The Man of her Dreams
A/N I can be honest, I despise this pairing. I am not crazy about any teacher/student pairing, but I read on great story that involved these two, and it got me thinking...Around two AM I had this idea, and decided to write my first one-shot. I hope you like it, whether or not you like HG/SS stories, It's mostly fluff, but it will go with my upcoming fic about what happened to Harry post the Final Battle. Please review.
The Man of Her Dreams, A Hermione Granger Tale:
Hermione Granger was ten and a half when she learned that she was a witch. And her life had never been the same. She attended Hogwarts, befriended Harry Potter (aka, The Boy Who Lived) 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 joined the Order of the Phoenix in her sixth year, as did Harry and Ron, despite the fact that they were all underage. After the fight they put up against he-who-must-not-be-named's supporters in the Ministry, Dumbledore finally agreed to let them (and a select few others) join the alliance of the Light.
At the end of her seventh and final year at Hogwarts School of witchcraft and Wizardry, the Final Battle took place. It claimed many lives, including those of Molly Weasley, Bellatrix Lestrange, Neville Longbottom, Lord Voldemort, and, tragically, headmaster Albus Dumbledore, who had been a great friend and advisor to the trio. Harry Potter may have died too, no one is quite sure, as all that is known is that he, Dumbldore and Voldemort fought alone in the Riddle House, and when Aurors were able to penetrate the spell Riddle had put around the walls of the home forbidding any one to enter or exit, they rushed in to find Dumbledore and Voldemort lying on the floor of the living room, dead. Harry was no where to be found, nor had he been seen or heard from since. No one knew just what happened to him, though many different theories abound, including that he was so horribly cursed he is unrecognizable, even to himself, that he was killed and somehow hidden or banished by the Dark Lord, or that perhaps he escaped, and simply chose to leave the Wizarding world behind forever (in order to front a Muggle rock band called Good Charlotte, according to that pillock Rita Skeeter who writes for the Daily Prophet).
Three years passed, and Hermione decided to become an Auror. The former Head Girl had always had top marks in school, and was accepted into Auror training right after making her decision. She wanted to be sure no "dark lord" anybody would ever rise up again and cause the death, destruction and despair that Tom Riddle had.
At age twenty-one Hermione married a man she had met at the age of eleven, someone she had not necessarily liked all that much upon first getting to know him.
And at age twenty-three she had her first daughter. She returned to Auror work and the Ministry ten months after Julia Lily was born, and this brings us to where we now are. Hermione, age twenty-four, returns home from a long days' work, eats a sandwich, kisses her daughter goodnight, and gets ready for bed.
"Love, I'm home!" Hermione called as she let herself in to their handsome London flat.
"I'm in Julia's room!" She heard her husband call, and she smiled. She 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 aloud to her hair as she made her way down the hall into her child's nursery.
"Long day then, eh Hermione?" Her husband said as she entered.
"They all are. This bloke 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 and peered over the side of the crib at the sleeping baby. "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."
He stood and kissed her wife on the forehead. "Well, I'm off to bed. You?"
"No, not quite yet. Soon."
He kissed her again and made his way to their room. She went into the kitchen, made herself a sandwich, and brought it into the nursery. She ate it slowly, and had a butterbeer to go with it, and settled herself into the rocking chair beside the crib. She felt herself getting awfully drowsy. "I'll stay just a few minutes longer, then off to bed with me." She decided.
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'm sorry, love. 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 over and placed a kiss on her neck.
"I'm just under so much stress." She turned to face him. "It's not easy you know."
"Shhh, calm down," he whispered huskily. "It'll be alright, I promise. Everything will be fine."
"What would I do without you?" She whispered, bringing her hands up behind his head and pulling him in for a kiss.
The parted, and he smiled hungrily at her. "What ever would you do? What would I do? What would any of us do if—"
"Oh, shut it!" She kissed him again, more passionately this time. 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 away an inch or so. "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. Thing got progressively hotter until both parties had shed all of their clothing.
"I never tire of you," she whispered seductively in his ear. To which he replied,
"I certainly think I am the fortunate one here."
She pushed down on his shoulders so that he was lying on his back, and slid herself on him so that he was inside her. They moved as one, breathed as one, read each other's every thought.
When Severus felt it was necessary, he flipped them both, so that he was lying on top of her, and they continued their sexual escapade. Minutes later they both found their final release.
He rolled over onto his side, completely spent and out of breath.
She, too, was having trouble getting air into her lungs; she was exhausted. The stress of a long, hard day combined with the physical pleasure she so enjoyed upon arriving home. She felt herself again growing drowsy.
"Hermione! Hermione!" Someone was shaking her shoulders! "I, uh, what? Oh, love, it's you!" She exclaimed as she awoke to find 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.
"For someone who was asleep, you seem so tense," he said, and began massaging her shoulders.
"I really just need a good night's sleep, I think." She turned round to kiss him lightly on the lips.
They settled into bed beside each other as they did every night, and began to doze off.
Before she fell asleep again, Hermione head her husband say her name.
"Sorry, just wondering, what were you dreaming about? You seemed to be in such a fit, all tossing about and muttering."
She smiled at the memory. "Can't quite recall. Perhaps I'll remember better in the morning."
"Yes, of course. Good night, Hermione."
"Good night, Ron."