Disclaimer: See Part 1.
Author's Note: Several of you have mentioned that this fic has too much thought and too little action, which is valid because I don't write action-fics, hence why this is the first (and last) long, plot-full fic I've ever tried to write. A note on time, though, since I can see why it would get confusing and I haven't tried to be too specific about when any of this is taking place but this fic began at the beginning of August, just after Harry's birthday and approximately a month after the end of HBP and right now, in the fic, it is the end of November. It's been, in the world of the fic, just under four months, which is, I think, a not-excessive amount of time to wait for H/Hr to actually happen, given all the junk from HBP that needed to be cleared up and gotten out of the way before H/Hr could happen. That said, you may rest assured, that more action and plot-like things will begin to happen very soon.
And now, before this author's note gets longer than the chapter itself, what you've all been waiting for-I hope this is worth the wait!
From My Soul
Part 16
Hermione couldn't breathe.
Suppressed sobs were building up in her chest, choking off her breath as she sat in a chair between her parents' beds, staring at the floor with tear-filled eyes.
She could still hear Mr. Weasley's voice, telling her what would happen to her parents-and the choice she needed to make. And though she knew what her answer would be, what she needed to do, it hurt so much.
It hurt-she'd never imagined anything could hurt this much-and it would be the hardest thing she'd ever had to do… But not for a second did she doubt her decision. There was no decision to make; it had never really been a choice. But- oh, how it hurt…
She could picture it in her mind so easily, the table at which she'd eaten so many meals in the dining room which she knew so well-and the lightning bolt shape, all too familiar to her from having seen it on Harry's forehead for the past six years now, burned into the table in a clear warning. Her parents weren't safe; would never be safe as long as they were known as her parents and as long as she was Harry Potter's friend…
A shudder convulsed her and she felt another wave of nausea at the mental image and the unmistakable message it carried.
Beside her, she heard her mother give a faint moan and she bolted to her feet, bending over her mother.
"Mum?" she asked hesitantly. "Mum, can you hear me?"
Very slowly, after a few minutes that seemed like an eternity, Claire Granger's eyes fluttered open.
Before Hermione had time to do anything but catch her breath in relief, a Healer bustled in, having been alerted to the change in Mrs. Granger's condition by the sensors placed around the bed, and bent over Mrs. Granger while running her wand over Mrs. Granger's body. She looked up at Hermione with a slight smile. "Your mother should be fine."
Hermione felt her body sag in sheer relief as the Healer continued. "It will take some time for the internal damage to heal as Muggles react slower to potions than wizards do and heal slower but in time, she should be as good as new."
Hermione smiled through tears, of relief this time. "Thank you, Healer Morgenthal."
The Healer nodded and smiled again before leaving the room.
Hermione bent over her mother again. "Mum, did you hear that? You're going to be fine," she said softly.
Claire Granger opened her eyes which had drifted closed and managed a twitch of her lips. "I heard," she murmured.
Hermione kissed her mother's cheek gently. "I'll stay right here, mum. Rest now."
Claire's fingers twitched, moved to try to grasp Hermione's hand and Hermione curled her fingers around her mother's as she sank back into her seat.
It wasn't until the next day when Hermione's father, too, was pronounced out of danger although he still hadn't regained consciousness that Hermione explained things to her mother who was somewhat more herself now.
"Mum, I need to tell you something. I- I can't stay here for too long, another couple days, until you and Dad are doing better. You-the Order I told you about-they're going to arrange for you to go into hiding. Mum, you--" she stopped, hesitated (how was she supposed to tell these things to her parents?) but then continued, bravely, after a breath, "you were attacked, targeted, because of me. Voldemort, the one who killed Harry's parents, knows I'm friends with Harry and so he went after you. You need to go into hiding so you'll be safe." She paused, continuing to meet her mother's worried gaze with an effort. "But that means you won't be able to hear from me until the war is over. I can't contact you and you can't contact me."
"But Hermione, you can't! If it's so dangerous, you shouldn't be out there either," Claire burst out although her weak voice never got much louder than a whisper, and then winced and fell back on her bed, from the effort it took to speak so forcefully.
Hermione sighed, tightening her grip on her mother's hand, willing her mother to understand. "I'm sorry, mum, but I have to. I love you and Dad but, you see, I need to help Harry. He needs me and I- I belong with him." Hermione stopped, her eyes widening slightly at this admission even as she accepted the truth of it. "I belong with Harry, mum. I need to stay with him."
Claire Granger was silent, studying her daughter's face, the earnestness of her expression, the soft light in her eyes when she spoke of Harry. "I knew you loved your Harry." And with those 6 words, Claire Granger accepted a truth she'd been denying for too long.
Her daughter, her little girl, had grown up. She had felt it more and more in the past three years since the end of Hermione's 4th year when Hermione had come home with a story about how Harry had nearly been killed. She had sensed it, known it, even as she tried not to accept it. It had always been Harry.
From the first, Hermione's letters had been filled with him, her stories had been of him-even last year when there'd been a marked increase in mentions of Hermione's other friend, Ron, and grumblings about how annoying Ron could be sometimes, it had been about Harry.
She felt a pang of loss as she tightened her grip on her daughter's hand, wishing she could in the same way, tighten her hold on her daughter's affections, even as she realized the futility of it.
Her Hermione, whom she'd tucked into bed, read to, cared for, encouraged, was a little girl no longer. Hermione had grown up into a strong, confident, smart and caring young woman-a woman who was ready and willing to risk her life, do whatever was necessary, for the sake of the man she loved. She realized all this in one painful, poignant moment but all she said was, "I knew you loved your Harry."
Hermione's expression softened. "I do," Hermione confessed. "I do, so much-and I belong with him. You understand, don't you, Mum?"
"Yes, I understand." Those three words were filled with all the mingled love and pride and hopes and fears of all the mothers who had ever had to say goodbye to their children, realizing their futures were in their own hands now.
"But be careful and take good care of yourself and your Harry so we can meet him someday."
Hermione smiled through the tears blurring her vision. "I will. I promise."
~*~
Hermione came back early in the morning before Ron had woken up.
Harry had been drinking pumpkin juice rather listlessly, when the door bell rang and he'd nearly choked on the drink. And even though he'd spent the last nine days wishing she would come back so he would know the worst, now that she was back he found himself wishing she weren't. He didn't want her back if it was only to say goodbye. He didn't know how he was going to let her go, how he was going to say goodbye to her.
The first sight of her gave him an almost-physical pain in his chest at how pale and drawn she looked, her eyes red and swollen from tears. She looked so weary with an exhaustion that seemed to come from her very soul. And yet she was very calm, composed-too calm and too composed. There was a sort of distance about her, as if she was only functioning normally by having cut herself off from her emotions.
This distance as much as his own fear prevented him from saying anything other than, "How are your parents?" with some hesitation and a pang of now-familiar guilt. They'd been hurt because of him-how could he just ask how they were? How could he dare?
"They're doing better," she answered briefly, a flicker of some emotion he couldn't identify passing over her face.
Wretched with guilt and fear and anticipated hurt, he could only show some of the concern he felt by asking, lamely, "Do you want some tea?"
"No. I'm just going to go up to my room." She didn't look at him, spoke in as expressionless a voice as he'd ever heard from her.
His heart clenched. So she was leaving. She just needed to pack up her things. And she clearly didn't even want to look at him. Of course she must hate him-why would she want to look at the person responsible for her parents being attacked? She would just leave.
He couldn't blame her; he couldn't stop her-and he'd promised himself he wouldn't reproach her in any way. He didn't know where he'd get the strength to say goodbye to her or how he was going to manage without her but somehow, he knew, he had to.
She had gotten up to leave the kitchen and he knew he should tell her he understood her decision, supported it even. She'd be safe and with her parents, where she belonged. She'd be safe… That was the only comforting thought and he clung to it, reminded himself of it repeatedly. She'd be safe-and he was glad of that.
He tried to say something to let her know but in the face of her weary detachment, he couldn't find any words. And the only thing he thought to blurt out, almost desperately, was, "Can I help you pack?"
She stopped, her hand on the doorknob and for the first time since she'd returned, she looked directly at him, stared at him, confusion written all over her face. "Pack? Harry, what are you talking about?" It was evidence of just how tired she was that her voice actually sounded remarkably calm, even normal.
"Remus told me," he explained hurriedly, the words almost tumbling out of his mouth in his anxiety to ease any guilt which she might be feeling. She had no reason to feel guilty, none. She'd already helped him so much, given up so much for him. He couldn't blame her now. She was right to go. Even friendship-best friendship-could only go so far, ask so much-and she had already done so much, helped so much. No one could have asked for more. "About your parents going into hiding. I- I'm glad. You'll be safe with them; you should be with your parents. I'm glad," he told her again, as if repeating the words would somehow make them true.
Hermione stared at him, sudden comprehension dawning-followed by a surge of an emotion she could only identify as love, so strong it left her shaken and if she had ever had a moment's doubt about the rightness of her decision, it would have been put to rest forever. And it broke through the walls she'd built to keep inside the tears she hadn't wanted to cry in front of her parents when she'd said goodbye to them, the tears she hadn't wanted to cry until she was alone in her room where no one could see her. The grief and the guilt were still there, but they were nudged aside momentarily in a wave of tenderness as she could imagine just what Harry had gone through thinking she was planning to leave to go into hiding with her parents.
Harry waited, almost afraid to look at her but finally he did-and the look in her eyes told him the truth and all he needed to know.
She moved closer to him, all detachment gone, until she was standing right in front of him, her eyes meeting his. "I'm not leaving," she told him quietly, confirming aloud what her expression had already told him. "I won't leave you."
I'll never leave you-the promise remained unspoken as did her new realization that here, with Harry, was where she belonged-but somehow she knew it was understood.
Relief-so potent he was nearly giddy from it-welled up inside him and, caught up in the tidal wave of emotion, he stopped thinking, stopped wondering, all his previous hesitation and doubts forgotten in that moment. And he thanked her-and told her how he felt-the only way he could think to do, or not think to do, acting on instinct and need more than on rational thought as he was-and caught her face in his hands, cupping her cheeks gently and kissed her.
Kissed her full on the mouth before he'd even realized what he was doing.
She stiffened a little in shock before her brain caught up and she realized with amazement that Harry-Harry-was kissing her as she'd dreamed he would and wanted him to for so long now…
Her lips softened, parted, as she kissed him back with more raw emotion than skill but it didn't matter.
It didn't matter because his lips were on hers, his tongue somewhat tentatively exploring her mouth-and any awkwardness or uncertainty faded with the sheer rightness of it.
He finally drew back, his hands still cupping her cheeks to stare at her, his eyes wide, his heart clattering in his chest at the knowledge that she had kissed him back.
They didn't speak, didn't say anything for a moment. He couldn't think of anything to say; that kiss had said it all, he couldn't help thinking, and still occupied a good portion of his brain.
But finally she smiled, ever so slightly, and brushed her lips against his again. "I'm going to go take a nap," she breathed against his lips.
He could only nod, some part of his mind reasserting itself with the rational thought that she must not have slept much these past few days and needed the rest.
He watched her go and it was only then he recognized the sudden lightness he felt, a sort of optimism and hope he hadn't known for what seemed like months. Hope-such a simple thing, such a little word, but so important-and he felt it now, again, because of her…
He had kissed Hermione and-he couldn't help but smile (his first real smile in what felt like weeks)-she had kissed him back.
~
He hadn't meant to blurt it out like that to Ron, had barely had time to even consider how he would tell Ron but he never imagined he would simply blurt it out in so many words.
But really, he thought irrationally, it was Ron's fault for waking up earlier than he usually did, and coming downstairs to the front room, just more than an hour after Hermione had returned and gone up to her room. Ron came down, interrupting his thoughts, long, long before he had any inclination (or ability) to think about anything or anyone but Hermione and that she was back and she wasn't leaving him and he'd kissed her- my God, he'd kissed her! He'd kissed Hermione!- and she had kissed him back…
So when Ron made his way into the room and sat down, still rather bleary-eyed with sleep, across from him and murmured, "Morning," he had no thoughts left to answer coherently.
Which was why his response to Ron's greeting was, "She kissed me back."
Harry shut his mouth, feeling himself flush. Bugger. He hadn't meant to blurt it out like that. Nice job, smart-mouth, mocked a sarcastic voice in his head that obviously retained more coherence than the part of his brain that controlled his mouth did.
"Mm," Ron mumbled.
Harry waited. There was a beat of silence and then-
"Wait. What?"
Ah yes, there it was.
Harry waited just one more moment and then, as he'd expected, Ron's still-sleepy mind managed to work its way through all the ramifications of what he'd said.
"Hermione's back? How are her parents? You snogged her? When? How-I mean-not how but- er- why? And- and she kissed you back?"
"Yes, she's back, got back about an hour or so ago. Her parents are doing better. And- er- yeah, I kissed her."
"Just like that?"
Harry shrugged. "Sort of. I- it was the only thing I could think to do at the time," he explained, rather lamely.
Ron paused and then asked, "And she-er- snogged you too?"
Harry shifted, looking away, feeling himself redden again. "Erm- yes." He glanced up at Ron. "Do you- er- mind?"
Ron blinked a few times. "Mind? I…" he paused, hesitated, and then met Harry's eyes. "No, I don't mind. I just want to know what took you so long?"
Harry grinned slightly. "I dunno. Things just… got in the way and I wanted to be sure, you know." He paused, shifted, and then admitted quietly, "'Cause Hermione's different; she's not just a snog."
"Yeah." For a moment, Ron was silent and then he added conversationally, "You know if you hurt her, I'll kill you."
Harry smiled fleetingly before sobering. "I won't, not if I can help it," he promised.
"So she obviously doesn't blame you for what happened," Ron observed.
Harry's expression softened, suffused with something that Ron could only call tenderness. "No, she doesn't," he said slowly, managing to sound surprised.
"I could have told you she wouldn't," Ron couldn't help but say. "But would you listen? No."
Harry lifted one shoulder into a half-shrug. "So you were right. There, happy now?" he asked with a slight smile.
"Yes, thanks," Ron nodded, trying to look solemnly vindicated but a grin was tugging at his lips and it won out. "You really are a stubborn git sometimes."
"Thank you," Harry said wryly. "You're so flattering."
"Well, somebody has to keep the ego of the Boy Who Lived in check or we'd all be in trouble." Ron shot him a crooked grin.
"And you've very kindly volunteered for the job. You're a positive marvel of selflessness," Harry cracked sarcastically.
Ron assumed a virtuous expression. "I try."
Harry snorted but couldn't help but smile, feeling remarkably content. Hermione was back, she didn't hate him and she wasn't leaving, Ron didn't mind and was teasing him as indisputable proof of it. (He had kissed her and she had kissed him back…)
It was more than an hour later when he and Ron had subsided into a comfortable silence when Hermione entered the front room.
Harry's heart immediately took up residence in his throat.
She looked better, he immediately noted, now that she'd slept for a few hours. There were still shadows under her eyes and sadness and worry clouding her eyes but she looked better. That frightening detachment from when she'd arrived was gone and she looked much more like herself.
He and Ron had both leaped up the moment she entered.
"Hermione!" Ron burst out as he hurried over to give her a quick half-hug. "Your parents are doing okay, then?"
She managed a rather wan smile as she returned Ron's hug. "Hi, Ron. Yes, my parents are doing better. They're supposed to be released from St. Mungo's tomorrow and the Healers said they'll recover completely in a couple months. They're still going to be a weak and prone to being exhausted quickly, until then, but they will get better.
"That's good. I'm glad," Ron said sincerely. He glanced back at Harry. "And maybe now that you're back, this tiresome bloke here will be better company. Seriously, Hermione, he's been absolutely good for nothing since you've been gone. Although it did mean that I beat him at dueling," Ron added with a grin.
Hermione smiled her first real smile, her expression lightening, as she looked at Harry, the soft look in her eyes somewhat belying her teasing smile. "Oh really?" She pretended to consider. "Hmm, maybe I should have stayed away longer so you could beat him a few more times."
Ron clutched at her arm in mock desperation. "Oh, please, no! Not even kicking his arse in duels is worth it given how impossible it was to have a decent chat with him."
Hermione laughed softly. "Well, since you put it that way…"
Ron grinned. "Well, I've managed to embarrass this silly prat so my work here is done," he announced. "I'll leave you two to your snogging."
Hermione blushed scarlet. "Ron!"
Ron tugged Hermione forward by her arm, propelling her towards Harry. "I know when I'm not wanted. I'll be upstairs," he said and left, pausing at the last moment to wiggle his eyebrows at Harry in a mock leer.
The moment the door closed behind him, a rather uncomfortable silence was left behind, rife with unspoken emotions and insecurities and sudden doubts.
Harry stared at her, trying valiantly not to focus on her lips. (He had kissed her and she had kissed him back…) "Er- do you want some juice or some tea?" he finally offered, fastening on the only thing he could think to say and taking refuge from the tension in mundane commonplaces.
She smiled a little. "Some tea, thanks."
He busied himself with setting the water to boil with a quick flick of his wand. "Did you- er- sleep well?"
"Yes, it was good to finally get to sleep."
He looked up at her at that confession. "You looked terrible this morning when you came back. I- I was worried about you," he found himself admitting as he put her cup of tea in front of her.
"Oh, Harry…" she sighed.
"And-and you're not leaving?" he blurted out as he resumed his own seat. "You're not-" he broke off and then resumed again, keeping his eyes fixed on the table top with as much concentration as if he were reading some secrets engraved on the table. "I- I want you to stay," he added, very softly.
I want you to stay. Only five words, none of them longer than one syllable, only five simple words but they were the most precious words she'd ever heard in her life.
Partly because they were so unusual, almost uncharacteristic, of Harry to say, because, in spite of his emotional nature, he also was hampered by the typical male reluctance to talk about his feelings. But mostly because of what she knew they meant.
I want you to stay. Those five words seeped into her mind and heart, soothing sensitivities and old aches which she hadn't even realized she had. She knew, now, that Harry needed her, was sure of that; he needed her for her brains and for her more cautious nature in telling him when he was about to go off on one of his reckless stunts. And the knowledge that he needed her was sweet and so very dear and she loved him for it-but needing wasn't the same as wanting.
And in some small, very secret corner of her heart, she realized she'd been wondering if Harry really wanted her around. Ron had been his most precious thing in their 4th year and she knew all too well just what Ron meant to Harry as his first, real friend and companion, knew just what it meant to Harry to have been basically absorbed into the large and loving Weasley clan because of Ron. She knew how Harry viewed Ron but she was always, in some vague, unacknowledged, secret part of herself, uncertain of her place in Harry's life. He needed her-but a person could need something without really wanting it and only resigning themselves to it because they needed it. A person needed vegetables to provide nutrients but didn't necessarily want to eat them, wouldn't seek them in preference to other foods. Was she like that to Harry, a sort-of necessary encumbrance? It was an old, old, unacknowledged vulnerability, the sort of question she hardly ever thought about and usually pushed aside in favor of more immediate, tangible concerns. She would even have asserted she didn't wonder about it at all.
It was only at that moment of hearing his words that she knew that she had doubted, she had wondered-but no more.
Harry wanted her to stay-and that was all she would ever need to know.
She reached out with one hand to grasp his, resting on top of the table. He turned his hand over and entwined his fingers with hers. It was a small gesture but one which neither of them had ever done before and one which spoke volumes.
"I'm not leaving," she affirmed quietly. "Don't you know I could never really leave you?"
"Maybe you should," he suddenly said, even though part of him was shrieking that he was being an idiot in arguing for an occurrence that he dreaded and feared with everything in him, but somehow another part of him had to say it, had to make sure. "You'd be safe with your parents. I- I could manage on my own, with Ron's and with Remus's and Professor McGonagall's help. Maybe you should. Go and be safe."
She tightened her grip on his hand. "I'm staying with you," was all she said, quietly but with an underlying certainty in her voice.
He let out his breath in a huff. He wanted to tell her how much it meant to him that she was staying, wanted to tell her he loved her, wanted to tell her how scared he'd been that she might leave him. He wanted to tell her so much but he couldn't find any words; his throat seemed to close up and all he could do was meet her eyes and say the only word he could think of. "Hermione…" Just her name, in a tone that was just a shade louder than a whisper and it made her name both an endearment and a prayer at the same time.
Her expression softened and the look she gave him was a promise and a caress all at once.
There was a brief silence which he broke by asking, "What do your parents think?"
For a fleeting moment, her face blanked of all expression and then she simply crumpled-that was the only word he could think of to describe it. "Oh Harry…" she half-wailed, half-sighed and then he was horrified to see the tears streak down her face.
His heart clenched in automatic response and in the space of a second, he was out of his chair and pulling her into his arms, where she went willingly, practically melting against him as she buried her face against his chest. He was only grateful for the fraction of his mind that retained enough clarity of thought to think of transfiguring one of the chairs into a sofa so he could sink down onto it, bringing Hermione with him.
And so he sat, his arms around her, holding her as she cried into his chest, her shoulders shaking with her sobs.
His heart ached with an almost physical pain, every sob making the hard hand that seemed to be squeezing his heart tighten even more. He wanted to comfort her, wished desperately that he could take her pain away; at that moment, he knew, he would very willingly have sold his soul to the devil, to Voldemort himself, if it would have done anything to ease Hermione's grief but no such devil with a deal appeared and so he could only hold her, hating himself and hating this destiny of his that seemed to ensure that all those he loved had to suffer with a virulence that nearly strangled him.
It was a few minutes-that felt like hours-before her sobs calmed somewhat, enough so he could understand the muffled words mixed in with her sobs.
"Oh, Harry… It was so hard, so very hard... Dad-- he didn't say much; he wanted to, I could see he did, but he didn't when I was explaining to him. He didn't argue with me because-because he didn't have the strength!" Her voice broke and she clutched him tighter. He flinched at the naked agony in her voice but didn't move otherwise. "He didn't have the strength; it hurt him to talk but I could see that he wasn't happy with my decision, that he would have wanted to try to argue with me but he couldn't-he couldn't. I-I've never seen my Dad so weak and I left him! I left my parents when they were still hurting, still needing care. I left them…" Her voice had lowered, becoming nearly inaudible at the last few words and she was silent for a while, her breath hitching in her chest. When she spoke again, he had to strain to hear the words, so softly were they spoken but not even their softness could mask the desperate mingling of fear and grief and guilt in her. "And I keep wondering, what if something happens-what if that's the last time I ever see them? What if I never see my parents again and they're left to think… think that I didn't love them enough, that I didn't care enough…"
Every word tore at him with the sting as if from the lash of a whip, lacerating his mind and his heart. And he couldn't tell her that nothing would happen; he couldn't tell her that everything would be fine and of course she would get to see her parents again. He couldn't tell her any of that because he couldn't lie to her about this; it wouldn't help. And amid all his own torment of sympathy, he could only wonder…
His arms fell from around her as he stiffened, drawing back from her ever so slightly in an instinctive, defensive reaction against the hurt he dreaded. He heard his words as if from far away, only realizing belatedly that they came from him, his voice husky, almost unrecognizable. "If-if anything happens… would you change your mind?" Even before he finished the question, he knew it wasn't fair to ask it, would have cut out his tongue for asking such a thing that sounded as if he were making her choose between him and her parents, but it was too late now.
She had stiffened as well at his words and then slowly, very slowly, she straightened, pushing herself up, and away from him so she was no longer leaning on him.
Oh God… He opened his mouth to blurt out that he was sorry, that he hadn't meant it, that it didn't matter, hoping to forestall her answer that he didn't want to hear but before he could, she spoke.
"No."
He sucked in his breath sharply, finally daring to look at her directly, seeing the tears in her eyes but also seeing the certainty in them. No. Funny, how the word was suddenly the most beautiful one he'd ever heard.
"No. Even if-no matter what happens, I know I'd do the same thing. I know this is right; I couldn't do anything else." She spoke slowly, her words careful as if she were only just now realizing the truth of them herself.
He let out his breath. "Really?"
"Yes."
"Hermione, I… I don't…" he faltered and then stopped. God, what could he possibly say in response? There were no words to describe what he felt-but then he met her eyes. "I love you." The words came from the depths of his heart, his very soul, and slipped from his mouth with an amazing ease, given that he'd never said them before, never really even imagined saying them, but somehow, in light of the immense gift she had just given him, they came easily.
"Oh Harry…" And she didn't say the words to him, only looked at him but the words were in her look. And after all, he already knew it.
And he decided that his destiny wasn't bad. In spite of everything, he was lucky, so unbelievably, amazingly lucky to have met this girl and to have this girl love him… Maybe, just maybe, that was what was meant by the phrase of having a charmed life; it meant that he could be here, today, now, with Hermione, knowing she loved him…
His eyes met and held hers, for a long, endless moment, before he lifted one hand, trembling slightly, to gently brush her cheek with the tips of his fingers in an ineffably tender caress. Her breathing slowed, hitched, her eyes fluttering closed, and he leaned in closer, with all the deliberate intent which he hadn't known the last time…
And then he kissed her.
He kissed her softly, he kissed her gently, he kissed her with every ounce of feeling in him.
And she kissed him back, her hands fluttering up to touch his chest and then his shoulders and then to slide around his neck, as the kiss deepened, lengthened…
It was a kiss of faith, of loyalty, of silent promises as well as those just spoken aloud. It was a kiss of discovery, of best friends becoming so much more than simply friends.
It was a kiss that held infinite promise for the future.
To be continued…
A/N 2: Happy now? ;-)