Dream a Little Dream
Disclaimer: All materials belong to J.K. Rowling
Our dreams try to tell us something about ourselves, unknown wants and needs; sometimes they're obvious, sometimes they're shrouded in the thick fog of memory and consciousness.
The room was large and brightly light. The walls a cream color, the furniture crimson red. A clash; perfectly different, completing and overshadowing what the other lacks.
She was dressed in green; he wore black, but it was pale in comparison to his hair, capturing the color of midnight; it clashed with his pale skin.
She did not know who this boy was, but she did feel as sense of familiar ease one gets after seeing a close family member. The feeling she felt, the hunger rising in her was not that one feels for a cousin, uncle, or any other female relation. He smiled; her feet glided across the room, gracefully dragging her towards this boy.
He rose from the crimson red chair he had been sitting in, grabbed her around the waist and kissed her. Her hand began to work the belt from his pants off; the zipper to her dress was being pushed down, revealing her back.
A shuffle, a tangle, but always graceful, they fell upon the bed she had only noticed until now, as if her mind, her desires had materialized it there. But thoughts were not needed, they were overrated.
Their clothes were thrown on the ground, her tan skin clashing with his pale; they ripped and tore at the red sheets. Sweat, now pouring from both their bodies, sickly sweet like forbidden sugar from a child, it was an indulgence; a guilty pleasure. Gasps and moans; some muffled others for the world, if they were actually other people than the two of them, to hear.
It was over; the heavy breathing, moans, and cries were now replaced with a heavy silence.
"I love you, Hermione." A smile played across his lips. The flood gates of hunger had been opened; she had not realized how much she really wanted until it was over and done with.
"I love you, Tom Riddle." That name, until now she had not known his name. It should have scared her, shocked, or even enraged her, but instead, it excited her. But everything was swirling into a gray nothingness; his hair, his eyes, his lips, his touch were disappearing. She woke up in the Gryffindor boy's common room, in Harry's arms. It was a clash, but it was everything but beautiful.