A/N
Thank you so much for all of the wonderful supports and comments for this story. It is being cross posted on A03 /works/32868373/chapters/84280831, and I love their commenting section because we can talk back and forth! Maybe stop by and drop me a line :)
Also, and maybe I didn't make this clear yet, but this story will have little to zero bashing in it. I LIKE the Weasleys. I like Snape, and Draco, and though his actions angered me at times, I even like Dumbledore. So if you are waiting for some big break between Harry and those characters, it's not going to happen.
Chapter 31
Hermione
I gather the day's construction workers in the kitchen under the guise of dinner before we see them out, then modify their memories, so they don't realize they were working for Harry Potter.
It's probably not necessary, but some of Harry's paranoia has rubbed off on me.
Which, of course, it has.
As Ronald so indelicately said, we basically share a brain.
I'm only scheduling small projects one at a time and using a different company for each job, and never do they get a look at Harry. If, for some reason, he needed to walk into a space where the workers were located, I told him to disillusion first. Sirius and I warded the entire house this morning. Except for a direct line to the remodelled areas, the kitchen, and the straightest path to the front door.
Harry's ascension to the head of the joint families is common knowledge, as is the Order of the Phoenix. We're not hiding in the shadows this time around. There's no Fidelius on the house. Nothing outside of the standard wards that you'd find on any magical dwelling. Any wizard could walk up to our home as easily as you could the Malfoy's palatial estate.
But I'd rather be safe than sorry.
Kreacher leads the befuddled workers from the kitchen as Mad-Eye comes stomping in.
"Granger," Moody growls, magical eye swirling in his head. "Nice potions lab."
"It's Potter-Black now," I tell him automatically, then start when I hear myself speak. Just a week ago, I was pouting about losing my last name, and now I'm correcting people to my married name automatically. How in Merlin did that happen?
"Right," he says gruffly before he pulls out a chair at the kitchen table. "How many people are we expecting tonight?"
"Almost everyone," Mrs Weasley answers, dropping a plate of food down in front of him. Moody pokes at it with the knife he pulls from his hip and gives it a cautious sniff before yanking off a bite with his teeth.
Dobby appears in the kitchen, and Mrs Weasley hurries over to him, handing the elf a platter of treats while looking harassed. He disappears without a word, and Kreacher takes his place, where he grabs two of the kitchen chairs before popping away.
"I'm heading upstairs, Mrs. Weasley," I tell the flustered witch. "Do you need help with anything else before I go?"
With close to fifty people in the house tonight, we're holding the meeting in the attic. Since the renovation, it's by far the most open space. The boys have been helping the elves move mats and drag in couches all afternoon, so we'd have enough seating for everyone. Nate made them move the furniture without magic, though, as our second training session is being lost tonight in place of the meeting.
The guys all skittered off to separate bathrooms to shower and clean up when the first order members arrived. I think all three fifth years converged in mine, which is why I'm out here doing last-minute errands instead of helping Harry shower.
Mrs. Weasley turns in a circle, handing off flagons of butterbeer as Dobby reappears.
"Um, what?" She finally looks my way. "No, dear," she says, walking over and fluffing my hair. "Your place is upstairs. You are the Lady of the House after all."
Her voice only tightens a smidgen when she says it.
There was another throw down this afternoon between Harry and Mrs. Weasley, only this time all of the Hogwarts aged Weasley crew got in on the action. It wasn't until Neville, timid and scared of Molly's wrath, spoke up and said that not only does his grandmother expect him to participate in tonight's meeting, but she'd also like an owl after we're done with a report. Upon hearing this, Mrs. Weasley stormed out of the kitchen, surrendering her will to dissent.
The only caveat to the decree was Ginny, who will be spending the meeting in her room, probably envisioning horrible ways to kill and torture us all.
I plan on filling her in first thing tomorrow. Fourteen or forty, her bat-bogey hex is nothing to sneeze at.
"Where is Mr. Potter?" Professor McGonagall asks. "I was under the impression he'd be at the meeting tonight."
I glance around the attic, now bursting with people. Even Percy is here tonight, chatting with his father and a group of ministry employees. It's amazing what one or two little changes can bring.
Okay, well not all that little.
"I don't know. I—" Harry is always commenting how he knows where I'm at when we're apart—always saying he can feel me coming. I refuse to let him have a more substantial mastery over our connection than I do. I close my eyes and reach out through our bond. It's almost like an aura.
Fascinating.
"On the stairs," I say, knowing I'm right but not exactly knowing how. I open my eyes. "He's on his way here."
As soon as I finish the words, the guys appear in the doorway.
"That's a nifty trick to have," the Professor says dryly, glancing between us.
"Mm-hmm," I agree without looking at her.
I only have eyes for my boys.
Harry comes in first, followed by Ron, the twins, and Neville, hot on his heels. Every single one of them is strapped head to toe with weapons and wands.
I don't often get to see them from this vantage point. Usually, I'm right there beside them. The lot of them cut an imposing figure.
Neville is shedding baby fat like it's an Olympic sport. He's almost as tall as Ron and not half bad-looking to boot. He's dressed the nicest of the group, blue slacks, and a button-down. The clothing that is expected of a pure-blood Lord and the Minister's grandson. Even though he's only had it a couple of days, the new wand has made a world of difference in him. He stands up taller, walks with a firmer step. He isn't the same boy he was before.
I'm not at all convinced his grandmother didn't tell him how close he came to wearing Harry's scar. Knowing your fate could have switched with another can have a drastic effect on a person.
Ron has already grown about an inch this summer. There's nothing particularly intimidating about him tonight though unless you count the matching wand holsters strapped to his forearms and the newly added hidden knife that's latched to his calf. Nate passed it to him the first thing this morning and told him to wear it until he feels naked without it. But take the nonchalance he shows while well-armed, along with his already impressive size, and the combination leaves an impression.
Since I was killed with a knife in the last timeline, well, let's just say I have mixed emotions about my boys learning to use those blades.
The twins are smirking and glaring, daring anyone to complain about their inclusion in the Order. Their matching holsters are on their hips.
Bill and Charlie cross the threshold last, and it's easy to see why so many men and women alike find the eldest Weasleys desirable. Unlike their younger brothers, who more or less dress like muggles, both men look like Wizarding bad-asses. Long hair, earrings, tattoos peeking out from under their collars. One has their holster strapped to their leg, the other across their shoulders. Charlie easily has fifty pounds of muscle on Bill, but Bill doesn't look any less imposing because of it.
And Harry…Merlin. Harry. He looks like a cross between James Bond and Indiana Jones. Black Dragonhide boots. Black jeans. Grey shirt tight enough to see the definition of his shoulders. Harry ran that hair potion the lady from the salon gave him over his head, and though his hair still seems rather wild, now it looks like he did it on purpose. His father's pouch is strapped to his thigh, and the Sword is between his shoulder blades.
It's the real one this time, not the duplicate. Now that Nate has pointed it out to me, it's easy to tell the difference. Harry always shines with power, but there's an edge to it when he's carrying the Sword. Like he's wearing an invisible sign that says fuck with me at your own peril. Two wands cover his chest.
The conversation doesn't stop when he enters the room, but it certainly takes on a new tempo.
Sirius might be a Gryffindor, but he's still a pure-blood at heart. And Harry, well, there's more than one reason why the sorting hat wanted to put him into Slytherin. He can scheme with the best of them when he puts his mind to it. Sirius told Harry if he wanted to be a part of the conversation and not simply be the topic at hand, then he needs to look like he deserves to be here.
Somehow, the plainness of his clothing packs a harder punch than Sirius's velvet jacket does.
Professor McGonagall's voice penetrates through my staring.
"I'll leave you to it, Ms. Granger. You obviously have other things on your mind."
"It's Potter-Black," I say distractedly. If Professor McGonagall responds, I don't hear her.
Harry closes the distance between us and slips his arm around my waist, pulling me into his chest.
He leans his cheek against my face, whispering against my cheek.
"Winky got to you too, huh?" he asks, and what?
"I don't understand the question," I say, and I don't. Because outside of this morning and helping her set up just a little bit ago, I've managed to escape the elf entirely, and that in and of itself is an accomplishment. She doesn't think highly of the Lady of the House stomping around in sweats and told me, pointedly, when she braided my hair before bed.
Winky wants to give me etiquette lessons, which thank you, no. But she said it's only fair since I'm asking them to better themselves through the classes I've set up for them. She thinks I should set an example by improving myself and learning to be the Lady of a great house.
I hate that she makes sense. And I hate that I'm being manipulated by an elf, and I can't do anything about it because it's precisely what I've been telling her to do. To stand up for what she wants and her rights as a magical being. Only, what she wants is to turn me into Pansy Parkinson.
Harry's eyes graze me up and down, his face filling with an expression I've come to know intimately as of late.
"You look beautiful, Mi. But we match in case you couldn't tell."
Oh?
We do?
I glance down the line of our bodies, my hair falling in front of my face.
Oh.
We do.
Harry pushes my hair behind my ears.
Now that I think about it, Winky did pick out my clothes. Black chunky boots. Tight light grey trousers that stop at my ankles, a basic red tee that matches the Gryffindor colour exactly, and a black cardigan that's big enough to be Harry's. She used a potion in my hair, and now my curls are sleek and wavy instead of tight and crazy.
"Have I told you how much I love those thigh holsters?" he whispers in my ear.
No, he hasn't. But now he's pushing images at me of me riding him wearing nothing but the holsters, and dammit, Harry, I need to concentrate tonight, not think about naughty things.
"You've attracted an audience, Pup," Sirius says, coming up and wrapping his arms around our shoulders. It looks like a fatherly embrace. And I'm sure it is. He loves Harry more than anything. But he's also blocking the view of half of the attic now, and even spending most of his adult life in Azkaban hasn't lowered his sense of how to work a room. "Spine straight," he whispers. "Shoulders back."
Harry stands up a smidgen taller, his arms dropping from around my waist. Neville and Ron immediately mimic him. I bite my lip to hide my smile.
"We saved you the couch in the corner." Sirius lowers his arms, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat. "Everyone is almost here. We're just waiting for Dumbledore to get started."
Harry's eyes scan the crowd, and I know immediately when he sees Professor Snape heading our way. Anger licks up his spine, but he doesn't do anything more than growl.
Professor Snape is missing his usual robes but is still clothed head to toe in black. It feels like we've stepped into close contact with a dementor. If dementors had faces.
"I didn't realize it was now our habit to allow children into the Order."
Harry's hands tighten into fists, but Sirius speaks up before Harry can reply.
"I didn't realize it was now our habit to allow dirty, lying, backstabbing, gits into the Order, so we're even."
Thank goodness Professor Dumbledore's arrival interrupts the impending bickering. His eyes zero in on us, and I bet the Headmaster is thinking the same thing I am. Separate them quickly before Snape and Harry start to duel.
"Come on, Harry," I say and link my fingers with his. He hesitates for just a moment, and I'm afraid he's going to pick a fight before we even get started, but he finally relents and follows me to the side.
Our couch is off in the corner and pressed up against a wall. It's situated so we can see the room's entirety but aren't in the middle of it. I can see why Sirius saved this for us. The focus will be on Professor Dumbledore, who is sitting at the front with his head bowed talking to Professor McGonagall, but we'll be able to see everyone.
I take a spot on the sofa, Ron sits next to me without comment, Neville next to him. Harry stands beside the couch, then props one-legged on the armrest. It gives him a spot to lean against but allows him to be taller than the rest and gives him a vantage point to take in the meeting.
"Are you sure you're okay to tell the others about our bonding?" Harry asks, leaning down to whisper. He pushes my hair behind my ears, and the fact that he despises the plan to announce our marriage yet still can't seem to stop touching me is not lost on me at all.
I hate that I have become that girl. The girl that squeals when the boy looks at her and sneaks around the castle, or in our case our home, and accidentally on purpose bumps into the boy she likes.
Of course, the boy I like happens to be my husband, and he can literally feel me coming, so it's no secret when I loiter outside a room, but the point stands. And the fact is yes, I very much want to tell everyone about our bond. I want to shout it from our rooftop.
"I'm sure," I tell him. "You need to hurry up and be sure too. Because no matter what you want, we aren't going to be able to keep this a secret forever. You can take baby steps, though. The Order first, then maybe Luna later."
Harry chuckles under his breath and runs his thumb along my chin.
"Definitely, Luna. She probably already knows."
"Probably," I agree.
Dumbledore starting the introductions pulls my attention.
"Thank you all for joining us tonight. We have several announcements before we jump into the meat of things. First off, we have a visitor with us from MACUSA, Nathanial Smythe."
Nate gives a little wave from where he's sitting on one of the kitchen chairs next to Remus.
"More than that, please," Dumbledore encourages him.
Nate rolls his eyes and stands, his Americanness painfully obvious. Though, ironically, he's dressed like a punk version of the eldest Weasleys. Charlie eyes him up and down, and oh my goodness, Nate is flirting with him in front of everyone!
He wiggles his eyebrows in Charlie's direction, and the redhead smiles back.
"Hi," he says with that stupid little wave again. "I'm Nate. I'm on loan from the Joint Magical Anti-Terrorism Task Force. I'm here as a liaison for MACUSA, and more specifically, to help train the new generation. We've already started defensive magic and weapons training, and I can assure you that if and when the time comes for them to fight, they'll be able to handle themselves."
Nate goes to sit down, but Kingsley speaks instead.
"So, you're who we have to blame for the excessive show of force tonight," he accuses in that dark and slow voice of his. "Our children aren't allowed to use magic outside of the classroom, and we certainly don't encourage them to carry multiple wands."
Harry sits up straighter on the arm of the chair, but Nate doesn't hesitate to give as good as he gets.
"I am, and you're welcome. These children aren't children. They're training for war. If you think their ages are going to keep them safe, then I recommend you check out Harry Potter's scar. Not just the one on his forehead. Now I understand why they asked for me instead of doing it in-house."
My eyes roam over the assembled people to gauge their reactions, and Molly Weasley looks almost sick. But others wear expressions of weariness, and still, more are nodding their heads, murmuring in quiet tones.
"What happens when word gets out to You-Know-Who we're assembling to fight him and arming ourselves thus?"
Before my nerves can overwhelm me, I rise from my seat and answer his questions, both asked and unasked.
"We only visited Ollivander, and I wiped his memory afterward. Beyond that, though, I took the memory of the wands we purchased completely out of his psyche, so he doesn't even remember making them, let alone that they've been sold. But, rest assured, we have plans to visit other wandmakers so that no one gets suspicious, and we'll do the same with them as well. The only way Voldemort will know that Harry Potter is arming himself for battle is if he's told from someone in this room."
I fist my hands at my side to keep from pulling at my fingers and tilt my chin as high as I'm able, daring anyone to complain.
Nate winks at me before retaking his seat and lounging like he's in a bar instead of a meeting with some of the most powerful wizards in Britain. Charlie Weasley licks his lips.
"That," Kingsley drawls slowly, pulling my gaze back to him, "is highly illegal."
"Nicely done, Granger," Mad-Eye says from the back. "Oh, excuse me, Potter-Black," he corrects.
Every eye in the room, and it feels like half of Britain too, suddenly jerks to stare at me. I sit down so fast I almost land in Ron's lap. The tosser's chin is tucked into his chest to keep his laughter contained.
Professor Dumbledore stands.
"On that auspicious note, we have an announcement. The most important thing we'll hear tonight. Maybe the most significant of our lifetimes. Some of you know already."
A low hum breaks out along the crowd. Things like "Wait till you hear the news," and "It's under a Fidelius," fill the air around us.
Professor Dumbledore rises from his chair and holds his hand out in our direction, giving Harry that Grandfatherly smile.
"The orb please Harry if you'd be so kind."
Do you have it? I ask Harry.
I left it on the shelf with the Sword.
"Sorry," Harry says sheepishly, a light blush brightening his colouring. "I didn't realize we'd need it." Harry holds out his arm. "It's on its way."
He doesn't say the spell out loud. I can't remember the last time that he has. But, nonetheless, I feel the tug on his magic and sense the orb barreling down. Oohs and exclamations of surprise erupt when the orb sails into the attic and lands deftly in Harry's palm.
"That trick never gets old," says Fred. "A classic," jokes George.
"Did he just do that endlessly?"
"Non-verbal too," somebody adds.
"He's in Gryffindor," Professor McGonagall needlessly announces, heavy with a gleam of pride in her voice. Even from this angle, I can see Professor Snape roll his eyes.
As far as shows of magic go, Harry couldn't have done it better. Simple, powerful, effective. They'd have all heard about his display with the charm at the tournament. While his usage there wasn't non-verbal, it was strong enough to call his broom to him from the other side of the castle grounds. That's a considerable distance. Watching him flex his magic so unobtrusively and so up close and personal just now was probably more impressive to those in attendance than his surviving Voldemort.
Maybe.
Harry runs his thumb over our names engraved in the wood, and I can feel his affection for me bleeding through the bond. He smiles at me softly, secretly. He leans down gently and places his lips against mine, and I want to hit him. To push him away and tell him this isn't the place. But every day, I feel more and more for this man, and what's one little platonic kiss in front of friends?
He cups my face in his hand, then rises to his feet and stands beside the couch. Without his asking, I lift to stand at his side. It's where I belong, after all, and what kind of wife would I be if I let him face the firing squad without me?
"As Dumbledore mentioned, some of you already know. For those that don't…" he takes a fortifying breath, and I shove everything I'm feeling through the bond. Happiness, excitement, determination, nerves.
Harry better get used to talking about it because as soon as we are back in the castle, I plan on staking my claim for everyone to see.
Emmeline Vance is bouncing up and down on her chair in excitement.
Fear bubbles in Harry's belly. Every eye is on him.
"If it were up to me, I wouldn't bestow this information to another living soul. But Dumbledore and Hermione have convinced me it's knowledge that I need to share. I'm trying to learn that I don't have to take on the world on my own. So, I tell you this, and ask you to help me protect her."
I can protect myself, thank you very much. But I know that would fall on deaf ears. Harry stares at me, and it's so much. So full. I can feel everything he doesn't say through our bond. See it shining behind his eyes.
The orb floats in front of him, raised for all to see. It's tiny, but every person in the room seems to hold their breath. Harry twists his finger in a circle, and the orb rotates over our heads so everyone can read the inscription in the wood.
"Bonded in a loo in 1991 when we were fighting off a troll. Mated as I entered the third task, just barely a month ago. May I introduce you to my wife? Bound by magic and my Bonded Mate, Hermione Jean Potter-Black."
Time seems to freeze for a moment. I get the strangest feeling of déjà vu, like when I twist the knob on the time turner, and for a fraction of a moment, I dangle between here and there.
Then the explosion happens.
I tip overfilled with laughter and into Harry's arms, and he hides his face in my hair. The orb is snatched by greedy fingers and passed along from stranger to friend as every person tries to look.
Professor Snape is staring at us with the closest thing to shock I've ever seen on his face. It's disconcerting and somehow makes me feel vulnerable for him. I've never seen his emotions so bare. I turn my attention back to Harry, who is almost floating in my hug.
Professor Dumbledore lifts his arms and clears his throat, but only a fraction of eyes turns towards him. The rest are laughing with each other or gazing at us greedily. Professor McGonagall pulls on the Headmaster's sleeve with a smile, and he throws his hands out in surrender before resuming his chair.
"I don't know," Harry says with a smile in answer to one of the dozens of questions that I can't even understand anymore. "You know more than we did!" and "Hermione wants to write a book."
That right there is why he's my soulmate. Because any other man would go mental when you told them you were planning on publishing a paper about the intricacies of your relationship and the literal sparks from your sex life. Harry is already encouraging people to buy the book whenever it comes out.
It's almost fifteen minutes before the questions die down enough for the Headmaster to continue.
This time, when he rises to his feet, the room falls into an excitable hush. Harry settles me into the couch before resuming his spot on the armrest.
"Their final binding was sealed not an hour before Voldemort returned to his body," Dumbledore announces, and a gasp can be heard from the gathered crowd. "You don't need to be a seer to realize the significance of that timing. If that isn't a sign that we're going to win this war, then I don't know what is."
I lift my hand to Harry's, and he links our fingers together on his lap.
"We, as the Order of the Phoenix, have two jobs now. To defeat Voldemort and rid Britain of his tyranny once and for all, and—"
"—to protect my wife," Harry interrupts, and I swear to Merlin I'm— blood rushes to my face, and I yank my fingers from his grip and smack him with the back of my hand.
"His wife can take care of herself," I say too loudly, and laughter breaks out amongst our audience again.
Professor Dumbledore joins them, Harry gives me dirty glares. Ron and Neville chuckle and I elbow Ron in the stomach until he stops and elbows Neville.
"The house is filled with Aurors, and I'm married to the Boy Who Lived," I snark loudly. "I think I'm as safe as I'm going to get. Let's talk about something important, shall we? Perhaps a certain dark wizard recently returned from the dead?"
Laughter breaks out again, but Dumbledore settles everybody down.
"Very well, Severus?"
As Professor Snape rises to his feet, the bond between Harry and I tappers out until it's almost undetectable. I pivot my body to look at him, but Harry is staring at the potions master as if he's trying to read his mind.
Maybe he is.
"The Dark Lord is…" the Professor hesitates, picking an appropriate word. He pushes his arms up his opposite sleeves, a tell if I've ever seen one. "Unstable, to put it blandly. The loss of his familiar on the night of his resurrection, combined with the capture of both Wormtail and Barty Crouch Jr was a significant blow. Excluding the fact that he did, in fact, regain his body, very little went as planned for him that night."
Harry is occluding as hard as I've ever felt him. Slivers of his thoughts, tangled and twisted in knots, are slipping through to me, but little more than that.
"He intended to kill the Potter boy, therefore cementing his power for all to see, then slip back into the shadows with two spies at Hogwarts. The fact that Potter lived to tell the tale and took two of his most loyal supporters with him has left the Dark Lord extremely disquieted."
"I'm good at that," Harry says sarcastically. "Being annoying. Messing up people's plans."
"Indeed," Professor Snape sneers. "Few know that as well as I do. Despite your best efforts, though, not everything is about you." He pauses to gauge how well his barb hits before going on. "The Dark Lord has three aims to reach. One, is to grow his followers. All the old guard has returned. He's living in the Malfoy Manor, accepting gifts and supplication for their abandonment."
Well, that's not a big surprise there, is it?
"While every day, more people arrive to throw themselves at his mercy and to promise their undying loyalty, there aren't as many witches and wizards as he would like. It would seem, now that he's been forced onto the front page of the paper, people are slower to offer their support."
I start at that announcement. That…is not what I expected. I glance at Harry again, but he's shut me completely out. I can't even read his face. We don't read the paper anymore. A habit from living in the tent. We really had no idea that the Ministry's acceptance of Voldemort's return would have made this big of an impression.
"The Dark Lord intended to have Barty Crouch slip back into the Auror department and begin the work of converting followers to his side, either through blackmail or the Imperius. But now that route is lost to him too."
Mad-Eye speaks up from here he's leaning against his staff along the back wall.
"Speaking of the Imperius, has anybody thought to see whether the boy wasn't under the curse? It would be a nice lookout if we welcomed an undercover Death Eater into our folds as a hero."
What? How dare they!
"He's immune to the Imperius," I say haughtily, rising from my chair. Harry grasps my hand and yanks me back down. "Not to mention we share a soul! I'm fairly certain I'd notice if my husband were under the Imperius!"
"It doesn't matter, Mi," he whispers, and excuse me, but yes, it does! Do they have any idea what Harry has been through?
I swear!
"Surely she jests, Albus."
Aberforth leans forward on his chair, incredulity bare on his face.
"Try it yourself," Dumbledore offers. "I'm sure the Aurors amongst us would look the other way in the spirit of this little experiment. Harry, do you mind?"
Harry blushes slightly.
"Just don't make me wet myself if I can't throw it off in time," he jokes, and everyone laughs with him.
Aberforth rises from his seat and weaves between the furniture until he's in front of Harry. Nerves bubble in my belly, and I clasp my fingers in my lap, trying not to pull at the digits.
Will I feel it when the curse takes him?
Will it affect me too?
"Imperius," Aberforth intones, and Harry's eyes glaze over. Horrendous pressure pushes down on me, and my body caves inwards until Harry snaps our connection at the root. I shudder violently at the intrusion and again at the way it was ripped away. Harry drops his hand to my shoulder, trailing his fingers up my neck.
He shakes his head forcibly, then physically shrugs off the curse, his shoulders rotating front and back.
"It's been a while since someone hit me with it," Harry says carelessly, looking Aberforth in the eye. "It takes a few seconds to push it off."
"I'll be damned," someone whispers, and I'd bet money it was Nate.
"Are you under the Imperius, Harry?" Professor Dumbledore asks lightly.
Harry shakes his head.
"No, Headmaster. I'm not."
Aberforth mumbles harshly under his breath while making his way back to his chair.
"What other secrets about the boy have you been hiding, Albus?"
I don't recognize the voice, and I don't appreciate his tone, either. Harry latches his hands around the back of my neck, digging his fingers into my skin. It keeps me in place and kinda makes me wanna swoon and smack him away at the same time.
I wait for Harry to mouth off at whoever it is, but Professor McGonagall does it instead.
"I wasn't aware it was his duty to keep you informed about the skills of Harry Potter, Elphias. Would you also care to know his Transfiguration scores? Passable, for sure, but could be Outstanding if he put some effort into it."
Ron and Neville chuckle beside me, and Harry bites his lip.
"Sorry, Professor. I promise I'll study harder next term."
"If we've finished stroking Potter's ego," Professor Snape says snidely, and I'm really getting tired of that tone. While I disagree with Harry's uncontrollable anger, Snape could undoubtedly show us a little more respect.
"It's Potter-Black, Professor," I say sweetly. "Lord Potter-Black."
Professor Snape snaps his mouth closed but doesn't deign to respond. He turns to glance at the Headmaster, who gives him a tiny nod.
"The Dark Lord is after a weapon," Snape says. "One hidden in the Department of Mysteries. It consumes him. He believes it's the key to his victory. Since almost his first night back, he's been trying to find a way inside."
"We must keep it from him at all costs," the Headmaster adds. "To that extent, I've arranged for a guard duty to be set up inside the ministry. Voldemort will do whatever he can to get his hands on it. We must do the same to keep it from his grasp."
My heart speeds up in my chest, a little spurt of adrenalin kicking through my blood. There was really no way to prepare for this. We couldn't decide how to handle it until we knew what the others would do. Would they still try to guard the prophecy now that Harry knows about it?
Apparently, the answer is yes.
Harry looks at me as if searching for the answer. I nod my head fast and small and bite my lip to keep quiet.
It has to be done. I know Harry wants to work alone, but some things we can't keep to ourselves, and we can't let the Order waste the manpower guarding something that no longer exists.
Harry doesn't stand up, doesn't move a muscle, but I feel his magic swell before he opens his mouth.
"A weapon? Or the prophecy?" he says, and his voice is low and calm.
All eyes snap to him, and Dumbledore's gaze becomes penetrative.
"What prophecy?" Kingsley snaps, leaning on the edge of his chair.
Professor Dumbledore's eyes flare, his posture tight and intimidating. Snape scowls outright. My eyes scan the crowd, and the division of surprise and calm goes straight down the middle. Even including the Weasleys, there's a split of redheads who had already heard the prophecy that day in the Headmaster's office to those that are now staring at Harry in wonder.
So, half the Order knew that there was a prophecy, and the others guarded the Department of Mysteries on faith alone.
Unfathomable.
I'd never go into a situation so blind. Harry would never let me. If he had information, I knew it shortly thereafter. It never occurred to him to keep secrets from us. Though, not to sound too egotistical, Harry couldn't have done half of what he'd done without us either.
Harry doesn't move from his perch on the arm of the couch. Doesn't make himself more of a spectacle, but his voice carries loud enough to be heard by all.
"Because if it's a weapon he's after, then I apologize for interrupting. But if it's the prophecy that he's after, I've already ensured that he'll never get his hands on it. It shattered into a thousand pieces on the Hall of Prophecies floor."
"When?" Professor Dumbledore demands, the word a puff of air but somehow frightening for all that.
"The first opportunity I had," Harry says, choosing not to elaborate further.
Professor Dumbledore rises to his feet, and an uncomfortable stillness settles around the room. Harry still doesn't stand. His arm slips from the couch to rest on my shoulders, and his fingers trail up and down the side of my neck.
Is he trying to comfort himself or me?
"You knew about this?" Professor Dumbledore asks, turning to look at Sirius.
Sirius ducks his head in a sign of respect before adding, "Yes, I did," at the end.
"You didn't think to tell me?" Dumbledore says in a cool tone.
Sirius rises to his feet now, tugging on the sleeves of his jacket.
"My apologies, Albus, but my loyalty lies first with Harry, as my Godson, my adopted child, and as my Head of House." Sirius looks around the room, making eye contact with the others as he goes. He raises his voice, "Just as all of our loyalty should lie with the Boy Who Lived."
Harry groans inside my head. His posture stays perfectly still, though.
Kingsley stands, staring straight at Harry.
"The only people who can remove a prophecy are the people of whom the prophecy is about. On pain of madness and death, boy. Madness, and death. You're telling us you destroyed a prophecy that Voldemort thinks to use as a weapon? You touched it?"
Harry still doesn't stand. It's giving me anxiety. How can he just sit there when everyone is staring at him? I pull my fingers in my lap until Ron slips his hand in mine. I squeeze his fingers as hard as I can, my nails digging into his skin.
Harry nods, once and sharp.
"Which means the prophecy was about you and You-Know-Who. What did it say?" Kingsley demands, and every person in the room holds their breath.
My husband only shakes his head.
"You've heard of a self-fulfilling prophecy, I assume? That's all the vision was. Rubbish that Voldemort himself invoked fifteen years ago. It's already done enough damage to last us multiple lifetimes. I won't let it hurt anyone else. Suffice to say, there is no fear that Voldemort will ever hear it."
Emmaline Vance speaks up, earnestness filling her voice.
"But if it would give us an advantage in defeating You-Know-Who?" she insists, leaning forward beseechingly on the edge of her chair.
Harry glances towards Professor Dumbledore, who gives him a cool stare. You've made your bed, it seems to say. Now you get to lie in it. The Headmaster lowers himself into his chair, crossing his legs at the knees.
Harry finally stands up. Kingsley immediately sits back down, giving Harry the floor. Every eye is on him. There's so much tension in the room it makes me want to vomit.
"It doesn't," Harry says firmly, running his hands through his hair. "He thinks he's invincible. He wouldn't lower himself to believe otherwise. He thinks the prophecy would give him the knowledge on how to defeat me." The air is pulled so thick, I can barely get a breath in. "Not the other way around. It didn't do that either," he says.
Remus rises from his chair, placing his hand on Sirius's shoulder. Sirius gives him a grateful smile before resuming his seat.
"There's a reason why only those to whom the prophecy is about are able to touch their spheres," Remus provides. "It's not for us to know what the vision said. It's served its purpose, and now it is forever out of You-Know-Who's grasp. Let's move on to other business."
Snape clears his throat, bringing the attention of the room back to him.
"The point remains. The Dark Lord has made it his mission to get into the Department of Mysteries, by whatever means possible."
Harry doesn't sit down and instead turns his entire body to face Snape and Dumbledore.
"If I were playing lapdog to a dark lord, I'd let him continue to dwell on the prophecy," Harry says, offering his opinion for the first time all night. "Let him stew on it for the next two months, or the next two years if that's how long it takes him, while we build our defences."
"The Dark Lord will find it suspicious, Potter, that the Order is not trying to impede him."
His tone is dripping disdain for what he sees as Harry's stupidity, but Harry isn't done yet.
"Will he though? I don't think he would. If there is one thing in the world Voldemort is secure in, it's his own superiority. The lack of conflict will prove you are loyal to him and haven't shared your knowledge of his desire for the prophecy with Dumbledore while also showing him how inept we are at discovering his plans. In the meanwhile, he wastes however long he wastes attempting to discover knowledge that no longer exists."
Snape is slow in his response.
"That is…plausible," he concedes, and you can tell it cost him dearly to say it.
"How do you know this?" Kingsley asks Harry. I can't decide if Kingsley sounds impressed or suspicious. "How do you know any of this?"
Harry pivots again, facing the stalwart Auror.
"I've faced Voldemort more than any other person alive, Dumbledore excluded," he says. "Voldemort is…" He runs both hands through his hair, his frustration palpable even to those that don't share his soul. "Voldemort is brilliant. But he knows it too, and that's his weakness. That, and he likes the sound of his own voice."
A scattering of laughter breaks out but silences just as fast.
Harry has started pacing, his hands behind his back, two steps in either direction. Ron pulls me into the crook of his shoulder, protecting me perhaps from something we can't see. Harry's building explosion.
"I've lost count of how many times Voldemort has tried to kill me. Four? Five? Six? He's brilliant, but he's blind. He tried to possess me once, and it caused him physical pain. Because he couldn't understand a mind that wasn't obsessed with power and a heart that was filled with love."
Harry opens his side of the bond just a little bit, and my stomach swoops at the surge of affection from him.
"He's utterly convinced that he's always the smartest person in a room." Harry stops and points at Professor Snape. "He keeps a potions master as his right hand, but not because he couldn't brew himself, and better too, or so he thinks. But why should he lower himself to something so menial when he has someone else to do it for him. He wouldn't consider it a trap when things go his way because in his mind, he's smarter than all of us, and victory is only what he deserves."
This is why people follow Harry. It doesn't matter that he's one of the youngest in the room. Every eye is drawn to him as he works through an unseen problem in front of us. My eyes wander around the room, and people are sitting on the edge of their seats, leaning in to get closer. Jaws are slack, and eyes are wide, and this isn't what Harry wanted. Not really. He wanted to be a part of the conversation, not the topic. But I suppose when you're prophesied to destroy the world's evilest Wizard, you don't have much of a choice.
"You've defeated him half a dozen times?"
It's Tonks that asks the question, and the awe in her voice makes me uncomfortable.
"No," Harry laughs, an empty hollow sound. "I've never defeated Voldemort. With luck and the help of friends, I've survived him," he shrugs his shoulders. "Most of the time." People chuckle at that, but it's the least funny thing I've ever heard. "There's a big difference between the two."
He finally stops his pacing and looks Dumbledore in the eye.
"But we're connected, he and I. When you've been through what we have together, it leaves a mark. As I said, he tried to possess me once. To steal my body and consume my soul. He failed. My soul belonged to another. But luckily for us, Voldemort isn't as smart as he thinks he is, and I'm not as dumb as I look. I dug around in his brain, some, while I was in there."
Professor Dumbledore smiles at Harry, and it's the most genuine expression I've ever seen on the man.
Harry looks at Kingsley.
"That's how I know all that."
Harry sits back down on his perch beside me, and I lean from Ron's shoulder into Harry's hip. They wrap their arms around me together, and I sigh into their embrace. Harry was right before we started. I'm ready for it to be over.
"You think you survived He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named five or six times by luck?" Dedalus Diggle challenges.
Much to my shock, it's Ron that answers the rhetorical question.
"Yeah, Mate. A bit," he says. "You should have seen him when he was eleven. Not much to write home about. Bit squiggly around the edges, to be honest."
"You fought off You-Know-Who when you were eleven?" He sounds like he's on the verge of passing out.
Harry barely nods.
"Every year since I rejoined the Wizarding World."
Which, when you put it like that, maybe Dumbledore knew what he was doing, after all, keeping him secluded with the muggles.
"Congratulations, you didn't kill anyone!"
Ron smiles when he says it, his eyes twinkling with amusement and mirth. He plops lightly into one of the chairs in our bedroom while Harry sprawls heavily onto the couch.
"Yeah, well, it was a close thing." Harry grunts, and his headache is bleeding through the bond he's opened back up.
I'm scribbling furiously in my notebook, trying to ensure I don't forget any details from tonight.
"That's not behaviour we should be encouraging, Ronald," I say absentmindedly. "Or rather, we shouldn't have to congratulate him on not killing people."
Harry huffs in a half-aborted laugh.
I bit on the end of my pen, thinking about what to say.
"Out with it," he demands.
Oh yeah. Mind reading.
I slide my notebook closed as Ron flicks his gaze between us.
"You gave away a lot of information tonight."
Harry shakes his head.
"No, I didn't. Not really. By the time we died, everyone knew about the prophecy, if not what was in it. They're already running The Chosen One stories in the prophet anyway. No one but us knows for sure what the prophecy said. Everything else is just speculation."
"Okay," I concede the point because it doesn't matter anyway. Tonight really only had one purpose for us. To gather information, and to make the Order members see him as a force to be reckoned with.
We did both of those in spades.
Ron leans forward with his arms on his knees, looking between Harry and I.
"Am I the only one that feels uncomfortable about Snape describing You-Know-Who as unhinged? Because I thought he was already mental. So, if he's getting worse then I don't see that ending well for us. You don't think it could have anything to do with the Horcruxes do you?"
"The thought had crossed my mind," Harry admits. "Last time he regained his body he was only missing one. Now he only has two left. But I think we can count on Voldemort's superiority complex to keep their destruction hidden, at least for now. He probably doesn't realize anything is different. I doubt he could feel his soul to begin with, let alone half a dozen pieces of it stretched out along Great Britain. If he realizes his, for lack of a better word, psyche is different now than before he lost his body, I'm sure he'll chalk it up to thirteen years as a phantom and losing his best supporters. Or maybe losing that snake."
Ron looks doubtful, but doesn't say anything else.
"Speaking of supporters," Harry adds, pushing up from the couch. "Azkaban."
Ron makes a painful expression, eyes tight and lips curled, but then he nods his head.
"Azkaban," he agrees.
"The Order can do what they want, so long as they stay out of our way. But if Voldemort is having difficulty swaying people to his side, then he's going to break into Azkaban sooner rather than later. We need to come up with a way to either stop that from happening, or break into it first. Personally, I vote for breaking in. I owe Bellatrix a favour. But no matter what, she cannot be allowed to re-join her master. He's twice as strong with her at his side."
Ron hesitates for a moment, then asks, "Any plans on how to do that?"
Harry smirks at him, and that smile can be nothing good. It's his lets follow the spiders smile, and Ronald pales in its presence.
"You tell me, Ron. Move the pieces on the chessboard."