Finding Normal

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"It’s warm in here."

"I know, I left the central heating on. I hate coming into a cold house after a run."

The first words they exchanged upon reaching her house were not the stuff of which romance was made, but Hermione didn’t mind. The easy familiarity between them was as important to her as the simmering sexual anticipation that literally had her hopping from one foot to the other. Almost as important, she amended silently as Harry casually leaned against the kitchen sideboard, hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his hooded sweatshirt, then looked at her expectantly.

Lordy. Her hands on her hips, Hermione blew out a loud breath through pursed lips, then gave him a wry smile. Would it always be like this between them? she wondered. Even after three months of, well, this, all it took was one look from him to make her feel as though she didn’t have two brain cells left to rub together. For someone who’d always prided herself on her mental prowess, it was a rather disconcerting feeling.

Acutely aware of his gaze searing the back of her neck, she walked slowly toward the refrigerator, surreptitiously shifting her weight from one aching leg to the other. She wasn’t a seasoned runner by any stretch of the imagination – too many years spent huddled in a library chair hadn’t lent itself to a particularly high level of fitness - but running was one of the many ‘normal’ things she’d incorporated into her schedule over the last few months.

Normal. Hermione’s hand tightened on the handle of the refrigerator door. Some days she felt as though she was playing a role on the stage, just going through the motions of everyday life for some unseen audience. Normal was a word she’d almost given up hoping could ever be used to describe her life – their life – again, and yet here they were. Voldemort was dead and she and Harry had just been for a late night run through the streets of Muggle London for no other reason other than the simple pleasure of being together. Normal would be good, she thought again. So why was it that the word sometimes seemed synonymous with boring in her mind? Surely after all they’d been through over the years, normal would be a good thing?

Opening the refrigerator door, Hermione stared at the contents within, uninspired. They’d already shared a bottle of water before Apparating to her house after their run, but she felt she should make at least some effort at being a good hostess, even though her guest was her best friend who had been to her flat more times than she could remember. "Would you like a glass of wine?" she asked as she pulled the elastic from her tight ponytail and ran her fingers through her hair with relief.

Harry closed the distance between them in two easy strides, his gaze following the movement of her hands with a hunger that made her mouth go dry. "No, thank you," he said politely as he took the elastic band from her fingers and dropped it onto the kitchen bench. Gently threading his hands through her hair, he kissed her forehead, then her temple, then the corner of her mouth. Fleeting, whisper-light kisses that made her pulse quicken and sent a shiver of pleasure dancing down her spine. By the time his lips touched hers, all thoughts of being a good hostess had fled.

She wasn’t, however, totally lost to reality. When he reached for the zipper at the front of her hooded shirt, she entwined her fingers with his, interrupting his endeavours. He merely quirked a well-shaped eyebrow, as though he didn’t know his thumb was tracing a slow circle over the curve of her breast. "I thought I might have a shower," she explained sheepishly, knowing she was probably ruining the moment, but feeling too hot and sticky from their run to be happy with tumbling instantly into bed.

Harry’s eyes darkened. Brushing aside her hair, he bent his head to kiss her throat, then the curve of her neck, a slow, deliberate tasting of her skin that turned her bones to water. She closed her eyes as goosebumps skittered across her skin, her hands clutching handfuls of his sweatshirt. "Were you planning on taking this shower alone?" he murmured, his tongue delicately tracing the whorl of her ear.

She shivered with delight, both at the implications of his question and the feel of his stubble grazing the side of her throat. "Well," she heard herself say in a far away voice, "company is always nice."

He said nothing, but simply took her hand in his, his gaze searching her face, the heat in his eyes making her stomach flip-flop. Leaning forward, she brushed his lips with a chaste kiss, her other hand on his chest, resting over his heart. Pulling away, she let her gaze flicker toward her bathroom, then slowly met his eyes once more. "After you, Mr. Potter."


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Steam surrounded them, fogging up the glass, fogging her thoughts until there was nothing left but Harry and how he was making her feel. Before this moment, she’d never fully appreciated the erotic properties of liquid soap and hot water. She knew she’d never look at her fluffy loofah quite the same way either. Or pumpkin pie, she thought dazedly as the smell of cinnamon filled her senses. God help me the next time I’m offered pumpkin pie in public. Why did I let Ginny convince me to buy that stuff? Merlin, it smells so good.

Her back braced against the cool tiles, she trailed both hands down Harry’s chest, then his stomach. She couldn’t stop touching him, couldn’t stop running her hands over skin that was slick with moisture and sweetly scented foam. Harry seemed to be having the same problem. A look of utter absorption on his face, he cupped her breasts in his hands, his fingers gentle as they caressed and teased. Bowing his head, he kissed her, his tongue exploring her mouth with lush, languid strokes. One hand dipped lower, sliding down her stomach, and Hermione felt her whole body clench with expectation.

"Harry…" she breathed his name into the steamy, fragrant air, her toes curling into the tiles as he cupped the aching warmth between her legs. He kissed her softly on the mouth, then lifted his head. His gaze devouring her face, her lips, he caressed the soft curls between her thighs. Holding her eyes with his, he gently slid one long finger inside her, unerringly finding the place where her pulse pounded violently with the need of him.

Heat instantly flooded her veins, tightening her skin. "Oh, God…" The warm water beat a tattoo on her shoulders, running down her arms, the backs of her legs. She barely noticed. Hooking one arm around Harry’s neck, she pulled him closer, wanting – needing - to feel his skin against hers.

A dark hunger flickered in his clear green eyes, then he covered her body with his, pinning her against the smooth tiles, his hand still between them, still driving her senses to the brink of meltdown. He kissed her, his mouth hungry and demanding, his whole body moving against hers in a subtle, slick rhythm, his chest rubbing against her aching breasts. She felt the rigid length of his arousal – hard and urgent – against her inner thigh, but for the moment he seemed intent on pleasing her rather than himself, and she wasn’t about to argue with him.

His mouth moved to taste the curve of her jaw, then her throat. "You’re so beautiful," he whispered against her skin.

You make me feel that way, she told him silently, her throat suddenly thick with unspoken emotion. Her heart felt as though it was about to burst, as though there was too much trapped inside it.

He bent his head to kiss the hollow between her breasts, chasing away her thoughts. When his mouth closed over her nipple, the brush of his tongue mimicking the slow, deliberate slide of his clever fingers, she couldn’t hold back the moan that rose up in her throat. "Harry, please…" She arched into his touch, wanting more, not knowing if she could stand it.

Muttering her name, he pressed her hard against the tiles, his mouth hot on her shoulder. He curled his fingers inside her, rubbing and teasing her aching flesh until her breath was coming in short, shallow pants, her eyes tightly closed. Then his mouth was on hers, a fierce, hungry kiss, the brush of his tongue against hers making her shudder with pleasure. It was as though she could feel the violent beat of her pulse everywhere – her breasts, her throat, just under her skin.

She rose up on tiptoe, the muscles in her legs tightening, adding to the delicious, almost unbearable sensation of everything inside her growing taut with anticipation. His touch grew more demanding, his caress becoming a sensual challenge. The promise of release fluttered low in her belly, then retreated, making her gasp, her body straining, seeking, finding.

Her climax hit her hard, a sudden wave of pleasure flooding the hollow of her womb, the throb of release pulsing deep inside her. She cried out, the sound echoing softly around them, her arms going around Harry’s neck to pull him close. The warm water sluiced over their entwined bodies as she clung to him, her hips instinctively rocking against the hand that had just turned her into a gibbering wreck.

With a sigh, she buried her face against his shoulder, her breathing still rapid and shallow. She felt his arms go around her to shut off the water, then he was holding her tightly against him, one hand on the back of her head. His lips brushed her temple softly, a gentle caress contradicted by the wild hammering of his heart against hers and the hard thrust of his erection against her belly.

She kissed his throat, tasting both salt and clean skin, then trailed her hand down his stomach. Her fingertips danced over crisp male hair, then smooth, hot flesh that strained against her palm. Harry inhaled sharply, a groan resonating deep in his chest as she touched him. "Your turn," she murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to his shoulder, her tongue savouring the sensation of cool drops of water and warm skin. He smelled of cinnamon as much as she did, and she wanted nothing more than to sink her teeth into him.

Harry’s hands tightened on her hips. "Not here." He pulled her away from the wall, then reached for the glass door of the shower.

"You’re no fun at all," she shot back teasingly, but she couldn’t deny that her legs were rather wobbly and that changing venues was probably a good idea.

He gave her a slow smile, his hair a damp, dark tangle, droplets of water clinging to the ends of his eyelashes. "Is that so?"

Hermione suddenly felt as though someone had reached into her chest and squeezed her heart. She opened her mouth to speak, her head and heart filled with far too many feelings to keep to herself, then she simply put her hands on his shoulders and kissed him lightly. There was, after all, a time and a place for everything, something that was still hard to remember after so many years of snatching stolen moments. They would have time to talk later, just like normal people.

"You’re right. It’s getting cold in here." She deliberately let her breasts brush his chest as she spoke, and a muscle twitched in his smooth jaw, something that always happened when she pushed him too far. Even after being with him like this so many times, the realisation that she had such power over him sent a surge of unabashed feminine satisfaction through her. Mischievously deciding to push him a little further, she stroked one muscled thigh, then once again wrapped her hand around the warm, thick length of him, teasing him with her fingertips. "And I would hate for you to catch a chill."

The next few seconds were a blur of white towels followed by the familiar feeling of Apparating whilst in Harry’s arms. She had only a split-second to register the fact that they’d moved from the bathroom to her bedroom before he was gently pushing her backward onto her bed. As his body covered hers, his mouth taking hers in a hungry yet leisurely kiss, Hermione realised that finding normal might turn out to be a lot easier than she thought.

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