Upside Out and Inside Down

paripasu

Rating: PG13
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 18/07/2007
Last Updated: 18/07/2007
Status: in_progress

When Professor Trelawney foresees Hermione Granger as Harry's future, Harry and Ron can't help but laugh. However, it soon becomes obvious that it's not just Trelawney; the entire universe is conspiring to bring Harry and Hermione together. And everybody knows it but them.

Chapters

1. The Prophecy

1. The Prophecy

Author’s Note: This story will contain Harry/Hermione and Ron/Luna as well as a total disregard for Book Six while simultaneously incorporating aspects from it. Like Ron/Lavender. And Hermione pointing out how hot Harry is. But I digress.

Chapter 1: The Prophecy

*

I got a lot to say to you

Yeah I got a lot to say

I noticed your eyes are always glued to me

Keeping them here and it makes no sense at all

—Crushcrushcrush by Paramore

*

“I foresee death! Death on your horizon!” Professor Trelawney garbled, waving her hands frantically.

Harry watched her, slightly alarmed. She looked like she was having an epileptic fit or something what with the way she kept wailing and flailing. Besides, she’d been foreseeing death on his horizon for as long as he’d been taking this class and, last time he checked, he still had a pulse.

“Remind me why we decided to take this class again?” whispered Ron, watching Trelawney with the same amount of alarm.

“Because we get As just for writing ‘Harry Potter will die next week in an horrifically creative way’ on all our papers?” Harry whispered back.

“Oh. Right. Brilliant, then.”

Trelawney was still flailing and foreseeing so Harry went back to the task at hand: doodling a rather bad drawing of a snitch on the corner of his parchment.

He and Ron were taking Divination again for their Sixth Year, despite the fact that Hermione had rolled her eyes at both of them and pointed out that they only took it for an easy grade. She’d only fallen silent once Harry had pointed out that she’d taken Muggle Studies during Third Year which, for both of them, couldn’t be anything more than an easy grade. Still, that didn’t mean she wasn’t right. It simply meant that Harry and Ron weren’t the slightest bit ashamed.

“Potter!” Trelawney screamed, startling Harry. “I also foresee love!”

Harry and Ron exchanged glances. She’d never predicted anything other than death for him before. Did this mean they’d have to adjust their homework?

“Do you, Professor?” Harry asked tentatively when it seemed as though Trelawney was waiting for his reply. “What sort of love?”

Trelawney huffed. “Romantic love, of course. There is none so powerful than the love of a man and a woman and I foresee it in your future. In fact, I’m getting a vision right now…”

She rocked back and forth with her eyes closed and her arms outstretched for a moment or two. Just when Harry was about to return to his doodle, she suddenly shouted, “Hermione Granger!”

Harry blinked. Slowly. “What about Hermione Granger?”

“Pay attention, Potter,” said Trelawney with another huff. “I said I foresee romantic love for you. Romantic love with Hermione Granger. She is your future. You will fall madly in love with one another,” she pressed a hand to her forehead and her voice dropped a few octaves, “BUT NOT ALONE.”

There was a beat of silence during which Harry just continued to stare blankly at his professor while Ron shook silently beside him. At first, he thought Ron might be angry—after all, everyone and their cousin was aware of his crush on Hermione by now—but, no, Ron was laughing.

“Me and Hermione, Professor?” Harry said as politely as he could manage. “D’you think we could get back to the death? Because that’s a lot more plausible, I think.”

A ball of paper smacked the back of his head. Harry turned to see Lavender Brown glowering at him.

“Don’t mock Professor Trelawney!” she hissed. “If she says it’ll happen, then it’ll happen. You’re going to die and fall in love with Hermione!”

“In that order?” Ron asked and this time Harry joined him when he started laughing.

Lavender blushed bright red. “No, not—I didn’t mean—oh, shut up, Ron Weasley. You’re just mad because your best mates are meant for each other and you’re going to be left out in the cold.”

“Until Harry dies,” Professor Trelawney added kindly. “Then you might have a shot.”

Harry wiped the tears of mirth from his eyes and cleared his throat, making a real effort to look solemn. Ron tried to do the same, but he couldn’t stop the amused smile from spreading on his face.

“Thank you very much, Professor,” he said, hiding his snort behind a cough. “I’ll hold on for that blessed day.”

The class proceeded in relative peace after that, but Harry was still relieved, as always, to leave the classroom. Professor Trelawney predicted his death extremely often. He was getting afraid that, one of these days, she might be right.

“You and Hermione,” Ron mocked as they made their way down the stairs. “Have you ever heard a bigger pile of rubbish than that?”

“Mm,” said Harry distractedly, busy stuffing his role of parchment into his bag. “But, more importantly, what about you and Hermione? Making any headway there? Any actual progress?”

Ron, again, looked alarmed, his face turning red. “Me and Hermione? What in Merlin’s name are you talking about?”

Harry closed his bag and sighed. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

*

“—and then she starts flailing her arms about like some kind of mental human hellywopper and says ‘I foresee death and love for you’ and then she goes on about how you and Harry are going to fall in love—” Ron paused only to inhale about half of his dinner before continuing, “—and I’m going to be left out in the cold until Harry dies and I can take advantage of your grief.”

Hermione’s gaze turned to Harry, who nodded. “S’true. I was there.”

“Well,” she said, smiling before she disappeared behind a very large book with no title on the cover.

Harry felt that more or less summed up the entire situation, but Ron was gaping at her, “‘Well’? Some nutter pairs up you and Harry and all you can say is ‘Well’?”

“What am I supposed to say?” Hermione asked, obviously not paying Ron any attention.

“I don’t know! Something along the lines of, ‘Trelawney’s out of her bloody mind, she is, I wouldn’t go out with Harry Potter if he was Harry Potter!’ Or maybe, ‘Me and Harry? Has she been smoking the gillyweed?’

“Thanks, Ron,” said Harry dryly. “Good thing Cho didn’t feel the way you do or I’d’ve never gotten a girlfriend. And, with the way you’re talking, I never will again.”

“Don’t be silly, Harry,” Hermione snapped from behind her book. “You’re perfectly appealing.”

“Since when?” Ron asked, looking at Hermione as though she’d just declared that she was carrying a certain Bulgarian’s lovechild.

“My ego’s dying a slow, painful death here, Ron.”

“You know that’s not what I meant, Harry,” said Ron without taking his eyes off Hermione—or, really, Hermione’s book. “I meant since when have you thought so, Hermione?”

The book finally lowered, but only so Hermione could give Ron an icy stare. “I’m not blind, you know, Ronald. You wouldn’t have noticed, but Harry’s filled out over the summer. He’s taller and he plays Quidditch, both of which make him highly desirable to the female half of the student body.”

“Thank you Hermione,” Harry said, though he couldn’t help but duck his head a bit in embarrassment.

“So that’s it?” Ron snapped. “You’re just going to go on what Trelawney said then and date him just because he’s a tall Quidditch player?”

“You’re a tall Quidditch player,” said Harry helpfully.

“So’s Viktor Krum, her last boyfriend,” Ron said nastily. “And he’s a famous one, too, like you, Harry. Funny, that.”

Hermione slammed her book closed. “If this is the way you’re going to act, Ronald Weasley, then I’m going to the library. Do try and soak your hot head before I see you again.”

She got up and stormed off self-righteously without looking back once. Harry gazed heavenward, begging for the strength and patience to deal with Ron complaining about Hermione and Hermione complaining about Ron for the next few days. Perhaps this was what Trelawney had been talking about; he would die, alright, but from the stress of having his two best mates constantly at odds with one another and not from anything Voldemort-related. Or maybe she was working for Voldemort and had predicted Hermione as his future just to start the row that would end with him keeling over from stress.

Either Voldemort was getting craftier or Harry was getting increasingly paranoid. He was hoping for the latter.

Ron was chewing his food viciously and didn’t seem very open to conversation at the moment, leaving the two of them to sit in a tense silence. It was an immense relief when Ginny plopped down in Hermione’s seat and nicked a roll from Ron’s plate.

“What was that all about?” she asked Harry since Ron seemed to be resolutely ignoring her.

“Oh, you know, the usual,” Harry replied. “Ron’s jealous and Hermione’s fed up.”

“When are you going to stop being a prat and admit you like her?” Ginny snapped, punching Ron a little too hard in the arm. He clutched the injured area and glared at her. “It’d certainly make our lives a lot easier.”

To Harry’s surprise, Ron then turned his glare on him as though everything that was happening was his fault.

“Don’t you go trying to blame this all on Harry. It’s not his fault you don’t know how to talk to women.”

Harry coughed. “Er… actually…”

“Yes, tell her, Harry. Tell her all about your future,” Ron said, taking an angry bite of his fifth dinner roll.

“I’d… rather not…”

Ginny looked at him, confused, but Harry pushed his plate away and, muttering something about being very, very tired, he got up and hurried to Gryffindor Tower. The Fat Lady tried to engage him in conversation, but he just tossed out the password and crawled through the portrait hole, calling an apology over his shoulder. To his surprise, Hermione was sitting on the couch in the common room, her book open in her lap. She looked up angrily, face softening when she saw that it was him.

“He ran you away from the table, too, did he?” she asked coolly. “He’s such a—”

“Prat, yes, I’ve heard,” said Harry, already feeling a headache growing behind his eyes. “He didn’t mean it, Hermione. Trelawney’s nutters and she makes everyone around her nutters.”

Hermione snorted derisively, but moved over on the couch to make room for him. Harry dropped down beside her with a grateful sigh, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. He didn’t know how long they sat like that, him trying to keep his headache at bay and her reading her book, but it seemed like only a few short minutes before the portrait hole was opening again and Ron and Ginny were walking in. Ron looked contrite; Ginny looked smug.

“There you are,” he said quietly when he saw Hermione. “I looked in the library, but you weren’t—”

“Apology accepted,” Hermione said without taking her eyes away from her book. “Thank you, Ginny.”

“Anytime, Hermione,” Ginny was beaming with pride. “Harry, fancy a game of Exploding Snap?”

“He has homework,” said Hermione.

“Oh, come on. Surely he can put that off for just one little game? Unless he’s afraid he’ll lose, of course—”

“You’re on,” Harry said immediately, giving his spot on the couch to Ron as he joined Ginny by the fireplace for the game. Though he gave it his best, his headache eventually returned and he had to give up the game to get his homework done before he fell into bed.

*

Thankfully, Ron seemed to forget the prediction after that. Or, at the very least, he didn’t mention it again. Trelawney didn’t make another one like it, just continuing with her usual lectures on tea leaves and having them write up prediction charts for homework. Divination had always been Harry’s easiest subject, although it wouldn’t do a thing to help him in his future career as an Auror. Not unless someone wanted to know how he thought he’d die on the field.

With that little speed bump behind them, Ron and Hermione seemed to be on good terms again and Harry was saved from having to choose sides (though he would have chosen Hermione, as she wasn’t the one taking another one of Trelawney’s batty predictions so seriously). Besides, it was the weekend and a Hogsmeade weekend at that. Harry was more than ready to put it all behind him.

“How many dungbombs d’you think we’ll need?” he asked as he and Ron wandered around Zonko’s. Hermione had decided to just meet them in the Three Broomsticks since watching them parade around looking for items she didn’t approve of to begin with didn’t appeal to her at all. “Ten? Twenty?”

“As many as you can carry to the counter in both hands and all four pockets,” Ron replied, stuffing some into his pocket. The store owner was looking at him suspiciously, so Harry sighed and went to pay for them before they were accused of shoplifting.

They ended up with fifty-six dungbombs a piece (in the bags Mr. Zonko had kindly provided once Harry told him what was going on) before they made their way to the Three Broomsticks, though Ron kept ‘accidentally’ dropping his and laughing at the startled faces of his classmates. One rolled over to Lavender Brown as she chatted animatedly with Parvati Patil in front of Honeydukes and the resulting blast blew her skirt up, much to Ron’s delight.

“You’ve just given her another reason to hate you, you know,” Harry pointed out after Lavender squeaked and whirled around, catching sight of them and glaring daggers in Ron’s direction.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Harry. I threw that dungbomb with love,” Ron said loud enough for Lavender to hear. Harry might have imagined it, but he could have sworn her glare lost most of its heat. Ron was smiling at her now and Harry, exasperated, walked on to the Three Broomsticks alone.

Hermione was sitting in one of the booths near the back with Ginny and, surprisingly, Luna Lovegood. The three of them seemed to be giggling over something but fell silent as soon as Harry took the empty seat next to Luna. Ignoring that, he smiled at her. “Hullo, Luna. How’re you?”

“I’m fine, Harry,” she said, sounding dreamier than usual. “Where’s Ronald?”

Harry deflated. He’d been hoping to avoid that particular topic of conversation. “He’s… coming,” he said vaguely. “Hi, Ginny. Hey, Hermione. What were you guys talking about?”

Ginny giggled.

“Girl stuff,” said Hermione, amused. She seemed unnaturally happy about this ‘girl stuff’, though Harry supposed she didn’t get much opportunity to talk ‘girl stuff’ with him and Ron. He and Ron much preferred to talk ‘guy stuff’, which involved doing no talking at all.

“I see,” he said, although he really didn’t. “Should I leave and come back then?”

“No, Luna and I should get going,” Ginny said, standing. “We want to buy some Treacle Tarts from Honeydukes, don’t we, Luna?”

“Yes, I suppose we do,” said Luna with a sigh. “Goodbye, Harry. Goodbye, Hermione.”

Ginny, for some inconceivable reason, giggled again. “Bye, guys.”

Harry looked curiously at Hermione, but she seemed to be very interested in the contents of her glass of cherry syrup and soda. He shook his head, trying not to smile. “‘Girl stuff’?”

“What did you two buy?”

That was an abrupt change of conversation if Harry had ever seen one, but he let it go. “Enough dungbombs to last us maybe three weeks if Ron stops wasting them. I think he dropped six on the way here.”

“Boys and their dungbombs,” Hermione said with a hint of nostalgia. “What happened to the good old days when boys played with action figures and girls played with dolls? Now boys play with dungbombs and girls wait for them to look up long enough to notice them.”

Harry reached across the table to touch her hand, suddenly understanding what the ‘girl talk’ had been about. “I’m sure Ron will notice you. He already has, actually, which is why he gets so jealous all the time—”

Before Harry could continue, Ron had burst through the door backward with a laugh, nearly tripping over his own two feet and stumbling into a table. He seemed to realize he was being stared at and immediately sobered, looking back at the front door for a moment before heading over to the table.

“Took you long enough,” Harry said, laughing. “Bonus points for creative entry, though.”

He expected a sarcastic reply, but Ron fell silent, his eyes focusing on Harry’s hand atop Hermione’s. Harry suddenly remembered it was there and removed it.

“What exactly were you doing?” Hermione asked before the moment could get too awkward.

“Oh, er, I was…” Ron stammered, averting his eyes. “Nothing. Just… dropped some of my dungbombs and had to double back and get more.”

Harry and Hermione looked equally dubious, Harry because he knew for a fact that Ron had been with Lavender and Hermione because Ron’s story sounded as weak to her ears as it did to Harry’s. However, she didn’t make a fuss, simply slid further into the booth so he could sit down and went back to her drink. Harry exchanged a look with Ron over her head, silently making Ron promise to fill him in on the details later. He just hoped Ron hadn’t done what he was starting to dread that he’d done and asked Lavender out.

After all, Lavender wasn’t Hermione and, anyway, Harry couldn’t see how Ron could prefer Lavender to Hermione. Lavender may have been beautiful, but Hermione was smart as well and it wasn’t hard to guess which would get you further in life. Ron probably didn’t care much about that, though, as he seemed to be a bit too busy waving over a pretty waitress to be thinking long and hard about his love life.

Hermione glanced up and caught Harry’s eye, looking resigned. Harry felt the need to touch her hand again, but stifled it and looked away.

*

Later that evening, the two of them were sitting in the common room again. Hermione was busy knitting a hat that was coming out more like a misshapen tea cozy while Harry did his homework of his own free will by the fireplace. Ron had gone to bed early, claiming some ailment that had a lot of syllables and was probably fictional anyway, leaving the two of them alone.

Hermione was knitting quickly and furiously, whispering “ouch” every few seconds when she accidentally jabbed herself. Harry put the finishing touches on his death (he was being dragged through the Forbidden Forest by hungry thestrals this time) and rolled up the parchment, turning to look at her.

She was concentrating very hard on her task, a small worry line between her eyebrows. Her tongue was peeking out of the corner of her lips and her hair was tugged back into a very messy ponytail, making Harry smile as he remembered the time she’d accidentally knitted her own hair into one of her scarves and hadn’t noticed until it was done and hanging from her head.

Hermione glanced up briefly, then again when she noticed Harry staring at her. “I’m not doing it again, am I?” she asked, one hand going to her hair.

Harry laughed. “No, you’re not. I’m finished with my homework.”

“Well, if you’re finished with that, you can help me make this hat,” Hermione said brightly, producing another set of needles from nowhere. Or so it seemed to Harry, who was staring at them like they were sent from Voldemort himself.

“Er, actually, I was thinking I might—” he began until he saw her face fall. She tried to hide it, but Harry could sense her disappointment as she set the needles down on the cushion beside her and went back to her knitting.

“Just thought I’d ask,” she said coolly. “I can do it myself since I’m the only one around here who seems to care about House Elf rights.”

“The House Elves don’t want to have rights, Hermione,” said Harry a little desperately. “They like doing things for other people. Not every House Elf was abused like Dobby.”

“It’s not about that, Harry,” Hermione replied, getting that determined look on her face that Harry both admired and feared. “It’s about choice. House Elves may like doing the work, but they should at least get the choice. Dobby stays and works of his own free will. I want the rest of the house elves to have that.”

Harry considered telling her that it was because of her hats and scarves and socks and tea cozies that the House Elves hadn’t been cleaning Gryffindor Tower, but he didn’t want to see her crushed expression again. Sighing and trying to look like he agreed with her or was even slightly interested in what she was doing, he picked the needles up from the couch and sat down next to her.

“Alright, how do I make a hat?”