully dark figure steadily drawing towards him with slow, sultry steps. It wore a scarlet gown, and its lips were gorgeously smiling - smiling… at him?
“Hermione?” Harry said in amazement, but he needn’t have asked - it was Hermione, looking more and more beautiful every second as his eyes gained focus.
“Hello, Harry,” she said. Her voice was low and rich and lustrous as she bent close to Harry’s face. Her normally muddy brown eyes stared at him exquisitely as she lifted his head and began to passionately mesh her lips against his oh so hungrily and -
“HARRY!” Someone was shaking him insistently.
Harry Potter opened his eyes and saw a head of very thick red hair and freckled face looming above him. He moaned angrily.
“Ron … for the love of…”
“There’s no time to be a prat; in five minutes we’ll be late for Potions if you don’t get your lazy arse UP!”
Very reluctantly, Harry slumped out of bed and threw his black robes on over his pajamas. Ron darted out of the room with his bag banging behind him.
Harry couldn’t blame him for being uptight - Snape, who had been looking very strained since the beginning of term, had taken a record seventy-five points from a third-year Hufflepuff class on Thursday. No one wanted to as much as glance at Snape these days. Harry felt that whatever Snape’s role was in the Order was taking more of a toll on him than he would admit.
Harry fell into his seat just as Snape came billowing into the classroom. He took a minute to survey his class before speaking.
“Potter, are those pajamas sticking out from your neck? A point for improper dress.” Harry tried not to roll his eyes.
His attention could not help but rove from Snape’s irritated review of Odious Ointments to the bushy head of Hermione two seats away. Short flashes of Harry’s dream came back in pieces, and as he watched Hermione’s eager hand pop up, his only thought about the whole episode was, “That was weird.”
Hermione had certainly become more attractive over the course of six years, but the only time Harry had noticed her as being “pretty” was at the Yule Ball. And now he was having bizarre fantasies about her in his sleep?
Still, he thought, glancing at her sharply curved nose and curious eyes, it hadn’t exactly been a bad fantasy.
Gryffindor lost twelve points that class, but they were too relieved about not losing more to notice.
Somebody tapped his shoulder. “Harry.”
“Huh?” He turned around to come face-to-face with Hermione. “Oh, hey,” he said, running a hand through his hair nervously.
Hermione glanced around. “We’re friends, right? I mean, I can tell you anything, you can tell me anything, right?”
“Yeah, you should know that!”
“I do, I mean… it’s just…”
“What’s going on?” he asked, a little puzzled.
Hermione seemed very hesitant but decided to blurt it all out in a very fast voice. “I noticed you were looking at me in Potions just now in a very odd way and then avoided me all class and so I sort of wondered what was going on… You’re not upset about something I did - are you?”
Harry marveled at Hermione’s powers of observation. “No - no, not mad at you… not at all.”
Hermione still looked concerned. “You’re sure?”
He managed a weak smile. “Positive. I’ll, er, I’ll see you at breakfast then?”
“Lunch, Harry.”
“Right, lunch. See you.”
“S-see you,” Hermione said with a nervous little laugh.
He couldn’t remember feeling particularly self-conscious around Hermione in the past. Now, watching her swing her bag over her shoulder, he couldn’t remember feeling so self-conscious ever. This feeling wasn’t just embarrassment - this was pure torture.
He considered, as he sat in the dreary Divination room, telling Ron about the dream. However, Harry had always held the secret opinion that Ron fancied Hermione. Of course, he hadn’t thought of this himself - he’d just heard Lavender gossiping about it with Parvati once during dinner. It certainly made sense, especially when he remembered Ron’s jealous behavior at the Yule Ball two years ago.
Two years ago. Two years ago, Harry could have written a letter to Sirius. Sirius would’ve given him advice.
Rather violently, Harry grabbed a book out of his bag - The Complete Book of Dreams by A. L. Treefrog - and flipped rapidly through the pages (usefully alphabetized by symbol).
[SCARLET - intense passion, power, danger, sexual impulses and urges.]
Okay, thought Harry. That one was obvious.
[GOWN - seeking to attain a sense of happiness.]
[KISSING A FRIEND - possible desire to further carry a relationship.]
What? Harry took a deep breath. Okay, so his subconscious was telling him he was in love with Hermione. This was news to him.
When he thought about it, however, the possibility didn’t seem quite so remote. Hermione had always been there. She’d helped him through some of his most nerve-wracking experiences, stood up for him when even the other Gryffindors were looking away… plus it didn’t hurt that she was the smartest witch in the entire school and could be very pretty when she chose.
“What’re you looking at?” Ron asked in a whisper, hovering over the pages.
“Nothing,” said Harry nonchalantly. He quickly grabbed the book and shut it.
He could ask Hermione out on a date, couldn’t he? It wouldn’t hurt. What did he have to lose?
* * *
“I still don’t understand why you bother with the Cannons, mate. Time to move on, let go. Their glory days are over.”
“But their Seeker’s retiring; we might have a shot at winning a game this year-”
Ron and Seamus’s Quidditch debate went on and on as Harry idly stabbed at a delicious piece of cherry pie. He’d been waiting for Hermione for at least ten minutes but suspected she was down in the library. Finally, he gave up, left the table and headed out of the Great Hall. He turned the corner before the library and ran smack into Hermione.
“Oh, sorry, Harry,” she said, wincing and rubbing her head. “I went in to return something and found out Madam Pince has a whole new shelf of N.E.W.T. prep books, so I just had to look - are you sure there’s nothing wrong?” she added.
Harry’s throat caught as they began walking back to the Great Hall. “Erm… actually yes. Well, nothing’s wrong, but something’s… something’s… Hermione, d’you want to go to the Three Broomsticks with me tomorrow?”
“Oh, sure, I’ll just - hang on. Do you mean like on a … date?”
Harry was visibly red. “Yeah.”
Hermione had come to a complete halt. Her mouth was slightly agape, and her face was pink. “I… um…”
“You can think about it,” Harry said bluntly. “You don’t have to decide right now-”
“Oh well I - I wouldn’t want to make you wait ages and ages but I mean Harry, I had no … idea…”
Me neither, thought Harry.
Hermione was now playing with her sleeve. “I guess just this once wouldn’t hurt. We can just try it and see what… what goes from there.”
“Yeah. Yeah, okay. Well, erm - I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”
“Right, um… did you already eat?”
“A bit - you should try the cherry pie, it’s great.”
“Okay.”
They both hung awkwardly for a moment.
“Well… goodbye,” Hermione said, looking flustered.
“Bye,” Harry choked.
They tried to step around each other but kept stepping in the same direction. Hermione was forced to make a kind of wide circle to the right so she could pass.
Harry stood motionless for a while before taking a deep breath to calm his nerves.
Fending off very large dragons, he thought, was much, much easier than asking out a girl.
* * *
The Gryffindor common room was typically loud as Harry bluffed his way through an essay on the intricacies of life lines for Divination. He sighed, looked over at Ron and saw he wasn’t making much progress.
“Stuck?” Harry asked.
Ron looked at him oddly. “I didn’t know you fancied Hermione.”
Harry’s insides curled. He still hadn’t said a thing to Ron about his dream or that he had asked Hermione out. And he definitely couldn’t think of a thing to say now.
Ron went on. “I asked her what she was doing tomorrow, and her face gets all red. ‘Oh, just the usual.’ Like what? Then she frowns and says, ‘He didn’t tell you?’ I said no, and then she tells me she’s going out with you for the day.”
Harry nodded apprehensively.
“I dunno, Harry.” Ron closed his book. “I just figured you’d talk to me first - but congratulations anyway, mate.” He stood up, gave Harry a painfully forced smile and made a quick exit from the common room.
Damn it.
He should have talked to Ron. Perhaps he’d been right after all - Ron really did fancy Hermione. Ron must’ve thought it was obvious and was now angry that Harry had gone behind his back.
Maybe Hermione fancied Ron and only wanted to experiment with Harry.
He tried not to let these depressing thoughts cloud his mind as he turned back to the essay and his book.
“Long heart line… very long and full love life. Breaks indicate rocky times ahead.”
Harry glanced at his own hand. His heart line was full of cracks.
Who believed in palm reading anyway?
* * *
Harry met Hermione outside the portrait of the Fat Lady the next morning. Rarely had Harry ever been so nervous, and he could tell Hermione was also a bit tense.
“Ready?” he asked her as she wrapped her neck in a very tight scarf.
Hermione just nodded and gave him a very terrified smile.
They walked in complete silence for a very long time. Harry wondered if he was supposed to hold her hand and jumped as he felt her hand brush his. Was that some sort of girl signal he was supposed to interpret?
Finally, he just forced his hand to take hers, hoping he wasn’t sweaty.
He watched as her cheeks slightly flushed. She turned to look at him, and he immediately thought, Oh, this is the end…
“D’you think we should hold hands just yet? I mean - do you care if people think we’re actually … together? Not that I care or anything,” she added quickly, “but I don’t want you to be uncomfortable…”
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Harry muttered, starting to break away. Hermione’s fingers felt hesitant. Harry changed his mind. “I - I don’t mind,” he said, regripping her hand.
“Okay.” He hoped she sounded pleased. But it was impossible to tell.
* * *
Harry ordered two butterbeers for them, and as the waitress left, he tried not to slouch. Ordinarily he wouldn’t have cared around Hermione, but today was different. He had to make an effort.
Hermione’s brow was furrowed. “Is there something wrong with your back?”
Harry immediately reverted to his slouch. “No, I’m fine.” Ask about her, idiot. “How are you?”
Hermione smiled. “Well, great, actually.” She seemed a little lost in thought. It was doing absolutely nothing for Harry’s nerves. “Harry, erm…”
He glanced up quickly. “Hm?”
At that moment, the waitress reappeared. “Two butterbeers for the adorable couple,” she said sweetly, setting the two drinks down on the table.
“Thank you,” said Hermione stiffly. The waitress left.
Normally they would have laughed about this. Harry managed a weak “heh.”
He was almost done gulping down his drink when Hermione spoke. “So… um, Harry - how long have you…” she began, as though she wanted Harry to interrupt her, “liked me?”
He took a very long sip. “Um… not very long exactly… a month,” he lied. He couldn’t risk her being upset at the thought that he’d just asked her out because of a dream he’d had the night before. Unintentionally offending girls was something at which Harry was excellent.
“Oh,” she said. “I had no idea - I mean, I don’t even think Ron knew. He seemed really surprised when I told him yesterday.”
Harry felt miserable. “No, he didn’t know.” He took another long sip, trying to drink all the warmth and happiness of the butterbeer in as quickly as possible.
“I don’t really blame you,” said Hermione after a pause. “I mean, people enjoy gossiping about other people far too much and I can understand you not wanting anyone to know - maybe people still remember that silly article in the Daily Prophet about your love life…”
“Yeah,” he said. “Exactly.”
Another very long pause followed. Harry watched Hermione sip her drink thoughtfully.
He was beginning to wonder why the second-hand on the wall clock wasn’t ticking - and then Hermione finally said, “Harry, really, what’s this about?”
He stared at her. “What?”
“You’ve probably said less than ten sentences to me this whole time, and I’m just… I’m not quite sure where this is going, or if it’s even going anywhere.” Her “Reasonable Hermione” had begun to creep into her voice. “I really hate to make you uncomfortable, but I think… oh, I don’t know, Harry. I just don’t see you in… this way,” she finished in exasperation.
And for some amazing reason, this didn’t hurt. Harry stood up, feeling five thousand times better. “You know what? I don’t see you that way either. This is stupid, let’s go find Ron.”
Hermione looked stunned but relieved. “Right then, let’s go,” she said, standing. “I’ll pay for my drink, don’t worry about it.”
Harry shrugged. “Okay.” It felt great not trying to be polite. Plus, things were back to normal again. And now he knew.
“Come on,” he said. They left their change on the table.
“Hermione, there’s something I’ve always wanted to ask you.”
“What - ‘Will you marry me?’”
“Do you fancy Ron?”
“Shut up, Harry.”
- the end -
Summary: A H/Hr fic for a friend of mine. Normally, I must admit, I don't write the pairing or write HP at all, but I had fun writing this.
When Harry opened his eyes, the only thing he could clearly focus on was a wonderfully dark figure steadily drawing towards him with slow, sultry steps. It wore a scarlet gown, and its lips were gorgeously smiling - smiling… at him?
“Hermione?” Harry said in amazement, but he needn’t have asked - it was Hermione, looking more and more beautiful every second as his eyes gained focus.
“Hello, Harry,” she said. Her voice was low and rich and lustrous as she bent close to Harry’s face. Her normally muddy brown eyes stared at him exquisitely as she lifted his head and began to passionately mesh her lips against his oh so hungrily and -
“HARRY!” Someone was shaking him insistently.
Harry Potter opened his eyes and saw a head of very thick red hair and freckled face looming above him. He moaned angrily.
“Ron … for the love of…”
“There’s no time to be a prat; in five minutes we’ll be late for Potions if you don’t get your lazy arse UP!”
Very reluctantly, Harry slumped out of bed and threw his black robes on over his pajamas. Ron darted out of the room with his bag banging behind him.
Harry couldn’t blame him for being uptight - Snape, who had been looking very strained since the beginning of term, had taken a record seventy-five points from a third-year Hufflepuff class on Thursday. No one wanted to as much as glance at Snape these days. Harry felt that whatever Snape’s role was in the Order was taking more of a toll on him than he would admit.
Harry fell into his seat just as Snape came billowing into the classroom. He took a minute to survey his class before speaking.
“Potter, are those pajamas sticking out from your neck? A point for improper dress.” Harry tried not to roll his eyes.
His attention could not help but rove from Snape’s irritated review of Odious Ointments to the bushy head of Hermione two seats away. Short flashes of Harry’s dream came back in pieces, and as he watched Hermione’s eager hand pop up, his only thought about the whole episode was, “That was weird.”
Hermione had certainly become more attractive over the course of six years, but the only time Harry had noticed her as being “pretty” was at the Yule Ball. And now he was having bizarre fantasies about her in his sleep?
Still, he thought, glancing at her sharply curved nose and curious eyes, it hadn’t exactly been a bad fantasy.
Gryffindor lost twelve points that class, but they were too relieved about not losing more to notice.
Somebody tapped his shoulder. “Harry.”
“Huh?” He turned around to come face-to-face with Hermione. “Oh, hey,” he said, running a hand through his hair nervously.
Hermione glanced around. “We’re friends, right? I mean, I can tell you anything, you can tell me anything, right?”
“Yeah, you should know that!”
“I do, I mean… it’s just…”
“What’s going on?” he asked, a little puzzled.
Hermione seemed very hesitant but decided to blurt it all out in a very fast voice. “I noticed you were looking at me in Potions just now in a very odd way and then avoided me all class and so I sort of wondered what was going on… You’re not upset about something I did - are you?”
Harry marveled at Hermione’s powers of observation. “No - no, not mad at you… not at all.”
Hermione still looked concerned. “You’re sure?”
He managed a weak smile. “Positive. I’ll, er, I’ll see you at breakfast then?”
“Lunch, Harry.”
“Right, lunch. See you.”
“S-see you,” Hermione said with a nervous little laugh.
He couldn’t remember feeling particularly self-conscious around Hermione in the past. Now, watching her swing her bag over her shoulder, he couldn’t remember feeling so self-conscious ever. This feeling wasn’t just embarrassment - this was pure torture.
He considered, as he sat in the dreary Divination room, telling Ron about the dream. However, Harry had always held the secret opinion that Ron fancied Hermione. Of course, he hadn’t thought of this himself - he’d just heard Lavender gossiping about it with Parvati once during dinner. It certainly made sense, especially when he remembered Ron’s jealous behavior at the Yule Ball two years ago.
Two years ago. Two years ago, Harry could have written a letter to Sirius. Sirius would’ve given him advice.
Rather violently, Harry grabbed a book out of his bag - The Complete Book of Dreams by A. L. Treefrog - and flipped rapidly through the pages (usefully alphabetized by symbol).
[SCARLET - intense passion, power, danger, sexual impulses and urges.]
Okay, thought Harry. That one was obvious.
[GOWN - seeking to attain a sense of happiness.]
[KISSING A FRIEND - possible desire to further carry a relationship.]
What? Harry took a deep breath. Okay, so his subconscious was telling him he was in love with Hermione. This was news to him.
When he thought about it, however, the possibility didn’t seem quite so remote. Hermione had always been there. She’d helped him through some of his most nerve-wracking experiences, stood up for him when even the other Gryffindors were looking away… plus it didn’t hurt that she was the smartest witch in the entire school and could be very pretty when she chose.
“What’re you looking at?” Ron asked in a whisper, hovering over the pages.
“Nothing,” said Harry nonchalantly. He quickly grabbed the book and shut it.
He could ask Hermione out on a date, couldn’t he? It wouldn’t hurt. What did he have to lose?
* * *
“I still don’t understand why you bother with the Cannons, mate. Time to move on, let go. Their glory days are over.”
“But their Seeker’s retiring; we might have a shot at winning a game this year-”
Ron and Seamus’s Quidditch debate went on and on as Harry idly stabbed at a delicious piece of cherry pie. He’d been waiting for Hermione for at least ten minutes but suspected she was down in the library. Finally, he gave up, left the table and headed out of the Great Hall. He turned the corner before the library and ran smack into Hermione.
“Oh, sorry, Harry,” she said, wincing and rubbing her head. “I went in to return something and found out Madam Pince has a whole new shelf of N.E.W.T. prep books, so I just had to look - are you sure there’s nothing wrong?” she added.
Harry’s throat caught as they began walking back to the Great Hall. “Erm… actually yes. Well, nothing’s wrong, but something’s… something’s… Hermione, d’you want to go to the Three Broomsticks with me tomorrow?”
“Oh, sure, I’ll just - hang on. Do you mean like on a … date?”
Harry was visibly red. “Yeah.”
Hermione had come to a complete halt. Her mouth was slightly agape, and her face was pink. “I… um…”
“You can think about it,” Harry said bluntly. “You don’t have to decide right now-”
“Oh well I - I wouldn’t want to make you wait ages and ages but I mean Harry, I had no … idea…”
Me neither, thought Harry.
Hermione was now playing with her sleeve. “I guess just this once wouldn’t hurt. We can just try it and see what… what goes from there.”
“Yeah. Yeah, okay. Well, erm - I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”
“Right, um… did you already eat?”
“A bit - you should try the cherry pie, it’s great.”
“Okay.”
They both hung awkwardly for a moment.
“Well… goodbye,” Hermione said, looking flustered.
“Bye,” Harry choked.
They tried to step around each other but kept stepping in the same direction. Hermione was forced to make a kind of wide circle to the right so she could pass.
Harry stood motionless for a while before taking a deep breath to calm his nerves.
Fending off very large dragons, he thought, was much, much easier than asking out a girl.
* * *
The Gryffindor common room was typically loud as Harry bluffed his way through an essay on the intricacies of life lines for Divination. He sighed, looked over at Ron and saw he wasn’t making much progress.
“Stuck?” Harry asked.
Ron looked at him oddly. “I didn’t know you fancied Hermione.”
Harry’s insides curled. He still hadn’t said a thing to Ron about his dream or that he had asked Hermione out. And he definitely couldn’t think of a thing to say now.
Ron went on. “I asked her what she was doing tomorrow, and her face gets all red. ‘Oh, just the usual.’ Like what? Then she frowns and says, ‘He didn’t tell you?’ I said no, and then she tells me she’s going out with you for the day.”
Harry nodded apprehensively.
“I dunno, Harry.” Ron closed his book. “I just figured you’d talk to me first - but congratulations anyway, mate.” He stood up, gave Harry a painfully forced smile and made a quick exit from the common room.
Damn it.
He should have talked to Ron. Perhaps he’d been right after all - Ron really did fancy Hermione. Ron must’ve thought it was obvious and was now angry that Harry had gone behind his back.
Maybe Hermione fancied Ron and only wanted to experiment with Harry.
He tried not to let these depressing thoughts cloud his mind as he turned back to the essay and his book.
“Long heart line… very long and full love life. Breaks indicate rocky times ahead.”
Harry glanced at his own hand. His heart line was full of cracks.
Who believed in palm reading anyway?
* * *
Harry met Hermione outside the portrait of the Fat Lady the next morning. Rarely had Harry ever been so nervous, and he could tell Hermione was also a bit tense.
“Ready?” he asked her as she wrapped her neck in a very tight scarf.
Hermione just nodded and gave him a very terrified smile.
They walked in complete silence for a very long time. Harry wondered if he was supposed to hold her hand and jumped as he felt her hand brush his. Was that some sort of girl signal he was supposed to interpret?
Finally, he just forced his hand to take hers, hoping he wasn’t sweaty.
He watched as her cheeks slightly flushed. She turned to look at him, and he immediately thought, Oh, this is the end…
“D’you think we should hold hands just yet? I mean - do you care if people think we’re actually … together? Not that I care or anything,” she added quickly, “but I don’t want you to be uncomfortable…”
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Harry muttered, starting to break away. Hermione’s fingers felt hesitant. Harry changed his mind. “I - I don’t mind,” he said, regripping her hand.
“Okay.” He hoped she sounded pleased. But it was impossible to tell.
* * *
Harry ordered two butterbeers for them, and as the waitress left, he tried not to slouch. Ordinarily he wouldn’t have cared around Hermione, but today was different. He had to make an effort.
Hermione’s brow was furrowed. “Is there something wrong with your back?”
Harry immediately reverted to his slouch. “No, I’m fine.” Ask about her, idiot. “How are you?”
Hermione smiled. “Well, great, actually.” She seemed a little lost in thought. It was doing absolutely nothing for Harry’s nerves. “Harry, erm…”
He glanced up quickly. “Hm?”
At that moment, the waitress reappeared. “Two butterbeers for the adorable couple,” she said sweetly, setting the two drinks down on the table.
“Thank you,” said Hermione stiffly. The waitress left.
Normally they would have laughed about this. Harry managed a weak “heh.”
He was almost done gulping down his drink when Hermione spoke. “So… um, Harry - how long have you…” she began, as though she wanted Harry to interrupt her, “liked me?”
He took a very long sip. “Um… not very long exactly… a month,” he lied. He couldn’t risk her being upset at the thought that he’d just asked her out because of a dream he’d had the night before. Unintentionally offending girls was something at which Harry was excellent.
“Oh,” she said. “I had no idea - I mean, I don’t even think Ron knew. He seemed really surprised when I told him yesterday.”
Harry felt miserable. “No, he didn’t know.” He took another long sip, trying to drink all the warmth and happiness of the butterbeer in as quickly as possible.
“I don’t really blame you,” said Hermione after a pause. “I mean, people enjoy gossiping about other people far too much and I can understand you not wanting anyone to know - maybe people still remember that silly article in the Daily Prophet about your love life…”
“Yeah,” he said. “Exactly.”
Another very long pause followed. Harry watched Hermione sip her drink thoughtfully.
He was beginning to wonder why the second-hand on the wall clock wasn’t ticking - and then Hermione finally said, “Harry, really, what’s this about?”
He stared at her. “What?”
“You’ve probably said less than ten sentences to me this whole time, and I’m just… I’m not quite sure where this is going, or if it’s even going anywhere.” Her “Reasonable Hermione” had begun to creep into her voice. “I really hate to make you uncomfortable, but I think… oh, I don’t know, Harry. I just don’t see you in… this way,” she finished in exasperation.
And for some amazing reason, this didn’t hurt. Harry stood up, feeling five thousand times better. “You know what? I don’t see you that way either. This is stupid, let’s go find Ron.”
Hermione looked stunned but relieved. “Right then, let’s go,” she said, standing. “I’ll pay for my drink, don’t worry about it.”
Harry shrugged. “Okay.” It felt great not trying to be polite. Plus, things were back to normal again. And now he knew.
“Come on,” he said. They left their change on the table.
“Hermione, there’s something I’ve always wanted to ask you.”
“What - ‘Will you marry me?’”
“Do you fancy Ron?”
“Shut up, Harry.”
- the end -