Disclaimer: See Part 1.
Author's Note: And this is the end! Thanks, everyone, for reading and reviewing! I hope this chapter satisfies!
Searching for Destiny
Part 4
Epiphany
Hermione sighed and then smiled when she heard a knock on her door.
It was Harry, she knew.
He had been on another date tonight, a friend and work colleague of Ginny's with whom Ginny had set him up on a pseudo blind-date.
Harry had, in the last three months since the Ashley Incident, as Hermione had taken to mentally referring to it, been on a number of first dates. Only first dates. They never went any further than that-to Hermione's secret relief.
And now, he was here again-which meant that tonight's date hadn't gone well.
Harry stood outside Hermione's door, wondering- as he always seemed to- just what he was doing standing outside of Hermione's flat after another excruciating first date.
He never consciously intended to come see Hermione and he didn't always seek her out after another disappointment but more often than not, almost without meaning to, he found himself knocking on Hermione's door.
Seeking the ease he always found in her presence, seeking the comfort of her friendship, seeking the honesty and openness he appreciated more and more in her… Just seeking her…
The door opened and, though a moment before he'd been feeling decidedly disgruntled and frustrated, he felt his mood lighten involuntarily at the sight of her familiar, welcoming smile.
"Hi," he greeted her simply.
And then his gaze flicked down the length of her body and he paused, feeling himself flush. She was in her pyjamas, he realized, a t-shirt and pyjama bottoms-and she wasn't wearing a bra. The thought made him redden and he yanked his gaze away to focus on her eyes, sternly quashing the unruly flash of heat he felt. "Er- I can go, if I'm disturbing you."
"Don't be silly, Harry, you never disturb me," Hermione reassured him lightly, tugging him inside and closing the door behind him.
"You sure? You look like you're about to go to bed. I didn't realize it was so late."
"No, no, it's fine. I was just doing some research for a new patient that was brought in today and I changed into more comfortable clothes."
"Oh," Harry said, rather lamely, feeling unaccountably uncomfortable but he threw himself into his usual spot in the corner of Hermione's sofa, relaxing in spite of himself as he always did when he was here. And somehow the familiar act made it as if his fleeting reaction to seeing Hermione in her pyjamas had never happened and he found himself slipping back into the comfortable rhythm of their usual friendship. All was once again right in his world.
"I take it tonight didn't go well," Hermione commented.
Harry threw Hermione a half-amused, half-rueful smile. "She giggled at nearly every other word I said or if she wasn't giggling, was hanging onto my every word as if I were saying the most profound statement she'd ever heard."
Hermione winced sympathetically. "Oh dear. And you, being you, made your escape as soon as you decently could," she added teasingly.
"Of course. If I had to deal with that much longer, I would have gone mad. As it is, I was tempted to start spouting gibberish intentionally just to see what she would say. You know, randomly say something like, 'Voldemort was really just a kindly, misunderstood old man,' to see her reaction."
Hermione laughed. "She might have agreed with you! I think we're lucky you didn't say something like that."
Harry laughed too, grinning at Hermione, feeling the last bit of tension from the past evening leave him. "If she had, I'd have turned tail and run."
His smile faded as he sighed, running a hand through his hair in his habitual gesture of frustration. "Why is it so hard to find a sensible, nice girl? I don't think I'm asking for too much, am I?" he asked, half-rhetorically.
"You'll find someone," Hermione reassured him, sternly suppressing the tiny voice in her mind asking plaintively, what about me? Why not me?
Harry threw Hermione a grateful glance. "Thanks. I just wish…" he trailed off as he met Hermione's eyes.
Ever afterwards, Harry was never able to explain exactly what happened at that moment or why he stopped speaking or what was so different that made that moment somehow seem… special, even spectacular…
He just looked at her-and it wasn't as if he hadn't looked at her countless times before in their years of friendship. It wasn't as if there was something different about her or the way she was looking at him, the easy, familiar warmth in her eyes and her smile.
There was nothing different or unusual about it-and yet, in that one moment, somehow, everything changed.
Everything changed… Inside him.
He looked at her and for a wild, crazy moment, he felt as if he were really seeing her-all of her, from the inside out. She was beautiful…
And the only words that went through his mind at that moment were, someone like you.
That was what he'd been looking for, though he'd never articulated it in all his musings about what he would like to find in his ideal girl. He wanted someone like Hermione.
He just looked at her-and somehow, it felt as if something inside him that had been slightly off-kilter for his entire life just slipped back into place. It was the last piece of a puzzle he'd been working on his entire life; it was the last word of a sonnet he'd been composing his entire life; it was… what somehow made everything in his life seem right… complete…
Because he knew, somehow, that she was what he'd been looking for all along.
And it was a moment of almost stunning clarity-and he felt an odd, indescribable sensation of complete shock mingled with the sense that he'd somehow known it all along and wasn't at all surprised… It wasn't, he realized, a revelation so much as it was a recognition. A recognition of a truth that had been steadily growing, deepening, inside him until this moment when he looked at her and saw not just his best friend but the woman he loved.
His Hermione…
"Harry?"
The sound of her voice, questioning and a little concerned, broke through his thoughts and he blinked, mentally shaking himself, realizing belatedly that he had fallen silent mid-sentence and that Hermione was looking at him curiously.
"Sorry," he blurted out automatically, "I- I just got distracted by-- something." I just realized I love you. I just realized how blind I've been until now. I just realized…
Hermione smiled, her eyes clearing. "I'm sorry tonight's date was another failure, Harry."
"I'm not." The words escaped his lips before he'd even thought them-and of course, it was true. He wasn't sorry-come to think of it, he wondered how sorry he had ever been. Even during the almost interminable dinner, he remembered thinking that he would have to tell Hermione about it and looking forward to laughing with her over it… He'd always thought that during his previous, disastrous first dates too, had always thought of Hermione with something like longing…
Great ghost, he really had been blind, deaf and dumb…
Hermione blinked, almost convinced she'd imagined Harry saying those two words-but, no, she hadn't. "You're not sorry?"
He met her eyes directly. "No, I'm not," he repeated softly. And he sensed rather than heard her small intake of breath, sensed the slight quickening of her pulse in reaction-and he felt a flicker of hope. She wasn't indifferent; she couldn't be indifferent…
"Why?" The single word was hardly audible as it slipped out from her lips, falling into the suddenly-charged atmosphere, as, perhaps, what had always been only a beautiful friendship trembled on the brink of becoming more.
Hermione stopped breathing; she could have sworn that her heart stopped beating, her lungs stopped functioning, that the entire world simply paused, waiting-for what she didn't quite dare to put into words, an inarticulate hope…
Harry paused, casting about in his mind for words, what he could say to explain his new-found understanding and clarity, and coming up with- nothing.
But then his eyes met hers, looked into hers-and he saw. Saw a flash of emotion in her eyes which he had seen before and never understood, never recognized it for what it was-until now. Now he saw it and he knew it for what it was and what it meant. It was longing. Longing-and poignant hope and love…
It was love.
His heart was suddenly clattering in his chest like a mad thing and he gave up trying to find words and only acted, on instinct more than any conscious thought. One hand came up to cup her cheek in a gentle, tender caress, his fingers just barely touching her skin as if he were afraid she would vanish at too rough a touch.
Hermione couldn't breathe, couldn't move, afraid that even the smallest motion might break this spell and wake her from a dream. And slowly, giving her ample opportunity to back away or stop him (not that she would or even that she was capable of doing so), he leaned forward, closing the distance between their bodies, and his lips touched hers.
It was a soft kiss, tentative and tender, his lips just brushing hers until she leaned in towards him, her lips parting in a silent invitation which he accepted.
His hand slid around to tangle in her hair as her hands fluttered upwards to rest first on his chest then they moved, gliding up, to rest on his shoulders and one hand moved to touch his hair.
He had kissed before- obviously- but this was different. This was- more. More than just a kiss; it was an exploration, a discovery, a revelation. And he was suddenly aware that everything he'd ever thought he knew about kissing until now was false. Everything else had been merely physical, about lips and tongues and nothing more.
This was a kiss.
It was something about the heat of it, the warmth from her body which he could feel, something about the way he could hear and feel her breath at the same time. Something in the way she didn't move other than the light motions of her hands but he could still feel her heart pounding through her skin. (And he could almost swear that their hearts were beating in tandem, in harmony-and though it was a fanciful thought, nothing seemed so right than that their hearts would beat in tandem. It was just one more aspect of the understanding, the unspoken connection, that had somehow always existed between them and had only gotten deeper with every year of friendship.)
It was something about the fact that he knew it was her.
And he somehow thought that he'd been waiting to kiss her his entire life. Waiting to feel this way; waiting to know, deep down, that this moment, this girl, was his destiny…
He moved his lips just a fraction to the side, his tongue lightly tracing the seam and contours of her lips, the corner where her lips joined, before his lips moved on, brushing light, feathery kisses in a leisurely, haphazard trail along her face, the tip of her nose, her cheekbone, the hollow right before her ear, the corner of her eyebrow, her eyelids (first one and then the other), random places only a man in love would treasure. Learning her familiar features with his lips.
Then, slowly, he pulled back, just a few inches but no more.
Their eyes met and held for a long, quiet moment, each seeing the same arousal and love and joy reflected in the other's.
Harry could only stare and he knew that he would remember the picture Hermione presented at this moment, her eyes somewhat dazed with passion and full of emotion, her cheeks flushed, and her lips swollen with his kisses, for the rest of his life.
And felt everything, so many thoughts, so many feelings, so many words, well up inside his chest, almost stopping his throat in their urgency. He wanted to tell her he loved her, to say those words for the first time; wanted to tell her that he knew, finally, that she was what he'd been searching for; wanted to tell her that none of his former girlfriends had meant anything to him, not really; wanted to tell her that she was everything and all he wanted… He wanted to tell her so much…
His lips parted, he found his voice and heard himself say, "I've been a right idiot, haven't I?"
Her eyes widened slightly, her lips parting and curving into a smile that grew until they both laughed, low and soft.
"Maybe a little, but it's okay." She paused, hesitated and then said, "I love you, you know." The words simply wouldn't be kept inside any longer. She'd thought them so many times and had held them in, hidden them, as many times for so many years now. And now, she just wanted to be able to say them aloud, to tell him for the first time.
He stilled, his smile fading until his expression was once more serious, solemn. "I know. I love you too. I'm just sorry I didn't realize it years ago."
She shook her head quickly, stopping his words with one finger lightly touching his lips. "It doesn't matter. You love me now and that's enough."
And it was. All the pangs of hurt she'd felt, all the wistful dreams, didn't matter anymore, made inconsequential from the moment she'd looked at him and seen his new realization in his eyes, seen the added warmth. All the old wounds had been healed the moment she'd realized that he was, finally, looking at her the way she'd always dreamed he would look at her, that intense look of hope and anticipation and desire, as if nothing in the world mattered to him except for her, in that one brief moment. It was the same look she'd seen him give to Cho, to Ginny, to Ashley Featherton, and every other girlfriend he'd had before her-only, it wasn't quite the same. There was one subtle difference that she wouldn't have noticed if it hadn't been for the fact that the difference was familiar to her: friendship. She'd seen that look, the warmth of friendly affection, many times-and now it had that added intensity.
This wasn't, she realized, the same fancy or infatuation he had felt for his other girlfriends. This was different, deeper-because it encompassed friendship as well.
And she suddenly realized that he knew it too.
The thought filled her with a surge of happiness and she closed the distance between their lips, taking the initiative this time, to kiss him.
His arms closed around her, bringing her body flush against his, falling back until he was half-reclining on the couch and she was leaning on him.
Hermione gave herself up to the pleasure of his kiss, the feel of his lips on hers, the taste of him, the touch of his hands, both tender and passionate at the same time, the way it felt to have her breasts pressed against his chest and the growing hardness she could feel nudging at her… A shiver passed through her as Harry's lips moved from her lips, burning a path down the line of her chin and her neck and back up again to her ear, before he returned to her mouth, arousal and a delicious lethargy spreading within her, stealing her breath and her thoughts.
And her last semi-coherent thought before she gave up the attempt to think altogether was: this was what she'd been waiting for.
This was love.
This was forever.
~The End~