Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by JK Rowling et al. Any characters or locations you recognise are the intellectual property of these individuals and corporations. I make no money from the writing of this story.

I chose a prompt for a Dramione Fest on Live Journal but did not get the story completed in time. As I am currently suffering from a writer's block of gargantuan proportions, I went back through my hard drive and found this story, so I polished it up a bit and thought I would post it. Hopefully some cracks will start to appear and I can get on with the stories I am supposed to be writing.

The prompt for this story is: Either Draco or Hermione begin writing their wildest fantasies (set throughout history) about the other in a journal. Somehow, these fantasies begin to come true in their dreams. Their shared dreams.

And now I give you:

Journal of Dreams

.

I. In the Time of the Founders

Hermione Granger snuggled under the blankets of her dormitory bed in Gryffindor Tower. It was early but she was freezing on this winter night and took herself off to the comfort and quiet of the warm room, hoping that by the time she was ready for sleep her body would be toasty and comfortable.

Reaching into the drawer of her bedside table, she extracted a pen and a new journal which was still in its wrapping. She smiled at the packaging which proclaimed it to be a Journal of Dreams. Her close friend, Ginny Weasley had given it to her for Christmas as she had noticed Hermione's other journal was becoming full. Hermione did indeed spend a lot of time writing in her journal but it was not about her life or dreams as everyone assumed. Ever since she was a little girl, Hermione had been writing fictional stories in journals as a way of developing her imagination and escaping into fantasy worlds of her own creation. If one were to look back over her writings (and Hermione had them warded tight to prevent this) they would have read stories of escapades in London and Paris, stories where Hermione was plucked from obscurity and groomed to become a world-famous scholar, dancer or musician and stories set against historical moments with hints of romance built in. As she got older, the romances became racier and racier until by now she was almost exclusively writing sex scenes set in various situations and locations throughout the world and history.

She cast one more warming charm on her blankets before she opened the wrapping on her new journal and cracked it open. On the first page she wrote, Property of Hermione Granger, Gryffindor Tower. She then tapped her wand against the book so anyone other than herself who opened it would only be able to read those words. She turned to the second page and rested the nib of her pen against the page. This was always an exciting moment for her—a clean page, ready to have a fresh, new idea come to life on it.

The journey to the castle at the beginning of the year was arduous. If it was not for the close friendship between my father and Godric Gryffindor I would never have consented to come up here to the wilds of Scotland just to spend one year under the great wizard's tutelage. As Father said though, we must do all we can to help the endeavours of our friends, and this school is something that has been sorely needed for many years. If I were even a year younger it may have made more sense for me to undertake this adventure. But if I were a year younger, perhaps what happened to me this day would not have occurred.

There are currently fifty students undertaking their studies in the castle. We range in age from eleven, the traditional age for students to begin formal magic training, and by far the largest class of students, up to myself and Master Malfoy who are the only students in our eighteenth year of birth. We study mainly under the guidance of our Heads of House and we appear to be fairly evenly split among them. I, of course, have the great Godric Gryffindor as my mentor. There is also the stunning and brilliant witch, Rowena Ravenclaw; the motherly, charming, Helga Hufflepuff; and the dashing, dangerous wizard, Salazar Slytherin. Although the majority of my classes are with Professor Gryffindor, I have the others for Charms, Herbology and Potions respectively. These and Transfiguration are the four classes I share exclusively with Master Malfoy.

What an enigma this young man is. Until earlier this evening he was nothing less than the thorn in my side; constantly belittling me on account of my feminine gender and deriding my status within our world simply because my great-grandmother was born to muggles and not wizards. I have taken great delight over the last months in beating him in as many examinations as possible but I would be lying if I said my breath did not hitch and my heart beat a little faster every time he turned his stone grey eyes onto me.

I do not understand what is so captivating about him. Yes, he is tall; a little over six feet. He has a pleasing countenance and his breast plate is enticing. I saw him with his mentor several weeks ago undertaking staff training, and to see his long, hosed legs moving masterfully about the field made me wonder just how powerful he might be in other situations.

Things came to a head today when we were left alone during our Charms class. Professor Ravenclaw was called away due to an incident involving her daughter and the son of Baron Tempus. As our class had just started, she instructed us to continue with our reading and make detailed notes regarding the new Patronus Charm which is reported to ward off the vile Dementors.

At first the pair of us was silent, diligently working on our assignments. Obviously Master Malfoy soon became bored with our task and began to act delinquently. He started by flicking small pieces of parchment at me, hoping to distract me enough to cause a reaction. I was not about to give him the satisfaction. I thought he had given up when he turned back to his notes and began writing, only to be proved wrong when a lewd drawing floated over to my desk and settled right onto the page I was reading.

Angrily, I stood up to confront him. "What is your grievance, Master Malfoy?" I shouted. My bosom was heaving with the aggravated breaths I was taking. I could not help but notice his transfixed gaze and, to my mortification, I blushed under his scrutiny. The blush shook him from his stupor and a satisfied smirk stole over his features. I was perturbed to realise I had just given him what he was looking for.

"You mistake me, my Lady Granger," he drawled. "I have no grievance with you. Just a desire to ruffle your pretty feathers. Pray tell me, just how far does that enticing blush descend down your décolletage?"

I immediately turned around to hide myself from his intense examination. Thus I was unprepared when I felt the heat of his body at my back, and the gentle pressure of his hands as they trailed up my velvet covered arms, coming to gently caress the skin of my neck. My breathing turned ragged as he swept my long hair over my shoulder, exposing the slim column of my throat to his hot breath.

"Why," he whispered, the air from his words tickling the sensitive skin of my ear and causing a pleasurable thrill to manifest in the pit of my stomach. "I can see your discomfort extends far down your body, milady, perhaps farther than any man has ever seen." One of his hands moved over the front of my dress, fleetingly caressing my breast and firmly pressing over my abdomen, losing itself in the folds of my skirt and tantalisingly rubbing over my thigh. I could not help it, my legs were trembling and I had to get a better purchase on my stability, so I widened my stance slightly, allowing his hand to slip to my inner thigh.

His shocked gasp only momentarily stopped him. "My Lady Granger, I believe you want this," he breathed. His lips descended to the sensitive skin where my neck met my shoulder and he began to lay wet kisses at the juncture, sucking and soothing in turns while his hand at my thigh kept busy and his other began gently caressing my breast. The heat at the back of me grew and I knew he was becoming affected as well. As though they had minds of their own, my own hands moved—one to cover his at my breast, encouraging it to apply more pressure and the other to wind itself in Malfoy's soft, blond hair. The hand that was busy at my leg came back up to my face as he gripped my chin and turned my head toward him. With nary a warning, he captured my lips with his own and turned me so I faced him fully.

Oh how he teased me with those sinful lips of his. He gave as much as he took, gently nipping at my lips and nudging them open. Rubbing his full lips against mine, he was able to insinuate his tongue with little effort. The pleasurable thrills began to explode in my stomach; I wanted more from this man in front of me. I boldly ran my hand up his arm and sought out the fastenings of his breastplate. With an assurance I think surprised him; I nimbly undid the catches holding his armour together and let it drop to the floor. He was left standing in his tunic and hose, his codpiece more exposed than ever. I took a moment to map the planes of his body with my hands as we continued kissing. His armour was form-fitting it seemed. The muscles on his chest were well defined under the silk fabric and I already knew his legs were pleasing to the eye.

By now he had unlaced the stays of my dress and was tugging it down to expose my breasts to his eyes. Willing myself not to blush any further, I boldly met his eye and grasped his hand to place it on the bare skin of the sensitive orb. His eyebrows rose at my forthright behaviour—perhaps he was not used to having a lady participate quite so willingly. His next comments were clearly fishing for confirmation of his thoughts.

"Methinks the lady is not quite as inexperienced as one might believe," he whispered huskily. He bent his head and began to kiss his way down my jaw, neck and chest until his wet, velvet tongue was licking the swell of my breast, inching closer and closer to the peak where my sensitive nipple rested. I arched into him as his lips closed around the stiff bud, suckling as would a newborn babe taking his first meal. A moan escaped my own lips, feelings I had only fleetingly experienced once before were shooting straight from my nipple and ending at the juncture of my thighs where I could feel moisture beginning to gather. "Have you been deflowered?" he asked.

I nodded, not being able to trust my voice at this moment. One of my father's knights had performed the task several days before my departure to Scotland. Kidnappings were common on such a journey and my parents knew I would be a prime target if I was pure. My mother stated that a man knew if a maiden had been touched, and it would save me if I undertook the perilous journey as a woman rather than a girl. Sir Ronald had not been the most ardent lover, but he got the job done.

"Did the knave take care of you?" he asked harshly.

"He was a knight in my father's service," I corrected him.

"But did he take care of you?" Malfoy repeated.

"I… I don't know what you're talking about," I whispered. The growl he let out at my answer had moisture pooling between my thighs again.

"Then what you are about to experience will be unlike anything you ever have," he vowed. With a little tug, he pulled my dress down, the sumptuous fabric pooling at my feet and leaving me naked to his heated gaze. In a fluid movement, he pulled his tunic over his head and untied his codpiece. The tent in his hose indicated that he was one of those rare men who actually needed a codpiece of the size he wore. Since being bedded by my father's knight, my mother had confided to me several secrets of men, the main one being to never rely on the size of a man's codpiece to determine his virility. Indeed, Sir Ronald's codpiece contained nothing but a lot of air. I watched as Malfoy pulled off his boots and lowered his hose, his erection springing free from its confines. He grasped me about my waist and lifted me to sit on the desk.

After using his wand to raise the height of the desk to the correct level, he thrust his glorious member against my wet quim. "Are you ready?" he panted. I could do nothing but nod. Even though he had barely touched me, his breath against my ear, his searing kisses and divine attention to my breasts had more than prepared me for the ultimate joining of our bodies. He reached down with one hand and probed for my opening. Lifting my legs to hook them around his hips, he thrust into me in one smooth move. Both of us shouted in joy and he had to pause at the overwhelming sensation of us being as close as it was possible for two humans to be.

I could not help myself. I needed him to move. With a flex of my hips and using my ankles to push him further into me, I indicated my desire for us to begin the primal dance. Before long, he was thrusting in and out of my body with abandon, his head thrown back toward the heavens and the most glorious howls of satisfaction emanating from his throat. As for myself, I now knew what he meant about being taken care of. Sir Ronald had not elicited anything close to the feelings I was now experiencing. I felt every inch of my second lover's hard, glorious manhood as it pulled out and pushed into me over and over, continually brushing over a spot deep inside of me that I was sure was causing the most intense feeling of pleasure I had ever known to course through my body.

His thrusts sped up, until the only thing I was aware of was the continual pounding of his hips against mine and a building pressure deep within my body that was just waiting to explode. It did so without warning. Every muscle in my body tensed all of a sudden and after a long moment of suspense, the most wonderful feeling of satisfaction radiated throughout me. I could feel every inch of my body from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. I was screaming with the joy of it even as I felt Malfoy tense himself and then, with a roar unlike anything I had ever heard, he shot a copious amount of warm fluid up into me. Unable to stand under his own strength, he collapsed on top of me, his member still pulsing within my channel.

With panting breaths against my neck, he said, "That was wonderful. You are unlike any woman I have had before."

I kissed the side of his face tenderly. "You were wonderful too," I told him.

"I shall come to your chambers tonight, after sunset," he promised.

"I will be waiting," I promised in return. Reluctantly, we moved from our positions and helped each other to redress.

By the time Professor Ravenclaw returned, we were both back in our seats, our parchments half-filled with notes about our assignment. I could not help the secretive smile though, every time I thought about what the night would bring.

Hermione laid down her pen and re-read what she had written. 'Whew!' she thought, fanning her face with her hand. 'Malfoy—that was a surprise.' Hermione always just let her words flow without thinking too much about them. She, Draco Malfoy and Neville Longbottom were the only students from their year who had returned to Hogwarts to complete their NEWTs following the end of the recent war. She shared every class with the blond Slytherin and, following his sincere apology on the train at the start of the school year, they had struck up something of a cordial friendship. Lately Hermione had found herself wondering what the wizard might be like in an intimate situation, it was no wonder he had made his first appearance in one of her stories. With a smug grin, she put her new journal and pen back into her drawer and settled down onto her pillow. Knowing herself as she did, she knew he would star in several more of her racy fantasies over the coming days and weeks. She wondered if he ever might think of her that way in real life.

As soon as she dropped off to sleep, the journal, hidden from all eyes in her bedside drawer, began to glow. Two strong strands of light, no bigger than a hair each reached out from the book—one seemed to disappear inside Hermione's head, another flew unseen out of Gryffindor Tower and down into the dungeons where it insinuated itself into the brain of the slumbering Draco Malfoy. A third, much weaker strand wafted up the chimney in the dormitory room and headed off to parts unknown. In the sub-consciousness' of the recipients of the strong strands, the exact scenario Hermione wrote played in their dreams. Hermione slumbered peacefully, a satisfied smile on her face as the satisfaction she wrote about manifested in her dream.

In the Slytherin dormitory though, Draco Malfoy suddenly bolted up from his sleep, breathing deeply and finding himself having to deal with a sticky situation that had not been a problem for several years.

"What the fuck was that?" he asked the empty room.

.

I hope you enjoyed the beginning.