AN: AU's are a fun and murky place to play in. Please leave a review if fav'ed.
Disclaimer: Last time I checked I am an American, sarcastic, and fun-sized. Nice try, but I know that I'm not JK Rowling.
Title: Dream a Little Dream
Word Count: 1K
Summary: "I'm not even sure if I'm dreaming half the time." AU
The therapist looked over his notes and pushed his spectacles up. "I see, Mr Potter, that you've been having these dreams again?"
Harry wordlessly nodded. He lanky frame was awkwardly folded in the small chair, his knees were tucked under his chin, and back arched over like a little school boy. Odd names flashed over the cusp of his memory from the other night. Long, red hair tangled in his hand, the lingering scent of strawberries near his mouth, freckles dotting bare skin…
"Mr Potter?" the therapist said again.
Harry opened his eyes. "Uh, sorry. You were asking?"
The elderly man sighed. "I asked you to describe the dream to me."
Harry slowly unfolded himself and clenched his hands onto the armrests. He willed himself to wear a blank face. The dream from that night felt too precious and private to be told. "Can we please save that for another date?"
The therapist's lips thinned. He scribbled something down on a thick pad of paper. "Perhaps…Then shall we discuss the characters in these dreams…" He silently read the names before speaking them. "Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley."
"It's Ron," Harry corrected without meaning to. "He hates being called by his full name." The second he heard those names he could remember a tall redhead with a stubborn streak, and a bushy-haired woman with a passion for books. He felt a strong sense of devotion to those two. And he tensed as more words were written. "They're just people in my dreams. Maybe you can find a bloody metaphor in there?"
"Maybe I shall?" the other man retorted dryly. "It could be about the lack of parental figures and the refusal to move on with life." He looked over his glasses and stared at Harry. "What do you think?"
The session continued in a twisted game of catch. Harry would hesitantly answer with bland words, and the therapist would throw more detailed questions at him. Harry would occasionally fumble and say too much, and more would be written towards some prognosis.
Harry hated going to these things, but it was mandatory.
Half-past three was when he was sent home. His flat was small and terribly unfurnished, but it did well with his meagre pay.
After opening the door he scratched his dog behind the ear. Snuffles was a big thing, all giant limbs and coarse, dark hair. Harry had no idea what possessed him to keep such a large animal, but after seeing the hungry canine sulking he knew that he would find a familiar soul.
Snuffles bumped his head at Harry's knee, signalling that he was ready to go for a walk. Harry smiled ruefully and zippered his jacket back on. He grabbed the leash and clasped it on. "You must be bored without me," he said.
Snuffles barked and started to lead them out the door.
There was oddly nice weather in London that day. Bright sunshine, slightly chilly, the type of weather that was only imagined in half-thought dreams. Harry kept up his quick pace as Snuffles dragged him somewhere. It was a common practice that they had every day: to go on a walk with no direction, usually leading to somewhere that had no significance later on.
The other day Snuffles had brought Harry to an alley off of an old pub. The dog stooped at a brick wall, and found it to be interesting. Harry only scratched the back of his head, wondering why it seemed familiar. The previous time it was at a brightly-coloured joke shop that had left Harry partially blind and deaf. Before that it was a neighbourhood that looked as thought it had a pole stuck up its arse, and so forth…
It was an odd adventure of sorts, and it did gave Harry time to clear his head. His therapist had recommended longer visits in the future, seeing that he was unable to figure out what problem Harry had.
He didn't cared much, honest. Harry didn't minded the dreams lately. It was after the seventh month of having them was when they were becoming less like nightmares. Some were teary like going to a funeral, but oddly sweet like relaxing in a hammock with the girl. Her name teased over her lips…Ginevra, but went by Ginny… And his dreams were filled with a magical school, heroic wonders that he and his friends would do, a battle against dark evil…
Harry let parts of the dream play over again. He could easily re-imagine her pale limbs sprawled over his, her bright hair creating a curtain around them. They were talking in a quiet murmur, slowly being swayed by the hammock that was connected by two large trees. He had smiled and laughed at something that she said, and she had kissed him…
He was struck out of that daydream when Snuffles barked impatiently. "Oi," he said, and took a yank at the leash. "Let me dream a bit, you bloody—" Harry's curse was cut short when he felt someone collide next to him. He fell to his knees, his glasses being knocked off his face. He kept a tight hold on the struggling leash and blindly groped the pavement for his glasses.
"Here," a voice said.
Harry blindly looked up and felt the cool metal of his glasses being put on. His mouth dropped as red hair and brown eyes swam into view. The woman was crouching on her knees, strands of her hair were flying over her freckled face.
"Sorry about that," her voice had a certain lit to them. Her face was enveloped in a bright blush. "I was off in my own world and didn't see you. Are you well?
Did I hurt you?"
"Oh, no." Harry stood up and rubbed his eyes. He must be dreaming—or a very real hallucination that involved attacking most of his senses. Snuffles grinned nearby the woman, laughing in a barking manner that all dog did. "I'm fine. My fault, too."
"Pish, posh." The woman—Ginny, probably—looked up and read from the giant clock on King's Cross. "Least I can do is to buy you a cuppa before dinner."
Harry tried to decline, but she insisted with a smile, saying that it wouldn't be too much.
She agreed on a pub that was nearby—coincidently the same pub near from yesterday's walk. They walked together with Snuffles acting oddly proud, and the more Harry talked to her, the more positive that he was going mad.
It was as if someone took his dreams and superimposed it over reality. She was most certainly the sake Ginny Weasley from his dreams, and even her name was the same. He found himself staring at her as she chatted, half-wondering if her kisses would be as sweet passionate. It was ridiculous that he was over half in love with the dream-Ginny and was quickly enamoured with the one walking next to him.
They had an enjoyable time at the pub—a shadow-clumped place known as the Leaky—and she wrote her number down on his hand. They shared bright smiles and awkward good-byes, promising to meet again soon.
That night Harry dreamt something old. He was young, everything was much taller and bigger than he was. The smoke moved heavily around him and he pushed a trolly through large masses of people. He caught looks of red hair and welcoming laughter, a shy girl peering behind her mother, and a voice telling him to go on.
He woke up startled and went to the small bathroom to throw water at himself. What happened to the nicer dreams? So far, he knew, he never regressed in them, only moving forward as he was passing each day. Harry looked at his bleary reflection in the mirror, the flickering lights gave the illusion of a scar on his forehead.
He pushed his fringe away to see only clear skin. Out of wonder he check himself all over if he had any scars that his dream-self had. So far he only bore the usual childhood scars.
Snuffles walked inside the bathroom, snorted something, and glared beady-eyed at Harry for waking him up.
"Well," it was often that Harry would have conversations with the mutt. "If the girl of your dreams literally walks into you…" He couldn't figure out what to say next as Snuffles went back to seep.
He met her again at King's Cross the next day.