Chapter 6
Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter. I own nothing. I'm just an oppressed proletariat.
Author's Notes: The Final Chapter guys! Thank you sooo very much for the reviews! I really appreciate it! I had a great time writing this, being able to explore Harry's emotions and all, and wallowing on the idea that Harry and Hermione will get together no matter what happens in Canon. So enjoy these guys! And if I come up with another story, please give me the pleasure by reading it! :-) Enjoy guys and thanks again!
There she goes. There she goes again. She's still chattering about a million different things, half of which is unknown to the average mind. She still stops halfway, with that guilty look on her face. She still has that faint blush on her cheeks, she still smells of cinnamon, and she's still the woman you love. In fact everything's the same, down to the tiny freckles on her nose. Everything, just about everything, is the same except for one thing.
Except for one very crucial thing.
She's in bed with you.
Not just in bed with you, but really in bed with you.
That way.
That exact way that when you turn to face her, you can count exactly how many freckles there are on the tip of her nose. That exact way that when you pull the blanket you see the soft curve of her hip. That exact way that when she pulls the blanket you see little Harry.
But this time, he's not squished to oblivion.
Rather, he's quite happy. No, actually, very happy.
Like you. Exactly like you.
But she gives a soft "tsk" and mutters something about men being "impossible".
You give a little self-satisfied chuckle.
You're the man, Potter, you're the man.
"What are you smiling about?" she asks you.
"Nothing," you reply.
"Har-de-har. That smile only means one thing: you're gloating."
You burst out laughing when you see the expression on her face.
She has her nose in a crinkle, and she has her eyes in a squint. You tell yourself you're going to control yourself and not say it. You tell yourself that you're not doing a Ron. You tell yourself that she'll probably kick you out of bed and refuse to make love to you again. But then you just have to say it. So you tell her,
"You look like Crookshanks when you do that."
Immediately, she slaps you on your arm.
And pinches you on your bum.
And you're quite content with that reaction until her fingers suddenly start treading on dangerous territory. And with that expression on her face, nose in a crinkle, eyes in a squint, evil smile on the lips, you're quite sure that it's not something that will give you pleasure.
Damage control.
Immediately, you grab her hand, and then you tackle her.
"Well, well, well, so men are impossible, huh?" you ask her teasingly.
"Oh, you're asking for it, Harry!" she replies with a little huff.
"No, darling, you're asking for it. You're insatiable, honey." You counter back in the most seductive tone you can manage. You're quite amazed, and ashamed, by how you sound. You never knew you had it in you. Not.
But you won't give her the satisfaction. So you raise an eyebrow as you slide one hand up and down her waist.
She rolls her eyes back.
Apparently, she also knows that you're not the little Casanova you make yourself out to be.
But then that doesn't bother you.
In fact, nothing bothers you anymore.
Because you have her.
That way.
You can flirt with her without feeling guilty.
You can think of her without self-pity.
You can kiss her without the astronomy tower creeping dangerously in your mind.
And you can love her as much as you want.
And show it.
So you kiss her.
But unlike last night, there's no sense of urgency this time.
You have all the time in the world.
So you kiss her, softly and gently.
And when you stop, you look into her eyes, and you whisper,
"I love you."
And immediately she responds,
"I love you too."
And then she kisses you again.
And you kiss her again.
After awhile, she pushes you back.
You look at her with confusion and you ask her,
"Why?"
She gives you a little smile, and she replies,
"I just want to look at you."
You grin, and you kiss her ear while she slides her hands up and down your back.
"God, I can't believe this," you tell her.
"Neither can I," she replies.
"I was going crazy you know, not being able to do this," you tell her in between kissing her neck.
"Hmm, that feels good," she says with a little moan, and then she continues, "I've loved you forever Harry, did you know that?"
Immediately you stop, and you turn to look at her.
Really look at her and her glistening eyes that express all the emotions going in and out of her.
"What do you mean forever?" you ask her.
"I love you since forever. Even when we were at Hogwarts," she replies as she plays with your hair.
"But you were with Ron,"
"And you're with Ginny."
"But I loved you even then. I've loved you always, I just didn't know it then, but I knew that I-"
But you don't get to finish what you're saying. You don't get to finish because she kisses you again.
And when she pulls back, she presses a finger to your lips, and she tells you,
"Let's not talk about that anymore, Harry. We're together now."
And you agree. You just have to agree because the past is the past and now is the present.
And the present, this present, is much better than your past because you have her and she has you and you love her and she loves you and nothing will ever tear you apart from her.
You've waited so long and you've suffered so long that there's no point in wallowing.
So you kiss her.
And when she kisses you back, you can only thing of one thing.
There she goes. There she goes again.
She's engulfed you.
She's made love to you.
She's with you.
And she loves you.
There she goes.
There she goes again.
The End
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