Fluffy fic with absolutely no socially redeeming value. At all. None. I think I actually lost a few brain cells writing this one. Oh, and, interesting side note (for me at least), the original title was "A Midsummer Night's Hex Comedy"…which explains the random Puck references.
Half-arsed synopsis: Hermione sleepwalks, Harry's going to die a monk, and Draco has a hair fetish. H/Hr, R/Lav, D/Lun,T/Lup
PG13 for some 1950's heavy petting and some scattered curse words (of the nonmagical kind)
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A Sleepwalker's Saga
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Since once I sat upon a promontory
And heard a mermaid on a dolphin's back
Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath,
That the rude sea grew civil at her song,
And certain stars shot madly from their spheres,
To hear the sea maid's music…
(A Midsummer Night's Dream II.i.150)
The next, and less unpleasant, chapter in Harry's life began at Lupin's recently acquired sunny summer estate. With clinging vines and a vegetable garden, the spansive house seemed the perfect place to help the surviving circle of friends forget the heavy losses of the war. Lupin had hopes that a quiet summer away would settle them back into some sort of normality (well, their sort of normality). Maybe even rekindle something of their long-lost day at Hogwarts.
The days were packed with walks through bright leafy trails, lazy Quidditch games, and naps in the shady nooks around the grounds. The nights were spent training and talking, and simply enjoying the quiet county living.
But Harry wasn't looking to relive his second childhood.
He hadn't come home clinging to his comparatively idyllic pre-war days. Harry knew things had changed. Himself, for one, had. Enough time at the front could change any wizard, and Harry was hardly an exception. He wasn't afraid of moving on or risking what he was (pointedly not) scared of losing. No. Nope. Not at all…
At least that's what he told himself as he stubbornly ignored the changes in a certain childhood friend. Changes that involved her wearing clothes that revealed her long length of legs. And pinning up her dark honey-colored curls, especially on the days she spent sunning herself in the flowery fields. And slipping out of her shoes whenever she curled up under a shady tree to watch him play Quidditch.
He noticed that her 'oh-Harry' sigh was decidedly more forgiving than her 'oh-Draco' or 'oh-Ron' one. He knew her curves and her winning smile and the bright eyes that seemed to follow him everywhere. And he was spending way too much time staring at her hands. Way, way too much time.
There was no denying that Hermione had changed. That was one of the tenable truths of his return.
One of the certain and tenable and upsetting truths. A very very upsetting truth. An increasingly upsetting truth…
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"Oh my…" Hermione gasped. They were passing the field of musk-rose buds that blanketed their makeshift Quidditch pitch. She held Harry's shoulder, stilling him. "Harry look," she said as she pointed out towards the tree line.
Harry followed her gaze to Ron and Lav, who were in the field gathering flowers in a sunny clearing.
"Hey guys!" Lav straightened up and shouted.
Ron quickly threw aside his bundle of flowers, reddening at his not so manly task.
"Lav, don't," Ron hissed as he brushed the loose petals off from his shirt and waved back, praying they hadn't seen him.
Lav sighed and shook her head. "At least it's not Draco, Ron." She called for Harry and Hermione to come join them and happily went back to her task.
"Well, you have a point there," Ron grumbled before kicking away the fallen flowers at his feet.
…
Harry meanwhile, wasn't interested in the oh-so-sweet pastime of couple Mauve. Instead, he stared at Hermione, who was leaning against him and cupping her mouth, trying to muffle the giggles caused by Ron's flower-gathering. Her shaking and sighing was doing funny things to his stomach. Stomach nothing, he thought as the swell of her breast brushed against his arm.
However, he went from 'oh-dear' slightly panicked to 'dear-gods-no' alarmed when she took his hand and started dragging him towards Ron, apparently intent on joining the couple.
"Hermione," Harry shook his head. "I'm sorry but I am not picking flowers…"
She rolled her eyes. "Harry, if you start picking flowers, I'm leaving."
He looked down at their joined hands, suddenly finding it hard to feel relieved. So he instead busied himself by ignoring her windswept hair and the glowly halo that the golden afternoon sunlight cast around her. He'd nearly succeeded when she suddenly stopped to take in the scenery.
"Harry…" she turned and flashed a bright smile. "It's gorgeous."
"Er, what?"
He hoped his clever and insightful response would distract her as he pulled his hand away and took a few steps back. He eased away and took a seat on a patch of grass, close enough to catch the group's conversation but still far from the determined Lav and her sweet-saints-no task.
Good thing Hermione's just Hermione, he thought. Instead of… he snuck a glance at Lav who was still trying to get Ron to help her with her flowers.
…an emasculating cow? said a voice that sounded suspiciously like Draco's. Harry hated to agree with, well, himself really, but yeah, Hermione wasn't like the other girls in their group.
He watched her laugh as Lav threw a handful of stems at Ron. She was grinning and blushing with bright cinnamon eyes…
…and yeah, she was definitely different from Lav and Luna. In many ways. All of them good.
He shook off the thought, and he muttered what was quickly becoming his mantra: Too much time at the front Potter.
He hadn't realized just how true the old saying was until DV-Day (Defeating Voldemort Day), when he'd crawled out of the rubble of the final battle and into Hermione's arms.
Yes, things had changed.
So what?
He had changed.
Sure.
Hermione had changed.
Fine.
Of course, admitting it came easily. Now all he had to do was forget it.