Chapter 38: Love's LimitsSummary:
Politics advance. At Hogwarts, Fleur realizes what being the mate of the Dark Lord's daughter can mean
Chapter Text
Sean Murray had been cautious about the proposed return to violence. Gerry Adams' tactics, for all that they would never result in a free, united, republican Ireland, had been working. They were closer to peace and some form of Home Rule in Northern Ireland than they had been in decades, if not centuries. He had also only been released from prison recently and had little desire to return. Martin Ferris, who had been released a few months after him, had expressed similar thoughts.
Granted, most of the membership wanted to fight. Stirred up by the likes of Brian Keenan and Brian Gillen (the Brians, as Sean thought of them) many viewed compromise with the British State as a form of treachery, or thought only bloodshed could convince the British to leave the Irish alone. Granted, history tended to prove the last group right. Still, progress had been being made by Gerry Adams and Martin McGuiness, and Sean Murray had been unwilling to throw that away.
Looking at the proposed list of weapons shipments, however, it was difficult to say no. Especially if the rumors were right and unrest could soon break out in Scotland. The IRA might be unable to kick out the British when they were fighting alone, but if Scotland began a rebellion . . .
Well, that might just be enough.
"Aye," he said, casting his vote. There were two more still to vote, but the result was unlikely to change.
"It is decided then," the parliamentarian said. "By a vote of eight to four, the Irish Republican Army officially dissolves the cease-fire."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It should perhaps have come as no surprise that despite the heavy involvement of magic-users in the cease-fire dissolution, there was no mention of it in the Daily Prophet . Instead the headline article focused on the Minister's Task Force for Azkaban Recapture, a new eight-auror unit dedicated to pursuing Sirius Black and the other escapees and returning them to Azkaban. Not that they would ever find them. Her mother, Rookwood, and Dolohov were well-hidden behind massive wards, and considering her bastard cousin had avoided the aurors for more than a year, she doubted they would catch him either.
Despite the massive sign of progress (for her) things remained largely the same at Hogwarts. There were classes, friends, studying, letters, essays, and, most importantly, Fleur. Despite Hermione's use of the last Hogsmeade weekend for her political pursuits, their relationship continued to go well. At least Hermione thought so. They were, after all, currently sitting on the shores of the Black Lake, enjoying a late evening picnic. The sun set late in the Scottish summers, even in early May, and the orange and red hues from across the Black Lake made the perfect backdrop for a romantic date. At least, that's what Hermione thought. Fleur seemed to agree.
"I must admit," Fleur said, picking up another Yorkshire pudding. "There is some good British food." Hermione laughed, putting down her sandwich.
"You know I'm going to hold that over you forever, right?" she asked teasingly. Fleur rolled her eyes.
"Ze things I do for love," she said, placing a kiss on Hermione's cheek. Hermione leaned in as she pulled back, exchanging a kiss on the cheek for one of the lips. A kiss Fleur eagerly joined in on, their food temporarily forgotten beside them. They stopped only for air, Hermione sitting back with a contented sigh, taking in the view. She grew far less content when she took in the deranged from of Bartemius Crouch Sr. exiting the Forbidden Forest and the running (as much as he could) polyjuiced form of his son from Hogwarts.
"We should go inside," Hermione sighed. Fleur raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, instead helping Hermione pack their food back in the hamper.
"Nearby family affair," Hermione said softly, gesturing towards where the elder Crouch had accosted Potter and Krum. "We don't want to get involved." Fleur nodded, swallowing hard. As much as veela were ostensibly (according to wizards, anyways) Dark creatures, Beauxbatons was very much a Light school, and France hadn't seen a Dark Lord since Grindelwald. She hadn't truly processed what being Hermione's mate would mean. Or rather, in this case, being the mate of the Dark Lord's daughter. It felt wrong to simply stand aside, knowing a murder might (would) happen. Could she truly deal with her mate's family connections? Her mate's mother had done truly horrible things during the war, or at least had been accused of them. Things Fleur doubted she could stomach.
The image of Hermione when she talked about spending time with her mother popped into Fleur's head. She'd do almost anything to see that brilliant smile across her mate's visage.
Almost anything. Fleur would need to decide how far she was willing to go for her mate, and what was too much. Limits were important for things beyond sex.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
After three weeks of consideration, interrupted only by training, classes, homework, and her mate, Fleur had what she considered to be a decent list of what she wouldn't do. One her mate was reading over at this moment.
For her part, Hermione was shocked at how much wasn't on the list. Then again, perhaps she shouldn't have been. Veela culture, from what little she understood, taught that family was important above all else. As mates--especially as claimed mates--they were family, regardless of what the Ministry had to say.
Looking over the list again, Hermione nodded. Fleur wouldn't torture, kill outside of battle, fight her family, or secude anyone. The mere suggestion of the last item had nearly sent Hermione into a transformation she was so enraged. Fleur was her mate. Besides, Hermione would never make someone seduce or sleep with someone else. She'd been forced to do that enough herself, and planned on never doing so again.
"Looks good to me," Hermione said, handing back the list.
"Zere may be ozer things you ask of me zat I cannot do but didn't think of," Fleur said nervously, looking toward the ground.
"I know," Hermione said, walking towards her mate. "Fleur. Fleur," she repeated, her mate finally moving to look at her eyes. "These are your limits. You get to define them, okay? You're my mate, my love and my confidant, not just someone I had out orders to. Not that my friends are either, but you get my point."
"Which is?" Fleur asked cheekily. Hermione growled, but continued anyways.
"That even if you refuse to raise your wand I'd want you with me." Smiling at the declaration of love, Fleur lowered her head to kiss Hermione. Hermione met her halfway, rising on her toes to meet Fleur's lips. Their lips opened as one, tongues twining together, Hermione's arms rising to wrap around Fleur's neck, securing her position. Fleur pushed her tongue back, Hermione allowing it, but only for a moment before pressing forward, leaning upwards into Fleur, her tongue dueling Fleur's into submission. The Room responded to their silent desires, the empty space suddenly filling with a plush bed they fell onto.
Their lips separated, breathing heavily, Hermione straddling Fleur's prone body. Hermione threw off her outer robe, quickly stripping out of her top as well. Fleur sat up, divesting her baby-blue silk uniform just as fast. Hermione looked down at Fleur's chest, eyes glowing amethyst with lust. Fleur felt heat rising in her core as she stared back, taking in Hermione's naked breasts.
Hermione fell on Fleur like a starving animal, kissing her with enough force they fell back onto the bed. Their hands moved along each other's bodies, forgoing the teasing touches Hermione had been using recently, instead diving headfirst into a passionate embrace. They shoved off skirts and pants, naked limbs twining into each other.
Hermione pulled back from their kiss, sitting upright as she let their legs slot together. Rolling her hips she pressed her wet pussy against Fleur's, drawing a moan from the pair of them. Fleur's hips bucked in response, and Hermione soon replied with the same, moans filling the air as they scissored for the first time, eyes fixed on their mate's bouncing breasts when they could open.
As they began to close on their orgasm Fleur moved her hand to their joined lips, her hand moving to play with her mate's clit. Hermione moaned loudly, losing herself in the pleasure, retaining her presence of mind just enough to return the favor with her right hand, her left busy support her upright torso as her core muscles clenched and released as she neared her release.
They came together with a twinned scream, the instinctive bucking of their hips drawing out further pleasure in each other.
Hermione lifted her leg, moving it from over Fleur's. Flopping down onto the bed next to her mate, she sighed contentedly, happy to relax into her cuddling form for the next hour or so. Dinner wasn't until much later, and neither had any classes for the rest of the day. Of course, they'd need to shower before they headed to the Great Hall. Preferably together.
Chapter 39: The Third TaskSummary:
Hermione meets the family. The Third Task occurs, along with the chaos that follows
Notes:
Warning: I used Google Translate for the French, since I don't speak it. If there's a misphrasing or mistranslation, let me know.
Chapter Text
Hermione was nervous. She didn't like being nervous, but it was something she had been used to. It wasn't anymore, not since Fleur arrived with the calming presence of her mate bond. Even that wasn't enough now. Hermione dreaded to think of what state she'd be in if Fleur wasn't standing next to her.
"Maman! Papa!" Fleur cried, moving towards her parents at the end of the hall. Hermione had been allowed into the hallway where the champions were greeting their families only at Fleur's insistance (and intimidation of the organizer). "Je ne pensais pas que tu viendrais plus tard!" I didn't think you were coming until later.
"Je sais," her father replied with a smirk. "Nous voulions vous surprendre." I know. We wanted to surprise you.
"Tu ne vas pas nous présenter?" [ Aren't you going to introduce us ] her mother remarked, arching an eyebrow in Hermione's direction. For her part Hermione held onto her mask and thanked Morgan she didn't sweat when nervous.
"Bien sûr," Fleur said. "C'est 'Ermione, le coeur de mon âme." Of course. This is Hermione, the heart of my soul. Hermione blushed at the traditional Veela phrasing, but curtsied towards her parents nonetheless.
"Bonne après-midi, Duc Delacour, Dame Delacour." Good afternoon, Duke Delacour, Lady Delacour.
"Bonne après-midi, Dame Slytherin," Fleur's father replied. "Vous parlez français?" Good afternoon, Lady Slytherin. You [formal] speak French?
"Juste un peu," [ Only a little ] Hermione remarked sadly. "I wanted to at least greet my Fleur's family in their language."
"An appreciated effort," Fleur's mother replied. "It is understandable zat you would not learn much more. Fleur says you 'ave been very busy."
"What else has she said?" Hermione asked, playfully arching a brow at Fleur.
"Much," Fleur's father said. "But would it not be more fun for us to tell you of 'er? We 'ave been saving 'er embarrassing stories for years!" Hermione smiled widely and Fleur felt a shiver run down her spine.
"I like your way of thinking, Duc Delacour," Hermione said.
"Please, call me Gerard."
"Call me Hermione."
"Can you settle for 'Ermione?" he asked, exaggerating his accent.
"I'll take it," she smiled back.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Remember," Hermione said quietly as the champions paced the tent, Bagman's voice echoing overhead. "Get there second. You'll still win on points, I can't risk--"
"I'll be careful, mon coeur," Fleur replied. "Get there second."
"I love you," Hermione whispered. Fleur wrapped her arms around her mate, squeezing her into what would be a bone-crushing hug, were her mate not an Erinyes.
"I love you too," Fleur replied. Hermione smiled, unable to keep her eyes from watering, and pressed a chaste kiss onto Fleur's lips, a kiss she happily returned. Her pride might demand she come first in the task, not just the competition, but if it meant keeping her beautiful mate, Fleur and her veela could keep their pride in check. Besides, winning the competition was worth far more than winning the task.
Watching her mate leave the tent, Fleur let out a long, pent-up breath, forcing herself to relax. Her tensed shoulders lowered, her back unclenched, her hands uncurled from fists and her legs loosened.
"THE CHAMPIONS!" Bagman declared. "IN FOURTH PLACE, VIKTOR KRUM OF DURMSTRANG, WITH SEVENTY-EIGHT POINTS!" The crowd cheered with thunderous applause for the international quidditch star, regardless of his relatively poor performance in the tournament. "IN THIRD PLACE, CEDRIC DIGGORY OF HOGWARTS, WITH EIGHTY-FOUR POINTS!" Unsurprisingly, the crowd cheered for their home champion, the underestimated Hufflepuffs emerging especially loud. "IN SECOND PLACE, HARRY POTTER OF HOGWARTS, WITH EIGHTY-FIVE POINTS!" Even Potter, who had been eviscerated by the student body throughout the year, was applauded, though with noticeably less energy than the previous two. "AND IN FIRST PLACE, FLEUR DELACOUR OF BEAUXBATONS, WITH NINETY-SIX POINTS!" The crowds cheered for her, Hermione's supporters and the Beauxbatons crowd especially (if politely) loud. From the stands she could see her mate blowing her a kiss.
"OUR FOUR CHAMPIONS WILL ENTER FROM DIFFERENT POINTS IN THE MAZE," Bagman's voice declared as Fleur, Diggory, Potter, and Krum were moved to the four sides. "THE FIRST TO REACH THE CENTER AND GRASP THE CUP WILL WIN FIFTY POINTS! THE SECOND TO ARRIVE WILL TAKE FORTY POINTS, THE THIRD THIRTY AND THE FOURTH TWENTY. THOSE UNABLE TO REACH THE CENTER IN THE TIME ALLOWED WILL SCORE ZERO POINTS. THE CHAMPIONS WILL BE ENTERING IN THREE, TWO, ONE--" A horn blew, sound enhanced by a half-dozen spells and enchantments. It echoed across the field, reverberating against the stands. With a deep breath, in and out, Fleur entered the maze.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Twenty minutes into the task and Fleur was cursing the living hedges. The skrewt she had easily dispatched, a well-placed blasting hex flipping it over, exposing its less protected belly where she stunned it. The boggart she tore through before Hermione's form could open its mouth. She had already known what it would be, but it was still disturbing to see her mate ready to reject her. It was every veela's greatest fear, once they'd found their mate. Such rejection had been known to destroy individuals, leaving them little more than muttering, tear-shedding, violent madwomen.
The maze itself was Fleur's biggest issue. The reductor curse didn't take much energy, but having to repeatedly use it every few minutes to keep the maze from growing around her was slowly exhausting her.
Entering a square clearing, Fleur sighed with relief. At least now she wouldn't have to--
"Is zat a fucking Acromantula?" Fleur asked incredulously. Who the hell though a flesh-eating, intelligent, XXXXX-class creature belonged in a school competition? Growling at the idiocy of ministry employees (whom she doubted could defeat such a creature on their own) Fleur let loose a series of well-aimed piercing hexes. The first two missed, bouncing off the tough carapace. The third hit, piercing through one of the creature's eyes, but not going deep enough. Fleur continued firing. A blasting hex opened up the small hole, a second blasted the Acromantula's skull apart, killing the foul beast.
" Stupify ." A human might not have been able to hear the muttered spell over Fleur's heavy breathing, but a veela could. Fleur dodged away from the stunner, turning to face her new opponent. Taking in the bedraggled visage of Cedric Diggory, Fleur smirked. Slashing her wand diagonally through the air, she let loose a powerful shield-breaking spell. Falling for the red light, Cedric moved his wand downwards, summoning a shield which immediately fell apart.
" Bombarda!" Cedric cried. Fleur slashed her wand downwards, summoning a strong Protego . The powerful exploding charm knocked her backwards, but her shield held. Moving forwards, she began the chain she'd been working on. Starting with a Severing Charm, she used her wand's momentum to move downwards in a Blasting Curse before moving upwards and to the side in an Exploding Curse. Of these, only the last needed to be said, a powerful " Expulso!" tearing itself from her throat.
The Severing Charm was deflected by the edge of his resummoned shield. The Blasting Curse, the most lethal of the three, fell under his shield, the ground in front of him exploding upwards, sending Diggory stumbling backwards. The Exploding Curse slammed into his flagging shield, knocking him into the living maze. Summoning his wand, Fleur sent up red sparks before tossing it back to the semi-conscious individual. Seeing his hand reaching to grab it, Fleur sent a silent stunner. The spell hit his chest. Diggory skidded back slightly before slumping onto the ground.
Letting out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding, Fleur turned back towards the maze. Moving cautiously forwards, she ducked around a corner when she saw another skrewt popping up. Another exploding charm and stunning spell later, the skrewt was out and Fleur could make her way further down the path.
"AT FORTY-SIX MINUTES AND TWENTY-THREE SECONDS, HARRY POTTER HAS REACHED THE CUP FIRST!" Bagman shouted, his voice echoing through the maze. Grimacing in case anyone was watching, Fleur picked up the pace. "HARRY SHOULD BE APPEARING AT THE FRONT--WHERE'S HE GONE?!" Fleur swore, not bothering to hide her feelings. Father of her beloved mate he might be, the Dark Lord's fixation on a schoolchild was too much.
Dodging into a side-path when she saw a pack of four skrewts further down the path, Fleur slipped into another path. Taking a second side-path leading deeper into the max, Fleur could see the trophies through the tiny gaps in the maze wall. Taking a deep breath, Fleur released it in an overpowered, shouted, "Bombarda Maxima!"
Slipping through the hole before the maze could cover it up again, Fleur moved into the central square. A sphinx guarded what she assumed to be the main entrance, but had turned to face her, a questioning expression. Fleur moved cautiously towards the trophies, but the sphinx didn't move. Relieved, Fleur grabbed one, hoping they hadn't all been sabotaged.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
When Fleur reappeared Hermione let out a sigh of relief with breath she hadn't known she was holding. A fraction of a second later she was on her feet cheering alongside the Delacour family as Bagman announced Fleur had one the Tri(Quad)wizard Tournament, with 136 points. The first woman to win, and the first veela as well, not that Bagman announced that.
"Fleur!" Hermione shouted, pouncing on her mate as she neared. Lowering the trophy, Fleur happily wrapped her arms around her witch, pulling her in close. "I'm so proud of you!"
"Bravo Fleur!" Duc Delacour--Gerard, she reminded herself--shouted.
"Nous sommes si fiers!" Lady Delacour added. Gabrielle ran towards Fleur, babbling in rapid-fire french that was beyond Hermione's ability. Or Fleur's, judging by her amused expression. Embracing each of her family members, Fleur turned as someone cleared their throat behind her.
"Fleur Delacour, Champion of Beauxbatons," the Minister said. "As confirmed by our judges, you have won the 1995 Triwizard Tournament. I hereby bestow the title of Triwizard Winner onto you, along with one thousand galleons." Fleur smiled, courteously thanking the Minister, even though it was clear he very much would have preferred a Hogwarts champion to have won.
"Congratulations," someone said. Turning towards them, Fleur was surprised to see Diggory. Her surprise must have registered on her face as Diggory laughed. "No hard feelings," he said with a smile. "Where the hell'd you learn to duel like that?"
"My uncle is a two-time winner of ze Ligue de Duel de France," Fleur replied with a light chuckle. "I've spent two weeks each summer with 'im since second year." Diggory whistled low.
"It certainly paid off," he replied.
"I'll say," Hermione's voice cut in, her mate wrapping an arm around Fleur's body and leaning slightly against her. "Can we add that to your list of titles love? Triwizard victor, Master Duelist, Valedictorian, Cutest Being Alive?" Fleur blushed slightly at that. She loved being called cute. It felt nicer, gentler, more like a partner and a lover. Everyone called her beautiful, sexy, hot, and while the terms hadn't been completely ruined for her, their constant use in harassing her definitely lowered their appeal.
"You accomplish miracles, Slytherin," Diggory said with a laugh. "Never thought I'd see a Veela blush." It seemed he was about to say something else, but a bright white flash distracted him, and most of the crowd. The flash dimmed, leaving behind a rumpled, dirtied, cut and bleeding Harry Potter holding the first trophy.
"VOLDEMORT!" Potter shouted. The arena visibly recoiled, some (Hermione among them) going so far as to hiss. "VOLDEMORT'S BACK! I--I SAW HIM RETURN! VOLDEMORT'S BACK, HE'S BACK AND HE--" Potter dissolved into tears, leaving the entire arena pale and murmuring. They quickly turned towards each other, the murmurs growing louder as people discussed the possibility.
"Do you think--" Diggory started.
"Diggory," Hermione cut off. "Doesn't it look like Moody's dragging Potter?" Fleur turned with Diggory to watch as the retired former auror yanked Potter along. No one else seemed to be paying attention, Potter's friends too busy trying to get out of their seats and Dumbledore talking hurriedly with his staff. Which is what Fleur would have thought Hermione would want.
"It does," Diggory agreed. "Should we--"
"No," Hermione said, glancing up at Dumbledore and the teachers. "They're busy dealing with fallout. Regardless of whether the Dark Lord is back--and I doubt he is--" Fleur barely contained her snort of amusement at the words. "--something went wrong here. We can deal with whatever part of it this is." Diggory nodded, as did Fleur. Diggory then moved off to follow 'Moody.' Fleur moved to follow, but Hermione shook her head.
"What is this?" Fleur asked quietly. Hermione sighed inaudibly.
"I need to keep an idiot from dying," she replied just as quiet. "And I need Diggory as a witness to prove I didn't do anything wrong."
"How's that going to work?"
"I'll figure it out."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"What do you think is going on?" Diggory asked as they hurried down the hallway.
"No idea," Hermione replied. "Probably something to do with Sirius Black."
"Really?" Diggory asked. "Isn't he your cousin?" Hermione shrugged.
"He betrayed the family," she said as they paused outside the Defense Professor's door. "He then betrayed his adoptive family. We don't like traitors in the House of Black." Since Diggory was trying to figure something out behind her, Hermione waved her wand, casting a series of probing spells. Nothing more than automatic wards. Barty must really be nervous.
"Just a few minor wards," Hermione said, dragging her wand through the air. One by one they popped, the final one unlocking the door as it faded. "Ready?" she asked, turning towards Diggory, who nodded. "On three. One, two, three," Hermione said, pushing the door open as she spoke 'three.'
Rushing into the room Hermione barely had a moment to take things in. The polyjuice was already fading, the pegleg pushed away as Barty's limb regrew itself.
"That's not Mad-Eye Moody," Cedric said, watching in horror as Moody's grizzled skin and scars reformed into the weathered but unblemished skin of Barty Crouch Jr. Barty turned towards them at the sound of Cedric's voice, his eyes widening in surprise. Before he could get a word out, Hermione reacted.
" Expulso! " she shouted, wand pointed towards Barty. The spell hit him, but hit the window behind him as well, shattering the glass. His body flew through the now-empty hole, falling down the two stories. Hermione and Cedric rushed to the window, getting there in time to see Barty cast feather-fall and cushioning charms.
"He's getting away!" Cedric shouted as Barty began to run, aiming for the edge of the maze, where Hogwarts' portkey wards had been lowered. " Stupify!"
"Stupify!" Hermione cast as well. Spell after spell rushed at Barty, nearly all stunners though Cedric on occasion added Impediment Jinxes. Barty managed to dodge or shield them all, however. As he neared the edge of their range, Cedric began to grow desperate.
" Bombarda! " Cedric yelled. The ground just behind Barty exploded, sending him stumbling forwards. He turned, snapping a swift salute.
" Stupify! " they yelled at the same time. Barty, clutching some object (a watch, Hermione thought, though it was too far away to tell) murmured a few words, disappearing as he seemed to fold inward, a flash of light emitting from the object. The stunners crashed into the earth behind him.
"Damn it!" Cedric yelled, running his hands through his hair. Hermione turned towards him.
"Cedric, we still accomplished the main thing," Hermione said.
"We did?" he asked, hand still tangled in his thick locks.
"We got him away from Potter," she said, gesturing her head towards the confused boy. "Auror corps prioritizes rescuing hostages above capturing perpetrators."
"Right," Cedric said, shaking his head as if to clear it. "You're right."
"I wasn't a hostage!" Potter loudly protested, entering the conversation. Looking Diggory in the eyes, Hermione rolled her eyes at Potter, causing the older boy to chuckle and Potter to glare at both of them.
The unlocked, unwarded door suddenly exploded, drawing the students' attention. Dumbledore, Laird McGonagall, and Professor Snape stormed into the room, looking extremely confused about the situation. Great, Hermione thought. Time for a two-hour debriefing .
Chapter 40: Year's EndNotes:
As this chapter marks the start of violence based on actual events, I feel like I should mention something. This story romanticizes organizations and movements responsible for hundreds of deaths in Ireland and Great Britain. The key word there being romanticizes. In no way, shape, or form, do I believe that the actual P-IRA and similar organizations are perfect, or even decent organizations. That said, I am not saying the violent, anti-Catholic state they fought against was any better. The point is that this story does not and is not trying to accurately portray violent separatists. Nor, when it later features real-life figures, is it trying to say anything in particular about them. In addition, this story will, in future chapters, show adult politicians and important figures listening to and/or obeying someone who is, while magical, a child. Yes, it is unrealistic. So is magic.
If you've made it this far, sorry about the combative tone of my note. Truth be told, I'm fairly uncomfortable with how my story portrays these organizations, but it works for the story and I want to keep it.
Small Warning: technical descriptions of military equipment, because I tend to get obsessed with research and specificity
Chapter Text
Four Active Service Units had gathered together for this mission. Numbering twenty-four, they made up the majority of the small Provisional IRA presence in County Antrim. Despite their small number, they were quite capable, a trait that had only increased thanks to their new munitions.
The IRA had been using self-made mortars for decades, often with great success. Now, however, they had been provided with military-grade, professionally built mortars and High Explosive ammunition. Word was their mysterious backer would be sending top of the line assault rifles and ammunition soon, but that was hardly on the minds of the County Antrim IRA tonight.
The group had hijacked a military transport a few miles south, killing the driver and guards with a few well-aimed bullets. They even managed to do it before one of them could radio the base to warn them. Using the stolen vehicle and the dead men's identification cards (having switched out the photos) they entered the base. Three of the twenty-four were posing as British military while the rest, along with their weapons and ammunition, were hiding in the containers supposedly full of food.
Unloading the truck, half the group kept watch while the others set up their newly-acquired mortars, aiming them towards the central barracks.
At 1:22 am on July 3rd, 1995, four 81mm High-Explosive rounds hit the central building of Thiepval Barracks, Headquarters Northern Ireland for the British Army and home to the 39th Infantry Brigade. To add insult to injury, the rounds were fired from L16 mortars, first used by and created for the British Army.
Within seconds the mortars were firing again, raining fire and death on the compound. While inexperienced with this particular model, the men manning them had practiced loading the weapons and had fired mortars before. The rate of fire was hardly what it could be, it was certainly better than it could be.
"Alarm's been sounded," one of the unit leaders said, shouting to be heard over the noise. "We've got to go." The crews nodded, firing one last volley, this time aiming for the tank depot, which exploded into flames.
Dismantling the mortars took time, during which a handful of soldiers managed to find them. Fortunately, they were armed with only service pistols, rushing to put out the fires, and easily held off as the IRA members shoved their weapons back into the stolen lorry before hopping in themselves.
Slamming the door shut, they managed to dodge through the fire and get out through the broken walls before anyone noticed. Three of them were injured, but Headquarters Northern Ireland was now in flames.
They ditched the stolen lorry twenty miles south, in an empty field. From there they split into their Active Service Units, hiking through the fields to their side-road rendezvous.
During the four minutes spent bombarding Thiepval Barracks, only one unit was left untouched: The Black Watch. Also known as the 3rd Battalion, Royal Regiment of Scotland.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Unbeknownst to the IRA members at Thiepval Barracks, at 1:30 am on July 3rd, their mysterious backer was fast asleep, curled into and around the loving form of her mate. The Hogwarts Express would be leaving in the morning, as would the Beauxbatons Carriage, and neither Hermione nor Fleur wanted to waste their last moments in the same place by spending them apart. Though, given Fleur's graduation and Hermione's plans, it was entirely possible their separation would be short-lived.
Much of their time since the 3rd task had been spent like this. Even if their separation was to be a short one, it was unlikely they would have this kind of opportunity again for years. Soon they would be dragged into a war and rulership, but for now they had nothing but time for each other.
They spent their days in lakeside dates and wrapped around each other in the Room of Requirement. They wandered into the Forbidden Forest one time, though that ended up being as much a political visit as a date.
**Flashback**
"Fleur!" Hermione called, laughing lightly as Aedin, the Unicorn she'd freed from the Care of Magical Creatures class, nuzzled into her stomach. "Come over here, Aedin wants to meet you."
"You are sure?" Fleur asked, her nerves returning. "I thought ze would not like veela, as we are sexual beings." Hermione bit back a sigh and a rant.
"Fleur," Hermione said gently. "How do you think baby unicorns are made? They may have been used as a symbol of virginal purity, but they originally stood for a different type of femininity. There's a reason they're the Scottish symbol," she added, petting Aedin. "Beautiful," she said, poking the end of his horn, the sharp edge splitting her skin, causing a droplet of blood to well up. "But deadly."
"If you are sure," Fleur said hesitantly. Hermione said nothing. It would take more than a single conversation to throw off centuries of cultural conditioning. Fleur slowly approached Aedin, freezing when he turned towards her. She reached out slowly to pet him, but her hand never made it.
Fleur was knocked back a half-pace. Looking down, a young foal had butted her. She was now nuzzling into Fleur, excitedly chattering.
Father, is this the Princess's mate? She asked excitedly. Hermione nodded. I approve. She's soft. Good for nuzzling. Hermione laughed and Fleur looked at her, confused.
"She says you're a good cuddler," Hermione explained.
"Ah," Fleur said, looking down at the foal. "I am glad you think so, little one." The foal whinnied softly, nuzzling further into Fleur.
Faera! a voice called out. Where are--Faera! My apologies, Princess, the older unicorn said. My daughter has not yet learned her manners. The foal, Faera apparently, whinnied softly but said nothing. Hermione was certain that if unicorns could blush, she would.
"Think nothing of it," Hermione replied. "She is as adorable as she is informal." Faera continued hiding her face in Fleur's abdomen, taking the route of children the world over. "Might I have your name?"
I am Saema, matron of this herd, the unicorn answered.
Princess! Aedin called. There are centaurs coming! They have noticed your presence.
"Well Fleur?" Hermione asked. "Feeling up to some negotiations?" There was no response. "Fleur?" she asked, turning to her mate. Fleur was staring at the unicorns, her eyes welling with tears. "Are you okay Fleur?"
"Je--Je ne sais--" Fleur began before clearing her throat. "Zey--I--Zey 'ave 'onored me too much," she said, her heavy accent returning in her emotional state. "I--zey--zeir voice are zo . . . de toute beauté . . . I do not dezerve to 'ear it."
You are worthy, mate of the Princess, Saema said firmly. If you were not, you would not hear us.
"I--Thank you," Fleur said in a whisper. The brush nearby crunched as it was shoved aside.
"Who dares trespass in our forest?" a low voice demanded.
"Bane," a new voice said. "There is no need--"
"No need?" a third voice demanded. "They are human, dangerous! Do you not recall your history?"
"Ronan, the purges were more than a century ago."
"And their ministry has only grown worse!"
"Ronan--"
"He is right," Hermione said, intervening. "The ministry has only grown worse. Worse and more efficient. Subtler."
"Is this your idea of a threat?" the one named Bane snarled. Hermione's eyes glowed with an amethyst light as she turned towards him.
"If I threatened you, you would know it," Hermione said with a smirk. "No, this is my idea of opening negotiations."
"We should throw them out," Ronan said. "The wizard's ministry is not welcome here."
Watch how you speak! Aedin shouted. She is the Princess of the Highlands, the Forseen Black! The centaurs turned towards Aedin with wide eyes. Saema gave a sighing nicker.
Turning inward, the centaurs conferred with lowered voices, though they were soon raised.
"We ought deal with the ruling wizards," the as-yet unnamed centaur said. "They hold the power, we have to deal with them, not some pretender."
"You would work against the stars?" Bane asked incredulously. "The Princess has been Forseen for centuries!"
"It is but a legend and rumor," the centaur replied. "We have no proof--"
"Has Dumbledore poisoned your mind Firenze?" Ronan asked. "Can you not read the stars? Mars ascendant, with Saturn in its wake! Chains will be broken, changes made, the Princess Foretold is at the center!"
"Dumbledore is a good man!" Firenze argued. "We can work with him, trust him more than the spawn of the Dark Lord." Fleur snarled at Firenze, who flinched backwards. "I can see I am no longer welcome in this meeting," Firenze said. "I shall take my leave." He immediately turned around, trotting away.
"My apologies for our brother, your highness," Bane said, turning towards Hermione. "He remains a fool despite his years." Hermione hummed, saying nothing for a moment.
"Bane, Ronan," she said, looking up at them. "Can you call your herd? I wish to make a proposal." Both centaurs seemed taken aback.
"It may take some time," Ronan cautioned.
"We have a couple days yet." Ronan and Bane nodded, their human halves bowing slightly before they turned to leave.
"What was zat?" Fleur asked as the centaurs left.
"Centaurs would make strong allies," Hermione said. "As for the Princess Foretold, I have no idea."
'Tis a legend, Saema answered. Of one from the Black line who could free our magic.
"Is it a prophecy?" Hermione asked. Saema seemed to shrug.
If it is, the words were been recorded , she said. It is an old tale, that much I know.
**Flashback Over**
Hermione and Fleur woke around eight. They showered together and ate breakfast together in the Room of Requirement, neither willing to let go of their mate just yet. A fact that made cutting their pancakes difficult at times.
Hermione walked Fleur to the Beauxbatons carriage as it prepared to leave. Blue-uniformed witches and wizards were hauling luggage into it while Hagrid attached the Abraxans under Madame Maxine's watchful eye. It was a rare sunny day, the early summer grass green under their feet.
"I'm going to miss you," Hermione said softly. Fleur gave a sad smile. Both their eyes were watering with unshed tears.
"I'll miss you too, mon coeur," Fleur said. Hermione leaned upwards, pressing a chaste kiss to Fleur's lips.
"I love you," she said softly as she came down.
"I love you too," Fleur replied, kissing her forehead. "Goodbye, mon coeur."
"Farewell, mon cheri."
Hermione watched as Fleur climbed into the carriage, followed by Madame Maxine. A few minutes later the sound of a whip cracked and the Abraxans began moving. They moved from a trot to a canter, then a full-on gallop as their wings beat ever-faster. Finally they took off from the ground, curving around the edge of the Forbidden Forest as they moved to head south.
An arrow arched over the carriage as it passed overhead, landing on the other side of the Forest. Hermione's watery smile took a toothy turn. The centaurs had accepted her deal after all.
Chapter 41: Heist, Part OneSummary:
Hogwarts has ended for the summer, and the first heist is underway! Ft. an important prologue
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The Atholl Highlanders were the largest private army in Europe. To be fair, they were also the only private army in Europe, officially at least. They numbered 150, with 125 riflemen and 25 drummers and bagpipers. They used historic uniforms from the 19th century and similarly outdated weaponry.
At least, that's how it was supposed to be. It was how it seemed during their recent annual parade. Recently, however, things had changed, and quite drastically.
Iain Murray, Colonel-in-Chief of the Atholl Highlanders and 10th Duke of Atholl, had received a rather strange letter in November. Despite the theoretically treasonous nature of the letter he had struck up a correspondence with this 'Hermione Slytherin, Duchess of the Highlands.' Looking back, it was surprising how quickly she'd converted him to her cause. Duke Murray, while a proud Scotsman, had not been a Scottish nationalist. He certainly was now.
Starting in January, Duke Murray had begun transforming the Atholl Highlanders from a ceremonial company into a legitimate regiment. As a sanctioned private army and nominally part of the United Kingdom's military, he had access to the same weaponry as the British Military. He had paid for much of the costs himself, though the majority were covered by his new Queen and her financial supporters.
Currently, the Atholl Highlanders numbered more than 850. He had even managed to form a company of Air Support, the only one in his Queen's burgeoning military. His position also provided cover to the other regiments that were forming, allowing them to legally practice. Granted, they still did so in secret, but if they were found out there would be some insulation. True, if they were discovered Parliament was almost certain to revoke his right to a private army, but it took them a long time to do anything, and by then his Queen would have her crown.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Hermione stayed only three days at Malfoy Manor. Her father had gathered his followers on the first day, introducing them to his daughter and heir, not that he planned on ever dying. To say some of the Death Eaters had been angry at a major celtic revivalist becoming untouchable would be understating it. Yaxley had to be cruciated into obedience.
On the fourth day of her summer break, Hermione returned to Clogaid Cruaidh. The mind healer she'd hired seemed to have helped the Azkaban escapees. Bellatrix, who according to Rookwood's letters had been terrified about Hermione for the first several weeks after she left, was calmer now. Not calm, but according to Aunt Cissa her mother had never been calm.
"Daughter darling," Bellatrix greeted when Hermione arrived, sweeping her into an embrace. "How long are we going to be stuck here?" Hermione chuckled in amusement.
"Not much longer, I promise," she replied. "Just need to work a few things out before we can start in earnest." Her mother pouted, but the expression disappeared entirely when Hermione hugged her tighter, resting her head on her mother shoulders.
"I'm glad you're here," Hermione said quietly. Her mother's lips quivered but she said nothing, instead tightening her arms around her daughter.
The duelling practice had begun shortly after that. Bellatrix was not enthused about Hermione's plans to raid Westminster and Edinburgh Castle.
"I just got you back," she said softly. "I don't want to lose you again. But," she added. "Given you're my daughter, you're not going to stop. So I need to make sure you can survive the battles to come."
Bellatrix was not a gentle teacher. She was kind, careful, and brilliant, but she wasn't afraid to sent a bombarda maxima at her daughter's chest. She'd be facing much worse when the war started. Hermione had a steep learning curve. She wasn't used to dodging when she was spellcasting. She was powerful, her raw power even greater than her mother's, and that was enough to beat any schoolchild and most training dummies. It wasn't enough for a war. In a war defeating one opponent doesn't make you safe. Wasting energy blocking spells was useless. Conserving it by dodging was of critical importance, especially when up against experienced opponents. Bellatrix had drilled those lessons permanently into her daughter's head.
Hermione did better with the dagger and sword training. She had been learning those from Count Rigoll's bodyguards for the past four years, and like her mother they did not accept mediocrity. Her skill just made her mother press her harder, honing Hermione like a steel blade.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It was July 15th when Hermione finally left Clogaid Cruaidh. She had been communicating with Aebard MacDougall and Cinaid Ancrum, two of her wizarding supporters. Their plan was finally ready.
The group--Hermione, MacDougall, Ancrum, Ciara O'Mahoney (elected Wizengamot Representative from Ireland), and Kenneth MacDonald (elected Wizengamot Representative from Scotland)--met in the nearby Victoria Tower Gardens.
"We're ready then?" Hermione asked. The others nodded. "Let's go."
They entered during the day, specifically 1pm. Between the general tourists, the ongoing tours, and a few misdirection spells they passed through the Abbey unnoticed. They entered their target room separately. MacDougall and O'Mahoney watched the entranceways. MacDonald was against the wall, supposedly looking at the architecture, ready to help with the spellwork. Ancrum was across from Hermione, the Stone of Scone between them.
The Stone was kept in a glass case, a small placard nearby. With a nod to MacDonald, he subtly moved his wand. A few sparks shot from the security cameras, but nothing else happened. A tripping jinx from Hermione sent someone sprawling into the security guard. Ancrum then applied a heavy-duty misdirection spell and levitated the glass case. Hermione grabbed the Stone. It was heavier than it looked, but less than she felt it should. Less than an object of its status perhaps deserved. Pushing aside those thoughts she slid the stone into a well-protected bottomless bag. She sealed and shrank the bag while Ancrum replaced the glass. One by one the five of them left Westminster, moving to nearby alleyways before apperating away.
Five soft cracks could be heard from the southern shore of Black Isle.
"We got it?" MacDougall asked as the five convened. Hermione smirked, pulling out her bag. Returning it to normal size, she picked up the Stone of Scone.
"We got it!" MacDonald yelled.
"Yes, we did," Hermione said. "Thank you all, that was some impressive charmwork Ancrum."
"Please," Ancrum said. "We just stole--"
"Liberated," Hermione interjected.
"Liberated a priceless relic," he finished. "Call me Cinaid."
"Same goes for me," MacDoug--Aebard--said.
"And me," added Kenneth.
"Same here," Ciara said.
"Call me Hermione," Hermione said. "Now, are we going to stand here talking or are we going to celebrate?"
"We're Gaels," Aebard scoffed. "We're going to celebrate into the dawn!" Ciara whooped and Hermione laughed as she led them through the wards, into Clogaid Cruaidh.
"I should warn you," she said as they approached the castle. "My mother and two of her friends are here."
"I think we all guessed as much," Ciara said with a smirk. "Come, I want to meet the infamous Bellatrix Black! My cousin went to school with her, said she beat a professor in a duel while she had a hangover!"
"I did," Bellatrix said, appearing near the entranceway. "Is your cousin Aoife O'Mahoney, by any chance?"
"She is," Ciara said. Bellatrix smirked, folding her arms.
"Did she mention she's the one who gave me the hangover?" Bellatrix asked, eye glittering playfully. "Or about how I tied her up and ravished her afterwards?"
"She might have," Ciara replied, sauntering towards Bellatrix. "She might have told me she's never screamed louder in her life. I wonder," Ciara purred. "Do you still keep silk ropes in your bag?"
"Why don't I show you?" Bellatrix then turned on her heel, Ciara eagerly following her, pausing to wink at Hermione.
Hermione stared at the space where her mother had been, her face red as wine.
"That," she said, voice flat. "Is something I never need to hear again." Kenneth laughed, clapping her on the back.
"At least they didn't start fucking right here," he said. "Come on, let's get drunk!" Hermione rolled her eyes, but led them into the living room, calling for Sheila, one of her house-elves, to bring them some whiskey. If it could remove that scene from her mind, she was down to party.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Two days later Hermione set out again, apparating to Edinburgh, where she was meeting with Maol MacDuff.
"My Queen," he said softly.
"Hermione, please," she replied. "It is good to finally meet face-to-face."
"With you as well," Maol said. Slowly they began walking towards the castle. "Things are going to be even harder than we thought," Maol said after a few moments' silence. "They've upped the guard after the Stone of Scone went missing."
"How many?"
"Thirty soldiers are posted as guards," Maol said. "So are fifty of my men. Thirty-four of them are with us, as are six of the soldiers. I've scheduled an escape route if we leave between 3:30 and 4:15 tomorrow." Hermione nodded.
"I'll be staying in the city," she said. "I have a few people to meet with anyway."
"Of course. Your grace," Maol said, giving a subtle bow. Hermione nodded to him, watching as the man walked away before turning on her heel. She had a bishop to meet.
Notes:
Ian Murray was a real person, namely the 10th Duke of Atholl. Likewise the Atholl Highlanders are a real thing. Their presence in this story is in no way, shape, or form, meant to resemble anything regarding their actual behavior or thoughts.
Chapter 42: Heist, Part TwoSummary:
Continuing her collection of historic symbols, Hermione hits Edinburgh Castle
Notes:
I am *so* sorry for not posting in so long. I'll do my best to return to a normal posting schedule, but life is rather hectic and my ability to track the passage of time has taken a sharp dive the past few months. With that said, I hope you enjoy this chapter. I certainly had fun writing it.
Chapter Text
On July 18th, Hermione Slytherin approached Edinburgh Castle. She entered the line at 3:10 pm and purchased her ticket at 3:15. She entered the castle, wandering around slightly before entering the Crown Room at 3:38 pm. Entering the room she sent out a wave of power that temporarily disabled the security cameras.
"Chan eil duine a 'toirt ionnsaigh orm le impidheachd," she announced. No one attacks me with impunity . The Motto of Scotland and their chivalric order, the Order of the Thistle, said in Scots Gaelic instead of the usual Latin. It was the code phrase they'd settled on.
The guards moved immediately, ushering the three other visitors out of the room, claiming there was a private event starting soon and they needed to set up. Hermione ignored them, instead approaching the Honours. In the presence of muggles, even muggle allies, she couldn't use magic. Instead she pulled out a bobby pin and a hairclip and began to pick the lock.
"Excuse me?" someone said. Hermione didn't pay them any attention. "Your majesty?" Hermione paused, looking up at the tall guardsmen.
"We're performing a heist together. Call me Hermione, please," she said. "What is it?" The man flushed lightly at being told to use his sovereign's first name.
"Maol told me to give you these," he said, holding out a keyring. Hermione paused, then sighed. She really could be an idiot sometimes.
"Thank you," she said, putting away her makeshift lockpicks. "What's your name?" she asked, turning back to the locks.
"Colin, your majesty."
"What did I say about calling me that, Colin?"
"That I should call you Hermione." He paused before adding, "Your majesty." Hermione bit back a sigh of annoyance, instead lifting the lid of the glass case. She placed her hand in the case, but before she could pluck the necklace, the Saint Andrew Jewel of the Order of the Thistle, containing a portrait of Bonnie Prince Charlie's wife, the alarms sounded. Hermione bit her lip.
"I guess we didn't hit security as hard as we thought," she said. "Come on, we have to hurry now." Pocketing the priceless jewel she moved on, flipping through the keys before finding the one to the case of the Crown of Scotland. She had opened it and taken the crown when Maol and a half-dozen men rushed into the room.
"Alarms went off," Maol said.
"We know," Hermione replied dryly, handing him the Crown. He looked down at it before looking up at her, confused. "You're a MacDuff," she said. "MacDuffs crown the monarch. I'm entrusting you with the crown." Maol looked at her, flabbergasted.
"Sir," Colin said. "We really don't have time for shock."
"Right," Maol said, not looking away from Hermione and the crown. Slowly he took it. The moment it was safely in his hands Hermione turned away, opening the next case. The Scepter of Scotland, a gift from Pope Alexander IV, she hung onto. The Sword, a gift from Pope Julius II, she slung onto her belt.
"Guards are coming from down the hall," someone said as she finished buckling the sword-belt. "A dozen or so."
"Let's go then," Hermione said, scepter held in one hand, sword on her hip. The guards nodded, and as one they began running down the corridor, away from the oncoming guards. As they ran down Maol's planned escape route more guards joined them.
"FREEZE!" someone yelled from behind them. They didn't listen, nor did they pay attention to the person's vehement swearing. Instead they turned, running down another corridor and then out the side-gate. The half-dozen soldiers posted there, all of them converts to the new queen's cause, joined them as they ran from the pursuing force.
A gunshot roared through the air as they ran, the bullet narrowly missing and hitting the gatehouse wall.
"Keep going!" Hermione yelled. A second gunshot sounded, then a third and a fourth. Someone yelled as a bullet tore into their arm.
"Keep moving!" Maol yelled. "Come on Kenan, you're stronger than a bloody pom's bullet!" The man, Kenan, laughed and pushed forwards.
They ran across the street, splitting as they hit an intersection, the guards moving to follow them.
"Follow the girl!" someone yelled. "She's got the scepter!" Hermione poured on the speed, sprinting down Johnston Terrace. Their allies split off from them as they hit side-streets, the guards largely ignoring them in favor of Hermione and Maol. The two of them took a hard corner at Grindlay Street, then turned again down Cornwall Street. Springint between buildings she ran around Usher Hall and onto Lothian Road. She dodged a PC car, running into the Sheraton Grand Hotel's garage. Gaining a small lead on their pursuers, she and Maol sprinted up the steps before turning and heading down on the elevator. In the elevator she placed the scepter and sword into her magically-enhanced bag, Maol doing the same with the crown.
Calmly walking out of the elevator they walked through the lobby. As they did they saw a handful of PCs entering. Ducking into an open elevator, they found themselves pressed against a group of conference attendees.
"Coming for the conference?" someone--Robert Dowel, MD and Ph.D, according to his nametag--asked.
"Yeah, we're running a bit late," Maol said. "My daughter," he said, gesturing to Hermione. "Wants to enter the field. Thought I'd show her a few panels." The man smiled.
"There's a great one on East Asian Infectious Diseases in Sub-Saharan Africa at eleven tomorrow. A friend of mine's on it, Sarah Hunter. I can ask if she can talk to you afterwards," he said, addressing the latter part to Hermione.
"That would be great!" Hermione said with false enthusiasm. "I haven't really decided if I want to go into research or academics yet, I'm hoping this can help me decide."
"I'll ask her," Robert Dowel said. "She'll probably say yes, she loves talking people into the field. Actually," he said, looking at his watch. "My dinner's not until 6:30. If you want I could talk to you a bit."
"That would be lovely," Hermione said, flashing her prettiest smile. Inside she was groaning. It would be a perfect way to avoid detection, but dear gods she wasn't looking forward to an hour of talking about academic medicine. From the look he briefly shot her, Maol felt the same.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Major-General Jonathan Hall was not having a good day. It had started well enough, with perfectly cooked eggs and a perfect cup of tea. It had continued well too, operations and units running smoothly. Granted, the news out of Kosovo was bad, but that wasn't his mess to deal with. It might become his mess at some point, should the Prime Minister decide to make it so, but for now he didn't need to worry about it.
His good day had come to a crashing halt when alarms went off at Edinburgh Castle. Given his honorary title as the Governor of Edinburgh Castle he was informed immediately. Jonathan had, after talking to the commander present, thought that they would be able to handle the issue themselves.
He had been wrong. By the time he was contacted again, the Honours of Scotland were all missing, along with some of the Scottish Jewels, and the Captain of the Guard for Historic Scotland was implicated, along with thirty-four of his men and six of Jonathan's soldiers. To make matters worse, they had recently upped their security in the wake of the Stone of Scone's theft from Westminster Abbey. If they didn't get it back, they were certain to look like idiots, and Jonathan Hall hated to look like an idiot.
Jonathan watched the tapes again. The young woman, name yet unknown, entered the ticket queue at 3:10 pm. She purchased her ticket at 3:15 pm and was inside the castle by 3:17. At 3:38 she entered the Crown Room. At 3:38:46 the cameras shorted out. Their visuals didn't return until 3:42, when the alarms caused hallway and nearby room cameras to pivot towards the alarm.
At 3:42:46 she stole the Saint Andrew Jewel, placing it in her pocket. At 3:43:22 she stole the Crown of Scotland, handing it to the Historic Scotland captain. At 3:44:18 she stole the Scepter of Scotland. At 3:44:51 she took the Sword of Scotland and began buckling it around herself. At 3:47:40 she and her companions began running through hallways. At 3:50:11 they exited the building and began splitting up.
The Sword and Scepter were the key. The Crown was as well, but that could be put in a bag. The Sword and Scepter were too large. That's how they would find them, putting out a BOLO of anyone holding a sword and scepter. Shouldn't be too hard to find them.
Picking up the phone, Jonathan Hall began to call the Edinburgh Chief Superintendent.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It was six o'clock by the time Hermione and Maol finally extracted themselves from the kind, boring grip of Robert Dowel. The constables had left nearly an hour earlier, giving up after not finding anything after an hour. Hermione had fourteen voicemail messages on her recently-purchased mobile phone from various payphones, one from each of the groups, confirming their successful escape. She was listening to them as she and Maol cautiously walked towards a hidden alleyway where they could apparate.
"Thank the gods," Maol said. "I thought that would never end."
"Hush," Hermione cajoled. "We could still be running if it wasn't for him. He seemed like a very kind man."
"He did," Maol admitted. "Just a boring one." Hermione rolled her eyes but said nothing. It was, quite frankly, not worth it.
"That's the last of them," Hermione said, putting away her mobile. "Everyone got away safe."
"Good. We're not being followed either," Maol said.
"We probably won't meet for a while," Hermione said. "Say hello to Anita for me."
"Will do," Maol said. "I'm like not to see her for a while, once the Ministry puts out my warrant." Hermione scoffed.
"There's ways around that," she said. More seriously she added, "Take care Maol."
"You too, your majesty," he said.
"Maol!" Hermione exclaimed, but with a crack he'd apparated away. Sighing, Hermione checked for people looking. Seeing none she too turned on her heel, and with a crack she disappeared.
Chapter 43: The CoronationSummary:
With artifacts in hand and England still confused, Hermione makes the ultimate play
Notes:
A second chapter! Consider it a reward for sticking with the story despite inconsistent posting.
Again, any and all actual people used are in no way meant to comment on said people. It was simply easier and more satisfying to me to use their actual names instead of inventing characters to fill real-world roles with documented people in them
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Minerva McGonagall arrived at Dunblane Cathedral around nine in the morning on August 4th. Her former student was certainly going for symbolism, holder her coronation a short drive from Bannockburn and on the day of the Battle of Stanhope Park. Minerva was under a heavy glamour. She had a duty, not only to her Queen, but to Hogwarts and her students. Fortunately the Queen agreed, insisting that Minerva remain at Hogwarts when the war began and do nothing to risk her position.
Minerva never thought she'd see this day, let alone be a part of it. Scotland hadn't been independent since the early 17th century, and over the past centuries had been all but subsumed into England. Things were even worse in the wizarding world. Their languages, clothes, traditional gods, spells, and rituals were still banned. Not for much longer though. Not if they had anything to say about it.
Minerva hated war. She had gone to Hogwarts during Grindelwald's War, during the muggle World War II. She remembered the flinching every muggleborn student made at the loud noises, traumatized by the Blitz. She remembered how many of them were forced to return each summer. She remembered how some of them never came back.
Minerva was a teacher by the time the next war broke out. While Grindelwald's War had barely touched wizarding Britain, this one raged across it. Many of her students, of her childhood friends, even her family had died. The McKinnons had been slaughtered by Travers. The Potters, the Longbottoms, her own nephew, all of them were killed or worse. The last thing she wanted to see was another war. But seven people were in Azkaban for speaking Gaelic. Children were expelled or prohibited from attending Hogwarts for speaking the language of one of its founders. She may hate it, but under the circumstances even Minerva could see war was necessary.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Maol MacDuff was pacing nervously in one of the back rooms of Dunblane Cathedral. He was responsible for crowning the next Queen of Scotland, just as his ancestress had done for Robert the Bruce centuries ago. It was a big deal, bigger still for all the people who would be in attendance, and for the BBC reporters she had somehow talked into showing up with no idea about what would be happening.
His niece Anita had stayed up late into the night helping Maol practice the vows. She wasn't able to attend the coronation, seeing as how she was still in school, but wanted to do her part to help. She had also wanted to show off the tattoo the Queen had marked her with. Maol had to admit, it was a beautiful thing. According to Anita, it was more than just a symbol, the unicorns of the Forbidden Forest had actually blessed their Queen.
Maol took a deep breath, in and out. He could do this. He would do this. He would fulfill his duty as a MacDuff and a Scotsman. He would crown his Queen, and then it was off to the secret base near Inverness. His Queen wanted him to train and organize a company of her Highland Regiment. That would take a lot of work. For one, Maol had only basic training when it came to the types of vehicles his queen had purchased for the regiment. The small-arms training he could do, but when it came to the Armored Personnel Carriers and Infantry Fighting Vehicles? That was likely to be a group-learning process. Hopefully there would be an engineer who knew what he was doing.
Yes. That was good. He just had to focus on the future. Leading men in training, that was something he was used to, something he knew. Much easier to remain calm while thinking on that than contemplating the coronation. Maol was used to small groups of men he commanded, not massive crowds.
Right. The training. He'd need to organize a schedule, color-coded of course.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Alexander Salmond entered Dunblane Cathedral around 9:20am and took his seat in the front row. Alex Salmond, as he preferred to be known, had been accorded this honor thanks to his status, both as Leader of the Scottish National Party and as a Member of Parliament, though he would be resigning the latter soon. Next to him was his Deputy Leader, then the other MPs who were in attendance, along with their spouses. Also in the front row were three Dukes, four Marquesses, and a handful of Lords-Lieutenant. Behind them were the Bishops, of both the Catholic and Scottish Episcopal Churches, though both the Primus of the Scottish Episcopal Church and the Archbishop of Glasgow were missing. Others were missing, of course, but Alex had heard those two were coming. Perhaps they were part of the ceremony. Behind the Bishops were lower-ranking Clan Leaders, interspersed with politicians and a handful of other elites. Behind those were the others. Word had been spread quietly, subtly, but still thousands from across Scotland drove or took the trains to Dunblane for the event, so many they poured out the doors and filled the entrances.
This was not how Alex had wanted to achieve independence. He would have preferred an independence referendum. However, with the Tory government recently rejecting a devolution referendum that seemed unlikely. Much as he would have liked a Republican Scotland, he would take an independent Monarchical Scotland. Especially with this woman as monarch.
Despite being only fifteen, the soon-to-be-crowned Queen had greatly impressed him, and he wasn't the only one. In half a year she had assembled members of every Clan, a majority of Chiefs, a number of Lords-Lieutenant, Scottish nobles, billionaires, members of Parliament, and even active members of the military on her side. If the whispers he had heard was true she had even assembled a small Army and Airforce. He knew for a fact she had assembled militant cells within every district of Scotland. More than a handful of his party's campaigners had joined those groups, most of them notifying him.
Besides, it wasn't like this would be an absolutist monarchy. Alex, his party leadership, and more than a handful of others including Laborites and Tories, had worked on the proposed Constitution with her. Granted, it made the Queen far more powerful than the one in England and gave some executive power to the various Clan Chiefs. It also included a written Bill of Rights and an independent, elected Parliament. Alex would take it. That he found the phrase "Socialist Monarchy" amusing also helped.
Music began to be played and the chattering amongst the attendees quieted. A small procession moved from the left doorway. At the heart the Church of Scotland Minister of Dunblane Cathedral, the Bishop of Edinburgh and Primus of the Scottish Episcopal Church, and the Catholic Archbishop of Glasgow carried the Stone of Scone. Together they lowered it onto the floor as those behind and ahead of them melted into the audience, save one, who held the Crown of Scotland in his hands.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The crowd was silent as Hermione walked out of the right-hand doorway. Turning to face the audience she knelt on the Stone of Scone, first of her line to do so in centuries.
"Ann an ainm an Athar, a 'Mhic, agus an Spioraid Naoimh, a bheil thu a' mionnachadh a bhith a 'riaghladh le ceartas agus co-ionannachd, gus àm ùr de shaorsa a thoirt don h-uile duine agad?" the Minister asked, the words rolling off his tongue like he was born to them. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, do you swear to rule with justice and equality, to bring a new era of freedom to all your people?
"Tha mi a 'mionnachadh mar sin air mo bheatha," Hermione said. "Gun cuir Dia mo stad ma dh 'fhailicheas mi." I swear thus on my life. May God strike me down if I fail.
"Non iurare per Patris, Filii, et Spiritus Sanctus, iustus est iter sequi, persequi aequalitatem, ut praeesset et bene vivere, ut melius potestis?" the Archbishop asked. Do you swear, by the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, to follow a righteous path, to pursue equality, to live and rule well, to the best of your ability?
"Et hoc per animam iurare," Hermione replied. "Dispeream si non miliens." I swear this by my soul. May I die a thousand deaths if I fail.
"Do you swear, by the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, to protect your people, all your people, to rule for them and with them, to lead courageously, to defend the weak and protect the vulnerable, to resist and persist in the face of bigotry?" the Primus asked
"I swear by my life, my blood, and soul," Hermione said. "May the Devil take me if I fail."
"So vowed and so blessed," the three men said. "May God keep you and guide you." Maol then stepped forward, holding the Crown of Scotland over her head.
"With these vows and blessings, I, Maol MacDuff of MacDuff, crown you Gwendolen Morgana Athena Slytherin Black, Queen of Scotland," Maol announced, his voice carrying through the large church. "Long Live the Queen!"
"Long Live the Queen!" the crowd echoed. Hermione stood carefully, holding up both the Scepter of Scotland and a sword. It was a different sword than the one she'd liberated from Edinburgh Castle. This was the Sword of Kings, more even than the Sword of Scotland. This had been the sword of Brythonic Kings and Queens for centuries, most famous of them Arthur Pendragon, and had been locked in Gringotts' Vault Zero for more than a thousand years before being retrieved by her two days ago.
Hermione walked down the aisle, exiting the church, scepter and sword held aloft. Her new subjects touched her as she left, letting their hands brush against her elegant sapphire-blue dress.
Partway down the isle the sound of police sirens filled the air, causing some of the attendees to panic. The treasonous nature of the event hadn't struck home until they were directly faced with its consequences.
"Be calm!" Hermione declared. "Leave through the back. You will be called upon soon, but today is not our confrontation. I will delay them. No matter what happens, do not fear . Bidh sinn a 'sabaid airson Alba an-asgaidh [ we fight for a free Scotland ]. It will take more than a pair of handcuffs to stop our movement." Her speech calmed the crowd, though it confused a good many of them. Minerva McGonagall was not confused.
"My Queen," she hissed. "You cannot--"
"They will not hold me," Hermione said with a vicious smirk. "You all need a distraction, and we need some good press." Turning away from her former professor Hermione continued out the door, to where the crowd of supporters were blocking the PCs attempts to enter the cathedral. Surprised, they split for her.
"Come to arrest me?" she asked the constables, who simply looked at her, surprised.
"Yes," one of them finally said.
"I'll humor you," Hermione said. She slowly sheathed her sword, taking her time as her followers exited out the back, making their way from the police presence. Taking off her crown she didn't hand it over. She shook her head and gently rolled her shoulders and head, her neck cracking as she did.
"You know the phrase 'Heavy is the Crown?'" she asked no one in particular. "I'm not sure it's entirely figurative." Despite himself one of the PCs snickered, the other one sighing before moving to handcuff Hermione, who let him before walking towards the car.
Notes:
In the real world, the Conservative/Tory Government approved a devolution referendum for Scotland. In this world, the vote would have taken place shortly after the theft of the Stone of Scone, leading a greater number of MPs to oppose the motion.
Chapter 44: EscapeSummary:
Her goals accomplished and growing bored in lockup, Hermione ditches the station.
Chapter Text
"The surprise crowning of an Independent Queen of Scotland set off chaos in the region," Andrew Harvey announced on August 7th. "While the so-called Queen has been arrested, large-scale protests have erupted throughout Scotland and show no sign of abating. This morning the protests turned deadly in Glasgow when British soldiers opened fire on what seems to have been a peaceful protest. The current counts have twenty dead and thirty-eight injured. The officer in command reports that he was concerned protesters could try to rush the building, where the Queen-Claimant is being held. The estimated eight to ten thousand protesters dispersed after shots were fired, but have since gathered again.
"Parliament has been quick to act in this chaos, adding nearly a dozen people to the Banned Voices Act today, including the Queen-Claimant and Alexander Salmond, Leader of the Scottish National Party. They have also expelled members of parliament who were in attendance at the coronation.
"In other news, the Provisional IRA has announced a new campaign of attacks against British Military instillations in Northern Ireland. This comes just over a month after the IRA's devastating attack on Thiepval Barracks which left thirty-four dead and more than two hundred injured along with causing more than twenty million pounds in damage.
"This is the BBC News at Six O'Clock. I'm Andrew Harvey, thank you for tuning in."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
On August 8th Hermione decided she was done with prison. Or being held, rather. Rather than being placed in a prison or a jail, Hermione was being held at the Glasgow Police Headquarters, where they hoped the dozens of constables and soldiers outside would be able to hold her.
The fools.
Hermione pulled the disillusioned bobby pins from under her hair as she walked towards the cell door. It was an awkward position, leaning against the bars to try and get a look at the lock, but she could make do.
After ten minutes of quiet struggling and swearing, Hermione finally unlocked the door. Folding in the bobby pins, she put them back in her hair. She pushed the door open slowly before walking through it.
Her first stop would be Evidence. The tracking charms she placed on the Honors told her they were being held there. Given the magic that went into Excalibur's creation she hadn't been able to track it, but hopefully it would be there as well.
Hermione had to duck into a prison cell briefly to avoid detection, and hid in the women's bathroom more than few times before she finally made her way to the evidence room. Which was, unfortunately, guarded.
Stepping from around the corner Hermione slammed her hand into one guard's temple. She wasn't trained or strong enough to knock him out with just that, but it allowed her to channel a stunning spell through her hands. She ducked under the other guard's attack before punching him in the chest, again channeling her magic.
The officer in charge stood up as she entered, his hand going for his gun. He never made it. Hermione leaped over the desk, elbow hitting his solar plexus, winding him. Her hand rose and fell. The officer made a small thunk as he collapsed onto the floor.
Feeling winded, Hermione kept moving, letting her adrenaline fuel her. She walked through the evidence room before finding a locked vault. Biting her tongue to keep from swearing, Hermione moved towards it, searching around for clues about the passcode. Seeing none she closed her eyes, hoped for the best, and typed in year the University of Glasgow was founded.
To her great surprise and delight it worked. Working quickly, Hermione reclaimed the Honours of Scotland, Excalibur, and her wand, which had fortunately not been damaged. She had taken a great risk with that one, but it would have been riskier still to not have it on her during the coronation.
Pulling out her mobile phone, Hermione dialed the number of James McLewis, the leader of the Edinburgh Company of Secret Cells.
"Who is it?" James asked.
"James," Hermione said softly as she climbed down the stairs, exiting the rear of the building. "It's Gwen." She could hear his sharp intake and could nearly see his eyes widening.
"Your majesty," he said breathlessly. "What--how--"
"Just now," she said. "They still don't know. Probably won't for an hour or so. In the meantime, I need some help taking over the BBC."
"We can do that," James said. "Let me call some people. Meet at outside Botanic Gardens in an hour?"
"It has to be sooner," Hermione said. "We want them finding out about me after we've taken over and left."
"Thirty minutes then."
"Sounds good. I'll see you there." Hermione smiled as she hung up. She was really glad she'd spent so much time looking at city maps before her arrest, even if her mother thought it boring.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
BBC Scotland's headquarters were in the North Park House. Plans were being made to move, so as to house more stations, but they had yet to come to fruition. Hermione looked at the studio from across the street. On the other side, James and his ragged band of twelve stood, pistols carefully concealed. Hopefully they wouldn't need them.
As one they moved, Hermione crossing the street with three of the cell members, James approaching with twelve. Moving inside, they met with surprisingly little resistance as they moved towards the BBC Scotland 1 camera studios. At least, until they reached the studio.
"What the hell?" someone yelled, standing up. "Who do--"
"Stand back," Gerald, one of James' cell members, said.
"The hell I--" the man shut up as Gerald pulled out a pistol.
"I do apologize for the intrusion," Hermione said. "But we need to borrow your equipment. Just for a moment."
"I--well--okayy then," the man said. Hermione smiled at him and walked towards the news anchor's desk.
"I--oh, you want me to move," the man said. "Got it." Standing up he quickly scurried away. Hermione sat in the chair, straightening her hair slightly. The Crown of Scotland was placed on the desk in front of her, a military sash lay across her chest, Excalibur sitting on her hip. The Saint Andrew Jewel hung from her neck. The dress she'd worn to the Coronation was transfigured into a pair of black slacks and a dark green button-down shirt. Temporarily, lest Aunt Cissy throw a fit.
"Are we ready?" Hermione asked. James turned towards Elise, another cell member.
"Ready. Camera on in five, four, three," she said, mouthing 'two, one.' Facing the camera, Hermione stared straight ahead.
"My fellow countrymen," she said. "To those who have lose friends and family in the senseless murders yesterday morning, I bleed with you. You are my people as I am yours, and my heart weeps for those passionate lives cut short by senseless English violence. I ask now for a moment of silence to honour their loss. Let their names and deed be remembered and honoured, may they live on in the stories we tell." She paused, her eyes downcast and her head bowed. She remained thus for a few moments before raising them again.
"We cannot let their sacrifice be in vain," she declared, her previous warmth fading. "They may be dead but their cause, our cause lives on. Scotland shall never be free so long as the English boot remains at our throat. The murders yesterday prove what we already knew but dared to hope had changed--there is no reasoning with the English. There will be no peaceful resolution, no compromise that allows our freedoms. The English will persist until either our culture or our people lie dead. It is in light of this that I, Gwendolen Black, Queen of Scots and Scotland, declare the Second Great Cause.
"To the English I say thus: we have kicked you out before, and we will kick you out again. You can leave peacefully now, or forcibly later. While I hope you chose to save the lives of your countrymen and mine, I do not hold much hope. The English have repeatedly proved they care more for land and money than human life and liberty. You have until August 10th.
"To my fellow Scots, this war will test our resolve. It will test our metal. It will test our very souls, but we will emerge victorious." With a nod to Elise the cameras cut. Hermione stretched back in her chair before standing.
"Thank you all for your cooperation," she said to the news crew and anchors. "We'll be out of your hair in just a moment. Bernard?"
"It's on the air," Aaron shouted from the control room, where Elise had handed him the tape. "We're good to go!"
"Good," Hermione said. "We should probably leave before the police arrive. So long, nice to meet you all." Turning on her heel, Hermione then led the fifteen militant Scottish Nationalists out of the building, leaving the crew and anchors of BBC Scotland 1 gaping in their wake.