Dream Chasing

Dream Chasing (03)

Chapter Three. "What Sort of Sick Fantasy ..."

Mr. Roarke gazed benignly at the two stupefied teenagers on the beach, and waited patiently for the questions that he somehow felt these two would be asking. How they'd appeared on the island was beyond him ... that they were there, and his guests - including the tastefully appointed bungalow by the beach - was something he was prepared to accept. Stranger things had happened ever since he and his people had popped into existence in this universe ...

Now if only Tattoo returns quickly with towels for these two. They were in no danger of sunburn, he knew - not unless one or the other had in mind to become a bronzed sun-god or goddess - but they were blushing so furiously that he was afraid they'd pass out from the blood going to their skin rather than their brains.

He watched as Harry Potter opened his mouth and he braced himself for the question ...

"Meep."

He cocked an eyebrow at that statement - if it was a statement, that is. Whatever thoughts he would have were interrupted by the girl beside the boy:

"You're Ricardo Montalban, aren't you?"

Who? His brow furrowed in thought for a moment, and cleared - and he gave Hermione a dazzling smile of acknowledgement.

"You're referring to the television show back in the real world." He noted the shocked look on her face, and the still-clueless look on the boy's face and he sighed. "I can give you both a long lecture on the universal unconsciousness, dream theory and whatnot but" - another dazzling smile - "I'd rather not. It is rather boring."

He distinctly heard the boy mutter, "Not to her it won't" and nearly chuckled in amusement at the glare the girl gave her companion - if it had been directed at him, he didn't doubt that he'd be barbecued right there and then, and Tattoo would be dancing around at the chance to be the one to greet arriving guests, rather than ringing the bell and shouting "The plane! The plane!"

"Suffice it to say that this" - and he waved his hand at the surroundings - "are a product of some brilliant people in the real world ... but given form and substance through the power of imagination."

"This is a dream, isn't it?"

He bowed her head at her astute observation. "In a sense it is, Miss Granger ... but for the moment, it is your reality. Or shall we say ... your fantasy?"

It was impossible, he thought, for both of his guests to become even redder ... but that was just what they did, giving each other surreptitious glances at the same time. Any further remarks were interrupted as his diminutive assistant ran up, beach towels in hand which he handed over to the two.

"I would love to chat further with you, but I have other duties to perform at the moment. Please make yourselves comfortable ... everything you would need is at the bungalow over there. There's also a telephone in case you need to talk with me ..."

He started walking away before the two could make a protest, knowing that they would need time to sort things out; the girl, in any case, looked ready to explode in righteous anger at her companion and he wanted to avoid the fallout. But he suddenly paused as something suddenly occurred to him.

Turning back to his guests, he called out, "Oh by the way ... I must tell you that there's no magic on the island. It seems to be important that I tell you that, and yes -" he replied before either could voice the thought - "it is part of your fantasies."

With another brilliant smile, he walked away with his pint-sized assistant beside him, thinking that he'd better talk to wardrobe about those towels. "Scarlet and gold?" he thought, "what were they thinking of?"

* * *

"Harry James Potter!"

Harry quailed at the tone of that voice, remembering all too clearly the many occasions when his best friend had spoken his name in that particular tone of voice. Unfortunately, there was no where to hide on this deserted beach ...

"What the hell were you thinking of? What sort of sick, hormonal fantasies would you be having that you would place me here in a bikini? A purple bikini at that? And what makes you think that you can shanghai me off to this place when we still have to study for our OWLs? We have a Potions test on Monday, Professor McGonagall will be furious if we miss her class, we have to submit an essay to Professor Flitwick on Thursday ..."

There was only one sure way to shut that mouth, and Harry proceeded to do so - stepping closer to her, he wrapped an arm around her (effectively locking her arms to her sides), and covered her mouth with his hand. She immediately shut up, staring at him with wide brown eyes full of shock and fear, and he leaned his head closer to her so that he could look deeply into her soul.

"If you don't calm down, Hermione, I ... I'll have to kiss you!"

He thought that he had effectively locked her arms ... he suddenly felt her arms on his chest and, with an almighty push, he felt himself falling backward on the sand, his towel falling off - and watching as a much more enraged Hermione stood over him, mouth working away like the worst Howler in existence:

"Kiss me? Kiss me? Is that the best you can come up with? Or is that just another of your sick fantasies? I should have known better ... I thought you were my friend! Why are you having this sick fantasy of having me alone on this island ... what were you thinking about? That we are going to be the next Adam and Eve? Or are you thinking of yourself as Tarzan with me as Jane ... you're sick, Potter! Sick, sick, sick!"

In her blind anger, Hermione didn't realize that her towel had fallen off and she was standing over Harry, fists on her hips, and her purple bikini's straps threatening to fall off her shaking shoulders as she continued her ranting. Harry, however, couldn't help but notice this as he pushed himself away from her ...

"Eep?"

"Is that all you're going to say, Harry? Just 'eep'? You're not even going to apologize for dragging me here into this squicky little fantasy of yours, for probably making me miss a week's worth of classes? What do you have to say, Potter?"

"Your bikini's falling?"

Her eyes widened in shock, and she immediately looked down ... noticing for the first time that the shoulder straps of her bikini top had fallen around her arms and was, indeed, threatening to fall off. She quickly turned around and tried to fix herself, not noticing that Harry had modestly turned away from her, and was sitting on his towel, staring off into the distance.

She finally re-arranged the straps of her bikini top to her satisfaction, checked that her bikini bottom was in place and all right, and turned back to her best friend of four and a half years, ready to give him a glare that would turn him into toast ...

And froze as she watched him, still as a statue turned away from her, shoulders slumped and dejected ... and she felt all her innate motherliness towards the boy well up within her. For a long moment, she could feel herself in a major war, as the friendship, trust and affection that had been built over the years of shared adventures and quiet moments fought valiantly against the feeling of embarrassment, shock and ... mortification? - that had consumed her when she realized that she was hugging her best friend tightly, marveling in the clean, soapy scent he exuded, feeling her palms glory in the touch of his skin ... moments before realizing that he was bare-chested and in swimming trunks, while he was running his fingers up and down her bikinied body.

"I've never been to the beach before," he said, softly.

"What?"

"Well ... not really, that is. The Dursleys always left me with Mrs. Figg whenever they had an excursion planned ... and after what happened at the zoo when the boa constrictor escaped, they made sure that I would never join them again. Not until the night when Uncle Vernon rented the hut-on-the-rock when he was trying to hide from all the school owls trying to deliver my Hogwarts letters."

"Oh," she replied in a small voice. She had heard that story of course, but from Hagrid, not from Harry. He never really told any of his friends that much about his growing up years; they'd inferred bits and pieces of it from little things that he'd dropped and their own encounters with the Dursleys.

She looked around at the postcard perfect beach and reflected, once again, on how much beauty and fun her best friend had missed. An abnormal childhood, a hateful family and home ... the only real fun times he'd had was at Hogwarts - and even there, life was anything but normal for him. Fun times interspersed with moments of unbelievable terror; the joy of learning something new mixed with moments of frustration and insults ... life had been unbelievably hard on her friend.

"I'm sorry, Hermione."

Startled, she stared at him - noting that he had stood up and was facing her, green eyes behind his trademark glasses boring into her own, face serious and mouth set in a straight line ... eyes locking with hers and refusing to look anywhere else.

"I'm sorry for dragging you here ... but I didn't know this would happen. All that was on my mind was that the Bludger was heading straight for you ... that I had to get to you before it hit ... that I couldn't stand the thought of you hurt, or in pain ..."

"Harry ..."

There was nothing more she could say; she stepped closer to him and wrapped her arms around him, unheeding that she was in a bikini and her best friend was in trunks ... but strangely, there was no sense of embarrassment or shame in that embrace. She felt his arms around her, holding her tightly and she let herself relax ... this was Harry after all, her best friend and constant companion, the one who saved her life when she was eleven years old, who had confided so many thoughts and nightmares to her and Ron over the years, the boy she'd hugged so tightly in that tiny chamber beneath Hogwarts before watching him walk off to face his enemy alone ... the boy she'd kissed on the cheek as she said good-bye at the end of their fourth year ...

The Boy-Who-Lived who was only, and truly, the Boy-Who-Is-Her-Friend ... and who had saved her from a Bludger only moments? Minutes? Hours before?

She didn't know ... and she didn't care.

This was her friend, the one she'd shared so many eventful moments with ... and strangely, she felt honored that she was the person he was sharing his fantasy with.

A fantasy island with a postcard-perfect beach where the only adornment was herself in a purple bikini.

She felt a flush creep up from her toes and loosened her arms from around him, felt him quickly drop his arms and she smiled to herself, shaking her head slightly at the innate gentleness and chivalry of her friend ... and felt his hands suddenly resting lightly on her shoulders.

She looked up at him and saw his eyes staring down at her ... saw him leaning forward and closed her eyes, drawing in a deep breath of anticipation as she pursed her lips ... and felt his lips brushing against her forehead before he enfolded her again in a hug - not so tightly, but a warm and caring embrace, nevertheless.

"Let's get in the shade before you get sunburned, Hermione."

She opened her eyes to see him turning away, picking up their towels from the beach and walking away. A few steps, and he turned back to her, a raised eyebrow in a silent question ... and she followed after him docilely, head down, trying to hide a sense of disappointment that was coursing through her.

She felt his strong fingers in her hand, entwining with her slim ones - and she looked up to see him smiling at her, the same sort of smile that he had given her at Honeydukes during their third year when he had sneaked out of the castle ... and she gave him a warm, albeit tremulous, smile.

Impulsively, she reached up and gave him a kiss on the cheek ... and turned away to walk with him, hand in hand, towards the small bungalow on the beach.