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Dream Come True	By : firemaiden04 Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 26107 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not profit from the writing of this story.

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Hermione Granger, Head Girl of Hogwarts, was in a very strange mood.

Harry and Ron both noticed this, though they attributed it to the approaching NEWT exams. She zoned out frequently, even during class. Efforts to study turned into her staring out the window of the Gryffindor common room. She also spent much, much more time in her dormitory room than usual.

“Maybe she’s finally cracked,” Ron observed to Harry in an undertone. They were sitting in the common room, and Hermione had been staring blankly at the flames in the fireplace for half an hour.

Harry watched her intently. “I dunno. She never seemed the type to really break down about exams…”

“Hey, everyone’s got their breaking point,” Ron shrugged.

Harry nodded, but didn’t take his eyes off Hermione. He didn’t tell Ron, but it was his opinion that something was troubling her--something personal. But what?

“Hermione,” he said. But Hermione didn’t look up.

“Hermione?” he repeated; still nothing.

“Oy! Hermione!” Ron said loudly.

Hermione jerked and turned round to look at them. “What?” she asked.

“Are you okay?” Harry asked, concerned.

She sighed. “Yeah. I’m fine.” She pushed her hair over her shoulder. “But I think I’m going to go up to bed. ‘Night, boys.” And she disappeared up the stairs to the girl’s dorms.

Ron was almost speechless. “It’s only 8:30!” he exclaimed, horrified.

Harry’s frown deepened. What was wrong with Hermione?

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Hermione lay on her bed with a slight smile on her face, as she thought of Harry’s concern and Ron’s confusion. She felt a little odd with keeping anything from them, but she could only imagine the reactions they’d have if she told them the truth.

For the past week, she had been having highly sexual, vividly erotic, and wickedly sinful dreams about Professor Snape. Every night. Every single night.

The first day, she’d been confused, but oh well. Dreams were always weird.

The second day, she’d been a little anxious, but still tried to ignore it.

The third dream was particularly good, and she was alarmed more at her extreme arousal from it than at the dream itself.

The fourth one had kept her mind occupied all day, even in class. She stared into space and replayed every luscious moment of it all.

The fifth day, she was so eager to dream about it again that she went to bed early.

Today had been the sixth. She’d been more distracted today than any other day; mainly because for the first time since having the dreams, she’d had her potions class. Luckily, neither Harry nor Ron took it with her (they hadn’t been accepted into Snape’s NEWT class), but being in the same room with Snape for three hours had elevated her confusion and, to her shame, her arousal. It even seemed to her that Snape watched her for the whole three hours; she could feel his eyes on her.

So, now she would dream the seventh.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Severus Snape was pissed.

Seven days now!

He let the water spray over him as he stood in the shower and scowled. These things didn’t happen naturally. He hadn’t seriously thought that Hermione Granger had anything to do with the dreams until yesterday in class. She’d definitely been acting strange; she’d been jumpy, and had been avoiding his eyes whenever he looked at her. She must have something to do with it, and Snape was determined to make her end the dreams. This behavior was highly inappropriate. But what really irked Snape was the thought of her laughing with Potter and Weasley over their little prank. Let’s all make fun of greasy Snivellus Snape. He gritted his teeth.

And yet, no matter how much he tried to tell himself that it was all a joke on his expense…God…those dreams… He tried to keep his mind off of them as much as possible. He told himself what a know-it-all she was, how she was Harry Potter’s friend, how she was a student, for the love of God. But holy shit…the way she fucked…the way she came…

And, not for the first time that week, Snape put one hand on the wall, the other on himself, and as the water sluiced over him, relieved himself of that erection that occurred every time Hermione’s face had entered his mind that week.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Hermione was eating breakfast in the Great Hall. Harry and Ron were talking about Quidditch, and she was free to daydream and remember the past seven nights. She shivered. Today was Saturday--no classes, just a hell of a lot of homework. She sighed and resigned herself to the fact that she could not keep thinking about Snape.

She glanced up at the table where he sat, quiet and glancing around the hall with a moody air. She ducked her head quickly as his eyes passed over the Gryffindor table. No matter how realistic the dreams were, and no matter how much she wanted to find out if Snape’s tongue was really that creative, if he really did have an insatiable appetite for filling her up and making her scream (Hermione shuddered with the memory)--no matter what she wanted, Snape was her teacher. That made him off-limits.

The owls soared in with the morning mail and broke Hermione’s reverie. She caught her copy of the Daily Prophet, but to her surprise, what looked like a school owl dropped a small piece of parchment, sealed with green wax. Frowning, Hermione broke the seal and opened the parchment to find a short message written in a scratchy yet elegant hand:

Hermione Granger:

Come to my office at seven o’clock sharp this evening.

-Severus Snape

Hermione gasped, and her eyes flew to the head table, but Snape’s chair was empty. She didn’t know what to think of the message, but her breath quickened, and she flushed. Murmuring an excuse to Harry and Ron, she left the table and hurried up to the dorm.

She didn’t know what Snape’s intentions were, but she would make the best of them. She may not be considered beautiful, Hermione mused as she climbed the stairs, but she could sure as hell wow any man if she tried. She would do her hair, dress better, and even wear makeup. She could make Snape drool. She just didn’t know if she could wait till seven.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Severus Snape was impatient, too. He’d spent the day in an increasingly bad mood, snapping at anyone he encountered, but spending most of the time in his office pacing or just sitting at his desk staring into space. His thoughts mixed between the delicious dreams of him fucking her until she went wild, and the anger that this might all be a spell cooked up for her and Potter and Weasley’s amusement. It was for the latter that he had summoned her to see him, and he vowed not to let his desire get in the way of discipline. He would deduce whether or not she was guilty; if yes, he would deliver a suitable punishment; if not…well, he would get to that if it turned out to be the case. But either way, he was still left with the memory of those dreams.

It was almost seven now, and he was incredibly nervous. He glanced at his watch or the clock every five seconds, and when seven o’clock hit, he thought he would die if Hermione didn’t come walking through that door. But the Gods spared him the agony of waiting any longer, and the prompt Hermione Granger knocked on the door and, when bidden to do so, entered.

Snape, busy looking down at papers in front of him so as to appear nonchalant, looked up. But words died on his tongue and every thought of Potter and Weasley and spells flew from his head. His mouth went dry, his cock stirred eagerly, and his pulse quickened.

What the fuck was she trying to pull?

Her hair, always so bushy, was now long and sleek and shiny and loose over her shoulders. Her lips were full, her lashes longer and darker than usual, and her eyes brighter than he remembered. She was wearing her normal skirt--but good lord, when had the Hogwarts skirts gotten so short?--and her normal shirt, minus the vest and tie, and the top three buttons were undone, revealing just a hint of the curves of her breasts.

He opened his mouth to say something as she sat down on the other side of the desk, but nothing came out. The thought of her wrapping those long, sleek legs around his waist was drowning out his original intentions, but he ruthlessly fought the desire down and was all business again.

“Miss Granger,” he said, leaning forward with what he hoped was an intimidating look, “I have summoned you here tonight because there is a matter we need to discuss.”

Hermione blinked.

“I don’t know what you and Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley have been cooking up,” he continued, eyes narrowing as he examined her face for any sign of guilt, “but it is entirely inappropriate, and if you do not cease immediately, I will bring the matter to the Headmaster, regardless of any embarrassment it may cause either of us.”

She frowned, evidently confused. “Sir,” she said, “what are you talking about?”

“The dreams!” he said impatiently. “Those damned dreams you’ve been sending me for the past week!”

And to his simultaneous shock, dismay, and delight, her eyes widened, and, with no evidence of deception, she exclaimed, “You’ve been having the dreams, too?”

There was a moment of silence in the room, but it was hardly silent for the two of them. Overwhelming flashes of them together, powerful orgasms, teasing strokes, busy tongues, plunging hips…all of it flew through their minds. The tension popped, and suddenly Hermione was scrambling over the desk, and Severus was pulling her closer, and their lips met with an intensity neither had anticipated.

He nipped her bottom lip, then plunged his tongue into her mouth. She moaned against him, then fisted her hands in his hair as she kissed him back. She was kneeling on the desk in front of him now, and any thoughts of taking it slow or making it sweet were as foreign to them as another language. He hastily unbuttoned her shirt and pushed it off her shoulders.

He broke the kiss and drew back just long enough to see that the bra was white and lacy. With a groan, he pushed her head back and trailed his mouth down her neck, nipping and licking and sucking as her hands scrambled to get his shirt off.

Hermione’s pulse was pounding in her ears, and she had never been so aroused in her life. This is one dream that is coming true, she thought hazily.

Surprising both of them, Severus completely ignored her breasts and got his hand under her skirt, groaning again when he felt the thong. But he didn’t have time to see it; he had more important things to do. He pushed the fabric aside, and was surprised to find her smooth and hairless, and he moaned with lust as he thrust a finger inside of her. She gave a strangled moan and leaned back to sit on the table, spreading her legs wide as he fucked her with his finger, one, then two, and she was so wet and so hot that he felt like he was going to come already, and she was moaning and writhing and spreading her legs wider and wider.

“You’re so wet,” he growled, then pushed her back until she was laying flat on the desk. He turned his hand so that the heel was pressing against her clit, then began to rotate and thrust at the same time.

Hermione cried out and arched up. Snape watched her with dark eyes cloudy with lust. He’d waited so long for this…the dreams were pale in comparison to what she really looked like, flushed and panting and moaning, begging for him, and no one else…

“Fuck me,” she gasped.

Snape’s lips curled into a sneer, though his eyes were too hot for it to look serious. “Oh, believe me, I will, Miss Granger,” he said. But instead, he just inserted a third finger and fucked her even harder.

“Please!” she cried, after only a few moments. “Please--fuck me--”

Snape briefly contemplated ignoring her, but he couldn’t deny himself the pleasure any longer. He pulled his fingers out of Hermione, hurriedly undid his pants, and then he moved in between her thighs. Hermione clutched at the front of his robes. “Please!” she gasped.

“Will do,” Snape murmured, then thrust into her. Hermione’s cry of passion reverberated around the room, and she wrapped her legs around his waist.

Snape closed his eyes as he slowly withdrew from her, savoring how tight and warm and wet she was. But he had to see her face, so he opened his eyes as he thrust back in again. His tempo slowly increased, until he was hammering into her, and her moans and cries were almost screams. Beneath his robes, his body was covered in sweat. God, she was so tight… He was already close, but he wouldn’t come until she did. He needed to see her and feel her convulse around him…

He realized his hands had been clutching her hips this whole time, but now he needed more of her. Without breaking the rhythm, he reached out to unfasten her bra, then crushed her breasts in his hands. “Oh--God--” Hermione cried brokenly. “Ah--”

“Are you coming?” Snape panted, thrusting even faster, even harder. Hermione’s response was unintelligible.

“Are you coming?” he repeated, watching her flushed face, her closed eyes, her parted lips.

“I’m so close--” she gasped.

Snape smiled as he quickly slowed his tempo.

“No! Don‘t stop!” Hermione gasped, rotating her hips. “Oh, please--”

“Did you want something?” Snape asked, slowly moving in and out of her.

“Please don’t stop! ”

“I’m not stopping,” Snape teased.

“No--no, I want--”

“What?” Snape breathed intently, “What do you want?”

“Fuck me--”

“I am.”

“Dammit!” Hermione cried. “Fuck me harder! Faster! ”

Snape was almost coming himself, watching her writhing into him, and he couldn’t resist any longer. He began hammering into her again, harder and faster than ever, and was rewarded with Hermione’s scream of delight.

“Oh, God, I’m coming--”

“Yes,” Snape panted, and watched with fascination as Hermione’s face contorted. He could feel her tighten, and that was all he needed. With a guttural groan, he came, thrusting in and out of her as his cock throbbed and spurted. He collapsed on top of her.

After a few minutes, their breathing had slowed, and Snape moved off of Hermione’s weak figure. He lay on his back on the desk, his feet on the floor, and stared up at the ceiling.

“Well?” he said.

“Well, what?” Hermione murmured, her eyes closed.

Snape pushed himself up and watched her face intently. “You are absolutely certain you don’t know where those dreams came from?” he asked.

“I don’t know, and right now I assure you that I couldn't care less."

Snape lay back down. “Well,” he said after a moment, “that about covers it."
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Dream Come True