Can A Phoenix Love A Lion? (Hermione Granger x Male Reader)

34. Bad Dream

Y/N yawned for the fifth time in a row. He stretched once more and forced his eyes open.

"Are you that tired?" Fleur asked, next to him.

William yawned, too. "How long did we sleep?"

Poppy rubbed her eyes. "I'd say four hours. At best."

"No wonder we're tired," Y/N said. "Dad, where are we going, anyway?"

Ten paces away, his father looked over his shoulder. "No idea," he chuckled.

"It's a surprise," his mother said.

The L/Ns and the Delacours had been walking in the countryside for quite some time. They had had to wake up way before dawn, at three in the morning, the stars still above their heads.

They found a dirt road. In the distance Y/N could make out a house. As they got closer, its shape got clearer. He wasn't sure you could call it a house. It looked as though it had once been a large stone pigpen, but extra rooms had been added here and there until it was several stories high and so crooked it looked as though it were held up only by magic. Four or five chimneys were perched on top of the red roof. Parked in front of the garage, was the flying Ford Anglia of Ron's dad. A lopsided sign stuck in the ground near the entrance read, THE BURROW.

The flying Ford Anglia; Y/N's eyes had slid past it almost without seeing. The car of Ron's dad, he thought sleepily. Wait.

"We're at the Weasleys!" he blurted out. "Why?"

"You'll see," his mother said—the hundredth time, Y/N thought it was.

They eventually arrived in front of the door. Y/N's dad knocked then got in, quickly followed by everyone. There was nobody in the small and rather cramped kitchen. There was a scrubbed wooden table and chairs in the middle, and William and Poppy sat without waiting.

Y/N put his bag down and looked around. The clock on the wall opposite him had only one hand and no numbers at all. Written around the edge were things like Time to make tea, Time to feed the chickens, and You're late. Another one seemed to be giving the position of each Weasley—now they were all in the house, except for Charlie and Bill.

A door seemed to be leading to the living room. As he got in, he hit his head on the top of the door frame with a thud, and he fell to the floor.

"Y/N!" came a feminine voice. "Are you all right?"

He opened his eyes. Hermione was in front of him, looking worried, holding her hand to his forehead.

"Hermione? What are you doing here? When did you get here?" he asked, his forehead already forgotten.

"I arrived just a few minutes ago, and you?"

"Right this minute. The others are—"

"Y/N! How tall you've grown!"

Mrs Weasley had just climbed down the stairs. She was a short, plump woman with a very kind face.

Y/N had only gotten on his feet that she hugged him, then took his head in her hands to watch his face. "You'll soon be as tall as Hagrid."

"And hit my head on the ceiling? I hope not," he chuckled.

"Where is your mum?" Mrs Weasley asked him.

"Everyone's in the kitchen."

"Very well!" Mrs Weasley clapped her hands. "Hermione, dear, I know you just arrived, but could you please go wake Ron and Harry up?"

"Harry's here too?" Y/N said. "I'll go with you, Hermione."

Y/N and Hermione set off up the rickety staircase that zigzagged through the house to the upper stories. They reached Ron's room—his name was on the door—at the top of the house. Inside, on the walls and sloping ceiling, were posters of the Chudley Cannons, who were whirling and waving. A fish tank on the windowsill contained one extremely large frog. A tiny grey owl was there, too, hopping up and down in a small cage and twittering madly.