A/N: This is my first Harry Potter story, so be gentle… and review if you like! Makes my day!=)
Hermione was standing in the middle of a dark room. There was a bed draped in grey, satin sheets right next to her and a window on the west wall. She looked around her some, but the rest of the room seemed to be entirely bare. She could hear a faint, sensual, evoking melody in the background and smell a familiar scent she could not yet place. She closed her eyes hoping to identify it and that was when a pair of hands attached themselves to her hips. She was already so hot just by the ambience of the room that she couldn't help but moan deep in her throat when the body that had just grabbed her from behind pressed itself against her and that same pair of hands travelled up her sides tantalizingly slowly. She decided to turn around when she could no longer take the teasing quality of the trail of kisses mystery-man was leaving along her throat. Once she turned around, she didn't waste any time and devoured his mouth with her own. She had figured out who he was. His scent was unmistakable, his manly muscles rippling beneath her touch unparalleled and the fire he was awakening within her completely new, but the feature that made her connect it all in her lust-fogged brain was clearly his wild, unruly hair.
"Harry...", she whispered.
And that's when a loud wail awoke her from her wonderful dream. She woke, hot and bothered and totally disoriented and frustrated, to discover she was in her bed-her five-year-old daughter crying because she probably just had a nightmare-next to her husband. The guilt she was feeling for dreaming about her best friend rivalled no other as Ron stirred and told her not to worry, that he'd take care of Rose.
The kick of it all was her husband had NEVER made her feel that fire... Oh, how could she have messed things up SO bad?