A/N

Thanks so much to Happily_9 for the great edit. Sorry it took me a few days to get this chapter out, but I have a whole schlew ready to go, and the Azkaban chapter is next.

Chapter 41

Hermione

"I'm here, I'm here. I'm sorry I'm late."

We're supposed to be having a meeting to go over preparations for the DA next term and anything we don't want Mrs. Weasley to hear. But my parents called unexpectedly, and I ran into the backyard so I could get a clearer signal.

I bungle the stack of notes and books I have in my hands as I stumble to a stop in the library. My hair is frizzing in every which direction despite Winky's best efforts, and much like whenever we crept closer to exams, the closer we get to the Azkaban raid, the angstier I become.

Harry and Ron's antics are rising at equal rates with my nerves, to the point where it'll be a shock if we make it through tomorrow night without me hexing anyone beforehand.

Everyone is already waiting for me around the massive table. Everyone but Neville, that is, who was called back home to visit his Gran for a few hours. Listening to the stories our Ministry friends tell about Mrs. Longbottom's work schedule, it's probably the first time she's been at her house for ages as well.

Harry is sitting at the head of the table with Ron and Draco directly on either side. Draco, unsurprisingly, doesn't have anyone immediately to his left. As the only two 'outsiders' as it were, Neville and Draco have taken to spending the most time together when we're not in one group. The twins have their heads together chatting with Gin, who's sitting next to Ronald.

It's ironic. Harry is wearing a polo shirt and sitting at the head, in a chair that is purposefully larger than the rest, but Draco looks like the prince, lounging artfully with his body pointed towards my husband and draped in a white tee with the Green Power Ranger on it. Apparently, the snake can turn into a lion, but the snake will always remain.

"Don't worry about it," Ron says. "Nev isn't here yet either."

"Wrong," comes from the doorway. I look over my shoulder to see Neville striding into the room slightly out of breath. "I'm here too. Sorry. It was hard to get away from her."

His cheeks are flushed, and it's obvious he jogged up the stairs.

"Scared of an old woman, Longbottom?" Draco taunts.

"Absolutely, yes!" Nev says with a shudder. "If you'd ever met her, you'd be scared of her too. Honestly, I almost feel bad for the Death Eaters."

Ron laughs and Draco rolls his eyes as Neville slides into the chair next to the twins.

I gather my thoughts and stop gawking in the middle of the walkway. "How are your folks?" Gin asks, and it's nice to have her talking to me again without the edge in her voice and the venom in her glare.

I drop my load of books onto the table by Harry's own, smaller pile.

"Good," I tell her.

I lean into Harry and run my fingers through his hair. He closes his eyes and tips his chin back before I slide into the seat between Neville and Draco. Without prompting, Draco picks up my stack of materials and drops them in front of me.

"They're having a blast living out of a tent in some third world country, and let me tell you, I don't see the fun in that."

"Aww, come on now," Harry teases. "You don't think you'd have fun living in a tent for nine months?"

It wasn't all bad, he says for me alone.

"No," I say in a dead voice. "Just no."

Never again if I can help it.

Harry laughs lightly, and even Ron joins in. Harry, because he remembers the almost nine months we did spend in a tent and Ron, probably because of all the horror stories we've told him. And probably because of my look of absolute horror. Neville and Gin start talking about his visit with his Gran while I go through my notes for today's meeting.

Summer hols is almost over and we plan on sending out feelers for the DA before the first week is out. I'm going to ask whoever ends up with the DADA post this year if we can use their classroom, or perhaps arrange to start lessons outside for the beginning of term. I don't think it's strategically safe to give the knowledge of the Room of Requirement to more people than strictly necessary.

If all else fails, I'll have Harry ask the Headmaster if we could maybe set up in the Great Hall. If all goes to plan, we'll have more than just the handful of students participating than we did last time. If whomever they sucker into taking the post is affiliated with the Order, or isn't a Death Eater in disguise, maybe the DADA teacher will even help out.

Though I'm of the mind it's better if we run the club ourselves.

I quietly activate my custom wards around the library and all the usual privacy spells, then set the perimeter charm to alert us when someone is on their way up the stairs.

We watched Home Alone last week, and now the guys keep joking that I've set the library up like the McAllister house, booby-trapped so that no one can enter or leave without my knowledge and permission.

They're not wrong. A record is kept whenever a book passes through the wards as well. Both on leaving and returning. Ron doesn't realize I know he's had a copy of The Art Of War since July even though I bought him his own paperback.

"Everyone still in the parlour when you come up?" I double-check with Neville.

"Yeah. We probably have hours before anyone heads this way. Moody just poured the port."

Ahh. Yeah. We've got a good while before we're disturbed then. They've taken to talking about the good ole days, which I utterly despise because it doesn't sound like the good ole days at all. Unless you count the fact that half the people killed in the first war are at least alive in their stories.

A shiver runs down my spine at that uncomfortable thought. Harry and Neville can't take it. They always leave the room when storytime starts. Our orphan boys born at the end of July, their parents feature heavily in the memories shared.

I pull out my pen then flip open a notepad before knocking against the wood of the arm of the chair.

"First things first, did Remus tell you Aberforth confirmed for tomorrow night?"

Ron opens his personal binder and makes a tick next to a highlighted line. I'm not looking forward to when we have to go back to parchment and quill. Perhaps I could petition the Board of Governors into making the change. I know for a fact they are permitted to use ballpoint pens at Ilvermorny, and Victor was allowed to use inkwell pens at Durmstrang.

Quills are pretty, but they're just so inconvenient. Either way though, they can't force me to give up my highlighters!

"No, he didn't," Ron says, "but I never had any doubt. He'd do almost anything for a chance to stick it to the Death Eaters."

True, but it's nice to have it in writing anyway.

I cross it off my list.

"Draco and I have to be in the potions lab by eight," I tell them as I check my watch. Tomorrow's the last day for the Wolfsbane potion, and if you don't stir it at the exact right time, the previous six days' worth of doses are utterly worthless. Not to mention the painkillers and a small batch of Polyjuice we're brewing on the side. You can keep the Polyjuice base for up to a year without hair mixed in.

Just in case.

Just in case has become my new motto.

"So, we have to be done here, or at least our portions of it, within an hour and fifteen minutes. I have a timetable set up for the items on our agenda and…"

I let the sentence hang there as I look up to find all eyes on me.

Everyone is staring at me, and not in a 'look how responsible Hermione is, isn't she great' sort of way either. It's more of a 'who died and left the swot in charge,' sort of expression that I haven't seen much of late. It's almost nice to know I can still elicit those types of stares even after everything we've been through.

Draco is leaning on his right elbow, twisting his wand around in his fingers.

"You know Granger, it pains me to say it, but being the head of a Great and Noble Family suits you. You're bossy, a pain in the arse, you think you're always right, expect to be obeyed without question, and now you're calling meetings you don't show up on time for then proceed to lecture other people for messing up your schedule."

My pen falls to the table in a clatter that seems to echo on end.

Of all the!

"That's—that's not…"

"I thought I was the Head of a Great and Noble House?" Harry inquires playfully, saving me from my stuttering stupor. I can't believe Draco would say that to me! Of all the stupid, patronizing, arseholish...

Draco looks Harry straight in the eye.

"That's what all Great Ladies want their husbands to think. The husband is the head, he controls all the money, yadda yadda, yadda. But take a look at the Weasleys. They're," he gets stuck on the word, his face squished up in distress. "Pureblood." It drips from his mouth like something foul. "The mother shows him respect as her Lord and Master. She dotes on him as a great wife should. But who's in charge of their House? The father, or the nag?"

"Oi!" Ron says in anger, his ears pinking before my eyes. He slams his hand flat on his papers. "Don't you talk about our mother like that!"

"Mum!" chime in the rest of the Weasley children with knowing laughs. Mrs. Weasley is a nag. It's part of her charm. I personally think that Mr. Weasley likes it. He's a wonderful father but leaves most of the childrearing to Molly. His interests lie elsewhere, and his wife's micro-managing parenting style allows him the time to explore those interests. Like flying cars and motorbikes.

"Exactly," Draco gloats, leaning backwards in his chair. He links his hands over the image of the Green Power Ranger and he's just so smug, I want to smack it off his face.

I tilt in his direction, not believing a word he says.

"So, you're telling me your mother is in charge?" I ask sarcastically. "And what? Your father simply lounges around all day waiting for your mother to assign him a task. 'I'd like my jewels from the vault, dear,' or 'Perhaps we'll offer the Dark Lord residence in the manor today? Would you mind purchasing some tarps to protect the furniture from the blood?' Forgive me, Malfoy, but from everything I've learned about your family, I find that very unlikely. What happened to 'Wait till my Father hears about this'?"

Draco sits up straighter in his chair. He leans forward over his entwined hands, and it feels like the only thing keeping him out of my face is the restraint of his fingers, pressing against his belly.

"I'm telling you," he says sharply, "that my mother has skills for getting what she wants that you'd do well to emulate. Like it or not, Granger, you have a place in society now beyond the Hogwarts schoolroom.

"You are the last of a great house. More than that. You are the Head of two great lines combined. Some of being a Great Lady is simply assuming you will be obeyed, and planning for those results. You certainly have that part down. But part of it is…" he twists his head side to side, looking for an accurate word. "Elegant manipulation," he says, twirling his fingers. "The dexterity to work a room and come away with the contact and contracts you need to see your goals to fruition. That's an art form you'll need to learn. You can't brute force everything, Granger. There's a reason they call it playing politics. After all is said and done, it's all just a game and you need to learn the rules."

I tap my pen on my papers, trying and failing to provide an appropriately witty response. It's not as if it's nothing I haven't thought of myself. Perhaps not quite as gratingly as Draco just presented it. But...

"Did you have a point, Malfoy?" Ron asks dryly.

Draco doesn't take his eyes off me.

"Perhaps my point is moot," he says with a shrug as he leans back in his chair. "Because Potter is content to be led around like a toddler on a training leash, and with the bloody Chosen One as your house pet, I'm sure you'll always get what you want anyway."

His eyes are glittering, and his voice is devil may care, and ice forms in my chest as what he's said sinks in.

"Harsh, Draco," Harry says, a tinge of anger in his tone.

Neither of us acknowledges him.

That was...wow. I don't know how to reply to that. I just tap, tap, tap my pen on the table and let the tension fill up the room. Long before we welcomed him into our home, Draco knew I was ambitious. Harry wasn't his only rival. Draco and I have fought tooth and nail for top grades for years now. It's oh so very Slytherin of him to point out one of my biggest fears while twisting it into a backhanded positive.

I'm not a people person. I don't have strong social skills, and no matter what line of work I end up in after the war is said and done, Malfoy is absolutely right. Politics will not be my strong suit.

But the thought of getting a job or a place in society simply because I'm Harry Potter's wife is abhorrent to me, and long before Draco shared my space, he knew me well enough to at least know that.

Now to decide if that was his way of trying to help...was he backhandedly offering to teach me how to play the game? Or was he trying to undermine my confidence by showing me my weaknesses in such a way as not to be accused of doing so?

Isn't that the point though, to always keep them on their toes. Never let them feel like they have the upper hand in the game. As soon as your opponent starts to feel comfortable, you quickly change the rules.

So very, very Slytherin of him.

Harry lifts his chin to get my attention.

You have a little Slytherin in you too, love.

In more ways than one.

"On that pleasant note," I say. "This is for you."

I reach into my bag and place the harness I had made for Draco onto the table in front of him.

"What is it?" he asks warily, lip turned up in disgust.

"It's a harness for you to wear into Azkaban."

Draco lifts it gingerly with two fingers while Ron starts to snigger beside Harry. I look towards them and their heads are together, whispering behind raised hands. I distinctly hear the word leash, however, float across the Bond.

Harry gives Ron a shove and gestures for him to be quiet.

The pack I had made for Draco is similar to Harry's holster and sheath for his sword. That's what I had in mind when I designed it. Two bands latch around him, at his neck and around his belly. He can remove it with a pull of a cord that, hopefully, he'll be able to reach with his mouth. As his magic matures, if he can use non-verbal spells in his animal form, we can ditch the cord and he can use magic to open the clasps. On his back is a leather pouch and slots for his wands. He'll be able to fit an entire set of clothing and a cloak with a smidgen room to spare.

I know. I tested it already.

He drops the leather heavily onto the table and shoves it away with distaste.

"No. Not just no, but hell no. Absolutely not. I'm not wearing some bloody collar like a house cat!"

My face flushes with irritation, and I tilt my chin to cover my blush.

"Then you aren't going with Harry to Azkaban," I snap. Draco's eyes widen then tighten to slits in anger. "Besides, it isn't a collar," I continue. I straighten my back and steady my tone, to not let him show he's gotten to me. "It's a pack. An extremely expensive, dragonhide, Slytherin green, pureblood worthy pack, thank you very much," I sneer with my nose in the air and shove it back in his direction. "You don't change forms like the rest of the Animagus do. You can't wear your wand, or an invisibility cloak, or anything to help keep you safe. I will not allow you to knowingly wander into danger unarmed and unprotected."

Draco rolls his eyes, a tiny smirk pulling at the sides of his mouth. If I didn't know better, I think he enjoys fighting with me.

"I'm a bleeding lion, Granger," he huffs with irritation. "I don't need protection. I am the protection."

I'm already shaking my head no.

"While that may be true," I say, talking over him when he opens his mouth to complain. "I'm not allowing you to go into danger without backups of our backups. I don't want you out there literally naked without a wand, Draco. End of story. I'm not sending any of my people out unless I've done everything in my power to keep them safe!"

Draco stutters over his reply, irritation or maybe a feeling of degradation causing him to falter in his words.

"Your people?" he chokes, heat forcing his cheeks to pink. "What? Are you collecting us now? Like lost puppies? Since when did I join the Saint Potter pity train?"

I pivot so I'm facing him directly and ignore the other six sets of eyes in the room. My heart is palpitating and I feel Harry's anger making my skin tingle.

"Yes, Draco! You are one of my people. You became one of my people the minute you swore yourself to my husband. Now, I don't know what kind of loyalty you're accustomed to…Oh, wait, yes, I do! The kind that expects you to stick your head onto the block and pray the executioner misses. But the side of the light isn't like the side of the dark, Draco."

Draco tilts forward in his seat, completely twisted to face me now. His arm is on the table, he's leaning over the side of the chair. His scoff is so loud it must hurt his throat.

"You're telling me your precious Order cares if I live or die?" he sneers.

"No, Draco. I care." I poke myself in the chest. "I care if you live or die," I yell, much louder than I meant to.

Draco blanches, and Harry's stomach twists as he has a flashback from the fight in the bathroom, where he watched as Draco's lifeblood covered the floor from a curse Harry gave him. In the corner of my eye, I see Harry turn his face, so we can't see him at all.

"I care," I say again, in a much more reasonable tone. My voice isn't even shaking and yay me for that! "From here on out, you are one of mine, which means it's my job to keep you alive. Despite his best efforts, Harry has yet to die under my watch."

Just anytime I'm not in charge apparently. Malfoy Manor doesn't count, I think, since I don't feel like that situation was my fault.

Draco is breathing heavily through his nose, and the emotion in his eyes flakes away, until the storm clears and only pure grey remains.

Twenty to one, his Godfather has taught him Occlumency. The look in his eye, or the lack of an expression, is one I've become intimately familiar with. I relax my posture and pick up my pen again, breaking the staring contest and finally looking away.

"I don't send my boys into situations that are liable to get them killed if I can help it. There have been times where we've run headfirst into trouble and sheer dumb luck pulled us through, but this mission will not be one of those. And since you are one of my boys now, you either go to Azkaban as safe and prepared as I can possibly make you, or your arse stays home with me. Do we understand each other?"

If I'd known trying to help him would cause this big an issue, I'd have let him go to Azkaban unprotected. Okay. No I wouldn't. But I'd have gone about it in a different way for sure.

I wait for a moment to let my rant sink in before adding, "Or maybe I am collecting house pets, Draco. Gryffindor's Princess with a tamed lion at her beck and call? Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

Sniggers and sarcastic comments break out from the peanut gallery, but I don't let my eyes leave Draco. He glares at me for so long with his lips pressed tight that I tense for the explosion.

"Has anyone ever told you you're a little bit scary sometimes?" he wonders aloud.

I tighten my eyes and give him my best glare. I never! Irritation dances over my skin, and "How dare—" I start.

"Yes," says every person in the room but me, cutting me off at the knees.

I roll my eyes and cross my arms in front of my chest, straightening my posture in my chair.

"I'll wear the stupid pack," Draco agrees begrudgingly, pulling it into his lap.

"Good," I say as primly as possible.

"Good," Draco snarks back. We're silent for a moment, the rising tension dwindling back down. "That was well done," he adds resentfully. "That bit at the end. The house cat jab. Call me your pet again and I'll bite you."

"Thank you," I reply with a smirk. "And noted." I fling my hair over my shoulder and pretend I don't see all the Gryffindor boys roll their eyes at me.

"Are you two having a moment?" one of the twins asks. His eyes are sparkling with mischief. "Cause we can come back another time if you are."

I do my best not to react, and cross Draco off my agenda.

"Who's next?" I ask and look around our assembled group.

"I'm assuming you want to go next?" Harry confirms with a small chuckle while pointing to the twins.

The twins stand up from the table and bow at the waist, before dropping a duffel bag onto the wood. "Thank you, my Lord," they say benevolently. "It is an honour to serve you and this court," one says. "To prove our devotion, we come bearing gifts for your majesty's pleasure!" the other says with another bow.

"Get on with it," Harry croons, rotating his hand in the universal sign for hurry the fuck up.

I tap my pen on the table again.

"Are they really gifts," I ask, "if I'm the one paying for them?"

Beyond the Twi-Wizard funds Harry gave them at the beginning of the summer, Harry has insisted on paying for everything they make for us or the Order. It's a good thing neither of us wanted to live off our money when we get older because we're liable to be broke before this war is over.

Okay. Not really. But still, it's best I handle the bills. I don't want Harry to see how much there is in our vault; knowing him as well as I do, he'd likely give it all away.

"Marriage has made you cranky," one of the twins says and flashes me a wink. "Look who she's married to," the other replies, pointing to my husband. Harry flips them both the bird.

Laughing in amusement, the twins unzip the duffel bag like they're performing a muggle magic trick. All arms waving and expecting applause as they show off the black canvas bag.

"Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes will be coming to a store near you." "But until that day," "May we present the Weasley Wizarding Mobile!"

They pull out a container of what looks like women's compacts. Some are simple, blacks and greys and steels. Several are square instead of round. Others are beautifully detailed with dragons and flowers and a gorgeous bronze one with a tree that's just set to bloom. That one goes to me. I flick the clasp and gasp in awe when I see the inside. The top is indeed a mirror, but where pressed powder would usually rest on the other side, instead sits a set of runes etched into a more glass. The runes are sitting on a grid, one that looks suspiciously like a dial pad.

The twins begin to weave their tale.

"At first we were inspired by the communication mirrors that Harry and Sirius shared." "But those can only communicate with its pair." "Then Hermione graciously let us study her mobile phone."

Fred, or George, ( Harry is the only non-Weasley here who seems to be able to tell them apart,) flips open his mirror and presses a combination of runes on the dial pad. Harry's steel grey compact starts to vibrate, lighting up a vibrant blue colour. He flips the compact open and comes face to face with Fred, or George's, face smiling back at him.

"Bloody hell," Ron says, looking between his brothers and the compact in his hands.

"That's…brilliant!" Harry grins.

"Hermione was telling us about communication coins she was planning to make." "We can use the mirrors instead." "If we need to meet, she can set the time and date," "And it'll appear on all our displays."

The twins pass me a scrap of parchment with instructions, and I tap my wand against the compact and whisper the incantation, then a time and date. As one, every compact in hands or on the table lights up and vibrates. Harry turns his to show me, and it reads 1/9/95 9 pm.

"That is bloody wicked," Ron says, and I have to agree.

"It's ingenious," I marvel. "Can I send a message to just one person?"

The twins grin and nod their heads.

"Every compact has an identifying rune combination. Just like your mobile phone does. You can send a direct message to just that person, or the entire group."

Harry rotates his mirror in his hands and runs his thumb over the runes.

"That's," he shakes his head at a loss for words. "Amazing guys. Do we have a way for the Order to use them as well, but not be included in our group?"

Harry gives the twins a knowing look.

Meaning, we don't want the Order to know the shit we get up to at Hogwarts.

"We anticipated that." They pick up a spare compact, opening and closing the snap. "We plan on selling these babies in the store, and obviously can't have one person sending messages to the hopefully hundreds or thousands of magical folks who have one of the devices. The spell we gave Hermione is for her use only. It won't be a feature available anywhere else. We made a special batch of communication mirrors just for us. With spares and extras. We have a total of about fifty done so far, with an additional thirty planned for the Order's use if they'd want them."

If the Order has a way of communicating with each other outside of Patronus and owl I still don't know about it. If nothing else, I know Sirius and Remus would want a mirror.

"Ours are enchanted with a more complex version of the spell than the one's we'll use for the general public."

Neville clears his throat, a flush rising up his neck.

"Can I get two more?" he asks, not looking anyone in the eye. "For my Grandmother?"

"Sure!" one of the twins replies while the other pushes two more across the table.

Ron and Draco immediately start asking about the secret correspondence he received in the library and if one of the communication mirrors could be for the mysterious letter writer.

He's lying I tell Harry, barely able to contain my smile. He'd only need one if it were for the Minister.

For sure he agrees. Harry pulls at the back of his neck, completely hiding his face from the others.

Girlfriend? I ask. I admire the craftsmanship of the communication mirror in an attempt to avoid bringing attention to my grin.

Or boyfriend? But who? Harry questions, eyes flicking back to Neville. Nev is getting redder by the moment.

Harry draws attention back to him, and Nev gives a relieved sigh. Harry taps his mirror on the table. "These are brilliant, guys. Really. Well, done!"

"We're not done yet," Fred, or George, reply.

They pull items out of the duffel bag one by one, showing off how they work. Several pieces I recognize from before. Extendable ears and decoy detectors. Only there's differences with each item, some detail big or small that's been raught from the changes Harry, and I have made from the timeline.

The decoy detectors now have timers on them, and you can set a distance for how far away you want it to scurry. They also become invisible the minute you activate them and let them go.

They give us each a bag of sweets, color coded to a list of instructions given for each. Included is a pack of explodable gum, and I'll have to ask which movie they pulled that from because those are certainly something we didn't have in the last timeline.

When the gum gets wet it activates the explosive properties, then you stick it, or throw the wet glob, and boom!

"Next, we have—"

The proximity alarm goes off.

It's as good as a bomb with the way we all jump.

"Bugger!" Ron says, and as one we flip our papers around and toss open textbooks. Mirrors disappear from tabletops and the Twins push all of their supplies back into their duffel with one huge swipe of their wand.

Draco picks up his harness and tosses it onto the reading chair so it's all but hidden by the back cushion.

I wave my wand to end our privacy charms, just as Professor McGonagall makes her way into the library.

I start in surprise to see her here, as does pretty much every other person in the library.

"Professor!" Harry stammers, half rising from his chair at the head of the table. "We weren't expecting you."

His eyes flick to mine.

This can't be a coincidence, Harry says.

I tap my pen against the wood again.

Stranger things have happened.

"Sit, Potter. There's no need to rise on my account."

Harry sits back down, and we wait for the Professor to break the silence in the room. Only she doesn't. Professor McGonagall, in a green and black tartan dress, less restrictive than those she wears during the school year, simply stands there and stares. Her eyes are tight and her lips are pursed and it almost appears like she's sniffing the air. She looks down over her nose at us, eyes stopping on every person. It's a look I'm well familiar with, though I don't know what I've done to earn it today. Usually, I'm only on the receiving end of that particular displeased scowl when we've stolen an ostensibly impossible to reach stone or started an illegal duelling club.

"I don't like this at all," she tisks, staring at her students pretending to study. The Fifth Years at least finished our summer work weeks ago. Or Harry and I did, and then Harry let the others copy his. I've been a benevolent wife and friend to pretend I don't know about it.

"Professor?" Draco questions, looking at me beside him. All I can do is shrug. I have no idea what's happening.

"You'd think," she says, tapping her wand on her leg, "as a lifelong educator, it would warm my heart to see members of two competing houses getting along so well. Not only a Slytherin sitting with Gryffindors, but two boys whom I assumed would be bitter rivals to the end, now sharing the same table."

Draco squirms under her observations. Harry sits up straighter.

"It doesn't. I know trouble brewing when I see it. What are you plotting, Potter?"

Ron laughs out loud then chokes it back down when Professor McGonagall's glare turns to him instead. He slumps in his chair, trying and failing to make himself as small a target as possible. Neville looks petrified.

Harry nudges his glasses up his nose, a thousand different responses fluttering through his brain.

"Why do you always blame me?" he questions.

"Because it is usually your doing," she snaps.

I mean, she's right. But in our defence, very rarely do we go looking for trouble. Most of the time it comes looking for us. For the most part at least. When we go asking for it, trouble is usually waiting for our arrival.

"Did you need us for something?" Harry asks, polite amusement in his voice.

The professor closes her eyes, and her chest heaves in an exhale.

"This summer has found us, yet again, in need of a new Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher, and we've had some trouble securing an adequate teacher for the spot. I came to speak with Mr. Smythe about accepting the position."

"I hope he said no," Harry says. "Hogwarts isn't safe for DA professors." Then flushes as he realizes what he's said and to whom.

Professor McGonagall rears back, offence bare on her face. "I beg your pardon?"

I wave my hands beseechingly and quickly try to drag Harry back out of trouble.

"What he meant, ma'am," and I try not to wilt under her glare, "was that traditionally, people don't last long in that position."

"No," Harry says, sitting on the edge of his seat. He rams his finger into the tabletop. "That's not what I mean at all. I meant it isn't safe. I hope he told you no. The DADA position is cursed. Literally. Voldemort cursed it when Dumbledore refused to give him the job. I've seen the memory. You haven't held a person in that position for more than one year in over two decades. I'm rather fond of Nate. I'd prefer not to end the year with him dead or insane."

Professor McGonagall is obviously ruffled, despite her noble façade. She flexes her shoulders and sucks her lips between her teeth.

"Thank you, Mr. Potter, for your exemplary faith in us. As it is, Mr. Smythe is rather fond of you as well, which is why he has agreed to accept the position of DADA teacher. If it makes you feel any better, however, it is a provisionary assignment to last only as long as he is on loan from MACUSA.

"Also," she reaches into a pocket, and pulls out a stack of what are unmistakably Hogwarts letters. It's about time too. They left them a little late this year. Professor McGonagall walks the circle of the table, handing one to Fred and George, Ginny and Draco, but doesn't deliver one to the rest of us.

She clears her throat, and we all pivot in our chairs and ready ourselves for whatever is coming.

"Fifth year," she begins, "is traditionally the year we first assign Prefects."

Ah. I'd wondered if our changes so far would trickle into choosing Prefects. After all, none of us are in the same position we were in the last timeline.

"I find myself struggling with the assignment this year. Mrs. Potter-Black would be my first choice, but with all the extra," she purses her lips in displeasure. "Burdens you lot have taken on this summer, I felt it would be irresponsible of me to assign you the task of Fifth Year Prefect without first asking if you felt you could handle the additional responsibilities."

Do you mind? I ask Harry.

I wouldn't dream of getting in the way of you handing out detentions, Harry says with a smile.

"Yes, Professor. I would love the honour of Prefect," I tell her, trying not to preen. She gives me the barest hint of a smile, but for a woman held together so firm, she might as well have hugged me.

"Wonderful!" she says, flipping through her remaining envelopes and passing me the one with my name. My married name. Bugger. That's going to be a problem I can already tell. I flip the tab, and the Prefects badge flitters out onto the table. I smirk to see she'd already assumed I'd say yes.

I look to my side and see Draco has opened his letter, and his Prefects badge rests on top. I elbow him gently, and while he leans away and makes a sound of disgust, he bites his lip to stop a smile.

"As for the male prefect," she says thoughtfully, tapping the Hogwarts letters on her other palm.

"Don't give it to me," Harry says bluntly, and Professor McGonagall's eyes widen in surprise while Ron sniggers under his breath.

"That's awfully presumptuous of you, Mr. Potter," she says.

Last time, Professor Dumbledore told Harry he didn't receive it because he felt Harry already had enough responsibilities. If it was true then, it's double true now.

"It's Mr. Potter-Black," I say just quietly enough for Draco to hear. He scoffs a smothered laugh and turns his chin into his shoulder when Professor McGonagall gives him her best glare. If we're not careful we're all going to have detentions before term even starts.

"I'm simply being honest," Harry intones. "A trait I'm sure you appreciate, Professor. I do have enough on my plate already. Besides that, none of the other houses would listen to me after what happened last year, and everyone would think it's favouritism anyway."

Professor McGonagall seems surprised at his well thought out logic. But Harry isn't done yet. "You can't give it to Ron either," he continues, "because he'd be bloody terrible at it. Hermione would do all his work and Ron would spend half his time tormenting first years."

"Oi!" Ron exclaims in outrage and scratches at the back of his neck.

"Am I wrong?" Harry demands with a smirk.

"Absolutely not," Draco drawls. Ron shoots him a dirty look and I giggle under my breath.

"No," Ron concedes with irritation. "But you don't have to be so brutal about it."

The Transfiguration teacher tuts at us and snappishly hands out the remaining three envelopes. She pulls a Prefect badge from her pocket and drops it onto the table in front of Neville.

"If we gave it to either Mr. Thomas or Mr. Finnigan, they'd blow up half the school while supposedly doing rounds." She seems to realize what she's said. "I expect you lot to keep that to yourselves. Congratulations Longbottom," she says dryly. "Do owl your Grandmother and tell her the news."

Harry clicks his tongue in rapid succession glancing quickly around the room before he shoves his hands through his hair.

I realize what he's about to do all of five seconds before he does it.

"While you're here, Professor," he starts, and Draco groans and slides down in his chair. Ron shakes his head like there's a bee in front of his face and the twins exchange looks of horror.

I thought we weren't going to give her any warning! I demand, but it's far too late for that because McGonagall seems to grow an inch and glares at Harry with a queenly flare.

"Yes, Mr. Potter?" she prompts, and Harry clears his throat. "Am I about to hear what you were obviously plotting?"

Harry clears his throat as he sends almost two weeks of planning out the window.

"We were planning on sending you an owl tomorrow but…"

Why is he even hesitating? It's too late now. Might as well get it out. He pushes his glasses back up his nose again, one of his few tells.

"How do you feel about helping us break into Azkaban?" he asks blandly, and Professor McGonagall closes her eyes and breathes deeply through her nose. She turns on her heel and marches from the room, and like a pack of kittens scampering after their mother, we all shove up from the table and rush to catch up with her.

"Molly!" Professor McGonagall yells, and Draco snorts under his breath.

"Now you've done it, Potter. She's tattle-telling to mummy." I smack Draco upside the head, and he hisses and trips, and rubs where I whacked him. Serves him right the wanker.

The professor never breaks her stride when she hits the stairs and starts heading downwards.

"Do you have any brandy in the house? I'm going to need a draft immediately!"

Mrs. Weasley is already on her feet and pouring Professor McGonagall a glass when we all fall into the parlour.

She takes a healthy swig, then holds it to her chest and collapses heavily into one of the red velvet chairs.

"Potter tells me we're breaking into Azkaban," she questions with a weary tone.

All conversation promptly stops as half a dozen sets of incredulous expressions turn in Harry's direction.

Harry shrugs sheepishly, pulling at the back of his neck.

"She was already here," he says by way of explanation. "I thought it would look suspicious if we called her back tomorrow."

"TOMORROW!" Professor McGonagall practically shouts before she pulls herself back under control. She takes another swig of brandy, and Mrs. Weasley stands to refill her glass without being told. "Out with it then," the professor says. "Let's hear what nonsense you've got planned."

Harry opens his mouth, but Nate speaks up first.

"Did I mention I was an Animagus?" he tells her.

Draco and I leave them pretty quickly after that. We're really the only brewers in the household. Excluding the few times Professor Snape drops by to supervise. Molly can concoct what she deems relevant to being a housewife, and she spent a pleasant afternoon teaching me all she knew, but not much beyond that. They don't need me to help convince Professor McGonagall to join the Azkaban raiding party, but they do need me to brew so Remus keeps his head during the mission.

I'm taking private lessons with both Professor Snape and Madam Pomfrey in an attempt to cram a potions mastery as well as a medical degree in between studying for my OWLS.

Or at least that's what Ron accuses me of doing. That's because he isn't haunted with nightmares of what could happen to us the next time he splinches himself and we are forced to live in the middle of the woods. If that day ever comes, let's just say I'll be patiently waiting for his apology.

"Did you mean it?" Draco asks, catching me off guard. We've been stirring and adding ingredients in silence. I didn't notice anything different about him, but as I pull myself out of my own head, it's apparent something is wrong. His posture is perfect, his skin horridly pale. He's lost all of the...ease, I suppose, he's worked hard to earn these past weeks.

Serenity I didn't realize he'd had until it was suddenly gone.

"Mean what? It's safe to assume I did, whatever it was. I don't make it a habit of saying things I don't mean."

"That I was one of your boys," he says, his face screwed up and preparing for a blow.

I laugh through my nose.

"I'm not going to brand you with my version of the Dark Mark if that's what you're worried about. Or maybe I should. How about a stack of library books?" I chuckle at my joke. Draco does not. Anyway…"I didn't mean to make you self-conscious, Draco. I promise. But yes, I suppose I did. I don't want you harmed, any more than I want Ron or Neville."

He places his copper spoon on the rubber mat beside his caldron and turns to look me in the eye. The storm clouds are back. His pompous veneer is firmly in place. He looks every bit the pureblood scion, except in every way he doesn't. Like a Power Ranger on his tee-shirt.

"I wish you wouldn't," he says, consonants hard and crisp. "Worry about me that is. It makes me uncomfortable. I'm not going to worry about you. I can't."

I lower my own spoon to give him my undivided attention. Tally marks and favours. That's how he's made friends. You can't show vulnerability, even to those closest to you. Maybe to them especially.

"That's not how this works, Draco. I understand we aren't friends. Maybe we never will be. But we're allies now, at least, and out of all the people crammed into this house, outside of Neville, you spend the most amount of time with me. I'd like to think that I'm allowed to care if you live or die, and take strides to keep you among the living."

He looks confused. His breathing shivers slightly as he can't understand what I'm saying.

Draco runs his hand over his forehead, obviously still not getting the point. I don't know whether to laugh or to cry.

"This is horribly unfair, Granger. Pretty soon you'll need me for something, and then it'll be all 'Remember that time I saved your life?' You Gryffindors are insufferable."

I laugh full out at that.

"Deal with it, Draco. You're one of us. We don't run on I. . Ron and Harry never oathed to me, and I still pulled their arses out of trouble more than a time or two. It's what friends do for each other. We don't keep score. And I'm calling it. We're officially friends. Don't you have friends you'd do anything for?" I ask, thinking of Crabbe and Goyle.

He licks his lips as his eyes jump between mine, unable to choose a spot of reference.

"Yes," he says finally. "But no."

Draco pulls at his Italian cufflinks.

"There's one person, maybe two. But we can't show that kind of…" I want to hug him, he looks so lost, but I know that's liable to get me thrown across the room. "We can't show that kind of affection. It's simply not done. It's uncouth."

"It isn't safe," he adds softly after a moment.

"I'm sorry for you," I say, meaning it.

"I don't want your pity!" he snarls, but even that is missing his usual snap.

Draco was raised a Slytherin, with Slytherin values and beliefs. But I keep coming back to that lion form. How much courage must it have taken to break away from his family? His friends? Everything he's ever known, and embed himself with his supposed enemies. All to do what's right?

"I don't pity you, Draco. You and Harry, you're a lot more alike than you think. Then either of you want to admit. He never thanked me for my pity either. I admire you. You claim you joined us to stay alive, but Harry gave you a choice. You could have hidden in a corner and rode out the storm. No one forced you to join us. To really join us. To stand at our side and pick up a sword. Literally, in Harry's case. And in case you haven't noticed yet, I'm not exactly the coddling type."

Draco huffs a painful laugh, his ghost of a smile gone as quickly as it came.

"You're going to make me do it, aren't you?" he demands and my eyes go wide at his tone.

Now I'm the one confused.

"Make you do what, Draco? Nobodies making you do anything. That's the point."

Draco tilts his head to the side, his mounting frustrations almost palpable.

"Fine!" he hisses, and then lowers to one knee of the floor.

Oh no. Nononononono

I pull at his shoulders, trying to get him back up. It's utterly useless. He weighs two stone more than me and is a good six inches taller.

"Don't! For the love of—"

My pleading falls on deaf ears.

"I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, do hereby swear my fealty and loyalty to Lady Hermione Jean Potter-Black." Bugger. My head falls back on my neck and I stare up at the ceiling. "Heiress of House Potter, Heiress of House Black, Bonded Mate to the Heir of Gryffindor, until such time as she releases me from my oath, or until my death. Whichever comes before."

He—

He just…

The vow slithers under my skin and sinks inside my bones. It's heavier than any I've accepted before. My limbs ache with it, my magic flares. That was...that oath was so very different from the one he gave Harry.

My jaw is on the floor, when Draco rises to his feet and wipes the dust from his trousers knee.

"There," he snaps, and he sounds like Draco Malfoy again. Smooth, confident and without a care in the world. "We're even."

"I—" I try, but nothing will come out.

"Potter has a second, it's only right you do as well. First thing is etiquette lessons. I refused to be oathed to someone with table manners as poor as yours." I have bad table manners? He pulls on his cuffs again. "Fair warning, however, if you tell a single soul outside of Scarhead that I bent the knee, I'll kill you with my bare hands and welcome the death that follows."

Uh, "Okay?" I stutter, not at all convinced, I haven't gone mental.

"See you for breakfast, Granger. Oh, and the next time you decide to go shopping for me," he snarks, "do warn me ahead of time. Your tastes are deplorable, and my preferences are very particular. Some things money simply cannot buy, and good taste is one of them."

With that, Draco is out the door.

I—

I have no words.

Harry comes barreling into the room almost as soon as Draco disappears. It's obvious he ran here. Ron and Neville come crashing in an instant later.

He cups the top of my head then works his way down my face and arms, checking me for wounds.

"What happened?" he demands. "Where's Draco? You were screaming in my head!"

I—I was?

"What happened?!" Harry demands again.

I replay the previous five minutes in my mind, and watch as Harry's face transforms. His face goes slack and his eyes go wide as he sees the scene play out.

"What happened?" Ron asks with an altogether different tone. His eyebrow is lifted and he looks put out that he just ran up two flights of stairs for no apparent reason.

"I have no idea," Harry replies.

I have no bloody idea.