024

For the second day in a row, something other than bad dreams or my alarm clock wakes me up. There's something fluttering across my stomach, and I can't place the sensation. It's as light as the wings of a snitch against my abdomen. 

Energy surges through my body, and a cool calmness comes over my mind.

My hand snaps out before I've even opened my eyes, and my fingers tighten around the delicate bones of a wrist, fragile under my burning grip. My other hand closes around my wand, which flew from the bedside table the minute my adrenaline spiked. It's pointed in her face before I realize what I've done.

Hermione blinks at me with big chocolate eyes, her bottom lip between her teeth.

"I didn't mean to wake you up," she whispers sheepishly. I lift my chin to look down the line of my body, where Hermione has situated herself against my legs. She's watching me from under the fullness of her lashes. The only reason I didn't wake up when she moved three feet down the bed is because I fell asleep with her pinned against me anyway. 

Her feet are all the way by the foot of the mattress, and she's propped up on one elbow by my hip. She's wearing clothes, of a sort. A lacy bra thingy that unfortunately covers her chest, and a pair of matching panties. 

It must have been her fingers I felt against my skin. 

What she was doing I have no idea.

"Somehow I find that doubtful," I say, then release my hold on her arm. She flexes her fingers, and guilt courses through my bloodstream at the red mark I left on her wrist.

"I got up to use the loo, and you were restless when I came back. Twisting and reaching in your sleep. I thought maybe I could lull you back under," she tells me with a soft voice. "You need more rest."

I don't know how to break it to her that her head mere inches from my crotch is not conducive to my going back to sleep.

I want to throw up looking at the outline of my hand on her arm.

"Sorry," I whisper. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

She shakes her head, her hair spilling in riotous curls across her shoulders.

"You didn't," she says, though the proof of her lie blooms red and hot in the shape of my fingers on her wrist and the ache I already feel beginning to throb. "It's my own fault anyway. I should know better than to sneak up on a man with PTSD. Even one I share a bed with."

What?

"That means nothing to me," I tell her. 

I try to sit up, but with a hard shove on my stomach, she pushes me back down.

"PTSD," she says, beginning to run her fingers over the hair that disappears into my trunks. "Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Happens after you've experienced a traumatic event. Makes you jumpy, short-tempered. Causes insomnia, among other things."

Well. I can't argue with that.

"Which traumatic event caused that; do you think?" I ask conversationally. I stretch until my fingers find her hair and push it behind her ears so I can see her face clearer.

"Pick one," she says with a shrug. "I don't think it matters much. Point is, I'll stop scaring you awake."

Like I'm the one in danger in that scenario. 

"I'm not worried about me," I tell her honestly. "I'm worried about hurting you."

Guilt makes my tongue feel heavy in my mouth. I try to stare at her face, but my eyes keep wandering back to the Harry-shaped bruise that's forming on her skin.

"Don't be," she mumbles distractedly. "I'm not."

She should be. I could kill her before I realize what I've done. It's obvious she's not concerned though. She's no longer giving me any attention at all. 

Or, at least, not to the fact that for the second time in as many weeks I've almost attacked her for sneaking up on me.

No, she doesn't seem to care about that at all. Which is stupid, and irresponsible, and her fingers dip into the waistband of my trunks, and what now?

"I've seen you naked before. Glimpses. As you said, the hazard of a decade-long friendship within the close confines of sharing a space. But I don't think I've ever seen you like this. So hard and thick."

The way she says it makes my mouth water.

Yeah. That's a good description. Hard. Painfully, indescribably hard.

"I've never seen you without your pants when your dick was this big." 

She smacks my hip, then rises until she's on her hands and knees. With a flick of her arm and a twist of her neck, all of her hair is gathered over one shoulder. 

"Lift your hips," she instructs me, and I do as I'm told if for no other reason than I don't think I currently have the functionality to do otherwise. Before I can so much as open my mouth to complain she yanks my trunks down my legs and drops them somewhere on the bed.

Then I'm naked, flat on the bed, with Hermione staring at me with shining eyes.

It feels so different with sunlight streaming in through the cracks in the curtains than it did last night in a room smothered in darkness. I felt no embarrassment asking for what I wanted last night. But maybe that's because what I wanted had little to do with me.

She's biting her lip again, and I surge up on the bed to kiss her. I don't remember having this obsessive desire to kiss all the time in the last timeline. I can't get enough of kissing Hermione though. She glides her tongue against mine, biting at my lip, then when I'm at my most vulnerable, shoves me back flat on the bed again.

"Hey!" I laugh, watching with anticipation when Hermione climbs over my legs and drops onto her belly between my knees.

"Uhhhhh."

This is not the way I imagined this. I always thought, hoped, dreamed that I'd be between her thighs before she was between mine. Then Hermione shoves an image of her mouth around my cock into my head and I can't control my moan. 

There's an empty flittering feeling in my stomach and my palms are damp with sweat.

She grips me firmly in her hand and gently pulls down the little remaining foreskin. I sag into the bed, my eyes rolling up in the back of my head. My cock twitches in her hands.

"That's so cool," she breathes. "It's like it has a mind of its own."

I open my eyes and glance down to the witch on her belly in front of me. Her hair is a wild mess, curls bouncing in every which direction. She runs a hand through the strands as I watch, pushing it away from her face and gathering it over her shoulder.

If I lived another two hundred years, I don't think I'd see a sight as beautiful as Hermione looks right now.

I fist my sheets at my sides to stop myself from reaching for her.

She's examining my prick with the same facial expression she wears when she comes across a new spell she can't wait to try out. Nervousness, anticipation, excitement, determination. Her eyes are wide and shiny, and when she licks her lips, I have to force my eyes closed and tilt my head away.

I can't watch her, watching me, like that.

As it stands, I'm about two seconds away from embarrassing myself so badly I'd rather be hunting down Riddle simply for the relief an Avada would bring. Maybe I could convince Mortimer to wipe this specific memory from my mind before he hits the reset button again. 

Belatedly realizing that Hermione was talking to me, I try to respond to her comment.

"That's, well, actually a pretty accurate description."

My voice sounds like it's being shoved through a vice grip, and I roughly clear my throat so that I can swallow properly.

"What's wrong? Am I hurting you?"

Her laughter tingles over me like sunshine, but her face is nothing but fake concern. She's laughing inside my fucking brain, the witch!

"No," I squeak, shaking my head vigorously in either direction. "You're not hurting me."

"Does it always move on its own like this?"

"Umm…Yeah. Yeah, pretty much."

"Can you make it move?" she asks, and I can't help but feel like a science experiment gone wrong.

I tighten my muscles and my dick jerks outwards, almost slapping Hermione in the face. She squeals in surprise, then throws her head back and laughs, delight making her cheeks glow in the dim lighting. I have a direct line of sight down her breasts at this angle, and quickly divert my eyes when I get a peek of Hermione's nipples straining for attention against the lace of her top.

Oh, Merlin.

Oh, Circe!

Maybe Hermione has gone to the dark side, and this is her attempt to kill me without making it look suspicious? Is it possible to die from a massive hard-on?

"Do it again!" she demands, and her voice is nothing like I've ever heard from her before. It's light and airy and…playful, almost. Nothing like the studious woman I've come to know and love for the past eight years.

I rise up on my elbows to better watch her reaction.

I do it again, and Mi lets loose another peal of giggles. Her hair, never one to cooperate, falls forward over her face again, and Mi shoves it away impatiently. I should hold it for her. I reach for her hair, intending to be a gentleman. It's the least I can do since she's so busy elsewhere.

Then Hermione blows a stream of air across my balls, and I forget everything.

Everything.

My mind blanks and my limbs go slack as my back collapses down onto the mattress.

"Wow. That's so cool," Hermione says, and I barely register the words. "Your testicles move all on their own too! It's like an ecosystem."

A what?

I open my mouth to ask her, but then she blows against me again, this time with her lips barely hovering above me.

Deep breaths. Deeeeeep breaths.

You can do this, Harry. Imagine Umbridge. Imagine Voldemort Kissing Umbridge.

Hermione runs her fingers over me, so gently I barely feel it. But I do feel it, and my prick jumps between my legs and my balls pull of tight and bloody fucking hell.

When something wet and warm licks up my shaft, my brain blanks out entirely. 

It feels nothing like when I get myself off. Her hands are so small and soft, for one. Her touch is delicate and exploratory, and I mumble "harder," before I can stop myself. 

She takes me in a firmer grip, stroking her hand up and down my cock. 

"It's so hard," she says under her breath, and I strain under the impulse to flip our positions. I can feel how much she's enjoying this. She's getting a thrill from examining my body and learning all its tricks and quirks. Hermione's thirst for knowledge is insatiable, and I'm her latest project. 

If she felt exposed last night, she didn't show it. But I've been on display since I was a baby and feeling her study me, leaves me on edge in a way I wasn't expecting. 

I take the sensation of uncertainty that keeps rising to the surface and shove it into that trunk in my mind, then throw away the key.

You, okay?

I've never been afraid of Hermione before. I don't plan on starting now.

Hermione looks at me, and I give her a silent nod. 

It's all the confirmation she needs.

Her tongue darts out to taste me, and I swear I see stars behind my eyes. My prick is already leaking, and she licks up the drop dripping from the tip.

"Salty," she mumbles with awe, and I swear to Merlin she's trying to kill me. 

I spent a year being tortured, sixteen years sharing my soul with a demon. Certainly, I can last more than two minutes during my first blow job. I open my eyes and peek at Hermione, who is studying me with a fierce determination, before she opens her mouth and latches her lips around my dick. She swirls her tongue around the head, playing with my foreskin and I melt boneless back into the mattress. 

My eyes roll back into my head.

My hips spasm against my control, jerking up into touch. She makes a gagging sound around my cock.

"Sorry," I gasp, shame and embarrassment making the word harsh. 

"Don't be," she says, pulling off my dick and looking at me. "I liked it."

But she latches her hand onto one of my hips to hold me steady anyway.

I want to bury my hands in her hair. I want to throw caution to the wind and fuck into her face until all she can taste smell and see is me. But I master the impulse and start counting backwards from one hundred.

I will make this last, dammit!

Ninety-Nine.

Ninety-Eight.  

Her teeth graze against me, and holy fuck. All my limbs start to tingle. My muscles tighten under the strain of holding still, and I feel my orgasm building at the base of my spine.

Her other hand slides softly across my balls as she gives them a gentle tug.

That's it.

I'm done for.

"You need to," I pant. "I'm gonna."

She ups her pace, her hand working my shaft while I swell against the roof of her mouth.

Pride and excitement and happiness bubble up inside her and twists along our link until I can't tell her excitement from my own.

It's an intoxicating jumble, and I fucking love it. 

My eyes start to cross.

My back arches on the bed and I dig my fingers into the sheet.

"Hermione, stop!" I beg. "I'm going to come."

Her voice whispers through my mind.

I know. I can feel it. I'm glad.

When she looks at me through her lashes, locking her eyes with mine.

It's like falling off a cliff. Soaring to the highest heights on the edge of my broom and plunging back to the ground with the wind ruffling through my hair while letting go of the handle. My heart is thudding and my stomach swooping, and Hermione keeps my dick in her mouth until I'm a slobbering whimpering mess. 

"Okay," I say, still trying to catch my breath. "You can stop now." My entire body is trembling, my nerve ending firing off at random intervals. 

Mi doesn't pay me a lick of attention. Her tongue circles my head, and my entire being turns to molten fire. "It's too much!" I beg, reaching to push her away. "Merlin, Hermione! You win!"

She pulls her face away from my crotch, her skin flushed and her face smiling. She climbs up onto her knees and falls back on her ankles. It's the first time I realize the panties she's wearing look like shorts.

"That was fun," she hums. She runs her thumb over her chin, wiping up a drop of something that escaped her onslaught. 

Oh, Merlin.

Mi pushes her hair behind her shoulders. 

"There's a line in the Goblin text that, and I'm paraphrasing, obviously, but it says something along the lines of there might be a biological and pathological urge to claim your other half. You know, so that other people know that you are spoken for. I think I understand that need now."

I snort at that.

Yeah. I'd say I feel claimed.

My chest is heaving. I feel euphoric. Exhausted. I could roll right over and go back to sleep for another five hours. At least. Maybe I'll leave the bed sometime tomorrow.

Instead, I lunge forward and pounce on her. She squeals with laughter, pretending to put up a fight.

I flip her over and pin her ass to the bed.

"My turn."

I attack her lips in a hungry kiss, and I can taste my essence on her tongue.

Bloody Hell, that's so hot.

Her hands twine in my hair when I pull down the scrap of lace separating me from her tits.

I've quickly developed a habit for the feel of them in my mouth. I nip at each of her nipples, twining my tongue around their peaks.

But I don't linger there. 

I crawl in between her knees and hook my fingers into the edge of her panties. Mi wiggles her hips and bites her lip. Watching me through blinking lashes.

Yes!

She giggles and tries to shimmy away from me, and I smack her hip like she did mine.

Hermione's eyes light up and she lifts her hips.

Finally!!

Her happiness is infectious, and I laugh at her delight.

She is just so lovely.

I get my hands halfway down her thighs before a knock sounds on the bedroom door. 

I groan at the intrusion. My head falls to Hermione's thigh. They jostle under my weight from her smothered giggles. She pats me on the top of the head, like an owner comforting their pet dog.

I look over my shoulder and yell at the slab of wood.

"I swear to Merlin, Ron! I'm going to hex off your balls and give them to your brothers as potion ingredients!"

The door creaks open, and the small misshapen head of a house elf pops inside.

Hermione squeaks, then pulls the sheet up and over her head. I crawl out from underneath it, my face sticking out by the edge of the bed. Hermione is giggling in embarrassed delight, the tease. 

"Tis Dobby sir," he says in his squeaky little voice. He's looking anywhere but at the bed. I'm going to have to figure out how to ward the bedroom so the elves can't come in without permission either.

Winky would probably poison me. 

"Mistress Weasley says that breakfast is ready, however she will not allow the others to eat until the Master arrives. The others are getting," he swallows, his throat bobbing in agitation, "restless sir. Dobby offered to go fetch yous."

"Oh, bloody fucking hell. I'm going to throttle that woman," I growl. I crawl out from under the covers and climb to my feet. 

Dobby squeaks and turns his back, running his head into the wall.

Dammit all to hell. 

"You," I demand, pointing to the thoroughly debauched witch in our bed. "Stay here! Do not move a muscle! If your feet even think about touching the hardwoods, I'll pull out that book on bondage and tie you to the bed."

My wife blushes a fiery red, but the bond, still open and flowing between us, floods with excitement. 

I close my eyes and turn away, praying my erection goes down before I hit the kitchen.

"You!" I snap, pointing at Dobby. "Tell Mrs. Weasley that the Master is on his way down."

Dobby nods like a bobble head, popping out of existence. 

"Harry," Mi tries to soothe. "It's fine. I'm hungry anyway."

"Then I'll have food brought upstairs," I say, stomping into the closet. I come to a stop at the sheer amount of clothing now dangling from hangers and folded neatly on shelves. I flit around until I find a pair of low-slung grey sweatpants, then march back into the bedroom sans shirt.

Hermione is sitting up in the middle of the bed now, the sheet tugged up under her armpits. Her hair is wild, springs of curls shooting out in every direction, the honey color of the strands seeming to glow around the almond-tinted freckles scattered across her shoulders. 

Bugger, she's lovely; wild and free, no makeup to hide her face. I swear every time I look at her, she gains in beauty. I crawl back onto the mattress, one foot still inches from the floor. She reaches for me, leaning to meet me halfway.

My kiss is thorough and shameless. I want to hear her moan against my lips. I want to feel her nails dig into my back. I want to forget about everything waiting for me outside of those doors and not come up for air for hours.

Every time I kiss her something tightens in my stomach. It's like a lightning storm in my gut. Maybe it is the bonds. I don't know. Magical theory is Mi's department. Not mine. But one kiss is never enough. One kiss turns into two, then three, until I'm bending her back onto the bed and once again, tasting myself on her tongue. I kiss her, pressing her into the mattress and running my thumb against her cheek until I finally get my moan.

"Do. Not. Move." I seductively growl against her lips, then crawl back off the bed.

I fling out my hand and my wand flies into my waiting palm. I clasp my fingers around the wood then shove it into the elastic of my waistband as I yank open the door. 

I stride down the hallway, irritation rippling from me in waves. The occupants of the portraits scatter in my wake, whispering loudly about the temper of the new mixed-breed Master.

They haven't seen the half of it yet.

All eyes fall on me when I storm into the kitchen and pause to take in the scene. The entire Weasley clan is here, including Arthur, and Bill to my surprise. Tonks is there as well, laughing and joking with the twins. Sirius gives me an amused expression, and Remus looks like he can't decide whether to laugh or be offended.

Conversation falls away until silence fills the space.

Mrs. Weasley is already stuttering in indignation hiding behind the stove.

"Arthur!" I say with a raised voice.

I stop in front of the Weasley patriarch and wait for him to look at me from around his Daily Prophet. His lips are pulled tight around his teeth when he takes in my shirtless chest and messy hair, and he closes his eyes as if in prayer before he responds.

"Good morning, Harry. Sleep well, did you?"

"I did not," I snap. "As I'm sure your youngest son has informed you, most nights I sleep like crap. It doesn't help when a house elf pops into my room at the ass crack of dawn to tell me my presence is required."

"It's hardly the ass crack of dawn, Pup," Sirius squeezes out between clenched teeth and swallowed chortles. His chest is shaking in silent laughter, and snorts escape through his nose.

"Someone else must have woken him up that early," Bill jokes lightly.

"I wonder who it could be?" one of the twins reply.

Dismissing the comments, I turn my attention back to the aging red head in front of me.

"I'm going to yell at your wife," I inform him, already longing to go back upstairs.

Mr. Weasley folds up the paper, placing it gently on the table.

"That never ends well for people," he advises me conversationally. Mrs. Weasley's sputtering amps up in sound and tempo, like the beginning salvo of a steam engine.

"I'm not most people," I assure him, and the snorting and hidden laughter from around the table gets louder.

"Try not to make her cry then, if you can," Mr. Weasley says. "It's a little early in the morning to ply her with Whiskey."

That's as much of a by your leave as I'm going to get. 

I turn on my heel and face the bloody menace, who has removed herself from behind the counter, prepping for the coming battle. 

"I thought we had an arrangement!" I say to her, trying and probably failing to keep my tone even. "Even before this Bond nonsense and Lord Black bullshit, you, me, and Sirius, we had an agreement. You'd keep the house running smoothly, because Merlin knows neither Sirius nor I could do it, and we'd stay out of your way. But none of that involved manipulating me to your will!"

She opens her mouth to object, but I power on over top of her.

"You can't have it both ways, Mrs. Weasley. Either I'm the head of this house in which case you can't force me from my bed on a Saturday morning when I didn't even fall asleep until after four. Or I'm one of your children. In which case, you'd never make the entire family sit at the table starving while waiting for Ron's lazy ass to get out of bed! I love you Mrs. Weasley. Merlin knows I do. But I don't have the tolerance to let you bully me around anymore like you do the rest of your offspring. So, let's hear it. Let's have it out so I can go back to bed! Am I a lord or a lay-about?"

The elves, who have been hovering around Molly, quickly back away wringing at their hands. 

"Now he's done it," one of the twins says. "Shield charms up," the other urges. "She's gonna blow!"

Her chest is heaving, her face is red and blotchy. She sucks in a gasp of air, and I brace myself for the explosion. 

"You're just a child!" She yells and I have to bite my lip to keep from rolling my eyes.

"Do you think I wanted this?!" I yell back, then swallow back my anger.

 I take a calming breath and reach for the witch waiting for me upstairs. It feels like I've bathed in amortentia, so strong is the desire to get back to her. But she calms me down and makes me take a cleansing breath before I break Molly Weasley's spirit. 

"Do you think I enjoy the fact that I have to spend my summer holiday's planning to go to war? Do you think it's fun for me to spend my nights and weekends juggling homework with learning spells to keep the people I love alive? If you have a suggestion on how to earn back my childhood which doesn't involve everyone I love dying while I hide and play exploding snap, then I'm all ears."

"I—" she starts, but then says no more.

"You've heard the prophecy, Mrs. Weasley. You've seen the proof of the Bonds, carved in wood since the instant of Hermione's birth. Your family more than most should understand the depth of Hermione and my connection. If you know of a magic that will break those Bonds, or a spell that will untwist our bindings, then I'll thank you for sharing it now. Otherwise, you should just be relieved it happened to us at fifteen and not when we were twelve."

"So, I'm just supposed to accept that two children, whom I love as my own, are sleeping together under my roof?" She demands with her hands on her hips!

I throw my hands up in exclamation.

"Yes! Finally, you understand!" I shout. Mrs. Weasley takes a startled step back, bringing her hand to her chest. "Besides, it's not your roof! It's mine!"

Molly starts to titter, her protests  indistinguishable under her breath. 

"You were so helpful yesterday with Mi's parents," I say, meaning it from the bottom of my heart. "I thought you finally understood what this meant to us. What it meant to be Bonded Mates. What's changed since then?"

"It was important to their safety," she insists, tipping up her chin in a stubborn lilt. "It was vital they realize the connection you share. To understand it wasn't either of your fault." Her voice trails off as her own words seem to register in her ears, but the woman is nothing if not stubborn. "I only have your best interests at heart. It's too much for you both. Too soon!" 

I'm exhausted again. Thoroughly and completely exhausted. This same fight over and over again is getting us nowhere.

I close my eyes, and I swear I can feel Hermione rub against me like a cat.

"There is absolutely nothing you can do about the bonds," I say calmly. "About the bonds or the ramifications, those Bonds have caused. There's nothing you or anyone can do about it. I'd be happy to let you read Hermione's research on the subject. I've already been forced to listen to it ad nauseam. But what it boils down to is she is mine and I am hers and that involves sharing a bedroom!"

All the blood in my head feels like it's about to burst.

Blast it all to hell.

The invisible link between us grows shorter and shorter, until Hermione appears in the kitchen looking daisy fresh and glowing. Her hair is tied up into a knot on the back of her head. She's wearing a pair of shorts so tiny as to be labeled indecent and a t-shirt with the Hogwarts emblem on it. Little socks that stop at her ankles finish the look.

I'm going to tie her to the damn bed. I swear it on my magic.

"It's actually fascinating," she says, walking straight up to me and placing a chaste kiss on my lips. I'm so startled at the public display I can only blink at her like an owl. She places a shirt into my hands before taking a seat at the table. "I've already started keeping a journal. I'm hoping in a few years I can publish a research paper on the subject."

A groan slips from my lips at that most unpleasant announcement and I yank my glasses off to rub at my eyes.

Fabulous. Fucking great. Just what I need.

"Did I see a new coffee maker yesterday, Winky?" Mi asks with her foot resting on the chair and her chin on her knee. Winky jumps as if scalded, before the elves scurry in different directions, bringing food to the table and refilling mugs and cups. 

Hermione is actually laughing at me in my head. Laughing. Again.

Bloody woman.

I—I can't handle this. A yawn is ripped from my body, my toes curling and my chest expanding with much needed oxygen.  

Orgasms that amazing really take it out of a guy.

I stomp over to my wife, and, ignoring the dozen people in the kitchen watching us with wide eyes and devious smirks, tilt her chin up to kiss her properly. Everyone might as well get used to it now. According to Hermioine, unless that phantom magic to end the bonds makes itself available to us, the need to mark her as mine will be present for the foreseeable future.

"I'm going back to bed," I announce to anyone who cares to listen. "Wake me up for lunch."

Then I leave the same way I came in. Grumpy, horny, and without enough sleep.

Just like that, conversation resumes in the kitchen