AN: *Insert huffy disclaimer here*

AN2: A bit of almost smut after the first few paragraphs, they remain clothed but I thought I'd tell you anyway.

-:-

Chapter Seven: Terror and Wounds

"I'm sorry, what?"

The incredulous words had slipped through Harry's lips before he could contain them. Hermione shot him a sympathetic look as he stood in the middle of their room looking down at their evening edition of the prophet in disgust. They had restarted their subscription upon returning to school, and while they hadn't spotted any derogatory articles about Harry or Dumbledore, what they had seen on the eve of Halloween was a bold headline:

"Mass Breakout from Azkaban, a hundred and sixty prisoners freed!"

Harry tossed the paper aside and moved over to their window, breathing heavily through his nose in anger as his lover rose from the bed and moved behind him, rubbing small circles on his back in a soothing manner. She didn't say anything though; speechless she simply conveyed her love and support through their bond, and her equal disgust at the ministry's inability to handle the rapidly escalating situation.

Harry's hands gripped the windowsill and Hermione saw his knuckles go white against the wooden window sill where he was gripping it harshly. Carefully she ran her hands along his arms, making sure not to spook him out of his mood, and gently clasped his hands in hers. Slowly she tugged his hands from the window and folded them over his stomach, hers covering his, and leaned into his back, taking comfort in his body heat.

He leaned back into her; his mind was racing and roaring at the events but slowly his body was relaxing against hers and she smiled against his back. It never failed to hold him, always his body calmed, and then…

Sure enough Harry's racing mind cooled and fell into his typical methodical thought process that comforted her often when she touched his mind. It was something neither of them could have guessed would affect them so strongly before they had started truly opening their minds to each other permanently but the thing that startled them, and scared them equally the most; was the other's thought process and patterns .

Typically Harry's thoughts moved like a broad river, smooth, careful, implacable. He would reach his conclusions with a calm logic that she could fall into like a warm feather bed; it relaxed her, and calmed her immensely. When Harry was agitated though, that calm river became a raging flood, he darted from thought to thought, sometimes latching onto a stay idea like a piece of wood being carried by the torrent and carried it for a time. To be linked to Harry when he was like that was frightening, it was like she was lost in the flood herself and she had to struggle to remain calm in the face of his all-consuming fury.

He was a passionate man, her wizard, and she loved him for it, but sometimes it was scary how powerful and charismatic he was, for should he ask, she would kill, slaughter and maim for his love. Shivering she pressed herself to his back, revelling in the calm demeanour that once again encased Harry's mind. He turned in her arms and she looked up at him, nervous about what she would see in his forest green eyes. His gaze was gentle and she nearly sighed in relief as he leaned down to press his lips sweetly to hers.

The emotions that came from him then nearly overwhelmed her, love, lust, passion, tenderness, and something indefinite that she associated with a romantic mood. Now his thoughts were again like a flood, but this time the emotions weren't terrifying, they were erotic and sensual and she had a hard time keeping her wits about her as his well-practised hands began roaming over her back, pressing against the places she loved most

"Harry love, you know I like that but… ungh stop, please? I don't think this is really the time."

Her slightly breathless words made him chuckle against her throat where his mouth rested and he backed away slowly and tucked himself unto the window sill, understanding immediately she let him tug her up onto his lap where she was quite content to rest her back against his familiar chest.

"I'm so frustrated with all of this Hermione."

The unexpected words from Harry took Hermione aback slightly. They must have been a subconscious thought of his that he voiced aloud only accidentally, for she did not see them in his surface thoughts. Her hand went behind her and went unerringly to his cheek where she cupped his stubble covered jaw fondly, caressing it as was her want.

"I know love, Fudge is being obtuse, and I hope this will convince him to listen to Dumbledore for once."

Nothing more was said aloud, they shared several small thoughts between themselves deliberately, but mostly just enjoyed the mingling of their minds and mental patterns. Hermione often visualised their mental thoughts mixing in such a way as two dyes; one oil based the other water based, mixing in a basin, unable to truly become one, but mixed so completely that their colour blended regardless. Slowly they calmed and blended truly with one another, until one their identities remained merged within the collective of their thoughts. It was barely a step away from their complete bond where they lost all sense of self, and only became 'Them'.

Eventually he rose from their seat; his arms around her holding her close in the typical bridal style as he moved to their bed and laid her down upon it. She felt her breath catch in her throat at his gaze, it was deep and almost hypnotic with the passion contained therein. She let herself sprawl, her arms above her head and her knees slightly bent. She knew Harry loved to see her like this, relaxed and totally without her usual collected posture. The look of lust in his eyes rewarded her handsomely and she brought one finger forward, crooking it in a classic 'come hither' gesture. He did not disappoint her as he moved down onto the bed himself covering her perfectly with his body and pressing his lips to hers with a firm passionate kiss.

She loved having him atop her like this, even fully clothed it was intimate and wondrous to her as his warm weight covered her like a duvet in winter, providing comfort that she often associated with a good book in her bed on a frigid day. Or their favourite chairs in front of the fireplace in Oxford. His hands moved to her hips in a well-practised motion and Hermione had to struggle to remember to breathe. It was simply unfair how good he was at touching her. She knew that if they were standing his hands would have been at the small of her back, just where she liked them.

Her own hands moved of their own accord, one went to his shoulders, doing its best to wrap around his back, the other fisted in his hair drawing a moan from him even as his lips assaulted her own in their own pleasurable way. She hoped they always kissed this passionately, they hadn't even progressed to tongue and already her panties were soaked through at the raw passion coming from her wizard. She gasped as his lips moved to her throat where he bit down hungrily, as if to feed from her jugular.

It was all she could do not to let out a plaintive wail as he thrust against her with his hips, she desperately wanted to feel him inside her, but she knew it was too soon, far too soon. They weren't even legal for one thing, which despite everything else she wanted to conform to. More important was the knowledge that both of them in their calm, unaffected state, wanted to wait for at least another year. They were extremely comfortable with one another but both wanted to take this slow, there was no point rushing the last step of their physical relationship when they had their entire lives to be with one another.

So it was with regret burdening her heart that she moved her hands to his hips and stilled them with a firm grip. Harry's lips at her throat stopped and she felt him panting against her tender skin, she couldn't help the shiver that ran through her at the feeling. After a moment a mental apology washed through their minds, she didn't know who it originated from but she dismissed it anyway, preferring to roll them onto their sides and move her hands to Harry's back and hair where she could stroke him. He grunted in appreciation against her neck and she smiled warmly, glad that he was in such control of himself that he could stop at such short notice and simply return to their sweet loving mood.

Hermione loved this feeling, having him snuggled up against her with his arms around her waist and his head against her neck. Others might think that it was a distinctly feminine pose but between them they understood; there were rarely gender defined roles in their relationship, Harry took comfort from her as much as she took from him, and she comforted him just as he comforted her. In this case she knew that he needed to be held by her, intimately but not sexually, so she did, she held him without question as his breathing slowly calmed against her skin.

Eventually he moved his head back from her neck and offered up his gaze for hers to meet, the gratitude there unmistakable and she happily moved forwards and mirrored their earlier pose by snuggling into his neck, her arms moving lower on his body and his higher until they were in the gender typical snuggling pose. Their minds slowly disentangled and, after some time, she could feel a slight hesitation from him. Deciding to take the initiative she spoke first, her words muffled against his skin.

"What's on your mind sweetheart?"

She could almost feel his smile as affection washed across their bond and she grinned against his neck. He didn't immediately speak but rather buried his nose in her hair and breathed deep. She never understood his fascination with it, but she appreciated the unspoken compliment nonetheless. When at last he did speak his words too were muffled, but by hair rather than skin.

"We nearly lost control then."

His tone was odd, as if it was more of a question than a statement, and more that he was aiming at himself rather than her. She understood.

"I don't blame you sweetheart, we are teenagers after all, and you are of course a man."

Her smile broadened at his rueful chuckle.

"But you did back off when I asked you to, without me even having to speak, and that means everything to me, that you respect me enough to take my wishes into account, and that you love me and desire me enough to nearly lose control in the first place. All of that is wonderful Harry."

The tense muscles in his abdomen relaxed noticeably at her words, she knew he doubted himself and if the worst she had to deal with in their relationship was his self-deprecating nature then she would happily make allowances for him, just as he made allowances for her own insecurities, of which there were many.

"I don't want to hurt you Hermione."

Her smile became somewhat tender as she pulled back to look back into his eyes to fully get the message across.

"I trust you never will, even when you yourself aren't sure."

When they finally fell asleep that night, wrapped in each other's arms, they felt a touch more confident about themselves, and their ability to hold to their intentions of waiting. Hermione in particular was exceptionally happy with how the evening had ended, never mind the fact that he ended up giving her a delicious orgasm anyway, his fingers and tongue would do for the time being, but she really couldn't wait to feel his gorgeous cock deep inside her.

"Sleep Hermione, or I'll end up doing things to you we're not ready for with comments like that."

Her cheeks flamed crimson at Harry's comment, their minds merged completely while they slept and in these twilight moments before sleep he could easily glean her thoughts, still blushing she squeezed his bum before letting herself fall asleep.

-:-

Elsewhere in the castle while two teenagers were having a lust fuelled tryst a stern faced professor was sitting at her desk writing her final notes on the autopsy she had performed on the six vampire corpses. Only one had shown anything of real merit; that being the mutation of the creatures' teeth, that being that they were incredibly brittle and she placed them aside for grinding into power, they might make a potent potion ingredient.

When her quill stopped moving and she set it back in its stand she sat back from the desk with a slight huff. Her experiment had been fruitless; compelling the captured vampire to turn the six others hadn't yielded any magical anomalies outside of normal deviation. She had hoped that her ailing magic would have transferred into the creatures through the compulsion like it had in the past. If anything the fact that it hadn't was mere proof that her magic was in fact waning.

A soft curse in a forgotten language slipped from her tongue; tens of thousands of experiments, none yielding any results. She was beginning to lose hope that she would ever get an answer to her plight. She gripped her wand in one hand and twisted it in place, pointing towards the ceiling, about a quarter turn and muttered a single syllable in a strange archaic language lost to time. A line of faintly glowing runes appeared above her wand in a classic arithmantic formula. Another soft curse fell from her lips.

It was as she had suspected, her magical core had finally dipped below the necessary levels for high level glamours, it had taken nearly two and a half thousand years but her magic was finally departing this plane for good. It had been slowly waning for her entire time in existence, only now however had it really become apparent. She would need to recast the ritual, but finding a mortal of appropriate strength was difficult at best, impossible at worst. Not since Merlin had a wizard consented to aiding her in her plight.

She thought back to her true origins in middle Europe some three thousand years ago, mortals aged slower then and she had been a bit over four hundred and eighty when her first body had died. This one had lasted much better, though she would have initially preferred to pass on, now that she had been around for so long she was reluctant to allow herself to fade, if only from stubbornness.

Groaning slightly she rested back in her chair and took her usual potions and considered her options. Harry Potter was the obvious choice, he was powerful, more so than any wizard she had met for over a hundred years. Dumbledore would have been a good choice but his magic was almost as feeble as hers in his age. The spells he had cast upon himself to battle Riddle weren't helping matters.

The issue with using Potter was his soul bond. Typically she would avoid using a soul bonded wizard for the ritual as the ramifications could be severe for his bonded mate, but she had little option now. The other issue was Riddle himself; she was aware of the prophecy, and of its veracity, she had learned to respect prophets in her time on Earth. Whether they realized it or not they usually knew what they were talking about.

She grunted as she stood, her hand gesturing and her coat whipped from the chair to adorn her slight frame. Her hands slipping easily through the sleeves until it was comfortably situated on her torso and hanging from her shoulders neatly, her hat followed afterwards on its own as she reached the door. She needed to take a walk to consider that she was probably damning the wizarding world to several decades with the dark wizard known as Tom Riddle.

-:-

It was dark the next morning when Harry awoke with a start, normally he was gentle in his awakening, rising blearily to consciousness and taking in the mental landscape of his and Hermione's minds before choosing to wake completely. But today was different, he was awake almost instantly and there was obvious reason why, someone was knocking on their door.

Grumbling slightly he disentangled himself from his sleeping, naked lover and moved to the door, a robe moving from the floor to adorn his own nude body with a wandless motion from both hands, and as he walked candles flickered to life in their holders. His wandless magic had become almost second nature now, and he really had to stop himself from using it in public, both he and Hermione had agreed not to let slip about his secret weapon.

Carefully closing the door to their bedroom he crossed the common room steadily whilst tying the cords on his robe, sealing it shut, Hermione would have been most put out if he had accidentally given a peep show to one of the many girls who still lusted after the boy who lived.

When at last he reached the door and opened it, it was to the strange sight of an anxious professor Dumbledore standing in the corridor. Knocking and waiting in such a manner really didn't seem like the man's style. But nevertheless there he was, Harry did however note the look of relief on the aging headmaster's face at the sight of Harry, though it was quickly masked.

"May I come in Harry?"

He nodded numbly and invited the man into the sitting room of what was essentially his and Hermione's apartment. He was thankful he and Hermione had tidied their books and homework from the tables the night before they had retired to their room. The two men, one older, one younger, sat opposite each other on a pair of loveseats around the low sitting table. Harry felt that he should explain Hermione's absence but was beaten to the punch by Dumbledore's own declaration.

"The minister finally consented to making a public statement about the return of Voldemort last night."

Harry couldn't help but be pleased by the news, finally something would be done, he sensed however that that was not the only reason Albus had visited.

"As an additional note to this I feel I should inform you that a number of families were attacked last night. Not least of which being the Bones, Abbot, McMillan, Davis and Greengrass families. There were no survivors, though Amelia Bones was at her office in the ministry at the time and escaped being attacked."

Harry felt like Dumbledore had cast a punching hex at his gut, he very nearly keeled forwards as the weight of what the man had said came crashing down.

"How many"

Albus shot him a sympathetic look, but Harry had asked for this, full disclosure, full information.

"Eleven dead from those families, although including others and the dead Aurors who were at Azkaban the death toll is closer to fifty."

It was a near thing; he barely managed to avoid vomiting all over his headmaster's elegant shoes. He felt a slim hand on his back and leaned into the touch, aware that Hermione had joined the conversation, the tremble in her hand suggested that most of his weak stomach had probably come from her side of the bond, he usually had quite a strong constitution, but Hermione however had been cursed with her father's weak stomach.

"I understand that you have been teaching the children of those families attacked last night in your club."

Harry nodded numbly and the headmaster continued

"I would ask that you give them what support you can, both of you, you are close to this war and uniquely suited to supporting those bereft because of the conflict. I would not usually ask this of you but I fear that more responsibilities will be coming your way shortly regardless. Namely I'm going to ask you to accelerate the curriculum that you are teaching your peers, I believe anyone who is willing to learn from you needs to be given the full scope of your aid in this matter. Lastly I'm afraid that Prefect duties are going to become rather more demanding as a result of these attacks, I'm offering you both the chance to back out of the post now before I must ask you both to commit to it for the long haul. I understand that you both have a lot on your plate and it pains me to ask this of the both of you, especially when you are both so young, but you have shown to be excellent leaders of your peers and, frankly, the best pair of prefects for many, many years."

Harry didn't know what to say, Albus had just thrown more responsibilities at them than Harry had ever had before, he had a feeling Quidditch was going to become a thing of the past, he hadn't been much focused on the team this year and he resolved to hand in his resignation to Angelina, she'd be pissed, but she'd also get over it.

It struck him that there was no question in his mind, or Hermione's for that matter after a brief conference, they would do this, not because it was being asked of them by the headmaster, but because it was the right thing to do.

"Understood sir, we'll do our best to live up to the demands upon us, will the new prefect duties be posted or informed through a meeting?"

Dumbledore shot them both a careful, calculating look before speaking softly, plainly aware of how much he was asking of them.

"Likely through a meeting, the main student body will be unaware of your additional workload, I have discussed this with the heads of house and they agree that causing additional panic is unnecessary."

Harry nodded once before standing and offering his hand to the headmaster, recognising that what the older man had to say had been said. In a strange moment of equality Harry's mentor shook his hand with a firm business-like grip before departing with a soft farewell. When the door to their apartment swung closed Harry sunk down into the loveseat and felt Hermione sit upon his lap, felt because his eyes were closed, a single tear leaking from the corner of each.

Her hands cradled his head against her bosom and he allowed himself to grieve for the fallen, silently weeping in her arms for those who had died needlessly in the face of the madman's ire. Slowly he came back to himself and Hermione's lips pressed to his softly, as if to reassure him that she was still there, ready to support him in his tasks.

He felt a rush of affection for her, despite everything, and through everything, she was there for him, not just as his lover, or soul mate, but as his best friend and confidant, as his anchor to reality when sometimes he wished he could just be as whimsical as Luna Lovegood to escape all the pain. She whispered comforting words to him as he silently thanked every deity for her presence in his life.

-:-

Hermione was heartbroken, so many needless deaths, pointless, senseless violent deaths. As she cradled Harry's head against her chest and held him through his grief she let her own emotions flow into Harry's allowing her own pain to be washed away in the flood of his care for people he had never met. She let him take it from her, aware that he was doing far more for her than she was for him in these moments as he purged her of her grief, taking it upon himself unconsciously, unthinkingly, helping her because it was natural for him to do so.

The grief would become deep seated for her, just as it would for him, but he took away her immediate shock and pain and she loved him for it, loved him for protecting her from even the smallest of emotional suffering wherever he could. Carefully she took back some of that grief, bit by bit she snatched pieces of it from the raging flood of Harry's mind and allowed herself to feel that pain, to appreciate what had happened to those wonderful faceless people who had been lost to the world.

She didn't want to be emotionless, even though she respected and appreciated what Harry was doing for her she needed to feel the pain, to take it into her and let it wash away on its own terms so that she could grow from the experience, so that she could handle it if ever she needed to. Eventually when Harry was calm she curled up in his lap against his chest and fell back to sleep. It was an hour before they usually woke and she was still bone tired. Dumbledore must have made his visit to their quarters his first task of the morning as, thought the window she could see, the sun had not even risen.

The last thing she remembered before the realm of Morpheus claimed her once more was Harry's strong arms carrying her back to bed, her head cradled lovingly against his chest.

-:-

There was a palpable sense of dread in the castle that day as the school went about its business. Students moved quickly from class to class, hurrying in the halls as if their lives were threatened by standing in place or walking too slowly. As she and Harry wended their way between the throngs of hurrying students she reflected back on their morning meeting with what was quickly being known as 'The Regiment'.

-:-

The wind whipped across the Quidditch pitch with force, kicking up fallen leaves and twigs and throwing them about in the air like a strange ballet. In the middle of the pitch Harry stood with his hands behind his back and his longer than normal hair whipping about his face, kept free of his eyes with a charm. Hermione couldn't help but think that he looked somewhat imposing, his cloak flapping in the frigid air and his posture stiff. She could feel his inner anguish at what had happened the day before and that he was doing his best to project a strong image for the rest of the group, me might have overdone it a touch.

"Yesterday afternoon the forces of Tom Riddle slaughtered two score and more people, parents of our classmates, families, those dear to us. From what I understand the kills were made with a brutality atypical to the Death Eater norm. While many of them are rapists the typical Death Eater simply seeks to kill with the killing curse, neat, swift efficient."

Hermione scanned his thoughts making sure he was going in the right direction with this little speech that his sonorous enchanted voice was projecting over the howling wind. Satisfied she watched as he locked eyes with a half dozen people in the crowd around them. She didn't need to glance that way to know who.

"I don't tell you this to dishearten you, or to prey upon your grief, and I'm sorry if this is distressing, but he will not stop."

Harry let that statement hang for a moment.

"He struck last night so that on this day, the anniversary of his first defeat, he would let Britain know that he isn't out for the count. He'll strike again at Christmas, when we're all at home; those of us who have homes."

He took a deep breath and Hermione knew he was battling with the urge to go down into the crowd and embrace those who had lost family members the night previous, she knew he wouldn't be able to hold on for long.

"We have to be ready, you have to be ready, you have to be safe and whole at the end of the holidays so that you can continue to live, continue to thrive, and learn and grow. So that's what we're going to learn today, we're going to learn to survive because I'll be damned if another one of my friends loses their family."

An undignified sob was heard from the back row and Harry seemed to snap slightly inside, he strode forwards, the crowd parting before him as he enclosed Tracy Davis in a hug as her knees gave out and she slumped to the ground, held up only by Hermione's bond mate's embrace. Her heart went out to the girl, not everyone had their parents safe behind a Fidelius charm, let alone a Fidelius charm tied to the most loyal and steadfast person Hermione was ever likely to meet.

The crowd was silent save for a small knot of people who converged on Harry, children of victims all they set aside house differences and partook of the comfort offered by the Boy Who Lived. The rest of the group stood in respectful silence until Harry broke up the impromptu hug a moment later and stood tall, bringing Tracy with him who was still sobbing against his chest, with one of his arms wrapped comfortingly around her shoulders.

"Pair off; we're going to practise dodging first."

It was a mark of how much the group respected Hermione's wizard that no questions were asked, they simply paired off and, without needing to be asked, began a dodging drill while Harry did his best to comfort Tracy.

That had been the most unexpected friendship, and Hermione figured that if she wasn't in the picture Harry might have fallen for one of the two Slytherin witches, never mind Fleur or any of the other girls who had noticed Harry's charm. She didn't doubt for a second that he could love any of them, his heart was big enough for everyone once you got through his outer shell of defensive shyness. She was eternally thankful she had claimed him first, as he made her infinitely happy.

Walking forwards she wrapped the two in a hug, looking up she spotted Daphne off to one side, looking slightly lost but also apparently determined not to cry. Wordlessly Hermione gestured the bereft girl to the group and the Slytherin girl joined her housemate and the two Gryffindors in the most unlikely embrace Hogwarts had seen for many years.

-:-

They had gone over a lot that morning, Harry had taken names and sent a letter to the ministry asking for permission and aid to teach apparition to the group for emergency's sake, they had no idea what the response would be but, within Hogwarts, there was nothing to stop them practising anyway, so they did. Never mind the surprise the group had expressed when they learned Harry could apparate, let alone be confident enough to teach the skill to others, It was a good thing Harry had spoken to Dumbledore that morning, and that no one outside the school knew that Hogwarts' anti apparition wards had been down over the Quidditch pitch for nearly an hour that morning.

Before lunch they had been heading to the great hall from their late morning class and had stumbled across Susan Bones about to go wand to wand with a Slytherin sixth year who had apparently thought it funny to taunt the Bones scion that her parents were finally living up to the family name. Harry had been in that terrifying state where he was little more than a wand and a lump of morals. Hermione had needed to physically restrain him from doing more than a warning shot which the Slytherin had thankfully heeded and fled from.

Immediately Susan had launched herself into Harry's arms, not crying but not far from it either, her hands fisted in the front of his robes and pounding lightly against his chest in her grief. Hermione did not begrudge Susan the chance to use Harry as an emotional sump, she knew her man was happy to help the bereft girl and he was so damn good at extracting people's grief from them. The Hufflepuff girl walked away a few minutes later much more calm with a great deal of her pain now sheltered behind Harry's eyes.

She wasn't quite sure how he did it, with her he utilised their bond to take her pain and grief, he didn't have that with Susan. But Harry's magic was powerful and attuned to his will, she was sure that if he had wanted to take the emotional pain from everyone in the school then he could have.

In a different time maybe she would have protested, demanded that he look after himself better, but she knew Harry better than that, it would eat at him for months if he hadn't taken Susan's pain from her. She would cradle him in her arms again tonight, and let him exercise the pain he had taken from Susan, Tracy, Daphne, Ernie, and Hannah. Her man was determined to help everyone he could, and she'd be damned if she wasn't at his side, supporting him through it all. He needed her for this, just as she needed him to be strong for her, to be a powerful rock of indomitable energy and will that would refuse to be bowed by Riddle. He needed her support, she needed him to live and thrive; Hermione figured she had the better end of the deal somehow.

-:-

Their classes were odd, as if the teachers were sidestepping dealing with the events completely. She had expected some deviation from routine, some acknowledgement of what had happened, but there was nothing.

She understood why of course, a sense of normality was excellent for those suffering from grief; it let them mitigate their pain with routine and familiar setting. But it seemed so surreal, not twelve hours ago fifty people lost their lives, but nothing had changed. Flitwick still squeaked, McGonagall still frowned, Snape still sneered, and Umbridge had that face of incredible control that Hermione couldn't pierce with her strongest scrutiny.

The castle was different though, it seemed to have retreated in upon itself, the portraits were subdued, the staircases didn't shift nearly so frequently and the trick walls around the place we instead simple stone brick. Hermione didn't really know what to make of it; it felt like the castle had drawn breath, holding itself in check for a time before it unleashed its full potential. The only thing Harry had suggested that could maybe fill the blank was that Dumbledore had drawn the magic of the castle much tighter around the grounds and had strengthened the wards greatly, which would remove some of the castle's natural boisterousness.

Hermione couldn't think as to what the headmaster was waiting for though, if anything. It was unsettling and the whole day she felt like looking over her shoulder for someone watching her with veiled eyes.

-:-

Never before had a Hogwarts dinner been more subdued, not even last year after Cedric's death had the great hall been so quiet. Eighteen Students had lost their parents, Six staff members had lost close family, Professor Sinistra had even lost her husband and was noticeably stricken. Hermione was amazed the woman even made it to classes, let alone dinner. She knew that had Harry been taken from her, bond or not, she would have been comatose with shock and grief.

During the Lunch period where Harry had been asked for help by some of the third year boys in Gryffindor Hermione had sought out Daphne and Tracy for a conference. The three girls were not strangers and Hermione was able to find them in their usual spot in the Library. Apparently, as the girls had no books in front of them, she had been expected. Carefully sitting down and looking around she reached across the table and took a hand of each of the girls in her own.

"I can trust you two can't I?"

The statement was laden with hidden meaning, all of which the two witches before her seemed to grasp. This was not about Slytherin/Gryffindor rivalries or the worry of a friend to a friend. Hermione knew exactly how the girls felt about Harry and, though he was well and truly taken, she would never say no to an extra pair of eyes keeping an eye out on him.

The two girls just nodded and Hermione looked them both in the eyes hard before sagging slightly and speaking.

"Harry's taking this hard, being the man he is he's taken blame for this because of what Riddle did to his parents, he sees this not as the anniversary of Voldemort's defeat, but of Lily and James' deaths, Just as there were attacks over the summer holidays on the anniversary of Ron's death Harry is certain that the attacks last night were Riddle's sick memorial to Harry's parents. Or perhaps reminder is more accurate.

Either way he's not as observant as normal and I'm afraid that one of your darker housemates will slip through the net and hit him with something before he responds in time. I'm not nearly as fast as he is and I could still miss something. I need you two to at least warn us if someone is plotting something.

Please."

Tracy took her hand in both of her own and Hermione felt a rush of affection for the normally subdued girl.

"Of course, I don't think it's any secret that I've got the biggest crush on him. I think it's probably more than that but he is somewhat off the market isn't he? I can't speak for Daph' but I'll do my best to keep him safe, you too for that matter, he'd be crushed if you were hurt."

Hermione felt a slight tug from her other hand and turned to Daphne before she could respond to Tracy's heartfelt declaration, the much cooler Slytherin girl let out a snort of something approaching derision

"Even on his worst day Harry Potter could wipe the floor with anyone in our house, the head of it included. But I understand your concern Hermione, I to will keep an eye out."

So began the strangest alliance Hermione would ever be a part of.

-:-

Harry deeply enjoyed tutoring, he didn't know why, maybe it was the ability to impart his knowledge to others, maybe it was rubbing off from his time teaching the regiment, and maybe he just spent too much time in Hermione's head.

Whatever the reason the four third years left Harry's corner of the common room looking much more confident about their transfiguration assignments and Harry was feeling good about what he had done for them. He was vaguely aware of Hermione talking to Tracy and Daphne in the back of his head but let it go, judging by her weak mental barrier between them she wanted some privacy and he was happy to give her whatever she wanted.

He had always respected her mental barriers, she couldn't ever really make them very strong for whatever reason but Harry respected what they symbolized nevertheless. Rarely was it that Hermione ever barred him from her mind these days but she always had good reason for doing so, there was no reason to doubt her now.

-:-

Late that night as Harry was sleeping, exhausted from his emotional purging Hermione held him in her arms, sitting up against the headboard of their bed and wondered what her man would be like when the world wasn't under threat, when he could relax and just be Harry. Would he be obsessively tidy? Would he insist on cooking three meals a day for her? She was well aware of his intention to stay at home and tinker for the rest of his life after school, she didn't mind really, he had earned a rest and she would be happy knowing their children would have him around to look after them.

That sent a happy flutter through her, children, with Harry. She had supressed the thought many times over the last two years, it had always seemed too soon to be thinking about it. But here and now, with Harry cradled in her arms and the night open to her scrutiny she delved into the topic, meandering through her thoughts of Green eyed messy haired, be it black or brown, little boys and girls. Sleeping infants cradled in their father's arms, or squealing toddlers riding on Harry's shoulders.

She couldn't help but press a hand to her stomach, wondering what it would feel like one day to have their child within her. A single tear of happiness slipped down her cheek as she relished the thought of what Harry would be like as a father, he couldn't not be amazing at it, he was a natural leader, talented with dealing with emotions, and he had an inner child streak that ran as broad as the river Thames. A wry grin alit on her face as she expanded the fantasy, drawing in her own parents happily cooing over their grandchildren, or Sirius looking disproportionally chuffed as a pair of her kids clambered over his animagus form.

She felt a pang of regret that Lily and James would never know her, would never know their grandchildren, or even great grandchildren. Hermione fully intended to have a career, maybe in the ministry after the war, maybe a nice cosy bookshop, it didn't matter to her really as long as she had something to keep her active, but she wouldn't deny herself or Harry a family, not when it was their single most agreed on wish. It was never spoken about, Harry still had too many fears about not surviving the war with the prophecy hanging over his head, but it was there nonetheless.

For the first time Hermione toyed with the idea of going all the way, giving her virginity to Harry and laying with him in passion, and later, giving him a child before the war really got into swing; giving him a family to fight for, to strive to protect, to live for, and to come home to. A tear split her cheek with its trail, making her face symmetrical, those this tear was of anguish, not happiness. She hoped she would be enough for him, she hoped their bond, her love, their future, would be enough for him to come home to.

She was startled by Harry's lips pressing to her throat; she hadn't even noticed him awaken. She drew back slightly to look down at him properly and noted the stern cant to his gaze; it was tempered by something much softer though.

"Don't doubt your power over me love. This war won't keep me from coming home to you. It won't keep me from fathering your children one day either."

She stroked his cheek with one finger, before leaning forward to kiss him, their legs shifting against each other as they kissed. She had no words for him, no thoughts or observations, statements or provisos, here he was, pledging himself to her, she could do nothing less than accept him for all that he was, and that was more than she could ever ask for, hope for, or comprehend. And as she finally fell asleep her mind allowed her to let go of her fear, to have confidence in him, in them, in their love.

The terror she had been feeling was swept away, and in its place was only love. Love and a grim determination that would one day level an entire legal system, and bring about a new one in its place.

-:-

Deep in the moors of Northern Scotland near the coast a strange echoing cry swamped the misty hills with its chilling resonance. The lips that that cry had been torn from were speckled with small black dots, they were firm, almost cartilage, and were surrounded by a face of alien proportions. Inside that mouth were concentric rings of bony plates, built for crushing and grinding, and a maw that stretched in terrifying fashion as the aquatic creature burst out of the water at the shoreline, sprinting up the beach where a young woman stood against the wind.

The creature wasn't alone, dozens of its kin followed behind with a terrifying speed that few mortal creatures could match. Their limbs were multi jointed and their grasping hands had far too many fingers, nearly a dozen surrounding each palm. They were meant to grip things and not let go, each finger ended in a hooked talon clearly meant to cling to flesh and bone.

Their torsos were naked, but not in any way aesthetically pleasing, most were covered in aquatic plants that grew from their skin, weeds and kelp as well as other more sinister magical plants that snapped and grasped with tendrils in the cool night air. Frankly the creatures were nightmarish and any unprepared human would have soiled themselves at the sight. But the young woman was not unprepared, nor was she human, never in her life, or unlife, had she been human, and she certainly didn't soil herself.

The first creature died messily, its head arcing through the air on a cerulean fountain of ichor. Its kin died in equal bloodshed as the young woman moved from creature to creature, dismembering them with sickening snaps and the wet sucking sound of tearing flesh. Soon forty cadavers were on the shoreline of Scotland, forty kelpies slaughtered for sport, for training.

In the darkness Epine's heart stirred, not with joy, or disgust, not even with satisfaction, her emotions were not anxiety or nervousness, and were far from elation or lust; rather the young woman felt trepidation, the thought in the back of her mind that this was somehow wrong. But the soft spoken man with the beautiful black hair had told her it was right, gloriously sensually right, and he had been most enthusiastic with his praise.

In the darkness of an encroaching Hebrides storm the undead creature smiled, her teeth meeting in a horrific visage fuel for the nightmares of small children the world over. Her razor sharp and needle thin teeth met together perfectly and a rich rumbling purr rolled from her throat even as the blue ichor of her prey stained her chin and throat with its passage from her maw. The reason for her glee was the object of her devotions walking down the beach towards her, a long branch from some forgotten tree held in his hand as he idly flicked shells aside from his path.

She swiftly knelt as he approached her ethereally beautiful body bowing in submission. It was not sexual, she barely knew what the word meant but this man, this god, was everything to her. A sibilant whisper rose from her plump lips as he approached

"Master"

The word was spoken with such reverence that even to her own ears it sounded pathetic, weak. She yearned to be stronger, for him. His soft rich tones, accented strangely reached her ears.

"You've done well my child. They were no real challenge for you were they?"

"No Master"

He stopped in front of her, his wand held in one hand, hers in his other. She knew instinctually that it was hers; she could feel it in the very core of her being. She knew what it was of course she had seen her master use something similar for months now. Something in her hungered for that piece of wood and magic; it yearned desperately to hold it again, to claim it as her own. But the desire was hollow, as if futile or ill driven. She knew the item would avail her not. She had no spark within her to drive the tool.

"Bring them back."

The command was simple, and one that she had heard before, she felt bad when she did this, dirty even. He told her to do it, so of course, she did.

-:-

It did not take long for the undead creature Valmortis had taken under his wing to infect the two score kelpies with her blood. It was an experiment of sorts; he had been taking her up and down the country, experimenting with different magical creatures to discover which ones responded best to Undeath. Centaurs, while difficult to acquire, had been their best results so far, but he hoped this would be another breakthrough.

Epine, as he had so fittingly named his tool for she would ever be a thorn in the side of the light, returned to his feet and knelt in her familiar devoted pose. It sickened him slightly to treat her so, he was not a man inclined to such base pleasures of the flesh such as her posture suggested, he much rather preferred to tinker with magic than spend time rutting like an animal. Necromancy was his favourite pastime.

He felt a flash of memory rush through him; a rain swept courtyard, an imposing tower, a terrible battle, and pain, real emotional pain. It was gone as quickly as it arrived and the necromancer showed no outward signs of his affliction, it would not be wise for Epine to know he was hurt. He had not be injured in front of her before and he intended to keep it that way, she had to see him as immortal, something other, and greater, than human, for their strange teacher/student relationship to work.

For Epine was not a mortal, she would outlive him by a billion years, her hair would be just as lustrous as it was now when the sun finally gave its last gasp and the world exploded around them. She would endure, more fully than he ever could, he had to prepare her to live that unlife, to take the world in her beautiful hands and remake it in her image. She was his daughter in reality, as he had long ago sacrificed his ability to reproduce he had chosen to instead raise her as his own, in what little time he had left.

This would be his immortality, this would be his ever-lasting life, in the memories of this broken, and cursed child. He spared a thought for Riddle, locked in his manor in England with his Death Eaters milling about looking for a half-baked Prophecy spouted by some seeress whore. While Valmortis travelled all over England, spreading the fear of his master's name to all corners of this forsaken island. He had yet to touch Ireland yet, mostly because the idea of an undead leprechaun was actually amusing and Valmortis loathed the thought of expending the thrill too quickly in his haste to witness the sight.

He was wrenched out of his inner meanderings as the Kelpies again began to stir, despite his efforts, and Epine's, he had little help for the water demons. They were a long shot at best with their primitive brains. He doubted they would be anything greater than their wood dwelling cousins had been; Dryads indeed.

He was not disappointed in his guess. The kelpies were vicious in their Undeath certainly, no less than they had been in life, and perhaps a touch more, but they were utterly brainless, attacking everything within reach, a terrible choice for foot soldiers for his growing horde.

The German born Bulgarian ex-convict knuckled his forehead wearily with both hands, the branch forgotten in the sand before he gestured blindly towards the mob with an undistinguished grunt of disapproval. He felt, rather than heard, Epine move away to clean up their mess. The experiment had been a failure, such a waste of magical blood too; he hadn't expected the kelpie grove to be so densely populated.

Grunting in disappointment he turned from the coast back to the small shack on the coast where he had been sleeping. It was a good thing Epine needed no slumber; she was excellent at keeping watch.

-:-

Harry cracked his eyes open on Saturday morning with a groan of discomfort that reminded him painfully of his days waking up at the Dursley's, he hated cold weather. Hermione was awake in an instant, helping him sit up as his stiff scar tissue on his back stretched painfully. The scars had been healed, but like a plague had returned to his skin. Apparently his magic wanted him to remember those scars for some reason. Some days he loved magic, some days, like today, he hated it.

He was vaguely aware of Hermione helping him into steaming hot water, probably a bath. He groaned at the feeling of warmth encasing his battered frame. It was almost shameful how weak he was on these mornings. He was fifteen years old, supposedly in the prime of his life, up and at 'em and all that jazz. But here he was, crippled because of a damn frost. Their rooms seemed to fluctuate in their warmth, sometimes they were beautifully warmed and perfect for any weather. Sometimes however whatever charm was upon them seemed to fail and they would be plunged into the fullness of the Scottish climate.

On those days Harry and Hermione would often move to the fire, or on weekends such as now, the bath, where they would soak comfortably for hours. Harry couldn't think of a better way to spend a cold morning.

He winced as his the scalding water hit an open wound, he had been lashed by a sapling of the whomping willow the other day that had somehow managed to germinate on the edge of the forest. He vowed to go out one day and violently remove the vicious little plant that had situated itself so frustratingly on their running track. He heard Hermione's familiar groan of contentment as she too slipped into the hot water and rested against his chest. The baths at Hogwarts were so much better than the one in Oxford, for one the water never got cold, and while they could cast warming charms on the water back home the charms never seemed to get it quite right.

Here though the water was perfect, just on the cusp of being too hot, but not quite there, excellent soaking temperature. Hermione had not yet added soap of any kind to the water and Harry marvelled in the sight of his beautiful witch under the clear water as he peered over her shoulder. She turned and kissed his ever stubbly cheek warmly before relaxing against his shoulder and chest. Instinctively his arms went around her waist and her hands covered his own where they laced over her stomach, holding her intimately against him. It struck him briefly that he couldn't remember actually getting to the bath and received a sheepish thought from Hermione.

Slightly amused he latched onto the feeling and coaxed it slightly, gently asking her to share what he had missed, or what she was hiding from him.

-:-

Hermione was mortified; he had noticed the gap in his memory. Sighing slightly she let go of the memories she was supressing and felt Harry tense behind her. She didn't want him to have to remember himself like that, half the reason that she hid it from him in the first place, but she wouldn't hide if from him when he was so obviously curious. He trusted her and she wouldn't break that for the world. It wasn't as if he couldn't handle the images, he had the first time round after all.

-:-

Hermione heard Harry's agonized groan in the pit of her lovely dream and abruptly she was awake. There was no transition from her dream filled state to awareness; she simply knew she had to be there for him, and so she was. Turning swiftly she took him into her arms and held him against her body, doing her best not to twist his back as he fell apart from the pain in her arms. A stab of anger for the Dursleys and Dumbledore shot through her as Harry succumbed to the pain of his old wounds. Some had bit deep into the muscles and they caused him considerable pain on days like this.

He had tried to have them healed discreetly by madam Pomfrey but they had returned. She and Harry had researched the phenomenon and found that it could have been either his own magic bringing the scars back for some reason, or the hatred of Vernon Dursley had imbued Harry's wounds with something akin to curse residue, just as love was a universal magic that even Muggles could draw from, so too was hatred, and Vernon Dursley had that in spades.

She felt terrible for him as he clung to her, desperate to find his strength again as spasms wracked his frame. She hated to think what the wizarding world would say if they could see their saviour, the duelling prodigy and Tri Wizard champion of such grace and power reduced to this state. She knew he hated the thought too. Carefully she levered him upright and, apologising, hit him with a body bind.

She had found it was pretty much the only way to move him safely when he was crippled like this. Some days his spine refused to respond entirely and he ended up paralyzed again, apparently a result of the injuries that he had suffered at the tender mercies of Valmortis and Voldemort in the manner in Little Hangleton. She thanked her lucky stars, Harry's too, that it only afflicted him on the coldest of days, and really only ever after sleeping, as he tended to remain still in his sleep which let the cold permeate deeper into his bones and scars.

She knew that the rest of the world could never know about this, it was a colossal weakness that Harry hated about himself and it would have been easy for an enemy to exploit. So, swearing Poppy to silence with a magical oath and learning from her how to treat her man she had taken the burden of his care onto her shoulders. Just like his splintered emotions and need to help others in pain, this she would support him with.

It was not difficult once he was immobilised to levitate him into the washroom and run a bath for them both. She had learned, from experience and instruction, that the easiest and most effective way to cure Harry's affliction was to reheat the chilled areas as thoroughly as possible, a good hot soak was the best solution either she or Poppy had come up with, though they were looking for a permanent cure.

Carefully she cupped Harry's jaw and locked eyes with him, silently apologising for what she was about to do. His gaze hardened slightly and he blinked once, letting her know he would be as okay as warranted in the situation.

Almost tearfully she released the body bind and held him against her as she stepped into the bath. He couldn't be bound forever and his muscles wouldn't relax in such a state, but unbinding him let loose the tremors that wracked his back and sides, causing him so much pain. Today was a mild day, the Christmas Holidays, while they were back in Oxford, would be almost unbearable for him.

-:-

Harry sighed, filing his memories away along with hers which she had shared with him. He hugged her more tightly to his body and said nothing. There was nothing to be said, she was doing him the greatest service he could ever ask of another human being, she was suffering for him, and he had no words to adequately thank her for her near daily toils. They wouldn't be running today, no, today they would recuperate, recuperate and hope for better days to come.

Better days wouldn't arrive for nearly three more years.

-:-

AN3: I don't know if my releases are getting further apart or remaining about steady, either way I loathe how far apart they in fact are. I'll do my best to ramp up my writing, should be easier now at any rate.

AN4: A couple of notes on this chapter. In this story, (Deceit and Lies), Harry is kind of a badass, he's a magical powerhouse, a sorcery prodigy, and even makes miniature drones controlled by artificial intelligence in his spare time. I wanted to use this chapter to point out that Harry is still very human, he's weak, and he suffers for what he does to protect others. More to the point the events that have pushed him to becoming the powerhouse that he is have left a horrendous toll on his body and mind.

AN5: Review Responses

JKarr: Thanks, I think? Interesting doesn't always mean good ;.;

Grey Lord: Kay, I mean I can see where you're coming from. But I feel like I need to point out a few things. Firstly, Fleur (Epine) has none of Voldemort's blood in her veins; it was merely used as a catalyst for the ritual that resurrected her. I know I didn't explain, showcase, or reveal the ritual, so you'll have to trust me on this. Secondly the idea of Harry maybe getting a power spike from this is double edged, Voldemort would share in the spike (If I were going that route) as he now shares Harry's blood. If anything it would just make them equals, and not to put too fine a point on it, but Harry's actually stronger than Voldemort, for reasons that will be explained next chapter.

Dragon Mistress of Redemption: Of course Fleur should have found peace, I want nothing more than that for her. But I want you, as the reader, to feel sorry for Epine, if I'd used an undeveloped character for her then you'd have no attachment, but because you knew Fleur (My Fleur at any rate), you've built an attachment with the character already, it's a sneaky trick author's like to pull sometimes to increase the emotions involved in a certain aspect of a story. Just imagine how bad I feel about writing her like this?

Anotherboarduser: I know about the feeling of slowness, I'm sorry about that. I'm personally someone who reads stories once they're finished so I know your pain. I loathe reading unfinished works. But sadly the story has to get there first before you can read it as such. Might I suggest reading the whole thing again once it's finished to get a better idea of the flow of the story?

Also tyvm for your comments on the previous chapter.

IcySneasel: I'm flooding this series with unique or modified characters and so far 99% of the response to them has been positive, so I thank you for your comments sir, you've joined an overwhelming majority.

Shadow Dragon: First off I like replying to long reviews, so it's all good. I've been toying with Automatons myself, and it does seem to be the only thing that fits, on the other hand there's been a name on the tip of my tongue for weeks that I can't quite remember that I think will fit them perfectly, We'll see. You've got some interesting ideas there. I'm not sure about Harry imbuing the… Automatons? Sure, with competitiveness, maybe? Maybe not? I feel like that it's in the spirit of the challenge, but not the assessment. I'll think about it. As for your comments on sorcery it's not a bad idea, though, again, I'm not sure where Harry would get the inspiration for such sorcels. I'll think on it.

Okay folks that's it for another… I'd say week but I'd be lying who knows when the next one is going to be out… ugh. Anyhoo, that's it for another chapter, thanks for reading and other shenanigans, stay tuned for; Chapter Eight: Power, whereupon Harry's crazy power spike in the last year and a half is explained and we learn a little more about Umbridge's past. See you next time!

LGreymark

-Ugh, a footnote is needed, I realized that I wrote the word 'Harry' A hundred times in this chapter (And reviews) I feel so scummy somehow… like I should be using pronouns more.