Disclaimer: See Part 1.
Author's Note: The 4th (and last) part of the 'Just…' series. Where Harry wakes up to the truth.
With a little bit of R/Lu- for Marie_j_granger.
Thank you, everyone, for reading and reviewing this fic! Enjoy!
Just Love
Harry threw himself onto the couch with a sigh, glad for once that he was alone in the flat.
He didn't want Ron around-and he certainly did not want Hermione around, distracting him with her presence. Not that her absence kept her from his thoughts. She was somehow always on his mind now.
He thought back to the past week since Hermione's birthday, or more specifically, what had happened the night of Hermione's birthday.
He felt heat go through his body at the bare thought of that night, and the morning after. Great ghost but who would have thought that Hermione could do that… That she'd be so- hot in bed…
He could still see in his mind the way she'd looked when she'd been beneath him that night, flushed with passion and wanting, remembered the way it had felt to be inside her…
He had resolved not to shag Hermione again- at least until he figured out just what was going on between them- but then she'd just smiled at him the night after that and then when she'd bent to kiss his cheek goodnight later on, he'd caught a hint of her fragrance, the scent of her lotion and her shampoo and the scent that was uniquely hers-and he'd immediately forgotten his resolve.
He'd caught her arm before she could leave and half-led, half-followed her into her room where, the moment the door was closed, he'd promptly trapped her against it and kissed her the way he'd told himself he shouldn't kiss her again, hard, possessively. Kissed her because he couldn't not kiss her again, couldn't not want her again with an urgency that amazed him.
She'd wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back with a passion he'd only just discovered in her-and he'd been lost.
Lost to his raging arousal and his new-found, irresistible lust for her…
Just lust…
Or was it?
He hadn't felt entirely comfortable with the idea of lusting after Hermione but he had pushed any doubts to the back of his mind and just let his body feel, given in to the undeniable compulsion to touch her, to be inside her.
Only he couldn't anymore.
Just lust-the simplicity of it was appealing. If he could tell himself it was only lust that was driving this new facet of his relationship with her, he could keep it confined to only the sex and not think about how it would change his familiar, comforting-and necessary-friendship with her.
But it had just gotten messier than that.
He was confused now, lost, felt rather adrift in some strange new world.
He wondered what would happen if this lust between them ever died-but could not imagine it ever happening. He could never get tired of her passion, her responsiveness, her occasional boldness, how beautiful she looked when she was naked on her bed and aroused, wanting him… He wondered what would happen if either he or Hermione got involved with anyone else; but he couldn't imagine himself even having eyes to notice any other woman in the world with Hermione in his life… He felt a surge of sharp and instinctive protest at the thought of Hermione with anyone else, hot rebellion boiling up inside him until he rather thought he could hex the unknown and hypothetical bloke who even dared to touch Hermione. She couldn't-she wouldn't-he couldn't bear the thought of any other man ever getting to see Hermione naked, getting to experience the passion of her. She was his.
Only-she wasn't.
And that was the problem.
Just lust-but that had gotten complicated.
He wished he could talk to someone about this, about his confusion-but he couldn't.
If it involved anyone else, he might talk to Ron-but this was Hermione and he couldn't talk about Hermione with Ron.
But what threw him off-balance the most was the realization that, above all, the one person he really wanted to talk to about his uncertainties and his doubts and his questions was-Hermione herself. He wanted to talk to Hermione; she'd always been the one he turned to when he was confused about girls before. She was the person he instinctively wanted to confide in, the person he trusted the most.
He tried to picture himself talking to Hermione about his confusion involving her-"I'm shagging you and, uh, now I- I'm confused." He shuddered at the very thought.
But what did that mean- that he automatically wanted to turn to Hermione with his confusion?
Hermione was his best friend; he trusted her, respected her, enjoyed her company-and he wanted her. Wanted her with a sort of irresistible attraction which he'd never really felt before. He was, he sometimes thought, rapidly becoming addicted to her.
Just lust. Somehow he doubted it.
Hermione smiled when she got back to the flat and saw Harry. "I'm home," she announced unnecessarily.
Her smile faltered slightly when he didn't return her smile.
"We- uh- we need to talk," he said.
"Sure. What is it?"
He hesitated and looked uncertain and then grabbed her hand and pulled her into his bedroom.
"Harry- what-" she began as she entered his room but then found her words cut off with his mouth as he kissed her, his hands sliding into her hair.
He kissed her as if he wanted to possess her, claim her, mark her as his own.
She arched against him, pressing her body to his, making a small sound in the back of her throat. God, she loved it when he kissed her as if he could never get enough of her, when he kissed her as if he couldn't have waited another minute before he touched her again.
She could feel the heat rising in her body and knew he felt it too judging from the growing hardness she could feel against her.
Her hands wandered down his chest, pulling his shirt out of his trousers and sliding her hands up the bare skin of his stomach and chest in a deliberately tantalizing caress.
He gasped and then tore his mouth from hers, pushing her away from him with his hands on her shoulders. "Wait, we can't," he managed to get out.
She slid her hand down his chest to press against his arousal. "Why not?" she asked rather breathily, smiling what could only be described as a sensuous smile, the sort of smile she'd never thought she would ever be able to give him.
He groaned at her touch, jerking away, before staring at her, confusion, hesitation, uncertainty all passing over his face, and then he finally managed to say, "I can't do this anymore."
She flinched, her smile fading, trying desperately to hide her hurt. She had hoped for so much, had thought her plan was succeeding…
"But why?" she asked and then inwardly winced at the thread of hurt in her voice which she couldn't help. "It- it's just lust…"
His grip tightened on her shoulders. "No, Hermione, it's not-it's- I think I'm in love with you!" he burst out.
And then stopped, his eyes widening. Yes, that was what was complicating this. This wasn't just lust, wasn't just physical-this was Hermione and he cared about her as well as lusted after her. It could never be just lust with her.
It wasn't lust; it was love. He was in love with her.
"I'm in love with you," he repeated.
She was just staring at him, her eyes wide, and he continued on. "I don't-I want this to be more than just friends shagging because they want to or something like that. I love you-and I- I want this to mean something to you too."
He finished and there was a long moment of silence in which he could practically hear his heart beginning to crack just a little.
He stared at her, vulnerability and a wavering hope in his eyes-and then before he could blink, she had thrown herself at him, flattening her body against his, with enough force that it propelled him backwards until they both landed on his bed.
He lay there beneath her, blinking up at her in surprise, opening his mouth to speak but she cut him off with her lips, kissing him with all the love and passion she felt. "Oh Harry, you dear, daft idiot! Why do you think I seduced you on my birthday, for the fun of it? I did it because I've been in love with you for what seems like forever and I wanted you to start seeing me as a woman and not just as your best friend."
He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. "You're in love with me? You planned what happened the night of your birthday?"
She colored. "Yes," she admitted rather nervously.
He blinked again and then smiled up at her, a half-teasing, half-tender sort of smile which he'd never given her (or anyone) before. "I knew there was a reason I loved you."
And when he slid his hands into her hair to bring her lips down to his, they were both smiling.
~*~
He had always known he admired and respected Hermione for her brains and her kindness, and he loved how she understood him and loved how loyal she was.
He had never known before that he also loved Hermione's body-she was gorgeous. The clothes she tended to wear didn't do her form justice. And now he'd realized that the sight of her naked could take his breath away-as well as reduce his brain to mush, aroused and lustful mush at that.
She was naked now, lying on his bed, and looking up at him with her cheeks flushed and a look in her eyes he'd only seen in the past week, the one that made his skin hot just seeing it. God, how on earth did he ever get so lucky to have Hermione in his bed after she'd just told him she was in love with him?
Hermione stared up at Harry, feeling added wetness between her legs just from the way Harry was looking at her-to say nothing of the sight of him with no clothes on. She had, she thought, been living her whole life, longing to be looked at by someone-no, by Harry-in just such a way, as if she were more precious, more desirable than his soul. As if he'd willingly trade his soul to be able to touch her, be inside her…
He crawled up onto his bed, straddling her, his hands going to her breasts, caressing them, kneading them, before he replaced his hands with his mouth, taking first one nipple then the other into his mouth and lightly sucking it, loving how she gasped and squirmed and clutched his head to her.
Oh he loved her responsiveness…
"Harry," she gasped, gathering the last bits of coherent thought, "shouldn't you put a Silencing Charm on your room?"
He groaned but then moved one hand, his head lifting, as he waved his hand in the direction of the door, muttering the words of the Silencing Charm and then locking his door for good measure, before returning his attention to her breasts.
Her fingers tugged lightly at his hair and he lifted his head, moving up her body to kiss her, his tongue plunging into her mouth to engage in a playfully erotic duel with her tongue.
He kissed her as he would happily kiss her for the rest of his life, kissed her with enough force to possibly bruise her lips but at the moment neither of them cared, because she kissed him back, her legs wrapping around his hips to bring his body even closer to hers.
His lips finally left hers to nip and nuzzle their way down her jaw and then her neck, pausing to kiss and then lick the little hollow on her throat which he'd discovered was incredibly sensitive and she moaned his name.
He wanted to kiss every inch of her skin, discover every single erogenous spot on her body, show her with his lips and hands and tongue how much he loved her and wanted her…
And he set out to do just that.
He trailed his lips down her body, leaving a damp trail of kisses interspersed with soft, whispered words that spilled from his lips along her skin, words about how beautiful she was, how he loved to see her body like this, how she was his…
Her hips jerked slightly when he finally reached the core of her, his hands stroking, caressing the soft skin of her thighs before his tongue touched the hot wetness of her, licking and sucking and teasing and tasting- worshipping her body with his mouth. She screamed as her body exploded, bolts of sheer pleasure shooting through her every nerve, leaving her trembling with the force of her orgasm.
He slid back up her body, kissing her again, so she could taste herself on his lips and tongue, an oddly arousing thing.
She tore her lips away from his with a gasp and began to move her hands from where they'd been caressing his shoulders and back down to where his arousal jutted but he caught her hands in his.
"No," he told her when she looked up at him. "This time, it's just for you. To make up for the night of your birthday when you did everything for me," he added softly.
She opened her lips to respond that she hadn't-and she certainly had enjoyed every second of it-but he kissed her again, preventing her words and effectively making her forget what she'd been about to say.
His hands wandered over her body, stroking, caressing, arousing until she thought she might go mad with desire and pleasure.
"Harry, please," she gasped-and he responded to the plea in her voice by adjusting his hips and sliding home.
She gasped again from the feeling of him buried inside her and then wrapped her arms around him, her legs around his hips, urging him to move.
And he did, sliding almost all the way out and then in again, at first with as much deliberate slowness as he could manage, until she bucked up against him, clenching her muscles around him and he began to move faster.
He brought her mouth back to his, his tongue matching the rhythm of his hips in thrusting inside her mouth, until he felt her convulse around him, her fingers digging into his back, and her lips left his on a cry.
He opened his eyes, wanting to see her as she came, wanting to see the expression on her face and glory in the knowledge that he'd given her that moment of ecstasy.
The sight of her, the sound of her, the feel of her, it was all nectar to his soul-and further fueled his own arousal, pushing him over the edge.
He thrust inside her one last time, exploding inside her, with her name on his lips and the image of her face in his mind…
And then collapsed on top of her, his arms automatically drawing her close to him as he half-rolled, half-fell onto his side, feeling as limp as if Lockhart had once again removed all his bones, only this time his head was swimming with pleasure.
She nestled closer to him, fitting against him perfectly as if her body had been made with his in mind and vice versa.
She brushed her lips against his bare shoulder and he felt her smile against his skin.
Summoning an inordinate amount of energy, he lifted his head slightly to look at her. "Why are you smiling, love?" The endearment slipped from his lips with amazing ease considering he'd never said it before and would probably have been embarrassed to say it to anyone else, but then he'd never really loved anyone else and calling Hermione 'love' seemed somehow as natural as calling her by her name.
She shifted her head on his shoulder to meet his eyes. "Just because I'm happy." And he could see the truth of her words in her eyes, which were brighter than he could ever remember seeing them.
His lips curved into a slight smile in response. "I'm happy too," he said quietly, tightening his arms around her and brushing his lips against her forehead.
I'm happy too. He felt the impact of those simple words to his very heart, suddenly wondering when he'd last felt this sort of simple, deep joy-and realized he couldn't remember ever having felt this way.
But he was happy now, with a happiness that filled him and also calmed him, as if his entire soul stilled, was at peace, knowing that, for the moment at least, he wanted nothing more.
He settled his head back on his pillow, as he sensed rather than heard a small, contented sigh slip from Hermione's lips as she nestled closer to him.
And he wondered how it had taken so long for him to realize that this- that she- was all he wanted, needed, in his life. That he loved her. It felt so right, so natural, as if this had been where he'd always belonged, as if he'd been subconsciously waiting for this for years now-how could it have taken so long?
Hermione had known, he knew that now. He felt a small smile curve his lips. His Hermione always knew…
Hermione's breathing had become deep and regular, her weight against him a little heavier as she relaxed into him.
With a wave of one hand, he turned off the lights in his room and let darkness sink in.
He looked down to where he knew Hermione's face was, though he couldn't see it in the darkness, picturing her sleeping face.
"I love you," he whispered, though he knew she wouldn't hear it but just wanting to say the words again (he loved her and she loved him-how amazing and yet natural was that?).
And then he settled back and let himself slide into sleep.
He awoke some time later to a still-dark room when he heard the sound of Ron coming in to the flat.
"Harry? Hermione?"
He heard Ron call out from outside and could almost picture Ron glancing at Hermione's dark room and his closed door and shrugging to himself.
A slight movement of her hand resting on his chest and a change in the rhythm of her breathing alerted him that Hermione had woken up too, to Ron's voice.
"Ron's back," he told her unnecessarily, his voice quiet.
"What time is it?"
He glanced over at the clock on the nightstand, squinting to make out the glowing numbers. "It's a little after 1 in the morning."
He sensed rather than saw her smile, heard it in her voice, as she said, "Ron's date with Luna must have gone well."
He smiled too, responding both to the amusement in her tone and her words. "Yes. I'll have to ask him about it in the morning."
"I'm glad. She's always fancied him, I think, even way back in 5th year at Hogwarts."
He glanced down at her even though he couldn't see her. "She fancied him in 5th year? How do you know?"
"Oh I guessed. From the way she laughed at his jokes, the way she made herself that roaring Gryffindor lion hat for the Quidditch games, her singing 'Weasley is Our King', the way she called him Ronald."
"Luna calling him Ronald was a sign that she fancied him? How do you figure that?"
"I thought it was her way of letting him know that she thought he was different, more fanciable, than other girls thought. Her way of being the different girl in his life; calling him 'Ronald' when no one else did was sort of like claiming that 'Ronald' was hers while Ron was the person everyone else knew."
His jaw dropped slightly despite his lying on his back. "Do girls really put that much thought into what version of a fellow's name to use?" He shook his head slightly. "I'll never understand girls."
"You understand me well enough." Her voice softened slightly from her normal conversational, almost-bantering tone which she had been using, to become almost tender.
His tone softened in response. "That's because you're you-and you're different."
And when his lips found hers, they were smiling.
~*~
It was the next morning that the truly amazing thing-at least in Hermione's mind-occurred.
They were having breakfast, Ron having just woken up and come out of his room.
Hermione got up to pour herself more tea.
Harry glanced at Hermione and then at Ron and made a quick decision. He had told her he loved her, knew she believed him, but there was one thing more…
"Hermione, love, will you get me the jam while you're up?"
The silence that ensued was almost palpable.
Hermione, standing at the counter, had stilled for a moment before turning to look at Harry, a silent question in her eyes which he answered with a look. She smiled, warmth blossoming in her heart.
Ron stared at Harry as if Harry had just announced a plan to move to Antarctica. "What did you just call her?"
Harry ignored Ron to smile quickly at Hermione as she handed him the jar of jam. "Thanks, love."
Hermione ducked her head to stare into her mug of tea, suddenly sure the look on her face would be a ridiculously happy one which she would rather Ron not see since she was sure it looked goofy. Who would ever have thought that just one word could make her melt so completely?
Ron glanced between Harry and Hermione, as comprehension about what had really happened between them to change their relationship dawned. It wasn't just shagging. They were in love…
And Harry had just taken the opportunity to tell him so, in no uncertain terms, without actually, well, telling him so.
He knew it-and one look at his best friends' faces confirmed it, if he'd ever had any doubt.
Harry wasn't the sort of person to use endearments. He simply didn't. Never having grown up in a household which used them- other than the ridiculous ones with which Aunt Petunia had called Dudley- he simply didn't use them.
Hermione did, occasionally, had been known to call both of them 'dear' sometimes, the term so obviously used without thought that neither of them had ever commented on it.
Ron had grown up in a household where endearments were used- often in fact, especially by his Mum- but he didn't use them because he never felt comfortable saying them.
So Harry calling Hermione 'love' had been very deliberate.
And looking at Harry, Ron couldn't doubt that Harry meant it (besides which Harry would never have said it if he weren't absolutely sure of it).
Harry and Hermione were in love.
And, though he'd never stopped to think about it before, would have sworn if anyone had asked him even two weeks ago, that Harry and Hermione were just best friends, the thought that flitted through his mind was: well, of course…
Of course…
As if somehow, unconsciously, he'd already thought it was bound to happen. As if he'd already accepted that it was meant to be.
Harry and Hermione in love? What could be more natural?
~The End~