to make them drink, tell them that it's only water
no one leaves 'till we figure this out
what made you so scared?
maybe your mistaken for someone who cares

Two days.

He only had two bloody days until his transfer to the corrections unit was complete. Technically, less than forty-eight hours remained when the request came through.

Auror Potter,

Your assistance is needed at the Magical Marriage Registry Desk immediately.

Signed,

Chief Diviner Finstrom

He was halfway through a turkey sandwich when the owl arrived and Harry damn near threw it at the bird in a fit of rage. Why him? Was it a war hero thing? Maybe they liked making his life a living hell—ordering him about like some sideshow carnival act. Or maybe they just wanted to see how much running about he would endure before he finally snapped.

Regardless of Harry's suspicions about their nefarious intentions, he took three large bites of his sandwich before getting up from the canteen table, hoping the little bit of food in his stomach would be enough to get him through until he could have dinner at home.

He expected to find some disgruntled Diviner, ranting about how the magic used to decide the union of three was vastly different from two. They tended to be the more dramatic bunch of the Ministry rank and file employees—it wouldn't have been the first time he'd had to intervene in one of their more fanciful tirades. To be precise, it wouldn't have even been the second or third time either.

But what Harry did not expect to find as he pushed through the set of heavy wooden doors into the polished lobby was his wife.

"Cannot accept it? Cannot or will not because I am pretty bloody sure you are completely capable of setting my form in the box to your fucking left, Susan!" Hermione's voice was penetrating, the shrill tone shredding any doubts one might have about her being at least semi-rational at that very moment. Reaching across the desk, Hermione slapped the form down in front of the purple-haired receptionist.

"Whether I'm capable or not isn't the question Ms. Granger—"

"Potter," Hermione corrected, her nostrils flaring as she fell back on her heels. "My last name is fucking Potter. If you took my form, then you'd clearly see that."

"Actually, until you've turned in a form that is properly completed, you are technically unwed." Picking up the crumpled parchment by its corner between two painted fingernails, Susan slid it back on the counter with a small grimace. "So if you could just do it the right way—"

"The right way?!" Hermione shrieked, her voice hitting an octave Harry wasn't even aware existed. "I've done precisely what Finstrom asked! It's filled out. You have my bloody name, my wand type, my birthday, and the same information for both of my husbands. There is literally nothing incomplete."

"Yeah…The boxes are all filled but you've… um—you've altered the form to accommodate two spousal boxes and we are no longer accepting polyamorous marriages in the wake of the amendment. So, if you just want to use the proper form and select one husband, that'd be great." Susan gave Hermione a tight smile, slowly folding her hands over one another.

He should move.

He really ought to do something—anything instead of watch as Hermione absolutely lost her marbles on the receptionist, but Harry couldn't pull himself away. The sizzle of magic sliced through the air; like the smell of incoming lightning, Harry felt its presence before the first snap of magic sparked in the room.

To his left, a stack of Magical Marriage manifestos scattered in a whirlwind—littering the black marble floor. To his right, the lightbulbs that hung over the Ministry's propaganda posters burst, raining sparks and shards of glass over the altered images.

"Fuck off! I am not—I will not pick between my husbands. Your fucking department made me marry them both and you cannot just take them from me because of some stupid amendment," Hermione growled, her fingers flexing at her sides. Although Harry couldn't see her face, he could hear the distinct lining of tears in her voice.

She was upset—beyond upset, Hermione was furious—well past the threshold of rational. She had dived headfirst into the waters of unreasonable the moment they'd received that letter demanding she choose one of her husbands just two days ago. In those same forty-eight hours, she'd only managed to sink deeper into the consuming hold of madness.

They couldn't make her choose.

She refused—if only on principle alone at this point. She loved Harry and James, and although they'd been married for just a few short weeks, she'd already begun to dream of a lifetime married to them. They'd found happiness—and now the Ministry wanted to rip that away? Over her dead body.

Unbidden tears collected in the corner of her eyes, her bottom lip quivering as she took in a slow breath, trying to prevent the tears from slipping down her cheeks. She didn't want to cry! She didn't fucking understand why her body was betraying her, forcing weakness to the surface, but she wasn't going to give into it. She couldn't. She needed to fight for Harry and James. She needed the Ministry to know that what they were doing was unacceptable and she wasn't going to sit idly by and allow it to happen.

"Legally speaking, we can. And we are," Susan replied crisply, her tone eerily reminiscent of a pug-faced High Inquisitor Hermione might actually loathe more than the Dark Lord—especially considering she was still very much alive and breathing. "So, if you could just close your legs and fill out the form—then I will happily submit it for you."

Magic snapped from her fingertips, cracking the receiving desk in two as a tidal wave of wrath swelled up inside her and overtook her sense. Anger overflowed, spilling out of every pore, filling the air with an electrical charge that made the hairs on her arms stand on end.

How dare she!

Just who the fuck did this smart mouth witch think she was talking to?

She was Hermione Jean Granger—brightest witch of her age and a bloody war hero!

She would be damned if this receptionist got to sit there and imply she was some Knockturn Alley slag without repercussion.

Hermione was helpless to the burst of magic that bloomed around her, lost in the consuming sea of her righteous fury as the room swirled with unbound magic, emanating from where she stood poised in front of the broken receiving desk.

Her hand curled around the form, the parchment crinkling and tearing under the force as she leaned across the desk. Her body slipped through the crack that had appeared as she roughly shoved it against the stunned witch's chest.

"Take it!" Hermione hissed through gritted teeth, her body trembling as primitive magical energy spilled from her, snapping the air in the room like little fireworks. "Take the bloody form."

"Hermione!"

Finally pulled from his stupor, Harry was already halfway across the room by the time Hermione turned to face him. "What the bloody hell are you doing?"

Just as quickly as the wave of anger had taken over her, the sight of her husband—her best friend, the only person in this entire world who knew Hermione better than she knew herself—immediately grounded her. A confusing hopelessness took hold and the tears she'd fought to hold back fell.

"H-Harry...I-I…they—"

He was pissed. She could see it in his stare, the distinct tension in his jaw and his wide-legged gait. She had never been on the receiving end of that look before, but it was one she'd witnessed countless times over their years of friendship. Her heart trembled as a bloom of fear ebbed its way into her heart. She wasn't scared of him, but rather scared of disappointing him, scared that in her rage she'd done something that would make him think poorly of her or doubt the validity of their feelings for one another.

She waited, her bottom lip quivering with each of his hurried steps towards her. Bracing herself, she prepared for him to drag her from the room and reprimand her like his job required—like she was some common criminal. She expected to be slapped with a fine and perhaps receive a note in her Ministry file.

"Are you okay?" His hands moved to her shoulders, squeezing lightly as he guided her away from the ruined desk and directly into his embrace.

A hand sunk into the back of her curls, cradling her against his chest, she could feel his wild heartbeat tattoo against her skin. When his other arm moved around her shoulders, and his hand fanned wide across her back, she lost all sense of composure. Thin arms moved around his middle as she buried her face in the rough fabric of his Auror duster and her hands twisted in the unforgiving cloth.

No, she wasn't okay! How could she be?! They were trying to take him away from her—trying to separate her from both of the men she loved.

She shook her head as she leaned into him, letting him carry the burden of her weight just for a moment so she could succumb to the overpowering rollercoaster ride of her emotions.

"Shhh… I'm here now. I've got you." He pressed soft kisses across the crown of her head, his hand on her back moved to stroke her spine, and she tried to match her breathing with the rise and fall of his as she gave into the tears.

Harry moved them from the lobby, not even bothering to give the receptionist a second glance as he swept her from the destruction left in the wake of her magical outburst and into the hallway. He curled her into his chest, shielding her from the prying eyes of other Ministry employees that had filtered into the hallway.

Dragonhide boots snapped loudly against the marble floor, and Harry held his head high, trying to maintain his appearance as a pillar of strength instead of the mess he felt inside. His wife, if that's what she still was, was hurting. She needed him to be strong now more than ever, but all he wanted to do was rush them home and kiss her tears away, giving in to his own wayward anxiety over the position the Ministry had put them in.

He couldn't help but feel that James might have been more equipped to deal with this—he'd always been good in the face of adversity. Growing up, he'd often used his father as a sounding board for irrational ideas. The long talks with James didn't necessarily prevent him from doing something daft or reckless, but they did prevent a good number of bad decisions. He hadn't punched Cormac in the bloody nose for his less than subtle comments about Hermione's appearance during sixth year nor hexed Umbridge to Ireland and back after his first detention fifth year. His father was wholly responsible for making Harry see reason in each instance.

James had always been the voice of reason. James would have been able to calm Hermione better than Harry ever could, and yet, it was Harry guiding her down the busy corridor towards the first open room he could find so he could try and stop her tears before his own followed suit.

With a quick flex of his wrist, his wand snapped from the wrist-guard into his hand and he spun the wooden handle until he felt the familiar knobs slide into place. "Alohamora!" The tip of his wand illuminated blue, and soon he heard the slide of the latch release. With a firm push, Harry opened the wooden door and pulled Hermione inside with him.

It wasn't a conference room—hell, it wasn't even a meeting room—but the dingy little broom closet would work for what he needed. Leaning back against the door, Harry used his weight to shut it as his arms wound around Hermione, locking at her waist, before he hoisted her off the floor.

Her legs spread around his waist as her arms wrapped around his neck. Her face pressed into the crook of his neck. Harry could feel the hot splash of tears against his skin, and as he held her—like he would hold Teddy when the tot was overcome with emotion after a tumble—Harry hummed softly, dotting soft kisses against her temple and brow.

It must have been nearly fifteen minutes later by the time the steady flow of tears stemmed, but when they finally did dry, Hermione felt boneless in Harry's arms. Tired. Weak. Bloody exhausted. She hadn't cried like that in ages—not since the day she'd received the news that her parents would never recover their memories.

Lifting her head, she dragged the back of her hand across her cheek and under her nose as she sniffled back the last few tears that lingered in her eyes. "S-sorry." Her throat felt raw—throbbing and painful, like a skinned knee. "I didn't—"

"It's okay. You don't have to explain." Harry let his head fall back against the wood, the motion pushing his hair up at odd angles as he looked down at her with small shimmers of sympathy and fondness in his expression.

"You can… You can fine me—if you need to." Her tongue swept across her dry lips and she let her eyes fall to his shirt as her hand moved to smooth across his collar, unable to hold his gaze as she spoke. She wasn't necessarily embarrassed by Harry witnessing her outburst—it hadn't been the first time she'd used accidental magic in front of him—but she was embarrassed that she'd allowed it to get so out of control.

"I'd understand. I wouldn't be upset."

"You think I'm going to fine my wife?" Harry shifted her weight in his arms, slowly lowering her down until her feet touched the floor, and once he made sure she was able to stand on her own, he lifted a hand to her jaw, gently tipping her chin back until their eyes met. "No—I'm not going to fine you. I'd have to do a lot more than that if I reported what happened. If I'm being honest, I don't much feel like filling out paperwork this evening… that and Susan can be a bit of a cunt most days, so…"

A sharp laugh slipped from her throat as Harry lifted his shoulders in a less than innocent shrug, his smile widening.

"Harry, I don't want you to get in trouble."

His fingers slipped across her jaw, slowly traversing her skin until he cupped her face. His thumbs moved over her cheeks, wicking the residual moisture away as he smiled fondly down at her. "'Mione, you're married to the Head of Magical Law Enforcement and the man who saved the Wizarding world. I'm fairly certain neither of us could get in actual trouble even if we wanted to."

Leaning in, Harry guided her lips to his in a gentle kiss, just the ghost of pressure from his lips ushering her eyes closed. His magic brushed against hers in time with his caress, speaking louder than his words ever would. The feel of his magic—the tantalizing tingle penetrating her blood and fogging her consciousness—slowed her runway heart better than any calming draught she'd ever taken. Harry's kiss grounded her from the mania that had plagued her mind all morning.

Her hands, which had moved to rest against his chest, hovering just over the steady thump of his heart, curled into his shirt, holding him close as she melted into his touch.

This.

This is what she was prepared to fight for—what she was so unwilling to give up—the love, the comfort, the complete and utter perfection of being in Harry's arms. The love she had for each man was so different—each filling a space in her heart like they had been perfectly designed to fit inside of it.

A swell of magic grew and grew until the warm tingle enveloped her whole body, cresting over her senses, and ushering in a calm that she readily welcomed. It frightened her though, because as much as she wanted to give in and allow his touch, his magic to soothe the wild energy within her soul, she knew she was on the verge of losing it all.

Breaking the gentle kiss, Hermione's bottom lip began to quiver once more as she looked up at Harry, watching the worry swirl deep within his beautiful emerald eyes. She cupped the side of his face, thumb stroking over his stubbly cheek as if trying to memorize the way his jaw fit perfectly her palm. "Harry… I can't choose. I can't comply with what they're asking."

Harry's hands tightened around her waist, his brow setting as her words sank in. She knew what this meant to not only him, but to James as well. She knew what she was risking: her marriage, her men, her freedom. The Ministry had been all too keen to arrest those for non-compliance just days ago; it wasn't a stretch to assume they would do the same for those unwilling to follow orders now.

It was as if she could see the thoughts flow through his mind, as if she could sense them through whatever connection they shared as a result of their bonding ceremony. Just as he opened his mouth, taking a deep breath in preparation for what she was certain would be a speech lined with concern about what her choice meant, Hermione shifted her hand from his jaw and pressed two fingers against his lips to silence him.

"Harry, I know." She held his gaze, giving him no room to question the meaning behind her words. "I know what this means… what I'm doing, and I'm prepared to deal with the consequences— whatever Thicknesse deems them to be, but I… I cannot sit by and let him do this. I can't choose between you two. I love you both. They think they can just—just bring you into my life like this, open my eyes to what my heart wants then take it from me? It isn't right! They made my choice for me once already, and I will be damned if I sit by and let them do it again."

Harry stood frozen, his eyes wide, a slow bloom of colour creeping from the high of his cheeks and moving down his neck as he looked down at her. Fear—no, shock—masked the affection in his eyes as he reached up, thick fingers wrapping around her wrist and slowly dragging her fingers off his lips.

"You… love me?" Harry's voice cracked, reminiscent of that gangly teenager she'd known so long ago.

"What?" Hermione lifted her brows, and the tinny laugh that followed should have told him how utterly foolish his question was. "Of course I love you! You're my best friend and my bloody husband. How on earth could you—"

His hands at her waist had somehow moved at lightning speed and Harry cupped her jaw, pulling her into a fierce kiss that silenced her words and made her knees buckle. He swallowed up her small noise of surprise, and Hermione's hands gripped his shoulders for support as her eyes drifted closed.

Just as it had on that fateful evening that brought them together, the planets seemed to align. Every molecule in her body felt aflame, burning beneath the surface of her skin, begging for relief as his magic sizzled inside her, pouring into her from his lips. His fingers gripped her curls, angling her head back just so as he guided her lips open and his tongue swept into her mouth.

Drunk.

She felt as if she'd drank an entire bottle.

The foggy, dizzy, warm sensation overwhelmed her, stealing the breath from her lungs, and making the fierce emotions that caused her magic to snap earlier quiver like a harpist's strings under pressure.

Gone were the thoughts of how she was going to dismantle the amendment. Gone were the thoughts of how bloody daft the Minister was. Gone were the feelings of contempt for Susan.

Instead, it was all she could do to stay afloat in the swell of Harry's magic as it forced its way into her body, overtaking every ounce of space she had within her until she was certain none of her own remained.

She melted under his touch, letting him guide their kiss—letting him lead her in the passionate, slow, magnetic pull of his love.

Withdrawing his tongue from her mouth, Hermione let out a small whimper at the loss of the intoxicating taste of his kiss. But her need was quelled as he began to pepper soft, feather-light kisses across her cheekbones, over her brow, even on her eyelids. Each kiss was an unspoken declaration of not only his love for her, but his support for the journey on which she was about to embark.

He didn't need to utter a single word for Hermione to know exactly how Harry felt—not just about her, but the marriage she shared with him and James. He would stand with her and fight for what she believed to be right just as she had stood beside him all those years at Hogwarts. Except this time, it wasn't just them against a dark force— but her, Harry, and James against the power they'd helped put into place.

The Potters against the Ministry.

Author's Note:

Song: Act Appalled by Circa Survive.

Happy Christmas, Third Night of Hanukkah, or whatever winter holiday you might be celebrating. 3

Until next time. xx