Disclaimer: See Part 1.
A/N: Thanks, everyone, for reading and reviewing! I hope this happy ending satisfies!
Masquerade
Part 4
Hermione always remembered that week as being one of the longest ones of her life. She spent the week distracted at work, preoccupied at home and having to try very hard to keep from falling into depression.
Hermione sighed a little as she sat down at the desk in the corner of her sitting room that served as her office. At least the week was over now and she'd arranged it so she wouldn't need to go into St. Mungo's over the weekend at all, barring any emergencies.
It had been a week. She glanced at the clock-exactly a week ago at this time, she'd been at the club, about to go "meet" Harry.
It had been one week since Harry had kissed her and touched her and let her touch him… She felt the familiar flush of heat in her body just from the memory of that one night, the memories that had haunted her for the past week.
Oh! She threw down her quill in some frustration, for once not caring that she left a blot of ink on her otherwise pristine parchment. She had to stop thinking about that night, had to stop reliving every moment. Had to stop regretting it. She'd had her one night of passion and that was enough.
She picked up her quill again, bending her head over the treatise she was making notes on with a grim determination to keep her mind at her task.
She could get over it and she would. She'd had years of practice at concealing her real feelings for Harry, at being only his best friend. It would get easier, she was sure of it.
And in the meantime, she had plenty of work to keep her busy.
Hermione worked steadily, her parchment filling up rapidly with her neat annotations. She frowned slightly, chewing the end of her quill absently. The treatise's conclusions were intriguing, especially if combined with another article she'd read recently-she put her quill down, turning to her drawer and sorting through the neatly organized pap-
The knock on the door shattered all her hard-won concentration like glass and she started, pushing herself away from her desk with a brief sigh. She didn't know who would be here at this hour on a Friday evening but the person had to be someone who'd visited before or the wards she'd set up would have gone off. She guessed it was probably Adelaide, one of her co-workers at St. Mungo's and one of her best friends from work, as Addy lived nearby and had been known to call without any warning before.
She opened the door with an easy smile that froze on her lips.
It was Harry. Surprise set her breath to coming irregularly and the sight of his familiar, slightly crooked little half-smile made her heart react, as always.
"Oh. Hi, Harry." She managed in as casual a tone as possible. "I wasn't expecting you."
"Hey, Hermione. You busy or can I come in?" He stepped forward with the confidence in her invitation that he generally showed since she would never not let him in.
She stepped backwards, keeping her distance and retreating from him as rapidly as she could without making it blatantly obvious. "I was just reading some things for work, that's all," she said with a slight smile. When would she stop reacting like this to just the sight of him? It was ridiculous! It wasn't as if he had done or said anything out of the ordinary-it was the same Harry, the same smile, the same eyes, that she'd seen nearly every day for years now-and she still reacted, couldn't seem to help it, the slight flutter of her heart or the warmth in her chest. Or the urge to return his smile with her own, to make him smile and see his eyes crinkle with amusement. The same urge that had made her kiss his cheek so quickly at his birthday party at the Burrow, even when she'd sworn she wouldn't touch him at all if she could help it-except she'd seen the flicker of vulnerability, of uncertainty, in his eyes when he asked if she was mad at him and she hadn't been able to help it, had needed to reassure him more than she'd needed to take her next breath.
"Butterbeer, Harry?" she offered, turning to escape to the kitchen, but he stopped her with a word.
"No thanks, Hermione. I'm not thirsty."
"I'm a little surprised to see you tonight. Why aren't you out with Ron? Don't you know Ron's likely to get into even more trouble than usual if you're not there to keep an eye on him?" She tried to sound joking.
Harry gave a brief laugh in acknowledgment of her humor but only shrugged one shoulder into a half shrug. "I told Ron he'd have to go without me for tonight because I had a date."
A date. He'd had a date. Hermione fought back a wince, trying not to feel hurt. Of course Harry had a perfect right to go on dates and it was none of her business. Really.
The fact that Harry could go on a date with someone else in the very next week after he'd slept with her-Helena-- only emphasized that he really had thought of it as a one-night stand and nothing else.
Of course he had; she'd known he had all along, Hermione told herself bracingly. But for all that, she couldn't bring herself to look at him, busied herself instead with the papers on her desk, pretending to be looking for something as she systematically disarranged all the neatly-organized piles of papers as a way of keeping her hands and her eyes busy.
"Oh, really? Your date must have ended early if you're already done." Hermione was proud of herself for how indifferent she managed to sound. But she kept her gaze turned away.
"Mm." Harry made a noncommittal sound.
"Was it Meredith or someone else?"
"It wasn't Meredith. I've told you Meredith and I are just friends."
"Oh, well, anyway, do you really like this girl?" She didn't know how exactly she did it but she rather thought she'd achieved just the right amount of friendly curiosity and nothing more in her tone.
She expected a rather noncommittal answer since Harry had never been the type to wax eloquent about his current fancy-with Cho or Ginny, he'd never expressed his thoughts about them aloud and his feelings had only been evident from the way he looked at them-unlike Ron, who was much more likely to ramble on about some girl or another who'd caught his eye (although most of Ron's rambles had involved a girl's physical attributes). But Harry surprised her.
"I like her a lot," Harry declared. But as if that wasn't enough, he continued, not entirely fluently but it was still amazing-amazing and painful-- as Hermione had never heard Harry talk about anyone in such terms before, let alone any girl. "I feel… comfortable with her; I feel like I've known her for years. I felt like I could trust her almost from the moment we met."
"Oh," Hermione said flatly, her fingers tightening unconsciously on the parchment she was holding, crumpling it, and then she busied herself with smoothing out the parchment and hastily creating haphazard piles of paper on her desk in an attempt to make it look as neat as it usually did, although she had no idea what she was doing and knew she would only have to completely reorganize the contents of her desk later. But it was something to occupy her hands and her eyes so she could seem perfectly calm. She wouldn't cry. Could not cry.
"And she makes me laugh."
"Oh," Hermione said again, lamely. For the first time, she wished that Harry would leave, would just go away. She didn't want to be here listening to this any longer, didn't want to know anything more about this girl who'd apparently captured Harry's interest so thoroughly.
Harry studied Hermione and her apparent calm. Anyone else would have thought that Hermione was almost entirely indifferent to what she was hearing, was preoccupied with the papers on her desk-anyone else, that is, but him. He knew Hermione too well, could see the lack of precision in her supposed organization of the papers on her desk, could hear the touch of brittleness in her tone-and more than that, he knew it from the way she kept her face turned away from him, knew it from her very calm.
And he gave up the idea of teasing Hermione any longer-he couldn't-he should have known he couldn't do it. His vague plan to get a sort of revenge for her little masquerade suddenly seemed petty and mean; this was Hermione and after all she'd done for him, all he owed her, he couldn't possibly hurt her, not even for so short a time.
"Don't you want to know what her name is?" he asked more quietly.
At that, Hermione's head came up, her eyes flashing up to his face-although he noted that she didn't meet his eyes so much as focus fleetingly at the spot between his eyebrows before she lowered her gaze again. "Of course I do, Harry. What is her name?"
He took one step closer to her and then stopped. "There's actually a kind of funny story about her name." He tried to sound amused. And took another step closer. "See, she told me her name was Helena Watson."
He heard her sharp gasp and then her gaze flew up to meet his, for real this time, and he let his smile soften as he closed the rest of the distance between them. He kept his eyes on hers as he lifted one hand to touch her cheek very lightly with his fingers. "But her real name," he finished very softly, tenderly, "is Hermione Granger."
"Harry, I-how-when-I--" she stumbled uncharacteristically and he stopped her stammering by brushing his thumb against her lips, making her gasp and then still.
"I figured it out at the Burrow last weekend."
Her eyes widened. "The Burrow?! But how-why didn't you say something?"
"I might have realized that you were Helena but that didn't mean I knew what to do about it. I was so stunned I couldn't think straight for days. But you know I've always been dense that way," he said lightly.
That got a smile from her. "I know," she said with a glimpse of her usual manner.
He gave her a look of mock offense. "Dense I might be but I did figure out who Helena was eventually."
"How did you figure it out?"
He gave her a teasingly-exaggerated leer. "I recognized your body, of course."
She mock-hit him on the arm, his humor helping to restore her composure, even as she blushed hotly at his words. "Honestly, Harry!"
He grinned, loving her smile and the teasing light in her eyes and delighting in her blush, since he couldn't remember really making her blush like this before. "Honestly, I recognized your scent, from your shampoo and your soap and stuff. Your scent was on my pillow in the morning and I thought it smelled familiar but I didn't place it until you kissed my cheek at the party and then I knew-and it just seemed obvious to me after that." His smile softened as he sobered. "When I looked closely, I recognized your ear," he said softly, touching his fingers to her ear lobe in a light caress, "and the curve of your neck," he added, suiting his action to the words again, "and, of course, the shape of your mouth."
Her eyes darkened at every light touch and he felt a swift surge of lust at this sign of her responsiveness, her burgeoning arousal, but tamped it down-temporarily. "And then I remembered that your grandmother's last name is Watson and it really did seem obvious."
"You know what my grandmother's name is? You've never met her and I don't remember talking about her much."
"You mentioned it to me that time when you went to visit them for a week, something about how you didn't get to see your grandmother Watson often enough."
"I said that? I don't even remember that."
He shrugged one shoulder. "Well, I remembered you mentioning it. I should have figured out who you were sooner, too. You remember how I told Helena that she reminded me of someone?"
Hermione nodded. "Mm hmm."
"I was talking about you. Helena reminded me of you even though I couldn't figure out why at the time and then I forgot to think about it while we talked and…" He paused half-suggestively and she blushed, her gaze faltering for a moment before she looked back up at him.
"It was because Helena didn't look at my scar first; she looked at me." His smile faded, his expression becoming tender, as he moved his hand to brush a strand of hair away from her cheek in an unmistakable caress. "You're the only person I've ever met who didn't pay any attention to my scar from the beginning, you know."
"No, I didn't know that," she said softly. "That never even occurred to me."
There was a brief silence before she asked, "But Harry, if you figured it out last weekend, why did you wait so long to tell me? Are you-aren't you mad at me?"
"I was annoyed," he admitted, "but that didn't last long. At first, I was really too confused to feel angry but once I started to think about it, I couldn't be angry at you. I knew you wouldn't have done it to trick me and then laugh about it or because you wanted to have sex with the Boy Who Lived or anything. And as for why I waited so long, it was because I knew I wanted you to be able to linger in bed the next morning."
Hermione raised her eyebrows slightly. "So you assumed you'd still be here in the morning?"
Harry felt himself color-he was blushing, damn it!-and he hastily dropped his hand. "I, well- er-I mean-we don't have to-you--" And then he finally saw the glint of amusement in her eyes, the grin tugging at the corners of her lips. He expelled his breath in a huff that was almost a laugh but not quite. "Witch." He lifted his hand to chuck her chin lightly, teasingly, with his knuckle in an automatic, almost habitual motion as he had gotten accustomed to doing when she teased him-but then she looked up at him and his hand stilled, lingering on her skin. And he abruptly realized, to the full, just what this meant, that Hermione was no longer just his-best-friend-Hermione, would never be just-his-best-friend-Hermione again.
He wondered fuzzily if she'd always been so beautiful when she smiled, if her lips had always had that kissable curve to them when she smiled, if the upturned corners of her lips had always seemed like they were just asking to be kissed. And if so, wondered how it was possible he could have been so blind for so long?
Her smile faded slowly as the air seemed to thicken around them. Her breathing hitched and then fluttered past her slightly parted lips and desire slammed into him, hard. Physical desire-God, yes, his desire was physical-but this had an added element beyond the purely physical. He wanted to kiss her-all over-wanted to caress her, wanted to taste her skin. He wanted to see her face flushed with passion, wanted to see her eyes darken with arousal and know that it was because of him. He wanted to see her-Hermione-at the peak of physical sensation.
He knew her so well, had seen her in sadness and in anger, in joy and in peace, in pain and in confusion; he'd even seen her in sleep. But he'd never seen her in ecstasy and he wanted that. Wanted it with an intensity that he'd never felt before, for anything, ever.
And even though he knew there was more he should tell her-he couldn't remember what exactly, his mind gone blank with desire but there was more-he cupped her face with his hands and kissed her, hard, with enough passion to bruise their mouths and she made a soft sound in the back of her throat as she arched against him, her arms wrapping around his shoulders. Lust and something like joy exploded inside him as his tongue explored the depths of her mouth-the familiar depths of her mouth-tasted the familiar taste of her, felt all her remembered passion. Memory and reality meshed and melded in his mind; he couldn't even recall Helena's features, could only see her as Hermione now-all the attraction of that night, all the intense desire, all the eroticism and passion of that night, it was all Hermione. He'd known it but now he felt it. It was Hermione he'd wanted, Hermione he'd touched, Hermione he'd loved…
He only broke the kiss to scatter kisses across her face, learning her familiar features with his lips, finding the little hollow just before her ear and vaguely hearing her soft gasp in response.
"Harry…" The sound of her breathy moan sent a jolt of lightning searing through his body.
She brought his mouth back to hers to kiss him, her tongue venturing into his mouth, engaging in a half-playful, wholly-arousing duel with his tongue. She arched her body against him, making him aware of the growing hardness in his trousers. And then he groaned, his mind exploding as she lifted one leg to twine around his to rub her body deliberately against his arousal.
He wasn't sure who took the first steps but it didn't matter as they both stumbled blindly across her sitting room towards her bedroom, still kissing with almost frantic passion. They scattered items of clothing as they went like so much flotsam-her slippers, his shoes, her blouse, his shirt, his belt, her bra-he stopped short to stare for one endless moment. But before he'd even come close to looking his fill, she flattened herself against him and he forgot, at least for the moment, the pleasure of seeing her to the pleasure of feeling her bare breasts against his chest. He stepped backwards only to have his back hit a wall as she arched against him. He turned them so he could press her against the wall but instead found themselves stumbling into her room as she hit her door, making it swing open, giving way behind her, so that instead of finding her lips, his kiss landed off center on her cheek.
Their eyes met in shared humor as they both laughed, the spell of their urgency broken for now.
"Smooth move, wasn't it?" he quipped, although his humorous tone was belied by his husky voice.
"Very," she agreed, her eyes alight with amusement, before her gaze lowered to focus on his bare chest, all amusement fading to be replaced with heat. "I think you're over-dressed," she murmured just before her hands went to the waistband of his trousers, undoing the button and the zipper, so she could slide her warm, clever hands into the waistband of both his boxers and his trousers, pushing them both down at once. And he couldn't help a small groan of relief as his arousal was freed from its confines as he hastily tore off his boxers and trousers the rest of the way, taking his socks with them.
He'd barely straightened when her hand was on him, wrapping around him, and he groaned, his eyes falling shut. He let her stroke him for a moment before he grasped her wrist lightly, pulling her hand away. "Wait. It's my turn now."
And suiting his actions to his words, he moved to unfasten her trousers, letting his hands caress her waist and her hips as he pushed her trousers and her knickers down past the curve of her hips and down her legs until she was completely bared to his avid gaze.
His mouth went dry as he stared. Merlin, she was gorgeous. He didn't know how he'd never realized what a lovely figure she had but he suddenly thought he must have been blind or stupid or delusional-or all of the above.
He flattened himself against her, his arms wrapping around her and bringing her in against him, full-length, as his lips found hers again. She stumbled backwards blindly and he followed, still kissing, until her knees hit her bed and they fell onto her bed, landing with a bounce that had them both laughing softly for no particular reason before their eyes met and the laughter fled to be replaced by a gaze of pure passion and something deeper than that.
He was in bed with Hermione. He didn't know why that thought floated through his mind and seemed invested with so much significance; it was irrational, given everything-and yet, somehow, it did seem significant. It seemed like a moment that all the previous moments of his life had been leading up to.
"Hermione…" he breathed and her name was a prayer and an endearment and a caress, all at once.
The softest of smiles just grazed her lips, the corners of her lips lifting slightly, almost imperceptibly. "Harry."
He cupped her cheek with one hand and kissed her, softly, with all the tenderness that hadn't been in their kisses thus far, almost frantic with passion as they had been.
The kiss began softly but then she parted her lips and tightened her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss with the same uninhibited passion he remembered so well, the same honest ardor he'd fallen in love with.
He shifted until he was lying more fully on top of her, pressing her deeper into the pillows, as he slid his hand down her neck and her shoulders and then her arm before reversing direction and sweeping upwards, touching her stomach and her breast in one long, exploratory caress. She stirred slightly beneath his touch, her skin heating yet further. He cupped her breast with his hand, moving his thumb to rasp across her hard nipple, once, twice, until she broke off their kiss with a gasp, her head falling back, as she arched into his touch, her body mutely asking for more. And he gave it to her, flattening his palm against her breast, as he slid down her body, leaving a trail of soft, slightly damp kisses down the line of her jaw, her neck, pausing as his tongue found the hollow of her throat.
She didn't passively accept his caresses but encouraged them, with the way she moved, the sounds she made, the way she touched him, her hands moving restlessly, greedily, over his shoulders and down his back and then up again.
She tangled her fingers in his hair as he finally reached his destination, his lips closing around one taut nipple, savoring her throaty moan in response. He tasted, licked, suckled her, loving every sound she made, every gasp, the way she arched into his mouth, the way her fingers tightened in his hair, holding him in place.
He moved on, trailing his lips across her chest until he could lavish the same attention on her other breast, until her breath was coming yet more quickly and her skin felt hot enough to burn. He felt and reacted to her responsiveness as if it were a drug, intoxicating him. She had so much passion, so much natural sensuality.
Pure lust closed like a fist around his gut, shutting off his brain. He needed to know all of her, needed to learn her body the way he already knew her mind and her character.
He slid further down, his hands skating down her body, caressing her waist, stomach, hips, and thighs, before his mouth followed the path his hands had taken, exploring her body yet more intimately.
He swirled his tongue around her navel before dipping his tongue into it, tasting her skin, breathing deep of the musky scent of arousal mingled in with the scent of her, that scent he knew and recognized.
"Harry." His name was a moan as she stirred restlessly beneath his hands and his lips.
He grasped her hips lightly and glanced up at her to meet her eyes across the length of her upper body and the sight of her at that moment hit him in the chest with the force of a blow, robbing him of breath. God but she was so lovely… All soft hills and valleys and beautiful curves, her skin that he knew was just as soft as it looked, now flushed and slightly damp with arousal and heat…
He wanted to smile, would have smiled but it felt as if the muscles of his face had forgotten how with everything in him focused on her, just her. "You did this for me," he managed to say, huskily, and then delighted in the fact that she blushed. After all this, in spite of, or perhaps because of, all her uninhibited passion, she still blushed and he loved that, would never have expected it of Hermione but it was endearing, precious.
He lowered his head again, resuming his trail of light kisses down past her navel and along the curve of her thighs before moving lower still, kissing his way down her inner thigh. He was vaguely aware of hearing her gasp and moan again, her hips twitching in his hands as she arched towards him. And finally, finally, he kissed that most intimate part of her. He licked, suckled, worshipped her with his lips and tongue, learning and savoring her taste and her pleasure until she was trembling and writhing against him, her breath coming in quick gasps. He kissed her one last time and then she shuddered and cried out, her hips arching sharply.
And the sight of her at that moment of ecstasy robbed him of breath, of thought. He could only stare, wanting to memorize forever the sight of her-the most erotic sight he could even imagine. Her skin was flushed and she was panting as her body relaxed into the mattress.
Slowly, he moved back up the bed, until he was lying beside her, propping himself up on one elbow as he watched her. Her eyes were closed as she lay there, looking as if she'd been transported to some paradise apart from the world. He could feel small tremors of reaction going through her as he rested his hand on her stomach, letting his fingers stray over her skin in a soft, almost soothing caress. He could be almost entirely content just to lie there and watch her like this, in the aftermath of bliss. Almost. Except he couldn't ignore the increasingly urgent demands of his aching body.
Her eyes fluttered open, dark and a little slumberous with desire, and a somewhat dreamy smile curved her lips as her eyes met his. It was a look, an expression, he'd never have dreamed of seeing on Hermione-his Hermione, as clever and determined and strong-willed as she was-and yet, here it was and it was because of him. That thought, that knowledge, flooded his mind and heart with an odd mixture of male triumph mingled in with tenderness and something like awe.
She reached out and curled one hand around his erection as she urged him closer with the other and he gave in with a groan, already breathless with the anticipation of finally sinking into her wet warmth. His arousal nudged her, sliding along her wet flesh, until his eyes nearly crossed at the pure eroticism of it, before he entered her with one quick thrust of his hips.
They both cried out at the searing intimacy of it, of the way her body took him in, fit around him.
"Hermione," he managed to gasp with what little breath he had left before he kissed her, deeply, his tongue plunging into her mouth in unconscious imitation of the movement of his hips as he began to move.
Her arms went around his shoulders, her hands clutching at him, her legs wrapping around his hips as she arched up against him, encouraging him, pulling him in yet deeper, yet closer, meeting and matching his every thrust. Her gasps for breath, his own harsh breathing, the sound of his heart pounding, all blended together into an orchestral background of lust.
And then she tore her lips from his with a sharp cry, almost a scream, as her muscles convulsed around him and the feel of her clenching around him pulled him over the edge with her and he exploded inside her with one final thrust. His vision grayed around him, his mouth opened on a hoarse shout, as he spilled himself inside her, feeling as if he gave all he had, his life, his very soul, into her keeping.
He collapsed on top of her, breathless, boneless, mindless. He could not think, could barely breathe, could only lie there on top of her. She was the bounds of his reality, the only thing that existed for him in those few moments, the warmth of her body against him, the sound and the feel of her gasps for breath against his ear.
Gradually, though, enough coherence returned to his brain for him to realize that he was probably crushing her and he rolled heavily over onto his back, mustering just enough strength, minimal as it was, to curve his arm around her, keeping her against him. He wasn't, he thought fuzzily, about to let her go, ever again. He was disinclined ever to move again, for that matter.
He closed his eyes and let himself drift, relaxing yet further into the bed. He was-not quite asleep but not entirely awake either, his mind floating in a half-conscious state, when she stirred, distracting him.
"Harry?"
It took an almost ridiculous amount of effort to open his eyes and focus them on her face. "Hmm?"
"What was this?"
He blinked, a little confused and a lot amused. "I think it's called having a damn good shag."
She didn't laugh but thumped his chest lightly. "Honestly, Harry, that wasn't what I meant and you know it."
He sobered. "What did you mean?"
"I- I'm not some exotic stranger you meet in a pub and have a one night stand with," she blurted out.
He laughed. In spite of everything, in spite of the seriousness of her tone and her expression, he couldn't help it. But then choked the rest of his amusement back at the look in her eyes, although he couldn't entirely erase his smile from his face. "Do you think I don't know that? This is you and me, Hermione; we don't do one-night stands."
"We did last week."
"What?" That surprised him out of any lingering lethargy and he pushed himself up onto his elbow, turning onto his side so he could stare down at her. "Last week wasn't a one-night stand; it was… something else," he finished a little lamely, since he couldn't think of a way to describe it.
She frowned slightly. "But- but, Harry, you said-after Ron said-I thought you--"
He cut her uncharacteristic stammering off with a quick kiss. "I said I would think about it and that was only to get Ron to leave me alone." He quirked a slight smile. "I generally find it better not to do what Ron says I should."
That got a small smile from her.
"As for last week, I wasn't thinking of it-of Helena-as being a one-night stand; I thought it was… a beginning. It happened faster than things usually do but I really liked Helena. I liked that I felt comfortable with her, I liked that she didn't flatter me, I liked that I could actually talk to her. And I was incredibly disappointed to wake up the next morning and find you were gone."
"Oh, Harry, really? I- I didn't know. I thought…"
He moved one hand to cup her cheek lightly. "Hermione, if I'd been thinking of Helena as being only a one-night stand, I wouldn't have let you go down on me."
She blushed hotly and he allowed himself a smile that may have been tinged with just a smidgen of male smugness at making her blush, before he sobered.
"I liked Helena but it wasn't until later that I realized the reason I liked her was because she reminded me of you. It was you, Hermione, all along. I wanted you, loved you. I just didn't realize it until Helena hit me over the head with it. Luckily for me, you've always been a lot smarter than I am."
She choked on a laugh as she almost threw herself at him, her arms going around his neck as she pressed all sorts of delightfully bare skin against him. "Oh, Harry, I love you too! But I thought you could never think of me like that."
He let himself fall back, sliding his own arms around her and enjoying the feel of her breasts flattened against his chest, as she lay half on top of him. "I know. That was why you decided to play Helena, wasn't it?"
She lifted her head just enough to look at him, suddenly looking rather shy-incongruously so, given where they were and what they were wearing, or not wearing more accurately. "You guessed?"
He flattened his hands on her bare back. "I figured that was it because it was the only thing that made sense." He let his fingers stray in a light caress as he met her eyes. "I'm rather glad you pretended to be Helena, or who knows how much longer it would have taken me to realize that the reason I could never really fancy any of the girls I met was because I kept comparing them to you?"
And he was rewarded for his candor when she smiled, a soft smile that glowed in her eyes and softened her expression, a smile that was very like the affectionate smile she used to give him when he'd done something she approved of, a smile that reminded him of the smile Helena had given him that had caught at his heart and made him realize he was falling for her-except this time, he realized, she wasn't hiding anything. This smile showed all her love and all her loyalty and all the depth of feeling which he knew she had. It was a smile that would have made him realize, if he hadn't already, that he really was in love with his best friend, in love with his Hermione.
And then she kissed him, with slow, deliberate heat and rubbed herself against him in a way that effectively distracted his mind from everything else except her. And his last coherent thought as he returned her kiss and her caresses was, this was it. This was forever.
This-this desire, this love- was forever. She was his forever.
~The End~