A/N
This is a short chapter, but I hope you like it. Thanks Happily for the fantastic beta! Thank you to Ingpient for the AMAZING ART!
Harry
We skived off school today. Or at least Ron, Nev and I did. Hermione refused, surprise surprise. She said that if she can take her finals after being attacked by werewolves and set on by Dementors, she can damn well go to class the first week of term. She was a little barmy this morning, truth be told. But schoolwork calms her, and who am I to deny her a little comfort after what we bore witness to last night. We didn't even go to the Great Hall for breakfast, instead partaking in a meal of poached eggs, toast with butter and mugs of tea provided by Winky and Dobby in our room.
Ron and Neville spent the rest of the night on our couches in our common room, with fresh clothes magically folded beside them. Or, elvishly tucked beside them. Ron's pile included the new holster Winky designed with Ron's broadsword on top. I wish I could have seen the tiny elf carrying a sword that's twice as high as she is and probably weighs twice as much.
The Hogwarts elves popped round first thing announcing that Potions had been cancelled for the day. Though it should have been expected, it still caught me unawares. I can't think of a single time Snape's missed class, even when he'd been hurt in the past. For him to cancel lessons entirely today means he's worse off than even Mrs. Pompfry could manage before the morning bell.
I don't know how I feel about it, to be honest. I hate the man. Passionately. But I'm not sure anyone deserves what we listened to last night. Every time I think I've seen the worst of what wizards can do to each other, I'm surprised by something new.
I scrub my hands roughly through my hair and try to work a kink out of my quill hand.
Nev is currently doing homework. Ron is, well…a snore rents the air.
"I hope he's still asleep when 'Mione comes back," Nev says with a laugh, pointing to a sleeping and drooling Ron on the couch. "She'll scold him something horribly."
Classes are almost over. She's sure to catch him sleeping.
I chuckle under my breath.
"In his defence, it's been a long day."
I almost envy the red-head. I'm not sure I'll ever sleep again.
Hermione didn't get more than an hour or so of dozing until she was off to classes. I didn't even try going back to sleep. I simply held Hermione and tried to keep her nightmares away.
What I wanted to do was lock her in our sleeping chambers and tie her to the bed, but unfortunately she wouldn't agree to that.
As soon as Hermione was off with Draco and her newest snake, Theo, to guard her back, an exhausted Remus and Sirius turned back up, trailed by a grim-faced Dumbledore. I told the headmaster I dreamt the breakout. All true, as far as truths go. I don't think he bought it. Oh, he believed I dreamt it all right. But Dumbledore is no fool. He knows that's not all of it. Before he left, he confirmed our appointment for this upcoming Saturday. That's not going to be a pleasant conversation.
I sent my godfathers back home with instructions to get some rest.
I'm not sure if Augusta is actually in the Order, seeing as how she's Britain's Minister for Magic. But I've spent most of the day flooing between Gran, Mad-Eye, Madam Bones and Grimmauld Place, making plans for the chaos to come.
Riddle has lost his reinforcements in Azkaban, and Draco and Snape both have already confirmed that new followers are slow in coming this time. His next move will be the prophecy. I'm sure of it.
What I do know is that Gran is surprisingly amenable to taking suggestions from a fifteen-year-old wizard, whether she's in the Order or not, especially when said teenager won't confirm how or why he knows the information he's sharing.
I pull my glasses from the bridge of my nose and toss them on the table, slouching down in my chair.
That being said, the Dementors have been removed from Azkaban and the Ministry. I don't know what they've done with them, and I don't really care. So far as they are well away from Riddle's reach. They'll start random testing of ministry employees for Polyjuice and the Imperious. The guard on the Minister has been doubled, though I'd pay good money to see Riddle and Augusta Longbottom go toe to toe. I've tried to encourage Gran or Madam Bones to reach out to the ICW, but they aren't to the point yet where they think we need outside help. I think the more firepower we have outside of Riddle's corruption, the better, but I'm in the minority here.
All I know for sure is how easily Riddle took over the government last time. I'm determined that this go-round, we will not go quietly into the night.
But I'm dead on my feet, and there's no denying it.
"The next time I offer to lead a resistance, talk me out of it, okay, Mate?" I joke to Neville, and he gives me a tired smile.
"Last night was horrible, wasn't it?" Nev asks quietly, pulling me out of my moping. He and I quickly popped back into the Chamber this morning to see if we could tell who had been killed. The bell jars had exploded. All but two. It makes me horribly uncomfortable that Umbridge survived Riddle's purge last night. If for no other reason than spending eight years with Hermione has proved to me that women are twice as vicious as men.
"Yes, it was," I confirm, reaching up to rub at my forehead. I have a headache, which isn't a surprise. But I can't tell if my scar is actually burning slightly, or if it's a figment of my imagination.
I shove my glasses back on my face then stand to stretch my body, bending to touch my toes.
Pain explodes against the middle of my back. Unexpected and unbidden, it blooms between my shoulder blades until fire consumes my muscles.
Once again, the sensation isn't mine.
"Hermione!" I gasp, and I watch through her eyes as her knees buckle from the pain, and Draco barely snatches her around her waist before she hits the ground. I take her pain into myself, tugging the ache away from her, and Nev catches me in his arms when I stumble on my feet.
"Shit," he exclaims, eyes wide with fear.
My heart leaps into my throat, and my chest contracts with lack of oxygen as I blink my eyes back open.
Terror for my Bonded suddenly rips through my body, sharp and fast and hot, to be replaced immediately by rage. Like I did her pain, Hermione pulls my anger from me, and I almost pity the person who just hurt her.
My eyes water from the quick cascade of sensation and emotions, but I swallow it back, and without thinking, try to apparate to her side.
I can't, of course. A gong rings out through the castle, loud and deep and something I've never heard before. The room around me shakes from the burst of magic, knick-knacks and pictures tumbling from their spots, but I stay firmly rooted in place. Ignoring Ron's startled rise from the couch and Nev's panicked questions, I burst through our door and start to run.
The corridor is empty, though I can feel Hermione mere metres in front of me. Then I smash against a privacy ward and realise they prepared their attack in advance.
People scatter in every direction as I throw myself through the ward, then another, and a notice-me-not charm, bringing them down by force of will alone. The owner of the wards jerks and buckles, landing on their knees with a cry.
"Take him!" I snap and point. A body binding curse from somewhere behind me brings the tall Ravenclaw to the ground, arms stuck to their sides.
Hermione is in the corner of the hallway, Draco at her back, wands lifted and shields raised. There's a scattering of downed students around them. Mostly sixth and seventh years, but a few of the younglings were also caught in the crossfire.
I hope they're just casualties and that firsties aren't actively being recruited for Riddle's side. They aren't all Slytherins either. The majority of the combatants wear black and green, but there's at least one from each house, a female Gryffindor included.
I'll deal with her later.
"What happened?" I demand, skidding to a stop in front of Hermione. I cup her cheek in my hand, and she leans into the touch just a tad, closing her eyes. Then her lashes snap open, and fire burns behind her whiskey irises, the brown almost wholly overrun with black.
"Bastards hit us in the back!" Draco growls. I whip my head around to take in the attackers' faces more clearly, and half the crowd takes off at a run when they get a look at my stormy expression. Ron and Nev push the others back, ignoring the stunned and immobilized students littering the floor.
Theo is hidden behind Draco and Hermione, bleeding from the head.
McGonagall comes barging around the corner, probably following after seeing us running down her hallway. I meet her eyes over the crowd and, as inconspicuous as I can, jerk my head from side to side. We need to handle this ourselves, I attempt to tell her. I can't have the teachers coming to our rescue. Our enemies in the castle have to know we can take care of ourselves, and that the consequences will last much longer than a detention washing bedpans.
The Deputy Headmistress scowls, then steps behind the safety of the shadows.
I give my attention back to Hermione.
Are you okay? I ask her quietly.
I'm bloody furious, she seethes. Bloody little cockroaches planned this carefully. But we're fine.
They've had three days since the announcement to get something in place.
She pulls away from me and stands at her full height, giving her attention back to the remaining attackers. She points at the one in front, bleeding from a cut on his chin.
A bloody git of a Slytherin, Graham Montague laid hands on Hermione.
The remaining attackers are breathing hard, but other than that, they don't seem hurt in any way. That's about to change.
At least none of the Slytherin Fifth Years are here. It seems their oath to Draco keeps them firmly on our side.
"You fucked up," Montague taunts us, "swearing yourself to some fucking mudblood." He points his wand in our direction, and shields raise all around me. A Slytherin I don't recognize steps up beside him. "We're coming for you! Every day, until her blood runs free from her veins. The Dark Lord doesn't even need to waste his power to kill you now, Potter. When she dies, she'll take you with her."
Anger licks up my skin, white-hot and burning. Hermione grasps my arm and digs her nails into my forearm.
Was this assault planned by the Slytherins, their parents, or Riddle himself?
Confident that Ron and Neville can keep the remaining attackers at bay, I ignore Montague and take Hermione into my arms, checking her over for wounds. She swats at me, not taking her eyes off Montague.
"Is he okay?" I ask Draco, pointing my chin to a still bleeding Theo.
"I'm fine," Theo snarls, voice deeper than I was expecting. "I could have fought! It's barely a scratch!"
If we weren't in a magic school, he'd need stitches. I make a mental note to talk to Draco about training with Theo on their own outside of the DA. If he's going to be at Draco's side from now on, who is always with Hermione, he needs to be able to protect himself.
"Tell me, Potter," Montague taunts from across the divide. "What does the Mudblood's quim taste like? Does it taste like dirt when you lick it?"
I turn around slowly, looking the git in the eye.
"I've never tasted Mudblood cunt before, obviously. But I might let her suck my prick when the Dark Lord is through with her. If there's anything left."
I lunge for him, but Ron steps in front of me. His broad chest effectively brings me to a stop. He jerks his arm, and his vast red and gold shield disappears.
"Wand," he says, holding out his hand. The Slytherins all laugh, but I do as he says and hand him my wands. "Sword too," Ron adds. "I can't have you killing anybody."
Yet.
I roll my eyes but slide the holster off my shoulders and down my arms. Draco catches it, then hands it to Ron. Ron looks at our Slytherin, his smile of acknowledgement barely discernible.
"Any other blades?" Draco asks, knowing I've taken to carrying one disillusioned on my thigh. I peek behind me and see Nev standing beside Hermione, fingering his own knife. I pull the blade from my thigh and make it visible to a hallway full of gasps as I hand it hilt first to Draco. He and Ron exchange a look, then both step out of my way.
Montague pales, the laughter fading from his face as he raises his wand.
"Stupify," he shouts, but I duck underneath it, gaining speed as I go. "Expelliarmus," he brandishes, which is just stupid, as everyone watched me give up my weapons. His shield falters and fails as I push my will through his magic. He opens his mouth to try again, and I ram my fist into his stomach, effectively ending whatever spell he was trying to say.
His body heaves in half, his wand falling and his arms hugging his middle. I link my fingers together and drop them to cradle his head, shoving him down and lifting my knee simultaneously. His nose, and probably several other bones, crunch loudly in the sudden silence of the hallway, and Draco gags at the sound.
Ughk.
"Pureblood," I hiss, wiping his blood from my pants. "Disgusting." Montague is unconscious on the ground, and from the disgusting sounds of gasping, and snorting, and bloody bubbles bursting from his broken face, maybe not breathing all that hot at the moment.
When it becomes evident that none of his friends will assist him, Mi scoffs in irritation and runs a diagnostic on him. She lowers down beside the seventh year, clearing his airway but not fixing his nose. She lifts each of his eyelids and touches the pulse point in his throat before I help her to her feet.
"He'll live, "she says blandly, linking her arm through mine.
"Everyone else?" I ask her, counting six other students on the ground. Two have already been freed of their bindings and ran away with their friends.
"Them too. We only defended, we didn't attack, and even then, only non-lethals. Nothing that they don't teach in DADA."
We know some defensive spells now that'll make your enemies arm fall off. Literally.
"Leave them there then," I say. Either their friends will release them, or they can lay on the floor until the spells wear off. Usually an hour or so. I glare at the rest of the onlookers before squatting down beside Montague.
"Rennervate," I whisper without my wand, and his eyes pop open on a gasp. I wrap his tie around my fist and haul his head from the ground. He dangles there limply, eyes frantic and wild, clawing at his windpipe.
"I don't know who's idea this was, but I hope you're prepared to die for him. Because that's what's going to happen if you try anything like this again. I'll kill you. I could kill you now with my bare hands and not even get detention for it. You heard what Dumbledore said about the laws regarding Bonded Mates. If I'd have been here when the attack started, you'd already be dead."
I lift my head and raise my voice to be heard amongst the still gathered students.
"You're all lucky my wife is kinder than I am. It's the only reason you're all still alive."
I give my full attention back to the whimpering Slytherin, whose nails are scraping at my wrist, trying to get me to let him go.
"Pass a message to your master, whomever holds your leash. If I'm forced to kill you, I'll kill them next."
With that, I smash the back of his skull against the stones and watch his eyes roll up in the back of his head as unconsciousness claims him again.
I knew announcing the Bond was a bad idea.
McGonagall emerges from around the corner, where she watched the entire thing.
"Was that necessary Mr. Potter-Black?"
I look her in the eye as I rise to a standing position and a thousand emotions swirl behind her placid expression. I pointedly take Hermione's hand in mine.
"I thought so, Professor."
She hums in disapproval.
"Twenty Points from Gryffindor and Slytherin each for brawling in the hallway. Five points to Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy, for sheer common sense. Five more to Mrs. Potter-Black for an excellent use of healing spells." She stops to ensure that Montague is still alive before stepping around his unconscious form. "Somebody please get Mr. Montague to the hospital wing before he wakes up. It's not going to be pleasant for him when he does."
At that, she continues down the hallway, not giving the gathered students a second glance. Neither, I notice, does she unspell the remaining downed students.
"Anyone else want to go?" Ron asks on my behest, and I glare at everyone who looks like they may take us up on the offer. With a nod to Draco, a Slytherin hauls Montague roughly over his shoulders and starts down the hallway. The others follow in their wake, back to talking trash now that they're fleeing for safety.
When it's mostly just us again, ignoring the students still prone on the ground, Nate comes loping around the corner. His wizard's robes are open over distinctly American clothing, and he looks like the least proffessory professor I've ever seen.
"You lot," he barks with a growl. "When's the last time you trained?"
Of all the things he could have said, that was the most unexpected.
"Saturday?" I answer haltingly, not honestly sure.
Nate rolls his eyes and rotates his shoulders.
"No wonder you're brawling in the hallways. Meet me outside in fifteen minutes. Every minute you're late, you owe me a lap around Hogwarts."
"We weren't brawling, we were attacked!" Draco snaps, then clicks his mouth shut at Nate's bland expression.
"Come one, Nate," I say, dropping the honorifics. "Do we have to do this now? We haven't slept in days." He knows about last night by now. The entire castle does, to some extent. About the breakout, at least. But I'm sure Nate must know about Snape and the rest of it. He doesn't seem to care, though.
"All the better. You'll know what fighting through exhaustion feels like. Don't forget your weapons, either. Hermione looks like she could use a physical fight."
When we all just stare at him, he rolls his eyes and snaps his fingers.
"Move!" he demands. "Now!"
Without another word, he pivots on his heel back the way he came, whistling to himself.
"Fourteen minutes!" he yells without turning around.
We stand there a heartbeat longer before we're running back to the dorms to grab our equipment.
A/N
One of my betas think I need more smut lol. What do you think?