Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.
Author's Note: Apologies for the wait but I was hoping to get most of Chapter 12 finished before posting this one and it's just not happening. So I'm posting this now even though I can't promise when the next chapter will be ready. A little more smut in this one-enjoy!
The Truth About Love
Chapter 11: Such a Wife, Such a Woman
She had never been so happy in her entire life.
She had always believed that Harry was capable of an almost amazing tenderness (considering how he had been raised) if he would only show it, had even dreamed of experiencing his tenderness. But she'd never known, never dreamed, in her innocence, just how delightful it would be to be desired by Harry, to know that he desired her… It was the most precious knowledge.
And oh, she had never dreamed just how much bliss there was to be found in the marriage bed, had never known she could feel so much and so intensely… She had never dreamed but she loved it all. She was, she supposed, utterly shameless, even shockingly wanton-but Harry-Harry-wanted her, desired her-and she loved him… And if she was shameless, she was too happy in her shamelessness to care overmuch.
She was happy-albeit there were fleeting moments when a shadow momentarily eclipsed her contentment, when a small ripple of wistfulness, of melancholy, disturbed the otherwise smooth surface of the days.
It never lasted long and she tried not to dwell on it overmuch, tried to push it out of her mind altogether. She was happy; truly she was and so very lucky. Harry desired her, cared about her, she knew. She could see it in his smile when he looked at her sometimes; she knew it from the way he sought her out these past days, when it seemed the only times they were apart were when he flew in the mornings and when she was going over household matters with Daisy. He cared about her-but she loved him. And it seemed as if every day, the shade of difference between those two feelings grew darker, stealthily, subtly overshadowing her almost euphoric happiness, giving her momentary pangs of self-doubt and the tiniest beginnings of hurt.
She wanted to be the one woman he dreamed of, the one woman he desired. She wanted his eyes to automatically seek her out when he entered a crowded room. She wanted to know if he would want her forever-or would he lose interest in her? She had heard enough stories-those told in hushed whispers-to know that gentlemen's attentions, and their desires, wandered. She wanted… she wanted him to love her…
And the fact that she didn't know if he loved her-if he could love her-was the one cloud over her happiness, the one thing disturbing all her contentment with a faint trace of hurt, that could not be completely forgotten, no matter how she tried.
Harry paused just inside the door of the library, enjoying the appearance of his wife as she bent over a book. As always, by this time in the afternoon, some tendrils of her hair had escaped her simple coiffure and were brushing her neck, drawing attention to the graceful curve of her neck and shoulder. He felt desire pulse into life and his feet propel himself forward almost before he'd thought it.
She didn't turn, too engrossed in her book. He suppressed a smile-he loved the single-mindedness of her concentration, could picture the expression on her face, the way she would be biting on her lower lip-and then he deliberately set out to shatter said concentration and distract her.
He bent and placed his lips on the soft skin of her neck, just where it was brushed by her hair.
She started, letting out a soft cry of surprise that turned into a sigh of pleasure, as her head automatically tilted to allow him greater access to her neck.
"Harry…" The breathiness of her voice belied the mildly scolding tone she fought to preserve.
"Mm?" he murmured against her skin, continuing to press light fleeting kisses to the soft skin. One of his hands drifted up to touch the bare skin of her arm below the short sleeve of her gown, his fingertips brushing against her skin in the lightest of caresses.
"I was… I was trying to study… oh…" her unconvincing protest trailed off on a sigh.
Harry suppressed a very satisfied, masculine smile as he rounded the edge of her chair and fit himself beside her. The armchair was a large one but not large enough for two people to sit in it at once so Hermione ended up mostly perched on his lap, a position which suited him just fine.
"Harry!" his name was a breathless gasp, half-protesting, as she tried to stand up but he kept her in place with his arm. She wriggled against him in an attempt to free herself from his arm and he closed his eyes, his jaw locking, at the almost painful pleasure. The feel of her warm, soft bottom on his thighs made him instantly tense, his body reacting to her proximity.
After a moment, though, she seemed to accept that he wasn't releasing her and ceased moving-thankfully. However, she sat perfectly straight, as if she were going to be tested on her deportment and ladylike posture.
Harry smiled inwardly, fondly. She was still, in spite of the past week and in spite of her uninhibited responses to his touch, an innocent. Her stiff posture spoke volumes about how ill at ease she was with this sort of intimacy outside of the bedroom. It was endearing.
Besides which, her straight-backed posture did afford him a wonderful view of the nape of her neck and the places where those stray tendrils of hair brushed her bare skin so tantalizingly.
He lowered his lips to her neck again, lingering this time, letting his tongue venture forth to taste her.
"Harry! Oh! Ooh…" Her voice trailed off on a sigh as her body relaxed against him, her neck arching to grant him more access.
He lingered, savoring the slightly-salty sweetness of her skin, which was rapidly becoming hot as her breath hitched, became uneven.
She made a soft sound in her throat, a sound that sent a jolt of lightning through his body, and shifted in his lap, turning sideways until she could face him, one hand cupping his face as she kissed him.
Her lips lingered on his, lightly, sweetly, and as always when she kissed him, he lost all interest in anything else but her, the world fading from around him. By the time she drew back, ending the kiss on a small gasp, his body was burning and he knew she must be aware of his arousal.
Perhaps it was because of that that she drew back but he consoled himself by brushing his lips across the delicate line of her jaw in a light series of kisses, before he buried his lips in the sensitive little hollow just behind her ear lobe, making her gasp softly. He felt the slight shiver of reaction that went through her body and smiled slightly against her skin.
"Mm, Harry…" she sighed.
"Hmm?"
"We really have to stop…"
Her voice emerged so wispy and breathless, ending on a soft gasp, that it was more encouraging than not.
Stop… He was vaguely aware that she was right. They were in the library and… and… there was something else… But with her sitting on his lap, her yielding warmth pressed so close to him, he couldn't muster enough coherence to remember what that reason was.
"Must we?" he murmured, returning his attention to the soft skin of her neck.
"My parents… will be arriving soon," she managed, the words coming out somewhat choppily.
He froze, his lips abruptly leaving her skin, her words having all the dampening effect that a bucketful of icy water would have had. Her parents. Of course, that was the reason they couldn't continue-and the reason he'd come to find her in the library to begin with, except that had flown out of his mind completely on his first sight of her.
He groaned softly, letting his head drop to rest his forehead on her shoulder. "Can't we just have Dobby welcome them and then give them a very long, extended tour of the gardens, while I give you a long, extended tour of my bed?" he asked, only half-facetiously.
She gave a soft laugh. "Harry!" she scolded mildly, even though her cheeks were scarlet.
"No, I know," he sighed. "And I do want to see your parents. Truly, I do." Just not right at this moment, he added mentally.
He sensed rather than saw her smile before she moved, getting up off his lap and bent to brush her lips against his cheek.
"I know," she murmured. "And you are very sweet."
Well, that was some comfort, he reflected, as he concentrated on trying to tamp down his lingering arousal.
"I'm glad you think so," he said lightly. "But don't tell anyone. It would ruin my reputation. Gentlemen are not sweet."
She smiled. "It will be our secret." And, leaning down, she kissed him again.
No one would ever know how much his self-restraint pained him, Harry reflected with wry amusement at himself, as he and Hermione waited on the front steps as the Grangers' carriage rolled up the drive. He must resign himself to only being able to be truly alone with Hermione, without fear of some interruption, in his bedchamber at night. Truly it was almost enough to make a man wonder why he would ever invite house guests.
Even as he had the ungenerous thought, however, it was quickly dissipated as the carriage came to a halt and the footman opened the door for Mr. Granger to step out and then hand his wife out. And the brightness of Hermione's smile and the clear anticipation and happiness in her eyes as she almost ran to embrace her parents more than recompensed him for any mild irritation at the loss of Hermione's exclusive attention.
"Oh, Mama, it is so good to see you!" Hermione exclaimed.
"And you, my dear girl," Mrs. Granger smiled as she returned Hermione's hug before drawing back to study Hermione. "Well, I need not ask how you have been for I can see that you are well."
"I am very well indeed, Mama."
Hermione took her mother's arm as they both turned towards Harry, preceded by Mr. Granger.
Harry smiled and bowed to Mr. and Mrs. Granger. "Welcome to Godric's Hollow. How was your journey?"
"It was uneventful and quite pleasant, thank you."
"Good. I am glad to hear it. Dobby will see to bringing your trunks up to your rooms but in the meantime, would you like to rest after your journey or perhaps have some refreshment? Tea can be ready in just a few moments."
"Actually, I believe I can say for us both that we are not at all fatigued and would prefer to see more of the house," Mrs. Granger spoke up.
"Yes, we should like to see Hermione's home," Mr. Granger concurred.
"Very well," Harry agreed and caught Hermione's glance and, falling in with her unspoken wish to spend some time alone with her parents, continued, "Unfortunately, there is some business which I must see to, but Hermione can show you the house. Indeed, she may know more about its history than I do by this time."
"I would hardly say that," Hermione demurred but she smiled at him as she said it.
"You were always better at remembering history than I," Harry responded before addressing Mr. and Mrs. Granger, "If you'll excuse me, I will leave you in Hermione's capable care."
"Of course. Thank you, Mr. Potter."
Harry smiled as he watched Hermione and her parents walk down the corridor, heading towards the library, it looked like. She was talking freely and openly and for the first time, he realized what a close relationship Hermione most likely had with her parents.
He himself did not know the Grangers well at all but this visit would remedy that, no doubt. And if Hermione's parents were anything at all like Hermione herself, he had no doubt that he would enjoy their company.
It was the next morning, as they were finishing up breakfast, that Harry was able to take the first, definitive step towards improving his acquaintance with Hermione's parents.
"I was thinking of taking advantage of this fine morning by walking up to the small rise, from where there is a rather fine view of the village and some of the tenant's cottages. Mr. Granger, would you care to accompany me?" Harry asked.
"Certainly. Thank you."
Harry glanced at Hermione with a slight smile, his tone softening almost unconsciously. "We will return in good time for luncheon."
"Have a pleasant walk," she smiled at him and then turned her smile to her father.
Harry smiled and nodded at Mrs. Granger as he rose. "I will leave you to talk to Hermione."
Hermione's father pressed his hand on her shoulder in a quick gesture of affection as he moved to join Harry and they made their way through the foyer and out the front entrance.
"This is a very fine house, Mr. Potter," Mr. Granger began.
"Thank you but please, sir, call me Harry."
"Harry, then," Mr. Granger agreed and was silent for a moment before he spoke up again. "I must thank you, Harry. You seem to have made my daughter very happy."
"I hope so, sir," Harry answered honestly. "I will certainly do all in my power to keep her happy." He paused, hesitated, wondering. He did not know Mr. Granger all that well and he was not accustomed to speaking of his innermost emotions with ease. His childhood with the Dursleys had, indeed, left him exceedingly uncomfortable with discussions of feelings and it was only with Hermione and, to a limited extent, with Ron, that he was able to speak comfortably. But he felt he should say something more to reassure Mr. Granger that he need never worry about Hermione's welfare, something more than the very trite words that he had said. "Hermione is… very dear to me," he managed to say, aware that the words came out sounding rather stilted and awkward but unable to help it.
"You do not need to reassure me on that score, Harry. I can see that well enough with my own eyes," Mr. Granger said with a slight smile in his tone. He paused and then added, more soberly, "I will admit that my mind had not been entirely easy on the subject of Hermione in these past years so it eases my heart to see her so well settled."
"I understand, sir, and I assure you that every effort was made to keep Hermione as safe as it was possible for her to be. Unfortunately, this is Hermione and when she's made up her mind, she is not to be gainsaid and she was quite set on her course and would not listen to reason on the risk she was taking." Harry fought to keep his voice light and not show his lingering guilt over the danger Hermione had been in quite so obviously.
He was suddenly swamped with intense relief that the War was over, that Hermione was safe-and he would never allow anything to happen to her again. As it was, the mere memory of some of the risks she had taken in the past years-for his sake-made him turn cold with fear.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Sir?"
"Was Hermione in any serious danger?"
Too late Harry remembered that Hermione had once confessed that she'd never told her parents about the true extent of the war. She had not wanted them to worry overmuch and had deliberately made the threat of Voldemort seem much less severe than it was, speaking instead of all of the safety measures which Hogwarts had put in place.
"Oh, no, of course not," Harry hastened to assure Mr. Granger, with something less than complete truth. "There was some risk but it was never very much and she was never in any serious danger."
Mr. Granger was frowning slightly now. "I see," he said, not sounding entirely convinced. "But this war is over, this Dark Lord defeated?"
"Oh yes, sir. That is all over now."
"Ah."
They walked in silence for a few minutes, Mr. Granger studying the ground with a somewhat perturbed frown.
"My concern over Hermione was actually a much more mundane one," Mr. Granger finally began. "I had begun to wonder if Hermione would ever find a husband and if she did, if she could be happy. As you undoubtedly know, Hermione could never be truly happy unless she was married to someone who respected her and treated her as an equal. She does not take kindly to being thought of, or treated as, a lackwit or a creature incapable of rational thought."
"Yes, sir, I know," Harry concurred with a slight smile at the memory of some memorable moments when someone had dared to condescend to Hermione and her reaction.
"Her mother and I have always been proud of her for her cleverness. We, neither of us, could ever see the reason why women were taught to be flighty and so we encouraged Hermione to read what she pleased, to study as much as she pleased. It is only in the past few years that I have begun to realize that we may have erred in doing so. I had begun to fear that she would never be able to find happiness for few gentlemen appreciate so much cleverness in a woman. Sadly, it had begun to seem as if no gentlemen could truly appreciate Hermione for who she truly is. But if I am not much mistaken, you do, Harry."
Harry smiled slightly. "It would be the height of ingratitude if I did not appreciate Hermione for what she is. If it had not been for her cleverness and her courage, I have no doubt I would not have survived to be standing here today."
"Truly? She did not tell us that."
"No, she would not. She persists in denying just how much I owe to her. As for thanks, there is no need. I am the fortunate one to have such a wife," Harry demurred with all sincerity. Any man would be fortunate to have a wife like Hermione, so loyal and kind and… delightfully passionate. A sudden memory from a few mornings ago flashed into his mind, when he'd been awoken by her touch and she had proceeded to explore his body with her hands and then her lips with a thorough diligence which she had heretofore only exhibited for her studies, until he had been more than half-mad with lust. The memory sent heat streaking through his body and he sternly pushed it aside. He could hardly tell Hermione's father how wonderfully passionate Hermione was.
"I am glad to hear you say so," Mr. Granger said with a kind of somber smile. "It eases my heart to know that my daughter is happy and is appreciated properly."
"I will make every effort to ensure that you never know another moment of concern over Hermione's well-being again," Harry promised with all sincerity.
"I am sure you will," Mr. Granger smiled.
The rest of the walk passed in agreeable conversation. Mr. Granger was a sensible, good-humored man and Harry found his opinion of his father-in-law rising steadily as they talked and he could recognize the source of Hermione's sometimes dry wit. (Harry was already disposed to like Mrs. Granger, as her resemblance to Hermione endeared her to him from the first, and she had a kindly manner that appealed to him.)
But even as he listened to Mr. Granger's conversation and responded in kind, part of his mind was dwelling on what Mr. Granger had confessed of their fears for Hermione's future. It had never occurred to him, in all their years of friendship, to wonder what Hermione's future would be like; he supposed that he would have just assumed she would marry as most young ladies did. It was only now that he wondered if that would have been the case. Mr. Granger was right and Harry knew perfectly well that Hermione would never have countenanced marrying someone who did not respect her and who did not treat her as an equal. And with Hermione's intelligence and her other qualities, she would have been hard-pressed to find any man whom she could also respect. Merlin knew that he had never met anyone as clever as Hermione and most men would be intimidated, at best, at the idea of marrying a woman as clever as Hermione was. Most men would sooner go to a ball en dishabille than marry a bluestocking, preferring the milder, biddable young ladies.
It occurred to him that most men were utter fools.
He might have felt more scorn at the thought but he was rather grateful that they were. As it was, the thought of Hermione being married to anyone else made something twist disagreeably in his chest. Hermione was his; he liked knowing that he was the only man to see and appreciate her beauty-and he definitely liked knowing that he was the only man who would ever know how much passion she had in her.
Mrs. Granger managed to wait until they had moved into Hermione's morning sitting room after Harry and Mr. Granger had left before she smiled warmly at Hermione.
"I am very happy for you, my dear," Mrs. Granger beamed. "Did I not tell you that your Mr. Potter would grow to love you?"
Hermione promptly manufactured the brightest smile she could muster and put it on for her mother's benefit-and she did not need to worry about manufacturing a blush because just the thought of the nights she spent with him made her blush hotly. "I am very happy, Mama," she said honestly. She bit back the other words, but I don't know if he loves me.
Her mother laughed softly. "You do not need to tell me that. It is written quite clearly on your face. I don't believe I've ever seen you looking so well. Clearly, marriage-and your Mr. Potter-agrees with you."
"He is very good. He listens to me and cares about what I think."
"That is not very surprising, is it, Hermione? He was your best friend before he was your husband."
"Yes, of course," was all Hermione said. But it was different now. Before he had listened to her, for the most part and certainly more than Ron ever had, but then it had always, necessarily, been something to do with him. They had been fighting a war and her energies and her thoughts had mostly revolved around him, keeping him safe, helping him.
Now, with the war over and spending as much time together as they did, he listened to her when she spoke about herself or her own thoughts, her own opinions, on just about anything. And not only did he never tell her that some subject or another was improper for a young lady's conversation, he listened to her and took her seriously. She remembered speaking at some length-and rather angrily-about the plight of the house elves and how they were treated as slaves (ironically, this had happened before the advent of Ferdy) and how Harry had listened and agreed (in stark contrast to Ron, she couldn't help but remember, when she had brought up house elves in years past, and Ron had first looked positively horrified that a girl would even mention such a topic and then had tried to placate her by saying that it was simply the way of the world and could not be changed.) Harry didn't do that; he never tried to placate her, never showed the least bit of dismay or surprise at her opinions, and indeed several times, he'd deliberately sought out her opinion on things he'd read in the Daily Prophet.
As romantic gestures went, it would not, perhaps, rate very highly-but it mattered more to her than any gift of flowers or jewelry or anything else could have. Every day, he was showing her why he had been her best friend for so many years and why she had always, in her most secret heart, wished she could marry him.
~~
"No!"
Harry jerked awake with a start, to find he was damp with perspiration and tears were stinging his eyes.
He opened his eyes at a gentle touch on his cheek to see Hermione leaning over him, a look of so much tender concern on her face that it comforted him before she'd even said a word.
"Harry, are you alright?" she asked softly.
For a moment, he felt a mad urge to laugh sardonically, but he swallowed it back. It would hurt her, he knew, and she did not deserve that, would never deserve that. He stared up at her, letting the familiar sight of her face, the warmth from her body so close to his, seep into his senses and his soul, providing the reassurance he needed that she was safe, that everything was fine, and it had only been a nightmare.
A terrible nightmare, one that still held him in its merciless grip of soul-searing agony and sorrow. It had seemed so familiar at first, much like his recurring nightmares of Sirius' death-but instead of Sirius, it had been Hermione. And he'd only been able to watch, in helpless anguish, as he lost her, lost everything… He had already known so much loss in his life; he'd managed to survive every loss-but in that horrific dream, he'd known that he would not recover from losing her. And he'd suddenly known that she really was everything to him now. He could no longer imagine a life without her; he didn't want a life without her…
He forced back a shiver of reaction. It had only been a nightmare and she was fine.
Her fingers brushed against his cheek in a light caress. "Harry?" she breathed.
He managed a wan smile. "I'll be fine."
Concern flickered in her eyes. "Was it about Sirius Black or Professor Dumbledore?"
"No. It was about you."
"Oh, Harry…" She bent and brushed her lips against his in a light fleeting caress. "I'm afraid I'm a very selfish creature because I have no intention of freeing you to once again be the most eligible bachelor in wizarding Society," she said lightly, trying to coax him into a smile in an attempt to lighten the shadows in his eyes.
He managed the ghost of a smile. "That is good to know," he murmured, trying and failing to match her light tone. He loved her gentle teasing-he did-but he still felt too shaken; the nightmare and his reactions had been too intense to be shaken off so easily.
Her expression softened. "You should not worry so," she whispered. "I am perfectly well and safe and have every intention of remaining that way."
She brushed her lips against his in a tease of a kiss, once, twice, before she deepened the kiss, pressing her body against his, as her hair fell around them in a brown curtain. She kissed him with flagrant passion, utilizing every bit of the sensual knowledge she'd acquired in the past days of loving him.
She ensnared his every thought, distracting him from his fears, and providing him the best possible comfort in the tangible reality of her closeness, her warmth, her vitality. He wrapped his arms around her, bringing her in tighter against his body, returning her kiss with a passion that bordered on desperation, desperate to feel, desperate to know, desperate to be reassured, that she was truly safe and his fears were ungrounded. He kissed her and touched her, his hands roaming over the bare skin of her back and down to her bottom in a heated caress, needing her touch and her closeness with a need that went deeper than his physical desire. It was the best affirmation of her life, her safety, her presence-and his stark, searing realization of just how much she meant to him now.
She gave a gasping breath against his lips at his caresses and moved, shifting until she was lying half on top of him with a boldness that he found momentarily surprising before all surprise was completely forgotten in the surge of lust that took possession of his mind and body.
Her lips scattered light, teasing kisses down his chin along the line of his jaw and then down his neck and as if the touch of her lips to his skin weren't enough to drive him mad, her hands explored his chest and his stomach, her small fingers questing and finding his flat, male nipples.
His throaty groan was torn from his throat as he closed his eyes for a moment, burning, dying, all his senses savoring her touch, half-innocent and half-eager and wholly-passionate, using everything she'd learned about his body and his pleasure in the past days. She'd always been a quick study-but he doubted anyone had ever considered just what that meant in the context of the bedroom. "Oh, God, Hermione!"
His eyes flew open to stare up at her, wishing there was more light so he could see her more clearly, see her eyes. Earlier, some pale moonlight had filtered through the curtains providing some patchy illumination, but now it looked like a cloud had passed over the moon, leaving the room in darkness again. All he could see of her was the paleness of her bare skin, the darker shadow that he knew was her hair.
She lowered her lips to feather kisses across his chest, pausing to flick her tongue against his nipples, in unerring imitation of what he so liked to do to her, and he thought he would die.
His hands slid up from her back to cup her breasts, palming the hardened nipples, as her head fell back, momentarily abandoning her own attentions to his body. Lord, he wished he could see her face. He loved to see the look on her face when he touched her like this, loved the tell-tale flicker of surprise in her eyes at such moments as if she could still not quite believe the intensity of her body's reactions, loved the uninhibited abandon of her pleasure. There wasn't a shred of coyness in Hermione, no thought of even trying to hide her reactions to preserve her ladylike dignity.
"Harry!" His name fractured on a cry as he moved his hands over her breasts in a deliberate caress.
"Hmm?"
"I-oh…" Whatever she'd been about to say dissolved in a long sigh of pleasure. (He'd never dreamed that sounds could be just as erotic as touch or sight-but her soft moans and cries of pleasure never failed to send desire simmering through his veins.)
Her hands skated down his chest and stomach with an utter lack of self-consciousness that spoke volumes about the level of her arousal and he groaned, his hands falling from her body to clutch helplessly at the sheets.
One hand found his aching body and he thought his heart was going to leap out of his chest. She measured his ardor with feather-light strokes and then wrapped her hand around him, her touch more curious and tentative than deliberately arousing-but his body was long past the point of distinguishing.
He grasped her wrist with one hand, stopping her uncertain caresses before he embarrassed himself. "Stop. Please."
"Do you not like it when I do that?" By now, she knew how to recognize the strain in his voice from too much pleasure and so her voice was teasing, husky from her own arousal, rather than questioning.
He choked on a laugh. "God, Hermione!"
He felt her hot breath against his cheek and his lips a moment before her lips came down on his, her hands sliding to his shoulders as she tried to gently tug him above her.
For the first time, he resisted, his hands moving to grasp her hips and shift her body until she was straddling him.
Her breath left her on a sharp gasp. "Harry, what are you--" He could feel the sudden tension in her body, echoed by the question in her voice.
He let his hands stray to caress her hips, the small of her back, reassuringly. "Do you trust me?" he managed to rasp out.
It was his question rather than his touch that had her body relaxing a little, becoming more pliable in his hands.
"Yes."
He paused, feeling a bubble of warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with arousal at the unhesitating certainty in her voice.
Afterwards, he reflected on just why it meant so much to him to hear her say that. (At that moment, he was too consumed with lust to coherently think of anything else.) It almost seemed odd that it had meant so much. He knew Hermione trusted him with her life; he, Ron, and Hermione had all trusted each other with each other's lives for the better part of the last seven years and that had not changed with the war. But this trust was different, was more, than simply trusting him with her life. She was trusting him with her body-and he wondered if he were being too fanciful to think that she was trusting him with her happiness, trusting him with her heart… Or perhaps it was only now that he realized just how precious her trust was, only now that he realized just how much it meant to him to know that she trusted him so fully, so confidently…
But none of those thoughts occurred to him then. He knew only that his heart warmed at her answer-and then he lost all interest in even that, the emotional drowned out by the increasingly urgent demands of physical desire.
He grasped her hips and guided her down onto his rigid body, a strangled groan escaping him as the wet heat of her enclosed him.
Her breath left her on a throaty cry. "Har-Oh, Harry!"
He opened his eyes to stare up at her and wished desperately that he could see her more clearly. In the darkness, he couldn't see her expression, couldn't see the look in her eyes, and he wanted to, wanted it so intensely he could almost taste it. He delighted in watching the play of expression across her face, delighted in being able to see all she was feeling in her eyes, delighted in how honest and open all her reactions were.
She tightened her muscles experimentally around him and he groaned, his fingers digging into her hips. "Hermione!"
He sensed rather than saw her smile. It was really somewhat shocking what a seductive siren Hermione could be. He would have thought he knew her so well after seven years of friendship but he found that every day was revealing some new facet of her-not least of which was the fact that she was a born temptress, with her eyes and her smile and her clever touch…
She shifted above him as if to accustom herself to this new position and he gritted his teeth, experiencing a combination of agony and unbearable pleasure. He tried desperately to focus his mind on something-anything-other than the feeling of her tight, slick passage surrounding him-flying, his next visit to the tenants, the Grangers, the Giant Squid back at Hogwarts, Headmistress McGonagall-but nothing worked. She had become his entire world and the only thing that held a shred of interest for him at that moment. The heat of her, the tightness of her, the wetness of her…
She shifted again, this time lifting herself and then sliding down, her movements slow and awkward, as she tested this new position and he concentrated on trying not to embarrass himself and trying to retain his sanity. Futile endeavors, both, as Hermione all too quickly found her rhythm-an entirely unexpected benefit of having such a clever wife; she was a quick study for everything-and he was meeting and matching her movements with his hips, hearing her soft gasps, his entire world narrowing down to where their bodies were joined.
His hands slid from her hips to caress the inside of her thighs, his fingers straying perilously close to the center of her body, and she cried out, her inner muscles tightening convulsively around him, as she almost fell forward onto him.
He lost the battle for control and surged up inside her, finding his release with a half-shout that was meant to be her name but wasn't recognizable as such.
She collapsed on top of him, boneless, limp in the aftermath of bliss, and he mustered just enough strength to tighten his arms around her, keeping her against him, as he felt their heart beats slow, the world slowly righting itself around them.
He was drifting in a sea of vaguely sensuous sensations, feeling as if he had somehow visited another world, another reality, entirely-but he was conscious enough, attuned to her, so that he sensed it when her mood shifted, felt it in the tension in her body before she moved, shifting her body until she was no longer lying on top of him.
He curled his body around hers. "Hermione? What is the matter?"
She gave a slight hitch of breath. "What you must think of me!" Her voice came out somewhat muffled with mortification and though he couldn't see it, he knew that her cheeks must be absolutely scarlet. "I never knew I could be so… so wanton, so immodest. I--"
"Hermione!" he interrupted her, his voice gently teasing. "What I think of you is that you're delightful and I personally plan to encourage you in this since the results are so pleasant. In fact," he continued in a musing tone, "I must remember to tell your father how wonderfully passionate you are in the bedroom."
She choked on a laugh. "Harry!"
He cupped her cheek in his hand. "Are we done with this foolishness about immodesty?"
She nodded against his hand.
"Good." He brushed his thumb against her lower lip, wishing he could see her more clearly in the shadowed darkness, before he bent and kissed her lightly, lingeringly until her entire body relaxed and softened, her lips parting on a sigh.
The kiss ended slowly as he relaxed back into the bed and she settled in closer to him, her body fitting neatly into the curve of his, as naturally as if they'd been sharing a bed for years. And he drifted to sleep, quite certain now that his sleep would be peaceful.
But after Harry's breathing had evened out, Hermione lay awake, partly to make sure his nightmare did not return but also to ponder what it meant that he had a nightmare about her.
Did it mean anything at all? Or was it a case of herself creating what she saw? She knew Harry and for the most part, his nightmares were of those people dear to him. He must care about her, more than simple friendship warranted.
She stirred, lifting her head to look down at his sleeping face, and his arm tightened around her, keeping her against him even in sleep. She felt a wave of tenderness and brushed a feather-light kiss against his cheek before she settled back down, resting her head against his shoulder as she closed her eyes.
He cared about her, even if he might not love her the way she loved him, and for now, his affection, his desire, were enough…
And if she kept telling herself so, perhaps it would come true…
~~To be continued… (With the visit from the Weasleys)