prompt: "I can't have this argument with you again." "But—" "No. I'm done."
word count: 4,009
tags: marauders era; same age; time travel; (attempted?) fix-it

One Minute

17 November 1979

The smell of spell-fire hung in the air. It stung her nose with every gulping breath as Hermione knelt in the damp grass, hands hanging limp in her lap, wand dangling from loose fingers. She tipped her head back, eyes set unseeing on the starry sky above. She shouldn't let her guard down just yet. Just because their opponents had apparated away didn't mean they couldn't come back. But exhaustion hit her so squarely in her knees that standing up seemed an impossible task.

"Hey. Hey, talk to me." James collided with her, skidding to a halt nearly on top of her. Shaking hands caught one shoulder while the other cupped her face gently.

Hermione shouldn't lean into it. If anything, moments like this should remind her of why distance was so important. Eight months she'd been in the past, fighting the same but different war. She'd come here with a purpose but somehow it had all gotten so tangled.

"Hermione?" His voice was low and urgent. Cradling her head, he gently tipped it forward. "Did they hit you?"

She stared at him. The sheer force of his panic and worry was written clearly across his face. He'd never been good at hiding his feelings. He wore them on his sleeve when he wasn't declaring them openly for anyone to hear. Hermione was reminded of a time when she would have appreciated boldly stated facts rather than uncertain and unspoken tension. But James wasn't Ron. There was a time when that might have stung to think. Here, now, Ron Weasley hadn't even been born yet. And whatever feelings she had for him, never given a real opportunity to move past potential, were eclipsed by what she was feeling now. What she'd been fighting back for months.

"I'm okay." She took a deep breath, hoping it would steady her. Willing herself to get up and move forward. She could practically hear Moody in her head, screaming about constant vigilance. "We shouldn't stay. They could come back."

"We can take a minute," he argued.

He was always doing that. James Potter had never met a fact he didn't want to debate. He stood defiantly in the face of every rule, searching for a loophole. It was simultaneously frustrating beyond belief and terribly attractive. He must be exactly what people imagined when they thought of a Gryffindor. Recklessly courageous, unwaveringly confident, impossibly bold.

In a moment that seemed to bleed away, however. The intensity of their situation seemed to flood him, reminding him of how close it had been. This wasn't school. This wasn't house rivalry. This was life or death and, too often lately, it was usually death.

Eyes falling closed, he leaned in, forehead falling to meet hers. "Just a minute."

The furrow of his brow had become so familiar. The weight on his shoulders hung heavy, but he got up and faced it day in and day out. Friends and strangers were dying every other week. The Horcruxes were only half found; the location of the rest more mystery than fact. The world was chaos and there was no telling how much worse it would get.

They would tell stories of James one day, she thought. Of how strong he was; how he stood in proud defiance of the Dark Lord; how he never faltered in his beliefs, not even in the face of death. Harry would know his father was a good man that tried his best. But he would never see James in moments like these, when the walls came down and the fear crept in, and he clung to a few seconds of peace. At least, she hoped he wouldn't. She hoped, years from now, Harry would only see a brave and happy James, full of love and laughter. Not a man gutted by the uncertainty of war, shadowed by every misstep or mistake.

Taking on a life of their own, her fingers skimmed his temple, stroking through his hair in a wave pattern, sliding down his neck before starting over. His eyes opened slowly and the way he looked at her, the weight of it, the honesty, shook her down to her toes. Her mouth trembled.

"James," she whispered.

He shook his head. "Don't. Don't push me away." His thumb stroked her cheek. "One minute. That's all I ask." But it'd been more than a minute. And she knew if she gave him one, he'd want another and another and—

Tears clung to her lashes. "We can't."

A stubborn look crossed his face. "You're asking me to do something I can't do." He pulled her in closer, until she was in his lap, their chests pressed together. "Whatever future you came from, whatever history you were taught, it was wrong. It has to be. Because there's no world where I don't love you."

She gripped the nape of his neck. "I screwed it all up. I was never supposed to—"

"You were." He nodded, his eyes wide and pleading. "You were! This is where you belong. Here, with me."

How many times had she told him he was wrong? That whatever he felt was fleeting? How many times had she denied them any opportunity of exploring this… this draw between them? The moment she arrived in this time something had shifted. In the world, inside her. She met his eyes across a crowded Order meeting and things slotted into place with such unshakeable certainty that her breath had caught. But it was an impossible position to be in. He was the last person she could ever be with. It didn't matter that he said he and Lily had separated, going on nearly a year now. She had a mission to complete and none of it involved falling in love.

"I know you feel this. I know you love me too."

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. "I'm not your future."

"You are." His thumbs stroked across her cheeks. "I can feel it in my bones, Hermione Granger. You're it."

Mouth trembling, she opened her eyes to see him staring back at her knowingly. Shoring up her defenses, she told him, "I can't have this argument with you again."

His chin set stubbornly. "But—"

"No." She shifted out of his lap and shook her head. "I'm done."

"Hermione—"

"No more missions together," she decided. "You'll partner with Sirius or Lily or—"

"No." He caught her hips before she could wriggle too far away. "We stick together."

"James—"

"You trusted me enough to tell me why you're here. You promised me I could help you!"

"That was before." She shook her head. "That was when you were throwing yourself into fights with no fear for your own life."

"Right, and you couldn't lose me then." He scoffed. "Not when you need me to make your best friend."

Hermione glared. "That's not fair."

"Lie to me then. Tell me a part of you wasn't keeping me close so you wouldn't lose Harry."

Swallowing tightly, she stared at him searchingly. "Of course that's part of it. I came back because he died. Because Voldemort won. So yes, a part of this mission was always making sure you made it long enough for him to live."

His nostrils flared angrily.

"I didn't know you. You were just a story to me. A dream of Harry's. You were the man Sirius admired and Remus missed. You were an impossibly perfect ghost. And when I got here, I thought I could do it all from a distance. The Horcruxes, fighting Voldemort, all of it. But then you— You went ahead and threw yourself in front of every wand that so much as glanced in my direction—"

"Because you weren't looking out for yourself!" he argued. "You were so busy thinking about the future, you weren't seeing what was happening around you. You're a target! You've always been one. Even here, where they don't know you, they can feel it. You radiate it. Power and rage and grief. So yes, I got in between you and a few curses. I only just found you, I wasn't going to lose you because you were being too pigheaded to see you need help too."

"Pigheaded!?" she cried.

"That's all you heard?" He shook his head at her, letting out a loud, groaning laugh. "Merlin, Hermione, you drive me barmy."

"Well, nobody asked you to play protector. I've been fighting in this war since I was a child. I didn't ask you to—"

"You don't have to ask," he shouted, throwing his hands up. "From the moment you walked into Longbottom Hall, I knew two things. That you were going to turn my entire life upside down and that I was going to let you. And you have. You are relentlessly stubborn and impossibly bossy. You've fought me every step of the way, but I'll curse myself before I let you do any of this alone. You are stuck with me. And if that means you never return my feelings, fine. It hurts like hell, but it would hurt a lot more to lose you completely. You are hellbent on putting Voldemort down, even at the cost of your own life, so I'll be there, every step of the way, to drag your reckless arse out of the fire."

"You're calling me reckless?" She let out a squawking, indignant laugh. "Have you never met a mirror?"

"Then we'll be reckless together!" he declared. A breeze was sending his already messy hair into chaos; mixed with his wide eyes, it made him look utterly wild.

Drawing a deep breath, Hermione reached over and shoved at his chest, only managing to knock him back an inch. Too sturdy, too stubborn, to go far. "I am trying to do what's right! I have a mission. I came here for one purpose."

"Oh, sod the mission."

Hermione's mouth fell ajar. "Are you out of your mind?"

"The mission was flawed."

"It's not! It's—"

"I don't love Lily," he interrupted. "There will be no wedding and no baby. You can't force me to fit into a mold I no longer fit. I have no idea what happened in your timeline that reunited us. But I know it can't be fixed."

Her chest heaved with emotion.

He reeled her back in, across the grass until their knees were slotted together. "The Longbottoms will go into hiding. Peter is dead. Regulus survived. And we have at least half of the Horcruxes. I don't know what happens after this." He shook his head. "I don't know how long it will take for us to get the rest. I don't know how we'll kill Voldemort. I don't know who will live and who won't, and you don't either. But I know that I love you."

Hermione turned her head away, biting down hard on her lip.

"I know that doesn't make sense to you. I know that when I tell you I saw you across a crowded room and knew exactly what you would mean to me you think it's just short of divination bullshit, but I know myself." His hands found hers, tangling their finger together and tugging until she let her eyes meet his again. "All it took was a few conversations, a handful of heated arguments, a bottle of wine and a night full of confessions, and I fell for you. It doesn't matter how many times you tell me it doesn't make sense. It does to me. You make sense to me in a way nobody ever has."

"Lily…" She hiccupped, eyes blurred from tears. "And Harry."

"In some alternate universe, maybe they are some other James' world. But here, right now, you're everything to me. That's not going to change."

She squeezed his fingers. "It feels… selfish."

"You deserve to be happy. You deserve a life outside of all this."

"Harry was always the hero. I just wanted to do the right thing."

"And you are. You gave up your life, your world, everybody you knew, to come here and change it all. You're saving us. You've already saved me."

She stared at him searchingly. This impossibly earnest man who had stolen into her life and refused to be removed. If she were being honest, she was glad for it. There were days she wasn't sure she could have kept going without him there to pick her up and hold her together.

"I do love you," she murmured. "I love you so much. But—"

"Don't," he interrupted hoarsely. "Just… Just let me have that. Just for a minute."

She leaned in, releasing one of his hands to cup her palm around the nape of his neck, drawing him in until their foreheads met. "I love you, James."

Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly, and buried a shaking hand in her hair.

Her thumb dragged down his neck, a warm, weighty swipe. And then she said, "Take us home."

He stared at her a moment, searching her face, and then his arm was around her. He apparated them out of the field and back into the flat they'd been sharing. His idea, telling her it'd be easier for them to plan their Horcrux hunt if they were sharing quarters. She knew better, of course. He wanted her close. He'd gravitated toward her from the very first day, orbiting as close as she would let him. The moment he saw a way in, he'd taken it. And she let him. She was always letting him.

Against her better judgment, she let James Potter wiggle his way into her plans, her home, her heart, all of it. She couldn't be sure why it was she told him everything. They'd sat around a fire, sharing a bottle of cheap wine, bickering about silly, inconsequential things. A cover for her very real worry over just how quick he was to always get between her and whichever Death Eater happened across her path. And somehow, she'd let her guard down enough to admit the one secret she should never have spoken aloud. Who and what she was, where and when she was from, how and why she planned to fix things. And it had taken him all of a minute to think it over before he declared, "I'm in."

It didn't matter how much she tried to convince him this was her fight alone, he wasn't having it. So, when he proposed they move in together— "Separate rooms, of course, love. For now…"— she'd agreed, albeit reluctantly. For all her uncertainty, they worked well together. He really was a brilliant wizard and he threw himself whole-heartedly into Horcux hunting and battle strategy. For James, once someone had earned his trust and loyalty, they had all of it, and so she had a friend, a partner, a something.

She was not surprised to see he had apparated them directly into his very dark bedroom, leaving them knelt atop his bed.

His thumb caught her chin and kept it raised so they were eye to eye, his breath fanning over her mouth. The blue glow of night filtered through the window and crossed the bed. His features were half-drowned in shadow.

When she'd planned to travel to the past and make things right, she thought she'd find James' resemblance to Harry an encouragement, a reminder of what she was doing this for. Instead, she quickly learned that as similar as James and Harry were, they were wholly different people. Harry had always been her best friend. Closer to a brother than anything. She would have laid her life down for him in an instant. Despite rumors and speculation, there had never been anything romantic about their bond. She could not say the same for James.

Attraction was such a strange thing. That, at least, she could chalk up to hormones and familiarity and isolation and loneliness. Except there were plenty of men in the Order. Trustworthy men she could turn to for comfort and stress relief. But none of them were James and her stupid, reckless heart had set itself on the most impossible of dreams.

Only, not so impossible now, was it?

His thumb rubbed across her bottom lip and she let out a shaky breath.

"I need you to be sure. I don't want to wake up tomorrow to an empty flat and a letter of apologies while you run off and take this mission on yourself."

Hermione winced. She wanted to argue that she would never, but truthfully, she might. Even as a part of her leaned into him, another, more logical part, was reminding her that this was not smart. That this could only end in heartbreak for one or both of them.

The future had already been unmistakeably changed. There was no way to put it back, no way to be sure certain people or events would still continue. They were walking an unfamiliar path now; the outcome just as uncertain as ever. As much as she mourned the control she once had, knowing who would die and how to prevent it, there was comfort in realizing that enough had changed that the outcome that sent her back had likely been avoided. Except that Harry was that purpose and her mere presence here suggested he may not exist at all.

It wasn't fair.

It wasn't right.

It was terrible and reckless and selfish and awful.

And she hated that a part of her still wanted so desperately to have James, to let him love her like he wanted to, to forgive herself this disloyalty.

But who was she if not the loyal best friend of Harry Potter?

James sighed, as if he could read the indecision in her face. After all these months, he likely could.

He fell forward, his forehead meeting hers, and his hand slid down, folding at her nape, fingers twisting in her hair.

"It should be enough. Love. It should be all we need."

Closing her eyes, Hermione hugged her arms around his waist. "I wish it was. I wish it could make all of this okay."

Sighing, he slid his arm around her, and held on tight. "Just one more minute. And then you can walk away, and I'll be right here imagining every what if we'll never get to see."

Hermione swallowed tightly. "What if I stayed?"

"What if I kissed you?"

"What if the war ended tomorrow?"

"What if we ran away?"

"Eloped in France."

"Settled in a little cottage with all the books you could ever want for."

"And your own Quidditch pitch."

"Grow old together, until our wrinkles have wrinkles."

"It's a lovely dream."

He hummed. "The loveliest." He searched her eyes and shifted just a little.

She should lean away, cover his mouth with her hand, flee to her own room. Bury her regret and sorrow in a pillow, cry herself to sleep over all the dreams that wouldn't come true. Instead, she stayed still, let the faint brush of his lips whisper over hers once, twice. And then she was raising her chin to meet a kiss she shouldn't. Was this goodbye or hello?

What it wasn't was ending anytime soon.

One kiss turned into another and another, just like everything always did with James. And then his hands were pulling her shirt open and shoving it down her arms. She was pulling his own up his body and over his head, leaving his hair even messier. She wasn't sure. She couldn't lie and say she wouldn't flee come morning, overwhelmed with guilt and regret. But he knew that. He knew that she was struggling with what all of this, any of this, meant. Her denims joined his on the floor as she laid back on the bed and he stripped everything away. Hands, rough from years of Quidditch, stroked across her skin from her ankles to her neck, exploring and memorizing every inch of her.

It had been so very long since she was with anyone like this. So long since she felt comfortable baring everything; scars and sins and skin. His mouth skimmed from one end of a purple scar to the other, shoulder to opposing hip. Acceptance and love; it flooded her from head to toe before settling, deep and warm in her chest.

And oh, but he fit so well between her legs, her thighs hitched high on his hips, their tangled hands pressed against the mattress on either side of her head as he sunk into her. He left bruising kisses down the slope of her neck, teeth and tongue scoring her skin, his fingers squeezing down against the back of her hand until she could feel their imprint in tendon and bone. She arched up into the bite of it all; the way her skin absorbed every desperate attempt to claim her like a medal of honor. The sting of his fingers coiling in her hair and tugging her head back as he dragged his tongue down her throat, teeth scraping across her collar bones.

It was a rising crescendo of sensation. Tears bit at her eyes as he kissed her, slow and sipping, a sweet contract to the way his fingers teased around her clit, just enough to keep her on edge, twitching and desperate. He whispered the filthiest things in her ear; promises and fantasies that she wished they could explore. She bit her lip so she wouldn't beg; she wanted it to last as long as possible. She wanted to bury herself in this feeling so everything else wouldn't overwhelm her.

But nothing lasts forever.

His mouth folded around a nipple and tugged, his fingers finally applying just enough pressure to her clit that there was no escaping the build up. It crashed over her, pulling her under and sending her into a spiraling, gasping mess. And just as soon as it ended, he was moving inside her deeper and faster, his fingers still gently strumming her. She was so sensitive it nearly hurt, but then she was coming again, nails scoring his shoulders as her body seemed to seize up against the onslaught, only to fall utterly limp in the aftermath. Her chest heaved with choppy breaths, feeling strangely both very aware of her body and somewhat separated from it.

He bit down on her shoulder as he came, groaning, low and deep. One of his hands stroked along her thigh and hip as he nuzzled his face against her chest. She combed her fingers through his sweat dampened hair, trailing them down his neck and across his shoulders. She knew, once the high of everything wore off, reality would come knocking. But for now, for just one minute more, there was nothing but the two of them. No obligations, no missions, no regrets.

There was just the soft press of his lips climbing her neck and the lazy draw of his fingers circling her shoulder. His heart beating so fast, she could feel it against her body. He kissed from behind her ear to the corner of her mouth. And his eyes, hazel and warm, stared at her from above, soft and radiating with love.

Did she look the same? Was it as obvious on her face? The smug tilt of his mouth said it was.

Her lips parted, though she couldn't be sure what she was going to say. Not to be so smug. That it couldn't happen again. That their minute was long over. But then he was kissing her; short and sweet and entirely too effective. She knew it was a stalling technique and that it wouldn't keep the inevitable from happening. But that didn't stop her from kissing him back.

Just one more minute, she told herself as he shifted off her and pulled her against his side in a tangle of arms and legs and naked skin.

One more and then she would do what she had to; the right thing.

Sixty seconds could be so terribly, wonderfully long.

author's note: much angstier than the first piece, huh? this was actually the first prompt i wrote, but i thought i'd kick things off with something more lighthearted. i just like the intensity of what's right or wrong in a situation like this. hermione wants to do the right thing. she feels like she owes harry that. but she's also irrevocably changed the past enough that james and lily have no chance of being together. so, does it make sense to deny each other the opportunity for happiness? clearly, james doesn't think so. i have a second, and possibly a third, part in mind for this. let me know if you're interested. otherwise, i'm working on a few other prompts and hope to have them out soon. :)

thanks so much for reading. please try to leave a review!
~ Lee | Fina