I'm thinking we should ride,
To a place that we don't know,
To a place where no one's seen us before.
I'm thinking, you and I,
Better just go with the flow,
Last thing that we should do is go slow.
Hermione's spine arched, her hands carding through tufts of black hair, holding James' mouth firmly between her thighs as his tongue lapped slowly against the swollen bud of her clit, his torturous pace building the burning need within her until she felt all but consumed by the flames.
She'd been on the brink of orgasm for what felt like hours—both wizards driving her to the edge before backing off just enough to keep her teetering between this plane of existence and the next.
The combined strength of their magic rolled through her, churning and swirling with her own, creating a typhoon of untapped force that threatened to spill from her fingertips the longer they kept her on the precipice.
Harry's hands ran up and down her upper arms, thumbs sweeping across the taut muscles as he laved open mouth kisses along the lean column of her throat and shoulders. "So beautiful," he purred into her skin, gently nipping at her pulse point.
An involuntary shudder coursed through her body, igniting a wave of goosebumps that broke across her skin as she uncurled the arch in her back to press against Harry who held her between his parted thighs.
She could feel his cock at her back, firm and thick against her skin, reminding her of the need they all shared. "P-Please," she finally relented, her mind lost to the lust-fueled haze that seemed to physically fill the room. The air was charged with their magic—thick and heady. It was all she could do to breathe, each inhale filling her lungs with a consuming desire. "P-please James."
James chuckled, the vibration sending her reeling, her thighs quivering on either side of his head, nails scratching at his scalp as she inhaled sharply. His hands slipped down her thighs and he hooked his thumbs under her knees, pushing the appendages up and spreading her wide for his pleasure.
As if they had conspired against her, she felt Harry's hands glide across her skin—down her arms, over the softness of her abdomen, and he took over the hold on her knees until they nearly hit her chest.
James pulled back, his tongue darting across his bottom lip, trying to collect every last drop of her slick that lingered on his skin as he rose up to sit back on his haunches, hazel eyes dark and wild. For as lost as Hermione was in the consuming hunger, it appeared her eldest husband was not immune to its wiles either.
James' hand lifted to his cock, long fingers wrapping around the base as he moved closer towards her. Hermione held her breath, enraptured, watching as he began to tug his length, the glistening head of his cock bobbing with each stroke.
Harry's hand splayed across her thigh, fingers digging small divots into her skin as he eased her knees back farther until it felt as if she was nearly folded in half before James. She could feel his lips against the side of her face, pressing against her temple and peppering her jaw with soft kisses of encouragement as James drew close.
"Say it again." James' voice was thick and syrupy—so clearly lined with a longing that matched her own. She felt his knees brush against her arse and when he let his hand sink down to the base of his cock, angling his length to slot it against her parted cunt to coat his manhood in her slick, she felt a pulse of magic radiate from her in a shockwave.
She could barely fucking breathe, how the hell did he expect her to form coherent words? It felt near impossible, especially when she watched his stomach flex with each gentle rock of his hips as he nudged against her swollen clit with just the head of his cock.
A low whimper slipped from her throat, her eyes fluttering closed, and she let loose the heavy breath she held trapped in her lungs as he coaxed her abandon with each gentle stroke. She needed more—needed him inside of her, stretching her, filling her until there was no room left. She needed the weight of his body against hers, the feel of him beneath her fingertips. She needed James to devour her, and then she needed Harry, too.
She needed both of her wizards more than she needed air to breathe. It wasn't just the magic that bound them together, nor the ache of desire that throbbed between her thighs—no, this spellbinding, soul-crushing need to have them had more to do with the stake they'd claimed in her heart.
She loved them—more than she was aware she could love anyone. Though she was far from ready to verbalise it, she knew without a shred of doubt that what she felt was beyond the Decree.
"Say it for him, 'Mione." Harry nuzzled against her sweat stricken curls as his lips caressed the shell of her ear. "We love to hear you beg."
Her body vibrated, Harry's words adding petrol to the fire that had already engulfed her libido. She let out a shaky moan when she felt the head of James' cock press against her entrance, barely breaching her body—just enough to caress the ache before he rocked back, not giving her exactly what she needed.
"Please! James, Please!"
One of his hands moved to press against her abdomen, the firm pressure sinking her farther back into Harry's hold, and in one powerful thrust, his cock filled her completely. He set a brutal pace, snapping his hips against hers, the sharp pain-pleasure of him bottoming out inside of her devastated the last ounce of control she had remaining.
Her pleas turn to moans, which quickly morphed into incoherent shouts as her body trembled, each snap from James' hips driving her closer and closer towards inevitable destruction.
She was going to die—right there, spread open on their marital bed, with James' cock buried between her thighs. She'd welcome death, as long as it meant she could finally find release.
Harry's hands kneaded the supple flesh on her thighs, thumbs stroking over the taut muscles as he whispered words of encouragement in her ear—along with promises of what he was going to do to her once she came. The combination sent her reeling, her body a live wire with need, but it wasn't until James' hand slipped lower, and his thumb pressed against the swollen bud of her clit that she finally snapped.
She threw her head back against Harry's shoulder, her hands scrambling on the comforter, clawing, tearing, shredding the soft bedding as her world came apart. Magic shot from her body, exploding like a rogue firework, sending the shrapnel of corporeal magic around the room. The mirror that hung behind James' dresser shattered into fine grains of sand, raining a sea of silver glitter over his belongings, and the ceiling fan's lightbulb incandescence grew brighter and brighter until it burst with ebullient energy
Her orgasm rippled through her and she fought against Harry's hold as her body begged to break free from the prison of his arms so she could tremble and stretch with the outpouring of magic. A reverent chant of James' name filled the room as she felt herself fall apart around his cock.
Her cunt spasmed around him, pulling him with her in the mind-blinding bliss, and soon, a snarl of completion ripped from James' throat as he ground his hips against hers. She could feel the thick pulse of his cock deep inside her as he coated her with his seed.
Harry loosened his hold, fingers smoothing over the little pink bruises that had already begun to form, and he let her fall limp against him. Her heart beat like a herd of stampeding Thestrals beneath her chest, and despite the adrenaline that coursed through her veins, she felt as if someone had cast Ossio Dispersimus on her, rendering her useless.
She felt James slip from her aching cunt, and as she cracked open her eyes, she watched him claim the space on the bed beside her, the mattress dipping under the weight of his fall. His eyes were shut, chest heaving to catch his breath, and cock already softening and weeping against his inner thigh as he lifted his arms to rest above his head on the pillow.
She longed to reach out, touch his cheek, catch a glimpse of those beautiful hazel eyes, but she knew her attention was needed elsewhere. Specifically, to her ever-patient husband who lay behind her.
Harry's hands moved up and down her sides in time with the steady rise and fall of her chest, coaxing her heart to slow from a gallop to a canter. Her hands moved across the mattress, over the mounds of blankets she pulled around them during the throes of her climax to Harry's muscular thighs.
Her thumbs stroked against the firm muscles as she gathered her strength, using the last remnants of her energy to help her push up on her knees and turn around to face Harry. The corners of her half-lidded eyes lifted as a slow, sleepy smile spread across her lips. "Hi…"
Harry was reclined against the headboard, his hair still chaotic from when she'd run her fingers through it while they snogged shortly after making their way to the bed. With his legs bent at the knee, his thighs were spread wide to accommodate the width of her body between them. His cock stood proud against the rippling muscles of his abdomen, the head red with need.
"Hey," he returned in a slow whisper, reaching out to press his fingers against the jut of her hip bone, guiding her closer as she moved to slide her legs over his thighs until she straddled him.
She slid her hands along his broad shoulders, curling over the thick muscle as she pressed her slick quim against his hard, hot length. His hands curved around her sides and a low groan rumbled through his chest, vibrating against her breasts as she shivered.
"Y-you don't—" Harry began, his voice warbled as he fought for control over his own need and lust-driven impulse to lift her up, sink her hot heat over his cock and feel the delicious quiver of her cunt around him as he lost himself to the bliss her body and magic brought him—"have to. We can wait...you're tired."
He wasn't wrong and she knew it—the fatigue from being kept on edge for so long was intense, making her limbs feel laden with lead and the simple act of keeping her body upright was damn near impossible. But the steady thrum compelling her to be with him was intoxicating.
She needed Harry, needed the feel of him between her thighs, the stroke of his magic within her soul. This wasn't about lying with both of her husbands or the act of bonding their marriage per the requirements of the Decree—but rather a burning desire to be as close as physically possible with them. To remind them both how much she cared for them.
Hermione shook her head, fingers teasing the hairs on the bottom of his neck before she wound her fingers into his locks. "Can you be on top?"
"'Mione, we don't—"
"Harry, I want to...I need you—both of you."
His eyes softened, the twinkle of light that spilled into their darkened bedroom from the hallway highlighting his handsome face. She moved to caress his cheek, gliding her thumb over the high of it before she leaned in to press her lips against his, pouring all that she felt for him into that moment.
All her devotion—years of running blindly into the fray alongside him culminated into the simple act of this kiss. She loved Harry. Everything about him: his gentle soul, his endless fidelity to helping those in need, his desire to make the world a better place. He was selfless, kind, and often she wondered how the planets aligned just right to let him into her life.
Harry had been her first crush, her first heartbreak, and her first love—all without ever knowing it. In her heart, he'd belonged to her for years—and she'd belonged to him. Now that it was a reality, it was all she could do to not let the three little words slip off her tongue.
But she couldn't say it—not yet. Not when everything was still so new.
His hands crept up her sides to fan across her back as he leaned her back onto the mattress. Her curls splayed around her head in a halo and the springs sunk to accommodate their combined weight as Harry repositioned them until she lay flat on her back, legs bent on either side of his hips.
Sliding a hand between their bodies, she curled her fingers around his length and felt his cock twitch under her touch as she guided him to her core. Her pussy was swollen and tender from her previous coupling, but when she felt him push inside her, his cock entering her at an impossibly slow pace, the twinge of pain flourished into a slow burn of pleasure that radiated down her limbs from where they were joined.
She arched her back, tilting her hips to accept more of him until Harry was buried deep inside of her, his hips slotting perfectly against hers as if they were made for one another.
Thin arms circled around his neck as Harry set a slow pace, gently grinding his hips against hers each time he bottomed out. His right hand mirrored the push and pull of his hips—caressing the lean length of her flank, cataloguing her every dip and curve, worshiping her. Using his left hand to brace himself against the mattress, Harry broke their kiss and pressed his forehead against hers as low primal grunts and groans ripped from his throat.
The feeling of his cock filling her was hypnotic, drawing her deeper into the bliss and swirl of their combined magic. The primal clench of her release coiled low in her belly, seeming to wind tighter and tighter with each languid push of his hips.
The slow crest of her release overtook her like a tidal wave, one moment it felt far away, just on the outer reaches of her mind, and then it pulled her under. Her head tipped back on the bed as she cried out his name, nails digging small crescents into the skin of his back as her body trembled.
Through the slow, drudging waves of euphoria, her body accepted him, absorbing the soft cushion of his hips against hers, relishing in the stretch of her body accommodating his, and soon he followed her into throes of passion. She felt his cock twitch inside her as he came with a whisper of her name—husky and breathless in her ear, spoken as a plea into the universe.
They lay chest to chest, the steady thump of his heart beating in time with her own. The room was silent save for the sound of them gasping for breath as they rode out the high of the climax. Her hands moved across the expanse of his back, sliding across the muscular planes on either side of his spine as her legs slowly lowered from his hips to lay flat against the mattress until her toes touched the headboard.
Harry moved slowly, carefully easing his softening length from her body before he rolled beside her on the mattress, landing on his back with a soft puff of air. His hand sought out hers, stealing it from where it lay on her stomach, slowly lacing their fingers together, before he brought it up to his lips to pepper the soft skin of her knuckles with kisses.
She felt James' hand curl around her ankle, squeezing gently as if to let her know he was still there—still a part of this blissful world they'd created in the safety of their bedroom. Her eyelids felt too heavy, the mattress too soft, and the combined touch of her husbands poured just enough of their magic inside her soul to fill her with an indescribable warmth—a completion that went beyond just the physical aspect of her release.
When Sirius spoke of ancient magic guiding witches and wizards to their partners of long ago, she'd thought it daft—just an old tale used to provide some sort of reason to marriage laws of old. But as she lay in bed, her magic still twisting and turning with both Harry and James' like a kite lost in a gust of wind, she couldn't help but wonder if maybe there was some truth to that old witches tale.
That maybe she did belong to them.
That maybe she'd always been fated to be theirs—Decree or not.
Hermione would not a morning person. From as far back as she could remember, she absolutely detested the thought of trudging out of bed—particularly on crisp mornings. Hogwarts made it easier to rouse from the safety of her sheets, with its charm heated floors and the enticing smells that wafted into the dormitory from the elves in the kitchens below.
Even still, if given the option, she would have preferred to stay under the safety of the covers until the bleary morning light broke into warm rays.
That trait, it appeared, only grew more apparent now that she was sharing a bed with her husbands. Between the weight of Harry's arm around her middle and the feel of James' breath across her skin, she never wanted to leave the comfort of their arms. The world could wait—nothing beyond the four posters of their bed mattered.
It was Saturday, which meant she was allowed to spend as long as she wanted lounging in their bed. With no immediate plans beyond moving some boxes from the first floor to the attic, Hermione was having what James had taken to calling a 'lie in' morning.
Dressed in James' jumper from yesterday and a pair of Harry's shorts, Hermione leaned against the headboard, long legs stretched out in front of her, crossed at the ankle. A book laid open across her thighs, eyes flickering across the typeface on the page with growing interest. She'd found the book while putting away her collection in the bookshelf in the living room earlier this week and simply couldn't get its title out of her mind.
The Oral History of Magical Unions. She'd read about wizarding unions before, but this text covered the customs and rituals in far greater detail than she'd ever encountered before. More over, it covered the variations of the binding spells used between countries and how the presentation of Magic depended upon the magical composition of the intended couple—or in some cases, group.
"Fancy a cuppa?" James nudged open the door, a tray floating just behind him as he entered their bedroom. He had snagged a pair of sweats from his drawer before moving to the basement to get their morning fix, and although she knew him walking around the house starkers was not something Harry would be keen on, she couldn't help but wish he'd remained bare.
Harry lifted his head from the pillow, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. "Do Hippogriffs fly?" Tossing the issue of Quidditch Weekly he'd been browsing on the nightstand, Harry pushed himself up and scooted back until he sat against the headboard beside her.
"You know, they are not guaranteed the ability to fly from birth. There is actually a herd in Northern Ireland that—" Hermione lifted her eyes from her book, looking between the two wizards who wore smiles born of mirth. "Let me guess…one of those wizarding phrases?" Hermione picked up the black ribbon she used as a bookmark from her lap and smoothed it across the page before closing the book with a soft thump.
"Uh-huh." James pointed his wand at the foot of the bed and the tray moved in front of him. "But, by all means, continue," he teased as he picked up a mug and held it out for Harry to take before doing the same with the one he'd prepared for her.
"Yeah. It's rather cute when you ramble," Harry agreed, nudging his bare shoulder against hers before he brought the mug to his lips, taking a slow sip as he wagged his brows.
"Oh, shut it." Hermione blushed, curling both hands around the warm mug.
"He's not wrong—it is charming. A tad bit on the swotty side, but there is definitely an appeal." James slid onto the bed beside her, leaning down to press a soft kiss on the high of her cheek before leaning back against the headboard. "I brought some of that fruit salad from earlier in the week—and burnt toast, just in case either of you were hungry."
"Oh, yes, actually!" Hermione took a large sip of her tea before she thrust the mug into Harry's open hand—as if he anticipated the hand off. Rising to a tall kneel, she moved down the length of their bed to pick up the glass bowl of fruit from the tray. "Did either of you have plans today? I was thinking we could move those boxes upstairs and maybe pop into The Alley later. I have a bit of shopping I need to do."
Tap! Tap! Tap!
The sharp noise startled her, causing her to jump and nearly drop the piece of melon pinched between her fingers. Hermione turned her attention across the room to the large window that sat against the far wall.
Perched outside in the late morning sun sat a grumpy looking barn owl. Its black, beady eyes bore into the room in silent judgement, unblinking, and before any of them could react, it leaned forward to tap its beak against the glass once more.
"Alright, alright, just a moment," James huffed, sliding off the bed. He set her mug on his nightstand before he made the short journey across his room to retrieve the post from the creature.
"Work?" Harry murmured from behind the rim of his mug, his hand snaking across the sheets to rest on Hermione's thigh. Squeezing the supple sink gently, he silently comforted her through the interruption—knowing how important it had been for her to spend the day with them both without the looming shadow of the Decree and its fallout.
"I thought you said Vickerson was on call this weekend." Hermione frowned.
James made quick work of untying the post from the owl's leg and narrowly missed a nip on the back of his hand when he moved to shut the window without providing any treats. "He is. This isn't from work though." James turned around, leaning against the window sill as he inspected the unassuming white envelope.
"Where's it from?" Harry leaned forward, elbows resting on his bended knee as he watched his father open the envelope and withdraw the parchment.
Hermione brow furrowed with growing interest as James scanned the letter, the curious glint in his eye slowly morphing into abject horror, and the colour draining from his face. "James?" she called out to him, setting the bowl of fruit back on the tray, the soft clink of glass against the wood echoing around the eerily silent room. "James—what's it say?"
"Dad, is everything alright?" Harry's had never been good at masking his feelings, often wearing them plainly on his face or in his tone, and now seemed no different. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Harry made sure to keep the blanket in his lap as he reached down for his rumpled shorts, grabbing them from the bedroom floor.
"Fuck!" James pushed off the wall, his hand already pushing through his untidy hair. "I…I have to go." Heavy footsteps carried him across the room towards their laundry hamper and he snatched a pair of denim trousers from the top of the pile, quickly pushing down his sweats and yanking on the dirty denim.
"What?!" Hermione scrambled off the bed, bare feet slapping loudly against hardwood floor as she moved towards her older husband. "James, what is going on? Where are you going?"
"The fucking Minister! He—I need to go talk to him. Figure out what the bloody hell he's doing." James fumbled with the parchment, slamming it on top of the dresser with the slap of his palm, before he began to yank open drawers in search of a suitable shirt.
"The Minister?" Harry stood, his hands flattening the elastic band of his shorts around his hips as he moved across the room. "Can you just calm the fuck down for a section and tell us what the bloody hell is going on?"
"The Minister! He's dissolved the marriages—our fucking marriage!" James swept his tongue over his lips, eyes darting around the room frantically searching for his trainers, or boots—anything he could bloody stuff his feet into so he could leave here and figure out what sort of mess Pius had created without consulting him.
"D-dissolved?" Hermione voice went up an octave, bordering on shrill as she snatched the letter, her heart already pounding a frantic rhythm against her chest.
No, that couldn't be right.
They'd just bound their marriage—took the oath, shared their bloody magic! There was absolutely no possible way they would dissolve the Magical Marriages they'd just spent weeks forcing upon people.
Distantly, she could hear the sound of Harry and James arguing, the booming of their baitones rattling her chest as her eyes swept across the page in front of her. The beautiful golden script that graced the parchment felt like a stark contrast to the painful message it delivered.
Immediate disillusion...grave error...selection of one Wizard from the union...Plural Marriage no longer legal...Azkaban.
She read the letter twice. Despite the flowery language, the message was crystal clear. Her marriage to both Potters was dissolved effective immediately. Although they couldn't undo the spell that bound her to both wizards without being physically present, on paper, the three of them were no longer married. And worse, the Magical Marriages Division was demanding she make a choice between Harry and James as to which wizard she wished to stay wed.
Hermione struggled to keep up with the rapid swirl of thoughts that twisted through her mind, trying desperately to figure out what this meant for them. From trembling hands, the letter drifted to the floor like a plucked petal from a rose, landing just before her bare feet in time with what felt like a sucker punch to her gut as the blow of reality set in.
They were taking them away from her—the Magical Marriage that the Minister and the Diviners swore by and forced them into. It was all being stripped away, and if that wasn't bad enough, they were making her choose between her two husbands.
Her knees buckled under the weight of the news and Hermione gripped the dresser to prevent herself from falling to the floor. Her hip bit against the metal handle as she leaned into the furniture. The world around her grew foggy as unbidden tears formed in the corners of her eyes. They couldn't take this away from her...could they?
Sure, it was unconventional at best, and truthfully, it didn't make any sort of sense—but this relationship between the three of them worked. She was happy, and for the first time in a very long time, she felt whole. The truth was, she loved Harry and James equally—one's space in her heart was no bigger than the other. There was no possible way she'd ever be able to choose between them.
Author's Note:
Song: Lurk by The Neighborhood
-record scratch- -evil cackle-
Thank you to dreamsofdramione & Lumoslyra for helping me fix up this chapter. 3 you two are real life witches!
Until next time xx.