Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.
Author's Note: To azusena, who specifically reminded me that this fic has now reached 600 reviews and so it is high time to update-and to all of you who've read and reviewed to help me reach the 600 review goal. Thank you!
The Truth About Love
Chapter 10: His Good Fortune
Something was tickling his nose.
He shifted in a lazy attempt to get away from it but it didn't succeed and rather reluctantly, he opened his eyes.
To see Hermione.
Immediately, his mind was flooded with memories from the night before, memories so vivid they sent a fresh wave of heat through his body.
She was sleeping peacefully, lying on her side next to him. A strand of her hair had been what was tickling his nose and he brushed it aside and then, irresistibly, lightly sifted his fingers through her hair, watching as one tendril of hair curled possessively around one finger.
Early morning light was filtering through the curtains and just from the quality of the light and the vague glimpse of the blue skies, he could tell that it was going to be a beautiful day. More than that, it was a perfect day to fly, one of those days when it was just cool enough and the breeze just crisp enough as it ruffled his hair and whipped around his face. But it was only a passing thought.
For the first time in his life, he felt absolutely no desire to fly, notwithstanding the perfect flying weather. He felt a small, rather self-deprecating smile quirk his lips at the thought that he had finally found a pastime he preferred over flying. Or, to be strictly accurate, had found several pastimes he enjoyed more than flying, all of which centered around his wife.
His gaze returned to Hermione, feeling an odd warmth bubble up inside him, filling his chest, as he let his gaze wander at will over the warm, sleep-flushed curves of her body, his memory filling in what was concealed beneath the sheets and the counterpane. And the warmth he felt had nothing to do with desire-or, to be honest, it wasn't entirely to do with desire. It was more than desire. This was Hermione, his best friend, his wife, his… lover… The woman he wanted with a fervor that rather amazed him, even now, when he should have become accustomed to this desire.
But this was Hermione and it was still, somehow, surprising that he could feel such passion for his best friend. After seven years of friendship and never once suspecting, never even imagining the attraction of her…
He felt rather as he imagined a blind man must feel on regaining the power of sight. He didn't know how he had never noticed, never imagined Hermione was so beautiful, so enticing, but he supposed he had always only viewed her as a friend, in the same category as Ron, and so he had never noticed, had been blind, in a very real sense, to all her beauty.
And of course, he reflected, he never had seen her with her hair down before or in her nightgown…
Even if he lived to be 200 years old, he would never as long as he lived forget the moment when Hermione had undone the belt of her wrapper and let it fall to the ground, baring her lovely body to his stunned (and quite frankly aroused) gaze, except for the flimsy negligee. The sheer turquoise fabric had done nothing to conceal any of her body and had, in truth, as it was undoubtedly intended to, only added to her allure. The turquoise color had made her skin seem fairer, softer, contrasting beautifully with her dark hair and eyes.
He had thought she was beautiful before; in that moment as he stared, drank in the sight of her, she had been beyond beautiful, beyond seductive.
He supposed-although the thought hadn't occurred to him at the time-that she didn't have a fashionable figure. She was not voluptuous; her curves were modest but they suited her slim, lithe figure. Her breasts were small, certainly small enough that they would never be of the eye-catching sort that threatened to spill out of her bodice at any moment (even if Hermione had been of the type to wear such a low-cut gown to begin with), but he was rather thankful for that. What curves she did have had been quite distracting enough in the relatively modest necklines of her gowns. He didn't know how many times over the past days and weeks that he had needed to forcibly drag his gaze upwards to focus on her face. (Indeed, he acknowledged rather shame-facedly, there had been several mornings when he'd thought he was in serious danger of swallowing his own tongue when he'd seen her, or more accurately, seen her bodice.)
Her curves were modest-as were her bodices-but the modesty of the necklines compared to some which he had seen while he was in Town almost made them that much more alluring, the hints of what he could see, the amount of skin she did reveal, more seductive than the lowest-cut décolletage he'd ever seen. It had succeeded in making his imagination become increasingly active about all the charms which he had never particularly noticed before but was now increasingly desperate to see.
And when she had stood before him clad in nothing but that sheer negligee… Dear Lord, she had taken his breath away. She had taken his breath away and he was, belatedly, amazed he hadn't simply died right then, the victim of his own throat closing.
He didn't know when she'd become so lovely or so precious-or could he really have been so blind for so long?
He wasn't sure, but he was beginning to think that he owed Lady Danvers a debt of gratitude. Perhaps he should even get down on his knees before her in gratitude.
His lips quirked into a smile at the thought of the stir that would cause if he ever did any such thing-not that he would-but the thought tickled him-and he was grateful.
If it hadn't been for her, foul-minded, interfering dragon that she was, he might never have learned to see, would certainly not be lying here in his bed next to a delightfully naked Hermione.
As he watched, she stirred slightly and he could almost see the slow return of awareness as she slid out of sleep towards wakefulness.
Unable to resist any longer, he reached out one hand to touch her, his fingers brushing her hair back away from her face in an unmistakable caress.
"Good morning," he murmured softly.
Her eyes flew open. "Oh."
He felt his lips curve in a small, tender smile. "I was hoping for a good morning but I guess that will do," he quipped.
She blushed hotly, her cheeks turning crimson, as she rather belatedly tugged the sheets up to her neck. "I thought--" she began, stopped, and then finished rather awkwardly, not quite meeting his eyes, "I was intending to return to my bedchamber and sleep there."
"Do you think I'm so stingy about my bed-space?" he teased.
"No-I simply wasn't sure… Most couples don't share a bedchamber and I didn't know what you wanted, what you expected…"
He pretended to ponder for a moment before lifting her chin so she had to meet his eyes. "My dear wife, perhaps most couples don't but I suspect that is because most men aren't fortunate enough to be married to someone like you," he said softly, seeing the flicker of pleasure in her eyes at the endearment. "As for me, I find that I very much like the idea of waking up to see you every morning."
She smiled, her blush deepening-and unable to help himself, he shifted closer to her, brushing his lips against hers, lightly at first, but then deepening the kiss as her lips parted for him with a soft sigh in the back of her throat.
He pressed her further into the pillow, sinking deeper into her, feeling heat flare and spread through every inch of his body.
God, had anything ever been as sweet as she was? Could anything be as sweet as she was? He doubted it.
Her arms slid around his neck, her lips and tongue imitating his actions as she returned his kiss with an utterly unself-conscious passion that seared his senses. Her tongue stroked his, explored the depths of his mouth, sending a wave of lust shimmering through his body.
Forever, the fuzzy thought formed in his mind. He could kiss her forever, would happily spend the rest of his life kissing her. Touching her. Holding her. Which was fortunate for him, he thought vaguely, because a lifetime was how long he had with her…
His lips finally left hers, only to feather kisses down the line of her jaw and her neck as he slid down the bed.
She gasped and arched under him. "Harry." His name escaped her lips on a breathless moan.
"Mmm?" he murmured absently, distracted as he was by the softness of her skin, the rising heat of her body.
He let his lips wander, finding every delicate curve and hollow of her throat, savoring her reactions, learning the sensitive spots on her body.
She let out a soft cry of pleasure, her hands moving restlessly over his shoulders and back, twisting to get closer to him. "It's… morning…" she began in a faint protest that quickly died on a gasp as his tongue flicked against the spot where her pulse was fluttering madly.
He could barely think, any remaining thoughts drowned out by the pounding of his heart, the rush of blood through his veins. It took a Herculean effort to raise his head just enough to look at her. "Should I stop?" he asked huskily, just before he captured her erect nipple with his lips.
She gasped, her fingers twining in his hair, holding him against her. "No, don't stop." Her voice sounded unlike herself, breathless and filled with wanting.
He smiled slightly against her skin and took her at her word, continuing to ensure that she had a very good morning indeed, in the best possible way.
Lord, she was so soft, so lovely… She was intoxicating in every way, the softness of her skin, the sweetness of her, the taste of her, the responsiveness of her… She was as honest and as open in her passion as he'd dreamed she might be in his most secret fantasies. Somehow he'd found in Hermione not only a wife with enough wit and intelligence not to bore him but also a wife from whom he didn't want to stray. (He'd never thought he would stray but he admitted that there was a difference between not straying from his wife because of duty and not straying because he honestly did not desire any other woman.)
And then he stopped thinking entirely, feeling himself sinking into her until all he was aware of, all that mattered to him, was her, the feel of her… The rest of the world dissolved until the confines of his bed made up the boundaries of his entire world and all he knew was the velvety, wet warmth of her surrounding him, her gasps of breath against his ear, the soft sounds of pleasure and arousal she made as he kissed her and touched her, the feel of her arms and legs wrapping around him, encouraging him… And then when she shuddered and cried out his name, he held her tightly against him, his lips finding hers, as he, too, followed her over the edge, finding his release with a low groan.
Harry slumped onto his side, feeling her curl up, limp with pleasure, beside him, the warm curves of her body fitting into his as if she'd always been meant to fit against him. Gradually, his breathing slowed, his heart returning to a more normal pace, and he found himself smiling to himself, not from any particular reason but simply because he felt like it. He felt… happy… Happy and utterly disinclined to ever leave his bed again.
On the heels of that thought, he felt her shift closer to him, brushing her lips against his cheek in a quick caress. "That was a lovely way to wake up," she said, with so much unabashed, dreamy pleasure that his smile widened and he bent to kiss her again, briefly-or at least as briefly as he could, given how much he enjoyed kissing her.
"For me too" he murmured against her skin before he kissed her again, lazily, just kissed her, leisurely exploring the familiar depths of her mouth with no thought of anything more.
It was a delightfully pleasurable interlude of a few minutes before he finally, reluctantly, drew back to look at her, loving the unfocused look in her eyes.
"I suppose we cannot linger here all day."
She blinked slowly, awareness returning to her eyes. "I suppose not."
There was so much palpable resignation in her voice that he had to smile. "I think this is the first time that I've known you to want to dawdle in bed. You were always the first one up in our school days."
"Yes, well, at the time, I didn't have a reason to linger in bed," she responded, a teasing gleam entering her eyes.
He gave a low laugh and touched her cheek with his fingers in a last caress, before he sat up.
She sat up as well, clutching the sheet to her breasts.
His breath stalled in his chest as he looked at her. With her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen, and her hair tumbling down past her lovely, bare shoulders in a riot of curls, she looked like what she was, a woman who'd been well and truly loved, rising from a bed of pleasure. Just the sight of her evoked visions of smooth, beautiful skin against satin sheets and the dreamy look in her eyes after he'd kissed her and he had to swallow back a groan. He tore his gaze from her body resolutely-if he didn't, he knew that they would not be leaving his bedchamber all day and appealing as the idea was, he did have obligations to fulfill.
He reached for his robe, covering himself, before he handed her the diaphanous nightgown and her wrapper, steadfastly keeping his eyes turned away from her, partly because he could tell from her heated blush that, in spite of the night they'd just passed, she wasn't comfortable being in the altogether in front of him yet, but mostly because he knew if he looked, any resolve he had to leave her would fade.
It was only when he knew she was fully covered again that he turned to look at her, brushing his lips against her temple and then, irresistibly, against her lips as well. "I will have Winnie draw up a bath for you."
"Thank you. Will I see you at breakfast?"
He smiled slightly, touching his fingertips to her cheek in a fleeting caress. "You may depend upon it."
She gave him a last, quick smile before disappearing into her own bedchamber.
Harry entered the morning room after a very quick flight and even quicker bath to see Hermione already seated at the table, having helped herself to eggs and toast.
She smiled at the sight of him, leaving him to wonder when just the sight of her smile had acquired the power to make his heart skip a beat. "Good morning," she greeted him, her tone demure but there was a flicker of mischief in her eyes and the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips, belying her tone.
He returned her smile easily, falling in with her mood. Two could play at this game, he thought. "Good morning." He paused as he loaded his own plate and sat down across from her. "How did you sleep?" he asked, his tone all innocent solicitude.
She choked on her pumpkin juice, coughing, as she shot him a look which he responded to with a bland smile. "Harry!" she scolded him when she'd regained her breath.
He couldn't help but smile at her blush but then sobered and left aside his teasing. "I promised to call on the tenants today and the Turner family needs some assistance to fix the roof of their cottage before the next rain comes, so I will probably be out until tea time."
"Oh. Would you like me to come with you when you call on the tenants?"
"Perhaps next time. I've found that the tenant's wives tend to become unsettled when I show up and I suspect that your coming would throw them into an even worse flutter. I will let a few of them know that you will accompany me next time to give them some notice."
Her smile softened, though her words were teasing. "How very thoughtful of you, Mr. Potter."
"Yes, I am quite known for my thoughtfulness, did you not know?" he asked, attempting to look saintly.
She shot him an amused glance over her pumpkin juice and a brief silence fell, which he broke.
"I was thinking that we should invite your parents for a visit, perhaps just before the house party. If they arrive today or tomorrow week, it would give them time to spend a few days here before the Weasleys and Remus arrive. What do you think?"
"Oh, Harry!"
Hermione gifted him with a beaming smile that suddenly made him feel invincible, as triumphant as if he'd been elected King of the known world, as if he could single-handedly defeat a whole army of Hungarian Horntails without even the benefit of his wand.
And Harry thought that he would do much more than simply invite Hermione's parents for a brief visit if it would make Hermione smile at him in such a way.
He said, "Well, I can't have your parents wondering if I took you away from their care only to throw you into some dank dungeon somewhere, can I?"
"No, of course you cannot," she agreed with sham solemnity. "I am sure they were very worried on that score."
"It would be a shocking thing for my reputation were those suspicions to come out," he agreed, sternly swallowing back his smile.
"Shocking, indeed," she murmured and then smiled sincerely, all humor gone from her eyes. "I will send them an invitation by owl this very morning. Thank you."
"You're very welcome," he murmured and reflected that marriage-marriage to Hermione-was really a remarkably pleasant experience in a way that had nothing whatever to do with the marriage bed but everything to do with this, the pleasure in simply talking to her, spending time with her.
~*~
"Come in." Hermione looked up at the knock on the library door, which opened to reveal Dobby, looking as hesitant as she'd ever seen him look.
She smiled. "Yes, what is it, Dobby?"
"Oh, Missmynee, Dobby was wondering, does Missmynee know where Mr. Harry Potter is?"
"Harry's going to be busy until the afternoon. Can I help instead?"
"Missmynee is very good but Dobby is not sure…" Dobby hesitated.
But just then Hermione glimpsed another house elf's head peek around the door into the library. This house elf looked quite filthy and distressed but with hope wavering on his admittedly rather grimy face. "Who is your friend, Dobby?"
Dobby promptly wrung his hands, an expression of almost comic dismay twisting his features as he looked from the other house elf to Hermione. "Oh, Missmynee, this is Ferdy. I used to work with him before at the other place."
"Oh, at Hogwarts?"
"Oh, no, Missmynee, not Hogwarts but the other place." And somehow, in spite of Dobby's squeaky voice, he managed to infuse something sinister in the sound of the last two words with his emphasis.
Hermione stiffened slightly. "Oh, yes, that other place." Ferdy had worked for the Malfoys. Poor elf. She directed a welcoming smile at Ferdy. "Hello, Ferdy. I'm Hermione Potter." (It was the first time she'd ever introduced herself using her married name and she half-expected that she would feel self-conscious but surprised herself because she didn't. Hermione Potter-in some small corner of her mind, she thrilled at the significance of it, doubly special after this last night. She was Harry's wife; she was his and he was, at least in body, hers…)
Ferdy's eyes widened as he bobbed a nervous bow.
"And so this other place gave Ferdy clothes?" Hermione asked.
Ferdy's face sagged for a moment like wet parchment as he nodded, one big tear welling up in his large eyes.
"Yes, Missmynee," Dobby answered, rushing on, "and a house elf given clothes with no references, it's hard for the house elf to find another family. Ferdy, he knew I was here so he came here."
"Ferdy will work very hard, Missus Potter," Ferdy spoke up, the words spilling out of him with a haste that might have seemed comical if it weren't so obviously stemming from desperation. "Ferdy's a hard worker and Ferdy has always been in charge of the Master's shirts and cravats but then Ferdy accidentally scorched a shirt and Master said Ferdy must go but Ferdy won't do it again. Ferdy knows better and will be very good and--"
Judging from how disreputable Ferdy looked at this moment, Hermione suspected that Mr. Malfoy had not only given Ferdy clothes but had beaten him rather severely in the process. She felt a surge of pity and anger. She interrupted this flood of words by addressing Ferdy with another smile. "Ferdy, I'm sure you are a very good worker. Mr. Potter would be glad to have you taking charge of his shirts and cravats. Dobby will tell you of your pay and your days off, won't you, Dobby?" she added, turning to Dobby.
Dobby bowed so low his nose nearly scraped the floor. "Oh, yes, Missmynee. Thank you!"
"Yes, thank you, Missus!" Ferdy echoed, bobbing his upper body repeatedly in bows so low he looked in danger of toppling over head-first. "Missus is as great and good and kind as Dobby always said Mr. Harry Potter is."
"Dobby will tell Mr. Harry Potter about Missmynee's kindness," Dobby asserted, favoring Hermione with the sort of openly worshipful expression which had until now been reserved for Harry.
"I can tell Harry about Ferdy's situation. You needn't worry."
"Yes, Missmynee. Thank you." Dobby bobbed a low bow, which Ferdy imitated.
"Dobby will outfit you and show you around, I'm sure. Welcome to Godric's Hollow, Ferdy," Hermione smiled.
"Thank you, Missus. Ferdy will be very good, Ferdy promises!"
With a series of low bows, Ferdy retreated from the room, followed by Dobby, more calmly with a characteristic, respectful bob of his head.
Hermione stifled a smile as the library door closed behind the two elves, before her amusement faded to be replaced with something like concern.
She had no fears of Harry disapproving of hiring Ferdy, given his circumstances, but now, she was unexpectedly beset with some doubts about her wisdom in essentially appointing Ferdy to be Harry's valet.
Gentlemen always hired their own valets as it was such a personal position and until now, Hermione knew, Dobby had functioned as Harry's valet of sorts, as well as the majordomo-cum-butler. (Harry was no dandy or a fop and reasoned that he had no need to hire one elf purely for his sartorial needs and, moreover, was accustomed to functioning without the aid of a valet.)
She had neatly circumvented his judgment now and wondered with a touch of nervousness what he would say.
~~
Harry took the front steps of Godric's Hollow two at a time, not bothering to conceal his eagerness to be with Hermione again, either from himself or from any nonexistent observers.
It had been a long, if satisfying, day for him. He'd been surprised-having been diffident about taking on the role of land-owner and master initially-at how he really had enjoyed his first calls on his tenants and been touched at their loyalty to him and to his parents. (Indeed, several of the older, grizzled tenants had made a point of sharing their memories of 'Young Master Potter' or 'Master James' as they referred to his father, from memories of when James Potter had been a young scapegrace of a lad to when he'd grown and become 'as good a Master as his father, the Old Master, had been', according to one tenant, Bill Fletcher.)
Beyond that, though, Harry had been impressed at the diligence and the ingenuity and the courage with which the tenants went about their daily lives. Being Muggles, they did not have the conveniences of magic to make their lives easier but far from resenting or envying their Magical masters, they seemed quite content to live and work as they always had and relying on their masters only for some extra help when times were particularly hard.
On this particular day, the village had come together to build a new roof for the home of one family, the Turners, and Harry had assured them he would be glad to help when he'd last visited. And though he had offered magical help to make the process quicker, they had all refused, gratefully but firmly, and had finally (after some persuasion) agreed to allow him to cast a Water Repelling Charm on the roof when it was finished. He had to admire the independence and the dignity they showed and had relented, volunteering, instead, to help them with his labor, as another fit worker.
There was no doubt he should be intensely sore, his muscles protesting work to which he was unaccustomed, but instead Harry was grateful for the various Healing Charms that completely eased any soreness, allowing him to hasten up the front steps of Godric's Hollow with nearly as much energy as he'd had when he left the house that morning.
He was greeted by Daisy who bobbed a small curtsy and answered his question before he could ask it.
"Mrs. Potter is in the blue sitting room having her tea."
"Thank you, Daisy," he smiled.
"Daisy will get a fresh pot for Harry Potter, sir."
Daisy scurried off toward the kitchens and Harry turned his steps toward the informal sitting room-and Hermione.
He found her in a characteristic position, reading the first volume of the Defense Against the Dark Arts books he had bought her, a slight frown of concentration marring the smoothness of her brow, as she absently sipped from her cup of tea.
"Thank you for delaying tea for my sake," he quipped.
Her head came up, her teacup went down, her frown clearing to be replaced with a smile, as she rose to greet him.
"I wasn't sure when you would be returning," she explained, going up on her toes to brush her lips against his cheek.
But he had other ideas and turned his head so her lips brushed his lips instead and then lingered, so what had been meant to be a very brief touching of lips turned into a more leisurely, pleasurable greeting.
His arm slid around her waist automatically, bringing the warmth of her lightly against him.
The kiss ended slowly as he brushed his lips against her cheek and the tip of her nose, before she drew back with a soft sigh of pleasure.
"How were your calls on the tenants?" she asked as he sat down beside her.
"They were very pleasant and quite productive. We managed to complete the roof of the Turners' cottage and it is sturdy enough to last for quite a while."
"That's good to hear. Oh, Harry, let me call for a fresh pot of tea for you."
He fore-stalled her. "Daisy's already bringing it-and there it is," he added after a moment as there was a soft knock on the door which was then opened to reveal Daisy, who carefully levitated the teapot across the room to settle gently on the tea table.
"Thank you, Daisy," Hermione smiled.
Daisy beamed and bobbed a quick curtsy as she left, closing the door behind her.
"And how has your day been?" he queried, as he accepted the cup of tea which she'd poured for him.
To his surprise, she seemed to stiffen, her hand pausing in mid-air en route to picking up her own cup. "Oh, Harry, you don't know what I've done!" she blurted out incautiously.
"What you've done?" He shook his head in a mockingly scolding fashion. "Whatever am I to do with you? You are always getting into trouble. Well, you may confess now. Did you put us into debt by owl-ordering every book ever published? Should I expect to be thrown into debtor's prison?" he teased.
"I hired a house elf to be your valet."
"What shocking effrontery, to be sure," he quipped lightly, trying to coax a smile out of her and barely succeeding. "I see you've determined to make a dandy of me. I suppose," he added with mock resignation, "I must make a show of being fashionable. I can hardly appear the unfashionable clod and disgrace my beautiful wife, can I?"
A flush colored her cheeks but she didn't waver from her explanation or from the sobriety of her expression, in spite of the fleeting smile he'd won from her. His own levity faded as he realized that for whatever reason, this truly was a serious matter for her.
"His name is Ferdy and I simply had to hire him because he worked for the Malfoys."
"Ah. I see." And he did see. He had a strong suspicion of what he was about to hear and sure enough, his suspicions were confirmed.
"They gave him clothes for scorching a shirt but, Harry, I think that Mr. Malfoy had him beaten first."
Harry's face became grimmer. It didn't surprise him in the least but he had to wonder, rather gloomily, just what it meant that he had done what he had, fought so hard, only to see so many people like the Malfoys still living on, as cruel and arrogant and intolerant and secure in their intolerance as they had ever been. It made all his struggles in the war seem almost like a waste, as if nothing had really changed after all. He hadn't fought to keep people like the Malfoys in power.
But before these dark thoughts could get a hold of his mind, his eyes were drawn back to Hermione's face-and he knew exactly why he'd fought. It had been for her-not only to keep her safe but because he'd had to fight the idea that she was somehow less than the rest of the wizarding world. And to know that now, no one would ever dare to question her status as belonging to the wizarding world or question her worth, made everything worth it. The world might not acknowledge her courage as being equal to his (if not greater) but by Merlin, it would acknowledge her value.
"They beat him over a shirt! As if giving him clothes for such a trivial thing wasn't criminal enough, they beat him. The sheet he was wearing was torn and dirty and he was badly bruised. I had to hire him."
"Certainly you did. I would expect nothing less from you."
"How can people have so little compassion and so little honor as to debase and abuse those who are weaker? It's terrible! People who abuse their house elves so should be hanged!"
This was the Hermione he knew so well-she was lovely in anger too, with her cheeks flushed, her eyes flashing with righteous indignation, her jaw set with all the determination he knew she possessed.
"I know. I am glad you hired this Ferdy. I believe, when we return to Town, I may have to let it slip that all our house elves are free and given wages and treated justly. It won't affect people like the Malfoys but it may affect some others. Where I lead, others will follow, you know," he added, his mouth curving into a self-deprecating smile, his tone sardonic.
"I do know but I didn't realize you did." Indeed, Harry was so supremely indifferent to his fame and so little interested in aggrandizing himself that she'd somehow assumed that he neither realized nor particularly cared the influence he exerted.
He gave her a look of mock injury. "Credit me with a modicum of sense. I may not enjoy it but would have to be blind not to realize it." (It had been one of the most surprising things about first going to Town for the Season, that so many people apparently cared to know his opinion on everything from who his tailor was to what kind of knot he favored to tie his cravat to which vintage of port he preferred to his opinion of the Minister of Magic. He wondered just when these people expected he would have had time to form his tastes in fashion given he'd just spent the past years focusing on simply surviving-but whatever the case, it didn't stop them from asking.)
She gave him a small smile and touched her fingertips to his cheek in a fleeting caress.
"Harry, couldn't you also push for legislation which forbids the mistreatment of house elves?"
"Of course."
"But in the interim before any legislation can be pushed through the Ministry, your influence within Society should reap some more immediate benefits for house elves."
"Quite so. I knew there was a benefit to having married such a clever woman," he teased lightly, rejoicing that the shadows which had been darkening her eyes at the thought of the house elves' plight was gone now, her eyes bright with hope and happiness. He never wanted to see those shadows in her eyes, always wanted to see her smiling…
She smiled, brushing her lips against his in a quick, spontaneous caress. "You are a good man, Harry Potter," she said softly.
He lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. Not as good as some. A truly good man would not have needed the approval of Hermione as an incentive to try to remedy the injustice done to house elves-but seeing the soft approval shining in her eyes, he couldn't help but think that maybe he really was quite a decent fellow after all and he would certainly do all in his power to ensure that she never had cause to look at him in disapprobation.
But all he said was, lightly, "I am very glad you think so, Mrs. Potter."
She gave him a demure look. "It is a wife's duty to approve of her husband, is it not?"
He laughed. "That's a pleasant thought but no, I do not think I want a wife who is blindly uncritical and agrees with my every thought."
"That is fortunate for you, Mr. Potter, as you do not have such a wife," she returned with sparkling eyes and smiling lips.
He had exactly the sort of wife he had always wanted, the vague thought drifted through his mind-and then he kissed her.
And for a while, no other sounds were heard in the sitting room of Godric's Hollow.
All in all, Harry reflected some hours later, as he walked with Hermione up to their bedchambers that night, it had been the happiest day of their married life. The morning had been absolutely wonderful and every moment spent with her this afternoon and evening had shown him just how much he honestly enjoyed Hermione's company, entirely aside from his desire for her.
And now, he felt the beginnings of some uncertainty. Did she want to spend the night with him again? Should he ask? Did she want it? And what could he say? There was no protocol for how a man went about asking his wife if she wanted to share his bed. Would you like to share my bed was much too blunt but perhaps something more subtle, a suggestion, such as 'my door will be open'…
They had reached the door of her bedchamber now and he was out of time. But before he could say anything, before he'd even decided what to say, she turned to him and went up on her toes to kiss him, quickly, on the mouth, with enough passion to make his senses whirl and leave him mentally gasping for breath. And then she breathed, "Just give me a few minutes and I'll come to you," her breath hot against his skin, just before she slipped inside her bedchamber with a last look that he could only describe as sultry.
Sultry? Hermione? He didn't know where she'd learned how to look like that but he couldn't marshal his thoughts into any kind of coherence to wonder.
A few minutes…
It was only a few minutes-a few minutes in which he managed to undress quicker than he ever had before and his thoughts circled restlessly around and around the one searing, mental image of Hermione from the night before-and then she opened the door and stepped straight into his arms.
He wondered fleetingly how she could manage to make a plain, cotton nightgown look like the most seductive garment in the history of the world-and then he forgot to think at all, knew nothing beyond the heat of her and the softness of her and the passion of her…
And knew, in some tiny corner of his heart, that he truly was the luckiest man in the world.
~To be continued… ~