Chapter Four
The way to love anything is to realize that it might be lost. ~ G.K. Chesterton
~*~*~*~*~
"Do you ever think about it, Hermione?" His voice is rough and dark and makes her think of things of which best friends have no business thinking, things like the heady combination of cool sheets and warm flesh. Things like the taste of his mouth, the smell of his skin and the feel of him inside her.
She has a scant few seconds to appreciate the fact that he's repeating her own long-ago question, then he lifts his hand to her face, his fingertips grazing her heated skin in a soft caress that chases the thought from her head and coaxes a breathless answer from her lips. "Yes."
"So do I." He brushes his fingertips along her collarbone, the light caress sending a flurry of goosebumps across her skin. "Some days I can't think about anything else." The longing in his voice makes her heart flip over. He is looking at her with such passion, his sea green eyes almost black in the half-light, and all her words flee in the face of the naked emotion on his face. "Some days," he adds in an unsteady whisper, "I can't look at you without wanting you."
Her heart suddenly feels as though it might sprout wings and fly right out of her chest. Speechless, she brings her hands up to his face, no longer able to resist the temptation to touch him, to feel his skin against hers. He watches her through half-lidded eyes as she traces the contours of his face with trembling fingertips, exploring the hard curve of his whisker-roughened jaw, teasing the cleft of his chin with her little fingernail. When she strokes one finger along his bottom lip, he makes a thick sound of frustration and grabs her wandering hand. "Don't."
She knows that there are still far too many secrets between them, but the rush of blood beneath her skin is intoxicating. She's been thinking so hard about so many things for so very long. At this precise moment in time, all she wants to do is feel. "Why not?" she whispers, brushing her thumb across the warm skin of his palm, a silent challenge to echo her words.
His hand tightens around hers. "Because today is one of those days."
She freezes, her bravado faltering in the face of such honesty. Pulling her hand out of his grasp, she takes a half-step away from him, even though she knows it will take more than a mere foot of air between them to stop the churning in her stomach. But his hand recaptures hers in less than a heartbeat, and she can't help but think of the ease with which she's seen him snare many a recalcitrant Snitch over the years. "It's always one of those days," he adds softly, lifting his other hand to her face. His eyes are dark and hot with an unmistakable hunger - for her, only for her - and she feels an answering rush of heat flare into life beneath her skin. The comforting sounds of her home - the crackling of burning wood in the fireplace, the muted noise of distant Muggle traffic - fade away until all she can hear is the blood thrumming through her veins, the soft rush of breath in and out of her lungs.
It is, she realises with a silent start, a familiar but long-forgotten sensation. After the Triwizard Tournament in their fourth year, she had often dreamed of being suspended in darkness, unable to speak or see, her arms and legs lazily drifting. It has been a long time since that particular memory has haunted her sleep, but she has never forgotten that feeling.
But this is not a dream, and that weightless sensation is now infused with a sexual hunger that makes her ache down to her very bones, her whole body humming with the need to touch and to taste and to feel. All she has to do is step closer, lift her face to his. One tiny step, and everything will change all over again. One hint of invitation from her, and the memory of his bare skin against hers would no longer be just a memory. Her throat tightens with both fear and longing, squeezing her voice into nothingness.
She struggles to find the right words, a task made all the more difficult by the warmth of his gaze as it flutters from her eyes to her lips. Then he lets out his breath in a soft sigh, both of his hands falling to his side. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel as though you had to - " he stops, suddenly looking so boyishly awkward that it makes her heart ache. "I just wanted to make things right between us."
"Before you left with Remus and Moody."
"Yes."
"In case you didn't come back." The words come out in a whisper, as if that will somehow make a difference. As though she can keep him safe by refusing to admit the truth out loud.
Harry's hand tightens on hers, but his gaze doesn't waver.
"Yes."
She feels as though she might be sick. She feels as though she might cry. She feels far too many things all at once, her head spinning as though she's just been flung from a Muggle roundabout, and then she is suddenly furious, with him, with herself, with everything. Completely frustrated by the utter foolishness of it all. She wants to shout at him, to yell until she's red in the face. She wants to shake him, hit him, push him against the wall and kiss him until the only thoughts in his head are of her.
There's something very embarrassing about realising just how much of an idiotic coward one has been, she thinks as she looks at him, studying the features she knows as well as her own. For so many years now, his has been the voice in her head, the face in her dreams, his words haunting her nightmares. Neither of us can live while the other survives…I always knew I'd have to face him in the end. For the longest time, she has known that every time she says goodbye to him, it could be for the last time. It's something she has long accepted, but tonight the thought is unbearable. Unacceptable. Her heart is hammering and she is almost sick with nerves, but her decision is suddenly very simple. "You can tell Remus that I'll come to Grimmauld Place first thing in the morning."
He nods, a faint frown pinching the skin between his dark eyebrows. "Not tonight?"
"It's late, Harry."
His frown vanishes, his long-practiced non-committal expression firmly back in place. He nods again, then takes a step backwards. "So you said earlier." Still so painfully polite, she thinks sadly. Still telling me what he thinks I want to hear. "And you're right. It is late." He gives her a crooked smile. "I'd better go and give Remus your message."
"Send an owl."
"What?"
"I said, send an owl." Her heart in her mouth, she reaches out and catches the sleeve of his jumper between her fingers. "Stay with me."
He stares at her with such obvious disbelief that she's not sure whether to be flattered or insulted. Neither, she decides swiftly. She's wasted so much time on pointless over-thinking. She can't bear to waste another second. "Please, Harry." She curls her hand around his forearm, the heat of his skin warming her palm through the thin cotton of his jumper. "I'm not sure I'm brave enough to ask twice."
The smooth, pale skin of his throat works as he swallows hard. "You're one of the bravest people I know."
"Not when it comes to this." Putting her hand on his chest, she closes her eyes and inhales deeply. She can smell the clean scent of his skin, the lingering smell of cold night air on his clothes. She wonders giddily if the curve of his neck still tastes like lemon soap and salt, then opens her eyes and her lips and her heart. "I want to stop pretending. What do you want, Harry?"
"What I've always wanted." He puts his hand over hers, splayed over his heart. "You." She closes her eyes as he bows his head, his mouth seeking and finding hers in a slow, sweet kiss.
It's not exactly how she remembers. It's so much better than that. Two years of denying - and remembering - what was between them has only served to sharpen her senses. Her hands twist in the front of his jumper as his mouth covers hers, tiny sparks of heat spiking her blood as she inhales the spicy heat of his mouth. When the cool metal rim of his glasses presses gently against the side of her nose, she shivers. Honestly, who would have thought such a thing could be erotic? She almost smiles at the thought, but then his mouth moves on hers, his lips gently coaxing, demanding, and the impulse flickers and burns away to ash in the heat of her blood.
One of his hands cups the back of her head, the other curving around her hip, drawing her closer. His tongue brushes against hers and her body arches of its own violation, her hips lifting in a helpless, mute appeal. He groans, a rough sound of pleasure that vibrates through her mouth and her throat, then the hand on her hip tightens and urges her even closer. Suddenly the hard, hot shape of him is pressing against her belly, sending a shock of arousal skittering through her like lightening. Obeying an instinct stronger than conscious will, she rises up on her toes, pushing, seeking, wanting to feel him against her, wanting the rigid thrust of his body where she is aching, burning, dying inside.
He lifts his head and presses his forehead against hers, his chest heaving beneath her hands, his heart hammering beneath her palm. Her breath quivering in her lungs, she touches her lips to his and whispers one last question, rejoicing in the subtle tremor that ripples through him. "I guess this means you're staying?"
~*~*~*~
Ridiculous to feel shy, really, she thinks dazedly as her sensible bra falls to the floor to join her blouse and her skirt and her knickers. Harry's clothes are already there, removed by her own shaking hands. After all, this isn't the first time we've done this. It shouldn't feel like the first time. Oh, but it does. Every touch, every kiss, makes her skin blush with a warmth that owes as much to awkwardness as it does desire.
They are in her bedroom, lying side by side on her bed, legs entangled. The flowered duvet is rumpled beneath them, pillows made askew by awkward elbows and hands. His glasses are on her bedside table - he'd flung them there after knocking them against her nose for the third time - and she can't help but feel faintly grateful. It's somehow easier to be bold - to touch him, kiss his smooth skin - when she knows he can't quite see her.
He brings both hands up to cup her breasts and gently scrapes his thumbnails across the stiffened nipples. She closes her eyes as sensation shoots from her breasts to her groin, making her body arch instinctively. Digging her fingers into his shoulders, she lifts her face to his, wanting the reassurance of his kiss. She opens her eyes just in time to see a shaky smile tugging at his lips, then his mouth covers hers, his tongue brushing against hers in an erotic dance that turns her bones to liquid heat.
Harry skims one hand down her side as he kisses her, caressing the curve of her hip, long fingers splayed over her bare bottom. His touch seems surer - more confident - than she remembers. Perhaps it's because they're older now; perhaps it's something more. She has no idea if he has been with anyone else during their time apart, but she will not ask. The thought sears her soul, but she will not ask. Not tonight.
When he lifts his head, she presses a kiss to the faded scar on his shoulder, tasting the salt of his skin on her tongue, then pulls back to study him. He watches her with dark and serious eyes, the soft light from her bedside lamp throwing his familiar features into sharp relief. When she can no longer bear to meet his eyes - her heart is pounding as though it might burst - she begins to touch him, wanting to rediscover and explore. His pale skin is stretched tightly over finely drawn muscles, a fine dusting of dark hair on his chest, under his arms, trailing over his flat stomach. He's still too thin, but he's more than beautiful to her. Lean muscles quiver as she scrapes her fingernails lightly down his stomach. When she wraps her hand around him, marveling at the velvety heat of him, the breath seems to leave his body in a soft hiss. "Hermione…"
He shifts his body then, finally pulling her hard against him and rolling onto his back as he takes her with him. Their legs tangle together, the fine hairs on his thighs scraping against her skin in an erotic caress that makes her body flushed and restless. She feels his erection - that secret, hot flesh, so hard and urgent - pressing against her thigh and she feels instantly feels wicked and wild and totally out of control.
He slips a hand around the nape of her neck and takes her mouth in a demanding kiss that steals the breath from her lungs. His mouth is soft and hard at the same, his lips determinedly coaxing. When his tongue slips between her lips to taste and caress, she wants to weep from the sheer sensual joy of it. When it is over, he stares at her, his eyes roaming her face as though trying to memorize her features. "Did you mean what you said?"
Her stomach flips over. She knows what he's asking, knows that her earlier words - Ron isn't in love with you - and all their implications are still hanging between them. She bites her lip, afraid, so afraid of so many things. What she feels. What lies ahead. Afraid that he will never feel even half of what she feels for him. In the end, though, there's only one answer she can give him. "Yes." She touches his mouth, his chin, feeling the rasp of his whiskers beneath her fingertips. "I've always meant it."
His eyes burn into hers and she can't believe that this is the same man who looked right through her only an hour earlier. The knowledge that he has not told her how he feels is sitting like a stone at the bottom of her heart, and she is suddenly gripped with the need to give him a reason to be silent. Holding his gaze with hers, she trails her hands down his chest, skipping her fingertips lightly over ribs and muscles and smooth, warm skin. Touching her lips to his, she whispers unsteadily against his mouth. "Kiss me again."
He does, and then his hands are suddenly everywhere - touching, teasing, tempting - his mouth following the trail his hands are blazing. Her blood is on fire, her skin shivering at every touch. He mutters her name against her mouth - a guttural warning - then he rolls over, pinning her beneath him, the glorious weight of him pressing her deep into the mattress. When his fingertips brush the inside of her thigh, she shudders. When he presses his palm against the growing ache between her legs, a soft whimper of need bubbles up inside her throat. Digging her fingers into his upper arms, she arches into his touch, her hips lifting off the bed, demanding, pleading. Reaching for her hands, he holds them above her head, pinning her beneath him as he lowers his mouth to her breasts.
Oh, My God. She wrenches her hands free to clutch at his shoulders, then to slide them down his sweat slicked back. Gripping his hips, she pulls him against her as the burning ache between her legs grows hotter and fiercer. His erection is taut and heavy, pushing against her, rubbing, demanding. She wraps her legs around his hips in urgent invitation, her whole body shaking with the furious need to feel him inside her. "Harry, please…"
Cradled between her thighs, he needs no further urging. His mouth is hot on her neck, his hands slipping beneath her bottom to lift her up. There is an instant of sweet, agonized anticipation, her skin almost crackling with sensual energy. All too soon - not soon enough - he takes her mouth in a devouring kiss and presses himself to her, burying his heated flesh deep in the embrace of her body with a single thrust. It's different to the first time - her flesh is slick and waiting - but it still shocks her. She cries out, burying her face in the crook of his neck, her thigh muscles straining as she tightens her legs around his hips. He moves again, filling her, pressing deeper, and she sucks in a sharp breath, her body almost overwhelmed by the feel of him.
He stills instantly, his breath hot and unsteady in her ear. "Are you all right?"
"Yes." She lifts her hands to his face, threading her fingers through his hair, pulling his mouth down to hers for a kiss. "Don't stop."
In the half-lit room that suddenly feels too warm, they twist together on her rumpled bed for what feels like an eternity, remembering and discovering. The scent of him, the solid heat of him against her, the ragged sound of his breathing - all things that have both haunted and sustained her for the last two years - fill her senses. His forehead pressed against hers, he holds her hips hard, pushing her higher and higher until she is almost senseless with need. She listens to her breath as it comes in short gasps, her heart crying out silently with every fevered thrust of their bodies.
You love him too much.
She closes her eyes, overwhelmed by the swell of emotion that floods her heart, and she can no longer swallow the cry of protest that is burning her throat. "I can't bear the thought of losing you." She gasps out the words as they writhe together, every urgent thrust stealing another breath from her body. "I can't bear it."
His heated gaze seems to burn right through to her soul. "Don't say that," he mutters fiercely, putting his mouth on the curve of her damp shoulder, his tongue warm on her skin.
"Promise me." She slides her hands around his neck to bring his mouth down to hers. He pulls her harder against him, his body invading hers afresh in a tender assault. She kisses him hungrily, tasting the salt of her sweat on his lips, her words as foolishly hopeful as a schoolgirl's crush. "Give me your word that I won't lose you."
His eyes darken as desolation wars with desire. "You know I can't."
The pulsing warmth between her legs grows hotter, more insistent, overriding the last shreds of her control. She slides her hands through his hair, digging her fingertips into his scalp as she jerks her hips up against his, urging, demanding. "Then give me something else."
Something inside him seems to snap. He looks at her with something wild glittering in his eyes before he begins to move, burying himself deep inside again and again with long strokes that makes her gasp with greedy pleasure. The liquid heat in the pit of her belly starts to trickle through her veins and she closes her eyes, feeling the familiar tremors burgeoning to life in the hollow of her womb.
With an unsteady hand, he reaches between their straining bodies, down to where the thick length of him is buried so deeply. He touches her there, once, twice, then again and again, touching her with long, slow strokes that call the blood to the surface of her inflamed flesh. A quiver rushes up the back of her legs, her muscles tensing as the dark, heavy knot of sensation deep inside her tightens almost unbearably, then unravels in a rush of heat.
His name tears from her throat in a hoarse cry as the first wave of release hits her. Harry kisses her, swallowing her gasp of pleasure as she wraps her arms around his neck, aware of nothing but the fierce throb of her release. Her head falling backwards, her fingernails digging into his shoulders as she lifts her hips, her body calling to his as he sinks into her again and again. He whispers her name when he finally shudders against her, the pulse of his flesh hot and deep inside her.
When he whispers her name a second time, it sounds like a promise.
~*~*~
The huge yawn almost cracks her jaw in two, but at least it brings her back to life. She doesn't know how much time has passed, but she belatedly realizes that the mattress is dipping behind her. Opening her eyes, she sees Harry rising from the bed and blinks, confused. "What is it?"
"It's okay." He gives her a quick smile as he pulls on his jeans, then leans down to kiss the top of her head. "Go back to sleep."
"Are you going back to Grimmauld Place?" She hears the panicked note in her voice, and wishes she could blame it on being half asleep.
Harry drops to sit on the bed beside her, lifting a hand to brush the hair back from her face. "Not without you, and it would take a braver man than me to drag you out of a warm bed." He smiles again. "No, I just have to let Remus know we'll be there in the morning."
She stifles another yawn. "I'd forgotten about that."
"So had I."
Their eyes meet in a look of sudden understanding, and she feels a rush of heat creeping up the back of her neck. She still feels heavy and languid, the soft skin of her thighs still damp and slightly tender, and she is aware of him with every single inch of her body. His eyes darken as he looks at her, and she feels her mouth go dry. She wants him back in this bed more than she can say - her skin is tight and hot with the memory of his hands on her - but she simply says, "How do you feel?"
He cups her face with one hand, his thumb brushing gently across her lips. "Better."
Turning her head, she presses a kiss to his palm, then to his wrist, savouring the beat of his life's blood - so strong and alive - against her lips. "Better than when?"
The corners of his bright green eyes crinkle as he smiles down at her. "Better than ever." He drops a lingering kiss on her mouth, making her pulse spike, then gets to his feet. "Go to sleep. I'll be back in a minute."
She watches him as he leaves the bedroom, torn between admiring the supple lines of his naked back and worrying if it's safe to use Hedwig. She frowns, then dismisses the second thought. Harry is more than capable of sending a simple owl.
Letting out her breath in a long, soft sigh, she shifts her legs experimentally, pointing her toes and stretching her muscles. Funny how doing - well, that, she thinks with sudden and quite laughable primness - can make you feel as though you'd run a marathon. Her body feels ten times heavier than usual, her heartbeat ten times as loud, the blood in her veins as though it has been replaced with warm treacle. There isn't, she muses sleepily, a cheering charm invented that could make her feel any better than she does at this very moment.
She closes her eyes and rolls over onto her side, burrowing her head into her pillow. It feels very odd to be lying naked in her bed, feeling the brush of cool sheets against her bare skin. She can't remember ever climbing into bed without bothering with her pyjamas, but then tonight has been a night of many firsts.
Once again, time seems to blur around the edges, and it seems like only seconds later that the mattress shifts behind her. She holds her breath as Harry stretches out behind her, his long legs tangling with hers. It takes several seconds for them to adjust to each other - knees and hands not quite knowing where to go - and she can't help being pleased by the thought that this is not something he is in the habit of doing. She wriggles backward slightly, and hears him sigh as her body fits into the curve of his. His hand slides over her hip, coming to rest on her stomach as he pulls her closer, arranging his long limbs so his body is cradling hers. The heat of him begins to seep into her skin, warming her right down to her bones. The steady thud of his heart beats a soothing tattoo against her spine, and her eyelids are suddenly very heavy.
She's drifting towards the delicious oblivion of sleep when he speaks. His voice sounds very far away, even although she knows that his mouth is just a whisper from her ear.
"Hermione?"
"Yes?"
His hand brushes aside the tangled mass of her hair, then she feels the brush of his lips on the back of her neck, the soft kiss sending a flurry of goosebumps dancing across her skin. "I mean it, too."
She lies awake in the darkness long after he's fallen asleep, smiling through her silent tears. If she dreams when she finally sleeps, she doesn't remember.
~*~*~
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