Chapter 1 : He remembered
| ||Rating: 15+||Chapter Reviews: 3|
Background: Font color:
“I never should have cut it.” She muttered to herself. He smiled but hid it well. He had liked her hair long, too, and had told her when she cut it that it would only be wilder but she hadn’t liked brushing the mass every day, it took up too much time when she could be working. But this hair – this short, unruly mess that barely reached her shoulders – this he loved. It was the hair he best remembered from their first meeting. For several years she had never let it get much longer than this. Not until that one year they had spent in a tent.
“Or maybe I’ll just chop it all off.” He chuckled and she turned to glare at him. “What?”
He put down the newspaper he hadn’t really been reading and walked over to her. “I love your hair.”
“No one loves this hair.”
“I do.” He said, perching on the edge of her desk. Unable to help himself, he reached out to run his fingers through it. Despite its appearance, it was soft to touch.
“I love your hair. I love the way it blows in your face when we’re outside. I love the way it gets in my face when I’m sleeping. I love having my hands in it when we make love.”
She blushed and he smiled. After nearly two years of marriage and her belly round with their first child, she still blushed. He loved that too.
He remembered the day they got married. A week before he’d heard Ginny telling their mother that Hermione was experimenting with how to tame her hair for the wedding. Ginny didn’t see him before she walked out the back door and he walked up to his mother.
“Tell her not to.” He said.
“Not to what, dear?” Molly asked.
“Don’t try to tame it.” He flushed a bit as his mother eyed him. “I like her hair. She should leave it just the way it is for the wedding.” His mother had patted his arm and said something sentimental about her baby boy getting married that he didn’t remember. But the next Saturday, Hermione had come down the aisle with hair flowing free and restrained only by two clips on either side of her face. She was the most beautiful bride there ever was.
He remembered the first time they made love. Two awkward nineteen year olds with more enthusiasm than experience. They had been alone at the Burrow, a rare occurrence, and one thing led to another, as these things will. Lying beside her on his old bed he’d kissed her tenderly and wove his hands in her hair, pulling her closer. She tried to pull it back but he wouldn’t let her. Spending as much time touching her hair as he did the rest of her. It was a favorite memory of his.
He remembered the first time he saw her: eleven years old with this brown mass billowing out around her. He’d thought she was quite pretty; until she started to talk.
He remembered being fourteen and watching her walk down the staircase at Hogwarts with her hair slicked and contained in her pretty dress. He remembered thinking she would look so much better with her hair down.
He remembered being seventeen and watching her brush her hair in the early morning fog in some forest, Harry still asleep in the tent. She didn’t know he was watching her and he was mesmerized by the long strokes of her brush, her other hand following through. Watching her there he thought he might loved this girl who had tormented his heart for so long.
At that final, terrible battle, when it was all over, she came to him and wrapped her arms around him. He was mourning the loss of his brother and she said nothing, just leaned her head on his shoulder. His arms held her close and his hands wrapped her braid up to hold onto. It wasn’t the last time they held each other that way.
“You have beautiful hair.” He told her. She leaned back in her chair, resting one hand on her swollen belly and took his hand when he held it out to her. “I hope our daughter has your hair.”
“That’s cruel.” He laughed and she smiled.
“Someday, when she’s grown up, she’ll meet a man and unless he loves her hair, I’ll never let her marry him.”
“You sound so sure it’s going to be a girl. It could be a boy.”
He pulled her to her feet and wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her hair.
“It’s a girl. Mum agrees.”
“Oh, well, if your mother says so.” She teased him. He just smiled and leaned down to kiss her. He loved the way she always gasped a little when he kissed her and her cheeks went rosy pink.
“I love you.” He said and she melted against him, her eyes filling with tears. “And I love your hair.”
Other Similar Stories
The Love of ...