A/N

Sorry for the delay guys. I wanted to release this chapter, and the next at the same time, because Happily told me that everyone would hate me and throw their devices against the wall at the way this chapter ends, but...#sorrynotsorry. I'm all twisted over the next chapter still, and I'm tired of waiting lol.

This story started out as a Harry Potter fic. That was my intention. I think we can all agree, it's turning into Hermione's story, and I couldn't be happier with that. She's by far the most interesting character in the fandom. I hope you all agree.

Chapter 43

Hermione

We're all in the library for one last time before we're back at Hogwarts tomorrow. Draco is lounging on the couch, reading The Prince, for the second time this summer. Harry drops today's edition of the Daily Prophet into Draco's lap with the headline "Incident in Azkaban" taking up the top portion of the front page.

"You're famous Draco."

"Of course I am. I'm a Malfoy. I'm rich, beautiful and powerful," Draco quips back.

Harry pretends to gag.

Draco's eyes flick to the paper.

"Do I even want to look?" Draco asks with a hesitant sneer.

In about twelve hours we'll be on the train to Hogwarts and this all ends. We each have our parts to play, and that doesn't involve joint study sessions in the library. I'm going to miss this, this peace in the middle of a war that we've scrapped out for ourselves. Now that the Prophet has finally announced the Azkaban raid, things will begin to move fast.

Harry made the first move. It's Voldemort's turn.

I'm nervous. Pulling on my fingers and Harry smacking my hands away nervous, about the way things are starting to fall. Draco is going to be on the other side of Hogwarts. Harry is walking around with a poisonous sword. I have a James Bond gun in my bag. Ron and Neville are both armed to the teeth twenty-four hours a day and we're about to be locked in the castle with no way to control what goes on beyond its walls.

The vanishing cabinet, which I removed from the Room of Requirement at the end of last year, is already shrunk and in my handbag. What took Draco a year to repair on his own, he and I did in a week. Its pair is in our closet in the master suite. I'm not going back into the castle without a sure-fire way of getting back out again.

Harry slides down to the floor, resting in front of my cushion.

"You're the only one of us that made the paper. You and Sirius. It's kinda funny actually."

With a look of curious apprehension, Draco raises one brow in that expressive way his supercilious breeding taught him and grabs the paper to read.

There was an incident at Azkaban Prison in the late hours of the 23rd of August...cause unknown. Peter Pettigrew, convicted Death Eater and Mass Murderer, was kissed by a Dementor. Several other prisoners were left stunned and unable to remember several moments leading up to the event. The Ministry is investigating...

"Kissed, eh? You look broken up over it, Potter. I thought it was part of your saving people thing that even Death Eaters can be redeemed?"

I move from my spot curled up in a reading chair and sit next to Harry on the floor instead. His arm immediately wraps around my shoulders, and his fingers begin tugging through my curls. He looks over at Draco, who's giving him a curious stare.

"You've mistaken me for Dumbledore. Good riddance as far as I'm concerned. I'd forgotten that someone was screaming while I was chopping Dementors into pieces. Now I know why."

"Hmm," Draco says, looking impressed despite himself. "Machiavelli wrote, Any man who tries to be good all the time is bound to come to ruin among the great number who are not good. Hence a prince who wants to keep his authority must learn how not to be good, and use that knowledge, or refrain from using it, as necessity requires. There may be some hope for you yet, Potter."

"Did you just refer to me as a Prince?" Harry asks with amusement.

Draco pauses with his mouth unattractively wide, caught in a trap of his own making, before he returns his attention back to the newspaper.

"Aurors on duty have yet to pinpoint what caused the Dementors to attack the High-Security Section of the prison, but one Auror, who has requested to remain anonymous stating the ongoing investigation, swore to this reporter that they witnessed both Sirius Black, falsely accused Death Eater who spent almost thirteen years in Azkaban for the crime of Murdering twelve muggles that Peter Pettigrew was later convicted of committing and a lion.

"Madam Bones, Department Head of the D.M.L.E, said that she had no comment, but that reports of a lion in Azkaban are ridiculous, and asked the name of my source, so they may be examined by mind healers at St. Mungos.

"Okay," Draco concedes, folding up the paper and dropping it to the floor beside him. "That was slightly amusing."

"Honestly, Draco," I say, pulling open my book. "A lion is the best disguise for you I could ever think of. Even with a hundred lifetimes, not one person would ever guess that was you."

Draco visibly shudders, looking distressed.

"Please, don't remind me. If I could obliviate the knowledge from my memory, I would. It's a ghastly curse. Fate is a cruel mistress."

Harry snorts and rolls his eyes.

The twins come out from a back corner, arms laden with books.

"I know you aren't planning on taking books from the Potter-Black library with you to school!" I scold, eyes going wide at the sheer number of them. I don't know how many books we added this summer. Thousands if you include the books from the Potter vaults. And that's not even including our personal collection from our room. Several of which we still haven't gotten back yet. I may be a Gryffindor, but even I don't dare go hunting them down. That's a job for Harry and Harry alone.

"Come on Hermione." Twin One pouts. "You let Draco take his stupid Prince book." Conjoles the other. "Ron still has The Art of War too." "He carries it around like a security blanket."

Another one of the books I added to the collection myself. Him, I do need to go hunt down. I want my copy back.

"The Art of War?" Draco repeats, and I glance from the twins to see Draco's eyes twinkling as an opportunity to harass Ron presents itself to him. "I wasn't even aware the Weasel could read. Let alone a book with such a fascinating title."

"Don't be unkind, Draco," I say snidely, trying to imitate his mother. "Manners are what separate us from our uncivilized lessors."

Draco grins in pride at how snobbish I sound, and Harry makes a gagging sound. "I don't think I can touch you right now," Harry says, climbing to his feet.

"Well hit, Granger. Ten points for Gryffindor. But there are our lessors, and then there are the animals. The Weasel doesn't need our manners."

"Says the lion," I snark back. He bares his teeth in a half growl.

"The lion cannot protect himself from traps, and the fox cannot defend himself from wolves. One must therefore be a fox to recognize traps, and a lion to frighten wolves."

Another quote from The Prince.

I roll my eyes, then crawl over to Draco. His eyes widen at the sight of me scowling in his direction. I lunge to yank that stupid book out of his hands, and we end up struggling for it.

"Would you stop—" Draco pulls my hair and I elbow him in the gut. "Quoting that stupid bleeding book!" I finish with a huff.

Growling under my breath, the arsehole is so much stronger than me, I cheat and use magic to wrest it from his grip. I end up on my bum with a hard crash, but I win the battle for the book.

I crawl back to my original chair, and hand the book to Harry.

"Put this in our trunk, please. I'll give it back when he's less obnoxious."

Harry takes it from me gingerly, looking between me and Draco.

"Am I the only one terrified of Hermione spending so much time with Malfoy?" Neville asks.

"Absolutely not. He is not a good influence on her," Harry agrees. Draco beams.

"I'm going to go find Ron," Harry says haltingly, looking between Draco and me. "This...whatever it is, is making me very uncomfortable."

"You mean Draco's mummy issues he's working out through Hermione?" Neville prompts.

Harry gags again. I sigh. Draco huffs in annoyance.

"Yes. That. Exactly. Come on Nev, let's go."

The twins have started sliding sideways, arms still full of I don't want to know books to make I don't want to know gadgets.

"Where do you two think you're going with my books?" I snap, pulling them to a stop.

The twins begin to bargain.

"Aw, come on, Hermione!" "We'll be careful with them."

Draco, though, has other things on his mind.

"About that war book…" Draco says to the twins.

"I think this is the first time in history we aren't running around like maniacs trying to pack and do last-minute homework the night before the train."

Ron sounds both ecstatic and in awe, as he pushes a pawn across the chessboard.

"Make sure you tell Dobby thank you," I mumble, not paying them very much attention.

Draco chuckles under his breath from the couch behind us. He's stretched out reading yet another book on potion-making. Honestly, I think he reads more than I do. The Twins are nowhere to be found. Probably holed up with Sirius, planning pranks for their last year at school. Ginny is curled up on the other side of the couch from Draco.

Neville is lounging in front of the fire, cooing to his plant. It's finally blossomed, and the flower heads are rubbing up against his finger like a cat. It really is very pretty.

No one bothers to point out that Draco's socked feet are basically in Ginny's lap. Forced proximity and daily duelling have done a pretty decent job of forcing everyone to get used to each other over the last month. That and working out some of our conflicts. Nate is of the mind that sometimes a difference of opinion just needs to be handled with fists. It seemed to have worked out well. Occasionally the Weasleys and Draco are downright friendly towards each other when they forget that they're supposed to be enemies.

Especially since the other night here, in the library, when Draco helped stabilize Ronald after Harry, feeling he had to protect me, angrily drained Ron of his magic. Though luckily, no one has mentioned it since it happened.

Harry and Ron are playing chess, Ron flat on his stomach on the floor. Harry is leaning against the couch in front of Draco and my head is in Harry's lap. He can't reach the board as my book is in his way so instead, he's using magic to move his pieces.

His fingers run rhythmically through my hair, and I'm a heartbeat away from curling up and going to sleep right here in the library.

"How the times have changed," Draco drawls. "Weasel had a house-elf pack his belongings, and I was forced to fold my clothing like a Muggle."

"Poor baby," Ginny whines in a playful tone.

"Quite," Draco agrees with her snottily.

"Last time I checked, Malfoy," Ron says grinning from the floor. "Mocking me isn't a conducive method of getting what you want."

The entire room seems to hold its breath.

"My apologies, Weaselllllley," Draco says through clenched teeth, catching himself before he calls Ron a weasel.

Merlin, spare me from boys. They've been fighting over The Art of War for hours…

Ron is practically floating over having something Draco wants. It would be easier to simply order another copy, but I won't ruin this for Ronald.

Mrs. Weasley pops her head into the library, looking stressed even though the rest of us are rather at ease.

"Downstairs please, children. We have some last-minute details to go over before bed tonight."

As one we groan, and Ron's knight takes the opportunity to run Harry's pawn through with its spear.

Draco is on his feet first, then reaches out a hand to pull me to mine.

"Thank you, Draco."

He smirks at me.

"Don't mention it," he says. Then, "seriously, don't mention it. I have a reputation to protect."

Harry laughs at that, climbing to his feet.

"Don't worry, Draco. Your secret is safe with us. As soon as we hit the Platform, it's back to Malfoy and not so veiled insults. If you'd like, I'd be happy to break your nose on the train. Put to rest any rumours you've been bedding with the enemy."

"That won't be necessary," Draco says dryly, "but thank you for the generous offer."

I trail them out of the library, Draco and Harry continuing to snipe at each other all the way down. Only now their tone is distinctly jovial, rather than filled with malice.

That all comes to a stop when we enter the kitchen to see both Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape sitting at the table with Arthur.

"Tea, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asks, trying and failing to defuse the tension that erupts whenever Professor Snape drops in for a visit. The fact that Professor McGonagall is here as well doesn't make me feel any better.

My stomach twists in knots wondering what could bring two heads of houses out the night before students are set to arrive back in the castle.

"Yes, please," I say, slipping into a chair at the table. Ginny takes the one next to me, accepting a china cup from her mother.

The twins are already in the kitchen, leaning forward with their elbows on the counter.

All of the boys remain standing.

I doubt it passes anyone's notice that Draco remains as well. I bite my lip and turn my chin down. Neville, Ron, and Draco have all taken up positions behind Harry as if they'd just stepped onto the battlefield. Evenly spaced to give them room to move yet still cover each other's backs. Nate would be so proud.

"Professors," Harry greets, nodding his head in respect at them. "This is a surprise."

Remus and Tonks, trailed quietly by Sirius, take up positions in the corners of the room.

"It'll be a quick visit, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall shakes her head, eyes closed in exasperation. "Excuse me. Mr. Potter-Black," she corrects herself.

"Potter is fine, Professor," Harry grins. "It's a mouthful otherwise."

"Indeed," she agrees with pursed lips. "However, the titles and names were given with a purpose, and it would defeat that purpose if we didn't use them properly. Which is why we are here tonight. We felt your unique situations needed privacy to discuss, rather than in the Great Hall or Common Rooms."

Harry meets my eyes as Professor McGonagall continues to talk.

"This brings us to our first item of business. As mentioned at the end of last year, you'll be taking private lessons with the Headmaster this term, Mr. Potter-Black. I will add the caveat that these lessons are contingent on you maintaining your grades in your other classes. This is your OWL year after all. The minute something starts to slip, all the extras go."

Harry smirks at her.

"That won't be a problem, Professor."

Professor McGonagall looks dubious of his claim.

"There will be Aurors guarding the castle this year. They have all volunteered to take turns in continuing your advanced defence training as well. When the time allows."

Determination trickles along our Bond, but Harry keeps his expression bland.

"Thank you, Professor."

Professor McGonagall looks to her left.

"Severus?"

Professor Snape lowers his cup of tea, giving his attention to Draco.

"As per Mrs. Potter-Blacks request, I will be working with her on advanced potion making in private instruction. I've requested that Draco join our little study sessions, and the Headmaster has allowed it."

"Thank you, Severus!"

Draco sounds genuinely happy and meets my eye with a small smile. Harry grumbles through the Bond. He still isn't happy about me spending time one on one with Professor Snape. Matter of fact, he swore to supervise every lesson. Maybe now that Draco will be there, he'll be less of a pain about it.

"Draco, you already know you've been named a prefect for this year," the Potions Master continues. "I'm concerned about your lodging. It has been arranged for you to room on your own for the current school year. In order to not show favouritism, all prefects in Slytherin House have been given their own dormitories. As the smallest house, we have rooms to spare. You are to inform me at once, however, if another student so much as looks at you cross.

"To the best of my knowledge, no orders have been handed down from the Dark Lord regarding your treatment while at Hogwarts. However, I wouldn't put it past any of his followers to attempt to curry favour by bringing you back into the fold. By whatever means necessary. Especially when it is discovered the Greengrass sisters have fled from the Dark Lord and will not be attending this year."

"If anyone tries to hurt Draco," Harry growls, "they'll have me to answer to."

"Saint Potter to the rescue," Professor Snape sneers in his direction.

Harry takes a step forward, leaving the rest of them behind.

"No, Professor. I am his Head of House, on his maternal side. It's my duty to protect him from harm. Beyond that, Draco is my friend. I don't take kindly when tossers mess with my friends. Draco himself has borne the bruises of that truth more than once in the past."

Professor Snape rises from the table, ready to pick a fight.

"What will you do, Mr. Potter-Black," he hisses like the snake he represents, "when people start to question why you are suddenly running to the defence of your sworn enemy? The whole point of this farce was to keep Draco safe. He can't do that if you are chasing after him like a dog."

Harry shrugs, not at all concerned at the accusation.

"They won't question it. I have a saving people thing, remember?"

Professor Snape glares at Harry, and I feel Harry's amusement leaking across the Bond. I'd rather that than images of Harry running Professor Snape through with the sword.

Professor McGonagall clears her throat, trying to break the rising tension.

"Well, as for you two," Professor McGonagall says.

"Us?" The Twins say simultaneously, echoing in surround sound and pointing at each other.

"No." Her voice could break glass and her eyes peel paint with the looks of disdain she throws at them. "Since we don't have a head boy or girl in Gryffindor this year," and she gives the twins a scowl that would make Dumbledore cower before turning her attention to me. "We've assigned Mr. Potter-Black and you the head's dorm instead of opening the married housing. There are two bedrooms and a private common area. A kitchenette. I imagine with the number of books packed into Mrs. Potter-Blacks trunk this year; you'll need the extra space simply for storage."

Professor McGonagall smiles at her joke.

Fury is trickling in through our Bond before Harry shuts it down.

"No," Harry replies, his voice flat and cold.

"No?" Professor McGonagall baulks, taken back by his refusal.

All heads turn towards him.

"No. We won't be sharing a dorm. There'll be no handholding in the corridors. In no uncertain terms are we to give any indication that Hermione is more than what she's always been—my best friend. We've gone to great lengths to ensure the knowledge of our marriage doesn't leave this building."

"Harry," I breathe, caught off guard by his severe declaration. I—I was not expecting this. I just assumed we'd room together. Harry apparently did not.

"I'm afraid that's quite out of the question, Potter."

Professor McGonagall exhales forcefully at her slip-up.

"Mr. Potter-Black. Harry. The first day of class when a teacher addresses her as Mrs. Potter-Black, the entire school will know that you are married. It was a union blessed in magic. There is nothing we can do to hide it. Professor Dumbledore had planned to speak with you before the welcoming feast to ask you to break the charm so he can make an announcement. Better to disclose the Bonding upfront then submit Hermione to months of scrutiny and invasive assumptions and questioning. There are very few reasons one marries at your age, Harry."

"Told ya," Draco mumbles behind him, and Harry whips around to glare at his cousin by adoption.

"It'll be fine, Harry," I try to assure him, rising from my seat. "The castle is the safest place in the world."

Harry kicks out at a chair, sending it skittering across the floor. "I'm sick and tired of Dumbledore making unilateral decisions about my life!"

"MR. POTTER-BLACK!" McGonagall exclaims, but Harry isn't listening.

"It's not just about the castle! If they announce we've married…Hell, that we're Bonded Mates! At the fucking Welcoming Feast? It'll be on the front page of the Prophet on the next day's paper. Fuck, they'll probably print a special edition just about you and me. Merlin, Hermione. Claim your Mate for the world to envy? More like mark your Mate so all the Death Eaters walking the streets have a blinking target to aim for!"

He pulls the sword from the scabbard across his back, and it makes an audible ringing sound, echoing in the room. Power crests around him, with the sword in his hand, Harry is practically glowing with it. As one Neville, Ron, and Draco take a step back, giving Harry room to manoeuvre. He points the blade in my direction, and it's like trying to face a tornado head-on.

"It was bad enough when you were simply Potter's Mudblood!" he thunders.

"Oi!" Ron exclaims in anger.

"That's why they chose you last time!"

His voice breaks, and flashes of that day flicker through my memory. But I didn't witness it from that angle. I was on the floor, not watching from above. His terrors haunt my mind.

"Harry," I hiss, in a panic over what he's about to reveal. But he's too far gone to care anymore.

"They could have chosen Ron. They could have tortured me. But they chose you, because of who you were! In their eyes, your blood makes you worthless, and what you mean to me makes you priceless! They tortured you and killed you so I WOULD HAVE TO LISTEN!

"What do you think is going to happen when Riddle discovers that this time you own a piece of my soul? I'll die a thousand times before I let them get their hands on you. I can't take it, Hermione! Not again! Death would be a blessing if you were ever captured. They'll drag out your torture for weeks, months. Fuck! Years, if only to make me suffer."

We're caught in the eye of the storm, and Harry is the hurricane.

Ron looks at me, the dawning realization clear on his face. His eyes are wide as saucers, and fear pulls his mouth tight. He laughed at Harry being stuck with me, but it never really occurred to him the entirety of what that meant. Harry understood the minute those rings were brought out.

The pictures on the walls rattle, the knick-knacks on flat surfaces float in the air. My hair drifts out around my face, from the power pouring from Harry's core.

"I'm so sorry," Harry moans, and I feel it crack inside my chest.

He drops the sword at my feet, then falls to his knees before me. He wraps his arms around my thighs, his head hidden in my belly.

It feels like the earth is opening beneath us. Inside me. There's a well of untapped horror, and it's eating at my very soul.

It's not mine.

It's Harry's.

He can't breathe, so neither can I.

His fear of losing me causes my throat to close, my lungs to seize in my chest. His shoulders shake from his sobbing, and I can't think from the terror clawing at my mind.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he sobs, and there's nothing at all I can do except run my fingers through his hair and promise him it'll be alright.

But how can it be alright, when everything has gone so horribly, indescribably wrong?

Ron wipes a tear from his face, then walks to the corner, giving us his back. Unable to watch the destruction of his best friend.

We've always been Harry's weakness.

It's how Voldemort gets to him, almost every time.

It's an unwritten rule in the 'How to Defeat Harry Potter Handbook.'

Want some one-on-one time with the Chosen One? Grab somebody he loves.

I've always known Harry loved me. In one form or another.

This though, is something else altogether.

"I can't lose you. I can't lose you. I can't lose you."

He chants it like a mantra against my stomach.

I'm no longer just Harry Potter's best friend.

I'm Harry Potter's wife. Within hours, the whole of the Wizarding World will know it.

The rings on my fingers seem to glow as I run them through Harry's hair.

I search out the room, looking for help in any corner.

Mrs. Weasley is openly weeping. Professor McGonagall has both hands covering her mouth. Even Professor Snape is lost for words.

Sirius looks stricken. But it's the witch with bubblegum pink hair who has her face buried in his chest, and Remus at her back with his arms wrapped around them both that shocks me from my own horror.

That…wow.

Everything from the other timeline makes so much sense now.

Sirius cups Remus's cheek, and Remus lets his other rest against Tonks' head and yeah. Okay. I see it.

Remus kisses Tonks head, then Sirius' palm, then pulls away from his— his lovers.

It's Remus clearing his throat that brings Harry back to the present. Harry lifts his head from my stomach and roughly wipes his eyes. I cup his face in my hands, soothing my thumbs across his skin.

"I shouldn't have done it," he whispers, loud enough for the room to hear. "I never should have kissed you."

I pull him to his feet and let him tuck me close to his heart.

It won't do us any good now to tell him I heartily disagree.

I can't even imagine our lives anymore without that kiss. Neither can he, no matter what he is saying right now.

"Harry," Remus pleads.

He's closed the distance between us and stands at Harry's side.

"The Bond practically glows between you. Anyone with even the slightest inclination can see it. I'll admit, to the outside observer your interactions with each other don't seem to vary all that much from before the Binding was sealed, but that simply goes to show how close you were beforehand. Better to acknowledge it and keep her close, then pretend it doesn't exist."

"Besides that, Harry," Professor McGonagall says, "Mrs. Potter-Black is correct, Hogwarts is the safest place for her. The dorm room we have arranged for you two is warded and password protected. There are no rules against adding your own wards as well. It has its own small sitting room with a floo, a bathing area and a dining nook. You can bring Dobby and Winky. They'll welcome the chance to spoil you both and have an apartment to keep neat and tidy. With all the extra lessons you lot are taking this year, I'm sure you'll appreciate a safe space to…" she hesitates, perhaps choosing an appropriate word, "a space to strategize."

I know she's still uncomfortable with her cubs being trained for battle, even if she understands why it needs to happen. I appreciate her attempt to use the benefits of a private room to assist in calming my husband.

It does little good.

"You talk about Draco being alone with the Slytherins. She has two classes that I don't take. That none of us take. You want to brand her, then throw her out undefended. It's not as difficult to get into the Castle as you believe it to be. Not when you're highly motivated to do so. Hermione would be a prize worthy of the effort."

I don't bother to point out I'm more than capable of protecting myself. The boys aren't the only ones who spent the summer training for war. It would be a pointless observation at this point. Even in the other timeline, when it comes to the safety of those he cares about, Harry doesn't take chances. Now with the Bond?

Draco steps forward, bracing for Harry's wrath.

"I'm in both Arithmancy and Ancient Runes with her. You walk her to the classroom, and I'll bring her back to you safely. We move in pairs, remember? I won't let her out of my sight. I'll sit with her every day. They'll have to get through me, to lay hands on her, Harry."

Draco meets my eye over my husband's head, and I know he isn't only doing this for Harry. He swore his fealty to me. Apparently, that includes protecting me in the classrooms and hallways of Hogwarts.

"They'll have to get through all of us, Mate," Ron chips in.

Harry baulks at Draco, mouth open and eyes wide.

I think it's the first time Draco has used Harry's first name.

It makes the whole thing more real, somehow.

"That defeats every failsafe we've enacted to ensure your safety, Draco!" Professor Snape hisses at his Godson.

"Fuck my safety!" Draco explodes. "The sole purpose of this," he throws his hands into the air, "of EVERYTHING, is to defeat The Dark Lord!" He shoves his finger in Harry's face. "HE can't do that if he's lost his Goddamn mind because something happened to his wife! What would you do, Severus, if something threatened the woman you loved?"

As if pulled by a magnet, Professor Snape looks at Harry. His face hardens, years of lines pressed to the surface. But his eyes…his eyes soften at the edges. He almost looks on the verge of tears.

"Everything," he says sharply. "Always."

Without another word, he storms from the kitchen, the floo whooshing to life in the other room.

Draco turns to Harry.

"If I die in defence of your Lady Wife?" he questions, standing to his fullest height. His face is blank, a slight sneer in place. There lies Draco Malfoy, scion to the Malfoy dynasty.

"Then I'll kill every man, woman and child who had a hand in it." Harry promises him.

"Good Enough for me," Draco agrees.

He pulls out a chair and slides into the seat.

"Could I get a cup of tea, Mrs. Weasley? You make it just like my Missy did. I miss her."

Draco grins when Mrs. Weasley simpers at him, wiping her face and jumping to her feet. Draco winks at Ron when her back is turned. Ron scowls in response.

"You know this isn't just about Hogwarts though, don't you?" Harry turns to me, his face earnest. "There's a reason why I went straight to Augusta from Gringotts immediately after Ragnok informed us of our binding. Our names have been ripped out of every record I could get my hands on. The second this gets out, any chance you had of living a normal life is over."

I scoff at his ignorance.

"Harry. Any chance I had of living a normal life ended when The Boy Who Lived saved me from a troll in the girls' loo. Besides that, as Gringotts showed us, you can't change my last name, even if you burned our proof of marriage."

Harry growls in frustration.

"You're bloody impossible, do you know that? This changes everything! He won't even care about capturing me anymore. As soon as that announcement goes out, you jump to number one on Voldemort's catch and torture list. Why bother with me when I'll come to him willingly with you in his clutches?"

His anger is mounting again, so I try to play it as cool as I can. If there's one thing I've learned in the last decade, it's how to handle an angry Harry Potter. I sit at the table next to Draco, who refills my mug with refreshed tea.

"So, I jump up a few slots on the Death Eaters hit list?" I say, doctoring my beverage. "I will not cower in the shadows while others fight in my stead! He doesn't scare me, Harry."

Harry pulls at his hair, on the verge of losing his cool again. He closes his mouth and screams in frustration.

"Well, bloody good for you. Because he fucking terrifies me!"

Harry scoops up his sword and storms from the kitchen, leaving expressions ranging from horror to amusement in his wake.

"Shouldn't someone follow him?" Ginny prompts. I notice she doesn't offer to do the deed.

Everyone turns to me, but I shake my head. The Bond is whirling with a thousand different emotions that Harry has no desire to share right now. He'd be occluding if he hadn't promised to stop blocking his side of the Bond.

"I'm his wife," I say. "Not his keeper."

"Best let him brood for a bit," Sirius says.

Ron scoffs in irritation, then storms out after his best friend.

I tilt in Professor McGonagall's direction, who is still looking distinctly uncomfortable.

"Anything else, Professor?" I ask, hoping to wrap this up quickly.

She drags her eyes away from the open doorway where both Professor Snape and Harry disappeared and focuses on my face again. She shakes herself like a dog, clearing away the haunting behind her eyes.

"No, Mrs. Potter-Black. I don't think so. There will be questions, of course. I'd prepare Mr. Potter-Black as well as you can for them." She stops talking, but I see her thoughts stewing behind her eyes.

"Out with it, Professor."

Her chest heaves with the strength of her breath.

"That was unexpected. I—I feel like I must inform the Headmaster of what I witnessed here tonight."

"Inform away," I tell her, not at all concerned about the Headmaster's response. We don't answer to him, and he's smart enough to have expected this type of reaction to an official announcement of our Bond. It's why he sent Professor McGonagall tonight to warn Harry it was coming. That way, Harry could lose his shit in the privacy of his own home and not in the Great Hall.

We may not agree with all his choices, but that man is no fool.

"Does that sort of outburst happen often?" she asks, and my anger rises in my throat. I understand that she's concerned about the other students, but she should know Harry better than that.

Much to my shock, Draco answers the question.

"No, Ma'am. Although, I would recommend spreading it around that no one should challenge Harry to a duel this year. They'd lose, horribly. And I sincerely hope I'm there the first time Parkinson calls Granger a Mudblood. His reaction will go down in the record books, I'm sure. Anyone stupid enough to try to hurt Hermione is going to be in for a surprise as well."

Shockingly, that doesn't seem to ease the Deputy Headmistresses mind.

Draco tries again.

"You know Potter. Would you consider him a particularly overprotective person, Professor?"

She nods her head.

"I would, yes. Short-tempered, self-sacrificing, and horrifically brave," she adds with pride.

Draco looks nauseous. Those are not his favourite qualities in a person.

He clears his throat.

"You're worried about the, admittedly, impressive display of power, and his lack of control over it. I promise you; Potter was in complete control. I suggest you watch him spar one day. You'll understand better. But instead of concentrating on his outburst, concentrate on what caused it."

She looks wounded. Like Dumbledore just fell from the astronomy tower. "I have seen him fight, Mr. Malfoy. I was at the prison, remember? It was impressive, to be sure. But it's not only that. I—"

Remus speaks up for the first time.

"We're going to win this war, Minerva, because of her." Remus points to me, and I wipe the tears dripping down my face. "He'll defeat Voldemort, if only because the price of his failure would be the end of her life. You saw the…the visceral reaction he had to the thought of her coming to harm, and you automatically think their connection is some sort of security risk. That his emotions can't be trusted. But she's not a weakness. She's, his strength."

Draco takes over.

"She shares his soul, Ma'am.

She twists in her seat, looking from Draco to me.

"Oh," she says quietly. "I see."

"Do you?" he asks, and I'm blown away that out of all the people in this room, Draco Malfoy is the one coming to Harry's defence. But then I remember the silver trunk of books tucked away into my trunk, and maybe I'm not all that surprised after all.

"I do," she assures him.

Her face firms up some, a sense of action filling her eyes.

Neville slides into the chair next to me, then takes my hand in his under the tabletop. I glance at him quickly, and he squeezes my hand in his. Thank goodness for Neville, and his quiet stoicism.

"I will do as you suggest, Mr. Malfoy, and inform the other Heads of House, discreetly, that due to current circumstances, they should strongly discourage the students in their house from challenging Mr. Potter-Black. Little is known anymore about the connection between Bond-Mates. Perhaps a burst of overprotectiveness is to be expected. Combine that with the added pressures he faces because of the war, and yes, Mr. Malfoy. I understand what you are saying."

Burst of overprotectiveness is an understatement.

"Some will take that," "As a challenge to test Harry's skill," the twins say, speaking up for the first time, and shooting Draco a knowing look.

He doesn't even look sheepish.

"Is he likely to kill them?" she asks seriously.

Sirius and Remus both laugh, then hide their faces when Professor McGonagall turns her glare on them.

"Only if they hurt Hermione," Draco says with a smirk.

I kick him under the table. Not! Helping!

"No," one twin says, attempting to keep a straight face. The other adds, "They might walk funny for a while," "But he won't cause any permanent damage."

Probably.

"It really has little to do with Hogwarts, Minerva," Remus speaks up. "So long as Death Eaters don't somehow breach the castle, and no one is stupid enough to challenge Harry to a duel, everything will be fine."

I raise my empty cup of tea to my lips to hide my expression and meet Sirius' stare over the rim.

"Very well," she says. "Please try to keep the bloodshed to a minimum."

Professor McGonagall excuses herself quickly after that. Her back is almost through the kitchen awning, when Remus hits her with a spell.

"Oblivate," he says, and her back stiffens. I watch with widened eyes as Remus modifies her memories. She stands there, frozen for a moment, before she shakes her head and continues to leave the kitchen. We hear the floo flare to life from the other room.

"What—"

Remus cuts me off before I can ask.

"We don't want her to remember everything that was said here this night. I'll find a way to deal with Severus."

The quiet that falls in the kitchen isn't any easier with her Obliviation.

Worse.

I can almost hear the other's thoughts, feel their eyes staring at me.

Without a word, I call the Firewhiskey to me from the counter, pouring a healthy dollop into my empty teacup.

"So, when did you die?"

Draco.

Naturally it has to be fucking Draco who asks the question. His eyes are so earnest, and his hand is flexing on his teacup.

I take a swig from the firewhiskey, letting the burn of the liquor warm my blood and settle into my belly. I don't even gag or shudder this time.

You could hear a pin drop; the entire room seems to hold its breath.

I sit up straight in my chair and look him in the eye. He bound his life to mine.

"In three years. In the drawing-room at Malfoy Manor."

Mrs. Weasley's gasp is audible. Remus's moan slithers over my skin, just this shy of a growl. Neville grips my hand so hard the bones grind together.

Malfoy rises from the table, barely making it to the sink before he's sick.

The memory of that life, and of that death, makes my muscles ache. Nausea roils in my belly and the back of my throat burns.

But I don't stop talking

"Hogwarts fell. The Ministry fell. Dumbledore died at the hands of a supposed ally."

They don't need to know who. If we have any say, it won't happen this time. I take another sip of my Firewhiskey.

"Harry, Ron, and I were on the run. They didn't know Ron was with us, but Harry and I? We were the most wanted people in Britain. We lived in a tent, in the woods, moving to a new spot nearly every day. We couldn't walk into a store. We lived off only what we could steal or find. Being a muggle-born was a crime. They snapped your wand, and imprisoned you for stealing your magic. Snatchers were criminals who made their living collecting muggle-borns who were on the run. We were captured by a group led by Fenrir Greyback. Taken to the Manor. Bellatrix was there. Your parents. You were there too."

Draco is shaking, head dangling over the sink. His eyes are filled with horror. I should stop. But I can't.

Now that the dam has broken, it's impossible to stop the flow. The echo of the fear I felt that day makes my body tremble. My muscles quiver with the memory of the torture I suffered on that drawing-room floor.

Harry dreams of my screams, but I dream of theirs. His, and Ron's. Locked in a cellar, forced to listen to my wails.

"It was the Easter Hols, I think, but...time was hard to tell when you're living in a tent... We didn't realize it was Christmas, either, until we went to Godric's Hollow, and we were attacked by Voldemort. But that's a story for another time."

Someone makes a pained noise, pulled deep from the back of their throat. But I'm no longer in the townhouse's kitchen. I'm on the drawing room floor, searching for someone to save me. He's younger here, ghost white and shaking in my kitchen. But he looks at me the same way he did there.

With fear in his eyes. Fear for me, and fear for himself. I pick a spot on the table to watch, and stare into my teacup instead.

"If it wasn't Easter, it might have been that Voldemort simply wouldn't allow you to continue at Hogwarts," I say, speaking to him alone now. "You and your family were little more than prisoners in the manor. Your Aunt called for you Draco, and asked you to confirm who we were. I'd hit Harry in the face with a stinging hex, so he at least looked a little off kilter. The boys hadn't had haircuts in almost a year. We'd lost so much weight from starvation; we didn't fit our clothes. But it was us, and you knew it.

"You wouldn't confirm it for your parents. Avoided the questions and only told half-truths. Maybes and I don't knows. When they told you to summon Voldemort with your Dark Mark, you wouldn't do it. Your father had to. That I remember clearly. Like Harry said, I'm expendable. So, they picked me to torture. Took the boys to the cellar. We had the Sword of Gryffindor. It seems no matter what life he lives, it'll always come to Harry."

I know I sound dead. Monotone. I feel dead. Numb. I look down and see my right hand is rubbing obsessively up and down my left arm, tracing invisible branding I no longer own. Neville is still gripping my fingers, refusing to let go. I'm losing the feeling in that hand. It helps though, to see life entwined with mine as I fight the scars of the past.

People are crying, but I don't look at who. I don't have the energy for anything outside of myself right now.

"Bellatrix was insane, and enraged. About the sword. I don't know why. All I could concentrate on was the pain. She hit me with the Cruciatus curse over, and over again. Then when I still wouldn't tell her what she wanted, because, as you know, I'm as stubborn as they come, she dug her knife into my arm. She branded me, with the word Mudblood,carved into my forearm."

The sounds of someone vomiting hit my ears, but I can't tell if it's really happening or a memory.

"I only know what happened after that because of Harry's nightmares. Harry and Ron got free, because he's Harry Potter and he has both the best luck and the worst luck in the world. They'd gotten a hold of wands, and stormed the drawing-room. But he froze, when he saw me barely conscious, with the knife to my neck. She slit my throat, in front of Harry and Ron, then Bellatrix and Voldemort both hit Harry with the killing curse."

I stop myself, before I mention Mortimer. Already as it is, the DOM is going to open a room just for experiments on Harry and me.

"Then we were in the Great Hall," I finish with a shrug.

I pull my eyes from my teacup and the still, golden liquid that was playing host to my memories and finally look around the room.

"So, if Harry seems a little out of control, and if his reaction to the thought of me getting hurt feels a smidgen unrestrained, well, watch the person you love most in the world be tortured, then killed, then think about how you'd respond to being alive again, and because of who you are, knowing your lover will continually be in the crosshairs of a degenerate sadist."

Draco gets sick again. In the back of my head, I see myself going to him and giving him a hug. But I don't. Neville gives me a one-armed hug and a kiss on the forehead, then goes and tends to Draco. Sirius looks grimmer than I've ever seen him before. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley both are crying. Gin is too. Tonks has her face buried in Remus's shoulder.

First, I'm going to kill Harry for putting me in this position. But then, second, I'm going to kiss him. Because I needed this. I've fallen too deeply into the way things are, and I've forgotten the way things were. I won't just sit here, while decisions are made about my life.

Not this time.

"Keep this to yourselves, yeah?" I say needlessly. I look at the members of our chosen family. I meet their eyes one by one, letting them share the burden of this secret. Nods of assurances and things like "Of course," "Always," and "Who would believe us, anyway," reach my ears in solemn tones

I trust every person in this kitchen. I don't just trust them with my life. I trust them with Harry's too, and his life is far more important than mine. It's everyone outside these walls who wants to destroy us.

I need to find an owl, then go take care of my husband.

I leave my now empty cup of tea but bring the bottle of Firewhiskey.