A/N

Thank you so much for all of the amazing comments. I never in a million years expected a response like this!

Chapter

Hermione

"I don't like it!" I hiss, stomping my foot with my hands fisted at my sides. I turn to Ron and give him an imploring glare. "Tell him, Ronald! Tell him I'm right."

We're sitting at the library table, his elbows on his knees and leaning forward with his fingers entwined. He's slow to look at me and even slower to respond. I have to fight the need to stomp my foot again.

"'Mione, I mean…I understand your point. I wish I could go too. But it was my plan to begin with. I can't tell you I don't agree with it now, can I?"

I growl at him, honest to Merlin growl, and that's entirely Harry's fault. I never would have growled at a person before Harry's abrasive temper merged with my more delicate nature.

Harry snorts under his breath.

I whip in his direction instead and his face morphs into one appropriate for a grandmother's funeral.

"Harry James Potter-Black! Stop reading my bloody mind! And I'm going with you and that's final!"

Draco chuckles from where he's stretched out on the couch with that stupid book lying flat against his chest and I pivot to glare at him. Naturally, the first muggle book he chooses is Machiavelli's The Prince. I don't care that his animal form is a lion. Draco is a Slytherin through and through.

"Is it always like this?" he asks Nev conversationally. "The constant bickering and sniping?"

"Pretty much," Nev confirms, observing us from a chair. Molly and Winky got a microwave for the kitchen, though Molly refuses to use the thing. Neville is sitting with his legs crossed and a bowl of popcorn in his lap as if he's watching a movie.

I don't know why I thought a summer spent with us would be good for them. They aren't picking up good habits as much as reinforcing their annoying ones. Draco is as cunning as ever and Nev is gaining so much confidence in himself and with Draco that now Neville is mouthing off to me in ways he never would have dreamed of in the other timeline.

"Golden Trio my arse," Draco says with a smirk.

I hadn't intended to have this argument in public, but when we left the kitchen, Neville and Draco followed. We may have accepted Draco into our little half-knit family thing, but I'm not to the point where I'm ready to let him into my bedroom.

My husband, the annoying prat, holds out his hands beseechingly.

"Look, Mi. I'm sorry. But you're not coming with us. The spell can only be powered by the Head of House Black. That's me, whether we like it or not. You would serve no purpose other than as another human without an animagus form who the others will have to chaperone."

Chaperone? CHAPERONE?!

I'm trying to keep my calm. I really am. But Harry's so damn good at pushing my buttons.

Harry doesn't even have the gall to look apologetic. Stupid, overprotective, overbearing...

I stomp my foot again.

"Don't you use that buillshite excuse on me, Harry! We are Bonded Mates! Magical titles like Head of House mean shite when it comes to us. That spell works for me just as well as it does for you and you damn well know it!"

Harry's frustration is starting to show. He scrubs his hands roughly over his head.

"Even if it does, Hermione," he growls out through clenched teeth, "it wouldn't be safe to bring you with us."

Moronic, bloody, insufferable, prat who thinks he can keep me locked in a tower….

He throws his arms out in frustration.

"I understand I can't keep you locked in a tower, but that doesn't mean I'll allow you to jump headfirst into dangerous situations."

He did not just say that.

"Allow me?" I hiss. "You won't allow me?!"

My eyes bulge out of my head.

"Dammit, Hermione! You know what I mean. We'll be gone less than twenty minutes, and I will not risk you—"

I cut him off and poke him in the chest.

"A time we could cut in half if there were two of us performing the spell. We don't even know for sure the damn spell works to begin with!" I fume.

"There's an easy way to solve this dilemma," Draco sneers from the couch.

All three of us turn to face him.

"How's that, exactly?" Harry asks, his irritation apparent.

Draco lifts his hand in front of him, twisting it left and right and admiring his perfectly groomed nails

"Test it on the Weasel."

"Hell no!" Ron says, pushing up from the chair and skittering backward. "Are you trying to kill me? I swore fealty to them. That's a vow on the penalty of death. If Harry declares me an enemy of his House, I'm liable to drop dead!"

"Calm down, Weasel. All you Gryffindors are so over-dramatic. That's not enough to kill you." Draco lowers his voice. "More's the pity."

Ronald scoffs.

"Whatever, Malfoy. Of course, you'd say that. You'd probably get a huge kick out of watching me keel over."

"Yes. I would," Draco says with a half-smile. He shakes himself out of his reverie. "But seeing as you are essentially Harry's lieutenant, knowingly leading you to your death would trigger Harry to take my life. I doubt the vow would do it quick and painless either. It would probably pin me in the beheading pose until Harry got around to separating my head from my neck."

Harry chuckles under his breath, and Ron's gaze goes far off, probably imagining exactly that. Draco, sweating and fighting an invisible hold as Harry saddles up to him, sharpening his sword.

Draco rolls his eyes.

"But, by allowing your lord and commander to test magic on you, you are essentially fulfilling your vow to him. He is declaring you an enemy of his house to serve his house." Draco rises from his lounging and takes a more studious pose. He rests one ankle on his knee and crosses his hands together in his lap. "The Weasleys have all sworn fealty, yes?"

"Yes," Harry grouches. "Every single one, including Gin. Though the only three with enough balls to do it to my face were Ron and the twins."

Neville flushes guiltily. His vow came at daybreak the morning after Draco joined us, waking Harry from a fitful sleep of nightmares about the Department of Mysteries. Prophecies mixed with Bond Orbs with time tentacles thrown in for kicks and giggles.

"Then the Weasley's are your Bannermen. The Weasel is your Number One. If you and Granger went on a mission, Weasel would have the conn. It would take more than you testing the spell on him for it to activate the killing curse on his vow."

Harry startles at Draco's words, and I stare at him like an owl.

"Did—Surely I misheard you," I say. "Did you just quote Star Trek?"

Draco blushes horribly but doesn't give any other outward sign of embarrassment. He clears his throat and meets my eye.

"The telly is a ghastly device. Horrid, really. It's truly appalling the lengths muggles will go to, to replace magic in their lives."

I have no words. I've officially seen it all.

"Yet you've watched it enough that you have portions of Star Trek memorized?"

Neville replies instead.

"It's all he does when he's not in the library or training. While you three are off doing," he gives me a pointed stare, "whatever it is you do, Malfoy is sitting in front of the telly. You should hear him talking to it, all hours of the day and night. It's even worse now that we have popcorn."

Neville stuffs a handful into his mouth to emphasize the point.

Draco flushes again.

"I—"

What?!

I think I've been rendered mute.

Ron stops me from having to come up with a response to that.

"If it's so safe, Malfoy. Why don't you let him practice on you?"

Draco smirks a condescending smile, eyes bright and lips half turned.

"Wouldn't work, I'm afraid," he coos, fake sympathy dripping from his tongue. "See, Potter and I? We are related. By blood, and by…" He closes his eyes in a painful exhale. "Bond. He swore to protect me. Stripping me of my magic might not kill me, but it certainly wouldn't be keeping me safe."

Draco pulls at his cuffs, and I swear he's preening.

"That leaves you or Longbottom, and no offence to Longbottom, but a flobberworm would struggle to find him scary. Potter here could name him an enemy of our House until Dementors became unicorns, and it wouldn't make a difference."

In the blink of an eye, Neville is standing over Draco, his knee between Draco's thighs and both of his knives pointed at Draco's heart and crotch. The popcorn bowl is still rattling on the floor, and fluffs of popcorn and unpopped kernels are spread all over the library floor.

"You were saying?" Neville asks conversationally.

Bloody…why are purebloods always putting knives to each other's throats?! Harry takes a step towards them, but at a quick flash of eyes from Draco, halts where he stands.

Draco turns his full attention to Neville.

"The kitty has claws," Draco purrs.

"Big words coming from a lion," Nev counters.

With a flash, Neville is flying through the air, landing sharply on the decorative table between the chairs. It explodes in a shower of wood and glass under Neville's back. They move almost too fast for me to follow, exchanging blows and grunts of effort, but come to a stop in the rubble of the table, Draco straddling Neville's chest with Neville's knives still at Draco's throat and belly, but Draco's wand under Nev's chin.

Draco has a small trickle of blood dripping down his neck, stark and bright against the pale creaminess of his throat.

"If you tell a single soul about my secret, Longbottom, I'll curse you so hard you'll be begging me for death."

Neville's chest is heaving, but his voice is steady when he speaks.

"You're fast," Nev says, in a tone of voice I wasn't expecting to hear from him for years yet. "But can you curse me before I slice open your vocal cords? I've yet to hear you use non-verbal magic."

Neville presses in a little deeper with his right hand, and I watch in a fascinated stupor as the blade digging into Draco's belly shoves in hard enough that Draco hisses in a breath. His shirt flutters from the rip in the fabric.

Draco's smile slides slowly and wickedly over his face.

"I may have misspoken, Longbottom," Draco cedes, lifting his wand from Neville's throat. "But you owe me a new shirt."

"Send me the receipt," Neville says with a cocky lilt.

I finally get it. Mortimer sent us to an alternate universe. It's the only rational explanation at this point.

Sirius comes in carrying a letter and stops dead upon the threshold.

"Problem?" he asks, looking around the room.

"Nope," we all say. Nev and Draco skitter to their feet, wands and blades disappearing up sleeves and into holsters. They don't bother to repair the table, typical boys, so I do so with a flick of my wand.

"Hmmm," Sirius grins with a mischievous smirk. "You've got a letter," he says, handing the envelope to Nev. "The damn owl wouldn't stop pecking. Who're you talking to so late at night?"

Nev blushes red, and shoves the decorative envelope into his pocket, crumbling it in his haste.

"No one," he stutters.

"The plot thickens," Draco drawls.

"Suuuuure," Sirius laughs before leaving us alone again.

Harry and Ron join in on Draco's ribbing, trying to force Neville into admitting who the letter is from. The night is getting late, and I'd like to attempt more than five or six hours of sleep tonight.

"Enough of this nonsense," I mutter.

I turn and face Ronald.

"Sorry, Ron," I say, then point my wand at him.

"Inimicus domus meae, potestatem tuam capio pro mea."

Enemy of my House, I take your power for my own.

Ron's eyes go wide with shock, his chest heaving with the strength of his gasp. His hands lift to his chest, spreading wide in an attempt to hold his magic in. He fails.

It drips from him in inky drops, turning to mist, before solidifying before our eyes. His magical aura is orangish-red, like the flash of light during a sunrise when it first peaks over the horizon.

"Bloody Hell, Hermione," Ron stammers, watching in horror as his magic comes to a rest between us. It's coalesced into a moving self-contained liquid, rotating in mid-air. "Give a bloke some warning, will ya?"

Harry looks at me as if I've sprouted a second head. His incredulity is thick in the bond.

"Seriously, Mi? Just like that? You don't even have to work up to stripping him of his power?"

I turn my nose up, still examining the core of Ronald's magic floating in the air before me.

"Don't you dare judge me Harry Potter-Black! So I have some unresolved anger issues to work through. It's your fault, I'm sure. I never had a tempter until you got in my head."

Every boy in the room barks in disbelief.

"Yeah," Harry scoffs. "Okay. I'd for sure say you have some issues to work through." He steps closer, looking at the inky globule of his best friend's magic. "I wasn't expecting it to be that easy."

It's incredibly easy to be angry enough at Ron to make him squirm.

"He abandoned us twice, Harry!" I insist.

Harry rolls his eyes.

"You can't keep holding that against him. He saw the error of his ways both times!"

"Yeah!" Ron says, rubbing at his chest. "Give me back my magic. I'm cold." He sways on his feet. "And I think I'm going to puke."

He does look a little green. Harry conjures a bucket for him and shoves it into Ron's arms.

Fine. I made my point. That's all I was looking for.

"Consider us even then, Ronald. You are forgiven."

At my words, his magic turns into mist and is softly reabsorbed back into his body.

He throws up, turning his back and hurling into the bucket.

"That was horrible," Ron cringes between bouts of sickness. "Is that the way muggles feel all the time?"

Now I feel bad.

"No. They never had magic, to begin with. So, they don't know what they're missing. You did."

"Ahh," Ron says, and I vanish the sick in his bucket. He goes to put it down, but I put my hand up and shake my head.

"Better make sure Harry can do it too."

Ron's shoulders slump and he groans in irritation. You'd think we were telling him he had to go to bed without dinner.

"Go, Harry. Your turn."

Harry smirks at Ron.

"Sorry, Mate," Harry says, pulling the wand twin to mine.

"You don't look sorry," Ron grumbles.

Harry just smiles.

"Inimicus domus meae, potestatem tuam capio pro mea." Harry intones.

Nothing happens.

"Really?" Ron laughs, looking a near sight happier than he did thirty seconds ago.

In a fit of irritation, he turns his wand on Malfoy.

"Inimicus domus meae, potestatem tuam capio pro mea."

Nothing happens.

"What's wrong, Potter?" Draco taunts. "Can't get it up? It's a common enough problem I hear, not that I would have personal experience with that."

Harry's frustration is mounting, and I bite my lip not to laugh. It's such a Harry problem to have. Always bursting with righteous anger, then when the time comes to punish someone for their past grievances, he discovers he's already forgiven them after all.

I roll my eyes in exasperation.

"Fine then," I sigh.

Boys. If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.

I walk the two meters between Ron and me and grab him by the front of his shirt, hauling his lanky frame down to mine. I kiss him roughly, trying desperately to ignore the sickening feeling of his lips against mine.

"Seriously, Mi?" Harry laughs.

After a heartbeat of Ron standing frozen still, his arms thrust out at his side, he shrugs then links his hands behind my bum. Ugh. Disgusting.

I push at Ron's chest, laughing and scowling at the same time. Ron grins at me sheepishly and opens his mouth to smart off—

"Don't touch my arse, Ronald Weasley!"

Within the blink of an eye, Harry morphs from amused annoyance to an anger so hot it makes me gasp.

"Inimicus domus meae, potestatem tuam capio pro mea."

Harry sounds like a different person when he utters the spell this time, his voice is dark and terrifying. The lights in the library flicker then surge from his power.

Ron collapses to his knees, almost pulling me down with him. He claws at his chest and gasps with wide eyes as his red aura bleeds from his pores and hovers in a ball in front of Harry. His eyes roll into the back of his head before he tips over to the side.

"OH MY GOD!" I shout, then drop to the floor over Ron's prone body.

"Are you mad, woman!" Draco snaps, jumping from the couch and hurrying over to us. He stops a good distance away from Harry, who is trembling head to toe, wand pointed downward at Ronald.

"Potter!" Draco barks and Harry lifts his head and wand and angles both towards Malfoy. Draco raises his hands to show he's unarmed.

"She's fine, Potter," Draco says, never breaking eye contact with Harry. "Granger, tell him you're fine."

"I'm fine, Harry," I agree automatically. "I'm absolutely fine." Harry's eyes flick to me, then down to a still unconscious Ron. I run a diagnostic spell over Ronald which creates a floating monitor which illustrates that his vitals are weak, but steady. His race is listed as Muggle. The reading which usually monitors someone's magical core, reads lifeforce instead.

It's hovering somewhere above fifty per cent.

His magical core, spinning and rotating in slow languid twists that reminds me of a lava lamp is still floating in the air in front of Harry.

"Go to the corner and cool off, Potter," Draco admonishes. Harry's heart is thundering in his chest. The green is almost completely gone from his eyes, replaced by burning black embers.

Harry jerks his head in a broken semblance of a nod, then turns on his heels and marches stiffly to the side of the library. Ronald's magical core, having been released from Harry's hold, coats its owner in a stupendous glow, seeping back in through osmosis.

Ronald takes a gasping breath of air, face tight in agony and body writhing in pain, but he doesn't open his eyes. My still activated diagnostic monitor blinks a frantic red in warning, then settles into a comforting rhythm, the magical signature returning and rising before my eyes.

Draco drops to his knees beside me while Neville hurries after Harry. Draco lifts each of Ronald's eyelids, checking their dilation.

"I thought you were fucking smart, Granger?" he jeers, not even sparing me a glance. "You purposefully triggered a Bond Mate? Not just any Bond Mate, but Harry Fucking Potter?! He could have killed the Weasel and not thought twice about it. Nobody could have done a damn thing to stop it! Bond Mates can't even be held legally responsible when they kill in defence of their Mate."

"I—"

Huh?

"Where's that bloody little bag you carry everywhere?"

I—

I shake my head and try to clear it of the thundering emotions going on over in Harry.

Harry is in the corner of the library, back towards us, Neville whispering hotly at his side. He's trying to block his side of the Bond, but failing miserably. His shoulders are heaving as he sucks in air through clenched teeth, trying to calm his racing heartbeat.

"What? What do you mean? Kill him? Not be held responsible?"

Malfoy grunts.

"Longbottom, switch spots with Granger." Draco points his chin at me. "Granger, go fix Potter before he blows up the house. And give me that blasted bag!"

I summon my bag from our room, then climb to my feet and run to Harry. As soon as I'm in reach he pulls me into his embrace and buries his face so no one can see him. I wrap my arms around his back and hold him as tightly as I can.

"I'm sorry," he pants into my hair, gasping and wheezing, desperately for forgiveness. "I'm so fucking sorry. I didn't mean to hurt him. I just saw him touching you, and then you pushed him and the next thing I knew he was on the floor. I'm so sorry."

"Shhhh, Harry. It wasn't your fault. It was mine. I didn't understand."

I still don't understand.

Draco correctly reads my look of confusion.

"The Bond Mate connection, it's a living, breathing thing."

Harry slips his hands up the back of my shirt, and his breathing starts to ease with the skin on skin contact.

"Yes. We've figured that much out."

"It's magically and biologically wired into a Mate to protect and serve his Bonded. Certainly you noticed even before the binding Potter was overly willing to do what you said. He followed you around the castle like a bloody puppy."

That's not true at all! Though, excluding Sixth Year, where we were fighting like cats and dogs, he did take my suggestions more than any other person.

"Didn't you think it was unusual that Saint Potter threatened to kill a bloke on the Hogwarts Express? Even a wanker like McCormack?"

Yes. But no. Because the old Harry would have never threatened another's life. Even after Dumbledore died, he didn't try to kill Snape. But this new incarnation? This Harry would rain down brimstone if anyone even looked at me wrong. Another change I'd attributed to our rebirth.

"How do you know about that?" I ask instead.

Draco rolls his eyes.

"Everybody knows about that. I knew before we finished pulling into the station."

Damn. Double damn.

Harry's trembling has stopped, and his adrenaline is finally petering out. Though, now he's getting rather heavy.

"It's built into the magic of the bonds, Granger! That intrinsic desire to claim and please. To keep their other half safe at all costs. If something happened to you, it would be like cutting off a limb to him. Worse even. That's why a Mate can't be held responsible for their actions. I thought it was weird when the Order kept pushing at him last week. Having you on the battlefield with him is either genius or fantastically insane.

"You take someone like Potter, who already had a hero complex, to begin with, and flood him with a magical need to protect and defend?" Draco stares around the room, looking for I don't know what.

"How do you not know this?!" he demands.

"How do you know this?!" I snap.

"The Malfoys had a pair of Bonded Mates in the Sixteenth Century. Rina Malfoy kept a diary. They're still in the Malfoy Library."

Malfoy was raised with knowledge someone like me could only dream of.

"We're muggle-born, Malfoy. Everything we know we've figured out ourselves. I have a total of three books that mention Bond Mates!"

Bloody Hell! I didn't even think to look in private libraries for information on what's happened to us. Malfoy is right. I am an idiot. It's an incredibly intimate connection. That's why there aren't any books on it in stores or public libraries. It's all kept within the families.

"Honestly, Granger. I thought you knew. I called you a…" the word literally gets stuck in his mouth. "A...you know what, and he threatened to take my tongue. During training, you fell with barely a scratch and Potter almost took down three Aurors on his own.

"I figured it was Harry bleeding Potter combined with the effects of the Bond. You know, protective and shite. But obviously he has a different reaction in a training situation. Because this? This was unexpected. Maybe, what triggered him was he wasn't expecting your response. In combat, he's aware there's a chance you could get hurt. Here, he wasn't prepared to see you push the Weasel away in discontent."

That makes sense, I guess. You always react differently in situations you planned for than not.

"Well," Neville says, trying and failing to give an encouraging smile. "The good news is we now know, for sure, the spell works for both of you."

Yeah. Brilliant.

I laugh against my will, and it sounds just this side of barmy.

I will not be going to Azkaban. I'm probably going to have to rethink my role in a lot of things going forward. That cannot happen again. Not until we want it to. The Order's Secret Weapon indeed.

"Will it always be like this?" I ask quietly to no one in particular.

Draco answers after a heavy silence.

"I have no idea, Granger. In any other person, I'd say not. I read Rina's journals last summer while working my way through the library, so I still remember most of it. But she liked that he was fussy about her safety. Rina mentioned that Cryus fought a duel once, over a perceived insult to her honour, but...they were near strangers when they met. They mated a week before their official wedding day. They didn't have the...the history that you two have."

He means the history of having already died together once, even if he doesn't realize that's what he means.

I look at the other three boys on the other side of the room. Ron, still unconscious, Neville monitoring his vital signs, and Draco conjuring potions from my bag and pouring them down Ronald's throat.

"Probably," Draco says again, after a few minutes of silence. He sits back on his bum, having finished treating Ronald. "When the threat of our constant death is gone. It'll probably ease some."

When the war is over.

"This stays between us," I tell the others firmly.

Together they nod as one, sharing knowing glances.

My fingers run a steady trail over Harry's head, where he's still breathing shakily into my shoulder.

"He's fine," I whisper in his ear. "Ron is fine and I'm fine and everything is going to be fine."

You learn something new every day. Apparently, there are levels of intent to the purging spell.

Harry rendered Ron, his best friend in the entire world, unconscious on the floor all because I kissed him. Not because I kissed him. He was laughing at first. Because I shoved him away.

I hope it kills Bellatrix.

I watch in wonder as Draco mumbles soothing empathies in the redhead's face as Ronald finally comes around. Okay, well maybe not soothing, because I'm not sure they could go thirty seconds without insulting the other without bursting into flames. But whatever he's telling Ron seems to be helping, because Ron visibly relaxes as they help him off the floor and onto the couch.

If I didn't know any better, I'd say Ron almost looks thankful for Draco's help.

Looks like our trio just became a quintet.

I'm sitting at the dressing table with Winky braiding back my hair. Harry is in the shower, after a rough night's sleep. The incident in the library has officially been added to his rotation of nightmares.

Ron has already been up here, disgruntled, but back to full health and assuring Harry that he's fine. Ron claims all is forgiven. It's going to be a while until Harry has forgiven himself. I spent five minutes throwing myself on my sword, metaphorically, and apologizing to them both.

Again.

After all, the entire incident was my fault.

"Harry Potter's Mi?"

I look behind me in the massive mirror as Dobby sticks his head into our bedroom door, knocking gently on the wood.

"You can come in, Dobby. How are you today?"

Dobby grins at me, then bobs his head when Winky gently clears her throat in a quiet admonishment.

"Dobby is well, Mistress."

The tiny elf averts his gaze, shuffling his feet on the floor. He peeks at me with a hesitant smile, clearly bothered by something unknown.

"Master Draco asked Dobby to give you these," he says before I can inquire as to the problem. Dobby snaps his fingers, and a silver embossed miniature trunk appears in his hands, its heft causing the elf to droop a little. He holds it out to me, and I take it from his grip and place it in my lap. He nods at me encouragingly and gives me a beaming smile.

I unclasp the closure and flip the lid open.

No wonder it was heavy. The inside is stuffed full with identically bound silver and black embossed books. Two rows stacked two deep. There are three books that stand out from the rest. One is distinctly masculine.

"Master Draco sent Dobby to the market, Ma'am, to wait for Missy. Missy is a Malfoy elf, see, but she be Master Draco's personal elf. She be sworn to Draco, not the family. I's tells Missy that Master Draco needs Mistress Rina's journals."

What? I quickly glance at Dobby to see him twisting the edges of the Potter jersey in his hands before returning my attention to the trunk on my lap. I run my fingers gently over the delicate bindings and admire the pristine condition of the five hundred-year-old tomes. There are so many of them!

"Missy be upset that Master Draco leave her behind, but Missy loves Master Draco. So she sneaks Dobby into the library and we's stole Mistress Rina's journals. Master Draco says no ones misses them. Now they be yours. Please don't be mad at Dobby, Mistress."

Winky has finished my hair, and quietly faded into the background. Dobby's voice has gone tight and squeaky, even higher than it normally is. He looks on the verge of tears.

As quickly as I can with a trunk so heavy and delicate, I place it on my dressing table, then slide from my chair to end on my knees in front of Dobby.

"Why would I be mad at you, Dobby? You've done nothing wrong."

"Dobby went to Malfoy Manor without permission, Mistress. Dobby went into the home of bad wizards. Dobby should be punished."

"You can enter Malfoy Manor?" Harry asks, and I jump at the sound of his voice. I was so caught up in Dobby's anxiety, I didn't even feel Harry come up behind me. Water is still dripping from his partially dried hair, and there's nothing but a towel around his hips.

"Yes, Harry Potter sir. Elves can go anywhere where they's aren't warded out."

Elves can go anywhere.

I still can't get over the hubris of wizards.

Why am I surprised that the Malfoy's wouldn't consider elves as significant enough magical beings to ward them from their home.

Harry lowers to one knee beside me and holds out his arms. Without barely a second's hesitation Dobby flings himself into his master's embrace.

"You did great, Dobby. Brilliant! We're both so proud of you."

Dobby starts to cry in happiness, beetle tears pouring down his face and onto Harry's bare chest. But Harry doesn't even notice. He runs his hand soothingly up and down Dobby's back by rote, our mind on the other side of London, where the Death Eaters are gathering their numbers, in a home where elves can come and go freely.

Dammit. I owe Draco another thank you and I hate it when he's right. Harry's almost killing Ron was certainly in service to our House. Because, without that fiasco, we never would have learned that Malfoy Manor isn't impenetrable after all.