Chapter Eight: Changes
"What was SHE doing there?!?"
Harry cringed as Hermione's shrill voice pierced through the otherwise quiet hotel room. Hermione didn't seem to notice. All she could focus on at the moment was how furious she was at having their evening interrupted by the obnoxious Rita Skeeter.
Hermione was positively fuming. Was this how the rest of their married life destined to be? Reporters popping up in the most private of places to try to spy on the wizarding world's most famous couple?
The angry witch spun around, her narrowed gaze falling upon Harry's. He sat there, a serious expression on his face, silent against her angry tirade.
"And what do YOU find so funny, Mr. Potter?" Hermione snapped. Harry's eyes widened at the angry attention that had been directed his way.
Harry's expression grew serious. "Nothing, Hermione. Nothing at all."
Hermione huffed, landing on the bed back first, staring at the ceiling. It's not his fault. She sighed softly, knowing that she shouldn't be taking the anger out on Harry. But every instinct in her body wanted to lash out at someone. Or at something. She closed her eyes, letting the anger drift out of her body. Moments later, after she seemed to have gathered her composure, she turned on her side, turning and regarding Harry with a cold look. "You could have said something, you know."
Harry frowned, caught off guard from Hermione's sudden mood swings. "If I said something, you know Rita would have just turned it around to make me look bad. She's had it in for you ever since you caught her in that glass jar."
Hermione sighed, dropping her head on the mattress. She traced an invisible line across the ceiling, not saying another word. The tension-filled atmosphere drifted into an uncomfortable silence. Eventually, Harry dutifully sprawled out beside her, propped his head up on his right hand as Hermione reluctantly met his gaze. His eyes were bright and for a moment, Hermione wondered if he was going to cry.
"I'm sorry the night is ruined, Hermione," Harry whispered seriously. Guilt tugged at Hermione's heart. He had done all he could to make this an evening to be remembered. Her gaze softened, slowly rotating on her side to face Harry. She reached out her right hand, brushing the back of her fingertips across his cheeks.
"It's not ruined, Harry," Hermione murmured, as Harry's eyes drifted shut for a fraction of a moment. Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat as her fingers traced the light stubble on his chin. Her pulse was absolutely racing. She wondered if Harry could hear her heart pounding.
"Mione," Harry's voice was scarcely a whisper. Hermione brought her index finger up, pressing it across his mouth, silencing him.
"Don't talk," she whispered quietly, her face drawing closer to his. She paused a fraction of an inch away from his mouth, her mahogany gaze meeting emerald eyes. She was so close she could see the tiny cracks in his slightly parted lips. His breath quickened as his eyes searched her.
"Show," she whispered quietly, her lips closing the distance to meet his.
This was not the chaste, almost reverent kiss they'd shared throughout their honeymoon. This wasn't even the passionate kiss shared between two young lovers in the middle of the dance floor. This was a kiss of desire, of longing, of a hunger that bespoke of instincts long-suppressed.
Hermione allowed her eyes to drift closed, surprised at the initiative she had taken, but strangely pleased with herself, as well. In truth, it was a welcome distraction from the night's events. Her arms slid around Harry's waist, her lips slowly parting. To her shock and almost delight, Harry reciprocated almost instantaneously, his tongue darting in to toy with hers. She grinned in spite of herself, capturing his tongue with her teeth, sucking ever-so-softly as she felt the shudder that spread throughout his body.
Harry's hands drifted up her arms, sending little chills down her spine as his hands came to rest on her shoulders. Moments later, the back of her mind registered the sound of a zipper being pulled.
"Harry!" Hermione drew back instantly, her eyes widening. Harry flushed, his hands snapping away from his wife like he'd touched hot coals.
"I…," Harry flushed, his face turning a deep shade of red. Hermione felt the heat rising to her face. Did she really want him to stop? How far over the line was she willing to go?
Was there even a line anymore?
Hermione's gaze met his, searching his eyes to the question. In his eyes twinkled the light of a thousand stars, but there was something deeper in there.
There was love.
The blush slowly faded from Harry's face and his expression turned to one of utmost seriousness and understanding. "We can stop right now," he stammered, "if you want."
Hermione closed her eyes. Where was the line that had seemed so clear when this relationship began? She felt her face burning with embarrassment. "Well," she stammered in a very un-Gryffindor-like fashion. "...maybe not right now. But are you sure this is such a good thing? I mean... I'm ... a ... well, you know..."
The blush had returned, and Harry's cheeks were even redder than before. He quickly averted his gaze, quickly sitting up and turning away from her. She stared at the back of his dress shirt, pondering his reaction.
"Are you?" Hermione asked quietly.
Harry turned an even brighter shade of red, looking at the ground. He gave a slight tilt of his chin, indicating a positive response.
"Oh Harry..." It was her turn to blush, as she stared at the ground. Harry refused to meet her gaze, and he looked as if he were seriously pondering the quickest way to escape. Hermione frowned, wondering for a second what had him so frightened.
She had never stopped to consider the fact that perhaps Harry hadn't been with anyone else. The young wizard had an endless supply of admirers at Hogwarts. But then again, Hermione couldn't remember a time when he was serious with a single one of them. Harry had always kept people at arm's length, scared that Voldemort's next attack would end the life of someone he cared about.
Maybe he doesn't think he deserves it.
The thought struck Hermione as funny, almost ironic. Harry, more than anyone she knew, deserved the type of unconditional love he'd always been so willing to give. Had the Dursley's really convinced him he was unworthy of such affections?
At that moment Hermione made a decision. Closing the distance between them, she slowly slipped her hand underneath Harry's chin, forcing his gaze to meet hers. He stared at her with an uncertain expression. Hermione slowly drew her lips to his, closing the distance, breaking apart only to whisper a solitary word.
"Nox."
* * *
Later that evening, Hermione lay quietly, snuggled against Harry's side. She relished the warmth of his body, the smooth touch of his bare skin. Her eyes squinted against the moonlight as she watched the deep rise and fall of his chest. He looked so peaceful, sleeping there beside her. Hermione's eyes drifted shut, her mind ringing with the last words with Harry spoke before he had gone to sleep.
I love you.
Harry Potter loved her. The words caused the corners of her mouth to curl upwards. The effect was only momentary, however, quickly replaced by a deep frown. Harry Potter loved her.
But did she love him?
Hermione knew that deep down she'd always care for Harry. He had been a true friend, risking his life for hers on many occasions.
But love?
It was not easy to bar all thoughts of her last relationship out of her head, but Hermione forced herself to focus on the present. Less than a week ago she had married Harry. Before that had she ever thought of Harry in that manner?
A childhood crush, perhaps. But she had given up on those illusions long ago. Love? They'd been together for less than a week. There was no way she could love him. Love was something that took months, even years sometimes, to build. It was not logically possible for her to have fallen for a man she had been seeing for so short a time.
Hermione's eyes snapped open, panic momentarily flooding her body. She had just slept with her best friend. A man she'd been seeing for less than a week.
What had she done?