Chapter 36

Hermione

I can tell something is different the moment we enter the training room. Moody and Kingsley both are here, for one. There's no way that's a coincidence. Neither were here for breakfast and whenever one of the Order members stops by to chat, they always share a meal with us. Molly and Winky have practically made it a house rule.

Then there's the fact that all conversation stops as soon as we enter the attic. All seven adults are standing in the middle of the space and turn as one to watch us enter. Moody and Kingsley are already missing their outer robes.

I freeze upon seeing the way they stare at me. It's calculating. Unfeeling. Dangerous. Butterflies erupt in my stomach, and Harry stops against my back, his hands resting gently on my hips.

Trouble?

Is there? I can't tell yet. Probably. My instinct for trouble has been honed to a precise point, thanks mainly to the men beside me.

Unknown.

He places a soft kiss on the back of my neck, then gives me a gentle shove to start moving again.

"This is unexpected," Harry says, his voice pleasant despite the wariness I feel in his bones. It's his wariness because I'm not wary. I'm twitchy.

Very, very twitchy.

"Nate said we were always welcome to stop in and train," Kingsley says in his deep and soothing timbre. "We thought we'd take him up on the offer."

"Happy birthday, by the way," Moody says grumpily. "To both of you."

"Thanks," Nev and Harry say as one.

I don't like it, I tell Harry while stretching out my legs. This doesn't bode well.

Harry doesn't say anything; he just reaches down and touches his toes. But the pulse of comfort he sends through our Bond loosens some of the knots that have twisted in my belly.

"Right," Nate says, clapping his hands together.

So much for that. Now the knots have twisted and kinked. That was not a regular 'right.'

The twins aren't here today, having been guilted into spending the day at the Ministry shadowing their father. I feel sorry for Arthur. I don't know what Molly was thinking. No good is going to come from that.

"Draco, you're with Red and Neville. Tonks will take you through your paces. Everyone else is with me."

This means it's me, Ron, and Harry against every Order member here.

"Break is over. We have four weeks left. It's time to work."

A shiver of anticipation runs down my spine.

This doesn't bode well at all.

"Again!" Moody barks out.

Repetition is the key to learning magic. I get that. I get that on a deeply spiritual level. While there are some things you just know intrinsically, like Harry and Parseltongue, repetition and practice are essential for most branches of magic.

Call it a hunch, though, but I don't believe many magical folks practice the torture/training they're putting us through right now.

I've been in a lot of fights at this point in my life. Way more than the others in this room realize. And while I know without a doubt there's a physicality to duelling with wands, I've never seen Witches and Wizards move as much as they're forcing us to manoeuver around the training room.

We're being punished, and I'm not exactly sure why.

We dip and dodge and slip to the floor, only to pop back up and swerve sideways and front again. All while half a dozen different spells are shooting at us from half a dozen different directions without a break in their onslaught.

It started as a coordinated exercise. It's deteriorated into the three of us simply struggling to stay on our feet. I'm going to need a Pepper-Up potion at lunch.

My thighs are already trembling.

I miss a block, and a stinging jinx slaps me in the middle of my back, causing me to arch and cry out. I stumble on my feet, and Harry grips me around the wrist and pulls me stuttering behind him.

I have no idea who tagged me, but Harry is glaring at them all anyway.

"I thought you'd be better than this by now," Moody growls, slamming his walking stick into the ground.

"This is why you lost last week," Kingsley adds, walking around the three of us where we heave and gasp in air. The sounds of the other's training have trickled to silence as all eyes turn to watch our berating. "Because you aren't taking it seriously. Stop protecting your wife and fight us."

A spell shoots out from who knows where, and Ron blocks it with that physical shield charm. But the shield is so weak it disintegrates from the impact.

Ron's face has reached a dangerous shade of red, his ears almost leaking steam.

"We didn't lose last week," Ron snaps, but his tone makes it sound like a childish rebuttal coming from his lips. "Harry kicked your arse."

Every senior Order member in the room laughs and chuckles, and it's a dark and evil sound.

Kingsley steps into Ron's personal space, and I instinctively reach to tug him closer. Ron may be big for his age. He'll be big for anybody's age pretty soon. But Kingsley's presence takes up twice as much as Ronald's.

I don't understand what's happening.

"No, boy. He didn't. Last week you were given instructions to duel as if your life depended on it, and you screwed around with juvenile antics until your recklessness got someone hurt. Only then did Harry buckle down to business." Kingsley twists his head on his neck, staring Harry straight in the eye, though he speaks to Ronald. "By that time, you or Hermione could both have been dead."

Harry has blocked off his side of the Bond. That's never a good sign. If he doesn't want me to know what he's feeling, then what he's feeling is liable to get us into deep shite.

Their eyes…every set of them keeps flicking to me. There's something there. Something we're not getting. Harry sees it too and takes a step to the side, partially blocking my view. Ron, ever Harry's shadow, mimics Harry's movement and hides me entirely behind them. I poke them both in the middle of the back with my wands and shove a smidgen of power into it until Ron squeaks and moves enough, I can see between them again.

The Order members glance at each other, and Moody jerks his chin in a rough nod.

Remus joins the Aurors; his face is closed off and hard. Sirius stands beside him, and his expression is the only one that isn't hewn with determination. He looks almost sad, his gaze flicking away from Harry.

My stomach drops out between my knees. I may not have the best interpersonal skills, but I recognize that face. Sirius doesn't agree with what's about to happen, but he's not going to stop it either.

"All of this is for you, Harry," Remus says, gesturing around the room.

"Half of Wizarding Britain has put their lives on hold to prepare for an upcoming war, all based solely on your word. Half of those people have dedicated themselves to you as their leader. To ensure that you defeat You-Know-Who."

Harry opens his mouth to respond, but I touch him lightly on the shoulder, and he snaps his mouth closed again. The strain in his body not to lash out and yell is unfathomable. I can feel his muscles trembling with the need to act.

His breathing picks up, and his chest expands and collapses in rapid succession, but it's the only outward indication he lets show what Remus says has bothered him.

Kingsley walks the perimeter, tapping his wand against his thigh.

"Yet you can't win a backyard romp against people not trying to kill you," he says. "What's going to happen when there are real stakes on the line? The only time you took our fight seriously was when Hermione was in danger."

Without warning, Kingsley grabs me and yanks me hard against his chest, holding his wand to my throat. Harry and Ron whip around to face us, molten rage on Harry's face. Ron growls under his breath.

Fear fights my anger for dominance. The last time someone held me in this position, I died. I swallow back my need to scream, instead making a pathetic whimpering sound. Kingsley won't hurt me. Kingsley won't hurt me!

Harry lunges, and Ron holds him back. Ron whispers in Harry's ear, and I hear it as if his lips were against my own.

"It's a test, Harry. They won't hurt her."

Yes. It's a test.

Just because my mind knows that doesn't stop my physical response though. I lock my knees so they won't buckle, and breathe in through my nose so I don't throw up on my feet.

"Is this what'll take on the battlefield? Will it take a knife to your wife's throat to get you to pay attention? Or will you abandon us all to die, if it's a choice between saving her, or ending him?"

Fury trickles through our Bond, doused in a simmering stillness.

I understand the purpose of the older Aurors presence now.

They're trying to prove a point. I get that. What I don't know yet is what that point is.

They learned a lesson last week. They can't have it both ways. The Aurors teased and taunted Harry before and during our mock battle, then when Ron and I fell because of our playfulness, everyone involved paid the price. The Order can't treat us like children, then expect us to behave like warriors.

It seems like they've finally chosen their path. They expect the Chosen One to lead. Now we get to confirm it's our intention to do so.

"It doesn't have to be an either/or situation, boy," Moody says, stomping around with his staff and peg-leg. "But you're too stupid to understand that. Do we need to gift her to the Dark Lord to ensure we have your attention?"

Harry is trembling head to toe. His eyes flash a brilliant green in warning, and I know it like I know how to breathe, that Harry is about to rescue me, and hurt everyone in his path to do so. I give my head a tiny shake no. His lip turns up in a snarl.

As quietly as I can, I drop my second wand.

Harry grasps the grip of the sword in his hand, and without thinking, I mirror his actions, straightening my arm and flexing my fist. The metal is rough against his callouses. I don't have calluses from working with a sword for hours a day. My palms are smooth when I tighten my fingers around the hilt, and the metal bites deeply into my flesh.

We are one, he and I. Taking the sword from his hand is as easy as breathing. Even with the space of two meters between us.

Which might be the point they were trying to make.

I close my eyes and rip down Harry's side of the Bond, pushing my way into his mind. I expect him to flinch away from the intrusion like he did every time Voldemort ransacked his thoughts. Instead, he welcomes me into his memories with open arms. I show him what I'm searching for, and he brings the images to the forefront of his mind. I consume his knowledge greedily—weeks of training flow into my consciousness. My muscles burn with the echoes of punishment and skill they did not earn themselves.

Wizards rely too much on their magic. I've been saying it for years.

I fall into a half-squat in front of Kingsley, catching him off guard. His wand jabs into my chin, but I ignore the sharp stab of pain. I drop my hip behind his knee and sweep my foot behind him, knocking him off his feet. He finally shoots a binding jinx, then a freezing hex, then a spell I don't recognize at all, but we're both still falling to the ground, and I'm much too close for him to aim at properly, and he manages to miss me completely. His back hits the mat with a painful thump, followed by the crack of his head.

I allow my momentum to pull me after him, but I was expecting the movement, where he was not. There's a reason we've been training in hand-to-hand combat. In case your enemy gets close enough to hit, we need to instinctively respond. Kingsley groans in pain as my knee lands in the middle of his sternum, and I bring the blade across his throat.

I don't cut him, though it would serve him right if I did. It's the duplicate anyway, so it wouldn't cause any lasting harm. But my blood is rushing so loud in my ears, and my adrenaline is pumping so hard that I move the sword away an inch to stop slitting his throat on accident.

My wand is on his forehead, and I honestly don't remember doing it.

Harry hasn't moved a muscle. Every eye in the room is on me.

"That was impressive," Moody growls.

Damn right it was!

"You've made your point," Harry says tightly. I don't know if he's speaking to them or me.

"Have we?" Nate replies. "Because I'm not sure we did. She's never used the sword before, yet she called it to her like it was her own, and then brandished it with skill she was never taught.

"You could have won last week, but you didn't. Because you only got serious when Hermione was in danger. You each acted alone, instead of as a unit. I thought you two fighting together was going to be our secret weapon. Why else would the Chosen One have a Bonded Mate? After that duel, I'm not so sure anymore."

Sirius takes up the lesson.

"Everyone in this room knows you're special, Harry. But it's not because of your magical strength. Every one of us is disposable. Hermione included. Everyone but you."

Harry's face blanches, then flushes with renewed anger. Nate takes a step forward with his hands open, trying to calm Harry down.

But it's Harry's worst fear, isn't it? Everybody he loves dying and leaving him alone.

"You-Know-Who wants to kill you himself, Harry. He needs to, in order to prove once and for all that you aren't better than him. Which means unless you're facing him directly, your enemies won't be trying to kill you." He points to where I'm still incapacitating Kingsley. "They'll be trying to kill her. They'll be trying to kill all of us. You will always have an advantage over them on the battlefield. You need to learn to use it. With Hermione at your side? There should never be any reason for you to lose a fight. Ever."

"You have to trust that your partners will handle themselves," Remus says.

Harry shakes his head, his hands flexing at his sides.

"Using your logic, if they don't want to kill me, then the safest thing for us both is to put myself between them and her. If you think I don't know what the stakes are, then you haven't been paying attention. But that monster has taken everything from me I've ever cared about. I won't let him take her too."

Remus shakes his head.

"No, Harry. The safest place for you both is for her to be at your side. For you to use your Bond and your power to push your advantage and make an impact. Instead, all you did was fuck around, then lost it when she got hurt," Remus says bluntly. "If you can't concentrate with her beside you, then she can't join you on the battlefield."

I hate them talking about me like I'm not even here.

Kingsley tries to move underneath me, and I put the tip of my wand into his forehead so hard he hisses.

"I am not a weakness," I spit through gritted teeth. "I can take care of myself."

Sirius shoots me a wink. I fight my smile as Harry's anger only grows stronger. I do my best to soothe him through the Bond. I understand now what they're trying to accomplish here. As much as it hurts, they have a point.

Not about last week. They treated our duel like a game as much as we did. But they are right about Harry's reaction to me getting injured. In the grand scheme of things, with magic at our fingertips, it was little more than a scratch. Harry did overreact. Which means he better get it together because I will not be kept home, like the little woman, while Harry goes off to war!

"Harry is the best hope we have, Hermione," Remus says in a gentle tone. "Even Dumbledore admits it. We can't risk losing him, and he's too afraid to lose you to focus on the task at hand. If he can't fight with you there, then you can't be there."

Excuse me?

Anger bubbles to the surface in my belly and tries to burst out through my ribcage.

"You think he doesn't know that?" I say in a quiet voice. Harry's simmering rage is blending with the anger burning inside my chest, and it's overtaking my common sense. "You think he doesn't realize the entire Wizarding World and beyond, currently rests on his shoulders?"

I push down painfully with my knee before climbing to my feet, sword in one hand and wand in the other. I totally get the appeal now.

It's Harry's turn to try to reign me back before I scream in Remus's face. I close my eyes and take a breath, feeling a fantom hand slide down my spine in a soothing touch.

"If you don't realize the burdens Harry carries are the only thing he thinks about day in and day out, then you can get the fuck out of my house," I hiss with venum.

"He doesn't sleep at night, because every time he closes his eyes, he sees the horrors of what will happen to us all if he fails. The murdering of muggles and the torture of purebloods who wish they would simply be killed just to end their pain and suffering. We know what our responsibilities are.

"But if you think there's even one iota of a possibility that he's fighting without me at his back, you're even stupider than you look."

Harry comes to my side, and I hand him the sword hilt first. Relief courses through him, at having the comforting weight in his hand again. It's becoming a touchstone, and I'm not altogether sure that's a good thing, but I'll worry about that another day.

Ron immediately takes his spot to Harry's right.

Harry finally speaks.

"I'm sorry we didn't take the last duel as seriously as we should have. You have my promise that next time I'll try to kill you properly. But I won't apologize for protecting my wife. You can all go to hell if that's what you're waiting for."

Nate runs his hand jerkily through his hair and rips the band from his tail when his fingers get stuck.

"We don't want you to apologize for it. We want you to realize that you don't need to protect her! Because jointly? You could be nearly unstoppable! But you have to work together. Didn't you see what she did back there? Kingsley is one of the most badass Aurors in Britain, and she knocked him on his ass, Harry. With a skill that YOU gave her."

Nate slaps the back of his hand against his other palm, trying to emphasize his point. He shoves a finger in our direction.

"I could see it the minute you opened your Bond and started to communicate last week. After that, you took down all three Aurors by yourself."

I never noticed before the way Nate seems to talk with his hands. They tell a story the same way his lips do, moving and swaying and emphasizing his words. He throws his hands up in front of his chest, showing Harry his palms as if he's a tamer calming a wild animal.

"And I know some of that was instinctual. It was because you saw her hurt and needed to end the fight as quickly as possible that you were able to assert your power as you did. But imagine if you fought with that coordination and mind set every time, Harry? From the beginning of a fight and not simply to end one. Ron is great at following your lead. But you have to lead. You have to use all of the resources available to you, and that includes Hermione. You have to stop trying to protect her at all costs, because the costs are too high. You froze when she went down. In a real fight, that would have gotten you killed."

Remus steps closer to us, earnestness bare on his face.

"Hermione is always talking about testing the limits of your Bond, Harry. From what you've just shown us, there are no limits. She pulled the knowledge of how to use that sword straight from your head. Imagine what you both could accomplish if you could do that at will, instead of just in times of stress? Then imagine how you could twist it to your advantage in the middle of a battle. You could each be on separate sides and see the entire field."

He lands the killing blow.

"It's a twisted logic, I know, but you can't worry about Hermione on the front line, because if you stop to check on her when she falls, then You Will Die, and all will be lost. If you die, then so will she. It's as simple as that. Trust your Bond to keep her safe, and she'll do the same for you."

Trust. Such a simple word with almost unbearable consequences. I don't think there's a thing in the world, me and maybe Sirius excluded, that Harry trusts explicitly. Not even me. Especially not me. Because he doesn't trust me to keep myself safe. Not when the stakes are so high.

"I don't know if I can do that," Harry says with a shaking voice.

"Then we practice until you can," Sirius says sincerely.

The older Order members stare at us with contemplative looks, but I only have eyes for Harry. Every emotion he has is zipping across his face, and it doesn't take a magical link to know what's going through his mind.

How is he supposed to ignore the fact that fighting at his side means I might die when he's already seen me dead. It plays into his greatest fear, losing the people he loves because of something he did. Or didn't do, as the case may be.

Something is still niggling at me.

"What brought this on?" I ask. "It wasn't just because of the duel last friday. Those Aurors were goofing off as much as we were."

The air suddenly becomes stale. My throat closes up as apprehension climbs up my spine.

"Tell him," Sirius barks, and Moody stares at Sirius long and hard before turning to look at Harry. His expression is dark and grim.

"Brent Cross Shopping Centre was destroyed yesterday. Muggles claim it was a gas leak."

"A gas leak?" Harry says with a tight voice.

"They don't know what magic looks like. Looked like a series of blasting hexes to me. It was at night, there were only a few casualties, but the premises are still smouldering."

It's started then.

"Someone saw us."

Harry's voice is dead. Empty. Guilt is eating him from the inside out.

"Honestly, I don't think so. Or not you at least. They wouldn't have waited two days if you had been spotted. Intelligence thinks someone saw the Weasleys. Blood traitors cavorting with muggles, so Voldemort sent a message."

That makes sense.

Harry takes a shaking breath, and I feel the weight of the latest loss settle onto his shoulders. The attack wasn't his fault, but he'll think it was anyway.

The room around us seems to fall away, until it's just Harry and me alone. His hands are filled with the tools of a warrior, and I can feel the battle going on inside him. It's not a fight where a sword or wand will help. It's a war he has to fight alone.

I cup his cheek in my palm, and his eyes close and he leans into my embrace, his breath leaving him in a rush. The fact that he's willing to show his vulnerability so openly shows how deeply the thought of us really fighting together has affected him.

It's one thing to know it's what we've always done in the past. But it's different now. The stakes have changed, and nobody knows it better than us. Power the Dark Lord knows not.

I am the power the Dark Lord knows not. Harry isn't the only one who's terrified.

Nate breaks the silence first.

"Your Lady Wife needs a weapon."

I start at the unexpected announcement, seeing my surprised expression mirrored on Harry's face.

"Ummm, okay."

But I swear if this is another pureblood asking my husband to control me, or even worse, asking his permission, I'm going to poke Nate in the eye with my wand.

"What are you telling me?" Harry replies. "She doesn't need my approval."

"Good answer, Harry," I say.

Ron snorts in amusement.

"The sword was fun and all," I tell them honestly, "but I don't much fancy carrying one around."

Nate smirks at me with his hands on his hips.

"Have you ever seen a magical quarterstaff?"

I jump when someone slides up beside me.

"If Granger gets a weapon, I want one too."

Dammit. I completely forgot the others were in the room. The last thing I need is Draco and Gin being privy to Harry working through his PTSD issues.

I refuse to look his way, but I can feel his eyes bearing down on me. I trust Draco as far as that vow will keep him loyal. Maybe a little more than that, after the last few days. But Draco is a hoarder of information, and the fact that Harry is shaking beside me because my mortality has been brought into question isn't information I want him to have.

"What about you Red? Neville?"

Gin shakes her head in a refusal.

"I'm good with the wands, thanks."

Neville, who was gifted new forearm sheaths that hold both wand and blade in each as well as matching Fairbairn-Sykes, pulls them from their holsters. He flips one in his hand and boy, is he gonna get a girlfriend this year!

"I like the double knives to be honest," he says sheepishly.

"Fair enough." Nate looks back to me and Draco. "You both need knives too," he says. "The next time someone has a weapon to your throat Hermione, I want you to stab them in the thigh."

Harry makes a gagging sound, and shoves the sword back into its scabbard.

"I need a minute," he mumbles in a jerky voice then turns and bolts from the room. Ron shoots Nate a furious glare and runs after his best friend.

"It's a long story," I reply when Nate lifts his brow in question.

Thankfully he leaves it at that.

"Right," he says instead. "Take a fifteen-minute break, then meet us back here. Be ready to work. Together."

I turn on my heel and take off after Harry.

It's not hard to find him. The Bond is still wide and flowing, and Ron is leaning up against the wall outside the loo. Harry's emotions are a jumbled mess. It's enough to give me motion sickness.

"I think he's getting ill," he says with a grimace and pushes up from the wall. Choking sounds are escaping from under the bathroom door, and my nose squishes up in sympathy.

"I've got it," I tell Ron, and squeeze his shoulder as I walk by him to knock on the bathroom door.

"It's me, Harry. I'm coming in."

I ease open the door only wide enough to squeeze my body through then push it shut behind me again, turning the lock on the handle.

Harry isn't getting sick. He's laughing. He's sitting on the toilet lid, hands over his mouth, glasses on the counter with tears streaming down his face.

I throw up a privacy ward and Muffliato, just to ensure that no one outside can hear what is obviously Harry's mental breakdown.

"What the hell is your problem?" I demand with a stomp of my foot.

"Can't you just imagine it?" He hisses through guffaws. "Stabbing Bellatrix in her thigh as she tries to slit your throat. It would be a race to see which wickedly terrifying witch can kill the other first."

I don't see anything funny about that, to be honest. Not a damn thing. Actually, I think I may be sick thinking about it.

"You've gone mental," I say with wide eyes. He wipes the moisture from his face, finally getting his chuckling under order.

"Maybe," he agrees. "Some would say I've never been all that put together to begin with."

He rises from his perch, and I go to turn to leave the room, and Harry grasps me around the wrist and jerks me forcefully against his chest.

"Are yfalugb" I try to say, but it comes out all garbled when he pins my face between his hands and brings his lips to mine. He shoves his tongue between my lips and tangles it with my own. It's like his tongue is fucking my mouth.

I return his kiss as fiercely as I can. The rage and fear left over from earlier easily melts into lust. Immediately my fingertips start to tingle.

He's angry, mad, possessive. He walks me back until my bum hits the counter, then grunts into my mouth at the impact. His lips trail over my jaw, my chin, and I take the opportunity to try to get a word in otherwise.

"Harry. We can't. Ron is—"

He cuts me off again. He digs his fingers into my hair and grasps it in his hand before yanking my neck so my back arches and a moan slips between my lips.

"Shut up," he growls, and okay then. I make a mental note to be mad at him later, and let everything else go. He covers his mouth with mine before I can think of a reply anyway. I tangle my hands into his hair, still damp from our earlier workout and pull until he hisses against my lips.

Without another word he brings his hands to my hips and wedges his fingers into my yoga pants, shoving both trousers and knickers roughly down my thighs. He stops several inches over my knees, effectively trapping my legs in place. His fingers are shaking, his skin is hot to the touch. So hot it feels like he leaves a trail of fire everywhere he touches.

His fingers slip between my folds, movements jerky and sharp.

"Merlin, you're always so wet," he trembles.

Harry pulls my shirt off my body and drops it to the floor then roughly cups my breasts through my bra. His touch is all commanding and the need that courses from him is an assault on my senses.

He yanks the elastic of my sports bra down to expose my nipples and dips his head to take one in his mouth. His teeth are sharp and his mouth is warm and his tongue feels like electricity coursing through my veins when he nips at me with his teeth then licks the burn away.

I'm going to be covered with his marks by the time he's done.

With his hands on my hips, he flips me around and I clumsily throw my hands out to find something to steady me. It's a good thing I cast the privacy charms because everything on the counter clatters to the ground as Harry shoves me prostrate against the marble.

He doesn't remove his trousers. Just shoves them out of the way enough to free himself from his pants. There's no hesitation. No gentleness or care. With one quick thrust, he sheaths himself to the hilt, stretching and filling me with no preparation.

We both groan at the feeling of our bodies merging in sync with our souls.

"Hang on," he whispers, then pulls out and rams back in.

I grip the side of the counter so hard my fingers go white.

His pace is brutal and punishing. Our magic fills the tiny space, stretching and then whining when it hits the wall and has no place further to go. Can magic whine? Ours is. I can hear it in my head, and feel it in my bones. A high pitched wail at stark volatility of our joining. It's almost suffocating with the weight of magic in the air.

Harry reaches forward and wraps his hand around my neck, pulling me up so I'm flat against his chest. He's shallower this way, but with every drag and push of his prick, it strokes against that magic spot inside me.

My vision whites out when he pinches my nipple harshly between his fingers and pulls.

"Look at you," he whispers into my ear. "Open your eyes and look."

It's hard to open my eyes. It's hard to focus on anything other than Harry and the way he makes me feel. But I manage to pry them open a slit, then they go wide, and my knees buckle when I see our reflection in the mirror. We look wild. Clothes in disarray, hair a mess, Harry with his hand still wrapped around my throat and the other covering my breast.

There are red burns on my skin. Teeth marks. I look a mess. I love it. So does he.

"Good girl," he growls, and Merlin! I like that. I like that alot.

I whimper as green eyes meet brown in the reflection of the mirror.

"Such a lovely fucking witch. You're mine. Say it."

"Yours," I pant, and try to nod, but the motion puts a strain on my throat and the room tilts as I lose what little oxygen I had.

The combination of it all tips me over the edge, that ball of tension and pressure at the base of my spine explodes across my limbs. Harry pins my hip in a vice grip and holds me at the angle he wants me as he falls apart behind me. His hips start to stutter, and he latches his teeth onto my shoulder and bites as his orgasm consumes him. It's too much.

Everything.

It's too much, and I come a second time. The air pressure in the tiny room can't handle it, and my ears pop and the picture over the toilet falls to the ground as our orgasms cause magic to burst from us in a physical release.

The whole thing probably lasted less than two minutes.

His breath is hot against my back as his head rests between my shoulder blades. I reach my arms up behind me and run my fingers over the top of his head. I twist them in his hair and when he tilts his head to the side and lays his cheek on my back I run my fingers over the side of his face.

His arms are latched so tight around me I'm liable to get dizzy from oxygen deprivation.

It takes another minute or two before we catch our breath enough to speak again.

"Feel better?" I ask conversationally. My voice is shaky.

"Yeah," he says, and I think he tries to feel ashamed, but can't really make it all the way there. "Sorry," he adds halfheartedly.

"No, you're not."

He grins at me wickedly in the reflection over my shoulder.

"No, I'm not."

He slips from my body, and like I always do, I immediately mourn the loss of him. He puts himself back into his trousers, then runs his hands between my legs as has become his habit. I don't hear the spell, but I feel the cleaning charm warm against my flesh as he cleans me up, then helps pull my leggings back into place.

I force my bra back into place as Harry hands me my shirt from the floor with a sheepish expression.

"Better?" I ask again.

"Yeah," he says, and I feel it in my chest—the way he's settled, content. He almost feels like a lion, curled around my heart and purring as he drifts off to sleep.

He pulls my hair from my tail, already half collapsed, and runs his fingers through it.

"I guess we should start practicing with this Bond then, huh," he says with resignation.

I tilt my head sideways for a kiss, and he obliges me quick and swift.

"Lead the way," I say. "It sounds like we'll have quite the audience to help us figure it out."

"You guys realize that the bathroom isn't warded, right?" Sirius says as soon as we walk back through the door.

I blush horribly, but Harry just gives his Godfather a blank stare.

"The privacy spells held," Harry says.

"That does nothing for the burst of magic that shook the house, Pup," Sirius says with a smirk.

"Jealous?"

Remus blushes horribly and turns his back to pretend to be busy elsewhere while Sirius throws his head back and laughs.

"Incredibly," he admits.

"You wanted us to use the Bond. That's what happens when we let the magic flow between us."

"Good," Nate says, clapping his hands in what I've started to think of as his signature move. "If that's what it feels like during sex, then I can't wait to see what it looks like unleashed in a duel."

I try to deny the accusation, but all that comes out are embarrassed stutters.

"Who says we were having sex?" Harry asks, even though he basically already admitted it.

Sirius taps himself on his nose.

"Someone Avada me please?" I beg, and bury my face in Harry's chest. It jostles under me as he laughs, and he brings his hand to the back of my head and wraps an arm around my waist.

"Sorry," he whispers into my hair.

"No, you're not," I mumble into his shirt.

"No, I'm not," he agrees.

Remus steps up, one of the muggle notebooks and a Bic pen that more and more of the wizards have taken to using flipped to a clean page in his hands.

"Tonks took everyone else into the backyard, Ron included."

"It's raining," I interrupt them, confused as to why they're outside.

"It'll do them good to practice in challenging elements. They won't always be fighting in a climate controlled well lit building."

Don't I know it.

Remus points to us.

"Grab two practice swords. Let's get started."

It's been a long day. We learned that when someone tried to Imperius me, Harry could push it off. When Remus confunded Harry, it almost took me down too. Sirius offered to knock Harry out and see if I could rouse him, but Harry politely declined that little experiment. We'll wait until the need arises.

Harry certainly has more control over our connection than I do, and it bothers me to no end.

I can read a book, and Harry can recite it out loud. That's going to make Owl testing lots of fun, I can tell.

"I don't understand how he got these questions wrong!" I complain, looking at the page of arithmancy equations Harry filled out an hour ago. Remus and I are spread out in the library, going over a day's worth of notes and experiments.

"I suspect it's like any subject a person learns. There are those you excel at and those you don't."

I move onto another page, and it's the same with these equations too. He got most of them right, but not all of them. I can answer them in my head without having to write them down on paper. But even with access to my knowledge, Harry struggled with the math.

Remus is still making observations into his notebook.

"But you couldn't handle the sword as well as he could, even though you pulled the skill from his memories. It makes sense to me, Hermione. Equals, but not the same. Two sides of a whole. Just because he knows what you know in theory, doesn't mean he processes it the same way you do."

I tap my pen on the table, thinking it out in my head.

"But our personalities have already started to merge, at least a little. I'm much quicker to anger lately."

Remus puts his pen down, and removes his reading glasses from his face, and turns to me with a smile.

"I'm not sure I agree with that, Hermione. From what I remember, you've always had a sharp tongue and temper."

Heat floods my face, but I refuse to look away. That's…not exactly inaccurate.

"Well, Harry is taking on some of me as well. He reads much more now than before our Bond!"

The werewolf leans back in his chair, taking to the friendly philosophical argument.

"But does he? Or do you notice it more since you are together one hundred percent of the time? Harry is a very goal orientated person, much like yourself. Only often, your goals were good grades, and Harry's goals involved mystery and adventures. But I remember clearly how hard he worked to learn to defeat the Dementors, years before the average witch or wizard typically learns the Patronus Charm. That included a copious amount of reading, and you weren't Bonded Mates then."

"I think we need to take intent into the equation as well. Harry has no desire to do well with arithmancy. So, he didn't do as well as he could. You have no desire to learn the sword, and therefore didn't respond as precisely and cleanly as Harry does."

"I'll concede the point," I tell him with a little bow of my head.

Kings Cross Station filters through my mind.

"Kings Cross," I tell Remus, and he searches through our piles before pulling the chart we've created to the front.

"That's a considerable distance," Remus says.

Harry and Sirius are apparating to different points in London, checking to see how far the Bond reaches. We haven't hit a limit yet.

"It's not as clear as if he were sitting right next to me, but…" I close my eyes and try to see through Harry's. It's gotten easier as the day has gone on. They're passing through crowds of Muggles, several of which give the boys interested double-takes.

I pull out of his head with a scoff of irritation. Even doing nothing they're the center of attention.

"I can still see through his eyes."

Remus makes another note.

The dizziness and feeling of double vision have lessened the more we try this, but I still get a queasy feeling of wrongness every time I pull away from his sight. I think the fact that we're not in the same room has made a huge difference.

"I'm starting to wonder if there's not a limit," Remus says thoughtfully.

My pen is tap, tap, taping on the tabletop.

"I read a small anecdote from the Goblin text from the 1300's, I think? For this specific couple, their Bond was sealed as he was boarding a ship to make his fortune. Literally, they were on the dock when they kissed. According to the Goblins, she was able to communicate with him while he was at sea to gain his opinion on a house she was planning to purchase as their home. But that was the only reference to a long-distance separation in all the texts I've read. I gather it's quite uncommon to be separated from your Mate."

My mobile rings, and Remus answers it. Sirius has the other.

I tune Remus out, and try to concentrate on Harry instead. He's muddled, I guess. Like static on a telly. One instant he's as clear as a bell ringing, the next it's like looking through water.

You, okay? He asks me, and a tiny smile pulls at my lips.

Yeah. You?

Hungry.

I feel his stomach rumble, and laugh as it echoes inside mine.

Come home. We can do more tomorrow.

I hesitate for a moment, but what the hell.

I would kill for Chinese food. Half chow Mein and brown rice, cream cheese rangoons, maybe orange chicken and kung pow?

Harry's laughter lights up my skull, and it's like a direct line to my pleasure centre.

It's a deal. I Love you.

Butterflies erupt in my belly as those words sear into my brain. I know he loves me, but I'm not used to hearing him say it.

I love you too.

The sound of Remus snapping the phone closed pulls my attention to him.

"Did you know your eyes go all glassy when you're talking to Harry like that? You were talking to Harry, weren't you?"

I chuckle and duck my head.

"Yeah, I was."

Remus starts to stack the copious books and notes we've collected today. It's well past dinner at this point. We've been at it for hours, only stopping for a sandwich when Mrs. Weasley insisted.

"We have one more experiment we'd like to try today," he says, and there's a gleam in his eye that makes me nervous.

"Which is?" I warily ask him.

"How do you feel about alcohol?"