I listened to his even breathing, my head rising and falling with his chest. I rested gently on top of him, a feeling of contentment enveloping me. The air was crisp and cool, but his body was soft and warm. My left hand lay on top of his bare stomach, my fingers idly roaming over his skin.
The beginning rays of the rising sun bounced off the pile of snow on the windowsill, peeking through the sheer curtains covering our bedroom window. A pigeon flew past, slightly obscuring the light. It was a peaceful morning, one a person longed for in times of turmoil—in times like these. I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath, letting it escape slowly through my parted lips, savoring the moment for as long as I could.
But I knew the idyllic feelings wouldn't last. By sundown tonight, the world would be black again. The pain would return glaringly so, and I would once more yearn for a morning like this. I opened my eyes and forced away the melancholy emotions that were trying to seep in. It wasn't sundown yet; the morning was still gloriously fresh. I refused to ruin it.
I lifted my head and brought my arms beneath me, a yawn escaping my mouth. I gently pushed myself up off the bed, the wool blanket covering me slipping down my bare back and coming to a rest at my hips. I started to pull my legs beneath me when I felt a hand grasp my arm, stopping me.
My eyes flew to his, dark hazel meeting emerald green. His were open, avidly roving across my face. His hand tightened on my arm as his gaze moved lower and lower, taking in all that I had unintentionally offered for him. His hand slowly moved up my arm causing a tingling sensation to start in the pit of my stomach. I tugged on my bottom lip as I watched his fingers disappear into the riot of red curls laying against my shoulder. I fought back a shiver.
He grasped the sides of my face with both of his hands and started to slowly pull me down. I went to him willingly, pulling myself higher on the bed until our faces were level with each other. I reached out and twined my fingers within the tousled mass of black hair on his head, my breathing rapid.
"Lily," he whispered, his breath warm against my face. I closed my eyes as our lips brushed against each other. We kissed slowly, allowing it to fan the embers of passion burning within us. It was a kiss fitting to the serene morning, one worth treasuring.
He pulled his mouth away from mine, our breaths still mingling. Softly, he murmured, "Happy Christmas, Mrs. Potter."
A smile contorted my lips as I replied just as softly, "Happy Christmas, Mr. Potter." I pulled his mouth back to mine, slipping deeper into the web he had begun to spin.