Hermione rubbed her temples, her eyes squeezing shut in exhaustion. "Why does time seem to pass so much quicker when I'm in the library?" she asked herself, frustration growing behind her closed eyelids. Last time she checked the time on the ornate grandfather clock standing proudly in the corner of her makeshift study nook, it had read nine o'clock. Now, she heard it chime merely once, causing her to look up in alarm- it couldn't already be one in the morning, could it?
Squinting at the face of the clock, her suspicion was confirmed. It was much later than she'd intended on staying awake, let alone studying in the library. Hermione cursed softly under her breath as she glanced back down at her reading material. The words on the page seemed to blur under her tired gaze, each sentence appearing to blend into the next. She breathed in deeply, inhaling and enjoying the scent of the yellowed pages and worn binding of the book before shutting and heaving it (Hermione wasn't one for light reading) off the table and back into its place on the shelf.
She collected her sweater from the back of the chair she'd been occupying since dinner ended, pulling it over her thick mess of curls that seemed to become even more wild with the late hour. Her neck and shoulders ached from sitting hunched over book after book for the past six hours. "Merlin," she thought, "getting into bed is going to feel so bloody good tonight." She slipped out of the library doors and started the journey back to the dormitories.
Hermione reached the portrait, murmured the password, and practically raced to her bed. She pulled off her jumper, unbuttoned her now-wrinkled white shirt, and slid her skirt down her legs. Grabbing an old tee shirt, she slipped it over her head and crawled into bed, immediately relaxing into the feel of the warm blankets against her skin. Soon, Hermione drifted into the deepest sleep she'd experienced.
He was standing inches away from her. Hermione inhaled the scent of his cologne- spicy, masculine, and altogether an aphrodisiac in the best way. It was the kind of smell that made her want to bite into his skin just to try to get a taste instead of the scent toying with her senses without fulfilling them. She could feel his hot breath, shallow yet strong. He was sweating, she noticed, glittering beads of perspiration dripping down his temples, slipping to his strong jawline, and disappearing down the collar of his shirt. "Hermione," he breathed, the word coming out more softly than a whisper, "Let me take you."
Her senses felt as if they were on overload, and the two weren't even physically touching. Hermione's eyes roamed his entire body; they started at his silvery blond hair and ended at his perfectly polished black shoes. All she knew was that she wanted him, and he wanted her. This wasn't a time for questions, turning back, or any kind of overthinking.