Chapter one

The sleep was fitful and her mind just wouldn't stop its incessant reeling. Her dreams were becoming ever more vivid and detailed. Every so often she could swear she heard his name murmured or see the outline of his features just a bit more sharply. But even though these dreams had been occurring for the better part of a month, she still had no idea whom was in them. All she did know was that it was not her husband, Ron. She didn't know why or how she knew, she just did. And now she was awake, and frustrated and wishing that she could just get back to sleep to finish her dream.

Instead Hermione got up out of bed to start her morning pot of tea. A quick look at the clock revealed it to be 4:30 in the morning, two hours before she had to be awake. If this was how this school year was going to go then she really didn't want to be a professor. Fuzzy images of her almost forgotten dream drifted past her, bringing with it thoughts of apples and soft fur drapings. A warm caress across her stomach and a whispered something in her ear. Just as the images were becoming clearer the teapot let out the most shrill and piercing whistle Hermione had ever heard, and just like that the image faded and Hermione was once more standing in her kitchen waiting on her tea at 4:35 in the morning.

At quarter to six Ron emerged groggily from their sleeping quarters. His bright red hair assaulting the eyes in the early morning brightness. The golden rays of sunshine enhancing the color, bewitching it to appear like flames from a phoenix. His lithe and gangly frame draped over Hermione's shoulder in an act of affection that startled her out of her reverie. Spread out before her on the kitchen table were lesson plans and research options for her new pupils. While she would be able to come home on Hogsmead weekends and during breaks, this would be the last time she saw him in all his morning grumpy glory, and while she would never say it out loud she was happy about that.

"Morning sweetie," the faked smile plastered perfectly on her face for his benefit. "Did you sleep well?"

"Mmhmm," he mumbled nondescriptly. As he poured the remnants of tea into his cup he looked at his wife. Her hair was wildly tamed, the loose bun that was all she could ever get her hair to do was the tame part all of the ends that flew every which way was the wild part. She was seated with her favorite fluffy robe wrapped upon her body. She was the picture of perfection in his eyes. She always had been. "'Mione how long have you been awake? You look bloody tired."

She knew he was trying to be sweet, but being so sleep deprived for so many days on end made her just a bit more snappy. "What does it matter how bloody long I've been awake? I didn't bother you, nor did I make any sounds to disrupt your sleep. Or had you not noticed that?" Even she was slightly taken aback at the tone in her voice. She loved Ron, she really did. But that god awful dream had her on end. Why couldn't her husband make her feel the way this man in her dreams had?

"I'm sorry Ron. That came out a bit more harsh than I wanted. I'm just tired and stressed and I can't seem to settle on a lesson plan for these first years. Everything I want to teach them they aren't old enough to learn. I've been up since half four and..." Hermione trailed off as Ron wrapped her into his warm embrace.

"Is ok 'Mione. I know you aren't mad at me. I can always tell. Would you like me to make breakfast 'fore I go to tha ministry?"

She genuinely smiled up at him this time. He was so sweet to her but they both knew that this wouldn't last forever. While Hermione didn't believe in divination at all thank you very much, she did believe in premonitions through dreams and deja vu. With the vividness of her latest dream she was sure that her and Ron would be on the outs soon enough. She would always love him, just wouldn't always be in love with him.

"Breakfast really would be lovely Ronald."

Breakfast was over fairly quickly in relative silence. Ron not saying much as he ate the eggs and bacon he made. He found Hermione preferred when her meals were prepared without magic and so when he cooked for her he refrained from using it, unless of course it was something special that he couldn't master. Ron even had to admit that he preferred the taste, he found that magic left a certain salty taste to everything, almost as though magic over seasoned what it cooked. But regardless these things, he relished these times when he could make her happy, when he could indulge her non magical whims.

As Ron cleaned up the dishes he had to make sure that Hermione would be back in three weeks. He wanted to plan a surprise for her but needed to make sure she would be here. "Three weeks yeah? Then you'll be home for a couple days?"

"Yeah. Three weeks and then I'll be home. But right now you need to get going or else you'll be late and I need to get ready as well for the ride from Kings Cross."

Ron bent down and gave her a tender kiss on her cheek. He hoped this surprise would show her how much she meant to him, but until that time he would let her go and hope she didn't act on the feelings they both had. He shook his head as he remembered the very vivid dream that didn't involve his wife. As Ron apparated away Hermione shook her head as blurry images from her dream invaded her mind once more. Oh how she wished for a pensive that Ron couldn't access.

As the day wore on Hermione slowly pushed the dream out of her mind. She had barely thought about it as she neared the train station. By the time she settled onto the Hogwarts express she couldn't recall any of the information that plagued her morning. As well it should be, it was just a dream after all.

She sat in her compartment silently by herself for the better part of the train ride. Sure she could have apparated but this ride was familiar. It felt like home. She was reading her charmed copy of Hogwarts a History, because she didn't want to keep buying the same book over and over again, when her compartment door slid open. She assumed it was just another student roaming to see where their friends were on the train and so she didn't look up.

"Granger." That one word in that one drawl and her dream came flooding back with a vengeance. She could not have been prepared even if she had foresight enough to know it would be a certain blond bloke. Her skin vibrated with remembered touches that hadn't occurred outside of her dream, a feather light caress up her ribs; the rough feel of a thumb, his thumb, over a taut nipple; the soft thrum of his voice as he... Hermione shook her head and wished wholeheartedly that Draco did not just see the goose flesh that adorned her skin.

"Draco," she drawled in return. "Aren't you a bit too old to be going to school?" She knew he was returning as a professor but the need to poke the bear as it were was just too great a thing to pass up and resist.

He sneered at her then. Professor, correction Headmistress Mogonnagal, had appointed him to the position of potions master assistant under Professor Slughorn. She felt his rehabilitation would better be served at the school under her watchful eye than in the grips of the demented guards at Azcaban. Harry Potters testimony on his behalf and her reassurance for redemption caught him off guard to say the least, but over the last few weeks he became grateful for the second chance. That was until a certain bushy haired banshee sauntered into his train. He couldn't help but find the figments of his fretful nights sleep creeping back into his conscience.

With all of the pomp he could muster Draco returned the snide and cutting comment with one of his own. "Ah, I forgot. I should refer to you as Weasel now shouldn't I? Where is your litter as I'm sure you've taken to the Weasel family sport of producing as many offspring as can be humanly created."

The look of complete and utter hatred that crossed her face was enough for Draco to realise he may have crossed a line. Which line though was the problem. He had just untactfully referred to Hermione as a whore and demeaned her worth down to that of a dog meant for breeding.

"I'll have you know Malfoy that mine and Ronald's personal life is of absolutely no concern of yours. So if by chance you feel the need to bring up my marital status or," Hermione closed her eyes briefly as she took a deep breath trying to will away the thought of the children she would never bear,"my children present or future I will personally see to it that you wish for the confines of a cell at Azcaban with a dementor hovering over you every waking moment of the day. Now if you don't mind, go the bloody hell away."

Even though magic shouldn't be able to be used in force on the train Hermione had so much pent up aggression and anger that it willed Draco out of the compartment with a loud resounding snap of the door closing. It was then apparent that the last straw, as it were, was the mention of her litter of children. The look that crossed her face as she mentioned them he didn't feel he was meant to see. Draco also distinctly noticed the lack of the term past when referring to offspring.

As he sulked away Draco had the briefest flash of his own mother crying when he was maybe four years old. Sitting in a heap in front of his father crying as he tried to console her. Draco had known that his mother was to be having another baby and that there had been an appointment with a healer earlier that day. Where she had been happy and carefree that morning, now she was a sobbing mess. A few days later was the funeral for the little sister or brother that he would never get to meet. The same look that his mother bore at the mention of her children was the same look Granger had just wore.

Draco clambered back into his compartment unsure of how he should feel about the realisation that Hermione had failed to produce a child. Where he had wanted to feel ecstatic at her finally failing, shame and sorrow wound up prevailing. He closed his eyes trying to will away the thoughts of Hermione's misfortune. There was still quite a ways to go before they reached Hogsmead and so a nap would be in order, more surly to clear his mind but in part so that he might finally be able to see who was in his dream.

Hermione closed her eyes once more. Trying to will away the tears that Draco unknowingly caused at the mention of her children, of her children that she could not carry to term even with muggle intervention. Both magical healers and muggle professionals assured her that there was nothing they could do. Her body just would not carry to term. A single tear slid down her cheek as she willed her dream world to overtake her waking. She wanted to feel the caresses, even if she had a feeling she now knew who caused them.