Chapter Eight
Harry's eyes eased softly open in the faint morning light. He could feel a gentle chill slipping through the blankets now slipping off of him. He stretched beneath the covers, yawned, and reached absently for his glasses.
He breathed out, staring contentedly up at the ceiling. A few moments passed before he felt the urge to take a jog. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed.
He changed into his worn old jeans, now carefully mended by Hermione's hand. He cast his gaze around and picked up a rumpled T-Shirt lying on the floor. As he slipped it on, his mind woke up enough to retrace the events of last night.
He stepped into his tennis shoes and slipped out of the room, carefully shutting the door behind him.
When he reached the living room door, he paused. Cautiously, he poked his head around the doorframe, catching a glimpse of Hermione's sleeping form on the couch. She'd gathered the boy in her arms, and he too seemed to be fast asleep. Harry took a careful step into the room, and as he passed the couch, he bent and pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. She shifted with a soft murmur, a dreamy smile sneaking to the corners of her mouth.
A small grin pulled at the right corner of Harry's mouth as he slipped out the door and jogged down the lane. That smile would, in all likelihood, stay with him forever.
He paused by the side of the lane, surveying the patches of snow and brown grass behind the fence as he reflected.
When did I go from watching her smile to cherishing it?
He grinned again, gazing at the mound of snow at his feet. What did it matter, when it happened?
Time wasn't rushing him anymore. Death wasn't constantly changing the time of their meeting.
There wasn't any need to rush this, either, Harry reasoned, closing his eyes and tilting back his chin. He took in a deep breath and let it out.
He opened his eyes just in time to catch the sun's first full rays of the day.
Whatever he felt for her, whatever this was… he'd let his heart get used to it without a time limit.
-->