A Garden and a Library

~Chapter 3 - Dreamland~
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“All my life is on me now, hail the pages turning,
And the future on the bound, hell don’t know my fury.”

- Fiona Apple, ‘On the Bound’

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It was late evening, and the fire in the Gryffindor common room crackled with a tired mirth. Hermione was perched in a chair while Harry and Ron sprawled on the rug bickering predictably, munching on candy and throwing the wrappers into the flames.
“Stop that Ron,” said Hermione distractedly, bent over a roll of parchment. “You’re putting me off my work… I want to get this Arithmancy report done early so I can get a head start on my others.”
“I think that Wood’s team is a shoo-in for this year’s Quidditch cup,” insisted Ron to Harry, prodding him with a chocolate frog.
“You really think so, huh.” Harry eyed his friend with idle amusement. “You willing to put Galleons on that?”
“Sure, sure mate!” said the rambunctious redhead excitedly, rummaging in his pockets. His eyes shone with the gleam of a good opportunity. “We’ll put money in a pool, and whoever wins gets the lot.”
“Oh, really!” sighed Hermione, looking up exasperatedly and rolling her eyes. She loved them, of course, very dearly. But their constant banter had the ability to slowly work its way underneath her skin, an irritant, and she resisted the urge to scratch.
“Come on Hermione,” wheedled Ron, “You’ve got house elves to save, don’t take up against low-key gambling.”
“Why don’t you keep the money for us, Hermione,” said Harry genially. “That way neither of us will be tempted.” He shook the Galleons in his hand. “Come on then!”
She sighed, gave them a thin smile, and reached for her book bag. “If you insist- oh damn!” in her impatience, she’d knocked the bag over, sending the contents sliding out onto the worn carpet.
“I got it, Hermione,” said Harry, bending down to gather the escaping quills and books.
“What’s this then?” exclaimed Ron, fishing out from the pile an ancient-looking book bound in vibrant red leather. He flipped it open, scanning the pages, a wicked grin spreading across his face. He read aloud:
“At such times, the whole world seems ‘couleur de rose’ to her; gaiety dances in her eyes as the golden wheat-ears dance in a fertile field. When the heart is glad, when it is not gripped by sorrow, it opens and expands. Then it is that Love slips gently into its inmost folds.”
His voice was a veritable stutter through the laughter. The obvious innuendos of that passage were not lost on Ronald Weasley, no matter how daft he sometimes seemed.
Hermione, blushing fiercely, snatched the book from him and buried it in her bag. “That,” she snapped, “Is none of your business!”
“What class is that for, ‘Mione?” Ron cackled. “I want to sign up!”
“Bugger off, Ron,” said Harry forcefully. “You’re just jealous that she’s smart enough to take all these classes. We mightn’t have passed our OWLs without her help, remember? So don’t rag on her for being studious.” Harry, of course, was oblivious to Ron’s affections for his female friend. Analytical thinking had never been his forte.
Ron scowled, his face flushing. He stood abruptly, with his aura of mirth shed like a coat. “Was just having a bit of fun,” he said, sullen. “Can’t you take a joke, Hermione?” and without waiting for her reply, turned and clattered forcefully up the stairs to the boy’s dormitory.
Harry sighed and rose to follow him. “Sorry ‘Mione,” he said, laying a hand lightly on her shoulder. “It sounds like an interesting book, anyway. For a foundations of magic class or something?”
“Something like that,” she replied, feigning a smile. She made a mental note to be more careful with her belongings. She underlined the note twice.
“Sorry about how Ron’s been lately,” said Harry wearily. “I just don’t know what’s gotten into him. I’ll go see if I can calm him down.” He smiled at her, his toothy scoundrel’s smile, and she returned it genuinely. The Boy Who Lived may be the Boy Without Insight, she thought, but she held no contempt for his unabated love for his friends. She knew, and would always know, that he loved her.
“See you tomorrow Harry.”
“Night, ‘Mione.”
She waited until she heard the door to the boy’s dormitory latch shut. Then, slowly, she slipped her hands down into her bag and felt the soft leather between her fingers, drawing the book out with care and laying it on her lap. The gold inscription glimmered reassuringly in the light of the common room fire.
So what, she thought, if she was indulging in a little extra-curricular reading. She deserved a reprieve from the lackluster school texts she was assigned. Some mental stimulation.
Kicking off her oxfords and folding her stocking feet over an arm of the plush chair, she arbitrarily chose a page and opened the crimson volume… separating the pages gently with her fingers, feeling the smooth vellum give under her touch.
The first two portions of the dialogue seemed to consist of advice to men regarding the conquest of the women they desire, while the third offered advice to women. The author, in a lush and sometimes pompous prose, buffered the text with anecdotes from Greek mythology. Oh how she blushed at passages like “Pasiphaë conceived a passion for the great white bull and viewed with jealous eye the loveliest among the heifers”. She bristled at the poet’s flippancy towards rape, or ‘ravishment’ as he light-heartedly christened it. Banishing modesty, she perused the story of Mars and Venus, caught lovemaking by the blacksmith god Vulcan: “The two lovers go then to the familiar spot, and both of them, naked as Cupid himself, are enveloped in the traitorous toils,” she read with a flush clinging to her cheeks. “Erstwhile they hid their loves; now they freely and openly indulge their passion; they have banished all shame.” She did not know how long she had been reading for, in the dimly lit common room.
She began to be aware of a heat emanating from her very center, spreading surreptitiously up and out, across her stomach and down across her thighs. She felt drowsy, relaxed, sensual. The fabric of the armchair seemed to caress her limbs delightfully as she shifted her weight, legs draped languidly askance. She felt as if she were living in a dream, the air seemed so warm and heavy, the fire lending a dull glow to everything it cast light on. Dreamlike, her hand slipped from the glowing pages, wandering across her lap, the school-issued skirt crumpled and rough. Passing it by, the hand reached the smooth skin of her thigh, and she felt the weight of it, hot and damp against the cool skin. She inadvertently recalled a moment after the Yule Ball, sitting beside Viktor on a garden bench with a stone painfully lodged in her shoe, him lifting her leg onto his lap. Her dress slipping up, cool blue against pale white. For a moment he had laid his hand on her thigh, his palm rough and calloused, supporting her leg as he removed the slipper.
Meanwhile, her hand had slipped lower, her skirt bunched up over her bent wrist, the heat now acute and blossoming through her whole body. Without thought, she guided her hand to that spot, so seldom touched this way, her heat source, intimate and damp. She gasped softly, but continued, trancelike. Seconds stretched into minutes, minutes into veritable hours. Of course it hadn’t been more than five minutes in real time, but Hermione’s internal clock had slowed to a crawl in the heat and silence of the moment. This was a strange magic.
The moment ended in a sharp intake of breath, a frantic rearranging of clothing, a dull thump as the book slid from her lap to lay on the sumptuous carpet.
Her stocking feet collided with the floor, her knees knocked together, and she scrambled in a daze for her belongings.
As the door to the common room swung shut behind her, the whole room seemed to sigh.

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A/N: Thanks all for the reviews. Now I know there’s no Snape in this yet, but trust me, there will be. She needs a little boost first. I’ve always thought Hermione needed some guttural passion in her life. To hell with SPEW if she can’t give herself a good time. ;) I joke, I joke. I’d also like to remind all you readers out there that this is rated M for a reason. The story is in no way explicit but I’m issuing a warning anyway. I’m sure you guys know all of this. Good? Good! I’ll be back soon with another installment and yes, the next chapter will contain a good dose of Severus Snape for the desperate addicts in the crowd ( Me). Cheers!