Author's Note: Thank you so much for your kind reviews and sticking with me on this fic.
Chapter 4:
It was late morning and an overcast day as Hermione sauntered down the cobblestone path of Diagon Alley. Although rumbling clouds threatened a downpour, the streets were filled to the brim with witches and wizards of all shapes and sizes.
She enjoyed the bustle of merchants bartering in tents, and storefronts showing off their latest wares. Today, however, she wasn't in the mood for perusing. She was headed to Weasley Wizard Wheezes, where she felt obligated to give George an earful about the previous night.
While she recognized that there were no promises given to those testing his products, she'd felt personally affronted by the experience and was determined to tell him so.
As the store grew larger in her view, she watched as kids zipped in and out the front door, some with flying contraptions and others with hair that had suddenly burst into flames.
Hermione squeezed in through the door and shimmied her way around the busy store. Even on the second landing, kids were screaming and squawking in delight at all of the trinkets. Hermione craned her neck to spot George's red hair, but it wasn't visible, despite his tall stature. She did, however, spot Verity checking a group of youngsters out at the cash register.
"Verity!" Hermione called over with a wave. "George?"
Verity looked overwhelmed and annoyed at the mention of his name. "Still in the back," she called back over the raucous. "Tell him to get his 'you know what' out here. I'm not doing this by myself!"
Hermione nodded and snaked her way through the crowds to the back office.
Hermione had assisted George on a few occasions in sorting out his inventory, so she knew exactly where she was going.
Once she passed the double doors and through the stockroom towards George's office, the children's squeals and screeches became muffled and disappeared. She did, however, catch some rather loud noises coming from ahead.
"Knock, knock?" Hermione called as she entered.
"Well, you better fucking find out!" Ron's voice echoed. George and Ron were standing across from one another at George's work desk, which was overflowing with various parchment, broken toys and quills.
They looked over at her at the same time as she entered, each with a completely different expression. George's face turned from a scowl to an upbeat chipper smile, whereas Ron's face went from red to sheet white when his eyes landed on her. It was as if Salazar Slytherin had returned from the grave to murder him.
"Hermione, so good to see you!" George eschewed, inviting her in.
"I can come back?" She offered, unsure if her complaints were appropriate to discuss with Ron staring at her like that.
"Nonsense. What can I do for you?" George waved for her to take a seat. She didn't move. Ron took a few paces backward into a wall, then moved his arms awkwardly, trying to look nonchalant.
George rolled his eyes and returned to Hermione.
"I...uh…," she looked over at Ron and bit her lip, "just wanted to let you know that I don't think your latest...product…works properly."
George and Ron exchanged an odd assortment of looks.
George rubbed his chin. "Why do you say that?"
Hermione looked over at Ron. How could she tell them that in her very own fantasy, Ron had rudely rejected her advances? He literally ran out of her dream as if she was a swamp monster ready to drown him.
Ron was busy looking at anything except her, and it was driving her mad. The one person she wanted to be close to, whether in dreams or reality, and he was further away than ever.
"The dreams…" she started. Ron's eyes flicked over to her, "they seemed like they weren't mine, or…" she struggled with the words, "or didn't quite...finish...the way I expected."
Hermione handed George her parchment feedback, knowing it would provide more clarity to the situation. He read through it in silence, nodding his head every once in a while.
George took a deep breath, and sat down in his chair and crossed his arms. "Okay, so, here's the situation…"
Ron's pallor had now transitioned from ghostly white to putrid green as he looked at George like he was being delivered a death sentence.
"I have caught loads of mistakes with my shop products thanks to testers like both of you."
Hermione whipped her head towards Ron, recognizing that George just acknowledged that he too was testing the Dreaming Deeply Charm. Ron was now hyper-focused on a spot on the floor.
Hermione's stomach churned in a foreboding way.
"And thanks to you both, we've found a rather large flaw that I can fix in the Dreaming Deeply Charm recipe."
"Flaw?" Hermione choked out.
George glanced over at Ron.
"I think I'm going to be sick," Ron moaned as he leaned over, preparing to heave.
"Better to rip off the plaster, little brother," George advised Ron.
"Will someone please tell me what is going on here?" Hermione barked, now worried more than frustrated.
George looked over at her, attempting to straighten his desk.
"Right." He confirmed, "what I'm trying to say is that it appears that in certain instances, two individuals can end up in the same fantasy."
There was silence in the room, and Hermione's stomach plummeted. She tried to avoid connecting the puzzle pieces and absorbing what George was implying, and demanded clarification instead.
"What are you getting at, George?" Hermione's voice cracked.
"I'm saying that for the past two nights, the two of you have been sharing a fantasy. You both experienced each other's fantasy...together."
Hermione didn't move. She didn't breathe. It was as if the air had been sucked out of the room, and she was suffocating.
He knew. Ron knew she was pining after him. The waves of humiliation were crashing over her as she stared at George in shock.
George's eyes flicked between the two of them, but she didn't dare look over at Ron. How could she? What could she possibly say or do that would ever make up for this horrible situation.
"Good news?" George offered to try to lighten the mood. "I have a great idea for a couple's line of products now."
Before Hermione could react, Ron kicked George's desk, sending a few trinkets toppling off of the floor. George opened his mouth, but Ron had already stormed out.
Hermione sat frozen, not necessarily scared of Ron or George, but terrified for herself.
How would they ever be able to look each other in the eye?
George and Hermione sat in silence for a moment, George twiddling his fingers and then adjusting his papers.
"Verity said she needed your help," Hermione offered.
"I'll...uh...just go then…" George pointed towards the door, ignoring the trinkets that littered his floor. Hermione nodded and waited as George exited the room, leaving her alone in his office to hyperventilate in peace.
Hermione didn't remember leaving George's office. She didn't remember leaving Weasley Wizard Wheezes or walking along Diagon Alley. She didn't remember the journey home.
The only thing she knew was that she had proceeded to spend the rest of her day hiding under her covers, trying to pretend the world hadn't just crashed over her.
Her mind whizzed back and forth, wondering how such bad luck had befallen her. She wanted to pull her hair out and scream profanities to the world. She couldn't go back to work on Monday, she couldn't ever see Harry or her friends again. It would all lead back to Ron.
Eventually, after hours of emotional torture, her logical mind started popping up with very confusing questions.
How in the world did we end up in a dream together? We must have both been thinking about the same person…
Hermione shook her head. Impossible. He would never see her that way. He always shied away when she was close.
Was the pirate fantasy even mine? Or was it his?
She was sure the Egyptian Pharaoh dream was hers. It was too particular to her tastes. But the pirate one, that didn't feel like her style at all…
The afternoon rolled on, and she allowed herself to leave her bed for food, bathroom and reading in the living room, but most of the time, she wound up in bed throwing the covers over her head in embarrassment. Finally, as night fell, she flicked the lamp next to her bed and looked over at the one thing she'd been avoiding all day...the last vial of Deeply Dreaming Charm.
She pulled it out of the velvet box and lay it on her bed in front of her.
The liquid continued to shine as bright as it had the last two nights, as if inviting her back for more. However, this time when she used it, she knew that if Ron also used his, they would come face to face again for the third and final time.
She contemplated this, certain that he would never again down the liquid escape for fear she would be there, but something pulled at her.
Could she hide from him for the rest of her life? Could she pretend that nothing happened? Could he?
Her heart panged at the thought that they would never again be friends. It hurt more than the idea that they'd tried to shag each other senseless in a fantasy world.
Hermione procrastinated for nearly an hour before pulling the stopper off of the vial.
It was time to face her worst fear and deepest desires all in one dream. It was time to face Ron.
Hermione sent a prayer to the heavens as she chucked the liquid dreamscape down her throat.
After a moment, she felt the gentle tug of sleep as she laid back, and the world disappeared.
Hermione opened her eyes for the third time in her dreamscape, and again everything morphed into a pristinely beautiful scenario.
Charming chandeliers lined the ivory vaulted ceilings. Ornate and intricate artwork and carvings wrapped the walls. Classical music was being played by a string quartet towards the far side of the hall. And at its heart was a room filled with Victorian-era aristocrats dancing with joy. One thing that surprised her more than anything was that all of the decorations and designs reminded her vividly of the Yule Ball. There were snow-capped sculptures and magical snowflakes falling from the ceiling. Even the punch table was filled with the same treats as fourth year.
She was standing near the back of the room, unnoticed by most of the wealthy participants milling about. She looked down and noticed she was in an extravagant blue gown hand-stitched with lace flowers and swirls. On her chest was a silver necklace with a sapphire teardrop at its center. She wore pale blue satin gloves that reached her elbows.
Though the dress was incredibly snug, she didn't feel uncomfortable. She reached for her hair, which was held up in a soft bun with perfect ringlets hanging down to frame her face.
She wasn't sure what she should do, so she decided the best thing for her nerves was to stand there to see what happened. Most of the party-goers hadn't even noticed her, but then the music quieted.
The dancing stopped, and there was a stirring in the room.
Hermione observed a few murmurs up at the front. She peered around confused, until the sea of witches and wizards in their most glamorous attire parted, making way for someone walking towards her.
Hermione's heart stopped as a tall figure made his way through the crowd. His hair was fire red, slicked over. His dress robes were black as coal. Everyone looked at him in awe and admiration, and then at her in surprise and envy.
Then he was there, standing in front of her. The blush creeping up her neck was unmistakable, and she tried not to look too nervous.
His voice was shaky, and he hesitantly held out a hand.
"Will you dance with me?"
