Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own imagination.

Chapter 1

Hermione sat on the edge of her bed staring into the murky brown contents of her teacup. She picked at the frilly lace on the sleeve of her pristine white nightgown. She had never been so nervous in her life. Today in Advanced Divinations they had all brewed a potion that would make them dream about their future, literally. Ron had been really excited about it, and throughout the day Harry and Hermione had to listen to him spouting off all his possible futures. As good of a friend Hermione was, she frankly didn't give a whit what Ron's future had in store for him. She was too worried about her own future to be a supportive friend today.

"Maybe I'll be a famous Quidditch player on the Chudley Cannons, or an Auror—or, or a famous Quidditch player!"

Hermione suppressed the urge to roll her eyes at this memory. She wished she could be that excited about revealing her own future. She had no idea what she wanted to do; honestly, she excelled in all her classes, and the prospect of fencing all of her potential into one profession made her feel more than a little queasy. The tea she was about to drink would demystify her future. Funny how one dream would have the power to tear all her other dreams into little bits and pieces suitable for making spitballs. Hermione sighed. Summoning the courage Gryffindors were famous for, Hermione downed the tea in one gulp. She felt like she had just signed her own death warrant.

----------------------------

Hermione stood in a large kitchen flipping pancakes and whistling softly to herself. Warm sunlight filtered through the open window in front of her, turning the wild tumble of her russet curls momentarily golden. She smiled as she saw her chubby daughter run across the lawn, her pale unbound mane bouncing along with her. Hearing a slight movement behind her, Hermione chuckled and said, "Good morning handsome," just as strong pale arms slid around her curves to hug her from behind.

"Good morning to you too," he chuckled as he turned her around. He drank in the sight of her wild hair, the smudge of flour under her right eye, the sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose the sunlight brought out too well, and the welcoming smile that washed over him, tickling him. Oh, that was her hair. He tucked the stray curl behind her ear, but to no avail as another soft breeze fluttered in through the window causing the curl to caress his cheek as before. "You look like a million galleons."

Hermione playfully swatted away the hand that had slowly been making its way South down her back. The hand returned before she could celebrate her small victory, and she gasped as her husband swooped in for a breathtaking kiss.

Hermione's senses were overwhelmed as she unconsciously leaned into him. Her hands were filled with his silky blonde hair, the soft breeze whispered by mindful of the lovers, and her delicate nostrils flared as the acrid smell of burning pancakes wafted by on the breeze. Hermione immediately broke away and turned to survey the damage. He grumbled in protest, but started laughing when he saw his breakfast. The black circles stared up at them, their burnt remains evidence of neglect. Hermione sighed just as her husband yelled out the window, "Dramione, time for breakfast!"

Hermione turned around and immediately wiped away the flour under his left eye when she noticed it. Pretending to be angry, she tapped her foot, crossed her arms, and said in her most haughty know-it-all tone, "Come on Draco, you know she hates that nickname!"