Destroyer

The Trio

Harry woke up by slow degrees, trying to cling to the last vestiges of sleep. His dreams were wonderful and terrible by turn, strange twisted fantasies of death, revenge, and sex. Some of it made sense... the death of course. Death had always played an active role in his life from the time he was very young, plucking away the people who loved him or befriended him.

Revenge was less understandable... less... him. Harry knew he had a temper, but he'd always found it easy to forgive and forget. What was the point of carrying grudges? First had been the Durselys- the constant abuse - what right did Harry have -the poor unwanted relation - to begrudge their treatment? Then as he grew up in Hogwarts, he learned his real background, how his parents had died for him, and that Voldemort was after him. What use would it have been focusing on the wrongs done to him when he would die soon, anyway?

Now the war was over and it was the craziest thing... he was alive . Alive! Who would have guessed? Certainly not the Harry of a few months ago, as he marched willingly to his death in the dark forest.

Now though, as the days turned into weeks, with the specter of his imminent death from the war removed, each slight, each wrong against him, jumped out of his memories while he was sleeping. Look, his dreams told him, look at what they did to you.

And Harry felt the need for revenge almost like a burning in his gut, wild and uncontrollable. A fire that wanted to rage and spread, burning everything in its path. Maybe it was some heretofore unknown part of him shoved down by the constant trauma of his life. Some petty, cruel, vengeful aspect of him that had subconsciously tabulated the slights against him. Memorized each face, itemized each insult, and now replayed them for him in his dreams.

But then it wasn't only slights to him- was it? The dreams also showed him remembered cuts against her . Silent or overt. Sneered or spoken. Dismissive sideways glances with laughter a shade too loud- meant to be heard by her.

Her .

Hermione Jane Granger.

He opened his eyes and saw clearly despite the dimness of his room, despite the fact his glasses were probably on the bedside table. Her arm was across his chest, her wild hair tickling the underside of his chin.

He could feel the warmth of her breasts pressed tightly against him where she cuddled.

Which brought Harry to the last part of the dreams.

The sex.

The explosive, hot, soul shattering sex he dreamed about having with her .

Harry closed his eyes, and the fantasy rolled out immediately, as if it had just been briefly paused. Waking her up with kisses, running his hands all over her body. Feeling her nipple bead against his tongue.

"Harry?"

Shit . Frantically he pulled thoughts to calm down his erection. Umbridge. Pink. Freaky kittens!

"Yeah?"

She leaned up a bit to look down at him. "Did you just say freaky kittens?"

"Weird dreams." Had he really said that out loud? He was losing it.

He put his arm across his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at her. She hadn't moved, and he could feel her stare burning into him.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Well see, Hermione. I keep dreaming I will take over the wizarding world and then make my new home between your pretty thighs.

Yeah, that wouldn't go over well. Keep it together, Harry. What the hell was wrong with him?