Harry looked between his two oldest friends, the anger inside him warring with the love he felt for them. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.
"I know we can't afford to fight amongst ourselves," he said finally. "Not with everything that's going on. But I need some time to process all this. I need to be away from you both for a bit."
Hermione looked stricken. "Harry, please—"
"I'm not saying forever," Harry clarified. "Just... give me some space to work through this."
"We understand," Ron said, placing a hand on Hermione's shoulder. "Don't we, Hermione?"
She sniffed, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. "Of course. We understand, Harry."
Harry nodded curtly. It hurt to realize that they were more loyal to Dumbledore, and although he wasn't certain yet, he had a feeling that things would never be the same with them.
They were his friends, and he would always hold them in high regard, but he could not help but feel that he would no longer be able to trust them implicitly.
An awkward silence fell over the room, broken only by Hermione's sniffles. It was Ginny who finally spoke up from her place on the sofa.
"If it helps at all," she said, "we've all been going mental in here too. They won't tell us anything either."
Harry glanced at her with pursed lips, earning a resigned smile from the redhead.
"Been trying to listen in with Extendable Ears," Fred added, pulling a flesh-colored string from his pocket.
"But Mum found out and went ballistic," George said with a grimace.
"They've been having Order meetings almost every night," Ginny continued. "But they always send us up here before they get to the good stuff."
Harry looked at them gratefully, appreciating the attempt to lighten the mood. "What have you managed to find out?"
"Not much," Fred admitted. "They're recruiting—"
"—and guarding something," George finished. "Something You-Know-Who wants."
"We think it might be you," Ginny said, looking at Harry. "They had people watching your house round the clock. Tonks was just one of them."
Harry nodded slowly, already knowing this. "She mentioned the Order of the Phoenix. Said it was Dumbledore's resistance group from the first war."
"Bill and Charlie are in it too," Ron said. "And Percy would be, if he wasn't being such a massive prat."
"Percy?" Harry asked, momentarily distracted from his anger. "What's going on with Percy?"
The Weasley siblings exchanged dark looks. "He's sided with the Ministry," Ginny explained. "Got a promotion right after the Tournament and moved out of the Burrow."
"Had a huge row with Dad," Ron added with a sneer. "Said Dad's lack of ambition was why we've always been poor, and that Dad was a fool to follow Dumbledore."
Harry stared at them in disbelief. "Percy said that? To your dad? You're shitting me!"
"Yeah, we're not," Fred said grimly. "Mum's been crying about it for weeks."
Harry shook his head with a small sigh. Percy had always been ambitious and rule-abiding to a fault, but he'd never imagined he would turn on his family like that.
The door opened right then, revealing Tonks with her characteristic grin. "Everything alright in here? The temperature seemed a bit frosty when you all left."
"Just clearing the air," Harry said, offering her a small smile.
"Well, Molly's sent me to tell you dinner's ready early," she said. "And Sirius is about to tear the house apart if he doesn't get to spend some time with his godson soon."
That brought a genuine smile to Harry's face. "Let's go then."
As they filed out of the room, Tonks fell into step beside Harry as they trailed behind the others. "You okay?" She asked quietly so that only he could hear.
"Getting there," he replied honestly, giving her hand a soft squeeze.
"For what it's worth," she said quietly, "I think you handled that really well. Better than I would have."
Harry glanced at her, grateful for her support. "Thanks, Nym."
She bumped his shoulder playfully with hers. "I hoped you wouldn't let anyone else hear you call me that, but you slipped up in there. I'll have to come up with an equally embarrassing nickname for you now."
"As if 'The Boy Who Lived' isn't embarrassing enough," Harry muttered, but he was smiling as they descended the stairs.
The kitchen was bustling with activity when they returned. Molly was directing dishes to the table with her wand, while Arthur and Sirius appeared to be having a serious discussion in low voices. Remus was helping set the table, and Bill Weasley—whom Harry hadn't noticed earlier—was deep in conversation with someone Harry didn't recognize, a tall, black wizard with a gold earring.
"Harry!" Sirius broke off his conversation with Arthur as soon as he spotted his godson. "Come sit by me. I want to hear everything about your summer—though I suspect it wasn't much fun."
"That's putting it mildly," Harry replied, taking the offered seat beside his godfather.
"Bloody Dementors," Sirius said, his expression darkening. "But what's this about your uncle trying to throw you out?"
Harry shrugged, uncomfortable with the topic of discussion. "It's not the first time. Though it's probably the first time he actually meant it."
Sirius's expression hardened further. "If I ever meet that man..."
"You'll do nothing," Remus said firmly, taking a seat across from them. "Because you're supposed to be a fugitive in hiding."
Sirius scowled but didn't argue the point. "I'm just glad you're here now," he said to Harry. "Where you belong."
The simple statement warmed Harry more than he could express. "Me too," he said quietly.
As everyone settled around the table and food began to be passed around, the noise level in the kitchen rose with multiple conversations taking place at once. Harry found himself being introduced to the tall, black wizard—Kingsley Shacklebolt, an Auror and Nym's partner—and a few other Order members he didn't recognize.
"So," Sirius said once Harry had filled his plate, "I want to hear about the Patronus. Tonks says you cast a corporeal one—a stag, right?"
Harry nodded, unable to help the pride that crept into his voice. "Yeah. I learned in third year, when Remus was teaching at Hogwarts."
"Exceptional magic for someone your age," Remus commented, smiling warmly. "Even more impressive under pressure."
"Had it not been for Mr. Potter's exceptional magic," Snape said from further down the table, "he might not have found himself in such a situation to begin with."
Sirius's head snapped up, his eyes flashing. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Simply that Potter's disregard for rules and safety precautions tends to land him in precisely the sort of trouble he then needs rescuing from," Snape replied smoothly.
"He was attacked by Dementors in a muggle neighborhood," Tonks pointed out, her hair flashing red briefly. "How exactly is that his fault?"
"The better question," Kingsley interrupted in his deep, calming voice, "is why Dementors were in Little Whinging at all. They're supposed to be under Ministry control."
The table fell silent as everyone considered the implications of this statement. It was Remus who voiced what they were all thinking.
"You think someone at the Ministry sent them after Harry deliberately?"
"We can't rule it out," Arthur said gravely. "Fudge is desperate to discredit Harry and Dumbledore. And if Harry had used magic to defend himself—which of course he did—it would give them grounds to arrest him, snap his wand..."
"Remove him as a threat to their narrative," Sirius finished, looking furious.
Harry felt sick at the thought. "But... that's..."
"Politics," Sirius said grimly. "Dirty, ruthless politics."
"Or perhaps," Snape suggested, his expression calculating, "the Dark Lord has gained influence over the Dementors already. They were his natural allies in the first war."
Another heavy silence followed this suggestion. Harry looked around the table, noting the grim expressions on the adults' faces. So much for keeping dinner light.
"Either way," Tonks said finally, "the hearing on the 12th is crucial. If they're trying to discredit Harry, this is their perfect opportunity."
"Amelia Bones will be fair," Kingsley assured them. "She's head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She'll listen to reason."
"Unless Fudge overrules her," Sirius pointed out darkly.
"He wouldn't dare," Arthur said, though he didn't sound entirely convinced. "The law is clear on this point. Underage magic is permitted in life-threatening situations."
"Since when has the Ministry cared about being clear on the law?" Sirius snorted, making Harry glance at him with a frown.
"Alright, that's enough," Molly declared firmly. "Harry's just arrived, he's safe, and he's got nearly two weeks before the hearing. Plenty of time to prepare his defense." She turned to Harry with a warm smile. "Now, would you like some treacle tart, dear?"
Harry nodded gratefully. "Thanks, Mrs. Weasley."
As dessert was served, the conversation shifted to lighter topics. Fred and George were entertaining Tonks and Ginny with stories of their latest product ideas for "Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes," while Hermione was engaged in what looked like a serious discussion with Bill about something called "goblin relations reform."
"How are you really doing?" Sirius asked Harry quietly, while the others were distracted. "And don't say 'fine'—I know what it's like to be trapped somewhere you hate all summer."
Harry considered the question seriously. "Angry," he admitted finally. "Confused. Scared, sometimes, though I don't like to admit it."
Sirius nodded, understanding in his eyes. "All reasonable reactions to what you've been through. Anyone would feel the same."
"I keep thinking about the graveyard," Harry continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "About Cedric. If I'd been faster, or smarter—"
"Don't," Sirius said firmly, placing a hand on Harry's arm. "Don't take that on yourself. The only people responsible for Cedric's death are Voldemort and Pettigrew."
Harry nodded, though he didn't entirely believe it. "And now the Ministry's calling me a liar, and Dumbledore's keeping me in the dark, and my friends—" He broke off, glancing briefly at Ron and Hermione.
"I heard a bit of your conversation upstairs," Sirius admitted. "You're right to be angry with them, you know. And with Dumbledore."
Harry looked at his godfather in surprise. "You don't think I'm overreacting?"
Sirius shook his head. "No. I think you're having a very normal reaction to being treated like a child when you've had to face things most adults never will." He paused, a shadow crossing his face. "I've been arguing with Dumbledore about his decision to keep you uninformed all summer. For what it's worth."
Harry felt a rush of gratitude toward his godfather. "Thanks. For standing up for me."
Sirius bumped his shoulder with his own. "Always will. That's what I'm here for."
"So, what's been going on? Like really?"
Sirius let out a small sigh. "You do know what all of this is, right?"
"Dumbledore's resistance group from last war. Nym told me a thing or two."
"Nym, huh?" Sirius teased, earning an unimpressed stare from Harry. "Okay, something to talk about later. You're right though. We're what's left of it, or rather, those who agreed to come back."
Harry nodded absently, his eyes darting about the room.
"And if I'm being honest," Sirius continued with a grimace, "we're not doing a whole lot right now."
"What do you mean?"
"It's all reactive, Harry," Sirius sighed. "Trying to mitigate instead of taking fight to the enemy."
"You know it's not the time, Sirius," Arthur interjected with a sigh.
"Isn't it?" Sirius asked. "Because from where I'm sitting, I can see many ways we can operate instead of playing damage control."
The kitchen had fallen silent, and Harry saw almost everyone's attention was on the conversation that was not so private anymore.
Sirius seemed to have noticed the same as he said, glancing around the table, "I think it's time we filled Harry in on what's been happening. He deserves to know."
Molly immediately stiffened. "Sirius, we discussed this—"
"No, Molly," Sirius cut her off. "There was no discussion. You said it and expected us all to agree. That's not a discussion."
Before Molly could reply, Harry beat her to it.
"Actually," he interrupted, setting his fork down on his plate, "before anyone decides what I should or shouldn't do, I want to make things clear. Would save us all a lot of time."
All eyes turned to Harry who felt his pulse quicken slightly. His eyes fell on Nym who gave him an encouraging smile.
"I believe I'm my own person, and I can make my decisions in life. That includes my safety, and yes, my participation in this war. Because that's what this is, isn't it? A war?"
Uncomfortable glances were exchanged and it was Kingsley who answered in his deep calm and measured voice.
"Yes," he said. "It's a war. Even though the Ministry refuses to acknowledge it."
"Right, the Ministry," Harry muttered distastefully. "Something to talk about later. So we're back. Voldemort's back and getting stronger, and everyone here is part of the resistance against him. It's not my place to lecture you on how to fight a war. You know that better than I do. But I do have the right to at least say that as someone who has fought Voldemort more times than probably all of you combined, and as someone on top of his hit list, I'm already in this war up to my neck, whether I like it or not, whether any of you like that or not."
Sirius nodded approvingly, and so did a few others. There were several who looked thoughtful, like Remus and Kingsley, while most of those gathered looked interested in where all this was heading.
"The question isn't whether I'm involved," Harry continued, his confidence growing. "The question is whether I'm going to be an active participant who knows what's going on and can contribute meaningfully, or whether I'm going to be kept in the dark like some sort of... of mascot you wheel out when you need a symbol but otherwise keep locked away for safekeeping."
"Harry," Hermione said quietly, "it's not like that—"
"Isn't it?" Harry turned to her, his green eyes flashing. "Because from where I'm sitting, that's exactly what it's like. Dumbledore's been making decisions about my life without consulting me, you and Ron have been following his orders instead of being honest with your friend, and everyone keeps talking about protecting me without ever asking what I want."
"What you want isn't always what's best for you," Molly said firmly. "You're still so young—"
"I was young when I faced Voldemort who was growing out like a freaking mushroom off Quirrell's head," Harry replied. "I was young when I killed a basilisk and saved your daughter's life. I was young when I drove off a hundred Dementors, when I faced a dragon, when I watched Cedric die, when I dueled Voldemort in that graveyard." His voice caught slightly on Cedric's name, but he pressed on. "I've been too young for all of it, Mrs. Weasley, but it happened anyway. And it's going to keep happening whether you wrap me in cotton wool or not."
The only sound in the kitchen was that of Harry's heavy breathing and the soft creaking of chairs as people shifted on them.
"So here's what's going to happen," Harry said, his voice growing stronger. "You're going to tell me everything. What the Order is doing, what Voldemort is planning, what this thing is that he's after. You're going to treat me like the adult I am and the equal partner I've earned the right to be."
"And if we refuse?"
"Then I'll find out on my own. I'll walk out of here right now and start my own investigation. I'll make contact with other people who might have information. That might put myself in considerably more danger than I would be in if I were working with you, but it can't be more dangerous than whatever I've faced so far." He shrugged.
"You can't be serious," Molly breathed.
"Dead serious," Harry confirmed. "I'm not bluffing, Mrs. Weasley. I've spent the last month going out of my mind with worry and frustration. I won't spend another day being treated like a child who can't handle the truth."
Sirius was openly grinning now. "That's my godson," he said proudly. "About bloody time you stood up for yourself."
"Sirius!" Molly snapped.
"No, Molly, he's right," Sirius said, his expression growing serious. "Harry's proven himself over and over again. He's faced things most of us never have. He deserves to be treated as an equal."
"He's a child!" Molly protested.
"No he isn't! I was only a little bit older than him when I joined the Order the first time," Sirius shot back. "So were James and Lily. So were half the people sitting at this table."
"That was different—"
"How?" Harry demanded. "How was it different? Because you knew them better? Because they weren't the Boy Who Lived? Because Dumbledore hadn't decided they needed special protection?"
Tonks leaned forward, her hair shifting to a thoughtful brown. "He's got a point, Molly. We can't protect him by keeping him ignorant. If anything, that makes him more vulnerable."
"Exactly," Harry said gratefully. "Information is power. The more I know about what we're up against, the better I can protect myself and help protect others."
Arthur was nodding slowly. "He's right, Molly. We can't make decisions for him, even if we wanted to."
"I can't believe what I'm hearing," Molly said, looking around the table in distress. "You're all willing to put him in danger—"
"I'm already in danger!" Harry exclaimed, and it took everything in him to not lose his temper. "Voldemort has made me his primary target. There is no safe place for me, no hiding, no sitting this out. The only choice I have is whether I face that danger prepared or unprepared. And I refuse to be unprepared.
"I've made my position clear. I'm not asking for permission anymore—I'm informing you of my decision. I'm going to be part of this fight, with or without the Order's blessing. But I'd much rather it be with."
An uncomfortable silence settled over the room in the aftermath of Harry's declaration. Sirius, meanwhile, looked like he'd burst out of pride in his godson, and Nym was no better. The smouldering look she gave Harry left him with no doubt as to what was in his near future.
"The boy has a point," came an unexpected voice from the doorway. Everyone turned to see Alastor Moody stumping into the kitchen, his magical eye whirring as it took in the scene. "Been listening from the corridor—don't look at me like that, constant vigilance and all. Potter's right. War's coming whether we coddle him or not."
"Mad-Eye," Arthur said in surprise. "We weren't expecting you until tomorrow."
"Plans changed," Moody grunted, pulling out a chair and settling his bulk into it. "Heard Potter was making demands. Good for him."
"You can't be serious," Molly said desperately.
"Dead serious," Moody replied, his normal eye fixed on Harry while his magical one continued its restless movement. "Seen too many good wizards die because they weren't prepared for what was coming. Potter's got the right idea—better to face the truth head-on than get caught with your wand down."
Bill cleared his throat. "I hate to say it, Mum, but I agree with Harry. He's proved himself more than most people twice his age."
"This is madness," Molly muttered, but Harry could see her resolve beginning to crack.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur. As the night wore on and people began to drift away from the table, Harry found himself yawning widely.
"Sleepy?"
"It's been a long day," Harry muttered.
"Come on," Ron said uncertainly, standing. "I'll show you our room. We're sharing, if that's alright."
Harry hesitated for a moment, but he eventually nodded. Despite his anger, he didn't want to hurt Ron further by refusing to share a room. "Yeah, that's fine."
He said his goodnights to everyone, receiving a tight embrace from Sirius, who whispered, "We'll talk more tomorrow," in his ear before releasing him.
As he followed Ron up the stairs, Harry caught Tonks watching him from the doorway. She gave him a small, private smile and a wink that made his heart skip a beat. He returned the smile, a silent communication taking place between them.
XXXXX
Harry lay awake in the shared room, one of the very few that had been made habitable, staring at the dark ceiling. Ron's snores echoed in the room and he sighed, shifting in place.
Several thoughts ran through his mind, but the most prominent of all was the attack. He shook his head again, pushing the depressing thought out of his mind. He needed something else right now.
Speaking of something else…
The door slowly creaked open and Harry's eyes snapped at the low sound. It shut as quietly as it had opened, and Harry felt a small smile curve his lips. Ron's snores quietened down immediately, and he saw a faint shimmer in the air at the foot of his bed.
There she appeared, and Harry's breath caught.
She had turned her hair a faint shade of violet that fell in loose waves over her shoulders. A thin, black silk slip hugged her curves, the hem barely reaching mid-thigh.
The slip clung to her, leaving little to the imagination, and her bare legs seemed to go on forever. She smirked, catching his gaze, and sauntered toward him, her hips swaying with every step.
"Couldn't sleep, Potter?" Her voice was low and teasing.
Harry propped himself up on his elbows, his green eyes glinting behind his glasses. "Not with Ron sounding like a troll in rut." He grinned, his voice matching her playful tone.
She reached the side of his bed and leaned down, her hands resting on the mattress, close enough that he could smell her.
"I'm sure that was the only thing keeping you awake," she smirked.
"What did you do to him? Besides the silencing charm?" Harry asked.
"A little sleeping draught in his water earlier. He's out cold. Won't wake up until at least 8 tomorrow," she said, her lips curving into a wicked smile. "Privacy sorted."
"You planned this," Harry raised an eyebrow, his grin widening.
"Guilty as charged," she said as she climbed on the bed, her movements slow and sensual. She crawled over him, her knees on either side of his body as pulled the covers off and straddled him. The silk slip rode up slightly, and Harry's hands instinctively settled on her bare thighs, feeling her warm and smooth skin under his fingers.
She leaned down and whispered, "You complaining?"
"Not a chance," Harry replied, his voice rougher and deeper from before as his thumbs rubbed small circles on her bare skin. "Been waiting for you to sneak in here for a while now."
She chuckled, leaning forward until her face was mere inches away from his. Her soft and fragrant hair tickled his cheeks. "Oh, I know," she whispered. "Those beautiful eyes of yours don't hide anything."
Harry's hands slid higher, pushing the hem of her slip further upwards. "Can't really help it. You're a bloody menace in those tight jeans of yours."
"Pretty bold you are being right now, Mr. Potter," she said seductively, her hands coming up to rest on his chest, her fingers splaying over the t-shirt he was wearing. She could feel the steady thumping of his heart under her touch. "And you're not so bad yourself either," she caressed his chest, her tongue darting out to lick his lips.
Harry's hands pushed past the hem and he held her by the hips firmly, pulling her closer. "Keep talking like that, and you'll have a lot more trouble walking straight in the morning."
Her lips hovered over his, close enough that they could feel each other's breaths. "And who says I mind that in the slightest?"
Their lips met, soft at first, teasing, but it didn't take long for the kiss to grow harder, hungrier than before. Harry's hands roamed up her back, pulling her flush against him. The silk of her slip was cool against his palms, but her skin was warm and alive under his touch. She kissed him like she was starving, her fingers tangling in his messy hair, tugging just enough to make him groan into her mouth.
"Fuck, Nym," he muttered when they broke apart, his voice thick.
"Not yet." She grinned, her eyes glinting with mischief. She shifted, grinding her hips against him, rubbing her core against his hard-on. Harry's breath hitched, his hands tightening on her waist. "You're still holding on, aren't you?"
"Barely." He slid one hand under her slip, brushing over the waistband of her knickers and finding the smooth curve of her lower back. His fingers traced the line of her spine, and she shivered, her lips parting slightly. "You're not playing fair."
"Never do." She leaned down, her lips brushing his ear. "You love it."
He flipped them suddenly, pinning her beneath him. The bed creaked, but Ron didn't stir. Harry hovered over her, his hands braced on either side of her head. Her violet hair fanned out on the pillow, and her eyes sparkled with challenge. "You're trouble," he said, his voice low and teasing.
"You're one to talk." She reached up, tugging his T-shirt over his head with one smooth pull. Her hands roamed his chest, fingers brushing over scars and muscle. "Look at you. All manly and dangerous."
He smirked, leaning down to kiss her neck, his lips clamping on her skin as he sucked. Her skin was soft, warm, and he felt her pulse quicken under his lips. "You're the dangerous one," he murmured against her throat. "Sneaking in here, looking like that."
Her laugh was breathy, her hands sliding down his back, nails grazing just enough to make him shiver. "Had to. You've been driving me mad, Harry. All those smoldering looks across the table."
"Smoldering?" He pulled back, grinning. "That's a new one."
"Don't play innocent." She hooked a leg around his waist, pulling him closer. The silk slip rode up higher, and Harry's hands found her thighs again, squeezing gently.
"Don't intend to."
He kissed her again, deeper this time, his tongue sliding against hers. She moaned softly, her hands gripping his shoulders, pulling him down until there was no space between them. The heat of her body pressed against his, and he could feel every curve, every shift of her hips.
They moved together, slow at first, exploring. His hands slid under her slip, pushing it up to her waist. Her lower body was bare save for the flimsy knickers she wore, and he couldn't get enough of touching her.
She arched into him, her breath hitching as his fingers brushed the edge of her knickers once again.
"Harry," she whispered, her voice thick with want. "Don't tease."
"Who's teasing?" He kissed her collarbone, slowly sliding lower, his lips trailing over the thin silk still covering her chest. Her hands tangled in his hair, guiding him, urging him on. He tugged the slip higher, exposing more of her body, and she helped him pull it off completely, tossing it to the floor.
She was bare beneath him now, except for a pair of black lace knickers that made his mouth go dry. "Bloody hell, Nym," he said, his voice rough. "You're gorgeous."
Her cheeks flushed, but her smile was confident and playful. "You're not half bad yourself." She reached for the waistband of his bottoms, tugging them down. Her fingers brushed against his manhood, and he groaned, his head dropping to her shoulder.
"Careful," he muttered, his voice strained. "You're playing with fire."
"Good." She kissed him again, her hands exploring, teasing. "I like it hot."
They laughed softly, the sound muffled against each other's lips. The air between them was electric, charged with want and something deeper—trust, maybe, or something close to it. Harry's hands roamed her body, squeezing and fondling her tits, caressing her perky rear, memorizing every curve, every soft spot that made her gasp. She was responsive, alive under his touch, her breath hitching as his fingers slipped lower, teasing the edge of her knickers.
"Harry," she said again, her voice a mix of plea and demand. She pulled him closer, her legs wrapping around his hips. "Stop stalling."
He chuckled, low and rough, and kissed her deeply. His hands moved with purpose now, sliding her knickers down her legs. She kicked them off, and then it was just them, skin against skin, no barriers left.
Aligning himself with her wet entrance, he pressed against her and in one firm push, he buried himself to the hilt inside her. They both groaned, the heat of her body intoxicating, and Harry felt his control slipping, replaced by a need that burned through him.
They moved together, slow at first, finding a rhythm. Her hands gripped his shoulders, nails digging in just enough to sting. He kissed her neck, her jaw, her lips, each touch fueling the fire between them. She whispered his name, soft and urgent, and it sent a thrill through him, like a spell he couldn't resist.
"Nym," he murmured against her skin, his voice raw. "You feel so good."
She smiled, her eyes half-lidded, hazy with pleasure. "You're not so bad yourself, Potter." Her hips moved with his, matching his pace, urging him faster. The bed creaked beneath them, but the Muffliato charm held, the world outside their little bubble silenced.
Their movements grew more urgent, more desperate. Harry's hands gripped her hips, pulling her closer, deeper. She gasped, her head tilting back, and he kissed the hollow of her throat, feeling her pulse race under his lips. They were lost in each other now, the rest of the world fading away. No war. No danger. Just them, tangled together, chasing something bright and fulfilling.
Her breath hitched, her hands tightening on his shoulders. "Harry," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I'm—"
"I know," he said, his voice rough. He kissed her hard, swallowing her gasp as she came undone beneath him. The sight of her, the feel of her, pushed him over the edge, and he followed, his world narrowing to the heat of her body and the sound of her breathing.
They collapsed together, breathless, tangled in the sheets. Harry's heart pounded, his skin slick with sweat. Tonks lay beside him, her chest rising and falling, a lazy smile on her lips. Her hair was a mess now, violet strands sticking to her face, and he reached out, brushing them away.
"You're a menace," he said, his voice hoarse but fond.
She laughed, rolling onto her side to face him. "You love it." Her fingers traced lazy patterns on his chest, and he caught her hand, kissing her knuckles.
"Yeah," he admitted, his grin soft. "I do."
They lay there for a while, the silence comfortable, broken only by Ron's faint, charmed snores. The moonlight still spilled through the window, casting soft shadows across the room. Harry pulled her closer, her head resting on his chest, and for the first time that night, his thoughts weren't scattered. They were here, with her.
"Stay?" he asked, his voice quiet.
She tilted her head up, her eyes warm. "Try and make me leave."
He chuckled, kissing her forehead. "Not a chance, Nym."
To be continued…
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