The Man of Her Dreams
A Hermione Granger Tale
(One-Shot)
A/N:
I wrote this story years before Half-Blood Prince was released. Years later I updated it to be more compliant with information from HBP and Deathly Hallows, but it is still not DH-compliant and is written as though the epilogue and Cursed Child do not exist. At the time I didn't even like the HGSS ship much, which was (clearly) changed, given my most recent fics. Anyway, there is some mild citrus in this light-plot snapshot but it's not quite in-depth enough to really be considered smutty, and the quality isn't what my current fics are, but I leave it up because it's still a guilty-pleasure type of fic. :)
Thanks for reading!
-AL
THE MAN OF HER DREAMS
Hermione Granger was ten and a half when she learned that she was a witch. And her life has never been the same.
She attended Hogwarts, befriended Harry Potter (aka, The Boy Who Lived and Chosen One) and Ron Weasley (aka, the boy with red hair and lots of siblings and a rather annoying habit of talking with his mouth full) and in her first year of school, at age eleven, she was nearly killed by a troll, saw a dragon hatch, made a feather levitate, helped save the Philosopher's Stone from the Dark Lord, and read a great many books. And that was just her first year.
As she got older and her education continued, Hermione found herself to be a very important person in the second war against Lord Voldemort. She formed Dumbledore's Army during her fifth year, insisting Harry needed to teach defense to those lacking education thanks to Umbridge, then considered herself an unofficial member of the Order of the Phoenix in her sixth year, as did Harry and Ron, despite the fact that they were all underage and were therefore forbidden (by Molly Weasley) from really joining up. After the fight they put up against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's supporters in the Ministry, Hermione felt confident they could contribute to the taking down of the Dark Lord Voldemort, though she was enough of a realist to accept that some of them would die trying.
The year spent on the run and the Final Battle took a lot out of Hermione and when it was all over, all she wanted was to restore her parents' memories and settle into normalcy, thus she returned to Hogwarts to make up the seventh year she missed, joined the Auror office (like Harry and Ron) upon completion of her studies, and tried to keep her excitement confined to work. By age twenty-four she was the married mother of a ten month old daughter, Rose Catherine, whose greatest goal was to see that no one like Tom Riddle ever wreaked havoc on their world again.
She loved her husband and daughter more than life. She'd met her future spouse at age eleven and hadn't liked him at first, but they'd developed a relationship that turned to love and she couldn't be more grateful.
One Thursday evening, after a particularly long and grueling day at the Ministry, Hermione returned home to the London flat she shared with her family, only a short Floo trip from her parents' home, famished and moody. She heard not a rustling as she entered the kitchen, thus assumed she was the only one awake, though she listened carefully for signs of life. She reheated Monday night's cottage pie for dinner and settled solo at the table with that and a butterbeer. Upon finishing her food, she left the plate in the sink, intending to handle it in the morning, and headed to the nursery to check on her baby girl.
Upon entering the nursery she was surprised to find the light on and her husband standing over the changing table, having just finished diaper duty. He placed sleepy-eyes Rose Catherine in her crib and turned to his wife with a smile.
"You're home early," he quipped. She half-smiled and released her long, bushy brown hair from its tight ponytail and allowed it to cascade freely down her back.
"I really must cut you," she said, working her fingers through the tangles.
"Cut me for a little cheek?" he asked. "Seems like an over-reaction."
"You're hilarious," she said dryly. She pecked him on the lips before leaning over the crib to check on her baby girl, who was already drifting off to sleep.
"Long day then, eh Hermione?" her husband asked.
"They all are" she sighed. "This man calling himself the Foltern King has been going around gathering followers, apparently. We think he was one of You-Know-Who's supporters who's still upset about his defeat."
He raised an eyebrow. "Foltern? What does that mean?"
"Torture. It's German, which is strange too, because as far as we can tell this guy is from England."
"Odd."
"Indeed."
He stretched and kissed her wife on the forehead. "Well, I'm off to bed. You?"
"No, not quite yet. Soon."
He kissed her again, this time on the lips, and made his way toward their room. After watching the baby sleep for a few minutes, Hermione went into the kitchen, made herself a cup of tea, then returned to the nursery and settled into the rocking chair beside the crib. She was exhausted, but also too energized to sleep. This happened to her often, but the soothing warmth of the tea tended to help. "I'll stay just a few minutes longer, then off to bed with me," she whispered into the darkness.
A half hour or so later, she felt her arms being shaken. "Wake up, Hermione, you're dreaming, I think. Come on, wake up now."
Her eyes opened a bit, and she smiled. "Severus? What time is it?"
"Late, love. Come to bed."
She followed him to the bedroom. "I had such a horrible day today. Truly awful. I worry we won't find the Foltern King before its too late, and we'll have another Riddle or Grindelwald on our hands."
"I'm sorry, love. Trust me, I understand. Come over here, I'll try and relax you." She sat on the edge of the bed and he began massaging her shoulders. "You are tense, aren't you? My poor Hermione." He leaned forward to place a tender kiss on her neck.
"I'm just under so much stress." She turned to face him. "It's not easy you know."
"I know. Better than most, I know," he whispered. "It'll be alright, I promise. Everything will be fine."
"What would I do without you?" she murmured, bringing her hands up behind his head and pulling him in for a kiss.
Upon parting, he smiled at her, his face calm but his eyes hungry. "What would you do? What would I do? What would any of us do if—"
"Oh, shush!" She kissed him again, more passionately this time, as she decided what she needed in order to calm down and expel excess energy was a quick shag with the man she loved most. She felt his tongue slide into her mouth and begin caressing hers. He moved his hands down her sides and to her back, then, up her shirt, in the front to gently finger the lace of her bra. She mimicked his motions, running her hands down his back and up his chest. She slid her hands under his shirt and proceeded to pull it off over his head. She climbed into his lap so that she was straddling him, kissing continuously. His hands returned to her back, and he unclasped her bra.
She pulled her face back, her lips a breath from his. "If you're going to do that, you might as well remove my shirt you know."
"Always miss-know-it-all, aren't you?" he replied, but he removed her shirt just the same. Soon, both were completely divested of their clothing.
"I never tire of you," she whispered seductively in his ear. He groaned, grabbed her arse, and thrust her toward him. His fingers found their way between her legs, rubbing her most intimate place, as his hard member jutted against the apex of her thighs. She reached a hand down to stroke him.
"I think I am the more fortunate one here, witch."
"Oh, do you?" She pushed down on his shoulders so that he was lying on his back, and without further foreplay, slid herself on him so that he was inside her. They moved as one, breathed as one, read each other's every thought, each so in tune with the body of the other they need not speak. She ran her fingertips over his broad shoulders then briefly dug her short nails into his back, making him growl and groan. He did not slow his thrusts and she found herself whimpering with pleasure as his fingers against returned to her center, contributing to her oncoming climax. His movements became faster, harder, and finally erratic as he found himself closer to his own release, and when she cried out with the sheer bliss of her orgasm, he allowed himself to finish too, hotly spilling his seed inside her. When he'd slipped from inside her naturally, he rolled over onto his side, completely spent and out of breath.
She, too, was having trouble getting air into her lungs; she was now beyond exhausted. The stress of a long, hard day combined with the physical pleasure she so enjoyed upon arriving home had her feeling heady, drowsy. She closed her eyes.
"Hermione! Hermione!" Someone was shaking her shoulders.
"I, uh, what? Oh, love, it's you!" she exclaimed, waking to see her husband standing in front of her. She was surprised to find herself still in the nursery, in the rocking chair beside the crib. What time was it?
"Come to bed, love," her husband coaxed, helping her up from the chair. He led her down the hall to their bedroom and sat her on the edge of the bed.
"I suppose I fell asleep," she said.
"For someone who was asleep, you seem so tense," he replied, and began massaging her shoulders. She had a feeling he was hoping this would lead to more, but after that dream, she found she simply wasn't in the mood any longer. Perhaps in the morning, once she'd rested.
"I really just need a good night's sleep, I think." She turned round to kiss him lightly on the lips.
"Very well."
They settled into bed beside each other as they did every night, and began to doze off.
Before she fell asleep again, Hermione heard her husband say her name.
"Yes, love?"
"Sorry, just wondering, what were you dreaming about? You seemed to be in such a fit, all tossing about and muttering."
She blushed at the memory, but opted to play coy. "Can't quite recall. Perhaps I'll remember better in the morning."
"Yes, of course. Good night, Hermione." He pulled the covers up to his chin, turned away from her, and was breathing slowly and evenly in seconds. Soon, he would start to snore. She smiled.
"Good night, Ron."