Really, the entire mess was because of the shepherd's pie.
If she hadn't had been so invested in sitting by it, then she wouldn't have sat by Ginny. If she hadn't been sitting by Ginny, then she wouldn't have asked about Viktor Krum (who everyone seemed rather worked up about due to his recent Wranky—Wronky—Wonky?—manoeuvre). If Ginny hadn't slapped a magazine down in front of her and instructed her to read it under threat of death, then Hermione never would have gotten such a good look at him, which meant that her brain wouldn't have somehow decided to feature him in her dreams.
So, like she said. This strange situation was because of the shepherd's pie. Well, and Ginny.
"You know," she said idly, staring at the world renowned athlete, who was standing next to her by the dusky shore of a lake with a very...particular expression on his face, "it's very peculiar that my mind has decided to commit to this so thoroughly. You really do look exactly as you appeared in the magazine."
Dream Krum, who was standing a few metres away from her with the air of someone who had found himself in a situation that he wasn't sure how to navigate, looked rather nonplussed.
"The magazine?" He echoed, his voice a nice, lightly accented timbre.
"Yeah. You know, the Quidditch magazine. The one Ginny—" She stopped herself mid-sentence. "Why am I explaining things to what amounts to myself? You are, of course, part of my subconscious, so obviously you know precisely what I'm talking about."
Dream Krum shifted on his feet, looking out across the nice lake that was tinted with the golden light of the distantly descending sun. Expression cycling through different versions of conflicted, he finally met her eyes as he answered her with the tone of one who wasn't sure how their words would be received. "I'm not truly part of your dream. I'm Viktor Krum."
"I know who you are. It was in the magazine." She rolled her eyes, dismissing it with a wave of her hand. "You're not telling me anything new, which is a typical dream response. My brain can't tell something I don't know.
Dark, velvet brown eyes narrowed at her response. "No," he said a bit more insistently, "I'm actually Viktor Krum."
Exasperated, she crossed her arms. "I'm sure you believe that, but I'm telling you—wait, why am I even arguing with myself? Believe what you want, Dream Krum. You're just a figment of my imagination."
Dream Krum took a step towards her, his eyes locking on hers even as he invaded her space and caught up her hand.
Wow, her subconscious was certainly forward, wasn't it? Was this a sign that she was needing more human connection? This thing with the Time-Turner really was preventing her from connecting with her friends as much these days. Actually, taking that to its logical conclusion, could this vivid unusual dream even be a side effect?
"—do to convince you that I'm actually who I say I am?" Dream Krum was saying when she surfaced from her hypothesizing, looking soulfully into her eyes.
She leveled him with a look that would make Ron quail. "No matter how accurate you look to what I saw flying around the pages of the magazine this evening, I'm telling you that I know that you're not real, and nothing can convince me. Not even the nice hand holding."
The warm clasp of his hand around hers tightened. "You like it?"
"I mean, what with the Time-Turner thing playing out, I hardly get to talk to anyone let alone hug anyone. It's rather nice to touch someone else," she admitted.
His hand spasmed. "The what?" He croaked.
"The Time-Turner. You know. The one we got so we could take twelve classes."
Viktor peered into her eyes as if she were slightly demented. Which was fair, she supposed, given her decision. "Whyever would you do that?"
"Oh, you know," she said flippantly, her knowledge that this was a dream with no repercussions freeing her to say things she wouldn't normally say, "I have an unquenchable thirst for knowledge which is probably rooted in a deep-seated need to prove myself as a Muggleborn witch. Something like that, anyways."
He didn't seem to know quite what to say to that, settling at last on an eloquent, "Ah."
"Anyways, Dream Viktor—"
"I'm not part of your dream."
He really was stubborn, wasn't he? "If you aren't, then how did you get here, hm? Dream walking isn't really a thing, you know." She paused, considering. "Well, at least I don't think it is."
Dream Viktor shook his head. "It is. Have you heard of astral projection?"
Oh, interesting. "You mean removing yourself from your body to walk on the spiritual plane? I've heard a lot about Indo-Americans from North America and even the Romany in Western Europe doing so with great success," she said enthusiastically.
"In my family," he said slowly, "the males of the line have a gift that allows us to do the same, but only to a certain person."
Well, what was the point of that? She frowned. "That seems rather inefficient."
Beginning to look a little frustrated, Dream Viktor sighed. "That's not the point. We can dream walk, but only to our soulmates." He looked at her significantly.
Right. Okay. This was definitely one of her stranger dreams.
"Honestly, what in Merlin's name was in the shepherd's pie last night?" she pondered. "Perhaps one of the boys put a jinx on it?" A thought occurred to her. "I'll just bet it was Fred and George. That explains why they were late—they were probably messing with the dishes!"
"Who? They're not involved in this at all, and neither is your dinner. I'm telling you," he said slowly, like he was talking to a particularly idiotic person, "that I'm your soulmate, and you're thinking you have food poisoning?"
She shrugged. "Not good poisoning—jinxing, most likely. I don't typically dream at all, and when I do, it's usually rather abstract, so this, er...thing," she waved a hand to encompass their entire situation, "makes me think that something happened last night to cause this dream."
He ran a hand over his hair, his features growing a little pinched. "Yes, something did happen. It was the Samhain ritual my family conducted that helped connect me to you in this dream. That is what happened. Nothing involving jinxing or shepherd's pie, whatever that is."
Her resulting skeptical look was not lost on him, and he frowned, dark eyebrows slashing across his face. "What must I do to convince you that I am real, and here?" he asked, beginning to sound a smidge desperate and a little frustrated. "Shall I send you a letter telling you what happened?"
"Why would I tell you my name and address so you could do that?" she asked with some asperity. "If this was real—which I am not conceding, mind you—I don't know you from a stranger."
Actually, now that she was thinking about this, if he was really dream walking or astral projecting, or whatever he wanted to label it, wasn't that an invasion of privacy? Supposed soul mate or not, she wanted a say in who came into her dreams and mucked about. He was, as she said, a stranger, and Hermione was not easily one to trust.
But, really, that entire train of thought was just a thought exercise. She refused to think this was real until she found more information about this supposed family ritual he was talking about, and if in fact dream walking was possible outside of the established ethnic groups.
At that point, the dreamscape began to fade, the golden light growing dim and the sweet fall scent turning faint as Viktor faded from sight.
"I'll see you again," he promised as he disappeared, "and I'll prove to you that I'm real, once and for all."
And then he was gone.
The familiar red fabric of the drapes around her bed greeted her when she opened her eyes. Shifting to lie on her back, she remained motionless for a long moment, the events of her dream strangely clear and crisp.
"Hm." She said to herself, then said it again for good measure as her mind raced. "Hm. That was most certainly interesting."
She needed to do some research.
When Hermione went down to breakfast, she slid a speculative look over at Ginny. "Gin," she told her friend, "you're never going to guess what happened last night. By the way, did you eat any of the shepherd's pie?"
Wow, I am very surprised about the amount of interest 1200 words can generate. But, uh, hope you enjoyed this as much as I liked writing it! Also:
Meanwhile, in Bulgaria
Viktor, with dawning realization: and I even forgot to ask her name!
Tseveta: ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you my idiot cousin?