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

Chapter 5: Reinforcements

London, No. 10 Grimmauld Place, May 6th, 2001

When HMS Hood had heard Hermione needed to run a few experiments with her, she had expected to be on the sea, demonstrating her guns, and her speed, and her armour. She hadn’t expected to sit on a chair or stand around for hours, only moving when told to while the witch was waving her wand around and casting spell after spell, in between dictating notes to a self-writing quill.

“Harry and Ron already tested me,” she said, frowning.

Hermione sighed. “While I love the two dearly, they are not - boffins, you’d say.”

“And you are?” Hood peered at the girl. She didn’t look like a scientist. No lab coat, even. But she certainly acted like some of the scientists Hood faintly remembered.

“I’m the closest to a boffin you’ll find in Wizarding Britain.” The girl sounded both sad and proud at the same time. And angry, though Hood couldn’t tell what made her angry. Apart from the mystery of her existence, and Hermione’s continued lack of understanding thereof. The witch’s mutterings had made that clear.

“But you ran tests yesterday. So, why aren’t we out on the sea now?” In her natural element. Even water beds - marvelous as they were - were a pale imitation of real sailing.

“Because those tests revealed that you have an obvious dual nature, and my theory is that it depends on whether or not you’re acting like a ship, or a girl. After I finish my tests here, we’ll head to a secluded spot on the coast, and repeat the tests with you in your ‘rigging’, as you call it.”

Hood blinked. It sounded as if the girl had found a way to make sailing less comfortable! “Shouldn’t we work on finding ways to sink the Bismarck instead?”

“That’s part of what we are doing.” Hermione held up a 12.7×81mm 50-calibre bullet, one of Hood’s Vickers. “This has been created like the shells the Bismarck fired at London.”

“I’m not like her!” Hood stood up, glaring at the witch. To be compared to such… to that Nazi abomination!

“You’re more alike than you think,” Hermione said. “You both represent the ‘spirits’ of a sunk warship. You both can walk on water, and use magic to reproduce the firepower of the sunk ships. And you both fight in similar ways.”

“She’s a Nazi monster! I’m a ship of the Royal Navy!”

“Yes.” Hermione took another note.

Hood craned her neck, but from her angle she couldn’t read it. “And you know all my weaknesses!” Her weak deck armour, her lack of a real refit… it had been humiliating to list that.

“No, we know the weaknesses of the battlecruiser you were. Not the weaknesses of the being you are now.” Hermione looked at her. “We need to know if there are magical ways to hurt you. Spells, potions, enchanted weapons.”

“A big gun will hurt me!” Hood said.

“Maybe even a handgun will hurt you - if it’s enchanted correctly.”

Hood scoffed. “I won’t even feel that. In fact, I didn’t feel your magic sling.” She grinned.

The witch frowned. “That wasn’t a magic sling, but a spell. A Banishing Charm, to be precise.”

Hood shrugged. “You shot a rock at me, it bounced off. Looks like a sling to me.” Hermione scowled. That was a hit! “Nor did your ‘Piercing Curse’ hurt me.” They hadn’t tested a ‘Blasting Curse’, yet.

The girl cleared her throat. “You said you were called. That means someone, or something called you. We need to find out how this happened, so we can duplicate it.”

Hood understood that. She needed a fleet to sink the Bismarck, especially if the Nazi battleship had escorts. Or, worse, more capital ships. “Good.” And it would be very nice to have… well, she never had a sistership, but she had friends. After the dinner with Ron’s family, she had realised just how much she missed having friends around. A family.

“No, it’s not good. I’m not making any progress there. Other than something rather worrying.” Hermione seemed to hesitated a second, then sighed. “You said you identified two of the escorts you fought.”

Hood nodded. “Yes. Two Type 1934 Destroyers. Max Schultz and Leberecht Maas. I sunk Leberecht Maas,” she added, proudly.

“I looked them up. Both were sunk with most or all of their crew.” Hermione kept looking at her.

Hood met her gaze. “Like I was. And Bismarck.”

“Yes.” Hermione sighed. “It might be coincidence, of course. You didn’t recognise the light cruisers, after all.”

She scoffed. “Those were crewed by amateurs or fools. They would never have made the cut in the Royal Navy. Their captains should have been court-martialed.”

“But you didn’t recognise the design.”

Hood shook her head, her ponytail whipping around. “No, I didn’t. Were they built after I sank?”

“No. The Kriegsmarine didn’t build any light cruisers during the war. They only built the Emden, Königsberg, Karlsruhe, Köln, Leipzig and Nürnberg.”

“Oh.” Hood didn’t understand that. “Maybe they were captured ships. Definitely light cruisers though.”

“Maybe.” Hermione didn’t look convinced. “In any case, it is obviously possible to call more of those ships. So, it should be possible to call more of your type of shipgirl. We just have to find out how.”

From the look in the witch’s eyes, Hood could tell that this would be a long day.

*****​

London, City of Westminster, May 6th, 2001

“This is excellent, Ron. Do you eat here often?”

Ron Weasley smiled at his father. “Not that often. It was a favourite of Hermione’s parents and she took us here a few times.”

“Ah.” The older Weasley nodded and took another bite from his entrecôte.

“How are the muggles handling the current crisis?” Ron asked mostly to break the silence - he expected that he’d have been informed if there was anything important happening, since he and his friends were still ready to transport Hood should she be needed.

“They’re sticking to their story of a terrorist attack, and also claim that another attack was prevented yesterday.” With a shrug, the older wizard added: “I don’t know how plausible it is - the Prime Minister seemed less than convinced that the reporters would believe it.”

Another minute passed until Ron’s dad spoke again: “Harry’s at the Ministry.”

Ron nodded. “He’s keeping an eye on Dawlish, and the reports from the pickets near Azkaban.”

“And Hermione is examining Hood while you are keeping an eye on the muggles through me.”

“That’s the gist of it.” Ron shrugged. He had a cellphone to keep in contact with the muggle military as well, but his father knew that.

The older wizard sighed. “Ron… you don’t have to fight this battle alone. You are not alone.”

Ron frowned, and fought down the sudden burst of anger that rose inside him. “Old habits die hard.” With a scoff he added: “It’s not as if things changed much. Bloody Ministry’s still useless. And there’s no one else. Like usual.”

He couldn’t keep the scorn out of his voice.

His father pressed his lips together and took a deep breath. “We worry about you.”

Ron knew he should let the matter drop, but he couldn’t. “Like you ‘worried’ in our sixth year, when you did all you could to keep us from fighting Voldemort? You almost lost us the war!”

“We didn’t know, Ron.”

“You didn’t want to listen. Not to a few children. You all thought you knew better. Despite Dumbledore’s notes.” Ron wasn’t eating anymore. “We had to do everything alone. Malfoy Manor. Gringotts. Nott. No one but Sirius helped us there.” He scoffed. “You even believed that we just wanted to avenge Dumbledore.”

“We didn’t believe that!” His dad was raising his voice now as well.

“The Order did! We heard McGonagall talk to Kingsley when we were hiding from the Aurors.”

“If she had believed that, she’d have informed the Aurors that you had been the ones to kill Lucius.” The older wizard sighed and closed his eyes. “Merlin! You just told us that the Dark Lord wasn’t dead, and that you had a secret mission from Dumbledore. And then you started killing. Or so it looked to us,” he added, before Ron could tell him that they had searched for the Horcruxes. “And why would Dumbledore have given such a mission to a group of children, instead of to the Order? It didn’t make sense, Ron!”

“We couldn’t tell you about it! The risk of someone leaking the information was too great.” Ron snorted. “Something you should have been familiar with from the last war.”

“We had no traitor in our ranks this time.”

“You don’t need a traitor. You just need a prisoner and some Veritaserum. Or torture.” That was how they had found out how to get into the home of Nott.

Ron’s dad sighed, but but didn’t contest that.

“And if the Order had killed a few Death Eaters earlier, maybe more of you would have survived when you finally started fighting,” Ron said, and immediately regretted it. “Sorry.”

Arthur nodded, slowly, but didn’t say anything. There hadn’t been many members left. McGonagall, Flitwick, and the Weasleys had been the only survivors when Kingsley had disbanded it after the Ministry had been retaken. And Ron was convinced the Weasleys had just survived because the entrance they had been holding hadn’t been attacked by the main force of the Death Eaters, but the vampires and werewolves. A diversion, Harry had called it. Something else no one ever mentioned at a family gathering.

The two resumed eating, and stayed silent for a few minutes. Then Arthur tried again. “Ron… it’s different this time. No one is doubting you. We want to help you. Even the Ministry is doing what they can.”

Ron scoffed. “They can’t do much. Early warnings is about the best they can do. And they hate us. Or why do you think Rita Skeeter gets away with her lies and slander?”

“I don’t think that’s the reason, Ron. Three people living together like you are… people are not used to that kind of arrangement.”

He glared at his father. “How we live is no one’s business but our own! We’re happy, and that’s all that counts!”

His dad hesitated, then said: “But are you really happy?”

Ron closed his eyes so he’d not lose his temper. “Dad, it works for us. This is not just a ‘war thing’, as Mum put it. It started when we were on the run from everyone, yes, but wouldn’t you expect us to have broken up by now, if that had been all it was?”

“I’m not certain you ever returned from the war, Ron,” his dad said so softly, Ron almost didn’t hear it.

They spent the rest of the meal in silence.

*****​

London, No. 10 Grimmauld Place, May 6th, 2001

“Alright, we’re done with the tests. Thank you for being so patient.” Hermione Granger smiled at Hood. She was quite certain that the battlecruiser had hated every minute of the tests - at least those that had required her to stay still. “It’ll take a while until I have the results though.”

“Don’t mention it. I know how important this is.” The battlecruiser nodded at the witch, but did leave rather quickly.

Hermione kept her smile up until the door had closed behind Hood, then sighed. While it was true that she wouldn’t have the final results until she would have finished analysing the data in detail, the preliminary results were rather conclusive.

She pressed her lips together while she looked at her notes. While she still didn’t know how exactly Hood had been created, or ‘called’, as the ship described the experience, everything she had tested pointed at a necromantic ritual as the source. Soul magic.

Hermione was more than passingly familiar with this field of magic - she had studied it in depth to create the ritual they had used to seal Voldemort’s shade. She had researched death and souls extensively.

And Hood’s existence was tightly linked to a lot of both. Not like a Horcrux. But there were some parallels. Hermione was certain that without a lot of deaths, the ship’s spirit, shade, or soul, whatever it was, wouldn’t have been formed.

Unfortunately, she didn’t know if that meant the Bismarck’s spirit would return after sinking once again. Or if the they would be able to seal it. That would require more study.

But she needed to find out how Hood had been called first, before making plans about dealing with the Bismarck. Harry and Ron had mentioned new plans, but she knew them. They didn’t think it would be enough. They needed more shipgirls to win in the first place.

Hermione checked her watch. It was past lunchtime. She would get something on the way to her grandmother’s house.

*****​

A few hours later, the witch was back at Grimmauld Place, pouring over the finally deciphered notes of Alois Fickleton. Unfortunately, the Seer’s writings were not as clear or precise as she had hoped. And they were extensive. Very extensive. The man rambled over pages and pages of notes, going into details of spells any student learned these days in their N.E.W.T. year. But she had found the crucial passage:

‘There will appear an enemy, full of rage for past grievances against them and theirs. They will rain down fire and destruction on the Ministry from the air and from afar, their attacks so mighty, many muggles will be killed just for being nearby - just as they have been killed before. Normal means will be useless against this foe reborn from death and dark magic.

Such I was told as having said. As having seen. Such I have studied. An enemy, impervious to our magic. Commanding the air. Able to lay waste to both wizard and muggle buildings. A danger unlike any we have seen so far - and yet familiar. Reborn. The conclusion is clear, though the solution remains elusive. Without being able to study this enemy in detail, I will not be able to prepare a spell to deal with them. Not usually, at least.

But I am not just a Seer, but also the Head Unspeakable. An unknown danger can be dealt with, if I approach the problem from a different angle. A different concept, even.’

Hermione eagerly read ahead, skimming pages of speculation and arithmantic calculations until she reached the notes detailing the spell that Fickleton had inscribed on that stone she had found. This was what she had been looking for. This would… She blinked, then cursed. Loudly.

*****​

“I’ve found the spell the Unspeakable used to call Hood,” Hermione announced during dinner. “But we can’t use it as it was cast.”

“Why?” Ron frowned. “You just said it called Hood.”

Hermione sighed. “It did. But Fickleton didn’t create a spell to summon a battlecruiser in the form of a girl. He created a spell to summon an enemy of the enemy he had ‘seen’.” She snorted. “So, his spell reacted to and needed the Bismarck to be attacking.” She scoffed. “He didn’t even know that it would be a shipgirl. He thought it would be a dragon, undead or resurrected. Incidentally, he didn’t seem trust his own spell that much either - he’s the reason we have no dragon reserves in Britain anymore.”

“So… how long until you have his spell adapted to work as we need it?” Ron’s tone and smile left no doubt that he was certain of her success.

Hermione smiled, tiredly. “I’ll do my best, but I’ll have to focus the spell on shipgirls, and I’ll have to find a way to make it work without having an enemy present.” She didn’t mention the other conditions. The need for a ship to have sunk with many of its crew. The necromantic aspects. She didn’t know how Hood would take that. But she knew Harry would react - he would blame himself for destroying the Resurrection Stone, should he know the ritual would involve souls.

No, she would keep quiet about this. And do her best. As usual.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, May 6th, 2001

Repair work on the building was continuing rapidly, Harry Potter noted when he walked through the atrium. Not that he had expected anything else - the damage it had taken when they had stormed it after the Battle of Hogwarts had been repaired in less than a day. The physical damage, at least - the deaths hadn’t stopped hurting. They had found Percy lying in a pool of blood, his lungs rotted away, in the Floo Network Authority’s offices, where he had opened the connections for them. There hadn’t been much quarter granted to anyone following that. And Ron had been a wreck for weeks, afterwards. Harry sighed - he and Hermione had comforted their friend. But sometimes he wondered if they should have retreated to Grimmauld Place, instead of back to Hogwarts, where the rest of the Weasleys had been.

When he waited for the lift he noted to his surprise that Aubrey Fawley chose to wait next to him. Usually, Harry and Ron had a lift to themselves. He let his wand slip into his hand. Just in case.

“Dreadful business, this attack,” the older wizard said while the doors opened.

“Yes.” Harry glanced at the man.

“Kingsley dead… I couldn’t believe it.” Fawley shook his head. “Everyone thought he’d stay Minister for a few more years, at least.”

The political shuffling had started, Harry realised. He had expected that many would not want to step forward and campaign for the post, not in the middle of the current crisis. The Ministry under attack, the Statute threatened - those were not the kind of things a Minister would want to deal with at the start of their first term. Or at any other time. Unless of course they wouldn’t have much of a chance to get elected in normal times. He nodded. “I’m certain we’ll have a new minister soon,” he said. “I doubt that Selwyn would want to stay acting Minister for much longer.”

“Precisely!” Fawley said, beaming. “But picking the next Minister is a delicate affair. It has to be someone who can lead us in this crisis. Someone with the full support of everyone in the Ministry.”

“It should be someone who can work closely with the muggle Minister,” Harry said. “This crisis cannot be stopped by the Ministry alone. Without muggles, the last attack couldn’t have been stopped.”

“The last attack?” Fawley asked with wide eyes.

“Yes, there was another attack yesterday morning. It was stopped before it reached London, though.” Harry smiled. “So, it’s imperative that the new Minister is well-versed with muggle customs.”

The lift reached the floor of the Auror offices before Fawley recovered enough to continue their discussion.

Harry had barely entered the offices when one of the new Aurors informed him that Dawlish wanted to talk to him as soon as possible. He still checked his mail and memos before he went to the Head Auror’s office.

Dawlish didn’t comment on his late arrival. “There you are, Potter. Have a seat.”

Harry nodded and sat down.

“I’ve read your report about the battle yesterday. Two of those creatures killed. The other three driven off. And a horde of Inferi destroyed. Good work.”

Harry shrugged. “We failed to destroy the main threat. They’ll be back.”

“They’re still on Azkaban. We’re keeping an eye on them.”

“That’s a dangerous and difficult mission.”

Dawlish waved his hand. “They stay out of range, and simply observe. A bit more uncomfortable than a normal stakeout.”

Harry didn’t think that scouting an enemy in a war was comparable to staking out a criminal’s hideout, but didn’t think it was worth starting a dispute. He’d check with the Corps later, to see how the pickets were organised.

Dawlish pulled out a parchment and handed it to him. “The team examining the remains from the first attack has raised the possibility that this was done by holdouts from Grindelwald. Possibly Prussian muggleborns who escaped after his defeat with the help of muggles.”

Harry laughed out loud. “Really?” He shook his head. “Didn’t they listen to Hermione? Grindelwald wasn’t involved with the Nazis. No, we’re still investigating, but it looks like this is the work of surviving Death Eaters.”

“What?” Dawlish bared his teeth. “The Death Eaters are gone. There’s no one left!”

“There were several left, on Azkaban.” Harry smiled briefly.

“Have you any proof for this… theory? Or is this some ploy to discredit Macmillan?” Dawlish narrowed his eyes.

“Macmillan’s running for Minister?” Harry scoffed. “Bloody idiot.” He shrugged. “No, we don’t have proof yet. But we’re working on it.” They couldn’t tell anyone that Voldemort’s shade was kept in a crystal in the Department of Mysteries because his soul could not pass over. Much less how they had achieved that. That kind of magic was highly illegal. And very dangerous.

Dawlish didn’t look convinced, but nodded. “See that you do.”

“We’re focusing on stopping the threat. We can examine the remains afterwards.” Harry grinned. “We need those pickets to stay sharp too, so we know when the enemy’s moving again.”

“They’ll do their job. Do you need anything else?”

He shook his head. “Not at the moment, no.” It was up to Hermione to crack that spell. Or craft it. Like in the war. She had cast the sealing spell twice - once to deal with the soul shard in his scar, and once when Voldemort had walked into their trap at Hogwarts. Or rather, had been lured into it. In hindsight, that had been a far too dangerous plan, but they had been desperate at that point. He stood up. “I’ll be going then.”

*****​

He was on the way to the Floo connections in the atrium when he heard his name being called out.

“Harry!”

He turned around, wand slipping into his hand, tense, before he recognised the voice.

“Luna?”

The blonde witch beamed at him while she crossed the atrium. “Yes.”

“I thought you were still tracking the Jackalope in America.”

She shook her head, sending her ponytail swishing around. “How could I track an animal that will still be there for years when Britain is experiencing an invasion by spirits? I had to return so I could study them before you destroy them!”

“Ah…” Harry was at a loss for words. Luna wanted to study those monsters? That would be far too dangerous! But how to explain it...

“And I wanted to meet the exorcist you have found!”

“The what?” Harry’s train of thoughts was getting derailed.

“I heard that you have a blonde witch as a guest, and she isn’t me. Which means she had to be important for the invasion. Otherwise you’d not have taken her to your home, much less let her stay. And since we’re being attacked by spirits, the most plausible explanation is that she’s an exorcist!”

Harry stared at his friend. Hermione would… well, she’d act annoyed, but she liked Luna. Or she’d have never agreed to let her have a guest room at Grimmauld Place. “Let’s talk about this at Grimmauld Place. Incidentally, do you know anything about magical ships?”

Luna blinked. “Is Britain under attack by the Flying Dutchman? Do you plan to steal the Ship of Durmstrang to fight it?”

Harry winced. He should have never told Luna about Gringotts.

*****​

Thames Estuary, Britain, May 6th, 2001

HMS Hood was happy. After all those tests, hours spent either standing still or following rather unorthodox orders while Hermione waved her wand around and muttered incomprehensibly or took notes, she was finally back on the open sea. Or at least as open as the Thames Estuary. But she could sail! And what a joy was it, to sail, with her hull as pristine as if she had just been built, and all of her systems working perfectly!

She smiled widely while she took a tight turn, leaving a wake behind her. Her directors tracked the aeroplanes in the sky as well - purely as an exercise. Not that any were in range of her 4-inchers. The only flying contact in range was Ron, who was flying behind her on his broom. Just in case she needed to be deployed somewhere else.

Which was not impossible, given magic. If the Bismarck could use magic to repair herself, or if some of those ‘Death Eaters’ were repairing her… She frowned. If her nemesis had that kind of support, she would not have sailed, but been apparated right into the middle of London!

Hood took a deep breath. Sooner or later she’d have to face the Nazi battleship again. And the two surviving escorts. And whatever other ships that monster managed to procure. As if she wasn’t powerful enough by herself!

She wished the Royal Navy was with her. The Navy she knew. Her comrades in arms. Not this gutted Royal Navy of the twenty-first century. That had discarded so many of the ships who had sailed with her, sent them to the scrapyard as if they were rubbish! And so many had sunk during the war. Reading those histories had been painful.

She closed her eyes. She knew she was not fair. Almost childish even. Times had changed. The age of the battleship had passed long ago - shortly after her sinking, to be exact. And the Royal Navy had adapted, just as it had adapted to the end of the age of sail. Still… she couldn’t help feeling that this wasn’t her Navy. And not just because she was now a girl as well as a ship.

No, she couldn’t even mingle with them because most of them were not allowed to know about her. You could not belong to a Navy like that.

“Is something wrong?” Ron asked suddenly, surprising her.

She hadn’t noticed he was closing in. Sloppy! She turned around to face him. “No, I’m just… missing my comrades. The ships I knew.” My family, she added, silently.

“Oh.” Ron nodded slowly. He was sitting up on his broom, one hand on the handle.

It looked very uncomfortable to Hood, but magic probably took care of that. Magic could do a lot, Hood knew. But it couldn’t beat the Bismarck.

“You miss them.”

“Yes.”

“I understand.” The wizard sighed. “There are a lot of people I miss. The dead, and the… well, distant.”

Hood turned and started to slow down, circling around him while she came to a stop. She knew about missing the dead - all too well. But… “The distant?”

He shrugged. “We’re not as close to our families as we were, before the war. You probably have noticed during dinner that the mood was a bit strained at times.”

She hadn’t, actually. Compared to some captain’s dinners, the mood had been very familial. She nodded anyway. It seemed the thing to do.

He sighed. “We’ve changed, and they don’t like it.” He shook his head. “They’ll come around. At least my family. Hermione’s though… they already have trouble dealing with magic. Dealing with us and our relationship…” He sighed again, louder.

“Ah.” Hood was not quite certain what the family was objecting to - times had changed in that area as well, as she had found out when she had read a few magazines.

Before she could decide if she should ask for a more in-depth explanation, her radar picked up two contacts approaching her. She turned around, and her 4-inchers swiveled to target them. “Two brooms flying towards us,” she informed Ron, as soon as she had visual confirmation.

“Two brooms? Must be important if Hermione’s flying that far out.” Ron straightened.

It wasn’t Hermione. Unless she had dyed and straightened her hair. And dyed her robe. The other broom rider was Harry, so Hood relaxed a bit.

“Luna?”

“Hi Ron!” the other witch yelled, waving so wildly, Hood feared she might slide off her broom into the water.

Swimming in those robes would be hard. Unless there was magic to help, Hood thought.

“Hi Miss Hood! I’m Luna Lovegood! I’m so excited to meet you! You’re the first spirit I can interview - the ones in America vanished when I saw them, for some reason! Do you remember how you were born? And what made you take this form? Were you in love with your captain, and wished to be a girl? Or were you cursed by a jealous mermaid, hoping to banish you to forever to the shores?”

The battlecruiser blinked. She saw Harry smile and shrug to Ron, who was smiling and shaking his head.

“Hood, meet Luna. One of our closest friends.”

Hood turned her attention back to the witch, who was poking with her wand at the battlecruiser’s rigging. “Oh… are those crewed? Maybe with tiny spirits? Or are they alive? Or is it a part of you, controlled like an extra appendage? Or is this your true form, and the body we see is just an illusion?”

Luna, Hood decided right then and there, certainly was not one of the ‘distant’ Ron had talked about.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, May 6th, 2001

“... and have you ever heard of Nargles? Those are tiny invisible animals, kind of like your crew, if you had one, I mean.”

Ron Weasley smiled to himself when he left Hood and Luna in the living room of the house. It was good to see the blonde witch again - of all their friends and family, she was the only one who had never judged them, no matter what they had done - killing, lying, living together. She had been one of the few they had been able to trust in their sixth year.

“Is Hermione still at the Ministry?” Harry asked as Ron was passing the kitchen.

“Yes.” He stopped and entered. His friend was making pasta. “She wanted to do some research in the Unspeakables’ Library, after she had poked and prodded Hood for much of the day.”

“She hasn’t copied that one yet?”

Ron sighed. “Some of the enchantments are giving her trouble. And with all the rest…” He shook his head. Some of the Unspeakables had taken their knowledge into the grave… or into the Veil, in the case of some. Those experiments with muggles and muggleborns... “Should I go and fetch her before she forgets the time?”

Harry briefly stopped cutting the vegetables. “I don’t think so. She’ll come home to examine or experiment on Hood, at least.”

Both men chuckled. “Hood will probably be relived. Luna’s interviewing her at the moment,” Ron said.

“More like interrogating her.” Harry laughed. “She already interrogated me.”

“Well, she always does that after returning from one of her trips.” Luna was spending a lot of time in foreign countries. And she usually stayed at Grimmauld Place when she was in Britain. He doubted Luna had spent more than a few months in total at the Rook. After her father had been killed by the Lestranges, she hadn’t had anyone left, and Ron knew how she hated to be alone.

“She cut this one short, once she heard about Hood,” Harry said. “She’s agreed not to publish anything until we’ve cleared it though.”

“Good.” Ron doubted that the Bismarck read The Quibbler, but other dark wizards did. “How are the muggles reacting to the battles?”

“Well, the newspapers are all over the place with their editorials and reports. The massive rocket bombardment couldn’t be covered up, and everyone is speculating what they fired at. The government just said that there was a classified operation, but that only fueled the rumours.” Harry pointed at a stack of muggle newspapers. “I bought one of every one. For our library.”

Ron eyed the stacked paper, and shook his head. “As long as they don’t suspect magic…”

“Some do, but no one is taking them seriously.”

For a moment, Ron felt some sympathy for those people. To be correct, but nobody of consequence believing you… he and his friends had been there. Then he remembered what would probably happen if magic was revealed. Hermione had thought a lot about that. She had said so, and neither Harry nor Ron had ever asked her about it, but Ron was certain that she had been pondering how best to reveal magic. Back after the war, when Wizarding Britain had not wanted to forget it had ever happened. The witch had come to the conclusion that revealing magic would cost a lot of lives, for various reasons. He didn’t doubt her reasoning.

Ron checked his watch. “If she’s not here at six I’ll fetch her.” He had worked up an appetite trailing Hood. “Until then, I’ll make certain that Luna doesn’t drive Hood mad. The girl’s still not used to being human, after all.”

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, May 7th, 2001

Hermione Granger stared at her notes, which filled an enlarged parchment that covered the biggest table in the Black Library. She had to solve this. Everyone depended on her. Somewhere in the North Sea, maybe on Azkaban, was the Bismarck, possessed by Voldemort’s soul fragment, preparing to attack Britain again. She was probably creating more monsters already. Hood alone wouldn’t be able to stop her. The wizards were not enough - Harry and Ron’s efforts had proved that. They needed help. More shipgirls. But she didn’t know how to call or create more of them.

It was not as bad as back in the war though, when she had been under similar pressure. Not as hopeless. And not as questionable. She shuddered, remembering when she had touched Voldemort’s soul while sealing it. She knew the price for the dark arts, and would never follow in his footsteps. Not for anyone.

“Hermione!”

She jerked, almost ruining the word she was writing, and turned her head. “Is the Bismarck attacking again?” she asked.

Her friend blinked. “No, I don’t think so.”

Hermione relaxed some, and checked the clock. It wasn’t time for dinner, yet.

“What are you doing?” Luna peered at her notes, her long hair almost but not quite brushing over the parchment.

“I’m trying to reverse-engineer the spell that created Hood.” Hermione pointed at the centre part. “Unfortunately, the spell that was triggered was prepared by a Seer, and the notes are rather vague. The spell was dependent on several conditions been met. Recreating the exact circumstances, much less the runes used are nigh-impossible. So, I’ve been working from the other end.”

“There’s a lot of death there,” Luna said, twisting a strand of of her hair around her left index. She didn’t say it with even a hint of the disapproval or concern that, in Hermione’s opinion, many others would have shown.

The witch took a deep breath. “I’m certain that the spell needs that to work. Hood was sunk with all but three of her crew. 1418 men died with her. There’s a lot of power in that many deaths. But I don’t understand how that power was used.” Using past deaths for magic instead of sacrifices was not possible, according to her research. Many wizards had tried. Though none of them had used sunken warships. “I’ve recreated the part that gives a ship a human form.” That had been easy, comparatively. Advanced Transfiguration - Conjuration, in this case. “Even the rigging, in theory. But the spark, the soul that turns it from animated matter into a creature, a shipgirl… It has to be tied to the dead crew. But I don’t know how. I’m not certain that anyone knows.” With the possible exception of the Bismarck. Creating life like this was the stuff of legends. All the magically created species had had living animals or humans as a base.

“Did you try asking the dead?” Luna cocked her head sideways.

“Asking?” Hermione wondered if Luna knew about the Resurrection Stone. “I doubt even the Seer who cast the original spell knew what he was doing. I do not think the human crew would have known.”

“They say ghosts are the results of wizards or witches being too afraid of dying. I’m not quite certain. Binns doesn’t seem as if he had been afraid of dying. I think he just wanted to keep teaching. Many dead would like to return. Finish what they left. Help those who remain.” Luna smiled. “Asking them nicely might do the trick.”

Hermione blinked. It was absurd. You couldn’t ask the dead. But… the Hood had said she had been called back. Returned to do her duty. She had been sunk trying to protect Britain. Her crew had died with the same mission. Then, after decades, the Bismarck had returned, in a warped, different form, but still the battleship they had fought… When she had attacked, a spell had been triggered that had depended on Wizarding Britain needing help against an enemy as well. That had called Hood. This spell was the key. If Hermione tweaked that, implemented this aspect… Her eyes widened when she realised what was missing.

“Thank you, Luna!” she said while she hugged the girl.

“It was my pleasure,” Luna said, smiling serenely.

Hermione was already rushing to the back of the library. She now knew what she had to do! She only hoped she would have enough time left.

*****​

North Cape, Norway, May 8th, 2001

Bismarck smiled as she slowly came to a stop in the middle of the ocean. She had arrived. Here, beneath the waves of the Barents Sea, was the resting place of the ship she had traveled so far north to call. She was like her little sister, and had suffered a fate just like her own. Sent out to hunt merchant ships, she had been separated from her escorts, and hunted down by superior forces. Fighting against all odds, she had been sunk, together with almost all of her crew.

Her most recent additions, Friedrich Eckoldt and Z26, were circling around her. The two destroyers had found their end in these waters as well, and were still adjusting to having been returned to serve. They were eager though - Friedrich Eckoldt had been sunk without even fighting back, completely surprised when the ship she had thought was a German cruiser had turned out to be the HMS Sheffield.

They were not as eager as Blücher, the heavy cruiser on her left flank. She had been sunk by outdated coastal artillery in her very first battle. To erase that shame and humiliation, the cruiser would do anything, Bismarck knew. The battleship had had to use force to keep the girl from attacking Norway right after she had been raised, and the ship had been restless ever since.

The three destroyers she had brought from Narvik, Erich Giese, Wilhelm Heidkamp and
Anton Schmitt, were more disciplined. All three were guarding the fuel Bismarck had brought with her. Not all of the ships she had hoped to find had been able to return. Some had been broken up, scrapped. Nothing for the souls of the dead to hold on to but the spirit of the ship. If there had been such souls in the first place - many ships had been beached or scuttled, the crew escaping as the ships were destroyed. Those needed fuel to be called back, and even then, they would be weaker than the others.

Not as weak as Narcissa though, Bismarck knew that thanks to Friedrich Eckoldt. The destroyer had been beached in the Battle of Narvik. Her crew had escaped to fight on land while she had been destroyed. She was eager, if a bit clumsy, but by no means as inexperienced as Narcissa and Alecto had been after they had been created. Although that could have been due to the fuel used to form her - the sacrifices had been muggles, but they had been sailors at least. Comrades of the fishermen still huddled together in the lifeboat towed by Erich Giese. Or it might have been because her wreck had not been scrapped. More experimentation was needed, Bismarck knew that. Fortunately, there was no shortage of subjects for such experiments - there were many ships who had been scrapped, and there were many muggles to use.

This ship here wouldn’t be weak though, or require such fuel. 1932 men had died here, in the icy waters. Bismarck could feel their souls crying out for vengeance. And vengeance she’d grant them. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply, and reached out to her kin. Down deep, she felt the ship stirr. Wake. Become aware. And rise from her grave.

Soon, a head broke the surface in front of her, followed by a pale body. Shorter than hers, not as curvy either, but hard and lean. Cold eyes met hers.

Bismarck smiled. “Welcome back, Scharnhorst.”

*****​

 

Chapter 6: Reunions

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, May 8th, 2001

“We’ve lost her,” Harry Potter said, shaking his head. He was smiling, though, as he looked at Hermione’s working room in Grimmauld Place. She had moved what looked like half the books of their library there, and was scribbling notes down while frantically using both a slide ruler and an abacus.

“Oh, yes. Who’s on feeding duty?” Ron leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed, and smirked. “I’m with Hood, and she wants to go out.”

“I’m expected at the Ministry,” Harry countered. “And Hermione will be needing Hood anyway.”

“I can feed her!”

Harry turned around and saw that Luna had managed to sneak up on both him and Ron again. He didn’t know how she did it - since Malfoy Manor, no one had managed to sneak up on them. He still felt guilty that he hadn’t been at Hogsmeade, or maybe Sirius and Remus would still be alive…

“Alright.” He smiled at the blonde witch. “But don’t just feed her sweets.”

Luna laughed. “She won’t let me!” Then she scrunched her nose and touched her finger to her lips. “Though it may be good for her - sweets give you lots of energy for studying!”

“Start with sandwiches, please. There are some in the icebox.”

“Reminds me of our seventh year,” Ron said, still looking at Hermione. “Right after Hogsmeade.”

Luna cocked her head sideways. “That was when you found the way to seal Voldemort.”

“She found it,” Harry said. “I was too busy… “ he winced. Sirius and Remus had died in that ambush, and he had felt so guilty for not having been there with them. He and his friends had only arrived at the end of the battle. Just in time to drive the Death Eaters off, but too late to save his godfather and Remus.

Ron nodded. “All of us had been losing hope. Too many had died already, with not much to show for it.”

Harry nodded. Not even Luna knew that they had found out about Harry’s scar at that time as well.

“Anyway. We were in the living room, moping, and Hermione was in the library. I thought she was just, you know, keeping herself busy to cope, but suddenly she yelled, with glee, and when we found her, she was just like that.” Ron waved his arm at the witch who had almost disappeared behind a stack of books. “So… I’ll check on Hood. I’ll be out on the sea.”

“Don’t get eaten by a Leviathan!” Luna said.

“Don’t worry. Hood would blow the thing away.” The redhead grinned, and left.

“I should head to the Ministry,” Harry said, sighing.

“Are they still infected with Nargles?”

He snorted. “More like greed and stupidity.”

Luna nodded slowly. “Nargles can be dealt with, but greed and stupidity are things not even magic can cure,” the blonde said, more seriously than usual, in Harry’s opinion.

“Are there any Leviathans near Britain?”

Luna shook her head. “No. The last one was sighted in 1861, near the Orkney Islands. It had probably lost its way, searching for whales. They harpooned it.”

Harry didn’t comment - his friend shared Hagrid’s view of animals. If she hadn’t opted to become a naturalist and expert magizoologist, she could have become a teacher at Hogwarts. Though judging by her sneer when she had told Harry and his friends of that offer, she didn’t have many good memories of the school. He cleared his throat. “I have to go as well. Dawlish will need an update, or he might do something foolish.”

Luna chuckled. “He’s like a Nargle preserve!”

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, May 8th, 2001

“What’s so funny?” Dawlish glared at Harry.

“I’ve just remembered something Luna said,” Harry Potter said, trying not to image a flock of tiny invisible animals nesting in the Head Auror’s hair.

“Lovegood,” the wizard muttered. “The complaints we’ve had about that rag of hers!”

And Harry’s amusement was replaced by anger. He didn’t mind, much, when people made fun of him, but if they made fun of Luna… that was too much like how her house had treated the witch at Hogwarts. He didn’t say anything though - he wasn’t here to have a row.

“Anyway,” Dawlish continued, apparently unaware of Harry’s reaction, “What is the status of your case? The acting Minister’s breathing down my neck; she wants results. And Fawley is not much better; the man’s not Minister yet, damn it!”

“We’re working on a way to kill the creature, but that kind of thing takes some time,” Harry said.

“Is that why Granger hasn’t been seen much lately?”

Harry shrugged. “She’s the expert for that kind of research.”

“That kind of research?” Dawlish asked, a hint of a smile on his face - he probably hoped to find some leverage on Harry’s friend.

“The kind of research that let us deal with Voldemort, after Dumbledore had failed.” Harry grinned when Dawlish scowled. The Ministry might not feel grateful for having been saved from Voldemort, but they certainly were careful of offending those who had defeated the Dark Lord. Even if they had to be reminded of that fact from time to time.

“So, what can I tell the Minister?”

“We’re working on it, and we’re ready to defend the Ministry until we’re ready to counter-attack. Be ready to evacuate the Ministry though, just in case.” Harry could tell that Dawlish didn’t like hearing that.

“That’s about the same I told her yesterday,” the Head Auror said.

“Things do not change just because a Minister wants them to. Selwyn should know that, given her past.” Harry smiled.

“Have you been talking to Fawley?” Dawlish stared at him.

“Once,” Harry said. “He was interested in my opinions on politics.”

“I see.”

Harry doubted that. But ultimately, what Dawlish believed and spread didn’t matter much. Not when they were facing an invasion by a possessed battleship and her fleet.

He really hoped Hermione was making rapid progress. He had a feeling that they didn’t have as much time as back in their seventh year.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, May 8th, 2001

One of the first things HMS Hood had done after she had returned to service - once she had the time to spare, duty came first - had been to read up on the Bismarck’s fate. Even turned into a girl - a monster girl in the Nazi ship’s case - knowing how she had been sunk the first time should have helped in planning her second sinking. Or so Hood had thought. She had skimmed some of the other books concerning the war Hermione had gathered, but she hadn’t studied them. She had focused on the current state of the Royal Navy.

Until now.

So many ships had been sunk after her own defeat. Prince of Wales. Repulse. Barham. Ark Royal. Hermes. Eagle. Over a hundred cruisers and destroyers. But she had expected that - war was terrible.

But the number of ships scrapped after the war was over… Renown. Furious. Queen Elizabeth. Warspite. Valiant. Malaya. Revenge. Royal Sovereign. Resolution. Ramillies. Nelson. Rodney. If she had survived her name would have joined that list, Hood was certain. And even King George V and her surviving sister ships had been scrapped ten years later.

She was the only one left. The last of her generation, and the generation following her.

She sighed, closing the book. It felt like Britain had abandoned its Navy. Turned its back on those who had sacrificed so much for their country. The books said that the country had been too exhausted, too poor to keep the ships, but it still felt like a betrayal. Replacing old ships with new ones was one thing, but reducing the Royal Navy to a third-rate force…

She sighed and closed the book, with a bit more force than was necessary.

Too much, as it turned out, since Ron looked up from the book of naval tactics he had been reading. Both of them were in the living room, after they had returned from the sea.

“Are you alright?” the wizard asked.

“I’m fine,” Hood said.

He chuckled. “No, you’re not. You’re worse than Harry.”

She frowned. “What?”

“You’re not exactly subtle. Something’s eating you.”

She saw he was smiling at her, with what looked like a gentle expression. She briefly pondered deflecting the question. Mention the Bismarck. Make him think she was thinking about the next battle. She discarded that notion though - she was a battlecruiser, not some submarine. She sighed again. “I’m the last one left. All the other ships I knew are gone - sunk or scrapped.”

“Ah.” He nodded, slowly, his smile vanishing. “I know that feeling.”

“You do?”

“Harry, Hermione and I are in a similar situation. Too many of our friends died in the war, and we’ve grown distant to most of the remaining ones.”

“You and your friends keep mentioning that war.” They didn’t go into details though.

“Yes, we do.” Ron looked at her.

“Is there a book about it?” Hood knew better than to ask him, but she was still curious about how wizards fought.

He chuckled, but he didn’t sound amused. “Skeeter wanted to write a book. Hermione stopped her. She is planning to write one herself - but not yet. And no one else really knows what happened in the war.”

“Oh.”

He was looking past her, at the wall. Or at his memories. “We lost half our friends in the Battle of Hogsmeade. That was in what would have been our seventh year. We hadn’t gone back to Hogwarts - we had begun to fight before the school year had started. Mum had a fit when she found out, but there was nothing she could do - we had prepared for that for months. Harry’s godfather, Sirius, financed us. We had a safe house no one knew about, and we had tents prepared as an alternative. And we had a plan. Well, Hermione had one.

“Things went well at the start. We secured a few soul anchors. We caused quite a ruckus, but we didn’t care - we knew what we were doing, even if no one but Sirius believed us.” He snorted. “But we were starting to realise that we didn’t know where the other anchors were. That we wouldn’t find all of them in time. And then the Dark Lord returned. The Ministry was not prepared. The fools had thought he was gone for good, and didn’t do anything about his followers. The Order was not prepared either - without Dumbledore, they were pretty much a lost cause.”

Hood nodded, even though Ron wasn’t looking at her and sounded as if he didn’t even remember who he was talking to.

“And Voldemort exploited that. He sent a few of his goons to attack Hogsmeade, during a weekend when the students were visiting the village. They were going for the children. They had lists of all the muggleborns.” Ron pressed his lips together and closed his eyes. “Aurors responded, trying to stop the massacre.”

Hood was horrified. Killing children? That was what Nazis did!

“But Voldemort had wanted that. Half the Aurors responding were his followers. As was their commander. Or he was imperiused - we don’t know. He didn’t survive.” Ron scoffed. “But we know what happened: The traitors struck right when the Order and the teachers arrived to help. Struck many of them and the other Aurors in the back. We - Harry, Hermione and I - arrived just in time to see Sirius and Remus die, back to back. Harry lost it. Charged in screaming. Hermione and I followed him, of course.

“We lucked out - killed their leader right away, which threw them into disarray. The surviving teachers and Aurors rallied, and we pushed them back, through the village. If a number of the Death Eaters hadn’t been busy killing kids, they might have beaten us. As it was, we drove them out. We had won - or so we thought. And at a terrible cost.” Ron took a deep breath. “Our friends, the older Gryffindors, did what they could to save the younger ones. They were brave, but they were disorganised and not really trained. McGonagall wept when she found them where they had made a stand, in the ruins of Zonko’s. Neville had led them, or so we heard. If Ginny hadn’t been on a date with some Ravenclaw, she would have been with them - the rest of the Quidditch Team was there.”

He shook his head. “The next day, the Minister had to step down. A new one was elected. Another traitor. Voldemort had planned for that. The entire massacre had just been a ploy to get his follower elected. He easily took over the Ministry after that.”

He looked at Hood. “But we beat him in the end. And we’ll beat him again, this time. Trust me.”

Hood nodded. But she couldn’t help feeling that their victory would be a very bloody one.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, May 9th, 2001

Ron tossed and turned in their bed. He shouldn’t have had told Hood about Hogsmeade, he thought. It had reminded him of the war. And the other battles and losses. And of the Battle of Hogwarts.

“Here they come!”

Ron heard Seamus yell from the top of the Astronomy Tower, and looked up just in time to see a series of Blasting Curses hit it, sending stone fragments and parts of the Tower’s wall down to the courtyard. Seamus was almost blown clear off the roof, but managed to stay on top, using his wand to send spells at the approaching broom riders. Another volley of curses struck the Tower, and Ron saw the walls starting to melt.

“Seamus! Get out!” he yelled, casting curses of his own at the broom riders circling overhead, but it was too late - the weakened walls crumbled, and the entire top third of the Tower started to topple. For an instant, Ron saw Seamus balancing on the remains of the roof, then he vanished in the cloud of dust and smoke thrown up by the first volley. A few seconds later the top of the Tower crashed into the courtyard, cutting off the screams of the half-a-dozen Hufflepuffs who had been stationed there.

Dozens of students were now casting curses into the air. One of the Death Eaters was hit and fell from his broom, but the others evaded the spells and started to climb. Until McGonagall conjured a flock of eagles trailing nets in their claws right above the enemies. Half their number was tangled in the nets before they could react, the others dodged the nets, but two of them flew right into curses cast from below. Then the eagles turned to stone, and the entangled Death Eaters were ripped off their brooms, and smashed into the ground.

“Yes!” Ron yelled. They could do this. They could win.

The gate to the courtyard was blown open, wooden shards shredding two Ravenclaws who had been too close. Through the gap screaming men and women charged, led by a wizard Ron recognised at once: Fenrir Greyback. Tonks’s murderer.

Flitwick moved to face the monster, his wand dancing in his hand. Motes of light appeared all around the broken gate, flitting around for a second, then suddenly homing in on the attackers. Where they hit Shield Charms flared and shattered. Greyback was struck by a dozen, and his body seemed to fall apart at the seams, Others were left with bloody gashes and cut limbs, their angry yells turning into screams of pain as they fell to the ground. The Charms teacher flicked his wand, and debris and enemies alike shot up, higher than the walls reached, spinning wildly. Then, with a snarl worse than the sneer of a Gringotts guard, the wizard pointed his wand down, and the whole mass was driven into the ground, shattering on the cobblestones.

Flitwick smiled grimly, and took a step forward, repairing the gate. Ron took heart - they were doing better than expected. Greyback dead, and the courtyard was holding. Maybe…

“You-Know-Who!”

Panicking screams followed as the students looked up and saw Voldemort float above them, without a broom. With a sneer on his inhuman face, the wizard pointed his wand down, and spells started to hit the defenders on the ground and on the walls.

Ron and Harry took cover while Flitwick rushed to protect his charges - exposing himself in the process. The Dark Lord sent Killing Curses at him, but the diminutive teacher dodged, and his own spells flew at the Dark Lord.

That wasn’t going according to plan, Ron thought. They had to lure the Dark Lord into the Chamber of Secrets. Flitwick knew that, so why was he engaging Voldemort? “We have to do something!” Ron yelled at Harry. Hermione would be already on the way there - she had been observing the other side of the castle.

“Right!” Harry started casting curses at the Dark Lord, followed by Ron.

Their Piercing Curses were shrugged off by Voldemort’s Shield Charm as if they were hexes. Cutting Curses were even less effective. They knew other curses though. Black Curses. Ron cast a Poison Cloud while Harry’s Fleshripper was dodged, and the Dark Lord briefly vanished in the yellow cloud. When he emerged smoke was rising from his whole body, and he was mad. A rain of flaming spears descended on the courtyard, and Ron saw Justin get impaled by one. The Hufflepuff screamed as he was pinned to the ground and slowly burned. Flitwick rushed to his side, extinguishing the fire, but the gesture cost him - another spell hit him, collapsed his shield and smashed him into the outer wall with a sickening crack. Justin was hit as well, and part of his side flattened. His screams ended and he didn’t move anymore. Flitwick was dead or unconscious, and the defenders fleeing.

It was up to Harry and Ron. They each cast another curse at the Dark Lord, to get his attention, and then rushed through the next door, into Hogwarts proper, as soon as the Dark Lord turned towards them.

Ron glanced back and saw the courtyard was filled with fire. Then he saw the Dark Lord swoop through the wall of flames, coming after them. After Harry.

“He’s chasing us!” Ron yelled, running as fast as he could. “We have to hide!”

They ran up the stairs, Harry activating the armor suits lining the hallway. They were barely moving, Ron saw, before Voldemort destroyed them. Second Floor. Myrtle’s bathroom.

Ron was panting when he entered the bathroom, his feet splashing water all around while he ran through the puddles on the floor. Harry was opening the entrance, and Ron tackled him, pushing him down the slide with himself on top.

There would be no holding action.

Behind them, curses hit the wall and ceiling. Voldemort was too close. They reached the bottom, rolling over the padded mats they had placed there, then jumped to their feet and ran to the Chamber proper. A few transfigured animals bought them enough time to turn the corner before their enemy reached the ground.

Hermione was in the middle of the Chamber, and Ron gasped when he saw their friend. The witch was bleeding from a gash on her left arm, her right eye was swollen shut, and her clothes rent. “Hermione!”

“I’m fine!” she yelled. “Get into position!”

“Trying to hide in the Chamber of Secrets, Potter? Do you think I’m such a fool as to fall for such a ruse?”

“Come and get me!” Harry yelled back.

Laughter answered him. “Do you expect me to rush into your trap?”

Ron ground his teeth and looked at Hermione. The witch was checking their map on the ground. “He’s not yet in range,” she whispered.

“I expect you to flee!” Harry yelled back.

Ron glanced at the map. The last gift from Sirius and Remus - an improved Marauder’s Map. He could see the feet representing Voldemort slowly float closer, almost touching the line.

“Hidden explosives?” Voldemort laughed. “You planned to collapse the tunnel and bury me alive? Even if that had worked you could not kill me!”

Hermione tapped a coin, then cursed when nothing happened. “He found the charges.”

Ron cursed, then glanced at his friend. Harry slipped his Cloak of Invisibility on and mounted his Firebolt.

“Harry!” Hermione yelled. “Don’t!”

But Harry was flying towards the Dark Lord already. He had to lure the monster into the Chamber, if their plan was to work. And he was the only one who had a chance of doing it.

Hermione touched the runes surrounding the crystal set in the floor in the centre with her wand, and Ron saw lights dancing over the stone, tracing the designs. It had taken them a week to prepare and mark the Chamber.

He saw spells flash in the corridor, and heard the Dark Lord yell. Harry must have hit him - or angered him. Either would work.

“Will you collapse the tunnel with Potter in it?” The Dark Lord yelled, and more spells flashed. The ground shook even. More spells hit the Chamber proper now - the Dark Lord was closing.

Then Voldemort entered the Chamber, sneering. And Hermione and Ron activated the trap. Ron slit his palm open with a Severing Charm, and let his blood drop onto the runes. Hermione did the same. And Harry probably was bleeding already. Three sacrifices. One crystal.

Voldemort started to scream. They had him.

Ron closed his eyes. They had beaten the Dark Lord once. They would beat him again. It even felt like the days before that battle - the anxious waiting for the enemy to strike while Hermione pushed herself to exhaustion trying to finish the ritual they needed for the trap.

They’d win once again. They could not afford to lose.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, May 9th, 2001

Hermione Granger closed her eyes and leaned back in her seat. She had pretty much solved the problem. There were a few details left, but she now knew how to call shipgirls. ‘Calling’ was what she had chosen as the term for this. It wasn’t quite Summoning, since they did not exist before the ritual, but neither was it Conjuring - the ritual did not allow her to choose their form, or character. And there had to be a need for them. A need to return for their country.

Once this was over, she would have to discuss the exact category this ritual fell into with McGonagall. The old witch loved discussing Transfiguration theory, and new breakthroughs. Although she would hate that they couldn’t write this up and publish it - just as Hermione did. But this knowledge was simply too dangerous. Another Dark Lord using this was just one horrible possibility among many. If someone called up the ships of the Imperial Japanese Navy, no matter their aim, the shipgirls might go attack the United States again. She doubted the various magical enclaves and countries of North America would be able to handle such a crisis, even if they were not waging war against each other almost all the time. Hell, if the Americans knew how to call shipgirls, they’d try to use them against each other as soon as possible. Though the wizard enclaves might wipe out the native tribal nations left in the Midwest first, before turning on each other.

Hermione pressed her lips together. Even if she managed to keep this secret, the genie was out of the bottle. People had seen the Bismarck. And Hood. And if she managed to call more shipgirls - and she would! - more would be seen. The ICW was already talking about investigating the attack, and while the British delegate was doing what he could to avoid an official investigation - no country wanted that to happen to them - Hermione was certain that various spies for other countries were already in Britain.

The Bismarck wouldn’t be the end of this, she knew that. And she had an inkling of what would be needed to keep Britain safe. She sighed. It never ended.

“Hermione?”

Opening her eyes, she saw that Hood had entered the library. For a battlecruiser, the girl could move quite stealthily, at times. “Yes?”

“I was wondering…” Hood trailed off, and coughed.

“You want to know how far along I am with researching the ritual.”

Hood nodded. “Yes.”

“Well, I’ve cracked the main problem. What’s left are details.” Details that could mean the difference between success and dangerous failure, but there was no need to tell Hood that. Hermione had created rituals before, and she knew she was one of the foremost spellcrafters in Britain. She didn’t know how she’d match up with those in the rest of Europe involved in the same kind of work - the spells she and her colleagues produced were rarely, if ever, published - but given that she had managed to find a way to stop Voldemort, she assumed she was not too terribly outclassed.

Hood smiled brightly. “Good! We need more ships! We need a real fleet!”

Hermione nodded. The battlecruiser was more right than she probably believed - though then again, Hood was used to a Royal Navy that ruled the seas.

“Which ones will you call?” Hood had walked over to her table, and was leaning on it, staring at her notes.

Hermione took a deep breath, and pulled up her historical research. “I’ve made a list of the most promising ships.” She handed a sheet over to the other girl.

“Prince of Wales, Repulse, Electra, Achates, Dorsetshire, Sikh, Cossack, …” Hood looked up. “Those are all ships who hunted the Bismarck.”

“Yes.”

“What about Victorious, Ark Royal, King George V, Rodney, Renown, Ramilies, Norfolk, Suffolk, Sheffield? They fought and sank the Bismarck.”

Hermione took a deep breath. She didn’t know how Hood would react to her next words. “They did, yes. But they survived the war, and were scrapped.” When she saw Hood frown, she quickly added: “Or, like some destroyers, they were sunk, but did not lose enough crew.”

“What?” Hood was staring at her.

“In order to call a ship back, she needs to have sunk with enough of her crew.” The results of her research had been clear: If a ship had not taken enough souls down with her, calling her back as a shipgirl was unlikely to succeed. The same went for scrapped ships. Magic needed the souls, and the hull as a focus. Although she could think of some - dark and evil - ways to compensate.

“We… I … I’m only here because so many of my crew died with me? I was called back because I failed to save my crew? I needed them to die?” Hood was trembling. “I’m a… I’m a monster...”

“No!” Hermione said, more forcefully than she had intended. She had to clear this up fast. If Hood had a breakdown… a suicidal warship with 15-inch guns was not something Hermione wanted to see, ever. “You’re not like them. You’re a spirit of a warship. A ship without a crew is just a mass of steel, without any use. A crew without a ship is just a bunch of men, useless on the sea. You were formed when both died together. The magic drew both the lingering memories of your crew, and the hull they had lived and fought in together, and gave it a new form. You.” This was a rather simplified explanation, and neatly avoided the topic of souls and how those were used by the magic. Something Hermione really didn’t want to discuss with Hood. Or anyone else. It was rather close to sacrificial magic, after all. As, incidentally, was the ritual she had researched to seal Voldemort’s spirit.

“Ah.” Hood was breathing deeply. Calming down, Hermione hoped. “So… I’m not an abomination?”

“No. You’re the embodiment of the wishes of your crew. Called back to protect Britain once more.” Probably, Hermione thought.

“And those who survived the war cannot be called back?” Hood asked, sounding rather frail right then.

“Not with this ritual,” Hermione said, shaking her head. There were other rituals she could think of, but she wouldn’t cross those lines. When Hood slowly nodded, she added: “I think we can also call back Hermes, Glorious and Courageous. And with Courageous, Acasta and Ardent. They were not involved in hunting the Bismarck, but I think they’d come back as well.” And there were more ships, of course. More cruisers and destroyers. But they’d need battleships, battlecruisers and aircraft carriers more.

Hood nodded. “Glorious and Courageous as well as her escorts certainly - they have a score to settle with the Nazis. Hermes… I don’t know. Maybe.” She suddenly smiled. “It’ll be good to have them back anyway. When do we start?”

“I’ll have to iron out the details still. Tomorrow at the earliest.” She’d have to take a Pepper-Up Potion or two… but time was running short. The news of missing fishing trawlers near Norway worried her.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, May 9th, 2001

“Mister Potter! Or should that be ‘Auror Potter’? Nominally, you’re still a Ministry employee, aren’t you?”

Harry Potter looked at the rather agitated acting Minister for Magic and did his best not to sigh. Hyacinth Selwyn was hard to stomach on a good day, and neither of them had had a good day since the Bismarck had attacked London. “Yes, ma’am.” He ignored Dawlish wincing slightly behind the witch.

“So, as an employee, you, ultimately, answer to the Minister for Magic - me.” The witch glared at him, both her hands flat on her desk.

Harry briefly considered telling her off. The witch was a bigot, if not quite as bad as some of the other members of the Wizengamot, and he was heartily sick of dealing with those idiots. But he needed the help of the Ministry to deal with the Bismarck and her fleet, if only those brave or poor witches and wizards picketing Azkaban. So he answered: “Yes, ma’am.” He even tried not to sound too patronising.

She must have noticed his attitude anyway though, since her glare grew worse. “Now, what are you doing? John here pretty much tells me you’re working on finding the monster behind the attack on the Ministry, but it is apparent that he doesn’t know anything concrete. Tell me what is going on!”

“I’m terribly sorry, ma’am, but the case involves matters that fall under the sole purview of the Department of Mysteries. As such, I cannot reveal any information without explicit permission from the Head of the Department.”

“What? Everyone knows that Granger is holed up in your house, working with you! I want to know what is going on! The ICW is breathing down my neck, the Wizengamot is in an uproar, and you are trying to keep me in the dark about this whole affair!”

Harry was envious that Ron was with Hood today, and sighed. “As I said, I cannot disclose such information, ma’am. We are working hard on eliminating this threat, once and for all. We have repulsed another attack before it came close to London, but we’re anticipating a third attempt.”

“I already heard that from John here! I want to know what you are doing, not some platitudes! Stop trying to confund me with empty words! And don’t try to deflect this on Granger! She’s not here!”

“Revealing crucial information such as what you are asking for would endanger the whole operation.” Harry wanted to hex the stupid witch, but controlled himself. He noticed Dawlish growing tense. Apparently, Harry still hadn’t developed what Hermione called a ‘poker face’.

“What? Are you insinuating that I cannot be trusted?”

Harry didn’t think the witch would appreciate his honest opinion of her. “You said that you are under pressure from the ICW and the Wizengamot. Neither can be trusted with this information.”

“I can be trusted with it! I’m the acting Minister for Magic!”

“Ministers have been compromised or magically controlled in the past. Unless you can resist an Imperius Curse and have mastered Occlumency, you cannot be trusted with such vital information.”

“That is ridiculous! No one is immune to the Imperius Curse!” Selwyn was almost frothing at the mouth. Dawlish was keeping quiet.

Harry simply smiled.

“What? Are you claiming… that is…” She was gaping at him.

“I threw off the Imperius in my fourth year, ma’am,” Harry said. “Not even Voldemort managed to control me.” Both Selwyn and Dawlish shuddered. He sighed. “Ma’am, we’re doing what we can to deal with this. We learned in the last war that we cannot trust anyone with crucial information. Just tell whoever is pressuring you that we’re working on it, and that we’ll not react kindly to any attempt to hinder us.” Harry leaned forward and spoke more quietly. “Just let us do what we need to. And maybe remind everyone trying to meddle in this exactly who defeated Voldemort.” He smiled. “And tell them that you can’t tell them anything else for security reasons.”

Selwyn closed her mouth, and slowly nodded. She understood then. Dawlish even grinned - the man was a better politician than an Auror, in Harry’s opinion.

*****​

On the way home, Harry stopped in a pub to watch the news. The owner knew him and his friends, and turned the volume up a bit as soon as he spotted him, then served him a soda without asking.

Harry’s good mood disappeared as soon as he saw the report from a devastated Norwegian village, though. The houses in ruins, hundreds dead or missing. He cursed under his breath. It was possible that the Bismarck was simply testing her weapons, or venting on defenceless muggles. But it was more likely, Harry thought, remembering Hermione’s explanations, that the Bismarck needed sacrifices.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, May 9th, 2001

Harry Potter was not surprised when he told Hermione about the missing Norwegians and she simply nodded. “You expected this, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” Hermione sighed, and tapped her pen on her notepad. “Or rather, it was an educated guess. If the Bismarck is limited by the same mechanics we are, then she’ll need sacrifices for some of her most obvious summonings.”

“I guess we should be glad then that the Royal Navy had some disastrous battles with huge loss of life,” Harry said.

“Oh, yes. There might be some alternatives that would not require actual sacrifices, but they all depend on large numbers of people dying.”

Harry didn’t ask if she planned to research those alternatives - he knew she would. Just in case. That kind of preparation had saved their lives more than once during the war. “Alright. I’ll leave you to it.”

“I’m working as fast as I can,” Hermione said.

“I know.” He smiled when he left.

Luna was outside Hermione’s Lair, peering at an empty portrait frame. Harry had never seen a painting inside, just an empty canvas, but Luna was convinced that someone visited while every resident was asleep, and kept trying to catch the elusive visitor. She turned towards him as soon as he had closed the door, though, so she had been waiting for him.

“Harry! You’re doing it again!”

“What?”

“You know what I mean.”

He thought he did. But it wasn’t something he wanted to talk about. Not even with Luna. It didn’t look like he’d get his wish - the blonde witch pouted and walked right in front of him, her hands on her hips.

“You’re excluding everyone again. Like in the war. You, Ron and Hermione. You don’t trust anyone else.”

“We trust you,” Harry said. Luna had proven that she could be trusted. She had never doubted or betrayed them.

“Well, I don’t count. Ask Rita.” Luna grinned, very briefly. “But you don’t trust anyone else. Not the Ministry, not the Weasleys, not McGonagall.” She shook her head. “You can’t win every fight alone.“

“We’re not alone. We have Hood, and we are in contact with the Ministry and the Prime Minister.”

“None of them know anything about what you are doing. Not even Hood knows much.” Luna glared at him. “I asked.”

“Operational security.” Harry frowned. Luna should know better. The more people knew, the greater the risk of betrayal was.

“Ginny didn’t betray you.” Luna frowned back at him.

“I know she didn’t. But if we hadn’t told her, Snape wouldn’t have been able to read her mind and find out,” Harry spat out.

He remembered it as if it had happened last night.

They had prepared for that mission for months. Hermione had devoured all the books on wards and Curse-Breaking. Harry’s friend had pestered Bill for some tutoring so much, Fleur had thought the witch was after her fiancé, which had resulted in a rather memorable scene at the Burrow. Harry and Ron had trained equally hard with Sirius. Defense, duelling, curses and counter-curses. And they had picked Dobby’s brain about Malfoy Manor until the poor elf had had trouble finding his way around Hogwarts. And on the night of the new moon, they had finally acted.

“How much longer?” Ron whispered, face hidden behind a muggle-style ski mask, glancing nervously around the bush they were hiding in.

“Don’t rush me! Manipulating the wards so we can pass through them without alerting the owner is difficult!” Hermione whispered back while she continued to weave a complicated pattern with her wand.

Harry touched the small bottle hanging from a cord around his neck. All of them wore the same. It contained Malfoy’s blood, and unless Hermione had made a mistake when she created those necklaces, it would allow them to pass through the wards - once Hermione had finished adjusting them.

Only two others knew of their plans. Sirius, who had trained them, and Ginny. Harry’s godfather had really wanted to come with them, but his exoneration was still shaky, and being discovered breaking into Malfoy Manor would have meant he would go back to Azkaban. And that would kill him, Harry knew. Fortunately, he had accepted that they’d need him to bail them out, should something happen. Ron’s sister had spied on them, and had thought they wanted Malfoy’s blood for a dark ritual. She hadn’t been repulsed that much by the idea, Harry had noticed, but they had told her the truth anyway.

“And done!” Hermione whispered, smiling widely. “The Death Eater’s lair is open to us!”

The three had crept out of the bush, and through the wardline. None of them were using magic to hide - just in case there were spells checking for magic. Hermione hadn’t been able to exclude that possibility.

It didn’t matter - in their mottled dark clothes, and without the light of the moon, no one spotted them as they made their way to a side door of the manor Dobby had told them was used by the elves to enter the spice garden. Ron made short work of the door’s lock - he had learned that from the twins - and the three were inside. Harry had the map memorised, and they quickly passed the kitchen, empty at this time of the night, and the music salon, until they reached Lucius’s office.

That was warded as well, and Draco’s blood wouldn’t help there. But there were more ways around such defences than breaking the wards. Hermione cast a Silencing Charm on the door, and Harry and Ron blew it apart, wards and all, with Reductor Curses.

Lucius was sitting behind his desk, gaping at them. He grabbed his wand, but he was too slow. Harry’s Disarming Charm slammed into him and smashed the Death Eater and his seat into the wall behind him. Harry caught the wand while Ron bound and silenced the dazed man. Hermione repaired the broken door. All in less than twenty seconds. As they had trained.

They didn’t lift the Silencing Charm until the man had been fed three drops of Veritaserum. Then the interrogation started. And the disappointment.

Lucius knew that the Dark Lord had not died for good, but didn’t know how this was possible. He suspected some sort of ritual, like last time, and wondered who would be the chosen helper. All the same, the wizard had already been preparing for his master’s return. Stockpiling potions and other supplies. Strengthening his influence in the Wizengamot. And blooding promising recruits by murdering muggles. Hermione made the mistake of ordering the man to list all his crimes, and he complied. So many deaths…

When Lucius told them about the murder of the Prewett twins, Ron almost killed him. When he told them about the plan to frame Hermione for the murder of a muggleborn, a plan he only abandoned because Dumbledore killed Voldemort, she almost killed him. In the end, after the man had spilled all his relevant secrets and crimes, Harry killed him with a Piercing Curse to the head. None of them had ever considered letting the man live. Not after his confessions.

Even so, the mission was only a partial success. They had not found out where the Horcruxes were - other than by inferring from how Lucius was granted the diary - but they knew the Death Eaters were getting ready for Voldemort’s return - and how. And the loss of Lucius would hurt those preparations.

They were just about to leave the manor when Sirius warned them. Aurors were about to enter - they were already talking to a house elf. Someone must have betrayed them! And the only other one to have known about this was Ginny.

The three rushed out, barely managing to avoid the house elf before the creature found the corpse of his master. They disillusioned themselves, this time - Aurors would be watching all corners - and ran to the ballroom. Hermione swept her wand, and all the doors and windows opened. They heard cries of alarm from outside, but not even the best Aurors could watch the entire front of the wing that had been opened now. Harry mounted his Firebolt, Hermione straddling it behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist, Ron mounted his broom, and they were off, directly into the dark sky of the new moon.

A minute later, they apparated to the Shrieking Shack, where they hastily changed clothes and then rushed back to Hogwarts. Harry checked the map before the left the secret passage, and they had another nasty surprise: Aurors were inside the school. Shacklebolt was even walking with McGonagall past the statue the three were hiding inside - if they had not stopped, they would have been caught.

“And I’m telling you, Minerva, it is possible. Potter and his friends have been acting very oddly ever since Dumbledore died. You know what they said about the Imperiused Death Eaters. I’d not put it past them to attack the Malfoys to avenge the Headmaster.”

“Kingsley! Attacking, yes. But murdering? In cold blood? I refuse to believe that. Severus must be mistaken, or they told tall tales to Miss Weasley. They have to be in bed already. Maybe…”

“A tryst?” Shacklebolt’s voice was full of doubt. “The three of them together?”

“Miss Granger is too proper for that!”

The voices faded.

Harry looked at Ron and Hermione. “If we can’t make it back to the dorm in time, we can use that as an alibi.”

Ron gaped and Hermione gasped.

“It’s better than a murder charge,” Harry said.

Hermione had bitten her lower lip, then nodded. “I know an abandoned classroom which has been used for that, according to the other prefects. We can set things up…”

Harry smiled. While it hadn’t been true, then, it had made them aware of the possibility. And seeing how everyone had reacted to that - especially Ginny - had triggered some defiant reactions as well. When they had made it real, a year later, they...

“You’ve been lost in the past again, Harry!” Luna interrupted him. “You’re too young for that!”

“I don’t feel young,” Harry said. He patted the blonde’s head. “Let’s get something to eat, alright?”

She sighed, but nodded.

*****​

Orkney Island, Scapa Flow, May 10th, 2001

HMS Hood stood on the beach, her feet in the surf, gazing out at the sea. Behind her, Harry, Hermione and Ron were drawing circles and runes onto the stone floor they had turned part of the sand into. They were working magic, preparing the ritual. Hood couldn’t help them with that. Apart from Hermione, no one understood the ritual, even Harry and Ron were just following her quite audible orders. Hood grinned - she wasn’t the only one the witch bossed around. She just hoped they would hurry, and start. She knew the enemy was out there, preparing to strike. They had a fleet now, judging by the missing Norwegians. Human sacrifices… back when she had been a ship, that had been nothing more than a sailor’s tale. Not a horrible fact.

Another wave lapped at her boots. She almost rode it back out to the sea. She was a ship, not a girl. A battlecruiser. She needed the sea. Needed to sail. And she needed her fleet. Escorts to screen her. Cruisers to support her. Battleships and battlecruisers to cover her. And she needed friends. Family. She was no witch, nor normal human. She was unique. And she didn’t want to be. Not when it meant she’d be alone.

She knelt down and cupped a handful of salt water in her palm, sniffing it. It smelled the same as before. No taint. No blood. Not like in her nightmares. This had been her home port, during the war.

And Britain was at war again.

“We’re ready!” Hermione said, excitement colouring her tone.

Hood turned around. The witch was standing in a circle, wand in hand. She wasn’t wearing her robe though, Hood noticed.

“Let’s get started then,” the battlecruiser said. “All I have to do is wish for my friends and comrades?”

Hermione nodded. Harry, Ron and Luna, who hadn’t been ordered to help preparing, apparently, stood in the circle as well, forming a triangle with Hermione in the centre. “And sing!” Luna added.

Hood closed her eyes when Hermione started chanting. The words sounded alien to her, not quite Latin. But the urgent need, the desperation they conveyed, the determination - Hood was familiar with that. Over 1400 times.

She thought of Prince of Wales, who had been at Hood’s side when she died, unable to help. And who had been sunk herself, with Repulse. Glorious, shelled to death by German ships because her ignorant captain made a fatal mistake. Their escorts, sharing her fate. Were they not burning with the desire to return, to finish what they had started? To make up for their failures, as Hood was? To be part of the Royal Navy again? To do their duty again? To be together again?

Hood remembered their sorties. Their exercises. Their battles, scant as they had been. And of course, the hunt for the Bismarck. The most important fight of her own life. The reason she had returned.

Behind her, the chanting stopped. She felt a tingle surround her. Magic. Then the three started to sing. There was but one song for this occasion, and Hood readily joined in.

“Rule, Britannia! Rule the waves...”

*****​

When the song ended, Hood saw the air shimmer, further out. The water seemed to froth, to foam. Then a figure, no, more than one, started to rise out of the sea. Water flew down their bodies, down their rigging, as they rose. The sun glinted on the barrels of their guns as they started to move, confused at first, then falling into familiar formations. The leaner figures, destroyers, fanning out in their smaller riggings. And the capital ships forming a line in the centre, massive 15-inchers seeking targets.

Hood barely took notice of the witch collapsing behind her - she was out in the surf, her rigging appearing as soon as she had enough water under her keel, and her boilers heated, rushing towards the fleet that arrived.

The escorts parted before her, their eyes widening when they recognised her. But Hood only had eyes for the girl in the centre. A shade smaller than herself, but with the slightly more muscular figure of a King George V-class battleship. HMS Prince of Wales.

“Hood… but how…” the girl asked. “Where are we? We heard the call… but we sunk… what happened?”

Hood grinned. “We’re needed again. Britain expects us to do our duty. For Queen and country!”

The ships snapped to attention. Prince of Wales, Repulse, Dorsetshire, Electra, Achates, Firedrake, Sikh, Cossack. Hermes, Glorious, Courageous. Acasta and Ardent. Even HMAS Vampire.

The Royal Navy was back. Her navy.

*****​

 

Chapter 7: To Battle!

Norway, Sandnessund Strait, May 10th, 2001

Bismarck stared at the place where her sister ship had sunk. Unlike herself, her sister had died in shallow water. Instead of going out fighting, like Scharnhorst and herself, she had been killed after spending years hiding in a narrow fjord, a mere distraction for the Royal Navy, until bombers had finally killed her. She hadn’t even been able to rest in peace; her wreck had been cut up, plundered, pieces and parts carried off. It was an ignoble end for one of the mightiest battleships of the Kriegsmarine.

But she would return and take revenge. Bismarck would see to it. She took a deep breath. They had taken her sister apart, broken her up, but even without a wreck as a focus, her spirit lingered. As did the souls of the 1204 men who had died with her. She reached out and touched the fragments and shades, feeling their pain. Their hatred. Their desire for vengeance. Feeling and fueling.

She looked over her shoulder, at her escorts. Erich Giese, Wilhelm Heidkamp, Anton Schmitt, Friedrich Eckoldt and Z26 straightened. Each of them was towing a raft or lifeboat, or a fishing boat, filled with Norwegians they had taken from the village they had raided. They were dazed from spending hours inside the storm that hid them from the eyes of the muggles. Weakened and dying.

She scoffed. She had planned to use those sacrifices to raise her sister. But they wouldn’t do. Her sister deserved more than to return as a shadow of herself. Bismarck needed more. More muggles dying. More death to fuel the ritual. To give the lingering spirit a form fitting her.

At her command, a dozen 2 cm FlaK 30 turned and aimed at the raft behind Erich Giese. A second later they started firing. Hundreds of shells tore the raft and its occupants to pieces. A few muggles escaped immediate death, jumping or falling into the water. It didn’t save them - her guns tracked them, and killed them.

Bismarck closed her eyes, ignoring the screams of the muggles in the other boats and rafts. She had felt those deaths. She shivered. She could use those deaths. It was not as efficient, compared to a proper sacrifice. Much had been wasted. But enough power remained. She looked at her escorts, at Blücher and Scharnhorst. They were staring at her, confused. She smiled.

“Kill the muggles!”

Their eyes widened, for a fraction of a second, before they jumped to obey, eagerly even. The muggles’ screams were cut off as dozens of FlaKs opened up on them, snuffing their pitiful lives out, shooting their corpses until the sea was stained red. And she felt their deaths. Drew power from them.

It wasn’t enough to grant her sister the form she deserved. But, Bismarck thought, her smile widening as she let the storm fade, revealing the lights of Tromso, there were more than enough muggles right there. In range of all her and her fleet’s guns.

*****​

Tromso was burning. Bismarck’s fleet had wrecked the bridges and causeways of the island first, cutting off escape routes. Then they had started to shell the city. The destroyers had sailed closer, like sharks, all of their guns firing as fast as possible, wrecking houses and streets. Blücher, Scharnhorst and herself had stayed back - the island was so close, and so small, even their secondary armament could cover all of it easily. They had kept firing, even when muggle planes had arrived - Bismarck had nothing to fear from muggle aeroplanes. Once their anti-aircraft guns had shot down one of those ‘jets’, the others had retreated. A few wizards had arrived on brooms, but had fled as quickly as they had come. Cowards, all of them.

Hundreds, thousands of muggles had died. Bismarck had felt their lives end, had gathered the power their deaths netted her, each trickle adding up. She felt as if she was bursting at the seams. So much power! Enough to summon her sister! Enough to summon even more of her comrades!

She started the ritual, felt and saw the water starting to churn. The tall, muscular form of her sister rose from the sea, pale limbs twitching as she sailed again, after decades. Red eyes met hers, blinking in wonderment. Tirpitz was back. Her sister slowly started to smile.

But Bismarck was not yet done. She closed her eyes, and reached out. She had enough power. More than enough. She didn’t need to be at the site of their sinking to call a ship back. Hissing, she focused. Another, slightly shorter form started to rise from the water. Gneisenau. Wrecked and sunk by German soldiers in Gotenhafen to close the port, she was restored now, her guns which had been stripped returned. A leaner figure followed, an eager grin on her pale face. Admiral Hipper. Blücher’s sister ship. Scuttled in the last days of the war, raised and broken up, she too had now the chance to take revenge.

Bismarck faced the new arrivals with a smile, hiding how exhausted she was. She had done what she could to restore the ships, poured all the power the massacre of Tromso had granted her into them. They were not as whole as Bismarck herself, or Scharnhorst. Not even all those deaths could make up for what was missing. But they would be more than able to visit upon London and the Ministry of Magic what they had done to Tromso. And this time, Hood would be the one to be hounded by a fleet, hunted down like an animal, and reduced to a wreck in an uneven battle.

She would have her revenge! On all of those who had vexed her!

*****​

Orkney Island, Scapa Flow, May 10th, 2001

Ron Weasley knelt next to the collapsed Hermione. A quick Diagnostic Charm - one she had insisted he learn, a more sophisticated one than the one in the Aurors requirements - told him that she was fine, just exhausted. He sighed with relief and shook his head. “Stupid witch overdid it again.”

Harry healed the cut on her hand with a flick of his wand and snorted. “She’s always been an overachiever.”

Both chuckled. Their love was fine. Ron cast a Cushioning Charm and they laid her down on it, Harry brushing some of the hair that had escaped her ponytail from her face. Neither mentioned that they were feeling a bit lightheaded themselves - the ritual had been exhausting.

“Wow… look at all the water dancers!”

Luna’s exclamation drew Ron’s attention to the sea. He blinked, then grabbed his Omnioculars. “Merlin’s Balls!”

“What?” Harry asked.

“She summoned a dozen shipgirls!” Ron said. “No, more than a dozen. Fourteen.”

“It’s like an Ice Maiden ballet, only on the surface.”

Ron didn’t share Luna’s cheerful opinion. The girls gliding over the water did look impressive though. Two of them were as tall and lean as Hood, and similarly dressed - armored boots and gauntlets, skimpy skirt and shirt. One of them had a more substantial belt though. And a more substantial bust. Battleships or battlecruisers - their rigging gave them away. Three more girls wore shields on their left arm. Tall, slim ones. Flight decks, he realised. Their boots and gauntlets were not armored, and their rigging lacked the bigger guns. One of them straightened her arm, the shield - the flight deck - leveling, and he saw a tiny aeroplane take off from it - and suddenly grow in size. It was a biplane, and it flew towards Ron and his friends.

“Hey!” Luna was waving, and jumping up and down.

The plane waved with its wings as it flew over their heads. Ron didn’t see a pilot. “I hope the muggles don’t panic,” he whispered - small planes had caused panic in some areas, after London. Then he studied the shipgirls again. There was an average-sized girl, athletic but not too lean, standing near Hood. The smaller girls - about 5 foot, he guessed - were all quite athletic. Not quite a Seeker’s build, but close. He counted eight, sailing circles around the others. Those would be the escorts. The destroyers. Hood had been clear on the need for escorts.

“It’ll take us a few trips to get them all to London,” Ron said.

“The house will be full!” Luna beamed at him. “It’ll be almost like being back at Hogwarts, but better! They seem to be very friendly!”

They better be friendly, Ron thought. If they were hostile, then Britain was doomed.

“How many did we summon?”

Ron glanced back. Hermione was standing, but still supported by Harry. He wanted to tell her to sit down and rest, but he knew she wouldn’t listen. And they needed to get the girls down to London. And get ready. “Fourteen. Two battleships or battlecruisers. Three aircraft carriers. One cruiser I think, and eight destroyers.”

“As planned then.” Hermione smiled. “I hope it’ll be enough.”

So did Ron.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, May 10th, 2001

Luna hadn’t been correct. This was worse than Hogwarts. Hogwarts at least had a kitchen staff able to feed hundreds of students. Grimmauld Place had Harry to cook, and Ron to cast the Doubling Charm until his arm felt as if it was about to fall off. Those girls could eat! Each of them seemed to eat as much as Hood did. At least they were now full, and Ron could massage some life back into his wand arm.

But apart from food, the girls needed rooms as well - quarters. Dobby would have been in heaven. The elf had taken over the house after Kreacher had been killed for his betrayal - by Hermione, even - and had thrived for the few months until he died in the Battle of Hogwarts. Without Dobby, Harry and Ron had to do all of the work - Hermione was off in her lair, preparing the ritual to seal Voldemort’s soul, so it was ready when needed, and Luna…

Ron blinked. Where was Luna? He hadn’t seen her since they had arrived, and the destroyers had started to scout out the house, causing a ruckus - that weird girl who looked like she had nicked half of a Durmstrang robe, Cossack, had almost broken the pantry door.

He found Luna in the living room, flipping through the photo albums. Those covering their younger years. Those Harry had made for Sirius’ first Christmas as a free man. She must have heard him entering since she looked up and smiled. “I need to thank you for letting me help you with the ritual.”

“We’re grateful for your help,” Ron said.

“Yes, you are. Which is a very good thing.”

That sounded… if that had been a Slytherin, he’d call it arrogant, but for her honest voice. “Err…”

“A year ago, you’d not have let me help. Nor anyone else.” Her smile widened, but she sounded sad.

“Ah.” Ron had to admit that Luna might be correct. “Well, things changed. We have a homicidal sea monster attacking us.”

“Things may have changed, but more importantly, you’ve changed. You all.” Luna sighed.

“We have?”

The blonde witch slowly nodded, her voice turning serious - or as serious as Luna could be. “You’re no longer three people who are lonely together.”

Ron frowned. “We were not lonely. We had each other.”

She kept looking at him, cocking her head sideways a bit. “And that was all you had.”

And that had been enough, for years. Each other. Ron remembered the day - the evening - things had changed. A week after they killed Nott, only to find out that Voldemort had another body already. A week, holed up in Grimmauld Place, utterly alone, despairing. Harry hadn’t spoken more than a few words in days, hadn’t left his room at all. Hermione had buried herself in books, had slept in the library several nights - if napping with her head on a desk could be called sleeping. And Ron himself, he had been, well, angry at everyone, but mostly at himself for not having been quick enough to... whatever he might have done. And for not being able to save his two best friends from themselves. He had tried to talk to Harry, without success. He hadn’t known what to say.

And he had tried to talk to Hermione, with the same result. She had ignored him, not even looking at him while she researched. He doubted she was even aware of what she was researching, as long as it kept her busy. She had been so out of it, she hadn’t used her wand to summon a book, but had climbed on a chair to get it, and slipped.

He had caught her in his arms, and for a moment, both of them had seemed frozen. Then she had sagged, laid her head on his chest, and cried. For hours, or so it felt. At some point he had sat down, on the floor, with her in his lap. He had held her, and cried as well. She had started talking, between sobs, about her nightmares. About her guilt. About her failures - imagined or real, he couldn’t tell. He had talked about his own nightmares, until she had fallen asleep in his arms, in his lap. He had let her sleep, even though his legs had started to grow numb. She had needed the rest.

He had fallen asleep as well, and had slept until he had been woken up, not by a nightmare, but by Hermione. Who had been, if not completely, mostly back to normal. Taking charge. She hadn’t had a nightmare, for the first time in a week. And had dragged him off, to sleep with Harry, so their friend could get some comfort as well. And she hadn’t taken no for an answer, blasting Harry’s door when he had refused to open it.

They had slept together, in the same bed, all three, then. Just slept. They didn’t go further that day, no matter what others thought. That part of their relationship happened later. But none of them had ever slept alone since that day.

“You’ve been lost in the past! Like Harry!” Luna pouted at him.

He smiled. “I’ve just remembered how we became, well, us.”

“Oh.” Her eyes grew wide. Then clapped her hands. “I’ve always wanted to know how that happened! Who did kiss whom first? Were you all together from the start, or did two of you form a couple, and the third joined in later? Or did Hermione make a schedule for her time with you and Harry?”

Maybe, Ron thought, being more open wasn’t an altogether good thing…

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, May 10th, 2001

Dinner at Grimmauld Place was far more hectic and packed than any other meal Hermione Granger remembered - and that included the summer in 1995, when the Weasleys and several Order members regularly filled Sirius’s kitchen.

She had had to defend her usual seat by threatening to cut anyone encroaching on it off from Harry’s food, or she’d have been shoved to the side by the horde of ravenous destroyers. They looked like athletic teenagers, fifth to sixth years, but they were far stronger than even Hagrid - and hungrier than Norberta. Harry and Ron were casting Doubling Charms constantly, again, and whatever appeared on the table was grabbed and devoured. Luna seemed to love it - she was grabbing sandwiches and trying to feed them to the destroyers.

Hermione looked at Hood, who was leaning against the corner, plate in hand, then pointedly at the carnage. She knew they had better manners than that.

The battlecruiser shrugged. “We’re in a state of alert - replenishment has to be done as quickly as possible so we’re always ready to sortie.”

“The pickets at Azkaban haven’t noted anything unusual. I think the Bismarck’s still near Norway,” Harry said, taking a small breather before continuing his casting.

Hermione briefly pondered how to expedite the whole process. If she enchanted the table, or the oven, maybe, to multiply food placed on or in it… No, it would be better to enchant a plate so any food that was taken off it was replaced, with another plate for the original food. She sighed. She had spent the afternoon preparing the sealing ritual they had used on Voldemort, and she was too tired to do such frivolous work… then again, seeing the appetite of the shipgirls, it wasn’t exactly frivolous. They would need quite the number of skilled wizards and witches to keep them supplied.

Looking up, she suddenly noticed an owl outside the window. The animal was tapping its beak against the glass, but the noise was lost in the cacophony caused by the new arrivals discussing their duties - and the food. It was Arthur’s owl. With a flick of her wand she opened the window, and the disgruntled-looking animal dropped a scroll on her table while knocking over a pitcher of lemonade.

Nothing a quick Cleaning Charm couldn’t fix. Hermione cast one while she opened the scroll. As soon as she started to read, she felt like she had been kicked in the stomach.

“What’s wrong, Hermione?” Harry asked.

She shook her head as the room gradually fell silent. “Dear Lord… it’s from Arthur, and the Prime Minister. There has been an attack on a Norwegian town, Tromso.” She took a deep breath. “It was shelled for an hour in the early morning. The death toll is estimated to be in the thousands - they’ve recovered over two thousand bodies so far, and are far from done. Twice that number of wounded, at least.”

“The Bismarck did it?” Hood asked.

“Not just the Bismarck. The Scandinavian Ministry had wizards on site. They reported several creatures walking on water - at least ten.”

That sent a mix of hisses and muttered curses through the assembled shipgirls. Hermione understood their reaction. Taking on The Bismarck with her two remaining escorts was one thing, but ten of those monsters?

“Couldn’t they stop them?” Prince of Wales asked.

Hermione read further, shaking her head. “No. The Norwegian military lost one fighter, though they’re not certain if the F-16 was shot down, or crashed because the pilot made a mistake while flying low. The Scandinavian wizards lost two of their broom riders.”

She looked at her friends. That could have been them. Judging by their expressions, they were aware of that.

“Why did they attack that town?” Ron asked. “Was there anything related to Bismarck or Voldemort?”

“The Bismarck’s sister ship, Tirpitz, was sunk there,” Hermione said. “She was salvaged after the war.” She closed her eyes for an instant. “That’s why they attacked the town. They needed more deaths to raise her, without a hull left.” A lot more deaths. She shivered at the thought.

“They massacred a town for that?” Harry spat out. He looked livid.

“They didn’t manage that,” Hermione said. “Tromso has, had a population of about seventy thousand.” It could have been far, far worse.

“They’ll be coming for us now,” Hood said. “We need to get recon flights up to cover the coast. In case they’ll attack somewhere other than here.”

“They won’t,” Harry said. “Voldemort tried to kill me several times after I managed to survive his first attempt. He’ll come for the Ministry again.”

Glorious stood up. “I’ll go and launch a patrol!” She as well as Acasta and Ardent were halfway to the door before Hood managed to stop them. Hermione winced - the carrier had launched her planes right after she had arrived at Scapa Flow, and she had wanted to keep the patrols going even over London. Only the fact that the sound of her planes over London would cause a city-wide panic had persuaded her to go without a patrol in the air while she was in London. She was obviously determined not to repeat her captain’s mistake that had resulted in her being sunk by Scharnhorst and Gneisenau.

“Alright, we’ll apparate you to the Thames Estuary. You can start launching your aeroplanes,” Ron offered.

Ron grabbed Glorious’s hand, Harry took the two destroyers, and they apparated away.

“We’ll need to deploy Hermes and Courageous as well, to cover more of the coast,” Hood said. “We can’t afford to miss the enemy’s approach.”

The two carriers nodded with grim expressions.

“We’ll need to inform the Prime Minister as well, so they won’t be mistaken for the enemy,” Hermione added. She ignored the scowling that remark caused - the new shipgirls didn’t know yet how much their country had changed.

And it looked like they’d have to fight before they did.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, May 11th, 2001

“We’re facing the biggest threat to the Statute of Secrecy since it was instituted! The Scandinavian Ministry is blaming us for it! The ICW is starting an investigation! What are you doing?”

Acting Minister Selwyn was screaming. Harry Potter had never seen ‘Horrible Hyacinth’ like that - she had completely lost her composure. If they were not in her office, safe from eavesdroppers, she’d be out of her office by noon. And yet he had to tread carefully here, or her panicked actions would make defeating the possessed Bismarck even harder than it already was. He spoke as calmly as he could: “The Statute of Secrecy is not actually in that much danger, Madam. I spoke with the Prime Minister last night and measures have been taken to hide the involvement of magic.”

“The muggles have pictures of the attack! Of those monsters! I’ve seen them!” Selwyn waved some muggle newspapers around.

“Those are the muggle versions of The Quibbler, Madam,” Harry said. “Those are not serious newspapers.” He felt guilty about maligning Luna’s magazine, but it wasn’t as if the Ministry took The Quibbler seriously anyway.

“Are you certain?” The witch looked at the newspapers with an expression of distaste.

“Yes. The muggle governments of Norway and Britain have already taken steps to discredit those pictures.” And the video recordings. “Though even without those measures the muggles do not suspect magic.” At least not the majority. He pointed at a blurred picture of a shipgirl firing her guns. A German destroyer, unless Hood was mistaken. “Do you see that? That doesn’t look like magic. That looks like muggle technology.” Of course the experts would know that something didn’t add up - the attackers appeared out of nowhere, and used weapons which had been decommissioned and destroyed decades ago. But even among those who came to the correct conclusion there wouldn’t be many, if any, who’d risk both criminal prosecution and the scorn and ridicule of the public and their peers and actually claim that this was done by magic. But that was too complicated for Selwyn in her current state. “You can assure the ICW that the Statute of Secrecy is safe.”

“Until they attack the next muggle town,” Dawlish cut in. “Why exactly did they attack that town? There was nothing special about it.”

Harry took a deep breath. “We believe it was a test. A test for their new recruits.”

Both the Minister and the Head Auror gasped. “What?” Dawlish stared at him. “They recruited more monsters?”

“Yes.”

“And… that’s why you asked me to double the pickets! You think they will attack Britain!” Dawlish shook his head.

“Yes.” Harry nodded. “But we are prepared for them.”

“We are?” Selwyn blinked. “Why wasn’t I informed of this?”

“Security precautions, Madam Minister,” Dawlish said smoothly - the man had recovered quickly. “And plausible deniability.”

“Don’t feed me that line, John! What did you do?” The acting Minister was waving her wand around, even more agitated.

“We’ve made allies,” Harry said, “who fought and beat those monsters before.” That was the story he and his friends had come up with, to hide the fact that they had summoned the shipgirls. “They’ve sent a force to defeat them.”

“What allies?” Selwyn looked like she was about to have a stroke. Her wand twitched, and Harry tensed up. He wasn’t about to let her - or anyone - cast at him. Dawlish was listening openly and, Harry thought, eagerly.

He would disappoint them though. “Allies who value their privacy,” he said.

“I want to meet them!”

“They do not want to meet you,” Harry said. Which was a good thing - Harry didn’t think Selwyn’s attitude would go over well with the Royal Navy shipgirls.

“What did you tell them Potter?” Selwyn trembled. “What lies did you spread?”

They had told Hood some stories about the last war in the time since the battlecruiser had started living with them. Predictably, she hadn’t had any desire to talk to the current Ministry. But Harry couldn’t say that to the Minister. “Madam, they only revealed themselves due to the attack on London. They do not want to have any contact with the Ministry.”

“They’re in contact with you!” The witch sneered.

“Yes.” Harry inclined his head. Like Dumbledore used to, when faced with a recalcitrant student. Like Harry had been, at times.

The acting Minister stared at him. “What’s your plan, Potter?” she whispered.

“We want to defend Britain from those monsters.” Harry was certain that Hermione was already making more plans, for the time after Voldemort’s next defeat - she did not think the shipgirls would fade with the threat gone - but for now, they were concentrating on dealing with the Kriegsmarine.

“So go and deal with them!” Selwyn sank into her seat, glaring at him.

She was probably already realising that things were changing, Harry thought. As, a glance confirmed, was Dawlish.

“I’ll need to talk to Dawlish about coordinating with our pickets.”

“Do so! Just go!”

The two wizards left the Minister’s office. Dawlish shook his head once the door had closed behind them. “Are you planning to run for Minister?” he asked.

Harry shook his head. “No. None of us have any interest in that.” The paperwork alone would be murder, and dealing with people like Selwyn all day… that would lead to actual murder. Hermione could barely stand her meetings, and she was ignoring most politics, office and regular. “But,” Harry continued, “we might have some concerns, from time to time.”

Dawlish snorted. “Traditionally, that’s done with bribes. But I guess you don’t need bribes, huh?”

Harry chuckled. “Now, I need to talk with the one in charge of the pickets - all of them. We might need their help.”

“They’re not good in a fight. I can ask for volunteers, veterans, instead,” Dawlish said. “There are a number who’d jump at the chance to fight at your side.”

And among them would be friends of Dawlish, and a few others, likely. Harry knew that. But he also knew just how dangerous the upcoming battle would be. They’d need that help.

Especially if they had to take Azkaban for the ritual to seal the soul fragment.

“Alright. Gather them, and have them ready at noon. But they’ll have to be good flyers.”

*****​

The dozen Aurors and Hit-Wizards who were assembled when Harry arrived at the Ministry were a mixed group of rookies and veterans. Too few veterans, sadly. Harry nodded at Elias Brown, a grey-haired Auror who had survived the ambush at Hogsmeade, and at Bess Elwes, who had been cursed at Hogwarts. He didn’t recognise the others. Ron probably would have - his friend had paid more attention to the rookies.

He cleared his throat. “Alright. You all volunteered for this. We’re expecting an attack on the Ministry by the same enemy who has attacked before, and who has taken control of Azkaban.” Some of the rookies paled a bit. “That monster has spent the last few days gathering more of its kind, and then blooded them in Norway.” Brown and Elwes looked grim, and more rookies paled. “But we haven’t been idle either - we gained allies who fought those monsters before.” Harry was certain that they had already heard that - rumours travelled faster than paper aeroplanes in the Ministry. “Do you all have your brooms with you?”

They nodded.

“Good. We’ll apparate to the coast, where we’ll set up and brief you.” He took out a map, unfolded it with a flick of his wand, and highlighted the beach at the Isle of Sheppey. “Let’s get going!” With that, Harry apparated.

A few minutes later the last of the volunteers had arrived at the shore, where a few wizard tents had been put up. Harry cast a privacy spell. “Alright. If any one of you reveals what I’m about to tell you, then you’ll find out first-hand what kind of curses Hermione researched to protect the secret.” It was a bluff, Harry knew that - or mostly a bluff. He glared at them until he was confident that they understood the need for secrecy. “We’re facing evil sea spirits who possess the powers of old muggle warships.”

“What?”

“That sounds like something taken straight from The Quibbler!”

“Why did they attack us?”

Harry ignored the comments. “They can walk and run on water, and you all know what their weapons can do.”

“Merlin! We’re dead!”

He resisted the urge to rub his forehead in frustration. What did the rookie expect when he volunteered but to fight the enemy that had attacked the Ministry? “We’re not going to fight them directly. Our allies - other sea spirits - will fight them.” He continued, raising his voice to drown out the speculations. “They have protected the British islands against those threats before, without involving wizards.”

“Can’t they do it alone?”

Harry glared at the speaker. “What’s your name?”

“Henry Burke.”

A pureblood, of course. Harry sighed. “We’re the targets of those spirits. Our allies came to help us; the least we can do is to fight at their side.”

“Why are they attacking us?” Burke asked. The man didn’t seem to give in easily.

“As far as we can tell, that’s because of something Voldemort did during the war. A deal, an alliance, we don’t know.” Harry rolled his eyes when half the assembled Aurors and Hit-Wizards shuddered when he mentioned the name of the Dark Lord. “You have two missions: First, you’ll serve as support for our allies. You’ll be on brooms, and you’ll cast healing and repairing charms as needed. That will be very dangerous, since you’ll be right on the frontlines. The second mission depends on where we’ll fight the enemy. If it’s near Azkaban, you’ll assault and take the island once the enemy is engaged with our allies. Only then, or you’ll end up dead before you reach the rock.” Harry was certain a few of the group already regretted having volunteered, but the shipgirls needed the support. “Brown, you’re in charge of the group. Elwes, you’re second in command. Stay here, practise the charms needed, and be ready.”

“Alright, Potter,” Brown said.

“I’ll check in with our allies.” Harry nodded, and apparated across the Estuary to Courtsend, where the shipgirls were gathered - with the exception of the carriers and their escorts, who were deployed along the coast.

Hood greeted him with a smile, sailing close to the shore. “Harry!”

It seemed shipgirls were always happy when they were at sea. Or happier. “Hood. Any news from the patrols?”

“Not so far. Ron said that the Navy’s submarines have picked up some acoustic tracks in the North Sea, but they couldn’t identify them.”

“Is he still with the Prime Minister?” Harry’s friend was acting as a liaison, like Arthur.

“Either there, or with the military nearby.” Behind Hood, the other shipgirls had started to gather.

“Do you think the Bismarck will try to sneak into London?” Harry asked.

“If they’re coming from Norway, their escorts will need to replenish. At least those who were called there,” Hood said. “But we don’t know if they replenished in Norway - or if they even need to.” Suddenly she cocked her head sideways. She was listening to the radio, Harry knew. Then she smiled. “Courageous’s planes have spotted them. They’re headed to that island, Azkaban.” Then her smile vanished. “The planes spotted four battleships and two heavy cruisers. And escorts.” Hood turned to the other shipgirls.

“England expects that every ship does her duty.”

*****​

North Sea, Dogger Bank, May 11th, 2001

HMS Hood dropped into the slightly rough sea with a splash, and immediately shot back up as her rigging materialised. Next to her, Prince of Wales did the same. A bit further away, Repulse made a greater splash - the older battlecruiser hadn’t been dropped into the sea from a broom before. She recovered quickly though and took up a position to port and to the aft of Prince of Wales.

“This time you’re going to let me take the lead,” Prince of Wales stated.

Hood knew that the Bismarck would gun for her anyway, but nodded. Her friend still felt guilty for ‘letting Hood down’ in the Denmark Strait. Dorsetshire was on the way to Hood’s flank. Above them, Ron and Harry disappeared - apparated away - to fetch the rest of the fleet. And the wizards who’d serve as their repair crew.

“Courageous to Hood: Enemy fleet is holding course. About a hundred and fifty miles from your position.”

Hood acknowledged the message. The Bismarck and her unholy escorts were sailing straight towards Azkaban. The Home Fleet would intercept them before they reached their base.

More splashes. Whooping noises. The destroyers were arriving, apparently having enjoyed the trip. Sikh and Cossack were already cutting through the waves and moving in front of Hood. Acasta and Ardent looked lost for a moment, then fell in port of Repulse. Thirty seconds later, Electra and Achates were dropped, followed by Firedrake and HMAS Vampire, all of who rushed to complete the screen.

Meanwhile, behind them Hermes and Glorious arrived, dropped by Hermione. It was rather close to the coming battle, but it meant they’d be able to launch and recover more strikes before the battlelines clashed. And given what they were up against, they would need that advantage, Hood knew. The scout planes had reported four battleships, without identifying them, but Hood was certain, based on their speed, that they were facing the Bismarck, the Tirpitz, the Scharnhorst and the Gneisenau. The most modern and most dangerous German battleships. And two heavy cruisers.

She let her gaze sweep over her fleet. A British battlecruiser dating back to the Great War, one modern battleship, a treaty cruiser. And herself. The battlecruiser who had been sunk three minutes into her first real battle. This would be a challenge. But the Royal Navy would rise to meet it. As they had done before.

Courageous arrived, followed by broom riders. Aeroplanes started to launch from all three carriers and the wizards and witches quickly gave them a wide berth. Fairey Swordfish from Courageous and Hermes, joined by Sea Gladiators, Gladiators, more Swordfish and even Hurricanes from Glorious.

Hood saw the aeroplanes zip overhead, flying towards the enemy, and felt her heart lift. She turned to her fleet.

“Cruise speed ahead.”

*****​

North Sea, Northeast of Dogger Bank, May 11th, 2001

Bismarck glared at the sky. That annoying aeroplane was still shadowing her fleet. It was keeping its distance, far out of range of her FlaK, but it didn’t let them out of its sight for long. She was tempted to send up her floatplanes to deal with it, but the enemy was likely crewed by wizards, and this was an attempt to lure them away, into an ambush.

It didn’t matter anyway - she had a fleet with her, and her old enemies would be crushed by it! Soon they’d reach Azkaban, where they’d pick up Max Schultz and Narcissa and replenish the fleet - there was still fuel left on the island, in the deeper cells. And then they would strike at England. Sink Hood, if the battlecruiser dared to show up, destroy the Ministry of Magic, burn down London…

“Aeroplanes ahead! Dozens of them!”

The warning from Z26 interrupted her pleasant thoughts. “What?” She turned her attention to the front sector, searching the sky. Where… there! Z26 was correct - dozens of aeroplanes were flying towards them. When she recognised them, she gasped - Swordfish! Those had crippled her before, leading to her sinking. But that had been a lucky shot for the flimsy planes. They wouldn’t get lucky today!

Her escorts started to fire, clouds of FlaK shell explosions dotting the sky. Her own 10.5 cm FlaK 38 started to fire as well. Soon the smaller calibres joined in. But the aeroplanes were not deterred. They dived, descending to fly just above the tops of the waves. One veered off, trailing smoke, crashing into the sea, another followed, but the rest leveled out and pressed on.

“Evasive maneuvers!” Bismarck ordered.

“Aeroplanes above us!”

The panicked scream from Tirpitz alerted her to another attack. Looking up, she noticed aeroplanes high above the fleet, starting to dive. They were caught between dive bombers and torpedo bombers! She cursed, then she recognised the planes. Those were no dive bombers! “Ignore the diving planes, those are fighters!” she ordered. “Focus on the Swordfish!”

A British fighter strafed her, the machine gun bullets hitting her superstructure without much of an effect. Another followed. All over the fleet, fighters buzzed over the ships. They didn’t matter. The dozens of torpedoes about to be dropped into the water were the real danger.

Bismarck spotted several of the gnats making an attack run on her, and turned towards them. Her FlaK fired, and one of the Swordfish disappeared in a fireball - her gunners had learned from their mistakes! The others dropped their torpedoes, but the heavy fire had thrown off their aim - Bismarck threaded the fish. Near her, Scharnhorst’s gunners shot down another plane - a fighter, this time.

“Gneisenau, evasive action!”

The shout from Erich Giese made Bismarck whip her head around. The smaller battleship was the target of four Swordfish, and it seemed her FlaK was ineffective - they were lined up perfectly, and just as Bismarck’s own gunners started to take aim, the torpedoes dropped.

For a moment, Bismarck held hope. Torpedoes were not that reliable. They malfunctioned. Failed to explode. Ran too deep. Ran in circles. For a moment, it looked like the frantically turning battleship might evade. Then the first torpedo hit, and Gneisenau screamed. Another hit, the battleship’s leg was buckling, part of her rigging torn off, she started to list… and vanished in an explosion.

Bismarck cursed. That shouldn’t have happened! Gneisenau was stronger, better armored than that! A lucky shot, again! How much luck did those British bastards have?

“Hipper!” Blücher’s yell drew her attention to another attack. Three Swordfish had dropped their torpedoes near the heavy cruiser. Admiral Hipper was in the middle of a turn, and once again Bismarck had to watch helplessly as one of her ships was struck. Two hits, with such force that she saw parts of the cruiser’s rigging fly through the air. Hipper was listing heavily, but she hadn’t blown up. Two torpedoes - the cruiser should be able to handle that.

But she couldn’t. Hipper’s list grew as she tried to hold the bleeding hole in her leg together, her face a grimace of pain and panic. She even tugged on her leg, as if she could, like Münchhausen, pull herself out of the water, shortly before she toppled, rolled over and sank beneath the waves.

Bismarck stared, face impassive, while the FlaK fire petered out as the last surviving aeroplanes made their escape. Two ships sunk - a battleship and a heavy cruiser - in one attack. Reports started to come in - all of the fleet had suffered some superficial damage from the fighters, especially the escorts. And Tirpitz, who had also been struck by one torpedo, but counter-flooding had saved her.

Bismarck shook her head. Tirpitz was her sister ship. She had weathered worse attacks before finally succumbing to massive bombs! But she hadn’t had a proper hull for her raising, and so she had come back weaker than before. Like Gneisenau and Admiral Hipper.

And the enemy had aeroplanes, at least two carriers’ worth. Three probably. Bismarck sneered. It would be more difficult than she had thought, but they would sink all of those British ships, and avenge their sunken sisters!

She closed her eyes and reached deep inside herself. Aeroplanes would not be able to fly through the storm she was calling up to protect her fleet.

*****​

North Sea, Northeast of Dogger Bank, May 11th, 2001

HMS Hood was smiling widely when she heard the reports of the first airstrike. One battleship and one cruiser sunk, more damaged! A far better result than she had expected. Now if the next strike was as successful, then they had this in the bag.

“Weather’s worsening around the enemy fleet,” Courageous reported.

Hood cursed. If there was a storm brewing - contrary to what the weathermen had predicted - then that was the Bismarck’s doing. To prevent another airstrike, no doubt. Which meant they would be facing a fleet at least as strong as theirs, without support from the carriers during the clash. The odds had just changed again. She heard Hermione berate herself over the radio for not having thought of that, and chuckled. That was war. Plans had to be adjusted all the time.

Radar wouldn’t be affected by the storm, and they had another surprise left, at least. Hopefully, it would be enough.

“Prince of Wales, full speed ahead! Fleet, match her speed!”

She heard her friend mutter under her breath as she increased her speed. Prince of Wales hated to be the slowest ship of the formation, to hold the rest back - but it couldn’t be helped. They needed to stay together, if they wanted to win this.

Behind them, the wizards flew on brooms. They’d be affected a lot by the storm as well, but maybe their magic could help them last. Without them, the odds would be even worse. But the Royal Navy would persevere. Tradition and duty demanded it.

The returning aeroplanes passed overhead, waving with their wings as the fleet, especially the destroyers, cheered, with HMAS Vampire wildly swinging her hat around before resuming a more proper decorum.

The storm ahead was growing. Optical rangefinders would be almost useless at long range. And only Repulse, Prince of Wales and herself had radar. At least the Germans would have it even worse.

The fleet sailed on, the raunchy banter between the destroyers that hid their anxiety slowly giving way to grim silence. The sea was rough now, the waves high. The destroyers were struggling - but it would be worse for the Germans. Much worse.

Her radar picked up the enemy van at the same time as Prince of Wales’s did, shortly followed by Repulse’s. “Adjust course fifteen degrees to starboard!” she ordered, to angle her approach and unshadow her rear turrets. Repulse and Prince of Wales followed suit, while the destroyers adjusted their positions relative to the approaching enemy.

She started to aim her guns, adjusting the solution. They were almost in range. “Harry, fire window!”

“Firing window,” Harry responded. A second later, she heard an explosion overhead, and thousands of small aluminium strips filled the air above the fleet. They had been cut to half the wavelength of the enemy’s radar, which Hermione had easily found in the historical works.

“Adjust course ten degree starboard!” Hood ordered, and once again, the fleet complied. That would throw off whatever firing solution the enemy had managed before their radar had been blinded.

“Fire once in range. Focus on the contact in front.” That was either the Bismarck, or the Tirpitz. Hood hoped it was the Tirpitz - according to Hermione, the Tirpitz, as well as Gneisenau, were very likely to be weaker than their sister ships due to the circumstances of their summonings.

She heard shells whirl overhead - they were already in range of the German 38 cm guns - but they were going wide.

Ten seconds later, Prince of Wales’s guns spoke. For a moment, Hood was jealous - her friend’s guns outranged her own. The fast battleship fired one more time until the enemy was finally in range of Hood’s own guns, and Repulse’s.

“Fire!”

Eight 15-inch shells rose from the muzzles of her guns and flew towards the enemy, disappearing into the storm raging ahead. The enemy answered with volleys of their own, but they were blinded by the storm they were hiding in, and the window - kept up by magic spells, and renewed by Harry and Ron - prevented the German radar from ranging them correctly while their own worked perfectly.

Already the leading ship had been hit twice. Hood noticed a battleship in the rear of the enemy formation, slower than the rest. “Shift fire to the enemy at the rear!” she ordered. It was either damaged, or an older model - either way, it would be an easier target.

Prince of Wales was a bit quicker than herself and Repulse, but soon ten 14-inch shells and fourteen 15-inch shells were straddling the new target.

“Adjust course fifteen degrees starboard!” The enemy was trying to close, drawing them into the middle of the storm, but Hood had no intention of obliging them - she would be exploiting their current positional advantage for all it was worth by steering away from the enemy.

The next volleys scored several hits on their target, and it started to slow down even more. Hood grinned. First blood would go to the Royal Navy.

A few enemy shells splashed uncomfortably close though - they were adjusting their aim as well. Probably tracking the shells, somehow. Or guessing really well. Hood suppressed her fear of plunging fire touching off her magazines. They had the advantage now. Another volley was in the air, arcing towards the enemy, disappearing in the storm, and Hood’s radar recorded three more hits. The enemy ship had slowed down so much, it had to be severely damaged and taking on water!

A nearby miss shook her through, causing slight damage to some plating. A lucky shot, she told herself, returning fire. Their target had fallen out of formation, and was left behind by her comrades. Hood almost felt pity for the doomed ship. Then she remembered Tromso, and snarled while her guns spoke again.

More hits. The enemy was dead in the water now. Sinking, most likely.

“Shift aim to the leading enemy ship!” Hood barked. Not a minute too soon - already she could see the smaller enemy ships picking up speed, racing ahead, towards her own screen.

The fleets were about to clash.

*****​

 

Chapter 8: Clash of Fleets

North Sea, Northeast of Dogger Bank, May 11th, 2001

Bismarck snarled while she fired another broadside. The perfidious Albion had managed to render her FuMO 23 search radar sets useless! She was guessing the positions of the enemy ships, which meant she might as well fire blindly! Those cowards were once again using trickery to avoid facing her in open combat!

Even worse, while her own fleet was blinded, the enemy’s radar was working, somehow - they had pounded Tirpitz despite the storm hiding her. Bismarck’s sister ship was doomed. Her main batteries were disabled and water was pouring into her hull through several leaks, her damage worsened by the force of the storm. Bismarck ground her teeth as she watched Tirpitz struggle in the rough sea. Each time the battleship cut through the waves she was listing a bit more, one step closer to sinking.

She would be avenged, though! Bismarck ordered Max Schultz and Narcissa to sortie from Azkaban, and attack the British from the rear. That should at least disrupt their formation. Maybe they’d even manage to sink a carrier. After Max Schultz had acknowledged the order, Bismarck stopped feeding her power into the storm and addressed the fleet: “Close with the enemy! Flank Speed ahead!”

Her escorts cheered and rushed forward. Bismarck, Scharnhorst and Blücher followed. The other battleship had been hit a few times, but hadn’t suffered any serious damage. Now it was Bismarck’s turn - a dozen shells stuck the sea around her, the explosions battering her sides, but her hull held.

A close-quarter battle would be brutal, but Bismarck was certain she would prevail - she had held out alone for hours against an entire fleet, their shells unable to penetrate her armour. She smiled, baring her teeth, as she left the storm and finally laid eyes upon her enemies. Her radar was still useless, but her optical rangefinders were the finest ever built!

Her smile widened when she recognised Hood, Repulse and Prince of Wales. Two outdated battlecruisers, and one battleship she had fought before. A pack of destroyers and one cruiser - her fleet could handle them! She’d sink those relics!

Ahead of her, the destroyers were zig-zagging to throw off the enemy’s aim as they raced toward the British line. She ordered Blücher to fall back a bit - the heavy cruiser’s armour couldn’t take as much as her own and Scharnhorst’s.

“Concentrate your fire on the Repulse!” The old battlecruiser would be easier to sink than the Prince of Wales. Bismarck would let Hood see her friends get destroyed and know despair before sinking her. She adjusted her course slightly, unshadowing turrets Caesar and Dora, and fired a broadside. Scharnhorst and Blücher followed, though they were still outside the effective range of their guns.

The enemy fired as well, and Bismarck adjusted her course to present a harder target. Her own shots straddled the Repulse, close enough to briefly hide the ship behind the water thrown up by the impact. The British ships were still sailing away, trying to keep their distance from Bismarck. But Prince of Wales was the slowest ship present - sooner or later they’d catch up.

The enemy was focusing on Scharnhorst - of course, they wanted to destroy her with plunging fire at range - the other battleship’s deck armour was half the strength of Bismarck’s! Scharnhorst took a hit, but didn’t falter, and returned fire.

Bismarck’s guns spoke again and again. The Repulse tried to manoeuvre, but to no avail - she had her target’s measure now. Her next volley scored two hits. Smoke started to rise from the battlecruiser’s superstructure. The time the shells spent in the air slowly grew shorter as the distance shrank.

She saw that Scharnhorst received another hit, which ripped into her side. She was leaking oil from her rigging and bleeding from the gash in her side, but even that didn’t deter her. Then Bismarck’s next volley scored on the Repulse again, and she saw the battlecruiser stumble, veering off to the side before correcting her course again. The British ship was slowing down though - hobbled.

Bismarck grinned. Would her enemy abandon the crippled battlecruiser? She doubted it. And she was correct - the entire enemy formation was now turning to face her, the British destroyers whirling around with such haste, they almost seemed to capsize.

With the British now facing her, the distance started to shrink rapidly. Soon enough Scharnhorst’s and Blücher’s guns started to tell as well, battering the Repulse. In return, a British heavy cruiser added her fire. Scharnhorst had suffered more hits, but nothing vital had been damaged.

After five minutes, the Repulse was reeling, her armour holed. One of her turrets had been silenced, and the others’ rate of fire had slowed down. She was limping and swaying on her feet. Bismarck hissed with glee - revenge was hers!

The destroyers were in range of each other now, and their smaller guns started to rapidly exchange fire. Bismarck didn’t pay them much mind - her prey were the three capital ships. Her next volley hit, and one of Repulse’s remaining turrets fell silent - jammed or destroyed, she couldn’t tell. Scharnhorst’s fire struck the battlecruiser’s legs, and the enemy was brought to her knees, both legs bleeding now.

“Yes!” Scharnhorst yelled. She turned her head to smile at Bismarck. Before she could say anything though, several shells struck her. Bismarck saw the battleship’s head snap back, half her face torn up - half her rangefinders gone, she noted - before turning slightly. Her front was holed, her armour smashed, and one turret had been blown off the rigging.

She wasn’t beaten though - not Scharnhorst. Shaking her head, sending oil and parts flying, she screamed, and her remaining two turrets fired - at the Prince of Wales. For a moment, Bismarck wanted to finish the Repulse. She wanted to kill her enemies. Common sense prevailed though - the battlecruiser was finished, she’d be able to sink her at leisure once the rest of the enemies were dealt with. “Focus on the Prince of Wales!” she ordered, her own turrets shifting their aim already.

She’d send that British battleship to the bottom of the sea!

*****​

North Sea, Northeast of Dogger Bank, May 11th, 2001

Ron Weasley cursed as he struggled to keep his broom under control when the water thrown up by a shell that struck close to Repulse washed over his Shield Charm. He was almost pushed into the sea by the sheer mass that hit him, but he managed to pull up in time to avoid smashing into a wave. Veering to the left, then to the right - he knew no one was aiming at him, but old habits were hard to break - he closed in on the battlecruiser.

Up close, she looked horrible. Her clothes were torn to shreds and stained with oil and burn marks. She was on her knees, pushing herself up with one arm, the other limp at her side, oil dripping from deep gashes in it. Her legs were worse - one was almost torn off, the other shredded. He couldn’t imagine the pain she must be feeling, kneeling on them. Just before he reached her, a tall wave washed over her. For a moment, he feared she had sunk, but she reappeared.

A mangled part of her rigging tore loose right then, and he saw that her legs were almost disappearing in the sea. He held out his wand. “Reparo! Reparo! Reparo! Reparo!”

A shudder went through Repulse, and he saw her eyes widen, blinking, as she rose from the water. Another wave swallowed her while he circled her. As soon as he saw her head cut through the wave, he cast again. “Reparo! Reparo! Reparo!”

She started to get back on her feet, still swaying, but no longer sinking. Her rigging was still smashed, though - he could see one turret shaking as it tried to swivel, but the other two turrets were dead weight, one of them smoking.

Repulse was saying something, but he couldn’t hear her over the noise of the battle. She was smiling though. He twisted around, flying alongside her. “Reparo! Reparo! Reparo!”

Her rigging slowly seemed to restore itself - but her main turrets were still not moving. Well, he could just keep casting repair charms until she was wholly fixed. He and Harry had done it for Hood before. “Reparo! Reparo! Reparo!”

One turret was turning again, the barrels moving up and down as Repulse was turning towards the enemy. Ron tapped his radio button. “Repulse, hold your fire!” he yelled. If he was close to the battlecruiser when she fired her main guns, he’d go deaf and probably crash into the sea!

“Get clear!” was her answer. “Help the others! Repulse re-engaging the enemy!”

Ron had learned enough about battlecruisers and shipgirls to not even try to stop her. Cursing, he turned around and flew away as fast as he could. The shockwave from the guns still battered him, and his ears were ringing despite the plugs in them.

He flew up to get a better picture of the battle. Hood and Prince of Wales as well as Dorsetshire were exchanging fire with the Bismarck and her escorts. They looked fine, for the moment at least. Up ahead, the destroyers were savaging each other, or so it looked to him. He touched the enchanted mirror stuck to his collar. Immediately, yells and screams filled his ears - the Aurors and Hit-Wizards had far less radio discipline than the shipgirls as they darted around the destroyers, repairing them.

He saw one Auror break off, and fly straight at an enemy destroyer.

“Burke! Burke! Break off! Break off!” Ron heard Brown shout.

But the Auror seemed to be past listening. “Take that, you damn monst...”

Ron shuddered - one second, the red speck with a blue glow was flying, the next second it was gone. Direct hit by an anti-aircraft gun. “Damn fool,” he muttered, wondering what had possessed the man to charge despite his orders. He pushed forward.

Another one, a Hit-Wizard since they were wearing grey robes, was flying near a destroyer that seemed to be on fire, despite the waves crashing over the struggling shipgirl. He recognised her - Vampire, holding on to her hat with one hand as she was turning around in the midst of a hail of shells, almost toppling over while narrowingly avoided another hit. The Hit-Wizard was close on the destroyer’s heels, wand flashing. Just as Vampire straightened up, though, she disappeared in a fireball that engulfed the Hit-Wizard as well.

Ron blinked, then ground his teeth. He knew the destroyers were ships, shipgirls, but they looked and acted like normal sixth or seventh year girls on land. For a moment, he wanted to dive, and destroy whatever monster had just killed Vampire and the Hit-Wizard. He didn’t, though. People were counting on him to do his task.

He picked out the closest destroyer who seemed to need help - Sikh, he recognised her by her headdress and darker skin - and started to fly towards her, hoping his corkscrewing and evasive flying would throw off the enemies’ aim - the destroyers were so close to each other now that the enemy’s anti-aircraft artillery was effective against brooms approaching the British shipgirls. And he had just seen what a hit from those cannons did to a wizard.

*****​

North Sea, Dogger Bank, May 11th, 2001

Hermione Granger didn’t hate flying on a broom, not really. But she much preferred to stay on the ground. Unfortunately, she was currently in the middle of the North Sea, so unless she wanted to swim, she had to fly. Or float, next to Hermes, Glorious and Courageous. Officially, she was there to support them - repair them if needed. But she knew Harry and Ron had assigned her to the three carriers since they would also stay away from the battle, far out of range of the enemy guns.

She didn’t really mind. Not too much, at least. She wasn’t cut out to fly a broom in combat, much less when anti-aircraft artillery was firing at her. And, as Ron and Harry knew, but hadn’t mentioned, she was close enough to Azkaban to fly there and prepare the ritual to seal Voldemort’s soul shard, once the Bismarck was sunk.

Her enchanted mirror chirped and she heard an excited-sounding voice. “This is Morton! Two enemy creatures are leaving Azkaban Island, direction North.”

Hermione cursed. Two enemies - that would be the light cruiser and the destroyer that had survived the battle in the Thames Estuary. She tapped the radio button stuck to her collar. “Hermes! Pickets report that the light cruiser and destroyer have left Azkaban and are headed our way.”

The carrier turned her head and looked at her, nodding. The three carriers were launching aeroplanes, gathering a strike since the enemy fleet had left the storm protecting it from air attacks. Half of it was already in the air.

“Hood to Hermes: Send the whole strike against those two enemy ships.”

“Hermes to Hood: Acknowledged.”

Hermione bit her lower lip. She would have preferred if the aeroplanes attacked the main enemy fleet. The carriers could deal with a light cruiser and a destroyer. Between them they had far more guns than the two monsters coming at them, and while the enemy had torpedoes, Hermione could repair the shipgirls. But Glorious was already looking nervous about being caught by another surface force, and Harry and Ron wouldn’t want her to risk herself. So she stayed silent and watched as the Fairey Swordfish formed up and took off, followed by Gladiators.

She tapped her crystal. “Granger to Morton: Shadow the enemies, but stay out of their range. Send two flyers to scout the island - carefully.” There might be more enemies hiding on the island. And they needed to know if the island was safe for the ritual.

“Ah… yes, ma’am.” Morton didn’t sound very happy, but Hermione didn’t care. They were at war, and everyone had to do their part. And in her opinion, waiting while her friends were fighting for their lives was far worse than risking her own life.

Besides, she thought, following the aeroplanes on her broom, compared to what Harry and Ron were doing, shadowing the enemy was rather safe. Or should be.

It took the Swordfish 20 minutes to reach the enemy, who was steaming towards them. The aeroplanes were slower than a top of the line broom - and Harry had bought her a Firebolt, just so she could outrace most enemies in the air, should she need to - even she should be able to fly straight.

Hermione didn’t spot the enemies before the biplanes started to descend. She stopped her broom - carefully, of course, she was no Seeker - and pulled out her Omnioculars, zooming in on the two pale girls racing through the waves.

Both were firing their anti-aircraft guns, and manoeuvring wildly. That would make it very difficult for the torpedo bombers to hit them. Although something seemed off… Hermione focused on the leading girl, who had to be Max Schultz, a destroyer, according to Hood’s description. The creature’s mouth was wide open, her face a mask of hatred and she seemed to be screaming her lungs out as the Gladiators strafed her, machine guns stitching lines over the girl’s upper body.

Hermione’s eyes widened when she saw that the shipgirl started to fire her main guns as well - despite how useless those were against aircraft. Was she panicking? The witch drew a hissing breath when she remembered that Max Schultz had been sunk on the Dogger Bank, after hitting a mine, trying to save her sister ship, which had been bombed by their own planes. If she was having flashbacks… “Gladiators, focus on the destroyer in front!” she ordered. “Distract it!”

The fighter biplanes did as ordered, and the destroyer seemed to go berserk, her head shaking wildly as she tried to shoot her attackers down. Hermione saw one Gladiator get hit while climbing after an attack run, starting to burn before it crashed into the sea. But that had bought the Swordfish attacking Max Schultz time to drop their torpedoes. Hermione saw how the destroyer’s rage gave way to panic when she finally spotted the torpedoes closing in, saw her trying to evade, turning desperately, and saw the explosions when two torpedoes hit. For a moment, Max Schultz seemed to freeze, one leg blown off. Then she toppled over and splashed into the sea, vanishing in seconds.

The other enemy, a light cruiser they had not identified so far, had been faring better, her wild, erratic course having thrown off the attackers. She also seemed to be ignoring the Gladiators. But the remaining Swordfish were attacking her now. One was hit and vanished into a wave, disintegrating upon impact, the others dropped their payload. The cruiser was luckier than Max Schultz though - only one torpedo struck her, and she managed to limp on, one leg trailing oil and parts, towards Azkaban, harassed by Gladiators.

“One destroyer sunk, one light cruiser, damaged, headed back to Azkaban,” Hermione informed the fleet and the Aurors.

“We’re pulling the scouts back!” came the hasty reply from the pickets.

Hermione didn’t begrudge them their caution - but she wasn’t looking forward to make landfall on an island with a light cruiser guarding it. There would have to be another air strike launched to sink her.

*****​

North Sea, Northeast of Dogger Bank, May 11th, 2001

Harry Potter sent another load of Window up above Hood and Prince of Wales, watching the aluminium strips form a cloud which slowly started to disperse. Those two warships as well as Dorsetshire were exchanging fire with the enemy capital ships at closer range now. Prince of Wales was getting the worst of it - part of her rigging was burning, and two turrets had fallen silent, one a wreck of bent and torn metal. Dorsetshire and Hood didn’t show much damage though - not that he was an expert.

Although the enemy was hurting as well. He quickly checked through his Omnioculars. One of the monsters was struggling in the heavy sea, barely moving anymore, with most of her rigging destroyed. Another was listing a bit, oil running down her pale body. Her guns were blazing, though. And the Bismarck was sailing ahead. She looked scorched, but didn’t seem to be seriously damaged. The expression on her face, full of hatred, made him shudder and he felt as if his forehead itched.

He turned his attention back to the Royal Navy. Another volley from the Bismarck reached Prince of Wales, and the battered battleship shook with another hit, the rest of the shells splashing into the water near her. A few seconds later, three more shells fell into the sea. That had to have been Scharnhorst. Which meant Harry had about thirty seconds to fly down and repair - heal - the battleship a bit, before the next volley would arrive.

He leaned forward and dived. Unlike in Quidditch, he had a Shield Charm up, which made it harder to judge his speed. If he made a mistake he’d crash into the sea, right where tons of explosives would soon hit again. The shockwaves would kill him, even if he survived the impact. But Prince of Wales needed help now.

He grinned and yelled, and sped up even more, flying almost straight down. A few sparks showed where aluminium strips were brushed aside by his Shield Charm. The waves grew larger and larger. Unlike a Quidditch pitch, the sea was not flat either. A few more seconds… now! He pulled with all his strength, struggling to control his broom. Had he misjudged… a wave rose in front of him, higher than the rest. He cursed, and rolled, pulling to the side as well, bleeding speed.

It wasn’t enough - he crashed into the top of the wave, and his shield shattered. The water hit him, battered him, almost swept him from his broom, and for a horrible instant he thought he had crashed. Then he broke through the wave, drenched but still flying. Alive! And close to Prince of Wales.

He drew his wand and started to cast.

“Reparo! Reparo! Reparo!”

Before he could cast a fourth time he was past the battleship, and climbing up again. Behind him, the next volley arrived. The explosions shook his broom, and he bent low, praying no fragments found him.

They didn’t, and he hastily recast his Shield Charm at a safer altitude, taking deep breaths. That had been close.

“Thank you!” he heard Prince of Wales through the radio.

Her guns - three turrets now, bellowed. Hood’s followed. Dorsetshire with her faster guns was keeping up a steady stream of shells. Harry glanced at the enemy again, just in time. He saw the wounded battleship getting hit once, twice, three times, in her chest. Oil and pale flesh flew away. For a second, she gaped, then her upper body vanished in a fireball.

“Scharnhorst destroyed,” Hood calmly reported. “Switch fire to enemy cruiser. What’s the status of the enemy ships near Azkaban?”

“We haven’t spotted the light cruiser,” Hermione reported. “She has to be on the island.”

Harry cursed. They needed the island for their ritual. A ship would not be stable enough in this weather, and no other land was close enough. He checked the destroyers through his Omnioculars. Sikh and Cossack, easily recognisable due to their headgear, were blazing away at an enemy who was reeling under the assault. Harry could see her rigging was already in tatters, and she was weakly firing back with just one gun. The two British shipgirls had not been left unscathed, but they looked far better. Further away, one shipgirl was being propped up by another while Ron was repairing her. He thought it was Acasta, but it was hard to tell with all the smoke one of them was releasing. He also saw a few more brooms flitting around - but not as many as there should be.

He saw just two more enemies, both burning, under fire from three British destroyers he didn’t recognize either - all of them were covered with soot and oil, but sailing parallel to the enemy, their guns firing constantly. Then the enemies suddenly turned, charging straight at the British destroyers.

All three shipgirls instantly focused on the leading enemy. Harry saw the creature shudder under the impact, pale flesh ripped away under the assault. Yet she kept going, on a collision course, a mad grin on her face. Then one shell hit her knee, stopping her. She listed to the side, and before she regained her balance in the rough sea, more shells struck her, and she fell down, vanishing into the sea.

But the other enemy had used the sacrifice of her comrade and was now far too close to be stopped, even as the destroyers shifted their fire. Harry could only helplessly watch as the burning monster slammed into one destroyer - Firedrake, he recognised her now - and the two toppled over, falling down and disappearing into the waves.

Neither resurfaced.

Hermione’s voice broke through the rage Harry felt right then. “Harry, Ron - we need to get to Azkaban!”

She was right. They needed to get the ritual ready, and seal the soul fragment once the Bismarck was sunk, or the monster would return with another body. He glanced back at Hood and Prince of Wales, which were now in range of the smaller guns - their secondaries. That would make flying close enough to heal and repair them too dangerous anyway. They would have to finish this battle without him or Ron.

Ron had come to the same conclusion. “Brown, have your people repair the destroyers, then move to support Hood!” Harry heard him order.

“Potter and Weasley, moving to Azkaban,” Harry said, tapping his radio and his mirror at the same time. “Good luck, Hood.”

*****​

North Sea, Northeast of Dogger Bank, May 11th, 2001

HMS Hood held her course while at her flank, Prince of Wales was slowly falling back, too damaged despite the magic repairs to keep up with the battlecruiser. Her guns - those left - were still firing though. Ahead, what remained of the Scharnhorst - a few burning pieces of wreckage and oil slicks - were slowly disappearing in the waves. Behind them, Repulse’s remaining guns were firing, shells arcing towards the heavy cruiser that was still trailing the Bismarck. They splashed all around the enemy ship, scoring no hits though. Dorsetshire’s fire was hitting the cruiser, but if her shells were doing any critical damage, Hood couldn’t spot it. Her attention remained focused on the Bismarck anyway. The enemy was concentrating their fire on Hood, and had been doing so for a few minutes already.

Her nemesis was charging towards her, forward turrets firing. Hood grit her teeth and braced for their impact. They were already in range for the enemy’s secondaries, but she barely felt the smaller shells that hit her. Four 15-inch shells arced down. Three went wide - Hood had changed course in time. The fourth though hit her port rigging, smashing through one of her 4-inchers. She longed to fire back - her secondaries were already firing rapidly, leaving pockmarks and scorched stains on the pale skin of the monster facing her - but she knew her duty. As long as the Bismarck was shooting at her, her friends were safe. The cruiser fired as well, 8-inchers. At that range, Hood’s armour belt could handle them. And it did.

Her own turrets were swinging towards the enemy cruiser, the Blücher she thought, who was manoeuvring to throw off her firing solution. Hood grinned - she was a battlecruiser, built to hunt down and destroy enemies just like this one. She veered starboard, just enough to unshadow her astern turrets. Then her main guns thundered, and eight 15-inch shells flew towards the doomed cruiser. Half of them hit, smashing into the monster. One reduced a turret to a flaming wreck, tearing off part of the rigging it was mounted on as well. Another ripped off a chunk of Blücher’s thigh in a shower of oil and metal. And the last two struck the monster’s chest, one going straight through it, the other exploding inside her belly. The struck cruiser stopped weaving between the waves with a shocked expression, arms cradling her smoking belly. Her wounded leg was getting battered by the waves already - she wouldn’t last much longer.

“Dorsetshire, finish off the cruiser. Repulse, Prince of Wales - switch fire to the Bismarck!”

Hood’s own turrets were already swinging towards the approaching battleship. Two more shells hit her, one passing through her arm without doing much damage, the other striking an angling blow to her A-turret, which glanced off. The battlecruiser grinned - at the distance they were now, the danger of plunging fire striking her weak deck armour was gone. Her armour belt was just a little bit worse than Prince of Wales’s, and her turrets were even better protected.

Behind her, Dorsetshire started to riddle the crippled Blücher with 8-inch shells while Repulse and Prince of Wales turned to aim at the Bismarck. Hood paid no attention to them. Her enemy was in front, coming straight at her. She bared her teeth, and fired her forward guns. One hit, smashing anti-aircraft gun and setting off some ammunition, the others straddled the Bismarck. In return, a dozen smaller shells hit Hood, ripping into her skin and rigging. She ignored them. She’d sink her enemy, even if she had to use her own corpse to drag the Bismarck down to the depths of the sea!

She changed course. If she manoeuvred just right, she could launch her torpedoes. But the distance was not yet close enough to guarantee a hit. It was shrinking quickly, though. Salvoes from Prince of Wales and Repulse arrived, most of the shells falling into the sea around the enemy battleship. Hood saw three shells strike, but two hit the armour belt with no noticeable effect. Another hit the superstructure though, blowing away a director. Then her own guns finished reloading, and fired. One shell smashed into the enemy’s leg, leaving a deep gash. Two more punctured the superstructure, hopefully destroying vital systems. The rest missed.

“Enemy cruiser sunk!” Dorsetshire reported.

Hood briefly glanced over her shoulder. The Blücher had toppled, sinking amidst a spreading slick of oil. “Keep your distance and engage the Bismarck with your guns!” the battlecruiser ordered. The enemy’s secondary batteries were still firing, and the cruiser couldn’t stand up to them at the range needed for a torpedo attack.

A 5.9-inch shell bounced off her forehead, leaving her dazed for just a second. Shaking her head, she was about to retaliate, when the 15-inchers struck her. Hood hissed in pain when one of her turrets was hit in the barbette, jamming up at once. Another shell found a weak spot in her armour belt and hit three of her boilers. And a third blew through her shoulder, throwing her back. Grinding her teeth, she returned fire, scoring another hit on the enemy’s armour belt. Her four-inchers were getting decimated by the enemy’s 5.9-inch guns. Panting, she wiped some oil from her face, and pressed on.

The next salvo from Bismarck wrecked her foremast and the rangefinder of her B-turret. Hood had to blink to keep her enemy in her sights. Her six remaining guns fired, raggedly now. Parts of her rigging were on fire. The Bismarck wasn’t looking much better though - two more volleys from Repulse and Prince of Wales had struck her, as well as a dozen shells from Dorsetshire. The battleship’s skin was scorched, torn in many spots - Hood knew her own skin must look the same - and smoke poured out of several holes in her rigging. But her guns were still firing. More shells hit Hood, and she lost more boilers, slowing her down. She could see Bismarck grin ferally. Her enemy thought she was beaten.

Hood snarled. She wasn’t beaten yet! Turning towards starboard, she presented her broadside, and her turrets fired again, seconds before her B-Turret was destroyed by a direct hit below its armored front. But now Bismarck was close enough. Her port torpedo mounts had been destroyed, but her starboard mounts were still intact. Hood began to turn towards port. More shells struck her, one glancing off her head, costing her her radar. Another struck the wrecked B-Turret, but the magazines had been flooded already. Her return fire blew parts off the enemy rigging, finally silencing one turret. And then her torpedo tubes were lined up, and two 21-inch torpedoes shot into the water.

*****​

Bismarck was laughing. Her old enemy, brought low! Helplessly floundering under her fire! Her armour was smashed, her turrets destroyed, her rigging wrecked. All that was left was the coup de grâce to put the battlecruiser out of her misery. She wanted to savour the moment of her triumph. Another volley from the crippled battleship fell around her, one shell glancing off her armour belt. Bismarck sneered - once the Hood was sunk, she’d finish off the rest.

The Hood was turning in front of her - as if presenting her starboard side would save her! Bismarck laughed, her turrets reloading, as she lined up the salvo that would finish the enemy. Then she saw the twin trails in the water, and her eyes, so far untouched by enemy fire, widened. Torpedoes!

She turned away, throwing off her own aim - even though she had good torpedo protection, and had weathered such attacks, she remembered what one hit to her rudder had done. Not today though! She turned rapidly, trying her hardest to evade the closing torpedoes. Just a bit more…

The Hood’s guns had fired again and three shells smashed into her right leg, throwing her off-course as she lost two screws. She tried to compensate, but she wasn’t quick enough - both torpedoes hit, and she shuddered under the impact as weakened armour buckled, and water rushed into her and systems fell silent.

She screamed, with pain and frustration. She would sink the Hood! Panting, she struggled to hold her course as her remaining turrets were brought to bear on her prey. But more shells struck her - the Repulse and the Prince of Wales were still firing. Bismarck’s superstructure was mangled even more, one hitting her head and wrecking her main fire control director. Turret Anton fired anyway, but missed. Then it was Hood’s turn again, and Bismarck shuddered as four more 15-inch shells struck her, again in her already damaged leg. She fired back - then blinked. Her turrets were not responding. She glanced to her side - part of her rigging had been torn off. She had only one turret left. Her 15-cm guns were reduced to two, and her FlaK was gone altogether, destroyed by the constant fire from the Hood’s secondary batteries and the heavy cruiser.

But the Hood… she’d sink the Hood! She’d ram her! She’d blow up a magazine! Bismarck’s last turret fired again, one shell ripping through the battlecruiser’s side, silencing another 4-incher. Almost! Anton was reloading. Just another volley…

Bismarck blinked. Why was the sea rising to starboard? Why were the waves growing so tall…

She realised that she was toppling, her leg blown off, right before she hit the water and rolled over. It didn’t hurt, she thought, as her face sank beneath the waves, and the sounds of battle faded.

Air bubbles trailed from her mouth and oil leaked from the holes in her body as she slowly sank towards the bottom of the sea. It was peaceful, she realised. Almost… almost…

Darkness swallowed her.

*****​

North Sea, Azkaban, May 11th, 2001

“Courageous to Landing Force: No sign of the enemy cruiser. She has to be hiding on the island.”

Ron Weasley clenched his jaw while he flew towards Azkaban, a foot or two above the waves. He was all too aware of the fate of the last wizards trying to fly to that island, and even with the Sea Gladiators and Swordfish circling above the island, ready to pounce on any enemy, he couldn’t help but be nervous. Doubly so since Harry and Hermione were coming as well. With them were half a dozen Aurors and Hit-Wizards who had been acting as pickets. Ron would tackle a Death Eater hideout with that kind of force - had done so with less - but to face a shipgirl? Even one hiding on land, where she was not quite as powerful?

But there was no choice. They had to do the ritual, or this battle would have been for naught, and Azkaban was the only piece of land in range. They had to take the island. He only hoped that their plan to deal with a shipgirl on land would work.

The rocky shores loomed in front of him now, and he started to pull up. Harry, as usual, was climbing rapidly already, shooting up as if this was a Quidditch match. Hermione would be cursing Quidditch, brooms and flying in general by now, he knew. But she’d manage.

Harry reached the edge of the cliff and leveled his broom, wand ready. Ron held his breath, cursing his slower broom, but nothing happened. He reached the edge himself right when Harry jumped off his Firebolt, taking cover behind a rock nearby. Ron followed his example, even though the rock wouldn’t stand up to a naval gun - old habits were hard to break.

Hermione landed behind them, grunting when she dropped from her broom to the ground and went prone at once, then crawled up to their position. Then the rest of their force followed - three Aurors and two Hit-Wizards. They first hovered over the sea, presenting perfect targets for anyone on the island, then dismounted.

When they didn’t seem to move right away, Ron yelled: “Take cover!” That made them move, at last, and they disappeared behind rocks and - Ron cursed - a bush.

“Useless curse fodder,” Harry whispered. “How much time do we have left?”

“Originally, the Bismarck took hours to sink,” Hermione said. “But the Hood was sunk in minutes.”

Ron knew that they had a small window of opportunity. They couldn’t lure the Bismarck into their ritual circle, like they had managed with Voldemort. So they had to prepare the ritual, and then start it once the Bismarck had been sunk. And for that they needed a safe spot for the circle. Which meant they had to find and deal with that cruiser.

He yelled to the hiding Ministry forces again: “Follow us, we advance!”

Then he nodded to Harry, took a deep breath, and turned around the right corner of the rock while his friend rounded the other corner. The next cover was about twenty yards away. He sprinted over rocks and patches of grass, expecting a curse - or worse, a shell - to fly towards him any second. It didn’t, and he dropped into a small pit, more like a dent in the rocky ground. Hermione rushed past him, towards the ruins of a wall.

Harry moved up on the left side, then Ron sprinted forward, rolling behind the rubble left from Azkaban’s main gate. Still no resistance - had the cruiser escaped somehow? Despite the patrols in the air? Ron glanced at Hermione, then the two of them entered the prison proper. Or what was left of it.

The walls were gone, as were some buildings. Nothing but rubble remained of them. But the main tower above the cells still stood, and so did the barracks.

“Barracks, then cells,” Ron said. They could be searched quickly, and they wouldn’t have to risk an enemy at their back when they entered the tower.

Harry nodded, and turned towards the Ministry wizards and witches who were just now arriving. “Cover the tower, but do not enter!”

They spread out in a ragged line to encircle the tower. Ron wanted to straighten them out, but they had to press on. He took point, and rushed to the door of the barracks. He didn’t bother checking if it was locked - a glance back, and Hermione blew it away with a Blasting Curse. Ron went in low, jumping through the dust cloud thrown up by her spell, and rolled over a surprisingly smooth floor.

Harry followed at once, covering the other side. Someone had remodeled - the desk and Head Warden’s quarters were gone. And the door to the main quarters for the guards was open. Ron moved ahead, Harry right behind him, just as Hermione entered the building.

Those doors were open, at an angle. Ron peeked through, and recoiled as soon as he spotted something moving in there.

Hermione immediately blew this door away as well, sending splinters inside. A yell told Ron that at least one had found its mark. No gunfire erupted though - it looked as if those monsters couldn’t summon their rigging on land, like shipgirls. Which left them with superhuman endurance, strength and resistance.

They waited, expecting an attack through the door, but nothing of the sort happened. Ron held his breath - was that sobbing he heard? He glanced at Harry. Judging by his friend’s expression, he had heard it as well. Had a guard or prisoner been left alive?

Ron rounded the corner, leading with his wand, using the wall to shield his body. There was a pool where the beds had been, crudely made and filled with water. Ron smelled the sea, and blood. Something rose from the pool. Someone - a pale, nude girl, the only color on her her red eyes. She looked familiar, somehow, but he couldn’t place her. She was shivering, holding an arm over her chest, the other dangling at her side.

For a moment, they stared at each other. That wasn’t how Ron had imagined this meeting would happen. Then Harry entered behind him, and those red eyes widened.

“P… P… Potter!” she screamed. “D...Draco! Draco!”

Then she rushed at them, at Harry, yelling incoherently, arms stretched out, fingers curled like claws. Ron’s instincts took over, and he cast a Blasting Curse without thinking. The spell hit her shoulder, staggering her, but where a human would have lost half their chest, this monster could still move her arm!

Harry dropped to the ground a second before she tried to smash his head in, and rolled away, a Reductor Curse hitting her leg. She screamed, and turned to follow him. Ron sent another Blasting Curse into her back. Hermione had told him that this was the curse most likely to work best.

The creature shrieked, and turned to face him. “W...W...Weasley!”

Ron was about to hit her in the head with his next curse while Harry slid around her towards the door when he recognised her face. It was younger, and looked slightly different, but… “Malfoy? Narcissa Malfoy?” How the...

Her charge interrupted his thoughts, and he was not quick enough to evade her clumsy strike completely. Her blow clipped his Shield Charm, shattering it, and sent him through the door, almost barrelling Hermione over.

“M...Mudblood! All of you!”

Hermione had been casting spells at the pool, Ron realised as he got up again. Vanishing the water - if it was water in the first place. The former pureblood witch charged at his friend, but she crashed into a stone wall that rose in front of her. Harry slipped out, dragging Hermione with him while the wall started to crack.

Hermione shook herself loose from Harry, then aimed her wand at the wall’s foot. “Make a hole!” she yelled, and started casting. Ron understood, and started to cast as well, followed by Harry. They managed to form a pit by the time the wall was shattered. The monster stopped at the pit, staring at them.

Then Harry hit the ground below her feet with a Blasting Curse, and she fell down. Hermione rushed forward and pointed her wand down, muttering. Then she threw herself backwards a second before green fire shot up from the pit, and the screams of rage of the creature that had been Narcissa Malfoy turned to shrieks of horror and pain as she burned alive in Fiendfyre.

Ron swallowed as the screams grew louder, turning into guttural howls. “How long will she…” he asked, trailing off. Any witch or wizard would have died in seconds in that inferno.

Hermione pressed her lips together, casting a Bubble-Head Charm before answering. “Longer than we can wait.”

Ron stared at her, then nodded.

*****​

Minutes later, they still heard the inhuman screams from the burning pit as they prepared the ground for the ritual. Hermione pulled out a small plate of black stone and enlarged it, revealing the circle she had prepared beforehand. Harry leveled a space and levitated the plate over. Ron started to adjust the ground - it had to be perfectly even.

Then his radio crackled. “The Bismarck has been sunk! I repeat: The Bismarck has been sunk!”

While cheers filled the channel, the three of them worked even harder. Time was running out. Hermione set the sealing crystal with the other soul fragments in the centre of the circle. Then she touched the runes surrounding it with her wand, and they lit up, displaying the intricate designs Hermione had created years ago. All three looked at each other, then slit their palms, letting the blood fall on to the runes. The sacrifices made, they started chanting.

This time though, the soul fragments started to fade, instead of being pulled into the crystal. Ron knew what that meant: There was no Soul Anchor left to hold them.

Voldemort was no more.

*****​

 

Chapter 9: Aftermath

North Sea, Azkaban, May 11th, 2001

When she saw the green shade dissipate, Hermione Granger was elated - Voldemort was finally dead! Truly dead! She hugged Ron and Harry, crying with relief. The Dark Lord was dead, and her friends were alive. The nightmare was over. She barely noticed that her friends were crying as well, and kissing her. She wanted to lose herself in the moment.

But with the tension leaving her, she realised just how exhausted she was. Her legs were trembling and if not for her friends, she would have sunk to her knees. It didn’t matter any more anyway. The battle was won. The enemy defeated. Even the screams of the thing Narcissa Malfoy had been turned into had ended - she must have burned out. Hermione should have felt terrible about killing the former witch in such a cruel manner, but Fiendfyre had been the only magical way she had been able to think of for killing a shipgirl. Ships, even warships, were vulnerable to fire, while almost all spells would barely make a dent in even the weakest destroyer.

The witch suddenly blinked. Damaged ships. She gasped, surprising Harry and Ron. “We need to call the shipgirls to Azkaban - they’ll need to be healed, not just repaired.”

She felt Harry tense up in her arms. “Damn! I should have thought of that. After the last battle, Hood was badly hurt as soon as she stepped on land, despite her rigging having been fully repaired.”

Ron was talking into their communication mirror already. “Landing Force to Hood: Take the fleet to Azkaban, but wait with making landfall. We’ll organise healers for you.”

Hermione barely heard the battlecruiser’s reply. “Affirmative. Be aware that many of us were heavily damaged.”

She took a deep breath, steadying herself. “We’ll need all Aurors and Hit-Wizards here. Everyone who can cast a healing spell.” All the surviving wizards and witches - thanks to her monitoring the radio communication during the battle, she knew many of them had been killed in the battle. They had been braver than she had expected. A far cry from the Aurors she had met at the end and after the war. Standing up, she swayed a bit, then ground her teeth and started walking. “We’d best meet them at the pier.”

“Let’s fly,” Harry said, pulling his shrunk broom out.

She glared at him, but with her legs still shaking, there was not much she could say. “Let’s check if Narcissa is dead as well.”

Harry and Ron grimaced, but nodded - all of them had learned in the last war to make certain their enemies were dead before moving on.

The former Death Eater was dead. A few bones were all that was left in the pit, and they looked… warped. Unnatural. The Auror standing guard near the pit looked a bit green in the face, in Hermione’s opinion. For a moment she was tempted to grill him for details about the monster’s death. She shook her head instead. He deserved better than that. She pointed her wand at the remains, and levitated them up, then shrunk them. They were the only remains they had of the enemies - the rest had been sunk - and she wanted to find out all she could about them.

“That thing… what was it?” the Auror asked in a shaky voice.

“We don’t know exactly,” she said. “Some evil spirits of the deep sea, according to our allies. But without a thorough examination I cannot confirm that.” Diffusing the truth came easy to her these days. She had learned that some knowledge should not be made public. And the secrets of the shipgirls was part of that.

It would be best if the Aurors and Hit-Wizards who had fought in this battle were obliviated of their knowledge, to ensure no one would try to call up more shipgirls. Or those monsters like the Bismarck. She had proposed that, even. But Harry and Ron had opposed her idea. And, now, she had to admit that they had been correct. It wouldn’t be right to wipe the memory of this battle from those who had fought, and seen their comrades and friends fall. The dead, especially those who had fought bravely, should be remembered.

“Gather up your group, Peters, and head to the pier!” Ron ordered.

Harry meanwhile was talking into his mirror. “Potter to Brown… Brown? Ah. Elwes. Take your group and apparate as close to Azkaban as possible, then fly to the pier. We’ll meet you there.” He sighed. “Brown didn’t make it.”

Hermione hadn’t known the man so she nodded, hopefully sombrely enough. “Let’s go now.” Even with a Bubble-Head Charm, and the ashes gone, she thought she could smell the stench of burned flesh. Before she could take more than a few steps though, Ron picked her up, ignoring her protests, and sat her down on his broom. She hadn’t noticed him unshrinking it - she must be more tired than she thought. She’d have to rest a bit at the pier, until the fleet arrived.

*****​

“Hermione, wake up! They’re here.”

She opened her eyes with a gasp. Had she really fallen asleep? She quickly studied her surroundings. She was at the pier, on the shore, on a… bed? She sent a glare at Harry, who had not just let her sleep, instead of letting her help organise the healers, but had to have conjured a bed for her, even!

“You’re not the only one who slept. Everyone needed to rest.” Which meant Harry and Ron probably hadn’t. She frowned, but he grinned, then grew serious, and nodded towards the pier. “Everything’s ready. Everyone’s ready.”

She sighed and stood up. “Alright,” she said, raising her voice so everyone present understood her. “They’ll start bleeding as soon as they step on land. Be ready to heal them! Who can cast diagnostic charms?”

She put those in command of the rest, splitting the witches and wizards into two groups. Hood was waiting near the pier, her rigging being repaired by Ron and Harry.

“Destroyers first,” the battlecruiser said. “They’re the most vulnerable.”

Hermione looked at the shipgirls in question. None of them looked as if they were over eighteen, but all of them stood straight. She knew the look in their eyes. They were veterans. Like herself. Two of their number were missing. Firedrake and Vampire. They had been lost. Sunk in battle. Hermes would be devastated, Hermione thought. Vampire had been her escort when they were sunk in the Indian Ocean. She couldn’t dwell on that though, there was work to do.

“Alright. Acasta, Ardent - come up. Be ready - this will hurt as soon as you step on land.”

The two destroyers nodded with a grim expression, but their steps didn’t falter when they dismissed their rigging and stepped on the pier. Then they screamed. Gashes and burns appeared on their bodies and their clothes were soaked with blood.

Hermione had expected it, but still flinched. She didn’t let that stop her from casting though. Wands rose, spells flashed, and the two girls were quickly taken care of, though they looked a bit shocked still, even when their wounds had disappeared, and quickly returned to the water, heading to Glorious.

Hermione looked at the remaining destroyers. A few of them were flinching now. She picked those for the next batch. It was better for them to get it over with, instead watching more of them suffer while being healed.

And they would be healed, all of them, even if she and everyone else had to exhaust themselves. Britain owed the shipgirls too much.

*****​

North Sea, Azkaban, May 11th, 2001

Harry Potter watched the last shipgirl to be healed step off the pier and land in the water. It was Hood, of course - the battlecruiser had refused to be healed until everyone else had been taken care of. A stance Harry approved of, although Ron and Hermione disagreed.

The fleet of shipgirls was assembled near the pier, with the capital ships gathered in the centre of a screen of destroyers. Above them flew Glorious’s combat air patrol - the carrier didn’t want to take any chance of another warship sneaking up on the fleet, or so she claimed.

On the pier, the exhausted survivors of the Ministry forces rested. Of the dozen Aurors and Hit-Wizards that had flown into battle with Ron and Harry, half had been killed. The pickets had not lost anyone storming the island with them, but that didn’t lessen their courage.

“They can’t wait to get back on the water,” Ron said, snorting. “And they are as good as new, as Hood said.” He stifled a yawn, then glanced at the wizards and witches, before whispering: “We don’t have much time left. We’ll need to act now.”

Harry nodded. The thought of others calling up shipgirls, summoning them with necromancy and human sacrifices, was chilling. Even if Hermione hadn’t gone to great length telling them about the danger all those ships sunk in the Second World War, often fighting for a despicable enemy, represented, then Tromso would have convinced Harry of the necessity of keeping shipgirls a secret. He looked at Hermione and nodded.

His friend stood up, still tired, close to exhausted, but Harry knew better than to point this out - she was determined to go through with it.

The three wandered on the path leading up to the prison until they were out of sight of the Ministry’s forces. “So…” Harry said, drawing his wand.

“I’ll be the Secret Keeper,” Hermione said, her tone making it clear she considered this non-negotiable.

Harry and Ron exchanged grins. “We’d not dream of picking someone else, Hermione,” Ron said. “I’ll keep watch.”

“What?” The witch looked confused for a moment. “Oh… I see.”

“You’re the best choice, Hermione. You are already keeping the secrets of your Department,” Harry said. And she wasn’t quite as prone to risking her life as Harry and Ron were - and would be even less so with this new responsibility. At least Harry and Ron hoped so.

She must have realised that as well, since she was frowning, but she nodded. “Let’s do it.”

Harry raised his wand. Dumbledore had once intended for them to hide the secret of Voldemort’s Horcruxes with this spell, but they hadn’t needed to, in the end. This, however, was different. No one could know how to summon shipgirls.

He started casting the Fidelius Charm.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, May 11th, 2001

“What did you do, Mister Potter?”

For a woman whose country and Ministry had just been saved, Hyacinth Selwyn, acting Minister for Magic, sounded rather annoyed.

Harry Potter had expected that. As had his friends, which was the reason they were not here. He smiled politely at the witch. “We defeated the enemy threatening the Ministry and the Statute of Secrecy. Wizarding Britain is safe once more, ma’am.”

“Not that!” She almost snarled. “What did you do with your so-called ‘allies’ - those creatures that, as the surviving Aurors tell me, fought and killed the enemy.”

Harry spread his hands. “I didn’t do anything with them, ma’am. They’re our allies, not our subordinates.”

“They’re unknown magical creatures. And of British origin according to those who saw and spoke to them. That makes them a concern for the Ministry.”

Harry smiled. “There is no reason to be concerned, ma’am. Unspeakable Granger is handling the matter.”

“Granger!” Selwyn stood up, but since she was rather short, it didn’t look very intimidating. Not that Harry would have been intimidated by the witch in any case - he had stood up to Voldemort too often to be impressed by the likes of the acting Minister. “That’s not her call to make!”

“On the contrary, ma’am, it is.” Harry smiled.

“What?” Selwyn stared at him. “What are you insinuating?”

Dawlish, standing to her side, seemed to be hiding a smile, or so Harry thought - the man was an opportunist. He made a show of sighing. “As I told you before: There are matters that fall under the sole purview of the Department of Mysteries and which I cannot reveal without explicit permission from the Head of the Department.”

“Her department is part of the Ministry, which answers to me.”

“You’ll have to talk to her about this, ma’am.” Harry shrugged.

“And where is she?” Selwyn was snarling now.

“Resting.” At Grimmauld Place, together with the shipgirls, to be exact.

“This is an outrage!” Selwyn gesticulated wildly. “Unknown but dangerous magical creatures are on the loose in Britain, and you refuse to inform me!”

“Yes, ma’am.” Harry looked into her eyes. “We’re handling the matter, as I told you.”

“You...” she hissed.

“They are our friends.” Harry grinned. Neither he and his friends nor the shipgirls themselves were quite certain yet what they’d do, with the Bismarck and her fleet gone, but all of them agreed that it wouldn’t involve the Ministry having any say.

Selwyn actually paled when she understood what he hadn’t said, but instead hinted at. She was breathing heavily. She sat down, trembling, and shook her head. “Get out!”

Harry nodded at her, and left the office.

Dawlish followed him out. “She’s very stressed.”

“Yes. Even though the crisis is over now,” Harry said.

“Maybe she should retire.”

Harry glanced at the other wizard. “As I understand it, she is just a temporary replacement until a new Minister is elected.”

“Yes.” Dawlish nodded.

Harry narrowed his eyes. “You wouldn’t be planning to run for Minister?” It wouldn’t be the first time a Head Auror had been elected.

“I’d need more support than I currently have.” Dawlish smiled. “But given the rest of the candidates, I think I would do a better job. None of them have been Aurors. They don’t understand the price people pay for some policies.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Harry didn’t have a high opinion of Dawlish. The man was an idiot, but so were most Ministry employees. But he had an even worse opinion of the other candidates. And Dawlish was unlikely to outmaneuver them.

He’d have to talk this through with Ron and Hermione. And probably Arthur.

Having a Minister for Magic in your pocket would very useful.

*****​

Thames Estuary, Britain, May 11th, 2001

HMS Hood was in a mixed mood while she led her fleet back towards Britain’s shores. She was elated that they had beaten the Bismarck, and the enemy fleet. And Voldemort had been killed for good, according to Harry, Hermione and Ron. They had done their duty for England. Once more an invasion force had been shattered, and Britain kept safe. Hood felt proud to have kept up the tradition of the Royal Navy.

But the victory had not been without cost. Vampire and Firedrake had been sunk. Granted, the losses had been far less than she had feared or expected, but still - two of her comrades, gone. All the destroyers mourned their two sisters, but they were used to such losses - escorts were, to some degree at least, expendable. They would get over it. Hermes, though, had taken the loss of Vampire especially badly. She had been the carrier’s escort, in her last battle, where both had been sunk. To lose her now… Hood would need to talk with Hermes. And maybe with Glorious as well - that carrier wasn’t letting Acasta and Ardent out of her sight, and would probably keep planes tailing them should they be detached on a mission.

Behind her, Prince of Wales and Repulse sailed close together. Or rather, Repulse was sticking with Prince of Wales. Hood felt a bit torn about that. Maybe she was even jealous - Prince of Wales had been with her when they had hunted the Bismarck for the first time. Another thing they would have to sort out. A commander’s duty was never over. At least everyone was fully operational again, hulls, rigging and bodies. Magic was wonderful!

Though magic was also dangerous, Hood knew. Apparently, shipgirls were not as invulnerable to spells and curses as she had thought after the experiments with Hermione - the witch had burned that light cruiser to death, on land, with cursed fire. The battlecruiser shuddered at the thought. Another reason to stay on water- The sea was a ship’s friend.

But those were ultimately minor concerns. There was one far more important question to answer: What would her fleet be doing in the future? They were called back to defend Britain against an enemy only they could fight, and they had been victorious. What purpose did they have now? Warships had duties in peacetime as well - showing the flag, patrolling the sea lanes, search and rescue, even diplomacy. Hood was very familiar with such duties.

But they were not ships any more, not truly, were they? They were shipgirls. Spirits, souls of warships given a human form by magic. They couldn’t be part of the Royal Navy like this. And if they were normal ships, they would be decommissioned and wrecked anyway - although some of them might be turned into museum ships this time around. Hood shuddered at the number of her friends who had ended scrapped, discarded like rubbish despite their faithful service. Warspite at least had beached herself when she had torn free from the tug towing her to the breakers. A fitting gesture of defiance for the old lady.

But from what Hood had heard and overheard, the Ministry wouldn’t be a good place for her fleet either. They were wizards, not the Admiralty. They didn’t know anything about ships. And, she added with a grim expression, they didn’t seem to be trustworthy. At least that was the impression Harry, Hermione and Ron had given her.

She sighed, closing her eyes for just a moment. A ship, a shipgirl, needed a purpose. Her friends were still adjusting to their new existence, dealing with the battle they had been through, the victory they had won, and the losses they had suffered. But sooner or later, Hood would have to address this issue.

And she didn’t know how. Yet.

*****​

London, No. 10 Downing Street, May 11th, 2001

“Yes, sir. The enemy fleet and its leader have been completely destroyed. The Bismarck has been sunk,” Ron Weasley said, meeting the Prime Minister’s eyes.

The man didn’t look that reassured. “There won’t be a repeat of Tromso?”

“We’ve taken measures to prevent further such creatures from being called or summoned,” Ron said. “We are confident we have dealt with the source of the problem.” He smiled, trying not to show how tired he was.

“What’s the status of the Hood and the other Royal Navy shipgirls?” the Minister asked.

“Two destroyers were lost. The rest survived, although all suffered some damage in the battle, but for the carriers. They are on the way to full recovery though.” Physically, they already had recovered, but psychologically… Hermes had taken the loss of Vampire badly, and Glorious was still keeping up a combat air patrol as often as she could.

The Minister nodded. “We’ve been preparing a press release, stating that the terrorists responsible for the attacks on London and Tromso were intercepted in the North Sea and their ship sunk when they did not surrender.” The Prime Minister turned to Ron’s father, who had been watching the scene so far without comment. “We will be needing some help from you to make it look convincing. At least convincing enough to make those who doubt it look like conspiracy theorists. Our allies have been informed, and their intelligence services will suppress the truth as well.”

Arthur Weasley nodded. “The Ministry will provide all the help we can.”

Ron wondered if his father knew what conspiracy theorists were, then felt bad about the thought - his dad was not quite as naive as he sometimes acted. And the Ministry’s Obliviators would be able to provide the needed ‘proof’ for the muggles.

“But that leaves us with the question of the future status of the shipgirls.” The Prime Minister folded his hands on his desk. “What will they do, now that the enemy they were called back for to fight has been defeated? Will they vanish once more?”

Ron shook his head. “Our expert thinks that they will not vanish, but stay, based on the ritual that called them. We don’t know enough about them yet to make any other predictions at this time.”

“Will the Ministry of Magic be handling this matter?”

Ron was not quite certain, but he thought the Prime Minister was tenser than his expression and tone showed. He shook his head. “Not directly. It’s a matter for the Department of Mysteries.” Hermione would be quite busy fending off Horrible Hyacinth’s attempts to gain control over the shipgirls, but people like the acting Minister for Magic could not be trusted with such power. “The shipgirls consider themselves ships of the Royal Navy. They remember their past life as warships in the Second World War, fighting for Britain.” Ron didn’t think they saw themselves as magical creatures, and doubted they’d submit to the Ministry, should they try to push the issue - no matter how brave the Aurors and Hit-Wizards fighting at their side had been.

“I see.” The Prime Minister nodded. “Do they wish to join the Royal Navy?”

“They know they cannot join the muggle navy, sir. Not with the Statute of Secrecy in effect,” Ron said. The Prime Minister would know that as well. “They just fought a battle. Most of them haven’t been around for more than a day. They need time to adjust before they can make decisions about their future.” And it would be them deciding what they would do. Not anyone else.

“Of course.” The Prime Minister smiled. “Given their service to the country, I believe the Queen would like to meet them though, and honour their courage, in private at least.”

Ron wasn’t certain if the Queen knew about her intention yet, but there was no way he could turn this down - the shipgirls would jump at the chance to meet the Queen. So he nodded. “We’ll inform them, sir.”

The rest of the meeting was more talk about the battle, and the cover-up the muggles would be doing. From what Ron understood, they counted on the cover story not holding up to close scrutiny, but would be planting so many slightly more plausible rumours, the truth would be dismissed as too fantastic by all but the most paranoid people. At least that was the plan.

Before he could leave for Grimmauld Place though, his father held him back.

*****​

London, City of Westminster, May 11th, 2001

“The Ministry’s not certain how much they’ll release to the public. Magical creatures with that kind of power, outside the control of the Ministry - there would be panic in the streets if that was known.”

They had barely ordered a pint each before Ron’s father came to the point. Arthur Weasley looked tired and rather tense for a wizard who had just heard that his country was safe again, but he had been a Gryffindor, after all.

“They can’t keep this hidden. A dozen Aurors and Hit-Wizards know first-hand what shipgirls can do,” Ron said. “I’d not be surprised if the Prophet had a headline about them tomorrow. And Luna will likely run a series of articles about them.”

His dad winced. “That could be problematic.”

Ron shrugged. “You know that the Ministry having control over the shipgirls would be far, far worse. The idiots in the Wizengamot and the Ministry would probably start a war, drunk with that power. Unless the shipgirls don’t go to war first, when their heavy-handed stupidity grows unbearable.” Which, in Ron’s opinion, wouldn’t take longer than a week, at most.

“Are you counting on that, Ron?”

Ron blinked. “What?”

“Some people are worried that you - Harry, Hermione and yourself - are planning to use the chaos this can cause to take over the Ministry.” Arthur smiled apologetically.

Ron snorted. “We don’t want to take over the Ministry. We simply want to ensure that it won’t present a danger to us, our families and our friends, or others, ever again. That’s why Hermione took over the Department of Mysteries, and purged most of the Unspeakables. That’s why Harry and I hunted down the remaining Death Eaters.”

“Will you claim you control the shipgirls then?”

Yes, Ron’s dad was certainly not as naive as many thought. Ron smiled wrily. “We’ll not claim to control them. But Luna knows that the shipgirls are our friends.” Which would go into her next article.

“I see.” Arthur’s smile matched Ron’s.

The waitress arrived with their two pints, and the two wizards took sips in silence. It wasn’t a bad ale, Ron thought, but nothing special either.

“You mentioned your families, Ron,” Arthur broke the silence after a while.

“Yes, I did.” Ron stared at his dad. “Just because you don’t like our relationship doesn’t mean you stop being family.”

Arthur sighed. “It’s not about your relationship. It never was.” Ron raised his eyebrows at him, and he added: “Or it was never just about that.” His father sighed. “It was the secrets, the way you changed, isolated yourself, cut us off…”

Ron didn’t want to argue, but he couldn’t let that stand. “You know why we acted as we did. You didn’t believe us. We did what we had to.”

“Yes. And Molly hasn’t forgiven herself for not being there for you. For not believing you.” His dad sighed again. “She’s been as worried as in the last war, these days. Knowing that you three would be fighting again…”

Ron winced. He knew his mum. “I’m sorry, but there was no choice. No one else could have done what we did.”

“Would you have let someone else do it, if there had been a choice?”

Ron took a sip from his ale instead of answering.

His father shook his balding head, sighing. “Of course you wouldn’t. Gryffindors, the lot of us.”

“Yes.” Ron nodded.

“There will be another family dinner. Tomorrow evening.”

“It would be best to hold it at Grimmauld Place,” Ron said. “We have a lot of guests we’d rather not leave alone.”

Arthur blinked. “Oh. I see. Molly will want to cook though.”

“Harry will probably be too busy at the Ministry anyway.” Ron shrugged. His friend was a bit protective of his kitchen, but Molly knew her way around it. She had cooked there for the Order during their fifth year, after all.

“Ah.” Arthur cleared his throat. “I, err, was wondering… are you three involved with Hood?”

Ron stared at his dad. “No.” And if they were, then it wouldn’t be anyone’s business but their own.

“Ah, good. Molly’s been coming around, about your relationship. She’s been talking about how you three were inseparable while at Hogwarts. How she should have seen it coming.”

“Ah.” That sounded like Mum, Ron thought.

“So… we’ll see you tomorrow then. I’ll tell Molly.”

“And I’ll tell Harry and Hermione.”

It would be good to have normal family dinners again, Ron thought. Even if they tended to be quite lively.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, May 11th, 2001

Hermione Granger felt slightly guilty at letting Harry and Ron handle the Ministry and the muggle government, despite being a department head herself. But she was tired - not quite exhausted, despite what her friends thought - and she feared that if Selwyn was her usual annoying self, Hermione would hex the old witch into a puddle. And someone had to take care of the shipgirls. She wasn’t looking forward to casting the Doubling Charm a few dozen times. Maybe she should simply cast the Gemino Curse variant. Grinning, she imagined burying the kitchen in food, and letting the shipgirls eat their way through it. Harry would have kittens at seeing his kitchen defiled like that, but then, she could probably clean it up before he was home, even if calling her parents and informing them that the danger was over - they had been going spare after the attack on Tromso - had delayed her return to the house for a bit. Although it might also have helped mend some fences.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a glaring, pouting blonde witch. And her remaining guilt evaporated - her boys had left her to handle Luna!

“Hermione!”

“Hello, Luna.” Hermione steeled herself. “We won.”

“Of course you did! And you’ll tell me everything - later.” Luna huffed and drew her wand, stalking towards her. A few flicks later - her diagnostic charms had improved, Hermione noted - the blonde frowned. “You exhausted yourself! You’re running on Pepper-Up potions!”

“I just took one,” Hermione said.

“You should know better!”

“Someone has to look after the shipgirls,” Hermione defended herself. “They need a lot of food.”

“I can do that!” Luna’s pout deepened. She was apparently still mad about them making her promise not to join the battle - the blonde was a brave and skilled witch, but she was not quite the flyer Ron and Harry were, and Azkaban… Luna’s nightmares had been bad enough after the first time she had ventured there, with the forces retaking it after Voldemort had fallen. The blonde had been their best expert on Dementors, but Hermione would rather see the island nuked than let Luna visit again after seeing the nightmares that trip had caused her friend to suffer through.

Feeling guilty, she nodded. “Alright, you win. I’ll go rest, and you can feed the shipgirls.”

“Yay!” Luna hugged her.

“And you can glare at Harry and Ron, once they return - they are not resting either,” Hermione said.

“Will do!” The blonde nodded enthusiastically.

Hermione considered making Luna promise that she wouldn’t just duplicate pudding, ice cream and cake, but decided against it. The shipgirls had certainly earned it.

And it would keep Luna busy and happy. Something Hermione and her friends considered quite important.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, May 12th, 2001

Hermione Granger entered the Ministry’s restored atrium at a brisk pace, early in the morning. She had to check up on her department, and deal with the work that had piled up over the last few days. She couldn’t delegate too much, unfortunately - a number of things were just too dangerous to trust others with. Not even to her handpicked Unspeakables.

She did notice that the guards at the entrance seemed twitchier than usual, and that a lot of the employes were staring at her, even whispering to each other once she had walked past. It was almost as bad as after Voldemort’s defeat.

The young witch sniffed. This time, there wouldn’t be a purge, so there was no need for the Ministry employees to be afraid of her and her friends. Or there shouldn’t be - she knew a number of people resented her, both for cleaning out the Department of Mysteries of pureblood bigots with the morals and ethics of mad Nazi scientists, and for being installed as the Head of the Department of Mysteries as a muggleborn witch, and a muggleborn witch who had not even taken her N.E.W.T.s to boot!

She could have taken the exams any time since then, but she hadn’t cared enough to - she had long since realised that her grades would not have helped her much, not in the old Ministry, where blood had counted far more than talent. And not in the new Ministry either - she relied on her, if she did say so herself, obvious talent. And, she added to herself, her and her friends’ power.

She stepped up to the lifts, and hid a grin when the crowd parted for her. It was petty, but she liked this. It was far easier to deal with bureaucrats if they were afraid of her. Hopefully, this time it would last longer, but she hadn’t that much faith in her co-workers - Ministry employees, especially the older, pureblood ones, didn’t tend to have good memories. Although the Bismarck’s attack had shaken Wizarding Britain up, so maybe she wouldn’t have to waste as much time dealing with power plays. Hopefully.

The lift arrived, and she entered. A few younger witches and wizards joined her. They kept their distance, but they didn’t look afraid of her. Though Hermione wasn’t quite certain that she liked the way they seemed awed any more.

She recognised a few of them - they had been at Hogwarts with her, if not in her year or dorm. “Hello, Mister Carter, Miss Smith.” Hermione nodded at them. They would have been at Hogwarts during the battle as well.

“Ah… hello,” Smith managed to say. Carter just nodded.

Hermione considered making an attempt at small talk, but decided against it. Ron was the one who was good at that. Fortunately, they left the lift at the next floor, before the silence became awkward.

She felt some of her tension leave when she entered the Department of Mysteries. Her department. She had been molding it for years. It wasn’t quite home, of course, but it was hers. “Good morning, Jonathan,” she greeted the wizard at the entrance.

Jonathan Meyer smiled at her. “Hail the conquering hero!”

She snorted at his joke. “We did what we needed to.” Since no one else was around, she added: “How did the Department hold up without me?”

“As usual, ma’am,” the wizard said. “Richard pulled an all-nighter, and Baker and Ellis had another row in the break room.”

“I see.” So, things were back to normal, at least in her domain.

“People are curious about the ‘allies’ we’ve heard about,” Jonathan said.

She laughed. “They’ll have to be a bit more patient. I’m not about to let them poke my new friends until they have settled in. They’re a bit twitchy after the battle.” She didn’t want to find out how Hood would react to Richard trying to examine her - the wizard had no tact at all, and rarely bothered to explain what he was doing. She grew serious and stared at Jonathan. “Anything concerning them is not to be shared with others.” Everyone would receive a memo, of course, but Jonathan would be more effective at making the rest of her crew understand that she meant it.

“Of course, ma’am.”

She smiled, and continued towards her office. Entering it, she sealed the door and cast a series of detection spells to check for intruders as well as eavesdropping spells and devices. Voldemort’s soul was no longer sealed in her hidden vault, but she wasn’t about to suddenly change her routine. She had other secrets to protect as well. Like the shipgirls’.

She sat down and glanced at the picture on her desk, the one taken of Harry, Ron and herself, waving and smiling, in 1994. Seven years ago.

It was time to add another picture, she decided. A current one.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, May 12th, 2001

Harry Potter generally liked cooking. It was simple, safe, and relaxing. And there was no pressure - Hermione couldn’t cook and wouldn’t complain about his cooking as long as it was edible, Ron wasn’t a picky eater to begin with, and Luna… as long as their blonde friend had a wide selection of seasonings to spice up their food - a very wide one - she was happy.

Today though, cooking was a challenge. Molly Weasley had taken up residence in Harry’s kitchen, and was preparing a feast for their ‘victory dinner’, as it had been dubbed by people other than Harry. And he had to work hard just trying to keep up with Ron’s mum. Molly could have been a professional chef - still could, Harry thought - and she had the attitude and work ethic to match. All around her, spice jars and bottles floated, dipping seemingly randomly over pots and pans while floating knives filleted the fish for the first course.

“Harry, could you tell me where the pickled vegetables are?”

“Ah… they should be in the pantry,” Harry said, washing the salad.

“There aren’t any there.”

“But I restocked just last wee…” Harry trailed off, sighing, when he remembered that Luna had been back for a few days. He didn’t exactly know what she was doing with the pickles - he suspected she wasn’t eating them - but they vanished at a rapid rate whenever the blonde visited. “I’ll go buy some.”

“Don’t take too long, Harry!” Molly said, flicking her wand.

Harry nodded even as he saw how the different pots and pans were readjusted, to take the delay into account. For a moment, he was tempted to send Ron to buy the pickled vegetables, and stay and simply watch. But he decided against it - a short trip would be relaxing. “It’s just a quick trip, Molly,” he answered.

She laughed. “A trip in a country you just saved again. You might want to take your cloak, to avoid getting mobbed by well-wishers.” Her smile was open, warm and honest.

It was a far cry from how things had been at that dinner at the Weasleys, a few weeks after the Burrow had been rebuilt.

*****​

“Ron! And Harry and Hermione! Come inside!” Molly’s welcoming smile looked a bit strained to Harry, and when he glanced to his friends, Ron was wincing and Hermione was pressing her lips together into a thin line, an expression he knew meant she was barely hiding her annoyance.

Molly vanished into the kitchen, citing the need to observe the roast, and they entered the new living room, where they saw Arthur get up - and fold the latest issue of the Daily Prophet to stick down the side of the couch. That explained it. Harry knew they should have been expecting that. They had talked about it, but he had still hoped it wouldn’t be quite that awkward.

“Come, sit down,” Arthur said, waving at the other seats.

Harry wasn’t certain, but he thought the wizard looked somewhat nervous too. There were three seats for them, and he was about to sit down in one of them when Hermione flicked her wand, and turned them into one couch. Large enough for all three of them. Her glance towards Harry made it clear she’d not budge on this, and so they sat down, with Hermione in the middle.

Arthur visibly swallowed. Things were going well indeed, Harry thought.

“I’ve heard you’ve accepted positions in the Ministry,” the older wizard said. “In the Auror Corps and in the Department of Mysteries. Congratulations.” With a still slightly strained smile, he added: “Molly was ecstatic when she heard.”

Hermione smiled thinly. “I’ll be rebuilding the Department of Mysteries. Most of the current staff will either be sent to Azkaban, or executed after their trials are done. Those still alive, at least.” The witch shook her head. “The things we found in there… they made Malfoy Manor’s basement look like the Hufflepuff’s first year dorm. But we’ll be colleagues, both Department Heads.”

Arthur stared. Some things apparently hadn’t been talked about that much. Or no one had wanted to talk to him about this, out of fear of the news reaching Harry and his friends. “Kingsley has been talking about a promotion, but he said it wasn’t certain yet.”

“I doubt the Wizengamot - what’s left of it - will object,” Ron said, snorting. “They were spooked right proper after we dealt with the Unspeakables.”

His father winced, but nodded. “Still, the same was said after the first war. And you know how that turned out.”

“That’s why we’ll make certain that things will not be repeated this time around,” Harry said. “We’ll hunt down every last supporter of Voldemort. It’s why we’ve become Aurors.” The real reason was that Kingsley wanted them to do this officially, so he’d at least look as if he was in control.

Ron nodded. “We’re skipping the academy though. We’re going straight into the Auror Corps.”

“Ah. Are you certain that this is wise, though?” Arthur looked concerned. “That often breeds resentment, and you might be missing some training needed for your work.”

Ron shrugged. “We can hunt down dark wizards and other scum just fine. We did catch more Death Eaters than the Aurors combined, last count.”

They hadn’t really bothered with catching most of them alive, which had made things easier, of course, but that wasn’t a topic for this conversation either.

“We want to use our current influence and reputation to set things right in the Ministry,” Hermione said. “Before people start to forget what happened.”

“No one will ever forget what you did for us,” Arthur said.

Harry snorted. “They already did, once.” He pointed at the folded newspaper. “And they are already starting to, again.”

“I should have squashed that bug,” he heard Hermione mumbling. They had discussed dealing with Skeeter, after she had written an article speculating about their involvement in Lucius Malfoy’s death, but had decided against it. And now, if anything happened to the muckraker, then they’d be the prime suspects, and their plans would suffer even more.

Arthur glanced at the newspaper. “Ah… Rita was quite…” He winced, then added: “...her usual self.”

Harry snorted. They waited, but Arthur didn’t ask if what the article had stated about their relationship was true. Not even when they were staring at him, daring him to ask.

And then Ginny arrived, waving the Daily Prophet as if it was a battle flag, before slapping it down on the table in the living room so hard, the pictures of Harry, Hermione and Ron on the front page were sent reeling in their frames. “What is this?” she yelled. “They say you are… all three of you… Merlin’s arse! I’ll dunk Skeeter in honey and leave her to Luna’s Flesh-Eating Fire Ants!”

Then she noticed their seating arrangement. How close they sat to each other. Harry and Ron leaning into Hermione. Thighs touching. And she gaped, her mouth opening and closing without a sound coming out.

The tirade which had followed had set a new record even for the Burrow. Things had been said, or rather yelled, by Ginny and Molly while Arthur kept out of the way, though not speaking up for the trio either, and it had taken a year for the family dinners to include Harry and his friends again - and no one raised the topic of their relationship again.

*****​

Harry shook his head as the memories of that dinner faded. Things had changed. Fences had been mended, even if it had taken another war to completely get past the awkwardness that still lingered. But that was, in a way, typical for the Weasleys - When push came to shove, family closed ranks.

On the way towards the fireplace in the entrance hall, he found Sikh and Cossack talking to a portrait in the hallway. Or listening, to be precise. Hieronymus Black apparently had been an active sailor in the 16th century, during the conflict with Spain, and was spinning an enthralling tale. And flirting shamelessly with the two women while claiming that he had always known ships had souls and were magical.

Hermione was at work and, apart from Molly, the rest of the family hadn’t yet arrived. Ron had left with Glorious and Acasta and Ardent for the Thames Estuary again, where the carrier was running a combat air patrol. She had claimed it was to keep in practice, and to search for enemies that might have escaped, but Harry doubted that that was all there was to it. Hood would handle it though, or so he hoped. The rest of the shipgirls were either sleeping or poking around the house. Or in the living room, chatting with Luna, who was recording their histories for The Quibbler.

His family had grown, Harry realised with a smile, while stepping into the fireplace.

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, May 12th, 2001

Harry Potter read the Daily Prophet’s lead article as he waited for his turn at the grocer in Diagon Alley - Luna also insisted on magical pickled vegetables, claiming muggle ones were unsuitable for whatever she needed them for. It was full of praise, mostly for him and his friends and their ‘mysterious allies’ - a blatant hint at Hermione’s department - and very short on information. But there was no dig at their relationship, nor any veiled scorn at their past. Harry kept re-reading it, mostly to use the newspaper to hide behind - Molly had been right; he had been mobbed in the Leaky Cauldron, almost as badly as when Hagrid had taken him there for the first time, ten years ago.

Their renewed fame would be a great help for their plans for further reforms in Wizarding Britain, but currently, it made shopping quite an adventure, Harry thought. Or an annoyance. He couldn’t help but feel slightly resentful that all those who were now showering him with praise and gratitude would have, until recently, clucked their tongues at the ‘sordid tale’ of his relationship with his friends.

His turn came, and he lowered his newspaper as he stepped up to the counter. “I’ll need the usual range of pickled vegetables.”

The vendor’s eyes went wide. “Mister Potter! What an honour!”

The man’s voice carried through the whole shop, and a dozen people made a beeline for the young wizard, their voices rising as everyone tried to make themselves heard over everyone else.

Harry forced himself to smile, facing another ten minutes of being mobbed. Hopefully, the clerk would prepare his usual order in the meantime. An annoyance, to be certain - but far better than the alternative.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, May 12th, 2001

“An excellent meal, Mrs Weasley,” HMS Hood said, inclining her head at the older witch at the table. The shipgirls at the table, busy stuffing themselves, vocally agreed. Or made loud agreeing noises, in the case of several destroyers who apparently couldn’t be bothered to swallow and pause for a moment to thank their hosts properly. It truly was an outstanding meal - far better than the dishes served to flag officers on her decks in the past, Hood thought.

Far less formal, though, as well - her fellow warships, with the exception of the destroyers who had not been used to such occasions, had been surprised, if not shocked at that, the battlecruiser knew. Seeing what they had come to see as commanding officers - although from another branch of the Military - being berated by a tiny slip of a girl for never writing enough, hugs being exchanged all around, tears appearing in several eyes… that would take some time to get used to.

But they would get used to it, Hood knew. Of course, they wouldn’t go quite that far - discipline and military bearing were the backbone of the Navy, after all. But Hood wanted her fleet to be a family as well, not just a formation. She wanted to experience the same warmth and intimacy the wizards and witches at the table showed to each other. And, to her surprise, to the fleet as well - Mrs Weasley had all but adopted the destroyers, and was making headway with the carriers.

She would have made headway with Prince of Wales and Repulse as well, but those two… Hood sighed. If only Repulse was not so jealous and clingy - Prince of Wales had been her partner, and she hadn’t died on Hood’s watch! Unfortunately, Hood was the commanding officer of the fleet. The flagship too. She couldn’t use - abuse - her power to settle things. Maybe she should ask Harry how he had managed to settle his relationships.

There were more important matters to consider anyway, she thought, holding her plate up for another magical refill. The future of her fleet being the most important one. Things apparently were changing at the Ministry, but the thought of being under the command of politicians, be they wizards and witches or not, with no military experience, and especially no naval experience, was not a comforting one.

Although, she added to herself, looking at Harry, Hermione, and Ron talking with Luna and Cossack, there were wizards and witches Hood and her fleet trusted. Veterans who knew the price of war, and would not risk it for petty reasons, yet would not shy away from it either when it was needed.

She’d have to talk to them later. For now, she had a victory dinner to enjoy. And a battleship to court.

*****​

Atlantic Ocean, Denmark Strait, July 26th, 2001

Her last surviving crewman was old, HMS Hood noticed when she saw him standing on the quarterdeck of the Northern Horizon. Sixty years since her sinking had left their traces. And yet he stood straight as he pushed the button that would release a memorial plaque containing the honour rolls of her crew at the bow of her wreck.

Her wreck. It felt very strange, to be on board another ship, floating above her own remains, Hood thought. Uncomfortable too - sailing over her own grave. But at the same time it felt good to see herself and her crew remembered. Cared for. And to see her last sailor, alive, honouring her.

She longed to step forward, reveal herself. But she couldn’t. She wasn’t even supposed to be there - she had slipped on the ship with the help of Harry, invisible, just an hour ago. A stowaway battlecruiser, she thought snorting.

The crewmember in front of her, watching the memorial service, must have heard her, since he turned around, frowning when he couldn’t spot anyone. She slipped away, silently, to another spot from where she could observe the service, and honour her crew. She didn’t want to see her wreck though, that would have been too much, so she avoided glancing at the TV monitors. Anyway, what mattered was her crew, both living and dead.

She closed her eyes as the service continued, remembering the battle, her sinking, and her crew’s death, as tears ran down her cheeks. So many had gone down with her. So few had survived, and now only one man was left.

She saw him standing at the rail, staring out at the water, after the service had ended. He remembered as well, she realised. Hood moved next to him. She simply had to. He couldn’t see her, of course - she was still invisible. He was talking, she realised. To her, and to her crew.

“Thank you.”

Her whispered words slipped out before she noticed she was talking. She saw him jerk, surprised - the crew had given him space. But unlike the other man, he didn’t frown when he couldn’t see her. He smiled instead, and nodded.

Hood saluted him, then put her hand on his shoulder. This time he did jerk, his eyes widening. She withdrew her hand slowly, whispered once more “Thank you”, then slipped away.

A long trip home awaited her.

*****​

 

Epilogue: Rule, Britannia!

Mediterranean Sea, North of Algiers, Algeria June 21st, 2003

Ron Weasley sat on his broom and watched as the shipgirls who had just dropped into the sea below him took up formation. With his enchanted glasses he had no trouble making them out despite the dim light from the stars. Hood had called the force the ‘Mediterranean Squadron’, though it would not stay long in those waters. The battlecruiser was in the centre, flanked by Repulse and Prince of Wales. Glorious was a bit behind them, already launching planes, while Sikh and Cossack raced ahead, towards the Algerian coast, and Acasta and Ardent guarded the capital ships. Shipgirls.

A pair of Sea Gladiators zipped by, waggling their wings at him, and Ron waved back. He glanced to his side, where his brother Bill and his sister-in-law Fleur were astride their brooms. Both seemed to be gaping - it was the first time they’d seen the shipgirls in action, so to speak. It would have been funny, if not for the reason for this deployment.

A week ago, Gabrielle Delacour had been kidnapped during a trip to the Cote d’Azur by raiders from the Barbary Coast - rogue elements, according to the Magical Regency of Algiers. No one really believed the fiction though - the Dey of Algiers was too quick to offer his help in arranging a ransom, and this hadn’t been the first such raid.

If things went well though, then it would be the last. Dawlish had jumped at the chance to do something about the ‘Barbary Coast problem’, as the diplomats used to call the slave raids from the magical enclaves of Morocco, Algeria and Tunisia. The Minister for Magic had been quick to offer Britain’s help to Magical France and even quicker to authorise this operation, when Ron, Harry and Hermione had informed him of the kidnapping and their plans. Dawlish knew just how popular they still were among the public, and he also knew that they’d have gone ahead with or without his authorisation - Gabrielle was family, and family stuck together. The Weasleys knew that better than anyone else.

Ron snorted, remembering the reaction of the rest of his siblings when he, Harry and Hermione had told them they couldn’t come along - as close as they once again were, he knew that the other Weasleys were not quite in shape for such missions. At least Luna was still in the Amazon, on another expedition. The blonde would have wanted to come along too, and Ron and his friends would have had a hard time refusing her.

The shipgirls, of course, had all volunteered as well. The Royal Navy had bombarded Algiers in the past to stop their pirating and slaving, and all of them were eager to help history repeat itself in this particular case.

Ron touched the communication mirror stuck to his collar. “Strike force to Recon: Squadron deployed.”

“Recon to Strike force: Landing site is clear.” Harry had gone ahead on his broom while the shipgirls were dropping in, to check on the landing site they had scouted out two days ago. His report meant that there were no muggles present along the route to Magical Algiers.

“Alright. We’re moving in.”

“Mediterranean Squadron is moving to cover the landing,” Hood said.

Ron leaned forward on his broom and started to fly towards the coast, followed by the rest of the strike force - Hermione, Bill, Fleur, and half a dozen volunteers from the Auror Corps and the Hit-Wizards. Almost all of them were veterans of the Battle of Azkaban - or, as the shipgirls called it, the Second Battle of Dogger Bank.

They didn’t take long to reach the coast - Hermione’s portkey had been right on the mark - and soon landed in the small cove Ron and Harry had discovered a day ago.

“The shipgirls will take a bit longer,” Ron said, mostly to Bill and Fleur; the rest knew how fast their friends were. He shrank his broom.

“Alright,” Harry said, “This is our first extraction point. Be ready to apparate back here once we are done, or if you get separated from your group.” He laid a map out on a conjured table. “The Dey’s palace is in the centre of the town. We’ll move up the hill here, where we have a line of sight to it.”

Ron went past Harry, to watch their surroundings - he already knew the map by heart. Hermione followed him, covering the other side. She had studied their memories in their Pensieve.

He didn’t spot anyone, muggle or wizards. He touched his mirror again. “Path up the hill is clear. Hood, what’s your status?”

“We’ll be in position in ten minutes.” The battlecruiser’s tone was crisp and controlled, as usual before a battle.

“You heard the lady,” Harry said. “Let’s move.”

It wasn’t a long trip, but parts of it were rather steep, and through unfamiliar terrain for most of the group. Without their enchanted glasses allowing them to see clearly at night, they’d not have made it in time. Even so, a number of them were cursing, and Ron noted with some amusement that Bill and Fleur were slightly out of breath - family life must have caused them to slack off a bit, he thought.

He crouched behind a boulder on the hilltop and studied Magical Algiers through his Omnioculars. It was larger than Hogsmeade, and the Dey’s Palace was as big as Hogwarts. It wasn’t as well protected, of course, but its wards were still very strong - quite a bit stronger than those on Malfoy Manor had been. Even Hermione would take a long time to get through them - time they didn’t have.

Time they didn’t need.

“Mediterranean Squadron in position and ready,” Hood spoke through the mirror. “Spotting planes overhead.”

Next to Ron, Hermione fiddled with her own Omnioculars, then nodded at him.

He grinned. “Fire.”

*****​

West of Magical Algiers, Algeria June 21st, 2003

Hermione Granger briefly let her gaze wander over the capital of the Magical Regency of Algiers. It was a very beautiful town. For a wizarding settlement, it was rather new as well - the Regency had moved the entire Magical Quarter of Algiers out of the muggle town after the French had conquered the country in 1830, forming a purely magical enclave to the west of Algiers.

It was also a hub for Barbary Coast raiders preying on the magical settlements in the Mediterranean, pillaging and kidnapping, like their muggle predecessors had centuries ago. Countless wizards and witches had been held for ransom - or outright enslaved. Magical Europe had never managed to stop them, though the slavers had grown very cautious and restrained themselves while Dumbledore had been the Supreme Mugwump - not even the most greedy slaver wanted to risk retribution from the Vanquisher of Grindelwald. After Dumbledore’s death in 1996, though, the number of raids had quickly increased again as the Barbary Coast wizards grew bolder.

Hermione and her friends had come to put an end to those raids once and for all. That was why Hood and her squadron was here - if they had just come to rescue Gabrielle, they wouldn’t have needed a fleet. But Gabrielle was the perfect excuse for an intervention without causing too much trouble in the ICW for Wizarding Britain. Ever since the unveiling of Britain’s shipgirl fleet, many countries had been voicing their concerns about the threat the fleet represented. After today, that would grow worse. Some of them would try to summon shipgirls of their own, she knew. A number had tried before, without success so far, thanks to the Fidelius protecting the secret. And, Hermione added, thanks to a few careful wordings in Luna’s articles for The Quibbler. She knew, though, that nothing would last forever. Knew and was planning for it.

The witch heard the sound of 15-inch guns firing both through her communication mirror as well as a few seconds later from the sea. She was watching the Dey’s Palace through her Omnioculars as the first two shells struck. The wards flared up under the impact, as predicted, but did not collapse. “Fire the next volley,” she spoke into her mirror. Hood’s B-Turret fired, and two more 15-inch shells struck the Palace. This time, the wards didn’t hold, and part of the outer wall was pulverised - together with a smaller building, probably stables, next to it. “Sikh, fire one shell at the palace’s dome.”

“Aye aye, commander!” came the eager acknowledgement of the Tribal-class destroyer, and one of her 4.7-inch guns spoke. Shortly afterwards, Hermione saw the shell hit the dome and explode, blowing a hole into it. “The shell wasn’t affected by any magical protection. The wards are down,” she said.

“Hood, start shelling the harbour,” Ron ordered. “Strike Group - apparate to the palace!”

Hermione stowed the Omnioculars, slid her enchanted glasses on and focused on the Palace she had studied so intently. A second later, she stood at the side of the main building, together with the rest of the group. The Aurors and Hit-Wizards were already casting the jinxes to keep the inhabitants of the palace from escaping by magical means. Below them, the shipgirls were turning the harbour to rubble and sinking the Algerian ships.

She saw Harry point his wand at the walls of the palace’s main building and blow a hole in it. Two Hit-Wizards moved with him, covering the breach with their wands.

“Anti-Portkey and Anti-Apparition Jinxes cast,” Bess Elwes announced.

“Strike Group, move in! Hood, start diversionary shelling in one minute!” Ron ordered, then moved towards the breach in the wall.

Following Harry, Ron and the rest of the group inside, Hermione winced. It wouldn’t be a serious bombardment, at least not in the opinion of Hood and the other shipgirls. Just the destroyers lobbing a few shells into the town. Even so, attacking what were essentially civilian targets didn’t sit right with the muggleborn witch. But, Hermione told herself, decent wards would stand up to one hit from a 4.7-inch shell. More importantly though, it was needed, and not just as a diversion for the strike group - the Barbary Coast Magical Enclaves had to finally learn that the days of their slaving raids were over. And for that, the Royal Navy had to make an example.

Inside, she recognised the hallway from the memories of other kidnapped victims the French had provided. As planned, they were close to the Dey’s harem, where prominent female kidnapping victims were usually kept until their ransom was paid. Kept in trust for their families as well as for the kidnappers, the Dey claimed, as an honourable go-between. As if anyone believed his lies.

Hermione saw spells flash ahead of them, and heard someone begin screaming, then suddenly stop.

“Two guards down,” Harry announced through the mirror.

“More coming from the courtyard,” Ron said. “Peters, hold them at bay with your team, we’re pushing on to the harem entrance.”

Hermione ran past the Auror, who was taking cover behind conjured walls. She heard him order a volley of Blasting Curses before she turned around the next corner. Seconds afterwards, explosions erupted behind her.

Another corner. She passed two Hit-Wizards, absentmindedly noting that if Ron and Harry’s plans to form an official ‘Naval Support Force’ out of the usual volunteers for their excursions were to happen, they would need to introduce regular physical training sessions for the recruits, and reached Harry and Ron. In front of them was the entrance to the Dey’s harem. And there was a massive red-skinned figure standing, no, floating before it. A genie.

Hermione hissed through clenched teeth. That hadn’t been in the memories they had seen. Genies were generally as strong and tough as trolls, if not as magically-resistant. But they could cast spells and fly.

Ron turned towards her. “Start taking down the wards protecting the harem. We’ll handle the guard.”

Hermione ground her teeth, but nodded. They couldn’t take too much time, or the Dey’s men, currently confused and panicking, would rally. She had to trust that her friends could handle this.

She looked at Bill. “Follow my lead, we’ll take the wards down hard.” Which meant they would cause the wards to overload and implode, instead of weakening them gradually. A dangerous technique, but far quicker than the alternative. Bill swallowed, then nodded - he was a Gryffindor, after all.

Grinning grimly, Hermione started to cast as Ron and Harry rushed forward.

*****​

Magical Algiers, Algeria June 21st, 2003

The red-skinned genie was as tall as a troll, Harry Potter noted when he moved towards the right wall and sent a Piercing Curse at the creature. He had dealt with trolls before. Next to him, Ron was moving to the left wall, forcing the guard to split his attention.

The genie flicked its saber and swatted the curse away, then roared and flew towards Harry, raising its blade as it dodged a Bludgeoning Curse from Ron. Harry reacted by conjuring a wall in its path. The creature didn’t crash into it, but that didn’t matter much - Harry’s Reductor Curse blew the wall up and sent its pieces flying at the guard.

Or rather, at the genie’s Shield Charm, which deflected them easily. Ron’s Piercing Curse shattered it, but the creature was moving again, its saber flashing, and Harry was thrown back into the wall despite his own Shield Charm. He slid down, rolling beneath another swing, and dove forward, past the brute, casting a Cutting Curse at it from behind.

Unfortunately, the genie moved, and instead of cutting its neck, the spell only caused a gash to open in its shoulder, spilling burning blood. It wasn’t even deep enough to make it drop the saber. It felt the wound, though, and screamed with rage. A second later, fire leapt from its free hand at Harry.

The wizard’s Shield Charm kept the flames from touching him, but the air around him was heating up rapidly. A flick of his wrist, and water started to shoot out of his wand, turning to steam where it met the genie’s fire, countering the blistering heat enough for him to fall back.

A loud explosion shook the floor, and dust joined the steam, further reducing visibility. Harry tapped his enchanted glasses, but with the steam filling the hallway, even the ability to see heat didn’t help. He fell further back - towards the entrance to the harem. The creature would be between him and Ron now, but hidden in the cloud of steam and dust.

Not for long, though - Harry cast a Freezing Charm into the cloud, turning the steam to water, then to ice, revealing the snarling creature - shrouded in flames. It shouted something in a language Harry didn’t understand, waved its hand, and three thin spikes appeared and shot at him.

His Shield Charm stopped two, but the third broke through, and buried itself in his thigh. Harry hissed with pain, but managed to hit the creature with a Bludgeoning Curse that slammed it into the wall. It shook its head, but before it could move, Ron hit it with a volley of Cutting Curses that left deep gashes in its chest, liquid fire pouring out. It screamed, and whiled around, sending fire at Ron - which gave Harry the opportunity to conjure a cage to trap it, while Ron doused himself with water.

The genie struggled to break free, but the cage held it in place long enough for Harry to kill it with Piercing Curses to its head. Panting, he dropped on his good knee, clenched his teeth and pulled the spike out of his thigh. He hissed with pain, but managed to close the wound before he lost too much blood.

“You alright?” Ron asked.

“I’m fine,” Harry said and looked at him. His friend’s robe was scorched, and his hair would need some regrowing, but he was otherwise unhurt - or looked unhurt. Ron wasn’t that much better at being honest about his health than Harry.

“Don’t let Hermione hear that,” Ron said, chuckling.

Behind him, Hermione, looking as tired as Harry felt, Bill - in a similar condition - and Fleur, covering their rear, came up to them. “The wards are down,” their lover told the two wizards, “but we were seen by guards, and one of them escaped. Bess and her group are holding their reinforcements back. We don’t have much time left.” She pointed her wand at the door to the harem. “Alohomora! Depulso!”

The large door was blasted open, and Harry heard shrieks from inside. He moved forward, though his leg was still hurting, and Fleur rushed past him.

“Gabrielle! Gabrielle!” the Veela shouted.

Ron cursed and ran after her. Harry was about to follow him when Hermione stopped him. “Let me check your leg!”

“I’m fine,” he spat.

“That’s why you’re limping worse than Moody?” Hermione pursed her lips and shook her head, flicking her wand. “You won’t bleed out, but you’ll not run until this is treated properly.”

“Good thing we have brooms and portkeys then,” Harry said, grinning while he tried to ignore his pain.

Hermione snorted, then looked back at the other hallway. “More guards are coming from there.”

The two filled the hallway with walls and pit traps while moving into the harem. There Fleur had found her sister, and the two Veela were hugging each other, crying. Several girls and women, dressed in richly-embroidered robes, were watching from a corner, looking frightened. One of them was holding her wrist, and Harry saw a wand on the ground. He glanced at Ron.

His friend shrugged, then touched the mirror on his collar. “Bess, what’s your status?”

“We’re holding them at bay, but they are tenacious. Brave too. Two of us are wounded, but able to walk,” the female Auror’s voice sounded through the mirror.

“Fall back to the Harem and prepare to evacuate. We’ll take down the Anti-Portkey and Anti-Apparition Jinxes,” Ron said. “Peters, prepare to apparate out as well.”

Harry was already doing that - they needed to get out now. He saw Hermione step up to the other witches watching them. His lover said something in Arabic - or so he thought - and the women looked terrified. Hermione pulled out a rope, and repeated the phrase, then beckoned the witches.

While Harry took down the jinxes, Bess and her team arrived - one of them being levitated alongside. The girls who had been approaching Hermione gasped, but a sharp command from the witch had them grip the rope.

“Bess, check the rooms - we don’t want to leave anyone back here!” Ron yelled.

While the Auror ran off, two others of her team sealed the door. Harry took a deep breath. “Jinxes down!” he announced.

“Peters, get out!” Ron said to the mirror. A few seconds later, Peters’s voice announced that they had arrived back at the landing spot.

Harry looked at Fleur, Bill and Gabrielle. “Your turn now.”

Bill looked like he was about to contradict him, but Fleur put her hand on his arm, and the Curse-Breaker relented. A moment later, all three vanished with their portkey.

A scream and a curse had Harry whirl around - and grunt when pain flared up in his wounded leg. That had come from the back of the harem. He looked at Ron, who nodded at him, his own wand aimed. Before the two of them could move though, Bess appeared in the main room, bleeding from her shoulder, and herding three more girls before her.

“Damned scared idiot hit me when I tried to to get them out,” the Auror said.

The girls ran over to the rest of the women and touched the rope after a brief exchange of words Harry didn’t understand. An instant later, Hermione activated the portkey, and they too vanished.

“Everyone else, apparate to the landing site!” Ron ordered.

A second later, Harry landed roughly on the beach, causing more pain to his wounded leg. He clenched his teeth, and quickly checked. Hermione and Ron were there, as were Fleur, Gabrielle and Bill.

“My team’s complete!” Peters announced.

“Mine as well,” Bess said.

Harry saw Ron nod, and touch the mirror again while the wounded were being treated.

“Hood, we’re all clear. Wreck the palace!”

*****​

Mediterranean Sea, Harbour of Magical Algiers, Algeria June 21st, 2003

HMS Hood was watching the burning harbour of Magical Algiers when she heard Ron’s order. Smiling grimly, she addressed the ships with her - the Mediterranean Squadron. “Repulse and Prince of Wales, target the Dey’s Palace!” she ordered as her own main guns shifted from the breakwater and harbour buildings to the domed building in the centre of the town and her directors adjusted the firing solutions.

“Ready!” Prince of Wales reported, a second before Repulse.

“Fire!”

Hood’s guns spoke, followed by the broadsides of the battleship and battlecruiser. At that distance, dispersion would be minimal, though Hood wouldn’t want to be near the palace, even though it covered an entire hill - 14-inch and 15-inch shells caused a lot of collateral damage, as the modern military called it, even when they landed right on the mark. But the squadron was here to bombard the place, to teach the pirates, slavers and other wogs - even though Hermione said that they were not supposed to use that word any more - on the Barbary Coast that the days of raiding the European shores were over, and her fleet would do exactly that, just as the Royal Navy had done in 1816.

The harbour was already wrecked. The breakwater and the buildings lining it had been shelled. Sikh and Cossack had sailed inside and sunk the few ships moored at the pier as soon as Hood’s guns had torn down the palace wards. The Algerian vessels had been mostly ancient-looking sailing ships, and one ship that looked like a paddle-steamer, but they were owned and crewed by wizards. And while Hood didn’t know many spells that could hurt shipgirls, that didn’t mean there were no such spells - or magical devices.

Only a fool would have assumed that they were harmless, and Hood was no fool. She was the admiral in command of the entire fleet of shipgirls of the Magical Royal Navy - which was, as her friends hadn’t failed to point out, fitting for an Admiral-class battlecruiser. Nominally, the shipgirls were part of Wizarding Britain, but they were not under the control of the Ministry of Magic - a fact Minister for Magic Dawlish did his best not to advertise to anyone.

Hood approved of that - as long as Dawlish didn’t try to harm or harass her friends, or do anything too stupid, and listened to reasonable advice, he could keep counting on their support. Another fact Dawlish was very aware of, and did his best not to advertise. The man was a decent politician, after all, even though he hadn’t been a good Auror.

Her main guns spoke again, a second faster than Repulse’s guns, and Hood smiled. Their rivalry had lessened somewhat, after they had come to an agreement with Prince of Wales, but it certainly had not ended just because the two battlecruisers were sharing the battleship - Hood doubted they’d ever have the the relationship Harry, Hermione and Ron had with each other. One thing they had in common though: Their relationship was no one’s business but their own. And maybe Luna’s - the witch had been a source of valuable advice in the past. The battlecruiser smiled, remembering the passionate talks they had had, long after the blonde witch had finished her articles covering the shipgirls.

“Broom riders in the air!” Cossack reported. Hood saw a dozen brooms fly over the harbour, unfortunately already too close and too high for the tribal-class destroyers’ dual-purpose 4.7-inch guns to engage them.

“Prince of Wales, Repulse - cease firing! Glorious, have your aeroplanes engage the brooms!” Hood ordered.

Sea Gladiators dived at the broom riders, machine guns lining the sky with tracers. Hood saw one wizard, then another crash into the sea, torn to shreds by the Gladiators’ machine guns. It didn’t seem to deter the others though. Hood saw that Acasta and Ardent were picking up speed, ready to intercept any aerial attackers going after the capital ships.

The Algerians were brave, the battlecruiser had to admit. Not many wizards would have the guts to attack her squadron - the Magical World hadn’t forgotten London and Tromso, or the demonstration for the ICW near Azkaban, which had become their home port. Brave, but foolish. Wands simply lacked the range to attack shipgirls who saw their wielders coming. Only Fiendfyre was a real threat to shipgirls on the sea, and Hermione had been working on countermeasures for that.

Sikh and Cossack were taking evasive action now while their pom-poms and machine guns were taking a bloody toll on the broom riders trying to swarm them. Spells were shooting towards the two destroyers from the waterfront as well, though those missed by a mile. So far.

“Suppress the enemies on the pier and breakwater!” Hood said - she wasn’t about to let enemies correct their aim. Her secondary guns opened up, followed by those of Prince of Wales and Repulse. Shortly afterwards, the waterfront disappeared in clouds of smoke and dust thrown up by the shells. The three ships kept the bombardment up for a minute. No spells pierced the smoke afterwards.

Meanwhile, the last two broom riders tried to evade the aeroplanes hunting them by flying low and erratically on top of the waves. They didn’t succeed, and Hood saw one of the planes do a victory roll after killing the last enemy.

The short interruption had allowed the smoke to clear from the palace, and Hood saw that the big dome had collapsed, as had three of the four turrets lining it. But there were still structures standing. The job was not yet done.

“Prince of Wales, Repulse: Resume bombardment of the Dey’s Palace.”

Once more 14-inch and 15-inch shells arced towards Magical Algiers, their impact shaking the earth. Cossack and Sikh were firing their 4.7-inchers at the remaining buildings facing the pier, setting a few more ablaze when their anti-fire wards either overloaded or were torn down with the walls they were anchored to. At least that was what Hood remembered from Hermione’s explanation of the wards on Grimmauld Place, where the shipgirls still stayed when visiting London. If only they would create a proper harbour there!

She saw the last turret of the palace collapse after a near-hit. The remaining buildings were both burning. Hood nodded - they had accomplished their mission. “Hood to all ships: cease firing unless you spot enemies offering resistance, and make for the rally spot!”

Sikh and Cossack darted out of the burning harbour while Hood, Prince of Wales, Repulse and Glorious as well as their escorts started turning, in formation. Behind them, Magical Algiers was burning.

The battlecruiser tapped the enchanted mirror. “Hood to Strike Group: We’re on our way to the rally spot. The palace and the harbour have been destroyed.”

Ron, the wizard in charge of the mission, answered: “Well done, Hood. We’ve evacuated Gabrielle and the wounded already, as well as those freed slaves who wanted to come with us. As soon as you arrive we can portkey you back to England.”

“Understood.”

Hood smiled as her fleet sailed on. This was what the Magical Royal Navy had been formed for. No longer were they merely patrolling for smugglers, and the occasional sea monster; no, they were showing the flag and teaching the enemies of Britain - Magical Britain - that it was foolish to challenge the might of the Royal Navy. If she told that to the muggle admirals who knew about the Magical Royal Navy back in London, they would be jealous - but also proud, she thought.

And it wouldn’t be the last such mission, Hood was certain of that. There were many magical countries where slavery and other despicable practises still flourished. The West Indies, for example, as well as parts of Africa, and of the Americas. Waters which had been patrolled by the Royal Navy when hunting slavers two centuries ago. All of them would learn one thing:

Britannia ruled the waves, again.

*****​