A/N: The End. Thanks for following.

A/N 2020- for those directed here by recent updates, please scroll back to Chapter 18, that's where new, updated content can be found. Ta muchos :)

Hermione glowered at Pius Thicknesse. She had no trust in a man who had been so easily subjugated by Dark Wizards. Harry had thrown off the Imperius Curse when he was an underage wizard. Hermione would have expected a high-ranking Ministry official - as Thicknesse had been at the outbreak of the War - to have been able to offer just as much resistance, or to have been spelled to protect his mind from attack.

The fact that he wasn't simply stirred infuriation in her mind.

Of course, Harry was a badass when it came to fighting the Dark Arts. It just came naturally to him, an innate skill he didn't have to work at. Like kissing and sex. Hermione was still tingling from the night of passion they'd enjoyed after the Duel. The idea of rest had vanished along with her underwear. That was a sly trick of Harry's, but a fun one. Inventive, too, but merely an indicator of Harry's natural prowess in the bedroom which, frankly, bordered on the obscene.

Hermione tried not to focus on that. It brought a bright flush to her cheeks and she was sure Harry knew what she was thinking. He grinned at her knowingly but said nothing. Her distraction wasn't helping him, either. She had to bring her mind under control. She wasn't used to it running away with itself so much. But this was just a new world and, in truth, she wasn't at all against the change.

But for now she needed to be the old Hermione. For Harry's sake if nothing else. His passions were more than capable of getting the better of him and, if the Weasleys' clock did something unexpected, there was no telling what might he might do. She needed to be on guard to protect him, maybe even from himself.

For ever since he'd taken possession of his new wand, Hermione felt slightly in awe of what had happened to Harry's power. It had begun to manifest itself in highly unusual and unexpected ways. She wondered if the bespoke wand had somehow opened him up to more naturalistic forms of magic. He felt different, as if his core energy had changed frequency. It wasn't a bad thing, but it was wracked with intensity. Hermione speculated that this new sensation might merely be a result of his now being fully open to their phoenix bond. She just sensed him more acutely, now that he had joined her in sharing this incredibly intimate thing.

The very idea thrilled her.

Hermione had always considered herself to be a fairly solitary creature. She had borders and boundaries that she guarded fiercely. Even at the start of her relationship with Harry, she had been cautious of letting these guards down. It wasn't as if she was worried Harry would hurt her; she was so full of trust for him, and so assured of his affection for her, that she felt overwhelmed by both. And humbled by the potency of them. But there were some deep parts of her she just felt she'd never let Harry reach.

Now, though, Hermione felt Harry had penetrated and infused every single piece of her. And the love she felt for him because of it left her breathless and light-headed.

So she was determined to protect him now with every ounce of strength she possessed. That thought pressed on her, as she looked down at the Weasley's clock, where it lay on Thicknesse's desk. His 'punishment' for possession by the Death Eaters was to be moved into the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts department, where he was employed as a magic reverser. Minister Shacklebolt had instructed him to help Harry and Hermione unlock the secrets of the clock, under the veil of the most stringent secrecy.

"This item is infused with some very dark magic," said Thicknesse quietly, as he assessed it with his wand. "Very dark, I say again."

Hermione looked over at Harry, whose expression was a quite clear I told you so. She nodded with a grimace as Thicknesse went on.

"Do you have any clue as to how this works?"

"None," said Harry. "Aside from tracking members of the Weasley family and their current well-being status, we know next to nothing about it."

"What makes you so sure of its darkness?" Hermione asked.

"It has a signature," Thicknesse explained. "When I try to interact with it, I can feel a repelling force. It's akin to reading body language, that's the closest I can describe it for you."

"And this repelling force is dark?"

"It's angry, aggressive," said Thicknesse. "Now, of course, good people get angry and aggressive, too, at times. But this clock reeks of malevolent power. Whatever is in there is so negatively charged I'm a little wary of it."

"We wont ask you to engage with it further than you are comfortable," said Hermione. "We only want to know how to access it."

"Yes," Harry added. "This is a personal matter, Mr Thicknesse. We'd rather you not be involved in the actual extraction. We just need to know how to do it."

"Homenum Revelio will allow you to detect human presence," said Thicknesse. "Hold your wand to the part of the clock you wish to access and cast the spell. It will require clarity of thought and intense concentration to drill deep into the magic held within. You will feel it repel your wand - as if they were opposing magnets. Hold it steady and when you feel it submit, draw your wand away slowly. Cast Revelio again and it should give you what you need."

"Thank you," said Harry. "Is there somewhere safe we can do this? We don't know what might be released from the clock."

"We have special warded chambers downstairs precisely for this sort of thing," said Thicknesse. "You cant begin to imagine the sorts of spells and curses some wizards put into otherwise innocuous objects."

Harry looked at him in amazement. "I destroyed Lord Voldemort's Horcruxes. I've a pretty good fucking idea how dark people can go."

Thicknesse flushed. "Quite. Let me show to the the Ward Rooms."

Harry and Hermione set off after Thicknesse as he led them into the depths of the Ministry. Harry turned to Hermione and asked in a whisper, "Hermione - what's a ward?"

"In these terms? A set of defensive enchantments to create a protective barrier. We essentially warded the tent we used, when we hunted the Horcruxes. To keep any threats away from us."

"Ah," said Harry, understanding. "So we are going to open the clock in some sort of magic cage?"

"Essentially," said Hermione. "Though it's more to stop anything getting out, whereas we wanted to stop anyone getting in."

Thicknesse led them to a series of chambers deep underground. They were all circular and magic seemed to hum around them like a low buzzing. Hermione felt her skin tickled by it. She led Harry into the room, and Thicknesse sealed it behind them. Harry began moving slowly around the chamber, breathing deeply as though falling into trance. Hermione couldn't be sure, but it felt as though Harry was joining with whatever magic was permeating the space.

"Harry?" she asked cautiously.

"This is weird," he replied, not looking at her. "It's like there's something else in here with us. Or maybe in the walls. I can't really tell. It's almost the same thing I felt when I saw the Veil...the night when..."

Hermione's heart was flooded with fear at the memory, the situation. It sat heavy on her.

"Come back to me, Harry," she said firmly. "Whatever this is, don't engage with it."

"It's fine," said Harry. "I can feel you worrying, but I'm in control of this. I promise."

"Harry - you're scaring me. Please, stop."

Harry blinked at her, his eyes were a little unfocused.

"Sorry," he said, taking her hands in his own. "It's just really intense in here. The magic is dense. I can feel it everywhere. It's viscous. I know I said it was like the Veil, but that's only how I'm sensing it. But there's no risk. Sorry, I didn't think how that would sound."

Hermione let out the tense breath she'd been holding and snaked her arms around Harry's neck. "It's okay. It's just...when you stood in front of the Veil...I'd never felt so scared in all my life. I couldn't work out why. I was just hit with the same thing. It unsettled me."

"Come on. Let's get this over with and get out of here," said Harry.

At the centre of the room was a small, circular structure, something resembling an altar. It was carved with all sorts of markings. Hermione recognised some as runes, some as alchemical symbols. There was a mandala, also. She worried the edge of the plinth as Harry carefully placed the clock on top of it. He drew his new wand.

Even from across the space between them, Hermione could feel the sweep of magical power emanating from Harry. It was joining with her, drawing her power, as the lock of her hair in his wand recognised its mistress. With a shock, she suddenly felt Harry all through her body, into her very atoms. It was beautiful, powerful, and she'd never felt so protected in all her life. It also stirred her arousal and her body responded. She wondered if Harry knew what he was doing to her, or how much more intense it would get when he did. She thought she had better start bringing a clean change of knickers with her wherever she went if this carried on.

But Harry didn't seem to realise how his innate sexual energy was making Hermione writhe and clench her thighs together opposite him. He was focused on the clock. He placed his wand to the hand which read Ron Weasley - In Mortal Peril, and he cast the spell. Or tried to. The clock repelled it utterly and the wand flew from Harry's hand and hit the floor with a little tinkle.

"Hmm," Harry frowned as he recovered his wand. "That was stronger than I expected. Let me try again."

So he did. But the effect was largely the same. On the third try, Harry was using both hands to keep his wand in place, but even this wasn't enough.

"Fuck me this thing is powerful," he spat bitterly. "I can feel it...but I cant grab it."

"It's sealed in with Dark magic," said Hermione. "Come on, let's try together."

She rounded the altar and drew her own wand. She opened Harry's hand and placed their wands together, before closing her fingers around his. It was a bit of a mistake. Hermione was hit with such an abrupt, overpowering orgasm that her knees folded beneath her. She got up, trembling from head to toe, as Harry looked at her in open mouthed astonishment. She could only blush.

"I felt that!" he hushed. "What the fuck, hun?"

"Sorry," Hermione blushed. "I cant help it. There's something about that wand that has made your magic turn me to jelly. I don't know if I'm just connecting to your emotions, and your lust is so intense it's overpowering, or what. I'm really sorry."

"Please, please don't be," Harry smirked. "That's just the sexiest fucking thing I've ever seen. I'm a bit in shock, in the utterly best sort of way. That was hotter than the actual sun."

Hermione flushed from her chest to the roots of her hair.

"Right...are you able to try again?" asked Harry.

Hermione huffed at him. "I'm sure I can restrain myself. You're not that irresistible."

Harry chortled. "Evidence suggests the contrary."

"Okay, maybe you are," said Hermione, grinning at him. "But I'm sure I can hold it in."

Harry looked at her curiously. "Actually...maybe don't." She quizzed an eyebrow at him. "That emotion was ridiculously intense. Maybe we can harness it, overpower whatever darkness is in this thing with something pure."

"Harry...I'm not sure what I was thinking was all that pure," said Hermione. "Besides, I don't think I like the idea of using an orgasm to break a dark spell. Sex magic is pretty borderline grey in itself."

"We'll do it together," said Harry. "The emotional power of the spell would surely be enough to break through the barriers on the clock."

"You know, when you set your mind to something, you make my legendary stubbornness seem like a mild bit of petulance. Alright...we'll try it your way."

"That worked well enough last night," Harry teased, drawing her close.

Hermione wasn't sure she could blush any deeper than she was now. She allowed Harry to pull her flush to his body, into this magical field of energy she was now becoming intimately familiar with. Allowed maybe wasn't the right word. She went willingly, wantonly. In truth, she'd be happy never to leave it. It was the most wonderful sensation she'd ever known, the most beautiful place she could imagine, and the intensity wasn't dropping.

Then Harry said something bizarre. "Let me in."

"What?"

"Let me in," he repeated.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, breathlessly. Arousal was pooling fiercely in her belly, sweeping downwards fast. Her knees felt unsteady already.

"It's hard to explain, but it's like there's a shield around you," said Harry. "I've never felt it before. Maybe it's this room. I don't want to spook you by pushing through it, but you can let me in. You trust me, don't you? You have to know by now how much I love you. You're safe with me. I'd never hurt you. Ever."

Hermione suddenly felt it herself, as though Harry had stepped close to her very soul. She shivered, a lingering fear washing over her. This was it. The final barrier to being Harry's completely...and he, hers, as a result. She knew it unquestionably. Once this barrier was down she was utterly exposed to him. There was no going back.

And she hesitated.

Just for a moment, but Harry felt it. With a crack of utter despair. And then Hermione felt it bounce right back at her. It was like a hammer punch right to the heart. It took her breath away and in that moment Harry recoiled just briefly. Hermione felt him go with a snap of loss so acute that she cried out at the anguish surging through her. It was pure agony. Her response was reflexive. She snatched her arms tight around Harry, drew him so close she might have been trying to fuse with him.

"Don't go...please...don't go...not ever."

And with a shuddering breath, embracing this thing she'd yearned for as long as she could remember, she let her final barrier fall.

If the surge of loss, at Harry's brief doubt, was intense, then his sense of euphoric relief as Hermione gave in to him was positively overwhelming. She pushed everything she had to him, everything she was. And the effect was so profound it reduced Harry to tears. He shook against her, his moist cheeks pressing firm against her own. He felt her, all through him. She knew it, because she felt the total mirror of his emotions. They had ceased to be separate. They were one. Mind, body and soul. Utterly entwined, unbreakable.

Hermione took control. She pressed into Harry, moving suggestively, thinking all things erotic all at once. He heard her in his head, he responded in kind. She felt him grow against her thigh, sending her mind into a hot frenzy. They ground together until suddenly he gripped tight around her, a throaty groan escaped his lips and he spilled out between them. Hermione felt its damp warmth with searing senselessness. It sent her over the edge, and she orgasmed hard in shuddering, ragged breaths. They collapsed against each other and the altar, spent and ecstatic. Somehow, amazingly, Hermione found the presence of mind to point their still joined wands to the clock. Harry looked at her, understanding the intent.

"Homenum Revelio!" they whispered together.

The clock was powerless to resist their joint command. What happened next was a mood killer if ever there was one. The clock hand with Ron's name shattered with a piercing scream. Hermione disengaged herself from Harry and turned in horror as a shadowy torso extricated itself from the clock face. It pulled itself free and stood before them, smoky as a ghost. A ghost with freckles.

"Oh my God, to be free!" said the ghost. "I'm so stiff! How long was I trapped in there?"

"Who are you?" asked Harry, cleaning himself with a subtle flick of his wand. "And how were you trapped in the clock?"

"I'm Gerald Prewett," said the ghost. "I'm a second cousin of Molly Weasley."

"You're the accountant!" Harry cried in amazement, remembering suddenly. "Ron mentioned you."

"I was a Squib, a shame to the family," said Gerald. "I'm surprised they talked about me at all."

"How did you end up dead?" asked Hermione. "And in the clock?"

The ghost grimaced. "I was sacrificed by my wonderful cousins. They needed to trap a soul in the clock to monitor the family member assigned to it. They tricked me. Said they'd found something in the grimoire archives that could activate my magic."

"Grimoire?" Harry queried to Hermione.

"A sort of family-specific spell book," Hermione explained. "It's probably where Ginny learned the curse she used on me, if the Weasley's even have one..."

"Ginevra! Don't mention that witch to me," said Gerald. "I saw all the blood rituals and forced sex magic used to create that Dark wench. Do you have any idea how many levels of sacrifice were required to break the No Weasley Daughter curse? It's a horrific saga of crimes. They were cursed for a good reason. Weasley wombs have spawned nothing but darkness for centuries."

"They were cursed not to have daughters?" asked Hermione, shocked. She looked at Harry. He had gone pale with the revelations. "Why?"

"I never knew fully, but my decent relatives all insisted it was justified," said Gerald. "That was enough for me to accept. But now, why have you freed me?"

"Ginny has wronged us," said Harry. "She attacked Hermione, here...my future wife. Nearly killed her with a Weasley Family Curse. We have wrought vengeance on her, but her brother Ron eludes us still."

"We want to find him, see if he can be persuaded to do the honourable thing," said Hermione.

"Though he has shown a distinct lack of honour," said Harry. "So we owe him a reckoning for that alone."

"But we don't know where he is," Hermione filled in. "He's hiding from us. We broke the enchantment on the clock to reveal his location. Frankly, I'm in shock that this is how it all works."

"We assume you know where he is, to monitor him," said Harry. "We need your help, Mr Prewett. But, let me be blunt - we will force it from you if we have to."

Hermione loved Harry taking charge like this. He was so unbearably sexy when he did so.

"I will help you, in exchange for my freedom," said Gerald calmly. "Release me from my prison and I will lead you to Ron. My family wronged me. I owe them no loyalty."

"I'll agree to you terms if you agree to not leave us until we have Ron secured," said Harry. "He can escape us, hide from us. But not from you. When we are satisfied with our work with him, I promise to free you."

Gerald looked at Harry, sizing him up, weighing his trust. "Very well. I accept your terms. When do we leave?"

"As a clock might say, 'there's no time like the present'," Harry replied cheerfully.

"Harry!" Hermione interrupted suddenly. "Before we go, there's something I've thought of."

"Another brilliant brainwave from the brightest witch in my life," said Harry, grinning at her. "What is it?"

"Harry, we are near the Department of Mysteries," said Hermione. "As family magic is unique and obscure, I bet they study or record it here."

"More than likely," Harry agreed. "But I don't want to know more about the Weasleys magic. To be frank, it's making me a little nauseous."

"I'm not talking about Weasley magic," said Hermione, excitedly. "But what about Potter magic? What if there was some spell, some enchantment, we could use against Ron? Something that might negate whatever spells Molly might have taught him? I have to think Potter magic would be more potent than any hocus pocus the Weasleys could conjure."

Harry smiled broadly at her. "Well, it wouldn't hurt to have a look, as we're here. Lead the way."

Harry paused in front of the section door and took a breath. He didn't know why, but he felt like he was trespassing. About to pass onto forbidden land. His throat shuddered at the thought. The statue guard at the entrance to the Family Registry section had accepted his name on request. There had been no obstacles, no challenge. Not even to Hermione, who had been granted access as a Potter as easily as Harry had. That had brought their reality home to Harry in the most earth-shattering of ways.

And he was utterly in love with that.

The vault had accepted Hermione as the future Mrs Potter or, as she'd teased, the future Lady Potter. Harry was the last of his house, which was an Ancient and Noble one, like Sirius and the Black Family, as Harry remembered. So, in theory, he should have a seat in the Wizengamot. Wizard Government. Harry had paled at this idea.

What did he know about politics? Absolutely nothing. He'd be shite at the job, he was sure of that. But Hermione allayed his fears at a stroke. She would simply have to sit for him, for their family. She was cleverer, it made sense. This had suddenly made their union, their impending marriage, all of it, so tangibly real for Harry that he lost the ability to speak for fully ten minutes as he tried to process it all.

It took the floor from beneath him. It was a total surprise. But, suddenly, he had a future. One to actually be enthused about, not to be feared. Hermione had even teased that he could raise the kids while she went out and did all the work. The promise of little Sophie reared its head again and they both swooned over the vision of their daughter. Harry had never wanted to do a dance of joy, but the urge was potent just now.

So, as they stood before the Potter Family archive, Harry felt his skin prickle with immense excitement. Hermione was holding his hand, his equal and partner. His wife-to-be. He'd never accepted that as so real as he did now. He wanted to fall on his knees and bow to her, as his Lady, thankful that they'd found each other in this way, despite everything. Fate had finally delivered for Harry. He'd done enough, suffered and sacrificed enough. And he'd been rewarded with a love, with a witch so perfect it was far beyond even what those experiences might have warranted.

He'd never felt so utterly blessed as he did in those moments he stood looking at Hermione right then. She glanced over at him, fixing him with a curious stare.

"What is it?"

"I couldn't even tell you properly," said Harry. "I don't have the vocabulary to do it justice. I'll never deserve you, just know that. But I intend to spend the rest of my life doing my best to justify this."

He gesticulated between them.

"And I wont hold it against you when you come to your senses and leave me."

Hermione huffed. "Will you grow a pair? I'm the lucky one, to have gotten a second chance at you. But I get the feeling we will never agree. So lets just revel in it, lord it over all those unfortunate people who will never know what we have, and engage in so much animalistic sex that we are too exhausted to be soppy."

Harry laughed out loud. "There's my girl. That's a scheme and a half! I delegate all future scheme-making to you."

"Sweetheart, let's be honest, I was always going to make all the schemes and plans in this relationship! You are all sorts of good...but planning isn't your strong suit!"

"I submit," said Harry, throwing his hands up in surrender. "Now...shall we?"

Hermione looked dubiously at the Potter Family crest on the door, and the hand-print verification stone standing just in front of it. "Can I try? Just to see?"

"I was hoping you would," said Harry. "I know you say you love me, but let's check for sure."

Harry mock winced as Hermione poked his ribs. In truth, it was more of a laugh. Harry had never told her, but he was very ticklish. He hoped she never found out. She might use it to torture him.

"This door might not have been opened in a long time," Hermione went on. "This might not work. I'm not sure..."

Harry stepped up and cradled her head in both his hands. "Are you going to marry me, or not?"

"Of course I am."

"And be the Mrs, Lady, Queen Potter?"

"And be fucking proud of and awesome at it," said Hermione firmly.

"Then there we go," said Harry. "This vault is as much yours as it is mine. We are family now. Or we will be. This vault is ours. Fuck me... I love saying that. I'll never get tired of it."

Hermione beamed and kissed him deeply. "When did our language get so bad?"

"When we learned there were only certain ways we could talk about the Weasleys?" Harry offered. Hermione laughed at that. "Come on, lets find a way to Potter them to defeat."

Hermione nodded and stepped forwards. She placed a hand on the stone. Despite Harry's assurance, she was still shaking. She needn't have worried. The stone door melted away and a vast vault opened ahead of them. Shelves upon shelves stretched to the ceiling, groaning under the weight of innumerable parchment scrolls. The rack disappeared into misty darkness way beyond sight.

"Fuck me," Hermione whispered in awe.

"Maybe later," Harry smirked. "If you're a good girl.

Hermione quirked an eyebrow at him. "And if I'm bad?"

"I'll spank you. And it'll be naughty as sin. You'll love it. A night of attention to that stunning arse of yours. Whatever depravity you desire."

"Fuck dot me, at fuck me dot com, forward slash, fuck me sideways!" Hermione exclaimed dreamily. "We are so revisiting that idea!"

Harry doubled up laughing, then led the way into his family vault hoping his mother hadn't been eavesdropping on that particular exchange.

The Potter Vault was seriously huge. It catalogued all the Potters who had had ever lived. Harry saw that the branches off to one side of the room led to the family names of Dumbledore, Gryffindor and Peverell. That was too much to take in for one visit. Harry could only gawp, staring around with no idea where to start.

Not for nothing was Hermione the brightest witch of the age. She strode confidently to the first aisle and pulled out the biggest book Harry had ever seen. It was the kind of spell book depicted in fairy tales. It was so big Hermione needed to use both hands to open the cover. It clattered to the table it was sat on, sending a cloud of dust soaring into the air. Hermione coughed at it, but was soon thumbing through its massive pages.

"What is this?" Harry asked, coming up next to her.

"The standard book of Potter spells," said Hermione with a light smirk.

"What are you looking for?"

"English would be useful," said Hermione sardonically. "Unless you speak old Welsh. Seriously, Harry, I think we should look into the possibility that you were related to King Arthur. His roots were in Wales. You have an innate love for the country. Gryffindor was definitely Welsh, it follows the lineage."

"How do you know about Gryffindor?"

Hermione scoffed at him. "The double ff's didn't give it away? That's one letter in Welsh, Harry. But it's more obvious than that. You never did actually open Hogwarts: A History, did you?"

Harry smirked. "Nope. Fancy lending me yours? You must be done with it by now."

"What? And have you see the hundred and twelve times I wrote HG lvs HP in little hearts in the margins? Not a chance."

Harry chuckled again. "You're so cute I could eat you."

Hermione looked sultrily at him. "I'll hold you to that later."

"Please do," Harry purred back.

"Right. Let's get on," said Hermione, who had flushed crimson. "What we need is a defensive spell. Ron will attack, there's little doubt about that. What would be ideal is a spell that would deflect whatever he throws at us."

As if it obeyed her command, the book's pages suddenly fluttered open until they rested on a page. A single paragraph flashed up florescent gold, as if highlighted. Harry stared at Hermione in awestruck reverence.

"Lady Potter, indeed."

Hermione grinned back, then turned to the Grimoire page.

"The Potter Shield Wall," she read. "Will repel any harmful spells below Unforgivable Level. Requires Bonded Union for total effectiveness, but useful for general deflection."

Harry peered over Hermione's shoulder. Then he felt his breath catch as his heart paused its beating. "Hermione...do you think...my mum...she might have..."

Hermione shot her eyes to him, such sorrow and pity flooding him that Harry felt impelled to look away.

"Oh, Harry," she whispered sadly. "She might have tried...but -"

"Not effective below Unforgivable Level," Harry whispered, cold horror engulfing him.

"But your Dad...he might have...to buy your Mum time...for the sacrifice charm."

Harry stopped breathing. He'd forgotten how. He clutched his chest and stumbled against the table. Hermione leapt over to hold him up. Tears came hard and he fell to his knees. Hermione went with him, clutching him as his body was wracked with sobs.

"I...I'm going to le-learn necromancy," Harry stuttered. "I'm going to b-bring Tom Riddle back...then kill the cunt properly!"

"Don't learn necromancy, Harry," said Hermione gently. "That would make you a Weasley. And at this point I'm not sure if that's worse than being a Riddle."

Harry laughed at that. He dried his eyes. "A Riddle, wrapped in an enigma, in bed with a Weasley. Urgh...imagine that. Merlin's big hairy balls!"

Hermione actually fell on her back laughing. She sat back up after a minute and straightened herself out. "Come on, let's learn this spell."

Again, as if she'd commanded it, a set of ancient runes shot up from the pages of the Grimoire and settled into Hermione's wand. Harry just looked at her, startled and in wonder.

"If I forget to say it today, I fucking love you. Absolutely fucking love you!"

Hermione smiled at him. "I love you, too. Come on, let's go and give Ron a bad day."

The ghost of Gerald Prewett pointed out across the field. Harry looked on in disbelief, as if he'd never have accepted the sight if he hadn't laid his own eyes upon it. Hermione wasn't a million miles away from Harry's reaction herself. She just stared as they walked, picking their way over the rutted ground. It was quite pathetic, really.

The tent. That fucking tent. Hermione had hoped to never see it again. But there it was. Shit coloured and just as filthy. When the fuck had Ron gone and recovered that? What a cheap prick! He couldn't come up with his own ideas of places to hide. Hermione had never felt so sorry for herself as she did just then. To think...she'd been in a relationship with this excuse of a wizard. She had kissed him and more. She'd introduced him to her parents! Oh, the shame of it! And to think, she'd given Harry a hard time over Ginny! She had no recourse to chide him over that. She was just as disgraced in her previous partner choices.

And she actually vomited at the thought.

Harry came up to comfort her. "Are you okay? It's going to be fine, don't fret."

"It's not that," said Hermione, wiping her mouth. "It's pure self-loathing. I need you to fuck it out of me later."

Harry grinned. "Absolute deal. No come backs."

"Oh I intend to come back," said Hermione. "As soon as I get you off, by way of apology, you are absolutely going to see to it that I come back. I will break you to make sure it happens, if I have to!"

"Merlin...your mouth," said Harry breathily. "What the actual fuck? I love it."

Hermione stood up and cleaned herself with a spell. She took a steadying breath. "No games, Harry. No playing with our food. We take care of Ron, today, then we are done with Weasleys. Forever. Agreed?"

"Works for me," said Harry.

"Good," Hermione replied. She turned to the ghost. "Wait here, please."

"As you wish," Gerald replied.

Hermione strode forward purposefully. She wasn't sure why, but she was energised for vengeance. Visions of Ron kissing that blonde piece in The Prophet dominated her mind, as well as all the times he'd put her down, made her cry. Not to mention all the things he'd done to keep Harry away from her. She was so furiously mad she thought she might set Ron on fire by mere thought.

Then she saw him. Striding out of the tent like nobody's business. Her mind flew back in time, to that night. The way he strode from the Horcrux hunt.

"I get it. You choose him"

The words flashed through Hermione's mind. They were, she accepted, six of the truest words ever spoken to her. She had known it then, but not let it into her conscious mind. She had been one silly bitch for resisting that truth. Of course she'd chosen Harry. She chosen him when she was just twelve years old! She'd just never had the courage to invite him to join her, to position herself as his choice. It rankled ugly with her that it was a choice Harry would have taken earlier had he known it was available. Damn her coyness! Hermione wanted to scream, to rage, at herself and at Ron, for all the missed time she might have had with Harry.

They'd agreed not to regret. But they hadn't agreed not to be utterly furious about it.

"Ronald Weasley! You fucking, fucking, fucking ginger cunt!"

Ron span around as he heard his name called. He looked stunned, dropped the kettle he'd been holding and made a movement for his wand, as Hermione reached him and squared up to his face.

"Hermione! How did you find me!?"

"We used magic as dark and ugly as you!" Hermione fumed. She was shaking with fury.

"We?" asked Ron, warily. "Oh...I should've known. The Boy Who Lived."

Hermione spat. Right in Ron's face. "Don't you ever call him that," she hissed dangerously.

Ron wiped the spittle from his forehead. "It's his calling card, isn't it?"

"Like he wants to be reminded every day that he survived...while his parents were killed," said Hermione angrily. She was boiling over. "Just shows how little you ever knew him...how dreadful an excuse for a friend you truly were."

"Well, as you're making his days better...by sucking his cock," said Ron through gritted teeth, "how about we give him a new name. Mudblood Fucker has a nice ring to it."

Hermione gasped. Despite her rage, even she was shocked by Ron's words. For his part, he quelled, perhaps knowing he'd crossed a line of no return.

"And to think," said Hermione, gulping and speaking quietly. "That all we came here for was to see if you'd show a bit of honour and protect your mother's future. We would have spared you -"

But Hermione didn't get to finish her sentence.

For Ron had backhanded her right across the face.

Hermione felt as much as she heard Harry's roar of anger from across the field. It was guttural, feral...it vibrated with ferocity in Hermione's own chest. It scared her a little. She saw all colour drain from Ron's face for a moment, as the sound penetrated him, too. He looked down at Hermione, who had crumpled in surprise at being hit so violently. Then Ron drew his wand.

The Battle of The Golden Trio had begun.

Harry was there so fast that Hermione was taken aback. And the look on his face...it was positively murderous. She almost didn't want to look at it...the man she loved so powerfully surely couldn't wield such a terrifying look. Ron fired off a couple of Stunners and an Impediment jinx in quick, quite impressive fashion, even Hermione had to admit that. His Auror induction training had wrought a significant improvement in him, without doubt.

But Hermione was worried for only about half a heartbeat.

For Harry deflected all of Ron's spells with the merest flick of his wand. Where had he learned to do this? Hermione had no idea, but Harry was so angry he might as well have been a natural disaster crossing the grass, impervious to whatever Ron might have in his arsenal. Hermione had never seen the like. She trembled in fear...for Ron. The lingering care she had for him made her genuinely afraid of Harry's intent. But it was so potent...it was borderline unstoppable. Harry was unstoppable. Hermione was powerless to deter Harry from his course. He was advancing on Ron, batting his spells away as though Ron were throwing grains of rice at him. Ron knew it too. His voice had taken on a wobble, his spells failing as his stuttered incantations robbed them of power.

Harry's defensive spells had all been cast silently...and he hadn't attacked yet. His fury was swirling like a storm, building with a potency that Hermione genuinely feared. It was like being in the path of a hurricane...and Ron was powerless to get out of the way. The fruitless spell casting was draining him, robbing him of any potential defence. As Harry got closer, Ron's spell strength was falling. What would Harry do when he reached him? Abandon magic? Throttle Ron with his bare hands? Hermione yelped at the prospect. She didn't want it to end like this.

Then Ron changed tack. In his desperation...he turned his wand on her. It was the worst mistake any wizard could have made.

And, finally, it drove Harry to attack back.

He fired a blasting curse at Ron so powerful that it cut though his robes and took a huge chunk from his hip. Ron screamed with the pain. It echoed around the field and Hermione screeched herself, tears pouring at the sound. But Ron was reacting. He fired a stream of fire at Harry so hot that Hermione, a good ten feet away, reared back from the intensity. She cried out in concern.

But Harry was already gone. He had Apparated to a point on Ron's left side. Ron, dumb and thinking he'd gotten an advantage, went to nurse his hip wound. But Harry was very far from done. He cast a reductor curse at Ron that was so strong Hermione felt the after shock-wave ripple over her as it passed by. Ron let out a cry of agony that came from right within his soul. Even Hermione felt his sickening scream as if it were her own.

It was hardly surprising. Harry had just smashed his knee caps to dust.

Ron collapsed to the grass, crying out in disgusting pain. Harry advanced slowly on him, lowering his wand.

So Ron raised his, one last time.

The Weasley spell erupted from his wand in a blast of blood orange light. Harry was too close...he wouldn't be able to react...

So Hermione did.

A giant, shining silver and red shield materialised in front of Harry, deflecting the spell with a very satisfying gong. Ron looked over at her, aghast.

"Th-that...it had the Potter crest," he forced out in pained breaths. "How did you..."

Hermione stood up, proud and utterly emboldened. She'd never felt so powerful in her whole life. She advanced on Ron with her wand drawn. "Yes, you dumb prick, it did. Because I am a Potter...in everything but name. I am Mrs Hermione Potter. Lady Potter, to you. Or I very soon will be. And that's just a niggling matter of time. The Potter magic is my magic now. Relashio!"

Ron dropped his wand as Hermione's spell hit him. He groped for it.

"Leave it, Ron," said Harry dangerously, emerging from behind the shield. His magic was pulsing furiously.

Ron didn't listen. He grabbed for his wand again.

"Diffindo!"

Harry cast the Severing Charm with such loathing intent that it sliced Ron's wand hand clean off at the wrist. He screamed again, then fell back and clutched at his stump. The blood was something to behold. Harry moved forwards and cast a basic healing charm he remembered from Hermione. It stopped the bleeding. He looked down at Ron. He was trembling, shuddering and utterly beaten. He was shaking with so much fear his clothes were visibly vibrating.

"You'll never hit a woman again," said Harry threateningly. Ron whimpered under Harry's cold, unflinching gaze. "Neither will you plant your seed in a woman, either."

And Harry felt zero remorse. He gave, literally, zero fucks about his oldest friend, as he cast an infertility curse upon him.

Harry looked down at Ron. It wasn't even anger he felt in that moment. It had a depth of loathing Hermione couldn't even put a name to. She held her breath as Harry took his wand to Ron's temple. She was sure he was going to kill him, but she had lost her ability to reason with him.

Harry shook his head at Ron, as he yanked his dank hair back. He looked at him, deep and fierce, right into his eyes. Like he was boring his gaze directly into him.

"I don't know who you are," he said lowly. He took another rough fist of Ron's hair and jerked his head to one side. "I want you to know...the promise I made to your father, about taking financial care of your mother...I renege on that promise, on account of your striking my future wife. I'm sure you can explain it to him. Now...for my revenge on you..."

Then he sliced his wand purposefully three times against Ron's forehead. Ron shrieked out in blood-stopping agony with each flick Harry made. When he was done, Ron had a perfect, lightening-shaped cut deep into the flesh right above his right eye. Harry looked at him with such pure hatred Hermione almost expected Ron to die on the spot.

Harry cocked his head to assess his handiwork. "Just like you always wanted," he said, so dangerously that Hermione shuddered at the tone. She would tell him later... no, order him... to never use that tone in her presence again. It genuinely frightened her.

But she had her own thing to say to Ron.

Hermione stepped forward and knelt at Ron's fallen form. Then she was hit with a gut-turning sickness. For Ron had both pissed and shit himself under Harry's 'care'. The dual aroma was vile. Harry had stepped back from the stench, his work done. But he kept his wand firmly pointed at Ron's heart. Hermione felt its intent, as it trembled in Harry's angry fingers next to her. Even if Ron had been before her - with both knees and both hands intact - he wouldn't have been able to move against Harry's innate, impenetrable protection of Hermione.

And she breathed calmly in the safety she felt. And a callous anger for the Weasleys stirred within her. When she spoke, she was easily Harry's cold, dangerous equal.

"Take a message to that slut sister of yours," Hermione hissed. "She'd better keep her pretty little face out of our business. Because, if she rears her fucking ugly head - and I hear about it - I'm going to cut it off. You tell her that...a promise from Lady Hermione Potter. You know I'm good for my word."

Harry guffawed next to her. He offered her a hand and she took it.

"Are we done, my Lady?" Harry asked.

"Almost," said Hermione. "Cast the Infertility Charm."

Harry looked coldly at Ron. Then he flicked his wand, incanting in silence. Ron whined as the pain hit his groin. Harry nodded at Hermione, confirming that all was done.

Then they left Ron Weasley for the last time.

The snow was falling again, as Harry approached the village church and the little graveyard behind. It was really quite pretty. Especially against all the tinsel and other Christmas lights. The party goers were mostly drunk by now and the atmosphere was positively amazing. There was mistletoe everywhere and more kissing than was decent.

Harry laughed at the sight. He thought he'd never quite enjoyed a Christmas properly. So he was going to revel in this one. He had a beer in his hand. A real one. He'd long decided that any beer with butter in was simply a waste of his digestinal tract. Beer was for getting smashed, and maybe getting lucky with a sexy witch.

Speaking of which...

Poor Hermione. She was a proper trooper. The journalists were a persistent bunch of twats. Harry watched Hermione fielding questions like a seasoned pro. He sighed sadly as he thought...she might as well have been by now. She wouldn't let the press write anything that painted him, or her, or them, in a bad light. Harry still had to pinch himself that there was a them to be writing about. It made him shake his head in wonder, especially if Hermione was still in within his eyeline.

For she hadn't left him yet. It had been nearly four months. Harry had a mental chart going. He thought Hermione might be quite proud of him for that. She liked that sort of thing. Four months, and she was still with him. Despite the constant media attention, the requests for interviews, the setting up of both as fashion icons. Harry found it immensely trying. He imagined she must have too.

But Hermione seemed to be dealing with it quite cheerfully. She was eloquent and articulate and never dropped an off word. Harry was astounded by her skill with the reporters. It made him love her more. It was a trend. Every time he thought he couldn't love her more, she did something that made him do just that. He didn't resent her proving him wrong. In fact, he looked forward to those moments when she astounded him again. It made him fundamentally proud of himself that this amazing girl was his witch.

And his alone.

And he couldn't stop looking at her. She was so pretty that he could hardly stand to hold her gaze sometimes. It was like looking at the divine. Or the forbidden. Harry hadn't decided which just yet. But she never seemed to accept it. It was a challenge to change her mind on that, one Harry accepted willingly. He wondered if he could sex the doubt out of her. That part of their relationship was, frankly, mind blowing. And so frequent that Harry was slightly worried that the friction might make his private parts glow in the dark.

But, despite Hermione's media skill, she was only human. Harry had left her long enough, answering questions about the horrifying Magic-Muggle conspiracy - which was lately exposed - and Arthur Weasley's imprisonment as its highest-level wizard collaborator. She could only offer the standard excuses to her own ignorance, despite well-known connections to the family. It was a topic that roused Harry to her fierce defence.

"I believe she said she doesn't know," said Harry, coming up and deflecting the repeated question onto himself. "You don't want to ask the same thing again, do you?"

Harry had learned to lace his tone with threat. After the fight with Ron, he had been told explicitly by Hermione to reign his anger in. It had scared her. The very concept of 'Hermione afraid' was enough to teach Harry control over his own emotions.

"Oh, not at all, Mr Potter," said the journalist warily. "So...er...no comment on the ongoing stand-off with the Muggles?"

"Of course not," said Hermione. "Harry and I are focused only on our studies. We wish to complete our final Hogwarts year with as little disruption as possible. It would represent a pleasant change!"

The assembled journalists laughed. "So, how do the Head Boy and Girl find time to relax?" asked one.

Harry grinned at Hermione. "I find time by putting away my Time-Turner, funnily enough. Once I've revisited my missed lessons, I drag my ever-suffering fiancee to some random event or another...you're all just lucky I coaxed her to Godric's Hollow tonight for this Christmas Party!"

"Well, I wasn't exactly dragged," Hermione teased. "It's not every day that a village is reclaimed as totally magical. There are certainly worse ways to spend Christmas Eve."

"Do you intend to move back here, Mr Potter?"

Harry shifted and took a breath. He and Hermione had discussed it, but never come to a decision. Hermione stepped up again.

"It's really up to Harry's parents," she said, elusively. "Speaking of which...please excuse us."

With that she took his arm, and guided him through the kissing gate and into the cemetery. They disappeared among the headstones.

"Good out," said Harry, impressed.

"It's a morbid one," said Hermione. "But we have a tradition to uphold."

"We do?"

"Uh-huh."

Hermione had taken his hand and pulled him to a stop. Harry looked down and lost his heartbeat in his chest. The graves of his parents loomed quiet before him. He thought of all the ways he should have been announcing his engagement to them, showing off his beautiful bride-to-be. This wasn't how it should have been.

Fucking Voldemort. He seriously was, the biggest arsehole ever.

Hermione was on the same page. She knelt down, arced her wand and conjured a beautiful Christmas wreath, which she propped against the headstones. Harry felt his breath catch at the sight...the memory.

"It's been...a whole year," he breathed. "It hardly seems that long. But somehow longer."

Hermione stood. She eased into Harry's body, her back against his chest. He kissed her head and thread his arms around her waist, to where they belonged, as her hands covered his own. He swayed her slightly. The snow was beginning to fall again.

"I should have kissed you...when we were stood here a year ago," said Harry ruefully. "I wanted to. And you deserved it."

Hermione laughed. "I'd done my time, for sure. But in front of your parents?"

"I'd have done lots more, with a lot more nudity, if I'd known I'd be this deliriously happy with you," Harry whispered, nuzzling her head. "I'm so astonishingly lucky. It's nonsense, really."

Hermione cooed at him. "You'd have done more? Even in the snow?"

"I'd have set it on fire!"

"Harry! Your parents."

"Were probably randy fuckers," said Harry. Hermione shook with laughter. "I bet they are hoping we have a bit of fumble, just for a laugh. But, Fuck you, Dad! It's too cold for a hard-on!"

Hermione was in a veritable seizure. Harry joined her, feeling hot laughing tears freeze on his cheek, as he hugged Hermione as tightly as his arms would allow.

"I wish we could have met them...together," said Hermione. "Do you think they would have liked me? Am I good enough for their only boy?"

Harry cuddled her close. "You're too good. They might have had you tested for latent insanity!"

"You do make me insane," Hermione mused. "But in a good way."

"Hermione! My parents!" Harry mock admonished.

"Were randy fuckers. That's where you get it from."

"I don't see you complaining."

"No, I'm a lucky witch," Hermione agreed. "A lucky as fuck witch."

Harry sighed. He huffed, too. He could never hug Hermione close enough. It really annoyed him. He would have to show his love in deeds to make up the shortfall.

"By the way, I intend to be the greatest Dad in history. Just so you know. We are going to have the best kids."

Hermione hummed thoughtfully. "What will you swear it on?"

Harry kissed her head. "My parents graves."

Hermione gasped. "One generation of Lord and Lady Potter to another?"

"That's assuming I'm still going to marry you," said Harry lightly. "You still refuse to set a date. I have options, you know."

Hermione huffed at him. "How will those options dwindle if I cast the Castration Hex on you?"

"A lot of witches like money," said Harry. "I have some."

"Ah, but you also gave me unlimited access to your Gringotts vault," said Hermione smoothly. "I could bankrupt you. Where does that leave the Chosen One?"

"With my balls in a Hermione Granger-shaped vice," said Harry. He frowned at his father's headstone. "Seriously, Dad...fuck you. For setting a precedent of falling head-over-heels for Muggle-born super witches. Beautiful, brilliant ones at that. My son will curse me for it."

Hermione giggled, pacified. "Okay, you're forgiven, Potter. Only because I've seen us having two daughters. If we're to have a son, too, you'd better prove good enough to be worth so much child birth pain."

Harry couldn't hold his head straight enough to argue, even in light-hearted banter. These images of his totally ideal future just reduced him to a helpless, wildly euphoric state. It made his magic surge from him uncontrollably. Hermione knew it, too. She let it envelope her, coat her in utter bliss. She would never tire of this. Harry had learned to control and channel it, bit it still left her utterly breathless. She'd never believed she could be so completely and wholly loved, or that she would be able to feel it in her very fibres, the way Harry had learned to show her. She never felt worthy of it, but if she ever thought that in his presence, his love surged so powerfully it stunned her, as if trying to make up for her doubt. It practically drowned her with its ferocity.

How was she supposed to respond to that?

Harry never asked, never demanded. He only gave of himself. And Hermione felt selfish for accepting something so raw and pure and powerful directed at her, as it was. Sometimes, she would wake to find Harry just watching her as she slept. She blushed at how content and happy he looked when she caught him at it. It wasn't right, in her mind, that she, plain and ordinary Hermione Jane Granger, could do that to Harry Potter. But she could. And she marvelled at it, even if she'd never fully understand or accept this immense ability she possessed, to make the wizard she loved so happy...simply by being there with him, sharing their incredible love.

It was almost enough to warp Hermione's mind. But she had to stay in the moment...

Harry hugged Hermione as she gave a contented little trill.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

Hermione smiled. Harry felt it more than he saw it. "I think you should buy me an ice cream. Maybe a glass of mulled wine."

"Anything you like, Miss Granger," said Harry, grinning.

Hermione sighed. It was a steeling breath. "How about a Christmas promise, Harry?"

"Anything."

"Okay. How about...this time next year...we stand here and greet Mr and Mrs Potter...as Mr and Mrs Potter...what do you say?"

Harry choked back a sob, but the tears beat him to the punch.

"I do, Hermione," he wept, holding her impossibly close. "I so utterly do."

The End