Seeking Hermione's Bean
Title: Seeking Hermione's Bean (02)
Author name: Romulus Lupin
Author email: galigad@yahoo.com
Category: Romance
Sub Category: Humour
Keywords: Harry Hermione Bertie Botts Beans
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF
Summary: My response to pok's "Hermione Flavored Beans" challenge. Why
is Hermione sitting in alone in the Common Room? Why is Harry whimpering and moaning in his bed? And, more
importantly-just what is "Operation Hermione's Bean?"
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
AUTHOR NOTES: My eternal gratitude to everyone who posted a review-there are far too many to list here but please, accept the thanks from the swelling heart of a sometime writer. And my apologies for the delay in posting the follow-up; RL has been far too vicious lately.
At the same time, I have to express, once again, my deepest deepest gratitude to andie (pottergirl786), both for her beautiful story, "Beyond A Kiss" which formed an essential part of this story as well as for taking the time to recommend this fic; to pok for the wonderful plot bunny; and to a friend who shall, for the moment, remain nameless lest something I'm working on be revealed prematurely.
You know who you are. (wink, wink, nudge, nudge :D)
And so …
Chapter 2. Something About Harry
There's something about a fire that lends itself to quiet contemplation and profound thoughts, and I stared blindly at the fire in the now-quiet Common Room, my mind-as ever-working furiously behind my half-closed eyes.
Something is wrong with Harry, and I don't know what it is.
He'd been absolutely… chipper the whole day today-I was sitting in the Common Room waiting for him to come down from his dormitory when he walked in through the portrait hole-whistling all the while and smiling to himself.
Harry never wakes up early.
He merely smiled at my raised eyebrows and said, "I had to see someone," as he brushed off my shoulders before running up to his room for his books and then joining me so we could walk down to breakfast as always.
And Harry had been absolutely… lively the whole day: smiling his goofy smile at everyone he met, pulling Carolyn's long hair at breakfast while pinching Cindy's red cheeks, performing flawlessly in Transfiguration and Charms to the absolute surprise of Professors McGonagall and Flitwick, and even answering Snape correctly in Potions-unnerving the latter into complete speechlessness and a record day when he was unable to take a point off Harry.
More to the point, he'd been completely… affectionate today: brushing off my shoulders often enough that I had to ask him if I had dandruff on them, squeezing my hand quietly when it was time to leave the Great Hall after lunch, carrying my book bag as he walked me to Arithmancy before leaving me to go to Divination (for a moment, I thought he was going to kiss me before he turned away), laughing off everyone's comments about his actuations during dinner even as he handed me a slice of pumpkin pie in a napkin to bring back as a late-night snack-
He'd excused himself from dinner early, however, saying that he had to see someone about something, and shaking his head at me and Ron as we started to get up. He'd placed a hand on my shoulder then, and squeezed it lightly; grinned in the same way he'd smiled at me the first time he joined us at Hogsmeade and I slumped back in my chair, watching his back as he walked off on his mysterious errand.
Ron merely shrugged when I looked at him before turning back to his full plate and his discussion with Nicole and Jim about Quidditch; I glanced around the table to be met by shrugs from the others, so I turned back to my dinner and the New Theory on Numerology that he'd given me for Christmas.
He'll tell me what this is all about when he's ready, I thought.
He always does.
What I wasn't prepared for was the sight of Harry Potter in front of the fireplace when we returned to our Common Room-focused, intent… intense, so much so that he totally ignored the throng of Gryffindors coming in from dinner, everything about him directed solely on the thing in his hand.
A bean.
A Bertie Botts Every-Flavor Bean to be exact.
An orange Bertie Botts Every-Flavor Bean to be precise.
I was so surprised at the sight that I froze, watching him as he studied the bean in his hand before popping it into his mouth, staring as his jaws clench, observing the frustration that washed over his face for a brief instant, stopping myself from gulping as his Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed-
I was shaken from my stupefied fascination by Cindy bumping into me; I gulped and walked over to my favorite chair and was soon engaged in tutoring Carolyn and Cindy in Transfiguration and Charms, although I kept sneaking glances at Harry as he continued with whatever it was he was doing…
Thinking back on it now, I wonder why no one seemed to notice his solitary activity-no one even remarked on it, no one even teased Harry about it. Maybe it was because we all respected him too much to interrupt him when he was engrossed in something that had nothing to do with any death-defying stunts to defeat Voldemort or catch the Snitch.
On the other hand, maybe they were just too afraid of The-Boy-Who-Lived to interrupt his simple pleasures?
I continued tutoring the girls, sneaking glances at him every once in a while until I looked up at one point and met his eyes-
And time stopped-
The look of disappointment and defeat on his face was something I have never seen before: not in the moments before I hugged him in the chamber beneath the school when he told me to head back while he confronted whoever it was that was after the Philosopher's Stone; not in the brief moment before I fell unconscious as the Dementors surrounded us by the lake; not even as I watched Harry walk into the Hospital Wing with Dumbledore at the end of the Tri-Wizard Tournament-
There was always that burning determination in Harry's eyes, that powerful resolve to prevail against everything and anything that life would throw his way-but in that single moment as our eyes met, the image of a little boy in baggy clothes and broken glasses, shoulders slumped and defeated, eyes brimming with unshed tears and mouth quivering in pain came forcefully to mind-
It felt as if someone had thrust a knife into my chest and was twisting it around-it was all I could do to stop myself from running over and throwing my arms around him and bringing his head down to nurse on my chest-
We both blinked at the same time; in the next instant, he was smiling and I shook myself, wondering if I had seen what I thought I had seen. I frowned as he casually threw a small brown bag into the fireplace and I realized that he had finished his intense study of… beans?
I nearly jumped when I felt his hand on my shoulder; I could only look up and whisper, "Harry?"
He smiled at me and said, "Good night" softly and, for a brief moment, braced myself for the feel of his lips on mine-only to glare as I heard the giggling of Cindy and Carolyn, and realized that he was already halfway up the stairs to his dormitory.
I shook myself as I realized that only embers were left in the fireplace. I had been sitting in the near-darkness for some time, a book open on my lap, shoes off and my school robes on the back of my chair, unable to do any work except to focus on the problem before me-or perhaps above me, as I think of Harry asleep, but hopefully not tossing and turning from whatever it is that is bothering him.
But what is bothering him?
I can count on the fingers of a hand the number of occasions when Harry Potter is focused, intent … intense: my little finger for the times when he's in the air, absorbed in everything going on around him as he searches for the Snitch or figuring out a way to escape a Hungarian Horntail; my ring finger for our classes in Potions when he knows that Snape is hovering, waiting for the opportunity to bait him and take off points; my middle finger twitches as I remember the moments when he's focused on learning a spell or hex which may spell the difference between victory or defeat; my forefinger…never realized that his eyes could be such an intensely brilliant shade of green when he is focused.
All those other times, his eyes were behind the glasses that tended to obscure or distort them. But I removed his glasses underneath the Weasley mistletoe in Grimmauld Place…I thought that it would help if he didn't see me clearly, that he could allow his mind to change my bushy brown hair to the sleek, black hair of Cho, that doing so would help him ignore my round brown eyes and see her almond-shaped blacks…
In that split second before his lips met mine I realized that his eyes were not just beautiful (`Christmas green,' I called them) but they were absolutely …
Wicked.
I bend my head over my book, allowing my hair to do its job-one reason why I never really bothered to have it cut short or styled or use anything on it. It was my own act of rebellion when I started at Hogwarts-I didn't want to be like the other girls with their poised and coiffed grandeur; I didn't feel the need to spend so much time working on my hair just so the boys would notice me; and-I smirked at the thought-my hair was absolutely brilliant in hiding my face from everyone.
Especially now when blood is rushing to my face, my lips feel as if they're swelling and I fight off the urge to wrap my arms around myself as a tingle courses through my chest-
What's happening to me?
It's only Harry.
My best friend Harry.
My boy friend Harry.
I bite my tongue as the memory courses through me, filling every dammed inch from the hair on top of my head down to the soles of my feet and I curl my toes in sheer delight, happy that with everyone asleep and out of the way, I was able to kick off my shoes as I sat in my chair in the Common Room. I wonder how I would look to the others: head down, hair over my face, a book in my lap as always, robes off but still wearing my milkmaid costume (at least that's what Lavender and Parvati called the school uniform), face flushed with my toes curling and fists clenching as Harry's lips cover mine, my tongue seeking out and entwining with his, one hand in his hair and the other under his shirt feeling his smooth, sweating skin-
Morgana's beard! What's happening to me? Why are my lips wet? Was I drooling just now…
The Hospital Wing!
I better head to the Hospital Wing and see Madam Pomfrey about a Forgetfulness Potion, or better yet, look for Professor Dumbledore and ask to borrow his Pensieve for a while so I can pull out that memory from my brain and keep it there for a while, so I could study what happened dispassionately: watch myself lose my mind and composure at the touch of his lips on mine, at the feel of his hands in my hair-
Something is definitely wrong.
I slump back in my chair, fingers covering my face as I massage my not-quite-aching head, trying to force my lecherous and traitorous thoughts out of my dazed mind…
Something is definitely, absolutely, and positively wrong.
Not just with Harry.
Something is wrong with me, too.
***
Dean Thomas bolted up, hand automatically reaching for his wand, wild eyes staring around the dark room. He wasn't sure what woke him, just that there was something which disturbed his sleep and he sat, still and tense, senses reaching out to identify whatever it was that had awakened him ...
He narrowed his eyes and focused his hearing: snoring from Ron's bed-normal; mumbling from Neville's bed-very normal; mumbling and moaning from Harry's bed… maybe not normal but considering who it was and what the poor guy had been going through since their first year, not that unusual; the curtains on Seamus' four poster waving around as if he were thrashing- definitely not normal.
Quietly, he slipped off his warm bed, feet feeling around for his slippers-the floor was cold and he'd be damned if he tried to confront danger while thinking about his cold feet! Cautiously, he approached Seamus' bed and was about to yank the curtains open when Seamus' red face popped out, a glare fit to frighten a banshee causing Dean to jump back to his bed in shock!
"What the hell are you doing?" Seamus asked, the glare piercing Dean's eyes.
"Can't sleep…thought there was something attacking you," Dean gulped as he tried to steady his breathing.
"Nothing's attacking me…I can't sleep either…Harry's been whimpering and mumbling to himself, it's driving me barmy!"
The two friends looked at Harry's still-curtained bed and hesitated. They'd been witness to Harry's pains and nightmares before; they may have been the envy of the wizarding world for being dorm-mates of The Boy Who Lived, but times like this, they'd rather settle for being friends with The Boy Who Slept.
At that moment, they heard Harry whimpering, then moaning, and whimpering again… a look at each other and they shrugged. They'd better try and wake him, they agreed silently. Much as they wanted Ron to be the one up and doing the job, they knew Ron was too knackered from a detention to try to wake him up to wake up Harry!
Besides, they were Gryffindors, weren't they?
Carefully, the two approached Harry's bed and pulled back the curtains-ready to dive beneath the bed if Harry tried to hex them, but feeling awed and helpless, wondering at the sight before them: Harry in his boxers and no shirt, a sheen of perspiration covering the skin of his back, lying down-or was he hunched down?- a pillow beneath his hips, tossing and turning-or was he humping the pillow?
Seamus slowly reached out a hand towards Harry's shoulder,-but his hand suddenly froze as Harry mumbled, "Hermione's bean…must find…must get…must…Hermione's bean ..."
The two looked at each other, neither realizing they were facing near-images of each other as they gaped, the same thought running through their minds: "What the he-?"
***
I'm going to kill Voldemort.
I silently renew my vow as I popped another bean from my rapidly diminishing supply, bit and grimaced as the sharp taste of oregano flooded my mouth--quickly swallowing the bean, disappointed once again in not finding THE BEAN-Hermione's bean.
I'm going to kill the old snake, not only for what he did to my Mum and Dad, not just for what he almost did to Ginny in the Chamber of Secrets, not even for what he did to Cedric in the cemetery… I'm going to kill him for what he is doing to me now.
It's his stupid fascination for complicated plots, I thought. Possessing Quirrell and making the poor guy wear that tasteless turban in first year, having his old snake try to kill students in second year (the stupid basilisk must have forgotten what the hell he was supposed to be doing-only Myrtle ever died, and that was only because she had the sheer bad luck to be in the toilet when the thing first came out), using the Tri-Wizard Tournament as a cover to get me to Little Hangleton-completely overlooking the fact that he's had Barty Crouch, Jr. as Professor Moody teaching me what I needed to get away (even the Summoning Charm that my brilliant Hermione taught me was a suggestion from Crouch!)
If all he wanted was to kill me, he should have simply walked up to Hogwarts and challenged me to a duel-with or without wands, what the hell was a boy supposed to do? Spit on him? But no-oh, no…his stupid obsession with complicated strategies and intricate plots was going to be his undoing…
BUT THIS HAS GONE FAR ENOUGH!
I nearly whimpered as I realized that I was about to crush the poor bean in my hand-what if this bean was the one with Hermione within it? I might have tossed the poor thing aside in my anger and there goes an opportunity to taste Hermione's lips once again, and the thought was enough to cause my chest to ache in pain.
Damn Voldemort and his complicated plots!
I grit my teeth in frustration and forced my mind to the blue bean in my hand. Maybe this is it, I thought-popped it and bit, and nearly choked as the taste of chili peppers invades my mouth. No, definitely not-Hermione may be `hot' but not this hot: she was fire and passion, flame and ardor, beauty and brains, perfection in every inch of her-
I groan as my desperate mind tries to bring back the taste of her lips, her tongue, her teeth but nothing would come. I had thought of sneaking into Dumbledore's office-or even going to him myself and asking to borrow his Pensieve but that was a useless exercise.
Why should I try to re-live the kisses I shared with Hermione when doing so meant that I would be on the outside looking in? Why should I watch again and again what happened with her when all I needed, all I wanted, was to feel and taste her mouth, her tongue, her lips, her hair, her skin-
And I couldn't do it because of Voldemort and his stupid plans and schemes.
I stared at the yellow bean in my hand, wondering whether to pop it now or wait until tomorrow-even as the thought formed, however, I was biting down and nearly gagging from the taste of paprika on my tongue-
Simplicity is beauty and I peek at Hermione as she sat with Cindy and Carolyn-and smile at the simple beauty I found there: Hermione with her hair over her face, a book in her lap as a finger pointed out something to the kids, her feet crossed as her shoes wiggle from the toes within…
Simplicity is beauty-and the proof of it sat there only a few feet away.
How come the old bastard never knew that? Maybe he never had a Hermione in his life? His loss-he may well have been the Master of the Universe if he'd had someone like Hermione beside him, rather than his over-inflated ego inside of him.
Simplicity is beauty-not just in Hermione but even in plans and schemes, and I smile at the thought.
Operation Hermione's Bean was the simplest of all plans: why go through all the combinations and permutations of a thousand complicated moves and ideas when all that was needed were a handful of Galleons and a willing accomplice? Why even bother to think about sneaking out of Hogwarts and risk detention or expulsion for anyone, when all that was needed was for someone to simply walk out of the castle and buy every bean in sight?
I felt my chest warm at the thought of Hermione and her knitting needles, with a bushy-haired black haired infant in her arms making me smile before it hit me: knitting needles…clothes…S.P.E.W. … house elves-Dobby!
Dobby was more than happy to help me when I visited the kitchens that morning, bowing and scraping until I had to pull him up before the stack of hats that Hermione had knitted fell over. And it wasn't as if I was abusing my friendship with Dobby-it seems that the house elves were frequently in Hogsmeade anyway, buying needed supplies for the school and occasionally running errands for the teachers, so what's a small mission to Honeydukes going to cost?
I felt I was walking on clouds the whole day, grinning foolishly at everyone I met and brushing off lint from Hermione's shoulders a little too frequently, even for me. Not that she minded-I think she'd rested her head on my shoulder or my chest a bit too often, even for her… that, and the anticipation at having my treasure of beans in hand at the end of the day-
Only for Dobby to meet me in the kitchens with one small, tiny, petite, minor and inconsequential bag of beans in hand, cringing in shame as he presented it to me-
"Is the only beans I could get, Harry Potter Sir," he said, squirming as if afraid that I would hit him, "Dobby had to go to Diagon Alley to find them."
I must have looked like a stunned ox as I stood there gaping; before I could even ask, Dobby answered in a fearful whisper: "Is He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Harry Potter… shopkeepers saying he was behind this."
Now what would Voldemort be wanting with Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans? Does he have a candy fetish like some villain in that movie I remember seeing on the telly one summer-munching away on the beans, thinking that he was some ogre crunching down on the bones of his enemies…
Was he munching on the beans wondering which one tasted of Harry Potter?
Ewwww-the very thought of Voldemort eating the beans to get a taste of me was squicky enough to make me want to throw up, but Dobby's next sentence stopped me: "He didn't get the beans, Harry Potter sir … shopkeepers say the Ministry sent Aurors to confiscate all the beans in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley."
Huh?
Was Fudge also after Hermione's Bean?
Meh-what was I thinking? Fudge wouldn't know Hermione from Eve, not that he would have even met Eve. So what was the fuss all about? Why would the Ministry even want the beans in the first place-and what did Voldemort have to do with this?
I wanted to question Dobby further, but the bustling of the house-elves and the noise and commotion in the kitchens during meal-times stopped me. I took the offered bag of beans reluctantly from Dobby and headed out, trying to make the best of a bad situation: a few beans was better than none at all, right?
I sighed and nearly spit out the taste of broccoli in my mouth-might as well have been ashes for all I cared. What was the old snake up to that had the Ministry sending the troops out to grab every bean in sight? The one bag in my hand was apparently all that was left, and I had to wonder how and where Dobby was even able to get them. Must have been overlooked by the Aurors, I thought-my luck and, a sigh, my loss. I was already half way through with the beans I had and I still had to find Hermione's bean-
Correction.
There were no more beans in the bag.
I looked at the empty bag in my hand and felt such a wave of depression and frustration and disappointment and, and-whatever-wash over me and I balled up the empty bag in my hand as I fought back the tears that were threatening to spill.
It was at that moment that I looked up and met Hermione's eyes-and time stood still.
Or maybe it was my heart that stopped?
There was such a look of anxiety, apprehension, concern… care in her eyes: the same look that I had seen on her face so many times before: in the room beneath the castle before she rushed at me to hug me, in the Common Room after I learned of Sirius's `treachery' and she was telling me that I didn't want to kill anyone, by the lake when I told her that dragons were going to be the First Task-
I force my lips into a grin, just barely stopping them from puckering up into a kiss. I didn't want her to worry, didn't want her asking me what was wrong-
I couldn't tell her that I was all fired up and angry at the unfairness of the world: that I wanted to kill Voldemort, Fudge and all the Aurors in existence simply because they had grabbed the one thing that could make me re-live that moment under the mistletoe-
I couldn't do that. Neither could I do just what I really, truly wanted to do: grab her and snog her senseless, because … because…
Too much was at risk.
My teeth, for one. The way she hit Malfoy in third year made me wary of pushing her… given the number of charms and hexes she knew from research made me leery of doing anything to make her come after me. More than my teeth and general well being, there was also the loss of our friendship that hovered over me-
I nearly jumped when I realized that I was standing beside her; I'd tossed the empty bag into the fireplace and, disappointment weighing me down, had started the long walk to my quiet dormitory and the warm comfort of my bed. I heard her whispering my name in a question; with a smile, I squeezed her shoulder and wished her good night, hoping against hope that tonight would be quiet and restful, that my mind would not be plagued with dreams of that moment beneath the mistletoe in Grimmauld Place, or even that my dreams would not be beset with plans and schemes to find Hermione's bean-
I felt a hand on my shoulder and I jerk in surprise, one hand reaching for my glasses, the other searching for my wand, the somewhat familiar, harsh whisper voice of Dean Thomas breaking through my besotted mind: "Harry, Harry-wake up!"
Huh?
What was a pillow doing under me? I wasn't dreaming of-no, no, NO! I can't be thinking of Hermione in that way; all I wanted to do was kiss her, snog her even but not that! Whatever `that' was supposed to mean…
I quickly rolled over and sat up, groping around for my glasses and mumbling, "Sorry, guys-just the usual nightmares, you know…" I finally got my glasses on and saw their worried faces clearly and inwardly heaved a sigh of relief that Ron was not awake, his snoring suddenly music to my ears-
"Are you sure, Harry?"
I looked at Dean with a frown-now what did he mean by that? Before I could open my mouth, Seamus spoke up, "You OK, mate?"
I shake my head at him and force a grin, "I'm OK, Seamus-thanks for asking. It's just…" (a sigh and a shrug) "-you know."
"You sure, Harry?"
I frowned at Dean for a moment, but before I could respond, Seamus was pulling him away. "If you're sure, mate… best try to get some sleep. We've got Potions tomorrow…" he looked towards his bed for a second and scowled, "-today, actually. G'night, mate."
With a sigh, I pulled the drapes around my bed closed, forced myself to lie still and take slow, deep breaths, willing my tumbling mind into stillness and silence, hoping to be able to find a little bit of rest from the still-unanswered question: "How do I find Hermione's bean?"
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