Chapter Text
Oh, my love, my darling
I've hungered for your touch
A long, lonely time
Time goes by so slowly
And time can do so much
Are you still mine?
Fourteen days.
It was the longest James had been unemployed since he was eighteen. Even when he'd left Hogwarts, he had his job with the DMLE lined up. He went straight from one bureaucratic establishment to another, and he'd always found purpose in staying busy—keeping his mind sharp.
During the first war, when he took his leave of absence from the Ministry following Lily's death, he'd had things to keep him busy: The Order, raising Harry, and trying to plan a bloody funeral. That month had felt like it passed in two days by the time he strolled back into the office with a renewed sense of purpose.
But now?
Now he had… nothing.
Well, not nothing, but certainly not the same things he'd had just weeks before.
No job. No Dark Wizard to vanquish. No kid to keep alive.
His life was decidedly normal—not counting the whole plural marriage bit, of course. But regardless, he had nothing to occupy his mind.
He'd tried helping Hermione with her research, but found himself woefully unprepared for the hurricane that was her mid-revision mind. He'd corresponded with the youngest Malfoy, per her request, and knobbed around on his broomstick with Harry to pass the time.
But he was… bored.
And frankly? Bloody depressed.
His vaults were filled with gold. He had a beautiful wife, a loving marriage, and every bit of happiness life could afford him. He should've been singing from the rooftops, enjoying this temporary break from the monotony of the day-to-day grind at the Ministry, but he couldn't pull himself out of his funk.
He felt useless.
Which is how he found himself day drinking on a Wednesday afternoon in his office. He hadn't gone in with the intention of indulging so early. In fact, he'd had plans to review the Decree case files he'd swiped prior to his abrupt departure from the DMLE per Hermione and baby Malfoy's request, but the single cask firewhisky glimmering from across his study was far too alluring to ignore.
Lifting the crystalline tumbler to his lips, James took a slow sip of the aged spirit, letting the burn trickle down his throat as he scanned one of the final reports he'd planned on giving Pius.
Pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth, he savoured the burn as the spirit settled in his stomach. He was far from pissed, but there was definitely a good midday buzz helping him through his strange swirl of emotions.
He was mad—right furious was more like it—about his dismissal. After all the work he'd done for both the Ministry and Pius himself, to be let go felt like a slap in the face.
Yet, on the other hand, he was almost relieved not to have to deal with the bureaucracy anymore. No more endless meetings. No more signing off warrants he didn't agree with. No more keeping his mouth shut for the sake of not angering the figurehead of their world.
He could do precisely what he wanted, when he wanted, without having to ask permission or follow orders.
"James, are you drinking?"
His eyes darted up from the parchment, tumbler still firmly in his grasp, to find his wife leaning on the doorframe of his study, a coy smile pulling up her beautiful lips.
The amount of hours he'd spent fantasizing about that mouth of hers should be criminal, he should've felt embarrassed about considering how far back those wayward daydreams went, but seeing her standing there, in that cream colored sweater dress… Merlin, help him.
"Maybe."
"It's not even noon." Pushing off the doorframe, her bare feet snapped against the hardwood of his office as she moved over the threshold. Reaching back, she pressed gently on the door with just the tips of her fingers, encouraging it to float closed behind her as she moved towards the desk. "You feeling okay?"
Hermione knew he was struggling, it didn't take a medical degree for her to know he felt complacent. He went from literally running arguably the busiest department in the Ministry to being unemployed—and unemployable—in a matter of hours. Their story was already hitting the new stands.
Perverted Potters.
When Marriage Law's Turn Foul.
Golden Girl Turned Slag.
She was used to the public's scorn, but James? Well, this was his first time experiencing the spotlight's cruel shine.
"As well as can be expected," he answered honestly, swirling the last finger's worth of firewhisky around his glass before he leaned forward to set it down on his desk. He lifted his hand towards her. "But better now that you're here."
Reaching out, her fingers laced with his, and Hermione allowed James to guide her around his desk. With a gentle tug, she found a seat in his lap. Almost immediately, she could feel his magic brush against hers, like a timid cat, winding its way around her soul in soft easy arches, encouraging her own to come out and play.
Sliding her hand free of his, she brushed her fingers through the soft mess of curls on the side of his head. He was in desperate need of a haircut. She honestly couldn't ever remember ever seeing his hair this length, and likely for good reason. It was always unruly at best, but now it looked positively wild. "Anything I can do to help?"
James wound his arms around her middle, fingers stroking reverently along her lower back as he pulled her closer. His nose ran across her shoulder, nuzzling softly at her collarbone, before he settled into what she was beginning to suspect was a favoured spot of his.
His face was tucked into the crook of her neck, hidden behind the wall of curls, enveloped by the one scent that was able to calm him almost instantly. She smelt like a spring garden, fresh air, and something he couldn't quite place, but he associated it with hope. Like the smell of dew clinging to the grass on the Quidditch pitch early in the morning. Like the world was his for the taking and all he had to do was reach for it.
He wondered if he could bottle her scent, or at least find a replica, and keep it with him to serve as a reminder of her love—something he still wondered if he was worthy of.
He'd almost ruined everything because of his dedication to the Ministry, and like the glutton for punishment he was, he was mourning not having it in his life—even though they clearly no longer wanted him.
"Just keep being yourself." His lips ghosted across the sensitive skin on her neck, breath tickling down her chest, dipping beneath the scooped neckline of her dress. Her arms wound around his shoulders, elbows resting gently on his upper back as she sunk her fingers into his hair. Her nails scratched at his scalp affectionately as she pulled him into a tight embrace, letting her magic open and blossom against his—encouraging him to be open and honest with her, even if he couldn't verbalize his emotions.
They stayed like that for a few long moments, letting their magic say what they couldn't.
Hermione knew his sorrow wasn't directed at what their relationship represented, but she couldn't very well call him out for moping about their home for the past two weeks. It would do zero good in building his confidence, and likely only make him feel worse for being so upset.
So instead, she'd tried to give him tasks.
Read this book.
Review this file.
Go deliver this to Malfoy.
But it seemed her plans of giving him purpose had backfired. She'd only managed to make him feel like a bloody task rabbit instead of a partner in their cause, fighting for the freedom to love whomever they choose.
"I'm so proud of you, Hermione."
He was proud of her? While some small part of her was overjoyed at his praise, the rational side struggled to find the context. For what? For bringing unwanted attention to their family? For costing them all their jobs? For being unable to pick between Harry and him?
From where she stood, she was the root cause of his problems—the very epicenter of all things that were wrong in his word.
Her hands moved over the thick expanse of his shoulders, and with a gentle push, she leaned him back in the chair until she could catch his eyes. "Why?" Her tongue darted across her lips before she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth.
James stayed silent, but she could see his mind move, working to come up with the perfect words to describe his meaning, but each passing moment brought forth a small layer of anxiety. What if this was it—the moment he'd realised she wasn't worth it? The moment he saw her love for both him and his son as too much?
"Because you're so brave. Far braver than I could have ever been." His thumbs stroked patterns across her hips, fingers sliding across the softness of her sweater dress as he spoke. "Hermione, you've always been smart, and beautiful, and brave and… and truthfully, far too good to hang out with the likes of me or my son—"
"Not true!"
His chin tipped down, hazel eyes peering at her over the rim of his glasses, silencing her with a stern look before continuing. "You weren't afraid to stand up for what you believe in, despite knowing it wasn't going to be received well. You were brave where I was cowardly and...I'm just proud." His right hand rose, the rough pads of his fingers stroking her jawline as he moved to cup her face. "Proud to stand with you. Proud to call you mine."
If it were possible, Hermione could feel herself falling more in love with the man who sat before her. He was honest, admitting his faults, open, and kind. She'd always fancied James, but every day since they'd wed he reminded her precisely why she loved him.
She didn't bother to reply verbally. There was absolutely no way she would ever be able to put the way she felt into words. Instead, she leaned down, nose nudging against his until his head tipped back enough for their lips to find each other.
Her magic poured from her, every ounce of her soul leaving and beckoning to twist with his. She wanted to feel whole, to feel the parts of his magic deep within hers, and in turn, provide him that same sense of completion.
Her hands moved across the planes of his chest, fingers sliding over the hard muscles that lay beneath the thin layer of clothing until she could rest her hands against his neck, thumbs stroking his stubbled jaw as her tongue brushed his bottom lip, begging for entrance.
Tightening his hands, already curled around her waist, his fingers dug into her hips as they lost themselves to the consuming emotions that flowed between them.
Devotion. Acceptance. Forgiveness. Support. Love.
He needed this—this physical reminder that she loved him. For now, for always. That she would never part from him. That she would fight until they took the very breath from her lungs to belong to not just him, but Harry as well. This home they'd built—the unconventional family—was exactly what they all needed.
Tragedy had befallen each of them already in their short lives.
James: his wife and best friend.
Harry: his mum and eventually his own life.
Hermione: countless friends and her parents.
And yet, somehow, through the darkness of growing up during a war, witnessing death, torture, and destruction, they'd found happiness on the other end.
Like a silver lining on a storm cloud, they'd found reason through the madness that was the years following the war, and now they had each other. For support, for comfort, for love.
Hermione twisted in his lap, not daring to pull her lips from his as she shifted until she straddled his thighs, the hem of her sweater dress sliding up until she could feel the brush of his palms against her bare skin.
His nails scratched lightly against her outer thighs on their quest up to her hips where he plucked gently at the pair of sensible nude knickers she'd selected this morning. She could feel his magic tickle against her skin, emanating from every inch. It felt like an electrical current, sizzling as he coursed into her bloodstream, fueling their already wayward snog.
"James," she rasped against his lips, hips arching forward until she could feel the distinct bulge of his manhood through his trousers. An unbidden whimper tumbled off her tongue, the embers of desire licking higher and higher until she wasn't sure she could think about anything other than having him inside her.
Down her jaw and across her neck, his lips kissed, nibbling, and licked every section of her skin they could reach. Curls tumbled over her shoulders, cascading down in waves as she arched into his mouth, desperate to feel as much of him as she could.
Her hands moved down his chest, fingers spread wide to contour over the hard muscles twitching with tension beneath his layers until she found his hips and cold metal brushed against the tips of her fingers.
She unthreaded his belt quickly and unbuttoned his trousers before lowering his zip. She could see the strain of his erection through his shorts, pulling the dark cotton taut. Nimble fingers eased the elastic band wide before her hand slipped inside, curling around his length.
"Fuck." James' forehead fell to her shoulder, his breath washing over her skin, tickling down the stretched neckline of her dress as he lifted his hips to grind against her touch.
Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip, eyes drifting shut as she listened to his soft pants, and the primal groans of pleasure she pulled from him. With each stroke, she could feel his body tremble beneath her fingertips, and that alone was powerful enough to send her inner goddess afloat, but it was the way that his magic moved into her that truly fogged her mind.
Fluid, caressing, fulfilling.
He filled her until she wasn't sure there was an ounce of space that remained where his magic hadn't been. From the top of her head to the tips of her toes, she knew, without a shred of doubt, that James was acquainted with every single part of her body—physically and spiritually and loved it still.
Despite her flaws.
Despite being headstrong and outspoken.
He loved her, not in spite of her flaws, but because of them.
"James…please." Her voice quivered, shaking with a need that physically manifested the closeness she felt for him.
Slowly, his eyes opened to reveal blown pupils, dark, consuming, endless voids swirling with desire and devotion. His fingers curled into the soft fabric of her knickers, tugging them lightly away from her body. Evanesco. The incantation slipped off his tongue in a breath of a whisper, and a rush of cold air spread across the most intimate part of her body.
His fingers dug into the soft flesh at her hips as he yanked her closer until her breasts brushed against his chest. Withdrawing his manhood from his trousers, she pushed his trunks lower until his cock stood fully erect between them.
Angling himself, Hermione used his shoulder for support, tilting her hips up until she could brush him through the sodden curls at the apex of her thighs. It had been too long since they'd done this dance, far longer than she'd realised until that very moment—until she heard the primal need taint his voice as he whispered her name into the quiet of his study.
Life had been busy, first work, then working with Malfoy. By the time she finally crawled into bed at the end of every day, she was typically fast asleep within seconds. It wasn't that she didn't want to share those intimate moments with them, but she'd been too busy—too consumed by her need to defend their love.
Admittedly, she was exhausted. So bloody tired.
But it was more clear than ever before that they both needed this—this confirmation of their desire for one another. James craved physical touch to center himself, to find his purpose, and she was all too eager to provide exactly what her husband needed.
Inch by excruciating inch, all of the air left her lungs as his manhood filled her in ways she'd forgotten. She felt full, tight, brimming, unable to take even an ounce more, but still she sank until their hips met.
Her breath struggled to fill her lungs and she trembled as she felt his hands move over her hips and down her backside to curl against the globes of her arse.
Her lips found his once more as she set their rhythm with a slow and steady roll of her hips. The gentle rise and fall focused more on the act of being close with the man she loved than finding a quick release. Each time his manhood eased from her body, she didn't feel empty or hurried to have him fill her once more.
No, his magic was coursing through her, bringing her closer to him than she ever thought possible. She'd only read about love like she had with James and Harry in books, and even then, she hardly believed it possible, but as they moved together as one, clinging to one another, drawing out their pleasure at the leisurely pace that felt almost sinful for an afternoon romp in his study, she couldn't imagine giving this up.
Her end drew closer, that tightening low in her abdomen, the toe curling, body trembling demise that she felt just on the precipice of. She was seconds, mere seconds, away from finding her bliss, and she could barely breathe when it finally crested and swallowed her whole.
Her entire body quaked with unrepressed energy, slipping from every pore, exuding from the very centre of her being, as she sighed against his lips. She didn't cry out nor shout to the heavens. Instead, his name slipped off her tongue, like the melody of her favorite song, over and over. She spoke of her love for him, of how amazing he was, of how they were meant to be. Her fingers curled tightly against his shoulders, nails leaving half moons in the thick ropes of muscle, as she rode out the drudging waves of her orgasm, coaxing him, beckoning him to follow.
In the end, it only took minutes more, his hands lifting her hips for her when her thighs became too weak, and when he spilled his seed deep inside her body, when his magic melded with her own, she felt an overwhelming sense of wholeness.
He was hers.
She was his.
But more, they were family. Destined to find one another.
She wasn't even sure how it happened, but one minute her lips were on his, and the next Jame had her curled against his chest, the steady thump of his heart beat tattooing her cheek. His hands ran up and down her spine, acting as a metronome she had unwittingly matched her breath to.
She knew she still had work to do, her visit to the study was supposed to be brief, but she found herself no longer in a hurry to delve back into the stacks of books and countless letters Malfoy had sent to her. After all this was what she was fighting for, she need to make the time to enjoy it for as long as it lasted.