Note: Written for Hermione Haven's 2020 Haven Awards Best One-Shot/Drabble, and it won Runner-Up!
In a timeline where Voldemort was defeated when Harry was a baby, but no one else died *grins*
She sat on the edge of the bed, propping her elbows on the velvet silk sheets as she examined her surroundings. The room was dimly lit with small blue orbs hovering and bouncing in the air softly. Her lips parted slightly as none of the dark mahogany furniture was recognizable. Nothing about the room was familiar, yet her body had never felt more at ease.
Her hair tickled her bare shoulder, and that's when she realized that she only wore a thin, black slip. It was made mostly of sheer material and barely reached her mid-thigh.
"What on Earth—"
"Mm. So beautiful."
The deep voice filled her ear, and a chill rolled down her spine. She found herself gasping sharply and lifting one leg over the other instinctively; she'd never done that before.
She felt her heartbeat thumping quicker than before as a hand trailed over her slip strap. The touch was electric, sparking life inside the witch.
Heat began to build between her thighs, and as she clenched them together, the male chuckled; his breath grazed against the side of her neck.
"Playing hard to get tonight, Love?" he asked, pressing his lips under her chin.
Her response died in her throat the moment his feathery assault of kisses began. She could only express herself through light gasps and moans. Logic was failing the witch beyond measure; this was not her, surely.
Yet she couldn't deny the way he was making her feel.
"Hermione," he whispered as his lips moved along the curve of her neck to her collarbone.
She found herself squirming with need, a growing desire for more of him. Knots wound in her abdomen as his other hand had slithered its way near her inner thigh and tickled her with his playful, teasing fingers. They inched their way closer to her wetting folds, and her heart raced with anticipation.
She found herself needing this…wanting this...without the faintest idea who she had these feelings for.
"Hermione," he called to her once more, his thumb pressing against—
Hermione woke up with a cold sweat, her breathing hard and heavy as she sat up. She ran a hand through her hair as gripped it as her eyes swept the room.
Relief flooded her body when the room was the dreary Head dormitory she'd fallen asleep in. Unfortunately, that did not rid her of the gooey evidence between her thighs.
With a frustrating sigh, Hermione fell back on her pillow and stared at the top of her canopy bed. It'd been months since the dreams began. At least once a week she would dream of being in an unfamiliar room with an unknown male touching her, and she would wake before she could feel thoroughly pleasured. Every time she would believe that the dreams were gone, the next week would come and it would happen all over again.
None of her friends knew about it—one of the many benefits to being Head Girl in her final year was a dormitory separate from all the Houses—and she'd rather face a basilisk than tell the one person she shared the dormitory with, Blaise Zabini. While they were on civil terms, that didn't mean she would be trading secrets with the Slytherin anytime soon. Besides, he'd tease her and make lewd remarks that ventured around the lines of him taking her mystery lover's place.
Hermione's face flushed at the description; she hadn't considered the person her lover before. It was always a simple, detached title in an effort to stop the recurring dream. That meant she was accepting this fate; defeat was not an option in this case. Procuring a dreamless sleep potion would raise more questions and complications than Hermione would like, and pleasure aside, solving the mystery of the male's identity was a thrill too hard to ignore.
If she wanted to figure out her dreams—as well as potentially drive one to finally finish—she would have to get answers from an unlikely source she trusted; Hermione needed to pay a visit to the Restricted Section in the library.
Upon entering the library and seeing it near empty, Hermione was confident in her mission. No one here was likely to question her, and as Head Girl, she could retrieve restricted textbooks without much difficulty. She and Madam Pince had developed a 'don't ask, remain skeptical' relationship throughout her years in Hogwarts. The librarian didn't ask questions since Hermione treated her checked-out books with care, but that didn't mean the woman wasn't skeptical all the same.
Nevertheless, Hermione felt more at ease with her search than she initially had. If she kept to her wits, things would surely be accomplished in a cinch. The only question looming in her mind was what would she do next after she retrieved the answer she was looking for. What if the sensations she felt in her dreams were gone after figuring out who the mystery lover was? What if the mystery lover was someone she detested? What if she didn't know the person at all?
Oh dear Godric, what was the matter with her? She had studies and the rest of her life to plan for! Hermione shouldn't be wasting her time trying to pursue the dreams deeper than necessary. Solving the mystery was all that mattered. If only those blasted, wicked thoughts in the back of her mind would agree with her and go away.
"Trying to move the bookshelf with your mind, Granger?" came a voice behind her.
"What?" Startled, the brunette spun around to face Marcus Flint. Despite the blase demeanor, she could tell he was amused by the slight quirk of his brow.
He gestured with a jerk of his head at the bookshelf in front of them. "You were staring at the damn thing hard enough," he said.
A blush colored her cheeks quickly, and she shook her head to hide the embarrassment and irritation. "I wasn't staring at the bookshelf or attempting to move it."
"Oh? Quite an interesting take on not staring or attempting to move the bookshelf."
"Is there something I could assist you with?"
"Not exactly, simply sating my curiosity."
"If that's the case," Hermione straightened her posture and gripped her shoulder bag firmly, "I must be going." As she turned on her heel to move toward the Restricted Section and focus on her pursuit, she heard the fading laugh belonging to the Slytherin behind her. A sudden nagging feeling tugged at her insides, but she couldn't worry about it right then. She had to find a book pertaining to her dreams.
The witch smiled victoriously to herself as she sat on the sofa in her common room. Harry and Ron were attending Quidditch practice with the rest of the team, so she could research in peace. She'd gone through a few rows of books in the Restricted Section before she settled on one that could help her the most. Her typical research quests required at least three books, but this wasn't a typical quest. The fewer questions, the better for the witch in the situation.
Her finger traced the large letters in the textbook's title, 'The Magic in Intimacy and Dreams' by Adina Myldrad. Hermione couldn't stop the snort before it escaped. What could this book possibly include for it to be placed in the Restricted Section?
After flipping through a few pages of explicit content, Hermione had to know who acquired such a book for it to be in Hogwarts in the first place?
She tucked that question away for later and began searching for specific sections that would potentially aid in her mission. At some point, she stumbled upon a few sentences that stood out more than she would have liked.
In rare cases, people in the magical community can find their souls bound to another. One of the ways that this is discovered is through their dreams after the intertwined souls are all of legal age. Dream specifics can vary depending on the bound pair, however, one thing remains the same: the dreams will continue until the souls bound to one another complete it in reality. One of the bound souls will be more aware of details in the dreams while the other will feel the effects that occur in the dreams…
A nerve snapped in Hermione. For lack of eloquence, this was a load of rubbish! There was no logical explanation for this, magically induced or not. She refused to believe she was repeatedly having such intimate dreams because she had a soulmate. That posed more questions than solutions. It was ridiculous! There had to be more to it than that. There had to be.
Hermione had gotten so engrossed in the book in an effort to find a more logical explanation that she didn't notice her dormmate entering the common room with company. She didn't hear him joke and announce that he was showering off the Quidditch musk. She didn't realize Blaise's company was behind her, reading the book over her shoulder.
"Why Granger, such a naughty read you've got here."
Hermione made a sharp intake of breath and quickly snapped the book shut. Looking over her shoulder, she met Marcus' blue eyes. She glared at him in hopes that she wouldn't flush so harshly in front of him once again.
He moved his hand to her shoulder, squeezing it gently. Hermione's eyes followed his hand, the familiar touch sending her mind spiraling.
"Perhaps I could give you a little more...insight," Marcus said, a wicked grin growing on his face.
Hermione was at a loss for words. Her mysterious dream lover was Marcus Bloody Flint.
Word Count: 1,604