Hi. This is something I've been wanting to write for awhile. It should be a short 3 shot. This first one is inspired by "Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow" by The Shirelles. It is in Hermione's point of view. It is set right after the end of the last battle.
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine. Harry Potter is J.K. Rowlings. Lyrics to the Shirelles.
Tonight you're mine completely
You give you love so sweetly
Tonight the light of love is in your eyes
But will you love me tomorrow?
Is this a lasting treasure
Or just a moment's pleasure?
Can I believe the magic of your sighs?
Will you still love me tomorrow?
"Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?" THE SHIRELLES
It was over. The war that felt as if it had raged on for decades finally came to a close after just a few short years. He had defeated Voldemort, which was no surprise to anyone. I always knew he would be the one in the end.
Despite being in the midst of the aftermath of the fight, the epic event that would one day be deemed the Battle of Hogwarts, my mind isn't focused on the present. Don't get me wrong, I will mourn for our losses—as there were many loved ones who gave up their lives for the cause. Yes, I will miss many—I miss some already. But right now, as I stand alone in the rubble of what was once a second home, I'm ashamed of what is really going through my mind.
It was over. The war. The separation with my parents. The worry and despair that had gripped not only the Wizarding World, but my Muggle life as well. Voldemort had left no stone unturned. His power reached everyone, struck everyone. Now it was over. Everyone was safe.
Except for me. Right now, I didn't feel safe from my own feelings, my own selfish thoughts.
It was over. Whatever it had been, it was no doubt over. The pieces we tried to force together in the dark corners of a tent to make a whole were now ready to heal and form wholes on their own. He no longer needed me, and I no longer needed him.
But I still wanted him. The fire he ignited in me never flickered even the slightest in all these months. And now, the roaring inferno was expected to vanish in an instant. There was no lid to slowly deprive the flame of oxygen, allow for it to adjust. No, a gallon of water had doused the flame and it never stood a chance.
Just like I hadn't. What we had was undoubtedly coveted. We never belonged to each other, did we? Hell, we never belonged to ourselves. All this time I've known him, we've been marked to be something above ourselves. It's bullshit. It isn't fair to have a very clear picture of who you want to be, but live with the knowledge that you will never be that person.
I never thought I'd be this person. I'd never choose to be this person—what was I? In the past, I tried not to think about it. I never thought about the end. Now I'm faced with it, so I may as well come up with a name. Whore? No, I wasn't a whore. I've only had one man in my life. Fuck mates? A booty call? Convenience? A distraction? Plain, raw hormones?
For some reason, those derogatory labels can't capture what I felt like we had. Love?
I think the insulting label might be closer.
Fuck mates. It certainly captures the raw passion of what was going on in those dark corners of the tent.
It was never tender or loving. There was no love. It was all passion. Raw. Rushed. Fevered. We had had to fit hours into minutes.
I can still remember the first night it had started. It was the night Ron left us. Harry was so angry and I was upset. No good would come of this separation.
How wrong I was.
Harry has a temper. That night, so many months ago, it knew no bounds. He had upended the table, smashed glass, and broke a number of things. I silently watched, terrified of this crazed reaction. Finally, he stopped—exhausted. I left him there on the floor, slumped uncomfortable against the sofa. I took a long shower, taking comfort in the water hiding my tears. After at least an hour, I finally returned to small hallway that would lead me to my room. I caught a glimpse of him, still pathetically slouched against the sofa. The only change was that a cup was accompanying him now.
He caught sight of me, pausing at the doorway leading to my things. My bathrobe was wrapped securely around me, revealing nothing. Living so closely together, ordinary boundary lines began to fizzle out. He saw my scrutinizing eyes and with a great effort, mustered up a small smile. "Relax—it's just water." He reassured me.
I should have known. Harry wasn't one to drown his sorrows at the bottom of a bottle. No, that was Ron. Harry's temper was his outlet, and it was a short-lived thing. I could already sense the shame emitting from him.
He picked himself up, and with a few flicks of his wand, everything was repaired and back in order. "I'm sorry," he mumbled softly.
Still, I stood there, gripping my robe. Heat had spread through my stomach, as if my body had made a decision before my mind had caught up.
I loved this man. I knew this. It had taken time to come to realize it, but once I had, I knew it was something that would never waver. How could I not love him? To see him looking so broken ripped through me like nothing else. He looked close to giving up on everything. His best mate had just walked out on him. Well, one of his best mates. No, I would never leave him. No, I would make this better. I would make any sort of sacrifice that would ensure that I would never have to see this look on his face again, this desolate, broken look.
I would sacrifice my love if it distracted him for even just a few minutes.
He may be angry and upset and ashamed, but he was still a hot-blooded male.
Just like I was a fiery female with heat throbbing in places like I've never felt before.
For once, I was confident. It had never occurred to me that he wouldn't agree to this. No, I had known that he, just like me, needed something. I may have been grasping at straws, but a good fuck seemed just as good as anything else.
I crossed the room swiftly and took the glass from his hand. Before I even downed the last of it, I already know he had lied. It was most certainly not water. The Firewhiskey had burned my throat, but it was nothing compared to the burning in other places in my body.
"You fuckin' liar." Is all I said before I threw the glass behind me and roughly pushed him up against the wall. I had barely registered the sound of the glass shattering. My mouth was already on his before he could protest.
He didn't even try to resist. He had already had handful of my hair in his hands, pulling me closer. I still don't understand how we didn't mold ourselves straight into the wall that night. He grasped my knee and pulled it clear to his hip and wrapped it around his waist. The other followed soon after, and before I knew it, it was my back that all but became one with the wall.
He tasted like nothing I'd even tasted before. He certainly didn't taste of Firewhiskey and I had vaguely realized he hadn't drunk any in the first place. At this point, I didn't care.
He stumbled in the direction of his bedroom as I ran wet, hot kisses down his throat. My breathing had become sharp gasps. We fell onto a bed—his bed—and I dramatically ripped his shirt open. He paused his chest visibly heaving in the moon light. I hadn't wanted to stop, even for a moment. No, we might have come to our senses. Instead, I deliberately shrugged out of my bathrobe and had thrown him what could only had been described as a "come hither" look.
He hadn't needed any more persuasion. Soon, his body was pinning my own down to the sheets as we fumbled with the rest of his clothing. The raw passion left no room for nervousness or embarrassment. Despite our lack of knowhow, animalistic instincts took over. I hadn't known it was supposed to feel so deliciously delightful for his hands to roam my body, but somehow, my body knew exactly how to respond. My own hands found the path that led to the waistband of his boxers and boldly pulled them down.
His hot mouth and devilishly talented tongue had become better acquainted with my body that even I was. His palms had squeezed my thighs, and I had already known that the bruises would be present the next morning.
In the midst of our raw passion, he had breathed in my ear, asking again for reassurance and permission. "Are you sure?" His voice told me that he wasn't going to stop, despite what my answer was.
Which is exactly how I wanted him. Completely unguarded and defenseless.
"Just fuck me, Harry." I had moaned, wrapping my legs around his waist for emphasis.
The pain was inevitable, but I barely noticed. The mental pleasure was enough to make me forget. The knowledge that Harry was now inside of me, was closer to me than either of us had ever been with another human being aroused me in a way his even his fingers hadn't—though they hadn't been far off.
The rest of the night was a blur, with small bits and pieces standing out in sharp contrast—like when he lips lunged for my throat roughly while his thrusts grew faster. Like when his eyes met mine, and the connection was too intense that I had to focus on his chest. Like when he breathed my name in my ear in a way that I had never heard him say anything before. Like the ecstasy of finishing together, then him rolling onto his back beside me, covered in a sheen of sweat. His forearm had casually slung over his eyes. His breathing had been irregular, just as mine was. The sheet was modestly pulled up to my chest, but on him, it had hung low on his hips.
"Fuck." He had sworn lowly.
I hadn't known what to do. Lie back down? Say something? Leave?
Finally, I had opted to leave. I had opened the gateway to an outlet for him to take his frustrations out on, his needs. As cheap as it sounds, that's exactly what it was.
I had pulled my robe back on, given him one last look, and then went uninterrupted to my bedroom.
By the time I had gotten up the next morning, only slightly sore, Harry had already made breakfast. He was a better cook than I was. I quietly nibbled at eggs and toast while silence had engulfed us.
We hadn't talked about it. Round two occurred three days later while arguing about Godric's Hollow. One minute I had been stating why I had thought going there was dangerous, and then the next, his lips were urgent on mine and I had been pulled back to his bedroom again.
Still, we never talked about it, not explicitly anyway. Even to this day, we never had a long discussion about the catalyst that led to us shagging. Whoever said sex was never the answer was wrong. Being able to physically take our frustrations out on each other was a blessing.
When Ron returned, nothing changed except the discreetness of it all. Not upsetting Ron hadn't been a priority. No, it had been out of respect.
He found out, however. Harry had told me that Ron had caught him sneaking out of my bedroom in the middle of the night smelling of blissful sex, his hair untidier than usual, and he had had an impish grin on his face.
Ron hadn't given a damn. His crush on me was long gone. It was common for him to pour over Harry's map of Hogwarts and stare longingly at a dot labeled Luna Lovegood—just to ensure that he she was safe. His eyes would stray towards his sister or other good friends, but his focal point was no doubt the blonde Ravenclaw.
No, his only requests were not to shag in front of him and not "bring an innocent child into this bleeding fucked up mess of a world."
By this time, our new hobby had become almost a nightly encounter: because we were angry, because we were happy, to celebrate an accomplishment, to deny having been put back few steps. No rhyme or reason had been put with it, other than just because why the hell not?
So now here I am, slowly trudging towards the place in the castle I had spent most of my time at Hogwarts. The library is almost unrecognizable. Books are strewn everywhere, ripped and shredded. Stone that had been reduced to flakes of dust clung to every surface. I'm too exhausted to well up the proper emotion. I just need a safe place. And I know exactly where that safe distraction is—the one way I've become customary to celebrate wins with losses, anger with happiness, love with physical pleasure.
But that outlet is gone. Why should it remain? We sometimes talked about what we would do if we ever lived to make it out of this mess, but it always involved going back to school, jobs, flats, and Quidditch. We never talked about us because we both knew there wouldn't be an us to talk about. Now that we were free with our whole lives ahead of us, our boundaries vanished. As much as I loved him and needed him, I knew he needed to chance to really live. I threw myself into this, expecting nothing in return.
And so I wouldn't hold him back. I wouldn't make a big production of it. I always knew the kisses, the sighs and moans, the touches…they all had a number; I just didn't know what it was at the time.
I wonder where to go from here. Idly, I kick a small stone. A dust cloud hangs in the air for a few seconds before it settles again. I lean down to pick up a book and try to use my sleeve to wipe the dust from it. It's a book on Charms.
With a smile to myself, I find a spot on the nearest boulder-sized piece of rock and crack open the book.
"Only Hermione Granger would find a book to read in the aftermath of Voldemort's defeat." A voice speaks, causing me to look up. Harry is standing there, covered from head to toe in a mixture of dirt and blood.
I smile. "I need a little normalcy for a moment," I admit, gesturing the red cover of my book.
Harry nodded. "I know exactly what you mean," he says, his eyes staring at me intently. I understand the double meaning of his words. The look in his emerald is one that I've seen countless times before. I know exactly what he wants. I can't help but think, 'One last time…why the hell not?' while I stand up to dust myself off. I take his hand and lead him in the direction of a bathroom. However, he pulls me in another direction and our destination is soon apparent. Harry always did prefer a bed.
The portrait leading to the Gryffindor Common room was no longer intact; however, the Common Room wasn't damaged nearly as much as other parts of the Castle. We walked silently, hand in hand, towards his old dormitory. The circular room had been untouched. Harry led me into the bathroom, where he ran water for a shower. Mechanically, I shrug out of my clothes and step under the hot water—Harry quickly joins me. The water washes away the blood and dirt from the war. I'm not worried: I know soon something will push away the memories, even if just for a little while. I turn under the showerhead slowly, savoring the hot water.
The shower is too long for my impatient lust, but wasn't nearly long enough to satisfy my desire to be cleansed of this mess.
It is obvious Harry's bed hadn't been used, but we quickly remedy that. I pull him on top of me and into a heated kiss, ready to forget. Harry's hearty response shifts. His usual zeal melts away into something dare-I-say tender. I'm not used to this approach, but I don't have plans to rectify his new tactic. Instead, I slow down too. The heat becomes a slow burning need. My only conclusion is that he wants to savor this last time the same as I do. Or maybe he knows we actually have time now.
His hand tangles in my hair as his lips move to my jaw line. I hear his voice whisper my name as he his fingertips caress up my naked side. My response is a throaty moan. The burning need is more intense than it has ever been. His hands find mine and pin them on either side of my head. His intense eyes bore into my own and his kisses me fiercely for just a moment before pacing himself once again.
It's a funny thought, thinking about Harry pacing himself. I'm so used to him coming in and all but demanding exactly what he wants. Seeing this loving side of him…I cannot explain how much it turns me on.
"Harry, please," I beg as his tongue swirls around one of my nipples. He kisses down my stomach and thighs. I bite my lip as he hits his destination. "Oh!" I breathe, screwing my eyes shut because the pleasure is becoming too much.
His fingers replace the ministrations of his tongue as he pulls himself up to kiss me again. I grip the back of his head as I feel my orgasm building powerfully. Suddenly, Harry is behind me, kissing my shoulder and neck, one hand is caressing my breast while the other is lost in the wetness between my thighs.
"Harry!" I gasp, my arm reaching back to grab something, the back or side of his head maybe.
"You are so beautiful." He says in my ear, his voice barely above a whisper.
I feel like I'm about to lose control. I need him badly in a way I've never needed him before.
I spin around and grab his face between my two palms. I kiss him earnestly as I climb on top of him. It takes only seconds before I finally feel him right where he belongs. I move against him, loving the sound of his small moans.
Not to be outdone, Harry flips us over so he is now hovering over me. "Eager little minx, aren't you?" He banters playfully, pulling out of me. I emit a sound that can only be compared to a growl.
Laughing, Harry powerfully thrusts deep inside of me, causing us both to gasp.
His rhythm is slower than usual. Half-way through, I realize we aren't fucking. No, he's making love to me—there is no other word to describe it. This has to be the most beautiful lovemaking in history.
The kind that can only be the result of love. Control is lost and an orgasm shatters through my trembling body.
As his thrusts speed, I wonder briefly if he loves me the way I love him.
His pants turn into groans and after he plunges ever deeper once more, he all but collapses on top of me. He manages to roll over to his back, taking me with him so I'm now cradled to his chest.
As I stare up at his eyes, his love for me comes back to mind. Does he love? And if he does, is it just when we are like this: covered in sweat, the musky smell of fresh sex in the air, and exhaustion threatening to take over? I look up at him, trying to read his expression. Smooth contentment. His eyes are closed and his face is peaceful. In my head, I can't stop myself from silently asking:
Will you still love me tomorrow?
Please review. If you are following The Potter V.S. Granger Rivalry, I have the next two chapters completely written, I am just revising them (and trying to find a good spot to split the 80+ pages into two chapter!) I should have that posted sometime within the next week, as well as the second chapter of this.