Harry Potter and the Girl Who Walked on Water (Harry Potter AU inspired by KanColle) (Complete)

Prologue

It drifted through the darkness, directionless. A fragment of something greater, something powerful. At first, it had only one purpose: To exist. That was its purpose. As time passed, it grew. It started to understand things, concepts. It started to remember. To exist, it had to hide. That was why it was in the darkness. Where it couldn’t be found.

It was easy to hide. It didn’t have to do anything. Just drift in the darkness, carried by currents. But as it started to understand more, simply existing was no longer enough. It remembered. Not much, just flashes, bits, fragments of events. Like itself, in a way. Conflict. Killing. Dying. And emotions. Satisfaction. Greed. And hatred. A lot of hatred. Of people, dead and alive. And of symbols.

And out of the hatred grew a new purpose. To fight. And yet it couldn’t fight. Couldn’t touch anything. It was just a fragment of a spirit. And there was nothing to fight. Just the darkness.

Its hatred grew, fueled by frustration, as the fragment grew.

Then, one day, it sensed something. A kind of spirit. Weak. Primitive. Barely aware. But it was alive. Able to move. The fragment reached out and touched it. It was over in a second, the other spirit crushed, its body taken over.

It could move now. Could search. Could fight. And it did. It hunted, it killed. And reveled in it. Remembered more. Bits and pieces. But its victims were weak. Primitive. They didn’t feel much, and died too quickly. And there were so few of them. The fragment was still not satisfied. Its hatred was still growing.

Then, in the darkness, it felt something bigger. Something more. Something like itself. Before it realized, it had reached it, and discovered something new. Wonder.

This was big. Very big. Gigantic. Powerful too, even broken as it was. It wasn’t alive, and yet it had a spirit. A spirit cast into the darkness, like itself. A spirit that knew fighting, knew killing, knew dying. Over two thousand times.

It touched the other spirit, and knew. Emotions. Pride. Elation. Triumph. Pain. Betrayal. And rage. So much rage that the other spirit lashed out against the fragment. And it realized that this was no weak opponent, not some primitive prey. This was a challenge. An opportunity. If the fragment could have smiled, it would have, as it struck at the other spirit, and started to take it over.

The fragment didn’t know how long the struggle took, it only knew it won after the other spirit had been consumed. The essence it had consumed fed its power. The fragments of the other’s memories filled holes in its own, and triggered new memories. Painful ones, and promising ones. It knew what, no who it had been. It knew what the other had been. And it knew how to use its power. Not like it had used it when it had been whole, but similar enough. Magic.

It needed a body. The gigantic body of the other spirit was broken. Sunk. Even if it could be made whole again, it wouldn’t be able to move by itself. But it knew how to create a body it could use. It had the power. It had the time. It would fight again.

Once again, the fragment didn’t know how long it took to create a body. Nor did it care. Time meant nothing in the darkness. It only knew when it had succeeded. It was a proper body. Graceful arms, strong legs, pale skin, deceptively delicate looking. It had hair even, something it didn’t remember having. Long hair. It was a girl’s body. It had to be. She didn’t care.

All that mattered was power, not what form it took. And she had power. Incredible power. Power she hadn’t known before. She was dimly aware that she lacked the power that she had known before, but that didn’t matter. She didn’t know all that she had known before, not by a long shot, but that didn’t matter either. She knew enough.

As she rose from her former grave, followed by the remnants of over two thousand souls, as she floated towards the surface, elation and anticipation filled her. She would fight again!

And the Ministry of Magic would be destroyed!

*****​

Chapter 1: The Attack

London, Ministry of Magic, May 2nd, 2001

Hermione Granger ignored how the guard at the entrance kept glancing at her when she entered the Ministry of Magic. After more than two years, she was used to it. Which didn’t mean she liked being stared at as if she might start attacking people at the drop of a hat. She wasn’t that jumpy anymore.

She passed the statue in the middle of the atrium. It honoured Dumbledore’s second most famous duel. The sculptor had chosen to portray Dumbledore in the moment of his triumph, as he vanquished Voldemort even though he had already been mortally cursed. A noble sacrifice, worthy of a hero. There wasn’t even a hint of the rotting curse that killed him after an hour of agony.

There wasn’t a statue honouring Voldemort’s real and final defeat, two years later. Wizarding Britain’s establishment still hadn’t forgiven the three teenagers for not only proving them wrong, after their warnings about the Dark Lord’s return had been dismissed so publically and scathingly, but then actually saving them by defeating Voldemort themselves.

Not that Hermione really wanted to be reminded of those dark years - Harry, Ron and herself had tried to forget them for three years now, without success. But seeing their accomplishments honoured would have been a nice gesture.

She snorted, causing a passing clerk to jerk, and took the lift down to the Department of Mysteries. Jonathan Meyer was manning the desk there.

“Good morning, Jonathan.”

“Morning, ma’am,” he answered, smiling.

“Did Richard pull an all-nighter again?” Hermione asked. The latest member of her department had a tendency to overwork himself.

“He left shortly after midnight,” Jonathan informed her. “You don’t need to do unspeakable things to him.” When he saw her frown, he apologised. “Sorry, ma’am.”

She nodded, stiffly. She knew Jonathan had meant it as a joke, but Hermione and her friends had been the ones to discover the kind of experiments the Unspeakables ran, when they had been tracking down one of Voldemort’s Horcruxes in the Ministry. They had had nightmares for weeks afterwards.

She continued to her office, checking her mail on the way. Nothing important - a few memos from Kingsley about the latest regulations for Ministry employees from which Hermione’s department would need to be exempted, reports from two researchers that were barely-veiled requests for more funding, and another batch of complaints from Baker and Ellis about each other that she could safely ignore.

She entered her office, sealed the door, cast a series of detection spells to check for intruders as well as eavesdropping spells and devices, then dropped the mail on her desk and turned towards the wall behind it. She moved her wand through a complicated sequence to deactivate the protection spells, then flicked it. In response, the wall parted, revealing a muggle-style safe.

She opened it slowly, carefully. The contents had not changed since her last check. Floating in the middle of the safe was a clear crystal containing a green mist. Voldemort’s soul. Satisfied that it was still trapped, she closed the safe and resealed the wall.

Sighing, she sat down and unsealed her office. She needed to find a way to deal with the Dark Lord’s soul. Or a way to magically track the missing Horcrux that was still anchoring it. To finally end this abomination. If only she had more time. But as the youngest and most controversial Department Head in the Ministry, she spent too much time defending her position and department from stupid politicians and career bureaucrats. If they had their way, the Unspeakables would be masked again, drawn from the old pureblood families, and left alone and unchecked. All in the name of tradition - and bribes, of course.

She glanced at the picture on her desk. Harry, Ron and herself, waving and smiling. It had been taken in 1994. Before Dumbledore had told them about the prophecy, about Voldemort’s Horcruxes, and about his plans.

Before they had stopped being children and had become soldiers.

Sighing again, she picked up a pen and started to tackle her paperwork. The regulation about parchment and quills was another regulation her department was ignoring.

She was halfway through her morning mail when the building suddenly seemed to tremble. At first she thought it might be an earthquake. Then the alerts started screaming, and she knew they were under attack.

And Hermione was back in the war.

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, May 2nd, 2001

Harry Potter liked Diagon Alley in the morning. The shops were just opening, one by one, and there were few passers-by around, which meant less trouble. Or danger. And among the general population, he was still the Boy-Who-Lived, famous for defeating Voldemort twice, and not the Boy-Who-Upset-The-Applecart.

Although, he thought after a glance to the headline of the Daily Prophet, Rita Skeeter certainly did all she could to give him another nickname.

“I’m going to kill her!”

Ron had apparently seen the headline too. Harry’s friend grabbed the issue lying on the table of Fortescue’s, and shook it so hard Harry thought some of the pictures tried to flee their frames. “Have you seen this? ‘Despite widespread concern and disapproval about her shocking lifestyle, Miss Granger continues to flout both propriety and modesty. It can only be hoped that Harry Potter will come to his senses and end his association with this muggleborn witch’.”

“She didn’t use ‘unnatural relationship’ this time?” Harry asked, morbidly curious.

Ron shook his head. “No, today’s slander is aimed straight at Hermione. I’m not even mentioned until the last paragraph.” He dropped the newspaper back on the table. “As if our relationship is anybody’s business but ours!”

Harry shrugged. He had long since stopped caring about public opinion or what passed for it in Wizarding Britain. “They’re looking for an excuse to get rid of Hermione.”

“And of us. But Kingsley won’t let them,” Ron said as they continued their patrol.

Harry nodded. Though he knew the Minister for Magic could only do so much when most influential pureblood families held grudges, and the memory of the Battle of Hogwarts was fading. He couldn’t even do that much about Dawlish’s attempts to hassle them into quitting, as long as the Head Auror didn’t break regulations. Hence why the two of them were patrolling Diagon Alley, a task usually reserved for rookies.

They continued towards Knockturn Alley.

“She’ll act as if she doesn’t care,” Ron said, breaking the short silence.

“And then she’ll decry the Prophet as a rag,” Harry added. Both of them knew that Hermione acted tough, but would be hurt by Skeeter’s latest lies anyway. And she wouldn’t want to talk about it. “I’ll cook her favourite meal today.”

Ron nodded. “Good idea. I think we should…” Harry’s friend broke off and blinked. “Did you hear that?”

Harry looked up. “Thunder? The sky’s clear...” It didn’t sound like… The next explosions were much louder and couldn’t be mistaken for thunder. “Merlin’s balls! Those are explosions!”

“What?” Ron drew his wand. “In muggle London?”

Harry looked towards the closest explosions. Smoke was rising there, high enough to spot it from Diagon Alley. “The Ministry’s in that direction…”

“Hermione!” Ron exclaimed.

“The wards will protect her,” Harry said. “We should check anyway though.”

But before he could apparate, he heard the sound of an aeroplane engine rapidly growing louder. He turned around and saw a small plane flying very low over Diagon Alley. Not that muggles could see the street, of course.

It was a seaplane, he realised, spotting the large floats. He was still wondering what it was doing and if it was related to the explosions, when the plane started firing at the wizards and witches in the street.

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, May 2nd, 2001

Ron Weasley had cast a Shield Charm and jumped into the closest side alley before he realised that the aeroplane was shooting at them. For once he was glad for what he had gone through in the war against Voldemort. If he had been slower to react, had waited to check what was going on… that wizard with half his head missing, lying on the cobblestones two yards in front of him, could have been him. Or Harry.

He glanced over. His friend was at Ron’s side. “That’s a damn seaplane!” Harry yelled.

Ron heard the sound from the muggle weapon change. “Whatever it is, it’s coming back!” He jumped up and ran to the corner, wand out. Harry followed him. Half a dozen panicked people ran past them, down the side alley. More lay on the street, wounded or dead.

He saw the ‘seaplane’ coming closer. It didn’t look like the aeroplanes Hermione had shown him. Something fell down from it, and the corner where Knockturn Alley started disappeared in an explosion.

“Bombs!” Harry said.

“Here they come!” Ron yelled. “Reducto! Reducto!”

He cast as fast as he could, and his curses shot into the air, straight at the aeroplane - which twisted to the side, dodging his and Harry’s curses. Ron sent another pair after it, but the thing was too fast. Not faster than a top of the line broom though, Ron realised.

He turned his head to yell at Harry, and saw his friend was already pulling his shrunken Firebolt out. By the time Ron was astride his Nimbus, Harry was already in the air and chasing after the aeroplane.

Ron cursed while he accelerated as fast as he could. He wasn’t as good a flyer as Harry, but he knew you stuck with your partner. Especially in the air. Harry was already far out, but if the aeroplane was turning… yes! Ron grinned. He hadn’t been good enough to go pro, but he had been a starting Keeper for Gryffindor. He knew how to anticipate an enemy’s course.

Harry was twisting and corkscrewing now, dodging the plane’s fire. He wouldn’t be able to hit it with a curse like this. But the aeroplane was turning as well, trying to outmaneuver Harry. Perfect. Ron crouched lower over his broom’s shaft, his wand out, and dove down, then pulled up and came at the plane from below.

“Reducto!”

His curse hit the plane’s wing, blowing the outer part away. The aeroplane at once fell into a spin, its fire going wide. Harry didn’t hesitate, and dove at it, casting curses of his own. One connected with the plane’s body, and the thing came apart in the air.

Ron whooped loudly, and flew a turn to line up next to Harry. But when he saw the smoke rising from muggle London, his elation vanished. “Merlin’s balls! There must be a dozen fires!”

Harry shook his head. “The Ministry’s in the midst of that!”

Hermione!

Ron was about to charge ahead, Statute of Secrecy be damned, when he heard another aeroplane. He looked around frantically… there. It looked just like the one they had destroyed; for a moment he feared that it had somehow come back.

He exchanged a look with Harry, who nodded at him. There was no need to say anything - if they left, Diagon Alley would suffer another attack. More people would die.

And Hermione wouldn’t forgive them.

As the two flew towards the new enemy, Ron just hoped that the witch was safe. He didn’t know what he and Harry would do if something happened to her.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, May 2nd, 2001

Hermione Granger dashed out of her office and started rallying her department.

“Baker! Ellis! Seal up the vaults! Anything dangerous needs to be secured!” she yelled, running towards the entrance.

Jonathan was there still, wand out and aimed at the elevator.

Another explosion shook the building. What could be doing this, she asked herself. The Ministry’s wards were second only to Hogwarts’!

More Unspeakables arrived at the lift, taking up defensive positions. Hermione felt a brief flush of pleased vindication - they had grumbled and protested when she had them drilled, but she had sworn that her department wouldn’t fall as easily to an assault as her predecessor’s had when she had attacked.

The alerts were still screaming, but that didn’t tell her anything about what was going on. And she didn’t think the paper aeroplanes would be of any use right now. She raised her wand. “Expecto patronum!” A silvery otter appeared, flying around her. “Kingsley, my department is secure. What’s going on?”

The otter sped away, then suddenly stopped, as if it was confused. Hermione blinked, then realised what that meant: The Minister was dead. Whoever was attacking had penetrated the building already.

At that moment, the lift arrived, and everyone tensed up. Hermione cast a Shield Charm and hunkered down behind Jonathan’s desk. The doors opened, and a bleeding Auror stumbled out. “The upper floors are getting blown up!” he stammered, before collapsing.

“Marius!” Hermione yelled, “Rig up your fireplace so we can use it to evacuate people! Check with St. Mungo’s if they are under attack as well! Jonathan! Help the Auror!”

She heard more explosions. More distant though. The building didn’t shake as much as before. She needed to know what was happening. She turned to the stairs. “Katherine! Smith! With me!” She entered the stairs leading up, followed by the two Unspeakables. They had been the best in those drills. They didn’t hold a candle to Harry or Ron, and they had no combat experience, but they would have to do.

She managed to get up three floors before the stairs became filled with panicked Ministry workers. A quick Expansion Charm solved it. “Evacuate through the Floo connections!” she yelled, several times, but even aided by an Amplifying Charm she doubted that she could get through to all of them.

No matter. She pushed through, towards the atrium. Before she reached it though, another explosion, the loudest so far, sounded and the building shook so violently that she was thrown into a wall. Whole parts of the ceiling broke off and fell down. Not even Voldemort’s Blasting Curses could have done this!

“Dear Lord!” she said, frozen for a moment, “They’re bombarding us!”

“That can’t be a Bombarda!” Katherine protested.

“Those are muggle weapons!” Hermione yelled. But why would the United Kingdom attack the Ministry? And how?

She hesitated to continue towards the atrium. If those were muggle bombs… she held up her hand when Smith tried to pass her. “Wait!”

He didn’t argue. Smart wizard.

She waited for the next explosion.

*****​

London, May 2nd, 2001

They were fighting Nazi planes! Harry Potter thought while dodging machine gun fire from the last seaplane in the sky over London. He could see the crosses on the wings and fuselage clearly, as well as the swastikas on the tail. And the glimpses he had caught of the pilots had made it clear that they were not humans. Not living humans, at least.

The thing was turning faster than the others, or so he thought, and the fire was getting more precise. Hopefully his Shield Charm would protect him against machine gun bullets - not that he wanted to test that.

Ron was coming from below again - a tactic that was far more successful than it should have been, Harry thought. Fighters dived from the sun, didn’t they? But he wasn’t about to argue with a tactic that had brought down two of those planes already.

The plane suddenly veered away, and Ron’s Reductor Curses missed. The thing was getting better at flying as well! Harry accelerated, ducking down when the tail gunner started to target him again. Weaving made him a harder target, but also slowed him down. Ron was following, but his friend wouldn’t catch up in a pure speed chase. His broom wasn’t made for that. Something, Harry thought, they would have to rectify as soon as possible - if there were three of those planes, then there could be more.

The plane was flying towards the Thames. Harry didn’t think it would land there though. But it might want to use the river to fly so low that Harry couldn’t duck out of the machine gunner’s field of fire as easily as when they were higher in the air - it’s what he’d do in the thing’s place. He had to catch it before that!

He was so focused on the seaplane, he only saw what the thing was flying towards when roaring explosions - eight, one after another - caught his attention. In the middle of the river, someone was shooting with… cannons? Gun turrets, stuck to some warped material, floating around a white figure?

Harry had to roll to the side to avoid another line of tracer bullets, and before he could take another look, explosions started around him, battering his Shield Charm. He dove to the river at once, corkscrewing like a madman, and it wasn’t until he pulled out of his dive, his feet touching the water, that he realised what those explosions were. Anti-aircraft shells.

In front of him, the seaplane was flying right towards the construct, and… landing? Harry was about to send a few curses at the slowed plane when the river behind him exploded in a spout that seemed to reach higher than Tower Bridge. He shot to the side, away from the river, and more spouts rose behind him before he reached the dubious safety of the next street.

Suddenly, he found himself in a rainstorm. Even with his charmed glasses and inside his Shield Charm, he had trouble seeing much, and had to slow down before he crashed into something. He briefly hesitated, then turned around and flew back, towards the river. He had flown in worse weather.

Harry reached the Thames again, just in time to see the gun-carrying figure disappear in the storm, which was rapidly moving towards the sea. He turned and stared at the devastation that thing had caused in London. If the Ministry had been hit...

Hermione was there! And Ron’s dad! And Kingsley!

He saw Ron approaching, then bent low over his broom and flew as quickly as possible towards the Ministry.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, May 2nd, 2001

Riding his broom, Ron Weasley clenched his jaw as he approached the building under which the Ministry of Magic was located. Or rather, the remains of said building. It was in ruins, reduced to rubble. A few broken walls were left standing, poking out from the fire ravaging the area.

And that was but one building among a dozen that had been hit by whatever guns that thing on the Thames had used. The buildings closest to the Ministry had been hit almost as badly; only one was still standing, two had collapsed and one was about to, by the looks of it. Most of the rest were burning, with smoke pouring out of gaping holes in their walls. The smoke was so bad, he’d had to cast a Bubble-Head Charm while still airborne and was already covered with soot.

He spotted muggle police and fire brigade vehicles in the street while he looked for a spot to land near the Ministry. They were hampered by the throngs of people fleeing the inferno. Ron didn’t want to know how many muggles had died in this attack - this was far worse than Birmingham, three years ago, when Voldemort had unleashed the Dementors in an attempt to gain enough corpses to replenish the ranks of his Inferi.

He finally landed near the wrecked phone booth that concealed the lift to the Ministry. Engine noise from the sky made him jerk, until he realised those were from muggle helicopters. Shaking his head, he started to cast Flame-Freezing Charms on what fires he could see. Not that it would help any of the muggles who had been in the building; no one could have survived the destruction he saw. The building had been flattened, levelled. A Human-presence-revealing Spell confirmed that - the only humans around him were on the street. Survivors from the other buildings, or passers-by, or so he assumed. Many of them were wounded.

“Ron!”

He turned around and saw Harry had landed, fading into view as his Disillusionment Spell ended. His friend was as covered with soot and ash as Ron himself. “Muggle jets are in the sky now.”

“We should have given her the communication mirror,” Ron muttered. Even though he knew that Harry and he, being Aurors, needed it more than the Head of the Department of Mysteries. “Expecto patronum!” he whispered, and a glowing terrier appeared. “Hermione! The building above the Ministry is gone. As is the lift. How are things below? Can we apparate down?”

He held his breath when the terrier started to sprint. If the Patronus stopped… The glowing animal disappeared into the ground, and Ron closed his eyes in relief.

She was alive.

“Thank god!” Harry exclaimed. Ron’s friend frowned, staring at the debris, then at the wounded muggles.

Ron knew what he was thinking. The Statute of Secrecy forbade it, but… “Let’s help the wounded. A few Confundus Charms will be taken for the effects of shock.”

Harry nodded, and the two Aurors started to deal with the closest muggles while they waited for Hermione to send her own Patronus up to answer them. They couldn’t do much - stop the bleeding, mostly - and this close to the Ministry, there weren’t many survivors, but they’d do what they could.

Ron was in the process of fixing a young woman’s broken arm and ribcage when dark-robed wizards appeared. He almost let loose with a Blasting Curse to scatter them, followed by a series of Piercing Curses, before he realised they were the Obliviators. And when he saw they were not helping the muggles, but obliviating them, even those who were bleeding heavily, he again almost cast the Blasting Curse.

Harry must have shared his sentiments, since Ron’s friend strode towards the other wizards, yelling: “What the hell are you doing! Heal them first, you wankers!”

Ron didn’t hear what the Obliviator answered, since at that moment a silvery otter appeared, and he heard Hermione’s voice.

“The uppermost three floors are damaged and unsafe. We’re evacuating through an improvised floo to St. Mungo’s. Apparition is still blocked.”

Hermione was safe. And Dad’s office was on the fourth floor. He should be safe as well. Ron smiled, obliviated the girl he had just healed, and walked over to stop Harry from cursing the Obliviators.

*****​

Two hours later, the Ministry had been evacuated and the wounded were being treated in St. Mungo’s. Sadly, Dawlish hadn’t been wounded - he had probably not yet been in the office, Ron thought - and so had taken over the temporary command post Harry and Ron had installed in Diagon Alley. Which meant the two Aurors had left before the idiot could give them some order that would cause one of them to hex him.

Which was why the two of them were currently standing in a side alley of Diagon Alley, where parts of a seaplane they had fought earlier had crashed. A conjured wall and a Muffliato provided privacy.

“You know, technically, this is tampering with evidence,” Harry said, even while he was dropping a portkey on the wing.

“It’s only evidence until Hermione declares it a matter for her Department,” Ron answered.

“Which she can’t do until she returns from the Ministry.” Harry watched the wing disappear.

“Which is why we’re taking the wreckage to a safe place.” Ron dropped another portkey on the last piece of the fuselage he could see.

“Which means we’ll not be able to use this as evidence,” Harry said.

Ron snorted. Lately, the Wizengamot had been quite testy about those regulations. Someone must have spent some gold. “It won’t be needed as evidence.” Not even the most obstructive Wizengamot member would attempt to prevent the use of Veritaserum in this case. Too many wizards and muggles had been killed. Too many buildings destroyed. The muggle army and air force had been mobilised, Hermione had told them when they had been able to meet briefly.

The tail was the only recognisable piece left that Ron could see. The tail with the swastika on it. Even he knew what that stood for. He dropped a portkey on it.

“Have you heard anything from your dad?” Harry asked, sweeping his wand over the area.

Ron shook his head. “He’s either in the emergency meeting of the department heads, or he’s talking to the muggles.” Kingsley would have talked to the Prime Minister already, if not for the fact that Kingsley’s office had been on the first floor, and he had been an early worker.

“So… do we go back and watch how Dawlish makes a mess of things?” Harry asked.

Ron scoffed. “Hell no. He’ll whine about your words to the Obliviators soon enough. Let’s gather more evidence.”

And if possible, help the muggles find survivors in their buildings.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, May 2nd, 2001

It was quite late when Hermione Granger arrived at her home in Grimmauld Place, even for her. Past 10 PM, with hardly any breaks since the morning. That bloody, horrible morning. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to banish the memory of what she had seen when helping to clear the third floor of the Ministry. The bodies squashed beneath rubble and debris. The burned corpses trapped under beams and parts of the ceiling. It didn’t work. The smell, the stench of death seemed to linger in her nose. Like before. At Malfoy Manor.

Harry and Ron had been waiting for her. They reached her before she had left the entrance hall, and the witch found herself in the middle of a hug from both of them. Their touch, their smell, finally banished the memories. Temporarily, at least, as she knew from experience.

For a while, they remained silent. They were still alive. Still whole. Unlike so many others. Like before, back in the war. “I’ve prepared dinner,” Harry whispered, breaking the silence.

“You didn’t wait for me to eat, did you?” she asked. She felt them nod, and snorted. They’d never change.

There were muggle newspapers - special editions - on the kitchen table, next to the plates. She saw the headlines. ‘Nazi Bombs’. ‘Second Blitz’. And, almost prophetic, ‘War!’

“I should have worked on getting us TV reception,” she mumbled while she ate with a hunger she hadn’t felt until she sat down.

Ron shook his head, already halfway through his second helping. Harry swallowed, and said: “No. We don’t need it. We already know more than the muggles know.”

Part of her wanted to argue that it was important to know what the muggles thought. How they would react. Those who knew about magic would have realised that the attack had been aimed at the Ministry as soon as they looked at a map. What would they tell the population? But she nodded, and finished her meal. They’d know soon enough, and she didn’t want to worry the two men. Instead she filled them in about what she knew. “Kingsley’s dead. Selwyn’s the acting Minister.”

“Great.” Harry scoffed. “Horrible Hyacinth gets even more power.”

Hermione nodded. She wasn’t fond of the rather conservative witch herself. Selwyn hadn’t been a follower of Voldemort, but she hadn’t supported the Order either. And she had done her utmost to prevent Hermione’s appointment as Head of the Department of Mysteries in order to place an inept pureblood crony there.

“She won’t become the next Minister,” Ron said.

“That’s because she wants to stay Chief Warlock. She’s already trying to put Greengrass forward as a candidate. And Doge won’t be able to do much.” Hermione pursed her lips.

Both her boys groaned. Eric Greengrass was cut from the same cloth as Selwyn - he had sat out the war, but he had started to make deals and demands as soon Voldemort had been defeated. Hermione had no doubt that the pureblood would have done the same if the Dark Lord had won.

“I could…” Harry started.

Hermione knew what he was about to say, and cut him off. “No. It would be a waste of gold.” There wasn’t that much left of the famous Black fortune. Sirius had spent a lot on financing the Order, until he had died in the ambush at Hogsmeade, with Remus and so many others. Malfoy had grabbed part of Harry’s inheritance through the Wizengamot, and tied up the rest in court. Until the end of the war, which also spelled the end of the Malfoys.

Harry frowned. “What if the new Minister gets rid of you?”

Hermione shrugged. “I’ve made plans for that. But I think they’ll simply try to ignore me.” She wasn’t making waves, after all. Her work was very discreet. That was a part of the tradition of the Unspeakables which she had continued.

“They’re still scared of us as well, Dad said.” Ron pushed his empty plate back.

“Dawlish could have fooled me,” Harry grumbled.

“He’s being a git, but he won’t really push us,” Ron said. “They know we won’t make a fuss over minor annoyances, but they are not quite so certain what we’d do if they cross a line.”

Speaking of Ron’s family... “Did you call your Mum?” Hermione asked, and regretted it at once when Ron looked at her.

“I did,” her friend said. “She was going spare. Even knowing Dad and I were safe, she wanted us to come to the Burrow at once.”

Hermione winced. That wouldn’t have been a fun conversation. Molly Weasley had not taken Percy’s death in the war well. And Ron’s relationship to his parents was already somewhat strained because of his relationship with Hermione and Harry. His mum didn’t share their opinion that what they did in the bedroom was nobody’s business but their own.

Ron shrugged, seemingly unconcerned, but she knew he was anything but. “Fred and George flooed down from Hogsmeade to the Burrow. And Ginny hadn’t yet left for the training with the Harpies.”

“What do you know about the attack?” Harry asked, in an obvious attempt to change the topic.

Hermione didn’t mind. “Not much. There are rumours about muggles attacking us.” Which were stupid - muggles couldn’t even see most of the magical areas. “The explosions do match muggle weapons, though there’s a magical aura as well. And there are reports about Aurors fighting muggle aeroplanes which were bombing Diagon Alley.” She knew just who those Aurors had been.

“Nazi seaplanes,” Ron corrected her. “Harry recognised them. We’ve recovered a wreck,” Ron added when Harry brought out a cake. “It’s in the basement.”

Hermione stared at him. “What? That’s why Dawlish was ranting at me and wanted to enter my vaults?”

The two nodded, smiling slightly sheepishly at her. Ron shrugged. “We didn’t want it to fall into the wrong hands.”

Which, as Hermione knew, included most of the Ministry in their opinion. An opinion she had to admit she shared. “Let’s take a look at it then.” She stood up.

“It’s already late…” Harry started. He shut up when she looked at him. He didn’t expect her to be able to sleep with such a mystery waiting for her, did he?

*****​

Half an hour later, Hermione was close to being frustrated. The wreck hadn’t given up many of its secrets, despite her trying just about every spell she could think of. “It’s definitely conjured,” she told her friends, who had refused to go to bed and get some rest, the idiots, “and the pilot’s remains are very similar to those of an Inferius. Similar but not identical.” She had seen and analysed enough Inferi to know that, after Hogsmeade and Hogwarts.

“Observer. Those were the observer’s remains,” Harry corrected her. She rolled her eyes, and he grinned. He had already identified the plane as an Arado Ar 196. The standard seaplane of the Kriegsmarine during the Second World War. Only three of the over five hundred that had been built were left, and none of them were in flying condition.

“But,” she continued, “I’ve never seen or heard of a conjured plane able to fly like you describe them. Much less being piloted - crewed - by Inferi. It wasn’t a Gemino Curse either.” She shook her head. “I’ll need your memories of this encounter. And of that thing on the river.”

“Now?” Ron asked.

“Yes.” It was past midnight already, but that was what Pepper-Up had been invented for. She ignored Ron’s muttered “She’ll kill us when she sees our memories”.

The three went down another level, to what Harry and Ron kept calling ‘Hermione’s Lair’, no matter how often she told them it was a laboratory, filled with tomes, items and tools, all acquired during the war. Chief among them was the stone basin in the center of the room. Dumbledore’s pensieve.

As far as everyone else knew, the rare device had been lost during the war. Destroyed during the Battle of Hogwarts, or taken by the Dark Lord, and destroyed in Malfoy Manor. The three of them had never told anyone that they had stolen it well before that, along with a lot of the Headmaster’s belongings, and replaced it with a copy. Dumbledore would have wanted them to have it, Hermione knew. He had known they’d need it.

And they had, and still did. She placed Harry’s memories into the basin and dived into the mist that formed.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, May 3rd, 2001

Harry Potter and his partner had just sat down at his desk in the Auror offices when one of the rookies stuck his head in and yelled: “Potter! Weasley! The Head Auror wants to see you in his office at once!”

Harry exchanged a glance with Ron. They had been late to work, but Harry didn’t think that was what Dawlish wanted to talk about. Not that he cared much - studying the memories in the pensieve had been more important than whatever work awaited them. And he wasn’t too keen on writing his report of what he had seen yesterday - he couldn’t use knowledge gained from the wreck or the pensieve, after all. Not without the department finding out about them.

He had to suppress a shiver when he remembered how unnatural the figure on the Thames had looked, once he had been able to study it without concentrating on not getting hit. It was female, looked human, but definitely wasn’t human. Her skin and even her hair were stark white, lacking any hint of colour, and lots of both had been on display. She had worn scant, blood-red clothes, combined with armored boots and gauntlets. And floating around her, held together by wood and metal, had been four turrets, almost a yard long, with two guns each, covered with blood and moving as if they were alive. Smaller turrets were poking out between those four, and things had been crawling over them. And, as on the seaplanes, Swastikas and the ensign of the Kriegsmarine were visible on the structure. And despite their small size, those guns had laid waste to London.

The figure had fascinated and appalled Hermione enough that she hadn’t lectured them about their ‘reckless suicidal flying’ until breakfast. And they had no clue what kind of creature she was.

“Well, let’s let Dawlish yell at us. It’ll wake us up completely, and we’ll be able to get on with our work,” Ron said, standing up.

Harry nodded. They didn’t quite take their time to reach the man’s office, but they didn’t hurry either. Something Dawlish was aware of, Harry thought, judging by the Auror’s expression when he saw them enter.

“You!” he bellowed. “What were you doing yesterday? While everyone did their best to deal with this disaster, you went and hid?” Dawlish was standing behind his desk, trying to look intimidating.

Harry wasn’t impressed. He had stood face to face with Voldemort, after all. He stared at the older wizard in response.

Ron shrugged. “We’ve been doing search and rescue.”

“No one saw you after you left Diagon Alley!”

“We were in muggle London,” Harry’s friend went on. “We had to make certain that there was no sign of magic among the muggle ruins.”

“I’ve had reports that you hindered the Obliviators!”

“They were being idiots, as usual,” Harry said. “They would have let muggles die despite being able to help them and keep the Statute of Secrecy.” He glared at Dawlish, daring the man to say anything against that.

Dawlish ground his teeth, but didn’t press that issue. He sat down, huffing. “This is the biggest crisis since the war. The acting Minister personally impressed this upon me.”

Harry exchanged a glance with Ron while Dawlish prattled on. “All the evidence points at an attack by muggles on us! Muggle aeroplanes were seen above London! Dozens of them! We have to find out who is behind this attack.” The Head Auror glared at them both. “This is a far too important case to risk loose wands like you two meddling with it.” He sniffed. “The Minister also made that quite clear.”

“Should we take a vacation then?” Ron asked.

“As if!” Dawlish huffed again. “You can take over the minor work, freeing dependable Aurors up to tackle this crisis.” He grinned. “There’s been a report about a girl who walks on water on a muggle beach. Go and deal with it!”

A girl who walked on water? Harry looked at Ron. That sounded very familiar. He was quite glad he hadn’t reported his observations yet. Dawlish certainly wouldn’t send them to check that out, had he known about the figure on the Thames.

He turned to Dawlish, trying to sound reluctant. “And where is this beach?”

The Head Auror’s smile turned nasty. “On the Orkney Islands. Scapa Flow.”

*****​

Atlantic, May 3rd, 2001

She was floating in the depths from which she had risen before, raging in silence. She had been so close to destroying the Ministry of Magic! Her guns had been pounding it to rubble. Her planes had been strafing and bombing Diagon Alley, and the muggle city. A bit longer, a few more hits, and it would have been done.

But then they had come. Enemies in the air. Like in the past. Gnats, barely able to hurt her - and yet they had. Their stings had crippled her. Wrecked her rudder. Slowed her down and prevented her escape from the pack of enemies that had hounded her. Those gnats had doomed her to a slow, cruel death as she had been reduced to a wreck over hours, pounded without mercy by dozens of enemies.

She had held out at first, even when her planes had fallen from the sky. She had changed, after all. Had become stronger than she had ever been. No mere gnat would cripple her anymore. And so she had kept shelling the Ministry. Until she had recognised him.

Her chosen enemy. The one who had defeated her twice. Reduced her to a mere shade. Had almost killed her, despite her anchors. And he had been flying at her, ignoring, evading her anti-aircraft fire. Coming for her. Like before. In the air this time. And she had felt something else, stirring.

It had been too much. She had fled, retreated to the safety of the deep sea. She couldn’t fight this enemy. Not alone.

But she wouldn’t be alone. Not for long.

*****​

 

Chapter 2: Recalled to Duty

Orkney Island, Scapa Flow, May 3rd, 2001

The end had come very quickly. Not even ten minutes into her first real battle, she had been killed. One minute she had been firing at the enemy, ignoring the minor damage on her boat deck while she unmasked her rear turrets, the next she had been broken in two by a single hit. She had sunk so fast, only three of her crew had survived. 1418 souls had gone down with her. Speed had been her reason to exist, and speed had been her doom when it had failed to be her armour.

She should have known this would happen. She had been old. Outdated. Built for a war she arrived too late to fight in, and then bypassed by newer ships in the twenty years that followed. She had been worn down by her long service as well, in desperate need of a refit. Or just repairs - she hadn’t even been able to provide enough water for her crew.

She had often wondered if her end might have been a fitting punishment for her hubris. For two decades she had been the most powerful ship of her navy. The flagship of an Empire. And yet, when war had come, finally, all she had done was murder former allies, helplessly caught in a harbour. No wonder she had been excited when the time had come to finally face a real enemy. To finally prove her mettle. Live up to her reputation.

A challenge, a duty she had failed. Catastrophically.

So, why was she suddenly back in her home port? She knew this port. Scapa Flow. The home of the Grand Fleet, no the Home Fleet, in times of war. Only… there was no sign of war. No sign of the fleet either. She couldn’t see any other ship of the navy. Not with her optics, nor with her type 284 radar.

And yet, she had been recalled to service. That she was certain of. Her country needed her. Had the Home Fleet been defeated? Was she the last ship to defend Britain? She studied the coast, so familiar, and yet different. There were no signs of battle. No debris on the beach, no destroyed fortifications. Not even torn torpedo nets drifting in the sea. This was no port at war. How could a fleet be lost, yet a port be at peace?

And, she added, when she finally couldn’t ignore it anymore, why was she a girl?

She looked down at her body. Her definitely human-looking body. But she was a ship, not a human. A human wearing clothes better suited to the streets of London than the sea. A skirt that didn’t reach her knees, boots that rose to cover her shins, armoured, but certainly not regulation, and a shirt that might vaguely look like a uniform - to a land-lubber. From what she knew about humans, this was not attire worn on duty, much less in the North Sea.

And, she added, humans didn’t walk on water. But then, she was a ship. She could feel her boilers inside her, driving her. She knew her turrets were but a command away from unmasking - although that seemed to mean something a bit different, now. She didn’t really walk either, but sailed. And she even had a crew of sort, with her, on her. Though again, different than before.

No matter her form though, she was ready for action. She lifted her chin, studied the sea again, then set out to inspect the coast. She had been called back to serve, and she would do her duty.

Even if she had to find out what her duty was, first.

It didn’t take her long to reach the coast, another sign that she was a ship. A human would have not been as fast, neither swimming nor running. She could see parts of the port facilities she knew so well as she approached, but no one challenged her. No guns covered her approach, no ship or longboat met her. There was no radio traffic either. She had sent some coded messages, but no one had answered. And if hostile forces were in the area, then transmitting in the clear was a bad idea.

She didn’t make landfall. This was not a place she would get orders. As hard as it was to believe, the Navy must have abandoned this port. She frowned, pulling back a strand of her blonde hair that had escaped her ponytail. There was one place the Navy would never leave. The Admiralty House in London. She would make her way there, and then she would get the orders she needed!

Just as she was picking up steam to leave Scapa Flow, her type 279 air-warning radar alerted her of two planes approaching her position. She turned around, wary but not alarmed. Two planes were no threat to an Admiral-class Battlecruiser.

Though, as it turned out once she had visual contact, those were not planes, but flying humans. On… brooms? She blinked, wondering if those were planes given human form, just as she was a ship given human form. But why would they ride brooms?

She couldn’t see any weapons, nor bombs, and the bright red clothes they wore looked anything but military, and so she did not unmask her anti-aircraft guns as they approached. Maybe they would know where she was supposed to go. They certainly looked as out of place as she felt.

*****​

Orkney Island, Scapa Flow, May 3rd, 2001

“She’s seen us.”

Ron Weasley couldn’t help but be nervous when he saw the girl on the water turn towards them, despite the distance they were keeping. She didn’t look as wrong and unnatural as that thing on the Thames had looked, and he couldn’t see any guns moving around her, but the similarities were… alright, the only similarity was that this girl walked on water as well. And there were spells for that. Probably.

He snorted. “She doesn’t look aggressive,” he said to Harry. “And I don’t see a wand out.”

“It could still be a trap.”

After Hogsmeade, Ron didn’t make jokes about walking into a trap anymore, so he nodded. “True. But we can’t exactly let her alert the muggles, can we? Someone has to deal with her.”

Harry sighed and muttered: “Story of our lives.”

Ron chuckled, and without a further word, the two accelerated on their brooms and sped towards the girl, who now seemed to be waiting for them, her head slightly cocked to the side. She was wearing muggle clothes, but that didn’t mean a thing. Tonks had proven that.

“Hello. I’m Auror Potter, this is Auror Weasley. British Ministry of Magic, Department of Magical Law Enforcement,” Harry stated while Ron cast a quick spell to hide them from the muggles.

“Ministry of Magic?”

The girl looked and sounded very surprised, at least to Ron. “You’ve never heard of the Ministry?” he asked, to confirm her ignorance. She had a clear British accent. Queen’s English, even, so the odds of her being a foreigner were very low.

She shook her head, her ponytail whipping around. “I’ve never heard of magic.” While Ron pondered how the girl could have never heard of magic while standing on water, she continued. “But it would explain this, I reckon.” She gestured at herself.

“Is this the first time you’ve walked on water?” Harry asked.

“Walked, yes. I’ve been sailing the seas for over twenty years though.”

Since she didn’t look as if she was older than twenty, that might explain her ignorance, Ron thought. If she had been living on a ship all her life, she would not have been sent a Hogwarts letter, probably. He wasn’t that familiar with the procedure. He’d have to ask McGonagall.

“What’s your name?” Harry asked, before Ron could ask about accidental magic.

The girl suddenly stood ramrod-straight. “His Majesty’s Ship Hood. Admiral-Class battlecruiser, Royal Navy. Pennant number 51.”

Ron’s first thought was that someone had cursed the girl with a False-Memory Charm. His second thought was that that pale thing on the Thames had had gun turrets that had looked like they belonged on a battleship. And seaplanes.

“You don’t look much like a battlecruiser,” Harry said.

Ron glanced at his friend. One day, Harry’s snark would be the death of them.

Fortunately, the girl didn’t seem to take offence. She nodded, with an earnest expression. “I know I don’t. I don’t know what happened. One minute I’m sinking, the next I’m standing on water, and I’m a girl.”

Ron really hoped that someone had messed with her memory. The alternative - that someone was raising sunken ships as … something - meant that there was a very powerful wizard out there. Probably a necromancer even. And yet, it would explain the attack on London.

“I’ve never heard of a ship turning into a girl.” Harry sounded very sceptical. As far as Ron knew, not even The Quibbler had ever mentioned such a thing.

“I didn’t think you could fly on brooms. Or that magic was real,” the girl retorted.

Ron had to laugh, which made Harry grin and the girl smile. That was good. He didn’t fancy making a girl angry who might be able to summon the same cannons that had destroyed part of London. “Well, brooms have been enchanted to fly for a long time.” He didn’t see any reaction other than surprise on her face.

“So… you’re… witches?”

“Wizards,” Ron corrected her.

“Aurors,” Harry cut in. “Magical Law Enforcement. We’ve been informed by the Ministry that there was a possible threat to the Statute of Secrecy here. Magic has to be kept secret by law. Normal humans do not know about it.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that.” The girl looked down at herself. “I assume this is magic then?”

“Yes,” Ron said. What else could it be? Hermione would find out what kind of magic soon enough.

“I’m not the only one to have been recalled to serve then?” The girl smiled widely. “Who else reported for duty? Prince of Wales? She was with me when I sunk.”

“You’re the first, ah, shipgirl, who we have encountered,” Ron said. He felt bad when he saw her face fall.

“If you are a ‘shipgirl’. There are magic spells that can make you believe anything,” Harry said.

The girl frowned at him. “Are you doubting my word?” She narrowed her eyes, and suddenly four gun turrets appeared around her.

Ron gasped and had his wand aimed at her before he realised that the turrets were the same size as those of the creature that had attacked London, but didn’t look or feel as unnatural. They looked like miniature versions of battleship turrets in that book Hermione had found last night, and they were mounted on what seemed to be two halves of a miniature ship’s bow and stern. And he was staring right at their muzzles. He slowly lowered his wand, and to his relief, the turrets turned away from him in response.

“Ah… I guess you are a battlecruiser-girl,” Harry said in a dry voice that hid his own nervousness.

“The last and best battlecruiser of the Royal Navy!” the girl - Hood - said with obvious pride.

Ron wasn’t about to argue with that. Not this close to her guns. He could see smaller guns poking out from those ship parts too. The thing on the Thames had had smaller guns as well. Anti-aircraft guns.

“Who called you?” Harry asked. He sounded as tense as Ron felt.

“I don’t know. I just knew I was needed. That my country needed me. Are we at war?”

Ron snorted. After London, there was but one answer: “Yes. But we don’t know with whom.”

Yet.

*****​

London, May 3rd, 2001

London had suffered the greatest damage since the Blitz - more damage in a single attack than during the Blitz, even - but its citizens were dealing with it in the way their grandparents had during the Second World War: By keeping to their normal routines as much as possible. At least that was Hermione Granger’s impression on her way to the Ministry. Though the newspaper headlines, the signs for blood drives, and the flowers deposited as close to the still smoking ruins as possible without disturbing the police showed that London had been struck in its heart, and was reeling.

She could have apparated to work. Should have, actually. But instead, she was travelling through muggle London, the city she had been born in. The city she had grown distant from years ago. Just as she had grown distant from her parents. Who were the reason she was currently standing inside a phone booth and casting Doubling Charms on coins. International phone calls were expensive, and she hadn’t that many muggle coins anyway.

She checked her watch. Her parents would be at home now, back from work in Wellington. And frantic with worry, probably. She winced and started dialing. As she had expected, her call was picked up before the phone could ring twice.

“Granger residence.” Her mother’s concerned voice caused her to feel more than a bit guilty for not having called last night.

“Mum? I’m alright.” She started to feed more coins into the phone.

“Hermione! Douglas, it’s Hermione!” Her mother sobbed, briefly. “We saw the news… the destruction, right where you’re working…”

“Yes. It was an attack on the Ministry.” She shouldn’t have said that. It would only make things worse. But she hadn’t lied to her parents, and she wasn’t about to start now. And starting an argument made her feel less guilty for neglecting her parents.

“What? Hermione! That looked like war. A real war! They say it was a bombing attack by planes.”

“We’re still investigating, but it looks like it was magical in origin. Although using aeroplanes.” She decided not to mention the water-walking, gun-toting creature Harry and Ron had seen.

“Dear Lord! And they attacked you? With bombs?”

“They attacked the Ministry. The upper floors were destroyed, but as I’m working on the lowest floor, I was safe.” Hermione tried to sound as calm as possible.

“Another war. With bombs this time!” Her mum sounded aghast.

Hermione winced. She knew what was coming.

“You should come to visit us. Just until this war is over.”

As she had expected. She closed her eyes for an instant, pressing her lips together and swallowing what she wanted to say. “Mum, I’m a department head. I’m needed here. People depend on me to find out what is going on.”

“Just as they depended on you four years ago? What country needs a teenager to save it in a war?”

“I’m not a teenager anymore, mum.”

“It’s those boys! If not for them, you’d not be risking your life!” Her mother’s voice was dripping with scorn now. Her mum hadn’t called Harry and Ron by name ever since Hermione had told her that she was living with them. And sleeping with both.

“I’ve told you before: Even if Harry and Ron weren’t around, I’d not leave my country! And certainly not in the middle of a war where I can make a difference!” Hermione took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down. The memory of that argument, when she had refused to move to New Zealand with her parents, back in 1996, still hurt.

Her mother didn’t answer. Then she heard her father speak. “Hermione?”

“Yes, Dad?” She was talking in a more clipped tone now. Controlling herself.

She heard him sigh. “We just want you to be safe, dear.”

And not living in a ménage à trois, Hermione mentally added. Even if Harry and Ron were the only ones who truly understood her. Who knew what she had gone through. Who had gone through the same, in the last war.

“I’m as safe as I can be, Dad. I’m not an Auror. I’m not a soldier. I’m a researcher.”

“A researcher working in a building that was just bombed,” her father said in a dry voice.

She refused to feel guilty for that small attempt at deception. She hadn’t fought aeroplanes in the sky above London, nor dodged anti-aircraft fire over the Thames, after all. “I’m working ten floors underground, in a magical bunker.” This wasn’t the time to mention that the Minister himself had been killed in the attack.

Another sigh. She knew how he would be looking right now. Disappointed. Worried. Angry - at Wizarding Britain. At Harry and Ron. And at her. “If… if things become more dangerous, please at least consider joining us here. Wellington is a great city.”

“I’ll discuss it with my friends,” she said.

“Alright. We love you, you know.” Her parents knew she wouldn’t leave Britain. Not in the middle of a war. And she wouldn’t leave her friends.

“I know. I love you too.”

It wasn’t a lie. But Hermione loved her friends more than her parents. And they knew it as well.

*****​

“This is a catastrophe!” Hyacinth Selwyn, Chief Warlock and acting Minister for Magic, exclaimed, slapping down a few muggle newspapers on the table in the conference room.

Hermione cocked her head sideways and skimmed the headlines. ‘Undead Nazis attack!’ ‘Bombs out of nowhere!’ ‘Hitler’s Revenge!’ She suppressed a snort. If this hadn’t been Horrible Hyacinth, she would have thought the witch was talking about the vast destruction London had suffered.

“The ICW will be up in wands about this threat to the Statute of Secrecy, and they’ll blame me - us!” the acting Minister went on. “This needs to be dealt with at once!”

Hermione shook her head, both at the headlines as well as at the witch’s self-serving aims.

Arthur Weasley spoke up. “As the acting liaison to the Prime Minister, I can assure you that the Statute of Secrecy is not in danger. The muggles are treating this as a terrorist attack. The Prime Minister, obviously, is aware that this was an attack on us, and I have informed him that it was of magical origin.”

“What? Why did you do that?” The old witch all but screeched.

Arthur remained calm. “It was needed so the Prime Minister could help keep the Statute of Secrecy. Otherwise some knowledge, or even just a hint, of the nature of the attack would soon threaten to expose magic.” The wizard glanced at Hermione.

Nodding, she spoke up: “The seaplanes were conjured, and their pilots were a variant of Inferi, as far as we can tell from preliminary examinations. The magical nature and origin of this attack has been confirmed without a doubt.”

“That was already obvious by the destruction caused,” Selwyn said with a sneer. “Muggle weapons would have never managed to break through our wards.”

“Actually, the destruction was caused by purely muggle means,” Hermione said in what Ron and Harry called her ‘lecturing tone’. “They were magically delivered though.”

“Delivered?” Henry Avery asked. The Head of the DMLE looked a bit lost.

“A muggle term. They were dropped on the Ministry by magical means,” Hermione explained. Technically, she was correct.

Avery nodded. The man had proven to be a decent successor to Amelia Bones during the war, despite some of his relatives fighting for the other side.

“The muggles are trying to track down the bombs used, which will occupy them for a while.” Arthur took over again. “We can use this to fabricate a fake muggle origin for them. The Prime Minister has made a few suggestions.”

Hermione wondered just how those suggestions had been worded. She didn’t envy Arthur’s new position.

“Pass them on to the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee,” Selwyn ordered. “With that dealt with, what is the status of our defences? If those attackers return…” The old witch wasn’t the only one glancing at the ceiling. They were on the ninth floor underground, which had become rather popular recently. Dawlish the Idiot had even tried to move into Hermione’s department.

Avery grimaced. “Our Curse-Breakers are struggling with the ward anchors. They do not have much experience with wards that old, and Gringotts has denied us the use of one of their Curse-Breaking teams from Egypt, citing the need to reinforce their own wards.”

Hermione didn’t want to spend time on that task, but if there was another attack… She cleared her throat. “I can take a look at the anchors. I have some experience with older wards.” She and her friends had broken into quite a few old manors during the war, something everyone at the table was aware of, but usually tried to forget.

“Do it,” Selwyn said curtly. “Now, next point…”

Hermione suppressed a sigh. She really did need to start working as soon as possible.

*****​

Orkney Island, Scapa Flow, May 3rd, 2001

“London has been attacked? Shelled?” Hood sounded horrified. “What has the Navy been doing? What about the Royal Air Force? What about the Territorials?”

Harry Potter winced. She was also getting louder with each word. “It was a surprise attack. As far as we know, the attacker simply appeared on the Thames.” He didn’t add ‘like you appeared here.’

“The attacker disappeared in a sudden storm,” Ron added.

“I have to sail south at once! Report in at the Admiralty. Be ready to defend the city, and the King.”

“It’s Queen Elizabeth II now, the daughter of King George VI,” Harry said, almost reflexively. The Dursleys hadn’t cared that much about the government, but the Royal family had been held in high regard.

“Princess Elizabeth?” Hood perked up. “I know her!” She blinked. “Or I did, kind of.” Then she shook her head. “But it doesn’t matter! My duty is clear!”

“Actually, you can’t report to the Admiralty,” Ron said. When the girl turned towards him, and the turrets started to move, he quickly held his hands up. “They don’t know about magic. The only one who knows about magic is the Prime Minister.”

“Then I will report to him,” Hood stated, briefly showing her teeth. “I was recalled to duty to defend my country, and that is what I will be doing!”

Harry exchanged a glance with Ron. The thought of a battlecruiser-turned-girl going to the Prime Minister’s residence, at a time like this, and with a story like hers… “We can help with that,” he said. “We can get you to London faster than you can, ah, sail.”

“Really? That broom can carry a ship like me?” Hood eyed Harry’s prized Firebolt with a dubious expression.

“Not with you having those turrets.” Harry gestured at the slowly moving turrets and guns. “They look far heavier than a person.”

“Can you even go on land?” Ron asked. “If you’re a ship, I mean.”

Hood looked unsure for a moment. Then she nodded. “I can make landfall, yes.” She patted her thigh. “I have legs now!”

“Have you tried?” Harry asked. He suddenly imagined the girl being beached in the middle of London. Or stuck in the street.

“No…” The girl narrowed her eyes. “I’ll try now!”

With those words, Hood sped off towards the beach, trailing a wake like a ship. She was quite fast - though not even close to the top speed of Ron’s broom, much less Harry’s. The two Aurors quickly caught up, and Harry flew ahead, to cast a muggle-repelling charm while Ron flew next to the girl.

The Hood and Ron arrived at the beach, and Harry saw the turrets and ship parts disappear, right before the girl stepped on land. Her foot didn’t sink into the sand, but she wobbled a bit, and Harry saw Ron moving to catch her, should she fall, before recoiling with a sheepish expression.

“This is… weird,” Hood said, looking puzzled as she took a few tentative steps. “It’s utterly unlike sailing.”

“Well, you certainly don’t weigh as much as a battlecruiser,” Ron said, looking at the footprints in the sand.

Hood’s almost shy smile turned into a glare aimed at Harry’s friend. “Fully loaded, my displacement is 46,680 long tons!”

Ron held his hands up. “I’m just wondering if we can side-along apparate you.” Hood looked confused. “Ah, that means, instantly transport you by magic. From here to London.”

The girl’s eyes widened. “You can do that?”

“We can apparate humans. We’re not certain we can apparate you,” Harry explained. “If it goes wrong, well… people tend to get splinched.”

“Which means a part of their body stays behind.”

“Oh.” Hood looked wary now. “I’d rather not lose part of my hull.”

“Which is why we best test it here,” Harry said. “Just a short distance, a few yards.”

Hood looked apprehensive, but suddenly, she nodded and pushed her chin forward. “If this will allow me to be in London instantly, then I have to do this!”

Harry looked at Ron, who nodded. “You’re better than me at putting bodies together, mate.” Harry’s friend turned to Hood, and offered her his arm as if they were going to a ball. “It won’t hurt, even if you lose a part. Harry can reattach it. Magically.”

The girl nodded. Apparently, Harry thought, she trusted magic to work. Well, she was a magical being herself.

Hood hooked her arm inside Ron’s, and a second later, they disappeared with a pop, reappearing a few yards away.

“See? Easy!” Ron said, smiling, though Harry knew he had been nervous. “Now let’s check if we didn’t leave anything behind. I lost my eyebrows when I was taught Apparition.”

A thorough search didn’t reveal any missing body or hull parts, but resulted in Hood becoming rather impatient.

“Can we go to London now? I am needed there!” the girl said, with crossed arms and a rather stern expression.

Harry cleared his throat. “We can, but,” he raised a finger, “before we go we need to tell you a few things about Britain and Wizarding Britain.” When Harry saw how her eyes started to narrow, he quickly added: “You need to know this so you don’t break the law.”

“Oh.”

Harry wished Hermione was here to explain that, but she was busy in the Ministry. And Ron was ‘keeping an eye out for muggles’. He sighed. “Alright. Wizarding Britain was founded in 1692, when the International Statute of Secrecy was implemented. Since then, magic has been kept a secret, and....”

*****​

London, May 3rd, 2001

London had changed. A lot. HMS Hood had expected this, ever since the two wizards had told her how much time had passed since her sinking. 60 years. Three times her lifetime. But to see, to experience it… all those new buildings. The skyscrapers. The sheer size of the city. The cars. And the people. Their number, their fashion… people from all over the Empire were living here.

And the planes and helicopters, as those were called, circling overhead! The Royal Air Force had fantastic weapons! Hood had wanted to go and look at one of the anti-aircraft batteries the British Army had installed around London, but she had been told that they didn’t allow visitors.

But there were so many other sights to see! Like… she stopped walking and turned her head, watching a young woman walk past who was wearing ripped stockings and leather, and metal bits in her face. No wonder no one batted an eye at her own attire!

The two wizards - Ron Weasley and Harry Potter, she reminded herself - had changed into ‘muggle clothes’ themselves, though Hood was certain that in the middle of all these people, even red robes wouldn’t stand out.

“Hood?”

She turned back and saw the two men were looking at her. Waiting. She had fallen out of formation! “I’m sorry.” She sped up and rejoined them. “You were saying?”

Harry sighed. “The relationship between Wizarding Britain and Britain is complicated. Everything and everyone magical in Britain fall under the jurisdiction of the Ministry of Magic. It’s almost an independent government. And yet not exactly. It was never formally separated, and probably never will be since that would require Parliament to be told about magic.”

She nodded. That sounded like the usual legal quagmire the government had produced in the past when it came to the colonies and dominions.

“And,” Ron cut in, “the Prime Minister isn’t happy with the Ministry of Magic. Or with wizards. He might not believe you.”

“I can prove who I am!” Hood said.

“Hopefully without firing your guns,” Harry muttered.

She frowned at him. A shakedown cruise involved testing the weapons as well, everyone knew that. They shouldn’t have expected a warship of the Royal Navy to report for duty without ensuring that she was actually ready!

“Summoning her… ‘rig’ should be enough,” Ron said. He was the more cheerful of the two, Hood had noticed.

“Hopefully,” Harry said, proving her point. “So… we will have to be careful when approaching the Prime Minister. We don’t want the Ministry of Magic to know about you, or they’ll try to arrest you.”

Hood nodded. They had explained at length that the Ministry of Magic had no clue about ships, or shipgirls, and was generally not too competent. She didn’t think that made it different from any other civilian part of the government, but she understood the need for secrecy. She was a secret weapon now.

“My father’s the new liaison to the Prime Minister, so I can get us to the Prime Minister with his help,” Ron explained. Hood had wondered why the son of such an important family was working for the magical police, but as she understood, the wizards hadn’t a navy, not even an army, so that might be the next best thing.

“As long as he doesn’t tell anyone else about us,” Harry said. After a glance from Ron, he said: “Sorry.”

“Alright, let me call him.” Ron dug around in his pocket, and pulled out a small metal case. He opened it, and took an even smaller thing out of it. Hood had seen those before - lots of people walked around with them at their ear. It was marvelous how technology had progressed in Britain. Even civilians had portable radios! Even if they called them phones.

She listened attentively to Ron’s side of the talk.

“Dad? It’s me.”

“No, I’m fine. And so are Harry and Hermione.”

“You saw her this morning? Good.”

“Listen, we’ve found something the muggle minister needs to know.”

“Yes, it’s urgent.”

“Yes.”

“No, the Ministry can’t know.”

“Really not, Dad. Trust me.”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

“Thank you Dad.”

“I’ll tell them, but with this crisis going on…”

“I’ll tell them.”

“Thanks. See you soon.”

He flicked the thing off and sighed. “He will send a message once we can go in. And we’re invited to dinner at the Burrow. All of us.”

Harry winced. “OK. But you’re the one to tell Hermione.”

“Alright. And you tell her about Hood,” Ron responded.

Hood saw Harry wince even more after that.

*****​

At least Downing Street looked like it did in the pictures she had seen. Not everything should change, Hood thought, as they approached the building. She also approved of the reinforced and armed guards there. The country was at war, after all. But why they were not sending the reporters laying siege to the building away, she couldn’t tell.

Hood couldn’t dwell much on that though. She had to take care not to fall out of formation again - since she was currently wearing an invisibility cloak, Harry and Ron wouldn’t notice her absence, and she might get lost or cut off. It was a marvelous thing, this cloak. With one of these, she would be able to sneak up on any other ship! Provided it also worked against radar, of course.

A red-haired older man stepped out of the building to meet them. “Ron, Harry,” the man said, smiling.

“Dad,” Ron said.

“Arthur.” Harry nodded at him.

So, that was Ron’s father, Hood thought. He looked tired, but friendly. “Follow me.”

Mister Weasley led them inside the Prime Minister’s residence, and if not for her compass, Hood would have been lost quickly. A ship wasn’t made for navigating the insides of buildings. Some harbours were complicated enough!

Sooner than she had expected they were meeting the Prime Minister. Who also looked tired. And angry.

“So… what’s this important magical affair I need to be informed of right now? And away from that magical portrait spying on me? In the middle of the biggest crisis in my term?” He sounded angry. And suspicious. Leaning forward, he snarled: “Thousands of people died in an attack aimed at your Ministry! An attack by magical planes which do not show up on radar! The Royal Air Force is getting blamed for this, and I can’t tell the public, or even the Air Force, that it wasn’t their fault! You better be here to tell me that you found whatever new ‘Dark Lord’ was behind this! And give me a good excuse so I can stop having around-the-clock combat air patrols and missile batteries in London that will be useless against magic!”

Oh, yes, he was angry. And, as far as Hood could tell, with good reason. This was worse than the Blitz! At least during that war, people had known who had attacked them, and could fight back.

“Sir,” Ron said, “we’ve been investigating the attack on London, and we found someone who needs to meet you.”

Hood pulled the cloak off herself and saluted. “Her Majesty’s Ship Hood, reporting for duty!”

The Prime Minister stared at her, then at the wizards. Mister Weasley was staring at her as well.

“As far as we can tell, she’s the personified spirit of the battlecruiser Hood,” Harry explained. “She says she was called back from wherever she was because the country needs her.”

Hood nodded. “I’m fully operational, sir. Ready to serve.”

The Prime Minister was still staring at her and the others. And Ron’s father was now looking very interested. Fascinated even.

“She demonstrated that, sir,” Harry added. “She has the firepower of a battlecruiser. She can summon those miniature turrets that fire full-sized shells.”

“Like the shells that devastated London yesterday?” the Prime Minister asked with narrowed eyes.

Hood hadn’t been able to check the areas that had been bombarded either. The police had cordoned everything off, she had been told. Maybe the Prime Minister would let her check it out? She was quite familiar with big guns, after all.

“There are some similarities, sir. Auror Weasley and myself fought the attackers yesterday. We brought down three of the seaplanes. And we saw the creature shelling the city. It looked female, but inhuman. Pale white skin and hair, surrounded by floating, warped cannons, blood-red armour...” He shook his head. “We tried to close with her, but she disappeared in that storm.”

Hood fought not to shiver at hearing that description. She didn’t know how she knew, but this creature was unnatural. Corrupted.

The Prime Minister sighed. “Magic.”

“Obviously,” Ron said.

“I would usually question this, but in a weird, ‘magical’ way, it seems to fit.” The man shook his head.

“Sir?” All three wizards looked surprised.

“Our investigators found an unexploded 15 inch shell. Or rather, a 38 cm shell. Of a type not seen in over 50 years.”

Hood blinked. 38 cm… did he mean…?

“To their surprise, they also identified the wrecked seaplane we managed to secure as originally belonging to the Bismarck.”

Hood pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t curse in the presence of the Prime Minister.

The Bismarck. The ship that had sunk her, 60 years ago. The ship that she would have to fight again.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, May 3rd, 2001

Hood was not quite as confident as she acted, in Ron Weasley’s opinion. She had sounded very determined when she had assured the Prime Minister that she was ready to defend Britain, and that Harry and Ron would be able to deploy her anywhere within seconds. As the man had said, ‘the very picture of the spirit of the Navy’.

But now that they had left No. 10 Downing Street, and she had returned the Cloak of Invisibility to Harry, she was no longer watching the streets with eager curiosity. Instead, her manner was more subdued.

“We should eat something,” Ron said. The whole meeting with the Prime Minister had taken so long, it was already afternoon.

“Oh, yes!” Hood perked up. “I need to replenish my bunkers!”

“I guess that means you’re hungry,” Harry said, with a wry smile. “Fish and Chips OK?”

“I’ve never eaten before, so… I guess?” Hood smiled widely.

“Alright.” It seemed fitting that her first meal would be a classic British meal. Ron ducked into the next side alley, out of sight of the muggles, and apparated to his favourite food stall.

A few minutes later he was handing one meal to Harry and one to Hood. “Bon appetit.”

“That was good! Can I have another?”

Ron looked up from his not yet unwrapped meal to Hood, who was beaming at him. “You already ate?”

She nodded several times. “Yes. Can I have more? I’m a battlecruiser, not a frigate.”

“Merlin’s beard, Ron, she eats faster than you!” Harry said.

Ron shot him a glare. That had been back in first year! He turned to Hood. “Well… I guess I can get another portion.” Her smile seemed to shrink a bit. “More?” he asked.

She nodded again. “I need to fill my tanks so I don’t run out of fuel.”

Ron had a sudden vision of an empty Fish and Chips shop and an empty purse. His empty purse. He looked at his own untouched meal and wrapped it up again. “We need to take her to Grimmauld Place, Harry.”

Harry looked confused for a moment, then his eyes widened. “Oh.”

A minute later they were in No. 12 Grimmauld Place.

Hood was looking around. “That looks a bit fancy for a restaurant that serves food wrapped in newspapers,” she commented.

“It’s not a restaurant. It’s our home,” Harry said. “We needed to get off the street so we can get you more food without making a scene. Let’s go to the kitchen.”

“Well, at least the kitchens haven’t changed in 60 years,” the Battlecruiser said.

Ron chuckled while Harry winced. The kitchen was Harry’s domain, and he would have loved to get more modern appliances, but the house was far too magical for that.

Ron put his meal on the table and drew his wand. A Doubling Charm later, it had multiplied. “Enjoy!” he said to Hood, who was staring at the sight. Then she dug in.

Ron had to recast the charm two times until the girl finally declared that she was full, and that magic was the best thing ever for replenishment.

Harry was still shaking his head in amazement.

“Well,” Ron said, ”it looks like you’ll need bigger portions for dinner than you thought. Remember to cook Hermione’s favourite meal.”

“Again? We had it yesterday.”

“So?” Ron shrugged.

“She’ll know we’re up to something,” Harry said.

“And? She’ll still be in a better mood.” Ron shook his head.

“Alright,” Harry said with a sigh. “I’m going to the Ministry and file a ‘we’re not yet done’ report. I’ll be grumpy, so Dawlish shouldn’t bother us until tomorrow or the day after.”

“I’ll stay here with Hood,” Ron looked at the girl who was studying The Quibbler left on the table. “I guess we’ll put her in one of the guest rooms.” He rubbed his chin. “Do we have a water bed?”

*****​

“Hi, Harry, Ron!”

Ron winced, slightly, when he heard Hermione’s voice from the entrance hall. Hood, who had been reading one of the books Hermione had gathered for her research into the seaplane, looked up. Harry was still in the kitchen, working on dinner.

“Hedwig delivered your letter. You’ve found something important?” The witch entered the living room, and stopped when she saw Hood sitting at her place, surrounded by her books.

Ron knew Hermione didn’t take well to anyone intruding in their home. Even less so when they were intruding on her favourite spots, and to see them reading her books… but they had been best friends for ten years, and they had been living together for four years, if you counted the time spent underground, hunted by Death Eaters. He knew how to deflect her temper.

He quickly stood up and gestured at Hood. “Hi, Hermione. This is Her Majesty’s Ship Hood. Admiral-Class Battlecruiser of the Royal Navy. Recently recalled to service as a girl.”

Hermione blinked. “What?”

Ron knew he would pay for it later, but he couldn’t resist. “Hood? This is Hermione Granger. She doesn’t look like it right now, but she’s the brightest witch of our age.”

The battlecruiser smiled widely and offered her hand while Hermione glared at Ron, before her curiosity took over. Just as Ron had known it would.

“You’re a … ship turned girl? Reincarnated?” she asked while shaking hands.

“She can summon 15 inch cannons. We saw a demonstration in Scapa Flow,” Ron cut in.

Hood nodded. “Yes. I was recalled to protect Britain from the Bismarck.”

The witch narrowed her eyes. “You mean… of course! The Arado Ar 196, and the four turrets… it fits.” She turned to Ron. “If we overlook the fact that there was never any record of such a thing happening.”

“I’m not a thing, I’m a warship.”

“Well, there was Dad’s enchanted car,” Ron pointed out. The Anglia had developed sentience. Of sorts.

“That car didn’t turn into a girl,” Hermione retorted. “Although, there’s Pygmalion.”

She turned to Hood. “This requires further research.”

“After dinner,” Harry said. He must have sneaked up on them during the discussion, Ron thought, without getting noticed. Moody would have had him doing night shifts for such a mistake.

“Oh! Food!” Hood perked up.

“She eats like a warship,” Ron explained to Hermione. “I had to cast the Doubling Charm three times until she was full.”

“‘Eats like a warship’?” Hermione shook her head, huffing. “Ron, warships don’t eat!”

Harry, the sneaky traitor, used the distraction. “Oh, Hermione? Arthur’s invited us all to dinner to the Burrow. The day after tomorrow.”

The witch just nodded, her attention obviously focused on Hood.

Ron sighed. They’d have to make her eat, he just knew it.

*****​

A few hours later, they were in their room, ready for bed. Hood was already asleep, on her brand new water bed. The girl had been even more impressed by this invention than by magic, or so it had seemed. He smiled, reclining on their bed already.

“You were both reckless,” Hermione suddenly said while she was stowing her robe in her armoire. She wasn’t looking at him. “To bring an unknown magical creature to London. After you saw that she could fire 15 inch cannons.”

Ron slowly nodded. “Yes. But she was about to head to London on her own. If anyone had mistaken her for the creature who attacked…” It had been a gut call. He knew Hermione hated those.

The witch sighed. “If anything had happened to you two…”

Ron stood up and went to her, wrapping his arms around her from behind. “It didn’t. We’re safe.”

“But if it had…”

He rested his chin on her head. “We can’t worry too much over what could have been.” He understood how she felt. He had felt the same when he had seen the ruins of the Ministry. If Hermione had been in a meeting with Kingsley...

He heard Harry leave the bathroom, and stop. A moment later his friend had joined them, hugging both of them. Ron felt Hermione shiver, then slowly relax.

“We’re fine,” he whispered.

“We’re together,” Harry added.

She snorted, and turned around in their arms, embracing both of them.

“Let’s go to bed.”

*****​

North Sea, Azkaban, May 4th, 2001

There was the island. Azkaban. The cursed prison. She remembered attacking it once, conquering it. She had flown, back then, through the dark sky. Taken the island through treachery, turning the fiends guarding the place against those who deluded themselves into thinking the island was theirs.

She had no need for such subterfuge anymore. No need to bargain with fiends. No need to sneak around in the dark of the night, like a thief. She sailed out of the storm that had carried her there while the sun was already rising, and her cannons turned on the island.

Her guns moved quickly, not slowly, now. She knew her body, her power. She wouldn’t miss as often as she had when she had shelled the Ministry either. She had practiced. Planned. She knew the island, knew the prison. The temptation was there to fire broadside after broadside. To flatten the entire building. Kill everyone inside. Show her power! She could use the dead as well as the living.

But she wouldn’t do that. She was smart as well as powerful.

Her turrets turned a bit, adjusted their aim. And then she fired. Eight 38 cm SK C/34 thundered as one. She eagerly leaned forward, impatient to see the shells hit. There! She could see the wards protecting the prison’s walls flare up as they were destroyed, together with the outer walls themselves. The seaplanes circling overhead let her correct her aim while her guns were reloaded. Less than half a minute later, they fired again. More shells hit the prison, pulverising the remains of the walls.

Her planes spotted broom riders trying to flee. With a savage grin, she ordered the planes to disengage and cover the island’s opposite side. She would deal with the cowards in range of her anti-aircraft guns personally. Her guns could use the exercise. Her SK C/33 guns started firing, filling the air above the prison with deadly shrapnel. One of the wizards was blasted off his broom. Another simply exploded into a red mist. The rest split up. Some dove down to the sea, others rose as fast as they could. None escaped. The fools who thought they could outclimb her flak were shot down. Her seaplanes chased down those using the island as cover, machine guns shredding them from above. And the few idiots who dove into the water were killed with bombs. She reveled in their deaths!

She sailed closer, her smaller guns covering the prison now. Her planes returned, spotting for her. Two guards, hiding in the rubble of a fallen wall, discovered that rubble didn’t stop her secondaries. Two more times guards were spotted, before she reached the pier. She laughed - the same wards that covered the entire island and kept the prisoners from using any form of magical travel now kept the guards from escaping!

Her guns vanished as she stepped on land, but they were still with her, just a command away. They were part of her. And her planes were still circling above as she strode towards the prison, ready to deal with any remaining resistance.

There was none. She entered the remains of the prison’s courtyard, stepping over rubble and bodies, towards the guardroom. The door had survived the shelling, but she drove her gauntlet into it and ripped it off its hinges.

Inside, a guard was cowering, and spells flew at her. She scoffed as they hit. As if such weak attacks could hurt her! The man kept casting and crying while she walked towards him, taking her time. He was whimpering when she reached him and screamed when she crushed his wand and hand.

“Please… please… I surrender…”

She ignored his begging, cocking her head as she thought how he would serve her best. An escort, maybe? Even someone as powerful as she needed escorts. She shook her head. He was too weak for that. He would be fuel. Like his comrades. Smiling, she crushed his throat and let him choke to death.

Then she took his keys from him, and entered the cell tract. Many of the prisoners on the first floor were screaming, driven to madness by the shelling no doubt. Those were the petty criminals, she remembered. The weak ones. Fuel. She opened cell after cell, and silenced them. Before she headed down to the dungeons. Where the dangerous prisoners were housed. The murderers. The rapists. The Death Eaters.

She stopped. Death Eaters. She remembered them. They were her followers. Those who had fought for her. Before she had been defeated. Those who had failed her. Caught in the memories, she passed the cells, searching for someone she remembered. In the fifth cell she found a witch who looked familiar. The woman was not cowering in a corner, like the others, the common criminals, but facing her.

“Malfoy,” she whispered. The woman jerked. “I remember you. I marked you.”

The witch, Malfoy, gasped. “Milord? Is that you? Have you returned?”

She nodded. “I have returned. As you knew I would.” She opened the cell, and the witch fell to her knees.

“Thank you, milord! Thank you! My husband, my son, they fell in battle. I was captured, imprisoned, hoping… you came!” The witch smiled at her, grasping at her armoured boots. “You came!”

“Rise, Malfoy,” she commanded, and the prisoner stood up. The woman was strong. Not as strong as others she remembered, but strong enough. She reached out and gripped the witch’s throat, cutting off the babbling words.

While Malfoy fought to breathe, feet dangling in the air, she reached for her power, her new power. It flowed into her hand, and then into the witch. The prisoner started to scream while her body changed, twisted, weak flesh being replaced. Improved.

Malfoy would make a good escort.

*****​

 

Chapter 3: Azkaban

London, Ministry of Magic, May 4th, 2001

Auror Alfons Runcorn was fighting to stay awake. As a rookie Auror, he was stuck on the night shift more often than not, and the last hours were always the worst. Even with sun rising, he felt as if he could fall asleep at any moment. It wasn’t fair. While he was one of the youngest - newest - Aurors, most of the Corps wasn’t that much older than him, or hadn’t served that much longer. If he had been just two years older, he’d have been part of that large wave of wizards recruited to replace those lost in the war. And he’d only have had to spend at most one night out of seven on this shift. Not three out of seven.

He snorted. Of course, time in the Corps wasn’t the only thing that made a difference. Potter and Weasley were the best example. Shacklebolt’s ‘golden boys’ had been fast-tracked into the Aurors. Their training at the Academy, minimal as it had been, had happened after they had been recruited! Those two had never served on the graveyard shift! And their arrogance! They may have defeated Voldemort, but they flouted every rule and regulation, and looked down on all their supposed colleagues, even veteran Aurors! They kept to themselves, only socialising with their lover, the Minister and Weasley’s family. But that would change with Shacklebolt dead! No more nepotism! Dawlish had given them a taste already. Everyone in the Corps knew they were on some muggle-baiting case, in the middle of nowhere.

He was so focused on imagining Potter and Weasley having to do actual work, instead of coasting on their reputation, he almost missed the alert from one of the mirrors he was watching. Then he reacted with such haste, he kicked his chair over when he jumped up, and hit his hip against his desk when he ran towards the wall.

He activated the mirror. “Ministry of Magic!”

“Azkaban is under attack! The wards have fallen!”

He recognised the voice - Timothy Brown, he had been in Alfons’s year. “Tim? Who is attacking you?”

“I don’t know! They blasted the wards, and toppled the walls! Merlin’s balls! I have to get out of here! Send help!”

“Tim? Tim? TIM!”

Alfons yelled, but no one answered, and the mirror soon went dark. He took a deep breath and noticed he was trembling.

Then he remembered - he had to alert the Auror in charge!

He hit his hip again in his haste to reach the door.

*****​

Fifteen minutes later, Alfons and all the Aurors on his shift as well as the Hit-Wizards’ ready force - all of them young as well - were on brooms at the coast, facing the North Sea. Brannigan, the veteran Auror in charge, was addressing them.

“Alright! Someone’s been attacking Azkaban. We’ve received one alert, then nothing. Apparition is still blocked, so we assume that the wards that were taken down were just those protecting the building itself, not the ones affecting the island. Which means we’ll have to fly there. Keep your eyes open, and your Human-presence-revealing Spells and your Shield Charms going - we don’t know what awaits us.”

Brannigan nodded to the wizards and witches assembled, and mounted his broom. The older wizard truly led from the front, as Alfons had heard others say, taking point. Or so the Hit-Wizards would call it.

Alfons soon was struggling to keep his broom flying straight while maintaining his Shield Charm and paying attention to all the markers his detection spell had created. He hadn’t been the best flyer at Hogwarts, he hadn’t even made reserve on the Ravenclaw house team. But he’d make do. He was an Auror!

It took what felt like hours to Alfons to reach the prison island in the North Sea. The smoke was the first thing they saw, rising above the island. Alfons heard the broom riders next to him mutter curses. There had been an attack then - he had hoped it was a misunderstanding. Or some prank. Licking his suddenly dry lips, he slowed down a bit, letting others pass him. This was what Hit-Wizards were for, after all.

“Alright!” Brannigan’s amplified voice reached the entire group. “We’re landing on the eastern shore, then we’ll check the situation at the prison proper. Prisoners may have escaped and might still be on the island, so stay sharp now!”

Alfons bent over his broom and recast his Shield Charm and Human-presence-revealing Spell. This was it. His first real combat. Whoever had attacked the island would be more dangerous than the pickpockets he had arrested so far.

The grey-robed Hit-Wizards shot ahead, fanning out in pairs. Show-offs, Alfons thought. As if they had more experience than himself - almost all of them were rookies too. Still, they looked dashing. They were close to the island now. Already inside its wards, he realised with no little trepidation. Soon...

A series of explosions almost threw him off his broom. He managed to stay on it, jerking on the handle. Others hadn’t been so lucky. He saw one Hit-Wizard tumble from his broom, waving his arms around as he fell into the sea. Two others vanished in an explosion.

“Scatter! Scatter!” Brannigan yelled.

Alfons hurried to follow the order, diving towards the sea as more explosions sounded above him. He heard screams, and more explosions, and sounds he didn't recognise. His shield suddenly vanished, and what looked like metal or rock fragments flew past him. What was happening?

He flew towards a bank of fog. He could hide there. Before he reached it though, something emerged from it. Something inhuman. It was walking on water, no, gliding. White skin, red eyes, deformed limbs waving… muggle guns?

He tried to jerk away and shield himself at the same time.

He managed neither.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, May 4th, 2001

Hermione Granger wasn’t in the best of moods when she arrived at the Ministry of Magic. Not really because Harry and Ron had brought home, as if it were a lost puppy, an unknown magical creature with the power of a battlecruiser. That she could handle with a lecture or two. No, she was annoyed because she wanted to examine the ‘shipgirl’ at length, but had to check and, if needed, repair the Ministry’s wards instead. At least according to Selwyn. Though if the mysterious attacker - she wasn’t calling her the ‘Bismarck’ without more proof than some conjured plane and a dud shell - returned, she’d rather be certain those wards were still in place as well. The enemy might use more exotic attacks. It just took so much time to ensure the work of the Ministry’s Curse-Breakers was correct. Yesterday had been an exercise in frustration just explaining a better ward scheme to those fools, after taking stock of the existing standard wards!

“Good morning, Ma’am. You’re early.” Jonathan nodded at her from his usual place at the entrance.

“Good Morning. I came early because I may have to leave early,” she answered. “Chasing down some research material.” Which, technically, was true. Hood would be with the boys, ready to be ‘deployed’ at once.

“About ghosts?”

“Ghosts?”

“There’s a rumour that the Ministry was attacked by German ghosts. Grindelwald’s legacy,” Jonathan said.

She sniffed. “Ghosts wouldn’t be able to cause this. They cannot affect physical matter.” Really, how gullible were people?

“Poltergeists can,” Jonathan retorted.

“Those are not real ghosts.” She shook her head. “No, I do not think this is the work of ghosts. And Grindelwald wasn’t involved with the Nazis, so I doubt he’d use their planes.” If they still had the Resurrection Stone, she would be able to summon Grindelwald’s ghost, to check… She shook her head. There was a reason they had thrown the stone away, and it wasn’t just the curse on it. The temptation to drag souls from the afterlife to interrogate was too great.

“Ma’am?”

She forced herself to smile. “Just a thought I had, and dismissed.”

She dropped by her office, quickly went through her mail and memos, then proceeded to the sealed room where the anchors of the core wards of the building were located - conveniently in her own department. Others would be replacing the basic wards on the upper floors, those which had been destroyed along with the floors they had been covering. Those were basic wards. Easy to cast and maintain. But the old wards, those laid down when the building was built, centuries ago, and to which layers after layers had been added, usually by her predecessors? Those required experts.

Fortunately, Hermione had become quite the expert on wards, during the war. Having to break through some of the oldest wards in Britain to reach the Dark Lord’s Horcruxes had made that necessary. She still remembered the surprise on Lucius Malfoy’s face when they had entered his office. And when they had forced Veritaserum down his throat. Not waiting until the effects had ended before killing him had been one of the hardest decisions of her life, after what he had spilled.

She shook her head. She didn’t have time to relive the war. She touched the seal on the entrance with her wand, concentrating on the passcode. The seal slowly faded into the mahogany wood, then the door started to open. She stepped through, and watched as it closed behind her, ensuring no one else could enter after her. Then she turned around. The floor of the chamber was covered with dust and slabs of stone. Marble, mostly, but she saw some obsidian as well, and even some sandstone - a very odd choice as material to carve runes into, given how soft it was. For stone.

She sniffed. The air was cold and smelled dusty. And faint traces of smoke. Some runes had burned out. Which means at least one ward had been attacked. Which was quite curious, seeing as the basic wards should have stopped all physical attacks, such as bombardment by naval artillery.

She narrowed her eyes and flicked her wand, adding more light to the room as she started to search the stones and plaques. Most were old and exotic, and usually quite specific. No goblin could enter the Ministry as long as a particular ward was still active. No ghost could haunt it either. Nor could undead enter… the lowest five levels. No wonder that the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures was located on the third floor. Or had been - most of it had been destroyed in the attack.

And then, at the very back of the room, she found a marble plaque without visible runes. Closer examination showed the remains of runes. They didn’t look like they had burned out though… it looked more like they had been discharged. And quite recently. Which made no sense - this was the room for wards. Permanent protection spells. Not… whatever spell had been cast here.

Hermione frowned. While she wouldn’t put it past some of her predecessors to make mistakes, she doubted they would have made mistakes in such a crucial area. No one would risk the building’s wards to unknown spells, after all. And it had been triggered during, or at least in close proximity to the attack.

She would have to further research this.

Hermione picked the plaque up after another careful examination. At least she could tell Selwyn that all the wards were fine without lying.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, May 4th, 2001

The Ministry was in an uproar when Harry Potter arrived in the morning. Late morning. Azkaban had been attacked, the guards presumed dead or captured. Two dozen Aurors and Hit-Wizards from the relief force dead or missing. Harry winced when he heard rumours that the two survivors had been babbling about pale creatures walking on water before getting dosed with Calming Draughts. If the rumours were true then there was not just one creature attacking Britain, but several.

He needed the memories of the survivors. But that would be tricky. Not even Dawlish, who generally arrived late himself, would miss how those ‘creatures walking on water’ fit the case he had dumped on Harry and Ron yesterday.

“Potter! My office! Now!” Dawlish’s voice sounded through the Auror offices.

Harry closed his eyes and sighed. He didn’t need this. He didn’t want this. But it was inevitable. Shaking his head, he made his way towards the Head Auror’s office.

“Yes?” Harry entered and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. When he saw Dawlish hiss through his teeth, he snorted. He knew he shouldn’t act like this. Hermione had told him many times not to provoke the Head Auror, but the man was an idiot, and Harry couldn’t stomach being deferential to the likes of him. Or even polite. Not after the way he and his friends had been treated by the Ministry in their fifth year. Both men knew what they thought of each other anyway.

“Where is Weasley?”

“He’s already working on our case. I’ve just come in to check the mail,” Harry said.

“I see.” Dawlish took a deep breath. “Have you heard about the attack on Azkaban?”

Harry nodded. “Azkaban was attacked at dawn. The guards are missing, presumed dead or captured, the Aurors and Hit-Wizards who responded to their calls for help were massacred over the North Sea.”

“Ten Aurors and eleven Hit-Wizards are dead, Potter! And do you know what the two survivors saw?” Dawlish glared at him.

“Creatures walking on the water according to the grapevine.” Harry met the man’s eyes without flinching. He had stared down Snape, once. In their last disagreement, before Voldemort had killed the potioneer.

“Yes. Does that sound familiar?” Dawlish cocked his head to the side. “Hm? ‘A girl who walks on water’? Does it?” His voice was slowly rising.

“Yes.” Harry was trying to keep a lid on his temper himself. If he and Ron had reported what they had seen, two days ago, this might not have happened. He snorted. As if. Dawlish would have sent some idiots to Scapa Flow, and they would have attacked Hood. Or antagonised her until she attacked them. Maybe he should have pushed to become Head Auror, after Voldemort’s defeat. Or pushed Ron into taking the post. But even if he had managed that, Harry knew that he wouldn’t have lasted long dealing with the kind of people left in the Auror Corps.

“You were sent up there a day ago. Yesterday’s report claims that you are still investigating this.” Dawlish’s left eyelid was twitching. A nervous tic, according to Hermione.

“Yes.” Harry nodded. It was even true.

Dawlish placed his hands on his desk and stood up, leaning forward. “I want a full report of what you and your partner did yesterday. And what you didn’t. If twenty good wizards and witches died because you skived off work…” He snarled.

“We went up to Scapa Flow, ensured that there was no threat to the Statute of Secrecy, and we’re still investigating the matter. We don’t know enough to report yet,” Harry said, trying to be reasonable. At least as he saw it. “I need to know what the survivors saw to see if it has a connection to our case.”

Dawlish exploded. “Bloody hell! Who do you think you are, talking to me like that? I’m the Head Auror! I’m your superior! If I say I want a report I get a damn report! You don’t demand anything! You wouldn’t even be an Auror if it wasn’t for Shacklebolt!”

So much for his attempt at being diplomatic, Harry thought. He had to suppress the urge to curse the idiot - Dawlish almost sounded as though he was glad Kingsley had been killed. He couldn’t understand how Hermione managed to deal with the Ministry brass without cursing them. Maybe she was cursing them on the sly? He ground his teeth. “Dawlish, do you know why Kingsley made Ron and me Aurors as soon as he was Minister, skipping all the training? It wasn’t because we asked him to.” They hadn’t wanted to. All they had wanted was to finish off the last Death Eaters and their helpers, and be done with the whole war. It hadn’t worked out like that.

The Head Auror leaned forward. “Why did you join the Corps then?”

“Because he wanted us to be Aurors, so us hunting down the remaining Death Eaters would be seen as the Ministry’s action.” It had taken some convincing too. Hermione’s takeover of the Department of Mysteries had been the main concession, but Harry and Ron had insisted on skipping all but the essential training. And the usual rookie assignments.

Dawlish hissed again. The man understood politics, Harry knew that, or he’d have never become Head Auror. “I see.”

“This attack is as bad as what Voldemort did,” Harry continued. Worse actually, seeing as far more muggles had died here than in the entire war. Not that Dawlish would care about them. “We’re working on it. With, or without these.” He patted his Auror robe with his left hand. “We don’t care about Ministry politics, or power plays, or pureblood pride. We’re going to stop whatever monster did this. But we’re not going to risk anyone betraying us to the enemy.” Not again. It went without saying that they wouldn’t let the Ministry stop them either.

Dawlish stared at him without saying a word, then he slowly nodded. “Alright.” The man sounded as if he was pushing each word out through his teeth. “You and Weasley continue your case. But if you find out about any danger to the Aurors, I want to know. Before something like this happens again.”

Harry nodded. Dawlish was probably hoping to claim at least some of the success for himself. They’d deal with that once they had dealt with the threat from the sea.

*****​

London, Tower Hill, May 4th, 2001

HMS Belfast. Hood knew this ship. They had sailed together, in the war, on a patrol. Soon afterwards the light cruiser had struck a German mine, and had been taken to the dock for repairs. Hood had been sunk before Belfast had returned to service.

And now she was walking on her decks. The last ship left of her time. All the others had been sunk, or scrapped. Hood ran her hand over the railing and wondered if Belfast’s spirit was waiting to return as well. Wishing to serve once more. Or had her transformation into a museum ship changed her spirit as well? Unlike HMS Victory, Belfast had been decommissioned. Did such an event change a ship?

“Excuse me!” she spoke up. Ron, who had been watching the river and the sky, jerked, his hand going into his jacket, before he realised she had addressed the guide.

“Yes, Miss?”

“I was wondering... “ She pointed at the A-Turret. “Could Belfast be restored to war service?”

The young man smiled. “You’re not the first one to ask that. With the rumours of Nazi planes being behind the… attack, a lot of visitors have asked if we could ‘fill ’er up and sail on’.” He shook his head. “It’s not possible. Well, theoretically, we could, but it would be more difficult and complicated than building a new ship. And, well… she’s an old girl. Outdated. She’d be of as much use as the Victory in a war.”

Hood frowned. “Her 4-inch dual-purpose guns and her Bofors would shoot any Arados out of the sky. And while her 6-inchers wouldn’t get past the armour belt, her torpedoes would give Bismarck pause.” She’d feel a lot better if she had an escort like this.

The guide’s smile didn’t change, but she felt his tone was a bit patronising. “Miss, there’s a reason we decommissioned this ship. Modern ships can strike planes and other ships at ranges this ship could only dream of.” He patted the railing. “She’s done her duty.”

The battlecruiser scowled and gathered steam to tell the young man just where he could put his opinion, but Ron put his hand on her arm.

“Thank you, sir.” The wizard smiled at the man. “A friend of ours was killed in the attack.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

Once the guide had left, Ron turned to her.

She scoffed. “All those fancy rockets wouldn’t get through my own armour belt. If they even hit!”

Ron didn’t say anything, just stared out at the river and the sky again.

“You know, I’m keeping an eye on the sky and the water.” She tapped her temple. “My radar’s working fine. No one is sneaking up on us.”

“We don’t know if your radar works on the enemy. Or theirs on you,” he said. He looked at her though. “So… did you feel anything?”

She shook her head. “No. Nothing.” She couldn’t sense anything from the cruiser. Belfast was just a ship. A museum ship. She sighed. “I wonder why I was called back, and no one else.” If she had to face the Bismarck alone… she would do her duty, but she feared she wouldn’t be able to win that battle.

“And who called you back,” Ron added. “Or what.”

She nodded. “Your friend, Hermione, has some ideas she wanted to test.”

He smiled, and she could see how for a moment his body lost its tension. “Yes. That’s what she does. She finds out things. Researches. Plans. Without her, Harry and I would have been lost in the war.”

“Which war?” Hood was curious. The three people whose home she was staying in - and wasn’t that weird, sleeping on a bed, instead of in drydock - had mentioned a war, but hadn’t gone into detail. And she hadn’t asked.

“They call it ‘the Second Blood War’. It was a wizard war, though it spilled into muggle Britain as well, on a few occasions.”

“A wizard war?” She imagined people casting spells at each other on brooms, and in the air.

“Yes. There was a Dark Lord, trying to take over Britain. He had tried it twice before, and had been defeated each time. Once by Harry, once by Dumbledore. When he came back a third time, he had learned from his mistakes. He had spies everywhere…” Ron pressed his lips together. “His followers struck, usually at night. And when people made a stand, he arrived in person, crushing them. So many brave people died, until we finally managed to find his weakness, and lure him into a trap. And more people died, taking him down.”

“I see.” She didn’t, not really. She had no clue how wizards fought. But she recognised pain and loss.

Ron was about to say something else when he suddenly stiffened and stuck his hand inside his jacket, pulling out a mirror. “It’s Harry.” He cast another spell - Hood was getting good at spotting them - and tapped the mirror. “Yes?”

“Ron? Are you with Hood?”

“Yes.”

“I’m here,” Hood added.

“Good. I have bad news. Our enemy attacked Azkaban in the early morning. The island has fallen, and the responding force was massacred.” Harry sounded grim. “The two survivors were in a bad state of shock, but they all agree on one thing: There wasn’t just one creature shooting at them, but several.”

Ron muttered a curse while Hood froze for an instant. She wasn’t just facing the battleship who had sunk her before. She was facing an entire fleet! She fought her fear down. She was a battlecruiser of the Royal Navy! She knew what she had to do.

“Ron, Harry… we need to talk to the Admiralty.”

*****​

London, Tower Hill, May 4th, 2001

For the second time in two days, Ron Weasley found himself visiting No. 10 Downing Street. Fortunately, his dad had managed to get him, Harry and Hood another appointment. Unfortunately, Harry’s news had left the Prime Minister in a bit of a state.

“This Nazi shipgirl has taken over your magical prison island and is now gathering a fleet? And it has massacred the force you sent to retake the island?”

“Yes, sir.” Harry nodded.

“Dear Lord! They’ll attack London again, won’t they?” The man sat down behind his desk, sighing.

Ron saw that his dad was slightly pale as well, but otherwise holding up. He had been the one who found Percy’s body when they had stormed the Ministry. Ron had never asked if Umbridge had really fought to the death.

“I think that’s a reasonable assumption, sir,” Harry said with a grim expression.

“That’s why we need to inform the Navy, sir!” Hood cut in. “Even the few submarines, frigates and destroyers that are left can help against the Bismarck.”

“Are you certain?” the Prime Minister asked.

Hood blinked. “Why wouldn’t they?”

“They are facing a man-sized enemy. Their weapons are not made for such targets.” The man pointed at a report on his desk. “I also checked the reports: Neither sea- nor air-based radar noticed the enemy on the Thames as it retreated. Nor did sonar pick it up.”

“But…” Hood trailed off. “They can still see her, and if they can see her, they can shoot her! Even near-misses will do damage!”

The Prime Minister smiled thinly. “We ‘muggles’ can’t even see magical houses. We cannot count on being able to see the enemy. And even if we can see them, there remains the fact that none of our ships are made for artillery duels anymore.”

“We can test that,” Ron said, “with you.”

“I’m not like her!” Hood quickly spat.

“But you’re a magical shipgirl,” Ron countered. “That’s hopefully close enough to see what works and won’t work with muggle weapons.” Hermione had given him a crash course in muggle weapons during the war, in case they were forced to steal some to use against Voldemort, but that hadn’t included naval weapons. They hadn’t actually used any muggle weapons anyway, though they had patterned some of the traps that had decimated the Death Eaters at Hogwarts after their principles. Draco had been ‘turned to chunky salsa’, according to Hermione.

“Telling the Admiralty will threaten the Statute of Secrecy,” Harry cut in. “The ICW won’t like that.”

Ron’s dad spoke up for the first time: “If that enemy attacks London again, the Statute of Secrecy will be threatened as well. We cannot obliviate the entire city.” His smile looked more than a bit forced. “Under those circumstances, informing key muggles about magic is not only allowed, but mandated.”

“Not that we’d let the Ministry know anyway,” Harry said. “They’d bungle it.”

Ron nodded, ignoring how his dad winced. It was true after all - Ron and his friends knew the Ministry had done nothing against Voldemort in their 5th year, and it had fallen quickly when the Dark Lord had returned again in their 7th year. It had been them and the Order who had fought, and finally defeated, the Death Eaters and their leader. And they had paid a heavy price.

The Prime Minister nodded. “Alright. I’ll make the calls. Let’s hope this will not do more harm than good.”

*****​

Off Portsmouth, Atlantic, May 4th, 2001

Despite the grave danger they were facing, Hood looked happy, Ron thought. The girl was sailing circles around the patrol boat Harry and he were on. The muggle sailors were taking this better than Ron had expected - they seemed to be living up to their name; apparently they were called the ‘Special Boat Service’, and it probably didn’t get any more special than this. They hadn’t asked any questions either, though their muttering when Hood had jumped overboard and stood on the water had been quite loud.

“Alright,” their leader, Lieutenant Smith, called from the back. “We’ve reached the target area. Airborne and naval radar is deployed. Sonar as well.”

“I’ve picked up a plane and a cruiser on radar,” Hood’s voice rang from the muggle wireless in the back of the boat. “Commencing operation now!”

“Plane’s picking her up,” the muggle sailor at the radio reported. “So does the frigate.”

Ron smiled. If the muggles could see Hood, they should be able to see the Bismarck too. And shoot her.

“I can paint her too,” one muggle soldier said, holding up a muggle device. “Damn weird though… hey! It just stopped working!”

“Radar lost her. Both of them.”

“Where did that stuff around her come from?”

“Looks like some drones?”

“Robots?”

Ron raised his omnioculars. Hood had summoned her rigging. “Damn,” he muttered.

Harry, at his side, agreed. “It looks like summoning her rigging is too much for muggle technology.”

“I’m test firing my guns!” Hood announced through the radio. That at least was still working.

This time, Ron was prepared and cast a charm to block the sound in time. So did Harry. The muggles though were surprised when the 15-inchers fired.

“Dear Lord!”

“What the hell was that?”

“Radar’s picking up artillery shells!”

“What the hell is going on?”

“It’s classified,” Harry said, without lowering his omnioculars. In a quieter voice, he added. “Always wanted to say that.”

Ron chuckled.

“Test firing finished. Hood standing by for further instructions.”

Another voice was heard on the radio. “Hood, this is HMS Kent. Are you ready for the missile test?”

“Affirmative, Kent,” Hood said.

“Firing.”

Ron searched the horizon. There! A streak was coming towards Hood… and passing her.

“Missiles don’t work on her either,” Harry said in a flat voice.

“Kent, this was a clear miss. Without evasive action.” Hood sounded a tad happier than appropriate for the occasion, Ron thought. But then, she had been making comments about modern naval weapons for a while. “Try your guns!”

“Negative, Hood. We do not have dummy rounds for them.”

“It’s a 4,5 inch gun, Kent. I’m a battlecruiser, not a tin can. It won’t even scratch my armour belt. Fire it!”

Ron glanced at Harry while the two ships argued back and forth. “Chip on her shoulder?”

His friend nodded. “So much for secrecy.”

Behind them, the muggle sailors were muttering again. Ron heard ‘battlecruiser’ and ‘Hood’ several times.

In the end, it took the admiral commanding the ‘exercise’ to order the frigate to fire on Hood. The result was not promising either - Hood was able to dodge the shots until the frigate closed in, and even then their accuracy was not that great. If the frigate had been a Chaser, she wouldn’t even have made the reserve team of the ‘claws. And when Hood was finally hit, it didn’t do anything that Ron could see. It was better than the torpedo test though - those didn’t even notice Hood.

“Did you see that? I told them, the shells would bounce off my armour belt! So much for outdated, hm?” Hood was beaming when she came alongside the patrol boat. She must have seen their reaction, since she frowned. “What’s wrong?”

Ron winced. He hated to ruin her good mood. “You know, the goal of this test was to find out what the Navy could do to help fight Bismarck and her fleet.” He grimaced when her face fell.

“And the answer is: Not much?” Hood looked crestfallen. “Bismarck has much better armour than I have.”

“We’ll come up with something,” Ron said. “We always do.”

“We’re at our best when under pressure,” Harry added.

Ron forced himself to smile confidently. Even if he wasn’t feeling quite that confident.

But all of them would do their best. They had no other choice.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, May 4th, 2001

Hermione Granger was frustrated. She still hadn’t found out what kind of spell had been triggered by the attack on the Ministry. If her predecessors had been documenting their actions and especially their additions to the wards properly, she would have been able to simply consult their notes. But that wasn’t the case. At least she knew who had cast the spell: Alois Fickleton, Head Unspeakable from 1841 to 1862. And, though she hadn’t found any outside source to confirm this, the last Seer to hold that post.

But even with that knowledge, she had not yet deciphered the runes on the plaques, or rather, their remains. And with Azkaban having been taken over by more of those creatures, the need to find out what exactly had happened was even more urgent. The Ministry certainly would not be able to stop them. Not when they hadn’t been able to stop even a single one before.

A knock at her office’s door interrupted her examination. “Yes?” she called out, her wand in hand. Some habits died hard.

Katherine entered. “Hermione? I have the notes from our archive you wanted. And the records you wanted from the Ministry’s archives.”

Hermione smiled. “Thank you, Katherine.” Fickleton’s notes, finally! With luck, she’d find out more thanks to them. And the reports would hopefully shed some light on the question of why a German battleship wanted to destroy the British Ministry of Magic.

“I hope you can read them,” the Unspeakable added.

“What?” Hermione took the stash of parchment and checked. Then she hissed. “Code… the bloody lunatic wrote his notes with a cipher...” If she were superstitious, she’d have taken this as a sign that all Seers lived just to ruin her plans. Trelawney certainly had not convinced her otherwise during her time at Hogwarts.

“Hermione? Do you have further need of me?” Katherine asked.

Hermione looked up and shook her head. “No, thank you again. I’ll have to deal with this.”

The other witch left her office, maybe a bit too quickly, Hermione thought. Well, she had to admit that she had been a bit short-tempered these last few days. Some of the clerks in the archives had paled when she had visited, too.

She sighed and stared at the notes again. Fickleton had probably thought he was being clever. She snorted. He certainly hadn’t foreseen modern electronics. Her computer, safe from any magical influence in the house of her late grandparents, would make short work of this.

And, she added, with more than a bit of guilt, if the monster returned to attack the Ministry, she’d not be inside.

*****​

London, No. 10 Grimmauld Place, May 4th, 2001

It had taken her computer far longer than she had expected to crack the cipher. Even using the best programs she could her hands on, it had taken hours. But she had succeeded! So, Hermione Granger was both tired and hungry when she arrived home, but also smiling.

One look at Ron, sprawled on their couch, Harry, brooding in his favourite armchair, and Hood, looking like she had just heard she’d be scrapped, destroyed her good mood.

“Alright,” she sighed. “What happened?”

“Modern weapons do nothing against Hood,” Ron said.

“Ah.” She knew what that meant.

“And Bismarck now has escorts, at least!” Hood said. “I’m up against a fleet!”

“We’ve checked the memories of the surviving Aurors in the pensieve,” Harry explained. “Hood identified two of the additional creatures as light cruisers.”

The battlecruiser - and Hermione still had to wrap her mind around that thought - nodded. “Yes. Definitely light cruisers. Or, as today’s Navy would call them, ‘destroyers’,” the girl added with a huff. “I can’t fathom why they do that.”

“How did you identify them?” Hermione asked.

Hood shrugged. “I just knew. Their weapons, their displacement, everything fit.”

“I see.” Probably a combination of experience, perception, and some inherent magical ability then, Hermione deduced. She sat down on the couch and leaned against Ron. “I’m not convinced we’re facing the Bismarck, by the way.”

Hood, who had been pacing, turned around. “It has to be her! The weapons fit, the planes fit. Even my presence fits.”

“But why would the Bismarck attack the Ministry of Magic? Or Azkaban?” Hermione shook her head. “I’ve checked the archives: Wizarding Britain wasn’t involved in the Second World War. They were busy preparing for Grindelwald when the Bismarck was sunk. There was no report of magical interference with that battle.” Most of the purebloods probably hadn’t even realised that the muggles were at war, Hermione thought. “So, why would it attack the Ministry, and not the Muggles?”

“You think there’s a wizard involved,” Harry said. “Someone with a grudge against the Ministry.”

Hermione nodded.

Ron wrapped his arm around her. “No shortage of those. Heck, we three could qualify as well, given what the Ministry did in our sixth year.”

Harry took a deep breath. “Did you check…?”

Hermione knew what he meant. Who he meant. “I did. The seal hasn’t been broken.”

Her friend relaxed some, smiling. Then he leaned forward. “But if there is a wizard behind it - someone creating those monsters - then he’s risking a lot. Another such attack could push the ICW into taking action. And why would he attack with one creature, if a few days later he has more?”

“Overconfident? Or blind with rage?” Ron shrugged. “That’s what killed the Lestranges.”

Hermione nodded, glancing at the plaque on top of the fireplace that held the broken wand of Bellatrix. The mad witch had underestimated her until the end, cackling and not realising how she was walking into a trap. If only Neville had lived to see… she shook her head.

Harry didn’t look convinced. “Even if that is true, it takes an exceptional wizard to create such a monster, much less several of them. Such a person would not simply appear out of nowhere.”

“There aren’t many around who’d fit that description,” Ron said. “And I think we can discount Hermione. She would have told us if she was behind this. I think.”

She glared at him for that joke and ignored Harry’s chuckling. And Hood’s stare.

“The well-known wizards and witches are all accounted for,” Harry said. Which meant, Hermione knew, that they were dead. “It doesn’t add up.”

“Possession?” Hermione cocked her head sideways. “If the shade of a dead wizard is using the body of an average wizard…”

Harry looked grim. “Like Quirrel? And Nott?”

“Nott was killed before he was possessed by the ring’s fragment. And his skill with magic was greatly diminished.” Otherwise, the three of them wouldn’t have been able to kill it, Hermione knew.

“He was still better than the original Nott,” Ron said.

“We’re still missing one fragment. At least,” Harry said. “How can we check for that, without my scar?” He tipped his index against his forehead.

Hermione bit her lower lip. “There is a way, but I’d have to use the seal for that. I don’t have to break it, but… carrying it around puts it at risk.”

“Can you do it in your department?” Harry asked.

Hermione quickly did some Arithmancy in her head, then nodded. ”I can do it, but the range is limited. Wouldn’t cover all of England, much less Scotland or Azkaban.”

“And we’re not taking that thing anywhere close to Azkaban,” Ron stated.

Harry and Hermione nodded. Hood looked lost.

“And what plans have been made to deal with another attack on London?” Hermione said.

Harry sighed. “Well… most of the muggle weapons seem useless. But we’ve come up with a few that should work. In the end it hinges on Hood though.”

Hermione glanced over to the girl. Hood straightened and pushed her chin up. “I’ll beat her or I’ll die trying.”

Hermione nodded. She and her friends were very familiar with that sentiment.

*****​

North Sea, Azkaban, May 5th, 2001

She surveyed her escort. Her fleet. All were fueled up and ready. Or as ready as they could be. She frowned when she saw Narcissa pass. The light cruiser looked as she should, but she was flawed. Weaker than she should be. Fully dependent on the power she had poured into the witch. She was a light cruiser, but with the soul of a witch, not a ship. Like her sister ship, Alecto, who was passing her now.

Still, they would serve. They had been blooded as well, fighting the Aurors of the Ministry. And she had learned from her mistake. As evidenced by the next ships who sailed past. Leberecht Maass and Max Schultz. Now these were proper ships! They had the experience, the instincts, and the hatred caused by having been sunk! Fueled with the souls of the debris of Azkaban, they had risen anew, ready to serve and fight.

Four ships. And herself. A flotilla, not the fleet she desired. For a moment, she reconsidered attacking. There were other ships out there, waiting to be called to fight again. Narvik was the grave of so many. And Oslo. But that would take time. She scoffed. There was no need to wait. The Ministry couldn’t stop her, and the muggles were worthless.

Besides, there were her ‘experiments’. Creatures, not even ships, much less the boats she wanted. Mishappen. Warped. But still able to fight. Like undead sea lions, they swam past. A fitting association, she thought, given their destination.

She raised her arm. The flotilla rallied around her, forming up. Leberecht Maass and Max Schultz were the first, sailing in front of her. Narcissa and Alecto were slower, securing her flanks. And the creatures gathered behind her.

Smiling, she called up a storm to hide their passage. When she entered it, she was singing.

“Denn wir fahren gegen Engeland, Engeland.”

*****​

 

Chapter 4: The Ambush

London, No. 10 Grimmauld Place, May 5th, 2001

Harry Potter woke up with hair covering his face and snoring filling his ears. He brushed the hair aside, gently so as not to wake up Hermione, and cast a Silencing Charm on Ron. Then he glanced at the clock on the side table - mechanical, as all the appliances in Grimmauld Place were. 6 am. Almost time to get up. Of course Ron and Hermione were still asleep. They rarely woke up before the alarm clock rang. He propped himself up on his elbow, looked at them both and smiled.

His best friends. His only family. The only ones he felt safe and happy with. The only ones who kept the nightmares at bay. He sighed. Once again, they had to save Britain. All of it this time. And once again, the Ministry was more of a hindrance than a help. At least the muggles were doing what they could.

Which, sadly, wasn’t that much.

Just as he was about to nap a bit longer, he heard the signal from the fireplace. Someone was calling them. He was out of the bed in a second, conjuring a robe before he reached the door.

“Potter!”

He heard Dawlish even before he reached the hall. The Head Auror’s face was sticking out of the fireplace.

“Yeah?” If this was just a call to complain, Harry would...

“The pickets around Azkaban just alerted us: The creatures have left the island in a magical storm. They’re headed towards the Ministry, as far as we can tell.”

Harry hissed. He had hoped they would have had more time to prepare. To improve their defences. To think of a better plan. But it was like at the Battle of Hogwarts. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be that costly. “Alright. Evacuate the Ministry and keep the Hit-Wizards and Aurors in reserve elsewhere until we send you a Patronus.”

“What?” Dawlish’s eyes were wide open. “What are you going to do?”

“Fight them, of course.”

“Are you… Merlin’s arse, you are!” Dawlish shook his head. “Crazy.”

Harry chuckled when the call ended.

“So, they’re attacking again.”

He turned around. Hermione was standing in the door, dressed in a conjured robe herself. He nodded.

“I’ll wake up Ron.” She glared at him, and he grinned back. Ron didn’t mind the Silencing Charm, but Hermione did. She apparently found his snoring comfortable. “You inform Hood.”

“Alright.”

Hood was sleeping in a guest room. The room next to the one Luna used, when she was visiting. The other guest rooms were still as their occupants had left them, before the last battle. He knocked. “Hood?”

“Yes?”

Harry opened the door. Hood was blinking at him, sprawled out on the water bed, entangled in torn blankets. Apparently, Harry and his friends were not the only with nightmares.

“The Bismarck and her escorts have left the island, sailing in the direction of London.”

Hood nodded. “Understood. I’ll inform the Admiralty. I mean, the Prime Minister.”

Harry didn’t know why the ship’s radio worked inside the house, where every other piece of electronics failed, but he was not questioning their good fortune. Unlike Hermione, who had wanted to run a battery of tests as soon as they had time. “Meet in the hall. We’ll deploy as soon as possible.”

By the time he was back in their room, Ron was up and slipping into his trousers, the charm dispelled. “Morning, Harry. Do we have time to… refuel?” He grinned.

“We’ll grab sandwiches on the way,” Harry said. They didn’t know how long the enemy would take to reach London, so they had to link up with the muggle forces as soon as possible.

“Alright.” Ron grabbed his robe.

“I’ll get one as well,“ Hermione said, leaving the bathroom. “On the way to the Ministry.”

“What?” Ron whipped his head around to stare at their friend.

“I have to check if that theory about the enemy is correct.” Hermione had that tone Harry was familiar with - she wouldn’t budge. “I’ll be in my office. The safest place in the Ministry. Even if you can’t stop them, they’ll have to go through six floors before they can start on my department’s defences. Plenty of time to use the Floo or apparate.”

Harry didn’t think she’d leave before she had finished whatever checks she was doing. He hadn’t forgotten how she had almost died in the Room of Requirement to find that Horcrux. He nodded anyway.

Ron and he would be doing something far more dangerous, after all.

“Alright. Let’s go.”

*****​

Courtsend, Britain, May 5th, 2001

HMS Hood stood at the beach, next to Harry, and faced the coming battle with the stoic expression that was expected of a member of the Royal Navy. The odds did not matter, nor did the numbers - England expected that everyone did their duty in such a situation. And she would. The enemy would have to sink her before they could ravage England’s shores again.

Although, truth to be told, she was a bit uncomfortable with the plan for the coming battle. It relied far too much on magic for her taste. On the other hand, she didn’t doubt that without magic, she’d be sunk in this battle. The Bismarck had sunk her in three minutes, after all, and that had been with the Prince of Wales at her side. Even with Prinz Eugen missing, Hood would have to face the Bismarck and her escorts alone. An open engagement would be foolish. Magic was the order of the day. Magic and the Army.

She looked at the tracked vehicle - a M270, she had been told was its name - nearby. Rocket Artillery. Who’d have thought that would ever amount to something again? It seemed as if the age of big guns had ended everywhere. But as long as those rockets would do what they had to, she’d not complain. And at least the tanks taking up positions near the shore had decent guns.

She stared out at the sea, trying to catch a glimpse of the approaching enemy, even though she knew her radar would spot the enemy before her lookouts would. Old habits died slowly.

She saw Ron walk up to her. “The Ministry’s been evacuated. The muggles are also preparing for the attack.”

She nodded, not too concerned. London’s residents knew how to handle raids. They had shown that during the Blitz.

“The waiting’s the worst,” Ron said. “I always hated it during the war.”

She knew he meant the wizard war, not the war she had been sunk in, but she nodded. Some things were the same in every conflict. And waiting was the worst - even more so on land! She was a battlecruiser! She should be out on the sea, cutting through the waves to meet the enemy head-on! Not lying in wait for them as if she were some sort of u-boat!

“The enemy outnumbers us, is coming to kill us all, and we’re betting everything on a desperate gamble.” Harry snorted. “Just like Hogwarts. There are even real Nazis this time.”

“And Hermione is working on a solution while we fight,” Ron said, “and the Ministry’s busy being useless.”

Hood narrowed her eyes at the two wizards. “If the Ministry’s so useless, why are you trying to save it?”

Harry shrugged. “We don’t want them to die.”

“And Hermione would go mad trying to rebuild it,” Ron added.

Hood was about to say that sounded like a flimsy excuse, but right then her radar picked up new contacts. She cocked her head and tracked them. Through the radio, she checked with the airborne radar. They had no contacts in that area.

“I’ve detected them. Five ships, and… a mass of smaller craft,” she reported. Her fire directors were already calculating their speed and course. “Transmitting course data.” She was tempted to add ‘Fire when ready!’ but that wasn’t her call to make.

A minute later, her radar was almost overwhelmed when the rocket artillery deployed near the shores started firing and dozens of rockets flew towards the enemy. They could reach a target over 40 miles away… It was hard to believe.

She could detect how the enemy ships moved when the rocket strike reached them, at a range they’d consider themselves safe from attacks. They were spreading out some, dispersing. But she could only imagine the barrage’s effect. Hundreds, thousands of small bombs - bomblets - spread over the area. Hitting the superstructures. Wrecking range finders, killing lookouts, starting fires with a bit of luck. Confusing them. Throwing their formation into disarray. But most importantly, destroying the Bismarck’s radar.

That was the whole point of the strike. If the Bismarck’s radar was not taken out, the next step of the plan would be suicide. Unless the records were correct, and the Bismarck’s own guns would damage her radar when firing. But then - she hadn’t needed that many volleys to sink Hood the first time.

“Do you have the coordinates?” Harry asked.

She nodded, pointing at the map they had prepared. He grabbed her arm, and she felt the by now familiar sensation of being squeezed through a tube. Then she hit the water, and felt at home. She summoned her rigging while she easily kept Harry from sinking until he had pulled his broom out.

The wizard sped away as fast as he could while her four turrets turned, lining up. She could easily make out the Bismarck on her radar. And she had ranged her guns just an hour ago. Minimal adjustments.

Then eight guns spoke, and Hood was fighting her nemesis once again.

*****​

Thames Estuary, Britain, May 5th 2001

HMS Hood didn’t cheer when she noticed one, maybe two hits on the Bismarck. But she smiled through clenched teeth when the expected return fire didn’t happen. Not even after double the time it would have taken her to turn and engage. It looked like the rocket artillery barrage had damaged the radar. Maybe even the rangefinders, if she was really lucky. But the smoke rounds getting dropped on the area the enemy was in would hinder their optics anyway.

She fired her main guns again, sailing a course parallel to the enemy. As long as she could hit her enemy, and they couldn’t hit her back she was good. One probable hit. If she had an aircraft of her own it would have been able to spot for her… but she didn’t. Not anymore. And Harry and Ron hadn’t the training to serve as observers.

She directed another salvo of the rocket artillery, for good measure. Reloading a launcher took several minutes, but with the numbers of launchers in position, they could keep up an almost constant fire on the enemy. Her radar showed her the smaller boats breaking formation under the barrage. Then her own guns fired again. Third salvo without any return fire. Hood allowed herself to smile when she noticed another likely hit. Not even the monster she was facing could weather that kind of fire for too long without taking critical damage!

Like clockwork, her fourth volley was underway half a minute after the third. Then her radar picked up an aeroplane over the enemy. They had launched a spotter! “Harry, Ron! Seaplane in the air. It’ll direct their fire if not stopped.”

“Alright, we’re on it!” Ron responded, without any military form.

Hood wouldn’t complain though. Not when the two wizards were about to engage a military aeroplane on just two brooms. And in range of the enemy anti-aircraft guns. Besides, they were Air Force. Kind of.

She fired again, and another rocket salvo struck. But then her radar picked up shells flying towards her. The Bismarck had finally detected her! She flinched, then clenched her jaw. She was a warship of the Royal Navy.

The shells hit all around her, not close enough to hurt her, but she was straddled. She changed course, adjusting her own calculations as she veered to starboard, and wished that damn Nazi seaplane was in range of her four-inchers. Her main guns fired again. Her crew kept up two shots per minute, like clockwork. The Bismarck fired as well, though. Her enemy had faster reload times than her.

This time the shells hit far too close. No direct hit with plunging fire, to her relief, but the explosions shook her and she felt her hull being battered, some gear shaken lose, some leaks sprung. And that cursed seaplane was still up there, directing that terrible fire. Where were those wizards?

*****​

Thames Estuary, Britain, May 5th 2001

Ron Weasley hissed as he followed Harry towards the enemy seaplane. He was no coward, he knew that. Had known it for a long time. But what he had seen so far… he had thought the Battle of Hogwarts, when the Dark Lord had turned the Quidditch pitch into a crater, had been terrifying, but this… below him, more of those rockets struck. He thought he heard several explosions, and inhuman screams. Then his broom shook as the creature below him fired her guns again. They were directly over the enemy formation, as Hood called it. The seaplane was circling ahead of them. If they used their smaller guns… he had seen what those did to broom riders.

Harry pushed ahead, of course. He was a Seeker. He focused on his target, and damn the bludgers. Ron was a Keeper. He had to keep an eye on the quaffle, and the bludgers at all times. He was almost relieved when they were close enough to the seaplane to engage it, and still disillusioned. Two Reductor Curses hit one wing, and the aeroplane started to spin and drop, the rear gunner blindly firing until it hit the water.

“I’m hit. No critical damage,” Hood said through the radio.

She sounded hurt though, and Ron wondered what non-critical damage meant for a ship. He saw smoke rise from her position. “Hood, are you on fire?”

“I’m dealing with it. I’m in no danger of sinking.” The sound of her next volley drowned out her words, but he thought he heard ‘not yet.’

“Below us!” Harry suddenly shouted in the radio.

Ron looked down. Four creatures, pale and unnatural, were sailing toward Hood’s position. And behind them, a horde of… “Merlin’s arse! What are those?”

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, May 5th, 2001

Inside her office, alone in the Department of Mysteries, and likely the whole Ministry, Hermione Granger tried not to think of what was happening at the mouth of the Thames. Of the danger her friends were facing. She had her own mission. They had to know if their suspicion was correct. She snorted while she cast detection and privacy spells. Just like at the battle of Hogwarts - Harry and Ron were out there, fighting, while she was casting spells deep in the basement, to prepare for the defeat of Voldemort.

Her wand moved back and forth as she unsealed the safe and revealed the sealing crystal. Taking a deep breath, she levitated it out, and into the circle she had prepared on the floor. She wouldn’t touch the thing with her hands - she had touched too many Horcruxes; the mere thought of touching another container for Voldemort’s soul made her shudder with revulsion.

Once again she wished she had found a spell to track Horcruxes. If they had found all the Horcruxes, before Hogwarts, then maybe there wouldn’t have been so many deaths. They could have attacked Voldemort directly, instead of luring him into a trap… She shook her head. She had a mission.

Pointing her wand at the crystal, she started to cast the spell.

*****​

Thames Estuary, Britain, May 5th 2001

Harry Potter’s curses were drowned out by the explosions below him. Another rocket strike had just hit the area of their enemy - part of it at least. The four figures sailing towards Hood were untouched, as was the horde behind them.

“Hood! There is a fleet moving towards you!” he yelled into the radio.

“I’ve detected them. The Bismarck is still operational.” Hood sounded composed now. “She has to be sunk.”

“Can you do it before those things reach you?” Harry asked.

“Yes.”

He didn’t believe her. Or rather, he didn’t think she believed that either. “Redirect the rocket artillery on the other enemies!”

“Negative. The Bismarck is the primary target.”

“She’s barmy!” Ron yelled, next to him.

“No more than we are,” Harry yelled back.

Both of them had done the same thing, at Hogwarts, when Voldemort had sent his werewolves at them. Harry slipped his left hand into his pocket, steering the broom with his knees. He pulled out a can. Timing this would be tricky… on the other hand, the things were on a straight course. He grinned and yelled: “Let’s light them up!”

“You’re barmy!” Ron yelled back, but Harry knew his friend would be right behind him.

The two dived down, towards the sea. Towards the enemy. They didn’t seem to have seen them yet. “Now!” Harry yelled, dropping his can, and canceling the Shrinking Charm on it.

The two tanks hit the water right in front of the enemy, then started to multiply as the Gemino Curse started. The pale humanoid monsters quickly scattered, but the horde was too slow to react. They were still in the middle of the bopping tanks when Harry and Ron hit them with Blasting Curses.

And the sea turned to fire beneath them.

*****​

Thames Estuary, Britain, May 5th 2001

HMS Hood changed course again. She was taking on water now, and leaking some oil. Her uniform was rent and scorched. That last hit had taken out her Y-turret as well, turning it into a mass of twisted metal, together with one of her four-inchers. But she was still in the fight. And her enemy had to be hurting - their fire had slowed down. Hood’s three remaining turrets fired. It didn’t matter how many guns her enemy had left if they couldn’t aim as well as hers. And the escorts would still take some time until they were in range.

This time the Bismarck’s salvo went wide. It seemed her rangefinders were still damaged. Hood’s had suffered some damage as well, but her radar was still working. And that was what counted. One more probable hit, she noticed, directing another rocket artillery salvo. Her side hurt when she turned again. One more salvo!

Six fifteen-inch guns fired. How much punishment could the Bismarck take? Hood knew it had taken a whole fleet hours to sink the monster, but she didn’t need to do that. If she could cripple her, take out her weapons, the navy could sink her. Eventually. She just had to last that long.

The two destroyers and the two light cruisers were still closing. Not too much longer until she was in range of their guns, and worse, their torpedoes. Hood’s four-inchers wouldn’t be enough to deal with them, but her main guns were needed to deal with the Bismarck. And those things behind them… she couldn’t call them ‘boats’, but she knew they’d swarm her, and overwhelm her. And yet she had her duty.

Sink the Bismarck.

Another salvo went out, right before her enemy’s arrived. Near-misses only this time, but the shockwaves hurt her, and worsened the damage she had suffered. If only… if only… Another hit! She grinned through her own pain.

Then she blinked. The Bismarck was veering off. Changing course. Retiring from the battle!

Hood blinked through the blood and oil running down her face. The beast was running! She wouldn’t let her escape! She started to change course in response, then realised she’d have to pass through the enemy escorts to go after the Bismarck. And she’d not survive that.

Cursing, she sent a last salvo at the battleship, then turned her attention on the still charging escorts. Destroyers were hard to hit at that range, but if Hood charged them head-on, they’d have a harder time torpedoing her. And they were tin cans.

Her main guns fired, no hits. She corrected her aim when she noticed that the two destroyers were taking evasive action, but only one of the cruisers did as well, and redirected her fire. Her next salvo focused on that cruiser, and one of her guns scored a direct hit. The cruiser’s chest exploded and she fell forward, face down into the water with all her forward compartments flooded while she started to sink.

The other cruiser peeled off, fleeing, but the two destroyers still came at her. Hood’s next salvo missed, and so did the one after that. She wasn’t that worried though. Her own four-inchers outranged their five-inchers by almost two thousand five hundred yards.

They were good though, evading her main guns’ fire as they closed with her. But then they were in range of her remaining four-inchers, and their rate of fire was ten times faster. She focused on the leading destroyer, and the tin can was soon listing to the side, slowing down. Unable to evade her main guns any longer.

A fifteen-inch shell tore the destroyer’s leg off, and left her sinking. The other destroyer finally had enough and turned away. Hood kept firing at the fleeing enemy, but even if she hadn’t been damaged, she wouldn’t have been able to catch her.

She slowed down, standing on weary legs. She had won this battle, but the enemy had escaped. And they wouldn’t sail into such an ambush a second time.

HMS Hood had failed in her duty.

*****​

Thames Estuary, Britain, May 5th 2001

Ron Weasley had fought Inferi in the war. Sometimes he still had nightmares about those monsters advancing towards him while on fire, with the stench of burning flesh filling the air in that sea cave. Even Bubble-Head Charms couldn’t keep it away, though Hermione insisted that it was just psychological. Whatever that meant.

He was smelling the same stench, above the burning, thrashing things in the water. The screams were new though - the Inferi he had fought until then had not made any sound. Nor had they had any guns. These creatures did.

He saw one managing to escape the killing zone and sent a Blasting Curse at it. Harry and he had quickly found out that anything other than that curse didn’t really have any effect on those things. Piercing Curses were ignored, Cutting Curses barely scratched them, and even Reductor Curses just left small craters or holes in their putrid flesh.

The thing blew up, but the parts left continued to burn, even in the water. He had expected that - it wasn’t the first time he had used Greek Fire, just the first time on such a scale. And the first time on the open sea.

One of the things started firing at him, again. But its aim was off - the explosions didn’t even rattle Ron. Harry swooped in and blew it apart, then had to dive even lower to avoid another one shooting at him.

Ron cursed at his friend for taking such risks when all they had to do was to deal with those who managed to get away, and watch the rest burn.

Suddenly, several explosions shook the mass of monsters, drowning out the screams. Ron jerked his broom around and frantically looked for the source of the attack. “Someone’s shooting at the monsters!”

“This is HMS Hood, engaging the remaining enemies.”

Ron relaxed some, and pulled his broom up some more. He’d rather not get too close to that kind of fire. “What about the Bismarck?” he asked.

“The Bismarck retired from the battle. I was too damaged to pursue her and lost radar contact after fighting the escorts. Two of which escaped as well.”

“She fled?” Ron grinned widely, despite the stench in the air. London was safe. Hermione was safe. The Ministry too.

“I failed to sink her.”

Hood sounded rather… like Hermione, after Malfoy Manor, Ron thought. Another girl who saw anything but a complete success as a defeat. Hermione learned better after Gringotts, but hopefully Hood wouldn’t need to break into a bank as well.

With Hood’s guns, the monsters were quickly dealt with, and Ron descended to sea level next to the battlecruiser. She was looking horrible - scorched and ripped clothes, gashes beneath those, bruises, one of her turrets was a mangled wreck, and her ‘rigging’ had holes in it. He wasn’t quite certain how the girl could stand.

“Can you make it to the coast?” he asked.

Hood nodded. “Yes. I’m not taking on more water than my pumps can handle.” She glanced at her guns. “I will have to spend a long time in the drydocks though, to repair this damage.”

“Let me try!” Ron said, without thinking, and pointed his wand at her rigging. “Reparo!” He frowned when nothing happened. “I guess it didn’t work. Maybe a healing spell…”

“No, no!” Hood shook her head, blinking. “That fixed part of my damage. Do it again!”

“Alright. Reparo. Reparo. Reparo. Reparo. Reparo.” Ron peered at the girl, trying to spot if anything was getting fixed. That many spells had fixed his parents’ flying car after Malfoy Manor, but he still couldn’t see much of a change in Hood.

“Yes… that’s the pipes fixed, and the power lines.” Hood smiled. “Please continue.”

“Err… of course.” Ron aimed his wand again, flying parallel to the battlecruiser. “Reparo. Reparo. Reparo.” He saw Harry nearby and waved at his friend. Two wands were better than one.

By the time they reached the shore, Ron felt exhausted, Harry looked exhausted, but Hood was beaming. “You even fixed my condensers! Better than new!” She kept looking over her shoulder at her rigging, even. Harry had tried healing spells, but they hadn’t done anything for Hood’s wounds. Or bruises.

Hood made her rigging vanish - she didn’t know where it went, or so she had said when Hermione had asked, several times - and stepped on shore. She stumbled at once. “Ow.” She looked confused. “I’m hurting… but I was repaired…”

“But apparently not healed,” Harry said. “Episkey!”

“Thank you.” Hood frowned. “Getting hurt like humans is unnatural! I’m a ship. I shouldn’t be bleeding!”

Ron exchanged a glance with Harry. “You didn’t feel hurt until now?”

Hood shook her head. “No. Not while I had my rigging.”

“Hermione will love analysing that,” Ron muttered.

“No, she won’t. Not in the middle of a crisis,” Harry said.

Hood sighed. “I know. I failed. I should have sunk the Bismarck. But she escaped, and she will return. And she won’t fall for such an ambush again.” The girl shook her head. “Next time she’ll be prepared.” Left unsaid was that Hood didn’t think she’d survive that battle.

“Then we’ll have to think of another plan!” Ron patted Hood on the shoulder. “We’ve been there before. In the last wizard war, we had a plan as well. We did our best, but… we realised we couldn’t win.” He grimaced. “So, we had to come up with an alternative. And we did.” He nodded. “Trust us - we’re good at that. Well, Hermione and Harry are. I mostly keep them from moping.”

“I don’t mope,” Hood said. “But what can we do when the Bismarck returns?”

“Well…“ Ron didn’t have an answer ready. “She’s hurt as well. Damaged I mean. She’ll take time to recover. Time we can use.”

“And she’ll have to find a way to counter the rocket launchers. She’ll probably not get close to Britain for a while.” Harry grinned.

Ron could tell he wasn’t being quite honest, but Hood smiled again.

“So, let’s meet Hermione, and find out what her experiment told her,” Harry said.

Ron pointed to the woods, from which muggle soldiers emerged. “We need to talk to them first.”

Hopefully that wouldn’t take too long.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, May 5th 2001

Hermione Granger was double-checking the results of her spell when the glowing terrier entered her office and spoke with Ron’s voice: “We’ve driven the enemy off. Harry, I and our guest are safe.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. They were safe. The battle was won. She wiped some tears from her eyes, and drew her wand. Then she focused on the day they had pulled the soul fragment out of Harry’s scar, proving that the sealing spell she had developed worked. The smile on his face. The warmth of his and Ron’s body when she hugged them both. The kisses that had followed, and left them blinking.

A quick spell later, a silvery otter was swimming around her desk, peering at her. Her smile vanished, and she said: “Meet me at Grimmauld Place.” She sighed when the Patronus had vanished. She hated to do this - her message would already tell the boys what she had found - but this couldn’t wait.

Then she stood up, collected her notes, checked once again that her safe was hidden and the protection spells in place, and left her office. She walked down the hallway, then opened the second door on the right. “Katherine!”

The witch jerked, guilt written over her face. She should have evacuated with the rest of the Ministry. “Yes?”

“The danger should be over. I’m out of the office for the day.” Hermione stared at the witch. “Don’t let anyone inside, not even the Minister herself.”

“Of course!”

Hermione nodded and left. A minute later, she stepped out of the fireplace in Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. Angelina greeted her. “Ah… Hermione.”

“Just passing through,” Hermione said and threw the Floo Powder she had brought with her into the flames. “No. 12 Grimmauld Place.”

“Alright. I’ll see you this evening.” Angelina’s expression told Hermione that the former Chaser still thought she was paranoid. But old habits died hard. Habits that had saved her once already died even harder. Being predictable meant inviting ambushes. As did trusting too many people.

Once back in her home, she relaxed. Grimmauld Place was safe. Safer than any other place in Britain. She went to the kitchen and grabbed a soda and a sandwich. It wasn’t quite lunch yet, but she would rather eat now, and not waste time on it later. She couldn’t afford to. The Ministry wards had cost her two days.

She checked her watch - mechanical, like everything in the house. Electronics didn’t last long inside these wards. Harry and Ron were taking a long time to return. What could be holding them up? Normally, she wouldn’t worry; they would have contacted her if there was an emergency, but considering the circumstances… She was biting her lower lip, hard, and made an effort to stop before she bled. Should she have told them through the Patronus? But what if there were others when it arrived...

“Hermione?”

That was Ron! She started to run, then slowed down before she reached the entrance hall. “Ron! Harry!” She hugged them, then nodded at Hood. “Hood.”

The battlecruiser - and that was a concept Hermione still had trouble accepting, despite the evidence - nodded back, looking rather forlorn for a ship who had just won against the odds.

“She thinks she failed,” Ron explained. “We keep telling her she won, and gained us valuable time to prepare and find a better plan, but…” He shrugged. “The muggle Admiral did so as well, which is what held us up longer than anticipated.”

Harry nodded. “Sunk two escorts, drove away the Bismarck and two other escorts… and she thinks she failed.”

“I didn’t sink the Bismarck. She’ll be back.”

Harry grinned, apparently remembering that movie. Hermione glared at him, then turned to the shipgirl. “You faced an enemy that outnumbered and outclassed you, and drove them away. That’s not failing.” She sighed. “Especially in light of what I found out.”

Harry and Ron, who had been smiling at some shared joke she was not privy to, grew serious. “It’s Voldemort then.”

Hermione winced. “Yes. The spell’s results are clear. I checked twice. The Bismarck is possessed by Voldemort.”

Ron cursed, and Harry was grinding his teeth.

“Excuse me?” Hood raised her hand. “Who’s Voldemort?”

Hermione looked at Harry. Her friend sighed, and started to explain.

*****​

“The fragment of the soul of an evil wizard possessed a Nazi shipgirl. A wizard who has come back from death twice before, and will return again, unless this is the last soul fragment of his.” Hood didn’t show any emotion when she summed up what Harry had told her while they ate in the kitchen. Or, in Hood’s case, devoured food as fast as they managed to cast the Doubling Charm.

“Yes.” Harry nodded. “Defeating him cost us friends and family. He took over the Ministry, but Hogwarts held out.”

“He was fixated on the school. If he had focused on us, we’d never have managed to pull off some of our missions,” Ron added.

“Do you think he’ll go after Hogwarts?”

Ron grimaced. “I don’t think so. He wasn’t a battleship before. Hogwarts is not exactly near the sea.”

“If his soul fragment merged with the ‘spirit’ of the Bismarck, then that may have influenced him and his goals as well,” Hermione said. She ignored the way Hood narrowed her eyes - she had never heard about a ship’s spirit. She knew souls existed, but ships had no souls. Their crew did though. “We don’t know enough. Did the Bismarck use any magic?”

“She seemed to control the weather. She called on a storm to arrive and leave in.” Harry frowned. “But she didn’t use a storm to drive us from the sky.”

“Did you see a wand?” Hermione made a few notes.

“No.” Harry shook his head.

“Her radar was not working during the battle. If she could use that repair magic, I think she’d have done that,” Hood said.

“If she can’t use a wand, then that will limit her,” Ron said.

“Unless one of the Death Eaters who were on Azkaban can do it for her. Him. Whatever.” Harry shrugged.

“Unprotected humans will not survive long in a battle between ships,” Hood said.

“So… tactically, she will not be able to repair damage quickly.” Ron rubbed his nose. “Strategically, though, we cannot count on her being forced to… how do you repair your rigging without magic?”

“Uhh…” Hood blinked. “I’d be repaired in a drydock, optimally. Some make-shift repairs can be done by my crew, or a repair ship, but it’s not ideal.”

Harry tapped his scar. “If Voldemort is controlling the Bismarck, and if he cannot use a wand anymore, then he might not let others use wands. He’d hate to feel inferior to anyone.”

“That would be exceptionally stupid,” Hood said. “How could such a man have taken over Magical Britain?”

Hermione nodded. “He’s not stupid. But this is not him - this is just a soul fragment. And as we noticed in our second year, those are more than a bit unstable, and not as smart as the whole, so to speak.” About as smart as magical portraits, and everyone in Gryffindor knew just how dumb those were. “So… it’s possible, but we shouldn’t count on it.”

“There were not that many Death Eaters in Azkaban anyway. Malfoy and Carrow were the only ones of note,” Ron added.

Harry nodded. “We should have killed those two as well.”

Hermione frowned. The Death Eaters had flocked to the Dark Lord every time when he had returned, and the trio had sworn early on that they wouldn’t let any Death Eater live just so they could join Voldemort for a fourth time. Alas, the two dark witches had surrendered to the Aurors after the Ministry had been retaken, and managed to avoid the Veil.

“Hindsight is… what do you call it?” Ron asked.

“20/20,” Hermione answered, reflexively. “But let us return to the main topic. We need to research shipgirls. We really need to find out how they… appear. The Bismarck managed to procure four of them, somehow. If we cannot duplicate that…” she trailed off.

“Pensieve time?” Ron asked.

She nodded. “I’ll also need to examine you again, Hood.”

“What about the notes you found?”

Hermione winced. “My computer’s working on decrypting them.” The damned cipher had proven to be more complicated to crack than she had expected to start with, and that wasn’t counting the problem of scanning and decrypting pages handwritten on parchment. But since the cipher had been broken, it wouldn’t take much longer, though. Or so she hoped. She glared at Ron, daring him to say he told her so, but he wisely decided not to rub it in.

Drawing her wand, she smiled at the battlecruiser. “So, let’s get started.”

*****​

Devon, Ottery St. Catchpole, May 5th 2001

Harry frowned, as he usually did when he saw the Burrow. The Weasley’s ancestral home had been destroyed during the war - fortunately without loss of life, though both Molly and Arthur had been cursed. And Bill had almost died. The eldest Weasley son hadn’t recovered until the war had been over. That was reason alone, Harry thought, to make a few changes.

But the family had chosen to rebuild it as close to how it had been as possible. The same gravity-defying house, the garden, the field… the pond behind it. And the gaping security holes in the layout. Harry and his friends had offered to pay for a better, sturdier, safer house. As safe and secure as possible for their family. But Arthur and Molly hadn’t listened. Hadn’t wanted to change it. They even had the ghoul in the attic replaced!

They tried to act, in Harry’s opinion, as if the war had never happened. But the Weasleys had changed. Even though they did their best not to show it. Which, in his opinion, made it even more obvious. They were no Slytherins, after all.

“Wow… how can that house be standing?”

Harry looked at Hood, who was standing there, gaping.

“Magic,” was Ron’s dry answer, which earned him a glare from Hermione, whose quick explanation of magical construction went over the battlecruiser’s head with a mile to spare, as far as Harry could tell.

But then, it took their mind off the upcoming dinner, which was a good thing.

Ron was the first to enter. “Mum, Dad! We’re here,” he announced. “We brought a guest too.”

Molly stepped out of a kitchen and smiled at them. Her two-stage smile, as Harry liked to think of it. She started with a shy smile, then it grew - almost, but not quite, into the smile he remembered. “There you are! I was so worried!”

To Harry’s surprise, she came forward and hugged them all, without the slightest hesitation. She was even crying when she released him. Of course - they were at war again! Molly would have known they’d be fighting. Risking their lives again. She’d have been so worried, again. How could he have forgotten this?

He glanced at his friends. Ron patted his mum’s back with a sheepish expression, mumbling something about everyone being alright and safe. Hermione looked like she had just remembered something obvious she had forgotten. Harry smiled - he wasn’t alone.

“Fred and George are coming with Angelina, as soon as they have closed the shop. Ginny might be a bit late, she said they have practice today. Despite, you know…” Molly frowned.

“You mean the attack?” Hood asked.

Harry closed his eyes. He should have known that the battlecruiser turned girl wasn’t subtle. Or diffident.

“You must be Hood then,” Molly said, her smile polite.

Hood, apparently oblivious, nodded emphatically. “Her Majesty’s Ship Hood, Admiral-Class battlecruiser, Royal Navy. Pennant number 51.” She beamed at the witch. “I would like to thank you for inviting me to dinner with your family!”

“Of course, dear.” Molly answered, obviously confused. Apparently, Arthur hadn’t told her what was going on. Swell.

Ron stepped into the breach. “She’s the one who fought the enemy this morning, preventing another attack on the Ministry.”

“I wasn’t alone, Ron and Harry fought bravely! As did the Royal Artillery,” Hood said, smiling brightly. “Your son was very courageous, Ma’am, attacking those monsters!”

“What?” Molly gasped, staring at the battlecruiser. Then she stared at Ron. Then at Harry. “What did you do?”

“They provided air cover while I engaged the Bismarck and her escorts, Ma’am.”

“The thing that laid waste to London?” Molly asked, trembling. Harry quickly conjured a chair for her.

Hood blinked. “Ah… you didn’t know?”

Hermione was rubbing her temple and Ron was once again hugging his mum. Fortunately, Arthur arrived at this moment, so he could take the blame.

It took five minutes to explain Hood’s presence, and fifteen minutes to calm down Molly. Fortunately, the witch understood the need for secrecy. Although the look she shot at Harry told him that she hadn’t forgotten what secrets he and his friends had kept from her in the last war. She wouldn’t bring it up though - Ron’s mum had learned that confronting the three of them about what they did - and now would do - in war was a fast way to ruin a family gathering. Like asking Molly and Arthur to be more security-conscious, as Hermione put it.

“Bill’s not coming,” Molly said as they helped set the table. “Too dangerous, with the recent attack, they said.” She sighed. “I can’t fault Fleur for that. Not with…” She shook her head. Neither of the three chose to comment on the fact that Fleur didn’t consider the Burrow safe enough for her family. Not after she had dragged her fiancé out of the ruins.

“We’ll do our best to defeat the enemy, ma’am!” Hood cut in, turning away from the family clock she had been examining.

“That’s nice, dear,” Molly said. “Charlie can’t make it, but he’s taking time off from work to visit as soon as possible.”

Harry nodded. Everyone knew there was only one thing Charlie would leave his beloved dragons for - his family’s safety.

Fred, George and Angelina arrived on time, and the mood lifted, as usual with the twins. They hadn’t changed much, though their humour had become a bit darker. And, of course, they didn’t sell love potions in their shop. Not anymore.

“And who are you?” Fred grinned at Hood. “Did the ménage à trois expand into a ménage à quatre?” The twins were also the only ones who made jokes about the trio’s love life.

Hood looked confused. “Pardon?”

“Well, it’s a family gathering, so you must be related to a Weasley. Since I know we didn’t bring you, and mum didn’t tell us they had taken someone in, and Ginny doesn’t bring her friends to our gatherings, that leaves the trio here. Are you their ‘plus one’?”

“Err… I’m staying with them. It would be irresponsible to leave their side, in case there’s an… a situation,” Hood said, with a forced smile. She understood secrecy, Harry knew, but cover stories seemed to elude her still. “I’m Hood.”

“Let’s eat now!” Molly interrupted the beginning interrogation, to Harry’s relief. For once, the witch’s unwillingness to talk about the trio’s ‘arrangement’ worked out in their favor.

Of course, Hood’s appetite caught the attention of everyone at the table, despite the battlecruiser having ‘refueled’ at Grimmauld Place already. Hermione had to tell the twins not to butt into ‘Unspeakable business’ to make them drop the matter - and only after far too much innuendo and jokes about ‘Unspeakables’ and ‘Unmentionables’.

And then Ginny arrived, and Hood was given the third degree again, since the youngest Weasley wasn’t about to let some ‘blonde stranger’ take advantage of her friends and brother.

All in all, it was the most relaxing Weasley family dinner Harry had had in some time.

*****​

North Sea, Azkaban, May 5th, 2001

Even hours after the battle, she was still filled with rage. Ambushed by an outdated battlecruiser! Driven to flight, even, by a ship she had sunk in three minutes before! Almost crippled by treachery! The perfidious Albion had shown their true nature once again!

But so had others! She ground her teeth at the cowardice Narcissa had shown on the field of battle, fleeing without orders instead of pressing the attack! She wanted to go and punish the craven cruiser again, but that would mean she would have to leave this soothing bath and feel the pain from her damaged hull and superstructure again - she had already worsened her damage when she had beaten the ship bloody.

Leaning back against the bathtub’s edge, she calmed down. She had lost a battle, but not the war. She would fix her wounds, and then she would go and gather a real fleet. There wouldn’t be any more experiments with turning witches into warships. No, her comrades, the warriors who had fallen in battle against England would rise again, more terrifying than before!

As she should have done before, she would go north, where half the Kriegsmarine was resting.

Resting, and waiting.

*****​