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She’s in the kitchen, perched on the counter, ankles crossed as she stirs the contents of the bowl lazily as you walk in the flat toward the kitchen. Sensing your presence and smiling, she beckons you forward with a single finger and you willingly drop everything and go.
“Try this,” she says, dipping a finger into the batter. Transfixed by her coy smile, you part your lips, her finger slipping in along with the taste of caramel, butter and sugar.
But there's more, lingering under the surface as your tongue makes contact with her finger. A taste you'd know anywhere: pure, unadulterated Hermione. You close your eyes and smile as your senses overwhelms you, you begin getting lost in the memories of her skin.
Oh you couldn’t imagine the way her skin would taste the first time tongue met flesh.
Soft and magnificent, so many hours spent stealing kisses on the neck between classes and teasing the soft lobe of her ear just to decipher the taste you’d grown quickly addicted to.
She is velvet and treacle and spring sunrises: when life comes back into the world. She is your rebirth and your awakening and completely yours.
And oh, that first kiss in the dark was quiet and accidental; but then, all the best are. You were never fully prepared for the complete ecstasy that her lips could bestow on yours. It was never like this with others; never as frantic, needy and rushed. Never as visceral and soul baring as hers, never feeling so perfectly and cosmically aligned and fated and a whole slew of adjectives that simply meant right.
Because it was, she was, in every sense and definition of the word. She plays you like a child's game, knowing all the right moves to bend you to her will as if you weren't already willingly halfway there. It only takes a look: a wicked grin, big brown eyes and a face so completely ethereal you can’t help but become mesmerized in it. She always tries to pull you into her orbit; the days you can resist are far and few between, because you will always be there, ready to submit and comply to her will as a divine thank you that someone allowed her to be yours in the first place.
Some days she has you making banana pancakes and serving her in bed before you realize it. She has you convinced that being ten minutes late is no big deal and it’s always, “Come back to bed Harry… I’m much too lonely here by myself…” And you go.
Always. Time and time again.
You always go and you always will. You don’t bother telling her it costs you overtime at the holidays because the sleepy smile she has waiting for you as you crawl across the mattress is more than worth it. And even though on those nights, when you come home way too late and she should be sleeping; like clockwork you open the door and sense her waiting.
She’s always quieter on nights like this.
Legs gracefully folded underneath her, book in hand, cat in lap; waiting in your favorite chair by the fire. She pretends not to hear you come in, and studies her book; only peering over the top twice as you go through your nightly routine. And by the time you’re finished shucking off your jacket and you being taking off your tie, the book lays abandoned on the floor, the cat dethroned and her arms are open and waiting.
Surreal, you think as you gravitate towards those open arms.
This is your life. This is your reality.
And how sweet it is.
She pulls you into her lap, all smiles and questions about your day - but not until you’ve been properly greeted. A greeting that occasionally involves her tongue, teeth and lips exploring your neck. Breathy whispers of how much she missed you swallowed by the sound of your pulse racing in your ears. And then that greeting leads to shirts being torn, pants thrown to the wayside as mouths meld together. You can’t help taste that sweet skin again and she cries, begs for you to never stop - oh god - never stop. You tumble to the ground bodies pressed impossibly close, chests heaving; and as she straddles you, skin glowing, hair wild and messy - her declarations of love never sound sweeter.
You know her body completely, each freckle yours to kiss, every curve the perfect place for your hand to rest. Her sounds egg you on and you hope, pray, know it will always be like this. She leans forward and you pull her close refusing to let the slightest atom separate your bodies. You breathe into her mouth, sweaty and sticky skin, coming together in harmony - like always. She’s close now. The slight hitch in her breath and your fingers grip her hips, the low and throaty moan she looses when you change the tempo. The sting of her fingernails cutting half moons into your thighs grounds you back into your reality as she holds on for dear life. Taking and taking until she is satisfied and you willingly giving her everything.
It’s been over 5 years of love making with her, and still every time she cums, your name and ‘I love you’ fall from her lips in reverent chant, growing softer as her heart pounds harder. Always your name, without fail. And as your lover comes undone in your arms, life will never be more than this.
The room quiets as your breathing returns to normal, pulses slowing slightly and eyes grow heavy. On these nights, you insist on carrying her to bed. She thinks you’re being chivalrous, but truly you're being the most selfish you can be. Knowing that you can’t bring yourself to stop touching her naked skin and refuse to stop feeling her heartbeat through your skin. Staying connected and enmeshed as long as possible, this is you taking, taking, taking.
And as she nuzzles her head into your neck, she whispers sweet words into your skin. Lips tickling the sensitive flesh as words of love and adoration and pure honest engrain themselves on your skin and in your mind and righting your world once more. You cherish these highs; when she falls asleep first and you watch her breathing, wondering what you did in a past life to deserve the creature next to you. She mumbles shopping lists and asks you not to pet the oranges, and with a smile you follow her into the land of dreams.
This, Harry Potter, is your life now: The weight of the world replaced by the weight of her love. And what a weight to bear. Your life is perfection in a bottle, teetering on the edge. Each day you don’t break is is one to remember; and even now as you break free from your memories and blink back to the present: she’s smiling at you.
Waiting patiently she asks, “how’s it taste?”
You smile at her, savoring the taste on your tongue and say, “like home.”