AN: This is also in 1st person, but from Bellatrix's POV.
"Hermione."
"Mm?" the woman in question hummed distractedly, her gaze not straying from the book she was reading. Beside her in bed, I sighed in frustration, my brow creasing in annoyance.
"Hermione," I tried again, alternating between glaring at the book that was taking up all of her attention, and admiring how unsuspectingly sexy she was in her reading glasses. When I received the same response as before, I huffed impatiently and threw back the blankets that covered my legs. My dark hair spilled over my bare shoulders as I deftly straddled Hermione's thighs, leaning forward to snatch her book away. I settled myself comfortably on her lap as I tossed the book to the side; Hermione stared up at me indignantly, purposefully ignoring the fact that from the waist up, I was clad in only a black bra.
"For Merlin's sakes, Bella, really?" Hermione queried, pursing her lips in exasperation as she looked up at me.
"Yes, really, because you're ignoring me and you promised that you'd tell me tonight," I retorted, my tone more caustic than I had intended. I brushed my fingers lightly over her shoulder in way of apology, dropping my defiant gaze.
"Bella," Hermione said gently, smoothing back my thick cascade of curls.
"I want to know," I muttered stubbornly.
"It's not- I'm not sure that there's a specific reason that I feel so old," she started, her hands settling on my hips. "In some ways, I suppose I've always been that way, and I think there are a lot of factors involved. My cleverness and interest in books meant that I was a lonely child. Before Harry and Ron, I never really had friends, and had to rely on myself. Growing up like that has a way of making you feel old beyond your years. But I do think that most of it stems from being part of the fight from such a young age. There are no children in war; the three of us never had a chance." Hermione spoke slowly, and I could tell that she had given it a good deal of thought.
"That," I began ponderously, "is something I am deeply familiar with." She nodded absently, her grip on me tightening protectively.
"I'd wondered about that," she said softly.
"There are no children in war," I echoed in agreement. Hermione sighed heavily, her arms snaking around my waist and puling me closer. Silence fell between us, pensive, weary and kind.
"Makes you wonder," I eventually murmured, "about how you ended up where you are, and I became what I did."
"We ended up in the same place, Bella," she pointed out, nudging my arm in emphasis. "Just took you longer."
"The only reason I'm here is because this is where you are," I informed her flatly.
"You love me," Hermione stated calmly.
"Yes," I replied, uncertain where she was going with this.
"You fell in love for the first time in your life at age forty-eight. Not only that, but you fell in love with a muggle-born witch who is on the side that is fighting against the man you were loyal to for the majority of your life. You love me. Do you have any idea how remarkable - how improbable - that is, Bella?"
"I- You're clever and patient with me. You're kind and powerful. You're stubborn and brilliant. You forgive the unforgivable and you're...gorgeous. Loving you is easy; it's the rest of it that's difficult." I spoke gruffly,
"I know the feeling," Hermione told me with slow surety, cupping my face in her soft hands. Heat crawled over my skin at the sentiment of the moment, but I leaned in to her body and kissed her smiling mouth. My hands quickly made their way under the hem of her sleep shirt and skated over her warm skin, my fingertips tracing her ribs.
"What, you don't want to have a deep and meaningful conversation this time?" Hermione teased breathlessly, her eyes bright as she slid my bra straps off my shoulders.
"Don't start," I smirked, carefully removing her glasses before moving my kisses along her jaw.