I Had a Dream


Aeriel Ravenna

Rated: Oh, PG-13, I suppose.

Summary: "Granger," he repeated. "I had a dream." Hermione learns to like the phrase. OneShot.

A / N : This just flowed out on me. I think it's kind of cool. Sweet, anyhow. Tell me how you like it!

It had started like this.

They were sitting in a rather uncomfortable silence in the large common room awarded to them. They fire crackled merrily, drowning out the scratching of quills—the only sound in the room other than the occasional sigh. It was a month and a half after school had started, October 16th—he remembered, because she had always insisted on drawing large black 'X's on the oddly still, Muggle calendar in the common room. He had watched her closely as she studied, twirling a curl around her thumb expertly.

"Granger," he had drawled presently. She had looked up with mingled surprise and annoyance. She was annoyed that he had interrupted what was doubtless a perfect essay for some teacher or another, yet intrigued—it was, in fact, the first time that he had spoken to her in over three weeks.

"Granger," he repeated. "I had a dream."

There. He was satisfied with his start.

She raised her cinnamon brows questioningly. They furrowed endearingly when she realized that he was going to make her do the work.

"A dream, Malfoy? Pray tell, what sort of dream?" Her acerbic retort was laced with not only malice, but was that…perhaps, innuendo?

He smirked at the paper he was holding. It masqueraded as a potions essay but only one line was written for an hour of thinking. "You were in it," he said.

Hermione made a sound between a retch and a gasp. He laughed. "It wasn't that kind of dream, Granger,"

She let out a sigh. "What happened in this dream of yours that concerns me? I'm no divination fan."

"I had a dream." He started. "I had a dream where it was war. Between the light and the dark, of course. And even though it was war, you made a Slytherin friend."

He stopped. She waited for him to continue, but no words were forthcoming.

"And now what? You want to warn me away? How touching, really, Malfoy, but honestly, I wouldn't touch the sorry bunch of wizards you call friends with a—"

"No," he cut her off decisively. "No. It wasn't like that at all. Your Slytherin friend was me," he told her.

"And how does that make you feel?" she sneered in a mockery of a therapist. He blinked and took her seriously.

"Actually, Granger," he said. "Funny you should ask. But honestly? I liked the feeling."

It had jumpstarted the unlikely friendship. Hermione looked at him, jaw scraping the floor, practically, until he asked her if she minded. It took a while for her to get used to the prospect.

He was so odd, she thought for a while. They were enemies until things simmered down a bit towards the end of sixth year when he and Seamus Finnegan had struck up a friendship. Now, out of nowhere, he was asking her to be friends? It was too bizarre to be true.

But it was. And practical, sweet, soft Hermione had given in. At first there were more awkward silences than ever, followed by heated bouts of bickering, until finally they lapsed into a friendship so sincere and true, it almost made her teeth ache. Harry and Ron, although at first very opposed to the idea, grew accustomed, even though Ron's ears still turned faintly purple with rage whenever Draco barged in on 'Trio Time.'

And now it was four months later. It was the end of March, and the cycle was turning again.

"Granger," Draco said presently. They persistently called each other by surname, to the befuddlement of many. Hermione looked up from beside him, nodded encouragingly, and looked back at her Charms worksheet.

"Granger," he repeated. "I had a dream."

Her head shot up. He hadn't said—that—for ages. Was he suddenly going to revoke his friendship?

"A dream, Malfoy?" Unconsciously, she followed the same general outline of the previous conversation. "Do tell, what … sort of dream?"

Draco repressed a smile. This was serious. "You were in it—and oh, let's skip to the part where I say 'It's not that kind of dream,'"

"What was your dream, Draco?" Hermione asked, forgetting herself to look straight into his eyes in concern.

"In my dream, there was a war," he began. "But this time I was sure the light side was going to win. And we were friends."

"Yes, and?" she prompted him gently.

"And…" he trailed off. "And we were sitting here, just like this."

"Then what, Draco? What happened?" Hermione was whispering now, and she didn't know why. He hesitated, then went on.

"And while we were sitting here, I suddenly felt really warm—and it wasn't the fire," he said, subconsciously wetting his lips with—nerves?

"What was it?" Hermione asked, still softly. She suddenly stopped movement.

She hadn't been moving before, really, Draco reflected. But there was a kind of constant movement about her. Now she was still, very still. It was breathtaking in one way, heartbreaking in another.

'I don't know," he told her. "I don't know. But—in my dream—I kissed you," he said, almost inaudibly.

Hermione drew a short gasp of air and asked very quietly, "How does that make you feel?"

That was all she got out before he had lowered his head, oh so slowly, and pressed his lips almost timidly down to hers.

The timid attitude didn't last long because his lips were more firmly on hers now, and she was like a succulent mango, juicy and yielding and sweet. He pressed harder to her, wanting to soak up the pure rightness of it all. Her lips were softer than he had ever imagined them to be and her hand was startlingly warm on his cheek.

And—oh, god—she was kissing back. Her lips were slightly parted and daringly, Draco allowed his tongue to dart into the moist warmth of Hermione's mouth. She tasted like the hot chocolate they always shared when they studied.

Draco opened his eyes and looked at her, still connected by the lips. Her eyes were closed, lashes fluttering occasionally and he could see the brief smattering of freckles on her nose. Her skin looked impossibly smooth and he felt suffused in a warm wave of—some emotion. He wanted to hold her, and never let go—he wanted her mango-mouth and rose petal lips and creamy skin. She was the epitome of every artistic platitude he had scorned.

He had never before thought of her as beautiful. Never. She wasn't ugly, per se, but beautiful? No. Just—ordinary.

So why did she seem extraordinary now?

He didn't want to believe that—love? No, not yet, but something like it—brought out the 'perfection,' the beauty, of the 'beloved.'

But damn, she made a believer out of him.

When she finally pulled away, gasping for air, hoarse words tore their way out of his throat.

"I think I liked that feeling better."

Thus began the affair of Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy. What Draco had meant to be a confidence, turned into a kiss. And after that, it was several kisses. And then a few more until Hermione dragged her face away and told him not to push it because she would hate to have to dump him before they even got together.

Those people who were shocked got over it. Most of the new couple's friends had second guessed that this would happen and had resigned themselves to the idea. Ron didn't talk to Hermione for a week, but Harry just shook his head and threatened Malfoy's disembowelment, so help him god, if he hurt Hermione. Pansy burst into tears but she was always crying these days, ever since she got pregnant by a stray Hufflepuff. Parvati and Lavender, giggling madly, asked Hermione for all the details. Crabbe and Goyle didn't seem to notice any difference, which was hardly surprising.

Ginny had seemed quite pleased and had even gotten Hermione a bottle of edible lubricant, which Hermione had stashed away at the bottom of her wardrobe, where she swore it would stay.

And, well, they were happy. Draco was first reluctant to go public about the relationship, but after a cryptic meeting with Dumbledore that Draco had translated to be an offer of protection, he finally had agreed.

Four threatening howlers and one murder attempt later, all was forgiven. That, of course, meant that Lucius Malfoy been 'put away'—specifically, in a Muggle insane ward. Without a wand.

Now everything was simply—blissful.

And now it was two months later, the end of May. And the circle kept spinning.

"Granger," Draco said at last, Hermione nestled comfortably in his lap.

"Mm," she nodded noncommittally, focus not leaving the Arithmancy chart before her.

"Granger," he repeated. "I had a dream."

It was odd how those words shot a tremor down Hermione's neck. He had so far only said that on good occasions. But who knew when that would change?

"A dream, Malfoy?" she had said, following the path that she knew he wanted to take.

"Yes, Granger, a dream. You were in it." He paused for her.

"What happened in the dream?" she asked. He scowled at her. At first she wondered what in hell's name was wrong—until she realized that she had skipped a part of the customary dialogue.

"Yes, Draco, I know, it's not that sort of dream," she said, rolling her eyes. He looked annoyed. Was it really because she wasn't following the proper 'role?'

Draco dropped a finger to the hollow at the base of her neck and rubbed it soothingly.

"Actually," he said quietly. "It was that sort of dream."

Hermione's eyes had been half shut with the soothing feeling of his fingers on her skin. Now, her eyes shot open.

"What?" she asked, more breathlessly than she had intended.

"You heard me," Draco said smoothly, eyes not leaving her.

"Draco," Hermione said gently. "I thought you understood that I want to take it slow."

"I do understand! But we have been taking it slow. I just want to show you pleasure. I want to show you how I feel—but not with words. They're silly and awkward and sound flattened."

Hermione smiled faintly, but made no reply. Draco leaned forward and began to kiss her neck, a territory already well explored.

"Hermione," he said between kisses. "It's natural progression. There's nothing to be ashamed of."

Hermione wasn't a virgin. She was just self conscious.

But under his kisses, she did admit she felt like a goddess.

"Okay," she replied quietly. Draco stopped for a minute and looked at her. "Okay," she repeated and he smiled.

He picked her up, almost dropped her, then regained his balance and carried him to his awaiting bed.

"Draco," Hermione moaned as he closed the door.

"Hermione," he replied mischievously and hearing her name on his lips almost felt better than the aristocratic but supremely manly finger that was working its way to her core.

And so the relationship progressed, in a purely natural way. Hermione felt—right—in his arms and he felt complete inside her.

The next morning, when both were late to breakfast and Ginny came looking into Draco's dorm and smelled the reek of sex, and saw the naked forms of both—Draco still felt complete, if embarrassed.

Being with Hermione was his way of living. And that would progress after school ended, after they died.

He even felt that way when a silly chit of a third year found them shagging in the library and told the whole school. There had been no actions taken against them, but a twinkling eyed Dumbledore sent them cheerily on a mission to get him a book from the library—'oddly' enough, the book right beside it was entitled 'The Wonder Of Contraceptive Charms: How To Have Your Cake And Eat It, Too.'

And now they had graduated from Hogwarts, a year later. It was the end of May. And the rotation of life turned, turned, turned.

"Malfoy," Hermione began. Draco looked up from the patch of neck he was studying—oddly enough, with his tongue.

"Granger," he smiled into her.

"Malfoy," she said again and turned to face him. "I had a dream."

Draco stopped. What? This was his thing.

"You were in it," she went on.

Oh, well, he had better follow along or else he'd be sleeping on the couch for a week. "A dream, Granger? How unusual. Describe it to me?" In detail, please, he added mentally.

"It wasn't that kind of dream, Malfoy."

"Pooh," he smiled. She smiled weakly back but continued.

"No, in this dream, there was a war. But it was over, and the right side had won. And you were living in the same house as me, and we were in love."

Draco smiled fondly at her and kissed her forehead. "That's right, love. What else happened?"

"And then—And then I—" Nerves made her stumble over her words. "And then I reached into my pocket." He raised his eyebrows at her in confusion. She fumbled to the pocket of her robe and Draco felt his jaw drop at the velvet ring box she held in her palm.

He laughed heartily. Hermione cringed away. Her hurt showed clearly on her face.

"No, Granger, it's not that. It's just," he managed out before bursting back into laughter. He reached into his own pocket and pulled out a similar box. "Trade?" he smirked.

Hermione's mouth was slightly open in surprise. He leant forward and kissed her, then plucked the box from her hand and replaced it with his own box.

She snapped it open as he did the same. Her trembling fingers slid the ring inside onto her left ring finger.

Draco watched her as he did the same.

"I guess this means you accept my unspoken offer of marriage?" he murmured to her.

And then her lips were on his and there were no more words. Just, love.

Kind of corny, I know. Love it? Hate it? Tell me!