Disclaimer: Bloody 'Ell! (interpretations from "Meet Me Under The Mistletoe" is a song by Harry and the Potters)
A/N: Okay. That's it. I give up. I love writing too much. I got ONE GORGEOUS review. From the fantastic Marie Fay. You are awesome! Its people like you who make me want to write. But you know what, all you non-reviewers out there, that's okay. I know I may not review on occasion. A couple of times I have waited for the story to be over, before I reviewed. But I try. So I'm not mad. Nope. In the holiday spirit, here's another chapter. Dedicated to Marie Fay! (sorry if it's not very good.)
Chapter 6In Which Nearly Headless Nick Makes a Pun, Hermione Has a Somewhat Civil Conversation with Ron, and Neville Melts.
Ron woke up to the blinding morning light peering through his curtains. He groaned and rolled off his bed and lay sprawled, tangled in his sheets. Seamus, who had been up and ready for forty minutes, tripped over Ron's knobbly-socked foot on his way out. After pulling on disheveled robes and running a hand through his hair as a substitute for a comb, Ron trudged down to the Great Hall. On the left-hand staircase on the fourth floor, he tripped over Mrs. Norris, swore at her, and banged his head on the round door handle of a dusty wardrobe that had suddenly appeared there. Nearly Headless Nick drifted by, laughing to himself, and remarked, "Quite a 'knob' you have there, Mr. Weasley." He chuckled at his poorly made joke and went about his ghostly business.
"Aw, bugger off," Ron snarled; a goose–sized limp was developing on his head.
A/N: Okay, about the pun. 'knob', ball-shaped handle, 'nob', a person's head. Ya, it was supposed to be bad and stupid. I tried to think of like the worst pun that no one would get. Oh, and the lump is goose-sized. No eggs.
Hermione hadn't slept a wink last night. She had had another dream of the flickering hall, and didn't dare coax on more fantasies. After giving in to her curiosity, she researched dreams in the library. More importantly, she researched dream divination. Grudgingly of course, but Hermione shuddered with an unpleasant wave of reminiscence. Trelawney, the old hag, had put stock in this ridiculous stuff. Hermione looked up dreams with 'hallway' or 'mirror' and all she found was:
Hallways: To see a hallway in your dream, symbolizes the beginning of a path that you are taking in life or a journey into the unknown and self-exploration. It represents spiritual, emotional, physical, or mental passages in your life. It is indicative of a transitional phase in your life.
Mirror: What you see is related to your persona and unconscious. Seeing images through the mirror may be a safe way for you to consider and/or confront material from your unconscious. Mirrors symbolize the imagination and a link between the conscious and unconscious.
Rug: To see a rug in your dream, suggests that you are trying to shield yourself from some harsh reality. There may also be something that you are trying to hide. Consider the design and condition of the rug. If it is old and worn, then it suggests that you feel that you are being taken advantage of or stepped on by others.
Lily: To see lilies in your dream, symbolizes tranquility, spirituality, peace, and bliss.
Pursuit: To dream that someone or something is in pursuit of you, indicates that you are refusing to acknowledge a certain viewpoint or idea.
According to that, she thought, I'm going through a transitional phase, I might see something horrible from my unconscious, I feel like I'm being taken advantage of, I won't acknowledge a viewpoint, yet everything is tranquil. Slamming the book shut, she shoved it back into the bookcase. In spite, she put it one shelf and five books away from where she found it. Bloody dreams. Bloody dream dictionaries. Maybe she was pulling a Harry, and she had a mental connection to someone. Nah, that's rubbish. Perhaps it means nothing, the agitating little voice in the corners of her mind peeped, except for the 'ignoring a viewpoint' thing. You really shouldn't be so hard on Ron, after all–
"Shut it!" Hermione raged at the little voice, swatting it away, and still remembering to whisper. She looked at her watch, the nice leather one her father had given her last Christmas, it was nearly ten o'clock! She rushed down to breakfast, her bushy mane flying after her. On the stairs, she tripped on Ron's lump and landed half a foot away from him.
"Hello…" He croaked. He tried to move his arm and only managed a wiggle as a gesture of greeting. Hermione forgot she was pretending to be mad at him.
"Ron," Hermione gathered herself and got up from the smooth marble stair. Then, she spotted the wardrobe. "How did this get here?"
"Dunno… tripped… knob… bad pun…" Ron's eyes flicked to the lump on his head.
"Oh, you poor thing…" she crouched down to Ron, pointed her wand to the lump and whispered "resarcio." The limp shrank considerably to the size of a hummingbird.
"Thanks," Ron put a hand to his head and grimaced. Hermione helped him up; he was still a bit wobbly on his feet. A "mobus" from Hermione moved the wardrobe out of harm's way, and they wobbled down to breakfast together.
"That was odd, how do you think a wardrobe got there?" Hermione queried.
"Dunno. Peeves?" Ron suggested, rubbing a shaky hand over his wound. He noticed Hermione's hair looked sweet when it was messy like that. There were lines of fatigue in her face; she hadn't gotten any sleep. He wondered why.
"I suppose," Hermione was suddenly conscious of the bird's nest on her head and her tired appearance. Ron seemed to be staring for an unusually long time. "Oh, I didn't get much sleep," she gestured to her hair, "I'm a wreck."
"No, you look fine. Nice." Ron assured her. "Why'd you get no sleep?"
"Oh, er…Dreams, actually," Hermione admitted. "Peculiar ones."
"I had a strange dream once, I was in the Forbidden Forest and Harry and I came to this nest of these huge spiders, acromantulas, and then they tried to eat us…oh, wait. That was real." Ron grinned sheepishly.
Hermione laughed. Her face fell again as she said, "But these didn't make any sense. They weren't like any other dreams I've had. It first happened that day in History of Magic; I was dreaming I was outside. And then all of a sudden this other dream interrupted it."
Ron's face crinkled in worry. So what if she was impossibly stubborn, (A/N: Ahem, pot calling the kettle black, anyone?) Hermione was his friend. He felt helpless, like he had whenever Harry was in trouble, like he couldn't do anything. He wasn't a world–class wizard, or extremely knowledgeable. What could he do? And now Hermione was in trouble. Mind you, a Dark Lord whose name is feared by all wasn't chasing her, but still, this was Hermione. Hermione who always knew what to do. His Hermione. He put a long arm around her shoulder in a flustered attempt to comfort her.
"What happened in the dream?" Ron asked. Maybe he could help if he knew.
Hermione sighed and recounted the dream. The musty smell of the shadowed hall came to her. The brush of the tattered rug against her feet felt so real. And the heavy breathing, the thing she knew was there, whose presence hung in the air. The dusty mirror and its great gilded frame, what she almost saw was fresh in her memory. What could she lose by telling him? Nothing. Rather than looking repulsed or incredulous, Ron's face shrank with concern and bafflement. He blinked away the ginger strands in his eyes, and squeezed her shoulder tighter.
ooo
After a quiet breakfast of Ron's arm draped over Hermione's shoulders, the first class of the day was Potions Ron stayed glued to Hermione on the trek down to the ominous dungeons.
Celia (A/N: You'd forgotten about her, hadn't you?) snatched Harry's arm the moment Snape said they were going to work in partners. Ron looked at Hermione and she shrugged as they partnered up. They were making the Draught of Everlasting Facial Hair, as Snape was in a humorous mood. The greasy haired man sat back in his chair, grinning to himself and humming "Meet Me Under The Mistletoe" (A/N: Aah! OOC Snape!).
"Sooo… two ounces ground Streeler shell…" Ron began to measure out a multicolored powder, scrunching his nose in concentration. (A/N: Streeler… check Fantastic Beasts & Where To Find Them… it's a snaily thing that changes color and stuff…) Hermione smiled inwardly. She'd missed times like this; Ron could be an annoying part on occasion, but he had his moments. She glanced over at Celia and Harry, who were happily chopping a glittering, knurled looking root. The green–eyed boy didn't seem so reluctant to be torn away from Ron, his usual partner, anymore. It was funny, wasn't it? How whenever Harry fell under her gaze, he turned into mush. She supposed the raven–haired American must be part Vela. She would have to do a background check. Maybe Ron is right… she began to admit grudgingly. She sighed and focused her attention on the potion. Ron's shoulder was brushing against hers as she offered to stir for him. Beginning to blush, although she didn't know why, Hermione reminded him to stir widdershins; Ron simply rolled his eyes.
"Neville! No!" a voice cried out from behind a smoking cauldron.
"What?" Neville's arm had flailed out and promptly knocked over the cauldron. The steaming, neon contents sprayed out, all over Neville. The Gryffindors gasped as the boy slowly began to…. ooze. There was no other way to put it. Neville melted into a smoking pile of goo. Snape swept the Neville–goo into a bucket and ordered Seamus to carry it to the Hospital Wing.
A/N: Okay… sorry if that sucked…yay! I got to use the word widdershins. It's my fave. It means counterclockwise. Anyway, there was going to be a new DADA teacher in this chappie. But it came out crappy. :D that rhymed. Well… I promise there will be some Ron and Hermione lurve soon. Sooner if you review…. (hint, hint)… Everything will come together soon. It'll make sense in a bit. So, REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW! I CAN'T WRITE IF YOU DON'T REVIEW! It really makes my day when someone reviews my story. I'm going through tough times, it makes me feel better, and my writing improves too! I will TOTALLY return the favor if you ask too! You review mine…I'll review yours… oh, if any of you like spoofs, there's a funny one on so check it out. Well… I will update ASAP. I'm still waiting for my reviews. So consider this a holiday gift. In return, you can review.
Happy Christmahanuramakkahdanza! My friend J (No, his name is not a curse word. I'm just not revealing it for his privacy) told me that one. Well, how about just Happy Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, and Happy New Year (alphabetical order).
Love,
Laurel KingsleyP.S. #guilt–trip# I have abysmally low self–esteem, by the way…