Moving Forward: Chapter 39

Note: All characters in this fic are above the age of consent.

The morning sun filtered through the heavy curtains of 12 Grimmauld Place, casting long shadows across the room where Aurora Sinistra and Septima Vector lay unconscious on the beds. Harry sat in the armchair nearby, nursing his second cup of coffee as he watched over them. Nat had been checking on them periodically throughout the night, and each time she'd assured him they were stable.

The house was quieter than usual this morning. Fleur and Nym had left early to coordinate with some of their possible allies, and Amelia was at the Ministry, continuing their careful manipulation of Fudge's policies.

"Any change?" Daphne asked softly as she entered the room, carrying a tray with breakfast.

"Not yet," Harry replied, accepting the plate she offered. "But Nat said they should wake up soon."

Daphne settled into the chair beside him, her own plate balanced on her lap. "You've been here all night."

"Someone should be here when they wake up, and Nat’s exhausted after the all-nighters she’s pulled," Harry said. "They'll be disoriented, probably scared."

"You can't save everyone, Harry," Daphne said gently.

"I can try," he replied, taking a sip of his coffee. "Besides, after what they went through..."

As if summoned by their conversation, Aurora's eyes fluttered open. She blinked several times, disoriented, before her gaze focused on the unfamiliar ceiling above her.

"Where..." she began weakly, her voice hoarse and scratchy.

"You're safe," Harry said immediately, setting down his plate and moving closer. "Do you remember what happened?"

Aurora's eyes widened as the memories came flooding back. Her breathing quickened and she tried to sit up abruptly, only to wince and fall back against the pillows with a pained gasp.

"Easy," Daphne said soothingly, moving to Aurora's other side. "You're still recovering."

"Greyback," Aurora whispered, her face going pale as paper. "The attack... oh Merlin, Septima!" Her head turned frantically toward the other bed, relief flooding her features when she saw her friend’s chest rising and falling steadily.

"She's right here," Harry assured her. "She's alive. You both are."

At the sound of voices, Septima began to stir as well. Her awakening was more gradual, a slow flutter of eyelashes and a soft groan before her eyes opened properly. When she saw Aurora awake and alert, relief flooded her features.

"Aurora," she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. "Thank Merlin you're alive. I thought... when I..."

"I'm here," Aurora said, reaching across the space between their beds to grasp Septima's hand. "We're both here."

"How do you feel?" Daphne asked gently, approaching both beds with glasses of water. "You've been unconscious for almost two days."

"Like I've been hit by a Bludger," Aurora admitted, accepting the water gratefully. Her hands shook slightly as she lifted the glass to her lips. "And... wrong. Something feels wrong."

Septima nodded slowly, her analytical mind already trying to catalog the strange sensations in her body. "I feel it too. Like there's something crawling under my skin. And this... metallic taste in my mouth."

Harry exchanged a glance with Daphne. This was expected, according to Nat, but it didn't make it any easier to watch.

"That's normal," he said carefully. "You were both hit with a very dark curse. The physical effects have been healed, but there might be some lingering... sensations. They should fade over the next day or two."

"What kind of curse?" Septima asked, her academic curiosity overriding her discomfort. "I've never felt anything like this before."

Before Harry could answer, Bathsheda hurried into the room, her face lighting up when she saw her friends awake. She looked much better than she had two nights before – she'd slept in a proper bed, changed into clean robes, and the color had returned to her cheeks.

"Oh, thank goodness," she said, tears already forming in her eyes. "I was so worried. How are you feeling? Are you in pain? Do you need anything?"

"Bath," Aurora said weakly, but with genuine affection. "Slow down. We're okay."

"You're not okay," Bathsheda said firmly, pulling up chairs for herself and settling between their beds. "You were dying. Both of you. The curse was spreading through your bodies like poison."

"Confused," Aurora admitted, looking between Bathsheda and Harry. "And grateful to be alive. Bath, what happened after we were hit? I remember the pain, and then... darkness."

"After you were both cursed?" Bathsheda took a shaky breath, the memories still fresh and traumatic. "The werewolves were closing in. I was trying to shield you both and heal you at the same time, but nothing I did was working. The curse kept spreading, and I thought... I really thought I was going to lose you both."

Septima squeezed Aurora's hand tighter. "But we're here. So what changed?"

"Mr. Potter and his friends arrived just in time," Bathsheda said, gesturing toward Harry. "They drove off the werewolves and... well, they saved your lives."

"Mr. Potter?" Aurora looked at Harry with new interest, really seeing him for the first time. "Harry Potter?"

"Just Harry," he said with a slight smile. "And I had help. Fleur and Daphne were brilliant in the fight. So was Amelia."

Aurora struggled to sit up again, this time more successfully with Daphne's help. "I remember the pain," she said quietly, her voice distant as she recalled the experience. "It felt like my blood was turning to poison. Like acid in my veins. How did you stop it?"

Harry hesitated. This was the difficult part. "I had to access some memories that aren't exactly pleasant. Voldemort's memories. I saw how the curse was cast and found the counter."

Both professors stared at him in shock, their faces going white.

"You can access You-Know-Who's memories?" Septima asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "How is that possible?"

"It's complicated," Harry said, running a hand through his hair. "But yes. I usually avoid it but when I'm under stress or when I really need the information… yeah."

The room fell silent as the implications sank in. Aurora and Septima exchanged worried glances, both clearly disturbed by this revelation.

"That's... terrifying," Aurora said finally. "For you, I mean. That must be horrible."

"It is," Harry admitted, his voice heavy. "His memories are full of torture, murder, cruelty. Every time I access them, I feel like I need a dozen showers and a memory charm. But it saved your lives, so it was worth it."

"The counter-curse," Septima said, her academic mind focusing on the mechanics. "Was it complex?"

"Very," Harry replied. "It required precise wand movements and the exact incantation, spoken with a specific intent. If I'd gotten any part of it wrong..."

He didn't finish the sentence, but they all understood.

At that moment, Nat entered the room carrying a tray of potions. Her presence immediately commanded attention – there was something otherworldly about her that both professors noticed immediately. Her silver hair seemed to shimmer with its own light, and her movements had a fluid grace that spoke of something beyond human.

"Good, you're both awake," she said warmly, setting the tray down on a nearby table. "How are you feeling?"

"Who are you?" Aurora asked politely, though her tone held curiosity about Nat's obvious non-human nature.

"This is Nat," Harry said, and something in his voice – a warmth, a fondness – made both professors take notice. "She's our healer. She's the one who completely removed the curse from your systems."

Nat approached Aurora's bed first, placing a gentle hand on her forehead. Her touch was cool and soothing. "Any nausea? Dizziness? Visual disturbances?"

"A little of both," Aurora admitted. "And this strange... crawling sensation. Like insects under my skin."

"That's expected," Nat explained, moving to check Septima as well. Her examination was thorough but gentle, her hands glowing with a soft silver light as she assessed their conditions. "Werewolf-inflicted wounds, even when healed, can leave lingering effects. The sensation should fade over the next day or two."

"Werewolf-inflicted?" Septima paled further. "Are we...? Please tell me we're not..."

"No," Nat said firmly, her voice carrying absolute certainty. "You weren't bitten. The lycanthropy curse requires direct transmission through saliva or blood contact with an open wound. The dark curse was the real danger, and that's been completely removed. You might feel weak for a few days, but you'll make full recoveries."

Both professors visibly relaxed at this news, tension leaving their shoulders.

"However," Nat continued, "I need you both to drink these." She handed them each a vial of purple potion that seemed to swirl with its own inner light. "It will help with the residual effects and speed your recovery. Fair warning – it tastes absolutely terrible."

As they drank the potions, making faces at the bitter, medicinal taste, Bathsheda cleared her throat.

"There's something else we need to discuss," she said carefully, glancing at Harry. "About where you are and who these people are."

Aurora and Septima looked around the room with new curiosity, taking in the elegant but clearly lived-in space. The furnishings were expensive but comfortable, and there were personal touches everywhere – books, photographs, small magical devices.

"This is more than just a safe house, isn't it?" Septima observed, her sharp mind already putting pieces together.

"Much more," Harry said, settling back in his chair. "This is the headquarters for our operations against Voldemort and his forces."

"Operations?" Aurora frowned, setting down her empty potion vial. "What kind of operations?"

Harry exchanged glances with Daphne and Nat before continuing. "We're actively fighting against Voldemort's forces. Not just defending – attacking. We've been hunting down Death Eaters, disrupting their operations, protecting people they target."

"That sounds incredibly dangerous," Septima said cautiously. "And possibly illegal."

"It is dangerous," Daphne agreed. "But it's necessary."

"We also have people working within the Ministry," Harry continued. "Minister Fudge is... let's say he's very receptive to our suggestions now."

Aurora's eyes widened in alarm. "You've compromised the Minister? How?"

"We've made him see reason," Harry said diplomatically. "He was being manipulated by Lucius Malfoy and other Death Eater sympathizers, led around by the nose while people suffered. Now he listens to better advisors."

"Such as?"

"Amelia Bones, for one," Daphne said. "She's been feeding him accurate information and sound policy recommendations. Policies that actually protect people instead of protecting political careers."

"And Dumbledore?" Septima asked. "Surely they are doing something useful?"

Harry's expression darkened. "Is doing nothing useful," he said, his tone hardening. "Dumbledore wants to play defense. Wait for Voldemort to make the first move, react instead of act. His pacifist approach is getting people killed."

"So you're opposing him too?" Aurora asked, clearly shocked by this revelation.

"We're opposing his methods," Daphne clarified. "He means well, I'm sure, but his refusal to take decisive action puts innocent people at risk. Like what happened to you yesterday."

Bathsheda leaned forward. "That's actually something I wanted to talk to you both about. What I've learned since being here."

"What do you mean?" Septima asked, though something in Bathsheda's tone made her wary.

Bathsheda took a deep breath, clearly gathering her courage. "This group isn't just some ragtag bunch of vigilantes. They're organized, well-funded, and incredibly effective. They've saved dozens of lives, eliminated multiple Death Eater cells, and they're actually winning this war."

"But?" Aurora prompted, sensing there was more to the story.

"But it's not just their methods that are... unconventional," Bathsheda said carefully. She glanced at Harry, who nodded for her to continue. "The structure of this group is... unique."

"Unique how?" Septima asked, though the way everyone was looking at each other made her increasingly nervous.

Bathsheda seemed to struggle with the words. "Mr. Potter here isn't just the leader," she said slowly. "He's... well, all the women here are his lovers."

The silence that followed was deafening. Aurora and Septima stared at Bathsheda, then at Harry, then back at Bathsheda, their expressions cycling through disbelief and shock.

"All of them?" Aurora asked faintly, her voice barely audible.

"All of them," Bathsheda confirmed. "Miss Greengrass, Miss Delacour from the tournament last year, even the older women like Amelia Bones, Narcissa Malfoy, Andromeda Tonks, Evelyn Greengrass... and Nat."

Septima's jaw went slack. "That's... that's not possible. Some of those women are twice his age! Amelia Bones has a career, a reputation..."

"Everyone here is of age," Harry said quietly, his voice carefully controlled. "And yes, I know how it sounds. I know how it looks. But it's not what you think."

"Then what is it?" Aurora demanded, her voice sharp with shock. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you've collected a harem of powerful witches."

Harry was quiet for a long moment, clearly struggling with how to explain something that he himself didn't fully understand. "There's something about me," he said finally. "Something that happens when I save someone, or when they help me significantly. A bond forms. It's not something I control, and it's not something I intended."

"A bond?" Septima's academic mind immediately focused on the magical implications, even as her emotions reeled. "What kind of bond? Magical bonds don't just happen without cause."

"Magical," Harry said simply. "It starts as gratitude, as loyalty, but it... grows. Into something deeper."

"That's impossible," Septima said flatly. "Bonds like that don't just happen naturally. They require specific conditions, usually trauma or life-debt situations, and even then they need—" She stopped abruptly, her eyes widening as understanding dawned on her. "You performed a ritual."

Harry nodded slowly. "I did. It was meant to ensure I had unshakeable allies in this war. I didn't fully understand the consequences at the time."

"The consequences being that every woman you save falls in love with you?" Septima asked, her voice filled with disbelief.

"Not love," Daphne interjected, moving closer to Harry's chair. "Not at first. It starts as loyalty, as Bath said. But the bond... it creates the potential for something deeper. It doesn't force anyone to feel anything they don't want to feel."

"That's a distinction without a difference," Aurora said, struggling to sit up straighter despite her weakness. "You've magically influenced these women's emotions."

"That’s not correct," Nat said firmly, speaking for the first time since the revelation. "And I'll thank you not to cheapen the experiences of actual victims who are magically influenced by comparing them to this."

"Then explain it to me," Aurora said, her voice challenging. "Explain how magical influence on emotions is different from coercion."

Nat moved to stand beside Harry's chair, her hand resting on his shoulder in a gesture that was clearly protective. "Because the bond doesn't create feelings that weren't already there. It just... reveals them. Amplifies what's natural."

"We know how it sounds," Harry said. "We know how wrong it looks from the outside. But everyone here chose to stay. Everyone here is happy."

"Happy?" Septima chuckled mirthlessly. "How can they be happy when their emotions have been manipulated? How can you call it choice when magic is involved?"

"Because we weren't manipulated," Nat said firmly. "The bond doesn't work like that. It doesn't change who you are or what you want. It just makes it impossible to ignore connections that were already there."

"That's what someone under magical influence would say," Aurora pointed out.

"Is it?" a new voice asked from the doorway. Andromeda Tonks had entered the room, followed by Narcissa Malfoy and Evelyn Greengrass. All three women looked serene and confident, showing no signs of magical coercion or unhappiness. “What’s so weird about it?”

"This whole situation," Aurora said, gesturing broadly at the room and its occupants. "About all of you sharing one man like some sort of medieval arrangement."

Narcissa raised an eyebrow elegantly. "And why is that medieval? In many cultures, powerful men have multiple wives. In the magical world, bonds of loyalty and affection take many forms. The Blacks, for instance, have a long history of unconventional relationship structures."

"This is different," Septima protested. "This was caused by magic. By a ritual."

"So is the marriage bond," Evelyn pointed out mildly, settling into one of the chairs. "So are love potions, though we'd never use those. Magic influences emotion all the time. The question is whether it's consensual and whether it brings happiness."

"And does it?" Aurora asked challengingly, her eyes moving from woman to woman. "Are you all truly happy living like this? Sharing him?"

"Happier than I've ever been," Evelyn said without hesitation. "Harry saved me and my daughters, and gave me a purpose beyond just surviving this war. The bond that formed was just... a bonus."

"He saved all our lives in one way or another," Narcissa added, her usual haughty demeanor softened by genuine warmth. "And yes, we're happy. We're valued, we're cherished, and we're fighting for something worthwhile."

"But surely you must feel jealous," Septima pressed. "Possessive. That's human nature."

"Sometimes," Evelyn admitted honestly. "But we've learned to work through those feelings. And the bond... it helps. It makes it easier to share, to put the group's needs above individual desires."

Aurora and Septima looked unconvinced, clearly struggling with the revelations.

"Look," Harry said, standing up from his chair. "I know this is a lot to process. I know it sounds wrong, and maybe it is wrong. But it's the reality we're living with, and everyone here has chosen to stay."

"Chosen under magical influence," Septima pointed out again.

"The same magical influence you're both feeling right now," Bathsheda said quietly.

Both professors froze, their faces going white.

"What?" Aurora whispered, her voice barely audible.

"You've been saved by Harry," Bathsheda explained gently, though her voice was filled with sympathy. "Your lives were in his hands, and he chose to risk accessing Voldemort's memories to save you. The bond is already forming."

"No," Septima said firmly, her voice rising. "No, I won't accept that. I refuse."

"It's not something you can refuse," Nat said softly, her voice filled with understanding. "It's already begun. You can fight it, certainly, but it's there."

Aurora was staring at Harry with a mixture of horror and something else – something that might have been attraction, which made her even more horrified. "This is monstrous," she said, her voice shaking. "You're collecting women like trophies."

"That's not fair," Daphne said sharply, moving to Harry's other side. "Harry didn't ask for this any more than you did. He's dealing with the consequences of a ritual he performed when he was desperate and didn't fully understand."

"A ritual he chose to perform," Aurora shot back.

"To save lives," Harry said, his voice quiet but firm. "I was betrayed by someone I trusted above anyone else, and I was watching people die while the adults did nothing. I was desperate."

"And now we're supposed to just accept it?" Septima demanded, struggling to sit up despite her weakness. "Just give in to some magical compulsion?"

"You're supposed to make your own choice," Harry said quietly. "The bond doesn't force you to do anything. It creates... potential. But what you do with that potential is up to you."

"And if we choose to leave?" Aurora asked, her voice challenging.

"Then you leave," Harry said simply. "No one will stop you. No one will try to convince you to stay against your will."

"But the bond will remain," Nat added gently. "You'll always feel a connection to Harry. It will be... uncomfortable... to be separated from him for long periods."

"So we're trapped," Aurora said bitterly.

"You're connected," Andromeda corrected. "There's a difference."

“You knew this would happen, didn’t you?” Septima asked Harry with a frown. “That this bond will form between us.”

“Yes, I did,” Harry said, seeing no reason to lie.

“And yet you did this.”

“I couldn’t just let you die,” Harry replied, frowning. “And I won’t apologize for doing the right thing, even if you don’t like the results.”

Aurora and Septima exchanged glances, both clearly shaken by these revelations. The room fell into an uncomfortable silence as they processed what they'd learned.

"We need time to think," Aurora said finally, her voice exhausted.

"Of course," Harry said immediately. "Take all the time you need. You're welcome to stay here while you recover, and if you decide to leave, we'll make sure you have somewhere safe to go."

"What about our original plan?" Septima asked Bathsheda, her voice almost pleading. "We were going to leave Britain entirely. Get away from all this war and violence."

"You still can," Bathsheda said gently. "But... well, I've decided to stay."

Both professors stared at her in shock, their expressions betraying feelings of abandonment and betrayal.

"Bath, no," Aurora said, her voice filled with desperation. "You can't be serious."

"I am," Bathsheda said firmly, though her voice was gentle. "What I've seen here, what they're accomplishing... it matters. They're making a real difference. And yes, the bond is there for me too, but that's not why I'm staying."

"Then why?" Septima demanded, tears beginning to form in her eyes.

"Because I'm tired of running," Bathsheda said simply, her voice growing stronger. "I'm tired of hiding while people suffer. I'm tired of feeling helpless. These people are doing something about it, and I want to be part of that."

"But what about us?" Aurora asked, her voice small. "What about our friendship?"

"It doesn't have to end," Bathsheda said, reaching out to take both their hands. "You could stay too. You could help."

"Under magical compulsion," Septima said bitterly.

"Under your own free will," Bathsheda corrected. "The bond doesn't make the choice for you. It just... makes certain choices more appealing."

The room fell silent again as Aurora and Septima processed this revelation. Finally, Aurora spoke, "We really need to rest and think," she said, lying back down on her bed. "This is... it's too much."

"Of course," Harry said, his voice understanding. "Nat will check on you periodically, and if you need anything, just ask. There's no pressure, no timeline. Take as long as you need."

As the group began to disperse, leaving the two professors to rest, Harry caught Nat's eye and nodded toward the door. She followed him out of the room, up the stairs, and to his bedroom.

"That went better than I expected," Nat said as Harry closed the door behind them, though her voice suggested she wasn't entirely convinced.

"Did it?" Harry asked, running both hands through his hair in frustration. "They looked horrified. Disgusted. And they have every right to be."

"They're processing," Nat said, moving to sit on the edge of his bed. "It's a lot to take in. But they're intelligent women. They'll come to the right conclusion eventually."

"And if they don't?" Harry asked, sitting heavily beside her. "What if they choose to leave, to fight the bond?"

"Then they don't," Nat said simply, though her voice held sympathy for his distress. "You can't force this, Harry. You know that."

Harry nodded, but his expression remained troubled. "I hate that they're right, you know. About the ritual, about what I've done to all of you."

Nat turned to face him fully, her hand coming up to cup his cheek gently. "Harry, look at me."

He did, meeting her sharp, knowing eyes that seemed to hold decades of wisdom and understanding.

"Do you think I'm here against my will?" she asked softly.

"No, but—"

"Do you think the bond forced me to care for you?"

"Not forced, but influenced—"

"Harry." Her voice was firm now, brooking no argument. "I'm not some young witch who doesn't understand her own feelings. I've lived through a war, scene more than most would in their lives. I've encountered real magical coercion, real manipulation. This isn't that."

"Then what is it?" Harry asked, leaning into her touch despite his distress.

"It's connection," Nat said simply, her thumb stroking across his cheekbone. "The ritual didn't create something that wasn't already there. It just... revealed it. Made it stronger. But the foundation had to exist first."

"You really believe that?"

"I know it," Nat said firmly, her voice filled with absolute certainty. "Because I felt the attraction to you before I even realized it was you, before the bond had a chance to truly transfer. The magic just made it impossible to ignore."

Harry was quiet for a moment, considering her words. "The others feel the same way?"

"You’ve been with them all," Nat suggested. "You know they do. The bond doesn't create love, Harry. It just creates the opportunity for it."

Slowly, Harry reached up to cover her hand with his own. "Thank you," he said softly. "For staying. For helping. For everything."

"Thank you for giving me a reason to care again," Nat replied, leaning closer. "It'd been a long time since I felt like I belonged somewhere."

The space between them seemed to shrink as they looked at each other. Harry's free hand came up to tangle in her long, silver hair, and Nat's breath caught at the gentle touch.

"You’re brilliant, you know that?" Harry asked, his voice husky with desire and emotion.

Nat silenced him by pressing her lips to his. The kiss was gentle at first but it quickly deepened. Their mouths moved together, tongues brushing in a slow, sensual dance. Nat’s lips were soft, warm, and tasted faintly of the coffee they’d shared earlier. Harry’s hands found her waist, pulling her closer, and she melted into him, her body pressing against his chest.

When they finally broke apart, both were breathing heavily, their foreheads resting together. Nat’s eyes were dark, the pupils wide, and Harry could feel her quick and uneven breaths against his lips.

“We’ve not done this for a while,” Nat said, her voice soft, almost a whisper.

“We haven’t,” Harry said, his hands framing her face tenderly. He kissed her again, this time with more urgency, and Nat responded eagerly, her hands fisting in his shirt as she pulled him closer. The stress and tension of the past few days seemed to melt away as they lost themselves in each other. Their kisses grew hungrier, lips and teeth clashing, hands roaming with desire. Nat’s fingers tugged at his hair, and Harry groaned into her mouth, making her shiver.

“You seem eager,” Harry said, his voice low and rough, as his hands moved to the buttons of her blouse, his fingers trembling slightly with anticipation.

“Very eager,” Nat breathed, her own hands working at his shirt quickly, popping buttons with a speed that made him chuckle. She yanked the fabric off his shoulders, tossing it aside, and ran her hands over his bare chest, nails grazing his skin just enough to make him shiver. Harry’s fingers fumbled with her blouse, finally getting it open, and he pushed it off her shoulders, revealing the smooth expanse of her skin and the black lace of her bra. He paused, just for a moment, to take her in, his eyes tracing the curve of her collarbone and the swell of her breasts.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, and Nat’s lips curved into a smile before she pulled him back into a kiss, her hands sliding down to his belt. She unbuckled it with a deftness that made his pulse race, and soon his jeans were on the floor, followed by her skirt. They stumbled toward the bed, half-laughing, half-kissing, their hands everywhere, exploring, teasing, claiming.

Harry’s fingers traced the edge of her bra, then slipped beneath it, finding the soft weight of her breasts. He brushed his thumbs over her nipples, already hard, and Nat gasped, her head tipping back. He took advantage, kissing along her jaw, down her neck, sucking lightly at the pulse point where her heartbeat thrummed. Nat’s hands were busy too, slipping into his boxers, her fingers wrapping around his manhood. He was already hard, and her touch sent a jolt through him, his hips jerking forward involuntarily.

“Nat,” he groaned, his voice tight, and she smirked, stroking him slowly, her grip firm but teasing. He retaliated by unhooking her bra, tossing it aside, and lowering his mouth to her breast. His tongue swirled around her nipple, and she moaned, her fingers tightening in his hair. The sound shot straight to his core, making him ache with need.

They shed the rest of their undergarments quickly, urgency overtaking them. Nat pushed him onto the bed, straddling his hips, her thighs warm against his sides. She leaned down, kissing him deeply, her hair falling around them like a curtain. Harry’s hands roamed her back, her hips, gripping her ass as she rocked against him.

The moment they pulled back from the kiss, Nat positioned herself above him, her eyes locked on his, and slowly, so slowly, she sank down, taking him in inch by inch. Harry’s breath caught, his hands gripping her hips as she enveloped him, her pussy warm and tight and perfect. She paused when he was fully inside her, letting them both adjust, her hands braced on his chest. A meaningful look passed between them as she moved with a slow roll of her hips that made him see stars.

“Fuck, Nat,” he gasped, and she grinned, leaning down to kiss him as she found a rhythm. Slow at first, calculated, each movement drawing out the pleasure. Harry met her thrusts, his hands guiding her hips, their bodies moving in sync. The bed creaked beneath them, the sound mixing with their gasps and moans, filling the room.

Nat’s pace quickened, her breaths coming faster, and Harry could feel her tightening around him, her body trembling with the buildup. He slid a hand between them, finding her clit, and rubbed the hardened nub with slow, firm circles. Nat’s head fell back, a low moan escaping her lips, and she rode him harder, chasing the edge. Harry watched her, captivated by the way her body moved, the flush spreading across her chest, and the way her lips parted as she gasped his name.

“Harry,” she breathed, her voice breaking, and he felt her clench around him, her body shuddering as she came. The sight of her, the feel of her, pushed him over the edge too. He thrust up into her, his own release hitting hard, a wave of pleasure crashing that left him breathless. They rode their climaxes out together, their bodies locked, and their hands clutching until the intensity faded into warmth and satisfaction.

Nat collapsed onto his chest, her breath hot against his skin, and Harry wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. They lay tangled together in his bed, Nat’s head on his chest as he traced lazy patterns on her bare shoulder. The afternoon sun slanted through the windows, casting golden light across their intertwined bodies. Their breathing slowed, their heartbeats syncing up, and the quiet of the house enhanced the intimacy.

“That was…” Nat began, seemingly at a loss for words.

“Amazing,” Harry finished for her, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

“I was going to say worth waiting for,” Nat said with a soft laugh that rumbled through Harry’s chest. “But amazing works too.”

They lay in comfortable silence for a while, both lost in their own thoughts, before Harry spoke again.

"What do you think will happen with Aurora and Septima?"

Nat was quiet for a moment, considering her words carefully. "The bond will strengthen," she said finally. "It's inevitable now. They'll feel the pull more strongly each day, especially being in the same house as you."

"And if they fight it?"

"Then they'll be miserable," Nat said matter-of-factly, though her voice held sympathy. "The bond isn't cruel, but fighting it is like fighting hunger or thirst. You can do it for a while, but eventually, it becomes unbearable."

"That sounds terrible," Harry said, his voice pained by the thought of causing such suffering.

"It doesn't have to be," Nat assured him, lifting her head to look at him directly. "If they accept it, if they let themselves feel what's natural, they'll find happiness here. Both of them are intelligent, strong women who could contribute a lot to what we're doing."

“I didn’t want to dump all this on them so soon after them waking up…”

“I know, Harry,” she said softly. “But it was the right thing to do. We don’t want any rash actions.”

Harry nodded, pulling her closer against him. "I love you," he said softly.

Nat's lips curved into a smile, and she lifted her head again to meet his eyes. "I love you too. And before you start overthinking once again, it's not just the bond. It's you. Your courage, your compassion, your determination to protect people even when it costs you. The bond just made it impossible to deny."

Harry gave her a small smile. "Thank you," he said, his voice filled with warmth.

"For what this time?"

"For choosing to stay," Harry said, his arms tightening around her. "For choosing me."

"Always," Nat promised, settling back against his chest with a contented sigh. "Always."

As the afternoon sun slowly started to dip westwards, they stayed in the bed, holding each other close, both knowing that whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them together with their lovers. And in the room below, Aurora and Septima wrestled with their own choices, the bonds already forming in their hearts whether they wanted them or not.

To be continued…