If You Would Only See
Chapter 5: Dream a little Drem
It was almost midnight and Severus, oddly enough, was still afraid to go near his front door. He fully expected her to come running over, beating on his door and accuse him of being a pervert. But with his luck it would probably be dementors that came for him, ready to drag his pathetic, peeping arse off to Azkaban although, she hadn’t seemed all that offended. She had looked straight at him, though she couldn’t actually see him, and simply continued to pin her hair up with an odd little half smile on her lips.
He didn’t remember her as being so….brazen, though she had always been a bit of a know-it-all, show off. She had swum in ugly clothes that were too big for her, the colors not flattering and more often than not they were mismatched. She had, and still had the most unmanageable mane of hair he had ever seen. Only difference was that now it hung to her waist, the weight of it taming the riot of curls somewhat, though not completely. He definitely never imagined her like that, naked, soft, her body a collection of dips and curves that had him clenching his fist as he recalled her standing in the window, the sunlight warming her skin.
God, what was wrong with him! He began to pace the room, his leg aching slightly. Had he really been so long without a woman? He tried to recall the last time he had felt a warm body against him, the touch of a willing woman, and he was saddened that he just couldn’t draw a memory to the surface. That had to be the answer, it wasn’t her, any naked or nearly naked woman would have drawn the same reaction. Thank Circe she didn’t know who he was, she would run screaming as fast as she possibly could.
He made his way through his home, intending to take a shower and go to bed. As he passed the front door, he saw a small package sitting on the floor. He picked it up and carried it with him to his room. He flipped on the light beside his bed and opened the package wrapped in brown paper. The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien. Little witch thinks she’s funny doesn’t she
Hermione crawled between the blankets of her queen size bed, her gaze drifting to the window of the house next door. Who was he?
She drifted off to sleep with that thought turning round and round inside her head.
Her dreams began to form slowly. She was in a house, not her own, but a very dark, very masculine residence. She heard a shuffle from behind her and turned to investigate. In the shadows she could make out the vague image of a man sitting in a chair. She could clearly see his gleaming black shoes, black slacks, his long fingered hands resting on his knees, and the shiny silver buckle of his belt. She could not make out his face in the shadows, but she could hear the soft, even whisper of his breathing and could feel the intense heat of his gaze as he watched her.
“Who are you?” She asked.
“No one.” Came the soft, hushed reply.
“Everyone is someone.” She stated as she took a hesitant step towards him. He was on the other side of the room, so far away, and still sitting hidden in the shadows. Why wasn’t the light touching him? She knew he was staring at her, had heard his sharp gasp as she stepped forward. She took that moment to look down. She was wearing a long black satin sheathe that had a split from her ankle to her hip, and when she stepped forward, it had parted, revealing the soft flesh of her rounded thigh.
“I assure you, I am the exception, and I am no one.” He said, keeping his voice low and hushed.
“Why are we here?” She asked, looking around at the unfamiliar environment.
“I live here. You were….unexpected.”
“Are you disappointed?” She asked with a smile. She could play the siren, she could be the temptress, and it was after all, just a dream.
“No. Just….unaccustomed to company. It is exceedingly rare for my dreams to be invaded by such a lovely young witch.”
“Ah, but this is my dream.” She said as she closed the distance between them. She was right in front of him, why couldn’t she see his face?
“Is it?” He asked.
“Of course it is, Legilimency is not one of my talents. I had a professor once who was an amazing legilimens.” She added.
“Oh, where is he now?”
“Sadly, he is gone from this world, so they tell me.” She said, looking down at her pink tipped toes where they almost touched the tips of his shiny black shoes.
“You sound as though you are saddened by this fact.”
“I am. He wasn’t all that nice to me; I think I annoyed him with my constant questions.” She slid to her knees at his feet, wishing the light would touch him, reveal his face to her.
“Perhaps he just enjoyed challenging you.”
“Perhaps.” She said with a slight nod. “He was a wonderfully talented potions master. He was snarky, and cynical, but I always suspected that he was more.”
“Oh?”
“He was dark, and brooding, kind of sexy, or at least I always thought so, though I would never admit that to anyone.” She said with a soft laugh. “He had this graceful way of moving, his robes billowing around him, all that black hair tempting me to wrap it around my fingers.” She chuckled.
“You never told him.”
“No, he wouldn’t have received that well. He sacrificed everything for the good of our world. He gave up love, happiness, friends, and in the end, his life. He was a good man, brave and true.” She rested her head against his knees.
“I’m sure if he could hear you now, he would be deeply moved by your declaration, by your loyalty to his memory.”
“More likely he would tell me to keep my sniveling to myself and take fifty points from Gryffindor just for the hell of it.” She felt his hand light softly on the side of her head, stroking her curls, his fingertips tracing feather soft over her ear and the side of her neck. She slid the hand beneath her head further up his thigh, her cheek resting on the soft fabric of his slacks.
“Perhaps he would have, then. Maybe things would have been different now.”
“I don’t suppose Ill ever get to tell him just how much I admired him.” Her fingers traced the long inseam of his thigh. She could tell he enjoyed her touch by the way his breathing grew heavier and the muscles in his thigh clenched tight beneath her fingers.
“Oh, I think he knows.” He hissed when her finger tips brushed against his sac through his slacks.
“You tread on dangerous ground Ms. Granger.”
“Call me Hermione. Do you not like my touch?” She asked, sliding her hand over him to cup him fully. Her dream man was large, thick and hard, and that was with the layers of cloth between her hand and his erection.
“Liking has nothing to do with it. It has more to do with propriety; you don’t know me, Hermione.”
“It’s a dream, propriety be damned.” She muttered as she stroked her hand up the length of his shaft, a smug smile gracing her lips when he arched slightly into her touch.
“You play with fire little witch.” He hissed through clenched teeth, making her bolder, her touch harder. She unbuckled his belt, and opened his slacks, sliding her hand inside to caress his turgid length skin to skin.
“I don’t mind getting burned.” She pulled her lower lip between her teeth as she stroked him. Base to tip, letting her thumb brush over the soft, mushroom shaped head. She let her hand stroke slowly back down, gripping him tight. He was so hot, so silky smooth beneath her fingers that it amazed her. God this dream was so real. She kept the pace slow and steady, reveled in the soft pants and groans that poured from his lips. His fingers tightened in her hair, his hips lifted, thrusting hard into her fist as he came in thick, hot jets of creamy fluid that flowed over her hand and into the nest of curls at his base.
In the shadows she caught the slightest glimmer of dark eyes
“You little witch, you certainly have bewitched my mind…” Those words, so familiar. She glanced into the shadows and for a brief moment, she saw his face.
“Professor?”
Hermione bolted upright in her bed, her breathing rough and uneven.
“Holy shit.” She panted, her hand fluttering to her chest. She could not believe she had just had such an erotic dream. One that featured her former Professor no less. She looked out her bedroom window towards the house a few feet away. What if the man inside that house, was the man of her dreams?
Severus awoke with a start, his heart pounding, the roar of his blood rushing trough his veins sounded in his head. His boxers were pushed low, his penis, softening slowly lay against his stomach, his release pooled on the rigged plane of his abdomen. What in the hell had happened? She had invaded his dream; it had been his dream as she had never been in his home before. No one had ever managed to get inside his head as he slept. Of course, after the death of Voldemort, he no longer needed to be so diligent in shielding his dreams, but still, he should have had defenses against her.
He rubbed his hand over his face, running his fingers through his hair as he struggled to regain his control. Bloody hell, he hadn’t had a wet dream since he was a boy! He looked down in shock as he began to harden again as he remembered her touch, the way she had clasped and stroked, so torturously slow he had thought he would lose his mind. What in the hell was he going to do about the little temptress next door?
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***** Okay, I am enjoying writing this, but it is proving to be quite the challenge as comedy tends to be my confort zone, so I am loving the suggestions and opinions Im getting from readers at this point. I know that with the previous story I updated quickly, but truthfully, it was pretty much complete in my head when I started writing it. This one began as a dream I had LOL that snape was my neighbor....too bad hes not, though Id probably go to jail for being a peeper............anyhow, the rest is taking longer, so Im sorry, please be patient....and keep the suggestions coming!
Also, sorry about the grammar guys, I rely on Word to catch little errors with my fanfics, but it doesnt always get em.