Chapter 11
Hermione
"Are you sure you don't want me to stay with you, honey?" My mom asks, as we pull the car into a parking spot a block down from the entrance to Diagon Alley.
Thursdays are always her paperwork days at the clinic, so she took the morning off work to take me into London.
I wait until we're out of the car and walking down the street before I answer her.
I'd love to spend the day with her.
There's so much going on right now, and I want nothing more than to confide in my mother. Sure, I didn't tell her the most dangerous aspects of my adventures with the boys in the last timeline, but I told them as much as I could without scaring them. I told her about my crushes, and about Krum. I told her about teaching Grawp English in the Forbidden Forest. I told her about Sirius, and letters brought in the beaks of exotic birds.
But I can't plan a war based on my knowledge of future events with my mum watching from over my shoulder.
"No, mum. It's okay. Harry and Ron and Sirius will be there. Harry wants to go through his parent's vault to look for books. I'm sure everyone will be bored out of their mind before lunch time."
"Everyone but you," she says with a knowing smile. "Was it Harry's idea to search for books in a treasure vault, or yours?"
I laugh, biting my lip to keep it contained.
"Yes, yes, mum. It does sound like something I'd suggest. But no, this was all Harry's idea. I won't deny that I was rather enthusiastic about the project. If he'd have tried to do it without me, well, let's just say he would have had a very uncomfortable ride back to school the minute I could use magic again. But the plan was all Harry's. Sirius is coming to supervise. Ron, well, I suspect he'll be more hindrance than help to be honest. But if we'd have come without him, he'd have thrown a fit."
Mum hums knowingly, as we enter the pub that looks shut down from the outside.
Wizards sit in varying degrees of wakefulness, some nursing tea and coffee, but others seem to be still nursing their drinks from last night.
I suppose there aren't designated hours to serve alcohol in the Wizarding World.
I wave to Tom as we make our way through the tables. He has a mug encircled in his hands, steam rising in winding twists from over the rim.
Does he ever sleep?
But no Harry.
"Where are we meeting the boys?" Mum asks, and I gaze over the gathered patrons one more time.
I don't know why I bothered. Whatever happened to us when we were shoved through that door, it's given me almost a sixth sense of Harry's presence. I'm sure I'd be able to tell if—
I turn just before the door opens, and a smile splits my face as Harry precedes Ron, then Sirius into the pub.
Sirius is dressed in a suit, looking like he just stepped out of the pages of British Vogue. His salt and pepper hair lays clean and fresh over his shoulders, slick instead of rough and ragged. He has a black, purple velvet lined cloak draped across his shoulders, looking every inch the head of a powerful Wizarding family. He'd give Lucius Malfoy a run for his money.
Ron is in jeans and a t-shirt, his battered old trainers covering his feet.
Harry though, the sight of Harry takes my breath away.
Okay. This look works for him.
His jeans fit, which in and of itself is a miracle. He's in a white Oxford, open at the throat, tucked into the band of his trousers. His chest is covered with a waistcoat of the finest material, the straps of the scabbard pulling his shoulders back and puffing his chest out.
It's a new scabbard, and there's a buckle that slinks between his pecs, with a wand holder over each shoulder.
I would have called his hair shaggy this morning. Now it seems to fall to his shoulders in waves.
Instead of trainers, black dragonhide boots disappear inside his jeans.
Momentarily forgetting about everyone else's presence and ignoring the fact that I slipped from his bed only a few hours ago, I go to him.
As soon as his arms snake around my back, the pressure building in my bones eases. I sense him, like a comforting blanket in the back of my mind. He's always there, since , but only when he's close enough to touch do I feel like a normal person again.
Which is maybe the scariest thing I've ever thought.
Ever.
Harry whispers into my hair, his lips close enough to my ear to graze my lobe, but I don't catch what he's saying.
I concentrate on the way his arms pull me close, his palms open on my back. The way his face buries into my hair, and that first deep breath that calms the trembling in his limbs.
My hands slip in between the hilt of the sword and his spine, holding him so tightly I'm sure it pinches the skin on his neck.
There is something seriously wrong with us, and for the life of me, I don't think I want to fix it.
It takes my mother's voice talking to Sirius, I think, for me to come back to my senses.
I open my eyes to see Ron staring at us from over Harry's shoulder. I swear he's grown half an inch in the week since I've seen him last.
His head is tilted to the side and his eyebrows are drawn down. He doesn't look angry. Confused perhaps.
His mother has forced a haircut on him. Harry must have escaped from Molly's clutches for the time being.
I like Harry's hair like this.
It's long enough that I could probably pull the front back and into a tail.
Run my fingers through it.
Bugger.
I'm so screwed.
I meet Harry's eye from under my lashes, a blush already burning my cheeks red.
Okay? He seems to ask.
Yeah. I give him an infinitesimal nod.
I tuck into his side, not too close, and turn to see my mother and Sirius chatting amicably a few feet off. Their eyes keep flicking in mine and Harry's direction however, and near identical grins are fighting for dominance of their features.
Yeah, yeah.
I barely contain my eye roll.
I wonder what their facial expressions would say if they knew I'd snuck out every night since Monday to sleep in my best friend's bed.
Yeah, Hermione. Best not to think about that.
I look at the boy beside me instead.
"Nice get-up," I say playfully.
"Sirius thought we should look the part," Harry says, "as this is our first trip to the bank since his return and my adoption."
My blush only gets worse.
"You'll do the job admirably, I'm sure," I mumble.
Harry steps forward, offering his hand to my mother.
"Mrs. Granger. It's good to see you again. Thank you for letting Hermione spend the day with us. I don't think we could tackle building a home library without her."
Mum gives up the fight for her smile, grinning ear to ear at Harry's little speech. She takes his hand in hers, but then uses it to pull him into a hug. He's still short for his age, but so is Mum. He stutters in surprise, but accepts her hug with grace, if with an uncomfortable expression on his face.
"You don't have to lie to me, Harry," my Mum says. "We both know it was a matter of your personal safety." Harry looks bemused, glancing between me and Mum. "She'd hurt you, Harry, if you did anything with books without her express involvement."
Harry laughs at that, agreeing wholeheartedly.
Ron steps forward and accepts my mum's enthusiastic hug with a smile on his face. Ron is used to overly affectionate mothers. It's only Harry who cringes at the thought of being touched. Because excluding a year he was too young to remember, the only time he's been touched his entire life has been in pain. His so-called family, Voldemort and all his followers. It's no wonder Harry cringes away when people try to embrace him.
As if Harry can read my thoughts, he links his hand with mine.
"You have your phone, Hermione?" Mum asks, pulling me back to the here and now.
"Yes, Mum," I reply. "Though I'm not sure how well it will work in Diagon Alley. The sheer amount of magic in the air tends to interact poorly with Muggle electronics."
"Fair enough," Mum agrees, pulling me in for a hug.
Harry doesn't let go of my hand.
"You've been keeping something from me, miss," Mum whispers into my ear. "I expect to hear all the details when you get home tonight."
Double bugger.
I try not to let her see my cringe.
"Are you sure you don't mind bringing her back, Sirius?" Mum asks, turning her attention back to Harry's Godfather.
"Not at all, Jean."
They interact like they've been friends for decades, not like this is their second meeting.
With a final smile in our direction, Mum makes her way to the front door, and back into London proper.
Once the door shuts behind her, we head out the other exit, into the alley that opens to the Wizarding World.
It's barely nine in the morning, and the shops are just opening. The ice cream shop won't be open for hours yet.
Harry's thumb strokes across the back of my palm and my nerves shoot in about a thousand different directions at one.
"So, books!" I say, knowing I sound just this side of crazy. "Do you expect there to be a lot of books in the vault? What kind of books are we looking for? Do you want to go to Flourish and Blotts as well, or perhaps the bookstore down in Knockturn? I know for a fact that the Knockturn store has tomes on the dark arts."
"Take a breath, 'Mione, sheesh," Ron complains when I do, in fact, take a big gulp of air.
"Relax, Mi," Harry laughs at my side, and I take another breath, letting his words calm me down. "I don't know what to expect in the vault to be honest. I've only been in it the once, and even then, only a few feet inside. After first year, Mrs. Weasley usually pulls money out for me."
"We'll pop into the Black Vaults too," Sirius adds in. "There's generations of old furniture and treasures and junk I could care less about in ours. I'm sure the same can be said for the Potter vaults. Your grandparents used to have one hell of a library. I bet it all got packed and stuffed into the catacombs along with the rest of the household. They died pretty soon after your folks got hitched."
Harry's hand tightens in mine, and I try to offer him my support. Even in casual conversation, this is the most he's ever heard about his family's possessions, even in the other timeline. I always assumed we'd have time, after the war, for us to learn about his family history outside of what we needed to know to survive.
With Sirius alive and free, it looks like we'll be getting that education a lot sooner than either of us expected.
"I lived with them the last two years of school," Sirius says fondly as we make our way up the trail that leads to the towering white bank.
"I know," Harry says distractedly. "Your bitch of a mom burned your name off the family tapestry."
Sirius laughs, sounding more like a dog than a human. Several passing witches speed their pace, scurrying away from us.
"Somehow I keep forgetting you two know more about me than I do at this point," he chuckles.
Ron looks slightly sick.
"No," Harry says, and I turn my head up when I feel his eyes on me. "Just different things. I don't know nearly enough. About anything."
"We'll learn," I tell him, pulling our linked hands in front of my body and wrapping my other hand around his upper arm.
"Yeah," he sighs, sounding tired.
The doors open automatically as we reach the front of the bank. We step inside, and Harry slows his stride so that Sirius takes the lead.
One of the security goblins approaches us when Sirius makes no effort to move farther than the front of the room.
"Sirius Black and Harry Potter-Black, to discuss their estate," he says, before the Goblin even has a chance to ask a question.
Harry steps forward, unlinking our hands at last. He moves up to Sirius's side, talking in low tones.
"Pull it back some, Padfoot. I need the Goblins on my side. That won't happen if you walk in as pompous as the Malfoy's."
"Yeah, sorry," Sirius says, and I can physically see some of the air deflate from his sails.
He may have spent the majority of his adult life in Azkaban, but Sirius is still a pure blood wizard, and he was raised to think a certain way, even if he rejected the majority of that education. The Sacred Twenty-Eight title comes with a lot of prejudices outside of blood pride.
"Follow me," the Goblin says when he returns.
"Thank you, my good Sir," Sirius replies jovially, and the Goblin double-takes at the swift change in Sirius's attitude.
We stop at a counter with a ledger and a quill.
"Please sign in here. All visitors to the banks must be recorded."
We sign in the designated area, and it flares red when I scrawl my name across it.
The Goblin appears at my side.
"Miss, it is required that you sign your true and legal name," he says.
Harry stands up taller, looking between the paper, still glowing red around my name, and the Goblin.
"I did," I insist, and Ron peeks at it too.
"Hermione Granger. That's her name," Harry assures the Goblin.
With a look heavy with distrust, the Goblin scoops the ledger into his hands, then begins to lead us down a hallway lined with paintings and marveled statues. We enter the farthest office, the desk a grand example of Goblin engineering.
There are four chairs in the room, two in front and two in back. They're spaced out so that none blocks the other. Ron takes the farthest in the corner, and before I can interrupt, Sirius slides into the seat beside him.
"This is your show, Pup," Sirius says, giving Harry and I a sarcastic smile.
Right.
Harry and I take the two chairs up front, Harry adjusting the sword as he sits.
It's only a minute before the door pushes in again, and a different Goblin enters. He's dressed impeccably, his clothes screaming money. There are half-moon glasses perched on the edge of his nose, and rings line his fingers.
"Sirius Black. Harry Potter-Black," he announces, and Harry and Sirius rise from their seats. The Goblins voice is deep, and gravelly. Harry reaches out his hand, and the Goblin stills for just a moment, before returning the gesture and giving Harry and Sirius both a firm shake.
"I am Ragnok, Chieftain of the Horde. I will be your account manager from here on out. I have been expecting you for many days now."
Harry looks to Sirius for direction from the corner of his eye, and all Sirius can do is shrug.
"I am honored at your hospitality, Chieftain," Harry supplies, regaining his seat.
Ron goggles at Harry's formal speech, but now isn't the time to tell him Harry has done nothing but prepare for this meeting since the moment we were sent back.
Ragnok turns to me and gives me the slightest of bows. "Mrs. Potter-Black." I start at the title, my heart suddenly beating out of my chest. "Welcome. It has been many years since we've had a Bond-Mate in our midsts."
Uhhhh.
Harry's whole-body tenses and I feel it thrumming between us.
Mrs. Potter-Black? My name on the spelled ledger…
He makes his way to the other side of the desk, unaware or uncaring about the bomb he's exploded in his wake.
Sirius hisses in a breath.
"Bloody Hell," Ron whispers.
"Excuse me?" I demand, sitting at the edge of my seat.
"You say you've been expecting me, Sir?" Harry interjects, glancing between us with a look of near panic on his face.
I can taste his emotions on my tongue. Fear, excitement, and utter and complete confusion. I want to reach for him.
I don't.
Bond-Mate.
What in the actual hell?
"Yes," Ragnok says, settling himself in his chair and opening several folders on his desk, while placing four small boxes in a row at the edge. "We received the paperwork from the Bond Office late Friday night last. Your bond sealed that day, did it not?"
My fingers are tingling, my feet are completely numb. I'm panting in my seat, but no amount of concentration will get my pulse back under control. My heart is thumping so hard it hurts, the pace of the blood flowing through my veins leaving me lightheaded and dizzy.
"Excuse me, Sir," Harry says. I'm impressed with the firmness of his voice. "I apologize for our ignorance on the subject, but I have no idea what you are talking about."
Ragnok looks genuinely puzzled.
"The Soul-Bond with Mrs. Hermione Jean Potter-Black. Née Granger."
Ragnok bows in my direction again.
A noise escapes from either Sirius or Ron, but I can't tell which. Harry lifts his hand, and silence falls behind us.
Harry looks at me, and all the color floods from his face leaving him pale and gaunt, before all at once, it comes rushing back. He averts his gaze, looking at the floor by my feet. His chest is heaving in tiny gasps.
"Harry James Potter," I demand, having seen that guilty expression on his face often enough to know what it means. "WHAT DID YOU DO?!"
Sirius's abrasive laugh barks from behind us.
"Oh, they're definitely married." Sirius says. I whip my head to glare at him and find him leaning conspiratorially into Ron's space. For his part, Ron seems stuck between amusement and horror. "The only people who take that tone with a man are his mother and his wife. I heard Lily use it on James often enough."
Harry lifts his chin, looking at the Goblin watching the scene play out with a barely there smile on his face.
"Again, pardon my ignorance on the matter, Chieftain, but is there a difference between a Soul Mate and a Soul Bond?"
What?
Why is Harry asking about Soul Mates?
Think, Hermione, Think the little voice demands in the back of my head.
The Goblin nods his head stoically.
"Certainly, there is. Soul Mates, while rare, are common enough in all species. I, myself have a soul mate, married this nigh-on fifty years. They are almost always romantic in nature. A Soul Mate is a physical connection, as much as it is emotional. It is said that even if you were to spurn a Mate, or could not be with them for some reason, you would always feel the physical pull. Your comfort level would always be highest with them. They are your equal, in every way. You are, what they cannot be."
I'm the chaos, while you are the order.
Weeks spent alone in a tent. Days without speaking. The nights spent snuggled close, if only for physical comfort.
For peace in our souls.
"There is no such obligation with a Soul Bond. Quite the opposite, actually. Soul Bonds go deeper than simple romantic lust. Your souls are linked for all eternity. It is said, by some, that bonded souls used to be one soul that was split into two. It then spends the rest of its existence seeking it's other half out, no matter how many times they are put into the world."
Like a magnet, my gaze slips to Harry's. I feel him in the back of my head, comforting, like a blanket.
Only when he's close enough to touch, do I feel like a normal person.
Wasn't that what I thought, less than an hour ago?
Ragnok keeps talking.
I take Harry's hand in mine, and immediately my heart starts to slow.
"You most often find bonded in siblings and friends. To have a Bonded Mate is rare indeed. It is prized among all others in the Goblin culture. The deeper the Bond, the greater the connection. It is said that some Bonded Mates could share their thoughts, their dreams. They even share their magic. That is why I will be seeing to your estate matters personally from here on out. In the eyes of the Goblins, you are as one, from this moment forward. There will be no task that your lady wife could not do in your stead. Her word is yours, among the Goblin Horde.
"As I said, it has been many years since a Mated Bond has appeared. So long, that Wizards have all but forgotten them. They are told as bedtime stories now, to lure little humans to sleep with pleasant dreams of their happily ever after."
Ron opens his mouth to speak at that, probably to comment on some tale his mother used to tell, but at a quick look from Harry, shuts his mouth without saying a word.
"You said the Bond was sealed, Sir? How exactly does that happen?"
Ragnok reaches for the smallest box on his table, popping the lid and handing it to Harry, who stands to accept the velvet lined parcel.
"For Soul Mates, it is usually activated with a kiss."
Harry shoots me a look, before resuming his seat and peering into the box in his hands. It looks like a ring box, but there's no jewelry inside.
"For Bond Mates, it is different for each person. Some are born with the Bond strong in place. Others, it takes an act of joining to complete the Binding."
I speak up for the first time, an idea on the tip on my tongue.
"Excuse me, Sir. But as an example, if a Soul Bond existed between two Wizards…would say, the act of becoming Animagi together and maybe plotting a secret invisible map to a magical location activate the bond?"
Sirius gasps from behind me.
"Exactly!" The Goblin agrees.
"Or maybe," Harry says quietly, "saving a little girl from a Troll."
Harry lifts a ball from the velvet box, twisting it around in his fingers, before handing it to me. It's not a ball at all, but a circular carving of wood. Polished to a high shine, our names are engraved upon it, stacked, one on top of the other.
Harry James Potter
Hermione Jean Granger
Bonded-1991
Mated-1995
"There is a room, deep inside the Department of Mysteries, that handles the bindings on Bonds and Mates. When a connection is sealed, a sphere is created from a grain of wood. Each creation is different, as no two pieces of wood are the same. The Soul-Mate connection, when accepted, is an immediate binding. Gringotts is informed, so that accounts and estates can be updated for the change in status that often occurs. The sphere is cut for Bonded as well, though often, no one comes to claim their mark."
Now that the shock has worn off, my mind is running at a thousand miles a minute.
It makes…so much sense. This timeline, and the last.
I could think one thing and Harry would say it out loud. No matter what happened in our lives, we always found our way to each other.
Bond-Mate.
I push my way into the conversation.
"How would one know that they've met their Mate, or their Bonded? We had no idea."
Ragnok gives me a penetrating glance.
"You felt no different, Mrs. Potter-Black? Nothing at all?"
I swallow thickly, and my lack of response is answer enough.
I've felt different since the moment we came back, but I'd been, we'd been attributing it to the return. It never occurred to me that we kissed within moments of our restoration. We assumed it had to do with being shoved through that door, since that was the only change.
But we'd never kissed before either.
Ragnok nods his head knowingly.
"Usually, magic flows during a binding. Muggles think nothing of it. A spark of static. But Wizards can feel the pull. With Bonded-Mates? I imagine the Magic was substantial. Did you not notice the flare of power when the Bond was sealed? It would have been visible to all who witnessed it, I am sure."
"Oh!" Ron yips, a look of dawning comprehension on his face. "That's what that was!"
He's practically vibrating in his seat.
"Yeah," he says looking at Ragnok and gaining enthusiasm for the subject. "We all saw it. There was this huge blast of power, and a burst of bright light. I had to look away. It was like staring into the sun from two feet back. Then it stopped," he says lamely. "But Harry was on his way to the third task, and then fought You Know Who like thirty minutes after that, so I figured it was just accidental magic or something."
"I felt it," Harry says, looking at me fully for the first time since we sat down. "It felt like fire, blazing from my core. I felt invincible. Even with my eyes closed, I saw the light. But we'd just— "
He stopped mid-sentence, eyes quickly jerking to the Goblin and back to mine.
"Remember when we ran into each other in that office?" he says, his voice tight and low.
I nod, my bottom lip between my teeth, suddenly unable to locate my voice.
" He told me then. He told me that some Granger girl was my Soul Mate. Then when I peeked at the folder, I saw it printed there. Your name."
Realization strikes me like lightning.
"You miserable Prat! That's how you knew all those nicknames!"
Harry looks away, shame making his face heat.
"Some bloke who doesn't deserve you," I breathe, repeating back what he'd told me that night. My soul mate was just some bloke who didn't deserve me.
Harry looks at me again.
"I saw nothing about a bond though," he says, almost pleading with me to believe him.
I do, of course. I don't think he could lie to me if he wanted to at this point.
He never could, anyway.
Soul Bound.
Soul Mates.
Bonded in this life, and the next.
Everything makes so much sense.
My hands are trembling, but now it's for another reason.
I don't believe in prophecies even though I've seen the proof with my own eyes. Do I still not believe in fate, when the boy I've loved since I was twelve is announced as my Bonded Soul Mate?
"Where could I find a book on Bonded Mates?" I ask Ragnok, ignoring the surprised laughter that breaks out from all three of my boys.
"It has been so long since there has been a Bonded Mate in the Wizarding World. I will check the Horde's collection. It is not done to give a Wizard one of our books, but in this case, I believe an exception can be made."
Harry gives the Goblin a seated bow of respect.
As my horror ebbed, so did Harry's. He almost feels serene through the—through the Bond between us.
"We thank you for your kindness, Chieftain. I assure you; my wife will return any loaned items in good order."
I jerk at him calling me his wife, panic welling up inside me anew. But it's a whole different kind of panic.
"Not one person had better breathe a word of this to my parents," I demand, and even the Goblin laughs this time.
Ragnok lifts the second box from his desk, handing it again to Harry.
"At one point in time, there were Binding Rings for every Wizarding family in Britain residing inside the walls of this bank. This set belonged to the Potters, since before the Potters were their name. They are yours now, Mr. Potter-Black."
"Harry, please," Harry says, rising and taking the second box from the Goblins' pointy fingers. "I would prefer you address me with my given name, Sir. It sounds like we'll be working closely together for many years to come. I would choose not to stand on formality any more than necessary, if that is alright with you."
The Chieftain nods, giving Harry an appraising look.
"Then I am Ragnok to you." He quiets, then, "You are a very strange Wizard."
We all laugh at that.
"You're not the first to say so," I tell the Goblin Chief.
Harry turns and kneels in front of my chair, placing the box on my lap. His hands are trembling when he flips the lid on the box.
They're a matching set, but as different as night and day.
Equals, but opposites.
Like Bond Mates.
His ring is black as night and wide as the head of a nail. It twists and curves like a tree branch, the engravings seeming to move the longer I stare at it. It almost looks alive. Hammered into the band is a single white stone, brighter than a star and older than a diamond.
It screams power and safety and might.
The female band is as delicate as a flower. In a metal so light it glows, the ring bends and arcs and peaks in the middle, for all the world looking as glorious as the tiara that rests on Princess Diana's head. The stone is a black so dark it seems to suck in the light from the band.
It takes no imagination at all to picture it on the hands of generations of Potter brides.
"Slip the band onto her finger," Ragnok encourages, "and claim your Mate for all the world to envy."
Sheer and blinding terror flares within me, and I gasp in a painful breath before I realize the panic is coming from him.
Now that I know what it is, it's easy to distinguish his feelings from my own.
I'm okay. I try to tell him.
The horror crawling up my belly only eases a little.
He pulls the smaller band from the box and slips it onto my left ring finger.
My breath releases in a hiss as unimaginable power sings through my limbs. Is this what Harry feels like all the time?
Peace settles inside my chest.
Harry brings my fingers to his lips and kisses my hand, before rising and settling back in his chair again.
He leaves the second band in the box, in my lap.
Silence falls in the chamber, as all those gathered collect their scattered thoughts.
Harry, in a way only he can seem to do, has already mastered his end of the Bond. All it took was someone telling him what it was before he figured out how to manipulate it. Because the little bundle in the back of my head that I've come to associate with Harry has fallen silent.
"Congratulations are in order!" Sirius says, rising from his seat. "We'll have to celebrate at another time though. While this has been enlightening, we do have other orders of business to see to this day,"
His own folder filled with papers appears in his hands, and he drops it carelessly onto the Goblins desk.
"Signed and delivered, Sir."
The Goblin pulls the parchment free, flicking over them quickly.
"Everything appears in order, Mr. Black. I do need to hear you speak the words."
Sirius wears an expression I've seen on the Twin's face a time or two. Terror trips along my spine. My stomach drops out from between my knees in anticipation of whatever prank he's about to pull.
"I, Sirius Orion Black the Third, do hereby renounce my right of inheritance and pass my title of head of House Black to my Son by law and magic, Harry James Potter-Black. And his wife, apparently, Lady Hermione Potter-Black. May their union be a joyous one."
I feel Harry's dread seep back into my head.
Ragnok nods, putting his signature to the appropriate places.
Sirius lifts his hand, to stop the complaints already tipped on the edge of Harry's tongue.
"No, Pup. You need all the power and clout you can get to fight the upcoming war. It won't take effect until you are of legal age but being the heir apparent of two Sacred Twenty-Eight houses will be influence enough to throw around for the time being. Even if our blood is no longer pure," he adds in a sneer.
Ragnok lifts his head at that, pushing at the other two boxes remaining on the desk.
I grab them both, while Harry sulks silently in his chair. Either he has no response or isn't willing to fight in front of a stranger.
One box holds the Potter rings, rubies glinting and a lion's head on either side. The other set is the Black crest, emeralds shining as bright as Harry's eyes.
"He is of legal age now, Sir. He is Bonded and Mated, married in the eyes of the law. As of two minutes ago, he is the Head of Houses Potter and Black, and the second richest Wizard in Europe."
This time, the panic is on Sirius' face.
"The trace?" He asks.
"Gone, as of Friday last." Ragnok says.
"Bloody Hell," he swears, leaping from his seat. "You've been in fucking Surrey alone for a week, without the wards."
Recognition bleeds onto all our faces.
"Chieftain, I need a floo. As quickly as possible."
"You may use my personal floo, Mr. Black. It will ensure your privacy. Follow me, if you will."
He rises from his chair, holding a bound booklet in his hand.
"While we are gone, perhaps your Lady Wife would like to do some shopping," he says, dropping the packet at the edge of the desk.
Then they are gone, just like that, the speed of Ragnok's feet at odds with the length of his legs.
Well, that explains all the magic he's been doing. It wasn't because he was doing it wandlessly. It was because he was married.
We are married.
The awkwardness between us is palpable. I can feel Ron's eyes on me, as I reach forward to grab the booklet off the Goblins desk.
Harry shoves from his chair and begins pacing the room.
Ron's sniggers start out small, easy enough to hide. Within moments though, he's laughing full out, tears streaming from his eyes.
"Trust Harry to take a trip to the future, and come home with a wife," he exclaims, slipping down in his chair from the strength of his chuckles. "Only Harry Potter. And he's stuck with you! You already nag him worse than my Mum nags my Dad."
Of all the!
"In the other timeline, you had a crush on me ." I point out, anger making my voice harsh.
That slows his amusement some but doesn't stem the flow of giggles.
"Also," I add with a vindictive smile. "I just want to remind you, Ronald, that we didn't go to the future. We were sent to the past. Because we died. You probably died too! They've had no need to keep you alive without Harry."
The pity party I'm expecting never comes.
"Worth it," he says, still smiling. "You should have seen your faces. Guess you gotta tell Mum she was your girlfriend after all," he jokes, finding himself hilarious.
Technically by then I was already his wife.
"I'm glad you're enjoying this, Ron," Harry hisses, running his hands through his hair.
"Yeah, I am. I know I'm always bitching that Harry gets all the good stuff, but you can have it Mate. Mum is going to have kittens."
"I take it you're not," I turn to Harry, trying not to sound offended. "Relieved, at least a little. I mean…" Of course, he's unhappy about this. It's never been that way between us. They, whoever they are, got it wrong. Horribly, disastrously wrong.
I'm on the verge of tears, and I have no idea how to stop it.
Harry stops his pacing and comes to me, dropping onto his heels at my side.
He cups my cheek in his hand, and I lean into his warmth.
"It's not that. Surely you understand that. It…makes sense, you know? In a deep instinctual way, it makes perfect sense. Like the first time I touched my wand, Mi. Hell, if we'd have just kissed all those years ago, instead of blowing that 'love them like a sibling,' smoke up everybody's ass, this would have already happened. But you must realize that the second I put on that ring, I put a huge target on your back."
Gah!
Married to Harry. It does make perfect sense. Leaves me with about a thousand more questions too.
But if I don't push the issue now, Harry will take off and leave me behind, if only for some backasswards desire to keep me safe.
I pull the other band from the box before snapping the lid shut again.
"What if I don't care about that?" I ask him, trying not to let my voice tremble.
"Love," he says so softly I almost can't hear him. "Your safety is all I care about."
"It's worth it," I say, taking a page out of Ron's book. Without another word, I slide the band onto his finger.
Harry lifts up on his knees, and I tip my head forward, letting him place a kiss on my lips.
It's not the first time he's kissed me. Obviously . It's not even the second. But somehow it feels like the most important.
Ron starts making gagging noises in the background.
"Ugh, Circe. Are you guys this nauseating in the future? 'Cause if so, I'm going to have to find new friends."
Harry huffs a laugh, rising to his feet.
"Explain to me why we said we needed him again?" I ask. "It would have been easier just to cut him off entirely."
"Oi!" Ron yelps in outrage.
"Because without him I spend too much time in the library."
"There is no such thing as too much time in the library," I say primly.
"That's why I need him," Harry says with a smile.