A/N
Thank you so much to Happily for keeping me on the straight and narrow!
Chapter 45
Hermione
"You said five minutes!" Ron yells, banging at our door. "It's already been ten. Get your arses out of bed!"
My lips make a sucking sound when I pull them away from Harry's to send a quick glance at the door.
"Ignore him, love," Harry mumbles as he turns my face back to his before gently nipping my lips.
Sure. No problem. I'll just pretend I've gone deaf. How am I supposed to ignore it when it sounds like Ron is—"Oh!"
Harry grips my waist and snaps his hips, so his prick surges inside me, and yeah, okay. That's how I ignore him. Harry chuckles against my lips, and I moan as he drags his cock against my walls.
If someone told me that lazy morning sex would be my favourite, I'd have called them a bald-faced liar. It's so uninventive. So lackadaisical. But on our sides, with my leg over his hip and Harry crowding on top of me so that I'm pinned underneath him, is absolutely my favourite place to be. Technically we're on our sides, Technically. Or at least my hip is. But I'm surrounded by Harry, with his arm under my head and his hand gripping my neck. His other arm is across my chest and holding me against him. His front is so tight to my side that I can barely move, and I'm forced to wrap my arm around his head just cause there's no more room for it anywhere else. It would be easier if it weren't even there.
I can barely breathe with Harry's weight incapacitating me, but rather than feeling smothered; I feel grounded. Safe. There is no place I'd rather be than making slow lazy love to my husband on a Sunday morning. Never mind the fact we have a house full of people waiting for us.
"Come on guys!" Ron tries again, sounding rather whiny now.
"Five more minutes," I yell, my voice broken and strained.
Ron doesn't stop his banging.
"He can't hear you, love," Harry chuckles in between thrusts, never speeding the rhythm of his hips against my arse. "Silencing wards, remember? So, no one can hear you scream my name, but me." Harry runs the palm of his hand down my front, and I arch into his touch when his fingers slip against my nub.
What?
"Wards," he whispers huskily, drawing out the s.
Oh yeah. Bugger.
Wards, because those won't fail, whereas silencing charms wear off eventually.
That explains why Ron is still banging and yelling in the hallway. I feel around for the wand I used last time, and when I can't find it between kisses within the covers and I call a wand to me from the bedside. I don't even register surprise when my hand closes around Harry's Phoenix core wand.
Huh.
Harry pushes my chest to the mattress, so my arse lifts and spreads, and fireworks explode behind my eyes as his prick slams against my cervix then drags back against my g-spot.
It takes me three tries to untwist the warding.
"F-f-five minutes!" I try again, hoping he can't tell what's going on behind our door.
"I'm going to need more than that," Harry says huskily into my ear and twists my nipple between his fingers.
I shove the blanket into my mouth to smother my moan.
"Fifteen," I holler at our best friend. "We'll be down in fifteen minutes."
"Oh, GROSS!" Ron yells, loud enough to wake the dead. "Are you guys shagging in there?"
"Of course, they're shagging," Draco drawls from outside the door. "Don't worry, Weasel. I'm sure if you ask nicely, Scarhead will shag you too. After all, he's spent all summer learning how to manipulate his sword, and he is looking very fit these days."
"That's it, Ferret. I've had it up to here with you. Good luck ever getting your hands on that book, since Merlin knows you'd never step into a muggle bookstore to buy your own."
"Jokes on you Weasel. I'm a Black by blood. The elves will always choose me over you. Kreacher snuck it from your trunk last night. I have to admit, I was surprised to see you could write as well as read. Though if Hermione saw what you did to her book, she'd probably remove your bullocks with a dull severing charm. I can't wait to show her how you defiled it with all your chicken scratch."
"You bloody tosser!"
There's a hard thud against the outside wall and an outburst of anger as it sounds like the two come to blows outside our door.
"GO AWAY!" Harry growls. He slides his arm across my hips and hauls me into his body, and a keening wail slips from my mouth.
He's trying to keep my attention, but my head keeps turning towards the ruckus outside the door.
"Bloody cock blockers," Harry grumbles too low for them to hear him, and I get a painfully clear vision of what our life will be like in a decade or two when we have children.
"I would," Draco says, panting. "But I've been banished from the lower levels, because Rita Skeeter showed up with her Quick-Quotes Quill, and is currently sitting at the kitchen table interviewing Molly about being the surrogate mother to Bonded Mates."
"What?" Harry and I yell together. I almost crick my neck due to turning so fast towards the door.
"I thought that would get your attention. I'm leaving now, to go hide where I won't be seen. Come on Weasel, before Potter kicks your teeth in for listening to him shag his wife."
Without a wand, because my husband is a powerful arsehole, I feel the wards of our room go back up.
I try to get away, but Harry tightens his grip on my throat, and I almost swoon as a lightheaded sensation fills my head, and lightning shoots straight to my clit.
"Bloody hell, Harry," I moan loudly, and he releases me to lick into my mouth. I close my fist around his hair and yank until he's groaning. "You have one minute, then I'm leaving, whether you're finished or not!"
"Challenge accepted," he smirks, then before I can register it happening, I'm on my belly, and my arse is in the air.
It took approximately two.
It's like that nightmare where you go to take your OWLS; only you're naked. And more importantly, you fail the tests.
Winky appears as soon as I slide from the bed and wraps my dressing gown around my naked body. If she was loitering around just out of sight until we finished, I don't want to know.
The little elf informs us that, apparently, not only did Skeeter descend on our doorstep like a Dementor wanting to suck out our souls, but she also brought a photographer with her and a gaggle of other people to confirm the Bond, including a Goblin.
"Griphook, you think?" Harry asks, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind and dropping his chin to my shoulder. I put my hands behind me and feel his legs, relieved he at least has his trunks on.
"Got to be, right?" Though I have no idea how Skeeter managed to trick him into descending on our doorstep.
"Stop wasting time!" Winky squeaks, pulling on Harry's arm until he disentangles himself from me.
"You shower, Master," Winky says while shoving him towards the toilet, giving out instructions like a general to her troops, "and I be getting Mistress ready out here. Your clothes be already arranged for you in the loo. When you's done, I be doing your hair."
My hair? Harry mouths at me from over his shoulder, not even bothering to hide his amusement. I startle as a cleansing spell is unabashedly run over my body, without fair warning.
"In the chair, Mistress. We's don't have much time. Of all the mornings for your…" she mumbles, descending into a pique of silence. Her little stool materialises behind my throne-like vanity chair, and she taps her foot impatiently. "You must look the part, and you's hair be a tangled mess!"
Harry grins, and I feel the top of my head, where a night of debauchery followed by a morning in the sheets has left me looking little to be desired.
Except to Harry, of course, who looks ready for another go. I climb into the seat in front of Winky, and my face crunches in displeasure as I sit flat for the first time in hours.
Maybe it's a good thing Skeeter has finally pushed us out of bed. I need a break. I'm sore in places I didn't know were possible.
"This isn't necessary," I insist after Harry disappears into the shower.
If Winky could look any more unimpressed, I don't want to see it.
She ignores me completely, pulling a comb through my curls. I tell her I'll set her free if she doesn't allow me to pick out my own clothes. She responds by informing me she'd be pleased to serve the house of Potter-Black as a free elf, and the more I complain, the longer it'll take until we will be ready.
I almost burst into tears, but I still have no idea whether from frustration or overwhelming happiness that she offers to work as a free elf.
I do stop complaining. Besides, by the time Winky finished, I looked rather pretty.
I hadn't noticed over the course of the summer how the wrought silver jewellery box that appeared one day had been steadily filling with jewellery until she popped open the lid and started searching through pieces she liked.
My curls are long and luscious, trailing down my back. I asked her if she somehow made them longer, as I'm sure my hair wasn't this length last night, and all Winky does is beam at me. Silver hair combs with the Black family crest pull my hair back from my face, holding it from my eyes. I allow her to press light makeup into my face, but only enough to make it look like I wasn't wearing any at all. Ruby dewdrop earrings dangle delicately from my earlobes.
While I would never choose the clothes she selects, I do look…expensive, while not at all like Pansy Parkinson, which is what I'm most worried about. A flowing skirt that stops mid-calf, with layers of gauzy fabric in different shades of whites and silvers and creams until I look like a blooming flower, and a silver-grey vest shirt, perhaps a little too loose in the bust but that gives me a high-class edge.
Winky says since the Black and Potter colours clash like a Christmas tree, it'll be blacks and whites from here on out. I twist the rings on my fingers, my anxiety surging up my throat.
Harry, who even though he took a shower is ready before me, pulls my fingers apart.
"You's still be too bare," Winky fusses, and returns to pouring over the jewellery box. It must have an extendable charm on it. "You's be needing a necklace, I think."
Harry, who looks dashing as ever in his black jeans, white oxford, and black vest, pulls a little black velvet box from his pouch.
"I can help with that. It was supposed to be a birthday present, but..." he shrugs and lifts the lid on the box, twisting it in his hand to show me what's inside.
"Harry," I breathe, reaching out to touch it, but hovering my fingers just above. The metal is worked into the shape of a triangle, with a lion resting in the middle. Its eyes are shards of rubies. The lion seems to yawn before it resumes its spot. A snake encircles the lion, his tail twisted around the lion's frame, with eyes of emeralds. They look like they were plucked from Harry's own face. On closer inspection, there's a wand embossed across the bottom, and a wand straight down the back and behind, hidden by the bodies of the animals.
The image looks familiar, but I can't place where it's from.
Toujours l'amour reads across the bottom. Always Love.
It's stunning.
Harry takes the necklace in one hand and tosses the box onto our couch.
"Turn," he says, and I lift my hair, gathering it over my shoulder. He slips the chain around my neck, and the chain is long enough to rest comfortably between my breasts. I'll be able to hide it if I need to, but will never have to take it off. The chain is unbelievably delicate but thick enough that I feel its heft.
He drops a kiss under my ear before grabbing my hips in his hands.
"Our family will never be Always Pure again, and that's the way I like it. Always Love felt more appropriate. Sirius helped me submit it to the ministry, as the new Potter-Black Crest."
"It's beautiful," I breathe, wiping a tear from my cheek.
"Flip it over," he whispers against my ear. I lift it from my chest and turn it in my fingers, and there, engraved on the back and clear without the distractions from the front, is the Deathly Hallows symbol behind a pair of engraved frolicking deer.
"You make me the Master of Death," he breathes into my ear. "Not a wand or an invisibility cloak. The pendant is charmed. Minor shield charm, slight repelling charm, but it'll heat to the touch, every time I think about you. Expect it to feel warm forever."
I haven't thought of the Hallows in weeks, months, but in truth, they're never far from Harry's consciousness.
"Is it okay that I made the change without telling you?" he asks quietly.
"Yes," I say distractedly, still flipping the pendant round and round in my hand. Then what he says clicks in my head. "HOW did you do it without telling me?" I demand, looking over my shoulder at him.
He taps himself on the forehead.
"I've got mad skills," he sasses, and I catch his lips in a quick kiss.
A new crest, for the new family we'll start together. In a decade or two.
"How did you manage to avoid me finding out your Patronus had changed?" he asks me gently.
Oh. That.
"Yes, that."
"Stop reading my mind," I pout. I don't stomp my foot. I don't.
"Stop projecting so much," he says against my ear, his lips sending shivers down my back. I keep flipping the pendant over and over in my hands, seeing the symbols of our relationship blend together.
"I forgot," I tell him honestly, and he huffs into my throat. "No, honestly, I did. You were sleeping, for once, and I didn't want to disturb you, so I sent a Patronus to tell Ron we'd be late to training, and instead of my little Otter it was a Doe. And I was shocked, to say the least, and irritated, because how patriarchal that the girl's Patronus changes. But then I liked it. And you started whimpering in your sleep, and I rolled over to rub your back and completely forgot about it."
"That easy, huh? Are you sure you don't mind? I can try to force mine to change to an Otter if that would make you happy."
Knowing Harry, he probably could. His lips are training up and down my neck, and if I don't put a stop to this, we're never going to get out of this bedroom. I take a step forward, then another, until I'm completely out of his grasp.
"Yes. I'm sure. I like that we're a mated pair in everything. Now stop distracting me," I demand, straightening my hair and smoothing down my skirt.
"I really don't want to deal with that woman today," he admits with a frustrated sigh.
"You and me both, Harry. But the time for hiding is past. Do I look okay?" I ask worriedly.
"You's look beautiful, Mistress," Winky assures me.
"Gorgeous," Harry agrees. "Thank you for your help, Winky. We'll see you and Dobby at Hogwarts," Harry says to the little elf, chucking her playfully under her chin. She blushes a horrible pink shade, and ducks her head before popping away.
"Do you have the jars?" I double-check. The elves are taking all of our luggage over to the castle, per their request, so that they can get our belongings put away before we get there. But there's no way we're leaving a dozen Death Eater's magical cores sitting around only guarded by wards that we don't set up ourselves, even if Winky is scarier than a dozen Death Eaters combined.
"In my pouch, strapped and double wrapped for transport," he confirms, patting the ouch strapped to his hip.
Nothing left to do then head into the storm.
Harry stumbles into my back when I come to a halt as soon as I open the door.
Draco is lounging against the opposite wall, with his hands shoved in his pockets. He's back in the bespoke suit, black from top to bottom, including his wing-tipped shoes. The only colour on his person is the Slytherin green tie draped down his chest. He pushes off from the wall as soon as I lock eyes with him.
"We need to talk before you go down there," his voice is clipped, and his eyes are hard. "She's already pressing to see how far she can get. Do not allow her to get away with it. Harry is in charge. He is Master of this house. But You are his lady. Yet, yours is no ordinary marriage. Equals, in every sense of the word. Do not let him show you up, but still show him deference."
Harry puts his hand on my hip, nodding along to everything Draco is telling us. We start moving down the hallway, Draco still rattling off instructions.
"Don't raise your voice. Don't stomp your foot. Smart, but not swotty. Respectful, but demanding of respect. Expect to be obeyed, but show appreciation when they do. Push the Muggle-born angle. Your Bond is a bloody big deal, and if wielded correctly can give you an untold amount of power."
He lifts his hand to stop me when I open my mouth to object.
"You say you don't but you do. You want werewolf rights and elvish welfare and inheritance rights for daughters and gay marriage. That will take power, Lady Potter-Black, and it starts today in your kitchen."
I swallow back my rebuke.
"You," he says, glancing at Harry and poking him in the shoulder. "Do not threaten to kill anyone, do not actually kill anyone. No pulling your weapons, no touching your weapons. Do not raise your voice. Play up the Muggle-born connection, how proud your parents would be, if only they weren't stolen from you at such a young age. How proud you are to have inherited the Black title from your Godfather, now that the corrupt administration has been overthrown and defenders of the Light are in charge. Emphasise the immense power that comes from the union with your Muggle-born witch."
Harry's hackles immediately raise, but he swallows thickly and shoves them back down. Draco isn't trying to be cruel. He's trying to give us the best advantage possible.
"I should be in there with you," Draco snaps with frustration. We've reached the second landing, a floor away from the kitchen. "The Malfoy heir would go a long way in legitimising your place in society. I should publicly declare. Here and now."
"That is the most dangerous thing you've ever said. I thought first and foremost, a Slytherin was concerned in saving their own asses," I prompt. "What happened to waiting on the sidelines then falling in with the victors?"
Draco seems to twitch, his eyes moving to a spot over my head.
"That's what I'm doing, obviously. People follow the Dark Lord because he is powerful. But Scarhead, here, kicked You-Know-Who's arse when he was only a baby. That's the only reason I'm here. It's why I should declare! If for no other purpose then to show the others that the smart thing to do is to follow the most powerful, and that title belongs to you. I'm the most influential Wizard in Britain, minus my parents. You need me publicly on your side."
Thinks highly of himself, doesn't he? Harry laughs. I don't laugh. Draco is obviously upset, though I'm not really sure why.
The words are suitable for a pureblood heir. Snobbish, self-serving, but the tone is all wrong. I wish I knew what was going on inside his head.
"Absolutely not," Harry says, pulling Draco to a stop. "I won't risk you unnecessarily."
"It's going to come out either way, Potter. If not in the announcement, then by the end of the week at least, when I'm sitting with her in class every day."
"Or we go to the Headmaster and ask that he inform those teachers to assign seating this semester, and force you to sit together. Even if that gets back to Malfoy Manor, you still have plausible deniability. What would happen to your parents, Malfoy, if word got to Voldemort that you've defected to the other side? What would happen if it was on the front page of the paper?"
Draco growls under his breath and shoves his hands through his hair before quickly putting every stand back in place. He yanks on his cufflinks and shrugs his shoulders until Draco Malfoy takes the place of Draco, my friend.
He looks to Harry again.
"Don't run your hands through your hair. For the first time in your miserable life, it actually looks halfway decent. Have I already said don't kill anybody?"
"Yes," Harry says with an amused snort.
"Good. I mean it. Don't kill anybody. Take control of the conversation and keep control. Go."
I move from Harry's embrace and step into Draco's, pulling him into a hug. He stiffens in my arms, eyes wide with fear before he gingerly hugs me back.
"Gryffindors," he grouches under his breath, but his head dips to my shoulder before he quickly steps away again.
Walking down the final flight of stairs and the well-worn path leading to the kitchen, I feel maybe we finally have this under control.
Until I step into the kitchen and come to a painful halt at the scene playing out in front of me. Dobby and Kreacher are busily serving tea and coffee along with a selection of breakfast edibles for the gathering.
Mrs. Longbottom, Minister for Magic, is at the head of the table, nibbling on a piece of toast. Neville is sitting beside her, smiling broadly and talking animatedly about something I can't hear.
Winky forgot to mention that.
"Minister," Harry says, giving Mrs. Longbottom a slight bow. "Thank you so much for joining us for breakfast."
"Harry, dear, how many times must I tell you? It's Gran or simply Augusta. None of this Minister babble."
She's never told us that. Ever. Not once. Even Neville's eyes go wide before he quickly averts his face.
Harry doesn't falter, he simply pivots and responds.
"I'm sorry, Gran. I just thought with so many people around, you'd want me to respect the niceties."
"Nonsense," she smiles, waving away her hand. "Neville doesn't call me Minister. The Longbottoms have long been allies of the Potters, as you well know dear. We shouldn't change who we are to each other, just because we have an audience."
Wow. That was...Draco could take lessons from this lady.
What the bloody hell is going on?
I have no idea.
Griphook is standing in a corner, chatting amiably with Sirius.
They catch our eye, and Griphook gives a respectful bow.
"Lady Potter-Black," he says before pulling a book from inside his breast pocket and shaking it in his hand. "I have the manuscript we were discussing during our last correspondence, and I thought I'd take the opportunity to bring it by before you were busy with other responsibilities."
Just go with it.
"Thank you so much, Griphook," I say with a smile, meeting him in the middle by the table. I take the leather-bound tome from his hands, and open the cover, to see it's a book on Goblin investment strategies.
"Thank you!" I say again with enthusiasm.
Griphook smiles that horrible smile that says he's genuinely pleased.
"Think nothing of it, Lady Potter-Black. I do so love your thirst for knowledge. It's refreshing to find a witch with both the will and the know-how to take a hand in her family's financial welfare. You've been a pleasure to mentor this summer."
Laying it on a little thick, but okay. I'll take it.
There are half a dozen Aurors I recognise lounging around with steaming mugs of tea and coffee, each with an eye on the Minister and an eye on everything else. Ron is smack dab in the middle of them, dressed in jeans and a shirt but of a higher quality than I've ever seen him wear before. Winky has been busy this morning.
"Lord Potter-Black," Kingsley intones with a bow so deep it bends him in half. Harry leaves my side and walks to the Auror, shaking his hand and putting on a show. Amelia Bones rises from her spot at the counter, and joins in the hand-shaking.
"Kingsley, good to see you."
He was here two days ago. The Aurors have taken over our practice since Nate left for his new post at Hogwarts last week.
"Amelia," Harry greets, only sounding slightly uncomfortable about addressing the DMLE head so informally.
"Lord Potter-Black. A pleasure, as always. I'm so sorry for dropping in unannounced."
"Think nothing of it," he tells her. "You know you are always welcome at my table. Besides, I'm well aware you and Gran come as a set these days."
She's never been at our table. I'm going to kill that damn reporter.
Molly is smiling broadly at anyone who'll listen and loudly going on about how she was the only mother poor Harry ever knew, and Rita bloody Skeeter looks like Christmas came early as her eyes trail Harry and I conversing with the who's who of the Ministry hierarchies and an in-person visit from the Chief of the Goblins.
I glare at the parchment and quill hovering in the air, the quill flying across the paper with wondrous speed. Incendio I think, and with a flick of my wand, the parchment and quill both burst into flames.
Mrs. Weasley squeals and jumps from her chair, knocking it over as she rushes to remove herself from the dwindling flames and the pile of ashes growing on the table. Skeeter whips around in her seat and glares at me over her bejeweled spectacles. She places her hands on the table, uncaring of the ash mere millimeters from her fingers, and rises menacingly from her perch.
"WHY YOU LITTLE…!"
Smirking, I conjure a jar from thin air, already filled with leaves and holes in the lid, and place it gently on the table. Rita stops mid-rant, her eyes going wide in fear and anger. They flick to the Minister of Magic, who is watching us with rapt attention and a suppressed grin on her face. I tap the lid once, twice, and give Rita my sweetest smile.
"Good morning, Ms. Skeeter, and welcome to our home. We're so pleased to play host to you today, with no warning or request beforehand. An oversight on your part, I'm sure." I shake my head and giggle in a way that makes me want to puke, but reminds me of Umbridge, and Umbridge always got her way. "I'm sorry, but I must have misheard you just now. You were saying that you can't wait to publish the pre-approved statement I owled you last night, yes?"
Her face twists into a mocking smile, something made to show pity and reflect her oh so humble opinion of my stupidity. I want to slap it off.
"Well, Hermione, dear child, your owl was just so unexpected last night, and the claims are so outrageous. You didn't expect me to publish something that unbelievable without verifying my facts first, did you? Imagine my surprise when the Bond office had no comment. Luckily, I ran into our illustrious Minister in the lobby who told me not only was she privy to the knowledge and could confirm its veracity but that she was on her way to your house now, as her Grandson has been staying with you.
"But still, I needed a little more proof than that, didn't I? And what better place than Gringotts? Any Bond that results in a marriage is sent directly to them. Therefore, I popped right over to the Bank and spoke with Mr. Griphook here, and asked him if he'd like to give a statement. Since we were all meeting for the interview this morning, I graciously invited him to come along."
I tap my nail on the metal lid of the glass jar, and Skeeter tenses with every sound of impact.
Remind us to send Griphook a thank you card, I mentally tell Harry. Or find some Goblin made treasure in the vault and give it back to them. He knew about the Fidelius. He could have made things very difficult for us. We owe him for dealing with this so neatly. And remind me to hex Skeeter.
His repressed laugh is almost audible from where he's still standing with Kingsley watching me take apart Skeeter.
"Interview? I don't remember inviting you for an interview. I do remember sending you a statement to publish for the Prophet, but—"
"Hermione, darling—" she interrupts.
"Excuse me," I cut her off before she can finish whatever bullshite she had to say. My eyes flash before I give her a dazzling smile.
"Rita, dear. You may call me Mrs. Potter-Black, or Lady Potter-Black, as befitting my station. We haven't yet reached the point where I feel comfortable with you using my given name, especially after the way you treated my husband and me last year. Now, I owled you because of that mistreatment. For better or worse, you're a well-known name in the publishing industry, and I thought you'd appreciate the chance to make amends for your foul behaviour towards us during the Twi-Wizard Tournament coverage. However, if this is going to be too difficult for you, then I can reach out to the editors of the Prophet, and see what other reporters they recommend. Perhaps the editors would like to report on the story themselves. The person who breaks the news, after all, will be known worldwide. Or, and I don't know why I didn't think about it before, we are friends with Xenophilius Lovegood. Owner and editor of the Quibbler, I'm sure you know it. His daughter is a close and personal friend of ours. Perhaps we can give his circulation a little boost as a personal favour, and allow him to publish the official announcement of our Binding."
I bite the inside of my lip to the point of tasting blood to stop myself from laughing as Skeeter battles through the emotions on her face. She's trembling from head to toe, her hands gripping the table in a grip so fierce the table seems to be shaking as well. Her face is bleeding between rage and want with so rapid a progression, I'm slightly concerned she may have a stroke.
Harry walks to my side and puts his arm around my waist, gently resting his palm against my hip.
That was such a turn-on he whispers into my mind, and now I'm fighting down a blush as well.
He places a kiss against my cheek, then looks Skeeter in the eye.
"Have I officially introduced you to my wife, Rita? Lady Potter-Black. She's magnificent, isn't she?"
The kitchen is waiting with bated breath, as Skeeter gets a hold of her emotions.
"I," she takes a breath through her nose, closing her eyes. "Apologise," she growls through clenched teeth, "for my behaviour during the Tournament last year. I suppose in my zeal to share the extraordinary story of Mr. Potter's accomplishments, that perhaps I overlooked some facts."
"This'll be the perfect time to correct that then, won't it. Since you've already barged your way into our home, I'll give you twenty minutes. I suggest you make the most of it."
After taking several calming breaths, Skeeter opens her purse and pulls out another parchment and quill.
"Wonderful," she says, before taking a seat at the table. "Perhaps we should start with your family, Harry."
"It's Lord Potter-Black," he says with a smile. "And perhaps we start with the statement my wife already gave you, plus a published apology for the way you treated her last year.
The quill cracks in her fingers.
The tension in the train compartment is palpable. Much like the end of last term, but in reverse, every mile we get closer to Hogwarts, the antsier Harry becomes. We're barely out of London. I'm ready to throw him off the back of the train.
Despite magically reconfiguring the space slightly, there's not enough room for Harry to pace, or practice sword forms to kill off his excess energy; this is thanks to Neville, Luna, Ron, the Twins, and the two of us amassed together. So, instead, his whole being is practically bouncing with suppressed restlessness.
This isn't all that suppressed, because Ron has already threatened to put Harry in a full body bind unless he chills out and stops popping his knee up and down.
The door to our compartment slides wide and my jaw falls open when Draco throws himself through the door before slamming it closed behind him. He slipped from the ministry cars this morning via one of the three invisibility cloaks Mundungus Fletcher found for us in the back streets of London, and we haven't seen him since.
"Um," I say, watching in amused fascination as Draco collapses onto the bench closest to the window and leans his head on his hand against the glass.
"What are you doing here," Harry hisses, standing up to look out the window in the door. "This wasn't part of the plan."
"Fuck the plan," the Slytherin says dramatically. "I hate the plan, the plan was stupid, and I'm done following the bloody plan."
"Great," Ron mumbles just loud enough to be heard. "Just what we need. Another drama queen with a short temper."
Harry and Draco both glare at him before Harry turns back to a pouting Draco.
"The plan was for your safety, Malfoy. You shouldn't be seen with us!"
"Look," Draco says in a huff. "I took the oaths. I swore my fealty. I picked a side," his voice is rising along with his anger, as he leans away from the corner. "I don't need your hero complex twisting in the wind over this. I made my own decision. I'm here, okay? Deal with it. I should have declared my defection in that damn interview this morning! I don't want to hide behind your fucking back, Potter. I want it known publicly, when the Dark Lord goes down, that I was on the right side this time! Plus, the fact is that you need me, so suck it up!"
Ron's back hits the cushion behind him, taken aback by Draco's vehemence. I am too, for that matter. His fit about being in the interview with us makes a lot more sense now at least. Draco seems to realise he lost his cool because he pulls at his cufflinks and straightens out his hair.
"Besides, Granger needs me," he announces with his nose in the air. "If I leave her alone with you oafs for too long, all my hard work would go to ruin!"
"Thank you?" I hedge, still trying to decide whether I've been insulted.
Harry rotates his shoulders and flexes his hands.
"You know, Malfoy. You once broke my nose on this very train. I think it's time I returned the favor."
Well then. Harrys decidedly insulted.
"If this is how we treat our allies, then Voldemort has no chance," Draco says snidely.
"I'm gonna—"
"If Draco gave an oath of some sort, should I give an oath too?" Luna asks out of the blue, popping her head out over the top of her Quibbler."
"No!" Harry shouts, throwing out his arm as if to physically stop her.
"I did," Neville taunts. "I gave an oath of fealty."
"I did too," Ron adds.
"As every Light-sider should," the twins say in sync.
Luna's eyes twinkle in a way that tells me her oath is on it's way.
Harry looks like a heartbeat from crying in defeat.
"Okay," I say, rising from my seat. I grab Harry by the wrist and yank him back onto the bench between Ron and me. I turn to Draco, who I'm now concerned might be grooming me to take over as some sort of Dark Queen? But I don't really want to think about that right now. "What my husband meant to say was we thank you for your support. You've been and will be, I'm sure, a wonderful ally. Also, stop with the backhanded insults, before I flat out backhand you, mmkay?"
The door slides open, and Pansy fucking Parkinson strides into our compartment, giving us a disdainful sniff before dropping onto the seat by the window across from Draco.
Great. This day just keeps getting better and better.
She immediately pulls a nail file out of her pocket and starts to file her nails while the rest of us stare at her dumbly. She gives another loud sniff, looking at where Draco is sitting in a compartment full of Gryffindors.
"Really Draco, the Mudblood? Potter, I can understand. Aligning yourself with your enemy's enemy and all that. How very Slytherin of you. But why must that mean we're stuck with his Mudblood too?"
Neville rises to his feet and stands over Pansy menacingly.
"Watch your fucking mouth, Parkinson," he seethes.
Pansy pauses in her litany of insults to look Neville up and down. "Longbottom is…acceptable this year." She points her file around the other members of our party. "The gaggle of Gingers, though? The girl is pretty enough, but her brothers are all ghastly."
Ginny isn't even in the compartment with us! How did she get dragged into Pansy's tirade?
Draco slips back into his pompous persona like it's a second skin. I'd almost feel sorry for him, except for I know, either from weeks with him at my side or maybe from the connection granted through his oath, that the pompous persona is his second skin, and it protects him like a set of armour.
"You can't get one without the other, I'm afraid," he says in a dry drawl. "They come as a set."
He looks at Harry expectantly.
"Well, Potter. Do it."
"Do what?" he asks, genuinely confused.
Draco makes a ticking sound in irritation.
"Threaten to cut her tongue out with your sword."
I look at him dumbfounded and ask sarcastically, "Aren't you the one who told him he couldn't keep threatening to kill people? Like, all of four hours ago?"
Draco looks at me like I've sprouted a second head.
"And in all our long acquaintance he chooses now to start listening to me? Besides I didn't say to kill her. I simply said to cut out her tongue. Trust me you'd be doing the entire world a favor."
"Honestly, Draco," Pansy simpers, batting her eyes waspishly. "I thought you'd grown to like my tongue?"
Draco shudders, Harry gags, and I think I might honestly be sick.
"If you're not going to cut her tongue out," Neville says, inching closer to Pansy while reaching behind himself and pulling one of his new knives from the small of his back. "Can I?" He flips the dagger several times in his hand, doing a trick or two, and silence falls in our compartment as all eyes turn to Neville.
"Ooooh," Pansy says, licking her lips and jutting her tits forward. "I'm not sure whether I'm offended that you bore a weapon in my presence or horribly turned on. The lion has claws."
"Draco sure does," I say with a bland smile and a wink in Draco's direction. "If you ask him nicely, I'm sure he'll show them to you."
Pansy whips her head in Malfoy's direction.
"Draco? What does she mean by that?"
"Nothing that I'm aware of, I'm sure, Pans. You know Muggleborns. Horrible sense of humour. Can't understand a thing they say. Shall we go find the others?" he asks, rising from his bench and giving me a scathing look. Nev sits back down with a knowing grin.
No sooner does he stand up than the sliding door to our compartment opens again, admitting two more Slytherins
"There you are!" Blaise Zabini says, looking around the ever-shrinking compartment. Theo Notte, a tall, well-built boy I'm not sure I've ever heard speak slides in after him.
"I told you he wasn't with the Greengrass girls," he says in a low voice, staring unblinkingly at Draco.
"Yeah, but Potter? Who saw that one coming?"
Harry sits up straight beside me, lifting his hand to grab the wand at his chest.
Zabini's mouth keeps moving, but I stop listening as I zero in on the boy staring at my second.
My nerves racket through the roof at the way Draco watches Theo watch him. Draco is wearing an expression I've never seen on him before. Aloofness, tinged with something I can't identify. Notte pays no mind to Harry, or Ron or Neville for that matter, each silently bringing their weapons within easy pulling range. Instead, he goes straight to Draco, and seeing as there is very little room left on the benches, sits on the floor between Draco's knees. Draco's hand seems to twitch in his lap before making a fist and then shoving it into his pocket.
Huh.
"Up, Pans," Blaise says, gesturing his hand for her to stand, and the black-haired girl rises to her feet without comment to allow Blaise to take her spot before sitting herself down on his lap.
"Where are Crabbe and Goyle?" Draco asks, keeping his voice as dull as possible.
"Tormenting first years," Blaise answers, adjusting Pans on his lap and making her squeal in a way that has my face scrunching up.
"And you're here, why?" Draco drawls, sounding utterly bored.
"Because you are, obviously," Blaise says flippantly. "Why are you?"
"Draco took an oath," Luna says in a breathy voice, still behind her magazine. "He's pledged to support Harry in the upcoming war."
"Ah, dammit," Pansy pouts, slouching down on Blaises lap.
"Interesting" Blaise says with a gleam in his eye and a hand around Pansy's waist.
Theo stays silent, but leans his shoulders deeper into Draco's lap.
"And why's that?" Ron asks, with just a smidgen of aggression in his voice. His hands are gripping his opposite forearms, and his thumbs are running gently over his wands.
"Well," Blaise says, in a tone that they must have all learned from the cradle. "It explains why he was so insistent that we swear to him this summer. The day before he disappeared matter of fact. I thought we were being used as leverage, so Draco here could present himself to the Dark Lord as a hot commodity with followers in his pocket, but now I see I had the wrong Lord. We weren't being sworn into the lower echelons of You-Know-Who's ranks. We were being tricked into yours."
Draco's smirk slides across his face in a slow, taunting arc.
"I told you I was a good ally to have."
"What is it with purebloods and oaths of allegiance!?" Harry huffs in disgust.
"It's the only way you can keep them in line," Draco snidely replies.
The Slytherins have left by the time I finish with my Prefect rounds. I was able to talk to the Head Girl, Rebecca Thomson, and ask that I do my rounds with Neville or Draco for the time being. She gave me a strange look, and who can blame her. It's no secret that as far as everyone at Hogwarts knows, Draco and I are bitter enemies. When I promised to explain why in a few days though, she agreed without much complaint.
Harry is alone except for Luna, who appears to be asleep across the bench across from him. His eyes are closed, and his head is against the wall, but there's still a high strung tension running through his body. His knee is bouncing like crazy.
"How'd you convince Ron to leave you alone?" I ask quietly before I take a spot beside him.
"It didn't take much convincing. The twins, who left shortly after you did, came back with Lee to announce that Ginny was cuddling up with Michael Corner. Besides, I'm not alone. I have Luna."
I laugh lightly at that, knowing the truth of it. Poor Ron. He's going to have a rough couple of years with Ginny's dating life.
"Where's Nev?" he questions me.
"Still patrolling. He got caught up talking with Hannah Abbot."
"How long do you think we have?" he whispers even lower, leaning in close to me.
"Long enough, depending on what you have in mind," I whisper back with a smile.
He leans in to steal a kiss, but I change directions before he reaches my lips and slide from the spot beside him onto the floor. I'll have to be quick about it, but then again, I doubt it'll take very long.
I call Harry's cloak to me, and it flies from his pouch on his hip. I slide it over my shoulders and head until I'm entirely hidden from view. A silencing charm, muffliato, notice me not, and a glamour and Harry simply looks like he did when I came in, along with a sleeping Luna.
Merlin, Hermione! You're not gonna...
I flick the button on his jeans and quietly pull down his zipper, then slip my hand into the fly of his trunks before freeing him from his confines.
His dick thickens before my eyes, and I pump it once or twice before lowering my mouth to his length. I know his body as well as I know my own by this point. While on my Prefect rounds, I found myself longing for the taste of him and the way he would swell in my mouth. I never dreamed I'd get the opportunity so quickly, though.
He feels so much bigger suddenly, thick and heavy in my hand, but maybe that's the fear of getting caught that makes the edge that much sharper.
Don't move, I tell him, then bind his wrists to the bench with a sticking charm just in case.
Fuck, Mi, he wines, and I grin underneath the cloak.
Harry hisses through his teeth when I wrap my lips around his tip and take as much of him into my mouth as I can.
Be quiet, Harry! I admonish him when he whimpers from the back of his throat, but even in my head, I don't sound angry. I just throw another silencing charm on him, and his moans echo inside my mind instead. I love it when he makes those noises. Already, it's building at the base of his spine. I watch him through my lashes as he fights to keep his reactions contained, his eyes flicking between where I'm invisible on my knees between his thighs, to the unlocked door and the witch asleep across from us.
As much as I love following rules, I'm self-aware enough to know I like breaking them just as much. The thought of possibly getting caught on my knees for my husband just flat out does it for me.
Him too, if his panting and trembling thighs are any indications. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he pants in my head, as I work his cock as fast as possible. His dick twitches in my mouth as I pump his base in my hand and swirl my tuck against the head, pulling back the skin.
Harry is shuddering, and it's intoxicating and powerful, and right before he explodes in my mouth, I suck him back against the back of my throat. I gag, which only makes Harry moan louder, but I don't have to worry about making a mess either.
When his release is done, I let him slip from my grip, then kiss the tip of his cock one more time before I tuck him back into his jeans. I take my seat beside him again before breaking the charms and pulling the cloak from my head.
"Feel better?" I ask, giggling at his blissed-out face.
"Orgasms always make me feel better," comes from a dreamy voice on the other side of the train car. "Excellent form of stress relief."
"H-how?" I ask in a panic, fighting down a blush. How could she have known? Luna isn't even facing this direction, and I had enough charms on me that Dumbledore himself couldn't have seen what I was doing down there.
"Don't have a clue," Harry says with resignation. "She's right though. Best stress relief there is."