Dream Chasing
Title: Dream Chasing (04)
Author name: Romulus Lupin
Author email: galigad@yahoo.com
Category: Romance
Sub Category:
Keywords: Harry Hermione McGonagall Fantasy Island
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: PS/SS, CoS, PoA, GoF
Summary: Harry and Hermione are lying unconscious in the Hospital Wing - or are they?
In this chapter: explanations, Professor McGonagall pays a visit to the Hospital Wing … but why should she be trying to snog Madam Pomfrey senseless?
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. The same holds true for Fantasy Island and the characters coming from that television series.
Author notes: I would like to dedicate this as a belated birthday fic to Augurey, whose question on the HMS Pumpkin Pie thread in FA provided the inspiration for this story, Silvestria, one of my favorite authors and an awesome person besides, and my favorite jailers, Erin and Lils who are also part of the Geminis on board the ship. Huge GLOMPS to the people of the unsinkable HMS Pumpkin Pie - and especially to blazefury, Nicole, and joyce.
The Hospital Wing was quiet, the darkness broken only by the flickering torches and the few candles that Madam Pomfrey kept lit. She had just finished checking up on her charges and was relieved to see that they were no longer as red as before and, glancing at their hands, smiled as she realized they were no longer entwined.
She sighed at that and quickly shook off her romantic notions; she had to admit, though, that that was a losing proposition whenever she saw these two together. She could still remember the first time she'd seen Hermione Granger - haunting the hospital wing while Harry lay unconscious after rescuing the Philosopher's Stone -- and she stifled her laughter as she recalled the look of horror and sheer terror on Potter's face when it looked like Hermione was going to climb into the bed with him and hug him that first time …
"Clueless boy," she snickered to herself, and nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt a presence beside her.
"Any change, Poppy?"
"They're still out cold, Minerva," she replied to the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts as she smoothed down the blankets over her patients.
"And their … blushing?"
Madame Pomfrey shook her head at that, mentally cuffing herself for the remark made earlier which, she was sure, would have made the rounds of the castle by now. (In fact, she'd had to shoo out the Grey Lady and the Fat Friar who'd supposedly come in on some business or other but were inordinately interested in her patients). "Whatever it is, it's gone down … as you can see, their colour is back to normal."
"Yes, I can see that," McGonagall replied and Poppy Pomfrey could swear that there was the slightest tinge of amusement in that normally stern, no-nonsense voice. The nurse was surprised, however, when McGonagall Summoned a chair to Harry's bedside - Transfigured it into a comfortable armchair -- and primly sat down. She held her hand up before any protest could be made and said, "I'll just sit here with them for a while, Poppy."
Madame Pomfrey nodded, knowing it would be useless to argue (they were Gryffindors, after all and she knew the two were McGonagall's favorite students, even if the latter would rather face Salazar Slytherin and his basilisk rather than admit to the fact), and was about to offer some tea or milk when both heard murmuring.
A quick glance around and they both realized that the murmuring was coming from Hermione; before either could heave a sigh of relief or comment that the two would soon be awake, they heard Harry also murmuring something incoherent under his breath. For a few minutes, they watched the two unconscious teens - heads swiveling from one to the other like spectators watching a Quaffle being passed from Chaser to Chaser, before staring at each other in puzzlement.
"Are they …?"
Whatever they were about to say was interrupted by movement from the two. Turning back, they both could feel an eyebrow climbing into their hair at the sight of Harry holding Hermione's hand to his lips … followed by the same soft, incoherent murmur coming from him.
They both shook their heads at the same time, neither one noticing the other's gesture. Silently, Madame Pomfrey turned to walk to her office to prepare some tea, noting out of the corner of her eye that the Deputy Headmistress was leaning forward, elbows on knees, chin resting on one fist, suspiciously twinkling eyes behind their lenses undoubtedly focused on the two teens ...
Madame Pomfrey suddenly jerked her arm; for a brief, hysterical moment, she had been about to cuff her wizarding superior and tell her that it was not polite to eavesdrop. She shook her head and mentally cuffed herself - and continued to walk towards her office.
She didn't know that the same thought was dancing around both their minds.
"I wonder what they're talking about?"
* * *
Hermione stepped out to the bungalow's veranda as she dried her hair, still wearing a bikini but with a loose tee shirt over that, shaking her head at the sort of fantasies boys could have. She'd nearly gone ballistic again when she realized that, while they had separate rooms and baths ('Thank Merlin for that!'), the only clothes she had in the entire place were made up of tee shirts - and bikinis.
Harry was leaning against a post on the veranda, wearing a tee shirt and riotously colored Hawaiian swimming trunks that went past his knees - seemingly deep in thought as he stared blankly at his surroundings. The towels that the thoughtful Tattoo had brought were draped over one of the chairs on the veranda - one of those huge wicker tropical chairs that looked as if you were sitting on a throne - and she had a sudden vision of Harry Potter, skinny legs and knobby knees stretched out and contented, a pitcher of iced tea and glasses on a small table beside him. All that was needed, she thought, was for Dobby and Winky to be standing somewhere near, waving huge feathered fans … she almost wished for that to happen; at least she would be more comfortable with that sort of regal, royal fantasy than this, this … thing.
Her soft giggle at the idea caught his attention, and she saw her best friend look up at her and smile shyly … clearly still embarrassed at what had happened to them. Before she could say a word, he blurted, "You're beautiful, Hermione," and they turned away from each other, blushing.
"I mean … err, I mean, it's beautiful here, Hermione," he stammered and she smiled to herself.
'Clueless boy,' she thought to herself, but feeling warmed nevertheless at his unsolicited compliment. She walked over to stand beside him, looking out at the white sands and indigo sea, breathing deeply of the fresh salty air that had always been a tonic to her during the summers when her parents took her to the beach.
They stood there in companionable silence, each lost in their own thoughts - Hermione reminiscing about her childhood and the beaches she had played on, Harry thinking about the things that he had missed when growing up … neither noticing that they were slowly leaning into each other.
"It's so peaceful here, isn't it?" Hermione remarked, turning to Harry and noticing, with a start that their shoulders were touching - and their hands were inches away from each other's.
"Yes, it is," Harry agreed, as he stepped back a bit from her. "It's so quiet … and peaceful … and serene …"
He paused, and continued in a soft, almost whispering voice, "Thank you for being here with me."
Their eyes locked and Hermione felt her hand being lifted … felt Harry's lips brush the fingers, and felt herself blushing. Casting about desperately for something to say, she blurted the thing that was foremost in her mind: "Nice outfit, Harry."
She cursed herself for that most inane of all remarks as she felt him step back as if electrocuted - and she immediately missed the warmth of his fingers and the heat of his nearby body. But the words had been said … the moment broken … and she could chalk this up to another moment when her big mouth had ruined a special moment in her life.
She heard Harry stammering: "Well … uh … there was nothing else to wear?"
She turned to him with an impish smile breaking out on the corners of her mouth and regarded her best friend with a skeptically raised eyebrow. He blushed under her scrutiny and mumbled, "This was the most … uhm … decent pair of shorts I could find, Hermione … and … uhh …"
Smiling broadly now, she poked him in the ribs. "Another aspect of your hormonally-induced fantasies, Potter?"
As he blubbered and tried to stammer a response, she kept advancing on him, half-poking and half-tickling him, saying sweetly, "Did you know, Harry … that the only clothes I have now are all bikinis? Not one skirt … not one blouse or pants … not even a decent pair of shorts? At least you were kind enough to have a few tee shirts in there for me …"
Harry nearly stumbled backward but was caught by Hermione who, unfortunately for him, continued poking him as he stepped back. "And do you know something else, Harry? There's not one book in the whole place … not one book! What were you thinking I would be doing the whole time? Huh? Answer me, Potter … what were you thinking I should be doing the whole time?"
Harry was backed up to the wall by now, and responded in the only way he could: "Meep?"
* * *
Poppy Pomfrey stepped out of her office bearing a tray and tea-things and walked towards her guest, a faint smile on her normally stern face. 'Ah, the joys of teaching,' she thought. You always had to project a stern and disciplinarian façade if you wanted anything done - but you had to know when and where to balance it with warmth, concern and affection. While Minerva had to act the strict, stern and at times sarcastic disciplinarian, even to her own House, she was not above showing emotion whenever the occasion called for it - like when her team won the Quidditch Cup in Potter's third year, or when the Gryffindors won the House Cup for three years running …
And of course, staying in the Hospital Wing with her students whenever they were sick … although she usually did it late at night when the patients were asleep - and never more than a few minutes lest they wake up and find their Head of House watching over them!
Poppy could still remember the nights that Minerva McGonagall spent in the Hospital Wing, the time the basilisk was loose and two out of the three students attacked were Gryffindors. She was also there when the Mandrake potion was administered, but had left before Hermione and Colin Creevey came to full consciousness.
'Typical House mother,' she thought to herself. And here she is again, watching over her students … her 'babbies' as she sometimes called them …
"Min-" she suddenly stopped, the tea-tray balanced in her hands, and she shook her head, although a broad grin had spread over her face. For a moment, she considered shaking the Deputy Headmistress awake but reconsidered - after all, the poor woman had been through quite a strain today, what with her team winning in such a spectacular fashion, her favorite students down and unconscious from an accident, on top of all the daily distractions and activities involved in running a school …
She quietly set the tea tray on a nearby bed and went back to her office.
'I'll give her a few more minutes of rest … it shouldn't do any harm.'
* * *
"Are you sure you want me here, Harry?"
They were standing together again, holding hands loosely as they stared out at the picture-perfect beach, sharing another moment of quiet contemplation and silent companionship.
Hermione couldn't stand the look of panic on Harry's face when she cornered him, demanding to know what she was supposed to do with no books and nothing but bikinis to wear - and had broken out in near-hysterical laughter. It was only then that Harry realized she was teasing him - and a radiant, boyish smile had broken out on his face.
The smile had been so unaffected and so affectionate that Hermione had stopped laughing - and felt herself being drawn once again towards her best friend. Before she could throw caution and everything else to the wind, she abruptly turned around and walked back to the edge of the veranda and stared out at the sea in front of their bungalow, allowing herself a quiet giggle at having successfully teased her best friend … feeling him walking beside her and sharing the view …
She gave him a surreptitious glance from behind her mass of bushy hair and continued, in a light tone of voice, "I mean … the other girls would fit a bikini better than I would … "
"You've seen them in a bikini then, I assume."
She lightly swatted at him, which he'd easily avoided, but continued in the same light tone of voice: "Come on, Harry … I've lived with Lavender and Parvati for four years now … I daresay you could give me a run-down on the, uhm, physical attributes of your dorm-mates if I asked."
"Oh? And why would you be interested in that, may I ask? Or are you trying to find out if Ron's freckles extend to his toes … or if Seamus has a mole on his left hip … or if …"
"Been staring at them in the bathroom, Potter?"
Her saucy grin threatened to split her face at the suddenly flustered look on her friend's face and she decided to let him off the hook: "Well then, since there are no books in the place, we can spend the time exchanging notes on our dorm-mates. You know … you can tell me if Ron has freckles on his toes, then I'll tell you if Parvati has a mole on her left cheek …"
"Parvati doesn't have a mole on her cheek, Hermione."
"Not that cheek, Harry …"
"Oh," he replied in a small, small voice - and he blushed again as he realized what she was referring to.
"And that Ginny's freckles go all the way down her back …"
"I'd rather talk about you, Hermione."
She gawked at him, becoming conscious that, once again, she had let her rambling mouth entrap her. She couldn't very well tell him about her own blemishes - not about the tiny mole on the underside of her left breast, or the reddish discoloration on her skin that was hidden behind her bikini's backside, or …
"I don't know anything about you, Hermione."
She peered at him closely and realized that he was looking away from her. She was about to respond to that, but closed her mouth as he continued: "I mean, we've been friends for over four years now, and I know next to nothing about you.
"I know your parents are dentists, but that's all I know. I don't know if you have any brothers or sisters … who your friends are outside of Hogwarts … where you live outside of the Hogwarts library … I don't even know if you like me!"
She turned in protest at that last statement - and met his blazing eyes head on … almost stepping back at their intensity and feeling a single moment of fear as she felt him gripping her shoulders: "All that I know about you is what I know … that there is no one in the world I would rather have with me at this moment, in this place, at this time."
The words were said softly, but with great force and steely resolve and she felt her knees weakening, felt herself breathing rapidly - and heard her big mouth grab the opportunity again: "Not Ron, Harry?"
"Ron wouldn't look good in a bikini."
He blinked - she blinked … they watched each other as identical looks of revulsion swept over their faces, mouths working at the same time to form the single word, "Ewww!" - and they stepped away from each other, trying to shake their minds of that singular, horrible image … and Harry got in the first response: "Wash your mouth out with soap, Hermione!"
"Me?" she protested, "You're the one who came up with the idea of Ron in a bikini!"
"Merlin's beard, will you stop it, Hermione? Didn't you hear what the man said? This is Fantasy Island - what're you gonna do if Ron suddenly shows up here wearing a purple bikini?"
"Yuck!" she said, shuddering. "That's not a thought I'd like to carry around with me … besides, purple will clash horribly with his hair!"
Harry screwed his face up in pain, throat working as if he wanted to spit out the crude thought … "I think I'm going to be sick, Hermione," before he doubled over and tried to sprint for the bushes planted around the veranda …
The ever-concerned Hermione rushed to his side, intent on helping him - but the moment she touched him, he spun around and started tickling her ribs. With a shriek of laughter, Hermione grabbed at his shirt as she nearly stumbled backwards. With his Seeker instincts, Harry grabbed her wrist and pulled her back - his other hand, however, was busy darting from one side of her to another … and Hermione was almost dancing a jig as she tried to avoid his tickling fingers …
She suddenly shifted to the offense: placing her small hands on his chest and shoving him back; Harry, on the other hand, had quickly grabbed her hands and pulled her down with him - and the battle continued on the smooth, polished wood of the veranda, each intent on tickling the other to death, hysterical laughter punctuating the seriousness of their efforts … neither aware that Hermione's loose shirt was bunched around her waist - or that Harry's Hawaiian shorts were ominously close to slipping off his slim hips …
"Mister Potter! Miss Granger!"
The shocked voice cut through their hilarity like a well-honed bayonet passing through flesh - their sweaty faces froze a few inches from each other and their eyes locked in horror. They both felt as if they were eleven years old again - quivering in McGonagall's office after Filch had caught them after they'd delivered Norbert the Dragon to Charlie's friends …
Without a word, they both scrambled to their feet - Hermione pulling up her tee shirt and nearly ripping it off in her haste, Harry pulling up his about-to-fall-off shorts and wondering how the hell he was going to explain this … and both met the shocked face of Minerva McGonagall, wearing a sunshine yellow sundress and a large, floppy hat -- a serious faced but twinkling-eyed Mr. Roarke on one side, and a visibly shaking Tattoo, hands clasped over his mouth in stifled laughter or surprised shock, on the other.
Harry and Hermione glanced at each other quickly, one word forming on their lips and coming out in a single breath: "Eep!"
* * *
'What is it about these two,' Minerva McGonagall wondered as she primly sat on the veranda, listening to the sound of two teens bustling around in the kitchen as they prepared tea and biscuits for their guests.
"Perhaps it's because of what they both went through in the past four years, Professor McGonagall."
She peered through her glasses at her companion, noting again the impassive face, the twinkling eyes and the knowing smile that reminded her so much of her school superior and friend, Albus Dumbledore. She raised an eyebrow at this comment but waited, her silence aimed at encouraging him to talk.
"The mind works in mysterious ways, Professor - surely you know that? All these (and Mr. Roarke waved his hand around the scenery) may just simply be a way for those two to rest … to take a break from the daily grind and pressures and, in so doing, be ready and willing to face the tasks that destiny placed on their shoulders."
"Be that as it may, Mr. Roarke," she replied in her normally stern voice, "we try to make sure that they get adequate rest and relaxation while at Hogwarts."
"Of course, Professor - but sometimes, imposed rest is not enough." McGonagall didn't reply to this; she knew all too well the nightmares that had visited Potter several times over the years - and even the "vision" (if it can be called that) which visited Harry during his Divination class last year.
"But Miss Granger …"
"Oftentimes could not sleep herself because of her worrying about Mr. Potter." Again, McGonagall fell silent at that. She couldn't find it in her heart to stop the girl from rushing to the first aid tent at the conclusion of the first task of the TriWizard Tournament - the sight of Hermione's face, fingernail marks all over it showing where she had clutched it in fear, almost made her heart leap out of her throat … and she could still hear Hermione's voice calling out to Harry as he climbed out of the lake after the second task: "Harry, well done! You did it, you found out how all by yourself!"
She shook her head at that - of course, Miss Granger would also want to spend some time in relative peace and quiet and, as she remembered Hermione's muggle upbringing - a trip to an isolated beach would be just the ticket for her.
She sniffed at that; be that as it may, it still did not excuse the skimpy attire of her students - or even that mischievous game they were engaged in when she'd walked in on them … but then - 'Oh well,' she thought, 'boys will be boys.'
She wasn't aware that she had spoken the thought out loud until Mr. Roarke replied in a calm voice, "But Professor … there are two people sharing this fantasy."
The train of thought that the enigmatic remark launched was broken with a loud crash - leaping to her feet, wand out so swiftly in a way that her old Dueling Instructor would have been proud of, prepared to protect her charges … she scanned around her for the threat.
And saw a red-faced (or red-bodied) and flustered Hermione Granger looking down at the tea tray she had dropped - and a shocked Harry Potter staring at her, both of them doing the famed impersonation of salmon hauled out of the lake - mouth agape and trying to breath, making every effort to form coherent words but failing … and then Hermione bolted, running down the veranda and headed for the beach.
Harry hastily set down the tray of sandwiches he was carrying and, with an apologetic look at his guests, ran after her.
An unperturbed Mr. Roarke looked after them and, with a sigh, turned to McGonagall: "I assume that means we will have to make the tea ourselves. Unless I can persuade you to join me in town until those two decide to return?"
She turned a steely-eyed glare at the white-suited man with his Spanish accent and grandee ways, biting off her words at a clipped pace: "Are you trying to say that Miss Granger's a party to this … this …"
"Professor." Mr. Roarke's steely voice was a perfect match to her own, "As I'm sure you're aware, we were all young at one time."
The scathing retort died on her lips and she looked around her once again … and realized that the surroundings, and this house on the beach, were somehow familiar to her. As she looked down the shore where Harry was running after a fleeing Hermione, the memories flooded back: of a young and carefree Minerva McGonagall and a beach in the Playa de Genoveses … that glorious vacation and the company of the young Spanish wizard she met and befriended in Madrid … the golden sunsets and glorious sunrises … those days when she realized that yes, she was beautiful, and lovely, and sexy and could hold her own against the more striking beauties that Hogwarts in her day had to offer … the single mad moment when she threw caution and everything else to the wind - and her escort nearly had a heart attack at her boldness when she went for a swim that way …
"Of course, Mr. Roarke," she replied with a misty smile. "Shall we see if we still know how to make tea without magic?"
* * *
"Hermione!" She knew Harry was chasing after her, but she didn't want to stop … she couldn't face him. But she was already breathing heavily … lugging around a bag of books was not the best exercise in endurance and speed - and she soon felt Harry's hands on her shoulders, and she slumped down on the sand … sensing Harry falling to his knees in front of her, and she turned away from him, using her long hair to hide her blushing face from him.
They were silent for a few moments, as they tried to catch their breaths … and she heard Harry voice out the question that she had been avoiding ever since she woke up to this beach with Harry beside her: "Hermione … is this your fantasy, or is it mine?"
Her breath hitched as she tried to frame a response but, in the end, knew that honesty, as always, would be the best policy. Still behind her bushy hair, she replied, "It isn't always about you, Harry."
She felt his hand on her chin, forcing her to look at him - and she looked at his puzzled face as he asked, softly, "Why?"
She abruptly stood up and faced away from him, her bare toes digging into the warm sand as she framed her reply, thinking that half the truth is preferable to lies: "Because I needed this too, Harry. I wanted some time to myself … and the beach has always been where I felt most comfortable … and relaxed … where I could rest and clear my head."
She trailed off and looked up at the blue sky above her, breathing in the fresh, clean, salty air. "It's where I can clear my head … where I can stop thinking of books and lessons, stop thinking of Voldemort and school … where I can just be by myself for a while with nothing to think about, or worry about, or fuss about …"
"Is that why there are no books …"
"Yes!" She spun around and faced him, eyes blazing in fury. "I know what you and Ron think of me, Harry: there's a problem, and Hermione runs to the library. What do you do about a dragon - I'll drag you to the library. The Chamber of Secrets has been opened - no problem! I'll find the answer in the bloody library!
"I get sick of it sometimes, Harry! All that you, and Ron, and every-bloody-body else thinks of me as nothing but a darned bookworm who spends all her frigging time in the stupid library! Even you think of me that way … don't you remember? You were telling me that you didn't even know where I bloody well live outside of the library!'
"That was a joke, Hermione," he replied, guiltily … although he knew that it was a half-joke at best - and his own thoughts at worst.
"Then why in bloody Hades did you have to say it, Harry? Couldn't you just ask me where the hell I lived, instead of bringing in that stupid library again?"
Harry didn't respond. He stared down at his toes which were also digging their way into the sand, wishing that they were a mole's paws and he could dig his way deep into the sand and cover himself up rather than face his angry friend. But that was a useless exercise, he knew.
He looked up and saw her standing a few feet away from him, head down but turned away, shoulders slumped and - thank Merlin!, he thought - she wasn't crying. He approached her cautiously, and touched her shoulder - watched as she shrugged away his hand and tried to walk away, but he followed her and placed his hands on her shoulders.
"I'm sorry, Hermione … sorry for teasing you like that. But don't you see? That's why I wanted to know more about you … to know more about the Hermione Granger who is my friend, who's been my friend and companion for five bloody years but who I didn't know outside of everything that she's ever taught me about magic …"
"Books and cleverness … that's all I ever was to you and Ron, Harry."
"No." Gently, he forced her to face him and lifted her chin so he could look in her now streaming eyes. "There's also friendship and bravery … and you've shown all that and more with me. You were brave … you were as brave as anyone could be when we went after Ron in the Shrieking Shack. And you showed me your friendship when you used the Time-Turner against every law and restriction the Ministry of Magic had, when we used it to save Sirius.
"But that isn't enough, Hermione. Don't you see that?" He kept his eyes locked on hers as his thumbs gently wiped away the tears that had fallen down her cheeks. "I couldn't have survived last year without you … all those charms, the Impediment and Reductor Curse, the Four Point Spell …"
His voice dropped to a whisper, "The Summoning Charm." He fell silent, remembering the moment in Moody/Crouch's office when he realized that he could use his Quidditch skills to beat the dragon - that for the First Task, he needed his Firebolt and that, for his Firebolt, he needed -
"Hermione," Harry whispered, "I need you … can't you see that? But I need you more than the books or cleverness that you already have. I need your friendship … I need your courage … there are times when I can't be what I am unless you're there beside me."
"Oh, Harry …" She couldn't say anything else because they were again wrapped tightly in each other, her face buried in his chest and her arms around him, feeling his chin on her head as he embraced her.
They stood together that way for some time, gently rocking each other as they felt their hearts beating, Hermione's tears being dried as she rested her face against Harry's shirt, feeling the cold lump in the region of her chest thawing away as he held her …
"And the bikini, Harry?" she asked in a muffled voice. She felt his arms go tighter around her, and heard his voice through the curtain of her hair: "I don't care … I told you that it's you I want with me here in this place, in this time."
She felt him gently pushing her and she let go but stopped as she felt his hands resting on her waist, fingers entwined around her. She could do nothing less than hold him by the waist, although her hands could not reach around him. She looked up and saw his intensely green eyes staring into her soul: "I told you that it's you I want here with me … not Lavender, not Ginny … not Ron in his bloody purple bikini. You."
She giggled, and embraced him tightly again, taking in a deep breath of salty sea air combined with the clean smell of soap and starch, sighed in contentment as she felt Harry's arms around her …
"Ahem."
They didn't jump apart this time, just gently disengaged themselves (although their hands were still entwined) and turned around to face Professor McGonagall and Mr. Roarke who were looking at them with smiles on their faces.
"I'm afraid that Professor McGonagall has to go back, Harry … Hermione," Mr. Roarke said. "She needed to find out if you two were all right, and since it looks like everything is all right …"
His twinkling eyes did remind her of Professor Dumbledore, Hermione thought, and she turned to face her mentor, who also had the same sort of twinkle in her eye. Before she could say a word, Professor McGonagall held up her hand and she fell silent.
"It's Thursday night, Miss Granger. I daresay that your Professors could conduct their classes without you or Mr. Potter for a day or two … although I do believe you have a Potions test on Monday?"
She chuckled at the identical looks of horror on their faces, and continued. "Do try to make it back by Tuesday at the latest; I don't think Severus will take it too much against you if you're still unconscious by then, although I think I will try to persuade him to postpone the test till the week after next."
The smiles on the two teen's faces could have easily rivaled the sun had it not been covered at that moment by a moving cloud. She nodded at them, and held out her hand to Harry: "Mr. Potter, please take care of Miss Granger."
Harry had to let go of Hermione's hand to shake his Professor's hand, saying, "Of course, ma'am. I'll take care of her as if she were my own."
His choice of words made him blush again, and he turned away as he released her hand. Professor McGonagall, however, merely smiled and turned towards Hermione, who was also holding out her hand.
Instead of taking it, however, she gave the girl a warm embrace, using the opportunity to whisper, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do, young lady."
She broke the embrace and stepped back, giving the younger girl a sly wink that made Hermione flush as deeply as Harry, and turned to face the smiling Mr. Roarke, who held out his hand to her in a gallant gesture.
"Minerva?"
Smiling, she tucked her arm in his, and they walked away from the beach, leaving two blushing teens facing each other, staring down at their feet … fingers entwined with each other.
* * *
She felt herself being gently shaken and slowly woke up … seeing, through unfocused, bleary eyes a somewhat familiar face under a crown of snow. Unthinking, her hands snaked out around that face and she brought it closer to her, whispering in a low, rough voice, "Sebastian?"
"Minerva!" The urgent, frightened whisper shook her into full consciousness - and she realized that she was within an inch of snogging Madame Pomfrey senseless. She immediately let go as if she had grabbed a red-hot cauldron by the ears … and looked wildly around her - her eyes and senses quickly taking in the scene: Hospital Wing, Harry and Hermione unconscious on their beds, close to midnight, candles flickering and casting a dim light on her surroundings … Poppy Pomfrey sitting on another bed, clutching her chest in fright.
She shook her head to clear it of the cobwebs, whispering at the same time, "I'm sorry, Poppy … I was just … uhm, having a dream and uhh, well …"
"Quite a dream, I'd say," replied Madame Pomfrey as her breathing slowed down. A wicked grin broke out on her face as she asked, "And just who is Sebastian?"
A confused look passed through McGonagall's face. "Sebastian?" Her somewhat fuzzy mind brought an image of a tall, stocky, good-looking man with curly white hair wearing a white tropical suit on a beach … as she tried to focus on the memory, it seemed to be slipping away …
Sebastian? Strange … she spent a memorable summer with Francisco at a beach in the Playa de Genoveses when she was much younger, so who is Sebastian? She shook her head at the memory that she thought had faded away with time, and quickly assumed the mantle of authority and discipline that was her persona as the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts.
She stood up and looked around her, glancing down at the beatifically smiling faces of her unconscious students and noted, with a sudden smile, that their hands had broken out of their blankets and they were, again, entwining their fingers around each others.
Turning to Madame Pomfrey, she apologized again for the fright she had given the nurse, "… I better go to my room, Poppy. It has been a rather strenuous day."
"You wouldn't stay for some tea or milk then, Minerva?"
The Deputy Headmistress shook her head regretfully. "Thank you, Poppy … but I think it best that I turn in."
"Oh, all right," a disappointed Madame Pomfrey said. "You do look like you need a good night's sleep right about now." And probably another chance to go chasing after that dream, whatever it was, she thought to herself.
"Good night, Poppy. And thanks."
"Good night, Minerva." A beat. "And … pleasant dreams."
That earned her a sharp look and a tight smile from the Deputy Headmistress, who turned away and started walking out of the hospital. She suddenly paused at the door and turned back to the waiting nurse.
"Oh, Poppy … I expect the children will be up and about by Monday or Tuesday at the latest. Kindly inform them - especially Potter -- that there'll be no slacking off and that I expect to see them in my class by Wednesday.
"Good night."
As her form disappeared into the darkness of the castle, Madame Pomfrey picked her jaw off the floor and turned to look at her two charges. Shaking her head, she muttered "Nox" and slowly walked back to her own room as the darkness descended.