Disclaimers: Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasleys, liberties taken with mythical history.
Harry woke slowly, stretched out languidly on his bed and looked around. Daylight was streaming in through the windows now, which could only mean that he must have finally passed out at some point in the night ... but not after he'd been making love to Hermione for hours. Making love to his wife actually, he correctly himself joyfully. The thought sent his mind into a tailspin and, for a moment, he just stared up at his ceiling, fighting the urge to kick his legs up and down with the ecstasy of it all. Harry noticed the plaster on the ceiling was cracked and blistering as he looked at it ...
It was like it had been exposed to some serious heat.
He laughed quietly to himself at that. He didn't want to wake his wife, fast asleep and obscenely pretty next to him. His wife. Harry just stared at her, grinned widely and decided he wasn't going to use her actual name for a while, just her new title. It made him stupidly happy just to think it. He wasn't supposed to be this euphoric. It wasn't even contentment that he was feeling ... it was bliss. Enraptured, exalted bliss. But he was Harry Potter ... dark, broody, tough saviour of the world.
Mindless joy wasn't supposed to be on his menu. But here it was, swirling all around and threatening to smother him with happiness.
Harry needed a dose of his old reality to get his head down from the clouds. So he slipped quietly from the bed and eased on his dressing gown. It was, remarkably, in one piece. It must have been one of the few items left in the room that could make such a claim. For the place was a state ... there was actual debris littered around Harry's feet. He found the sight ridiculously funny, and bit down on the sleeve of the dressing gown to offset a fit of hysterics that threatened him, as he looked around at the charred walls and smashed furniture ... the aftermath of his sex-shattered domain.
Harry Potter was convinced that had never seen a funnier sight in all his days.
He pulled the black and red dressing gown around his shoulders, it had the Gryffindor badge emblazoned on the right breast and was the cosiest piece of clothing Harry felt he owned He didn't bother tying it, as the air was still stiflingly hot. He'd better open the window, just in case his wife needed a bit of a breeze on her sweaty body. It might blow the heady aroma of sex from her sticky skin. Oh ... oh yeah! ... there was no window! Harry just stared at the vacant square in the wall, like it was a curious piece of abstract art or something ... then remembered some of the arts he'd been practising there a merely a few hours before ...
And Harry smacked his lips at the luscious memory. He turned to look at his partner in that sexy crime, spread-eagled on his tangled sheets, naked as the day she was born. She was so beautiful. This was definitely Harry's favourite outfit for her. He wondered vaguely how often she would wear it for him.
Every day ... for the rest of my life ... so long as I don't find a way to mess this up.
The truth of the thought careened into him like a sledgehammer, and he was back to grinning like a dopey teenager again. Harry picked up one of the wine bottles that Rhian had brought them last night and slurped down its remnants. It may have been a bit early to start drinking, but Harry was parched and in a celebratory mood. Then he spotted another bottle, wedged firmly between the splintered remains of his bedside table. He remembered, with a flashed memory of filth, of trying to drink the wine from every orifice of his wife, then trying to use it for a bit of decadent lubrication when things got a bit dry ... only to spill the whole thing and having to reignite the lubrication charms he'd built into the walls, which wasn't nearly as fun, even if they were far more practical and effective.
But Harry and Hermione had decided that their mind-blowing sex life was just another example of their perfection, their compliment to each other. They would have no boundaries, no limits. Nothing was off the table. If it might give them pleasure, it was worth a couple of tries. That meant limitless possibilities and Harry was pointedly keen to begin that voyage of exploration.
But, not all aspects of the world had changed so dramatically overnight. It was still full of darkness and fucktards and people who needed, quite simply, to be butchered where they stood. Today, for the one and only time, they were all going to get a free pass, a day off. Harry was going to enjoy the day after his wedding like a normal man would. Then, after that, he was going to go full tilt at his enemies. They had been allowed to regroup and re-strategise long enough.
He vaguely wondered what they thought he was doing, being so idle as he was. He assumed, by now, that Riddle would know about Hermione, and the loss of his connection to her. Her awesome display at the ICW had been a thing of beauty, but Harry knew the spies and traitors among their ranks would have sent word to that snake-blowing cunt as soon as they could.
Harry didn't really care. He wanted the world to know Hermione was his anyway. If only so, when the time came, their enemies would know exactly what they were being slaughtered for. Harry had returned to this mortal plane to marry and protect Hermione. He hadn't had a fucking clue how it was going to happen at the time, but thank the Gods it somehow had. She was his wife now, his soul mate ... and he would burn to ashes the world that threatened her.
There was also this exciting little detail of her wanting a baby with him as soon as possible.
If there was anything worth destroying and rebuilding a world for, it was that wonderful prospect. A baby ... with Hermione! They would be a proper family then, in all the new ways that they weren't already. That was a hell of thing to look forward to. Harry grinned at his wife's naked, alluring body as she slept away ... and wondered just when she'd bring up this little nugget of information with him, that she wanted another body to be growing inside her as soon as it was reasonable.
Harry was just relishing all the practice that they'd get trying to put it there.
Hermione would prefer a girl, Harry was certain about this. Even if she'd debated it with herself, Harry had felt the truth with undoubted force when he was residing in her mind. He was growing slightly concerned that his wife might actually want to steal little Celesca Lovegood, and he was genuinely considering putting an elfish security detail on Luna ... lest she come to meet her end by some unfortunate lake-related drowning accident, or something ... but he was also tempered by the fact that Hermione had come around to the idea of babies so swiftly.
For being in Hermione's mind had been an illuminating, if at times horrific, experience for Harry. He would have to get into mediation as soon as he had a spare day, to siphon off some of the worse things he'd seen. The fresh, pulsing euphoria of his marriage was only masking the abject horror of some of the memories he'd witnessed, particularly of Ron's abuses of his beautiful girl ... scenes that Harry was now trying desperately hard not to dwell on at all.
They'd already decimated so much of the Palace with their relentless love-making already, after all ... and Harry's angry rage was more than capable of taking care of the rest.
So he forced the memories aside and made his way through to his alchemy cell, smirking at the ashen remains of the bookcase-door, where it lay in splinters against the far wall, the singed pages of books which once adorned its shelves now covering it like confetti that someone had forgotten to throw at the wedding. Harry chuckled to himself as he looked at the carnage he'd helped cause. He didn't know why he found this all so hilarious ... he just did. It was the funniest thing. But Hermione would likely be horrified to learn she had damaged books with her carnal desires ... and that made Harry laugh harder, too! He rather hoped she wouldn't mind too much in this case, though, for in his opinion at least ... and he reckoned she'd agree ... destroying a bit of literature was well worth taking his virginity for.
He cast a look back at his slumbering wife, drank in the angelic vision of her naked, sex-exhausted body.
"I smashed that", he thought proudly, nodding to himself. He patted his flaccid cock to acknowledge a job well done, then began drawing a bath into the large copper tub in his Cell, unable to resist hitching a huge grin onto his ruined lips.
Harry turned to his ornate dresser unit as the water tinkled into the tub, ready to begin his usual morning cleaning routine, when an anxious thought suddenly caused him to pause a moment. Not having a door on the room made this a risk now, and he couldn't be bothered going back for his wand to cast a concealment spell. But this was something he didn't want Hermione to know about just yet. It wasn't a secret, as such ... he wasn't keeping things from his new wife, in his mind ... but this was a shame that he simply wasn't ready to share with her anytime soon.
Harry huffed out a breath, he would just have to chance it, hope she was too shagged out to wake up before she was fully rested. He opened his potion drawer and took out the seven vials he needed. Two of them were a sort of bubble bath, brewed from Lily's Phoenix Tears, and one was a powerful moisturiser, that helped smooth out the fresh scabs of his scar tissue and on his face. Harry added them to the splashing water, watching critically as his bath turned a pale sort of yellow hue with milky bubbles. It was the colour of urine, hardly alluring, but his deeply wounded bones and wrecked visage would be thankful for the healing properties later.
One potion was for pain-relief to be applied directly to his scar, and Harry hated it with a passion. Ron, Riddle ... either way around ... then this fucking despised, but essentially necessary potion. It went in that order in the bitter parts of Harry's mind. He found a fresh pippet in the drawer, and began pinging droplets of the potion over his face and into the hollow of his empty, dark-with-dried blood eye-socket, thrashing and hissing as each drop seared against his tender flesh. The pain was sheer enough to send a single tear trickling from his good eye.
The rest of the potion Harry sprinkled liberally onto one of his spare shawls, as he ground his jaw hard against the pain. The droplets on his skin continued to burn and sear like icy acid, and Harry lashed around, biting down hard on his tongue to keep in a hissing cry of senseless agony, waiting for the potion to kick in and totally numb the nerve-endings that it was seeping into. He drew blood with the ferocity of his biting, so intent was he on not waking Hermione from her much-needed rest.
As he waited to go numb, Harry turned and picked up the scarf, deciding that he might as well get it all over with in one go. He stared hard at the azure blue fabric with a steely resolution for a few seconds, took three deep, swift breaths for courage, and quickly buried his face into the shawl before he lost his nerve ...
... and Harry immediately felt like he had head-butted a wall of the severest, most burning agony imaginable ... and that his face was being irresistibly pinioned against it.
He was hit with, and fought vainly to absorb, another fresh wave of torture on the contact, and lurched back against the dresser, swearing angrily under his breath through gritted teeth. He turned his knuckles white, such was his death grip on the dresser's washbasin, as he tried to offset the excruciating torment that was his treatment. But soon, though not quite soon enough, his face became deadened and dull, the pain receded to a background ache, and he sucked in a rattling breath as his racing heartrate began to ease down to normal again.
Then he looked over quickly at his sleepy Hermione. She was still out for the count ... she hadn't seen or heard a thing, and Harry fully relaxed in his relief.
Three potions still remained. Two helped with his mental controls, calming and clarifying his mind. He felt pretty clear today, in all honesty, but he didn't want to take the risk of avoiding this part of his daily routine. This was a day he just had to be alert for. He knocked them back one after the other, like Jagerbomb shots, quite enjoying the taste ... which was cherry this time ... and said a quiet 'thank you' to Cassie. She was always making little flavour additions like this for him, to try and make his medicine a little more bearable.
The last potion was to clean his blood. The dark poison oozing around in the scar on his face was infectious, it had to be controlled, to stop it spreading to other parts of his body. Well, as much as that potent a level of Dark Magic could be controlled. The stench from his scar right now was utterly vile. Genuinely, gut-churningly offensive, you might say. The rancid smell lingered in Harry's throat and he dry retched at it. It hadn't been cleaned for three days, he remembered, and there would be consequences with that.
Harry glanced over at the calendar on his wall. Well, he called it a calendar, but maybe countdown would be more accurate. It was nearly time to have himself checked again. Might as well get Narcissa to do it while she was still here.
She could tell him how far the infection had spread now.
But Harry didn't want to think about at the moment, so he drove the thought deep into the recesses of his psyche. He stepped back towards his bathtub, which was nearly full now ... and yelped as something sharp stabbed into the underside of his bare foot. He reached down and picked it up, cursing but curious as to what it was. Or, rather, picked them up ... and scowled viciously and he realised what they were.
Because he had found the two discarded halves of Hermione's old wedding ring ... left exactly where they'd fallen from her finger on the day she snapped her Marriage Bond to Ron.
Harry could sense the slime of the Weasley signature in his very hands. He closed his eye and drew the ugly energy of their family towards himself, delving into the magical residue of the artefact that they had once forced onto the finger of his beautiful bride. The thought made him retch with more potent, more furious nausea than the fetid stink of his rotting facial flesh ever could.
This had been a family object of near worthless value. It was a remnant found at the bottom of a jewellery cabinet, certainly nothing expensive or important ... just a piece of random tin that Arthur's grandmother had once owned, but hardly ever wore as it was so ugly. It had no use beyond that. Ron wouldn't have parted with anything significant to bind his marriage to Hermione.
But despite all this, the ring was still Weasley enough. It had allowed Hermione to be controlled by Ron, tracked by him, spelled to submission by him from afar. And not just by Ron, either ... but by any of those evil, ginger, perennial Gnome-botherers. The link had been strong enough for them to do that.
And, as Harry stunningly realised through a quick meditative assessment, it was still strong enough ... perhaps even strong enough to allow him to get to them. Stupid, retarded fuckers ... they hadn't cut off the link from their end! Even when Hermione had wrenched herself away from their dark clutches!
The link was still active ... and Harry knew just the way to manipulate the lazy idiocy of the Most Annoying and Nonce-ridden House of Weasley.
Harry clenched his fist, possessively hard, around the ring shards ... gripped so tight, in fact, that his whole forearm vibrated with his restless exuberance ... and then Harry began wildly fist-pumping in unrestrained triumph. Hermione made an odd sort of snort from the bedroom, as Harry broke out into a manic sort of jig of euphoric celebration, but she was just shifting in her sleep. She rolled fully onto her side, so that the delicious crack of her bare arse and the sexy curve of her lower back were now pointing directly at Harry. He grinned wickedly, licking his lips at the view.
Now he could have a nice little perv on his wife while he relaxed in the bath. He quickly slipped the two ring halves into a side drawer of the dresser, pricked his finger with one of his alchemy tools to seal the drawer with a blood spell, meaning only he could re-open it now, then slid into the warm bath water with a deep, contented sigh, angling himself just right to best ogle his gorgeous witch.
He would soothe himself for a while, then he'd better go and see Neville before Hermione got up... just to find out for her how much of their Palace was still standing!
"I cant believe they've finally stopped!"
Enola made the disbelieving exclamation as she closed their suite door and looked over at Neville, her eyes heavy and tired. She watched him wearily kick off his shoes, as he lifted baby Ally from her cot for her morning feed. Enola was still trying to keep her eyes open. She didn't understand where Neville was getting all this extra energy from, for she was utterly exhausted, herself, having not been able to sleep since Harry and Hermione had sealed their marital chamber for their long awaited sexual union.
And it was a union that quickly became a marathon of love-making ... and they had been at it for over seven hours now.
But it had finally shown the first signs of relenting ... and by that Enola meant that Neville hadn't put out any fresh fires for at least an hour ... literal fires, mind you! For Harry and Hermione's searing passion for each other had turned the Palace air into something positively equatorial ... and rendered anything made of textile or wood as vulnerable to spontaneous combustion.
Neville and Enola had spent their night darting from floor to floor, from room to room at times, dousing the flames as they found them, but they couldn't even begin to imagine what it must be like up in the Potter Suite on the Seventh Floor. It might have burned to a crisp for all they knew. Neville had tried once to get up there, but the air was so hot and humid, so dense with sex and magic, from the fifth floor up, that he couldn't breathe long enough to endure it.
But it did give him an achingly firm erection that he didn't want to waste ... so he gave it to Enola instead, when he found her fire-proofing the Billiard Room, getting balls deep in his goddess-level wife on the green baize of the pool table, surrounded the spotted and striped balls that hadn't exploded or melted yet.
"They had to give it a rest eventually" Neville grinned, proffering a bottle to baby Alison, which she took greedily. "I mean, the sun's come up and everything! Even Harry and Hermione are only human!"
"I just didn't think they'd be at it this long," Enola hummed, thoughtfully. She moved to get into bed, involuntarily clutching at her exposed nipples as she undressed on the way, driven by the sexually-charged air still soaking through the entire house. She didn't even notice she was doing it, until she caught Neville just gawking at her. But she had no intention of stopping. "Then again, poor Min has been waiting for Harry to take her to bed since she was, what? ... fourteen? fifteen? ... that's a lot of sexual tension to work out, isn't it?
"Oi, you! … stop staring at me, cheeky sod!"
Neville grinned at his wife's faux complaint. "Then stop doing it!"
"I can't," Enola whined, smirking sexily, though her complaint was a little more sincere. "I'm just so turned on. I can't switch it off."
"You and everyone else around this place," Neville replied, grimly. "There's so much sex on the air … it's like a bloody whore house out there!"
Enola giggled. "Did you repower the wards?"
"Yep," Neville nodded, rocking Alison gently. "Didn't make an ounce of difference. Whatever Harry and Hermione are conjuring up there, my magic is decimated by it. I might as well have been using a rice paper shield against an incoming asteroid for all the good it did."
"Poor Min, she wont be able to walk by the time they call it a day!" Enola remarked, somewhat dreamily.
"If the intensity of the atmosphere out there is anything to go by, I don't think she'll mind that one jot!" Neville chortled. "But I am glad they've eased up at last. Another hour and even pieces of the furniture would have come to life and started fucking each other! I'd have had to go up and beg Harry and Hermione to stop ... not a conversation I would have enjoyed one little bit!"
"It isn't just us then?" Enola asked, cocking her head thoughtfully. "Have other people been affected by this, too?"
"Well, put it this way," said Neville, wryly. "I went to put out a blaze near Susan Bones' room. Her door had been blown off its hinges and so I lifted it back into place and got a glimpse inside the room and … well, you'll never guess so I'll just tell you ... Sue had Cassie's head smushed so hard between her legs that it looked like she was giving birth to her!"
Enola's mouth dropped open in shock. "Susan and Cassie? Really? Wow. I thought I hadn't seen Cass for a while, and I remember Sue and her chatting a lot at Min's birthday party, but I reckoned Cassiopeia was just being prissy with me for spending so much time with Hermione recently. Well, well ... looks like we've both traded in for other girls!"
"And it's not just them," said Neville, huffing. "Fan and Ann have hung a Do Not Disturb sign on the door, and you know what that means, I saw Owain disappearing into the cellars with a couple of the witches we rescued from Hengest ... and you do not want to know some of the disgusting filth I heard coming out of Mum and Dad's room! Honestly, it'll take a year of therapy for me to forget some of the noises they were making!
"But I'm done for the night. I've passed on fire marshal duties to Patrick, while a few of the elves are going around collecting all the tiles that keep flying off the roof. Sir David and Lord Kelvin are busy trying to repair all the windows on the lower floors. Harry and Hermione just keep smashing them."
"Poor Min," Enola laughed heartily. "She must be like a quivering jelly up there, assuming she's still conscious!"
"The worst part is, I know Harry's been researching a whole load about sex magic," said Neville, gravely. "He can even spell himself to stay hard without ejaculating, apparently. They could be at this until they physically exhaust themselves and just pass out. This could last for days."
"Ah well, maybe we should just get some provisions in and bivouac down, ride it out, you know?" Enola smirked. "On the other hand, you have given me nine or ten orgasms in the last few days ... maybe we should just stay in bed and aim to make it a Baker's Dozen before breakfast!"
"Well, let me just finish feeding our daughter her bottle," said Neville, his eyes flaming lustily. "Then you can give me one of your teats to put in my mouth, too!"
Enola giggled filthily, then burrowed down into her sheets to wait.
Hermione blinked her eyes open and stretched her body out. It was indecent to feel this relaxed, she decided that right away. But this new decadence was definitely the way to go for her. It was the future. She immediately felt a stabbing sense of cold though, as she realised that she was in bed alone. Harry wasn't by her side, where he really should have been.
But he was close by. She could feel his energy ... he though he were a gorgeous new limb that she'd just grown.
"There she is, my beautiful bride. Hey wifey."
Harry's voice was like honey to Hermione's ears, an elixir to that fleeting worry over his absence. She looked up and found him, strung out languidly on the window ledge with one led crooked at the knee to brace him in place, lit by the dazzling morning sunlight as though it were his own personal hue, his dressing gown ... his open dressing down ... fluttering against a light breeze from outside.
Hermione swooned at her husband's part-exposed torso a moment. He looked devastatingly sexy, and Hermione let her mind wander to the gutter, as her darting eyes drank in every inch of Harry's jaw-dropping body that they could see. Hermione practically drooled at the vision. Harry was lounging against the remnants of the window frame, eating a slice of pink watermelon, and looking like he had not a care in the world. He looked so peacefully content that Hermione's heart actually throbbed with joy as she looked at him, and it made him so unspeakably beautiful in her eyes that she almost wanted to burst into happy tears at the sight of it.
Then she frowned. "What's with the scarf?"
"Er ... I'm an ugly cunt without it?" Harry offered, lightly.
"Harry," said Hermione, crossly. "I thought we agreed you wouldn't wear it anymore."
"When? I never agreed to any such thing," Harry protested playfully. "I did say I'd take it off to kiss you senseless, but that was it. And, as much as I'd love to be, I cant be kissing you senseless all of the time."
"I don't see why not," Hermione argued jokily, stretching herself out again. "Sounds like a fine way to live if you ask me."
"It would be," Harry agreed, then he smirked at her. "But, the point was, you said I agreed never to wear my shawls again. Which I didn't."
"Why don't we call it an unspoken covenant, between a wife and her husband?" Hermione suggested, patiently. "Take it off."
"No."
"Take it off so I can see your face."
"No."
"Harry." said Hermione, sternly. "Stop trying to act all independent. Take off your shawl this instant, let me see your gorgeous-if-sore face, then come here and let me see if I can kiss it better for you."
"Well ... that's just cheating," Harry protested with a smirk. "That's bribery, that is. Not that it'll work, more's the pity."
"No, I prefer to think of it as blackmail," Hermione quirked, smoothly. "Because I wont give you a kiss if you don't do as you're told!"
"Then we'll both miss out on kisses," Harry chortled, dramatically.
"Harry ..."
"Hermione ...!" Harry aped, chuckling. "Look, I can't take it off, not for a few hours at least. My scar hasn't been treated for a couple of days, so I've had to clean it up this morning ... and you know I have Healing elements on my shawls. It helps me to wear them, it's the only thing that does, so it has to stay on for a bit. In any case, my scar absolutely stinks when it gets to this state ... so trust me, honey, it's better this way. You'll just have to accept that there will be times when I have to wear my wrappings, that's just how it is.
"So, why don't you scoot that sexy little arse of yours over here to me, enjoy the view of our gorgeous Estate this morning, and help me eat some of this breakfast buffet that the elves have made for us while you're at it."
"You know I don't like heights, Harry."
"You didn't seem to mind last night ..."
Hermione blushed, hot and scarlet. "There were a lot of things I didn't mind last night, I'll have you know. But your sassy mouth wasn't one of them! Now ... come here!"
Harry sighed, accepted defeat, and conceded to Hermione. He looked over at her cute, bossy expression. He couldn't win against her ... she was simply too adorable ... even if she was pretty much his own personal dictator at this point. Harry was completely under her sway, and he could never deny her anything that it was within his power to provide. Hermione exerted total dominance over him, and he gave to her whims happily, like she was some sort of tyrannical puppy that it was his honour to pet.
Hermione grinned and lorded her victory, as Harry crossed to the bed and stretched himself out languidly next to her.
"That was pathetic, sweetheart!" said Hermione, giggling. "I recently told Luna that I'd eventually get you to do whatever I asked, but I expected you to put up a bit more of a fight than that!"
Harry shrugged. "What can I say? You're naked. I'm powerless against that inducement."
"That's good to know," said Hermione, turning and snuggling next to him for a moment. Then she sat back and eyed him playfully. "Well, chop chop, husband. If you've gone to all this trouble to bring me breakfast in bed, you might as well pour me a cup of tea!"
Harry guffawed and set to work, busying himself at the large trolley full of fruit and pastries, and hot and cold drinks, that the house elves had placed next to the bed. "Well, I can't really claim to have brought you breakfast in bed, as Rhian and Sally just turned up randomly with the spread about ten minutes ago, but it's only a white lie if I pretend to be responsible, isn't it? In any case, here's your tea."
"Thanks, sweetheart," Hermione beamed, blowing the hot liquid to cool it. "How long have you been up?"
"An hour? Maybe a bit more?" Harry guessed, stirring sugar into a tea of his own. "I cleaned my scar, had a bath, got all nice and fresh for you."
"You should have woken me sooner," Hermione purred. "That bath looks easily big enough to fit us both! That would have been such a romantic way to start the day!"
"We'll do that another morning, definitely!" Harry nodded keenly, laying back down at Hermione's side. "Maybe tomorrow, if you like. But I couldn't pass up the chance to just watch you sleep. It's just the most relaxing and beautiful thing. I find it very therapeutic, you know. I'm looking forward to doing it a lot more."
Hermione blushed as she smiled back. "That's a little creepy ... but I'll allow it!" she teased. "So, what have you been doing all morning, apart from bathing and perving on me!"
Hermione blinked demurely as Harry burst out laughing. "Well, I thought I ought to assess the damage we did to the house, just in case the whole thing was about to come tumbling down on top of our heads. That just wouldn't do at all, as I'm sure you'd agree!"
"How bad is it?" Hermione smirked.
"Well, most of the crockery and furniture on this floor has been totally annihilated," Harry began, with a conversational grin, propping himself thoughtfully up on his elbow to give his damage report. "And we burst all of the plumbing in the bathroom, so our entire floor was flooded. But there's good and bad with that."
"Good and bad?"
"Well, we caused flash fires on the Sixth Floor so intense that they combined into something of a localised inferno, but the flood waters from Seven seeped through the ceiling and put most of it out, so I'm seeing that as a total win. We won't be able to use the Sixth Floor for at least a month, though. We were experimenting with some potion-based weaponry down there and that's all gone up in flames ... leaving the air poisonous and unbreathable until we can get it properly fumigated. I wouldn't advise going onto that floor anytime soon ... unless you want to have all of your insides melted, or for your bodily organs to combust in alphabetical order!"
"Oh, sweet Merlin!"
"But, the most important thing is that we've still got somewhere to call home ... we just wont be able to use most of it for a while!"
"In that case, you'll just have to take me out for the day instead," Hermione grinned, teasingly. "We'll let everyone else to fix the damage for us while we're gone! They don't pay rent so they cant complain, really, can they? What do you fancy doing?"
"Hmm, let me see," Harry funned. He drew his wand and Summoned his calendar to him, which hung in the air before them a moment. Today's date shone before brightly, highlighted in emerald green. "September the twenty-fourth, a Thursday ... not the sexiest day of the week, I grant you, but we could see if there's a musical on in the West End or something ... I know a guy, he'll do us a good deal on tickets and binoculars ..."
"Harry ..."
"Look, I'm just trying to play normal," Harry joked with warm sincerity. "I hate that I've left the world so dangerous for you, and for so long, that I cant even whisk you out on a random date if I feel like it. Next year, for your twenty-fifth birthday maybe, we'll do something really special. I promise."
"Promise?" asked Hermione, her accent loaded with meaning.
They looked at each other, fierce, blazing intensity in both their gazes ... and they silently agreed. This time next year, this would all be over ... the darkness would have passed and they could really start to live. The private oath settled between them like a spell.
"Promise," Harry confirmed, calmly.
"Well, seeing as you cant take me out to spoil me, we'll just have to enjoy ourselves at home ... or what's left of it!" Hermione grinned. "Any suggestions?"
"Hmm ... I could give you your final wedding present. That might be interesting."
Hermione sat up in deep curiosity. "You have another present for me? Harry, you really don't have to keep getting me things, you know."
"Rubbish," Harry chortled at her. "You are the most deserving witch in the whole world, and I intend to shower you with random gifts for the rest of your life. So we'll start with the next one right now, shall we? Rhian!"
"You can't give me Rhian," Hermione teased. "That contravenes elven fealty laws. Besides, you cant give me something that's already mine!"
"Be quiet, you," Harry smirked, scrunching his eyebrows at her in his humour.
Rhian popped next to the bed. She smiled warmly at the newly-weds. "Hellos Master Potter ... and Mistress Potter. Yous might want to put yous boobies away, Mistress! They be all out and waving to the world!"
Hermione squeaked in her shame and quickly pulled the bedsheet over herself, hiding her modesty as Harry howled with laughter next to her and slapped the mattress in his mirth. Hermione just glowered at him crossly till he stopped.
"Rhian, could you please fetch that package I left in your care? The one I wanted to give to Lady Potter if we ever got married."
"Ooh, ooh, yes Master Harry," Rhian squealed, excitedly. She popped away and was back again in less than half a minute. She handed a thin, flat package to Harry. "Happy wedding day, Mistress Hermione Potter. Mistress ... Rhian have a question to ask you."
"Ask away," Hermione smiled, warmly.
"Does Mistress mind if elves be calling her Mistress Hermione from now on? Only Master Harry lets us use his first name, but elves be liking to use yous first name, too. But we calls you Mistress Potter, if yous prefer."
Hermione blushed. For some reason, this question of formal propriety set her heart to wild flutters again. It made her feel more like Harry's real wife than ever.
"Actually, Rhian, I'd really like you all to call me Mistress Hermione," she replied with a warm smile. "And though I'm technically your Mistress now, I'd like to be your friend, too."
Rhian clapped her hands and sang out gleefully. "That be exactly what Master Harry say when we ask him years ago! Master Harry ... yous done very well on picking a good wife today."
"I know I have, Rhian ... and I'm glad you think so, too!" Harry smiled, winking at Hermione as he did so. "But, if you could give us some privacy now ... I have to give my wife her first present of our marriage."
"Very good, Master Harry. Rhian get back to helping with breakfast. Yous best be coming down soon, needs to eat, Mistress and Master Potter ... needs to get strength back up after all that exercise last night!"
Hermione blushed bashfully and Harry grinned at her shyness. "Thank you, Rhian. We'll be down shortly. Is the Breakfast Parlour still in one piece?"
"Mostly, mostly," Rhian nodded, piously. "But maintenance elves might need to put up scaffolding to fix big hole in the ceiling. Mister and Missus Potter do so much naughty damage here last night ... Palace may never be the same again."
And with that she shook her head ruefully, and vanished with a little pop.
"Oh dear ... I don't know if I can face everyone if things are really that bad, Harry!" Hermione mumbled, anxiously. "I'm sure I'll be terribly mortified when I see them all."
"Nonsense," Harry dismissed with a wide grin. "You're the Lady of the House now ... and if you want to decimate it in the throes of your sexual pleasure, then that's perfectly up to you, and hang whatever anyone else might think about it!"
Hermione laughed out loud at that. "So, what's this present you've gotten me, Harry? I'm intrigued now."
"Well, I could be all modest and say it isn't much," said Harry, smirking. "But that would just be a downright lie, and I don't want to start off our marriage on a dishonest foot. So, here, this is for you ... thanks for marrying me, Hermione Jane Potter!"
Hermione hooted out another laugh, clapped her hands in excited glee and took the long, thin box from Harry. She had a wild notion for a moment that it might be a new wand, as it looked the right shape, but it wasn't. Hermione opened up the box to reveal an ornate, slender, brilliantly golden key. Rubies were set into the hilt, which was an elaborate Celtic lattice design, and it was very heavy.
"Harry ... as you left this under the magical care of a powerful house-elf, I'm guessing that this key opens a lock that contains something very expensive, or very dangerous," Hermione began, shrewdly. "And you shouldn't have gotten me something that was either! So which is it?"
Harry laughed at Hermione's bossiness. "That key opens the door to a hidden chamber, on the third floor beneath our Palace. Whether you think that what's kept inside is dangerous or not, well ... only time will tell, I suppose."
"Third floor?" Hermione queried, confused. "I thought that there were only two below ground? Your Ritual Room, Resonator Stone and things like that are on Sub-level One, the catacombs, cellars and crypt are on Two ... so what's on Three?"
"The Merlinic Line ... or Potter family ... Buried Vaults," Harry explained, dramatically. "Or, if you prefer, our family vaults."
Hermione gasped in her surprise. First off, she definitely did prefer to call them that, and secondly ...
"We have family vaults? Wow. And what exactly do you ... sorry, do we ... keep in them?"
"Pretty much everything you'll ever need to know about our descendants, ancestry and all thing Family Potter," Harry grinned. "You'll find our history and family tree down there, our unique Potter magic and how to use it, special family jewellery and heirlooms, stuff about our connections to the Order of Merlin and the Knights of St David ... oh, and of course ... our family fortune."
Hermione's eyes bulged involuntarily. She felt instantly ashamed of herself, for she had never been a slave to money and didn't intend to start now ... but still ... she had a fortune buried beneath her feet? That wasn't something to be so easily ignored.
"Yep," Harry smirked again. "I forgot to tell you, amidst all my other communications, that by marrying me you've now become filthy rich, Mrs Potter. And I give you permission to spend our money pretty much however you like ... within sense and reason, of course."
"I ... I ... filthy rich, you say?" Hermione whispered, her eyes glazing slightly. "Oh my! Imagine the good we could ... show me this, Harry ... you have to show it to me. Right now!"
"Okay then. Let's get up and get dressed," Harry grinned, jumping to his feet and offering his wife his hand. "But first, I think we had better go and face the music for our nocturnal activities, maybe have a bit of breakfast while we're at it. I don't know about you, but I'm famished. Our wedding night really worked up quite an appetite, you know. And though you might be a bit shy about what happened last night, I cant wait to see everyone's faces this morning ... this is going to be such a laugh!"
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