016

As soon as I touch back down in the courtyard in front of Grimmauld Place, the air ripples with the sounds of apparition. One, two…seven, eight. Remus bounds up the steps ahead of me, taking them two at a time and ripping the front door open before I reach it with Hermione.

"Thanks, Moony," I sigh, turning my body slightly to get her through the door without knocking against anything. 

She's awake. 

I feel her stirring against me. Her fingers sink into the fabric of the waistcoat Sirius foisted on me this morning and I haven't bothered to remove yet. But she doesn't lift her head from where it's hidden against the crook of my shoulder, and I pray to every deity I've ever heard of that I can get her through the house without further commotion. 

The coat rack topples, Tonks' cry of apology already slipping from her tongue, and I sag in the hallway. Mrs. Black starts screeching from her portrait. Feet pound from every direction, Molly running from the kitchen, Ron the upstairs, and Ginny from wherever she ran off to, to pout.

Embarrassment floods into the bond, and I huff and lift her higher, adjusting my grip where my hands are starting to cramp. The gloom of the walls only makes the desperation for solitude pounding through my bloodstream that much worse.

"You can put me down now," a tiny voice whispers from against my neck.

"Shhh," I hush her, and continue my stride into the house.

I know logically that the Townhouse is magically expanded inside, but it's never felt as big as it does at this moment, when I'm trying to get to the other side unimpeded. 

"What happened?!" Mrs. Weasley cries, rushing forward with a hand to her mouth and chest.

Arthur cuts her off, bless him. 

"She's had a bout of accidental magic, Molly. She'll be fine. It just took the wind out of her."

I give him as grateful a smile as I'm able, sliding past Mr. and Mrs. Weasley in the hallway. She immediately falls into place behind me. I can hear her dithering and twisting her fingers in angst.

"Accidental magic? But she's sixteen! Or near enough. She's much too old for that."

Remus jumps in.

"I think the newness of the Bond is still somewhat overwhelming, Molly. It'll take a little while for them to master control over it."

I snort, thankful for the vote of confidence, but not feeling anything remotely like that at the moment. I tried to shut the bond down as soon as I realized what it was doing to her. I think we can all agree I failed. I highly doubt snogging her unconscious is what Dumbledore had in mind when he told me to make her stop.

"Here," Mrs. Weasley says, moving sideways to hurry in front of me. "We've got a bed set up for her with Ginny," and she pushes open the door in front and to the left. 

I almost stumble over my feet. I didn't even notice we were already on the second landing. We walked an entire floor without me realizing it.

I slow to a stop, and the chattering around me drops to nothing as what she's said penetrates the fog of my brain.

"Molly," Remus placates her, then turns his head to the side, eyes searching out an ally. Arthur hurries over, and I have to hitch Hermione in my arms once again. She mumbles under her breath, and her weight lightens by half. Her body doesn't move. She never gives any indication to the others that she's awake.

"Winky is already expecting her in our room," I say. I start to walk again, but I'm forced to a stop after barely a step.

"Excuse me?" Mrs. Weasley hisses, and my shoulders slump in defeat. "I know you aren't saying what I think you are." My chest sags, and at Hermione's small nod, I let her legs slip from my arm and help her right herself on her feet. There are bags under her eyes, and her hair seems limp and sad.

"Winky," I holler, and she pops in at my knees. "Take care of Hermione please." She gives me a tiny nod and a curtsey that would be adorable if I had enough strength left to appreciate it. I squeeze Hermione's hand and place it into Winky's grip. Hermione opens her mouth to fight with me, and the elf disappears with Hermione's complaint still on her lips.

"Fine," I say to no one and everyone. I slide the scabbard from my shoulders, leaning it against the wall. My back is aching, the combination of exhaustion and Hermione's weight pulling the muscles tight. "If you want to do this tonight, fine. Best get it out of the way now, I suppose."

Blood rushes to Mrs. Weasley's face in anger, and her fists clench at her side.

My feet feel lined in lead. My stomach is twisting in knots. I'm a heartbeat away from collapsing. The throbbing pulse of Hermione seems to ebb and flow in the back of my brain. Is my sudden weakness the bond trying to even us out? 

Will she keep feeling better as I feel worse?

"Now you look here young man," Mrs. Weasley starts, but Sirius cuts her off. 

His hands are spread in front of him, beseeching her to understand. 

"They're married, Molly. Bonded and blessed by magic. You can't expect them to stay in separate rooms."

I have no idea how many people are still in the house, listening to details of my life brandied about for all the world to hear. I'm too tired to even care anymore.

"They hell I can't," she hisses, planting her feet in the middle of the hallway. "I don't care if Merlin himself appeared and blessed their union. They're just children! They don't know what a marriage is!"

I'm done with this. This same fight over and over. Different people saying the same things expecting me to follow blindly. Always with an "I'm sorry," afterwards, as their plight that I'm just a child falls on deaf ears to everyone who's tried to kill me. 

"I was never a child."

I don't raise my voice. I don't even think I could if I wanted to. Hermione stole all the heat I use to keep my blood nice and boiling. The chilliness of my tone has the same effect though, and Mrs. Weasley sucks in a gasp of air.

"Voldemort wanted me dead, before I was even born. I was never a child, Mrs. Weasley. From before I could walk, or talk, I've been hunted like a wild animal. I didn't grow up with friends, or toys, or trips to the zoo for my birthday. I've lived in a cage for my entire life. Sometimes in a castle, but a cage none the less. I wasn't a child the day we met, and I'm not a child now."

My scar burns, and I rub it absently. Riddle could always tell when my defenses were weakest. He won't get in this time though. With or without the Horcrux in my head. Not unless I let him in. Of that, I'm sure. 

Mrs. Weasley's chin is trembling, tears building in her eyes. I step out of her reach when her hands lift to hug me. I close my own eyes, so I don't have to watch the pain on her face. I don't have the energy to deal with anything other than Hermione tonight.

 "Because of that," I say, and have to swallow back the lump in my throat. "Because I can't breathe without wanting to lash out and break something, the person now stuck with me for the rest of her life is upstairs suffering. Now I doubt I can do much to help her, since I caused the problem. But the one thing I can do is hold her when she sleeps. Since it's my nightmares that make it hard for her to sleep to begin with."

Sirius gives me the smallest of smiles, winking when no one is looking at him. 

I go in for the kill.

Slytherin himself would be proud.

"You were the first family I had. But she's my family now, and as of eleven o'clock this morning, this house and everything in it became my property. If you don't like the arrangements as they stand, you're welcome to leave."

Molly whimpers, and Arthur looks heartbroken. Whether for what I've said, or the way it affected his wife, I can't tell. 

But I reach out and rub her arm as I pass her, grabbing the sword on my way, then find the stairs leading up to the master suite.

I can still hear them as I slowly climb the steps.

"You heard the prophecy, Molly. The power the Dark Lord knows not."

Determination makes Sirius sound like a prophet, preaching from his pulpit. Remus picks up his speech, and their interaction reminds me of the way Hermione, and I talk sometimes. 

"Isn't it obvious?" Remus says. His voice trembles with excitement. "It's the Bond, Molly. Love is something that Voldemort will never understand. Hermione is the power that the Dark Lord knows not!"

With one last step I'm out of ear shot, and their voices fade away.

~**~

I lived in this house off and on for three years. Owned it for almost two, and I can't think of a single time I stepped into this wing of the structure. The first time I lived here I shared a room with Ron several floors over, and the last I slept in Sirius's room. We spent most of our time either in the kitchen, or in the family library. It simply never occurred to me to wander in the places where the rest of Sirius's family lived. 

Even though I owned it, it was still his house.

Now though, it's mine in every sense of the word. Sirius made sure of that.

The results of Kreacher's recent purging are evident everywhere I look. The wallpaper, faded and bleak, has square outlines every few feet where the paper is brighter than anywhere else. Obviously, portraits and paintings were removed from the plaster, hidden, or just as likely burned to never be seen again. The floors have been freshly scrubbed, and the dim and damp hallways have been lit with fresh torches. 

I wonder what it would take to rip down the old-fashioned wallpaper and slap on a nice coat of paint?

Hermione said it a few days ago. Sirius isn't an escaped convict anymore. Even though this is still the Order's meeting place, most of what the Order did in the last timeline has already been rendered moot. They aren't following me around, and they won't be hiding outside the Department of Mysteries. With me as the acknowledged heir of both the Potter and Black bloodlines, it won't be suspicious to have people coming in and out of the building any longer either.

I could probably shunt the task of modernizing the Townhouse onto Molly's plate and have her thank me for it. 

Despite the long expanse of hallway, there's only one door at the end. Moony and Padfoot are on the complete other side of the building, no surprise there. I stop and twist on my feet.

Huh.

I look down the hallway and back towards the stairs. The house is mirrored. Only instead of a suite on the other side, it's broken into two rooms.

All this time and I never noticed that before.

The rest of the order that lives in the house are scattered in the dozen bedrooms throughout the remaining floors. 

Is Buckbeak still in the attic?  Have the dungeons been converted to a space for Remus to transform?

The list of things I don't know about the house I own is larger than the things I do.

I grasp the doorknob in my hand but hesitate before I turn it. I have no idea what kind of state Hermione is in. It may be my room, but I don't even know if I'm welcome in it. After all that, I may end up bunking with Ron after all.

I knock instead, the clacking of my knuckles on the room seeming to echo horribly in the abandoned hallway.

Winky opens the door at once, a frown marring her face.

"Why you's knock Master? Tis your room."

She steps aside and pulls open the door, allowing me space to enter. I don't move from my spot in the hallway though.

"I didn't know if Hermione would want to see me," I admit. "Is she okay?"

"Yes," Winky says, nodding her head and making her ears flop. "The mistress was tired. I put her in the bath. It will make her feel better. Come. Winky has the fire going, and Dobby brought Master and his Mi some food. Mistress hasn't eaten dinner. It's no wonder she felt ill. You's need to take better care of her, sir. Winky cannot be with you all the time."

I goggle at the little elf, lecturing me about taking care of Hermione. Three weeks ago, she never would have had the courage to reprobate me like that. I suppose it's a good sign that she feels comfortable enough with us to tell us how she feels. 

Without waiting for my response, Winky latches onto my wrist, and hauls me bodily into the master suite, firmly shutting the door behind me. There's a beautiful fire roaring in a white marble fireplace and a small round table with two chairs sitting in front of a floor to ceiling window. A plate of bread and fruit and a pitcher with two goblets rest on the tabletop. I hope it's juice, and that Dobby hasn't snuck us wine from the kitchens. 

A massive bed takes up a quarter of the space, the mahogany four poster frame seeming to stretch twenty feet in the air. There are black velvet curtains hanging from the top and pushed open to give a perfect view of the mattress, and the sheets look like emerald satin. There are more pillows at the head of the bed than I think existed in the entire Dursley household. 

At the foot of the bed two trunks rest, and Dobby is quietly moving my clothes from a chest and through a door that I can only assume leads to a closet. A matching door is on the other side of the room.

 Much to my surprise, though the room is opulent, it's subdued in a way the rest of the house isn't. You wouldn't be able to tell at first glance that darkish Wizards of the highest order have lived in this room for nearly a century.

"Dobby will see you ready for bed, Master," Winky instructs me, then toddles off to the second door. Steam leaves the room when she opens it, and I get a glance of light bouncing off a mirror and the image of wet curls hanging long over bare shoulders before she closes the door behind her.