Disclaimer: JKR is an idiot who wouldn't know real love if it came up and bit her on the arse. That is all.
Author's Note: This was written to be the REAL 2nd Epilogue to stick into the back of DH and get the bad taste of it out of your mouth.
It still is that, but I've decided to continue this on and make this little universe I've created in here, a series. Because there's a shortage of happy!married!H/Hr smut fics out there and I've decided it's my duty to fill the gap.
So, expect a series of fluffy vignettes of Harry and Hermione's marriage life, with no real plot and no real point; all the vignettes will be self-contained and you don't need to read them in any order. Enjoy!
Portrait of a Marriage
All He Ever Wanted
Harry jerked awake with a shallow gasp, for a moment feeling a moment of disorientation and panic.
He looked over to the other half of the bed, half-expecting to see a mane of curling, red hair-but of course, he didn't. The bed was empty, unoccupied except for himself. It had only been a dream-but great Merlin, how realistic the dream had felt, details, back-stories that seemed like actual memories, all there in vivid detail…
Except in it, he'd been married to Ginny and Hermione married to Ron-married, with children! As unpleasant dreams went, this was not even a blip on the nightmare scale-and yet… He was conscious of an odd hollow feeling in his chest, a lingering bad taste in his mouth.
Not that marriage to Ginny would be so terrible; she was nice and a good friend now, but the thought of being married to anyone but Hermione-and Hermione married to anyone else, even Ron-was enough to provoke an instinctive flare of sharp protest.
He looked over at Hermione's empty half of the bed again, conscious of a sharp stab of missing her. The bed seemed to stretch on for miles without Hermione in it (cold, desolate miles, at that). She'd been gone for nearly a week now, at a conference for Healers in Salem, Massachusetts, and he'd already decided that a week was far too long a time to be without her.
But she'd be home the day after tomorrow. He clutched that thought to himself, looking over to where he knew their wedding picture was standing on the dresser, although he couldn't see it in the dark. She would be home soon…
His mind flashed back to the dream-sending his and Ginny's kids off to Hogwarts. Well, at least, that part of the dream took no great strain to imagine why he'd dreamed it.
Emily's Hogwarts letter had arrived that day and she'd been as thrilled and excited as if her getting into Hogwarts hadn't been a sure thing from the moment of her birth. And Andy and Sabrina had been just as excited as Emily (with a twinge of envy, at least on Andy's part).
So Harry had spent the entire evening telling every story relating to his getting his letter-from the flood of letters bursting into the Dursley's house, the old hut in the stormy night, and of course, Hagrid breaking down the door and bringing with him something even better than his first birthday gift ever, the hope of a different, better future, the hope of a home. Not, of course, that they hadn't all heard the stories at least a hundred times already. But they loved it and Harry was the first to admit he could never deny his kids anything when they turned their bright-eyed pleading faces up to his.
With that, it was no wonder he'd dreamed of the Hogwarts send-off-but why his mind had decided to insert the disturbing elements and resurrect his relationship with Ginny and Hermione's relationship with Ron, he didn't know.
He was suddenly filled with a need to check on the children-his children-just to make sure they were sleeping soundly and, yes, to gloat over them as well (as Hermione teasingly termed it, saying once that he acted like a miser looking over his jewels, as if he'd been solely responsible for their births. He had pulled her into his arms and said, "Believe me, I am never in any danger of forgetting the part you played in bringing them into this world," before he'd kissed her gently, with the tenderness he always felt whenever he remembered the hours of worry and waiting when Hermione had been in labor-and then he'd added, teasingly, against her lips, "or the part you played in creating them," letting his voice become deliberately husky, before he'd kissed her again with deliberate, and somewhat exaggerated, sensuality-before she'd turned the tables on him as she usually did, and he'd become the seduced rather than the seducer…)
He sternly cut short his increasingly heated memories-that would not help him in making Hermione's absence less painful.
He quietly padded down the hall and opened the door of Emily's bedroom, his heart stuttering slightly in his chest as it always did when he saw her asleep like this. She looked so much like a miniature Hermione, Hermione as she'd looked when he'd first met her so many years ago. In sleep, the slight differences in her features (she had his eyebrows and his nose in a feminine cast) compared to Hermione's, were less apparent, especially so because her green eyes (her most noticeable Potter legacy) were hidden.
Her breathing was deep and even, and he smiled as he noticed that she was clutching her Hogwarts letter in one hand. His little Emily was 11 now; he knew a moment of awe mixed in with dismay. When had that happened? It seemed like only yesterday that she'd been born, that he'd taken one look at her in the maternity ward of St. Mungo's and fallen head over heels in love at first sight. She was, he thought with a small pang, growing up far too quickly.
He moved on to Andy's bedroom, filled almost equally with Quidditch things and with books. Andy had kicked off his blankets in his sleep (as was his habit) and Harry gently tugged them back over his son.
The poor boy (Harry thought with a twinge of deprecating humor, as he always did, when he looked at his son)-not only did he have to go through life with the fame of being Harry Potter's only son, but he also had to look almost entirely like his father as well, with the exception of his brown eyes (that were Harry's personal favorite feature). Ah well, at least Andy didn't have glasses-and, thanks to his eyes and subtle differences in features, he actually looked more like James than he did Harry, although no one ever noticed that, with the exception of Professor McGonagall, who had known James Potter about as well as she knew Harry himself.
And then, finally, he went to check on little Sabrina, the baby, as he still thought of her, never mind that she was turning six years old and insisting she wasn't a baby anymore. Sabrina was curled up on her side in her habitual position, clutching her favorite stuffed unicorn doll, given to her by her Uncle Ron. He smiled down at her, touching one fingertip ever so lightly against the perfectly smooth skin of her cheek. Sabrina, whom everyone said looked so much like him, except for the fact that her coloring was entirely Hermione's from her brown hair to her brown eyes.
His children-his and Hermione's-and Harry wondered, not for the first time, as he closed Sabrina's door quietly behind him, just how he had ever gotten so lucky to have all this…
And then he stiffened, tensing, every nerve in his body suddenly on alert. He'd heard something-a faint sound downstairs.
He reached automatically for the pocket where his wand always was-only to realize that, of course, he didn't have his wand with him, dressed as he was in boxers and a t-shirt. He knew a moment of panic as he tried to mentally calculate how silently he could move to his bedroom, get his wand, get his kids out, and then find out who the intruder was-before his rational mind kicked in. He was clearly still jittery and keyed-up from his dream or he would remember that if the person had even remotely hostile intentions, wards were set up to go off loud enough to wake the dead, the moment they got within 10 feet of the house.
He relaxed a little before moving quietly down the stairs, trying to stay out of sight and see who was there.
It was too dark to see much beyond a shadow-but the moment he saw it, he knew.
And in another second, he was down the stairs, disbelieving and full of an incredulous joy, as he snatched the person into his arms.
She let out a half-shriek that was instantly muffled by his lips coming down on hers in a lingering, and yet still gentle, kiss of greeting. And she relaxed into his arms, her arms sliding around his neck.
"Harry, you scared me half to death!" she exclaimed in a whisper, as the kiss ended. "What are you doing awake at this hour?"
"I was checking on the kids. I could ask you the same question-what are you doing back home so early?"
"I realized that I'd already been to all the sessions that I really wanted to go to and decided I missed my family more than I wanted to go any of the sessions tomorrow or the last day."
"Good."
She smiled. "I guess that means you missed me?"
"No, not at all. It was nice having the house and kids all to myself," he teased-and then proceeded to thoroughly demonstrate the lie of his statement by lowering his head to hers and kissing her long and slowly.
She melted into his kiss as she always did, loving the familiar taste of him, the feel of him. Even now, after more than 15 years of marriage, he could still leave her dazed and breathless with wanting with just a kiss, could still turn her bones to water with a look…
His kiss was surprisingly tender and gentle, considering how long she'd been away from him (she remembered with a shiver how he'd greeted her the last time he'd been away for a few days, the force of his passion that had driven her insane with lust and need)-like the kisses he gave her when he was having one of his moments of being amazed that she was his wife, that they were married… (And she loved-oh, how she loved that, even now, after so many years, he still had those moments of wonder…)
The kiss ended slowly as she gave a soft sigh of pleasure.
"Mmm, I missed this…" she breathed.
"I missed you," he whispered, all humor gone from his voice. "A week is way too long to be without you."
His lips lowered to her skin, again, avoiding her mouth this time, as he simply scattered light, fleeting, butterfly kisses from the corner of her mouth and up to the sensitive hollow just before her ear, kissing her ear-lobe, the soft skin below her ear, the tips of her eyebrows, her nose, random places that only a man in love would prize-and places that only he could touch and still awaken every nerve ending in her body.
At any other time, she would have savored the slow stoking of the flames inside her, savored the slow seduction of every one of her senses-but she had been away for a week, without him for a week-and at that moment, she didn't want slow; she wanted him.
She let out a soft gasp as his lips traveled down to her neck, unerringly finding every sensitive spot with his lips and his tongue. "Harry…" she sighed, "much as I'm enjoying this, I've been sleeping alone for the past week, imagining all the things I'd like to do to my handsome, sexy husband…"
She let her voice trail off suggestively as she swept one hand down his chest to flatten on the growing bulge in his boxers-that hardened rapidly under her touch as he let out a sharp hiss of breath.
"God, you're amazing," he said in a strangled whisper.
She smiled into his eyes as her hands captured his face and she kissed him, hard and deeply, letting him know with her kiss just how much she wanted him, how much she'd missed him.
He let out a soft sound of surrender in his throat, his arms tightening around her, bringing her in firmly against his body as he kissed her back, his tongue plunging into the familiar depths of her mouth and then retreating again.
Arousal was bubbling up inside her body, sweeping her up with its force, swirling around her, around them, wrapping them up in it.
His body and his arms around her tensed and she sensed his intent a moment before his hands slid down to cup her butt as he lifted her and she complied, wrapping her legs around his hips, bringing the core of her body closer, to rub against the bulge of his erection so he groaned.
She finally broke the kiss on a gasp as his lips left hers to travel down the length of her neck, kissing, licking, lightly sucking at the soft skin. "Harry… bed… please…" she gasped, the words the only ones she could think of with all thoughts leaving her body in a rush.
Harry felt a shiver go through him just from the throaty sound of her voice. God, he loved her voice when she sounded like that, husky with arousal and breathless with need; it was the hottest sound in the universe… When she said his name like that, he was helpless to resist, would do anything she asked him to and more-and she knew it too.
He kissed her again as he took a few, stumbling steps forward towards the stairs, blind with need and lust and desperate to feel her skin against his, her body under his.
"Harry, I want you," she gasped against his ear, her hands greedy and insistent as they explored his back and shoulders, loving the way his muscles rippled as he carried her up the stairs.
They bumped into the walls a few times as they went but neither of them cared; all either of them cared about was getting to feel each other's naked skin against each other as fast as possible.
They stumbled blindly into their bedroom and he pushed the door shut with his foot and then trapped her against it as he let her slide down his body, groaning at the feel of her body rubbing against his. God, he wanted her; he could never get enough of her. Even now, after so many years of marriage, she could still make him insane with want and desire until he knew nothing but her.
Her hands had slid under his shirt and were hot and hard as they caressed his bare chest and stomach greedily and then they were tugging his shirt up off over his head before she touched her lips to his flat nipples-and he felt her smile as he let out a sharp hiss of breath. She loved that she could always send fire shooting through his body just by touching her tongue to his nipple, loved how sensitive they were to her touch-it was one of those things about his body that only she knew.
He let his head fall back on a groan as she palmed his aching erection through his boxers and then her clever, wicked fingers were pushing his boxers down and then her fingers closed around him, stroking the hot, hard length of him.
His hips jerked instinctively and he pulled away from her after a moment. It had been a week-too damn long-and he was dying for her, burning for her-but he didn't want it to end just yet.
His hands made quick work of her blouse and her bra, baring her breasts to his hot, aroused gaze. His hands cupped, caressed her, kneaded her breasts, applying more pressure and then less in that way that he knew she loved. She arched her back, pushing herself further into his hands.
He lowered his lips to her breasts, taking one hardened nipple into his mouth as his hands moved on to undo the fastenings of her trousers and pushing them and her knickers down her legs.
And then she was naked and his breath strangled in his chest at the sight of her. It never mattered how many times he'd seen her like this before. She really was the most beautiful woman in the world. Now, at times like this, her skin gleaming and flushed with arousal, there was absolutely nothing and no one in the world more lovely.
She took his breath away-and then she flattened herself against him and kissed him and she stole his mind and his heart and his soul…
Somehow they fell backwards onto their bed as his hands and lips caressed, worshipped every inch of her body.
Her breasts were fuller than they had been when he'd first touched them so many years ago, her hips wider. She wasn't the girl he'd known-and loved-anymore. But then he wasn't the boy she'd known and loved either; his shoulders were wider, broader, his body harder. But their bodies still fit against each other perfectly.
He knew every inch of her body now, knew how to kiss her, how to touch her, to bring her to the brink of ecstasy. He knew the sounds she made, knew the way she clutched at his hair and his shoulders.
He knew her taste as he kissed and licked and suckled the core of her body-knew the scent of her when she was wet and aroused.
He knew when she was close, on the edge, and drew back, stopping his ministrations. He made his way back up her body, stopping her instinctive sound of protest with his mouth as he kissed her and then slid inside her with one smooth thrust.
She was his home-and when he was inside her like this, feeling the hot, wet warmth of her body clasping him, surrounding him, there was nothing in the universe he needed or wanted. There was only her, always her…
He kissed her again and again, his lips capturing every gasp and moan she gave, as he began to move, their bodies automatically falling into their usual rhythm and he gave himself up to the passion of her, the pure, mind-blowing pleasure he could only find with her.
Hermione tore her lips from his only to scatter kisses on his neck and his throat, her lips and tongue finding the sensitive spots on his body as he had on hers, and felt rather than heard the groan rumble through him at her touch.
Bolts of white-hot lightning were streaking through her body, the pressure building up inside her, more and more, tighter and tighter, with every motion of his hips.
His hands moved to capture her breasts, his fingers flicking at her hardened nipples, and she cried out, stifling her cry against his shoulder.
He was getting close, she could tell, not just from the quickened pace of his hips and his labored breathing against her ear, but she could feel it, feel him, with the knowledge that only came from years of love-making.
With a touch of mischief, she slipped her hand in between their bodies to touch his body where it met hers, and that did it.
He surged up inside her with a last, powerful thrust, groaning her name, "Hermione," as he exploded inside her.
At the same moment, the pressure shattered inside her, shards of ecstasy ripping along every nerve ending in her body as she clutched him tighter, her nails digging into his skin.
He kissed her again, his tongue plunging into her mouth, as his hand slipped down to touch the core of her body, where she was joined with him-and she fractured, another spasm of pure bliss shaking her entire body, tripping on the heels of her first one.
God, he loved to watch her like this, loved to see that expression of complete abandon to physical pleasure on her face, loved knowing that he had brought her to that point, loved knowing that he was the only person to see her like this. There was something unutterably arousing and touching, too, to see her, with all her cleverness and her will, brought to the point of mindless pleasure and to know that he was the only person whom she trusted enough to let him see her like that.
She had no idea how long it was before she drifted back to earth, back to where his arms were anchoring her to reality.
She opened her eyes to see him watching her, looking down at her, his expression suffused with inexpressible tenderness mixed in with some smugness, as his hands cupped her face and he kissed her gently, lightly, as was his habit after they made love. Always, no matter whether their lovemaking had been fast and furious or slow and luxurious, when it was over, he kissed her like this, gently, letting her know with his lips that he loved her.
"Mmm," she sighed softly as his lips left hers, still feeling the warm tremors of pleasure rippling through her body. "I missed you so much."
"I missed you too," he murmured softly.
After a moment, she smiled up at him with a hint of teasing in her eyes. "I should go away more often if only for the fun of the welcome home."
His hands grasped her wrists as he shifted, pinning her beneath him. "Don't even think about it," he warned, although the words were belied by his tone and the way his eyes gleamed with humor, responding to her teasing.
She pretended to think about it. "Well, I guess the kids would miss me too much and I'd miss them too."
"Thank Merlin for the kids," he said, his eyes sparkling.
She laughed softly as she kissed him again, feeling him smile against her lips.
After a moment, their lips parted as they rearranged themselves on their bed, finding their favorite position of her resting her head on his shoulder, her body snuggled in closely beside his.
"Emily got her Hogwarts letter today," he told her quietly.
"Oh, did she? I was wondering when it would come, hoped I'd be home in time for it. She must have been thrilled."
"She was… mildly excited," Harry said wryly and Hermione laughed softly at his tone, correctly guessing that he meant the exact opposite.
"I spent the entire evening telling them the story of how I got my Hogwarts letter."
"How many times have you told them that story, Harry?"
He looked somewhat sheepish. "At least several hundred, but you know how they love it."
"And you can never say no," she said indulgently. "You know you spoil them."
He shrugged one shoulder. "I can't help it."
He didn't say that all he needed to do was remember his own childhood to know that he was going to give his children everything he could to make them happy; he knew he didn't have to say it, that she knew it without words.
She did know it and felt her heart soften, melt. She had loved him her entire life and even though she wouldn't have thought it possible, she felt herself falling even deeper in love with him with every day of seeing him with their children.
She dropped a light kiss on his shoulder and relaxed back against him with a small, happy sigh. She felt him drop a kiss on her hair and smiled rather sleepily.
Harry felt himself relax as happiness and peace filled his body and his senses. After all, what did some stupid dream matter when he had this reality to wake up to?
He felt Hermione's breathing deepen, even out, as she drifted into sleep and he closed his eyes, following her, confident that now, at least, he would have pleasant dreams.
~*~
Hermione's homecoming was made complete early the next morning when she heard the sound of running steps, which provided her a moment's warning (and just enough time to quickly lock the door, allowing her to throw on some clothes and toss Harry his shirt and boxers as well) before she opened the door to have her youngest daughter all but throw herself on her.
"Mummy, you're home!"
Hermione lifted up Sabrina into her arms with exaggerated effort before she pretended to stagger and drop her. "Oof, I think you've grown since I've been gone."
Sabrina giggled. "Did I? Oh goody. Will I be as big as Emily soon?"
"Yes, soon, love," Harry answered for Hermione with a smile and a half-sigh at the thought of just how 'big' his little Emily had gotten.
He ruffled her hair and nuzzled her cheek a little in his usual morning greeting, making Sabrina giggle more.
And Hermione wondered if it were possible for her to melt on the spot-and if it were possible for them to be any cuter.
Sabrina looked back at Hermione. "I missed you, Mummy," she said matter-of-factly. "I don't like it when you're gone. Promise you won't leave again."
Hermione's heart melted as she knelt down until she was eye-level with Sabrina. "I promise, love."
Her eyes met Harry's over Sabrina's head and saw him smile and mouth the words, I love you.
And her answering smile said it all. I know. I love you too.
The moment was interrupted by more running feet as Emily appeared, followed by Andy in quick succession.
"Mum!"
"Mummy!"
Hermione hugged Andy and dropped a kiss on Emily's forehead.
"Mum, I got my Hogwarts letter!" Emily announced, the words bursting out of her as if they couldn't be held in any longer.
Hermione exchanged an amused glance with Harry. "Yes, your Daddy told me. I'm so glad for you, Emily."
"They sent a book list and I'm going to need robes and my own wand-and Mummy, can I get an owl of my own, please?"
"Yes, I think so," Hermione agreed.
"Thank you, Mum! I want to name her Hedwig, like Dad's first owl."
Hermione met Harry's gaze again, seeing the flicker in his eyes at the mention of Hedwig, the friend he'd never forgotten.
"That's nice, love," Hermione murmured softly.
"Thank you, Emily-kin," Harry said, dropping a kiss on Emily's hair.
"Dad, will you come and help me pick me out my owl?"
"I want to come too!" Andy inserted before Harry could speak.
"Me too!" Sabrina chimed in.
"We'll all go and make a day of it," Hermione decreed. "And," she added, "we'll go to Florean's afterwards to get a treat."
Harry felt his heart melt as his children cheered, beaming with anticipation and excitement. He was, he decided not for the first time, the luckiest man in the world. This-being married to Hermione, with their children-was the perfect life and all he wanted, needed, in the world.