A brief chapter to tide you over.
Chapter 18: The Exile Years, Part 1
***************************Groom Lake, Nevada, USA*******************
August 17, 2014 (two years later)
The barren wasteland was flat and empty. A soft, hot breeze slipped across the desert like the breath of some slightly annoyed god as a curious group of four individuals stood around a sleek, coal-black aircraft. The plane was odd, weird, unusual, even for the experimental vessels that populated this most secret of Military sites. Sleek, forward-swept wings hung low over twin, faired-in pods that in the dimness under the wings glowed blue at the aft tips with witchlight. No air intakes or exhausts marred the smooth skin of the aircraft, just a pair of thin, antenna-like protuberances low under the nose, and a small open port just aft of the cockpit, through which the barrels of a rotary cannon could be witnessed. The open canopy glinted in the bright sunlight as a stocky, red-haired man, his face and arms burnt by the sun, stepped out from under the wing of the aircraft and slipped on a pair of dark glasses. As he stepped out of the way, an open bay could be seen under the plane, in which a giant cylinder held fifteen thin, stick-like rods, with slightly enlarged noses and faintly glowing tails.
He walked towards the others, two men and one, tall, blond woman. He paused halfway there, and after he pulled an eleven-inch oak rod from a sheath on his thigh, he flicked it back at the plane. The bay doors under the plane closed silently as he continued on to ultimately stand next to his doppelganger. The second red-haired man was identical, right down to the khaki BDU pants, sheathed wand, and black shirt with a patch on the left sleeve with a subdued logo of a phoenix rising out of flames over the letters SG-1. The second man was identical, save a thin trail of white hair that ran through the red over his scalp on the right side.
Fred had picked up that scar in London, a year and a half prior. He and George, along with Sirius, Cordelia and Remus had returned to England to help organize a resistance to the seemingly never-ending hordes of X'Sheen, Dementors and werewolves, along with their Death Eater leaders, that had overrun all of England in a week, most of Europe in a month, and a great deal of Asia in that next year and a half. The fringes of a Scuarabus Curse had hit Fred, and even though it had missed in the main, he had spent almost another month recovering back at the manor.
He nodded at George, who checked off something on an overstuffed clipboard and turned to the two officers standing next to them. The first, the blond woman, wore a mottled grey jumpsuit, and carried a flight helmet under one arm. A pair of silver wings glinted on a not unsubstantial chest, which only the thought that Angelina was still back at the manor house with their second child kept Fred's eyes north of the wings. The woman looked down and absently brushed dust off of her wings, at the same time cleaning a bit off a sewn nametag that read, Carter, S, USAF.
The man with her wore dark blue BDUs and stood motionless, an odd expression on his face as he looked over the plane with longing eyes as he ran his hand over closely-cropped, salt and pepper hair. The longing might have been explained by the silver wings on his chest, worn under blacked out stars on his collar, and a large knee brace covering his left knee. His hand fell to the hilt of a black, steel wand he wore strapped to his thigh in front of a large, holstered handgun. "So Mr. Weasley," he said to Fred, what are we waiting for?"
"Someone else is joining us." George replied.
"Jack," the blond put in with a slightly exasperated smile, "relax, you're not the one flying this thing. I haven't been on a broom since I was at Salem." She pushed her sunglasses back up her nose as she turned to him.
"Sure Sam," he replied, as a brief, boyish grin flitted across his face, "brag, I have this dammed brace on or it would be my mission." He turned back to the Weasleys, "Where is..."
The general's words cut off as a cloud of dust appeared out on the horizon, enlarging rapidly as what ever was causing it approached at a high rate of speed. The cloud came closer and closer, eventually resolving itself into a classic, 2005, emerald green, Mustang GT. Without a sound to mark the squeal of brakes, the car slid to a hard stop in a cloud of dust. When the dust cleared, the car stood, gleaming as if all of the dirt was magically repelled from its surface. The general shook his head as he noticed the bluegrass state plates emblazoned with the letters "FIREBLT."
The door opened and long, tanned legs swept out. The legs led up to a quite short, khaki skirt, under a dark green top that barely met the waistline of the skirt. Strong arms easily lifted a toned body from the dark interior of the car, as the strains of Bring me to Life died away. A pair of hard, brown eyes scanned the assembled quartet, then without pause as if she had been fighting for her life and those of her loved ones for almost her entire life, the security detail scattered in a hundred yard perimeter around the craft. She noticed idly the assorted wands and Muggle battle rifles the desert-camouflaged airmen carried and nodded. A free hand swept sun-kissed chestnut curls from her eyes as the other made the chocolate eyes vanish behind a pair of dark Oakleys.
Her fingers flicked idly behind her as she paced toward the twins, Carter and O'Neil, and the door slammed shut of its own volition.
"You made good time here all the way from the farm," Fred observed with a grin. She turned and looked at him, and the glare that he knew was hid behind those shades caused him to look away.
"I flew," she replied dryly in a soft, soprano and turned to the two uniformed officers and extended her hand to the general, "General O'Neil." Her quiet, refined British accent clashed heavily with the General's Minnesotan as he replied.
"Dr. Granger?" He looked confused as he motioned to his partner in the flight suit. "This is Lieutenant Colonel Samantha Carter." The blond nodded and took her hand briefly.
"Leftenant Colonel," Hermione nodded, "please, Dr. Potter, or Leftenant Commander Potter, or Hermione is fine as well. Any of those are correct, but please do get the familial name correct, we paid enough for it."
"Forgive me." O'Neil replied quickly but Hermione waved him off. She padded over to the plane, with more than one airman's eyes following her instead of watching the perimeter, and ran a hand over the lettering on the nose spelling out the words, "Lily II" She watched the portrait of an auburn-haired woman with green eyes watching her sadly and frowned to herself before turning back to the rest.
"General, shall we get to it? I have children to get back to. I am just here at the request of your government and these two miscreants." She waved at Gred and Forge. They smiled, the smiles vanishing as they watched her unchanging face. Hermione walked to the cockpit of the aircraft and Fred and George followed.
Behind them O'Neil leaned into Carter and whispered urgently, "Sam, who the hell is this...she fucking looks eighteen, and dresses like it too. But her eyes...before she put on the glasses, she scared the hell out of me."
Carter glanced over the aforementioned witch, to notice that she seemed to be in conversation with the Weasleys. "Sir...Jack," she shrugged, "She's exactly whom she said she is, you've read the intelligence reports."
"Yeah, but you know how hard it was to get anything out of the Brits, especially the Wizarding side before the fall. They built such high walls between the two worlds over there, it wasn't a surprise Malfoy overran the country before the Mundane government even knew anything was a matter. Hell if our guys, that we never admitted were wizards, in our military hadn't put the Portkeys on the nukes at Whitehall, he would have gotten that arsenal."
"You mean like us Jack?" she replied with a slight smile, then frowned, "She's one of the two that took Voldemort down, you know what would have happened had he won over there, the Secretary of Magic had convinced the President to authorize Space Command dropping an entire asteroid on England to kill him if they hadn't, and then taking the wraps off the Wizard branch of the Armed Forces and invading the lava flow, just to be sure. It would look like what we did to their old Ministry last year look like nothing.
No, she holds at least two Doctorates right now, one in Advanced Transfiguration and another in Theoretical Arithmancy with an emphasis in high energy Metaphysics. The theory that created the spells that protects that cell in your pocket from active magic along with half of the electronics in the current Military...she wrote that at sixteen in the middle of the night while doing something else, if the stories are correct. Folks that I know at SIW tell me she should officially receive her Potion Mastery, along with the Doctorate in that as soon as the paperwork clears. She walked into that defense, without ever having officially taken a class mind you, and stumped the Professors attending, even old Sidemore, and he had been teaching that subject since 1880. And I've heard that she should officially have one in DADA from the Witches Hollow branch of the University of Kentucky within the year. You know how stringent they are with that there, after almost two hundred years of dealing with the rogue witches they have in the mountains."
"Are you done establishing my credentials Colonel?" Hermione asked loudly from near the plane." She glanced toward O'Neil and away from the furiously blushing Carter. "Just as an addendum General, after I get done here and head back to the farm to see the kids, I am heading up to New Haven to look over the ships there." She motioned towards the plane, "Now if you don't mind, I would like to show you the aircraft."
The pair came forward a little sheepishly as Hermione sat on the wing-root of the plane and crossed her legs, not that she gave a damn if he got a free peek frankly, but it was distracting while she was lecturing. "The aircraft I am currently sitting on is the third prototype of the Weasley Enterprises X-3 Spitfire, Magically Propelled and Actuated Fighter/Pursuit craft. I am sure that you have seen the remote crystal recordings of the initial prototype, both its test flights and evaluations by the British Ministry of Magic and the later recordings of its use in combat. At that time the craft took on twenty five dragons and killed twenty outright, with the other five dying with the destruction of the Lily mark I over Azkaban prison." At a disbelieving look, "I was in the back seat."
She pushed off the wing and took the several foot drop without noticing. "The current version is powered by twin flight pods under the root of each wing with a combined propulsive ward field strength somewhere in the neighborhood of five hundred times a standard Firebolt, which if I remember correctly is the broom that your airborne forces are currently using." Hermione walked to the nose and indicated the twin antenna, and the opening for the Gatling. "The twin embedded wand tips are used as focal elements for twin energy crystals inside the nose. They may be used to focus multiple destructive spells, however they are optimized for Reductors in the gigawatt equivalent range. The Gatling port behind the nose is a modified Muggle Gatling with options for various loads...I would recommend the brimstone/silver azide binary shells, they give a nice bang." Hermione commented wryly as a brief flashback of a shot up Quidditch pitch danced behind her eyes. The Spitfire also holds fifteen Ashwinder Mark Two air to air or ground guided brooms, in a rotary launcher underneath."
"So she can fight," O' Neil challenged, "but can she fly?"
Hermione crooked an eyebrow, Harry would like this guy she thought sadly, "This version is capable of straight-line velocities of in excess of mach five at sea level, can achieve suborbital height in less than one minute and can reach mach ten in vacuum or near-vacuum." She patted the wing-root. "It can pull over thirty times gravity, with a damping factor from the built-in momentum dispelling wards of three, so a good pilot can actually pull the full thirty and only feel ten."
Fred and George kept from beaming, barely, as Hermione walked back to the rear of the craft and opened a faired-in nacelle in the exact rear that was not in the original prototype that she and Harry had taken on that Valkyrie ride over Azkaban. She waited until all had gotten where they could see the black, featureless, hand-sized cube that was floating and spinning slowly in the exact center of the small, spherical chamber. "This is the part I am most proud of actually," Hermione admitted as she started to warm to the subject. "The craft carries the first generation of the Granger-Edwards large displacement Portkey. Currently the Portkey will allow one to jump the craft approximately two thousand kilometers on one charge. It takes about three minutes to charge the drive from the ether. The units that are under development at NASA will have a several light years range, but they will take days to charge and are bigger than this entire plane."
"Dr. Potter?" Sam piped up as curiosity got the better of her.
"Yes?"
"I heard that you had been offered a slot on those ships when they go. Are you going to take it?" The envy was evident in the Colonel's voice as she thought of the new vistas that the crews of the exploratory ships, or rather lifeboats if it came down to it, would see as they escaped Earth, and if Malfoy won the word would literally be "escaped."
"No, I have people to...see to here first." Hermione looked out over the desert thoughtfully. She watched a small motion in the sands out near the fence line and with an SHIFT of her eyes to their raptor form for an instant; she identified it as a rattlesnake. "Maybe I will visit in few hundred years. I think Harry would like to see another world."
Hermione and the twins stepped away as the Colonel climbed into the front seat of the plane. Fred glanced back before asking in a low voice, "You know Hermione, we could have already had them in production if we had just used the blueprints of the original Lily, even she was overkill vs. the normal brooms or Dragons that Malfoy is flying."
She sighed as a soft moaning hum echoed out over the cracked concrete of this secret runway. The plane was taxing to the runway as they watched, "Yeah, against those, but not against what is actually out there. Against what Malfoy has stupidly released."
*****************************New Orleans********************************
October 30, 2014
Hermione walked down the streets of the French Quarter in a slight daze. She and Tonks were returning to their hotel after a late dinner, where they were staying after the conference at Grandolfs Institute of Magic, the preeminent magical school in the United States and the site of a seminar on how to terminate X'Sheen. Unlike the British Isles, magical learning was spread out among half a dozen Wizarding academies in California, Minnesota, Colorado, New York, Florida and the one here. Even beyond that, almost half of the ostensibly Muggle universities also offered advanced Magical degrees. Of course all of that had been secret, though not as much so as in Europe until the march of Malfoy's hordes had started. Now this was a nation once more at war, a war that the majority of the population had little idea of what the stakes truly were, or at least they hadn't...
They hadn't until two events happened almost all at once, six months after the fall of England. In those six months while confused reports of dark creatures sweeping down on entire cities and slaughtering indiscriminately filled the papers, and of governments falling right and left, and going dark, no transmissions or messages escaping them, the people of the Western Hemisphere who had watched their militaries rushing here and there on the roads had listened with disbelief as the President had tried to deflect questions about what was happening in Europe with an, "we are investigating, be patient," constant line. At that six-month mark, on live television, dark cloaked shapes had overrun a small town in the Florida Keys, and the final die was cast.
For the first time in recorded history, a national leader went on live television with a man standing next to him wearing a white robe and carrying a staff set with a glowing jewel, and announced the existence of magic, and introduced the man next to him as Jeremiah Steel, the Secretary of Magic for the United States. The questions that had erupted at that White House briefing were quickly overshadowed as the President pushed a button on the podium and a projection of the British Isles from space filled the air, and a moment later a brilliant flash lit the area where astute viewers, those knowledgeable of geography knew London to be.
The British Ministry had been Unplottable, of course, but the Muggle buildings next to it were not. And there were those who had been there physically. They had merely pointed to the proper spot on a map and with a whispered release code, twin "small" tactical devices had deorbited from "peaceful" satellites. London itself was not appreciably damaged, as the devices had been ones developed to shatter caves and collapse underground fortresses. They both dug to a depth of several hundred feet before detonating as one.
America's efforts to end the war with one strike failed, as Malfoy had stopped using the Ministry as his residence one-week prior. The Mundane devices had been chosen, as the magical "Kedavra" devices were still under development, and even if they had been ready, they would have probably killed London itself.
Soon after that failure, agents of the FBMI had knocked on the door of Marauder's Haven, the Kentucky plantation that Dumbledore had won a century ago in a poker game, and that he had prepared, along with the Florida beach house, for the Potter/Weasley clan's escape from England.
Hermione had given the agents in their trademark black and white suits a long look before nodding and letting them in. Now because of that, she was back in a city, that when she had last been here, her new husband had been on her arm and all was right with the world.
****************************New Orleans*********************************
July 31, 2006. (Harry's eighteenth birthday, approx 5 weeks after the death of Voldemort)
1:00 am
It was nice, Harry mused as he watched yet another of the endless parades go by in this magical city over Hermione's shoulder. He could feel the energy here, see the ghosts that walked every street corner and danced in the French Quarter all night. When Hermione had chanced on a book in Dumbledore's library at the Kentucky plantation, which had gained the name Marauder's Haven according to a note left by Dumbledore for them when they had arrived from Hogwarts to start their Honeymoon/vacation, she had immediately wanted to go, to explore the odd confluences of magic from the Cajun and Voodoo and European traditions. They had even toured the American version of Hogwarts; at least the largest one anyway, outside of the city as the school dean was an old friend of Dumbledore's.
Yes all of that was nice, but the girl sitting in his lap, nuzzling on his neck was rather nicer he decided thoughtfully, though it wasn't a terribly hard decision after all. Or at least the thinking part wasn't. Her eyes twinkled as they caught his, and she moved on his lap just to prove an unspoken point. There were few other places that one could sit in a street side café at one in the mourning, with some odd, red, alcoholic Muggle concoction called a Hurricane with two straws, and have a pretty girl, even if it were your wife, sitting on your lap in a very short skirt, and a top that stopped at least two inches above her waistline and have the police just wave as they walked by.
Especially not when your hands were tortuously on her bare arse under that skirt and she was moaning into your neck. Hermione leaned in for a kiss and their tongues dueled as they breathed through their noses for a while. She broke away with a slight gasp, and took his face in her hands. "We won Harry, you, I, we're free now..."
"Yeah Hermione, we're free." Harry agreed as she leaned in again, and the rest of the night became a blur. She giggled as Harry stood up abruptly and tumbled her to her feet. Harry tossed a couple of bills on the table and took her hand, leading her along Bourbon Street, periodically spinning them into an abandoned corner to snog until air once again became and issue and they had to move along.
Finally, within sight of their hotel Hermione rolled her eyes and muttered "ah screw it," and pulled Harry into a convenient alley. She gasped as he pushed her roughly against the brick wall of the old alley and kissed her hard. Hermione bit off a small moan as she managed...barely, to flick her fingers at the entrance to the alley to cast a see-me-not spell. An odd, purring sound like a contented lioness filled the alley as his hands slipped under the front of her top and teased her nipples.
She gasped as Harry, slid down her front and flipped up her skirt, as he pulled down her thong with the other. An emerald ring jangled as he nuzzled her belly button on the way down. Hermione keened lowly as Harry kissed her center. His tongue flicked, teasing, licking as Hermione moaned softly and threw her leg over his shoulder. Harry grinned against her thigh and redoubled his efforts. "UMMMM, Harryyyy." She whispered hoarsely. "Oh God..."
"UMMM?" Harry answered without moving from his task. Hermione did not answer as he felt the vibrations announcing quite distinctly her closeness, so like any good partner, he sped up; one heartbeat, two, and Hermione stiffened as her eyes rolled back in her head and her entire center exploded. She quivered against the wall, and slumped slightly as she came down after a moment, still shuddering randomly, held up only by the old, rough, brick wall and Harry.
After a moment, Hermione looked down at him with dark, almost black, brown eyes and a sated, lopsided smile. "Why don't you get up here big boy?" She asked, in a husky soprano. Harry smiled and lazily slid up her body, pausing to nuzzle her belly button and the hollow of her neck before his lips joined hers. She bit off another moan as she slid her tongue past his lips and she tasted herself.
"Are you sure you can handle me?" Harry inquired in a soft whisper against the hollow under her ear.
"Pretty sure" Hermione whispered. "Bring it on Potter." Her fingers were busy as she spoke, rapidly and skillfully undoing his belt and zipper.
**********************************Azkaban*****************************
October 30, 2014
A rusty, iron cell door opened and a bundle of rags was tossed forcefully into a cold, dank cell. Moments later, a battered metal plate with something charitably called food was slid in after him and the door was slammed shut with an awful creaking sound. Laughter was heard from the hall as footsteps receded away.
A moment later the bundle of rags stirred, and a shaggy, tangled mop of inky black hair emerged from the pile. A pair of cracked lenses was supported precariously by bent; black steel frames caught the dim light. Hard green eyes glared at the single guard outside of the cell, he muttered something about a smoke break and retreated rapidly. A small, half-smile flitted across the face under the green eyes and he sighed.
Harry reached out and pulled the plate to him, flicked his fingers over it, and watched as it changed into a large roast beef sandwich. He raised a single finger in salute towards the departed guards as he spit out a mouthful of blood from his most recent beating and took a bite of his sandwich.
It had been two years since he surrendered to Malfoy as the only way to buy Hermione desperately needed time in order to save their children along with those of their dearest friends, and he was tired. Not from the confinement in and of itself, no. Malfoy couldn't really break him physically or magically shy of actually killing him, and even the current Dark Lord was not yet willing to risk the consequences of that action. Of an enraged witch with Harry's own powers on top of her own already equivalent ones, knowing that the clock was literally ticking away the seconds until she crossed over to be with her husband, and an enraged Albus Dumbledore coming on her heels to clean up anything remaining. The children would still be in jeopardy, of course, but if that were to happen, Hermione might literally be beyond caring.
Harry frowned at the thought, and sighed. He might wish, sometimes, that things had not progressed as they had, but in the end who was to say what things would have been like had they not completed their bond on that grassy pitch that had either started on a train seven years prior or ten years before that. He finished his sandwich and sat staring at the wall across from him, wishing for something, anything to do. Really it was the boredom more than anything that got to one. He could handle the beating and the tortures, the Dementors ran from him now, fearful, when they crossed his path, but the boredom was...annoying. I wouldn't mind a copy of Hogwarts a History about now.
A sudden flare of fire erupted in his cell and his heart skipped. As the light faded, a large, crimson and gold bird sat looking up at him, its head cocked thoughtfully to one side. "Fawkes." Harry whispered joyously as the bird took a couple of steps forward so Harry could pet him. He sung softly for a moment, before he backed up and pushed a small, green glass ball towards Harry. "A rememberall?" Harry muttered and he swore that Fawkes seemed to give him a small shrug before vanishing once more in a flare of light. Harry crept to the bars and confirmed that the guard had not yet returned.
Having established that the coast was clear, he leaned forward and touched the ball, and with a soft pop, a tiny, 6-inch Hermione stood floating above the ball, looking up at Harry. "Hello Harry," she said softly with tears in her voice, "First of all, don't worry, this rememberall is charmed with a variant of the Fidelius I came up with, Lucius himself could be standing in the cell with you and he wouldn't see me or the rememberall, so if there are guards outside now, you are ok. Fawkes wouldn't have delivered it unless you were alone so the arrival should have gone unnoticed."
"Hello Hermione," Harry replied in a soft, hoarse voice.
"Dumbledore does not know I am doing this, he thinks it's too risky still, but I don't care, love. Fawkes seems to disagree with him as he agreed to deliver it to you, and not tell his boss. Actually Hedwig and him got into a bit of a tussle over it, but Fawkes won in the end due to Phoenixes' teleportation being better than that of owls." A tiny grin danced across tiny lips and Harry grinned for a moment as well.
The guard came back and looked in at Harry, but all he could see was Harry staring off into space, so he left and went for coffee.
Hermione glanced over at the guard and a tiny tongue blew a raspberry at the guard's back before she looked back up at Harry. "This artifact has a bit of me in it, so the recording is more realistic... Anyway, I'm screwing operational security, but hell with it. I'm in New Orleans, Harry, I wish you were here." Tiny eyes caught his, "I mean I reaaally wish you were here."
Me too, Mione.
"Tonks and I are at a conference, about our tall and dark friends." The sneer in her voice was plenty evident to him. "I would love to have this whole message to be a love letter honey, but we both know I can't...since I would guess Lucius isn't telling you how the war is going, unless he's bragging, here it is. He's taken all of England except for a tiny bit of Scotland that seems to be too much for him to handle. Europe fell in about six months and most of Asia within the next year. The Americans dithered a bit, but once an X'Sheen raid hit the Keys...they nuked the Ministry...it's gone. They have also established a ward wall around the continent...they haven't admitted it, not really, but both Dumbledore and I think that several wizards sacrificed themselves for that bit of magic. It's kept them mostly free. The Australians are still ok too, their wards went up soon after; there was enough native energy to power quite a defense. So the hordes are stuck with using boats...and they don't get too far. Steel bars shot from orbit at a tenth light speed are pretty hard to defend against with magic or science."
Hermione glanced down as if she were checking her notes before she looked back up at him. "I haven't solved it yet Harry...I'm trying, but I don't know..." The tiny image paused and wiped away tears angrily, "I know of a way, Harry if it comes down to it...it might cost me...us our souls, but I know a way. If it comes down to it, the Transference de Almas ritual will perform the task...but..." Harry took a deep breath and covered his face with his hand, and nodded as if his wife were in the room with him.
"I know Hermione."
"If the worst comes about...then I guess we will show Lucius what Dark Lords really are...our souls will be damned anyway." A tiny lip quivered as the image reached out to Harry, "Harry, I will be there, somehow...someway, I'll figure this out, hold on baby. I'm coming." The image faded away and the rememberall shimmered and faded into invisibility.
A/N There it is...not happy yet, stay tuned, the sun will rise again.