A/N: Another fic from me...this time Voldemort's still around. The action to start with is set in a place called Scraesdon Fort in Cornwall (UK), this place actually exists and if you search on Google you can find some decent pictures. I've spent a fair bit of time there on exercise with the Combined Cadet Force (similar to the Army Cadet Force but attached to a school) and let me tell you, its one haunting place and I'd love to explore it further. Thats where a lot of the army related knowledge in this fic comes from as well, so sorry if its at all confusing. Enjoy, review and let me know what you think!
Disclaimer: I own nothing of importance except an appointment with a scalpel for my left knee this Thursday morning. Harry Potter and everything else related to it belongs to JK Rowling and Warner Bros.
Hermione shivered and pulled the coat further around her, someone - probably Molly Weasley doing her best for the field agents, had decided that a combination of British Army uniforms from across the ages would be a good combination for Order of the Phoenix uniforms. And Molly had been right; they gave them a sense of conformity and comradeship, something they needed desperately at any given moment – they were edging closer to winning the war, but it was difficult. And it didn't stop the World War One style wool from being impossibly itchy.
When she had first seen her uniform laid out on a bed in Grimmauld Place Hermione had choked back an ironic laugh, it was so typical of wizards picking bits of Muggle clothing. But despite everything, it worked. And so, crouched at the base of a Napoleonic fort in Cornwall – one of the main Order bases, she wore loose black combat trousers and commando boots, of 21st century style, a long sleeved black t-shirt of her own, and in the style of 19th century rifle regiment officers jackets, the Order of the Phoenix senior commanders jacket – black with black braiding and silver buckles, red cuffs with gold edging and the phoenix badge on the sleeve. Four rings of gold and red around her left wrist proclaimed her a Lieutenant Colonel.
And of course the infernal great coat, irritatingly heavy and a royal pain in the arse when it rained, but bloody brilliant if you were sat in an oversized ditch, back against rough stone on fucking sentry duty. A colonel, on sentry duty? The mere idea of it was ridiculous as far as she was concerned. But then a lot of the lower ranks needed a break and the rest were out on patrols, so Hermione being the saint she was, offered to go on duty.
A scuffle from behind her and a dark figure, cloak billowing behind him jumped down from a tunnel entrance. "Who goes there?" She levelled her wand at the tall, well built hooded man and her brows knitted in concentration.
"Potter. Colonel. Phoenix."
"Password…"
"'Mione…" Harry groaned, leaning carelessly against the wall.
"Password." She held firm, better wizards and witches had made this mistake.
"Flobber."
"Worm. Pass friend and be recognised." Harry pushed off the wall and sat down next to her, lowering his hood and hugging his knees to his chest.
"That has to be the most god awful password…ever." He passed her a flask of steaming hot chocolate. "Seriously. Who comes up with them?"
"Administration." Hermione shivered and sipped the chocolate; a thick fog was settling over the Tamar and creeping up the Lynher towards the fort. She was in for a long night.
"Bloody Ravenclaws. All quiet on the Western front then?" Harry surveyed Hermione's line of vision, the black of the river glinted through the trees down the hillside.
"Decidedly so. What brings you down here? Other than peace offerings?" She raised the flask and chuckled, the pair had argued over length of sentry duty earlier that day, and Harry had overridden her suggestion of a slightly shorter time on – he outranked her but always insisted it was purely symbolic, except when he wanted to get things his way.
"I'm tense 'Mione. It's all so relaxed up there, I know we're winning. I can feel it in my bones, he's angry and they're wavering. But I'm scared…I don't know if I can…it's…difficult…"
Hermione set the flask down on a handy tree stump and pulled her best friend into a hug. "You can do it. And you know why you can do it, because you can love."
Harry grasped her tightly. "I love you Hermione."
"I love you too Harry." It wasn't a declaration of desperate longing, it was purely platonic but it would win him this war one day. It would bring him peace. One day. But not today.
"Still, its fucking freezing here and I doubt he's going to come strolling up to Scraesdon to seek me out. Especially not with you on guard." Harry winked and stood once more. He reached into his pockets and ruffled around for a second before drawing out a scrap of parchment and handing it to Hermione. "New password, they change in," he glanced at his watch. "Ten minutes. Night 'Mione."
"Night Harry." And he was gone, sliding through the narrow opening into the dark passages of the fort. It was a truly magnificent structure, Muggle of course, built by prisoners of war back in the 19th century. Vast and unwelcoming, cold and frightening, but at the moment it buzzed with activity, intelligence was combed over in the underground chambers accessed by long and deep tunnels, far from prying ears. Troops lodged above ground, surrounding the massive common area in large rooms. It was war on a grand scale, and yet until now, had never been used in anger.
Ten minutes until the password rotation – that meant it was nearing 1am, only another five hours on duty then. Five cold hours in the undergrowth with nothing but her own troubled mind for company.
Hermione's full rank is Lieutenant Colonel, but generally when adressing someone of said rank, you call them Colonel because the full title's too long.
