Chapter 15
Harry
The cacophony of sound that explodes when I make my announcement is an assault on our senses. Hermione's shoulders lift in shock and her hands rise in an effort to protect her ears. Her eyes are alight in laughter, the sound of it tinkling like glass.
I close what little distance there was between us and hold her to my body, unable to contain my own laughter inside. When I wrap my arms around her, everything just makes so much sense. Happiness I didn't know I could experience buoys around in my chest as Hermione tries to hide her face from the onslaught.
Questions and exclamations are bandied about from so many directions I can't tell one from the other anymore.
Arthur jumps from his chair, immediately falling to his knees by his prone wife, but Molly is already coming around. He helps her into his vacated seat and joins as she tries to fan herself. Never have I seen an example of horrified excitement so clear as I see it on Molly Weasley's face. She looks like she can't decide whether to scream or cry, and it makes her look like a fish, her mouth opening and shutting again at random intervals.
I meet Ron's eyes over their shoulders.
He's mid chew, a cake of some sort in his hand, and he kind of shrugs and half nods, before grinning and shoving another bite into his mouth.
A chuckle escapes under my breath. I suppose that's a nod of support. Or a sign that the continued ruckus is as good a result as I could have expected when dropping this sort of news.
If it was a surprise to me and Hermione, I can only imagine what it's done to all the purebloods in the room. They grew up on stories of Bonded Mates living, as Ragnok said, happily ever after. We're in the second phase of a war that's lasted two decades. Happily, ever after feels a long way off right now.
Ginny storms out of the room, and I spare half a second to feel guilty about her, but then decide that it isn't even worth that long. Instead, I kiss the top of the head covered in curls laughing against my chest and remind myself that according to that file, the woman in my arms was literally made for me.
Sirius and Remus are cheek to cheek, talking in hushed tones. Remus' eyes are on us, and as Sirius talks, a smile breaks out on his face. At something Sirius says, Remus laughs outright, and it completely changes his expression. He looks decades younger, and the transformation is startling.
Hermione squeezes my side, and I drag my attention back to my wife.
My wife, that half the order now knows about.
Terror eats at my insides as Hermione tries to get my attention.
Probably reading the panic on my face, Dumbledore gives me a swift nod of assurances.
Despite the fact that he seems to be thoroughly enjoying the commotion around him, he rises to his feet, gesturing for the others to simmer down.
It was unnecessary. As soon as he stood, silence began to fall.
He bows to me, his blue eyes twinkling and jumping in amusement. I return the courtly gesture as much as I'm able with Hermione in my arms.
He faces the firing squad again.
"I know there are questions to be asked and a celebration to be had. However, there are other matters we need to attend to first. As all of you know, Harry has spent most of his life living with his Muggle relatives under protections laid down as his mother died."
Hermione grips my hand, and I link our fingers and suck in her strength.
"While the Soul Bond has been in place for some time now, the Mating Bond is a recent event. So recent, in fact, that we were unaware of its existence, until Harry and Hermione made a trip to the bank this morning and were informed of its presence."
Emmaline Vance interrupts.
"How can that be possible, Albus? Surely they'd have felt the bindings?"
Hermione answers before Dumbledore can.
"Harry and I were both raised by Muggles, Ma'am. We've—" she looks at me, and I swear I hear her thoughts, sense her deliberating about how much to say.
I cut in.
"We've been able to read each other's thoughts for years. Almost from the moment we met. We can feel when the other is around." It's not even all that big of a secret. More like a running joke between our friends. "But since we were raised by Muggles and had no knowledge of Soul Bonds or Soul Mates, we just sort of shrugged it off. When the Mate Bond—" I feel her eyes on me, and turn to watch Hermione watching me.
Bonded Mate.
Dumbledore clears his throat.
"Take it from someone who has known them for some years now. While it may have taken them by surprise, it makes perfect sense to the rest of us. But the protections that have kept Harry safe for the last fourteen years are now null and void.
"That is what we will do tonight. We go to collect Harry's belongings from his Muggle residence and lay down what protections we can for them. I hope we can encourage them to leave the home entirely. Britain is no longer safe. But if not, we will do what is in our power to ensure their continued security."
Dumbledore lowers his voice, as chatter picks up among the other Order Members. McGonagall makes her way over to us.
"Hermione, my dear. Your safety needs to be considered as well. It would please me to go with you to explain the situation to your parents."
Panic flares behind Hermione's eyes, and she tugs at a strand of her hair.
"If it's all the same to you, Professor, I don't want to tell my parents anything. I was of the mind that," she stops and closes her eyes, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "I was planning on spelling them into joining Doctors Without Borders," she admits, "and dealing with them at Christmas." Her voice drops even lower. "Or maybe after I turn eighteen."
McGonagall's face scrunches in displeasure, her nose downturned and a lecture priming on her tongue. Dumbledore, however, chuckles under his breath.
"Quite understandable, Mrs. Potter-Black. Very sensible, as always. Your parent's safety is certainly at risk, both as the parents of a well-known Muggle-born, but now also as the parents to the wife of Harry Potter."
The blood leeches from Hermione's face. I pull her into my side.
"It'll be okay," I promise, meaning it from the bottom of my heart. "If I have to camp in your folks' front yard, I promise I won't let anything happen to them."
Dumbledore laughs again.
"I don't think we'll have to go to such extremes. No, Mrs. Potter-Black has the right idea, I think. I have a hard time picturing, say, Lucius Malfoy, traipsing through a third world country ravished by poverty and war looking for a pair of Muggles he's never met before. With the right push, and an obliviation here or there, we can get your parents safely out of the way until this whole messy situation is resolved."
One way or another.
Harry Potter's wife.
Speaking of which.
I raise my hand in the air, and the room quiets as if I've cast a silencing charm.
"Already," I say loud and clear, "I'm fighting the need to have Hermione obliviate each and every one of you."
Dumbledore laughs again, as do one or two others. The ones that know me best. I'm glad they think it's funny because I'm completely serious. Maybe they don't think that she could do it, but I know she can.
She's done more than most of them could ever dream of.
"Word of this bond is not to leave this house. I know the knowledge is under the Fidelius, but somehow that doesn't feel enough to ensure Hermione's safety. I can't force you all into the unbreakable vow," I say, despite how much I wish I could. "But Voldemort wants to kill me for a reason, and it isn't because I'm prettier than him. I've survived the killing curse once. I'll do more than that to keep her safe!"
Shacklebolt rises from his seat.
"I will take the vow, if that is what you require."
I can feel Hermione's shock at that.
I stand up to my full height, wishing for the thousandth time in the last two weeks that I was taller.
"Your word of honor will be enough, Kingsley," I assure him.
He takes my hand in his, giving it a firm shake.
"You have it," he declares.
The others quickly follow after him.
Dumbledore pulls his pocket watch free, and I still don't understand all the different ticks and dials.
"Night has fallen," he informs the gathered masses. "It is time we go."
People break off into twos and threes, preparing for the task ahead. There's a line of friends and family jostling for my attention, but I call for Dumbledore instead, ignoring the anxious looks from the Weasleys and the amused expressions from Padfoot and Moony.
"Sir, why are we even bothering?" I ask, and he lifts his eyebrow at the question. "I was just planning on bringing Dobby, grabbing my trunk, and never thinking about them again. I don't understand why this is necessary."
Dumbledore smiles, but the expression is rather empty.
"I understand you don't have the best relationship with your family, Harry. But do you honestly want to leave them to the mercy of Voldemort's restraint?"
I open my mouth to say I don't give a shit, but Mi answers before me.
"No," she says, shooting me a dirty look. "He doesn't."
"I—" I try to say anyway, and Hermione hits me with the back of her hand in the middle of my stomach. "Hey!" I make a strangled noise at the impact and jerk to protect my gut, my lip turned up in disgruntlement. For such a small person, she sure does hit hard.
"Merlin," Remus breathes, his eyes wide and his face shining.
"I know," Sirius agrees. "It's like watching James get lectured by Lilly all over again."
"How didn't we see it before?" Remus counters.
Sirius shakes his head slowly, grinning ear to ear.
"I have no idea."
"I'm glad this is entertaining to you," Hermione pouts with her nose up in the air. It's adorable.
"You have no idea," Sirius replies again. "It's like the best prank ever."
Hermione huffs and crosses her arms over her chest in irritation. I can't help but smile at her petulance.
"Kreacher," Sirius calls. "Could you come here a moment please?"
Kreacher starts twisting in and out from between people's knees, making his way over to his master.
"Yes, Master Sirius? How can Kreacher be of service?"
Sirius smiles at the elder elf, and their interactions are such a stark difference from what they had before that it makes me double check. Mi too, seems to recoil in shock.
"Harry accepted the oaths of Head of House this morning."
"Oh, is that what I did? I was under the impression they were unceremoniously dropped onto my head, but let's not banter about semantics now I suppose."
Sirius ignores me and continues to talk to Kreacher. Mrs. Weasley looks on the verge of fainting again.
"Please ensure that the Master Suite is ready for Harry by the time we get back."
"Wait," I almost yell, in my effort to slow Kreacher down. He was already bowing and turning by the time Sirius finished. "I don't need the Master bedroom. You should have that."
Kreacher freezes in his tracts.
"Can't," Sirius says, shrugging with a small smile. "Master bedroom is warded to the Head of House. Besides, you couldn't pay me enough money to sleep in that room." He laughs when I frown, remembering the room was his parent's space. "Don't worry Pup. This was always the plan. That room was the first to be cleaned out. Got a new mattress and everything. Never been slept on. Remus and I have the Jack and Jill rooms upstairs."
Well, that's going to change soon. I try not to smirk at the knowledge that Remus and Tonks get married in a few years.
"Jack and Jill?" I ask, unsure of the term. Remus's lips turn up in a small smile. "More like Jack and Jack," he says. "The two bedrooms on the top floor. There's a secret passageway between them. The muggles call that configuration Jack and Jill. Usually there's a loo separating the rooms that connect with doors on either side."
What? I slept in that room for months.
"How did I never know that?"
Remus gives me a bemused look.
"How would you know that, Harry?" he asks, and I have to swallow back my tongue.
"Sorry," I reply, shaking my head and running my fingers over my forehead. "It's been a long day."
Remus smiles for real this time, and I swear he looks like a different person.
"I can only imagine."
"May Kreacher go now, Master Harry?" the elf asks, looking towards me, and I start at being addressed so.
Oh yeah.
"Actually Kreacher, before you do that, Hermione and I have been friends with a set of elves for a while now, and a few weeks ago we bonded with them. I had no idea at the time that I would be Head of House for two families before the month was out." I shoot Sirius another glare. "Will it be alright with you if they stay here? Winky is really Hermione's elf, and Dobby, well, I guess he's mine."
Kreacher stands up straight and bows until his nose touches the ground.
"Kreacher would never presume to tell his Master what he can and cannot do. With this many people in the Black residence, there be plenty of work for Kreacher to share."
I can feel Hermione's displeasure at the thought of the elves waiting on us all hand and foot, but at least she keeps the comments to herself.
"Dobby, Winky," I call in a lifted voice, and the pops of apparition ring out in the kitchen.
"You called, Harry Potter sir?" Dobby says, bouncing up and down on his toes. He's still wearing my Quidditch jersey with Potter stretched across his back. He has several beaded necklaces around his throat however, and his socks have been replaced with over large jelly sandals. Winky is wearing a prim purple dress with a bow in her hair. She rushes over to Hermione and wraps her in a hug.
Kreature looks askance to see our house elves wearing clothing.
"You've been gone all day, Mistress," Winky says with distress, her ears drooping in concern. "Winky was worried. You'd be needing Winky! Who would take you to Master Harry's bedroom if Winky wasn't with you?"
A dozen sets of eyes turn in our direction, and blood rushes to both of our faces. Hermione ducks her head and lowers herself into a squat to better talk to her newest companion.
"Harry is moving houses tonight. Remember we told you he would be by the end of the summer. Well, it happened a lot sooner than we were expecting. This will be your home now. At least, until we go back to Hogwarts."
I don't know what we'll do with them then, filters through my mind.
"Will you's be living with the Master now?" Winky asks in her squeaky little voice. "I—," Hermione looks up at me, and I don't know what to say!
We always end the summer in the same house together either way.
Hermione looks back at Winky. "Yes Winky. Harry and I will be living together now." Winky throws her arms around Hermione's neck, and Mi has to lower a hand to the floor to stop from tipping over.
"Dobby, Winky," I say, calling the attention of our elves to me. "This is Kreacher." Kreacher gives a bow that our elves return with aplomb. "Kreacher, this is Dobby and Winky. Dobby has been my friend for years, and we met Winky last summer. If you can help them get settled in I'd appreciate it."
Hermione speaks up, rising to her feet.
"I don't know what the bedroom situation is like, but I'd appreciate it if Winky could have her own space. Also, Kreacher," she adds, and I'd know what's coming next even without a bond. "As you can see, our elves are free to wear whatever they like. We'd be more than happy to take you shopping. Consider it a uniform of your choice. Or Dobby can take you shopping if you want. You don't have to wear a towel if you don't want to."
My eyes dart to Mrs. Weasley when she makes a sound, her face scrunched up in displeasure. Arthur lays a gentle hand on her elbow though, and Molly's mouth snaps shut again.
When she eventually blows, it's going to be spectacular.
Kreacher looks to his fellow elves, and I swear I can see the calculations going on behind his eyes. For all that he can be an old, disgruntled fellow, he's far from unintelligent. Our previous relationship with him proved that.
Finally, he seems to have come to a decision.
"Kreacher will consider it, Mistress," is all he says, before bowing and turning away. Dobby runs up and gives me a knee bruising hug, before scattering after his fellows.
Silence falls in our little group, the only noise coming from the others talking amongst themselves on the other side of the kitchen.
"Well," Dumbledore says. "As illuminating as this has been, time ticks on. We'd best head to your Aunt and Uncle's house Harry, before they start to worry where you've gone."
"They'll be more concerned when I show back up," I reply, and I swear Dumbledore winks at me before turning to stride from the kitchen.
Sirius wedges his way in between Hermione and me prying our fingers apart. He leans his head down until his cheek is almost against Hermione's face.
"You've been using the elves to sneak into Harry's bedroom?" Sirius snarks under his breath.
Hermione stumbles over her feet.
"Shut up!" she pouts. She must be really out of sorts. Elsewise, my Hermione would never take that tone with someone she thought of as an authority figure. "It's not like that at all. I haven't slept very well since…" her eyes flick to me. "Since Harry fought Voldemort again."
Since we died, is what she means.
Sirius nods in understanding, wrapping his arm around her shoulders in an offer of comfort.
Though, knowing what we know now, I think we can agree they weren't my nightmares.
I flush again at that. I'm sure I wasn't meant to catch that thought.
"I know that," Sirius whispers. "I saw the way it was when you'd been separated for a few days. But you're going to have a lot of explaining to do."
Merlin.
"Bugger off, Padfoot. Leave her alone."
I give my Godfather a playful shove, and he pretends to be wounded, stumbling over to Remus, who catches Sirius as he falls against him and laughs good naturedly.
I can't get over the changes in them. They were both so troubled in the last timeline. Today they seem almost giddy. I imagine this is what they were like when my folks were alive. Despite the turmoil going on in the world, they were laughing and smiling, and pulling pranks on one another.
My dad discovering he'd accidentally wed my mom would have probably been the ultimate prank in their eyes.
Even Moony, who I know from stories was the most sensible of the three, would find that a laugh riot.
I link my fingers with Hermione's again as we follow the long line of people up the stairs and out of the house. Dumbledore has already stolen the light from the streetlamps with his deluminator.
Thanks to Ron and the Twins rescue of me from Privet Drive when I was twelve, more people know the location of my not so homey home than not. Really, it's only the older Order members that have no idea where we're going tonight.
I realize that had this been in the other timeline, by the end of the summer, everyone would know where I live. Because they'd had me under surveillance. Without my knowledge.
Irritation boils in my stomach, but Hermione squeezes my hand. She gives her head a tiny shake when I look at her, and I let the anger go.
I suppose that's another benefit to the wards having already broken. Now everybody's spying will be done in person rather than under an invisibility cloak. Because I have little doubt despite the fact that Hermione and I are both legal adults, and married, and technically no one holds any authority over me, we won't be allowed to so much as sit on the front stoop alone.
Which, for the time being, is fine with me. If it were me by myself…but it's not. There's really no way I can ditch Hermione at this point, even if it would be safer for her. She could probably sniff me out like a bloodhound from half a world away. Her safety is really all that matters. If that means we have a permanent entourage until Voldemort is defeated, well, then, that's the way it'll have to be.
Dumbledore is pairing people off with those that know the location and those that don't, and those who can apparate and those who can't when I walk into the middle of the group and speak up.
"Sir, Hermione and I can both apparate. We don't need to side along."
Dumbledore double takes, then gives a tiny nod.
"Very good, Harry. We can go in one trip that way."
He turns to start reassigning couples.
Mrs. Weasley, who up until this point had been arguing with the Twins about whether being of age meant that they could be active members of the Order despite still being in school, turns to us instead.
As my eyes adjust to the dark, the horror on her face becomes apparent.
"Since when are you able to apparate?" she demands, her hands on her hips.
Hermione's emotions spike in that little bundle in the back of my head.
"Since this afternoon," I tell her. "I got licensed when I was at the ministry."
McGonagall, who walked up while I was speaking, stops dead in her tracks, her eyes boggling out of her head.
"But when did you learn how to apparate?" she asks, her voice rising in pitch.
I figure it's best to tell the truth, whenever possible.
"At school," I tell them. "You teach us there." I try to sound like she's the one being unreasonable, but apparently that wasn't the right response. Sirius turns his back to hide his amusement, but most everyone else is wearing expressions ranging from horrified to flat out disbelief.
"Yes, but when?" she insists again, leaning forward on her feet. "That class isn't offered until sixth year."
Much to my surprise, Dumbledore lifts his hand, silencing his deputy Headmistress.
"I've learned in my old age, Minerva," he says with a twinkle in his eye, "that it is better to not ask questions from which you don't really want the answers." His hand runs down his beard, his majestic purple robe giving him the aura of a Wizard from a Muggle picture book.
McGonagall jerks her head, taken back by his response.
"But I do want the answer!" McGonagall insists, anger pinkening her cheeks.
"No, Minerva. I really don't think you do."
I turn and face Hermione.
Does he know? Hermione asks through the bond.
Best not to ask questions from which you don't want the answer I reply.
I all but see her eyes roll in the back of my head.
"Right then." Dumbledore pivots to where the Weasley's are still having it out.
"Molly, dear," he says, walking over to them. He pats her on the face, the motion somehow condescending yet endearing at the same time. "There'll be very little danger tonight. Let the boys have some fun."
With that, Molly huffs and turns on her heel, marching back into the house.
For the first time since we left the black residence I notice Ron; his shoulders are slumped with his hands shoved in his pockets. He's on the outside of the assembled group, watching the chaotic pops of people disappearing into the air.
"Sorry, Ron," I say, realizing that he can't come along. "This isn't going to be pleasant, anyway. You aren't missing much."
"Sure," he says, shuffling his feet. "Guess I'll wait for you inside."
Without another word, he follows his mother up the stoop.
"He'll be alright," Hermione says, tugging on my fingers.
"Yeah," I say, wishing there was a way I could make this easier for him. The last thing I have patience for is coddling Ron. Even if, when our positions were reversed last time, I was rather put out over being left in Privet Drive by myself all summer.
Within moment's there's only three of us left.
"See you over there, Pup," Sirius says, and just like that I'm alone.
With Hermione.
"We better hurry up," she prods me.
"Mmm-hmm," I agree, but don't move an inch.
"Har-ry," she says, in that way that breaks my name into two syllables. Without thinking I wrap my hand into her curls and pull her closer to me.
"One minute," I plead. She looks at me with those big brown eyes. When she wraps her hand around my wrist, I swear my skin burns at her touch.
"Twenty seconds," she counters. "Any longer than that and they'll send someone back looking for us."
I hate it when she's right.
"How are you? Are you okay?"
She releases her breath on a silent huff, rolling her eyes at me.
"I'm fine, Harry," she says in quiet exasperation.
"Yes," I agree. "But how are you really?"
She closes her eyes and seems to lean into my touch.
"Tired," she finally admits. "It's been a long day. Which will only take longer if we don't hurry up."
"Ron's right," I pout. "You are a nag."
Her mouth hardens into a line, but her eyes are filled with laughter.
"Harry James Potter! You take that back right this instant."
I lean forward and swipe my lips against hers, relishing the way she sighs against me.
"Nagging, Witch," I say again, and before she can reply, I disapparate us both.
The light from the streetlamps have already been stolen by the time we make it to Privet Drive.
"Took you long enough, Pup," comes the dulcet tones of my Godfather.
"Shove off, Padfoot," I reply back. "I won't apologize for needing a moment with my wife."
I push my way through the crowd of Witches and Wizards, fighting off the sense of nausea at seeing this many magical folk in Little Winging without it being an emergency.
"Ohhh, look at the big man now!" Sirius continues to tease. "Staking claim of his wife for all to see."
Sniggering breaks out among the crowd as I make my way up the walk to the Dursley's front door.
"You're just jealous that I landed the brightest witch of our age, future Minister of Magic, and you can't even get a bird to look at your ugly mug."
The sniggering turns to outright laughter, as I open push my way into the house.
"Where have you been boy?!"
Vernon's cry of outrage hits me before I've even let go of the handle, and I pull to a stop and let his anger wash over me, before leading my fellows into the house.
It's a tight fit.
"Dudley came home ages ago," he screeches, storming into the entryway. He's in a burgundy house coat, his mustache twitching like a rat on his face.
He stutters to a stop, as Hermione, and the Twins, then Remus and Sirius, and everybody else follows me into the house.
"Good evening," Dumbledore says pleasantly, and Vernon's face twitches at the sight of so many of my lot invading his home.
"Bit tight," Arthur says. "Perhaps we move this into the living room?"
"Excellent," Sirius says, pushing past me and looking around at the pictures Petunia has on the walls.
"Do you need me for this?" I ask, already moving towards the stairs.
"Not at all, Harry," Dumbledore says jovially. "Go collect your things. We'll just be introducing ourselves to your Aunt and Uncle."
Petunia chooses that moment to walk in behind her husband, and gasps in fright, her hands lifting to pull her housecoat closed.
Right then.
I pull my body from the jostling crowd with a hand on the stair banister and the other around Hermione's wrist, dragging her behind me.
"You two," I bellow, gesturing for the Twins. "Up here."
They look slightly put out not to witness the pandemonium that I'm sure is about to take place. I can still vividly picture Vernon's face when Dumbledore went off on him when he collected me from Privet Drive himself. But I have no desire to take part in it this time.
Dudley sticks his head out of his bedroom, opens his mouth to berate me, then promptly shuts it with a squeak when he sees Hermione, Fred, and George striding down the hallway behind me.
"Don't fret, Duddykins. I'm just getting my stuff and then I'm out of here."
Dudley, deciding to be brave without any of the adults around, follows us into the bedroom. Hermione immediately starts to sort my few belongings, using magic to fit them in my trunk the way she likes them.
"I'm going to tell Mom and Dad you've got a girl in your room. You'll be grounded for the rest of the summer."
He tries to sound confident, but I can hear the tremble in his voice.
"Don't bother," I say. "Hermione has slept in here every night for the last week. No one has noticed yet."
Dudley gasps in shock at the same time the Twins high five each other.
"Nice," Fred says. "Wicked," George agrees. Hermione barely even blushes this time.
Dudley stutters out his response, and I'm reminded in a visceral way how young he is right now, and the effort he made in our last go round, to attempt to mend our fences. In his own way at least.
"You know, Dudley. I'm almost disappointed. We could have been friends, of a sort. In another lifetime."
"Friends?" he asks, like the word is foreign on his tongue.
"Yeah," I agree, nodding my head. "Friends. Too late now, I guess. See you in the next timeline."
The lid to my trunk slams shut.
"I couldn't find your schoolbooks, Harry."
I pivot from Dudley, still gaping over my suggestion we could be friends and face my newfound wife. The room is empty of my possessions, and it's disheartening to be reminded at how easily I'm scrubbed from the home I grew up in.
I run both my hands through my hair, scratching at my scalp.
A candy drops from George's hand, and I debate for a moment about making him pick it up, but decide to let it ride, for old times' sake. If Dudley is stupid enough to eat a candy left behind by the twins again, then that's his own fault. I grin at them when Fred winks at me.
"They're in the cupboard under the stairs," I tell Hermione. "They take them from me at the beginning of the summer and lock them up."
She frowns at that, and with a flick of her wand, lifts the trunk into the air.
"After you then, husband," she jokes.
Dudley spits the candy out of his mouth in shock at what she's said.
Probably for the test. It looked like a canary toffee to me.
"Follow me, wife," I banter back, smiling at the playful glee in her face.
I can see the exhaustion pulling at her shoulders, but her easy beauty still takes my breath away.
Dudley plasters himself to the wall as we move back out of the room and down the hallway, the younger generation of the Order following me back down the stairs. Raised voices hit us the minute we reach the upper landing. Vernon is yelling about compensation from my lot for all of his troubles.
Swell.
"Is—is that a vent?"
The quiver in Hermione's voice pulls my attention from the commotion in the sitting room, back to the girl behind me. She moves from around my body, getting a clear look at the door to the cupboard that was my room.
"Oh, yeah." I reach forward to flick the gold sliding lock clear, letting the door swing open on its hinges.
"Otherwise, it got too hard for me to breathe. Passed out a time or two. After that, they installed the vent in the door."
The Twins, who tower over me at this point, step up to my back, looking over my shoulders. The camp mattress I slept on is still there, stretched across the wooden platform. Toys I haven't thought of in years line the shelf behind it, my spare set of glasses now too small for my face sitting covered in dust. There's an old pair of books, a bag of junk deposited and forgotten about.
My school books sit on the middle of the mattress, looking out of place against the rubbish and disuse of the tiny space.
Anger licks up my spine, making my fingers tingle.
But…
Slowly I turn to Hermione, whose hair, always with a life of its own, is floating around her head.
Magic sparkles from her fingertips, and as one the Twins take a step back, reaching for their wands.
"This is where they kept you?" Hemione asks, her voice a cold fury. It quivers, and is so low I barely catch the words, but I feel her hate in the back of my head like a pulsing ball of fury.
Silence falls across the sitting room. The Witches and Wizards among us feel her magic as it pours from her in waves. Dumbledore is the first to flood into the entryway, but he's certainly not the last. The Order shoves their way through the doorway, feeling the threat in the air. Unaware that it's radiating from Hermione. Wands are in hands up and down the hallway, and they take positions around me to defend and protect the Chosen One.
But there's no protection from the rage on Hermione's face.
"They kept you locked up in a cupboard." It's not a question this time, but a fact. "For how long, Harry? How long did they lock you up like a prisoner? Like a slave? Like an animal only good enough to be kept in a cage?"
I watch with fascination as dawning horror replaces the looks of determination on my friends and families faces.
Dumbledore alone knew the full extent of my treatment here. The others suspected. Knew, in some shape or form. But I didn't share the worst of it. Kept quiet about the beatings and the nights of crying myself to sleep. Didn't tell the story about my Hogwarts letter being addressed to the cupboard under the stairs.
Vernon and Petunia shove their way through to the front of the chaos, spouting rubbish about his mistreatment at our hands and disrespecting a man in his own home.
It's the worst mistake he's ever made in his life.
Sirius pounces at him, and only Remus, with an arm around his best friend's throat and the other around his chest, manages to keep Padfoot's hands from closing around my Uncle's beefy neck. One of them is growling though, and I couldn't tell you which.
Petunia screams in fright.
"How long?" Hermione demands again, and I turn my attention back to the tiny witch, who currently looks twice her size.
I don't want to answer the question, but she'll know it if I lie.
Always has been able to tell.
Soul Bound.
"Always," I reply honestly. "You saw the locks on the door upstairs. You heard him banging on the door. I lock the inside, but they lock the deadbolt every night. I've always been locked away, in one form or another."
I meet Dumbledore's eye over her head, and her anger spreads to me like wildfire. I've been a prisoner in one shape or form, since the day my parents died.
Hermione twists on her heel, coming to face my mother's sister.
"You," she growls, and I grab her around the waist when she lunges for my Aunt.
"All he wanted was love! A family! And you locked him away like a prisoner!"
Hermione screams it at her, spit flying from her mouth and her arms outstretched, trying to scratch at anything she can reach.
"You horrible, fucking, cow," she bellows, and in a burst of power, glass shatters in the air, every picture on the wall and vase on display exploding into a million pieces. A dozen shield charms pop into place, someone slowing the detonation enough that glass hangs unsupported in the air.
My blood is boiling, and I swear I see red as Hermione's anger only mounts.
Wind starts to howl through the battlefield the entryway has become, and I know someone is silently battling Hermione's determination to wreak havoc on the house.
The Dursley's scream and cover their faces. For the first time in his life, Vernon acts as the gentleman and attempts to cover Petunia. Dudley is still on the bottom of the stairs and runs up a step or two so as to avoid the spatter altogether.
"Hermione," I shout, but she's too far lost to hear me. She's screaming profanities at the top of her lungs, kicking and throwing her body in an attempt to get free.
Hermione's feelings are singing through me, the clearest I've been able to feel them yet. When she gasps for air, I do. When she screams in rage, I try to pull her back.
"She shouldn't be this strong," Remus yells, and I try to split my attention between the Wizards around us and the struggling witch in my arms.
"It's the bond," McGonagall all but whispers, her hand covering her mouth and tears streaming down her face. "She's pulling it from Harry."
Petunia cries out in pain, as I snap my head in her direction to see a cut across her cheek, blood dripping down her face. Another, and another appears, a matching set blooming on Vernon.
I realize with a sinking feeling that's exactly what's happened. Hermione has taken my anger and twisted it into a weapon.
"You must stop this, Harry," Dumbledore cries. "Or we will!"
Stop it how?!
I dig my fingers into Hermione's arms, and whip her around in my grasp, so her front is facing me. Without another thought I kiss her, roughly sweeping my tongue into her mouth. She screams against my onslaught, pounding her fists against my chest. But when I tighten my hand inside her curls and pull, arching her back and tilting her head, her body goes soft against me. The terrible wind that was whipping around us slows, then dies altogether.
Her arms slide around my back, her nails scraping with such force I'd probably bleed, if it weren't for the layers of clothing protecting me. She moans against my lips, and I close my eyes, as another wave of power crests over us. Reminding me of the first kiss. The one that started it all.
She sighs against my touch, a tear slipping down her cheek to land on my lips.
Then Hemione goes limp in my arms, her knees buckling, and her arms dropping to her sides.
I suck in oxygen, feeling it flood my bloodstream with adrenalin now that I'm no longer supported by her anger.
The Twins rush forward, each eager to assist me with my burden, but I twist her in my arms, bending low to scoop an arm under her knees and the other around her shoulders.
With a tiny jumble against my chest, I have her firmly in my grip.
Petunia is openly weeping, and Emmaline makes her way over to my trembling relatives, putting them both to sleep.
Only Dudley remains aware, watching the scene play out with fear from the safety of the stairs.
"That was—" McGonagall starts, but whatever it may or may not have been, she doesn't finish her thought. Instead she moves from behind the Headmaster, running a silent diagnostic on the witch barely stirring in my arms.
"She's exhausted," she tells me unnecessarily. "She's almost burnt herself out. She needs rest, Mr. Potter-Black. Take her home. We'll handle this."
"Dobby," I lift my voice and yell, and Dobby appears at my feet.
"Yes, master?" He sees Hermione limp in my arms. "Mistress! What's happened to Harry Potter's Mi?"
"She's just tired, Dobby. Can you take my stuff back to the house? And let Winky know I'm bringing Hermione to her. She'll know how to take care of her. Send Winky to get whatever she needs from Hermione's folks place and set it up in my room."
Dobby gives a quick bow, wringing his hands the whole time, then grabs my trunk and disappears with it.
I can feel every set of eyes in the house watching me now.
"Fred, there's a mirror in the bag on my hip. Grab it for me please."
Fred hastens to obey, pulling open the zipper as quickly and gently as he can so as to not disturb the witch in my arms.
"Give it to Dudley," I say when it's in his hands. Dudley takes it from him from between the slats of the stairs, his eyebrows drawn together in curiosity but his fingers still trembling.
"It's part of an enchanted pair," I tell him. "I'll have the other half. If you need me, for anything, call me. I'll get here as quickly as I can."
"The bag of gold too," I jerk my head at George, and he reaches into the pouch on my hip and pulls out the bag of gold from the bank.
"Drop it," I tell him, and he does without question.
It hits the floor and splits, gold spilling in every direction.
"Room and board, for the last fourteen years."
Ignoring my Aunt and Uncle, I hitch Hermione higher in my arms, then make my way from the kitchen. My companions' part for me, and with the Twins following in my wake, I leave the house for the last time.