Well, this will be my first foray into the vast world of writing smut for fanfiction. For the record, I blame my peers on a forum-that-shall-remain-unnamed for corrupting me. I hope they at least enjoy this. Read and Review, so I can keep this up!

Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction, and is not in any way meant to be disrespectful towards the original material or the original author. I derive no profit from this work, and only seek to broaden my writing skills in preparation for the day I begin writing my own works

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"Somnium Vitis; A plant with innate magical properties which center on causing intense dreams by transition of airborne spores and secretions. These mediums have addictive qualities which the average witch and wizard ought to be highly cautious of when harvesting the plant, and when ingesting any potion using byproducts of the plant. The Somnium Vitis plant has self-perpetuating instincts which cause it to attract outside animals [and people] in order to establish a symbiotic relationship to aid in its own growth. The vine can be used in many ways, the most common of which is by crushing and diluting the spores for use in potions, the most common of which reverses the effect for Dreamless Sleeping draught…"

'Magical Botany, the Herbologist's Guide to Herbology' by Mercurius Saltus

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Chapter One; Hermione

Sometimes, Hermione didn't understand her personal desire to succeed in every field she possible could. While it did give her immense personal satisfaction, it also had the unfortunate tendency to lead her into situations like today; working in greenhouse eleven on a favor for Professor Sprout.

Of course, she could have claimed to have other things to do; any teacher would believe her after all, but Hermione just didn't think that would be right. Thus, here she was; replacing fertilizer for a variety of exotic plants, all of which had enough of their own idiosyncrasies to frustrate Xenophilius Lovegood.

Sometimes, Hermione hated her personal desire to succeed in every field she possibly could.

Turning to grab the sack of fertilizer, she straightened her spine from where she'd been kneeling over a tiny Polish Glupia Mazwa Maku plant, which spat seeds pitifully at her. Hefting the sack over her shoulder, Hermione wiped a small trail of sweat which dripped down her brow from the exertion of dealing with each specimen for the last hour.

'You'd think that carrying seven textbooks every day up and down seven floors in the most confusing bloody castle within a thousand miles would give me some endurance, but noooo,' she bitterly lamented, making her way back towards the entrance.

To her irritation as she neared the door, the greenhouse would not be letting her go easily. Along the way she felt her ankle seized by a greenish vine stretching out from its pot on the table. Immediately shying away, Hermione yanked her foot out of the tendril's reach.

In retaliation, another vine shot out towards her, small seed pods hanging precariously from the plant. As soon as it got within three feet of her face, the pods burst open, showering her in a cloud of spores which left her light headed as she breathed them in.

Maneuvering herself away from the cloud, Hermione crossed the open space between her and the door and set the bag down out of reach of the vine, making no more out of the event.

Before she exited, she took a moment to glance at the tag on the vine plant, noting the brief title, 'Somnium Vitis' and resolving to look it up sometime in the future, before she left to go study for Transfiguration.

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That evening, Hermione took time to try and cheer up her longtime best friend Harry, who had been sinking deeper into depression since their return to Hogwarts. For the first time in his life he had been experiencing the lack of risk of imminent death by a maniacal psychopath, and it had really only served to shake Harry's already precarious grasp of society and how it functioned.

Sadly, the death of his parent's murderer hadn't served to embolden her perpetually moody friend, but instead had left him feeling bereft of purpose even while the wizarding world around him swiftly decided to shunt him into ignominy following the end of the final Death Eater trials.

The wizarding world was fed up of the Blood Wars. The perpetrators were quickly moved through the judicial system and into Azkaban [or through the Veil], the victorious heroes were given a nice shiny medal and moved back into their normal lives, and the Boy-Who-Won was finally granted his long-held desire of simply being left alone for once.

Apparently, it left Harry feeling rather lost. Having the entire status quo stop hovering over you after seven years tends to do that.

In his time at Hogwarts, he had quickly burned his way through his school-work, and in his free time, Harry now studied Mind-Magic and how to use it. After seeing Voldemort, Dumbledore, and Snape all use the art to great effect throughout his life, it seemed a potent challenge for him to fill his time with.

Since then, Hermione had resumed her role as his closest friends [which she had never really left in the first place anyways]. Thankfully, her efforts tonight were not entirely in vain. Harry smiled gratefully at her attempts to lift his spirits. Following the war, the Golden Trio had suffered a hit when Ron had forgone returning to Hogwarts, instead deciding to pursue a position at Weasley Wizarding Wheezes alongside George. After their brother Fred had died, George had been a wreck and the shop nearly died a premature death before Ron had stepped up to take both the business and his brother in hand and keep them from spiraling into destruction.

Molly Weasley, when she could put aside her grief at the death of her son, had confessed to feeling incredibly proud of her wayward sixth son.

As a result, Harry and Hermione had grown closer to each other in the wake of Ron's departure. Neville and Luna had also become extremely close friends to the pair, although neither had the same depth of history that Harry and Hermione had with each other. Ginny was, like the rest of the Weasley clan, still pulling herself together, but she also remained a close friend.

Hogwarts as a whole seemed a cleaner and purer place, ironic as that might seem. There had always been an underlying tension to the institution; one that was unable to be purged through the finest efforts of Hogwarts' greatest professors. The battle had served to finally relieve that tension, much like an infected wound might be cut open to let out the corruption. The pureblood agenda had exhausted itself, and its paragons now lay dead or sat rotting in prison.

Not that any of that was on Hermione's mind when she made her way back into the dormitory, which was far quieter than it had been throughout her school career. Lavender's death by Greyback left Parvati without her usual gossip partner and best friend, and left the rest of the dorm feeling empty, as though her absence was a physical presence looming.

'More ghosts than Nick haunt Hogwarts now,' mused Hermione dimly, realizing she was still stuck reminiscing.

Going through the motions of her nighttime ablutions, Hermione shrugged off her robes and pulled off the rest of her clothes, leaving her pale form exposed to the chilly air of the dorm.

Examining herself as she had every night since her third year, Hermione took note of the developments she had undergone over the course of her life. Of course, there were the obvious results of her gender and age; she was well-endowed in the chest, although she would never have as massive a bust as girls like Susan Bones.

There since late fifth year, a long, pale scar snaked its way down from just below her collarbone to just next to her naval, while along the inside of her forearm was carved in pale, upraised tissue the word 'MUDBLOOD.'

There were additional smaller scars that littered her form from her various misadventures with Harry throughout their schooling and the horcrux hunt, but she didn't mind them. Each scar showed just what she had endured to get where she was now; how great her resolve to uphold her values was.

The prize she bore from Bellatrix's interrogation within Malfoy Manor held particular pride for her. The torture she had undergone for that single hour had been the single most excruciating experience of her life on a physical level. She had never cracked though, and now she stood proud and victorious while Bellatrix was dead.

'Victory is victory. Dead is dead,' mused Hermione dryly as she climbed past the hangings of her four-poster, slipping under the heavy covers and settling snugly away from the cold. The fabric felt wonderful against her bare skin; whatever is said about comfort charms, Hogwarts robes were still itchy!

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Later that night

Hermione awoke with a jerk, panting harshly, her face flushed.

Quickly cataloguing what had happened to her, she took note of what she immediately knew;

First; she hadn't had a nightmare; there was no panic associated with the dream she'd had.

Second; the dream she had experienced had been intense; she could feel the effects spreading through her body in a warm haze.

Third; her inner thighs, and the apex between them were absolutely soaked. Upon closer inspection, she noted that the sheets were similarly ruined, and the heady scent of her own arousal made her pulse flutter.

Hermione was no stranger to the occasional wet dream. While her life was abnormal by most standards, she was still a developing teenage girl, and was by no means asexual. She, like she suspected her dorm mates of doing, had spent many an hour over the years exploring her body to learn exactly how she ticked.

As a result, Hermione made a snap decision on what to do, deferring to years of personal experience and trial and failure;

Her hand plunged between her slick thighs, and she spent the rest of the night bringing herself past the point of ecstasy until she finally passed out in a haze of satisfaction.

The next morning, Hermione was very aware of the fact that her legs and sheets were a sticky, uncomfortable mess. Last night's activities had been spontaneous, meaning she had not had the opportunity to prepare and keep herself relatively sanitary.

She resigned herself to a long, uncomfortable morning until she cleaned up.

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The next three nights, Hermione had similar experiences; waking from an intense dream soaking wet and horny, and was only able to fall back asleep once she had quenched the fire that had established itself in her core.

Increasingly, she became aware of what occurred in the dreams she had. Images of being bound by some smooth shackle, suspended a short ways above the ground, whilst something long and dexterous plunged in and out of her drenched core whilst she thrashed about.

As her memory of her unconscious encounters became clearer, Hermione reflected that she had never heard her voice raised to such a wanton pitch, and she was forced to begin applying liberal privacy charms to her curtains.

Other details also made themselves known; a gentle ray of silvery moonlight nearby where her encounters occurred, the earthy smell of various plants and soils around her, and the room began to manifest itself into a rectangular area lined with tables.

Little of this mattered to Hermione however. As the dreams continued, her mind continually persisted in drifting off, back towards the subject of her fantasies. She found that with each passing night, it would take longer for her to satisfy herself as the burning itch she experienced throughout her core refused to be sated by fingers alone, desiring to be plundered instead by the subject of her desire.

On the fourth night, Hermione woke to find herself not in her bed, but instead sleepwalking through one of the halls. Quickly coming to her senses, she breathed a sigh of relief in realizing she was wearing a robe, before groaning and sagging forward as raw desire gripped her body.

As her hand drifted towards her core to relieve tension, she let her mind turn towards what she had just dreamed.

This time, she could remember clearly where she was, and what was indulging her so well. Her environment was recognizable as greenhouse eleven. In the dream, she had found herself suspended a foot in the air, hanging from vines which had wrapped themselves snugly around her shoulders down to her forearms, where her hands gripped the end of the vine in a death grip. Lower on her body another two had wrapped themselves snugly around her thighs, preventing her arms from tiring out but not keeping her from thrashing and arching her spine as she was very roughly penetrated by yet another vine.

A shiver rippled across Hermione's body that had nothing to do with the chilly night air. Where once she might have reflected that this kind of fantasy was certainly not the norm for her tastes, by this point she was so desperate to achieve the satisfaction her dream self was receiving that she was quite happy to not give a damn.

Withdrawing her now slick hand from her equally drenched core, Hermione altered her course, heading directly towards the greenhouses with quick, determined strides, her thoughts cloudy save for the singular desire to surrender herself to the plant which now captivated her.

In a small corner of her mind, her logical, rational-self realized that this was the same vine which had grabbed her earlier in the week. It further concluded that whatever was happening to her was probably the result of the spore cloud she'd been engulfed by, and that she should probably go to Professor Sprout to put herself to right.

Her rational self was promptly silenced by carnal desire, shoved into a corner of her sub-consciousness, and ignored entirely.

Distantly, Hermione realized that she had reached greenhouse eleven. Her body shook underneath the robe she had had, her nipples already pebbled from the cold which now forced her to realize that she was outside during the winter in Scotland.

One further warming charm and she was able to happily ignore logical thought again.

Opening the door, Hermione nearly staggered as the earthy aroma of her most profound fantasy filled her senses, a new wave of moisture making itself known to her by making her inner thighs slick.

In a daze, Hermione stepped over to the table holding a heavy pot, proudly labelled Somnium Vitis, her thighs sliding together without a hint of friction.

'Dream Vine,' Hermione translated dimly. Hardly able to concentrate on anything besides that, she stretched her hand out to the vine, willing it to finally grant her the carnal release that nearly consumed her.

Hermione did not have to wait long. As soon as the tips of her slender fingers brushed the smooth vine, its tendrils surged towards her, wrapping around her form and slipping underneath her robes.

Not bothering to suppress a moan of delight, she let the robe drop, leaving her naked form bare to the night air as the vine snaked its way around her arms and legs, hoisting her up into the air, while further vines advanced towards her.

Hermione hungrily arched her body towards the next vines to touch her, willing them to show her some mercy and grant her relief from the burning pyre that had taken residence deep within her core. Two of them surrounded her waist, wrapping themselves up her stomach, past her naval, all the way up to her pale breasts, which they further encircled.

Smaller tendrils quickly followed the larger and began to tease her; two began to tease her aching nipples, causing her to thrust her chest into the night air to make them more prominent, while others began to slide across the porcelain expanses of flesh untouched by the thicker vines holding her up.

The night air became thick with the sounds of Hermione's delight; low moans quickly became breathless and throaty, before morphing into high keens as another thicker tendril finally ceased to tease the apex of her thighs and instead plunged deep within her slick center, the smooth penetration of the vine not encountering any resistance due to the sheer amount of lubrication it worked with.

Hermione's thrashing increased to match the tempo of the vine, and soon she was bucking her hips and causing it to smash against her cervix, sending shivers up pleasure racing up and down her deliciously arched body.

Another tendril made itself known to her by caressing her lips, and Hermione, eyes wide open and dilated surged forward, engulfing the vine with her mouth and lashing it with her tongue, too deeply debauched to care about what was happening to her.

The vine easily matched her movements, exploring her mouth whilst secreting a strange, slightly bitter liquid that nonetheless caused Hermione to begin trying to swallow with fanatical fervor. Whatever it was, the liquid inflamed her body, seemingly increasing her pleasure tenfold, making her want more of it.

The tendril currently dominating her mouth quickly wrapped around her tongue, which continued to try to sample every drop of the delicious liquid it could.

Similarly, the tendril currently penetrating her core so wonderfully also appeared to secreting the liquid, causing Hermione to conclude vacantly that it must be absorbed through flesh instead of necessarily being ingested, as the effect of increasing her arousal was not at all inhibited by the fact that such liquid was be secreted deep within her vagina.

For the first time that night, Hermione's existence suddenly shattered as her entire body tensed with orgasm as a deep, guttural scream made its way into the night air from somewhere deep within her throat. The tendrils within her did not acknowledge this fact, and continued to plunge into her convulsing body while she struggled to deal with the overwhelming stimuli by simultaneously clenching every muscle she knew she possessed [and some she didn't], moaning wildly, and then, when she regained some control of her actions, bucking her hips even harder against the invading tendril.

Time went on, and soon exhaustion began to make itself painfully known as her hips no longer proved able to continue their frenzied movements. As the rest of her body slowly began to become numb with exhaustion, Hermione felt herself lowered to the ground, although she was not yet released entirely.

For a while, she simply relaxed bonelessly as the tendrils inside her slowly thrust within her, reveling in the delightful sensation while suckling contentedly on the vine still in her mouth.

Without warning, the tendril in her mouth was withdrawn, and after a few final movements, the vine left within her core pulled itself out of her, unravelling itself from where it had wrapped itself around her legs.

A small stream of fluid leaked out of her core; in the time that the plant had been pleasuring her it had secreted more than enough to let her feel it sloshing within her while she moved, although she harbored no fears on whether she ought to feel worried; plants and humans were simply not genetically compatible.

Feeling her womb bloated by the substance was also quite the gratifying feeling.

Hermione sighed at the erotic sensation of the slick vine sliding down her legs, unable to muster the energy to even tense her muscles. For the first time in days the unquenchable fire that had consumed her thoughts was entirely put out, and as her body finally began to force her heavy eyelids closed, she and her logical mind both came to the obvious conclusion that she would be returning to greenhouse eleven quite often.