Finally, finally: the final chapter in this little fic. Thank you for sticking with it! Enjoy the last little piece :)
The early morning sun shone through the window, hitting Hermione squarely in the face. She had forgotten to close the shutters the night before, and the bright sun was blinding her through the open window of the hotel. The Eiffel Tower was a speck on the golden horizon, but Hermione buried her face into the percale pillow in favor of a little bit more sleep before they prepared for the first day of their honeymoon.
But sleep evaded her for the time being and she turned over, facing Severus. Hermione loved to watch Severus sleep. She loved the way that the stress lines in his face softened, making him look peaceful and content. The stress of two wars had aged him, and she frequently wanted to kiss his forehead and smooth the worry lines that often formed there. But when Severus slept peacefully beside her, she could pretend that he had never been hurt over the years – that her new husband didn't bear the scars of two wars, just as she bore the scars of one.
The scar on his neck was the most prominent, the skin there bubbled and angry from the venom of Voldemort's snake. She had been there, watching through the entrance to the Shrieking Shack as he fell against the wall, bleeding, gasping in pain. He had been nothing to her then – disdained professor, known traitor, Dumbledore's murderer – but the scene still appeared in her nightmares, regardless of how many times she awoke in his arms or pressed her ear tightly against his shirt to hear his heartbeat thudding rhythmically in his chest.
She pressed her lips gently to the scar, remembering all too vividly the blood staining Harry's hands, the memories pouring unbidden from Severus' eyes. A soft sigh of air hit Hermione's forehead as Severus' lips parted in response to her touch. She smiled against his skin and began depositing tiny kisses up his neck and along his jaw, feeling him draw air into his lungs as he awakened.
His lips reached blindly for hers before she managed to reach his lips. He missed, his lips meeting her nose and his stubble scraping gently across her upper lip. Thin lips pressing blindly against her chin made her laugh, and she felt his huff of amused frustration fan out against her face.
"It is far too early for such nonsense," he grumbled, still half asleep, but his fingers – warm from being trapped under the blanket – sought out her chin in order to kiss her properly.
She returned the kiss fully, tangling her fingers in his sleep-mussed hair as he awakened fully and rolled his body over hers. "It's never too early for this, love."
His content hum against her lips was the only response that she received, but she didn't mind. Paris could wait. Everything could wait when she had this man in her arms and his ring on her finger.
10. The Early Morning Kiss: A kiss that's a wake-up call, it's barely even lips touching, more like they're kissing your chin because they're so tired in the early morning haze
Thank you again!