Disclaimer: See 'All He Ever Wanted'.
Author's Note: Because today is Crappy Canon Day and I'm working on a series of fics for a so-called 1 Year After collection to commemorate the day JKR broke my heart and proved she wouldn't recognize real love if it came up to her and hit her on the head.
And what better way is there to commemorate Crappy Canon Day than by posting fluffy H/Hr smut?
Portrait of a Marriage
The Persistence of Memory
~
Harry's eyes met Hermione's across the table as they all laughed at a story Emily had just told.
He looked around at his smiling children, savored the sound of their laughter. Sabrina had just started her first year and so this sort of dinner, with all three of their children home, did not happen often and he was amazed sometimes at how much he missed it. Such a simple, even silly, thing to miss really, but miss it, he did. Missed the noise of the kids eating, the friendly (and sometimes not-quite-so-friendly bickering), the laughter-the love. But now, with Christmas approaching in a few days, the children had come home for the holiday, as he had insisted. And it was so good to have them home; it was, as he'd said to Hermione, possibly the best and only gift he wanted.
"Headmistress McGonagall let us have a Yule Ball this year," Andy announced casually.
"No, she let you big kids have a Yule Ball," Sabrina inserted with something approaching a pout.
Harry exchanged amused glances with Hermione and he reached over to pat Sabrina's hand on the table. "It's alright, love. If their Yule Ball was anything like ours, you probably didn't miss much."
Hermione, meanwhile, turned to Andy and Emily. "And did you both go? Was it fun?"
Andy wrinkled his nose. "It was alright, I guess. The girls got all silly about it," he said in a tone of disgust.
Harry quickly choked back a bubble of laughter, mindful of Hermione. "What do you mean by silly?"
"They got all giggly and stuff. They couldn't talk about anything other than what they were going to wear and makeup and all that for weeks before the Ball."
"Hey! I didn't!" Emily protested. "Not all girls acted like that."
Hermione bestowed an approving smile on Emily. "Of course you didn't, Em. But did you enjoy the Ball?"
Somewhat to Hermione's surprise, Emily colored a little as she answered, "Yeah, it was okay."
Andy snorted inelegantly into his glass of water. "You looked like you thought it was a lot more than okay."
Emily threw a warning glance at Andy. "It was fun," she amended.
"I wish I could have seen how you looked in your dress robes, Em," Harry said with a smile at his daughter. "I bet my girl was the prettiest girl in the school. Just like Hermione was at ours," he added.
That idle addition got a somewhat more dramatic reaction than he'd expected as Hermione gave him an arrested look and Emily and Sabrina both promptly looked up to stare at him expectantly, as they usually did whenever he said something about his memories of Hermione when they were young. (Emily and Sabrina were both fascinated with his and Hermione's friendship long before anything else had happened, for reasons that were, frankly, beyond him.)
"Was Mummy pretty, Daddy?" Sabrina asked. "What did she wear?"
"I wore dress robes, just like everyone else," Hermione spoke up. "And he's exaggerating. I was certainly not the prettiest girl in the school that night. Your Aunt Fleur probably was."
Her daughters ignored her and continued to look at Harry.
"Dad?" Emily prompted. "What was Mum wearing?"
"I doubt your father remembers what he was wearing, let alone what I was wearing," Hermione said lightly.
"That's not true," Harry defended himself automatically.
Hermione gave him a teasingly challenging smile. "Okay, Harry, tell us, what was I wearing at our Yule Ball in 4th year?"
He returned her smile with one of his own. "Light blue dress robes," he answered promptly. "And your hair looked different than it usually did; it was all smooth and shiny." Odd but up until a few minutes ago, he wouldn't have thought he remembered that night but something about Andy's words, the very familiar sentiment of annoyance at the giggling girls, made all the memories from that time come flooding back and he'd suddenly remembered seeing Hermione for the first time at that Yule Ball, remembered his jaw dropping and how he'd had to do a double-take on seeing her look so pretty. He'd gotten so accustomed to thinking of Hermione as the most beautiful woman in the world in these past years that he'd forgotten that there'd ever been a time when he didn't think of her that way-but now, suddenly, he remembered. Remembered that night and the first time he'd ever consciously associated the word 'pretty' with Hermione.
Hermione felt something inside her soften, melt, and mentally decided that he was definitely going to be rewarded later that night once they were alone. She would never have expected that Harry would remember that night, as long ago as it was, especially as she'd always been very certain that Harry never looked at her as a girl until after they'd left Hogwarts. But she fought to hide her reaction behind a teasing smile. "Very good, Mr. Potter. 10 points to Gryffindor."
Andy laughed and Sabrina giggled.
"Mum, you sounded just like Headmistress McGonagall then," Andy grinned.
"Your mother's very good at sounding like that," Harry told Andy with a teasing look at Hermione.
"Did you go to the Yule Ball with Mummy, then, Daddy?"
"Well," Harry temporized, "we both went to the Ball."
"Silly," Emily chided Sabrina mildly. "You know Mum and Dad didn't start dating until after the War."
"I know that, but they were already friends then so they could have gone." Sabrina began.
"You're right, love, but your father was going through one of his silly phases so he forgot to ask me in time." Hermione threw a teasing glance at Harry.
"I was stupid then," Harry admitted, somewhat to Hermione's surprise. He met her eyes, suddenly quite sober. "I don't know why I didn't think to ask you first thing since you were the only girl I really talked to then."
Oh, yes, he was definitely going to be rewarded tonight.
"But you got smarter so that's okay," Sabrina said, distracting her parents and giving Harry that beaming smile that never failed to make him feel like a king.
"Thanks, love," he said softly before he turned to Emily and changed the subject, wondering when this conversation seemed to have shifted to become about him. "Did you dance with anyone, Emily?"
"A few people."
Andy snorted. "A few fellows and one fellow in particular. Come on, Em, tell them about Justin."
Harry's gaze swung immediately back to Emily. "Justin? Who's Justin?"
To his less-than-pleased surprise, she colored-when had Emily started blushing at the mention of some boy's name?--and glared at Andy. "Oh, he's just a friend. He's in his 7th year, a Gryffindor like us."
"Yeah, you're very friendly," Andy grinned. "Emily fancies him," he announced with teasing glee.
"I do not!" Emily's cheeks were about the color of ripe strawberries. "Andy, shut up or when we get back to school, I'll tell everyone that you fancy Tiffany Cardwell."
"Okay, okay!" Andy promptly retreated, apparently judging discretion the better part of valor. "That's just mean!"
"Who's this Tiffany Cardwell?" Hermione asked, her tone deliberately mild and uncurious, moving the subject away from Emily and this Justin even as she made a mental note to ask Emily about him later.
Sabrina giggled. "She fancies Andy."
At the same moment, Andy said, "She's the most annoying girl in my class."
"Well, those two characteristics can go together sometimes," Harry conceded in a tone of mock solemnity.
"Has she sent him a singing Valentine yet?" Hermione asked teasingly.
Andy looked as horrified as if Hermione had suggested he eat an acromantula for dessert. "Merlin, no!"
Emily laughed. "A singing Valentine? That's just silly. Who does that?"
Hermione's eyes met Harry's, a teasing gleam in them. "Oh, some girls have been known to send them to your father."
"Really? Who?"
"I don't remember," Hermione lied quickly-Ginny would kill her if she told the kids about her youthful folly.
"What did it sing?" Sabrina asked with a giggle.
"I don't remember exactly," Hermione fibbed, giving Harry a teasing glance, before she went on, "Something about his eyes being so green-what was the expression used? It was priceless, I remember."
Harry gave Hermione a look that promised retribution before he responded with a suppressed sigh, "'As green as a fresh pickled toad', that was what it said."
Emily, Andy and Sabrina burst out laughing.
"A fresh pickled toad! Ew!" Sabrina was giggling so hard she could hardly force the words out.
Harry looked at his laughing children and decided, for the first time ever, that he was rather thankful to have received that Valentine. Anything that made his children laugh like that was welcome…
~
Hermione knocked on Emily's door. "Emily? Can I come in?"
"Come in, Mum."
Hermione sat down on Emily's bed, idly smoothing the covers with one hand as she studied her daughter.
"I remember how excited I was for my Yule Ball. I'm glad you enjoyed yours," she began mildly. "So, did you go with Justin?"
Emily flushed but met Hermione's eyes frankly. "No, I went with Chris because he asked me first but I danced with Justin."
"I see," Hermione murmured. Chris Simmons was one of Emily's close friends, almost by default because Chris's family lived quite close to Bill and Fleur and so he had grown up tagging along after his older brother who was one of Jack Weasley's best friends (Jack being Bill and Fleur's youngest) and thus been unofficially absorbed into the clan of Weasley children and grandchildren-much like she and Harry and their kids had been. "What's Justin like?"
"Oh, he's awfully nice and clever too; he's always helping some of the first and second years in Transfiguration and Potions."
"That's always a good sign," Hermione smiled.
"And he never asks me about Dad or treated me any differently because of who my dad is."
Hermione smoothed a lightly caressing hand over Emily's hair. "Poor girl; a lot of people bother you that way, don't they?" she asked with half-laughing sympathy, as this was a relatively common subject between them (even if she'd never mention it to Harry, although she suspected he guessed.)
Emily lifted one shoulder in a dismissive, sort of half-shrug. "It's gotten better. But Justin never did. He never gives any of the little kids a hard time and I've seen him talking to his little sister, who's in Ravenclaw, making sure she's okay and happy."
"Mm, that's nice." Hermione studied her daughter's somewhat flushed face. She didn't think she'd ever seen Emily look quite so pretty-or quite so enthused when talking about anyone before.
Emily took this as encouragement enough to admit, "I think I do fancy him, Mum. I- I like his smile and when he smiles at me, I get this fluttery sort of feeling in my stomach, you know, Mum."
"Yes, I know what that's like," Hermione laughed a little.
"Mum," Emily burst out in sudden confidence, "who was the first boy you fancied?"
Hermione smiled, remembering an odd, half-forgotten-until-now, little moment in a store in Hogsmeade. "In all honesty, Emily, your dad was the first boy I fancied."
"Really? But you and Dad didn't start dating until after Hogwarts!"
"Yes, well, I didn't think much about it at the time and there were other things that distracted me and besides, I always knew then that your dad didn't think of me that way so I pushed it out of my mind. But I remember once in Hogsmeade, in our 3rd year, when your dad wasn't allowed to go to Hogsmeade, he snuck in using his Invisibility Cloak."
"He snuck in?"
"You know your dad's never been one for following rules if he doesn't like them," Hermione exchanged smiles with her daughter before she continued. "He snuck in and surprised me and your Uncle Ron and when I pointed out that he shouldn't be there, he just grinned at me the way he does when he's trying to talk his way out of trouble--" (Emily laughed softly and nodded)-"and asked me if I was going to turn him in."
"But you didn't," Emily guessed accurately.
"No, I didn't. I probably should have since he nearly got us into a lot of trouble because of it but when he grinned at me like that…" Hermione gave her daughter an understanding smile. "I got that fluttery feeling that you mentioned."
"Oh, Mum, did you really?"
"Yes, I really did." Hermione's gaze became distant, thoughtful, for a moment. "I'd forgotten about it until just now when you said that but it happened so I guess your dad really was the first boy I ever fancied."
Hermione blinked and then returned her gaze to Emily. "Now, just because I told you that, I don't want you to start thinking that you're going to end up married to this Justin or anything."
Emily colored slightly but laughed. "No, I won't," she promised. "Besides, it's not like he's really my boyfriend or anything yet. It was only a couple dances at the Ball and--" Emily broke off, blushing.
"And what?" Hermione prompted.
"He kissed me," Emily admitted, her cheeks now scarlet, but Hermione was glad to see that in spite of that, Emily met her eyes as openly as ever. There was still something of the little girl in her yet and that was reassuring.
"Ah," Hermione smiled a little. "Well, that's not too surprising. I'd be more surprised if he hadn't."
"You don't-mind, do you, Mum?" Emily ventured.
"Mind? No, of course not. We trust you not to be foolish." She paused and then added only half-jokingly, "Just don't tell your dad if Justin kisses you again or if you kiss him back."
She spoke lightly but Emily looked a little stricken. "Will Dad mind that much?"
Hermione smiled and, standing up, kissed Emily's forehead. "Don't worry about it. Your dad won't be unreasonable." And she mentally thought, but didn't say, that she wouldn't let him be unreasonable about this.
Emily smiled. "Okay. Good night, Mum."
"Good night, love."
~
Harry hardly waited until Hermione closed their bedroom door before he asked, "Well, does Emily fancy this Justin?"
Hermione gave him a look of mild reproof as she sat down beside him, resting one hand on his knee, more so she could keep him calm than from any other reason. "Yes, I think she does."
She felt him tense before he spoke. "What is she doing, fancying anyone? You'd think after that Jeremy fellow, she'd know better."
"Harry," was all Hermione said but her tone spoke volumes and he had the grace to look sheepish.
"Sorry. I just think she's too young to be fancying fellows."
"She's sixteen now, Harry. I think you'd better get used to the idea." She paused and then added, carefully, "And from the sounds of it, he may not be her boyfriend yet but it won't be long until he is."
"She fancies him that much? She can't have a boyfriend yet! She's only sixteen!"
"Harry!" Hermione laughed even as she gave him a scolding look. "Listen to you. You had a girlfriend when you were sixteen-had already fancied and kissed two different girls by then."
"And we know what a smart thing that was to do. I rest my case; no one should date at the age of sixteen. Me fancying Ginny should be clear proof that sixteen year olds don't have any sense about that sort of thing."
Hermione smiled almost in spite of herself at this somewhat irrational argument-and smiled, too, because in spite of his words, she knew he wasn't really seriously protesting but more making a token protest to relieve his own feelings. "Harry, I don't think you need to worry about Emily so much. She's a smart girl; she'll be fine." She paused and then added, "And you can stop thinking about sending the boy some sort of owl telling him all the inventive ways you'll hex him if he so much as lays a finger on Emily."
Harry opened his mouth on an automatic denial but then closed it and gave her a look of mock disgruntlement. "Your telepathic abilities are rather irritating, you know."
She smiled and patted his knee. "It's why you love me."
"Oh, is that why? I was beginning to wonder," he deadpanned, even as he put his hand on top of hers, lacing his fingers with hers.
She let out a huff of mock annoyance but the smile tugging on her lips gave her away.
There was a brief pause, amusement fading and being replaced with a tinge of wistfulness. "They are growing up so quickly, aren't they, Harry?"
"Too quickly," he agreed, echoing her sigh with one of his own, as he put his arm around her.
"When did it happen?" she asked, only half-facetiously, as she relaxed against him
"While we weren't looking, apparently," he quipped.
She smiled, even as she sighed again, resting her head against his shoulder, feeling comforted, as she always did.
And for a moment, neither of them said anything more.
"Harry," she finally said, "I had no idea you still remembered the Yule Ball so well. It was so long ago; how can you still remember what I was wearing?"
She turned to look at him with a soft smile.
"I didn't know I remembered it myself," he admitted, "but then somehow when Andy mentioned the Ball, it came back to me and I remembered what you looked like that night."
"I didn't know you noticed me that much. You were a bit distracted by Cho that night."
"Well, yes, I was, but I do remember seeing you for the first time that night. I noticed it then and should have said something." He drew back just enough to meet her eyes, touching her cheek with his fingers in a light caress. "You were so pretty that night, Hermione. I think the reason I remember it so clearly now is because it was the first time I consciously thought of you as being pretty."
"I didn't know that."
"I don't really remember the Ball that well but I do remember the way you looked that night, remember thinking how very pretty you were."
There was really only one way she could respond to that sort of statement and so she closed the distance between them and kissed him, softly, lingeringly, until his arms tightened around her and she leaned further into him, deepening the kiss into a lavishly sensual exchange between their lips and tongues.
When the kiss finally ended, she only drew back just enough so her lips could wander, pressing soft, fleeting kisses to his chin and along the line of his jaw and down, until she reached the spot where his neck met his shoulder, a spot which she had once, years ago, soon after their relationship had changed, placed a deliberately smacking kiss on and teasingly informed him that she was claiming that spot as hers. (His response had been one of those remarkably sweet things which he occasionally said and which never failed to make her melt-"You don't need to claim me to make that true. I'm all yours, body, heart and soul.")
She knew how sensitive that spot was, how he always reacted to the touch of her lips, so she wasn't surprised when he shuddered and made a low sound in his throat before he moved back.
"Well, I certainly never reacted like this to you when we were 14," he quipped but the huskiness and the strain in his voice belied the lightness of the words.
He paused, a teasing smile tugging at the corner of his lips, gleaming in his eyes, as he added with exaggerated thoughtfulness, "I'm not sure if I like you better now than I did then; you didn't torment me nearly as much then."
She smiled, slowly, seductively, the sort of smile she'd never even dreamed she could smile until him, the sort of smile which she knew never failed to make arousal tug at him. The sort of smile that telegraphed her intentions quite blatantly and she saw his eyes widen, heard the slight hitch in his breath-and felt an answering thrill go through her at his reaction. She leaned forward as if to kiss him again but at the last moment, she turned her head so her breath just touched his cheek, tickled his ear-he stiffened-and breathed, "Well, I guess I'll just have to help you make up your mind then."
And he barely had time to suck in his breath before she kissed him again, slow and deep, her hands moving over his chest and shoulders, deliberately finding and flicking over his flat nipples through the cloth of his shirt, before she slowly tugged his shirt up and over his head. She left his glasses in place, for the moment. For her purposes, he needed to be able to see her.
Deliberately, with exaggerated lasciviousness, she licked her lips as she looked at his chest, forcing a half-strangled laugh from him before she flattened her hands on his chest again, pushing him back until he was lying flat on their bed.
His hands moved to undo the fastenings of his trousers but she stopped him with a hand. "No, let me do it."
He gave in with a smothered moan of mingled anticipation and arousal that sent a fresh wave of heat through her, pooling low in her stomach and between her thighs.
Slowly, slowly, oh-so-slowly, she undid his trousers and pushed them down, her fingers hooking in his boxers, as he lifted his hips so she could get them off and then he lay there, naked, aroused, his body prominently begging for her touch.
He watched her, couldn't take his eyes from her, as she undid the fastenings of her trousers and pushed them off, leaving her knickers on for the time being. She moved on to her blouse, slipping each button out of its fastening with deliberate intent, revealing her skin inch by inch. Again, she left her bra on.
"Hermione…" Her name was a moan-and a compliment.
She gave him a slight, wicked smile before she straddled his thighs wantonly-but she didn't touch him. Not there, not yet.
He groaned. "Hermione, please…"
Now she took his glasses off, his face suddenly looking much younger and more vulnerable, as it always did without his glasses. Maybe it was an effect of having been talking so much about old memories but for a fleeting second, she saw the boy Harry who she'd first befriended, the boy she'd cared about and, yes, fancied first before it had been forgotten… But then she blinked and he was the man again, her Harry, whom she loved more than she'd ever cared about the boy, the one whose body she knew so well…
Her hands caressed his chest, teasingly tracing every ridge of muscle with her fingers, loving the way they tensed, rippled, at her touch, loving the hitch of his breath, the way his hands clutched, fisted on the sheets. Her hands stroked, explored, their way down his chest and his flat stomach, slowly, very slowly, until finally she allowed herself to touch him.
Very lightly, at first. Her fingers danced along the length of him, her touch feather-light and teasing, as he hardened even more, straining against her hand, as she closed her hand lightly around him.
His eyes rolled back in his head as he groaned, fervently. "You're going to be the death of me," he gasped out, the words husky and broken.
Hermione smiled, scooting further down his legs, before she bent and pursed her lips to blow on his erection.
His hips jerked spasmodically. "God!"
She looked up until she could see his face, his eyes closed, the expression of agony contorting his face even before she gave him the ultimate pleasure. A jolt of lust sizzled through her body. God, she loved to see him like this, loved to do this to him, to reduce him to a mindless, groaning mass of pure want. She'd never thought she had it in her to be so sensual, never thought she was the type of woman to drive a man crazy with lust-until him. But with him, she was. She'd never thought she was beautiful-no matter what he said-or seductive or flirtatious, but with him, to him, she was and that was all that mattered. She'd had three children-and it showed-but he still thought she was beautiful and sexy and arousing. And she loved that, loved the confidence that knowledge gave her, loved that she could still do this to him, even after more than 20 years of marriage.
And she loved-oh, how she loved-- knowing that he was hers.
She let her eyes close, her senses focusing, sharpening, as she finally took him into her mouth, lips and tongue moving on him as only she knew how to do, pushing him to the brink of insanity as only she knew how to do, with all the knowledge born of years of loving him. She lavished pleasure on him, on them; as always, his pleasure was hers…
She knew how to lick him, knew how to touch him-and she knew when to stop.
She pulled away from him, sliding off of him so she could hastily undo her bra and slide out of her by-now-soaking knickers. Her entire body was flushed and heated, her breath coming hard and fast from sheer arousal.
His eyes opened to stare up at her, his gaze burning her, as she joined him on the bed.
"Evil woman," he rasped out and she just had time to smile- smugly- before he rolled, pinning her beneath him with a swiftness that startled a gasp from her.
He caught her face between his hands, as his eyes met hers, his touch gentle in spite of the roiling tension which she could feel in him, in spite of the urgency of his lust which was obvious in the jutting erection she could feel against her thigh.
"That," he said huskily, "wasn't very nice."
"What do you plan to do about it?" she asked, attempting to sound teasing but not quite managing it as the words were gasped out, giving him a look that was sensual flirtation personified. She was flirting with him, with her husband of more than 20 years, she thought with a sudden spurt of giddy amusement and amazement (the amazement not because flirting like this with Harry was so unusual but because it wasn't-even now, especially now…) And then his hips shifted so he was pressed against her more definitely and all amusement vanished until there was only need.
His lips came down on hers, hard, as he kissed her with a passion that was almost violent so intense was it, a passion that seared through her and stole the very breath from her lungs.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, giving him passion for passion, equal heat and equal lust. They were always equals in this…
His hands slid down her body to cup her breasts, his fingers finding her hard, aching nipples, and she cried out, breaking off from their kiss as she threw her head back, arching into him. And though she couldn't see him (her eyes were closed), she knew he smiled (he always smiled when he touched her like this, saw her like this), a moment before he lowered his lips to capture her nipple in his mouth.
Hot, wet sensation flooded her entire body, spreading through every nerve, as his tongue flicked over the nipple, played with it, before sucking on it-and she could feel that tugging in tiny ripples of heat all the way down her body to the core of her.
"Harry…" she half-panted, half-moaned against his ear. "please…"
She was beyond thought, beyond waiting, as she arched and twisted under his body, her legs wrapping around his, her hands gripping his hips, as she shifted sinuously beneath him until she could feel the hard length of him against her body, where all her desire was centered. Her cry was echoed by his groan at the intimate touch and then she moved and he moved-it didn't matter who really initiated it-as his body (finally) entered her, the heat of him filling her, completing her. Their bodies came together, joined together, in a mutual seeking and finding of pleasure.
He paused, not moving for one second, as if to let them both luxuriate in the moment before his hands cupped her cheeks and he drew back just enough to meet her eyes.
"Harry." Her lips formed the shape of his name but didn't speak it aloud.
He lowered his lips to hers and at the last moment before he kissed her, breathed her name, "Hermione," against her lips, in a tone that made her name the most tender endearment. And then he kissed her and in the same moment, his hips began to move.
She arched under him, welcoming him, urging him on deeper, harder, with her hands and her legs. She was aware of every inch of him filling her, the heat of him, the strength of him.
She could hear her gasps for breath almost in time with their movements, could hear his own harsh breathing. She could feel the explosion building, bubbling up inside her, building, building…
Until he slid one hand up to cup her breast, flattening against her taut nipple, and the jolt of pleasure lancing through her from that movement seemed to meet the tension from his ever-quickening thrusts and she was lost, her body convulsing, burning up around him, her sharp cry swallowed by his mouth as he kissed her one last time before he stiffened and shuddered, finding his own release with a low groan.
He slumped on top of her, fighting for breath, and it was a long, few seconds before he managed to move, rolling over onto his back, his arm bringing her with him, keeping her body imprisoned against him.
For several long minutes, the room was silent except for the sound of their rapid breathing, as she sprawled half on top of him, exhausted, sated, loved. She wasn't sure how much time passed, didn't care either; the entire world had narrowed down to him and her, their sweat-damp bodies molded together, and at that moment, nothing else mattered.
Finally, he broke the silence to say, half-gasp really, "Okay, I definitely like you better now."
She smiled against his skin but didn't move otherwise. "Good."
The silence fell again, comfortable, peaceful. And she had one of her moments of feeling as if their very souls were melding together, much as their bodies were.
She was vaguely aware of feeling the beat of his heart under her hand where it rested on his chest, fancied she could almost hear it with her head resting on his shoulder, and the steady rhythm of it lulled her into a sort of dreamy haze of contentment. Moments like these were, she thought sometimes, about as close to paradise as one could reach on earth.
She felt his hands straying over her back in a lazy, aimless caress, and remembered how he had remembered what she'd looked like at the Yule Ball so many years ago. Nearly 30 years ago now and he remembered, had thought she was pretty even then, so long ago…
She couldn't even remember what Viktor Krum had looked like anymore. She suddenly thought of that blazing row she and Ron had had after the Ball, had to laugh a little to herself, at her own foolishness-why had she been so angry? It seemed amazing now to think that once she could have felt so upset with Ron for not telling her he fancied her-how very silly she had been to think she cared about Ron as more than just her best friend. Of course it was Harry; looking back on it with the benefit of hindsight, she could see the beginnings of her love for him, as if it were a tree whose seed had been planted the day she first met Harry and which had been growing steadily, nurtured with every day of their friendship, until it had blossomed and she'd recognized it for what it was. How could there ever have been a time when she didn't love Harry? It was simply inconceivable now.
She smiled softly, a little dreamily. "Harry?"
"Hmm?"
"Did you ever think we'd be like this?"
"Like what?"
She moved her head just enough so she could rest her chin on his shoulder and meet his eyes. "Did you ever think that we'd end up like this, together?" Still living and laughing together, still loving together-after three children and more than 20 years of marriage…
He smiled, more with his eyes than with his lips. "Oh, of course, I always knew it," he said airily.
She raised her eyebrows a little, and he abruptly sobered, lifting one hand to touch her cheek very lightly.
"You know I didn't," he said softly. "At first, I didn't really think I'd live till my 18th birthday and even after the War, I thought of the future in terms of days, not years. It wasn't until you that I even started to really want the years, the forever, and now… Now, I think about it all, all we have, all you've given me, and I'm amazed. This-you and the kids-is more than I ever thought I'd have, more than I'd ever dreamed I could have…"
She had no words. Really, she didn't. She felt the prick of tears at the back of her eyes and fought them back. Her question had been half-idle but his answer… Harry wasn't the most gifted person with words, although he'd gotten better over the years, but he would never be very glib or smoothly eloquent. But sometimes, not often, sometimes, he could- and did- take her breath away with his words and his sweetness and his sincerity.
And the only thing she could do was to reach up and kiss him, softly, tenderly, letting her kiss tell him all she could not say.
His arm tightened around her, his other hand sliding into her hair to cup the nape of her neck, as he returned the kiss. And as always, he felt his heart warm, seem to expand to fill his chest with the swell of emotion, at the tenderness of her kiss.
"I love you," she whispered when the kiss finally ended.
"I love you," he whispered back and felt the utter truth of the words. Such small words, they seemed so inadequate to describe what he felt for her now. He had loved her for years now, loved her more now, with a depth and an intensity he certainly hadn't been capable of at 16 and not even at 20, when he'd first started thinking of 'love' and 'Hermione' in the same sentence. It hardly seemed fitting that the same words were used now as he'd used then-now, when he loved her with all the added depth and all the added wisdom that came from marriage and fatherhood-especially fatherhood, that had seemed to increase his capacity and understanding of love exponentially.
But those three words were all he had-and, somehow, as usual, he rather thought she knew and she understood.
Of course. This was Hermione, after all, and he'd long ago resigned himself to the fact that she was almost always right (it made life simpler). And that was one thing that hadn't really changed with the years.
She let out a soft sigh of breath as she relaxed back onto him. He could sense her drowsiness, feel it in her body, hear it in the steadiness of her breathing.
He focused his attention on the lights with an unspoken "Nox" to turn them off and then settled back into the bed, keeping Hermione nestled against him.
The thought of this evening, of Emily blushing over the mention of this Justin's name, flitted into his mind but without any of the emotions that had roiled him before. It may have been an effect of the utter peace and calm he always felt in these moments, with Hermione in his arms, but the reason didn't matter as much as the fact did. (He didn't like the idea of Emily dating-but that was to be expected.) Hermione, as always, had been right; he could not keep Emily from growing up, could not keep her from fancying boys and even dating them, and when he thought about it rationally, he did trust in Emily's good sense. She was, after all, her mother's daughter and aside from that, he did know his Emily.
He brushed the lightest of kisses against Hermione's hair, wondering-yet again-just what he would do without her. He only hoped that he would never need to find out.
His eyes drifted closed, drowsiness stealing over him, and he relaxed into it, secure in the knowledge that all was right in his world.
~The End~