The Anatomy of a Love Affair

Bingblot

Rating: NC17
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 7
Published: 09/08/2007
Last Updated: 09/08/2007
Status: completed

The beginning and the end of a love affair. Affair!fic- smut, angst, and a bit of fluff. One-shot smut.

Chapters

1. The Anatomy of a Love Affair

1. The Anatomy of a Love Affair

Disclaimer: Is this still necessary now that JKR’s proven herself to be an idiot and I’m trying very hard to forget that DH even exists?

Author’s Note: Another affair!fic. (It's rather sad how easy it is to imagine H/Hr affair!scenarios, given that I don't really like affair!fics-- or at least, never have until now.) Just goes to prove (again) how stupid JKR is. A healthy dose of angst but mitigated with a little bit of fluff too.

The Anatomy of a Love Affair

It started with laughter.

That was the surprising thing—and yet, perhaps, that was what made it inevitable too. Because it started with something so familiar, something neither of them had ever thought to put up defenses against.

It started with a moment of shared laughter, of friendship.

It started with laughter and his eyes met hers and somehow, something changed, sparked.

And neither of them ever knew who moved first; it didn’t matter; they moved together and suddenly she was in his arms and his lips were on hers and his hands were tangling in her hair as her fingers tangled in his, bringing him in closer to her.

And the vague thought, this is wrong, floated through her mind only to vanish in a moment, because then his hands moved to cup her breasts through her shirt, sending lightning streaking through her body to pool between her legs. And she was gasping and arching into his touch, wanting more, more, more… Her mind had been reduced to a quivering mass of pure desire and arousal—for him. She was beyond the call of conscience, beyond thoughts of betrayal and friendship, beyond the realization of right and wrong. All she knew in the world was him, his hands on her body, his mouth on hers, his lips on her skin…

And in some small, unacknowledged corner of her mind and heart, she knew she had wanted him, wanted this, for a very long time…

And then he was lowering her to the floor as his hands touched her, caressed her, discovered her…

And she thought, so this is how it happens. With a look, a spark, a flare of sudden (or long-suppressed?) desire, a kiss—and this is how it happens…

With the discovery of a passion that had, perhaps, only been biding its time, waiting to be discovered, waiting for them to realize, waiting for them to hear the rhythm and feel the power of the song of desire…

Desire and something more than that, something stronger, something deeper…

His hands had somehow managed to unbutton her blouse (or rip her blouse—she didn’t know which and at the moment didn’t care) and unclasp her bra and then his hands were caressing, kneading, her bare breasts.

She had gone insane with lust and need and arousal, her breath coming in gasps and moans.

And then he was undoing the fastening of her trousers and shoving them off her legs, his hands stroking every inch of her legs as he did so. As if from far away, she was vaguely aware of the sound of ripping cloth but it didn’t register until his hand cupped the core of her body, where she was wet and ready for him, and even then she only paused to wonder for a split second where her knickers had vanished to. But then he slid one finger inside her body and she forgot about her knickers, forgot about everything, as the entire universe narrowed down to that one spot on her body and the movements of his finger… Then, in a blaze of sparks, her body imploded as shards of glory streaked through every inch of her, and she was screaming his name and clutching him to her and losing her mind…

When she returned to reality, it was to find him watching her, staring at her, his expression awash with an odd mixture of awe and reverence and lust and need—and just the look on his face was her undoing. At that moment, she felt like the most beautiful woman in the world and she loved him for making her feel that way.

Then she was undoing the fastening of his jeans and hastily shoving jeans and boxers down his legs and her hand found the hot, hard aching length of him. And he was groaning, his hips thrusting uncontrollably into her hand, as she caressed, explored, teased… She couldn’t believe she was doing this, couldn’t believe she wanted to do this but this was him and this was her, them, and this was different… So she scooted down his body, lowering her lips to touch his skin, leaving a light trail of kisses down his body until she reached that part of his body that was begging for her attention, lightly dropping a kiss on the tip of it, making him cry out, before her tongue touched his body, licked up the length of it…

And then he was pushing her away with a strangled groan and surging up her body. And then he was inside her, filling her, stretching her—completing her… And she gave herself up to the rhythm of his hips and his tongue, to the pleasure streaking through her body, to the touch of his hands on her body, caressing her to an even greater plane of arousal—an impossible level of desire…

And then she was tightening around him, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until it exploded and she was dying, losing her mind, falling, tumbling through space and time to find him… And he was groaning, his hands gripping her hips convulsively, as he shuddered and spilled himself inside her, and the only thing she was conscious of, the only thing she heard, was the sound of his voice, crying out her name… “Hermione!”

And afterwards she curled up into his arms as he held her, her soul almost purring at the tenderness of his touch now, and she knew she’d found her home, the place she’d been meant to be…

And that was how it began.

It began with laughter that turned into passion that turned into ecstasy…

It continued with guilt and with tears and with confessions.

It continued with her and him facing their best friend—and her husband—and she couldn’t breathe for the tears clogging her throat that she swallowed back, because she knew the moment she let them loose, they would come in a flood.

It continued with the ghastly look on Ron’s face, the sickly color, as he stared between her and Harry as if they’d both sprouted two heads and a tail. “You—you…” he stopped, swallowing hard.

And that was when something inside her crumpled, died. “I’m sorry, Ron. I’m so sorry!” she sobbed.

Harry had to forcibly stop himself from going to her, from hauling her into his arms and comforting her. He couldn’t—he couldn’t—he couldn’t… But oh God, how he wanted to! He couldn’t stand to see her cry, never had been able to stand it—and it was worse now.

“I’m so sorry, Ron. It’s not you; it’s nothing you did. Because I do love you; I do.”

Ron let out a bark of harsh laughter that slashed at her more than any words or any looks could do. “Then why the hell did you shag him?!”

Her answer was almost inaudible, coming as it did between sobs. “Because… I love him too…”

Ron flinched and turned away as if he couldn’t bear to look at her anymore. He turned his glare on Harry, betrayal and anger and hurt stark in his glower. “You- how could you do that?!”

“Because I’m in love with her!”

The words fell like rocks into the silence and neither of them knew which was more shocked by them, Harry’s eyes wide, his breath coming quickly, Hermione’s tears and even her guilt momentarily forgotten, and Ron—Ron, whose anger was being replaced with a hurt so bad and so deep, he wondered if his heart were being physically ripped from his chest.

“I love her,” Harry repeated, his voice now, suddenly, eerily flat, the flat voice of one who had too much emotion whirling around inside him that he had to keep it all in and not express any of it for fear of getting swept away in the flood of emotion if he let them loose. “I’m sorry, Ron, I’m so sorry—but you have to know that I’d never have done this if I didn’t. If it hadn’t been love and not lust, it would never have happened. I wouldn’t have betrayed you for lust.”

Ron couldn’t speak, could only stare—but then the silence was broken by her voice.

“You love me?”

Harry finally turned to look at her, when he’d been avoiding looking at her for the past few, endless minutes. He didn’t say anything, only looked at her—but his eyes… God, his eyes!

And Ron knew it was over. His marriage was over. Not only because Harry loved her—but because she loved him too. She loved him more. More than Ron, more than honor, more than anything else.

A tidal wave of blind rage swamped him, displacing all his hurt for the moment, and he closed the distance between him and his best friend—his former best friend—throwing all his hurt and all his anger and all his disillusionment into a punch that snapped Harry’s head back.

And the sound of the punch was almost drowned out by her muffled sob and shriek and cry, all at once.

Ron almost wanted Harry to punch him back, wanted Harry to fight, so he could hex and curse his former best friend.

But Harry didn’t. He only looked at Ron with eyes that were suddenly aged and weary. “Go ahead. Be as mad at me as you want; it’s my fault. But if you believe nothing else, believe that I never wanted this, never wanted to hurt you.”

“But you did,” Ron said with deliberate cruelty. “You did. God, Harry, you’re married to my sister!”

Harry’s sternly-controlled mask flickered and for a moment, Ron saw the guilt and the regret and the stark pain standing out nakedly on Harry’s face—and Ron was, for the moment, savagely glad to see it.

Good, he hoped Harry felt guilty; he should feel guilty. Effing back-stabbing bastard, shagging his best friend’s wife, cheating on Ginny like that! He hoped Harry suffered and felt guilty.

“I’m so sorry, Ron…”

“Go to hell,” Ron snapped and stormed out, slamming the door behind him hard enough to shake the walls—but louder than that was the sound of a friendship dying, the death knell of a decade of friendship and loyalty.

The silence that fell after Ron’s departure was sharp, painful, rife with regret and sorrow and guilt, and finally only broken by her muffled sob.

And Harry gave in to the longing—no, the need—to comfort her and almost flew over to the couch, putting his hand on her back tentatively, unsure whether she would welcome his touch or not after what they’d done, after how much his actions had led to this hurt. But she melted into him, her entire body swaying towards him, and he hauled her into his lap with a strangled groan, closing his arms around her as if to shield her from all the pain and suffering in the world.

She clung to him, her shoulders shaking with silent tears, and they melted the wall he’d put up around his emotions.

“God, Hermione, I’m so sorry…” His voice was a hoarse whisper, raw with all the turbulent emotions roiling around inside him. “I’m sorry. Please don’t cry, love; I can’t stand it when you cry…”

Her breath hitched as she swallowed back her sobs and looked up at him. “Did you mean it?” she asked softly. “You love me?”

His lungs seized in his chest. “God, Hermione, how can you ask that? You’ve been—you are—the most important person in my life. How could I not love you? I just wish I’d realized it sooner.”

She blinked back tears. “Oh Harry, I love you too.”

He sucked in his breath a little. “Hermione…” he breathed and her name was an endearment and a prayer all at once.

His eyes met hers and he saw the acknowledgment of all the pain and the chaos their confession would create, all the heartache they were in for—but he also saw the love and the courage, the strength that would get them through this. He loved her—and even though he hated the thought of hurting Ron and Ginny, he knew he could no more stop this than he could stop his heart from beating, than he could have stopped himself from falling in love with her.

His eyes flickered irresistibly down to her lips and he leaned in to brush his lips against hers on an impulse of tenderness he couldn’t help. He didn’t dare do any more than that, knew (now) just what a kiss could lead to.

She drew back, lifting her hand to touch her fingertips ever so lightly to the rapidly-developing bruise on his cheekbone. “Oh, Harry…”

He forgot to breathe, forgot to blink, only stared at her as he felt her fingertips flutter over his face in a feather-light caress, and the tenderness of her touch shattered him and he knew he could never give her up, never give this up, no matter what it cost them.

“Does it hurt?”

He grasped her hand gently in his, touching his lips briefly to her palm. “It doesn’t matter. I deserved it.”

He paused and then forced himself to stand up. If he stayed here any longer, he would kiss her again, wouldn’t be able to help it—and it wouldn’t stop with a kiss. “Will you be okay?” he asked softly.

She nodded. “I’ll be okay.”

He let out a breath, seeming to brace himself for a disagreeable task. “I’m going to talk to Ginny.”

“Do- do you want me to come with you?”

His expression suffused with tenderness, as he gave her a look so soft it was almost a kiss. “No, I’ll get through it.” He didn’t add that he wouldn’t put her through that, wouldn’t expose her to Ginny’s recriminations and blame.

It was his fault, his own blindness, in not recognizing sooner the depth of his feelings for Hermione, not recognizing that his feelings for Ginny were so shallow, that he didn’t love her enough, not like that…

That was the beginning of their love affair, the beginning of their discovery of a passion that had, perhaps, always been there, their discovery of the depths of the love that bound them to each other, a love so strong it made all the other bonds, all other relationships in their lives, pale into insignificance.

That was the beginning of the love affair that broke several hearts and ended a friendship of a decade.

It was a beginning of the guilt and of the tears and the regrets—but it was also a beginning of an understanding, a knowledge, of a truth deeper than those of friendship and loyalty.

It was the beginning of a love affair that only bound them closer to each other, as every day became a discovery of just how true and how strong this love was.

And when all the scandal and all the complications and all the obstacles were past, in the end, it was only the two of them, as, perhaps, it had always been meant to be.

~*~

The affair ended with a promise.

It ended when they married.

It ended he saw her coming down the aisle towards him and he forgot how to breathe, forgot to think, forgot to blink, could only stare. She was the most beautiful woman in the world…

And her eyes met and held his, seeing all the love and all the certainty in them, and he knew he’d never been luckier, never been happier.

And something in the larger scheme of things that had gone awry when he and Ginny married, when Ron and Hermione married, was now finally being put to rights. He was with Hermione, would be with her for the rest of their lives.

The love affair ended when they said, “I do,” but that was only the beginning of the rest of their love story, only the beginning of their romance.

~The End~