To tide you all over...
Since you've been so patient in waiting for this (and because it's my day to post on fanfict00bs), a little preview cookie from the next chapter of 'The Truth About Love' which is shaping up to be one of the longest chapters yet, I think.
Enjoy.
From 'The Truth About Love', Chapter 14.
It was going to be a wonderful day.
Hermione was quite blissfully certain of this as she almost floated down the stairs that morning. She supposed she must look rather silly smiling to herself as she suspected she was, but she could not help it and, for once in her life, she was too content to care if she looked foolish. She was still filled with a deliciously languorous sense of well-being after the way Harry had woken her up that morning and the all-too-brief interlude that had followed.
A slight shiver of pleasure passed through her just at the memory of his slow, leisurely kisses and idle caresses. It was truly astonishing just how delightful it had been to lie there beside him and simply kiss him, be kissed by him-just kissing, only his lips on hers, and very little else involved. For once, there had been no blaze of passion, no intensity of sensation; it had simply been warmth and lazy, luxurious pleasure until she had felt positively limp with bliss, dazed and suffused with the warm sense of utter well-being which lingered in her now. Simply kissing… he had not tried to caress her intimately, had not tried to escalate things, and neither had she. They had both been perfectly content just to kiss, exploring the other’s mouth with a leisurely thoroughness that was rather new but no less pleasant…
She would have been perfectly happy to linger there in his bed, kissing him, for hours but all too soon, they had reluctantly separated with the acknowledgement that it would not do for them to stay there while the morning advanced, given the presence of guests.
The morning room was deserted when Hermione arrived although she could see evidence that someone-Remus, she surmised-had already breakfasted and gone out.
Well, solitude suited her that morning; she was quite content to think of Harry and the morning so far as she broke her fast.
Her smile lasted through her daily morning consultation with Daisy over the menus for the day and any other household matters that may have come up. And on a wish to see everyone as happy as she felt, she gave Daisy a (perfectly sincere) smiling compliment that had the elf flushing until she looked almost purple and curtsying so deeply she looked in danger of losing her balance for a few seconds and almost babbling her gratitude and pleasure and the great honor to work for Harry Potter and his wife.
She dismissed Daisy’s thanks with another smile and left the room which she’d appropriated as her sanctum with a light step.
“Good morning, Hermione.”
Hermione turned to beam at Ron as he intercepted her on her way outside. “Good morning. Have you breakfasted?”
Ron gave her a smilingly incredulous look. “You should know me better than to ask such a question by now, Mrs. Potter. Of course I’ve breakfasted.”
Hermione laughed a little. “Of course. I forgot momentarily whom I was speaking to.”
“I was just thinking of walking out to enjoy the fine weather. Would you care to join me?” Ron asked with teasingly-exaggerated formality.
“Certainly, Mr. Weasley,” Hermione smiled, the formal address belied by the comfortable way in which she took his arm.
“This is certainly a very fine house,” Ron commented idly as they left the house.
“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” Hermione slowed as she glanced back at it. “Sometimes,” she admitted softly, hardly realizing she was going to speak at all, “I look around and I’m still amazed that this is my home now.”
“You are happy then,” Ron said and the words were a statement rather than a question.
Hermione glanced at him. “Why, Ron, did you expect that Harry would banish me to live in a hovel somewhere, perhaps live on scraps of food and water?” she smiled, making light of it.
Ron smiled swiftly but turned to look at her and his expression was, again, rather uncharacteristically sober. “I was more concerned about your personal happiness than the material considerations. I know you and Harry did not exactly marry under ideal circumstances,” he finished a little awkwardly. It was his first outward acknowledgement that there had been anything at all unusual about the reason for her marrying Harry. “I was simply concerned. I- I rather think you both deserved more than a forced marriage.”
“Oh, Ron…” Hermione sighed a little. She, of all people, knew that Ron was much more than the carefree, good-humored young gentleman most people saw but even so, she was still taken aback in the rare times when he was completely serious. “You need not worry about me. I am perfectly content.” More than content, she admitted, fighting a blush at the memory of that morning and savoring the lingering warmth at the thought of it.
She felt Ron’s gaze on her face and gave him a smile. “You are very sweet to be so concerned, though.”
Ron’s face assumed an arrested expression as he studied her for a moment and then a smile dawned slowly. “Well, I’ll be…” he said softly. “You are in love with him.” It was not a question.
Hermione felt herself blush hotly but could hardly deny it. “Is it so very obvious?”
“Mm, perhaps not,” Ron conceded. “But I do know you rather well, you know, Hermione.”
“Yes, I suppose you do. Well, you may certainly put any fears for my happiness to rest.”
“I have no doubt of that now and I am glad of it. I should hate to think of either you or Harry being unhappy.”
Hermione smiled and gave his arm a slight pressure as they continued their stroll, in which they were soon joined by every other member of the party, all seeking to take advantage of the fineness of the morning.
And Hermione felt the first ripple in her happiness as she saw that Miss Weasley had succeeded in trapping Harry into conversation, even drawn them a little apart from the others.
That, in itself, she would not have minded quite so much-although she had to admit that some tiny (petty) corner of herself did not particularly care to see Harry with Miss Weasley simply because of what a striking pair they made together-but what she did mind, what made the first shadow encroach upon her happiness of the morning was how very engrossed Harry seemed in the conversation.
She knew Harry well enough to be able to recognize when he was bored or impatient with a conversation, when he was merely being polite in conversing with someone. She didn’t see any of those signs today.
She could not tell what they were speaking of but whatever the subject, Harry at least was quite interested. She could see it in the gestures he made, in the animation of his expression as he looked at Miss Weasley.
And Miss Weasley, as was customary for her, was regarding Harry with a flattering attention, an apparent fascination in all he might say.
Hermione told herself she should not mind, that she had no reason to feel at all threatened by this.
And yet… she was troubled, the surface of her happiness a little disturbed.
She little knew at that moment how much more her happiness would be disturbed that day.
~~
To be continued...
A/N: And since I'm sure you're all wondering, Harry's not being an idiot (aside from being a bit naively oblivious to Ginny's motives); she deliberately asked him about Quidditch knowing there was no subject so guaranteed to get his attention.
And Ginny's not done yet... But no worries, her come-uppance is coming!
Enjoy.
From 'The Truth About Love', Chapter 14.
It was going to be a wonderful day.
Hermione was quite blissfully certain of this as she almost floated down the stairs that morning. She supposed she must look rather silly smiling to herself as she suspected she was, but she could not help it and, for once in her life, she was too content to care if she looked foolish. She was still filled with a deliciously languorous sense of well-being after the way Harry had woken her up that morning and the all-too-brief interlude that had followed.
A slight shiver of pleasure passed through her just at the memory of his slow, leisurely kisses and idle caresses. It was truly astonishing just how delightful it had been to lie there beside him and simply kiss him, be kissed by him-just kissing, only his lips on hers, and very little else involved. For once, there had been no blaze of passion, no intensity of sensation; it had simply been warmth and lazy, luxurious pleasure until she had felt positively limp with bliss, dazed and suffused with the warm sense of utter well-being which lingered in her now. Simply kissing… he had not tried to caress her intimately, had not tried to escalate things, and neither had she. They had both been perfectly content just to kiss, exploring the other’s mouth with a leisurely thoroughness that was rather new but no less pleasant…
She would have been perfectly happy to linger there in his bed, kissing him, for hours but all too soon, they had reluctantly separated with the acknowledgement that it would not do for them to stay there while the morning advanced, given the presence of guests.
The morning room was deserted when Hermione arrived although she could see evidence that someone-Remus, she surmised-had already breakfasted and gone out.
Well, solitude suited her that morning; she was quite content to think of Harry and the morning so far as she broke her fast.
Her smile lasted through her daily morning consultation with Daisy over the menus for the day and any other household matters that may have come up. And on a wish to see everyone as happy as she felt, she gave Daisy a (perfectly sincere) smiling compliment that had the elf flushing until she looked almost purple and curtsying so deeply she looked in danger of losing her balance for a few seconds and almost babbling her gratitude and pleasure and the great honor to work for Harry Potter and his wife.
She dismissed Daisy’s thanks with another smile and left the room which she’d appropriated as her sanctum with a light step.
“Good morning, Hermione.”
Hermione turned to beam at Ron as he intercepted her on her way outside. “Good morning. Have you breakfasted?”
Ron gave her a smilingly incredulous look. “You should know me better than to ask such a question by now, Mrs. Potter. Of course I’ve breakfasted.”
Hermione laughed a little. “Of course. I forgot momentarily whom I was speaking to.”
“I was just thinking of walking out to enjoy the fine weather. Would you care to join me?” Ron asked with teasingly-exaggerated formality.
“Certainly, Mr. Weasley,” Hermione smiled, the formal address belied by the comfortable way in which she took his arm.
“This is certainly a very fine house,” Ron commented idly as they left the house.
“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” Hermione slowed as she glanced back at it. “Sometimes,” she admitted softly, hardly realizing she was going to speak at all, “I look around and I’m still amazed that this is my home now.”
“You are happy then,” Ron said and the words were a statement rather than a question.
Hermione glanced at him. “Why, Ron, did you expect that Harry would banish me to live in a hovel somewhere, perhaps live on scraps of food and water?” she smiled, making light of it.
Ron smiled swiftly but turned to look at her and his expression was, again, rather uncharacteristically sober. “I was more concerned about your personal happiness than the material considerations. I know you and Harry did not exactly marry under ideal circumstances,” he finished a little awkwardly. It was his first outward acknowledgement that there had been anything at all unusual about the reason for her marrying Harry. “I was simply concerned. I- I rather think you both deserved more than a forced marriage.”
“Oh, Ron…” Hermione sighed a little. She, of all people, knew that Ron was much more than the carefree, good-humored young gentleman most people saw but even so, she was still taken aback in the rare times when he was completely serious. “You need not worry about me. I am perfectly content.” More than content, she admitted, fighting a blush at the memory of that morning and savoring the lingering warmth at the thought of it.
She felt Ron’s gaze on her face and gave him a smile. “You are very sweet to be so concerned, though.”
Ron’s face assumed an arrested expression as he studied her for a moment and then a smile dawned slowly. “Well, I’ll be…” he said softly. “You are in love with him.” It was not a question.
Hermione felt herself blush hotly but could hardly deny it. “Is it so very obvious?”
“Mm, perhaps not,” Ron conceded. “But I do know you rather well, you know, Hermione.”
“Yes, I suppose you do. Well, you may certainly put any fears for my happiness to rest.”
“I have no doubt of that now and I am glad of it. I should hate to think of either you or Harry being unhappy.”
Hermione smiled and gave his arm a slight pressure as they continued their stroll, in which they were soon joined by every other member of the party, all seeking to take advantage of the fineness of the morning.
And Hermione felt the first ripple in her happiness as she saw that Miss Weasley had succeeded in trapping Harry into conversation, even drawn them a little apart from the others.
That, in itself, she would not have minded quite so much-although she had to admit that some tiny (petty) corner of herself did not particularly care to see Harry with Miss Weasley simply because of what a striking pair they made together-but what she did mind, what made the first shadow encroach upon her happiness of the morning was how very engrossed Harry seemed in the conversation.
She knew Harry well enough to be able to recognize when he was bored or impatient with a conversation, when he was merely being polite in conversing with someone. She didn’t see any of those signs today.
She could not tell what they were speaking of but whatever the subject, Harry at least was quite interested. She could see it in the gestures he made, in the animation of his expression as he looked at Miss Weasley.
And Miss Weasley, as was customary for her, was regarding Harry with a flattering attention, an apparent fascination in all he might say.
Hermione told herself she should not mind, that she had no reason to feel at all threatened by this.
And yet… she was troubled, the surface of her happiness a little disturbed.
She little knew at that moment how much more her happiness would be disturbed that day.
~~
To be continued...
A/N: And since I'm sure you're all wondering, Harry's not being an idiot (aside from being a bit naively oblivious to Ginny's motives); she deliberately asked him about Quidditch knowing there was no subject so guaranteed to get his attention.
And Ginny's not done yet... But no worries, her come-uppance is coming!