The steady ticking of the clock hanging off the wall betrayed the steady quiet of the night, a steady, ever present reminder that all things eventually come to an end.
Books, leather bound and pliant, rested upon the floor to ceiling bookcase; their place ever assured and gratefully appreciated during times such as these, when the libraries were closed and the internet too wide an ocean to navigate on a wayward whim. The fireplace, blackened by many a log or coal, sat cold and unlit within the room, not necessary during the warmer months out of the year; saved for special occasions or date nights stretched out on the floor, warming two naked bodies lest they catch a chill coming down from the high brought about after sex.
Papers strewn across the dark wooden desk butted up and crinkled under the weight of a sleek laptop, the screen light dimmed yet still reflecting off the glasses of the woman typing away at its keyboard. Hermione Granger worked her way through the early evening night, the back of her night shirt pressed into the soft, worn leather of the padded desk chair, her sleep shorts bunched up around her hips from the way she drew her leg up onto the seat, foot pressed against the opposite thigh as she worked.
A bead of condensation slipped down the edge of her cocktail glass, the surface cool to the touch and threatening to leave a wet ring forever engraved into the surface of the desk. Two fingers of whiskey, poured neat, were all that remained after dinner, idly sipped from time to time during the progression of the night until nothing remained by end.
Soft footsteps in the dark did little to further disrupt the quiet of the night, barely a whisper over the bare hardwood and thickly carpeted sections of the room. A sweet, floral scent touched upon the senses before the delicate touch of fingers upon the back of Hermione’s neck and shoulder made contact, the feeling warm and expected.
Hermione glanced up from her computer, the blue light reflecting off her glasses, a soft smile upon her lips at the sight of her wife, looking sleepy and ready for bed already.
“Don’t stay up too late, chérie.” Fleur murmured, bending low at the waist to press a kiss against Hermione’s lips before straightening again, her breath tasting of the floral wine she’d been known to indulge in before bed. The taste much too sweet for Hermione.
“I’ll be there soon enough, dove.” Hermione reached out, taking one of Fleur’s hands in her own and pressing a kiss against her palm. “Keep the bed warm for me?”
Fleur smiled, her hair free and silky smooth as it tumbled down her back in waves, her thumb soft as she stroked the smattering of freckles across the bridge of Hermione’s nose and cheek. With one last kiss pressed atop Hermione’s head she retreated, disappearing back into the shadows that lined the walls and led back to their bedroom.
Later, after midnight had come and gone within a blink of the eye, Hermione set about following her wife through the hallway, her laptop off and put away for the night. The room itself was warm, quiet in the early hours before the sun made its appearance for the day. Thickly woven carpets dampened the sound of Hermione’s footfalls as she drew up onto her side of the bed, the blankets already pulled low to welcome her in.
Smooth, comfortable sheets kissed her skin as she slid in beside her sleeping wife, careful in her approach though she knew from experience that Fleur would not wake until just before the sun had broken through the horizon. Sleep came easily enough for Hermione, her head tucked into the soft skin of her wife’s neck, a hand resting on a bare thigh as Fleur had chosen to forego any bottoms, the band of her underwear secure around her hips.
Journal Article Accepted Manuscript
Effects of Climate Change on Global Marine Biodiversity, Productivity, and Reproduction Within Squamata
Fleur I. Delacour-Granger, Hermione J. Granger-Delacour ✉️ Authors Notes
Colubroidea, Hydrophiinae, Ovoviviparity, Parthenogenesis
Published: 21 03 2024Article History:
Abstract
Recent rises in ocean temperatures have brought about higher percentages in die offs from local sea snake populations as increasing competition with humans for diminishing populations of native prawns in and around the waters of Australia and Papua New Guinea. H. Kingii, though one of the lesser percentages of species caught as by-catch by trawlers, maintains a higher mortality rate when compared to…
Jasmine tea wafted through the study, accompanied by the steady ticking of the clock hanging off the wall, a reminder that the morning was still young and light in the early hours.
The velvet of the couch gave way beneath Fleur’s body, warmed by her lithe form and thickly woven blankets pulled up around her legs; this early in the morning she dared not sit at the desk like her wife had done just hours earlier, preferring the easy comforts of stretching out her legs as she worked on her laptop.
Soft sunrays illuminated the study, driving away the shadows and illuminating the rest of the room to the eye. Framed artwork and diplomas rubbed elbows with movie posters and newspaper articles alike, hung with pride at the drop of a hat. Hermione’s boots rests on the floor beneath one of Fleur’s overcoats, the articles of clothing reflected back by the midsized full body mirror they’d purchased at an antique shop, positioned perfectly beside a small cart laden with Hermione’s favorite whiskey and matching highball cocktail glasses.
The taste of sugar and floral notes melded together upon her tongue as she sipped the hot drink, her glasses fogging up slightly at the temperature difference the longer she held her teacup close to her face. Settling the glass down she idly reached for her book, checking an annotation before correcting an error she’d found on the research paper the two women had set to publish before the end of the year; leaving a comment within the editing feature, Hermione would respond to the correction during Fleur’s lunch break, she chose to save her work and rise from the couch, her joints popping as she stretched.
Passing through the kitchen on the way back to their room she stopped and readied the coffee machine with Hermione’s favorite roast and set out her preferred mug, forgoing any cream and sugar as her wife preferred her drink black.
Through the hallway and into their room Fleur paused at the side of their bed, counting each of Hermione’s easy breaths as she slept, her face buried in one of their many pillows as she slept on her stomach, red and blue blankets pulled up around her hips. Bending low to press a kiss to the back of her wife’s head, Fleur lingered for a moment before straightening again, turning on her heel to get ready for the day. It would be hours yet before Hermione rose from bed, the sun nearly in position overhead.