AU. Harry and Hermione have ice cream, despite Hermione's protests. No spoilers.
From the Unofficial Portkey Archive: https://portkey-archive.org/story/1638/
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling and other related companies. I don’t own it. Only this fic is mine.
Author’s Note: More Little H/Hr fluff. Bah! This is AU – Harry and Hermione are childhood best friends in this fic. And the ice cream parlor is no ordinary ice cream parlor, let’s just say that ;) So that should explain Hermione’s indignant exclamation to Harry a little bit. As for the ice cream not melting – well, they know of each other’s magical abilities, they’re just not voicing it openly yet. (That probably made no sense whatsoever.)
Beta Side: And you used the word “laughing” too much.
Me: -.-;; I know. No need to tell me that.
Oh, and Harry and Hermione are eleven to twelve-years-old in this fic.
About the idea for the fic: it was a plot bunny that I got while I was in India, and when I was eating ice cream with my cousins.
“You’re crazy!” A little, curly brown-haired girl exclaimed. “It’s snowing! It’s winter, Harry!”
“So?” asked her black-haired friend, grinning. “It’s not like we’ll get caught doing it if we’re careful.”
“But we will get sick, Harry!” the girl said impatiently.
The boy just shrugged and walked off.
“Honestly! He’s crazy!” With an exasperated sigh, the girl followed him.
“Your favorite flavor is vanilla, right?” Harry asked once they reached the ice cream parlor.
“I still say this is crazy,” his friend, whose name was Hermione, huffed, crossing her arms together. She ignored his question. “No ice cream parlor would be open at this time of year!” She glared at him.
“One chocolate chip cookie dough cone for me and a vanilla cone for her, please,” Harry told the cashier.
“All right, that’d be £3.50.” The cashier had an odd glint in his eyes.
Harry fished around in his pocket, finally turning up with the money. As he handed it to the cashier, Hermione could only look at him, mouth wide open in disbelief. I can’t believe him.
Once the cashier (whose name was, oddly, Bumblebee) gave Harry the ice cream cones, he bade “Have a good day” to them. Harry answered with a nod, and both he and Hermione left.
Later –
“I can’t believe you!” Hermione hissed angrily at him once they were a few meters away from the parlor. “Are you asking to get sick? And probably die?”
“I won’t die, Hermione,” he laughed. The impact of that statement hit them then with a ton of bricks. I won’t die, Hermione. Would he keep his word on that? Hermione wondered. Then she answered her own question only a few milliseconds later – she didn’t even have to stop and think about it. Yes, he would. How incredibly naïve of her, but she believed it.
Somehow, now, getting sick from eating ice cream at the unlikeliest time of the year didn’t seem so important as having Harry die. Die. The word lingered and left a certain still silence in the air. It’s funny how something so jovial and happy as ice cream could cause you to reflect on things that were not so jovial, Hermione thought.
“Want the cone, Hermione?” Harry broke the meaningful silence.
“Sure.” She took the cone from him. “It’s melting.” She observed. “The vanilla.”
Harry laughed again. “Melting ice cream’s good, Hermione.”
She shook her head at him, and ignoring her conscience for the time being (You’ll regret it! I’m telling you now, you’ll regret it later, Hermione!), she ate her ice cream cone.
She didn’t care if she got sick from it.
The next morning –
“Yes, Harry won’t be coming to school today. He’s sick and probably will be unable to come to school for a while.” Lily Potter paused. “Okay. Thanks; I really appreciate it. Bye.” She hung up the phone and turned to face her son.
“Well, Harry, I told the school. They’ve excused you for today.”
“Thanks, Mum,” Harry groaned. Looks like Hermione was right after all.
Just then the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” Lily told him, and went to answer the door.
“Hermione!” Harry heard his mum exclaim in surprise. “Come in, come in.” The door shut and echoes of footsteps followed.
“Harry, there’s someone here to see you.” His mum poked her head into the living room.
He caught sight of a bushy brown head. “Hermione!” He sat up. “What are – ACHOO! What are you doing here?”
“To see if you were feeling better, silly.” She handed a tissue to him. Out of the corner of his eye Harry saw his mother edging out of the room, leaving him and Hermione alone.
“Thanks, Hermione.” He sniffed. His nose, not to mention his voice, was stuffy.
“No problem.” Her eyes widened. “Wait! I brought you something! It’s sort of a ‘get well soon’ gift. Now close your eyes.”
Harry decided that it was best not to argue and obeyed, sealing his deep green eyes shut.
“Hold out your hands.”
He complied and held out his hands. “Hermione, you didn’t have to –”
“Shush, Harry.” She cut him off. “It’s okay.”
He then felt something solid being dropped into his hands. A wrapped object. Her gift to him.
“Okay. Now you can open it.”
Harry opened his eyes and looked down. Sure enough, there was a small, gift-wrapped something in his hands.
Tearing off the wrap, he stared at what was slowly being revealed to him.
When the last bit of wrapping paper was gone, Harry gasped at the present.
“Hermione!” He admonished her, grinning. “How could you?”
She had brought him a mini ice cream cone.
“How could I resist?” She laughed, an impish glint in her eyes. “It seemed ideal – the perfect gift for a person who got sick from eating ice creams in winter.”
“Watch it,” Harry warned, but he couldn’t hold back a smile. “You’re just lucky you’re the one who didn’t get sick.”
Hermione laughed again. “You’re something else, Harry. You’re really something else.”
“I know.” His eyes were bright with mischief. They both looked at each other and burst out laughing.
“Thanks for the present, Hermione. The ice cream cone made me feel better.” Harry said, smiling slightly at the irony of it all. But it was the truth. The ice cream cone made him feel tons better.
His nose felt tingly. Uh oh. He was going to –
“ACHOO!”
sneeze.
He heard Hermione giggling. “You shush,” he said, sniffling. “Trust me, you wouldn’t laugh if you were in my place right now.”
“Which I’m not.” Hermione interjected. “You’re right, though. Sorry, Harry.”
He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything.
“And you’re welcome.”
He looked up. Then he understood. She was telling him how happy she was. How incredibly happy she felt. For being his friend. His best friend.
“Are you feeling better?” She asked him then, forehead creased with worry.
“Never better,” he said, coughing.
She shook her head at him. “Told you you’ll regret it,” she grinned.
Harry threw a pillow at her. “Shush!” He was laughing along with her.
She held up the ice cream cone. “Want this?”
“No thanks.” He couldn’t resist a small smile. “Even though I learned my lesson, I won’t ever stop eating ice creams in winter.”
“Me neither,” Hermione agreed. “Not even when we get sick.”
Harry gave her a disbelieving look.
“What?” She asked, surprised.
“Nothing.” The corners of his mouth lifted up into a small smile. He reached over for the ice cream cone – which was by her – and held it up. Hermione, in turn, held up hers, which was an exact duplicate of his, save for the flavor. Vanilla.
Upon seeing his questioning look, she explained. “I bought this the same time I bought yours. It’s the same as far as appearance goes, but it’s not the same for the flavor.
It’s the same cones that we bought yesterday, Harry thought with a rueful smile.
“Thanks, Hermione,” he whispered.
She only tossed a warm smile at him.
Knocking their cones together, they ate.
The ice cream had never tasted sweeter, they thought.