Disclaimer: See 'All He Ever Wanted.'
Author's Notes: Written for Valentine's Day, as a tribute to the love that will last forever. Enjoy!
As Time Goes By
"Harry?"
Hermione paused in the front room, looking around. "Harry, where are you?"
She knew he was home; his cloak was hanging on its usual hook by the door and he'd left just an hour before she did from Emily and her best friend, Ariel's, new flat, where they were moving after finishing Hogwarts last June.
She'd seen the look on his face as he looked around the flat, still disorganized but slowly beginning to resemble a home, the look on his face when he'd seen that one of the first things Em had put up in her room had been a recent family picture taken when Emily had just finished Hogwarts.
"Harry?"
Still nothing but then she heard a soft sound from upstairs and she knew.
Of course.
Hermione climbed the stairs and then walked down the hall to see that the door to the attic was open. She suppressed a small smile. She knew him so well.
"Harry?"
She went up the stairs into the attic to see Harry sitting on the floor as he looked up at her.
"Oh, you're home. Is Em all settled then?"
"Not quite but she's getting there. The flat's beginning to look very cozy."
"That's good." Harry turned back to the trunk open in front of him.
Hermione slipped down to sit beside him and smiled a little mistily. Of course she'd known what had brought Harry up here, to rummaging through the trunk where they stored the pictures and some of the smaller knick-knacks from the kids' growing up.
Harry pulled out the photo album at the very bottom of the trunk-a photo album that had "Emily Granger Potter" written across the front in stylized handwriting and just beneath that, in Hermione's handwriting, August 17, 2008- Emily's birthday.
Hermione rested her head against Harry's shoulder, slipping an arm around him, as he opened the album.
The first picture in it was the first family picture they'd taken, the three of them, the day after Emily had been born. Hermione smiled a little; she was still wearing the St. Mungo's hospital gown and looked, well, exhausted. Harry looked tired but uplifted-and, Merlin, how young he'd looked then. How young they'd both been. And Emily-Emily was a red-faced bundle in blankets.
Harry touched one finger lightly to Emily's face in the picture. "Look at her," he whispered, his voice a little husky. "She was so beautiful."
"Yes, she was," Hermione agreed, her own voice a little husky with emotion. It was more than 18 years ago now; Emily would be turning 19 in less than six months and now had her own flat. And yet, Hermione could remember it all as if it was just yesterday. If she closed her eyes, she could almost swear she felt the warm weight of Emily in her arms. She could hear in her head the first time Emily had said "Mama."
Harry turned the page again and choked on a small laugh. In it, Emily was sleeping next to the stuffed Kneazle Ron had brought; the doll was about twice the size of Emily.
"Do you remember-I keep thinking of that time when I left Em sleeping on the sofa in the living room and left the room for just a second--"
"And when you came back, you didn't see her," Hermione finished for him with a soft laugh. "And it turned out she'd just shifted so the cushions had slipped down on top of her and you panicked."
"I did not panic," Harry protested. "I was very calm!"
Hermione suppressed a snort. "Sure you were, Harry. I think the cry of alarm you gave before you picked up the cushion is still ringing in my ears. You took 10 years off my life with that cry."
"I was just surprised," Harry defended himself but she could hear the laughter in his voice.
"Of course you were," Hermione agreed half-laughingly.
Harry turned another page in the album and Hermione sobered and it was her turn to reach out to touch one finger to the photo. She remembered this picture. It had been-still was-one of her favorites, taken just after they'd brought Emily home. In it, Harry and Emily were both asleep, Emily lying curled up on Harry's chest while Harry had one protective arm around her.
"I love this picture," Hermione said quietly.
"I know you do. You kept it on the mantel until after Sabrina was born," Harry returned. "Ron never saw it without calling me 'Sleeping Beauty.'"
Hermione grinned. "Why do you think I kept it there for so long?"
Harry snorted. "I know. Don't think I've forgiven you for that," he said in a mock-threatening voice.
Hermione turned her head to give him a quick, deliberately smacking kiss on the cheek. "Sleeping Beauty."
"Don't you dare call me that."
Hermione only laughed as she turned the next page in the album. This page had a picture of Harry holding Emily in his lap and manipulating her arm in a wave at the camera and another picture of Emily sleeping.
"Remember when we brought her home for the first time?" Hermione asked.
She sensed rather than saw his slight smile. "I'll never forget it. I'd never realized what a frightening place the world was until we were walking out of St. Mungo's with her and suddenly everything seemed threatening."
Hermione laughed. "You pulled out your wand and nearly hexed the head off a cardboard cut-out!"
"I didn't see it clearly; I only saw what looked like a person about to lunge out at us from the corner of my eye!"
Hermione snorted a little but said nothing more. Besides, she hadn't been that much better than Harry had been at first; she'd wrapped Emily up in so many blankets, Em had looked prepared to go out into a blizzard, rather than the mild August day it had been.
The next four pages had pictures of Emily sleeping in a variety of places-sometimes with Hermione in the picture, sometimes with Harry, once with Ron bending over her, and a couple just with Emily.
"Just how many pictures did you take of Emily sleeping?" Hermione asked, although she knew the answer perfectly well.
"Not that many," Harry returned. "And it's not my fault that Emily looked so adorable when she was sleeping."
Hermione laughed softly. If memory served, she'd counted once and Harry had taken a full 138 pictures of Emily sleeping in her first six months-and that didn't include all the pictures he'd taken of Emily when she was awake. She remembered watching him watching Emily as she slept-and how he would take a picture every time she so much as moved a muscle. She turned her head; he took a picture. She moved her hand; he took a picture. She fussed with her blanket; he took a picture. It really had been ridiculous.
And she'd loved him for it.
"You were obsessive," Hermione teased gently.
"Again, not my fault," Harry said defensively. "She got the beautiful-when-she-sleeps thing from you."
Hermione shook her head a little even as she couldn't help but smile. "Flattery will get you nowhere."
"A man can try."
More pages in the album-more pictures. So many more pictures. And even more memories.
"Remember when she started to walk?"
Hermione smiled. "I can still picture her as she toddled around before falling down and then the way she wrinkled her nose before she crawled up to her feet again."
"Do you know that before I took her outside for the first time when she was just beginning to walk on her own, I spent about an hour picking up every stick and stone from around the front walk in case she would trip and fall? I think I even cleared out the weeds that had started to come up through the cracks of the pavement."
Hermione laughed. "Oh, I do remember that! I remember being stunned when I came home that afternoon and saw how perfectly neat the front walk looked. You were impressively thorough."
Harry's smile was reminiscent. "I was so afraid she would fall and hurt herself…"
"Do you remember the time Emily fell and scraped her knee while we were outside and she wouldn't stop crying…" Hermione began.
"Until I came out and picked her up," Harry finished. "Yeah, I remember."
"I was so hurt that day," Hermione said musingly. "I remember wondering what kind of mother I was that I couldn't comfort my own daughter when she was hurt."
Harry reached over to grasp her hand in his, giving it a brief squeeze. "I know. It was just a phase anyway. Remember there were those few weeks when Emily always cried for you and absolutely refused to stop crying when I was there."
"Yeah. The kids always cried for you when they had their nightmares, though."
"Funny how they did that. I always cried for you when I had nightmares."
Hermione smiled and squeezed his hand in her turn. "Then I guess we're even."
Harry turned another page in the album, this one having a picture of Hermione holding Emily as she slept and one picture of Hermione's parents cooing over a gurgling Emily as she waved her fist-in which she'd captured one of Hermione's dad's fingers, holding him captive.
"Did we ever give your parents a copy of this picture?" Harry asked.
"Yes, we did."
"Mm, good. It's a good one of them with Emily."
"Yeah. Don't you remember, Mum had it framed on the wall in their living room for a few years?"
"Oh, yeah, before it was replaced with one of all three kids."
Harry tapped his finger lightly against the picture of Emily gripping Hermione's dad's finger. "She had quite the grip on her, remember?"
"Yes, I remember."
"I don't know how many times she grabbed one of my fingers and every time I tried to pull away, she would screw up her face like she was going to cry…"
"And so you just stayed there," Hermione finished.
"Well, I could hardly let her cry, could I?"
Hermione smiled. "I suppose not."
There was a moment of silence as Harry turned another page in the album, and then another.
"It feels like only yesterday, doesn't it?"
"Yeah, it really does," Hermione said with a half-sigh.
"I thought we'd have a little more time with her as our little girl, you know," Harry said, his voice sounding husky again.
"Yeah, I know." She paused before she added, "But you knew she wasn't going to live with us forever."
"Yes but another year or two would have been nice."
Hermione nestled her head against his shoulder, not answering as she wasn't sure she trusted her voice anymore. She sniffed a little and then blinked rapidly. "Drat you, Harry, I promised myself I wasn't going to get all weepy again over this," she said trying to sound scolding.
He lifted one shoulder, the one she wasn't leaning on, in an apologetic half-shrug. "I think you're allowed to get weepy when our eldest moves out of the house."
She paused and then asked with a somewhat watery smile, "If we're this bad over her moving out, can you imagine what sort of wrecks we're going to be when she gets married?"
"A convent is beginning to sound like a brilliant idea to me," he said, only half-jokingly.
Hermione laughed. "We're not Catholic, Harry."
"If it'll keep Emily-and Sabrina-from meeting untrustworthy fellows, I'm willing to start worshipping a god made out of spaghetti." He sounded entirely serious.
She laughed, as she knew he intended for her to do, and shook her head, her smile fading gradually as she thought about Emily's old bedroom just below them, emptied now of all her things.
There was a moment of silence before Hermione said, with an attempt at briskness, "She's going to be fine, you know. She's a good girl, with a good head on her shoulders."
"Well, she isn't your daughter for nothing," Harry responded, trying to match her matter-of-fact tone and not quite managing it.
"She's not our daughter for nothing," Hermione corrected him. "And Ariel's also a good girl. She's been Em's friend since they started Hogwarts and is almost as sensible as our Em is."
"I know."
Hermione suppressed a little smile. Harry's acknowledgement of Ariel's sense sounded almost grudging. "What, is it her you don't quite trust or is it Emily you're worried about? Afraid she's suddenly going to start being reckless or throwing wild parties and getting drunk every night?"
Harry gave her a look. "This is Emily we're talking about, who's as close to perfect as humanly possible. And I like Ariel. It's not what they might do I'm worried about; it's everyone else I don't trust," Harry retorted. "Just a whole world of people out there who might want to take advantage of my little girl or hurt her in some way."
Hermione tightened her arm around his shoulders. "She'll be okay. Really, she will. We've put up all the defensive wards and charms we know around their flat; she's been trained in Defense. And you know she's promised to have dinner with us every week."
"I know but I like it better when she's home with us," Harry half-grumbled.
Hermione laughed. "You know she couldn't live at home forever."
"Maybe not but another year or two might have been nice."
She couldn't argue with that. Hermione sighed a little and touched a finger lightly to Emily's baby face in another picture. "She really did grow up so fast, didn't she?"
"Yeah, she did."
Harry turned his head to brush his lips against her temple and Hermione smiled a little, feeling comforted, as always, by his presence, his touch.
And with the comfort, her usual sense reasserted itself, reminding her again of Emily's good sense. She did trust her daughter; Emily would be fine. And it wasn't as if she would be far away.
She lifted her head from his shoulder to brush her lips against his cheek and then his chin until he turned his head so their lips could meet.
The kiss was soft, tender, their lips just brushing against each other, but then it deepened. Harry lifted one hand to cup her cheek, shifting, so he could kiss her more fully, not passionately-at least not just yet-but a leisurely exploration of the familiar depths of each other's mouths.
And as always, Hermione felt the familiar spark of heat in her body from his kiss. She never tired of this, of his taste and his touch and his kiss. Even after nearly 25 years of marriage, she still loved kissing him.
He shifted so he could lean into her more fully and she flinched a little as the lock of the trunk she'd been leaning on dug into her spine.
He drew back immediately. "What?"
She gave him a rueful little smile. "The lock on the trunk was digging into my back. Let's try this instead," she added, deliberately lowering her voice to a husky whisper. She turned and then slid her arms around his neck before she lowered herself until she was lying flat on her back on the attic floor, bringing him with her until he was lying on his side beside her, leaning over her.
A slight smile curved his lips. "I do like the way you think," he murmured just before he lowered his head to resume their kisses, more heatedly this time, his tongue plunging into her mouth to play with hers. Her small gasp was swallowed by his mouth as she tangled her fingers in his hair to tug him closer.
His hand that had cupped her cheek slid lower, caressing her throat and her neck until he cupped her breast and she arched into his familiar, still arousing touch. She could feel the heat and the weight of his body against her as he shifted to lie more fully on top of her, one of his legs fitting itself between hers.
His hand cupped and then squeezed her breast and she could feel her nipple hardening at his touch. Even through the layers of her bra and jumper separating their skin, his touch could still make her burn, heat building up inside her.
"Mum? Dad?"
The sound of Emily's voice from downstairs had them breaking apart in an instant, breathing hard, as Hermione quickly sat up and tried to straighten out her clothing and her hair while Harry did the same. Hermione left the attic ahead of Harry as she could see with a glance he would need a little more time to recover.
"Hi, Em," she said as she hurried down the stairs, trying to seem entirely calm. "What is it?"
But then Hermione knew she'd failed as her daughter took one look at her and blushed. "Mum! Tell me I'm not interrupting anything."
Hermione lifted her chin, assuming as dignified an expression as she could manage. She was not going to-absolutely refused-to blush in front of her daughter for having been kissing her own husband. Even if it was the middle of the afternoon. "Of course you're not. Your dad and I were just… going through some of the old things in the attic."
Emily only rolled her eyes a little and opened her lips but before she could respond, Harry came hurrying down the stairs, looking more composed.
"Hi, sweetie. Did you miss us already?"
"Hi, Dad. I realized that I'd forgotten to pack Mr. Happy so I came back to get him."
Of course, Mr. Happy. Hermione hid her smile at the mention of Emily's favorite childhood toy, a stuffed bunny rabbit which Harry had bought her for her first birthday and which had been her constant companion for the next two years or so. Everywhere Emily went, Mr. Happy had gone too, clutched tightly in Emily's little hands, until the day when Mr. Happy had been relegated to a place on Emily's bed during the day and then to the chair in her room and finally, packed away with some other childhood toys.
"He's in the attic, isn't he?" Harry said.
"Yeah. I can find him," Em said and vanished upstairs.
Harry finally looked over at Hermione. "I would have thought Em moving out would mean this sort of thing would stop happening."
Hermione let out a soft laugh. "Apparently not. But when she does leave, until Andy and Sabrina come home for the summer, we'll have the house to ourselves."
Harry gave her an exaggerated leer. "What are you suggesting?"
Hermione threw him a laughing glance. "Behave. Em's still here, you know."
As if on cue, they heard Em's voice from upstairs. "I found him!" And then a moment later, she reappeared, holding Mr. Happy in her hand. (And, thanks to Hermione's judicially-applied Charms from when she'd packed Mr. Happy away, Mr. Happy still looked nearly new, not much older than when he'd been Emily's constant companion.)
Harry smiled at Emily and Hermione could see that he was, once again, trying to sound much less emotional than he was. "That's good. It's a relief to know Mr. Happy will still be there to look out for you."
Emily's smile softened. "Yeah, I know."
She turned to Hermione. "Oh, Mum, I did put an Unbreakable Charm on all the dishes and things."
Hermione nodded. "Good. That will make your life much simpler."
She hugged Emily goodbye, for the second time that day. "Take care of yourself, okay?"
"Yes, Mum, I will."
Emily turned to Harry next as Harry wrapped his arms around Em in the sort of hug a man gives the dearest creature the world holds for him, his eyes closing briefly, before he released her. "And remember to give us a ring or Floo-call if you need anything, okay?" he reminded her for what must have been at least the hundredth time in the past couple days.
"I know, Dad. Do you want me to give you a ring every day so you can know exactly what we ate for breakfast every morning, too?" Emily said lightly.
Harry had the grace to laugh a little. "That won't be necessary but ring us up every few days, okay, Em?"
"Yeah, Dad, I will. I'll be fine, I promise."
Harry sobered, lifting one hand to chuck her chin lightly with his finger in one of his habitual gestures of affection. "I know you will be. My little girl's all grown up now, aren't you, Emily-kin," he said, using the pet-name which he hadn't used since she'd turned 11.
Emily's expression softened as she gave Harry another hug. "I'll always be your little girl, Daddy," she said softly.
Harry wrapped his arms around his daughter, his little girl, and wished fleetingly that he would never need to let her go, that he could keep her a little longer as his little girl, under his sole protection and care. But then he drew back, kissing her forehead, and let her go.
He conjured up a smile as Em squeezed Hermione's hand quickly and, with a quick "Bye, Mum, Dad. I'll see you guys next weekend," she had left the house.
Harry moved to stand in the open doorway, watching as Emily walked down the front path. In his mind's eye, he could see the little girl she had been, see her in those days when she'd held onto his hand wherever they went. And it was almost as if he could still feel a small child's hand clasping his so trustingly.
He felt Hermione move to stand beside him and a moment later, her hand slipped into his and he gripped it firmly, finding comfort, as always, in her simple touch, in her presence.
He knew-rationally-that Emily wasn't going far and he'd still see her often. She'd been much further away and he'd gone much longer without seeing her when she was at Hogwarts-but that had been different. Her home had still been here, with him and Hermione; she'd still been under his care. Now, she was all grown up, an adult in her own right, and while she would always be his little girl, it would never really be the same.
And he wished-oh, how he wished-he could have his baby back. As it was, he could only watch her walk away and say a brief, fervent prayer to the Fates and all the Higher Powers, to take care of her, to always keep her safe and happy. He never wanted anything like sadness or pain or fear or danger to touch her, never wanted any darkness to shadow her life.
But that wasn't up to him; he couldn't protect her from the world or from life. He could only let her go-and hope and pray she would be okay…
She'd reached the end of the block where the anti-Apparition wards around the house ended and she turned back to wave her hand-he lifted his free hand in return-and then she was gone, Apparating away, back to her new flat.
He sighed a little as he turned away, closing the front door. And then was immediately comforted as Hermione stepped forward into his arms, her arms going around his waist. He brushed his lips against her forehead and then her hair.
"She's a good girl. We did a good job with her," he finally said into her hair.
He sensed rather than saw Hermione's slight smile. "One down, two to go…"
He laughed, tightening his arms around her for a moment, his mood lifting. "That's one way of putting it."
Hermione laughed softly too and for a moment, they simply stood in silence.
Harry rested his cheek against Hermione's hair, feeling tension drain away and enjoying the peace of the moment. Quiet interludes like this one were rare occurrences, had been for years now, and he appreciated them all the more when they happened. After all the emotions he'd been feeling as he'd helped Emily with moving her things into her new flat, now, with Hermione, he felt calm again. As always, she was the stable center of his life.
But with his new calm, the wants of his body reasserted themselves, the desire from earlier that had been momentarily banked and pushed aside while saying goodbye to his daughter making itself felt again. He was aware of the warmth from her body against him, aware of the familiar feeling of desire at feeling her breasts against his chest.
"Well, now we've got the house to ourselves. What do you suppose we should do?"
"Hm, I've got the draft of that treatise to edit and I should work on my next article for St. Mungo's Journal."
"Oh, is that all you have in mind?"
He sensed rather than saw her smile, loving how she caught the thread of amusement and desire in his tone and reflected it back in her own voice. "I think I could be persuaded to do something else…" Her voice lowered on the last two words, as she used what he mentally termed her "smoky" voice, transforming the commonplace words into a seduction. And even after so many years, the sound of her "smoky" voice sent a surge of heat through him, his body automatically responding.
He brushed her hair away from her ear, letting her feel his warm breath against her ear and felt the slight shiver of her reaction. His lips grazed the top of her ear and then skated down her ear lobe lightly before he pressed his lips to the sensitive skin just behind her ear and heard her soft gasp.
"I'm persuaded," she gasped softly and then turned her head to brush her lips against his neck just above the collar of his shirt.
It was his turn to shiver in reaction, letting his lips graze her skin, her neck, where her jaw met her neck, her chin, the corner of her lips, until she let out a soft sound that was half a laugh and kissed him fully, her lips parting for his.
He slid his fingers into her hair, holding her head in place, as he forgot himself in her kiss-as always. The taste of her, the feel of her, the way she kissed him with all the passion of her nature, never failed to captivate him until he forgot where they were, what they'd been doing, everything except for her.
She was the one to end the kiss, when they were both breathing hard, and he had to blink and fight to regain some coherence as she said, her voice husky, "We shouldn't do this here."
It took him another second before he could think clearly enough to realize she was right. After all, they were standing right before the front door and while he didn't think Emily would be interrupting them again, the front room was still not the place for this, not with its hardwood floor and lack of furniture. "Our bedroom?"
A slight smile curved her lips as she shook her head slightly. "I've got a better idea." She began walking backwards, holding his hand and bringing him with her, into the family room.
"We've never had sex in this room, have we?" he asked, voicing his thoughts aloud.
"I think it's time we changed that, don't you?" The question was a rhetorical one as she released him, her hands immediately going to the hem of her jumper.
She kept her eyes steadily on his as she undressed and he forgot to breathe, forgot to blink-forgot how to move at all-as he watched her. There was nothing in the world as seductive as the sight of Hermione undressing, not with any added motions to make it a more provocative strip-tease-no, Hermione didn't need to do anything like that. All she needed to do was pull her jumper up and over her head in one smooth motion, the same un-self-conscious way she undressed in their bedroom every night, and his breath strangled in his chest, his mouth going dry.
Her hands went to undo her trousers with the same naturalness but she lifted her eyebrows ever so slightly as she looked at him and he belatedly realized that he was still standing there doing nothing and was by now decidedly over-dressed. He stripped off his jumper with a haste that almost ripped the wool, not wanting to miss so much as a second of Hermione undressing, and tore off his trousers, boxers and his socks with equal haste.
He saw her gaze lower to fix on his arousal and saw the slight curve of her lips as she reached behind to unclasp her bra and then bent to strip off her knickers. And in the split second, even before she'd straightened up, he'd already decided this was the most brilliant idea ever.
The sight of her naked body always affected him, of course, but this-the way she looked at this moment hit him with an almost stunning impact that left him breathless. He hadn't thought about it but he hadn't seen Hermione naked in sunlight in he couldn't remember how many years; with three children in the house and how busy their lives had gotten, their love-making had been restricted to the night in the privacy of their bedroom. He hadn't stopped to consider it before, so full had their lives been, but now, he realized it and realized, too, what a loss it had been. He was very used to seeing Hermione by candlelight, by moonlight, by wand-light, but had never realized the difference it would make seeing her by sunlight. Sunlight was so much brighter, harsher in some ways, illuminating every inch of Hermione's bare skin with almost-merciless clarity. Starkly revealing her body-all the changes wrought by the years, yes, but all the beauty, the natural sensuality, too.
Maybe it was the result of their having spent the better part of the last hour indulging in a rare and uncharacteristic bout of nostalgia but whatever it was, it imbued the moment with a curious solemnity. Made it seem like seeing each other naked like this was something momentous as opposed to the relatively commonplace event it was.
He wanted to tell her some of his thoughts, wanted to tell her she was still the most beautiful woman in the world, but he couldn't find the words, every coherent thought having drained out of his head. "God, Hermione," he finally breathed in a husky whisper, "look at you."
She no longer blushed that often around him but now, at his words, color bloomed and deepened on her cheeks. "I'm not young anymore."
He didn't smile-hell, it felt as if the muscles of his face had forgotten how to smile, everything in him seized up and focused so intensely on her. "You still look perfect to me."
The softest of smiles just curved her lips as she reached for him and he flattened his body against hers, loving the way her every curve fit against him so perfectly.
He kissed her, open-mouthed, his tongue almost bathing the insides of her mouth, rubbing against her tongue, the kiss thorough and deep rather than impassioned.
There were times when their love-making was hard and fast, when they came together with a quick, even fierce passion; this was not one of those times. Maybe it was something about the hour, the late afternoon, a lazy time of day, the consciousness that they had the rest of the day if they wanted it, that kept their kisses and caresses more sensuous than passionate. Harry didn't stop to try and analyze it, only felt it and felt her answering mood.
He took his time in caressing her, his hands exploring her familiar body thoroughly, lavishing every inch of her skin with caresses until her skin felt almost hot enough to burn, until she was trembling slightly against him, until her breath was coming shallow and fast. He cupped, shaped her breasts with his hands, stroking his thumbs over her nipples until they were hard and erect. He continued fondling her as she arched her back, pushing her breasts into his hands, her head falling back on a gasp, and he let his lips follow along down the curve of her chin and neck, pausing to lick every sensitive spot he knew of, before finally, finally closing his lips around one hard nipple. He was vaguely aware of her crying out, not because he heard it so much as because he knew she usually did cry out when he touched her like this, as he focused his attention on first one nipple and then the other, circling his tongue around it and then letting his teeth graze it ever so lightly.
He released her nipple and straightened up slowly but only so he could trace the curve of one smooth bare shoulder with his lips.
He loved Hermione's shoulders for some reason he could never identify. It may have been something as simple as the fact that her skin was so perfectly smooth to the touch, may have been something about the graceful curve of her shoulder that appealed to him so-when she gave him one of her occasional glances over her shoulder, the curve of her neck and shoulder never failed to make him catch his breath. Or it may have been something about the mixture of strength and vulnerability in her shoulders-strength from the way she carried herself, the straightness of her posture in spite of the years she'd spent lugging around her heavy book bag, but also vulnerability as well. Hermione wasn't very slight in her build, unlike some women, the ones that exuded an air of delicate fragility that made it seem as if they would break at the smallest puff of wind, but neither was she built along large lines. For all her strength and for all that he never consciously associated Hermione with any weakness, she was naturally physically weaker and smaller than he was and while he would never tell her so in words (he knew his Hermione too well to think she would appreciate it), something about her bare shoulders appealed to his protective instincts as well, made him want to shelter her, shield her from any harm. And, after all, maybe it was as simple as the fact that he was the only person to see Hermione's bare shoulders.
Not that any of this occurred to Harry at the time, preoccupied as he was with caressing her shoulders and her neck with his hands and his lips.
But before he was nearly done paying homage to her shoulders, she moved and it was her turn to return the favor, her hands starting on his shoulders and then beginning to slide down. Her hands touched, explored him with the same mixture of slow sensuality and confidence as he'd used in touching her. Her lips trailed kisses across his chest, pausing to flick her tongue delicately against each flat male nipple making him groan. He felt her slight smile against his skin; it was an amazingly erotic thing to feel the curve of her lips before she went on. She moved slowly around him, her lips tracing a slightly damp line around his body, across his chest, his arm, his shoulder blades. She paused and switched direction to run her tongue lightly down the groove of his spine and he jerked slightly, moaning involuntarily. He'd never known before that his spine could be so sensitive but it was-God, it was.
Her hands slid down to caress his butt deliberately-and he sensed the smile that curved her lips as she did so. (She'd once jokingly told him that she'd married him for having the cutest arse in Britain; he'd responded that they were even because he'd married her for having the most perfect breasts in the world.) He couldn't help but grin at the memory but then all thought of amusement vanished as she moved back around to wrap her hand lightly around his arousal.
He thrust into her hand involuntarily and groaned her name, "Hermione"-but then, for once, he grabbed her wrist and stopped her when she would have stroked him further. He was too close-his body reacting to the touch of her hands and her lips as they always did.
"I'm not finished yet," he told her huskily as his hands lightly held her hips and then slid down to caress her thighs that quivered slightly and parted. He cupped the softest, most private part of her body with one hand, pausing there for a moment as he felt her, heard her soft breath that was almost a moan.
He lifted his eyes to her face as he slid first one finger inside her and then two, caressing her ever more intimately, ever more deeply. He watched her as her head fell back, her eyes closing, her lips parting as her breath came quick and fast, interspersed with moans with every movement of his fingers. She was nearing her peak; he could see it in her face, could hear it in her quickened breaths, could feel it in the tightening of her inner muscles around his fingers. Deliberately, he rubbed his thumb over that most sensitive nub of flesh and that was enough; she convulsed around his fingers, spasms of sheer bliss racking her body as she cried out his name.
And he watched her as she came. It never mattered how many times he saw her like this, the sight still hit him in the chest with a force that took his breath away. He couldn't describe the way she looked in these moments-it was like the dawning of a new day, like the sun on freshly-fallen snow until the world looked covered with diamonds, like a miracle, but more beautiful than all those things. She was the most beautiful woman in the world and the most erotic sight he'd ever seen, in her passion and her utter abandon.
He caught her as her knees gave way and carried her the few steps over to the couch. He watched her still, brushing his lips tenderly over his forehead, until she blinked her eyes open and her gaze managed to focus on him.
A small, satiated smile curved her lips. "Harry," she sighed and then she slid her arms around his neck and brought him down to her to kiss him.
His body nudged hers and she shifted her hips, arching up to meet him as he slid inside her with one smooth thrust. She scattered haphazard kisses over his neck, his chin, his cheeks, before he caught her lips with his and kissed her deeply as he began to move.
And now, after all the slow eroticism of their love-making so far, the passion overtook them and he moved his hips faster as she arched up against him, her arms and legs wrapping around him, encouraging him, meeting his every thrust with her own. He could both feel and hear her gasps for breath against his ear. He felt her muscles begin to tighten around him again and just like that, he was lost, exploding inside her with a groan, emptying himself of all he had so deeply he couldn't tell where he ended and she began but maybe there was no end and no beginning after all. There was only him and her, his wife, his love, his Hermione.
He collapsed on top of her breathlessly, letting the glorious satiation slide through his veins, positively drug him with pleasure. He loved the feel of her under him, around him, loved the familiar fit of her body with his. But slowly, he mustered enough coherence to realize that he would be crushing her and rolled over onto his side, keeping his body curled around hers, as he closed his eyes.
It was some minutes-hours, perhaps?-before he returned to earth and opened his eyes to look at her, savor the peace and the lazy fulfillment on her face. She was always so busy, his Hermione, but at these moments, he knew, she let herself free, basked in the lack of thought, and only enjoyed the closeness and the quiet bliss of the moment.
He sifted his fingers lightly through her hair, now sprinkled with gray-as was his-and studied the faint trace of creases at the corners of her eyes and her lips, the beginning of a few wrinkles that hadn't been there just a few years ago. He could still see the familiar features of the girl she'd once been but she wasn't, as she'd said, young anymore and neither was he. But the tenderness he felt in these moments was just as strong as ever, the passion he found in her, with her, just as powerful as ever, the love he felt just as overwhelming-even more so-than ever.
And by now, he'd stopped expecting that to change, knew he would feel this tenderness, this passion, this love forever.
"Harry?" She stirred and looked at him.
"Mm?" He met her eyes as she lifted his free hand to kiss his palm lightly.
"I was thinking, I don't need to go into St. Mungo's tomorrow, so…"
"So we can go up and visit Hogwarts," he finished for her, guessing her thought with the ease that came from years of knowing her.
She smiled a little at how he completed her sentence for her. "We could go watch Andy's Quidditch match."
"You don't think he'll mind having us there?" Harry asked-something he would never have thought to ask for either Emily or Sabrina but Andy was different. His son seemed to spend his time at home, since he'd turned 15 at least, alternately sullen or angry, answering his questions monosyllabically, at best, or downright rudely, at worst. And Harry felt a new species of empathy for everyone who'd had to put up with him when he'd been 15, now that he'd had to deal with his son at the same age. (Not that Andy was all that bad, as other teenage boys went. He wasn't, was still a little too well-trained by Hermione to raise his voice to either of his parents and he was still, for the most part, patient with Sabrina although he and Em had been known to have brief flare-ups when Emily decided to exert her older-sister authority.) At any rate, it was enough that Harry thought to ask, since Andy seemed to have developed an allergy to being seen with his parents in public places, an allergy that stemmed from the fact that Andy had always disliked the added attention he got from being Harry Potter's son and his only son at that. He knew part of it was simply Andy rebelling against the pressure he felt from being Harry Potter's Only Son and while he understood it, he couldn't help feeling a twinge of hurt that Andy seemed to blame him for it, as if Harry himself didn't hate his fame every bit as much as Andy did, if not more.
"It should be okay as long as we don't make a big deal about being there to watch him play."
"At least Sabrina hasn't gotten to the age where she's ashamed to be seen with us," Harry said, trying to sound unaffected. But he knew he failed when Hermione's expression softened and she reached up to run her fingers lightly through his hair as she brushed a kiss against his chin.
"Andy will come around; he won't be a teenager forever."
"Thank Merlin for that," Harry said fervently. "How did you manage not to hex me during 5th year?"
"Oh, you weren't that bad."
He raised his eyebrows at her. "Your memories of 5th year seem to be distinctly different from mine."
She smiled and amended her statement. "You weren't that bad to me. You only blew up at me once or twice that I recall."
He grimaced a little. "I was still a colossal prat."
"Well, yes," she conceded with preternatural solemnity.
"Thanks a lot," he huffed in mock offense.
She laughed softly and turned her head to kiss his shoulder and he smiled as he slid his arm around her to bring her in yet more snugly against him.
He rested his cheek against her hair and for the moment, said nothing more. He was with Hermione and at the moment, still feeling the lingering golden afterglow, he couldn't feel that exercised over Andy and his teenage behavior.
But then Hermione could always calm him down; he didn't even know how she did it but somehow, with a look, a word, a smile, a touch-or just her very presence-she could calm him. Fortunately for him, as otherwise he knew there would have been many more arguments with Andy. Especially since Hermione dealt with Andy these days better than he did, was more patient with him, and Andy responded by not reacting as heatedly to Hermione's occasional reprimands than to Harry's.
Sabrina, at least, would be happy to see them, although Harry still found himself missing the way Sabrina had used to greet him with something approaching a shriek of excitement and the way Sabrina had used to almost leap into his arms when she saw him. His baby girl had grown up too much for that and Harry knew another moment of wonder at the fact that his baby was now all of 13 and officially a teenager. Really, he didn't know when it had happened…
"Harry?"
"What?" He turned his head to look down at her.
"Do you feel old enough to have a kid moving out of the house?"
He wasn't surprised to find that her thought echoed his almost exactly. He gave an exaggerated grimace. "Did you have to remind me of that?" he pretended to grumble. "I was just beginning to feel cheerful again."
She laughed, as he'd known she would, and turned her head a little to rest it more snugly against his shoulder. "Honestly, Harry."
He couldn't help but grin at her tone and her expression, the same half-indulgent, half-reproving response which she'd always given him when she thought he was being silly or thoughtless but couldn't find it in herself to scold him, the way he remembered her looking at him after he'd snuck into Hogsmeade in their 3rd year, the look and the tone he mentally labeled her "I-love-you-anyway" look. At that moment, she could easily have been the girl he'd known for years, long before he'd realized he was in love with her.
It was comforting. His kids might be growing up so quickly it was positively frightening but he still had Hermione and while she too had changed in some ways, she was still, in spite of everything, his Hermione.
"What's so funny?" she asked him.
His grin widened a little, a bubble of laughter rising in his chest for no reason at all, as he dropped a kiss on her nose. "Nothing. I just love you, is all."
After so many years, she looked more suspicious than touched but then-perhaps, after all, she could read some of this thoughts in his eyes-- her expression cleared. "I know you do."
"Know-it-all," he responded automatically, in what had become a very familiar exchange over the years.
She only smiled and he kissed her.
And that, too, was the same-and always would be.
~The End~
(of this vignette but not of this series)