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Patented Daydream Charms	By : Padfoot Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 24585 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
Chapter 4

One of the most fundamental
things you learn as a person living in modern day society is that you simply
cannot go around reacting to every instinct you feel. When our boss annoys us, we can�t give
into the urge to smack his head against a brick wall, and when a man sees a
beautiful woman pass by in the street, he can�t just tap on her shoulder and
have her bend over so he can shag her.
From the moment we are born, we are thought to repress our basic urges,
but deep down we still have the same primal instincts as our forefathers. As much as we�d like to perceive
ourselves as cultivated beings who have nothing to do with the man or woman who
first discovered how to walk on two legs, the truth is very different. There are times when something happens
to a person that makes those things that separated man from animal to rip away
from him like they were a blanket, leaving him with nothing but the fundamental
impulse to do what his instincts tells him to do.

In Hermione�s case, this was to
scream in terror. She screamed like
she had never screamed before; a high-pitched yell that came from the centre of
her very being and rippled through the air like a force of nature. That scream was soon muffled with the
palm of a hand. Other hands grabbed
her by the arms, hauling her off the ground.

She didn�t see where they were
taking her; all she could see were dark-skinned people talking and chanting in a
language she didn�t understand, pushing and pulling at her. This wasn�t supposed to happen; the
explorers who had visited the island before them had assured Hermione and the
rest of her team that the natives were of no threat. The university would never
have sent them here if they were, even if there were ship logs stating the
existence numerous of unknown ancient artefacts on this island that were
definitely worth exploring.
Hermione wondered if she�d been the first white woman to have set foot on
this island. That was perhaps why the natives had reacted this way; capturing
her in the middle of the night to use for whatever primitive ritual they had in
mind.

Suddenly she found her bare feet
meeting a hard, wobbly surface and if the men hadn�t held on to her so tightly
she�d surely have fallen. In the
back of her mind she realised she was crossing a bridge, but she honestly was
too scared and disoriented to be conscious of it. Then the wobbly surface was gone and she
felt grass between her toes as she stumbled on it. Her mind was completely mixed-up and
because it was night she felt as if she had gone blind; all she could see were
blurs of dark shapes and occasional flashes of white teeth and the whites of
people�s eyes. Suddenly, she felt
her arms being pulled up and fastened against a hard surface. Immediately, she struggled against her
restraints, but it was no use. She
had been placed between two wooden poles and ropes bound her against them at the
wrists. Her outstretched arms
pulled on the ropes binding her, but they wouldn�t budge. She couldn�t escape
and she knew it; she was going to die.

And then, suddenly, she found
herself alone. It had happened so quickly it almost seemed like the natives had
vanished into thin air. She could
see nothing except for darkness and the faint outline of trees. It was also quiet; too quiet. She shivered when a sudden breeze
rustled through the foliage, almost as if the wind itself knew something was
going to take place. Hermione was
terrified. She didn�t know what was
going to happen, but when a band of people has kidnapped you in the middle of
the night to tie you up in the middle of the jungle and then leave you, then you
just know it can�t be good. Perhaps it was some sort of native ceremony to
sacrifice a woman to the jungle as a way to appeal for good luck or a prosperous
year. She hoped that whatever
animals would come to try to eat her would be small enough for her to kick
away. Perhaps if she survived until
morning, the natives would let her go, or maybe her colleagues would have
managed to find her by then.
Hermione wasn�t planning on relying on the latter; Cambridge scholars
were a lot of things, but they weren�t born trackers.

Suddenly, she found her
attention drawn towards the forest.
Hermione thought she�d seen something; a light. There it was again, but now it was
closer. Her heart was thumping
against her ribcage at realising that the light was moving directly towards
her. What kind of animal made
light? She squinted her eyes into
tiny little slits, trying to make out what could possibly emit the
glow.

Hermione gasped when she
realised it was a human. Not just a
human; a man. He wasn�t
dark-skinned like the natives, but instead, white. Not Caucasian white like Hermione was,
but actual <b>white</b>.
His skin was white as snow and his entire body was haloed with an
ethereal sort of light. Hermione
blushed when she saw that he was completely naked, but she didn�t look
away. As strange and otherworldly
as he might look, the man approaching her was beautiful. His features were soft, yet angular, and
his lips were full. His hair was
pale as the moon and the only thing on his body of any real colour were his
eyes, which had the colour of dark grey, with a hint of blue. The man stood still a few feet from her,
simply staring at her with an expressionless look on his face.

�Are you a Goddess?� he asked,
after a few tense moments of silence.

�Excuse me?� Hermione replied,
her voice slightly hoarse from stress.

�You don�t look like them,� he
said. �You look more like me. Not exactly like me, but still... So,
are you?�

�No ... No, I�m not,� Hermione
stammered. �I�m just ...
different. Where I come from,
England, most people look like me.�

The man slightly lilted his
head, seemingly taking in this information. Hermione flinched when he approached her
even more. Her heart rate sped up
when his index finger reached out to lightly trace the outline of her nightgown,
above her bust.

�What is this?� he
asked.

�My nightgown,� she
breathed.

�What�s it
for?�

�I don�t know,� she said. �To keep me warm during the night and to
make sure I�m decent in case I have to leave my bed, I suppose.�

�Is it cold?� he
asked.

�I... I
don�t-�

�I don�t feel the cold, you see,
or the warmth,� the man continued, not waiting for her to reply. �I can�t feel
anything.�

�How ... how can you not feel
anything?� Hermione asked, sensing this was the proper way to
respond.

�I don�t know,� he shrugged, his
fingers playing with the strap of her nightgown. �I just
don�t.�

Hermione looked at him, her head
filled with questions. Who was
he? Why did he look the way he
did? How could he have survived
alone in the jungle? Was he
alone?

�Who are you?� Hermione
asked. �What�s your
name?�

�I don�t have a name,� he
answered. �No one ever gave me
any.�

�You don�t have a name?�
Hermione asked disbelievingly.
�What about your parents?�

�I don�t have any parents,� he
said. �Or I don�t know who they
were, at least. Or I simply forgot
about them; I�ve been around for a long time, you see, I can�t possibly be
expected to remember everything.�

Hermione blinked in
confusion. True, he did have the
sort of appearance that made it difficult to guess his age, but come on; he
couldn�t possibly be over twenty-five.

�You�re not human, are you?�
Hermione asked warily.

�No.�

�Then what are
you?�

�I don�t know. They,� he said, nodding towards a spot
behind her, �seem to think I�m a God.
I�m not sure, but they could be right.�

Hermione realised that they
weren�t alone, that the natives were standing at some distance behind her,
possibly on the other side of the bridge.

�What are you going to do with
me?� she asked nervously.

�You don�t know?�

�No,� she said
warily.

He stopped playing with the
strap of her nightgown and for the first time since she�d seen him, he smiled at
her.


�Each year, before the harvest, they have a ritual to ensure a good
crop,� he explained. �I�m doubtful
that it actually works, but I�m not about to argue with them, not while I get
something out of it in return.�

�What ... what do you get out of
it? What is this ritual?� Hermione
asked warily.

�You humans are so fragile,� he
said serenely. �One little accident
or germ can make your bodies shut down.
In your short little lives, you can endure the most gruesome of pains,
but also the greatest of pleasures.
It�s most likely that I will never experience pain or death, just as
likely as I will never experience pleasure, or even a simple touch. I don�t know what water feels like
against my skin, or grass, or dirt.
I don�t know the taste of apples, berries or tea, nor do I get to feel
its texture in my mouth. I don�t
know what it feels like to press my skin against another, to kiss or to make
love, nor will I ever know.�

Hermione listened intently, not
certain this was an answer to her question, but feeling interested all the same.
The thought of eternal life had always sounded appealing to her. It just seemed so much easier to be able
to choose for the familiarity of life than the scary uncertainty of death. If she would ever be given the choice
between mortality or eternal life without the gift of touch, Hermione wondered
if she�d be able to choose the latter.
Was eternal life worth it without being able to experience anything? Was it even bearable?

�How does this feel?� he asked,
placing the palm of his hand against her cheek.

�Soft, and warm,� she said, a
bit surprised at the warmness of his skin, for some reason she had assumed him
to feel cold.

�What
else?�

�I
don�t-�

�How does it make you feel?� he
interjected.

�I don�t know ... Precious?�

�It�s not a quiz,� he said
amusedly, letting go of her cheek.

�Are you going to tell me what
the ritual is?� Hermione pleaded.

�Don�t you see?� he said. �Even though I can�t feel, it doesn�t
mean I can�t share an experience through words. I can touch your skin and you can tell
me how it feels, like you did just now. I�ll never know what it�s like to make
love to someone, but you can; you will tell me and show me what it�s like with
words and responses, share the experience with me as my hands and lips will play
your body.�

�Oh my God!� Hermione
exclaimed. �That�s the
ritual?!�

�Yes, they consider it good luck
when a virgin achieves climax from a God.
It�s the epitome of fertility and is supposed to bring forth a rich
harvest. But I told you, I�m not
sure if that�s truly so; I�m not even sure if I�m a god. All I�m sure of is that I enjoy doing
it.�

�But ... but, who says I�m a
virgin?� Hermione said panicky.

�Well, I�ve got the impression
that it�s mostly the thought that counts when it comes to rituals,� he said
contemplatively. �I suppose they
reckoned virginity didn�t matter much in your case since you�re obviously
special because of your appearance. You�re lucky. Women attain great reverence after
they�ve been with me.�

Just when Hermione was about to
argue with him on this, trying to get reason with him so perhaps he�d let her
go, the sound of drums flared up behind her.

�That�s our cue,� he said,
smiling.

�No it isn�t!� Hermione shouted,
moving backwards, away from him as far as she could while being restrained,
which wasn�t very far.

�I�m not going to hurt you,� he
chuckled. �I�ve never had any
complaints this far.�

�They consider you a God!�
Hermione argued. �If they had any
complaints, do you honestly think they would voice
them?!�

He frowned, seemingly
considering this for a moment.

�Now be damned,� he said
thoughtfully. �Perhaps you�re
right. Well then ... If I do anything that displeases you, just tell me,
okay?�

�No!�

�Apparently it�s true what they
say, women can be difficult,� he said jokingly. �You don�t mind if I rip this, do
you. Things would get quite
difficult if I don�t.�

Before she had time to give him
a firm �Yes, I do mind!� he had carefully managed to rip the spaghetti straps of
her nightgown. Hermione gasped when
she felt the fabric of her nightgown slithering down her body and pooling around
her ankles, the chilly night air against her skin making her all too aware of
her nakedness. She blushed when she
realised she was not only naked in front of another man, who was also naked, but
was in addition mooning an entire village of people. She was so embarrassed she simply wanted
to shrivel up into a tiny ball and die.

She gasped when his hand
suddenly touched the side of her left breast, his fingers leisurely tracing a
path down to the underside of the globe.
It wasn�t a grope or a squeeze, but more like a caress that reminded her
of the way she would carefully touch the outlines of a newly discovered
historical artefact.

Then his mouth covered
hers. She�d expected herself to
feel angry, scared, violated, but instead the only thing she felt was her bones
turning into jelly. It wasn�t like
the kisses she had received in the past.
She had had chaste kisses like this, but never had they felt so ...
full. It amazed her how such a
simple brush of lips could emit such strength.

�Tell me how that felt,� he
said, pulling back from the kiss.

�Huh?� she asked dazedly.

He didn�t reply; he simply
smiled at her expectantly.

�It was nice,� Hermione
started. �It was, like...
soft. Tender. Like a feather touching down on the
driven snow.�

�Mmm. That�s nice,� he hummed. �And this?�

He cupped her right breast and
lightly circled her thumb around her areola.

�Oh,� she gasped. �It�s like, like... cuddling. You�re touching me there, but I can feel
it all over.�

Hermione couldn�t believe she
was actually doing this! She didn�t
even know him. Heck she didn�t even
know what he was. Whenever she had been intimate with a man, which hadn�t been
very often, it had always proceeded a long period of courtship. Moreover, she couldn�t possibly call
this �intimate� when whole bunches of people were watching them. The fact that she was tied up she wasn�t
even mentioning!

On the other hand, she didn�t
feel threatened by this man. His
touches were incredibly gentle and he emitted a sort of vulnerability that was
endearing. Additionally, she felt
sorry for him. He only got to
experience intimacy once a year, and even then he would never know what it�s
like to make love; he would never fully realise what he�s missing.

She heard the music flaring up
behind her and saw lights of torches, and possibly bonfires, reflecting against
the trees and bushes in front of her.
She could almost imagine the scene, the natives dancing and chanting
around the fires while their God had his way with his virgin sacrifice. Hermione had to admit; the thought
didn�t totally displease her. She
remembered someone telling her once that deep down every woman is an
exhibitionist and every man a voyeur.
She recalled huffing at the idea at the time, but now she pondered that
perhaps it was true, that a part of her liked being watched when her defences
were down.

It wasn�t easy being an educated
woman in a patriarchal society.
Hermione always had to keep her guard up, making sure she didn�t do or
say anything distinctly feminine that could give her co-workers the opportunity
to point out the inferiority of her womanhood. She had to work twice as hard to prove
herself a more than capable archaeologist, which she was, while everyone else
simply established their worth by having a penis. It wasn�t fair, but that�s how
things were.

It was an exhausting way of
life, really, but she wouldn�t think of trading it for another. Hermione wished she could be herself,
though. She was intelligent,
independent and self-sufficient, but constantly felt like she had to be ashamed
of it. It was as if only the
stay-at-home-wives were allowed to be real women; they could get married, have
babies and wear feminine clothes and bright make-up, while women who wanted to
work had to basically pretend to be men.

Sometimes, Hermione yearned to
be seen as a woman without having to fear losing any respect for it, even if it
were solely at night with a lover.
Hermione yearned to be able to let herself go; to submit herself to the
touches of a man, someone who liked her the way she was. Hermione figured she was not only a
closet exhibitionist, but also a closet submissive in bed. She hadn�t had a boyfriend in ages. During her education, she used to have
the opportunity to meet men outside of school, but now she had to work so hard
and so often that the only men she met were the bigots at the university.

She looked at the man in front
of her and realised the two of them weren�t so different. Both of them were wronged in a way;
robbed of the chance for true intimacy simply because the way they were born.

Then he leaned in to kiss the
nipple he had been circling with his thumb and she didn�t need any more goading
to voice how it felt; she wanted to, both to please him as herself.

�It tickles a bit... but it�s nice, soft. It�s sort of like a butterfly settling
down on a leaf,� she said, and then he opened his mouth to take her nipple in
his mouth, making her gasp and unconsciously push her chest closer to his
face.

�It feels comforting... loving,�
she said, her eyes fluttering closed, �but also powerful, because it reminds me
of how women nurse their babies.�

Hermione squirmed as he switched
nipples and started to stroke the unattended one with his fingers. Her breasts had always been highly
responsive and for a long time and she had wondered if she had the capability to
have a breast-orgasm if a lover would be willing to spend a lot of time
there. She didn�t voice this desire
though, but did feel disappointed when he released her breasts and kissed a path
down her stomach, his hands resting on her hips. He left a bit of dampness on every place
his lips had touched her, making her tremble when the night air brushed over her
skin; making her feel as if he was kissing her on all those places at once. When he reached her bellybutton, he
dipped his tongue inside of it.

�Oh God!� Hermione moaned,
tossing her head back in rapture as he fucked her navel with his tongue. Why hadn�t anyone thought of doing this
to her before? She hadn�t even
realised she was so sensitive there.

�Do you like this?� he asked,
even though it was obvious she did.
Hermione reckoned he probably wanted to hear what it did to her.

�Yes!� she breathed. �I didn�t even know I was so responsive
there. It�s like ... the motion
reminds me of what�s to come. It�s
like you�re showing me what�s about to happen. Well, not exactly, because ... you know;
you can�t, but still ... you know?�

He smiled ad her, seemingly
endeared with her nervous stammering.
She watched him as he went to sit on his knees and lightly ran his cheek
across her mound, as if he wanted to relish the softness of her pubic hair. Hermione was breathing heavily. She had never before felt more like a
woman than she did now, and for once this wasn�t a bad thing. She felt him placing his hands on the
inside of each thigh and applying some pressure; urging her to part her legs,
which she did.

She watched him intently when he
leaned in and placed a kiss on the place where her outer lips and inner thighs
met. She shuddered at the
sensation; she could feel his breath against her pussy and it was like a warm
caress across her sensitive skin.
He teased her by kissing closer and closer towards her centre, only to
switch to the other side when she thought - or rather, hoped - that he would
delve into her desperate core. No
one had ever teased her like this before.
She enjoyed the fact that he was willing to spend so much attention on
her, but a larger part of her wanted physical relief. Hermione groaned in despair when he
switched sides for what seemed like the tenth time.

�What�s it like?� he
asked.

�It�s like ... it�s like,� she
panted, aggravated that he wasn�t kissing at her anymore. �Damn it, how can you expect me to be
lyrical when I�m like this? It�s
just really nice, okay! It makes me want more. It makes me want to break lose and
tackle you to the ground so I can sit on your face. Please, just touch me!�

�Brilliant,� he purred, and when
Hermione looked down she saw something in his eyes that seemed to resemble lust.

Before Hermione had time to
marvel at this change, she let out a low, rumbling scream when his tongue
finally drove into her drenched folds.
First he ran his tongue over her outer lips, then her inner lips and
moved lower to circle her entrance.
Hermione sighed when she felt his tongue reaching her clit. He lightly circled her clit with the tip
of his tongue, not touching it directly, and then moved away again, following
the folds of her lips back down to her entrance. She hooked one of her legs over his
shoulder and tilted her pelvis so she could get closer to him. Though the ropes pulled at her wrists
and ripped her skin a bit, but she didn�t care.

Then he did something so
ingenious that made Hermione believe he really was a god, for no human man could
ever have come up with this idea.
And if a man would somehow have come up with this idea, then he probably
wouldn�t be able to execute it, for he would be forced to do two whole things at
once.

He used his hands.

They were all over her; running
over her stomach, her sides, her thighs, squeezing her bum, caressing her
breasts, twisting her nipples... Hermione felt herself drowning in touches and
caresses, like she was bathing in a pool of hugs and kisses. She was rubbing her pussy against his
face, wanting to have as much contact as possible. She looked down and watched him suckle
at her clit as if it were the finest chocolate in the world. The strands of his impossibly pale hair
brushed against her thighs, tickling her; not enough to make her giggle, but
instead to make her delight in the softness of its texture. She was mesmerised by the way her
lightly tanned frame contrasted with his unearthly white, luminous skin. They looked good together, she caught
herself thinking.

Behind her, the sound of the
drums, chants and screams had reached an all-time high, as if the music was
coordinated with the pressure within her body. She could feel a drop of perspiration
running down her spine, making her shiver.
Her body was writhing in tune with the music, almost like it was an
erotic dance and her gasps and moans attributed to the strange mixture of sounds
and song, making it a whole, as if sex and pleasure was an essential part of the
melody. She sighed when he leisurely spend some time licking and suckling at her
labia.

He returned to her clit, her
slippery juices covering his tongue making it easy for him to glide his tongue
over the sensitive nub. She was
surprised when she felt a trickle of moisture running down the inside of her
thighs. She had never been this wet
before.

Hermione was starting to feel
light-headed and experienced the feel of something like electricity running
around her clit and deep inside.
She felt heat, intense heat, pressure, building up... building,
tightening... she was almost there at the edge, like being at the crest of a
hill on a roller coaster, where the wagon slows down and you're just about to go
over the hill. Time seems to slow
down at that point and your anticipation heightens with every passing second,
knowing that any moment now you�ll go over the edge and start screaming from the
top of your lungs as adrenaline races through your body.

Then Hermione reached her peak
and plummeted over the edge. A
massive explosion started in the pit of her stomach and waves of an intangible
energy coursed through her body, forcing her body to spasm and making it unable
for her to breathe. Her entire body
shook and trembled, her toes flexed so forcefully they started to turn
white. Then the waves slowed down
and started subsiding, subsiding... and then they were gone. She felt like she was floating,
floating... and she could breathe again.
She gasped for a lungful of oxygen, feeling as if she had just resurfaced
from several minutes of being under water.

His arms were around her waist,
successfully relieving most of the strain on her arms after she had buckled
through her knees. He smiled at her
admiringly, as if he thought Hermione had succeeded in fulfilling a difficult
task and was proud of her for her accomplishment. He helped her back on her feet and when
she had found her balance again, he let go of her and walked behind her, out of
sight. Just when she was about to
ask him what he was doing, she felt the rope around her right wrist
loosening. Her arm then dropped to
her side, first her right, then her left.
The first thing she did after being released was pull up her
nightgown. After inspecting the
torn spaghetti straps, she concluded she could still tie them together in a
small knot, which she immediately proceeded to do.

She turned and saw the natives
standing on the other side of a narrow crevasse and a few dozen meters to her
left she saw the wooden bridge she had crossed before. Some of the people were dancing around
bonfires, but most of them were watching Hermione and their God, a number of
them stamping their feet on the ground in what Hermione guessed was their way of
applauding. She blushed scarlet at
the thought that they had just seen her orgasm and were basically giving her a
standing ovation for it. That was
just wrong! Hermione stared at her
feet, finding herself contemplating about the possibility that she was expected
to make a bow or something. What
did one do in a situation like this?

�They�ll expect you to join the
celebrations,� he said to her.

�Really?� she asked, a bit
panicky. �Are you
coming?�

�No,� he smiled. �I think I�d ruin it for them. They worship me, but I do make them
nervous.�

�Oh, I see,� Hermione said,
staring at her feet. She felt
nervous at the thought of having to party with a bunch of people whom had
kidnapped her earlier that night, whose language she didn�t speak and whom had
moments before seen her having oral sex.
Apart from that, she also felt saddened that the strange man in front of
her wasn�t going to join her. She�d
probably never see him again, and that thought depressed her.

�Would you mind if I�d come
visit you from time to time in this... Eng-land you live in?� he asked.

�I- what? Can you?� she asked in
surprise.

�Sure,� he shrugged.

Hermione bit her lip,
contemplatively.

�Yes, I think I would like
that,� she smiled shyly.

They simply looked at each other
and Hermione felt herself drowning in his grey-blue eyes. The silence wasn�t awkward. Unlike most silences, this one felt like
it still meant something, like it served its own purpose; one that words
couldn�t fulfil. Hermione wasn�t
certain at first, but after a few moments of hesitation she leaned in and gave
him a light peck on the lips. She
pulled back quickly and repressed the urge to snigger like a schoolgirl.

Now this was what all of her
business voyages should be like, she thought; discovering ancient artefacts,
learning about indigenous costumes, mingling with the natives and having a
passionate fling with the local stud.
Hermione smiled, thinking that being a woman wasn�t that bad. Things might not be perfect yet, but
someday they would.

�Yes, it�s great to be a woman,�
she thought as she turned and walked away, not before giving him one last look
over her shoulder, watching him cast her a bright smile, which she returned
fondly.

*

Hermione
was staring at the telly, flicking the channels. She sighed at the complete lack of
interesting programmes that seemed to be on at one o�clock in the morning and
decided to turn off the television.
The room was suddenly dark and silent; a small lamp on the cupboard next
to the living room entrance was the sole thing lighting the space. Hermione�s parents had gone to bed about
an hour previously, leaving her alone with no company but the thoughts in her
head, which were the direct cause for her lack of sleepiness.

She
was sick of being alone in this, this... thing she was going
through. It wasn�t that she
disliked the experience, but then again, that might just be the problem; that
she liked it. Perhaps the
dreams would be a more enjoyable experience if it were anyone else than Malfoy
were in them, but as it was, Hermione didn�t seem to completely mind him being
there. The impact this situation had on her life also was excessively extensive
for her liking. For years,
Hermione�s sexual unresponsiveness had made her fear she might be frigid or
asexual, but because of using the Daydream Charms, that theory had been
overruled. Heck, she had even
managed to give herself an orgasm, a notion that merely a week ago had seemed
impossible and ridiculous to her.

Concisely, it was a problem when she
didn�t like having Malfoy in her dreams, but it also was a problem when she
did like having him in her dreams.
She was immensely grateful for her sexual development, but disliked that
it was a result of Malfoy.
Nonetheless while at the same time, as before mentioned, she didn�t
dislike him having his wicked way with her in her dreams.

Hermione groaned in
frustration. This whole thing was
excessively confusing. She wished
she could just relax and enjoy the whole thing, which she felt she should, but
didn�t seem to be able to pull it off.
In her head, she was carrying visions and memories about a person she had
known since she was eleven, of whom she had never had any romantic feelings
toward whatsoever, had never thought of in a sexual context and who wasn�t even
remotely nice to her. These
memories seemed as real as if they might have truly happened, recollections of
him kissing her, touching her intimately, making love to her and making her come
like a freight train. Honestly, how
was she supposed to simply sit back and enjoy this?

But how was she equally supposed to
not enjoy this, or even worse; to stop using the Daydream Charms? She wouldn�t
do that, couldn�t do that; not now, not yet while this was all still so
new and exiting. There was still so much to see and learn and simply
experience.

Staying at home for the holidays had
provided her with an amount of privacy she was unaccustomed to while living at
Hogwarts, so most nights Hermione had felt more than obliged to retire early and
spend hours exploring her own body, trying to figure out its hidden secrets and
learning how to manipulate them.

Her G-spot she had located
relatively easily. It wasn�t the
�magical pleasure-button� Hermione had assumed it to be, but after some practice
with different ways of rubbing against it, she�d discovered why the
pleasure-point was so well-known and that it could intensify her orgasms
massively. She had also located an
incredibly sensitive place between her clit and her entrance, a spot she liked
having caressed at the same time as her perineum when she wanted to bring
herself into a state of arousal.

Whenever Hermione had decided she
wanted to pleasure herself, it wasn�t always because she felt aroused. Before, she had always assumed people
had sex or touched themselves simply because they needed release. However, more often than not, Hermione
had to help herself get to a place of arousal before she would feel the physical
desire to masturbate. Most of the
time she did it simply because she thought it was fun.

For a long time, she had also found
it difficult to understand why people, once they had become sexually active,
found it so difficult to go without sex, even for short periods of time. They had been able to go without it for
years, so it couldn�t possibly be that difficult to do without it again? Hermione now realised that it indeed
would be very difficult; it was like a drug. Ever since she had first brought
herself to release, she had been touching herself daily. The thought of leaving herself alone for
over 24 hours hadn�t even so much as crossed her mind.

Hermione had also discovered that
she liked to have her lower tummy rubbed while she touched herself. She had realized as well that she liked
to fuck herself with her fingers because it reminded her of actual sex with a
man, even though the thrusting motion reached far less sensitive spots inside of
her than more sophisticated movements could get in touch with. She had also discovered that she
especially enjoyed the moment before she climaxed. Not that she didn�t enjoy orgasming
(please!), but the moment before... that�s when her deepest, most secret
fantasies awoke from a dark place in her mind, all coming to life for one
purpose and one purpose only; to push herself over the edge. Hermione loved that moment and wished
she could make it last longer.

Yes, Hermione had learned a lot
because of the Daydream Charms and she was grateful for it.

But still...

Hermione
decisively got up from the sofa and tiptoed up the stairs to her room, trying
not to wake her parents. After her
enlightening conversation with Ginny, Hermione had concluded that it had felt
good to be able to share things with someone else, after which a preverbal light
bulb had switched on above Hermione�s head. Her brain had quickly formed a
scheme. All she had to do now was
to execute it. The dilemma was that
she wasn�t certain if she should.
What if somehow he found out it came from her? Besides, she didn�t even know if it
would have the desired result, because she would just be acting on a hunch. Even if it did work, couldn�t it
complicate things even more? On the
other hand, she would not be alone in this anymore, which was what she truly
wanted, wasn�t it?


She started rummaging through her trunk, deciding to execute her plan
before she had the chance to change her mind.

*

It
was almost noon and Draco was lying on his bed, still in his pyjamas, staring at
the ceiling. He knew he probably
should get up soon, even though he�d rather stay in bed the entire day so this
wretched holiday would have passed him by.
He had been home at Malfoy Manor for five days now, �celebrating�
Christmas. Draco hated
Christmas. He didn�t understand
what people found so stimulating about it; every single day in-between the start
of Christmas break and New-Years day was cold, dark and filled with obligatory,
dreary family functions. Now things
were even worse than usual, with his father incarcerated in Azkaban and the
empty seat at the head of the dinner table being a constant reminder of his
absence. Lucius had never been
particularly fatherly to his son, his idea of parenting mostly consisting out of
telling him off for every single thing he did by hitting him with his cane and
lecturing him about upholding the Malfoy-pride. Even so, Draco had always looked up to
his father and had always strived to please him, to become like him. The sad thing was that Lucius�
expectations of his only son and heir were so immeasurably high that trying to
live up to them had probably been a lost cause from the start.

When
Draco had first received his assignment from the Dark Lord during summer break,
he had seen a way in which he could prove his worth to his father, to the Dark
Lord, to the world. Draco had been
very pleased with himself when he had thought about using Montague�s Vanishing
Cabinet as a passageway, so his fellow Death Eaters could come through and
invade Hogwarts, though mending the bloody thing had proved to be a bane in his
existence for the past four months.
Draco had been so foolish, thinking about praise and glory and not even
considering what would happen if he�d fall short; if he�d fail to kill
Dumbledore. The Dark Lord would
kill his mother, his father, everyone he cared about and would then finish him
off after Draco had witnessed the consequences of his failure. Eventually, Draco had thought it best to
abandon the cabinet and go with a new plan to kill Dumbledore, yet after all his
�brilliant scheming� the only thing Draco had managed to accomplish was put
Katie Bell into St. Mungo�s.
Therefore, he had seen himself forced to go back to the cabinet-idea.

Draco
had simply assumed that he�d be able to stay at Hogwarts during Christmas break
so he could spend a whole lot more time in the Room of Requirement, trying to
fix the cabinet. He couldn�t
comprehend why his mother insisted that he simply had to go home and
waste two perfectly good weeks on celebrating the birth of some bloke who lived
two millennia ago. Draco didn�t
expect people would carry on celebrating his birthday after he�d died,
but he supposed you�d have to first claim to be a son of God to successfully
pull that off.




Draco was a cynic to the core.
He spited those people who believed in the existence of something
unproven; a supreme being that watched over them, or an afterlife. Draco didn�t believe in any of those
things and at times he felt so empty he simply didn�t want to wake up in the
morning. What was the point? Most of the time he thought it would be
so much easier to be part of the �ignorant� crowd. They might be stupid and naive for
believing in something that didn�t exist, but at least they had something to
hold on to; something to give them hope.
People with a wretched life, but with the belief of having an afterlife
had something to keep them going.
The same with the people who didn�t believe in a spirit world, but did
believe in untouchable things during their existence that could bring them
happiness. Draco believed in
neither.

He
didn�t believe in an afterlife or in a God. When you�re dead, you�re just dead;
lights out and eternal darkness.
When he couldn�t sleep at night and his mind dwelled to the thought of an
eternity of nothingness, he often had to push back tears of fright. Death seemed so real these days; The
Daily Prophet was filled with news about people being found dead, and if Draco
didn�t kill Dumbledore soon, he�d be one of them. The knowledge that he wouldn�t be aware
of being dead didn�t help much; he was aware of it now. Draco had given
much thought about theories of incarnation, but in the end, he believed that if
this were true, it was just as bad as eternal darkness. If you didn�t remember being the person
you were in your previous life, if you exist in a different time and a different
place and don�t recall anything of what has happened before, you might as well
be dead and gone. Death scared
Draco, and in a way he understood The Dark Lord for trying to cheat it.


Draco sighed as he rolled himself out of bed and went to get dressed,
passing by a heap of presents he had unwrapped a few hours ago, the packaging
scattered across the floor. At
least Christmas was good for something; gifts. Draco yawned as he made his way across
the room towards his private bathroom.
Along the way, his left foot accidentally grazed the cardboard packaging
of a cubical, highly coloured box; a Christmas present from a sender
unknown.

*****

End of chapter 4

This Daydream was dedicated to
MuDbLoOd_sLyTheRiN. I hereby want
to step forward and admit I was a stupid cow for laughing at her when she
suggested Hermione being a virgin sacrifice and Draco a god. I�m sorry hun, I
hope you still like me.
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Patented Daydream Charms