Warning: Chapter is NSFW

A long night spent with your most obvious weakness
You start shaking at the thought you are everything I want
'Cause you are everything I'm not

"Absolutely not!" Hermione's hand slammed on the writing desk in front of her, the rattle causing the inkpot perched on the corner to slip off the edge and smash to the floor. It's sharp shatter punctuated the indignation that brewed inside of her, mixing with her magic, charging the air in the small study with the hint of brimstone and smoke..

"Hermione, can you just stop for a bloody second and look at this objectively." James' brow was set, his jaw taut with anger as he watched his wife fume behind his writing desk. He had only arrived back home an hour prior, still dressed in the hastily thrown together outfit from earlier. The better part of his afternoon had been spent at the Ministry, arguing with Thicknesse and Finstrom over the latest amendment to the Decree.

"Objectively?" Hermione scoffed, her eyes rolling as she fought back the urge to let loose a sardonic laugh. She knew James was dedicated to his job, and while his fidelity to the Ministry was admirable, it was moments like these that made her want to scream. He'd lived through two wars—fought against not only the Dark Lord but the same Ministry he was now defending. "There is no bloody way to look at what you're asking objectively because quite frankly, the fact you're suggesting it is—"

"Merlin, can we not go down that bloody road again?" James reached up, his index finger and thumb sliding beneath his wire-rimmed glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose as he took in a deep breath. "Me suggesting you choose Harry isn't a fucking insult, Hermione."

"It absolutely is, James!" Pushing back from the desk, Hermione rose from the wooden swivel chair, sending the furniture careening backwards under the force. She moved over to the bookshelf to continue the search she'd begun just moments after he'd left earlier for more texts on Wizarding Law—ancient and current alike.

After the initial shock of disillusion wore off, Hermione quickly fell into the one mindset that had gotten her through the worst of times during the war. Research. Study. She needed to further investigate what she'd already known about the law—but now, instead of trying to find the loopholes that might have made the plural marriage invalid, she sought to find a way to keep both of her wizards.

Harry was blessedly familiar with her frantic need to bury herself in tomes during the height of her manic moods, and opted to stay at arm's length. Only popping into the study to drop off some biscuits and a pot of tea around lunch, he made sure she had at least a little bit of food to keep her going.

"I'm not going to choose! They've already forced me to marry once—I am not going to sit idly by while they overstep—yet again, and try to take either of you from me. It might not have been my bloody choice in the beginning, but I will be damned if they take that from me now." Her magic snapped at her fingertips and the soft bursts of light flickered in the dim study. Cursing, she pulled her hand back from the bookshelf, fingers flexing as she tried to control her wayward magic. "I can't believe you're just so willing to blindly follow Thicknesse. The man is basically a walking contradiction! Had it not been for the Death Eaters, he wouldn't have even been fucking elected! But worse than that is the fact that you're not willing to fight for me—for us. I thought I meant more to you than—"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence!" James' eyes flashed, the deep rumble of his baritone daring her to try and counter his edict. Pushing off the wall, he closed the space between them and spun her around to face him, his jaw working as if he had a mouthful of dung beetles as he stared down into her eyes. "Not once have I hidden my affections for you, Hermione, so don't you dare say that. You know precisely how I feel—and that is exactly why I am telling you to choose Harry."

"So, what then? You're claiming that you care for me, that what we share is important to you, but you're so quick to give it up all up—to give me up—because the Minister decided to change his fucking mind! How can you say those things and then treat me like I'm expendable, like some fucking pair of boots you've worn the soles through?" Hermione rolled her shoulders, hands batting against his forearms to free herself from his firm hold.

"Do you honestly believe what you saying? That this decision isn't fucking hard for me?" James growled, the flames of anger rising inside him, licking at his reason and logic and turning them to ash. His hands moved despite her push, fingers curling around the bookshelf behind her head, boxing her in so she couldn't escape. "I just spent the entire fucking day fighting for you—for the three of us, for our bloody marriage, but it's not so fucking easy, Hermione."

"Yes, it is! You tell him he's wrong—that he can't make me choose! You tell him you're not agreeing to separate and that he needs to rescind the amendment! You go down to the Ministry and fight! Fucking picket in front of his office if that's what it takes! We cannot be the only ones who've found happiness as a result of the Decree, James! We find people like us, people who want to keep their Magical Marriages, who don't want to choose and who will stand with us against—"

"This isn't fucking Hogwarts, Hermione! You can't just force people to come join your bloody cause! This is bigger than House Elves, it's about people's lives!" He slammed his palm against the bookshelf, causing a few tomes to tumble to the floor around them. "Why can't you just—"

"Because I love you! Can't you fucking see that?" The declaration slipped from her lips unbidden. She had only just given a name to the feelings he stirred within her heart, and truthfully, the word—love—scared her more than she cared to admit, but it was the truth. Despite wanting to throttle him for being so fucking dense at the moment, she loved him.

The way he woke her in the morning with a gentle whisper.

The way he'd pop by her office for a mid-day check-in when his owls had returned without a reply.

The way he'd hold her in the evenings, his touch lingering long after his fingertips left her skin.

She loved him more than she could express—as if the emotion was too big for such a smile word.

His eyes widened and she watched the tension slip from his shoulders as her sentiment sank in—and only then, once the fire that'd burned so brightly in his eyes began to subside, that she realized precisely what she'd said.

"Merlin, James. I…I do. I love you so much." Her voice was unsteady, wrought with uncertainty and fear, and for the first time since he'd come home, she allowed the fortress of anger she'd built to break down and expose just how bloody petrified she was. "But I can't choose between you and Harry...I won't choose. I love you both."

Her breath caught in her throat, a slow sinking fear stealing her ability to breathe as she watched him process the three little words that meant more than he could possibly realise. Maybe it was too soon. Maybe he didn't feel the same. Maybe he'd suggested she choose Harry as an easy out of their Magical Marriage–his escape from a life he'd never really wanted in the first place.

Just as the self-doubt snuck into her very soul, its dark tendrils curling around her heart, James finally reacted.

His hand moved to her jaw, thumb pressing under her chin, tipping her head back so quickly it bumped against the bookshelf as he pressed his lips to hers. The fire that had consumed him hadn't disappeared, but rather morphed into a blaze. His kiss was demanding, frantic, and when his tongue swept into her mouth, plundering the last ounce of defiance she had, he stole the very breath from her lungs.

His hands moved down her body, curling around her hips, the dig of his fingers against the soft skin grounding her to the moment. Their magic swirled around them, the corporeal iridescent smoke rustling the loose pages of parchment, and flipping through the open tomes that lay on his writing desk. Sliding over the curve of her backside, his palms slipped down to her thighs.

In one fluid motion, he picked her up, wrapping her thighs around his hips as he pressed her against the bookcase, the sharp bite of the wooden shelf causing her to gasp. His lips left hers, the rough scrape of his facial hair sliding down her throat as he moved to the base of her neck. "S-say it again," he growled, teeth nipping roughly at the crook of her shoulder.

"I-I love you."

A low primal groan ripped from the back of his throat, fingertips pressing bruises into the soft skin of her thighs as he hoisted her up higher, adjusting his grip on her petite frame. Pulling her from the bookshelf, he briefly lifted his head, only to ensure he had the right trajectory.

She circled her arms around his neck, fingers sinking into the back of his untidy black hair, carding through the chaos as she clung to him. His trainers squeaked against the hardwood with each purposeful step as he carried her across the room.

He lowered her to the corner of the writing desk, her body perched just on the ledge. His hands left her hips, and with a wave over the desk and a burst of wandless magic, the tomes and files that littered the desk scattered around them—leaving no question regarding his intent.

Hazel eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with unrepentant need. His hands spread wide across her thighs, the soft cotton pooling between his fingers as he ran them up the length of her legs and curved his fingers around the thick elastic band at her waist.

Leaning back on the desk, Hermione braced herself on shaky limbs as she lifted her hips, helping him in his effort to partially disrobe her.

He tossed them to the floor without a care, not even bothering to check where they'd landed. His hands found her skin once more, fingertips acting as divining rods, gracing across the soft skin on the inside of her knee, ghosting their way up the map of her thighs until she could feel the heat of his touch at her sex.

"J-James." His name was a gasp into the charged air that lingered between them, her nails scratching at the soft oak as she tried to arch into his touch—trying to find relief from the ache of desire begging for him to consume her entirely.

His eyes flickered up from her waist, tongue sweeping a slow drag over his lips as he drank in the sight of her splayed out before him—so ready for him to devour.

He'd battled through his own feelings after the night they'd consummated their marriage—torn between giving into the wave of devotion that rippled throughhis soul at the mere thought of her, and playing it cool, letting their relationship develop naturally. It had been so bloody long since he'd been in a relationship—so fucking long since he'd felt this way about anyone.

He wasn't that teenager anymore, hopelessly chasing the pretty girl around drafty halls in the highlands in some meaningless attempt to woo her. No, Hermione was already his—and still, he'd kept that final set of walls so firmly erected around his heart. Afraid to let her in to see the vulnerability that still plagued him after all these years. Afraid that if he allowed her in, he'd just lose her—like he'd lost Lily.

It was that same fear that pushed him to encourage her to pick Harry. He was broken, and far too old to be a real option for her future. She was young—so full of life and fire that blazed so brightly within her; he knew that if he held her for too long he might burn. She had a promising future ahead of her—just beginning her career, while he was on his downward slope, still many years away from retirement, but it was certainly on his horizon.

As much as he longed to be with her—to love her, to cherish her the way she deserved, James feared he would never be able to. He was twenty years her senior, once widowed, and father to a now-grown man. He'd been through two wars and bore scars that ran deep beneath the surface from both. Every day he looked in the mirror, he could swear there was more gray in his beard and unruly hair than the time before.

He could never be the man Hermione deserved—not in this lifetime, not in the state he was in.

His heart seized in his chest when her hand caressed his jaw, the tender touch shattering through the cloud of uncertainty that'd fogged his mind. He turned to press a kiss against her palm, nose nuzzling the pulse point at her wrist as his eyes drifted shut.

"I love you, James…have for far longer than I care to admit. I'll always love you—that's why I can't choose." Her voice felt like a caress, soothing his wild thoughts, and helping him through the storm that waged inside his mind.

She loved him.

There was no pretense to her words, no stipulations.

She loved him, and Merlin, he felt the same.

Pressing one final kiss into the center of her palm, James rubbed his cheek across her touch, hazel eyes cracking open to peer down at her—the beautiful curly-haired witch that'd stolen his heart. How did he get so lucky? Some people went a lifetime without ever finding love, and here he was, so hopelessly devoted to a witch again. His second chance—a do-over for a life he hadn't gotten to truly live.

"I love you too, Hermione."

He didn't know if he'd regret returning the words, no matter how true they might be, because verbalizing them meant he could never take them back, nor could he give her up. Verbalizing them was the final nail in his coffin. He was hers—and she is. No bloody law or Ministry was going to break that up.

Tears glistened in her eyes, making her beautiful whisky coloured eyes shimmer like diamonds in the soft light, and her bottom lip quivered as she fought to contain the overwhelming emotions that coursed through her veins. With a hand on his jaw, she guided him back to her until their lips met and she felt the press of his hips against her thighs.

As her tongue swept into his mouth, taking control of their kiss, Hermione's hands moved down the expanse of his chest, sliding over the thick muscles that made up the map of his body until she reached his waist. She flicked open his trousers with a practiced ease and pushed the jeans and shorts down his muscular thighs until she felt the heavy weight of his cock rest intimately against her.

Wrapping her fingers around his length, she pumped her fist in a languid pace that matched the slow burn of their kiss, gradually bringing him pleasure until his cock stood—the velvet skin taut. Hooking her legs around his waist, she scooted closer, perching on the very edge of the desk.

Guiding him to her core, Hermione arched her hips until she felt the head of his cock press against her opening. A soft sigh slipped from her lips as James took the lead and pushed inside her at an unhurried pace—as if taking his time to make sure he would remember every single fraction of this moment.

James swallowed up the little noise greedily, his nose lightly nudging hers as he pulled back until just his tip remained buried inside her heat only to fill her once more, setting an almost excruciatingly slow rhythm. He waged war with the primal instinct that told him to claim her as his—to bring them to completion as fast as possible, to fill her with his seed and make sure she bore their children.

But this wasn't about that—not some frantic need to find climax as their very first time together had been. This wasn't about binding their union, or her bringing both of her husbands back down to reality after a shite week at work.

No, this was about the two of them.

This was about loving her so intensely it scared him to even think of pushing her away. It was about the sea of love that churned within him every time she so much as looked at him—let alone the little way she breathed his name when they shagged. It was about how James had just lost his battle to keep this a secret. How Hermione had stolen his heart, bewitched his mind and ensnared his soul.

He wanted to remember this moment so on his deathbed, he could recall what it felt like to realize the woman of his dreams returned his affections before he welcomed death's embrace with a smile on his lips.

He wanted it to never end.

Breaking their kiss, Hermione pressed her forehead to his shoulder, slow, drawn-out moans slipping from her lips as she clung to his shoulders. Nails curled into the soft cotton of his shirt, likely carving marks into his skin.

Their magic wove together, swirling and winding until the threads that made up the very fibre of their being merged as one. James could feel her heartbeat within his, the radiating thrum of their combined magic drawing their souls closer until they were one person—living, and breathing together.

"J-James." Hermione's eyes closed tight as she teetered on the edge of oblivion, poised on the precipice, as if just standing on the tips of her toes, waiting for that final push that would throw her over and into the tide below.

Whether it be instinct or the merging of their magic, James seemed to be able to sense precisely what Hermione needed. With one final push into her quivering core, he ground his hips against hers, his hands on her back holding her as close as physically possible as his mouth found the shell of her ear. "I love you—I love you so much."

It wasn't a white-hot heat—or an explosion. It wasn't that fast-burning, mind-numbing bliss. No, it was a slow burning feeling that began at the tips of her toes and crept up her body until it was all she could do to hang on to the moment. Her breath caught in her throat, lungs expanding with an unspoken plea of devotion as she came apart in his arms.

Her body vibrated as magic poured from the centre of her chest, as if there was a direct link between their hearts, and she cried out when she felt him follow, his cock pulsing deep within body shuddering in her grasp.

Legs tightening around his waist, her heels dug into his lower back as she held him tight, afraid to let go—afraid for this moment to end and the next to begin, drawing them back to the reality of their situation once again.

The second hand tick from the analog clock was a metronome for her breath to follow as she leaned against his chest, her cheek pressing into the broad expanse of his shoulder. When he began to guide his hands across her back in slow, soothing strokes, she let her eyes drift closed.

"Please… please don't make me choose." Her voice was tiny and wavered with fear. "I can't James… I can't choose."

His hand moved into her curls, tunneling through the thick mass until it found an anchor point. Tipping her head back, her gaze found his. In his eyes she saw a magnetic energy that conveyed everything he never could—it described his feelings for her better than any word in the English language.

More than love.

More than devotion.

More than bliss.

"I won't—I can't." His other hand dropped to her bare hip, fingers flexing against the soft skin. "You've ruined me for anyone else, Hermione. Stolen my heart—clouded my mind and invaded my soul...how on earth could I possibly give you up now?"

Author's Note:

Song: Makedamnsure by Taking Back Sunday

You get this a day (or hours) early because tomorrow is my company's holiday party and I don't reasonably think I will be able to post. That being said. enjoy!

Until next time. xx