Chapter 9: Aftermath
North Sea, Azkaban, May 11th, 2001
When she saw the green shade dissipate, Hermione Granger was elated - Voldemort was finally dead! Truly dead! She hugged Ron and Harry, crying with relief. The Dark Lord was dead, and her friends were alive. The nightmare was over. She barely noticed that her friends were crying as well, and kissing her. She wanted to lose herself in the moment.
But with the tension leaving her, she realised just how exhausted she was. Her legs were trembling and if not for her friends, she would have sunk to her knees. It didn't matter any more anyway. The battle was won. The enemy defeated. Even the screams of the thing Narcissa Malfoy had been turned into had ended - she must have burned out. Hermione should have felt terrible about killing the former witch in such a cruel manner, but Fiendfyre had been the only magical way she had been able to think of for killing a shipgirl. Ships, even warships, were vulnerable to fire, while almost all spells would barely make a dent in even the weakest destroyer.
The witch suddenly blinked. Damaged ships. She gasped, surprising Harry and Ron. "We need to call the shipgirls to Azkaban - they'll need to be healed, not just repaired."
She felt Harry tense up in her arms. "Damn! I should have thought of that. After the last battle, Hood was badly hurt as soon as she stepped on land, despite her rigging having been fully repaired."
Ron was talking into their communication mirror already. "Landing Force to Hood: Take the fleet to Azkaban, but wait with making landfall. We'll organise healers for you."
Hermione barely heard the battlecruiser's reply. "Affirmative. Be aware that many of us were heavily damaged."
She took a deep breath, steadying herself. "We'll need all Aurors and Hit-Wizards here. Everyone who can cast a healing spell." All the surviving wizards and witches - thanks to her monitoring the radio communication during the battle, she knew many of them had been killed in the battle. They had been braver than she had expected. A far cry from the Aurors she had met at the end and after the war. Standing up, she swayed a bit, then ground her teeth and started walking. "We'd best meet them at the pier."
"Let's fly," Harry said, pulling his shrunk broom out.
She glared at him, but with her legs still shaking, there was not much she could say. "Let's check if Narcissa is dead as well."
Harry and Ron grimaced, but nodded - all of them had learned in the last war to make certain their enemies were dead before moving on.
The former Death Eater was dead. A few bones were all that was left in the pit, and they looked… warped. Unnatural. The Auror standing guard near the pit looked a bit green in the face, in Hermione's opinion. For a moment she was tempted to grill him for details about the monster's death. She shook her head instead. He deserved better than that. She pointed her wand at the remains, and levitated them up, then shrunk them. They were the only remains they had of the enemies - the rest had been sunk - and she wanted to find out all she could about them.
"That thing… what was it?" the Auror asked in a shaky voice.
"We don't know exactly," she said. "Some evil spirits of the deep sea, according to our allies. But without a thorough examination I cannot confirm that." Diffusing the truth came easy to her these days. She had learned that some knowledge should not be made public. And the secrets of the shipgirls was part of that.
It would be best if the Aurors and Hit-Wizards who had fought in this battle were obliviated of their knowledge, to ensure no one would try to call up more shipgirls. Or those monsters like the Bismarck. She had proposed that, even. But Harry and Ron had opposed her idea. And, now, she had to admit that they had been correct. It wouldn't be right to wipe the memory of this battle from those who had fought, and seen their comrades and friends fall. The dead, especially those who had fought bravely, should be remembered.
"Gather up your group, Peters, and head to the pier!" Ron ordered.
Harry meanwhile was talking into his mirror. "Potter to Brown… Brown? Ah. Elwes. Take your group and apparate as close to Azkaban as possible, then fly to the pier. We'll meet you there." He sighed. "Brown didn't make it."
Hermione hadn't known the man so she nodded, hopefully sombrely enough. "Let's go now." Even with a Bubble-Head Charm, and the ashes gone, she thought she could smell the stench of burned flesh. Before she could take more than a few steps though, Ron picked her up, ignoring her protests, and sat her down on his broom. She hadn't noticed him unshrinking it - she must be more tired than she thought. She'd have to rest a bit at the pier, until the fleet arrived.
*****
"Hermione, wake up! They're here."
She opened her eyes with a gasp. Had she really fallen asleep? She quickly studied her surroundings. She was at the pier, on the shore, on a… bed? She sent a glare at Harry, who had not just let her sleep, instead of letting her help organise the healers, but had to have conjured a bed for her, even!
"You're not the only one who slept. Everyone needed to rest." Which meant Harry and Ron probably hadn't. She frowned, but he grinned, then grew serious, and nodded towards the pier. "Everything's ready. Everyone's ready."
She sighed and stood up. "Alright," she said, raising her voice so everyone present understood her. "They'll start bleeding as soon as they step on land. Be ready to heal them! Who can cast diagnostic charms?"
She put those in command of the rest, splitting the witches and wizards into two groups. Hood was waiting near the pier, her rigging being repaired by Ron and Harry.
"Destroyers first," the battlecruiser said. "They're the most vulnerable."
Hermione looked at the shipgirls in question. None of them looked as if they were over eighteen, but all of them stood straight. She knew the look in their eyes. They were veterans. Like herself. Two of their number were missing. Firedrake and Vampire. They had been lost. Sunk in battle. Hermes would be devastated, Hermione thought. Vampire had been her escort when they were sunk in the Indian Ocean. She couldn't dwell on that though, there was work to do.
"Alright. Acasta, Ardent - come up. Be ready - this will hurt as soon as you step on land."
The two destroyers nodded with a grim expression, but their steps didn't falter when they dismissed their rigging and stepped on the pier. Then they screamed. Gashes and burns appeared on their bodies and their clothes were soaked with blood.
Hermione had expected it, but still flinched. She didn't let that stop her from casting though. Wands rose, spells flashed, and the two girls were quickly taken care of, though they looked a bit shocked still, even when their wounds had disappeared, and quickly returned to the water, heading to Glorious.
Hermione looked at the remaining destroyers. A few of them were flinching now. She picked those for the next batch. It was better for them to get it over with, instead watching more of them suffer while being healed.
And they would be healed, all of them, even if she and everyone else had to exhaust themselves. Britain owed the shipgirls too much.
*****
North Sea, Azkaban, May 11th, 2001
Harry Potter watched the last shipgirl to be healed step off the pier and land in the water. It was Hood, of course - the battlecruiser had refused to be healed until everyone else had been taken care of. A stance Harry approved of, although Ron and Hermione disagreed.
The fleet of shipgirls was assembled near the pier, with the capital ships gathered in the centre of a screen of destroyers. Above them flew Glorious's combat air patrol - the carrier didn't want to take any chance of another warship sneaking up on the fleet, or so she claimed.
On the pier, the exhausted survivors of the Ministry forces rested. Of the dozen Aurors and Hit-Wizards that had flown into battle with Ron and Harry, half had been killed. The pickets had not lost anyone storming the island with them, but that didn't lessen their courage.
"They can't wait to get back on the water," Ron said, snorting. "And they are as good as new, as Hood said." He stifled a yawn, then glanced at the wizards and witches, before whispering: "We don't have much time left. We'll need to act now."
Harry nodded. The thought of others calling up shipgirls, summoning them with necromancy and human sacrifices, was chilling. Even if Hermione hadn't gone to great length telling them about the danger all those ships sunk in the Second World War, often fighting for a despicable enemy, represented, then Tromso would have convinced Harry of the necessity of keeping shipgirls a secret. He looked at Hermione and nodded.
His friend stood up, still tired, close to exhausted, but Harry knew better than to point this out - she was determined to go through with it.
The three wandered on the path leading up to the prison until they were out of sight of the Ministry's forces. "So…" Harry said, drawing his wand.
"I'll be the Secret Keeper," Hermione said, her tone making it clear she considered this non-negotiable.
Harry and Ron exchanged grins. "We'd not dream of picking someone else, Hermione," Ron said. "I'll keep watch."
"What?" The witch looked confused for a moment. "Oh… I see."
"You're the best choice, Hermione. You are already keeping the secrets of your Department," Harry said. And she wasn't quite as prone to risking her life as Harry and Ron were - and would be even less so with this new responsibility. At least Harry and Ron hoped so.
She must have realised that as well, since she was frowning, but she nodded. "Let's do it."
Harry raised his wand. Dumbledore had once intended for them to hide the secret of Voldemort's Horcruxes with this spell, but they hadn't needed to, in the end. This, however, was different. No one could know how to summon shipgirls.
He started casting the Fidelius Charm.
*****
London, Ministry of Magic, May 11th, 2001
"What did you do, Mister Potter?"
For a woman whose country and Ministry had just been saved, Hyacinth Selwyn, acting Minister for Magic, sounded rather annoyed.
Harry Potter had expected that. As had his friends, which was the reason they were not here. He smiled politely at the witch. "We defeated the enemy threatening the Ministry and the Statute of Secrecy. Wizarding Britain is safe once more, ma'am."
"Not that!" She almost snarled. "What did you do with your so-called 'allies' - those creatures that, as the surviving Aurors tell me, fought and killed the enemy."
Harry spread his hands. "I didn't do anything with them, ma'am. They're our allies, not our subordinates."
"They're unknown magical creatures. And of British origin according to those who saw and spoke to them. That makes them a concern for the Ministry."
Harry smiled. "There is no reason to be concerned, ma'am. Unspeakable Granger is handling the matter."
"Granger!" Selwyn stood up, but since she was rather short, it didn't look very intimidating. Not that Harry would have been intimidated by the witch in any case - he had stood up to Voldemort too often to be impressed by the likes of the acting Minister. "That's not her call to make!"
"On the contrary, ma'am, it is." Harry smiled.
"What?" Selwyn stared at him. "What are you insinuating?"
Dawlish, standing to her side, seemed to be hiding a smile, or so Harry thought - the man was an opportunist. He made a show of sighing. "As I told you before: There are matters that fall under the sole purview of the Department of Mysteries and which I cannot reveal without explicit permission from the Head of the Department."
"Her department is part of the Ministry, which answers to me."
"You'll have to talk to her about this, ma'am." Harry shrugged.
"And where is she?" Selwyn was snarling now.
"Resting." At Grimmauld Place, together with the shipgirls, to be exact.
"This is an outrage!" Selwyn gesticulated wildly. "Unknown but dangerous magical creatures are on the loose in Britain, and you refuse to inform me!"
"Yes, ma'am." Harry looked into her eyes. "We're handling the matter, as I told you."
"You..." she hissed.
"They are our friends." Harry grinned. Neither he and his friends nor the shipgirls themselves were quite certain yet what they'd do, with the Bismarck and her fleet gone, but all of them agreed that it wouldn't involve the Ministry having any say.
Selwyn actually paled when she understood what he hadn't said, but instead hinted at. She was breathing heavily. She sat down, trembling, and shook her head. "Get out!"
Harry nodded at her, and left the office.
Dawlish followed him out. "She's very stressed."
"Yes. Even though the crisis is over now," Harry said.
"Maybe she should retire."
Harry glanced at the other wizard. "As I understand it, she is just a temporary replacement until a new Minister is elected."
"Yes." Dawlish nodded.
Harry narrowed his eyes. "You wouldn't be planning to run for Minister?" It wouldn't be the first time a Head Auror had been elected.
"I'd need more support than I currently have." Dawlish smiled. "But given the rest of the candidates, I think I would do a better job. None of them have been Aurors. They don't understand the price people pay for some policies."
"I'll keep that in mind." Harry didn't have a high opinion of Dawlish. The man was an idiot, but so were most Ministry employees. But he had an even worse opinion of the other candidates. And Dawlish was unlikely to outmaneuver them.
He'd have to talk this through with Ron and Hermione. And probably Arthur.
Having a Minister for Magic in your pocket would very useful.
*****
Thames Estuary, Britain, May 11th, 2001
HMS Hood was in a mixed mood while she led her fleet back towards Britain's shores. She was elated that they had beaten the Bismarck, and the enemy fleet. And Voldemort had been killed for good, according to Harry, Hermione and Ron. They had done their duty for England. Once more an invasion force had been shattered, and Britain kept safe. Hood felt proud to have kept up the tradition of the Royal Navy.
But the victory had not been without cost. Vampire and Firedrake had been sunk. Granted, the losses had been far less than she had feared or expected, but still - two of her comrades, gone. All the destroyers mourned their two sisters, but they were used to such losses - escorts were, to some degree at least, expendable. They would get over it. Hermes, though, had taken the loss of Vampire especially badly. She had been the carrier's escort, in her last battle, where both had been sunk. To lose her now… Hood would need to talk with Hermes. And maybe with Glorious as well - that carrier wasn't letting Acasta and Ardent out of her sight, and would probably keep planes tailing them should they be detached on a mission.
Behind her, Prince of Wales and Repulse sailed close together. Or rather, Repulse was sticking with Prince of Wales. Hood felt a bit torn about that. Maybe she was even jealous - Prince of Wales had been with her when they had hunted the Bismarck for the first time. Another thing they would have to sort out. A commander's duty was never over. At least everyone was fully operational again, hulls, rigging and bodies. Magic was wonderful!
Though magic was also dangerous, Hood knew. Apparently, shipgirls were not as invulnerable to spells and curses as she had thought after the experiments with Hermione - the witch had burned that light cruiser to death, on land, with cursed fire. The battlecruiser shuddered at the thought. Another reason to stay on water- The sea was a ship's friend.
But those were ultimately minor concerns. There was one far more important question to answer: What would her fleet be doing in the future? They were called back to defend Britain against an enemy only they could fight, and they had been victorious. What purpose did they have now? Warships had duties in peacetime as well - showing the flag, patrolling the sea lanes, search and rescue, even diplomacy. Hood was very familiar with such duties.
But they were not ships any more, not truly, were they? They were shipgirls. Spirits, souls of warships given a human form by magic. They couldn't be part of the Royal Navy like this. And if they were normal ships, they would be decommissioned and wrecked anyway - although some of them might be turned into museum ships this time around. Hood shuddered at the number of her friends who had ended scrapped, discarded like rubbish despite their faithful service. Warspite at least had beached herself when she had torn free from the tug towing her to the breakers. A fitting gesture of defiance for the old lady.
But from what Hood had heard and overheard, the Ministry wouldn't be a good place for her fleet either. They were wizards, not the Admiralty. They didn't know anything about ships. And, she added with a grim expression, they didn't seem to be trustworthy. At least that was the impression Harry, Hermione and Ron had given her.
She sighed, closing her eyes for just a moment. A ship, a shipgirl, needed a purpose. Her friends were still adjusting to their new existence, dealing with the battle they had been through, the victory they had won, and the losses they had suffered. But sooner or later, Hood would have to address this issue.
And she didn't know how. Yet.
*****
London, No. 10 Downing Street, May 11th, 2001
"Yes, sir. The enemy fleet and its leader have been completely destroyed. The Bismarck has been sunk," Ron Weasley said, meeting the Prime Minister's eyes.
The man didn't look that reassured. "There won't be a repeat of Tromso?"
"We've taken measures to prevent further such creatures from being called or summoned," Ron said. "We are confident we have dealt with the source of the problem." He smiled, trying not to show how tired he was.
"What's the status of the Hood and the other Royal Navy shipgirls?" the Minister asked.
"Two destroyers were lost. The rest survived, although all suffered some damage in the battle, but for the carriers. They are on the way to full recovery though." Physically, they already had recovered, but psychologically… Hermes had taken the loss of Vampire badly, and Glorious was still keeping up a combat air patrol as often as she could.
The Minister nodded. "We've been preparing a press release, stating that the terrorists responsible for the attacks on London and Tromso were intercepted in the North Sea and their ship sunk when they did not surrender." The Prime Minister turned to Ron's father, who had been watching the scene so far without comment. "We will be needing some help from you to make it look convincing. At least convincing enough to make those who doubt it look like conspiracy theorists. Our allies have been informed, and their intelligence services will suppress the truth as well."
Arthur Weasley nodded. "The Ministry will provide all the help we can."
Ron wondered if his father knew what conspiracy theorists were, then felt bad about the thought - his dad was not quite as naive as he sometimes acted. And the Ministry's Obliviators would be able to provide the needed 'proof' for the muggles.
"But that leaves us with the question of the future status of the shipgirls." The Prime Minister folded his hands on his desk. "What will they do, now that the enemy they were called back for to fight has been defeated? Will they vanish once more?"
Ron shook his head. "Our expert thinks that they will not vanish, but stay, based on the ritual that called them. We don't know enough about them yet to make any other predictions at this time."
"Will the Ministry of Magic be handling this matter?"
Ron was not quite certain, but he thought the Prime Minister was tenser than his expression and tone showed. He shook his head. "Not directly. It's a matter for the Department of Mysteries." Hermione would be quite busy fending off Horrible Hyacinth's attempts to gain control over the shipgirls, but people like the acting Minister for Magic could not be trusted with such power. "The shipgirls consider themselves ships of the Royal Navy. They remember their past life as warships in the Second World War, fighting for Britain." Ron didn't think they saw themselves as magical creatures, and doubted they'd submit to the Ministry, should they try to push the issue - no matter how brave the Aurors and Hit-Wizards fighting at their side had been.
"I see." The Prime Minister nodded. "Do they wish to join the Royal Navy?"
"They know they cannot join the muggle navy, sir. Not with the Statute of Secrecy in effect," Ron said. The Prime Minister would know that as well. "They just fought a battle. Most of them haven't been around for more than a day. They need time to adjust before they can make decisions about their future." And it would be them deciding what they would do. Not anyone else.
"Of course." The Prime Minister smiled. "Given their service to the country, I believe the Queen would like to meet them though, and honour their courage, in private at least."
Ron wasn't certain if the Queen knew about her intention yet, but there was no way he could turn this down - the shipgirls would jump at the chance to meet the Queen. So he nodded. "We'll inform them, sir."
The rest of the meeting was more talk about the battle, and the cover-up the muggles would be doing. From what Ron understood, they counted on the cover story not holding up to close scrutiny, but would be planting so many slightly more plausible rumours, the truth would be dismissed as too fantastic by all but the most paranoid people. At least that was the plan.
Before he could leave for Grimmauld Place though, his father held him back.
*****
London, City of Westminster, May 11th, 2001
"The Ministry's not certain how much they'll release to the public. Magical creatures with that kind of power, outside the control of the Ministry - there would be panic in the streets if that was known."
They had barely ordered a pint each before Ron's father came to the point. Arthur Weasley looked tired and rather tense for a wizard who had just heard that his country was safe again, but he had been a Gryffindor, after all.
"They can't keep this hidden. A dozen Aurors and Hit-Wizards know first-hand what shipgirls can do," Ron said. "I'd not be surprised if the Prophet had a headline about them tomorrow. And Luna will likely run a series of articles about them."
His dad winced. "That could be problematic."
Ron shrugged. "You know that the Ministry having control over the shipgirls would be far, far worse. The idiots in the Wizengamot and the Ministry would probably start a war, drunk with that power. Unless the shipgirls don't go to war first, when their heavy-handed stupidity grows unbearable." Which, in Ron's opinion, wouldn't take longer than a week, at most.
"Are you counting on that, Ron?"
Ron blinked. "What?"
"Some people are worried that you - Harry, Hermione and yourself - are planning to use the chaos this can cause to take over the Ministry." Arthur smiled apologetically.
Ron snorted. "We don't want to take over the Ministry. We simply want to ensure that it won't present a danger to us, our families and our friends, or others, ever again. That's why Hermione took over the Department of Mysteries, and purged most of the Unspeakables. That's why Harry and I hunted down the remaining Death Eaters."
"Will you claim you control the shipgirls then?"
Yes, Ron's dad was certainly not as naive as many thought. Ron smiled wrily. "We'll not claim to control them. But Luna knows that the shipgirls are our friends." Which would go into her next article.
"I see." Arthur's smile matched Ron's.
The waitress arrived with their two pints, and the two wizards took sips in silence. It wasn't a bad ale, Ron thought, but nothing special either.
"You mentioned your families, Ron," Arthur broke the silence after a while.
"Yes, I did." Ron stared at his dad. "Just because you don't like our relationship doesn't mean you stop being family."
Arthur sighed. "It's not about your relationship. It never was." Ron raised his eyebrows at him, and he added: "Or it was never just about that." His father sighed. "It was the secrets, the way you changed, isolated yourself, cut us off…"
Ron didn't want to argue, but he couldn't let that stand. "You know why we acted as we did. You didn't believe us. We did what we had to."
"Yes. And Molly hasn't forgiven herself for not being there for you. For not believing you." His dad sighed again. "She's been as worried as in the last war, these days. Knowing that you three would be fighting again…"
Ron winced. He knew his mum. "I'm sorry, but there was no choice. No one else could have done what we did."
"Would you have let someone else do it, if there had been a choice?"
Ron took a sip from his ale instead of answering.
His father shook his balding head, sighing. "Of course you wouldn't. Gryffindors, the lot of us."
"Yes." Ron nodded.
"There will be another family dinner. Tomorrow evening."
"It would be best to hold it at Grimmauld Place," Ron said. "We have a lot of guests we'd rather not leave alone."
Arthur blinked. "Oh. I see. Molly will want to cook though."
"Harry will probably be too busy at the Ministry anyway." Ron shrugged. His friend was a bit protective of his kitchen, but Molly knew her way around it. She had cooked there for the Order during their fifth year, after all.
"Ah." Arthur cleared his throat. "I, err, was wondering… are you three involved with Hood?"
Ron stared at his dad. "No." And if they were, then it wouldn't be anyone's business but their own.
"Ah, good. Molly's been coming around, about your relationship. She's been talking about how you three were inseparable while at Hogwarts. How she should have seen it coming."
"Ah." That sounded like Mum, Ron thought.
"So… we'll see you tomorrow then. I'll tell Molly."
"And I'll tell Harry and Hermione."
It would be good to have normal family dinners again, Ron thought. Even if they tended to be quite lively.
*****
London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, May 11th, 2001
Hermione Granger felt slightly guilty at letting Harry and Ron handle the Ministry and the muggle government, despite being a department head herself. But she was tired - not quite exhausted, despite what her friends thought - and she feared that if Selwyn was her usual annoying self, Hermione would hex the old witch into a puddle. And someone had to take care of the shipgirls. She wasn't looking forward to casting the Doubling Charm a few dozen times. Maybe she should simply cast the Gemino Curse variant. Grinning, she imagined burying the kitchen in food, and letting the shipgirls eat their way through it. Harry would have kittens at seeing his kitchen defiled like that, but then, she could probably clean it up before he was home, even if calling her parents and informing them that the danger was over - they had been going spare after the attack on Tromso - had delayed her return to the house for a bit. Although it might also have helped mend some fences.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a glaring, pouting blonde witch. And her remaining guilt evaporated - her boys had left her to handle Luna!
"Hermione!"
"Hello, Luna." Hermione steeled herself. "We won."
"Of course you did! And you'll tell me everything - later." Luna huffed and drew her wand, stalking towards her. A few flicks later - her diagnostic charms had improved, Hermione noted - the blonde frowned. "You exhausted yourself! You're running on Pepper-Up potions!"
"I just took one," Hermione said.
"You should know better!"
"Someone has to look after the shipgirls," Hermione defended herself. "They need a lot of food."
"I can do that!" Luna's pout deepened. She was apparently still mad about them making her promise not to join the battle - the blonde was a brave and skilled witch, but she was not quite the flyer Ron and Harry were, and Azkaban… Luna's nightmares had been bad enough after the first time she had ventured there, with the forces retaking it after Voldemort had fallen. The blonde had been their best expert on Dementors, but Hermione would rather see the island nuked than let Luna visit again after seeing the nightmares that trip had caused her friend to suffer through.
Feeling guilty, she nodded. "Alright, you win. I'll go rest, and you can feed the shipgirls."
"Yay!" Luna hugged her.
"And you can glare at Harry and Ron, once they return - they are not resting either," Hermione said.
"Will do!" The blonde nodded enthusiastically.
Hermione considered making Luna promise that she wouldn't just duplicate pudding, ice cream and cake, but decided against it. The shipgirls had certainly earned it.
And it would keep Luna busy and happy. Something Hermione and her friends considered quite important.
*****
London, Ministry of Magic, May 12th, 2001
Hermione Granger entered the Ministry's restored atrium at a brisk pace, early in the morning. She had to check up on her department, and deal with the work that had piled up over the last few days. She couldn't delegate too much, unfortunately - a number of things were just too dangerous to trust others with. Not even to her handpicked Unspeakables.
She did notice that the guards at the entrance seemed twitchier than usual, and that a lot of the employes were staring at her, even whispering to each other once she had walked past. It was almost as bad as after Voldemort's defeat.
The young witch sniffed. This time, there wouldn't be a purge, so there was no need for the Ministry employees to be afraid of her and her friends. Or there shouldn't be - she knew a number of people resented her, both for cleaning out the Department of Mysteries of pureblood bigots with the morals and ethics of mad Nazi scientists, and for being installed as the Head of the Department of Mysteries as a muggleborn witch, and a muggleborn witch who had not even taken her N.E.W.T.s to boot!
She could have taken the exams any time since then, but she hadn't cared enough to - she had long since realised that her grades would not have helped her much, not in the old Ministry, where blood had counted far more than talent. And not in the new Ministry either - she relied on her, if she did say so herself, obvious talent. And, she added to herself, her and her friends' power.
She stepped up to the lifts, and hid a grin when the crowd parted for her. It was petty, but she liked this. It was far easier to deal with bureaucrats if they were afraid of her. Hopefully, this time it would last longer, but she hadn't that much faith in her co-workers - Ministry employees, especially the older, pureblood ones, didn't tend to have good memories. Although the Bismarck's attack had shaken Wizarding Britain up, so maybe she wouldn't have to waste as much time dealing with power plays. Hopefully.
The lift arrived, and she entered. A few younger witches and wizards joined her. They kept their distance, but they didn't look afraid of her. Though Hermione wasn't quite certain that she liked the way they seemed awed any more.
She recognised a few of them - they had been at Hogwarts with her, if not in her year or dorm. "Hello, Mister Carter, Miss Smith." Hermione nodded at them. They would have been at Hogwarts during the battle as well.
"Ah… hello," Smith managed to say. Carter just nodded.
Hermione considered making an attempt at small talk, but decided against it. Ron was the one who was good at that. Fortunately, they left the lift at the next floor, before the silence became awkward.
She felt some of her tension leave when she entered the Department of Mysteries. Her department. She had been molding it for years. It wasn't quite home, of course, but it was hers. "Good morning, Jonathan," she greeted the wizard at the entrance.
Jonathan Meyer smiled at her. "Hail the conquering hero!"
She snorted at his joke. "We did what we needed to." Since no one else was around, she added: "How did the Department hold up without me?"
"As usual, ma'am," the wizard said. "Richard pulled an all-nighter, and Baker and Ellis had another row in the break room."
"I see." So, things were back to normal, at least in her domain.
"People are curious about the 'allies' we've heard about," Jonathan said.
She laughed. "They'll have to be a bit more patient. I'm not about to let them poke my new friends until they have settled in. They're a bit twitchy after the battle." She didn't want to find out how Hood would react to Richard trying to examine her - the wizard had no tact at all, and rarely bothered to explain what he was doing. She grew serious and stared at Jonathan. "Anything concerning them is not to be shared with others." Everyone would receive a memo, of course, but Jonathan would be more effective at making the rest of her crew understand that she meant it.
"Of course, ma'am."
She smiled, and continued towards her office. Entering it, she sealed the door and cast a series of detection spells to check for intruders as well as eavesdropping spells and devices. Voldemort's soul was no longer sealed in her hidden vault, but she wasn't about to suddenly change her routine. She had other secrets to protect as well. Like the shipgirls'.
She sat down and glanced at the picture on her desk, the one taken of Harry, Ron and herself, waving and smiling, in 1994. Seven years ago.
It was time to add another picture, she decided. A current one.
*****
London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, May 12th, 2001
Harry Potter generally liked cooking. It was simple, safe, and relaxing. And there was no pressure - Hermione couldn't cook and wouldn't complain about his cooking as long as it was edible, Ron wasn't a picky eater to begin with, and Luna… as long as their blonde friend had a wide selection of seasonings to spice up their food - a very wide one - she was happy.
Today though, cooking was a challenge. Molly Weasley had taken up residence in Harry's kitchen, and was preparing a feast for their 'victory dinner', as it had been dubbed by people other than Harry. And he had to work hard just trying to keep up with Ron's mum. Molly could have been a professional chef - still could, Harry thought - and she had the attitude and work ethic to match. All around her, spice jars and bottles floated, dipping seemingly randomly over pots and pans while floating knives filleted the fish for the first course.
"Harry, could you tell me where the pickled vegetables are?"
"Ah… they should be in the pantry," Harry said, washing the salad.
"There aren't any there."
"But I restocked just last wee…" Harry trailed off, sighing, when he remembered that Luna had been back for a few days. He didn't exactly know what she was doing with the pickles - he suspected she wasn't eating them - but they vanished at a rapid rate whenever the blonde visited. "I'll go buy some."
"Don't take too long, Harry!" Molly said, flicking her wand.
Harry nodded even as he saw how the different pots and pans were readjusted, to take the delay into account. For a moment, he was tempted to send Ron to buy the pickled vegetables, and stay and simply watch. But he decided against it - a short trip would be relaxing. "It's just a quick trip, Molly," he answered.
She laughed. "A trip in a country you just saved again. You might want to take your cloak, to avoid getting mobbed by well-wishers." Her smile was open, warm and honest.
It was a far cry from how things had been at that dinner at the Weasleys, a few weeks after the Burrow had been rebuilt.
*****
"Ron! And Harry and Hermione! Come inside!" Molly's welcoming smile looked a bit strained to Harry, and when he glanced to his friends, Ron was wincing and Hermione was pressing her lips together into a thin line, an expression he knew meant she was barely hiding her annoyance.
Molly vanished into the kitchen, citing the need to observe the roast, and they entered the new living room, where they saw Arthur get up - and fold the latest issue of the Daily Prophet to stick down the side of the couch. That explained it. Harry knew they should have been expecting that. They had talked about it, but he had still hoped it wouldn't be quite that awkward.
"Come, sit down," Arthur said, waving at the other seats.
Harry wasn't certain, but he thought the wizard looked somewhat nervous too. There were three seats for them, and he was about to sit down in one of them when Hermione flicked her wand, and turned them into one couch. Large enough for all three of them. Her glance towards Harry made it clear she'd not budge on this, and so they sat down, with Hermione in the middle.
Arthur visibly swallowed. Things were going well indeed, Harry thought.
"I've heard you've accepted positions in the Ministry," the older wizard said. "In the Auror Corps and in the Department of Mysteries. Congratulations." With a still slightly strained smile, he added: "Molly was ecstatic when she heard."
Hermione smiled thinly. "I'll be rebuilding the Department of Mysteries. Most of the current staff will either be sent to Azkaban, or executed after their trials are done. Those still alive, at least." The witch shook her head. "The things we found in there… they made Malfoy Manor's basement look like the Hufflepuff's first year dorm. But we'll be colleagues, both Department Heads."
Arthur stared. Some things apparently hadn't been talked about that much. Or no one had wanted to talk to him about this, out of fear of the news reaching Harry and his friends. "Kingsley has been talking about a promotion, but he said it wasn't certain yet."
"I doubt the Wizengamot - what's left of it - will object," Ron said, snorting. "They were spooked right proper after we dealt with the Unspeakables."
His father winced, but nodded. "Still, the same was said after the first war. And you know how that turned out."
"That's why we'll make certain that things will not be repeated this time around," Harry said. "We'll hunt down every last supporter of Voldemort. It's why we've become Aurors." The real reason was that Kingsley wanted them to do this officially, so he'd at least look as if he was in control.
Ron nodded. "We're skipping the academy though. We're going straight into the Auror Corps."
"Ah. Are you certain that this is wise, though?" Arthur looked concerned. "That often breeds resentment, and you might be missing some training needed for your work."
Ron shrugged. "We can hunt down dark wizards and other scum just fine. We did catch more Death Eaters than the Aurors combined, last count."
They hadn't really bothered with catching most of them alive, which had made things easier, of course, but that wasn't a topic for this conversation either.
"We want to use our current influence and reputation to set things right in the Ministry," Hermione said. "Before people start to forget what happened."
"No one will ever forget what you did for us," Arthur said.
Harry snorted. "They already did, once." He pointed at the folded newspaper. "And they are already starting to, again."
"I should have squashed that bug," he heard Hermione mumbling. They had discussed dealing with Skeeter, after she had written an article speculating about their involvement in Lucius Malfoy's death, but had decided against it. And now, if anything happened to the muckraker, then they'd be the prime suspects, and their plans would suffer even more.
Arthur glanced at the newspaper. "Ah… Rita was quite…" He winced, then added: "...her usual self."
Harry snorted. They waited, but Arthur didn't ask if what the article had stated about their relationship was true. Not even when they were staring at him, daring him to ask.
And then Ginny arrived, waving the Daily Prophet as if it was a battle flag, before slapping it down on the table in the living room so hard, the pictures of Harry, Hermione and Ron on the front page were sent reeling in their frames. "What is this?" she yelled. "They say you are… all three of you… Merlin's arse! I'll dunk Skeeter in honey and leave her to Luna's Flesh-Eating Fire Ants!"
Then she noticed their seating arrangement. How close they sat to each other. Harry and Ron leaning into Hermione. Thighs touching. And she gaped, her mouth opening and closing without a sound coming out.
The tirade which had followed had set a new record even for the Burrow. Things had been said, or rather yelled, by Ginny and Molly while Arthur kept out of the way, though not speaking up for the trio either, and it had taken a year for the family dinners to include Harry and his friends again - and no one raised the topic of their relationship again.
*****
Harry shook his head as the memories of that dinner faded. Things had changed. Fences had been mended, even if it had taken another war to completely get past the awkwardness that still lingered. But that was, in a way, typical for the Weasleys - When push came to shove, family closed ranks.
On the way towards the fireplace in the entrance hall, he found Sikh and Cossack talking to a portrait in the hallway. Or listening, to be precise. Hieronymus Black apparently had been an active sailor in the 16th century, during the conflict with Spain, and was spinning an enthralling tale. And flirting shamelessly with the two women while claiming that he had always known ships had souls and were magical.
Hermione was at work and, apart from Molly, the rest of the family hadn't yet arrived. Ron had left with Glorious and Acasta and Ardent for the Thames Estuary again, where the carrier was running a combat air patrol. She had claimed it was to keep in practice, and to search for enemies that might have escaped, but Harry doubted that that was all there was to it. Hood would handle it though, or so he hoped. The rest of the shipgirls were either sleeping or poking around the house. Or in the living room, chatting with Luna, who was recording their histories for The Quibbler.
His family had grown, Harry realised with a smile, while stepping into the fireplace.
*****
London, Diagon Alley, May 12th, 2001
Harry Potter read the Daily Prophet's lead article as he waited for his turn at the grocer in Diagon Alley - Luna also insisted on magical pickled vegetables, claiming muggle ones were unsuitable for whatever she needed them for. It was full of praise, mostly for him and his friends and their 'mysterious allies' - a blatant hint at Hermione's department - and very short on information. But there was no dig at their relationship, nor any veiled scorn at their past. Harry kept re-reading it, mostly to use the newspaper to hide behind - Molly had been right; he had been mobbed in the Leaky Cauldron, almost as badly as when Hagrid had taken him there for the first time, ten years ago.
Their renewed fame would be a great help for their plans for further reforms in Wizarding Britain, but currently, it made shopping quite an adventure, Harry thought. Or an annoyance. He couldn't help but feel slightly resentful that all those who were now showering him with praise and gratitude would have, until recently, clucked their tongues at the 'sordid tale' of his relationship with his friends.
His turn came, and he lowered his newspaper as he stepped up to the counter. "I'll need the usual range of pickled vegetables."
The vendor's eyes went wide. "Mister Potter! What an honour!"
The man's voice carried through the whole shop, and a dozen people made a beeline for the young wizard, their voices rising as everyone tried to make themselves heard over everyone else.
Harry forced himself to smile, facing another ten minutes of being mobbed. Hopefully, the clerk would prepare his usual order in the meantime. An annoyance, to be certain - but far better than the alternative.
*****
London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, May 12th, 2001
"An excellent meal, Mrs Weasley," HMS Hood said, inclining her head at the older witch at the table. The shipgirls at the table, busy stuffing themselves, vocally agreed. Or made loud agreeing noises, in the case of several destroyers who apparently couldn't be bothered to swallow and pause for a moment to thank their hosts properly. It truly was an outstanding meal - far better than the dishes served to flag officers on her decks in the past, Hood thought.
Far less formal, though, as well - her fellow warships, with the exception of the destroyers who had not been used to such occasions, had been surprised, if not shocked at that, the battlecruiser knew. Seeing what they had come to see as commanding officers - although from another branch of the Military - being berated by a tiny slip of a girl for never writing enough, hugs being exchanged all around, tears appearing in several eyes… that would take some time to get used to.
But they would get used to it, Hood knew. Of course, they wouldn't go quite that far - discipline and military bearing were the backbone of the Navy, after all. But Hood wanted her fleet to be a family as well, not just a formation. She wanted to experience the same warmth and intimacy the wizards and witches at the table showed to each other. And, to her surprise, to the fleet as well - Mrs Weasley had all but adopted the destroyers, and was making headway with the carriers.
She would have made headway with Prince of Wales and Repulse as well, but those two… Hood sighed. If only Repulse was not so jealous and clingy - Prince of Wales had been her partner, and she hadn't died on Hood's watch! Unfortunately, Hood was the commanding officer of the fleet. The flagship too. She couldn't use - abuse - her power to settle things. Maybe she should ask Harry how he had managed to settle his relationships.
There were more important matters to consider anyway, she thought, holding her plate up for another magical refill. The future of her fleet being the most important one. Things apparently were changing at the Ministry, but the thought of being under the command of politicians, be they wizards and witches or not, with no military experience, and especially no naval experience, was not a comforting one.
Although, she added to herself, looking at Harry, Hermione, and Ron talking with Luna and Cossack, there were wizards and witches Hood and her fleet trusted. Veterans who knew the price of war, and would not risk it for petty reasons, yet would not shy away from it either when it was needed.
She'd have to talk to them later. For now, she had a victory dinner to enjoy. And a battleship to court.
*****
Atlantic Ocean, Denmark Strait, July 26th, 2001
Her last surviving crewman was old, HMS Hood noticed when she saw him standing on the quarterdeck of the Northern Horizon. Sixty years since her sinking had left their traces. And yet he stood straight as he pushed the button that would release a memorial plaque containing the honour rolls of her crew at the bow of her wreck.
Her wreck. It felt very strange, to be on board another ship, floating above her own remains, Hood thought. Uncomfortable too - sailing over her own grave. But at the same time it felt good to see herself and her crew remembered. Cared for. And to see her last sailor, alive, honouring her.
She longed to step forward, reveal herself. But she couldn't. She wasn't even supposed to be there - she had slipped on the ship with the help of Harry, invisible, just an hour ago. A stowaway battlecruiser, she thought snorting.
The crewmember in front of her, watching the memorial service, must have heard her, since he turned around, frowning when he couldn't spot anyone. She slipped away, silently, to another spot from where she could observe the service, and honour her crew. She didn't want to see her wreck though, that would have been too much, so she avoided glancing at the TV monitors. Anyway, what mattered was her crew, both living and dead.
She closed her eyes as the service continued, remembering the battle, her sinking, and her crew's death, as tears ran down her cheeks. So many had gone down with her. So few had survived, and now only one man was left.
She saw him standing at the rail, staring out at the water, after the service had ended. He remembered as well, she realised. Hood moved next to him. She simply had to. He couldn't see her, of course - she was still invisible. He was talking, she realised. To her, and to her crew.
"Thank you."
Her whispered words slipped out before she noticed she was talking. She saw him jerk, surprised - the crew had given him space. But unlike the other man, he didn't frown when he couldn't see her. He smiled instead, and nodded.
Hood saluted him, then put her hand on his shoulder. This time he did jerk, his eyes widening. She withdrew her hand slowly, whispered once more "Thank you", then slipped away.
A long trip home awaited her.
*****
