The Following story is something I have written following my obsession with stories that are
categorised as romance.
Chosen: A hp short story with some Harry/Hermione Romance
She wakes to warmth solidly nestled all along her body - a hip thrown over hers, a chin tucked into her shoulder, long fingers sliding locking with her own. She smiles, snuggles more deeply against his chest, and brings their joined hands to her lips. He still tastes li strawberries and Rosmerta's champagne; her body tingles anew as she remembers the night before. His eyes darkening while they her, her sliding the berry whole into her mouth right off his palm, tongue darting to his wrist to catch the juice there... and more. Hermione turns that hand over in hers now, marvelling at it. Pale skin and elegant bones and slender barely-callused fingers and ha nails, it looks deceptively delicate for a boy's. It doesn't look like the hand that hurled Unforgivables at Death Eaters, or the one that destroyed the most feared wizard in modern history. It is the one that trembled as it grazed the skin under her bra for the first time, the one the dropped the ring in a rain puddle when he proposed, the one whose touch sends her to places even Luna couldn't imagine. It's the will one day (years from now, they agree) lead their child onto Platform 9 3/4. Her eyes narrow when her thumb brushes the spider lines of Umbridge's ancient brutality, the only hints betraying the horrors this hand's been witness and party to. It's one set of scars many - too many - and if she could heal them by kissing each one again and again forever, she would. She does anyway, every nigh She's done far worse in her life - and would again in an instant - to keep him breathing.
"Morning," she says. She turns her head to peck his soft lips. She pulls back to look at him and, as always, her breath - and anything resembling a train of thought - dries up at the sight. Ebony hair that always looks like he just got out of bed, smooth skin, sleepy smile most of all, flawless green eyes that somehow always look incomplete without his glasses. Looking into them she remembers why f even if it seems silly now, she never dared allow her mind near there with Harry. If friendship with him made her insides feel like they were wrapped around broken glass whenever he hurt, or hurt her, then being in love with him would... What she'd felt with Ron, even with all his infuriating bullheadedness, had at least been... safe. Controllable. Harry was... she still d a word for it. The coolly rational part of her mind is even now terrified of the whirlwind Harry sets off in her, like she's never stopped but the rest of her considers it fully acceptable payment to know he's alive and in her arms. She may be falling, but he's still there to hold onto while she does. Those brilliant eyes flash as she grins and rolls him onto his back and climbs over him. She dips her head, nuzzling then tracing the tongue along his strong jawline. His skin is warm and salty and Harry under her tongue and blooms an angry red when her teeth bites She finds his pulse and presses a slow kiss there, thanking any deities out there that this amazing heart still beats after everything to stop it, before she continues her exploration of his throat. "You know I've only got the one turtleneck," he says wryly, to which she nips harder, licking the spot. He hisses and bucks beneath as much pleasure as pain. She nips again and soon even his minor concern is evaporated, if the quickening of his breathing and the grinding his pelvis against hers are any indicator. If he truly feels the need she'll do a glamour but knows he doesn't really give a d anyone sees.
The world's gawked at the mark on his forehead his whole life; t h es e scars of possession he takes pride in. Le world knows he belongs to Hermione Granger, he murmurs, breath hot in her ear - and that she belongs to Harry Potter. I g et I t, Ron had said all those years ago, grasping the situation between the three of them far better than she'd given him credit for than she herself had understood at the time. You choose him. She's never once regretted it.