Thought I would shoot out this short little number. I'm wondering if this would be a series of one-shots? That's what I'm feeling, anyway. In addition I am back at Uni and I am (finally) in my last two semesters of my Masters. I will then take a year off (possibly two) before doing doctoral work. Anyway I sincerely hope that you enjoy this fic and I think that it is sweet and in-character.

Enjoy!

Watching her read was almost as good as seeing the material itself. She was so very vibrant with her thoughts, feelings, and emotions during the times that she was occupied with a tome. At all other moments she kept such a tight hold on her emotions that she quite reminded him of himself and that of his brother. The sleeve of her long white button-up lifted as she turned the page and a roar of hate and anger roared through his veins at a level that he was unused to feeling.

Mycroft wasn't a stranger to emotions; he rather kept them on a tight leash. Nothing could present the white-hot rage that filled him when he at any point saw the scars that dotted his lover's body. The most ominous being the word 'MUDBLOOD' that had been forcibly carved into her skin by a madwoman, who was luckily dead- lucky for her that is. If Mycroft had been given the chance to put his hands on her, that Bellatrix Lestrange, normally he despised legwork, but he would make an exception to the rule in that case.

Shoving a hand into the pocket of his trousers Mycroft thumbed a box in there. Their relationship had been hidden quite thoroughly on both sides. Mycroft, however, had grown impatient with the arrangement. There weren't many everyday activities that he voluntarily took part in, however, he would like nothing more than to take her out on the town for an evening of enjoyment. A ballet perhaps, or an opera, something nice and tasteful that would require his love donning a delicious garment that he would later remove.

He strode around the table with purpose and over to the ladder that she so carelessly perched on. She was in their personal library and could not be happier, or so she thought. Mycroft had a few ideas on how to make her happier, and there were only three people on earth he cared for: her, Mummy, and Sherlock, so making her happy was a priority.

She never asked for anything. He knew that he worked long hours and yet she never complained, not even once. He supposed that she knew his position very well, she held one that was much the same in her own government, but yet his seemed to take up so much more of his time and his energy. There were nights where she would simply undress him and put him to bed. She never asked questioned about his work, because she knew that he most likely couldn't answer them. Their understanding was flawless and yet Mycroft knew it could be better.

Reaching the place behind her on the ladder, Mycroft leant down and pulled her hair away from her neck before kissing the junction softly. He leaned back for a moment and then placed his lips back more forcefully and opened them to allow himself to taste her. She moaned and tabbed the corner of her page and repositioned the large book on her lap so that she could turn and capture his lips with hers.

They continued to kiss and caress for a time before Mycroft pulled back. He sometimes wondered what she saw in him, an older man who was only vaguely handsome. But, here she was time after time, day after day. If there was any disgust in their differences she had never indicated it.

"Mycroft?" She asked as their eyes met, and her fingers traced down the buttons of his shirt. He was dressed informally in crisp grey slacks and a white button-up that had been rolled to his elbows. Well, it was as informally as he could get.

Mycroft pulled her off the ladder and then knelt on one knee. "Hermione." He stated and then stopped, feeling unusually nervous. Of course he was, she was his most vulnerable side and he was exposing it like a nerve. "You have made me incredibly happy and I am most fond of you. That is to say that I love you and that is an anomaly unto itself. Three years ago you became my wife, and my partner." Mycroft pulled the box out from his pocket and brought it towards the lovely woman.

"It would give me great honor, if you would agree," he opened the box, "to have our children." Inside the box was a small silver pram Christmas ornament. Hermione dropped onto her knees in front of him and stared at the box.

"Mycroft." She whispered, unsure of what to say.

"Hermione." Mycroft grabbed her hands and placed them to the gift. "It would be one of my life's greatest accomplishments to have a family with you. I believe that I will make a decent father, but you will make an absolutely astounding mother."

Hermione wept and Mycroft let her. He could only imagine the shock that was running through her body. They had not even had a real wedding ceremony. Just a small private one with only his personal assistant as witness. Of course the Queen knew, as did the Prime Minister and the Minister of Magic, however no one else did. This was not only asking to bear his children, but also to be his public life partner. His person.

"Say yes." Mycroft commanded softly. He could command all he wanted, but it was her decision and her decision alone. This would affect her far more than it would him, and their lives would irrevocably change forever.

Hermione dried her eyes on a sleeve and stood. Without a word she took the box from him and brought it over to one of the many Christmas trees in the house. This one was her favourite, because it was in her domain. She looked long and hard at the box before taking out the ornament and placing it delicately placing it on an open spot on the three where they could see it from their favourite couch.

Mycroft stood then and walked determinedly over to her before sweeping her up into his arms and kissing her soundly. He then lifted his petite wife into a cradle position and carried her to the large couch. "Best get a head start then." He murmured to her playfully before once again claiming her lips with fiery hunger.

She was his and as he removed her shirt, Mycroft allowed his fingers to trace across Hermione's stomach. Soon there would be a child growing there, and that would be his too. He only hoped that he could give the child a better childhood than the one that he and Sherlock received. That was a promise.

That was a promise.

Tha-tha-that's all folks! There will be more to this story, however I am unsure if I will post another chapter or do another one-shot. I just haven't seen this couple yet and thought I would give it a try!

Anywho!

Cheers,

iBless!