Synopsis: More than anything, he wanted to be able to give her what she wanted and what she deserved.

She moved over him like waves crashing on the shore- took his breath away, set his heart racing, swept his mind empty of everything except for the way-

Her hips moved in some rhythm he couldn't fathom, but loved desperately, with everything he had. She was always slow and steady- careful not to hurt him but desperate, in her own, quiet way, to fulfill them both. And then, suddenly-

He would feel himself getting near, heat building and muscles tightening, coming oh-so-close to that moment, that one, frantic, essential moment, and it was as if she could sense it, and then, just as suddenly-

She was nearly there, as well. He could feel it in the way her hands tightened in his hair, sending shocking heat through every part of his body. It was there in the way she would lean down, nearly collapse, close to his body, where only seconds before she had been riding high, giving him that beautiful view that was her, just her, and now he could feel her heated skin pressed against every inch of him, feel her soft breasts pinned against his chest. It was there in the way-

Her rhythm changed, disintegrated, and this was his favorite part, maybe. What had been slow and steady was now as disjointed and free as the rain falling on the tin roof of the Burrow those nights when he was a child, and he'd never dreamed anything as beautiful, as necessary, as this existed. And godohgod those soft, rose-colored lips were against his ear, her breath hot and exquisite as she pleaded with him, desperate, desperate, desperate. There was nothing in this world he would trade for those quiet, whispered words- she was the smartest person he'd met in his entire life, the smartest person ever to set foot on this planet, and yet here, now, all she chose to say was-

"Oh, Fred, Fred, please, please-" Nothing in the world, no amount of galleons, no amount of health, no amount of fame, no amount of anything was equal to hearing her soft voice losing control for him, only him. When he'd been younger, he'd always sworn up and down that he preferred women who screamed and carried on in bed, but now there was this, this absolute goddess who was telling him her most intimate thoughts, like a secret, as her body quaked around his, sending him-

So fucking close to the edge, if it had been visible, he'd have been staring into the canyon below, ready and more-than-willing to plunge to his death. Her hair was falling into his face, surrounding him in that smell- nothing special, just apple shampoo and warmth and something- that was her, only her. She's teetering on the brink with him, and he does all he can do, the only thing he can do, turning his head slightly and gripping her earlobe lightly between his teeth, tugging gently- unable to say what he wants to tell her-

Let go, just let go, even without me, it's okay, I promise-

But he can barely form a coherent thought, much more tell her that she's more important than him, even though she is, godohgod if she only knew, if she only knew. But his teeth digging into her flesh works magic, a sort of magic he would trade his entire weight in gold to understand, because now-

She was over- her body was mercilessly tight as it quivered and convulsed around him, and he was gone, barely able to feel the hot, thankful kisses she was brushing across his face, one for every freckle that he hated and she adored, and there are stars bursting in front of his eyes, but he can't wait for them to go away because he absolutely loves-

Her face afterwards. He can't get enough of it- that gentle smile on those perfect lips, the way her cheeks are pleasantly red with a satiated blush, and that gentle look in her doe eyes a split second before she closes them to rest. If life could only consist of these moments, right now-

When she slips off of him, her head now resting on his chest, her sweaty wild curls tickling his chin, and her body still wrapped close to him, as if she's protecting him, it's nearly his undoing. Because she is, really, protecting him, which is the only thing he'll never come to terms with. He should be the one giving her everything she's ever dreamed of, offering up his body for anything and everything that she has the slightest inclination to try, but-

He can't, and they both know it. The high is beginning to wear off, and, as always, it's followed by that terrible guilt. She deserved someone fully functional, someone who could get up and walk to the bathroom without a cane and a limp, someone who hadn't been nearly crushed to death by a fucking wall, of all things, almost as if, had someone been writing their lives down in a story, that person had tried to kill him in the most senseless, banal way imaginable, so against the very fiber of who he was. There were so many things-

He'd tried to give her everything money could buy, but she hadn't wanted any of it. He knew it would be that way- when they started living together, she'd stocked the shelves with books bought on her own meager salary, filled her closet with clothes from her own skimpy paycheck. That was who she was, and he loved her, god if she only knew how he loved her, so much that it felt like his heart was trying to rip its way out of his chest, just to get closer to her. The only thing she'd ever let him buy her was the ring glittering on her hand that was still stroking his hair, his face, trying to remind him that there was nothing in her except love for him. If only-

He could pay her back, somehow, for being with him, even though he was a half-useless cripple. She deserved the best of everything, and he couldn't even give her half-decent sex because his body was fucked up beyond repair. As he looked down at her face, so peaceful, so content, he couldn't help but wonder how-

She was happy. He would never, ever understand, she knew that, but she was more than happy. Somewhere amid all of the after-war madness and heartache and whatthehellisallthis, she'd fallen in love with him, and everything about him was beautiful. The way he struggled to hide his limp when she watched him walk, but played it up when his mother or twin was around for a bit of extra attention. The way his ginger hair stuck up at ridiculous angles every morning, but especially after they made love. The twisting scars that covered the lower half of his body, giving that out-of-kilter twist to his pelvis that caused him so much pain. The way he thought the world of her- she could feel it even now, rolling off of him in waves, and it made her heart ache. He couldn't understand why, and especially not how much, she loved him-

But she did, and that was all that mattered. She needed him to understand that, and she would make him, somehow. One day at a time, they would get closer to understanding each other. Hermione raised herself onto her elbows, looking into his troubled but dazzling blue eyes, and she felt warmth and something so wonderfully painful that it had to be love surge through her body. With a small, reassuring smile that made the corners of his lips tug up in answer, she rolled her body until she was straddling him again, guiding him back to that place, that moment in time where they were the closest to understanding each other. Needing to touch her, to show her, his hands drifted to her chest, fondly skimming the peaked nipples that set his groin to aching and pausing for a moment in that certain place that he loved- her heartbeat was there, warm and steady, and she melted into the touch of his hand, her lips rushing to meet his, desperate to let him know that he never had to worry about repaying her, because there was nothing she wanted that they couldn't accomplish, right here, right now, together.

A/N: So there's that. Hope you enjoyed it!