Chapter 8
Hermione stirred from her slumber as gentle rays of sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow upon the room. She blinked blearily, reluctant to leave the comfort of her bed, relishing in the cocoon of warmth and tranquility. Stretching languidly, she reached out instinctively, expecting to find James beside her, but her hand met only the coolness of the sheets.
A faint frown creased her brow as she sat up, the remnants of sleep still clinging to her senses. Despite the temptation to sink back into the soft embrace of her pillows, she couldn't shake the nagging sense of curiosity about James' whereabouts. Had he already left? The thought brought a twinge of disappointment and sadness, though she couldn't quite pinpoint why.
Just as she contemplated indulging in a few more minutes of solitude, the door creaked open, drawing her attention. In stepped James, shirtless and tousled, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. Her cheeks flushed involuntarily at the sight, her mind racing back to the events of the previous night. He carried a tray laden with breakfast—a tantalizing array of fruits, pastries, and steaming coffee—his presence filling the room with an electrifying energy. The scent of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the subtle aroma of his cologne, creating an intoxicating blend that enveloped her senses.
"Good morning, Angel," he greeted, his voice laced with playful teasing as he set the tray down beside her on the bed. "Did you sleep well?"
Hermione nodded, her gaze darting away momentarily before meeting his once more. "Yes, thank you," she murmured, her voice betraying a hint of shyness. He chuckled, his gaze lingering on her flushed cheeks with amusement.
"Not getting shy on me, are you now?" he teased, his voice carrying a playful lilt.
She attempted to muster a retort, but the warmth of his touch as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear rendered her momentarily speechless. His lips met hers in a brief, tender kiss, sending a rush of heat coursing through her veins. When he pulled away, a soft, affectionate smile graced his lips, his eyes twinkling with affection.
"Of course not," she replied clearing her throat, her cheeks still tinged with a rosy hue.
"You're adorable when you blush,"
She rolled her eyes playfully, though she couldn't suppress the fluttering sensation in her chest at his words. "Flattery will get you nowhere," she retorted.
"Got me everywhere I ever wanted last night, Angel"
Hermione's cheeks flamed with embarrassment at his teasing retort, her eyes narrowing in mock indignation. "You're incorrigible," she huffed, swatting at him with a playful slap.
James caught her wrists delicately, pinning them down to the bed with a gentle firmness. His touch sent a shiver down her spine, her breath catching in her throat as his lips brushed against the sensitive skin of her neck. She bit her lip, suppressing a gasp as a wave of pleasure washed over her.
"Want me to remind you?" he whispered huskily, his breath hot against her skin as he peppered soft kisses along the column of her neck. Each touch ignited a fire within her, a primal longing that pulsed through her veins with a relentless intensity. In that moment, there was only James—the heat of his body, the rhythm of his breath, the exquisite pleasure of his touch.
"James," she protested weakly, though the plea in her voice was drowned out by the rush of desire that pulsed through her veins. A soft moan escaped Hermione's lips as his lips trailed lower, leaving a trail of fiery kisses in their wake. She arched against him, the friction sending waves of pleasure coursing through her body.
"As much as I'd like to continue with this," he murmured, his voice filled with affection, "I've made this breakfast myself and it would be a shame if it got cold." A tender smile graced James' lips as he leaned forward to press a gentle kiss against her forehead.
"I love you too," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath as she reached out to caress his cheek.
The afternoon sun bathed the Quidditch pitch in a warm, golden glow, casting long shadows across the grass where James, Sirius, and Remus lay in a relaxed sprawl. It was a tranquil scene, the soft rustle of the breeze mingling with the distant chirping of birds, creating a serene backdrop to their conversation.
"So you're just going to drop the bomb on her like that?" Sirius queried, his tone a mix of disbelief and amusement. His dark eyes sparkled with mischief, a sly grin playing on his lips. "She's either going to cry or she's going to hex you, Prongs."
James let out a nervous chuckle, the sound echoing in the tranquil air. His mind buzzed with uncertainty, his heart torn between the fear of rejection and the longing to bare his soul to Hermione. "I'd say it’s going to be the second choice," Remus chimed in, a playful smirk gracing his lips as he exchanged a fist bump with Sirius, his eyes dancing with mirth.
For days, he had wrestled with the decision to confess his secret to Hermione. He knew he loved her, cherished her with every fiber of his being, yet the weight of his hidden truth threatened to suffocate him. "It's just that... She's never liked being lied to," he confessed, his voice tinged with worry, "and I feel like if I don't tell her, she'll think I'm lying to her. The day I asked her to be my girlfriend, I promised her that there would be no secrets between us. I don't know what to do."
"I don't think she'll hate you, James," the werewolf reassured him, his calm demeanor a soothing balm to his friend's anxious heart. "She might be a little upset at first, but then she'll understand why you kept that from her. She's a smart girl, give her some credit."
James nodded, absorbing the wisdom of his friend's words. The gentle breeze ruffled his hair, and he closed his eyes, allowing the warmth of the sun to wash over him. It was moments like these, surrounded by the comforting presence of his friends, that he found solace amidst the turmoil of his thoughts.
"And how does Harry take it that you're shagging his best friend?" Sirius interjected, his trademark irreverence breaking the tranquil silence, a cigarette dangling from his lips. The aforementioned grimaced at his best friend’s blunt words, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
"Fuck, Pads, couldn't you say it any otherway?" he muttered, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. "But to answer your question, he doesn't know yet."
"With the amount of hickeys you leave on the poor girl, I don't know how your son hasn't realized it yet," the man teased, his laughter ringing out across the field as he lit a cigarette and took a drag.
"No one knows yet,".
"Believe me, everyone knows," Remus chuckled, his tone fond as he glanced between his two friends. "There's a bet going around the school and the faculty to see when Harry realizes that you and Hermione are indeed a couple."
"Just make sure you're behind Hermione when your son finds out," The gray eyed man playfully jabbed at his best friend. James flushed crimson, his cheeks burning and his embarrassment evident in the way he averted his gaze.
And so, they whiled away the hours in the comforting embrace of friendship, the worries and cares of the world melting away. In that fleeting moment of respite, they found solace in each other's company, their laughter ringing out like a melody against the backdrop of the setting sun.
The soft breeze off the Black Lake carried with it the faint scent of spring blossoms as Hermione sat beside its tranquil shores, her gaze fixed on the rippling surface of the water where the occasional glimpse of the Giant Squid could be seen. Despite the impending exams looming on the horizon, a serene calmness enveloped her, a rare respite from the usual frenetic energy that accompanied the end of term.
"You look exceptionally calm and happy with exams just around the corner," a familiar voice remarked, drawing her attention. She turned to find her best friend settling down beside her, a playful glint in his emerald eyes as he observed her with a teasing smile.
"I'm happy,"
Harry chuckled, the sound rich and melodious as it mingled with the gentle lapping of the waves against the shore. He playfully bumped his shoulder into hers, eliciting a soft laugh from Hermione. "Who are you and what have you done with Hermione Granger?" he teased, his voice laced with affection.
"Actually, I'm taking advice from a good friend of mine," she replied, her laughter dancing like sunlight on the water. Harry couldn't help but feel a swell of warmth in his chest at the sound his own troubles momentarily forgotten —it was his favorite tune, the one that brought a smile to his face no matter how dark the world around them seemed.
The late afternoon sunlight illuminated her features in a soft, ethereal light. Her eyes sparkled with mirth, crinkling at the corners as she chuckled. He watched her with a fondness that bordered on reverence, marveling at the way her laughter seemed to chase away the shadows that lingered in the corners of his mind. It was moments like this where he allowed himself to believe that perhaps, just perhaps, everything would turn out alright in the end.
For a brief, fleeting moment, they could just be two teenagers trying to navigate life, worrying about things like passing their exams or falling in love. As Hermione's laughter subsided, she glanced up, catching Harry's gaze with a warmth that mirrored his own. There was a silent understanding that passed between them, an unspoken acknowledgment of the bond that held them together through thick and thin.
"And who is that good friend?" he asked, his curiosity piqued as he batted his eyelashes in an exaggerated display of innocence.
"Teddy," she stated matter-of-factly, her tone deadpan.Harry feigned offense, placing a hand over his heart in mock indignation.
"I'm your best friend," he protested, a playful pout forming on his lips. "I'm going to have to challenge Nott to a duel for the position of best friend."
Hermione arched an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of her lips. "You're going to need more than an Expelliarmus to beat him," she taunted, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
Harry opened his mouth to retort, but the words caught in his throat as he met her gaze. A flush of embarrassment crept up his neck, and he scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "I know more spells, just so you know," he murmured, his cheeks tinged with pink as he looked away.
"Where is your girlfriend and our best friend?"
The Gryffindor's expression softened at the mention of Ginny, his brown eyes flickering with a hint of fondness. "They've gone to Hogsmeade," he confessed, a wistful smile playing on his lips. "They promised me they'd bring us Honeydukes candy."
"And why haven't you gone with them?"
Harry's gaze met hers, his expression thoughtful as he delicately took her hand in his own. "I feel like we spend little time together," he admitted, his voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability. "I see Ron practically every day, we share a room, and I also see Ginny almost every day. You and I are also friends, we deserve each other." He paused, his gaze searching hers for understanding. "A little bit of Harmione time, don't you think?"
A playful eyebrow arched in response to Harry's coined term, "Harmione? As in Harry and Hermione," she repeated, a hint of amusement dancing in her eyes. "Did you make that up right now, or have you been waiting months to say it?"
A grin spread across his features, his eyes lighting up with mischief. "You love it," he declared with playful certainty, his enthusiasm infectious. "But seriously, we're best friends, and I feel like we spend so little time together. I'm trying to change that because whenever I need you, you're there for me, and I feel like I don't give you enough credit, you know?"
"You're there when I need you too, Hazz. Whether we spend more or less time together doesn't determine our friendship."
Her best friend was about to respond when his gaze flickered to something on her neck. His eyes widened in shock, his expression morphing into one of scandalized disbelief. "Is that a hickey?" Harry pointed accusingly, his voice escalating with each word. "Who was it? Do I know him? I'll kill him."
"Shit," Hermione muttered under her breath, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment as she hastily adjusted her shirt. "Harry, calm down."
"Like hell! You've got a bloody hickey on your neck," Harry screeched, the shock evident in his tone. "Who was it?" he demanded, his eyes blazing with determination. "Is this a casual fling or are you dating him? Is he even a boy?"
She ran a hand over her face, her frustration mounting as her friend bombarded her with questions. This wasn't how she had envisioned revealing her relationship. "He's a guy, and yes, I'm dating him," she admitted, her embarrassment palpable. "You do know him, and before you say anything, I'm not going to tell you who he is."
"I told you when I liked Ginny, not fair."
"You didn't; I figured it out myself,"
"Semantics," Harry waved a dismissive hand between them, frustration evident in his features. "Give me a clue at least, what house is he from?"
"Gryffindor," Hermione replied with a cryptic smile.
"Is he in our year?"
"He's older.”
"Does he play Quidditch?" he narrowed his eyes, determined to rule out his options.
"You could say.”
"What the fuck does that mean?"
"Okay, he does play Quidditch," she confirmed, her amusement evident in her tone.
Harry's eyes bore into Hermione's for a few lingering moments, his expression a mixture of frustration and affection. He growled in exasperation, "I hate you," he muttered, his voice tinged with playful annoyance.
"You love me,"
Without missing a beat, she leaned forward and planted a firm kiss on her bestfriend’s cheek, her lips leaving a lingering warmth against his skin. His expression softened at her touch, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. He reached out to tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her ear.
"That, I do," Harry murmured, his voice tender as he pressed a soft kiss on the top of her head. “Is he better looking than me?”
“For God’s sake! Harry, leave it.”
James paced the room with restless energy, his footsteps echoing softly against the polished wooden floorboards. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, his brow furrowed in concentration as he rehearsed the words he longed to say to Hermione.
"Hermione, I—No, not like that," he murmured to himself, his voice barely above a whisper.. "I have to tell you something—No, that sounds too dramatic—I would like to—Arghhh," Frustration welled up inside him, and he let out an exasperated groan, sinking into the nearest chair. "I should dig a hole and die."
Resting his head in his hands, he let out a heavy sigh, his nerves coiling tightly in the pit of his stomach. He had meticulously prepared dinner for the two of them, hoping to broach the subject after they had finished their meal. But now, as he grappled with his nerves, he couldn't help but feel a knot of apprehension gnawing at his insides.
The table before him was elegantly decorated yet minimalist, a testament to his mother's impeccable sense of etiquette. He smiled at the thought of his parents, recalling how they had instantly adored Hermione from the moment they met her. Many times, he had found himself competing with her mother for her attention.
"I was always a needy boy," he chuckled softly to himself, the sound carrying a hint of self-deprecation.
The soft click of the door opening drew his attention, and his heart skipped a beat as Hermione stepped into the room. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of her, his gaze drinking in her beauty with unabashed admiration. She had changed out of her uniform, opting instead for a casual ensemble of denim shorts and a simple t-shirt, yet in James' eyes, she was the epitome of perfection.
"How was your day?" he greeted her, enfolding her in a warm embrace and gazing into her chocolate eyes with adoration. "Tired of studying?"
She didn't offer a verbal response, instead burying her face in his chest as she inhaled the familiar scent of his cologne. He chuckled softly, the sound reverberating through his chest as he savored the feel of her in his arms.
"I've missed you," she murmured, her words muffled by her shirt.
James' heart swelled with affection at her admission, his arms tightening around her in a protective embrace. "I've missed you too, Angel," he replied, his voice laced with tenderness.
Pulling away slightly, he cupped her face in his hands, his gaze filled with adoration as he met her eyes. "I made you dinner," he announced, a hint of nervousness tingeing his words.
Hermione's eyes widened in surprise as she took in the sight of the elegantly set table, illuminated by the soft glow of two flickering candles. "Very romantic, Potter," she teased. A soft smile graced her lips as she leaned in to press a brief kiss against his lips, her affectionate gesture causing a flush to rise to his cheeks.
James placed a gentle hand on her back, guiding her towards the table with a tender smile. Pulling out her chair, he gestured for her to sit before taking his own seat opposite her. He couldn't help but marvel at the woman before him, her presence filling him with a sense of warmth and contentment.
As the dessert plates were cleared away, a tense silence settled over the dimly lit dining room, broken only by the soft flicker of candlelight. James shifted nervously in his seat, his palms damp with sweat as he wiped the corner of his mouth, trying to compose himself. He knew that Hermione would notice his agitation, but in the subdued lighting, he hoped to conceal the extent of his nervousness.
"I have something for you," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper, his gaze fixed intently on her. With trembling hands, he reached into his pocket and carefully withdrew a small velvet box, placing it before her on the table.
Hermione's heart skipped a beat as she met his gaze, a sense of foreboding settling over her like a heavy weight. The sight of the velvet box sent a shiver of apprehension down her spine, her mind racing with a thousand possibilities. She knew what it meant, "James," she began, her tone tinged with warning, "What...This isn't what I think it is, is it?"
But he remained silent, his eyes locked with hers, his expression grave yet resolute. He seemed suddenly older, aged beyond his years."Open it, and I'll explain," he urged softly, his voice barely audible above the pounding of her heart. With trembling fingers, she picked up the velvet box, her hands shaking as if weighted down by lead. Slowly, she lifted the lid, her breath catching in her throat as she beheld the contents within. Inside the box lay a golden yellow ring, simple yet elegant in its design, devoid of any extravagant adornments. It was…beautiful.
"What does this mean, James? We're-" she began, her voice trailing off as she let out an incredulous laugh, unable to comprehend the gravity of the situation.
"It's yours, Hermione,"
“What? No. This isn’t mine.”
"It's yours," he insisted, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "Look at the engraving."
Hermione's brow furrowed in confusion as she inspected the ring,her eyes widening in astonishment as she spotted the delicate engraving inside the band.
J.C.P & H.J.P - 10.6.1978
The color drained from her face as realization dawned upon her. "No. This is…This is impossible," she muttered, panic coursing through her veins as she dropped the ring as if it were a hot coal, pushing herself away from the table in a sudden burst of movement.“This isn’t real.”
"This is real," James insisted, rising from his seat and attempting to approach her, but she recoiled, "I didn't know how to tell you, I-" he began, his voice faltering with emotion.
"Do you think this is funny?" Hermione's voice rose with every word, her anger flaring unchecked. "Fuck this, you can't show up with a ring engraved with our initials and a date from almost sixteen years ago. Do you think this is a game? Something to laugh about with your friends?"
But his next words halted her tirade, his voice thick with emotion as he uttered a phrase that sent a shiver down her spine.
"He has his mother's eyes," he stated, his words cutting through Hermione's anger like a knife. "Harry. Harry has his mother's eyes."
"No," she denied vehemently, refusing to believe what he was suggesting. “No.”
"Yes. Hermione, look at me,"
She felt him draw closer, the scent of his cologne enveloping her senses. She hated feeling this vulnerable, this uncertain.
“No.”
"Open your eyes," James pleaded, his voice hoarse with emotion. She opened her eyes and her gaze instantly collided with his. Love, insecurity, vulnerability—all laid bare before her, raw and unfiltered.
"You're my wife, Hermione. You're mine.”