A/N: Though I feel bad to say it, I wrote this because I was horny. I've decided I shouldn't do that, because it makes for bad pieces like this, but still... I kinda like this, that's why I'm posting it. :) Hope y'all don't hate it TOO much.
R/Hr fluff cures the world.
She didn't understand why it was happening, or how she had gotten there.
It was the little things, really: the small things that made her love him. Those were the causes of what was happening. It was the way that he smiled. It was the way he flipped his hair when he was feeling proud, the way the very tips of his ears went flush when he was embarrassed, or ashamed. It was the curve of his mouth when it would twitch as he watched her, and thought she didn't notice. It was the way his brow furrowed at her when they argued, almost as though it pained him to do so.
It was the way that he had approached her that night, eyes full of hesitation and confusion. Her heart had tightened strangely at the sight of him at her door. It was a secret told to no one, a secret only her heart could keep, that she loved him. He often made signs as though he loved her too, but she could never be sure. Many a time, she had found herself alone with him, alone in a room full of silence that would flood her mind so that it buzzed painfully as her heart made it impossible to breathe, pounding so hard, nerves building as he would do or say something that caught her speechless. And then, each of those many times, she had found herself alone in the end, flesh hot after all the anticipation and let down, fuming over something he had said to ruin the moment, or over the fact that someone else had interrupted what could have been a productive conversation leading to the long-awaited pronouncement of her love. It was too many hours that had been wasted crying over what could have been, and not enough hours spent trying to simply make things be the way she wanted.
Still, with all that was happening amongst her friends and in the world, she was forced to shove her desires to the back of her mind; she pushed her own needs to the depths of her heart and let them stay there behind her gate of ribs, swearing she'd never reveal them until the war was over, and the terror was gone. And still, she broke her own promises to herself when she would find herself sobbing over him and the way he always gave her uncontrollable chills, for what she would swear again would be the last time.
And so it was this that she was attempting to achieve when he had come to her door that night. It was forgetting about him that she had been trying to do, humming a song to herself in a wavering voice, without knowing any of the words, and only a vague melody. Her voice kept breaking as she hummed, the way it often does when one has a sore throat, or is on the verge of tears, and tries to sing. As she came close to a shrill note she knew she could not reach, she sighed with shaking breath, giving up, rubbing her upper arms with her palms in an attempt to warm herself, but it was to no avail. Her hands were ice. She could have used her wand, but it lay several feet from her on a nearby coffee table, and she had no energy to move herself to get it.
It was just as she was sighing once more in exasperation that nothing was going right, that she heard the knock to enter.
It took her a moment to muster the motivation to get up from her seat at her desk. She felt every muscle ache and tighten in protest as she put pressure at last on her legs, and stood. With a groan of annoyance that someone had made her rise from such a comfortable seat, she crossed the room, and opened the door.
A beat seemed to have been missed in the drumming of her heart, so that her lungs felt tightly constricted, and her entire brain screamed in protest at her heart's mistake: It needed air again.
His red hair was ruffled, and he looked perfectly ordinary; he looked quite perfect to her.
Her face showed no signs of a reaction at his appearance there before her: over the years, she had gotten very good at making her face placid when inside she was bubbling, and making herself look furious when inside she was waving flags of excitement for one reason or another. She'd learned these things, and they'd proved just as useful as all the information she so religiously stuck to that she learned from books.
She licked her lips, which she suddenly realized were very dry and cracked, and asked, feeling quite hoarse, "What is it?"
He opened his mouth to answer. She felt sick as he did so. He said "I just…" before taking a break to swallow and lick his own lips as well, and then went on: "I just wanted to talk to you."
She stood aside for him to pass, and he did so graciously, rubbing his cold, white hands together. The wind was icy today.
As he entered her room, the flutter of his cloak matched the fluttering of her heart now beating so out of tune again as his body passed hers, and nearly touched. She inhaled deeply but quietly, calming herself.
It was as he sat on the armchair across from the seat she had chosen, that she suddenly became aware of her raggedy, down-trodden appearance. She cursed herself silently for her large sweater and jeans. This was how she always looked, and she never minded, but one on one with him… like this…
She only wished that she had chosen her wardrobe at least slightly more carefully.
"So," she began cautiously, "what's up? What did you want to talk about?" She sat back, crossing her arms and legs in what she hoped seemed like a carefree way.
He glanced up at her from staring nervously at his wringing hands, and her heart skipped for the umpteenth time, it seemed. The blue of his eyes seemed to melt her dark ones, and he smiled nervously as he said, "I'm just… scared."
Genuine concern and worry washed over her, and she leaned forward in a way to show her interest. "Scared? What of?"
"Oh, don't pretend you don't know," he said with a laugh. "We're all scared."
"Oh," she said, realization finally dawning on her. "You're scared about… about Harry."
"Yes," he admitted quietly. He gave a small nod, and looked sadly back down at his hands.
There was a very long pause. Neither of them seemed able to speak, each wrapped up in their own thoughts, though both sharing the terror that Harry, their shared best friend, would not survive the oncoming battles, that he would die, or not be the same, in the end. They were both afraid of the end. It was a terrifying concept, and the two of them were then lost in thought simultaneously, contemplating all horrible possibilities.
At very long last, after several seemingly endless, silent minutes, he spoke.
"Y'know," he said cautiously, "I think a lot about what's going to happen at the end of all this."
"Me too," she agreed breathlessly, her voice high and terrified.
"And then," he went on, "when I think about the future like that, I begin to think about the past. I think about all the good times, and all the bad ones, and I think… I think I don't want to lose all that. I don't want those memories to be for nothing… for all of this to end in vain."
She was silent as he began to, quite suddenly, to open up, and speak fluidly as though he had been meaning to say all this for over a year, and was grateful to at last be saying it.
"I just… I don't want it all to go to waste, and what I'm scared of is that… it will. I'm scared that Harry will die, or…" his voice cracked, "that you will die, and it will have all been for nothing. All our time together as friends, all our adventures, our lazy times, the jokes we've shared, the death we've faced as a solid team…" he licked his lips again. "And it's all just going to be… gone."
He looked up at her. "I don't want it to all go away," he said rather lamely, though the terror in his eyes was more pronounced than it had ever been, and more real than any fear she'd known he'd suffered before. It was killing her to see such fear, but she could do nothing as he went on, "I don't want to die. I don't want you to die." He swallowed. "I want to win. We have to destroy You-Know, well… V—Voldemort…" he looked horrified, as though he'd just uttered the most sickeningly disgusting word known to man. The fact was that he had, and that's what really struck her as incredible. Never in their lives had he ever said the name, and there… he spoke it strongly, and as his shocked face ebbed away slowly, it turned into one of great relief. Saying it at last was… freeing, she knew. He finished sadly with, "We just have to," and fell silent, looking oddly ashamed, as though he thought he'd said too much.
Their eyes were still hooked, still fastened to one another as though they simply couldn't break away.
"That's it," he said, still staring so very strangely at her. "That's all I wanted to say. Just that, well… I'm scared." He gave the tiniest of smiles, and a sweet warmth crept up his freckled face and lit it with a faint pink, which made her hands begin to sweat, and her neck itch awkwardly. "You're the only one I can really tell all this to. You're the only one who I don't feel awkward with. I mean, there's Harry," he laughed, "but guys don't really tell their guy friends this sort of stuff. I mean, you, on the other hand… you're just good with all this emotional stuff, aren't you?" He smiled more widely. "Yeah, you're just smart that way; even more than you are book-smart."
She was blushing hard, now. "Well," she said, "I just think a lot. This isn't the sort of thing you can just learn out of books. It's about knowing people."
"Well you know me really well," he said, and something in the back of her mind seemed to burst and flood her skull as her feeling for him bubbled and nearly overflowed. "That's why I can talk to you so easily, I guess," he went on. "It's really nice, talking to you, y'know. I really like this. Just me, here, talking to you…" His smile stuck for a few moments, and then faded slightly as he continued.
"I really… really… like you, Hermione," he said awkwardly.
She was holding her breath, on the brink of explosion.
"You're such a great friend."
Her hands fell limply to her sides in confusion. What was this? A friends' talk, or…?
"And… I don't want to die… with you being just… just my friend."
What? Her mind seemed to have gone blank, anticipation wiping all thought from her brain.
"I want you to know… something I've always wanted to tell you…"
She clenched her fists though her fingers seemed numb, and held her breath as, at long, long last, after eons of waiting, of wanting…
"I love you, Hermione."
He was panting as though he had just run a mile, sweating as though he were steeling himself to do something that would cost him everything. And then, quite suddenly, he slipped off his chair, knelt before her on her where she sat, took her head in his hands, and pressed her trembling mouth to his.
An explosion of relief and excitement and heat seemed to have taken place in the very core of her body, spreading throughout her entire system in a great, shuddering moment. She shook so violently for that second that he nearly broke away, but some long suppressed emotion suddenly took a hold of her, and she threw her arms about his neck.
Their hands were quick and deft, as though this had been planned, as though this was what they were best at, and what they knew was right to do. She slipped onto the floor beside him, and they wrapped themselves together there with needy arms, two pairs of arms that had both waited too long for this to happen. His large, strong hands entangled themselves in her unkempt bushy hair, while her small ones greedily took in every inch of his back, holding him so tightly, wanting to take him, to keep him, to never let him go, to maybe take him right into her so he could never leave her, ever.
His lips parted against hers as he smiled, and breathed a nervous laugh of pure perfection into her mouth. She let her tongue graze his mouth, and he let out a small, intense groan of pleasure that made her so hungry for him she could have hurt him.
He grabbed her suddenly, violently by the waist, and threw her down so he was over her, now lying flat on the hardwood floor. Her hands were above her head without her even noticing, her mouth being loved so roughly by his that she was going mad with it all as her legs reached up instinctively to hug him to her body.
She knew that her body was not perfect, as he removed a hand from her wrist to lift her sweater over her head, but she did not care. She did worry for a moment about the fact that her skin was not smooth, and her breasts were uneven, and the fact that her stomach was subtly lined with curves, but as he broke away from her mouth to whisper into her ear, as though he knew exactly what she was thinking, "You're beautiful…" all thoughts of self-consciousness were gone. Harry, Voldemort, and their war, didn't matter. Death was no threat to them here, for they were together. Heat began to stir between their closely moving bodies. He was strong above her, moving hard against her, keeping her excited, hot, and quivering. He let his lips hover inches above hers, a sly smile playing across them as he pressed his forehead to hers, and licked his mouth.
"What?" she breathed, light headed.
"I want you," he whispered airily, his hot breath hitting her face like pure temptation.
She shivered below him, but looked steadily into his eyes to answer him.
It was enough.
He grinned, and leaned in to kiss her again. His lips were like satin to her face and neck as he moved downward, bringing his hands down from her wrists to grip her sides. Her arms free from his tempting grasp, she flung them upward, around his back once more, clutching him more closely to her, digging her fingernails into the fabric of his cloak still haphazardly thrown around him, as he trailed his mouth still further down her body. She fiddled with the clasp, gripped a corner of it at his neck, and whipped off his back, throwing it to the side, a giant sheet of black flying over their heads to land somewhere to their right. This movement seemed to free them, and suddenly, letting go of all inhibitions, her hands had slid under his shirt, and the feel of the skin of his chest beneath her fingers was driving her crazy.
Her mind was on fire, her skin was tingling, and with a burst of courage, she had pulled her hands from his chest, gripped the bottom of his shirt, and tugged upward. He pulled away from her again to let her pull it over his head, and as the last of it passed across his red hair, leaving it mussed, and his shoulders, chest, and stomach bare before her, she had to take a sharp breath to calm herself from being too excited by the sight.
He leaned back in. His naked upper body pressed upon her, and her hands ran over his bare shoulders and back, and he felt so warm and flush above her that she couldn't suppress the gasp of delight that escaped her lips. He laughed embarrassedly, and began to unbutton her shirt as he resumed loving her neck with his gentle mouth. One hand flew from his back to the floor on which she lay, clawing at it, biting her lip, desperately trying not to go overboard and simply take him then and there as his fingers continued to unfasten the fabric that separated her body from him. She grew slightly nervous, but her heart was beating too fast for her to listen to that part of her brain. She had been running from those feelings for too long… she was enjoying letting them control her now. It was all she knew, at the moment, her love for him. It filled her up, and let him remove her shirt, and close his arms around her bare upper body, and even allow him to unclasp the restraining bra that held her breasts. Her heart panged furiously as she got extremely nervous for a second, but then, as her bra fell away and he smiled gently at her, she was glad. She was more open to him than she had even been in her life, more exposed, and yet, more comfortable. He took her in his arms, and kissed her deeply. Their tongues met, and she grinned against his face as a pair of hands wandered down to her waist to remove her hindering jeans. They were gone in moments, and his, too, were gone in just as little time.
How they got there, she found herself unsure. She didn't know how it had happened, or why it was happening.
This is where she is, and this is where she knows she belongs: with him.
Still, a million thoughts are rushing through her head, and a million more speeding up her heart to keep her at it, and not stopping.
How her clothes ended up so far away, she doesn't know, and how her heart and his were beating in tune… she can't remember when that happened. But she's glad for this moment, glad to be here, a place she never knew, but always wished she could… a place she knows she should be.
His arms are around her, his hands in her hair, her scalp tingling, her skin aflame with his touch. Their flesh together warms them, makes them hot, sweating now as their bare legs run upon each other. Her hands clinging longingly to his back, his mouth graciously devouring every inch of her naked form, they love one another to an extent that they simply don't understand it. They never let themselves admit it before, and now, finally here where they've wanted to be, it's too powerful. It controls them, and they don't understand it. They love it.
And somehow they're both so bare, and so clean and more pure than ever they've felt… somehow, this was beautiful.
His lips caress her neck once more, and travel upward to fasten upon her mouth again. She lets out a moan that came from a place within her that she hadn't known existed.
It is a moment of heat and fire so strong that everything seems to spin, and blind her terribly. She sees red, and bites her lip in horrible pain as she let him inside her.
"Are you okay?" He asks in a rush, genuine terror that he has hurt her clearly evident in his voice.
She does not answer, blinded fiercely by the striking pain that's shooting viciously through her body, strongest at the point of penetration. She whimpers, and feels tears behind her eyes, but does not want to stop… this is their moment… this is where she wants to be, and she does not care about her pain as long as the moment can go on. She gives a simpering nod, and digs her fingernails harshly into the muscles of his shoulders, still biting her lip. He lets out a sharp gasp as she grips harder to distract herself from the physical pain. He moves gently back, in an attempt to ease the pain for her. They wait. Several more moments pass, her ragged breathing growing calmer every second, and then, with a nod from her, and a look of lust between them, they continue. Her pain is less.
And as her sharp intakes of breath turn into soft moans of delight, he thrusts himself upon her, and her moans become shrieks of pleasure that are so unlike her self. He works fast, he clings to the floor above her head as she clings to the skin upon his backside, and as her legs bend upward to give him easier access, they scream together.
Names are shouted all at once. Their eyes are closed, their breaths are short, and their skin is sliding upon each other with sweat. Everything is hot as they handle each others bodies roughly, though with care, and move themselves gruffly upon the floor as they work hard at one another, pleasure mounting at its highest until they collapse… panting and sweating… in a heap upon the wooden floor, now shining from their dripping sweat.
This is where she should always be, she thinks. This: beside him, forever, a silent kiss to share their thoughts, for words mean nothing when together. It is their eyes that tell each other all, their lips that seal things said with eyes as true. This look they share of such strong love, and this moment of complete and wonderful silence is perfection: impossible perfection that only can be possible with such strong love and understanding as they share.
And here is where they part for now, a kiss to end their meeting, a smile to seal and keep this secret, and a quick embrace to console their shared concerns.
A promise is made that this meeting will go unspoken of to Harry, though yes, their love will become known. They will stand strong despite the time of war; they will stay happy, and alive, and not hold back because of fear of death. They share a last, deep kiss, and she closes the door behind him.
The room seems suddenly cold again.