Chapter 14

Hermione

I'm good at compartmentalizing. It's what allows me to prioritize and triage, when what I really want to do is sit and cry and scream. It's what allowed me to live in a tent with two boys I harbored secret and not to secret feelings for and not lose my sanity. It's how I took my parent's memories with the full knowledge that they'd probably never know me as their daughter again in my lifetime.

Which is why when Harry comes marching into the Potter vaults closer to six p.m. than four, I remain sitting on the floor surrounded by three open trunks with non-detectable expansions charms on them rather than running to my supposed husband and pummeling him with my fists.

I glare at him instead, from over a stack of books and underneath my lashes. Ron and Sirius, who long since abandoned me to my compulsions and started a game of chess, watch his coming with wary looks.

He comes within a foot of me then stops, uncertainty bare on his face.

Whatever control he had over the bond has long since disappeared, and I can see his emotions written in the lines of his body.

He's nervous, and tired.

Exhausted, more like. I can feel his weariness on my tongue.

He's suffering an adrenaline crash and it serves him right for storming out of here all brimstone and fire.

But then his guilt hits me on a primal level, and damn him, I can't even be angry.

And I was ready to be furious.

Like, attack him with the birds and shrink his balls to raisins angry. But he looks like someone just kicked his puppy, and all I want to do is hug him.

Compartmentalize, Hermione.

Business first, hand holding later

"Finish your task, then?" I ask, attempting to sound like I don't care either way.

Harry smiles at me, and despite how heavily his shoulders droop, his smile is so true, and real, and ugh. Just so Harry.

"Yeah. Got our apparition license. Don't ask how." I laugh at that. "I destroyed the prophecy, and the Bonding Department is ran by Unspeakables, so they couldn't say anything even if they wanted to. If they break their vow, they go insane. Remember last time when Riddle tried to use one to grab the prophecy? They actually offered to let me Obliviate them, but—" he shrugs. "I didn't want to risk messing it up."

"You'd have done fine, I'm sure."

His little smile is everything.

"I learned from the best."

Despite the sheer size of these vaults, (I'm convinced Gringotts takes up half of underground London,) it feels like it's just the two of us, in a space too tight to breathe easy.

This day has been…a lot.

You, okay?

Bond or no bond, I'll never understand how he does that. He always seems to know exactly what I need to hear.

Yeah. Tired. Long day.

When he smiles at me it's everything.

We should talk, he says.

I agree. This has been a lot to process with not a lot of time. But I don't want an audience for whatever needs to happen.

Tonight.

Because there is no way I'm going back to my parent's house tonight. We already popped out of Diagon Alley to call them and ask if I could spend the night with Ginny. Ginny is at Grimmauld Place, so I didn't even have to lie.

My mom still sounded suspicious though.

Not that I can blame her.

We're married!

His eyes are alight with laughter as he bites his bottom lip.

That okay with you? I ask, really kinda liking this bond thing now that I know what it is.

Yeah, he breathes with a soft smile. I really think it is.

It does something to me, to see his face light up like that. I hope he can't feel the butterflies in my stomach, or the way my heart is thumping out of my chest.

"This place looks different," Harry says, turning in a circle with his hands shoved into his pockets.

"Hermione insisted that we organize it," Ron says with an annoyed huff

"Your wife is a bit of a control freak, Pup," Sirius chimes in with a mischievous smile on his face.

"Tell me something I don't know," Harry replies, grinning ear to ear.

I reach into the closest trunk.

"Speaking of which, this is for you."

I hand him the leather bag I found mixed in with some of his parents belongings.

"What is it?" he says, pulling on the belt that loops around his hips.

"A purse," Ron replies with a chuckle.

"No, it's not!" I insist, having already had this argument. "It's a pouch, like the one you got from Hagrid. Only this one is bigger, and you wear it differently. The large band goes around your waist, and the pouch sits on your hip and thigh, the bottom chain holding it to your body."

"Or," Sirius speaks up, "There's an additional strap so you can wear it over your shoulders like a scabbard. The bag then straps to your side. There are dual wand holders on the shoulder straps. It's how your dad wore it. But if you're determined to keep that sword," he is, "then I suggest you strap it to your thigh."

"It was my dads?" he asks Sirius, longing filling his face.

"Yeah, Pup. Your mom gave it to him. She thought it made him look dashing or something."

Ron sniggers again. Without another word, Harry loosens the buckles and begins strapping the black leather to his thigh and hip.

All he needs is a gun and he'll look like Indiana Jones.

Actually, has anyone ever tried to shoot Voldemort?

"Your family was kinda lame," Ron says, missing the way Harry's face falls. "This vault is all gold and family heirlooms. The Black vault had shit that would curse your bollocks off if you sat on it."

Harry huffs in amusement at that.

"And you found that preferable over jewels?" he asks disbelievingly.

Ron shrugs, a flush pinking his cheeks. "Well, the jewels are nice and all. But I had more fun going through the other stuff is all I'm saying. Hermione did too," he adds, throwing me under the bus.

I clear my throat and avoid meeting Harry's eye.

"That's not the way it was at all. The Potter's have an amazing history. And the library, Harry! I can't wait until I can set it up. But the Black's apparently had several books in specialized subjects that they kept in their vaults. Family secrets and the likes. I never saw them last time. I think they'll be beneficial."

Sirius scoffs so hard he barks.

"What she means to say is, the Black vault is filled with spells so evil your skin will peel off. Literally. Your lady wife is of the mind, and rightfully so," he gives Ron a sideways glance, "that the best way to fight the dark is to understand the dark."

Ron twists up his face, not liking the argument we had in the other vault.

"I'm tired of getting hit with unknown spells! I'm not going to learn how to cast them, just the counter curses or antidotes. But if we're going to protect ourselves, then we need to know what we're fighting."

Sadness flickers from Harry, and I know he's thinking about the same thing I am. When Dolohov hit me with that spell in the Department of Mysteries.

Harry averts his eyes, before releasing a pent-up breath.

"I ran into Umbridge."

Ahhh. So that's what that was.

"Who?" Ron says.

"Delores Umbridge?" Sirius asks, snapping to attention.

I ask the more relevant question.

"Is she still alive?"

Harry flushes horribly, and my stomach sinks at the thought that he actually killed the hag.

"Yes," he answers with a huff, pulling at the back of his neck. "It was a close call though," he admits.

I bet it was.

"You can't keep going off half-cocked every time someone makes you angry, Harry." I slam the last trunk closed and shrink it down.

"I know that Hermione! I'm not going off half-cocked. If I were, you'd be the first to know. Because I'm always fucking angry!"

I do know that. He even dreams about killing Bellatrix. What to do about it is a whole other topic.

I levitate a pile of books into the first trunk and feel his frustration lick up my spine. We need to finish up here and get back to Grimmauld for the meeting.

"I thank you for your temperance," I say primly. "But my point still stands. Your list of people to kill is starting to rival Voldemort's."

Harry runs his hands roughly through his hair, then settles his glasses and pulls back his shoulders.

"I don't see what's wrong with that."

I whip to face him, climbing to my feet.

I eat the distance between us and get into his personal space. My blood is pulsing in my veins, heat flooding onto my face.

"Since when did you become a murderer, Harry? Because the man I love isn't a killer!"

Harry snaps.

"Since THEY MURDERED YOU!" he screams, his chest heaving and his eyes sparkling like emeralds. Trinkets scattered about the cave float lightly in the air. "I became willing to kill the minute they killed you in front of me. I wanted to slit her throat and leave a note on her forehead with a permanent sticking charm." He throws his arms above his head. "This is what happens when you fuck with Hermione Granger!"

I don't even know what to say to that.

He means it. With every fiber of his being. He means it to the bottom of his soul.

But he can't let what happened to us dictate him like this. Already it's eating him alive.

"Well, you're going to have to disabuse yourself of that notion pretty damn quick, Harry! You can't just kill anyone who's ever wronged me!"

"And why the hell not?" he demands hotly.

"Because there'd be very few people left!" I snap. "You and Ronald included! So, unless the next time you die, you'd like it to be from a self-inflicted sword wound, I suggest you get over it. Swiftly! And stop snapping at me! I know you're angry, but it isn't my fault!"

Harry seems to double in size, and then just like that, he…crumbles. There's no other way to describe it.

Harry collapses in on himself, pulling at his hair. Everything that was in the air clatters haphazardly to the ground.

The lightning quick switch of his emotions gives me whiplash. It makes me want to be sick. One moment he's bursting with intensity, the next he looks like someone pulled the plug out of his back.

You can literally see it all drain from him, like water down a sinkhole.

"I'm sorry," he breathes, and I taste it on my tongue more than I hear it with my ears. "I—"

With a stretch of his arm his hand is around me, and I stumble into his chest. His grip on me is almost painful. His fingers dig into my shoulders and neck. I can feel his chest tremble when he gasps for air.

What sort of magic flooded through him, the most powerful Wizard alive, when he brought his lips to mine? What sort of influence does a Soul Mate Bond cause, when you're already sharing a soul?

I thought, with the knowledge of what happened between us, he'd finally start to get better.

Instead, it's just made it worse.

"I don't understand." I really, really don't. "I don't want to kick you when you're down, but all of Britain knows I'm your best friend. All of Europe thanks to Rita Skeeter and that tournament. Why is it so different with me as your wife?"

"You don't get it," he growls, his hands tightening his hold. "It's going to be so much worse now."

I don't get it. But maybe I don't have to. Because it's terrorizing Harry enough for the both of us.

"Harry," I sigh, and wrap my arms around his back. "What is it going to take to convince you that I'm going to be okay?"

Ron and Sirius are still here somewhere, but when I open my eyes they're nowhere to be found. Thank goodness for vaults with multiple rooms.

"The Fidelius charm," Harry whispers, and I jerk in his arms with surprise.

"What?"

Harry cups my cheek, moving my hair out of my face.

"I want to put a Fidelius charm on you. On our binding. We can tell the Order, and your parents, but no one else."

That's…

"Can that even be done?"

Harry nods his head, tight little jerks that show the tension singing through his body.

"The Unspeakable's seem to think so. It was their idea. I—" He hesitates for a moment, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. "The bondees don't know, until a bond is sealed, but the Hall of Bindings have a record of it for always. They told me when a person is born, when their soul is formed, if they share a bond, the names are engraved on the wood.

"The dates don't appear until the binding is complete, but the Hall of Bindings have known that we'd be Bonded Mates for as long as we've been alive. Only our sphere is that golden color. The first set of Bonded Mates in centuries and they kept it to themselves. Not even that, Mi. The most famous wizard alive has a Bonded Mate, and they swore to take that knowledge to their graves. I don't trust much these days, but I trust them when they say this is the best way to protect you."

"But—"

I don't want to hide it. I want to sing it from the rooftops.

He lowers his forehead to rest against mine, his breathing coming in tight little gasps.

"I can't breathe, Mi. Every time I close my eyes, I picture it. The thought of anyone hurting you…it's like ripping out my own soul."

There it is, isn't it.

He's always been over-protective. I didn't tell him about boys in the last timeline, because I was afraid of what he'd do to them. Then I did, and he almost killed McLaggen.

Why didn't I see it before?

The trauma he suffered, combined with the bond...

We were Soul Bonded, even then. Did he watch me die? Or did he feel it? Was our joined soul ripped in two when Bellatrix took my life?

"Okay, Harry," I say, and I bring my hands to his face. "We can do the spell. But I need to be a secret keeper too.

He seems to just…collapse. His whole body goes limp, and he sags into my arms.

"Thank you," he whispers as he hides his face in my hair.

"You have to get over this," I tell him, my voice as soft as satin.

"When she's dead," he says, and I already know, it's going to take a lot more than that.

At Harry's instance, despite the fact that I could have easily just disillusioned them, I removed all three rings this time. They joined his in the boxes, where he put them in his pouch.

"They next time I put those on, Harry James Potter-Black, I'm not taking them off again."

Ignoring the sniggering from our best friend, Harry pulls me in and places a kiss on my forehead. His smile is, gods, lighter than I've seen in years. It's like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. With the flick of a wand and a muttered incantation, a strange sort of peace seemed to fall over Harry.

I don't understand it at all.

I'm already dreading the day it's over.

But the happiness he feels? Right now? It's intoxicating.

"I promise," he mumbles against my skin.

I'm going to hold him to that.

If nothing else, today has been a day for learning.

I never knew you could send letters via floo.

We made the decision to hide the bindings but leave the marriage intact. After all, no amount of magic can change my last name. It is what it is at this point. With Harry purging it all at the Ministry, though, there's not a document currently in existence that has my name on it.

I didn't agree to this stupid spell because I honestly thought it would make a lick of difference. I agreed to the spell because Harry is obviously struggling, and if this will make him feel better, then it's the least that I can do. Since the day he saved my life, I've always put him first. I don't see that changing any time soon.

As soon as Sirius cast the spell for us, it was obvious that he and Ron forgot. Telling them we were Mated and Bonded was fun. They thought it was just as funny the second time they found out as they did the first.

Which is good, I suppose, as it eased Harry's mind immensely. That means what few people at the ministry that had found out about it, either from Harry's undertaking today or in the last two weeks, would have forgotten too.

It also meant that Ragnok had forgotten as well. Which was unfortunate. Once that bit of business was over with, and Ragnok could confirm we weren't full of shit from the previous paperwork he'd already filed, we had to let Dumbledore know again.

The only reason the order was meeting tonight was to handle the complications that arose from Harry suddenly being without his mother's protections. We can't explain that, without explaining the rest.

Which is how I learned with the right spell and a push of power; you can send letters via floo powder.

It's not often used, because there's no guarantee of delivery. Luckily for us, Dumbledore was in his office.

It took only a few moments to get a response.

Fidelius! Excellent idea. I'll be with you shortly.

There are already several people waiting for us by the time we make it back to Grimmauld. The results of Molly's influence and Kreature's improved attitude are already evident. The house looks more like the last time I saw it, rather than what it looked like when the Order used it for headquarters in the previous timeline.

The floors in the kitchen sparkle, the flames of the fire roaring merrily in the hearth. The smells of food waft out from various pots and pans in and around the oven, while Kreature, a shiny white tea-towel wrapped around his waist, hops to and fro filling mugs with ale and tea alike.

The twins are in a corner with their heads together, up to no good, I'm sure. Ginny lifts her eyes from the magazine in her hands, gaze narrowing on mine and Harry's linked fingers before turning her attention back to her reading.

Shacklebolt is at the table, deep in conversation with Arthur. Remus and Tonks are at the other end, and her eyes are alight as she listens to Remus talk with rapt attention. Moody isn't here yet, but I know whatever is planned for tonight will surely involve him.

Hestia Jones and Emmaline Vance both are at the counter with Molly, and I catch a snippet about meat pies over the general hum of the kitchen.

It's so bizarre to me that I know every person in this room. Some of them intimately, and yet for them, this'll be the first time we meet. One day soon, hopefully, Tonks will have Remus' baby. But how long have they known each other today?

A week? A month?

Or had it already begun before the Order was re-established? She is an Auror after all, and he was one, once upon a time. Perhaps they were already friends before Voldemort's return forced them into such close confines.

Sirius makes a beeline for his best friend, throwing his head back in mirth at something Remus says while Tonk's eyes scan the trim form of her second or third cousin. She offers him her mug, and he takes it with a smile, downing the remaining liquid in one gulp.

Ron moves from behind where I've pulled Harry to a stop and heads deeper into the kitchen. Called, I'm sure, by the smell of food.

"Wotcher, Harry," Tonk's says, winking in his direction.

"Backatcha, cuz," he replies with a smirk on his face.

I jerk in surprise at Harry's side.

Have they met already?

I'll tell you later comes drifting through my head.

I gotta admit, I'm rather relieved that my hearing Harry's thoughts is as simple as a bond, and not that we were going crazy. Cause it was starting to feel like we were.

Our ignorance to the situation is just another example of how ill-prepared Muggle-borns are for the Wizarding World. Ron and Sirius knew exactly what happened between Harry and I the second Ragnok said the words. It's no wonder I'm looked down on as lesser to pure bloods. Their education starts at birth. Mine has been bare bones at best, despite all my reading.

Harry was right. I'm no longer surprised he died so often. They totally and completely screwed him.

"Harry, dear," Mrs. Weasley calls to him, bustling out from around the counters. Conversation immediately dies out as all eyes turn to Harry. His discomfort is palpable on my tongue, but he holds up well to the outside scrutiny. He smiles at Mrs. Weasley, giving the goggling bystanders a polite nod.

She holds her arms out towards Harry, who releases my hand and steps into her embrace willingly. I know it's hard for him. She's the only mother he's ever had, but at the same time, it only makes him miss his own that much more. Even before the bond, I knew he used to compare Mrs. Weasley to the mother he never knew. Wondered what would be different, and what universal truths are the same to mothers the world over.

He tries to pull away, but she cups his face in her hands, keeping him from a clean escape. Her fingers move his fringe from his eyes.

"You need a haircut, dear," she instructs him, and I swear I hear Harry's snort of amusement in the back of my head.

"I like it like this," I accidentally admit out loud, then immediately turn my face away to hide my blush. Harry's delight in my head only grows. I clear my throat, then try to power on. "I mean, it suits him, don't you think?"

Mrs. Weasley scrunches up her nose in distaste.

"Hmmm," she hums, but keeps the rest of her opinions to herself when Harry extracts himself from her clutches.

"Does anybody know what's going on?" Tonks asks, looking around the room expectantly.

Ron bursts out a short laugh, before quickly smothering it at the withering glare his best friend gives him.

"Best wait for the others," Sirius says, flicking the buttons on his waist coat and letting the garment slip from his shoulders. Kreature divests him of the trappings of his wealth and status until all that remains of Sirius' pure blood getup are the pinstripe pants and the black bespoke shirt, partially unbuttoned and untucked from his pants.

"In the meantime," Remus says, standing up from his chair. As soon as Remus's attention is elsewhere, Sirius steals his mug and begins to drain it's contents as well. "Introductions are in order, I believe."

He starts with Tonks' smiling up at him, and he gives her a soft smile in return.

"We have Nymphadora Tonks," she squints her eyes at him in warning, and he hastens to repair his mistake. "Who prefers to be known by her surname only."

The red bleeding into the roots of her hair from her budding anger vanishes in a swish of pink.

Remus turns his attention to the rest of our party.

"Kingsley Shacklebolt."

Kingsley rises from his chair, offering his hand to Harry.

"We've met, in a way. I was one of the Aurors sent to Hogwarts to hear the testimony of Crouch Jr. and Pettigrew."

His voice, dark and gravely, rushes over my senses. It always gave me a sense of security, like a warm blanket on a cold night. Kingsley was my friend, of a sort, for a while at least. I love Harry and Ron, and Ginny was the closest thing I had to a true female companion. But I spent several nights sitting in front of a fire with Remus and Kingsley, talking about magical theory and a hundred other things that none of my peers had any interest or desire to learn about.

I hope I can get that sort of companionship again.

Kingsley gives Harry a firm shake, not attempting to hide his obvious up close examination of The Boy Who Lived. Harry, for his part, seems to take it in stride.

"I remember, yes," he says, before pulling his hand away. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Shacklebolt."

"Kingsley is fine," he assures Harry, before resuming his seat. He eyes the hilt of the Sword of Gryffindor peeking out from over Harry's shoulder, but doesn't comment on it, for which I'm grateful. I've had enough displays with that damn sword for today.

It's not over yet either. That damn locket is somewhere in this house.

"You wrapped that whole situation up nicely," Shacklebolt says. It's not a compliment. More like a prod for more information. Harry lifts a shoulder in a self-depreciating way, using the tip of his finger to push his glasses further up his nose.

"I do what I can," he says.

It's obvious, at least to me, that he's trying to toe the line between not flexing his metaphysical muscles but not allowing them to think it was a fluke and he's just a child to be protected.

Harry pivots at Remus's voice, making the rounds of handshakes and smiles for the new, not really new, acquaintances in the room.

I'm trying hard not to feel put out that I'm not included in the introductions, but I know that this is about Harry. All of this, everyone in this room, is here because of Harry, whether they realize it yet or not.

The floo sounds from the other room, and the thud of Moody's stump proceeds him into the kitchen.

"Ahh, and this is Mad Eye Moody," Remus says, gesturing to the grizzled old Wizard. He looks a right sight better than the last time we saw him, but still a little wiggly around the edges. I suppose being kept prisoner in your own trunk for the better part of a year will do that to a person. After all, it's only been two weeks tomorrow.

"Professor," Harry says respectfully, and Mad Eye scoffs in his direction. He grabs the flask from his hip and tips a splash of its contents on the floor before bringing it to his lips and taking a hard pull.

Checking its contents.

Before, he only trusted himself. Now he can't even do that.

"I don't know about Professor," he growls in Harry's direction. "Never got around to much teaching, did I?" Harry starts at the comment, and a feeling of deja vu that I've never experienced makes me sway on my feet.

"Someone get me a glass of water, would ya." Harry turns his head away a moment before Mad Eye pulls his magical eye from the socket. A gagging noise sounds from somewhere in the room. "Keeps sticking since that scum wore it."

"Mad Eye, you do know that's disgusting, don't you?" asks Tonks conversationally.

Harry abandons his post in the middle of the kitchen, almost rushing to where I'm still standing just inside the entryway. He keeps his back to the room, dipping his head to speak to me.

I tune out the rest of their chattering.

"It's utterly bizarre," he whispers in my ear, one of his hands on my hips to hold me to him. All of the blood rushes from my head, and I sway on my feet again, but this time for an altogether different reason. "Word for word, it's the exact same thing he said to me the first time I saw him when they came to take me from the Dursleys after the Dementors."

It takes several long blinks for me to understand what he's saying. All I can seem to concentrate on is the feel of his fingers spread over my hip. His palm is warm, and his fingertips are digging into the meat slightly, as if he's gripping me for support.

Married married married married married chants incessantly in ribbons through my mind.

"Are you okay?" I finally manage to squeeze out, thankful you can't hear the tremble through my whisper.

"It's disconcerting," he admits, and when I move my head to look at him, his eyes catch with mine.

They're so unbelievably green. I know he thinks if he were to become an Animagus that he'd be a stag like his dad, but I disagree. Harry would be a panther. He's all lithe muscles and contained speed, his black hair as sleek and thick as fur. Those startlingly beautiful eyes would look just as natural surrounded by a panther's grace hunting in a forest as they do staring back at me from Harry's startled expression.

"Yeah," I breathe. "It is."

Disconcerting is an excellent adjective.

I can hear my heartbeat in my ears, and an echo-a double, thunders along right beside it. Fear roils in my stomach, butterflies making me sick. But there's also excitement, and anticipation that has a distinctly masculine flavor.

I think I forget how to breathe, but maybe Harry is breathing for us both, because instead of collapsing from lack of oxygen, I lift up on my toes as Harry takes the smallest step closer.

Oh.

This is…

I've slept in his arms almost every night since we came back. But have we ever been this close before?

Married whispers on a breeze.

Someone clears their throat, and I startle in Harry's embrace, blood rushing to my face in embarrassed horror. The sounds of the kitchen rush back into my ears almost like an avalanche, and it isn't until that very moment that I realize I'd completely forgotten about the room around us. There's a dozen people in the kitchen, but all I saw, heard, or felt was Harry.

Harry bites his bottom lip, his chest jostling in silent laughter despite the blush coloring his own cheeks.

An almost silent groan slips from between my lips, and Harry cups the back of my head, pulling my face down to hide against his chest. Despite the fact that I'm sure every eye in the room is on us, I link my arms around his back, letting them rest under the scabbard.

"We'll talk later," he whispers against my hair, and I nod as well as I can with my head tucked under his chin.

This is so…Ron is never going to let us live this down.

The whoosh of the floo bursting to life finally pulls me from Harry's embrace.

My eyes widen in surprise when Professor McGonagall proceeds the Headmaster into the kitchen. McGonagall rushes to us, and with a swift rub of her palm against Harry's startled cheek, pulls me into a hug.

"Words cannot express my feelings, Mrs. Potter-Black," she whispers into my ear, low enough that only Harry could hear her. "I am at your disposal during this, I'm sure, confusing time. Anything you need, dearest, please don't hesitate to reach out to me."

I link my arms around her back, and inhale her familiar scent. Books and inks and the tinkling of feline.

"Thank you," I mumble harshly, suddenly near tears.

She wipes a tear from her own face when we separate.

"I'm so proud of you," she says with a smile, and with one last cup of Harry's cheek, steps away to make room for the headmaster.

"Harry, my boy!" he exclaims, his arms wide and his smile shining. "You wonderful, wonderful man. It appears you've had quite the busy day! Augusta couldn't decide whether to rail at your impertinence or crow with pride at your cheek."

Harry stutters to respond, and my eyes flick to him, suddenly desperate to know what he did to poor Mrs. Longbottom.

"It had been a long morning," Harry replies, his voice laced with worry. "I didn't mean to lose my temper."

Dumbledore is almost dancing on his feet in happiness.

"Don't worry, my boy. Don't worry at all. A little rebellion will do her good. The power's already gone to her head, I assure you. I do not doubt that Mr. Longbottom will be neigh on desperate for September first before the summer is out."

The others are following the conversation with rapt attention, confusion clouding their faces.

"Hermione," Dumbledore sighs with pleasure, turning to me. "My dear."

I can count the number of times the Headmaster has addressed me directly on one hand, and certainly never by my first name.

He spreads his hands open and wide beside my face, and I can't help but smile at his obvious jubilance.

"I can not tell you how pleased I was when I heard the news. I've known of the bond since the beginning, of course. But the other?" His voice hitches and he seems to catch himself, before smiling again. "I'm so very happy for you both. Adjustments will have to be made, but what is a little inconvenience, compared to such happy news as this."

Dumbledore smiles even wider before taking a seat at the table and crossing one knee over another. With the flick of his wand, a bottle of Firewhiskey appears along with a silver tea set.

"We're missing something," Remus says, and Sirius barks in his amusement, eyes flicking between us and him. Even Ron is snickering under his breath, his hand covering his mouth in an attempt to keep it contained.

The tea pours itself into the tiny goblets, the Firewhiskey taking the place of the milk.

Dumbledore lifts one to his lips, nodding in Harry's direction.

The floor is yours, he seems to say.

Married married married married married

"First, we need every person in this room to agree to a Fidelius charm. What we are about to tell you, cannot leave this house."

Agreements break out amongst those gathered, excitement for the impending announcement filling the kitchen.

Without a word, Harry reaches into the pouch on his hip, and pulls all four boxes from its depths.

The tension in the room is so high you can see it in the air. Feel it as it rubs against our skin. It's almost prickly in texture, and my lungs contrast in painful pants.

Harry lines them up on the edge of the kitchen table.

He opens the first box and slips the male Potter ring onto his own finger, before sliding the female onto mine. He places it on my left hand, next to where our wedding bands would be, if this were that type of union.

The click of the lid snapping shut seems to echo, the snap of it sharp enough to make me flinch. The Black ring is next, and he slides it onto my right hand, the ring snug against my skin.

Murmurs begin when an inkling of an idea forms amongst our once and future family.

When the Mate rings appear, there's a collective gasp from the closest onlookers. It makes the air thinner somehow. Even though I wore the ring for only a few hours, my hand felt bare without the metal encasing my skin, and I sigh in relief as Harry pushes it past my knuckle to rest lovingly on my left ring finger.

Finally, he pulls the smallest box from his hip, and tipping open the lid, pulls the orb from the velvet and rolls it gently across the hardwood of the table.

Just like that, the Fidelius charm activates.

Shacklebolt lifts it from the table, rotating it in his grip to read the engraved marks.

His eyes go wide in shock, staring at us with open amazement.

Dumbledore looks ready to bust.

"Bonded Mates," Shacklebolt breathes in that calm soothing voice of his.

Harry takes my hand in his, and with a tiny tug, walks several feet into the middle of the kitchen.

The nerves I'm expecting from Harry never appear. Instead, he's almost serene as he looks into my eyes, before facing the rest of the room.

"May I introduce you to my wife. Hermione Jean Granger Potter-Black."

Mrs. Weasley, with a sharp intake of air and her hands to her chest, drops into a dead faint.

The entire room explodes into noise.