The Fanfic That Was Never Written
that i woke up just this morning thinking about:
Hermione wakes up. Or, that is, she comes to. She doesn't know if she had been asleep or not. All she knows is
she is in a luxurious bubble bath, with foam covering the entire top of the tub. It smells delicious and it is the perfect temperature. Which is good because
she has bad menstrual cramps. But the REAL problem is
she has absolutely no idea where she is.
Looking around, she sees a cozy little room. There is this, the clawfoot bathtub. There is a towel nearby, and her wand is laying on it (did SHE make the tub the perfect temperature?) There is a small double bed against one wall, with a lovely coverlet and matching pillows, which match the lovely color of the carpet. There is a small desk, and a bookshelf with some books that certainly look very interesting. It's all very cozy and lovely and deliberate - a snug lovely room inside a dilapidated house. Looking at the walls, she can see that this lovely room was set up inside the ruins of some old house... as if someone set up a romantic get-a-way inside the Shrieking Shack. In fact, the walls look EXACTLY like the walls she remembered from the Shrieking Shack. Other than that, she has no clue where she is.
She is just beginning to become alarmed when a man walks into the room.
Then she is VERY alarmed.
He is holding a cup of tea and he is talking about herbs. For the longest time she just gapes at him, incapable of speech. He is not in his professor robe - he is wearing a soft grey sweater and slacks. His hair isn't hanging lanky and unwashed around his face - it is clean and soft. Still wet. It is combed and falling around his face just now he looks.... almost handsome...
But the strangest thing of all is his voice. As he pulls the chair from the desk up to the bathtub, sitting on it, handing her the steaming cup of tea, telling her he is afraid he might have put in too much honey...
...she barely recognizes his voice. It IS his voice, of course. She would recognize it anywhere. But he's speaking so casually. So gently. So softly. As if they were in the library. In the library, sharing a joke. She's never heard this voice before. She never imagined it existed.
And THEN she registered what he was saying.
He had been describing how the first herb in the tea might taste combined with the second herb.
BOTH of which, she knows, are a treatment for cramps.
He made her tea for her cramps. He knows she is in pain. He is asking her, just now, if the bath is helping.
She can't speak. She is too confused, holding the steaming cup of tea, staring at him.
Finally, at his insistence (as he strokes her hair?!?! And he's calling her Decoris and Bellulus. She recognizes the Latin. He is calling her 'beautiful.') she drinks her tea. It is the perfect temperature. She sips, trying to clear her head.
As he talks, she keeps sipping it from the cup. That means she doesn't have to talk. HE keeps talking, however. Talking about herbs. The special one in her tea was grown in Wales. The weather in Wales has been poor. He speaks about the repercussions of a poor crop of this herb next year. As he speaks, she tries to piece it all together.
She knows who she is. She knows who this man is. But she cannot fathom why they are here, nor where here is. Nor can she fathom why he is talking to her so tenderly. So gently.
She only knows this: They are intimate. This man is not just her lover, he is a lover who will make her a hot herbal bath and brew her a special tea when she has menstrual cramps. This is their romantic get-a-way, a room deliberately created and hidden inside some other, dilapidated house. They are there together. And they are talking about herbs and the weather in Wales.
Now, in the ORIGINAL idea, Hermione considers going to bed with him, snuggling in that cozy bed, in their pajamas, hoping, desperately, that when she wakes up in the morning, this will all make sense. Spending the night in his arms, in the arms of the man she had such a hopeless crush on as a teenager, wouldn't be the worst thing in the world...
BUT WHEN I WOKE UP THIS MORNING I realized that Hermione is a very practical person, and that it would make far more sense to just STATE THE OBVIOUS.
So, this morning, I realized that this whole story ends this way:
She finishes the tea. She can't put it off anymore. She has to speak.
He was standing up, but now he turns to her, startled. The look on his face is unreadable... there is concern... but also worry... alarm... then worry again...
He doesn't sit back down on the chair. He kneels beside the tub. He looks closely into her face
And, when she doesn't finish the sentence, he answeres.
"...yes, Professor Granger?"
