Chapter Text
In the one second that it took the Charm to take effect, Harry felt a wave of emotion course through him. Everything that had happened in the last hour or so replayed itself quickly on his mind, and his last thought before blacking out was the he could’ve perhaps handled things better when it came to his temper.
It hadn’t been a good day, by any means. With Umbridge stalking the students as prey, and the way Dumbledore suddenly ghosted him no matter how many strange dreams he had—not to mention those dreadful Occlumency lessons—this year at Hogwarts was shaping up to be a depressing one.
There was one big problem though: he was angry all the time. More so than ever before. He had reasons to be angry, of course, but it always felt amplified and vicious in a way he had never experienced in the past.
He can’t remember the last time he had been angry enough to snap and shout at others, and maybe that is exactly what he needs after everything that happened last year, but it unsettles him, almost as much as the dark wooden door at the end of the mystery hallway of his dreams. The burning of his scar had also amplified, bothering him more each day that passed. He was getting accustomed to it, unfortunately.
So, yes, it hadn’t been a good day, nor a good year, and his anger was out of bounds and screeching at everyone, but Harry couldn’t believe he had actually said those words to one of his best friends.
His anger at Hermione, or better said, at Hermione’s comments had been bubbling for a while, perhaps since receiving no answer during the summer. His shouts at Grimmauld Place were freeing in a way, but made him feel ashamed and confused for a while after. Her comments had good intentions, Harry knew that—yes, Hermione could be pushy at times, nagging, and stubborn to a fault, but he knows that she behaves that way because of her fierce sense of loyalty and friendship. She’s been through thick and thin with him for almost five years now, he’d be a berk not to see that.
It all started after Charms class was over. Ron, eager to put the classroom behind him and make his way to the Quidditch pitch, waved at the black haired boy before practically running from the classroom. Harry waved back, unenthusiastic and slow, and resumed the packing of his bag. The parchment, ink, quill and book were thrown lazily inside, and he realized that the only people left in the classroom were Flitwick, Hermione and himself.
From what he could hear, Hermione was inquiring about a certain type of charm that was out of Hogwart’s curriculum, but that she had come across it in the Restricted Section during her investigation for an Ancient Runes project.
Stepping a little closer, out of curiosity, he saw the bushy haired witch shoot him a smile before returning her attention to the small professor. Harry listened attentively as well; anything to get his mind off the anger and resentment that he, for some reason, currently felt.
“…And so, with that in mind, this Charm is extremely complex and dangerous if used improperly. It works sort of like the Mirror of Erised, which I think you already know, but in a different way.” Flitwick said, waving his hands animatedly, clearly excited by the Charm in question. “The Mirror only shows you, when in front, what you truly desire in the deepest corner of your mind and heart. The Wished Illusion Charm had the ability to create a reality based on what you want at the moment.”
“So,” Hermione interjected. “What you want could be a totally superficial thing, and even if it’s not what you truly want, the Charm would create an illusion based on what you asked it for?”
“Yes! That’s the reason why it’s classified as a Charm even if it only needs a rune design, no incantation.” Flitwick nodded. “You ask the Charm for something, and it delivers. Though, that’s where the danger of it lies. People who’ve used this Charm on themselves retain all their memories from before; the Charm doesn’t travel between realms, or something like that, but merely bends your perception of your reality to fit the one thing you want. Your mind would be trapped in the reality that you created but your body, physically, would be the same and you would be stuck in a coma until the Charm is lifted. People often find themselves wanting to return things back to normal, but lack the knowledge as to how.”
“There is no counter spell then? Or a type of Finite that stops the illusion completely?” Hermione asked, eyes wide. Harry shuffled awkwardly in the background, oddly curious about the spell but not comfortable enough to get close and ask questions.
“There is no counter spell, no, and a Finite would not be enough to stop the Charm.” Flitwick explained, and smiled. “The only way to stop the Charm is to put things back as they were.”
Harry raised an eyebrow, eyeing the professor. That sounded…counterproductive and hard. If the Charm’s goal was to bend reality to fit with your wish, the only way to put everything back in order was to put everything back to normal?
No wonder the Charm was stowed away in the Restricted Section. Harry was surprised that it was even inside Hogwarts. Some students have proven themselves daft enough to try dangerous spells unsupervised, and he didn’t even want to think what would happen if one of those got their hands on the Wishing Well Charm.
“But…I mean, that sounds a little…I’m sorry, Professor, but that sound almost impossible if the Charm is designed to create the environment that you want. The changes would be out of your control, would they not?” Hermione asked, confused.
“Ah, well, I’m sorry for wording it that way, Miss Granger.” Flitwick waved a hand dismissively. “I don’t mean to put things back as they were, exactly, but for the Charm to cancel itself out the caster of it must try to gain some…routine, let’s say, back."
Hermione frowned slightly, and even Harry was giving the professor a confused look. Flitwick, seeing this, hastily began to explain once more.
“Let’s see. Say you, Miss Granger, use the spell and wish to live in the biggest library in the world. Now, in order for the Charm to cancel itself out, you must work to bring back important aspects of your real life into the dream-like state that you find yourself in. For you, it would be to try and attend classes at Hogwarts once more, even if you live a continent away.”
“I see.” Hermione hummed. “It definitely sounds like an interesting, if not suspicious, Charm, Professor. Would you mind me quoting you in my Ancient Runes project? I’ve some ideas on how this Charm can help with mind healing.”
“It would be my pleasure, Miss Granger! Though, I believe you two must get going to your other class, don’t you?” Flitwick waved a hand at the classroom door, and Hermione looked stunned for a second before remembering that yes! They did have other classes!
“Oh! I’m sorry, Professor, I got a little carried away there.” Hermione responded, grabbing her bag and quickly shuffling to the entrance of the classroom where Harry was waiting. “I can come back later, if you’re available?”
“Yes, that would be best.” Flitwick nodded. “Now get going, you wouldn’t want to anger Professor Snape.”
“Right! See you later, then, Professor! Thank you!” Hermione waved, and left the classroom. Harry, following behind, gave an awkward hand wave and left in a hurry without another word.
He put the strange but interesting Charm out of his mind, for now. There were more important things than that.
Of course, the Charm came and gave him a swift quick in the arse the following week.
He hadn’t asked about it, not matter how curious he got every time he saw Hermione doing notes and diagrams and whatnot on her parchment. Not even when she came running towards him and Ron, so excited because she finally had a breakthrough on her project, gushing about how helpful Professor Flitwick and Professor Vector were.
Everything started to go wrong when he came down from his dorm, bitter and sad at watching the red-cladded Quidditch players flying around the pitch, knowing that he was banned from the sport, and spotted Hermione with an array of papers on a table in front of the fire.
The common room was basically isolated, only he and Hermione remained inside. Everybody else was at Hogsmeade, or strolling outside the castle. He stopped in front of the bushy haired girl, whose hair was spilling over all of her notes and smudging some ink spots on the parchment. Her head was bent, and as he kneeled in front of her he saw her eyebrows furrowed, lips moving soundlessly as she recited the words written on the parchment she was holding and glaring at.
Harry debated whether or not to interrupt her, and he didn’t actually want to, but it was a weekend and he was sad—not that he would admit that out loud—and lonely, and figured that maybe he would coax Hermione for a walk around the Black Lake. Ron was off at Hogsmeade with the promise of bringing them sweets and butterbeer, but Harry didn’t think he would be up for anything but eating those sweets after Ron comes back.
“Is there any particular reason why this project is taking you weeks instead of mere days?” He teased her slightly, and was rewarded when she gave a slight jump and her head snapped up to look at him, and their eyes met. Harry tensed slightly; after Fourth Year he had admitted, only to himself, that he liked to spend time with Hermione, alone. He liked it a lot, and so his natural response to that was to shove that feeling deep down and go about his life as usual.
“Harry! You scared me!” Hermione exclaimed, a hand on her chest. Exhaling, she dropped the parchment on the table and sat back on the couch, before realizing that his previous question was directed at her. “Oh! Well, I just really want to get this project right. The Wished Illusion Charm is really complex and powerful to be able to bend the caster’s reality. The numbers are giving me a bit of trouble.”
“Why don’t you just cast the spell, then? Check your numbers and correct them if they’re wrong.” Harry said, and shrugged. He sat down next to her and peered over her notes. Different parchments with different numbers and notes were scattered on the table, along with a few Runes and lines connecting them and the numbers.
“Well, it is a dangerous spell, although not considered dark per se.” She answered. “It’s not bad, but it’s not something I would be comfortable just casting. Professor Flitwick did say it was a tricky Charm to end. I’m not comfortable with casting it just to finish a project, the calculations can help me enough with that.”
“Why don’t I cast it, then?” Harry said. His curiosity over the Charm came back as he thought of all the possible scenarios that he could…create…with the Charm. His parents, alive. Sirius, being the funniest godfather that somebody could ask for. His scar, gone forever along with the one that gave it to him.
It all sounded so good, extremely so, and he figured it wouldn’t hurt to just spend a few hours with the life that he wanted. He nodded to himself, and looked over at one of his best friends. Her face was thoughtful, analyzing him, but her eyes looked at him sadly.
“I…don’t think that’s a good idea, Harry.” She said, softly. “Thank you, for trying to help, but I’ll just rework my numbers a bit more.”
“Not a good idea? Why not? I know it’s a complicated Charm, but it doesn’t even have an incantation, does it?” Harry raised his eyebrows. She sounded hesitant to even teach him exactly how the Charm worked, and that was strange of her. She was always eager to share knowledge.
Anger started to flourish in the back of his mind, unexpected. What if the reason she was hesitant was because she didn’t think he could do it?
Hermione wouldn’t think that…would she?
“You are correct that it doesn’t have an incantation. It’s just...” Hermione, though looking wary and hesitant, started to explain the things Harry had missed back at Professor Flitwick’s explanation. “The only requirement is to have this array of runes”—she slid a parchment in front of the black haired boy; it had at least five or six different symbols that made no sense for Harry, arranged in a circle—“with you when you, well, do the Charm. The ‘incantation’ would be to say the wish you want, out loud, clearly and with no ambiguity. Like all those fairy tales of genies in bottles. Besides, even if you do the Charm with the intention of helping me it would be a moot point; the Charm only bends your reality, not mine. For me, it would be like seeing you falling asleep immediately.”
“Still, it doesn’t sound that hard, Hermione. It even sounds like a great way to spend an evening. Wishing for a vacation and then just doing things you normally would do and then you’re back.” Harry wouldn’t usually push back like this when it came to unknown spells, and not against Hermione unless he was really mad or really curious. The little voice whispering at the back of his head was still egging him on, pushing him to learn the Charm and spend a few hours with his parents.
Anything to get of the castle, and away from Umbridge’s claws, even if it was just a dream.
“That’s the thing, Harry.” Hermione sighed, and scooted closer to the boy, and looked him in his eyes. “It does sound like a nice spell, but it has almost the same reputation as the Mirror of Erised. You could lose your mind trying to create the perfect world for you, just as you want it. People have actually died under this spell, because they spent so much time inside their own minds that their body, on the outside world, decays. You could get addicted to it, or you could simply be unable to find your way back. It’s an unpredictable spell, not dark but with the potential for harm if used with that intention.” She looked over at her notes, frowning, before turning back.
“Ending the Charm is not as easy as it seems. You need to gain back some routine from your outside world, but your changes can disrupt everything about the way you live. If everything changes, then you stand little chance of recreating your day-to-day life and therefor, you will be trapped inside.”
Harry frowned. He did admit, reluctantly, that the way she explained it made sense. Of course it did! This was Hermione! She probably scoured every book related to this to research the Charm on its entirety. She wouldn’t be writing a project about it if she didn’t think it was safe enough.
But the uneasy, unwelcomed but now familiar…presence at the back of his head spurred him on. It was the same feeling he had when he snapped at Ron and Hermione back at Grimmauld Place, and this time he felt it building slowly. His thoughts swirled, positive and negative, and while he would normally keep them to himself it seemed as if his filter decided to shut down for the time being.
“So you don’t think I can do it, then? Cast the Charm and come back?” He asked, staring at her.
Hermione’s eyes widen and her mouth dropped in shock, and she was probably wondering how the talk took a turn like that. She cleared her throat, and spoke to him again.
“It’s not that! You could absolutely do it if you wanted to, I fully believe so, Harry.” She said, her voice low and earnest. “But…I think I have a fairly good idea of what you would wish for…And, well, I don’t know how good of a chance you would have at coming back if you wish for that.” She ended her explanation with a slight wince, staring at him as if gauging his reaction.
Harry knew exactly what she meant when she talked about his wish. She had a feeling that he would wish for his parents to be alive, and she was right: he would wish for a summer day with them, no school, no responsibilities, just him and his parents enjoying a family activity together. Maybe Sirius and Remus could come visit.
It was a recurring dream of his; after spending so many years inside a cupboard under the stairs with nothing but invented memories of how his parents looked, of how their personalities were, of how they would treat him if the lived…to come to Hogwarts and finally being able to put faces to the two strangers of his life that he loved the most, even if he didn’t and would never know them, was priceless.
The foreign presence inside of his mind shifted. Harry, stalling his train of thought for a few seconds, idly wondered what the presence was. It was subtle, and never talked much, if at all, but he could feel exactly how it felt. Anger, frustration, and agony seemed to be the primary feelings he was able to discern from it, and sometimes…sometimes it seemed to feed on his own thoughts and emotions.
The presence put…pressure on the issue at hand. Harry felt it, and felt its frustration at being denied the chance of using the Charm. Was it his own feeling, or were they sharing? The lines blurred between them more than once, especially if the emotion shared was the exact same.
Like right now: it was anger.
“I broke the Imperius last year when nobody else could. You really don’t think I could come back from this Charm if I wish for my parents to be alive?” He was starting to get agitated, and the way she looked at him…pitying him…it was not helping, and he felt almost…attacked.
“You could come back! I’m just scared that you won’t want to!” Hermione’s answer was pleading, and she rushed to explain her point of view further. “You would create a world where your parents are alive, Harry! Voldemort most certainly wouldn’t even exist in it. It would be exactly what you wish for. I just…I just worry you won’t want to come back after experiencing it.”
“I would know it’s not real, Hermione! I won’t stay there!” Harry exclaimed. He was suddenly glad that the Common Room was empty; their voices were rising with each new sentence said, and they would probably be turning heads if there were others here to witness their argument.
“Saying it now, outside of the effects of the Charm, it’s different than saying it while under it! It would create a completely new reality for you, Harry, and it would look, and feel extremely real!” She was talking fast now, as if wanting to explain everything wrong with the Charm in one breath, and her eyes were blazing in both fear and frustration as she gestured to her papers. “You might actually like the Charm’s reality so much you might start to forget about your life outside of it! There are accounts of that, of people losing memories and replacing them with non-real ones.”
“Accounts?! They lost their memories! How would they know they replaced them for something that wasn’t real if they didn’t even know it was a Charm in the first place?!” Harry cried.
“T-that’s—Well, there are accounts of those whose job was to watch over the ones that cast the spell on themselves!” Hermione looked surprised by the fact that they were still arguing over the spell. “They recorded the memories their friends replaced with dreams. They’ve described the consequences of staying too long under the spell. It’s dangerous, Harry! Especially since you would be living your life’s wish! You would never want to come back from there!”
Harry new she was right, he knew it but he couldn’t stop talking and arguing with her. He poured every frustration and anger that he felt in that moment, pushed by the presence’s own emotions. This argument had, unfortunately for both of them, giving him an out for his anger.
He knew she was right about the spell. And still, the more he thought about shutting up and actually think things through, the more he seemed to open his mouth and fight her more.
“Would that really be so bad?! It’s not like this life is that good! At least with the Charm, I’ll be able to see my parents and stick it to Voldemort!” Harry cried, and moved forward on his seat to stare at the Runes of the Charm. His hands followed suit and he grabbed both that parchment and several of others that were laying close by. He returned his eyes back to his best friend, and saw how her posture had tensed and her eyes hardened. It seemed he had finally managed to make her angrier than worried over this.
“Harry…” She hesitated, but in the end decided to make her thoughts known. “Harry, they won’t be real, okay? You would be creating your parents based on what you want from them. It’s not—It’s not worth it. And Voldemort will still be here! If you use that Charm, you’ll slip into a coma and Voldemort might realize that! Remember your dreams?!”
Harry stilled, and his hands froze right over where he was gracing the dried ink of the symbols on the parchment. His eyes found Hermione’s once more, frowning, as he got stuck into one particular part of her previous speech.
“…Create them?” He asked softly. Hermione’s face softened, and she sighed before scooting closer to him. Now thigh to thigh, she moved her hand and gripped his knuckles, smoothing them but not enough to make him let go of the parchment.
“You don’t know your parents, Harry. You never will.” She said, wincing, but still looking at him.
That was the breaking point. Harry’s mind shut off, his rational thinking not enough to fight against his hurt. He gripped the paper even more, wrinkling it, and felt Hermione’s eyes on the back of his head as he turned to watch the ground.
She’s right! You don’t know them!
Of course she’s right. She’s always right.
Then listen to her! Stop! It’s not worth it!
But they’re your parents. They love you, don’t they? You deserve to see them after everything.
You won’t want to come back. Stop! Don’t say anything!
You deserve a break. This would give it to you. One simple wish and this would be over. You don’t need her for this. You don’t need her for anything —Do I? Do I need her?—no we don’t need her. Never have, never will. She’s getting in the way.
She’s your friend, you absolute git! Get a grip!
Say the words. We don’t need her. Wish it all away.
“Harry?” Her voice momentarily pulled him from his mind, before the odd…exchange of thoughts and emotions pulled him back in.
Don’t you dare! Don’t! You don’t want this. Do you want to leave everybody at the mercy of Umbridge? Of Voldemort?
Those are not our concerns, are they? They are Dumbledore’s, and he’s got no use for us now. He’s letting Umbridge run his school, and he’s letting her use you as a cutting board. Never mind that the Dark Lord is not match for us. He’s more powerful than anybody.
Shut up! We’ve beaten him more than once!
And he still came back.
Don’t do this. Listen to Hermione, she knows—
Of course she knows. She always knows, doesn’t she? She says it’s for your own good, I reckon she believes you weak.
No, she doesn’t. She’s just concerned about us, and she’s right to be.
You broke the Imperius before, and she thinks that this simple Charm would destroy you, just as she’s always thinking you should do more work in school. Nagging, I believe it’s called. She’s probably holding you back, don’t you think? She’s supposed to be number one, after all.
That’s the biggest load of crap I’ve ever heard. She’s Hermione! Sure, she can be a bit bossy and overly obsessed with homework, but she helps you every time! She stayed with you in Fourth Year when no one else would, remember?
“Harry?” She tried again, and this time Hermione grabbed his arm and shook it a little. Harry’s eyes were unfocused, blankly staring at the piece of parchment as his duo of personalities clashes against each other.
The ominous one—the one that always whispered deep, dark thoughts and got rid of his filter—was winning.
What does loyalty matter if it’s always tainted with distrust and disbelief? Do it. You know you want to, we deserve it. Use the charm…use it and wish for something that will make us happy. You know what would make me happy? Getting rid of her voice in our ear, always asking questions and always second guessing.
Don’t you dare even utter a word against her in the Charm! Do you really want that? You wouldn’t even be alive if it weren’t for her, damn it! Don’t erase her, or anything from her, you won’t like it.
Erasing her? And here I was just thinking of a simple wish in which she is mute. Great idea, Harry. Erase her. Would your school years not be better if she wasn’t there? You could reach your full potential.
You are absolutely mad if you even THINK about what this foul git is suggesting. You would be buried underground if it wasn’t for her, and you know it!
That gave him pause. Was that correct? Would he be dead, or injured, if it weren’t for Hermione? Yes, he probably would. His knuckles softened slightly, and his hand was just about to open and drop the parchment when the hisses of the other presence came back, raging mad and giving him a headache which originated from his scar.
Perhaps, perhaps not, but she does not care about you, remember? She went ahead and hid in Grimmauld Place and never told you ANYTHING. She’s spent more time with your godfather than you ever did. How sick is that?
That—that’s not her fault! Dumbledore made her do it—
She had broken rules for you in the past, why is this different? She was enjoying being with everybody else BUT you. You are not important to her, no matter what you think. Why care about somebody when they don’t care about you.
You are barking mad, whatever you are, shut up—
SILENCE
His headache got worse as he continued to listen to the ones whose thoughts and arguments were winning. On his side, Hermione kept calling his name but he heard her as if muffled through walls.
She’s shown her true colors, Harry. Go on. Use the Charm. Erase her from your life, you will thank me later.
Don’t!
Do it. I will even help you with the Charm. Say the words, Harry.
“Harry!” He snapped out of his thoughts when he felt his arm being tugged to the side. As he turned towards Hermione, his eyes blazed with fury as he regarded her once more.
“…This Charm would make me happy, Hermione.” He whispered, feeling strangely greedy and excited. Hermione stared at him, mouth agape, and she answered him in a fast and earnest voice.
“It really won’t, Harry. You run the risk of liking the Charm so much that you would actually wish to forget everything from your life outside.”
Harry rubbed his forehead with his left hand, the parchment staying on his right. Hermione seized her opportunity; she seemed to be tired and wary of their argument, and so she pounced and grabbed his right hand in an attempt to take the Runes from him.
His reflexes kicked in, and he put his hand on her shoulder to widen the distance between her arm, and his right hand flew away from their bodies, putting a safe distance between her and the parchment.
She’s getting in the way AGAIN, Harry. Stop stalling. Use the Charm, and use it well. Make it worth it.
His other voice was strangely quiet.
They had spent almost an hour on this subject, going back and forth on the pros and cons of the Charm, arguing about the power of it and the trickiness that it carried. All this talk of the spell, of being careful, of creating realities, of wishes—
You know what to say, Harry.
He snapped.
“You really think me that weak you need to resort to take a piece of parchment from me?!” Harry exclaimed, and ignoring Hermione’s shocked face, he continued his rant. “You just want to hold me back, don’t you? Do you not want me to be happy?”
“What? Of course I want you to be happy, but this is not the way, Harry! It would all be fake, do you understand?!” Hermione pleaded.
“Yes, I understand! I’m not daft, Hermione!” Harry growled. “You know, sometimes I wonder where would I be without you. Right now, I’m really wishing we never had met!”
As soon as he said it, it seemed as if the voice that was whispering encouragements fizzled out, replaced by the feelings of dread and regret as his eyes took on Hermione’s hurt expression.
For a second, he opened his mouth to try and stumble through apologies and promises to do better, to keep his temper in control, but his right hand started to heat up and he snapped his eyes from Hermione towards the parchment he held.
It glowed, and he only had time to turn back to his best friend and say her name before his head throbbed painfully, and everything went black.
He came back to consciousness quick as lightning; he eyes snapped open and his upper body sprang from where he was laying. He blinked, and realized that he didn’t have his glasses on. Figuring that Hermione had probably taken them after...he fainted, he blindly search for them close to his body. His left shoulder burned when he lifted it up, and his croak of pain sounded across the room. Breathing hard, he once more tried to look for his glasses.
His sight was blurry, enough to make out only shapes and colors, but he finally managed to grasp the frames of his glasses on his right side. His eyes focused on his surroundings, and Harry finally realized that everything was dark and he was currently laying on his four poster bed.
He could see that the blinds on the other’s beds were drawn, and Ron’s snores cut through the sounds his dorm mates made. Sitting up straighter he turned to his bedside table and rummaged on the drawer to find his wand. Casting a Lumos and fiddling with the broken watch on his right wrist, he was both confused and relieved when the time read ‘7:18’.
He sighed heavily, and got out of his bed. He wasn’t going to be able to sleep again; his heart was still pounding and his mind was a bit scrambled by the odd dream of hours before. He quickly changed into his robes of the day, made his bed, and sat down. He needed to calm down.
He must have been very distracted, since it took Ron moving his hand in front of Harry’s face and screaming his name for the black-haired teen to snap out of his reverie.
“What?!” Harry snapped, but quickly calmed down and apologized. “Sorry, mate. It’s been a weird night, that’s all.”
“Hmmm, you okay?” Ron asked. “I know Umbridge has been after you more than once this week. Don’t get me wrong, I hate her as much as the next bloke but I’m glad I’m not, you know…you at this time.”
Used to Ron’s bluntness, Harry could only nod as he and his best friend left the boy’s dorms and headed down to breakfast. As they crossed the Common Room, Harry decided share his dream with the redheaded teen. His mind kept replaying the events over and over and he wasn’t sure how much he could take before blurting it out; it might have been a dream, but the fact that he actually dreamed of forgetting about one of his best friends made him sick.
Harry rubbed his forehead as the two boys went out of the portrait hole of the Gryffindor Common Room, and he turned to his best friend and started to talk.
“Listen, mate…How—uh…I had an odd dream yesterday…” Harry started, hesitantly.
“Oh?” Inquired Ron. “What sort of odd are we talking about? Hogwarts-themed or another one of those that somehow involve some Muggle cartoon?”
Harry huffed, and threw him a deadpan look. “About Hogwarts, Ron. I think…It involved Hermione, so I guess it counts as Hogwarts themed.”
“Involved who?” The ginger asked, dumbfounded.
Harry scowled, “Hermione, Ron! If you’re mad at her and are trying to forget about her, or whatever, please do it some other time? It was one of the weirdest things I’ve ever dreamed, including those odd vision I get of the mystery hallway!”
“Calm down, mate! You’re the one who’s talking about somebody that we don’t even know!” Ron exclaimed, confused. Harry, analyzing his friend’s expression, absently thought that Ron had definitely improved his acting skills. It almost seemed as if he was truly shocked, and confused, by the words coming out of the green eyed teen.
“Hermione Granger! Ring a bell? Our best friend since First Year?” Harry snapped, and huffed out a breath. “Whatever fight you two had most have been rowdiest than usual for you to put this much effort on forgetting about her. Is she doing the same? Ignoring your existence?”
A look of recognition dawned on the other teen’s face, and Harry celebrated for a fraction of a second before that look was replaced by a combination of both confusion and amusement on his best friend’s eyes.
“Wait a second—you think we’re best friends with Granger?” Ron asked, incredulously. “Are you okay? Did you hit your head on your bedframe, or did Snape finally managed to completely scramble your mind with his extra lessons?”
“Wh-what?! No! My mind is fine!” Harry sputtered. “And why are you calling her Granger? Trying to imitate Slytherins, mate?”
Ron looked almost betrayed by Harry’s comment. “Hey! That’s out of line, Harry! I’m calling her that because, contrary to what your mental brain is thinking, we are not cozy with her! We don’t even know her, mate!”
“Oh, come off it, Ron!” Harry snapped once more. “This is crossing a line, okay?! My dream might have been weird but you’re acting as mental as that was.”
Ron flushed, embarrassed, but fixed Harry with an exasperated look. “Alright, now I’m really worried. Mate, I assure you, by the honor of the Chudley Cannons and their future win, that Granger is not our friend!” He paused, striking his chin in thought, before shrugging. “Quite frankly? She probably dislikes us because of all the rules we’re broken over the last few years.”
“Dislikes us because we broke the rules? She’s broken them WITH us!” Harry exclaimed. The black haired teen sighed heavily before shaking his head, and sent a glare at his best friend. “You know what? Whatever, I’ll just speak to her when we get to the Great Hall. I do feel bad about what I did…even if it was on a dream.”
Ron didn’t push the matter further, but he still sent confusing stares at Harry. They sped up their pace until they reached the Great Hall, and promptly sat down on the Gryffindor table. Harry, expecting to see his bushy haired best friend, was ultimately confused when he saw no sign of her, no matter how many looks he threw at the length of the table.
Bumping Ron’s shoulder and consequently stopping him from putting roasted potatoes on his plate, Harry turned his head towards him. “I don’t see Hermione. It’s not like her to be late.” He whispered.
Ron threw him a tired and exasperated look. “She wouldn’t be here, mate. She’s a Ravenclaw. Seriously, should we go see Madam Pomfrey?”
“A Ravenclaw? Would you stop messing around, Ron—” Harry’s words stopped cold when he spotted somebody that was undeniably Hermione, sitting at the far end of the Ravenclaw table surrounded by other three people. The Prefect badge shined on her robes—which were, to Harry’s utter confusion, Ravenclaw colored—and she was reading a rather big, ancient-looking tome.
“What?” Harry hissed. His mind couldn’t comprehend what exactly he was seeing. Yes, Hermione was sitting at another house’s table and yes, she was wearing their colors—but Hermione was a Gryffindor!
His stomach dropped when his mind had another theory—his dream was, perhaps, more real than he had thought.