Chapter 12 - Dream Goal
Hermione Granger's week passed in a blur of Google searches and late nights holed up in her favourite secluded corner of the library. This time, she worked tirelessly to learn everything she could possibly need to know about her patient, Ronald Weasley. Despite blaming him for their disaster of an opening session, she had to admit that she, too, had made mistakes that day. Mistakes she would not be repeating.
The campus library was at its least busy on Sundays, with most of the students and faculty members recovering from the often eventful Saturday nights at the local bars and clubs. For Hermione, this was perfect because it meant fewer interruptions and distractions and increased productivity. Spread across her desk was an extensive character profile she had created, spanning several pages full of images and detailed notes. Having conducted comprehensive research into his home town, family and background, she constructed a list of questions to ask him. Her plan was to evaluate the cold and calculating persona he had revealed during their first session.
As was a habit for her now, Hermione had forgone meals for the day, and at ten, when she could no longer ignore the pangs of hunger, she decided to head out in search of food. Leaving her notes and belongings behind with a promise to return and put in an extra couple of hours of work, she stepped out into the quiet street. Making her way down to one of the few remaining open shops, a Subway, she ordered herself a Meatball Marinara to go before heading back to the campus library.
Approaching the path leading up to the library entrance, she froze, dismayed to find the security shutters closed and the area devoid of any students or staff.
"No, no, wait!" she wailed, running up to the entrance and yanking uselessly at the doors, which did not budge.
How could she have been locked out? The campus library was supposed to be open twenty-four hours for students and only ever closed for public holidays. Its purpose was to serve students during the day as well as those taking evening classes and courses. Pacing back and forth along the path, she tried to formulate a way into the building to retrieve her belongings, and more importantly, her character profile on Ronald Weasley.
Perhaps there was a security guard on duty who could let her in? She thought to herself, rushing back to the entrance and pressing her face against the glass pane. Squinting into the darkness, she tried to make out any movement inside, only to be met with deserted corridors and empty staircases.
Determined not to give up, she rapped hard on the door and yelled, "Hello! Excuse me? I need to get inside to get my things. Can anyone let me in?"
There was no response, and all it had resulted in was a sore set of knuckles. As she ceased her pounding, her fist slid down along the glass and passed over a small sign attached to the door that she had not spotted earlier.
FOR EMERGENCY/WORKS ACCESS, PLEASE CONTACT THE NUMBER BELOW.
This was it. This was the way in. Fumbling inside her jean pockets, she managed to withdraw her phone and dialled the number on the sign. She waited with bated breath as the line rang several times before being answered.
"Hi, I'm outside—"
"This is an automated answering service. The campus library is now closed for overnight maintenance and will reopen on Monday at 08:00. Please note, no access can be granted during this time," the automated voice spoke, cutting her short.
Hermione let out a growl of frustration and hung up the call before stomping off towards the car park. How could she have forgotten? There had been posters all over the library for weeks detailing the reasons for the early closure. The faculty had also sent several email reminders and calendar updates. Leading up to tonight, she had nagged several other students, as well as her roommate, to remember the early closure. Yet, she was the one who ultimately forgot, and now it had cost her.
Because the car park was empty, locating her vehicle was a lot easier than usual. She wrenched open the door and hurled her Subway sandwich inside, causing it to bounce off the passenger seat and roll to the floor. Letting out a groan, she climbed in and started the now repaired engine, which had failed her that previous Monday. During the drive back to her flat, she made a mental note to return to the library at eight the following morning and grab her things before heading to S.P.E.W. in time for work.
Arriving home, Hermione dragged herself to her room, ignoring the greeting from her flatmate as she passed the living room. Without bothering to change out of her clothes, she instead climbed into bed and soon fell asleep from mental exhaustion.
They were glued to her, hundreds of pairs of eyes transfixed and hanging on to every word as she detailed her story. Excitement and pride coursed through her as she recounted her life's work. The speech referenced her trials and tribulations, the various ups and downs, all interspersed with scattered jokes and one-liners that kept the crowd engaged and wanting more.
"It is with great honour that I accept this award, thank you," Hermione Granger spoke, concluding her speech.
The vast crowd clapped and cheered as she made her way down the steps and sought out the person whose company she craved the most.
"You were great, love," said the voice of a man whose face she couldn't discern.
He leaned down and captured her lips, electricity crackling through her as she kissed him back with enthusiasm. Screw the award—to be kissed like this was a true accomplishment.
Just as she stood on her tiptoes to lean further into the kiss, the blaring squawk of an alarm clock caused the scene to evaporate. Left behind with only a wrenching tug of desire in her stomach, Hermione awoke to find herself sprawled out on her bed wearing her clothes from the night before.
Of course, it had been that dream. It was always that dream—Doctor Hermione Granger, receiving a lifetime achievement award for her services to mental health care. But, this time, it had been more. The faceless man and the fiery kiss she had shared with him had been a new addition. Never before had the dream progressed that far enough for her to make it off the stage without waking up, and now as she sat up in bed, it was all she could think about.
Who was he? And why could she not picture a face for him? Hermione fixated on these two points as she climbed out of bed and prepared for her day. During her morning shower, she stood under the cascading flow of water and tried to mentally picture the man who had caused those sparks to fly.
He must be tall due to her needing to tiptoe just to kiss him. At least six feet, she deduced, using her own height in heels as a reference.
They were intimate, perhaps even more than lovers, from his comfortable usage of a pet name.
She had desired his company, burned for it, far more than that of anyone else's who had been there celebrating her achievements. She had even gone as far as to regard their kiss as her actual achievement.
Perhaps it was someone she already knew? A friend, a colleague or a former flame. The rising steam from the shower had long since filled the bathroom, and her skin was raw from the heated jets of water bombarding it. Hermione, however, was too enamoured with her conceptualisation of the mystery dream man to notice. Only when she heard the loud knocks on the bathroom door followed by urgent calls from her flatmate to "hurry up" did she turn off the shower and head to her room to change.
After getting dressed, preparing a homemade lunch and sorting herself out a couple of slices of buttered toast for breakfast, she finally came up with a possible candidate for her dream man.
"Cormac," she whispered to herself.
It had to be him. He was tall, handsome, and loved to refer to Hermione with various pet names when they dated. Blushing at the thought, she grabbed her car keys, pulled on a bottle-green cardigan and left the flat, her lunch forgotten and abandoned on the kitchen counter.
She drove aimlessly through traffic, her mind still fixated on the dream, before eventually arriving at the campus library. Dashing inside, she rushed up the stairs and hurtled through the aisles to her usual place of solitude. Clutching a stitch that had formed in her sides, Hermione approached the desk she was working at the night before, only to find it empty.
"No, no, no," she cried, searching the nearby tables and the floor underneath to no avail.
Fighting back the tears that threatened to escape her, she peered around for a member of staff that could assist her. Unfortunately, her secluded corner of the library proved to be just that. Secluded. Determined not to give up, she made her way to the main reception desk. Hopefully, a member of the cleaning staff had handed in her belongings to the lost and found.
"Excuse me, has anyone handed in a laptop and several documents that were left here overnight?" she asked the receptionist.
The receptionist offered to check before returning shortly after clutching her laptop and bag.
"The morning cleaner did hand in this rucksack and laptop, but that's it, I'm afraid," the receptionist explained. "They likely disposed of the documents in the confidential waste bin. It's university policy."
Hermione gave a heaving sob and handed over her identification card to reclaim her belongings. She lumbered back to her car and allowed herself a few minutes to let the tears roll down her face. A week's worth of work was now lost. The sparks she had experienced this morning were smothered, and the dream was now morphing into a nightmare.
Blowing her nose and wiping her tears, she set off for the S.P.E.W. campus, praying she could remember enough from her notes to hold a sufficient session later that day.
The chiming of her phone alerting her of an incoming text message interrupted Hermione as she attempted to reverse into her allocated S.P.E.W. parking spot. There was a scraping grind of alloy as she knocked the barrier with her car and lurched to a stop. She clenched her fists and gritted her teeth to stop herself from screaming out in frustration.
The force of the movement from the knock caused something to roll out from underneath the passenger seat. It was the Meatball Marinara sub she had ordered for dinner last night, having forgotten to take it home. Ignoring it for now, Hermione pulled out her phone to read the text from her flatmate.
"You left your lunch on the counter this morning. I've put it in the fridge for you."
This was the final straw. She let out a shriek of anger and thumped away at her steering wheel, releasing all of her pent-up frustrations at once—work, sexual and personal. Eventually composing herself, she tried in vain to tame her unruly hair, which appeared to have expanded in volume from her rage and stuck out at odd angles. As she leant over to grab her laptop and bag, her eyes landed on the sandwich lying on the floor. Hesitating for the briefest of moments, Hermione snatched up the sandwich and stuffed it into her bag.
"If I get food poisoning, I'll know the universe is out to get me," she scoffed, heading into the building.
Moira, the receptionist, bounced to her feet the moment she walked in and greeted, "Hi, Hermione. How was your—"
The thunderous glare on Hermione's face was enough to scare Moira back into her seat and begin typing away at her keyboard as if nothing had happened. Hermione stomped towards her office, yanked the door open and dumped her bag on the floor. Walking over to her desk, she slumped into her chair and began to work.
Over the next few hours, she toiled at a frantic pace, scribbling and typing up as many questions and comments as she could remember. When lunchtime rolled around, she got up out of her chair to stretch before withdrawing the Subway sandwich from her bag. She strode over to the large sofa in the centre of the room and threw herself amongst the plush cushions, relaxing in their warm comfort. Peeling open the wrapping of the sandwich, she gave it a sniff before eyeing it with caution.
"Here goes nothing," she declared to herself before digging in and releasing a satisfied moan.
She ate her way through half the sandwich before once again getting lost in the memory of her dream. The image of the stranger turned lover swam tantalisingly in her head, causing her eyes to droop as she found herself aching to experience him again.
It couldn't hurt to take a lunchtime nap to see him again, she thought to herself. Releasing a contented sigh, Hermione closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.