Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition: Round 12
Team: Chudley Cannons
Position: Chaser 3
Prompt: You and your soulmate interact in dreams until your first meeting.
Optional Prompts: 2. (color) royal blue; 4. (setting) coffee shop; 5. (word) obvious
AN: Muggle!AU
The coffee shop is as busy as Hermione had expected. The line at the counter nearly extends out of the door, and a throng of people were seated at the tiny, shakey tables. There is music playing—either Taylor Swift or Clairo's newest song, but she can't tell over the sound of people talking.
It is the opposite of everything Hermione typically liked, yet for some reason she keeps returning to the coffee shop every day. She finds a spot at the end of the line and settles in for a long wait. The thick and dark aroma of coffee wafts through the crowd, filling her nostrils pleasantly every time she inhales.
She sticks her hand in her purse and fumbles around until her fingers close around the spine of her latest read, a medium-sized tome about international relations between Bulgaria and Great Britain.
Hermione pulls the book out and flips it open to where she had left off, in the middle of a very intriguing discussion of the disparities between filial culture in the two countries, and quickly loses herself in her reading. Her feet move forward by instinct as the line in front of her shrinks, until she is standing in front of the barista.
"What would you like?"
Hermione jolts and raises her head. The barista looks slightly annoyed. "Oh! I'm so sorry," she says as she shoves her book back in her purse. "I'll have a medium peppermint mocha latte, please."
The barista nods and waves for Hermione to move to the side to wait for her drink. The moment the cup lands on the counter, Hermione seizes it and heads for a table near the windows. After her first sip, she notes that there is something distinctly different about her drink. It lacks the strong, refreshing flavor of peppermint. She leans down and sniffs the surface, and a deep earthy smell floods her nostrils. Glancing at her watch, she wonders briefly if she should ask for a new cup of coffee then decides against it. She wants to get home, and the crowd doesn't look like it was going to disappear anytime soon.
So she continues sipping at her coffee, the hot liquid trickling down the back of her throat. As she downs the last bit, the cars passing by the window start to blur. She feels an irresistible urge to lay her head down. Just for a few minutes, she promises herself as her eyes drift shut.
A flash of red hair.
Royal blue eyes.
The strong smell of coffee, infiltrating everything.
Then—"Who are you?"
Something compels her to answer, so she does. "Hermione."
"I'm Ron." A flash of red hair again, becoming more solid now. "This is a bit weird, isn't it?"
"No," Hermione retorts, "I speak to strangers in my dreams all the time." She speaks effortlessly, as if she's known this man her entire life.
She catches a hint of a smile.
"Is this a dream?"
"Isn't it obvious?"
"Well, if you think about it, nothing about dreams is obvious."
She needs to wake up—she knows that. But still, she feels a tug of regret. "Maybe I'll see you again."
"Until the next dream, then," says Ron.
"Until the next dream," she echoes.
She tries to pull herself out, but her feet remain firmly planted on… what would she even call it? The dreamscape?
Ron laughs, and she feels a thrill rush through her at the sound. "Can't get out?"
"It appears so."
"Well," Ron says, his figure becoming more solid with every moment, "I dunno what you're supposed to do when you meet a stranger in your dreams, but—"
"Yes, dream protocol is somewhat lacking," says Hermione.
"Dream protocol?" Ron chortle. "What are you, an MI6 agent?"
"Shut up." Hermione's cheeks burn red.
Ron holds his hands up. "I'm just joking. So," he rubs the back of his neck, "what do you do? In… well, in real life, I guess."
"I work for the government. Human rights, particularly." she says.
His eyes widen, and she finds herself staring for a little too long at how startlingly blue they are. "So I wasn't too far off, was I?"
Hermione stops herself from pointing out that MI6 is in an entirely different department, figuring that she's already made a bit of a fool of herself with "dream protocol." "What about you? What do you do… in real life?"
The tips of Ron's ears turn bright red, and Hermione catches herself thinking it's absolutely adorable. "Oh, me… I don't work for the government, if that's what you're asking."
Hermione raises an eyebrow, prompting him to continue.
He rubs his neck again. "I'm a barista." His ears turn even more red, if that were possible. Hermione thinks it is.
She searches for something to say, her silence hanging heavier with every passing moment. "Well, I love coffee."
He stares at her blankly, then a little laugh spills out. "That's… nice. Maybe I can make you a cuppa, sometime. If I ever see you in, you know, real life."
The corners of her lips quirk up. "That would be nice. If we did meet in real life, that is."
"Yeah, it would."
They stand in silence once again, although this time, it's more comfortable.
"Where do you work?" Hermione asks.
"Dream Come True. It's a little cafe near—"
"I come there everyday!"
"You do?"
"That's where I fell asleep," Hermione says.
Ron gapes at her for a moment. Then—"Valerian root!"
"What?" Hermion's brows furrow.
"I put valerian root in someone's coffee today. It's supposed to make you sleepy." Ron offers her a lopsided smile. "Sorry for messing up your coffee."
Hermione thinks that she should probably be mad at him right now, but she can only smile. "It's alright."
"Well, what do you say about waking up?" Ron's freckles have become even more apparent against the red of his cheeks. "Maybe I can make you a cuppa?"
"I'd like that." Hermione looks down at her feet. "I'd like that a lot."
He holds out his hand, and she takes it without hesitation.
Hermione's eyes flutter open, and she straightens herself, wincing at the slight ache in her back from sleeping in such an awkward position. She looks over to the counter and meets a pair of royal blue eyes.
Dream Come True, she muses as she stands. I suppose they weren't lying.