An Accidental Affair *Complete* | By : Desert_Sea Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 29007 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2 |
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any other characters/things/places created by J.K. Rowling. I make no money from my fan-fiction. |
A/N: And here is the final chapter. Short but sweet. As always, thanks to those of you who have left comments and feedback. I always look forward to hearing from you. Please let me know any final thoughts. Nothing currently in the works but no doubt I’ll come up with something else soon. Until then, stay well. DSx
Chea - "Good things come to those who wait" – too true. Pity I’m so impatient! I think you’ll enjoy this final chapter. Best wishes for the coming months.
OO – Hey, I would never leave you without a last chapter warning. And here it is! Thanks so much again for being my biggest supporter. I don’t deserve all of your kind words but I’ll take them all the same because I’m a bit greedy as you know.
LeWyKi – So you are my litmus test for whether I’ve covered all of the bases in my story. I know you’ll pick up any inconsistencies so I was glad that there weren’t too many glaring errors this time. In my mind, she had used the time-turner to present a finished copy to the publisher. I also considered that her multiple selves could be sharing the same space since when the time-turner was used for her to complete her studies, she would have used it with awareness of the location of her other self and so I didn’t consider that it would necessarily have compromised anything. The ‘Mudblood’ insult was important for us to hate Whiffle more but also to demonstrate his knowledge about her and what they had been trying to achieve in the raids. This final chapter is short but it does provide a lot of closure (I think) – let me know if it doesn’t :). ‘Sex sells’ – it does indeed. Maybe there is money in this caper after all ;) I love your 50 shades anecdote – you truly are a scientist at heart.
Chapter 18 – A Not So Accidental Affair
Epilogue: The Magic of Love
By the Solicitous Serpent
It might have been the hundredth time—or perhaps the thousandth—that my eyes had drifted of their own accord to the figure folded in the low-slung hammock, swinging breezily, toes tipping the grass. Tirelessly, they sought her out, a visage that enchanted anew with each unassuming sway.
The book, its pages woven through her fingers, might have revealed something of itself, imparted the surge of an adventure or something more . . . a ticklish fantasy. Had it not been for the tell-tale tilt—the sagging inclination toward her perfect brow that betrayed the truth of their engagement. It was, of course, a forgotten bystander, or perhaps a willing caretaker over her sleeping form.
Her lips, like blossoms fallen from the woven boughs, were enough alone to captivate me—to fuel a fantasy of my own.
Planted with perfect precision, unhurried from the sensitive arc of my earlobe, their sultry graze would slip under my collar, levering me away from yet another ordinary day, drawing out tender shivers to shake the starch from my bones.
Her tongue would lap away a tide of tension in moments, the delicate shoots of her fingers penetrating, taking root in my chest, piercing with exquisite depth all that swelled within. And I would yield willingly to the seductive strains of each whispered breath, each sensuous susurration against my neck, warm and redolent with an essence that was only her.
Then those ripe buds would gently sweep across mine, skimming, grazing, searching for the perfect place to end their fluttering descent. And I would let them explore—after all I was the beneficiary of their sensuous snooping, their punctilious prying.
And when the perfect collision came, it would always shake me, like a match striking at my core. Perpetually shocked by the deep desire of her tongue as it searched the hungry hollows of my mouth, I would marvel at the creature that was blind to her own intoxicating beauty and blind also to my own comparative ordinariness.
But if I ever harboured doubts about the veracity of her feelings for me, they would be swallowed as her ardent words, ‘I love you,’ dripped ambrosial down my throat. And I would lay in her arms, drunk from our fervent feasting, floating within the amber highlights of her eyes, and euphoric in the knowledge that life had granted me a happiness beyond that which I ever imagined.
The wind blows. It lifts her hair against a setting sun and I feel that familiar tug, the deep need to protect, to provide sanctuary for the precious gift swaying beyond my grasp. And I can hold back no longer, settling myself in quiet decumbence by her side. She feels my presence, lashes lifting, laced with gold in the sunlight. Her lips follow the upward inclination of her eyebrows—her pleasure in me sublime.
And when she grasps my hand and slides it over the smooth rise of her belly, setting my palm against the warm wall of her swelling womb, I feel layers of life multiplied and layers of love in equal measure.
And this man who once watched life slipping away in indelible increments, an exchange as worthless as it was pointless, is now flooded with overwhelming abundance—of life and love—its damp overflow threading down his cheeks as he whispers to both, 'I love you.'
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