A/N: I had intended for this chapter to be posted in two versions, NC-17 and PG-13, but I feel as though a great deal of the emotional development in this chapter takes place amongst the NC-17 material, and…well, the chapter's only 3 pages long when you cut out the smut. So, if you're uncomfortable at any point, feel free to stop reading; I promise you won't miss anything plot-related.
A Most Advantageous Match
Chapter 11: Lovers' Quarrels
Hermione retreated quickly to the safety of her bedchamber. She wanted to be away from everyone, all the Miss Weasleys and Mr. Malfoys conspiring to destroy her happiness, all the sympathetic faces, and most of all, the husband that seemed to want anything but her.
Battling tears, Hermione called her maid to help her out of her dress. The elf worked quickly and quietly, without asking questions, and the elf had helped her out of her dress and undone half her corset ties when a knock sounded firmly on the door, and the visitor entered without waiting for reply.
Hermione had expected to see her mother - no one else would have dared barge into her room, or so she thought - but instead she found her husband, looking to be in such a confused mess of emotions that Hermione couldn't tell if he were angry, worried, or distressed himself.
He glanced briefly at her in her state of deshabille and then to her maid. "Leave us, please, Tripsy."
The elf had grown to be very loyal to Hermione, but she would not dare disobey the master of the house, and so Hermione was left to face her husband alone, in her undergarments, no less.
"Hermione," he said, closing the door behind him. "What's going on?"
"What do you mean?" she said, turning away so that he would not see any more of her tear-stained face.
"You danced with Mr. Malfoy and then ran out of the room in tears, Hermione. What did he do to you, Hermione?"
"Nothing, Harry. He just talked." She wanted to enjoy his concern, wanted to tell him the horrible things Mr. Malfoy had said, but at the same time she was angry, and proud. He hadn't been there when she needed him, and she would never admit how much that had hurt, not as long as she had the façade of a content wife to uphold.
"Then what's wrong, Hermione?"
Hermione felt the bitterness welling in her stomach, bubbling with unexpressed frustrations, and she lost her powers of restraint. She whirled around to face him.
"What's wrong? What isn't wrong, Harry? We've been married for two months and you've yet to touch me, though I've offered myself to you, twice, and in the meantime, we have a guest in our house determined to be your mistress and a relation trying to seduce and manipulate me to keep me from having your child - not that it matters, since you'll never give me the chance!"
"Is that why Malfoy was here?" Harry asked, and Hermione could have slapped him for so effectively missing the point.
"Yes, that's why he was here…why else?" She looked at him carefully and then wanted to slap him all over again for what she saw. "You were wondering if I invited him, weren't you? Oh, that's rich…I'm not the one who keeps taking Miss Weasley into his house!"
Harry crossed his arms. "Do you think so little of me, then? Do you really believe that I would be unfaithful to you, and within our own house, no less? You know I care nothing for Miss Weasley, and so it doesn't matter what she wants. She can do no harm."
Hermione clenched her jaw as she felt tears slipping unbidden down her cheeks. "No harm to you, I suppose, but she's done nothing but insult me since she came - and tonight, you were too busy accommodating her to notice that I needed you."
Harry had the decency to look ashamed. "I was only trying to be a good host, Hermione."
"Yes, well, you must be courteous, mustn't you?"
Harry took a step toward her, eyes dark, and Hermione took an instinctive step back. "What exactly is that supposed to mean?"
She took in a shaky breath. "It means, Harry, that that's all you've ever been to me…your wife, remember?"
Harry pursed his lips. "You could have refused me if you didn't want to be my wife. You knew all along that -"
"I knew you'd never love me, yes," Hermione said, finding it easier to say the words for him than to hear them. "But I thought we'd at least have a normal marriage, that we could be somewhat happy…but our wedding night has long since passed, and we've not once shared a bed. How can this ever be a marriage if we don't even act as man and woman?"
"I never said I couldn't love you," he said quietly, and his voice gave her a shiver and a little burst of hope. "And I thought…I thought I was sparing you."
"Sparing me what, precisely? Because you've not spared me the humiliation and the pain of knowing that my husband doesn't want me.
Harry stepped closer, reaching out as if to touch her shoulder, but she stepped out of reach. He sighed. "It's not that I don't want you, Hermione."
"Then why?"
Harry came closer, and Hermione took another step back, but the bedpost against her back kept her from taking another, and he kept approaching.
"It's because I do want you, Hermione," he said, voice lowering with each slow step. "And that's why I can't bear to do it, not if you're allowing me to out of some sense of obligation. If it happens, I need you to want it as much as I do."
Hermione shivered, feeling his body heat through the scant inches that separated them.
"You never asked me what I wanted, Harry."
His hand reached up to her bare arm, brushing her skin lightly, and that touch solidified her decision. She knew what she wanted.
"All right. What do you want, Hermione?"
She wanted to return his touch, but wasn't sure exactly how she should. "I want to be with you, Harry. I want to be your wife."
His eyes were bright, intent, piercing. "Why?"
She swallowed, knowing she could not lie to him now, not when they were this close, not when there was only one answer to give.
"Because I love you."
For a moment, Harry looked as though he would smile, but instead, he kissed her, truly kissed her for the first time. His lips were warm against hers, and surprisingly soft, and the new sensation was overwhelming - but not so overwhelming that she did not long for more.
The hand on her arm slipped down to her waist, and Harry's lips opened on hers. She could not, nor did she want to, resist opening in return, letting his tongue slide hotly against hers, bringing with it a fresh new wave of sensations. Without thinking, she pressed herself closer to him, putting her arms around his neck. His chest was wonderfully firm against hers as he brought his arms around her middle to keep her there, and she responded to his kisses with nothing short of wild abandon. They were heady, addictive things, and she was lost to them.
He pulled his mouth away, sucking in deep breaths. "Turn around," he said.
"Why?" she asked, more out of curiosity than anything else.
He smiled, almost wryly. "So that I can finish undoing your corset."
Hermione blushed and turned as requested, leaning against the bed post as his fingers made quick work of the remaining strings, and then it was loose, and she was free of the awful garment. She turned herself back around, smiling at her husband's darkened eyes.
"What of your clothing?" she asked, tugging lightly on his cravat. "Should that not go as well?"
Harry smiled and she waited for no other response, beginning to undo the useless accessory - she could not look kindly upon it now. His hands settled once again on his hips, and Hermione realized she would not have much help from him at all. Almost irritated, she let her fingers fall shamelessly to the buttons of his coat and undid them as deftly as she could. He shrugged it off his shoulders gracefully.
"If I didn't know better," he said, "I'd think you were accustomed to undressing a man."
"And if I didn't know better," Hermione said archly, "I'd say you didn't know how to undress yourself."
He laughed, a sound which sent a little thrill down her spine in the current setting, and gathered her into his arms once more. "I'd much rather undress you."
"Well," Hermione said, just barely mustering the will to resist such a statement, "I don't want to undress you. You've far too many buttons."
"Oh, very well," Harry said, and Hermione leaned back against the bedpost, watching his fingers work the buttons of his shirt free. The pause allowed her time to fully understand what was upon her. Harry would undress himself, then her shift would be removed, and…then they would make love.
She was nervous, she realized, watching Harry's shirt fall to the floor, but not to the point that she wanted to stop. On the contrary, she didn't think she could stop, especially not now that she was able to truly admire her husband's body. His shoulders were broad, his hips slender, and he was neither scrawny nor overweight, as so many young men of the age were. Rather, he was finely toned, and she wondered how those muscles would feel beneath her fingertips.
Harry had removed his boots and stockings, and now, barefooted and bare-chested, his fingers went to the fastenings of his breeches. Hermione tried to brace herself for what she would see. She'd learned a bit about the male anatomy from books she wasn't supposed to have seen, but she'd never seen more than a rough illustration. She wasn't sure how different the real thing would be.
Harry looked up at her, his breeches staying on only by his hands holding them there. "Would you feel more comfortable if…it were dark?"
"No," she said, moistening her dry lips. "I want to see."
Harry nodded and stepped out of his breeches, and Hermione remained still, looking long and hard at that mysterious thing which separated man from woman. She hadn't expected it to seem quite so…lively. She'd known, from her reading, what would happen when a man became aroused, but she'd not expected it to be quite so protruding and pinkish and…well, large.
"Will it…fit?" she asked him uncertainly, paying no heed to the blush in his cheeks.
"It's of no extraordinary size, I assure you," he said, a small smirk of amusement shaping his mouth in a very delectable way. "I'm sure we'll have no harder time than the millions of other men and women on this earth."
Hermione smiled, anxious and excited all at once, and he came toward her again, reaching for her waist. His fingers grasped the thin fabric of her shift. "May I?"
She nodded, mouth too dry to speak, and she felt more and more cool air hit her skin as he pulled the shift up her body and eventually over her head.
She felt the complete exposure of her breasts and her sex, and she was tempted to cover herself, to hide from his intent gaze…but it was that very gaze that made her stay still, because in it she could see appreciation - desire - and that was the very gratification she required.
A brush of Harry's hand made her shiver. "Do you think, perhaps, we should move to the bed now?" she asked.
Harry nodded, and as she went around to one side of the bed, he went to the other.
"Er…under the covers?" she asked, uncertain.
"No," Harry said. "I…I want to see you."
Hermione felt herself blushing again, but she acquiesced, settling down atop the bedclothes. Harry laid himself beside her, and added to the feel of the soft cloth against her bare skin was the sensation of his fingers grazing her stomach, which leapt at his touch.
She watched him as he ran his hands over her hips and stomach, along her thighs and around the edges of her breasts. She watched his eyes rove over her body, and for the first time, his gaze made her feel…beautiful. His compliments, nice as they could be, had never done as much to tell her that he appreciated what he saw when he looked at her. She felt…cherished.
"Hermione…do you mind if I - "
"You can do whatever you like," she told him, unable to resist reaching up and brushing a lock of hair back from his forehead. "I trust you."
He smiled and kissed her again, his body leaning over hers so that their skin brushed in the most intimate of places, and she felt aroused like she never had before, felt a strong longing for a man's body.
Then Harry began to do whatever it was he had in mind, moving his lips from her mouth to her jaw, to her neck, to her shoulders, to her chest. Her breath grew shallower and shallower as his lips made their way first to one nipple, then the other, taking each between his lips, and she jumped at the unexpected sensation that flew from her breasts to her sex, warming her from the inside out.
She was disappointed when his lips began to travel again, but far too curious to say anything. His tongue flicked against her navel, and it was not so much the sensation as the look in his eyes that made her gasp. He looked positively…lascivious, and she rather liked it.
His lips pressed the skin beneath her navel, and his hand gently nudged her thighs apart. She opened them nervously and watched him settle between them, and then, with a caress of her inner thigh, he lowered his head to her center.
Hermione could do little more than gasp as his tongue coaxed from her a new, powerful wave of sensations, traveling up her spine to set her body aflame and cloud her mind. She forgot herself, giving all her attention to the heat between her legs and the man causing it. She'd not known such feelings were possible, had never realized that a man could give pleasure in return - she'd imagined that to be the woman's chore. But instead she lay writhing and producing incoherent sounds as her husband - her Harry - brought her to peaks she'd never known existed.
She felt her lower body tensing, the heat and sensation pooling deep in her stomach, filling her until the pressure became more than she could bear, and the puddle burst, surging into every vein, and her body fell to complete sexual abandon.
He came over her again, kissing her, and his mouth tasted strange - he tasted of her, she realized, and the thought was so far outside the realm of decorum that it gave her an extra little thrill.
"Hermione," he breathed, against her lips, and his eyes were darker than she'd ever seen them as he looked into hers, primal, full of some mysterious power that made her want to give everything she had to him. "Can I…are you…are you ready?"
Hermione smiled, amused with his attempt to put things delicately, and she nodded. "I'm ready."
He settled between her legs, and she felt his hardness against her almost over-stimulated sex as he braced himself on one arm above her and used his other hand to guide his member into place.
The sensation of him entering her was strange, so very strange, but fantastic as well, feeling the hot flesh pushing into those tight folds. He went slowly, breathing heavily, and then she felt the resistance, a feeling of being torn, punctured, and she found herself gripping him tightly, willing herself past the pain.
She'd known it would happen this way, of course, but the pleasure she'd felt had caused her to forget about the impending pain, and when he pushed fully inside, it surprised her.
He held himself still, forcibly. She could feel the tension under her fingertips, even as her body fought against his intrusion.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, head hanging close to her ear.
"Don't be," she said, relaxing slightly as the pain began to recede, and she experimentally reached up to run her fingers through his hair in a gesture of comfort. "It's…it's starting to feel good."
Harry kissed her neck, just beneath her ear, and in that moment, she felt nothing but the delicious fullness of holding her husband inside her. Her husband…he was truly her husband now, she realized. He was now her lover as well as her best friend, the man who would father her children, the man she would grow old with…and now he was here, literally inside her - where he ought to be.
He began to move, one hand on her hip, holding her in place, slowly at first, and she finally understood the allure of intercourse. The sensation of him pulling out and pushing back in, however slowly, was shiver-inducing, a tickling burn that filled her entire body with heat.
She watched him lose himself in her, the perspiration on his brow, his eyes fluttering closed now and then, the tensing of his shoulders, the passion in his gaze. Watching his pleasure made hers all that more acute, and soon she found herself gasping…moaning, even, unable to prevent the sounds from rising out of her throat. He seemed to push harder, faster as her sounds grew louder, and then she felt it…that same tightness as before, the sensation that something was building up inside her that could not be stopped, would inevitably burst if he didn't stop at once - but he didn't stop, and this time along with the explosion came a cry ripped from her lungs as she clenched around him.
He gave an answering cry and drove deeper, harder, and then she felt his seed fill her, hot between their skin.
They both lay panting, jerking with aftershocks, and then they were both very still. He did not move from her, and she did not want him to, feeling lethargic and peaceful under his warm weight.
She felt his lips again, against her neck, and eventually he kissed her mouth, and she returned his kisses without restrain. If possible, she felt even more in love with him now, charmed by his skin that was slightly darker than hers, by his earnest kisses, by the way it felt to have him whisper in her ear. She'd always known he was a good man, a great man, and had adored him for his kindness and bravery and loyalty, but now she knew the sensual side of him as well, and could never separate the two again.
As he broke their kiss, he finally moved away from her, and to her great alarm, moved all the way off the bed.
"Where are you going?" she asked, sounding ridiculously panicked. She simply couldn't bear sleeping by herself after what they'd done, and couldn't believe he could leave so easily.
"I'm putting out the candles," he said, looking back at her with a gentle but amused smile. "I don't think we'll need them anymore." It occurred to her then that she was very much exposed, although she was nonetheless intrigued by the view of his backside as he crossed to the candelabra.
Feeling heavy, she lifted herself and turned back the bedcovers to slip beneath them. Harry extinguished the last candle, plunging the room into darkness, and she heard more than saw him crossing the room again, felt the quick breeze and sinking of the mattress as he came into bed beside her.
His hands reached for her, and she went gladly into his arms, falling asleep against his solid chest with the most contentment she'd ever felt.
A/N2: There is still at least one more chapter to come, perhaps two, and an epilogue as well. I hope you'll stay along for the ride.