A/n: So this is it. Thanks to all who have given this a chance and especially to anyone who has left a review. I've tried to respond to at least some of them, as I could. If you didn't like this fic, I'd still appreciate a review to let me know why. Constructive criticism is how we all improve.
JKR owns it all, but it's fun to be allowed to play with it.
Epilogue
Harry Potter truly, completely and without a doubt believed he was the luckiest man on the face of the Earth. True, he had battled a maniacal killer; one of the most powerful and feared dark wizards the magical world had ever seen. Not only had he survived, but also had completely destroyed the foul creature, ensuring that that particular evil would never arise again.
But that wasn't the source of Harry's elation. No, the true reason that Harry counted himself so fortunate was currently straddling his lap, engaging him in a heated battle of tongues. This woman - this incredible, brilliant, beautiful witch - had shown him more love and more passion than he'd ever have believed possible.
Here she was now, her knees on either side of his thighs, her hips pressing enticingly against his ever-hardening groin. The oh-so-sexy black dress she was wearing had ridden dangerously high on her thighs, his hands following its retreat along the smooth, silky expanse of skin.
Harry still found it hard to believe that she was here, three years to the day from that fateful, wonderful, glorious birthday night, and that she loved him - adored him, by her own words. He knew he worshipped her.
It had not all been smooth sailing; they both had their insecurities. Things had gotten particularly rough as their relationship was revealed to certain others. They'd managed to work things out with Ron. It had taken awhile, been a bumpy road, but they'd done it; and the rest had finally come around, too - for the most part. Time had a way of changing perspectives.
The specifics from that first birthday night were becoming a tradition, per Hermione's request. They stayed in, just the two of them. Harry cooked dinner for her, surprising her each time with a new entrée. But everything else stayed the same; same wine, same crème brulee, same pink and cream roses. Those very same roses had now become her favorite - but only on her birthday, and only from Harry.
And of course, the same sexy black dress. That had been Harry's contribution; his one request. Hermione had been quick to point out that she couldn't wear the same dress forever, so his one stipulation had been that he be allowed to the select all replacements.
That very dress, that thin piece of black material, along with the unbelievably sexy witch wearing it, was about to be his undoing. Slowly, the amount of Hermione covered by that dress was decreasing - too slowly, agonizingly slowly. He gasped as her fingers, which had managed to find their way beneath his shirt, lightly pinched his nipple. He moaned as she moved her hips slightly, increasing the pressure on his expanding erection.
"Evil wench!" he growled, sliding his hands to her back, finding the zipper of that maddening dress. He drew it down, mesmerized as he watched it fall away from her, the straps sliding down her arms.
"Would you like me to stop?" she purred coyly.
"No! Yes. Not really … but if you don't … we'll never make it … to the rest of your birthday presents," Harry managed to gasp, nearly breathless from her ministrations.
"Harry, you've done too much already," she sighed. "Besides, I believe I recall telling you that the only present I ever needed from you, Mr. Potter, was for you to love me. Just love me."
Harry smiled warmly, his eyes filled with passion and love as he pulled her to him, wrapping her in his arms.
"With pleasure, Mrs. Potter," he breathed. "Forever, with pleasure."
He managed to stand up, Hermione wrapping her legs around his waist as he did. He moved toward their bedroom, praying he would make it before she pushed him over the edge.
"I love you, Harry," Hermione proclaimed softly.
"I love you, too, Hermione," he declared. "Happy Birthday."
- end -