Disclaimer: Don't own them. Trust me, you'd know it if I did! (Mutters Litigatum Nullenvoidicus spell, just in case.)
Spoilers: None. This story was completed before the release of Deathly Hallows. As I am unwilling to rewrite the story in order to make it canon-compliant, it must be considered AU. **shrugs** I prefer my universe anyway.
Summary: Harry makes an accidental discovery that throws his world - and his hormones - into a tailspin.
My apologies for the delay in posting this last chapter. Real Life was less than cooperative. Thanks so much to all of you for reading, reviewing, and for the warm welcome. I truly appreciate it!
March 10
He sighed as eager, efficient fingers made quick work of his shirt buttons, baring his chest to her hungry gaze. He'd found her in his desk chair, in his study, and his parents had intuitively excused themselves from their portrait as she'd risen and glided toward him, the filmy fabric of her nightgown flowing around her thighs as she'd walked. "You're home late, luv."
"Sorry," he whispered as her small hands slid the fabric of his shirt over his shoulders and down his arms. "Couldn't be helped. Emergency session …"
"Sshhh," she whispered back, placing two fingers over his lips. "Doesn't matter. You're here now."
He briefly sucked her fingertips into his mouth, swirling his tongue around them and causing her to gasp before releasing them with a pop. "Kids?"
"With Uncle Ron for the entire weekend."
He snorted. "Poor Uncle Ron."
"Save your sympathy," she said with a smirk. "It was his idea."
"Hmmm … I knew I liked Uncle Ron for some reason," he panted as her fingers moved to the zip of his trousers.
As her hand slipped into his boxers and wrapped around his already straining erection, his own hands sought her hips, gathering the delicate material of her gown and then tugging it over her head. He groaned as she was forced to release him, then groaned again when her nude form was bared to his predatory gaze. Her still pert breasts sent a silent invitation to taste them, and he bit his lip in anticipation, finding it was an invitation he couldn't refuse. He bent his head and sucked one nipple into his mouth while his hand rose to cup her other breast, his thumb teasing the other nipple to a peak.
Her head dropped back with a moan as her hands fisted in his hair, and he released her deliciously willing flesh with a soft pop. Taking a step back, he quickly toed off his shoes, then pushed his trousers and pants to the floor and kicked them aside as she moved to his desk and bent over, wiggling her bum at him.
"It's been a long time since you've taken your wife on your desk." Her voice was low and throaty and, combined with the sight she presented, it made him even harder than he already was.
Perhaps they'd play later. After all, they had all weekend. Right now, he desperately longed to be buried in her.
Fisting his erection, he moaned in satisfaction and crossed the room to stand behind her. As he approached, he could just make out the intricate mix of colors that defined the edge of her tattoo, that seductive bit of artwork that had changed both of them. But before he could see it clearly, she suddenly stood upright and spun, dropping to her knees in front of him.
Gazing up at him through her long lashes, she purred, "I've really missed you, Harry." Then she pulled his hand away and wrapped her lips around him, the sudden wet warmth sending him reeling unexpectedly into oblivion.
"I love you, Hermione!"
He awoke and sat up with a start, momentarily disoriented, until he felt the grip of his own hand, now slick with his release.
Damn!
With a grimace, he rose and peeled the sticky boxers off his body, then reached for his wand on the bedside table, Scourgifying the mess he'd made.
And it was one hell of a mess, both literally and figuratively.
Knowing that he'd do nothing but toss and turn if he stayed abed, Harry stumbled downstairs and made himself a cup of tea, then settled himself in his study in hopes that some inane conversation with his parents would take his mind off Hermione for a while. It had become something of a ritual that, when insomnia or residual nightmares claimed his nighttime hours, Harry would seek the comfort of hot tea and tales of the Marauders. While the stories rarely served to lull him to sleep, they were more often than not able to provide sufficient distraction so that eventually, when he did succumb to slumber, he could rest peacefully for a few hours.
He wasn't sure it would work this time. Despite his father's best efforts, Harry found his mind wandering. It was all he could do to keep himself from imagining Hermione sprawled across his desk in a state of undress, begging him to make love to her.
Wife?
Kids?
Merlin, I have it bad!
How was it possible for him to have gone from platonic love for a best friend to sexual obsession with her body to wanting to spend the rest of his life with her and have a family with her, all in a little over a week's time?
Is that what I want? I can't imagine my life without her, but …
"Are you listening, son?"
"Uh, sure, Dad. Sirius had Maxwell in a bodybind."
He remembered her anger when he'd told her she was beautiful and he involuntarily shivered. How would she react if he told her he'd fallen in love with her?
Oh.
He was in love with her, wasn't he? No use denying it any longer.
He> wanted to be the one to wake up beside her every morning and watch her fall asleep every night. He wanted to be the one who noticed when she wasn't eating properly, or tell her when she was working too hard, or bring her chocolate when her monthly threatened to make her irritable. He wanted to be the one to curl up with her on the sofa and watch the telly, or read a book, or just watch her. He wanted to be the one to start a family with her, to celebrate Christmases and New Years and birthdays with her, and hold her hand when the grandbabies received their Hogwarts letters, giving it a squeeze to let her know that they had indeed done something truly wonderful with their lives in creating their family.
Most of all, he wanted to be the one, the only one, who made her smile that Just-for-Harry smile, the only one, who would make her moan or scream or cry out his name as he took delight in pleasuring her.
Oh, yes - he wanted very much to be the most important man in Hermione's life.
The silence in the room caught his attention and he realized that his father had stopped speaking and was looking at him anxiously. With a resigned sigh, Harry shrugged and then grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, Dad. Guess I drifted off."
"It's all right. I understand. Why don't you go on up to bed and grab a few hours of sleep?"
Harry glanced out the window. The sky was lightening and glowed with the faintest tinge of pink, signaling the pending dawn. He shook his head. "No, I think I'll just get cleaned up and head on in to work. I have a lot to do"
Lily frowned. "I know you have a very busy week ahead of you, Harry, but when it's all over, will you promise to take some time for yourself and relax?"
Harry rolled his eyes. "Are you sure Remus isn't coaching you? 'Cause you sure do sound a lot like him." He chuckled inwardly at his mother's flush, suspecting that, just prior to her death, she still carried a bit of a torch for the werewolf. The thought gave him pause, as he wondered whether portraits still retained all the human emotions of their model and whether it pained her to know that a barely middle-aged Remus was the last of the Marauders still alive.
He was too polite to ask.
Harry took his time showering and dressing, yet he still made it to his office hours before the first die-hard Ministry devotee arrived for work. He hadn't bothered to pour himself a cup of coffee - he'd spelled a whole pot to stay warm and taken it back to his desk.
He actually did an admirable job of concentrating, managing to structure an agenda for his meeting with the vampire as well as read some background information on their 'negotiation' habits, before his door opened a few minutes past ten o'clock to reveal Remus with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face.
"Get up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, Remus, or did Tonks trip you on your way out from under the covers?"
Remus ignored the dig and strode across the office to brace his hands on Harry's desk and lean over it so that he was looking Harry right in the eye. "Jeanette tells me that you were here when she got here this morning."
"Tattletale. See if I get her a gift this Christmas." When Remus didn't back down, Harry sighed and tossed the report he was reading on his desk. "Fine. I couldn't sleep so I came in early. Now, will you please quit hovering? You're worse than Molly."
"This has to stop, Harry." Remus' expression was grim.
"Remus …"
"I mean it. You may think you have everything under control but you don't. You're distracted, you're exhausted … and we have too much riding on this meeting with Vladislav for you to screw it up."
"Hey! I worked my arse off for this!"
"I know you have. Which is why I can't have you going in there at less than one hundred percent. Vampires are sly and cunning and geniuses at mind control. As one of their leaders, Vladislav is the best. If you go in there less than fully prepared, you'll not only give him concessions that you never even dreamed of, but you may end up giving him your soul. And that is definitely not in your best interest."
"And just how do you expect me to prepare if I don't study up on them?"
"Take the damned reports home with you if you must, read them in the bath for all I care. Just take some time to physically and mentally collect yourself. Find someone to practice your Occlumency with. You're going to need it. But whatever you do, however you prepare, do it out of this office!"
Harry glared up into Remus' stern blue eyes for a long moment, then sagged back in his chair in resignation. "I don't think being out of the office is going to help my mental state right now."
Remus' features softened and he propped his hip on the corner of the desk. "Still having those dreams?"
Harry knew it would be a waste of time to deny it. "Yes. Only they've gotten worse."
"Have you considered telling Hermione?"
Harry shook his head, wondering why he had even bothered to pretend with someone who knew him so well. "No. How do you go about telling someone whose friendship you value above everything else in life that you've fallen in love with her and want to shag her senseless?" He threw his chair back and stood quickly, pacing over to the window. "I know, I know! Just do it and don't wait too long. You've already told me. But … what if she doesn't feel the same way? What if I ruin the best thing that's ever happened to me? This isn't like facing down an army of Death Eaters or scaring away dementors. This takes a different kind of bravery that I'm not sure I possess."
"You're not alone, you know. Every man goes through this sometime in their life. They meet that one special woman that they know they can't get through life without and turn themselves inside out until they get up the courage to tell her."
Remus ran his hand back through his hair as a wistful smile ghosted across his face. "James was absolutely pathetic where Lily was concerned. When she'd first caught his eye, he'd swagger around and try to sound cool and aloof. Lily saw right through it, of course, and told him he was a pompous arse. Right to his face! I thought Sirius was going to hurt himself, he was laughing so hard. But once James realized that he really truly cared for Lily, and that she wasn't just someone he wanted to shag but someone he wanted to actually be with, he became far less sure of himself. I've never seen him so vulnerable as the day he was planning to ask her to marry him."
"I get your point, but this is my best friend. What if she says no?"
"If she says no, my lad, then you smile, and hug her, and tell her that you're overworked and it's a passing whim, and that you're sure you'll be cured in a week or two. Then you go off on holiday, find some beautiful witch who'll listen to your sob story with gentle compassion, allow her to shag you back to health, and return to your life a wiser man."
"Bloody hell, now you sound like Sirius!"
Remus winked. "Who do you think taught me how to get over my sixth year failure?" He then stood. "Do me a favor, Harry. Take the rest of the day off. Take the reports with you but go home and get some rest." He hesitated a moment, then pulled a vial out of the inside pocket of his robes and laid it on the desk. "Here."
"What's that?"
"Dreamless Sleep. I thought it might come in handy."
"Thanks." Harry gave a half-smile of gratitude.
"What are friends for?" Remus returned the smile, then glanced at his watch. "Now, I'm off to yet another lunch with Arthur … you'd think Molly never fed him! He wants to discuss employment opportunities within the wizarding world for giants." He wagged his finger at Harry. "I expect to find you gone when I get back."
"Yes, sir!" Harry rolled his eyes.
"Oooh! I like the sound of that!"
"In your dreams, Lupin! Get out of here!" Remus laughed, then ducked as Harry pretended to throw an ink bottle at him.
As Remus' footsteps retreated down the hall, Harry picked up the vial of Dreamless Sleep. Why hadn't he thought of this before? Hermione would have, of course, had he told her he was losing sleep to troublesome dreams. But he hadn't mentioned it for fear of telling her too much and, out of concern for him, she'd have wanted details. Pocketing the vial, he gathered the files on his desk and headed for the lift and the potion-induced slumber that his body craved.
As it turned out, Harry didn't get more than a few hours of peaceful sleep. He'd only taken half the vial when he'd gotten home, not wishing to sleep the whole afternoon away. He had way too much to accomplish before sunset the next night, when the meeting with Vladislav was to take place. But for a little while, at least, he was able to put aside his worries and allow his body to relax. He awoke feeling refreshed, and sent a silent nod of thanks to Remus for his thoughtfulness.
He'd finished reading the reports over a late afternoon lunch, then arranged to meet one of the Ministry Legilimens for an hour to hone his Occlumency skills. Thanks to a great deal of determination after Dumbledore's death, Harry's mind was already a veritable fortress to any outside intruders, but he hadn't faced as subtle an opponent since Voldemort and he wanted to be prepared for any contingency.
It wasn't until the Legilimens casually mentioned protecting his dreams as well as his conscious thoughts and memories that Harry had a moment of panic.
Hermione.
He had to keep his dreamscapes private at all costs. Not only were his erotic fantasies the perfect blackmail weapon, but they also put Hermione at risk, and Harry refused to place Hermione in any danger, regardless of the consequences.
Damned shame I don't have a Pensieve.
He would just have to be very careful.
Harry returned home to find that reading reports held little appeal and even less of his attention - Hermione occupied practically all of it. He replayed the dinner party over and over in his head, especially the part where she told him he was her weakness, until his head was reeling.
It's you. It's always been you.
How much of her life had she put on hold for him? How many times over the years had she felt the need to reshuffle her priorities in order to be by his side? Guilt for being such a burden to her practically overwhelmed him.
Frustrated to the point of screaming, Harry drew on his Quidditch gloves and pocketed a Snitch before grabbing his Firebolt and heading for the skies over Godric's Hollow in hopes that a bit of altitude and a merry chase in the brisk evening air would bring some clarity.
Once clear of the Muggle village, Harry released the Snitch. The sun was just heading for the horizon, but there was still plenty of light with which to seek the little golden ball. He hovered, suspended in mid-air for several long moments, waiting to spy his quarry, and then a flash of gold showed through the treetops and he was off. The exhilaration of flying at breakneck speed was invigorating; he never felt more in control than he did when astride his broom. It was one of the few places in his life where he truly felt he belonged.
In and out of the trees he weaved, branches slapping him as he raced after the golden prize. He dove until he was just skimming the top of the dead forest underbrush, then drove the broom up and cleared the treetops in hot pursuit. Finally, with a roll and a swoop, Harry stretched out his hand and closed his fingers over his elusive prey with a whoop of triumph. In his excitement, he allowed his grip on his broom to relax and his concentration broke. His broom gave a lurch and in the blink of an eye, Harry found himself on his back in the partially frozen mud.
But he had the Snitch!
He rolled over onto his hands and knees then stood as the tiny wings beat furiously in the palm of his leather-clad hand. With a cavalier grace, he wandlessly recalled the broom to his side, then straddled the broom handle and nudged the broom skyward, closer to the denuded forest canopy. Hovering, he released his grip and sat upright, then tossed the Snitch back and forth between his hands while he caught his breath, a smile of self-satisfaction on his face.
How he wished "catching" Hermione was as easy as catching the Snitch.
Of course, catching the Snitch wasn't always easy. Sometimes it was hard … and damned risky. Flashbacks of Quidditch matches against Slytherin zipped around his conscious memories - instances where Bludgers had a mind of their own, dementors and possessed professors had wished him harm, and his mid-air clashes with Malfoy had become the stuff of legend. No … being a Seeker was to occupy the riskiest position on the team.
But it was also the one which brought the greatest reward.
He stared at the fluttering ball in his hand. No great catch was without its risk, and no great Seeker was ever labeled a coward.
Love like that is a once-in-a-lifetime thing. Don't let him waste the opportunity out of fear, Harry.
That was the crux of it, Harry realized. Fear. He'd been afraid when he'd faced Voldemort and knew that one of them had to die. But this was a completely different kind of fear … an irrational fear … a fear that immobilized him and tongue-tied him and left him acting like a child around his best friend … the woman he loved.
What exactly was he afraid of? Was it Hermione? Never. He trusted her with his life - he had no problem trusting her with his heart. Was it Ron? No. Ron and Hermione hadn't been a couple for years, and while Harry might have to deal with a bit of bluster on Ron's part - threatening him with a good hexing if he hurt her - he knew Ron and his family would eventually be happy for them. He knew he wasn't afraid of becoming involved in a committed relationship, and maybe even marriage. He was actually looking forward to no longer being alone.
Rejection.
Harry sighed. The fear that Hermione didn't love him back was what kept him silent. But he also knew that this was Hermione. She wouldn't lead him on, but she wouldn't walk away from him, either. If she truly didn't care for him the way he cared for her, then he knew, he knew they'd find a way to get past it, because something told him that no matter what Hermione's feelings, she wanted to keep Harry in her life as much as he needed her in his.
And faint heart never won fair maiden.
With a surge of adrenaline and a nod of determination, Harry grabbed the Snitch with one hand while he landed his broom and turned his thoughts toward London and Hermione's flat. It was now or never, or he'd have no peace. And he needed peace, and a clear head, if he was going to be in any way effective with the vampires.
Damn that bloody tattoo!
Harry Apparated, his feet hitting the pavement outside Hermione's flat, oblivious to his surroundings. It was good that Hermione had chosen to live in a wizarding neighborhood, for tonight Harry had little inclination to care whether he was observed dismounting or not. As he approached her door, he didn't even bother tickling the wards - he just pushed forward until he could knock.
The wards dropped and the door was thrown open to reveal a very wide-eyed Hermione, clad in pajamas. Her eyes raked down over him and her surprise rapidly changed to shock. "Harry! What on earth happened to you?"
"I need to see it."
He stepped over the threshold as she reached up and plucked a broken twig from his hair.
"You look like you got into a fight with a mountain troll … and lost." Her fingers touched his cheek, tracing a cut from one of the whipping branches. "What happened?"
"I've been thinking."
Her gaze snapped to the broom in his hand and her features softened in understanding as she shut the door and led him into the foyer. "Ah. You've been flying. Run into some turbulence?"
"Turbulence is an understatement." He leaned his broom against the wall, then cupped her hand in his and placed the Snitch in her palm before closing her fingers over its buzzing wings. "Hermione. I need to see it."
"See what, Harry?"
"It's been driving me crazy for over a week now, and if you don't show it to me, I may not be responsible for my actions."
"Harry … what are you talking about? What do you need to see?"
"Your tattoo."
Harry watched as first the color drained from her face, then her cheeks flushed a bright pink. "How … how did you know about that?"
"I saw it … at Ron's party. Well, not all of it … just the top. I … I want to see the whole thing."
"Why?" she asked so softly that Harry barely heard her.
He swallowed the lump in his throat, renewed determination firmly setting his jaw. "Because for the last week it's all I can dream about, all I can think about. It's the … bloody hell … thinking of you with it …. " He ran his hand back through his fringe. "It's one of the sexiest things I've ever seen, and damn it all … if I'm going to fucking dream about it, then I bloody well ought to dream about the whole bloody thing, right?"
She regarded him intently for a long moment as he panted with emotion and the strain of holding himself in check. Her flush deepened, and he thought she was going to refuse him. But then she bit her bottom lip in that oh, so familiar way, and her she got a wicked gleam in her eye before tossing the Snitch in the air and spinning, planting both hands firmly on either side of her head against the wall.
"All right, Harry."
Harry thought he was going to die.
He retreated a step and dropped his gaze to her lower back.
This is really happening. Hermione is letting me …
Hardly daring to breathe, he knelt behind her, his hands coming to rest on the outside of her flannel-covered thighs. He drew in a deep breath, then said, "Lift your shirt." Pleased that his voice didn't reveal his nervousness, he watched, fascinated, as Hermione lowered one hand and gathered her shirt until he could see the waistband of her pajama pants.
With a feather-light touch, Harry skimmed his hands up the outside of her thighs to the waistband, then pressed his lips together to keep from groaning as he dipped his fingers beneath the elastic that wrapped around each hip. With infinite care, he slowly lowered her pants over the cheeks of her bum until they stopped, secured, at the tops of her thighs.
Harry was mesmerized.
Hermione's bum.
Hermione's bare bum.
Harry licked his dry lips as he stared at the softly rounded curves, the creamy white skin. How perfectly those curves would fit his hands, he thought, as arousal quickened his breath and warmed his groin. He watched the subtle interplay of muscle as she shifted, steadying her stance, holding herself still for his hungry gaze.
And then his focus realigned.
Positioned between the twin dimples just above the swell of her cheeks resided the intricately detailed rendering of …
"A phoenix," he whispered in awe. Its head was turned to the side and its wings were spread, meeting aloft, giving it the appearance of flight. The plumage radiated reds, oranges and yellows, and the feathers shimmered as if they were rustling in the breeze. "It's beautiful."
"It's Fawkes. I wanted it to be him, so I had them use one of his feathers to draw the tattoo."
Harry reached a finger over and stroked the tip of one wing, and was rewarded with the brief, gentle warble of phoenix song. "Wicked! Does he sing often?"
"He's never done that before," she admitted, her brow wrinkled in confusion. "He has a regular Burning Day, but he's never sung. He must recognize you."
Harry glanced up. Her cheek was pressed to the wall and a faint blush still stained the crest of her cheekbones. "Why would he recognize me?"
"Well," --she hesitated, then drew a deep breath -- "remember when you killed Voldemort and his wand shattered and your wand split?"
Harry nodded.
"Afterwards, when you were in hospital and recovering, I …. I went back … to where you killed him. To find your wand."
"What? Hermione, why?"
"I didn't actually take the wand. The wood had split beyond repair but the feather inside was still intact so I removed it. It seemed important to me … to keep it. When I decided to get the tattoo, it seemed only natural to use it as the quill. And this way, not only does my tattoo have a bit of Fawkes' magic in it, it also has a bit of yours."
"Mine?" Harry ran his thumb over one wing, watching as the feathers fluttered in the non-existent breeze. "Why would you want to have it imbued with my magic?"
She shrugged one shoulder. "Because that way, I'll always have a piece of you with me."
"Silly witch," he whispered as he pressed a gentle kiss to her hip. "You already have a piece of me. Didn't you know that? Somewhere along the way you nicked my heart, too. Probably on that first train ride," he teased fondly. "You were such a little know-it-all then." He brushed the tip of his nose over the tattoo, then froze. "Wait, what about Voldemort … the connection my wand had to his?"
"It's all right. I asked Professor Dumbledore's portrait about that before I actually got the tattoo. He said that the wand was a tool crafted for you, and that if there was any latent Dark magic associated with the wand it would have been neutralized by yours. Besides," she confessed as voice dropped to barely a whisper, "I happen to like that little bit of Dark in you."
Harry felt something feral swell in his chest. His hands slid around her hips and across the smooth expanse of her stomach as he stood, then he pulled them out from under her shirt and trailed them up her arms until his hands covered hers where they rested on the wall. Lacing their fingers together, he wrapped both their arms around her stomach as he pressed his chest to her back and her head tipped back against his shoulder with a sigh.
"Oh, Harry."
He kissed her temple before angling his head so that his lips just brushed the shell of her ear. "I'm about to cross a line here, so if you want me to stop, if you want me to stay on this side of the line, you need to tell me now."
He heard the smile in her voice. "I think you crossed that line when you knocked on my door, Mister Potter."
"Want me to stop?"
"Don't you dare!" she threatened as she pushed her bare bum backwards against the zip of his denims. She slipped her arms out from under his, then took his hands and moved them back under her shirt. "Touch me," she pleaded, "please touch me."
Harry's hands skimmed upward until he cupped her breasts in his palms, and his thumbs brushed over the already stiff peaks of her nipples. "Merlin, Hermione," he breathed, "I want you so badly."
"Yesss," she agreed as he kissed down her neck and nipped at the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder. "Talk to me."
He kissed his way back up to her ear. "Talk?"
"P-Parseltongue. Please?"
Harry's mind raced. Suddenly her reactions, both at Ron's party and at her dinner party, made perfect sense. It occurred to him that in the past, when he'd spoken the unique magical language, she hadn't been present. Perhaps his Parseltongue affected her the way her tattoo affected him … perhaps she found it arousing.
Perhaps she really did like him just a bit Dark and dangerous!
He didn't even need a mental fabrication to aid him this time. With a wicked grin, he sucked her earlobe into his mouth and gave it a tug with his teeth before hissing, "Merlin, you have to be the sexiest, the most beautiful, the most incredible woman in the whole world."
She shivered in his arms and it was all he could do not to crow with triumph.
"I want to take you to bed and make love to you all night long," he continued, the sibilant sounds making her squirm harder. She raised a hand and wove it through his hair, holding him close as he kneaded the soft flesh of her breasts. "You've been mine in my dreams … now I want to make you mine for real."
"What did you say, Harry?" she asked breathlessly.
"Let me show you."
With a soft groan, he dropped his hands as she spun in his embrace. His hands drifted downward and he cupped her bum, pulling her against him as he bent his head and pressed his lips to hers.
Harry's heart stopped.
The kiss started gently, tenderly, but the tenuous thread of his control was strained and all it took was for the kiss to deepen - for Hermione's tongue to brush across his lips - for that thread to snap. With another groan he pulled her flush against him, sinking one hand into her hair while simultaneously plunging his tongue into the warmth of her mouth. She returned his kiss eagerly, passionately, giving as good as she got.
Harry thought his lungs were going to explode but he didn't want to break the kiss for something as trivial as breathing. Suddenly Hermione's foyer twisted as he felt the sickening whirl of Apparition. In a heartbeat, he found himself in Hermione's bedroom. They were standing beside her bed and her small hands were sliding under his sweatshirt … under his t-shirt … caressing his chest.
He released her and grabbed both shirts at the back of his neck, pulling them over his head with vehemence and sending his glasses skittering across the floor. As he dropped the shirts to the carpet, Hermione crossed her arms over her stomach, grabbed the hem of her pajama top and pulled it over her head.
Harry didn't need his glasses to see the beauty of the body in front of him. He muffled a groan, then took a step forward and splayed his fingers along her ribs, his thumbs teasing her pebbled nipples, which elicited the most delicious moan from her.
Harry sucked in his breath. The power that had filled him when facing Voldemort for the last time had been magnificent, but it dimmed in comparison to the magic thrumming through his veins in recognition of the power he had in bringing Hermione pleasure. It was heady knowledge indeed.
Without a word, he bent and scooped her up in his arms and deposited her in the middle of the bed. Her pajama pants still clung to the tops of her thighs and his eyes sought hers, silently asking permission as he lifted the elastic and gave a gentle tug. She nodded her assent and Harry grinned as he slowly lowered the fabric down her legs and off her feet.
Merlin, she's beautiful!
He toed his trainers off, then unfastened his jeans with trembling fingers. A moment of uncertainty caused him to hesitate, then he shoved his jeans and pants downs his legs and stepped out of them, taking his socks along. As he stood up, gloriously naked, he felt Hermione's eyes on him and he couldn't help wondering if she liked what she saw. Nervously, he squinted, bringing her face into slight focus, and he was relieved to see her expression was one of desire.
Harry's heart pounded as he placed one knee on the bed. He couldn't believe it … he was naked with Hermione! He was about to make love with Hermione!
Sweet mother of Merlin!
Hermione held her arms open in invitation and Harry crawled up her body, eager to feel her soft skin against his. He hovered over her on hands and knees, looking into her eyes, recognizing the love she had for him shining there. How could he have missed it?
"One more line to cross. Are you sure? After this, there's no going back."
"I think you completely erased the rest of the lines when you crossed the first one, but, for the record … I don't want to go back. Cross the line, Harry."
"I love you." He was surprised at how easy it was to say it.
Hermione's eyes filled with tears and she smiled. "I love you, too … so very much."
Harry's answering smile was so wide his cheeks hurt. But his boyish elation that Hermione returned his affection was quickly replaced with a more primal lust as he focused on the beautiful, welcoming woman spread beneath him. An undefined magic coursed through him, making the air around then seem charged.
With a whispered curse, he bent his head and kissed her as he lowered his body to cover hers. The remarkable feel of skin-on-skin banished what remained of his rational thought, and he allowed himself to become lost in Hermione. Dream Hermione paled in comparison to the real thing, and he reveled in her touch, in her scent, in her taste. Their kisses became passionate, devouring … he was shocked and delighted at her responsiveness and couldn't get enough of her. He could be content to lay tangled with her and snog her all night - except he had other plans.
It took willpower for him to tear himself away from her lips, but he managed it. Something akin to a growl grew in the back of his throat and he caught her eye briefly, just to make sure she was watching, before he slid down to capture a nipple in his mouth. He was rewarded with a hiss and a moan and an, "Oh, Harry!," so he doubled his effort, with hard sucks and nips just the other side of gentle.
He watched her under lowered lashes - watched as her eyes closed and her head tipped back - as he switched sides and lavished attention on her other breast. He felt her fingers slip into his hair, holding his head in place, as her legs parted and he settled into the cradle of her thighs. Her fingernails scored gentle rows on his scalp and he shivered at the sensation, but refused to be diverted.
Harry willed her to open her eyes … to watch … to see him. He wanted to be sure she knew it was him … Harry … who was in her bed. Witch Weekly's Most Eligible Bachelor, who would settle for no less than his best friend -- the only witch for him.
"Hermione. Look at me."
Her eyelids fluttered as his hand slid between them, seeking, exploring. Harry groaned and dropped his forehead to rest on her collarbone as first one finger, then two, then three delved into her wet warmth. She squirmed and writhed and groaned his name as his fingers stroked and his thumb circled her partially hidden bundle of nerves.
"Hermione."
She struggled to open her eyes, even as his pace increased. His erection pressed into her thigh, ignored for now, but her hands had drifted down his back and around his hip as if on a quest of their own. He knew, however, that if she touched him, at least this first time, it would be over in an instant.
Suddenly he withdrew his hand and raised himself up on his elbows, his face hovering over hers. The tip of his erection slid teasingly through her slick folds, and it was all he could do to maintain the tenuous control he still had.
"Look at me."
Hermione's eyes opened, dilated and glassy with arousal, and Harry's heart slammed into his chest. Merlin, how he loved this woman! With infinite restraint, he lowered his head and brushed her lips with his. "Are you sure?"
Annoyance flashed across her features and it was all Harry could do not to laugh. "I'm sure, damn it!" she panted.
That was all he needed to hear. He reached a hand down to guide himself and, with a hard thrust, Harry plunged home.
"Oh, yesssss," he hissed as Hermione made a noise somewhere between a growl and a purr. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders as he held still, panting, allowing her time to adjust to his intrusion while he struggled to maintain control.
Finally she pleaded, "Move. Please move." .
Her fingers kneaded his back as his hips set a driving rhythm. Overwhelmed by her heat and the slick friction they created, Harry was unable to focus on anything save their coupling. He could feel the tingle of magic in his limbs, along his spine … even his hair seemed to be standing on end - but his entire world was narrowed to the place where they joined as one.
Merlin, this feels so good!
Hermione wrapped her legs around his hips and he knew he couldn't last much longer. Her soft moans and sighs filled his ears and he mentally cursed himself for not being able to hold out, but he'd wanted this, dreamed of this for too long. It was just too good.
Just as he was about to give in to his body's desire, he heard Hermione's voice, soft and filled with wonder. "Harry, look."
He struggled to open his eyes and was startled to see colors surrounding them. A bright red aura enveloped his body and Hermione's glowed with a supernatural amber. But where they touched, the colors mixed and blended to make a spectacular fiery orange.
Overwhelmed, Harry gave in to his need.
Waves of searing pleasure wracked his body as Hermione clenched around him, keening a soft wail. His orgasm seemed endless, drawing power from depths he didn't know existed, and when he finally collapsed, he was panting and sated and exhausted.
He lay boneless, unable to move, unable to catch his breath. He'd never experienced anything so amazing in his life and he wondered if Hermione had felt the same awe, if she had just experienced what they'd shared with the same intensity that he had. He finally mustered enough energy to roll to the side, sliding his arm around Hermione and rolling her with him until she was sprawled across his chest, her legs twined with his and her head pillowed on his shoulder.
"Sweet Circe," she whispered, panting. "That was …"
"I know."
His hand drifted down her back, his fingers caressing lazy circles on her cooling skin. As his hand skimmed lower, he brushed lightly over her tattoo. Soft phoenix song broke the stillness and Harry smiled. "I think Fawkes approves of us."
"There was never any doubt."
Harry sighed contentedly. "I love you."
"I love you, too."
Harry tucked his other hand behind his head as he stared at the ceiling and debated whether to ask the question that came to his mind. Curiosity won out over discretion. "How long?"
Hermione shifted slightly in his arms and laid a hand on his chest, distractedly tracing unrecognizable designs on his sweaty skin, although Harry was sure they were probably ancient runes, knowing Hermione. "How long have I loved you, or how long have I known I love you?"
"Both."
"Well," she sighed, her breath tickling his neck, "I've known it since just after the war. That's part of the reason Ron and I broke up, I suppose, although I've never told him that. I was so used to worrying about you and caring for you that it had become part of my life. Even though Voldemort was dead and I knew you were safe, I couldn't stop thinking about you. I'd thought it was just because I was used to doing it - worrying about you and putting you first had become second nature to me. But when I began to compare you and Ron, when I began to analyze things Ron said and did, and I'd think 'Harry wouldn't do this,' or 'Harry would have handled it this way,' then I knew I was in trouble. The final straw …." She hesitated, and Harry could swear she was biting her lip, although he didn't look to confirm it.
"Go on," he whispered encouragingly.
"The final straw was the night of Bill and Fleur's first anniversary party. Ron had been drinking and he couldn't keep his hands to himself. He'd managed to get me into a quiet corner of the Burrow garden and his kisses were a bit sloppy and his touch ... well, he was a bit rough." Harry stiffened, his hand stilling, and she hastened to reassure him. "Not harsh, mind you, just not gentle. I could see you talking to Bill, laughing at something he'd said, and I wondered right then what it would be like to kiss you, and whether you'd grope me in the garden or take me somewhere secluded and do things properly." She chuckled. "It was then I realized that what I felt was more than just concern for a friend. As for how long I've loved you … forever, I think. At least it seems that way." She rubbed her cheek against his collarbone. "What about you?"
Harry's mind was still reeling from the fact that Hermione had thought of him while snogging Ron. "As I said before, when I look back now I think I fell in love with you on that first train ride. But I'm ashamed to admit that, even though I've been dreaming some really wicked dreams about you for a week, I didn't realize I was in love with you until last night."
"Oh, Harry. It doesn't matter <i>when</i> you knew. It only matters that you know now."
"I'm sorry I was such a dense git." Hermione leaned up and kissed his cheek and Harry grinned. "I feel … Merlin, I feel incredible. Vladislav doesn't stand a chance, now."
Hermione lifted her head, resting her chin on her hand. "Is he anything like Sanguini?"
Harry frowned. "Sanguini? From Slughorn's party? No. Sanguini was a leech and less than discriminating. He'd prey on any willing victim he could find, regardless of the consequences, which is why he ended up destroyed by the likes of Nott. Vladislav is different … he's intelligent, but he's also smart, if you understand the difference. He's not about to jeopardize anything for a random bloodsucking. He's crafty and cunning and more than willing to use you against yourself." Harry chest suddenly shook as he chuckled. "Y'know, Remus won't recognize me tomorrow."
"Why?"
"Well, he's gotten used to seeing a miserable, lovesick insomniac with workaholic tendencies. He won't know what to do with a happy Harry who's going to go off on holiday with his lovely … his lovely … er, what do I call you? You're more than my best friend now, and girlfriend sounds a bit adolescent."
"I've heard my mum use the phrase 'significant other.'"
Harry wrinkled his nose in distaste. Suddenly, the answer hit him.
Don't say it, Potter … it's too soon.
"Well …"
What's the point of being a Gryffindor if you aren't foolhardy now and then?
"… I could always call you my fiancée."
Silence.
Then …
"Hmmm … Witch Weekly's exclusive interview with Hermione Granger entitled," - Hermione traced the headline in the air - "'How I Bagged the Bachelor.' Catchy, don't you think?"
Harry rolled her over as his fingers found her ticklish ribs, then his lips covered hers to quiet her squeals of laughter. As his tickles became caresses and the kiss deepened, Harry silently thanked Fawkes, wherever the phoenix was, for once again saving him.
FIN
July 29, 2007