NOTE: This story was inspired by loops and loops of Avril Lavigne's song "How Does It Feel."
JKR ROWLING owns all of the characters in this story.
Thanks. And forgive me as I have no confidant to edit my stories. Hope you enjoy.
Harry woke with a start, bolting straight up in his bed. No matter how hard he had tried lately, he could not seem to close his mind off as Snape had instructed. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he settled back down onto his pillow.
Close your mind, Harry. Shut everything out.
But it was no use. With a school year like the previous one, it was no wonder he was having trouble shutting out the noise. Sirius: dead. Harry: soon to be dead. The prophecy had changed everything. Sure, Harry had always known he might one day have to face Voldemort on his own. He had done it before hadn't he? But that had been different…he hadn't known what was coming. Now, suddenly, his impending doom loomed before him.
Closing his eyes, he tried to force the thoughts from his head. Sighing, he gave in. Images flashed across his mind: Sirius and the veil, Ron and the brains, Hermione…
Hermione.
Seeing her there lying in the Department of Mysteries, unsure of whether she was even alive or not…
Hermione.
Suddenly his mind swam backwards through time…
"Flitwick told me I got a hundred and twelve percent on his exam…" Harry chuckled slightly at the memory. Soon he was drifting off to sleep with thoughts of his best friend in his head.
The next day with the Dursleys was the same. They ignored him for the most part. The next night was the same too. He could just not seem to wipe his mind blank…
Again, the veil, brains and…
"All those poor elves I haven't set free yet, having to stay over during Christmas because there aren't enough hats!"
Again, sleep overcame Harry and he drifted blissfully downward…
"Hello Harry!"
"Hermione! What are you doing here?"
"You tell me Harry, it's your dream!" she said, smiling.
She was sitting in the Great Hall all alone. The tables were empty of students and Harry stared down at Hermione wondering what she was doing there all by herself.
"Are you going to sit down or gape around like a fish?" Sitting down across from her, Harry continued staring around the huge Hall. Then, moving his eyes back to Hermione, he felt calm. "That's better. Now, what do you want to talk about?"
"H-Huh?"
"You know…talk…" she pointed to her mouth, "or make some sort of grunting sound with your tongue…" she said, chuckling at the blank expression on Harry's face.
For the rest of the night, dream-Hermione listened to Harry talk about…well, nothing important really. Sitting in the Great Hall, they reminisced about their past adventures. Hermione giggled when Harry gave his account of the Troll Incident. When Harry woke the next morning, late, he felt the most refreshed he had felt in days…
Going about his choirs that day; he couldn't help but remember snippets of the dreams from the previous night. It felt nice to talk with Hermione, even if it wasn't the real Hermione.
That night…
Sitting at the same table from the previous night, Hermione stopped laughing and gave Harry a serious look.
"Do we really have to keep meeting in here, Harry?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, it's your dream isn't it? Want to take a walk?"
"Sure."
Getting up from the long table, the two made their way out the front entrance where they strolled towards the lake. Circling the lake, they talked about how life was for Harry with the Durleys that summer. Hermione laughed when Harry told her about Uncle Vernon's silence during the car ride home from Platform 9 ¾. Moody and the others had done quite a number on his psyche…
The next morning, Hedwig arrived with a letter. Harry scrambled to put his glasses on and skidded to the window. The legs of his pajamas waded high up on his calves. He had certainly grown in the past year, but he had managed to ignore his tightening shirts and shortening pants for the time being. Perhaps when he arrived at Diagon Alley this summer, he would use his own gold to buy some new clothes.
The letter attached to Hedwig's leg was written in Hermione's familiar tidy scrawl. Harry patted Hedwig and unrolled the parchment.
Harry,
How are you? That's a silly thing to ask I guess. But I hope you are doing fine.
I am writing to tell you that I have been contacted by some members of the Order and they have informed me that you might be leaving the Dursley's house sooner than usual this summer. They were hoping that my parents and I might accept you here at our home for a short while, as the Burrow is perhaps an obvious, and therefore dangerous, hideout.
While we readily accept their proposition, I thought it might be wise to ask you first.
Would you mind spending a few weeks here? Write back as soon as you can.
Much Love,
Hermione
The Grangers? For a few weeks?
No, Hermione for a few weeks...
Sometimes, he didn't know where that voice in his head came from. He generally had two voices in his head. One being Hermione's, the other sounded a lot like a mixture of other people; Ron, Sirius, Lupin…
Either way, being away from the Dursleys earlier than expected was certainly a good thing. He jumped for his quill and hastily scratched out a reply.
That night, he bypassed his normal tormenting ritual of Occlumency attempts. Instead, his mind took him straight to thoughts of Hermione Granger.
Sitting in front of the common room fire reading a dusty book from the library, Hermione sat – legs crossed – reading. Approaching her silently, Harry arrived directly behind her without detection.
"Boo!"
"Aaaaiiieee!" she screamed, dropped her book, and whipped around so as to train the tip of her wand on him. Harry gripped his stomach in laughter, falling to his knees in tears.
"That was NOT funny Harry!" she spouted, obviously flabbergasted. The countenance on her face only made Harry laugh harder. Suddenly they were both laughing, though Hermione was still shaking hard with fright…
Later, sitting on the squishy couch side-by-side, Harry turned the conversation to a much more serious topic of conversation. He had suddenly been struck by a compulsion to tell Hermione about the prophecy. He had never kept something of this nature from Hermione in the past, and hadn't realized the torture it would cause him to do so. She sat in silence as he told her, word for word, the prophecy given to Dumbledore on that day so long ago. His eyes never left the dancing fire as he told her, however he could feel her eyes trained unwavering on his face. When he was finished, she reached out and gripped his folded hands in hers. They sat like that for the rest of the dream. Neither spoke, Hermione simply leaned over to rest her head on Harry's shoulder.