Disclaimer: See 'All He Ever Wanted'.
Author's Note: For my very dear Romulus Lupin-happy birthday, Gil!!
Pure fluff-it might be the all-time fluffiest fic I've ever written. So consider yourselves warned-major cavity alert!
Portrait of a Marriage
Coming Home
A soft whimper took Hermione to the "baby's room" as it was called to see Sabrina curled up on her bed, clutching the stuffed unicorn which was her favorite doll while tears streaked down her cheeks.
She sat down on the side of the bed, reaching out to bring Sabrina into her arms. "Sshh, sweetie, mummy's here now. What is it? Did you have a nightmare?" she murmured soothingly.
Sabrina nodded, whimpering fitfully. "I want Daddy," she half-wailed. "Where's Daddy?"
Hermione suppressed a sigh, cuddling Sabrina closer to her and biting back the impulse to say that she wanted "Daddy" too. "Daddy's not here, darling. He had to go away, remember?"
"I want Daddy," Sabrina repeated with all the stubborn persistence of childhood.
"I know, sweetie, I know. He'll be home soon but he can't be here now."
"Where's Daddy? He should be here; I want Daddy!"
"Sssh, darling, Daddy will be home soon. You can be a good, brave girl until then, right, love?"
Sabrina sniffed, blinking back her tears, as she nodded.
Hermione gave her a soft smile of approval. "That's my good girl. Now try to go back to sleep. I'll stay right here and I won't let anything bad happen to you."
"Promise?"
Hermione hugged Sabrina tighter. "Of course I promise. I'll always protect you and take care of you."
Sabrina returned the hug, nestling against Hermione with the simple trust that somehow never failed to melt her heart. "Okay."
Sabrina was silent for a few minutes as Hermione stroked the girl's soft hair, before she turned her large eyes on Hermione again. "When will Daddy come back?"
"Soon, Daddy will be home soon."
"Promise?"
"I promise. Now hush and try to go back to sleep and Mummy will stay right here until you do." Hermione tucked Sabrina securely back into bed with her stuffed unicorn and, for good measure, the teddy bear Harry had bought for Sabrina, and then kissed Sabrina's forehead and cheek tenderly.
"Night, mummy," Sabrina mumbled as she snuggled into her pillow, her unicorn safely in hand.
Hermione lingered in Sabrina's room for another hour until she was sure her baby was asleep, her eyes caressing every precious feature.
She wondered where Harry was that night, suddenly missing him with a fierce intensity. She always missed him when he wasn't around, of course, but Sabrina's nightmare tonight just seemed to emphasize how much she needed him-how much they all needed him.
It wasn't only that she knew the kids-all of them-automatically seemed to turn to Harry first when they had nightmares. For just about everything else, they turned to her as a matter of course but whenever any of the kids had nightmares, "Daddy" was usually the first word out of their lips and he was the one who could soothe them the best. She supposed it was just more evidence of that feeling of safety that Harry tended to give those closest to him; she had always felt it herself and their kids all seemed to as well, always seeking Harry after a nightmare. He had told her once that she was his haven; what she hadn't quite realized until then, what she'd never really told him in so many words although she knew by now that he knew it, was that he was her haven too.
But the children's nightmares aside, she simply missed him. She would never tell him (although she suspected he knew) how hard she found it whenever he went away, dealing with the kids on her own. It wasn't that they were rowdier or misbehaved more when Harry was away; rather it was that her supply of patience was more limited when Harry wasn't there to take the edge off, as it seemed. The little squabbles, the occasional fractiousness, the usual noise of childhood, seemed to grate on her more and she found herself biting her tongue sometimes to keep from speaking in a sharper tone than warranted. She was always heartily ashamed of herself but had to admit that she was not the most patient of people and having been an only child-and a quiet, only child at that-she'd had very little real understanding of the noise children could, and did, make. Harry was better, more patient, than she was-and he helped her too. He had the ability to make her smile and relax with a word or a smile, his simple presence somehow seeming to add to her supply of patience. And then, at night, falling asleep beside him, just being with him replenished her emotional stores, allowed her to begin the next day afresh.
Come home, Harry, she thought, wondering fancifully if she could will him to return quicker. We need you; come home soon, love…
~
Harry quietly let himself into his dark house, not wanting to disturb anyone.
He was bone-weary after five days of basically camping out in the wilds of Wales, looking into some reports of disturbances in the area. There had been a disappearance and a few incidents of Muggle baiting which, together, formed a disturbing picture. He had found that, thankfully, the incidents were unrelated but it had still taken him five days away from his home and his family.
He let out a soft sigh as he locked the door and, as he always did on returning home, made sure the wards were secure.
That done, he made his swift, silent way through his house and up the stairs, not bothering with a light as he knew every step of his house by heart.
He crept into Andy's bedroom to see his son sleeping soundly, lying on his side, with one hand tucked under his pillow. He smiled to himself and brushed a lock of black hair away from Andy's face with a feather-light touch before he crept out again.
The door to the room where Sabrina, the baby, slept was ajar, as always, and he pushed it open with a careful nudge. He could hear her deep, even breathing before he could see her but made his way over to her bed anyway. He loved to watch her sleep, his little baby girl, clutching the stuffed unicorn which Ron had given her on her 3rd birthday and which had been her constant sleep companion since that day. He felt a wave of tenderness and reached out with one finger to brush the soft baby skin of her cheek in the lightest of caresses. "Sleep tight, my little love," he whispered before sneaking out, as quietly as he had entered.
Emily's room was his last stop. As always, his breath stuttered a little in his chest at the sight of her sleeping. In sleep, she looked even more like a miniature version of Hermione with her brown hair and her features, her green eyes, the most noticeable thing she'd inherited from him, hidden behind her eyelids.
It was why he loved to watch Emily sleep so much; he could trace every familiar feature with his eyes and picture what Hermione must have looked like at that age, years before he would meet her. And if Emily was any indication, Hermione must have been adorable too-although he admitted to being biased in that regard. It was amazing, sometimes. He'd never thought he would be that sort of fellow, the one who could spend hours watching his kid sleep-or watching his wife sleep-but then he'd fallen in love with Hermione and then the kids had come along and entirely naturally, it had happened. He remembered the first time, when Emily had been a baby, he'd been watching her as she napped and when Hermione returned home, he'd still been watching her in much the same position he had been when she'd left. Hermione had teased him about looking like he hadn't moved in the past two hours-and it was only then that he'd realized that he really had, essentially, spent two hours doing nothing much but watching Emily sleep.
Silly, perhaps, sentimental, definitely-but honestly, what else was a man to do when he had the most beautiful daughter in the world?
She looked most like Hermione but she was his little girl in every other way, having soon learned that her father was like putty in her small hands. When she looked up at him with her bright green eyes out of that face that reminded him of Hermione when he'd first known her, he was quite helpless to resist her. He knew it; Hermione teased him lightly because of it, but he couldn't help it and wouldn't even if he could. From the first moment he'd seen her, he'd fallen head over heels in love with his daughter and that had never changed.
He brushed back a lock of hair that had fallen over her face and bent to brush his lips against her temple, secure enough in his knowledge of how sound a sleeper Emily tended to be. (Andy was the lightest sleeper of the three of his children.)
He straightened, turning away, but then he heard her sleepy voice, "Daddy?"
He stopped and turned back to her, crouching down by the bed. "Yes, Emily-kin, it's me. Go back to sleep, love. I didn't mean to wake you."
"Mm hmm," she mumbled, turning onto her side as her eyes closed again.
He tucked her blankets in around her again with a gentle hand and brushed a kiss on her cheek. "Good night, Emily-kin."
"G'night."
He straightened and was beginning to turn away again when she spoke. "Daddy?"
"Hmm?"
"I'm glad you're home."
Harry's heart melted. "So am I, love. Now, go back to sleep."
She nodded drowsily, wrinkling her nose in a half-yawn, as she drifted off again. Harry watched her, his heart in his throat, deciding (yet again) that he truly was the luckiest man in the world. It amazed him, simply knocked him off his feet, to think that this was all his, three beautiful children, a wife he loved more than he'd ever thought possible… He didn't know what he'd done to get so lucky but he was thankful to the Fates every day of his life.
He slipped quietly into his bedroom, using every ounce of stealth he possessed. He didn't want to wake Hermione; he could guess how tired she must be after days of dealing with the children on her own, especially as, knowing her, she wouldn't have worked any less either.
The room was dark, the moonlight weakly filtering through the curtains, just enough for him to make out vague shadows. The only sound was the quiet one of Hermione's deep, steady breathing.
He made quick work of his clothes, haphazardly folding them before tossing them onto the dresser (just enough to avoid Hermione's mild scolding in the morning), before he slid into bed behind her.
But in spite of his care, he wasn't very surprised when she stirred and mumbled drowsily, "Harry?" Never a very heavy sleeper at the best of times, he knew very well that she was an even lighter sleeper when he wasn't home, so even the softest sound from any of the children's rooms tended to wake her.
He curved his body around her warm one, slipping his arm over her waist and settling her more firmly against him, as he brushed a kiss on her ear. "No, it's your secret lover," he murmured, nuzzling her, a thread of laughter in his voice.
He sensed rather than saw her slight smile, heard it in her voice as she breathed, "Oh, good. Be careful my husband doesn't catch you."
He smiled, his arm tightening slightly around her, as he relaxed onto the bed. "I will be."
She moved one hand to rest over his, her fingers brushing over his knuckles in an idle caress before weaving their fingers together, holding his hand lightly.
Harry closed his eyes, feeling his body relax, all the tension that he felt whenever he was away from home draining out of him. It was a cliché but it was very true that Hermione was his home. It was only when he was with her that he truly felt as if he had returned home. Secure in that, with the familiar warmth of her body curled against him, the familiar sound of her even breathing, he felt himself slide into sleep.
He awoke to find the pale light of dawn filtering through the curtains, patchily illuminating the room. He had only slept for a few hours but he always found it difficult to sleep for very long, in spite of his fatigue, after he'd been out on a mission, after days of being on edge and sleeping only a couple hours at a time.
He could hear Hermione's even breathing and for that moment, he was perfectly content to simply lie there and listen to the familiar sound, enjoy the familiar warmth of her lying in his arms. He would never admit it aloud (although he suspected that she knew, as she always seemed to know) but even now, after more than ten years of marriage, he still liked to lie in bed next to her and still felt amazed that she was there with him, that she loved him.
At that moment, she shifted a little in her sleep, moving slightly, until she was snuggled more closely to him, her bottom pressed firmly against him.
And his thoughts abruptly shifted direction, moving from the tender to the lustful in the space of a heartbeat, his body reacting immediately to the firm heat of her body against him.
Even in sleep, she could seduce him. Then again, he'd realized long ago that Hermione didn't even need to try to seduce him; at times, it seemed like even her breathing was seductive.
He gritted his teeth and sternly tried to scold his aroused body into submission (it didn't work) and then shifted backwards infinitesimally, as far as he could without having to remove his arm from around her or otherwise disturb her in any way.
She was asleep; he could guess how tired she must be; and it was barely dawn. He could wait an hour or two until she woke up; he would wait until she woke up on her own. He wasn't some lust-crazed teenager who couldn't control his own body's impulses anymore and he would be a thoughtful husband. He would…
On the other hand, another part of his mind (or to be more accurate, his libido) reminded him, she never minded being woken up by him for this sort of reason, especially not after he'd been away for a few days. (It was one of the things he loved about her.)
But no-he absolutely would not cut short her rest for his own selfish desires.
He stared at the wall opposite him, trying very hard to ignore the firm warmth of her body curved against him, ignore the curve of her breasts which were close to where his hand rested, ignore the growing ache in his groin.
He tried to think of what he would report about his mission to Minister Callahan later in the morning, tried to think of the summary of his findings which he would report to the Head of the Auror division afterwards. Muggle baitings and Dark wizards and-the familiar scent of her drifted through his senses, teased him, tempted him-he wrenched his mind away from her-his investigation-scattered occurrences that weren't quite enough to warrant a full-scale assault but he would recommend-caressing the silken smoothness of her skin-heightened watchfulness in that area in the near future-- teasing her to an awakening of more than one kind with his lips-kissing her neck, perhaps-and his hands-cupping her breasts-
He gave up the obviously futile attempt to think about anything else but Hermione, began to think instead of the much more appealing (if more tormenting) subject of what he would like to do to and with Hermione.
Merlin, how he wanted her. As much as he ever had even in the beginning of their relationship-and he sometimes thought that he wanted her more now than he had in the beginning. Because now he knew her so much better, knew her scent and her taste and her touch, knew her passion and her boldness. Now he had memories and not just fantasies-although his imagination was still quite active where Hermione was concerned.
He grimaced, mentally swearing at himself. Bloody stupid of him; remembering past times with Hermione had heated his blood even more and his body was rather vehemently demanding release.
He wondered when Hermione had gone to sleep, how many hours of sleep would she have had if he woke her up now, how tired she was.
He lost the battle. He wanted her, was burning for her (and she hadn't even touched him, nor had he touched her really), and he'd been without her for four full nights now.
He shifted his head closer to her, nudging her hair aside from where it was covering her neck. He pursed his lips and blew a gentle, steady stream of air on the back of her neck, very aware of how sensitive her skin was there. He blew and then just brushed his lips against it in a kiss as light as a butterfly's wing.
She let out a soft huff of breath and moved slightly. He pressed another kiss to the sensitive spot just behind her earlobe, nuzzling the nape of her neck lightly.
He could feel her skin heating through the cloth of her sleep shirt and he smiled to himself as he sensed the first fluttering of awareness in her body, sensed her returning to wakefulness.
And, as was characteristic of her, almost immediately after he sensed her beginning to regain full consciousness, she awoke. He knew she was awake even though she didn't move or otherwise stir to indicate consciousness; after so many years of sleeping beside her, he could feel the difference in her body when she was asleep versus awake, the subtle increase of tension in her body.
He pressed his lips to the nape of her neck, just where her neck met her shoulder, and then let his lips travel on, leaving a trail of light kisses along the back of her neck, nudging her hair aside to clear the way for his kisses.
She smiled-he sensed it, even though he couldn't see it facing her back as he was-and then reached one arm back to cup his hardness with her hand.
He sucked in a sharp breath.
"Good morning," she said softly, her tone entirely innocent, as if her hand was not resting against a very private part of his body, as if she wasn't touching him intimately.
He didn't know-never would-how she could sound so bloody innocent when doing the most evil things to his body but it was one of those endless contradictions in her that surprised and delighted him to this day.
His hips jerked, pressing himself more firmly into her hand, and he groaned, his greeting dying on his lips.
She twisted as if to turn over to face him but he stopped her with his hand and a quick word (which he hardly ever said when they were in bed), "No, don't."
"Harry," she began, a question in her tone.
"Not yet," he amended. "I'm rather enjoying it like this." He lightly flicked his tongue against the hollow just behind her ear lobe, kissed his way down her neck until he reached the spot where her neck met her shoulder.
"Mm, I can tell," she breathed, trying to sound teasing as she shifted to press her butt more firmly against him, but the words came out on a breathy gasp of pleasure.
He smiled slightly against her skin. He loved the sounds of her, the soft gasps, the throaty moans of pleasure, loved how incredibly responsive she was to his every touch. Even when she wasn't in a position to really reciprocate, such as now, she was never passive, never simply accepted his caresses; she encouraged them with her sounds, her small movements, the way she shifted closer to him, the way she arched her neck or her body to allow him easier access.
His hand began to wander, moving upwards to cup her breasts, lightly, each one in its turn, and then sweep further down in long, slow movements, exploring the familiar curves of her body through the cloth of her pyjamas.
He returned to cup her breast, more firmly this time, as she made a soft sound in the back of her throat. He could feel her nipples peaked and hard against his hand through her pyjamas, gently pinched them with his fingers, before he brushed his palm against the cloth over her nipple, at first lightly and then with more force, until the soft cloth of her pyjama was lightly abrasive against her sensitized nipple.
He knew her reactions, knew how to touch her, and he did, using all the knowledge that came from years of sharing a bed, loving how sensitive she was, the soft gasps escaping her lips as his hands swept over the curves of her body. He explored her until her skin was hot, her breath coming in quick pants, and he was amazed her pyjamas didn't ignite from the heat generated from both their bodies.
"Harry," she finally broke the heavy silence in something halfway between a moan and a gasp.
"Hmm?" he murmured against her neck.
"Let's get… out… of these clothes…" She punctuated her words with soft gasps.
"Good idea." He tried to sound teasing but his voice came out huskily and more unevenly than he'd have liked.
"Well, I'm a very clever woman," she managed to say as she pushed herself up, hurriedly stripping off her shirt and sliding out of her knickers and her pyjama bottoms.
He imitated her, making quick work of his shirt and boxers, and she felt a thrill of delicious arousal at the sight of his erection.
The moment he was naked, she caught his face between her hands, kissing him fiercely, her tongue taking possession of his mouth, communicating with her lips all the passion she felt for him. Oh, she'd missed him so much, missed his lips and his hands and his touch, and now that he was back, she wanted him with a fierce intensity which was almost startling.
He returned the kiss but for once, when she let her hands slide down his shoulders and his chest, he stopped her, grasping her wrists. "Wait," he breathed huskily. "I wasn't finished."
Before she could even begin to wonder what he meant, he gently turned her, until she was lying flat on her stomach on the bed.
She twisted her head, trying to look at him. "Harry, what--"
He brushed the heavy fall of her hair aside with his hand, baring her neck and lowered his lips to it. "Ssh," he murmured against her skin, feeling some of the tension seeping out of her as she let out a soft sigh of pleasure at the touch.
He moved on, trailing his lips down the long, graceful line of her spine, before pausing to look down at her.
She did have a beautiful back-and a lovely butt. He'd first noticed it once soon after they'd begun dating and he'd offered to massage her shoulders. He had until she was limp and relaxed and then the massage had become an extended seduction, his hands running lightly over her back, tracing her shoulders blades until her skin felt hot enough to burn him and her breath was ragged and she'd turned over and pulled him down to her to kiss him with an aggressiveness she hadn't shown him until then.
He pushed the memory aside and, for once, found it easy to do so. Why remember when the present was just as enticing?
He loved the long, graceful lines of her back, her still-slender waist, the smooth, erotic curve of her hips. He'd never known before that just the simple sight of a woman's back could be so sensual, so utterly arousing-but then, as with just about everything else to do with Hermione, she was different. But the sensuality of it, the sheer beauty of it, wasn't what struck him most whenever he saw her naked back. It was the trust implicit in the sight that truly did him in. He'd never thought it before her but the sight of someone's bare back was an incredibly vulnerable one, spoke of a degree of trust that was almost stunning.
They had fought in a war; they both had it ingrained into them not to turn their backs on anyone unless it was someone they trusted absolutely. The added vulnerability added by nudity only underscored the trust inherent in seeing her naked back. Not because it was unusual to be trusted by her-he'd always trusted her, just as she'd trusted him; implicit, absolute trust had been a staple of their relationship long before he'd even thought about kissing her-but more because it served as a very simple, very subtle, but very potent reminder of the depth of their trust that was both empowering and humbling at the same time.
It was also, again because of the vulnerability of the position, something that never failed to tug at his heart because, with her, he knew that the impression of weakness, the appearance of powerlessness, was an illusion that masked the real, formidable strength of her character. He, of all people, knew just how strong she was-but he also knew her vulnerabilities and he loved that.
All these thoughts swirled inside him as he stared down at her naked back, feeling an odd surge of protectiveness, a need to make sure she was always safe and happy, mingled in with an equally powerful surge of pure desire, arousal pulsing through his veins, throbbing in his groin.
His lips traced a path down the line of her spine, straying to kiss and caress her shoulders blades with his lips and his tongue. His hands paved the way for his lips, preceding them, with slow, gentle strokes of her sides, her hips, her butt, her thighs. Lips, tongue, hands, all paid half-tender, wholly-sensual homage to the smooth expanse of her bare back, slowly but surely reducing her to wordless, mindless arousal. He knew it, could hear it in the hitch in her breathing, in the soft sounds she made, could feel it, sense it.
"Harry!" she tried to protest again, trying to twist around to look at him, to become an active participant, but again prevented by his hands.
"Wait, I'm admiring your back," he said, smiling slightly against the skin of her back between her shoulder blades.
"My back?"
"It's a lovely back," he murmured, suiting action to the words and running his tongue lightly along the groove of her spine, tasting the slight saltiness of her skin. She gasped and squirmed slightly, her hands twisting on the sheets.
"You need to have your eyes checked." The words were tart but her tone was breathless, soft with love and husky with desire.
"I like it here," he breathed, his lips pausing to kiss her spine between her shoulder blades, "and I like it here," he added, his lips traveling further down until he pressed a kiss to the small of her back, flicking his tongue against the sensitive spot.
A soft moan of pleasure vibrated in her throat. "Harry…"
He smiled slightly against her skin. "And I especially like this," he said, deliberately lacing his tone with mischief, as his hands cupped her bottom, lightly traced the curve of it.
"Silly--" she began but then his hand slipped down to cup the hot, wet center of her body between her legs and the words died on her lips-as did every coherent thought she might have had.
He stroked her sensitive flesh with one finger and she moaned, her eyes closing. Oohhh… God, she loved his hands, his wicked, wonderful, skillful fingers playing over the damp core of her, as every nerve in her body focused on that one spot.
His thumb brushed over the most sensitive little nub of flesh where all feeling was centered and she cried out, her head moving restlessly back and forth on the pillow, as she wiggled, pushing herself further into his hand, wanting, needing more, more, more…
One finger slipped inside her, moving in an almost hypnotic rhythm, sending her already-dizzy senses spinning in a blissful whirlwind of pleasure.
Close, she was getting so close, the delicious tension rising, building inside her…
"Har--" He moved his hand again, brushing against the center of her, as he leaned over to kiss the sensitive hollow before her ear. And her moan of his name was cut off on a cry as she found her release in an explosion of ecstasy, her inner muscles clenching convulsively around his finger, spasms of pure physical delight shaking her.
Oh God.
She didn't know how much time passed before she drifted back to reality to find that he had slipped his finger out of her and returned to light, almost soothing caresses of her back and her butt.
He dropped soft kisses on her shoulder blade, the curve where her neck met her shoulder, her earlobe, her cheek, before drawing back and she opened her eyes to see him. He was stretched out on his side beside her, watching her with a look of banked desire and tender love mingled together, that made his eyes remarkably soft and beautifully clear. It was a look reserved entirely for her, a look that never failed to catch at her heart and take her breath away, a look that made her feel as if she could see his very soul. And that soul was hers…
"Hello, love," he said softly, the hint of a smile touching the corners of his lips.
She couldn't quite manage a coherent response, settled for a soft murmur of contentment. "Mmm." She felt as if every bone in her body had dissolved-and for all the added tension and stress which she'd known in the past few days of his absence, at that moment, she felt as if she'd never known the meaning of the word 'tense' in her life.
The corners of his lips curved upwards. "I love seeing you like this."
Some semblance of coherence was returning to her and she smiled, sated, replete with contentment. "I love feeling like this." The words emerged sounding more breathless than humorous, were almost purred.
His smile deepened, amusement-and affection-- gleaming in his eyes. And then he leaned over and kissed her lightly, gently, a kiss that lingered as she turned over, sliding her arms around his neck, tugging him down to her to deepen the kiss.
His tongue plunged into her mouth, stroking hers, as one hand slid down to cup her breast, toying with the hardened nipple, so that she tore her mouth from his on a gasp, feeling her body heat and soften with a fresh flood of arousal.
She could feel the hard length of him pressed against her thigh and deliberately shifted under him, lifting one leg to twine around his. And it was his turn to break off their increasingly heated kisses with a groan this time, as his erection slid along her wet, swollen flesh.
She arched against him, the tip of him entering her and sending waves of sensation shooting through her body, radiating outwards from that one spot. Her hands slid down to grasp his hips as she moaned.
"Harry…"
Her plea had hardly escaped her lips before he slid fully inside her with one smooth twist of his hips.
And she was completed, filled.
She welcomed him in with a gasp, her arms and her legs wrapping around him, as she brushed kisses against his ear, the side of his chin, his cheek, the corner of his lips, anywhere she could easily reach.
His hands slid up to cup her face as he captured her mouth with his, kissing her deeply, as his hips began to move.
She met and matched his movements, falling in with his rhythm as easily as she always did.
His hands moved down from her back to her butt before one hand slid up her side, one finger brushing against her taut nipple.
She was on the edge, could feel the peak approaching rapidly, tension building. Deliberately, she slipped one hand down to touch him just where they were joined and as she'd known it would, that pushed him over the edge and he stiffened, groaned her name as he thrust one last time. She followed him immediately, her muscles clenching around him, as her senses seemed to implode in a burst of delight, only peripherally aware of the flood of warmth from his own release.
He slumped on top of her, his breath coming hard and fast, as she let her eyes close, her legs relaxing, falling onto the bed. She drifted, satiated, fulfilled, peripherally conscious of his body still inside her, his familiar weight on top of her, and luxuriated in it. She loved these moments, loved the feeling that he was entirely hers, as she was his…
It was just a few long moments before he moved, slipping out of her, and she was spared the tiny pang of loss when he cupped her cheek in one hand and kissed her softly, tenderly, as he always did after their love-making.
And then he rolled over onto his back, his arm curving around her, bringing her close to him, as she fit her body against him, as always, nestling her head on his shoulder.
She suspected they both dozed for a while because the next time she returned to a full awareness of her surroundings, it was fully morning, sunlight filtering in through the curtains. She lay there, savoring the quiet and the peace, her fingers lightly straying over his chest in an aimless caress.
His fingers tightened ever so slightly on her skin before he captured the hand on his chest with his and lifted it to his lips to brush a kiss against her palm.
She smiled slightly and murmured, unnecessarily, "I missed you."
His answer wasn't in words; he only turned his head enough to kiss her forehead.
There was another comfortable silence and then the orb that was charmed to help them monitor Sabrina's sleep turned white to show that she was waking up.
Harry turned his head to look at her, the mood broken, as the day officially started. "I'll go get her and start making breakfast while you rest a little." He kissed her lips quickly before he moved to sit up, going into the loo to brush his teeth and then out again to get dressed quickly.
Hermione lay in bed, enjoying the view and making no pretense about it.
"Sabrina had a nightmare last night so she was asking for you," she told him quietly as he pulled on a pair of jeans.
He stilled, looking at her. "She did?" He suddenly felt like a bastard; what kind of father was he to not be there when his daughter needed him?
"Don't worry about it, Harry. She's fine," Hermione assured him, as usual responding to his thoughts more than his actual words. "I just wanted to tell you so you're prepared if she greets you with more excitement than usual."
"Well, she's usually so subdued when she sees me," Harry agreed wryly.
Hermione laughed softly (subdued being the last word anyone would use to describe Sabrina) and pushed herself up on her arm to kiss him quickly on the cheek. "We're all glad you're home."
"So am I."
He stood, pulling on a shirt and retrieving his glasses, before he left the room with a last quick kiss and a smile.
Hermione stayed in bed, listening, until she heard the cry which she knew was Sabrina's shout of greeting, and then smiled to herself.
"Daddy!"
Harry grinned, feeling his heart flood with warmth. Much as he hated to leave his family, it was almost worth it just to see the way Sabrina greeted him after every absence-almost.
He loved to see the way she bounced up, her face, eyes and smile so bright he could swear they almost outshone the sun.
"Daddy, you're home!"
"How's my little girl this morning?" he greeted her as he lifted her up into his arms, obeying the silent command in her outstretched arms.
She giggled, shrieking with glee as he swung her up high before settling her into his arms. "Daddy!" She flung her arms around his neck, giving him a smacking kiss that just missed his cheek and landed on his earlobe instead. She drew back to look at him, sobering. "I missed you, Daddy," she stated matter-of-factly.
He dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose. "I missed you too, sweetie."
"I had a bad dream, Daddy, and I wanted you but you weren't here," she informed him reproachfully.
Harry suppressed a wince. Sabrina was already a past mistress of inducing guilt. "I know; Mummy told me but I'm back now."
"But I was brave and went back to sleep like Mummy said."
He tightened his arms around her as he carried her downstairs. "I know. You're a very brave girl, sweetie."
She drew back to look at him. "But don't go away again, Daddy," she said, with an almost uncanny imitation of Hermione's look and tone when Hermione told any of the kids not to do something. (Just in case anyone would doubt whose daughter she was...)
"I'll try not to, baby." He had to bite back the automatic response of promising he wouldn't-he had decided from the beginning that he wouldn't make promises to his kids which he couldn't keep, if at all possible. It was harder than he would have thought sometimes but he tried.
"Good."
He placed Sabrina into her chair and poured her a cup of milk before getting started on breakfast-omelettes and toast-keeping one ear alert for sounds to indicate that Andy or Emily was awake.
So he wasn't surprised when just a few minutes later, Andy and then Emily ran down the stairs and into the kitchen.
Andy flung himself at Harry with a shout. "Daddy! I knew it was you!"
"Oof." Harry pretended to stumble back from the force of Andy's hug, making the boy laugh. "How did you know it was me?"
Emily laughed. "Silly Daddy. You always make omelettes when you come home from being away."
Harry kissed Emily's forehead, ruffling Andy's hair with his hand. Hm, he'd never thought of it before but she was right.
The kids were all seated and eating and he was just about to (finally) drink his own glass of pumpkin juice when (after a brief consultation in whispers), Emily looked up, clearly the designated spokesperson, and asked, "Daddy, can we go on a picnic today?"
He hesitated. It was a Thursday and, knowing Hermione, he was sure she must have plans for the kids. She was teaching Sabrina her numbers and Andy and Emily almost always had exercises to help them practice reading and writing.
"Daddy, please?" Emily gave him her best pleading look.
Really, he thought peripherally, it couldn't be a good thing that his kids knew how to manipulate him so well.
He was rescued when he heard Hermione's step on the stairs and escaped the would-be trap with relief. "Ask your mother."
And so when Hermione entered the kitchen, she was greeted by three children with pleading expressions on their faces-and one adult male with a rather sheepish look, as he busied himself by making her a cup of tea, just the way she liked it in the mornings.
"Oh, Mummy, please can we?"
"Can you what?" Hermione asked, passing a caressing hand over Andy's tousled hair and wiping Sabrina's upper lip with a napkin in one practiced motion.
"Can we go to the park and have a picnic today? Please, Mummy?" Emily answered on behalf of the kids.
She looked from her youngest, who gave her a look of wide-eyed sweetness more effective than begging, to Andy, who gave her his most adorable smile, to Emily who gave her a look that, for a moment, made her look almost exactly like Harry when he was trying to wheedle her into something-to her husband, who managed to look innocent, sheepish and cajoling all at the same time.
She gave up. Clearly, there were forces greater than she arrayed against her.
"Alright, today can be a holiday and we can have a picnic."
"Yay! Thank you, Mummy!"
And Hermione was rewarded for her indulgence by a hug from Andy, a beaming smile from Sabrina, a bounce from Emily-and a smile from Harry.
She accepted her mug of tea from him, pausing as she watched her children eat (with a remarkable display of cleanliness and manners as if to tell her they deserved a treat).
He slipped his arms around her waist, dropping a light kiss on her ear. "I love you," he breathed quietly.
"Don't think I've forgotten that you had the kids ambush me just now." She tried to make her tone tart, keep her mouth straight-and failed miserably on both counts.
He gave her an innocent look, somewhat belied by the smile twitching at the corners of his lips. "What? I just thought we all deserved a little holiday."
Really, one would think that after more than ten years of marriage, she would have gotten over her susceptibility to his smile and his teasing-but she hadn't. He could still make her heart flutter, still make her knees feel a little weak. (And he knew it too.)
But then-she looked from her three adorable (and adored) children to Harry, who was looking at the kids with that look of boundless love in his eyes, as his arm tightened around her waist and she suddenly felt a surge of love so powerful it made her heart almost physically ache-she wouldn't have it any other way.
~The End~