Author's note: Pointless one-shot about…gods, I don't know… Harmony fluff. Don't trouble your pretty little heads about it.
PG-13ish for some (and not nearly enough) groping.
Hogwarts. Seventh year. Harry comes back after his battle with Voldemort and happy endings abound. Or do they?
Well, yeah…they kinda do.
Letter Lights
His first week back after defeating Voldemort, and Harry actually missed the old blowhard. Well, maybe 'missed' was too cheerful a word, but still, Harry'd rather be holed up in his god-forsaken hovel at the front than watching the scene unfolding before him.
Hermione, his Hermione, was currently dancing, on purpose-and-sober, with a suddenly-too-tall-for-his-own-good Malfoy. No, not dancing. She was grinding her perfect little hips inches from his to the beat of some irritatingly upbeat song. Her short black skirt revealed her delectably flared thighs as she swayed to the heady rhythm, unconscious of the male stares she was attracting. Most notable of which was Harry's.
That night's party marked one of the many unwanted and unwelcomed celebrations for the Boy Hero of Hogwarts. The weary and battle-hardened Harry had, days before, crawled through Hogwarts' gates and into Hermione's arms only to be torn from her by a cheering crowd and several nameless ministry officials.
Since then, he'd only managed a few far-between moments with her between his nights spent in the infirmary and his days at various inquisitions and briefings.
Hermione would wait and walk with him as he was shuffled from room to room. He'd put his hand on the small of her back or she'd take his arm and lean against him until someone would pull them apart and shove him into some numberless office.
There was always a door or a wall or a ceremony or a crowd between them, and tonight's party was no exception. He'd managed to rest a hand on her bare shoulder earlier, only to be whisked away to meet some officious-looking, gray-suited stranger.
At least here he was able to watch her. In fact he never took his eyes off her. He growled when she laughed at something Malfoy said and felt a pang when she flashed her winning smile at Dean and silently cursed every wizard who waved to her.
He decided to have a little chat with his…well, he wasn't really sure what to call her. His…whatever she was. But she was definitely his. Not the grinning Malfoy's or the gawking Dean's any other git who thought so much as to touch her.
Harry easily cornered her, wordlessly pulling her to him and leading her towards the deserted part of the wing before his keepers even knew he'd left.
Of course, so intent on his task, Harry didn't catch the euphoric glean in her eyes. Nor did he notice the way she leaned against him, or the way she happily followed him into the dark classroom or locked the doors behind them or the way she sauntered up, stopping inches from his chest and licked her lips and leaned forward…
"What are you doing?" Harry demanded. His eyes were dark as he studied her upturned face.
"What?" Hermione whispered, coming out of her Harry-induced haze. She felt a sharp pang disappointment when
she realized Harry's hands were still by his side, or in other words, not loose on her, tearing off her clothes in
some long-awaited show of passion.
"This," he gestured at her dress, "all this. Who are you doing it for? Terry? Dean? Please tell me it's Malfoy. Please, I need a good laugh." Gods I'm gone for a year and come back to Hell on earth...
"Who is it for?" He repeated gravely.
"Who do you think Harry?" She asked, honestly puzzled as she stared back at him.
"What, for me? To what, cheer me up? To welcome me back? Well, it's not working Hermes. I don't like seeing you dress yourself up like…"
"Like what?" She asked, not sure she wanted to know the answer.
"No like a…" he struggled a bit as she raised her eyebrows and waited for him to finish.
"A what…" She prompted, her hands now firmly on her hips.
"Like a bloody groupie."
Her mouth fell open in surprise before she could muster an answer.
Her hands formed tight fists as she took a step towards him. "Harry," she said carefully, "I wasn't looking for your approval and I certainly wasn't expecting you to react like..."
"Like what?" He asked.
"Like," she searched for the word. "Like…"
He gestured at himself mockingly "Like…this? Like you knew I would?"
"Ha," she said bitterly. "That's a laugh."
His eyes narrowed as he glared at her. "Sorry?"
"This," she mocked his gesture, "My Harry, as you put it, wouldn't have dragged me into an empty, out-of-the way, miles-from-where-anyone-could-hear-us-scream classroom to LECTURE me. My Harry, who sent me letter after letter, telling me what he planned to do to me when he got back wouldn't be worried about my dress. My Harry…"
"Letters?" He shook his head slowly. "What letters?"
"What letters? Your letters…the letters you wrote me," she answered incredulously.
"Letters?" He echoed absently. What letters? Those letters? MY LETTERS? Great Germanus how did she get them?
Harry had spent his nights alone writing her long, heartbreaking pages about love and marriage and how he saw her in ten years, surrounded by six children and four dogs and gods alive how did she get them?
He'd never sent them. He'd just balled them up and tossed them aside. Brave enough to face the biggest bloody menace Wizardom had ever seen but too scared to tell his girl back home he loved her.
He suddenly remembered Hedwig's long nights away. Days when she left without a trace, coming back a little worse for wear after rough flights and strong winds.
Mating season my arse, he thought bitterly.
"Yes Harry, your letters," Hermione continued, unaware of his internal ramblings. "What? Did you honestly think I'd just leave them unopened until you got back? Great gods Harry, I'm sorry if I seem a little forward, but after a year of waiting, frankly I'm just proud I didn't pounce you when you came through the castle gate. My goodness Harry you're not the only one…"
She gave soft cry as Harry caught her wrist and pulled her roughly to him.
"Harry…" she fell silent as he hushed her. He cradled her in his arms, his fingertips tenderly tracing her flushed cheeks as her mouth parted and her gaze grew glossy.
All spit and fire my Hermione, he thought, staring into her cinnamon eyes, smiling as she bit back a soft moan. He'd forgotten that. He'd forgotten a lot at the front. He'd forgotten about the way her honey coils framed her face, and how her skin smelt of clover and lemon, and how her warm, pliant little body looked to fit perfectly with his. He'd forgotten a lot, but he was starting to remember.
Gods, and she wanted him. Here he was, planning some long, drawn out courtship, ready to worship her from afar if need be, and his owl had done all the legwork. Best bloody bird in the country, he thought as he wrapped his arms around her.
He decided to get Hedwig something nice later. A mouse or Ron's flying Volkswagon or something. But later. Much later. After he properly punished his Hermione for being such a tempting little goddess in that, now, rather fetching, outfit.
His face softened as he gathered her to him, lightly kissing the tip of her nose. Hermione's eyes drifted shut as he nuzzled her cheek with his own.
"You're right sweets," he whispered. "Your Harry never wanted to keep his hands off you." He undid a few buttons on her blouse, cupping her breast as he ran his hand under the thin material of the dress. "And don't think he's about to start."
He began nibbling and nicking her ear, working his way down her jaw as she gasped and sighed against him. She, in turn, smile secretly as he gave a guttural groan when she began suckling and toying with the smooth skin of his throat.
He broke away, his green eyes boring in hers as his body began its familiar pulse. He ran his hands along her shoulders, trying to catch his breath and gain some semblance of control, resisting the urge to just throw her over a table and take her right then.
Hermione, however, would have none of this so-called restraint. She made an interesting little cooing sound as she gripped his collar and pulled him to her. Their lips met in a desperate, clashing assault. Tongues plundered as their bruising kiss deepened, and their tender attentions turned violent. Harry gripped her hair, tilting her back as he bit and nipped at her now swollen lips. Hermione clawed at his neck, pulling his raven hair, rubbing her hips against his, seeking friction and release and him.
Harry lifted her against a nearby desk before breaking away. He crouched over her, admiring her tussled figure until she gave a needy moan and reached for him.
He slowly parted her legs and crawled up her body, feral smile planted firmly on his face as he ran his hands along her thigh, pushing her skirt until it bunched around her waist.
From the hallway, only a faint chorus of sighs and thrusts could be heard as they clung to each other, helpless as they tumbled towards oblivion.
--
Some time later …;0
"They're going to miss us at the party darling," Hermione murmured against him. Nearly an hour had past, and Hermione was now snuggly in his lap, straddling his hips as he ran his hands through slightly disheveled hair.
"What party?" He smiled as she licked and bit his ear lobe. He felt playful, relaxed, almost…happy.
"Your party. The one we left to…"
"Shag like rabbits in an empty classroom?"
She grinned against the soft skin of his throat. "Apparently."
She felt him laugh and turned to him, her cinnamon eyes shining. "I haven't heard you laugh in a long time Harry."
"Well, I never told you this love," he eased her back onto the desk and gave a shy grin. "But I'm a bit ticklish there…"
Hermione shook her head, tucking that interesting little tidbit away for future use. "I mean, since you've been back…you've been…and now you're…"
"Happy? Functional? Yeah well…" he muttered, "just nice to know I finally have you. Wasn't too sure there for a while."
"You always had me Harry," she whispered, nuzzling him. "Besides," she went on, "it was your decision to wait. You didn't want me to end up, and I'm quoting from letter number four, 'married to a pile of Crucio-cursed dust.'"
"Yeah?" He kissed his way down her front. "And since when do you let me decide anything for myself?" He nibbled her for good measure as he eased his way further down.
"Too true," she gasped at the amazing dexterity of his tongue. "Remind me never to listen to you again."
"Believe me sweets," he muttered, "I won't have to."
She swatted at him before pulling him back up her body.
"I guess I'll just end up married to a warm, wonderful man," she whispered as she took his bottom lip in her mouth.
He started and stared at her, taking in the significance of what she'd just agreed to.
Noticing his tense change, she quickly corrected herself. "Assuming the offer was, well, if you haven't changed your mind, which, if you have is fine because…" She rambled on, looking everywhere but him as she apologized and explained and backpedaled.
He cut her off with a reassuring kiss, muttering something about how he'd already bought the rings. She felt his fingers dance over her skin as she writhed under his renewed ministrations and his purring addresses of "Mrs. Potter." Needless to say, the happy couple spent the rest of the party making up for lost time.
End