Chapter 5
Harry's house is silent when I arrive. I walk around reliving all the memories I've had here. This was Sirius' home, 12 Grimmauld Place, the former headquarters of the Order. What used to be the 3d's - dusty, dingy and dark, is now light, airy and homey. I remember the day I walked in here the first time, during the summer before my fifth year. I felt safe for the first time since the Triwizard tournament. I have always felt safe here.
Now that the Order is no longer in need of it, Harry owns it and is free to do as he pleases. The first thing he did was remove the portrait of Mrs. Black. I would too. He has opened all of the connections to the Floo network and removed the anti-apparition wards only to those he welcomes. It is still unplottable. He is Harry Potter, after all, and he couldn't do with hundreds of screaming admirers beating his door down.
I take a closer look at the pictures Harry has throughout the living room. There is one of the three of us at graduation. We were so young. There's one from my wedding to Ron where we are dancing with Harry in the background. Hmmm. I never noticed the look on Harry's face before. He is staring at us with a long of longing, despair. I was so blind then. I guess hindsight's twenty-twenty, as they say. I see many pictures of redheads, the Weasleys, and a few of Harry's mum and dad. I am still startled at how much Harry looks like James. I understand now why Sirius, Remus and Snape had such a hard time looking at him.
I wonder where Harry is as I walk toward the kitchen. When I open the door, I find him. My heart jumps to my throat. He is sitting at the table with his head resting in the crook of his arm, asleep. His glasses are askew and are making red marks across his nose. I can't help but smile. He looks so much like a child when he is sleeping. The wear of the war seems to fade when he closes his eyes. I move toward him carefully as to not awaken him; he probably got about the same amount of sleep that I did. There is an unfinished cup of tea, most likely cold by now, sitting beside his hand, and a bag of melting ice resting upon the other. He never was really good healing charms.
I gently remove the bag and look at the bruises across his knuckles left from his attack on my old wall. I cringe slightly at the dried blood and purple color that has spread across his hand. I cast a simple healing charm and another one to ease the pain. There is no doubt in my mind that it hurts, with how bad it looks. I place a gentle kiss on his temple and go to his room to change clothes and maybe have a bath.
As I walk up the stairs to his room, I absently wonder why he insists on sleeping on the couch when I stay. There are more than enough rooms in this house for me to have my own. Curiosity gets the best of me and I pass by Harry's room to peer into a couple of the others. I open the door to see that the room has not changed since the war. At least an inch of dust covers everything. If all the rooms are like this one, I can see why he prefers the couch. Harry refuses to keep a house elf and I wonder if it has anything to do with my work in S.P.E.W. I smile. A few cleaning charms and a bit of paint would do to make it livable. I guess Harry has never really had a reason to so. Maybe he likes it this way.
I frown slightly at how lonely Harry must be. He lives in this house all by himself with all his memories. I choke down a sob at all that Harry has had to deal with throughout his life. At one year old he lost his parents; at fourteen, he watched Cedric die; at fifteen, Sirius; at nineteen, he lost Hagrid; at twenty-one, during the last battle, he lost Dumbledore. Now at thirty, he has overcome his past, or has he? Why does he keep the house empty, the unused rooms neglected? I idly ponder these things as I get some clean clothes and head toward the bath.
I fill the tub with hot water and some freesia oil. To hell if I'm going to use any lavender. I pulled my hair up into a sloppy ponytail and eased myself into the water surrounding me. I lay back and let all the tension flow from my body. I think over what has happened over the past two days. Dancing with Harry. Fighting with Ron. Kissing Harry. My thoughts decide to linger a few moments on that last one.
I feel a warmth spread through my body as I remembered how Harry's arms felt around me and his lips pressed to mine. I would have lost all self-control if he had tried anything more. I wanted to lose control. I haven't been touched that way in six months. I don't know when Harry was with a woman last, but I am assuming that it would have been Ginny. So, that would make it six years. I grin devilishly at the thought of breaking his term of celibacy. I pray that I am not being foolish about him. He said he loves me. I love him. I can't deny that. I want him; that is obvious.
The warmth in my center is radiating to every erogenous zone in my body. I have become a master at self-pleasure and am not ashamed of it at all. I run my hands gently over my abdomen up to my sensitive breasts. My nipples hardened immediately. I gently pull on them, making them ache and I can't help but fondle my breasts. I moan low in my throat as I imagine my hands to be Harry's.
One hand trails downward under the water to caress the downy curls covering my sex. A finger grazes my nub and I moan loudly. I catch myself and grab my wand to cast a silencing charm. It's been a while and I know I won't be able to keep my mouth shut. I can picture Harry sitting at the edge of the tub, taking over where my hands have paused. A finger is inserted into my core and my hips start to rock against his hand. Another finger and I start to lose control. With one hand massaging my breast and the other delving deep into my sex, I come violently. My hips buck and my head is thrown back calling Harry's name. I gently rub my pussy to extend the pleasure of my orgasm and eventually fall into a relaxed bliss.
Before I can fall asleep in the water, I wash myself and then step out of the tub. As I wrap a towel around me, I notice that the bathroom door is ajar. Oh bloody hell!
*
I wake up at the kitchen table, my hand healed and my tea ice cold. I look around to see… nothing. I distinctly remember putting ice on my hand, now the ice is gone, along with the blood and bruises. Hermione. She must have returned and being the talented witch she is, healed me. I shake my hand waiting for the pain, but none comes. I smile at the thought of her coming in here, seeing me asleep, healing my hand and kissing my cheek. My hand grazes over my cheek and temple. I had a dream that she did kiss me, right at my hairline over my temple. Did she really do it? No, I shake my head to clear the fog from sleep.
I really need to talk to her about last night. I confessed my love to her and she kissed me. I wanted to do so much more than that. Hmmm. I chide my mind for wandering there, because my lower half is now awake and raring to go. I don't want to rush her, but I want to make love to her, show her what love can be like. She had mentioned that it had been six months since Ron even tried anything. It's been six years for me. Ginny was my last. We had broken up because both of our hearts belonged to other people. Mine to Hermione and hers to Draco. She got her dream. I pray that I can have mine.
I get up and dump my tea in the sink. Suddenly, I hear water running upstairs. Oh no, Potter, don't even think it. My mind is yelling at me as my body follows its own will and starts treading up the stairs. I stand outside the bathroom door for a moment. I thought I heard something. Something that sounded distinctively like a moan. No, she can't be. Suddenly the room is silent. I can feel the subtle magic of the charm she must have cast. Silencing charm. Damn.
My mind is yelling at me to walk away and go to my room, but my testosterone-driven lower body is protesting. I open the door slowly and find the most erotic sight I have ever seen. There is Hermione, her hair pulled up haphazardly, with one hand pinching a nipple and the other… Oh my god. My ears strain to hear her, but the charm prevents it. I whisper a 'finite incantatum,' and I immediately take in the sound of her breathy moans. Her hips are moving along with her hand and the water is rolling close to the edge of the tub. I see her body tense and her head thrown back. Did I just hear what I thought I heard? Did she just say my name in the throes of her self-induced passion?
I want to walk in there and take her in the tub. To make sweet love to her for the rest of the day in the tub, on the couch, my bed, anywhere and everywhere that I can think of. Hearing my name escape her lips made a fire burn straight to my erection, making it harder than I have ever felt it before. Gods, she is beautiful. It looks like she's going to fall sleep. I will let her sleep, no matter how much my hormones protest. She's been through a lot. I don't want to add to that any more than I already have.
I start to walk away from the door, go back to my room and try to relieve the sudden tension in my pants. As I turn, I see her naked form emerge from the tub. She is perfect. No dream I could ever have could compare to the real her. My erection is now getting painful at the sight before me. I try to make it to my bedroom as quietly as possible. There is nowhere I can go to relieve this. Damn. I can't just walk over to the bathroom, knock, ask to use the loo and expect her not to notice it.
I grit my teeth and bite the bullet. I open the door, step out into the hall and abrubtly find myself sprawled out on the floor, on top of a towel-wrapped Hermione. Oh Dear Gods! Before I can even think, my lips are on hers, kissing her fiercely and she is returning with just as much fervor. I don't want to rush into anything. This is not good, not good at all. I know she can feel my manhood against her hip. Fuck! Forget it! Screw it! I don't care anymore. I love her and I think she loves me. If this is wrong, let me burn in hell.