Live to Love

Disclaimer: Everything HP-related belongs to JKR, etc. etc.

Live to Love

~*~*~*~

He awoke, finally feeling alive again.

He didn’t know how long he’d been lying here in the Infirmary, after losing consciousness following his final confrontation with Voldemort. His memories of it were vague, at best, and for now, he was thankful for it. He suspected the memory of it would return but for now, he was glad he couldn’t remember it.

All he knew was that he’d been drifting in and out of consciousness for some time—and every time he awoke, she’d been by his side.

Simply watching him, her presence had been a constant, reassuring thing lending him strength, even when he was unconscious.

Now he was awake, no longer feeling any pain or any heaviness. He was alive—and Voldemort was not—and for the first time, he felt relief. He could live now…

He turned his head and saw her, dozing in a chair she’d pulled up by his bed. There were shadows under her eyes and for the first time, his thoughts were clear enough that he felt a pang of guilt for how tired she looked. Those shadows under her eyes were because of him.

She stirred slightly and her eyes opened slowly until she saw him and sat up. “Harry, you’re awake!”

He felt the first real smile he’d smiled in what felt like ages curve his lips. “Yes, I am.”

He was alive, he was awake, and he was free… Free to live, free to love, free to laugh… Free…

He shifted over to the side of his bed. “You look exhausted, Hermione. You should lie down.”

She hesitated for a moment. “But Madam Pomfrey…”

He glanced at the window and the darkness he could see outside. “She won’t be in to check on me until morning. Come lie down.” He smiled again slightly, a teasing glint entering his eyes. “I promise I’ll behave.”

He was alive and it was wonderful to feel amusement again, wonderful to be able to joke and know that now, he wasn’t forcing humor as a way to escape the darkness of reality.

She finally smiled and relented, lying down beside him.

He tucked the blanket around her, keeping his arm around her after he’d done so. “Thank you for staying with me all this time,” he finally said quietly, his eyes meeting hers, serious now.

“Where else would I be with you unconscious in the Infirmary?” she asked.

The simple loyalty in the question touched him and he tightened his arm around her, brushing his lips against her forehead. “I love you, you know,” he said softly, matter-of-factly.

“I know. I love you too.” She let out her breath in a soft sigh, allowing herself to relax, and felt a wave of tiredness wash over her, now that the immediacy of her concern for Harry was gone. She was suddenly aware of just how long it had been since she’d slept soundly for any period of time, weeks…

“Goodnight,” she murmured and closed her eyes.

“Goodnight,” he responded softly but she was already asleep. He smiled to himself, before settling down to relax beside her. And after all, this, just being able to lie down next to her, feeling her even breathing, this made everything worth it…

She awoke to feel the hardness of his arousal pressing into her thigh.

She felt herself blush, but despite her instinctive reaction of embarrassment, she suddenly knew she was ready for this, for more. In the past weeks since he’d first left to face Voldemort and she was left to wait and to worry, she’d wished with an almost painful sense of regret, that she’d allowed their relationship to go further than she had, the kisses, the touches. Faced with her sick fear that he might die, oh how she’d wished she had given him more. She loved him; he loved her and that was all that mattered. Now, when he was back, she knew she didn’t want to wait.

He was alive, alive and well, when she’d feared for a time that she might never see him again. What better way to show him just how glad she was, her soul-deep joy at having him back, than this?

She allowed her hands to roam gently over his face, learning the feel of it, brushing back his hair, trailing lightly over his lips. And then leaned in and kissed him, her lips lingering on his, until she felt his response, his hand sliding up her back to the nape of her neck to hold her there as he deepened the kiss.

When they finally broke apart, he was breathing hard, his face flushed. “What--” he began but she cut him off with another kiss, her tongue slipping into his mouth to tease his, letting her kiss tell him her decision.

She broke the kiss and opened her eyes to look into his. “I want you,” she said simply.

His eyes widened slightly, darkening at her words. His answer wasn’t in words, but in actions. His hands slid under the hem of her jumper to caress the bare skin of her back and then her stomach before finally moving up to touch her breasts, making her gasp. Even through her bra, she could feel his touch burning her, her body reacting.

Suddenly wanting to feel his bare skin, she made quick work of his shirt and never had she been so thankful that the Infirmary robes were button-front as now, when it meant she could simply unbutton them.

She lowered her mouth to his, scattering kisses from his lips down along his jawline and down his neck until she reached his nipple and teasingly touched her tongue to it, making his breath hitch in his throat as he momentarily paused in his own caresses.

She moved further down his body, stripping him of his boxers, and then she forgot herself and simply stared at him, making him color and squirm uncomfortably. She moved one hand tentatively, to brush the hard length of him and he gave a guttural groan, throwing his head back and closing his eyes. Encouraged, she touched him further, wrapping her hand about him and stroking lightly.

He made a sound deep in his throat and opened his eyes, grabbing her hand and stopping her instinctive, innocent exploration.

He pulled her jumper up over her head, taking her bra with it and then she was bared to his gaze. He simply looked at her for a minute before he closed his eyes and she cringed, wondering if he didn’t like what he’d seen. She fought the impulse to cover herself. And then was glad of it when he opened his eyes again and breathed, “My God, you’re beautiful. Perfect.”

And for the first time in her life, she felt beautiful. Because of him, seeing the way he stared at her, the look in his eyes, she felt beautiful, perfect, as he’d said. And she loved him for it.

She leaned down to kiss him again, discovering there was something insanely arousing about the feel of her bare breasts pressed to his chest.

His hands had moved now under her skirt, trailing up her thighs to touch her knickers, wet for him and she felt rather than saw his slight smile, as he slipped one finger inside her knickers to touch her.

She cried out involuntarily, and he smothered the sound with his mouth, kissing her again, hard, his tongue thrusting in and out, mimicking the motion of his finger. She gasped, then moaned, his name spilling from her lips mindlessly.

His other hand pushed her knickers down and then before she could guess what he was going to do and prepare herself, he sheathed himself inside her with one thrust of his hips.

She cried out again, from pain this time, blinking back tears, and he stopped, paling and looking stricken.

“Oh God, Hermione,” he choked out, and his expression abruptly made her forget her own discomfort in a rush of sympathy for the guilt and torment written on his face. “I’m sorry; I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to hurt you. God, I’m so sorry; I forgot and I-- God, are you okay? Do you want to stop now?”

She kissed him, softly, trying to make herself relax. “I’m ok, Harry,” she managed to say. “I just- I just need a minute to adjust. You’re so—big.”

“I’m sorry,” he said automatically and then suddenly the oddity of his actually apologizing for his size broke in on both of them, easing the tension as they both smiled. He was, he decided, probably the only boy in the world who’d ever wished he was smaller at such a juncture.

Sweat was beginning to break out on his brow from the strain of not moving and she brushed her hand over his forehead, pausing briefly to trace his scar with one tender finger, before combing her fingers through his hair in a gentle caress.

“I’m okay, Harry. Really, I am,” she assured him softly, hating the fact that he still looked so guilt-stricken and his hands were clenched into the sheets. And after all, she suddenly thought in a moment of odd clarity, that was the best proof, if she had needed any, of how much she loved him, that she cared more about easing his fears and worries than she did about her own pain.

He didn’t look very reassured by her words and she kissed him, gently at first and then with more passion, until she felt some of the tension of guilt and remorse leave him.

By now, the pain had subsided, leaving behind just a dull ache.

She met his eyes. “It’s okay, Harry. You can move now.”

He stared at her for a moment, and then slowly, began to move, arching his back to slide deeper inside her and she gasped at the friction the movement created.

And she knew she wanted, no, needed more and began to move as well, in time to his motions.

She kept her eyes open, her gaze holding his in this first, most intimate of moments in their relationship. Feeling him inside her, their bodies joined as one… And she realized at some point this had ceased to be about showing him how glad she was he was alive but had simply become about love, hers for him and his for her, the love that had kept him alive for her, for this moment…

His hands reached up to caress her breasts, his thumb brushing her nipple and she moaned, closing her eyes when he moved one hand to bring her breast to his mouth. And all thought of any deeper meaning vanished from her mind, swept away by desire, pure and simple.

Her whole body was tingling now, any discomfort forgotten, and then a wave of sheer ecstasy broke over her, leaving her breathless and trembling, his name on her lips. Her muscles tightened around him involuntarily.

His breath hissed out through his teeth and he came inside her with a cry, his arms bringing her down to rest on top of him.

It was a few minutes before sanity returned and he slipped out of her with a sigh, looking at her.

“Are you okay?” he finally asked, his voice soft, concerned. “I didn’t—hurt you too much, did I?” he continued haltingly, remorse beginning to creep back into his eyes.

She shook her head, snuggling in closer to him. “I’m fine,” she assured him in a whisper.

He tightened his arms around her, brushing his lips against her cheek. He could feel her breathing begin to deepen as exhaustion overtook her again and felt a surge of tenderness well up inside him. What had he done to deserve her? She was so sweet and he had hurt her, he knew that, hating the thought of his idiocy in that moment, and yet she still tried to reassure him, to ease his guilt as if he weren’t the one at fault…

“I love you, Hermione,” he whispered softly.

“Mmm. Love you too,” she murmured sleepily, instinctively moving closer to him.

He brought the blankets up to cover them both and brushed his lips against hers, very lightly, so he wouldn’t disturb her and settled down to follow her into oblivion.

He would make it up to her the next time, he promised himself. And that was his last fuzzy thought before he fell asleep as well, his arms still holding his Hermione next to his heart…