AUTHORS NOTE: Was having trouble concentrating on studying(shrugs). Hope you like it. I'm not sure if this is going to turn into a full-fledged story because I have no idea where this is going But if I do have enough reviews it might sway mind that way. ENJOY!
SUMMARY: Twelve years ago, 7th year of Hogwarts something terrible happened to the Golden Trio. Harry Potter and Ron Weasley disappeared, Hermione Granger became a nobody and the Wizarding world plunged into the Dark Lord's reign. Now two armies are rising, the Crusaders led by Hermione and another darker army with a mission to kill led by the people from Hermione's past. Yet both inevitably have the same goals.
The dark hooded figure walked down dirty alley, not sparing one glance at the homeless lying around. She saw beggars everyday; Homeless, sick and dying. Her footfalls made a splashing noise, and the mud beneath her worn boots seem to splatter whenever she took a step. No one noticed the dirtiness. Everyone was too busy trying to avoid catching deathly diseases and saving themselves from the death plague.
The death plague was reminiscent of the Wizarding black death plague in 1670; only it was much more dangerous and an infinitely more painful way to go. She didn't care; she just wanted to leave this God-forsaken place. Dead or alive.
She squinted at the distant flame, trying to decipher if it was place she had come looking for. Affirming her earlier observation, she walked, those squishy footsteps quickening towards the flame. She was careful to keep her face hidden. She tugged the hood even further down her face, and wrapped the worn cloak around tightly. The prickling at the base of her neck told her that she was being watched. But then she was always being watched. Even though no one was suppose to know that she was alive, obviously someone did know. They were watching her. She shivered involuntary as she caught sight of a dirty looking man squinting at here. She bowed her head. The last thing she wanted to do was draw attention. This was the alley of blood-traitors. And they didn't take as kindly to her kind- mudbloods and muggles as they once might've done. The war had turned them bitter. Bitter with despair and anger at the fact that Harry Potter had not saved them. That the so-called blood-traitors had not died when they lost. Instead, they were forced into a life of fear and plague. Those who once held heads high and called themselves Harry Potter's supporters had been failed by him. Their hero had disappeared before the war with his best friends. Their hope had died.
If only they knew what really happened. If they only knew Harry Potter hadn't betrayed them; Hadn't run away. They didn't know what had happened that terrible night twelve years ago, when the fate of the world had been irrevocably finalized.
She neared the hovel-like structure which sported the flame. The hovel looked more like a pigsty, built of stray pieces or termite-eaten wood. The fungus grew on the crude walls. There was a damp, pungent smell about the place. The torn excuse for a curtain was parted to reveal a thin, tall body lying on a make-shift mattress on the floor. The cloaked woman gently pushed the curtain aside, mindless of the fact that she had entered someone's home. All she wanted to see was the face attached to that body. Her heart was pounding at the thought of seeing someone familiar for the first time in eleven years. Her hands were trembling and frantic. She hoped beyond hope that this time her sources were right; that this was a connection to something that she once lost. She wrenched down the cloth from the body and her heart thudded at the sight of a face she had despaired of ever seeing again. The familiar red hair, and freckled face; Asleep and covered with a rag. Ginny Weasley looked so much thinner than she remembered. Her face was dirty, gaunt and bruised; her once-lustrous hair lanky and severely chopped. The observer's eyes filled.
Oh Ginny…what happened to you?
The hooded woman wiped her eyes and silently debated whether to wake her. Suddenly Ginny stiffened in her sleep.
"Harry…"
The name tumbled from the sleeping woman's lips in a ragged, hoarse whisper. The guilt that shot through the thin body of the hooded woman, nearly staggered her. It was the type of guilt that she hadn't felt in almost four years of living in this hell-hole.
"Ron? Where are you?"
Ginny's pitch was a little higher. Like a girl of eleven and not a women of twenty-seven. She was reliving a child hood memory. This time it wasn't guilt that made the standing woman stagger. It was pain. Even after eleven years dissolution, this gaunt, pale, dirty woman still dreamt about her brother and lover. The thin figure, crouching over the sleeping woman stumbled back clutching Ginny's threadbare blanket in her hands, knocking off a glass she hadn't noticed before. The sleeping woman jolted awake with a gasp. Her blue eyes widened at the sight of the wooded figure and she whirled and grasped the wooden staff she kept for defending herself. She lurched herself off the ground and brandished the staff at the cloaked figure, sitting on the ground.
"What the fuck do you think you were doing?"
A sob wrenched from the figure.
"Ginny?"
Ginny almost fell back on hearing her name from the female.
"Who are you?' she demanded at the figure.
Instead of answering the jumped on her feet and whirled around, shielding her face as the hood fell of her head to reveal a messy head of familiar brown curls. Before Ginny could utter another word, the woman stumbled and ran away from the red-headed woman as though her life depended on it.
"HERMIONE!"
Ginny's hoarse shout didn't slow her down; didn't stop her.
The Weasley girl couldn't believe it. After years of looking for Hermione Granger, she had walked towards them. She had to contact her superiors. They all had almost given up hope. But the witch was alive. She still survived. She would be brought in soon if Ginny had anything to do with it.
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The thick damp air burned down Hermione's lungs as she struggled to breath. She ran as far as she could go, as fast as she could go. Some people were turning to look at her but she didn't care. All her worries about being inconspicuous had been dissipated from her mind in her insane haste to get away from the familiarity she'd thought she wanted; far, far away from Ginny. She ran out of the dim alley and braced herself for the bitter darkness that was sure to envelope her as soon as she stepped out of the vicinity of the blood-traitors. Even the normal streets were lined with the homeless muggles. Voldemort didn't bother with killing. He tortured by breaking families apart, burning down houses and unleashing bio-chemical viruses in the atmosphere.
Hermione spend most of the last ten years taking advantage of the fact that no one knew her; or even bothered to. She prepared herself and even dared to enter Diagon alley. She didn't have anything to lose. Her parents had disappeared along with the others. She didn't even know if they were alive. In the years everyone had forgotten about Hermione Granger. But seeing Ginny had sent a serious jolt through her. If she rekindled their acquaintance she would come to care again. The only thing Hermione could afford to care about were the Crusaders; Hermione's recruited army. The army wasn't really an army. It was more of a community of muggle-borns and muggles who were yet to be afflicted with viruses. It was make-shift medical sojourn. They cared for the sick. Half-blood insiders at the ministry, muggle-borns from muggle hospitals were smuggling medical supplies. The muggle–borns were recruiting muggle doctors. It was a growing-breathing community. That's all Hermione had to care about. She helped muggle doctors isolate resistant strands of DNA from genes and smuggled them back to their medical facilities.
But even as these thought invaded Hermione's consciousness, as she slowed down, she knew it was too late. The seed was planted. The violent urge to make it right was reincarnated. Hermione's strictly professional mission had been rendered emotional by one glance at her long-ago friend.
The young woman briskly walked without glancing around. Her footsteps were practiced as if she'd come this way a thousand times before. Her impromptu discovery by Ginny Weasley wouldn't sit well with her people. The army was growing everyday. The fear of discovery by the pure-bloods was fiercer than ever. She couldn't tell anyone. Even though the Crusaders were helping the diseased, they wouldn't hesitate to assassinate a pure-blood--blood traitor or not- if they were threatened with discovery. It was a rule Hermione herself had reinstated. After all, survival was the ultimate goal. Maybe not for her, but for everyone else: that was all they cared about.
The Crusader, in ten years of existence had helped millions of people and saved thousands of human. Most of these people, after being cured, signed on for staying with them. Especially the muggle-borns. After being stripped of their wands, their choices were extremely limited. Join the Crusaders or wander around aimlessly. It wasn't a very tough choice to make. Magic in most cases was a spontaneous burst of temper. Even though the pure-blood detected it, they didn't bother. As long as the mudbloods were kept away from wands, everything would go as planned.
Hermione walked till she saw the last sleeping human on the floor; The Crusader guard. The community lived in plain sight, with hovels of their own. During the day they bustled about like a village. However at night, everyone retreated to their homes and into the underground fortress under the guise of sleeping. An underground fortress which took almost four years to rejuvenate for human use. The Crusaders collected everything: from broken marble to stones off the street. The fortress, Hermione had assumed when the first discovered it, was an abandoned underground military base. Possibly built in case of natural disasters. It was perfect to carry out missions and start bringing in patients. They were beds and minimal amount of supplies to tend to their own wounds. Next thing Hermione did was to fish out contacts. People who were muggle-born but had experience in healing. And thus started the Crusaders. Hermione walked to her abode and instead of entering the fortress, she sank onto her make-shift mattress, removed her boots and lay her head down. She closed her eyes and felt for the rune at the back of her neck and breathed a sigh of relief. Then she felt for the next one above right breast. Both of them were still etched into her skin. She was connected to them by the oldest form of magic. They were still alive. Harry and Ron were still alive.
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"You lost her?" the man in traveling cloak roared at Ginny. He was a tall man, dressed in black, jet-black hair long enough to brush the collar of his cloak. His once-round cheekbones were chiseled and slashed. Dark eye-brows furrowed, he glared at the woman standing before him. Ginny wasn't intimidated. She tipped her face, defiantly.
"What did you expect me to do?" she asked, scathingly "Run after her?"
"That would've been smart." He hissed.
"What happened to 'you're not a field agent, you will just report'?" Ginny snapped.
"Damn it Ginny" he wanted to kill her "This not about you!"
Ginny pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at him.
"You think she would've stopped if I ran after her?" she retorted "she was already freaked. If I tried anything she would've disappeared again."
He knew she was right but it didn't make him any less angry. He stared at the defiant woman before him, his once-lover. He wondered where his feelings for her had gone. He wondered if she had any left for him. Fighting a passive was getting to him, burning him alive.
He strode to the desk and fished out three galleons. He closed his eyes in concentration. Ginny watched him, summoning another agent. The coins, Hermione's DA ideas, were still being used for communication. Even though they still used the protean charm, their spell researchers had added to the charm to make it complex. They'd devised code words to activate the coins. Every agent had their own communicator which was code and voice activated. Obviously their coins could only be used by themselves or the leader. The coins recognized the leader's voice. Field agents had their specific codes to communicate between themselves during secret raids. It was complex, deep and basically impossible to penetrate and trace.
Basically, Ginny thought ruefully, that was the point.
What made their organization even more impenetrable was the fact that only seven hand-picked individuals out an army of almost three thousand from all over Europe knew the name of their leader. Out of those only three knew the actual head quarter locations.
The second-in-command to the leader, the head of death-eaters and the Weasleys.
Ginny watched the man slam the coins back into his drawer. He clawed a hand through his hair. The action shot a jostle of reminiscence through Ginny. She stamped down the memory and squared her jaw. She refused to feel anything for this shell of a man standing before her. It just really sucked that she couldn't completely ignore him since he was the father of her son.
"Give this mission to me" she lowered her voice "I'll find Hermione."
He shook his head. "I can't" his voice didn't hint at one hint at remorse "you are a mother."
"So are half the woman of this organization," she spat "Yet most of them are doing field-work."
"You're the mother of my child," he said, curtly "I can't let you risk your life."
"You're a bloody bastard" the welling of rage inside her would've shocked her if she had considered it. "I'm a part of this fucking war too!"
"I won't risk my son growing up with out a mother." He mouth curled in anger "I know what that feels like, I won't let that happen to Max."
Ginny wanted to scream; she wanted to kill. She hated this man. She hated him.
"I want the mission to locate Hermione," she hissed "not go on a bloody raid."
Her turned away from her and clasped his hand behind himself.
"Hermione's involved with the Crusaders." He told her, curtly "we don't know how or why but she is."
"The Crusaders heal," she snapped "they don't kill."
"They hate purebloods" his voice was cold "Blood-traitors or not."
"How come we know so much about the Crusaders?"
"We don't know much, you know as much as we do," he replied "we just found out from our spy that she is involved."
"So it's your final decision?" she asked "you won't give me the mission?"
"Yes" his voice didn't bode any argument.
"Very well," she said, tightly "I'm pulling out from the observer's point. I'm taking Max and going to my mother's. Don't visit until you've changed your mind or finished Voldemort."
With that she slammed the door behind herself.
Harry Potter stayed rooted to the spot, her voice echoing in his head.
"Don't count on it." He said to the empty room.
He knew that they had a very good chance of winning, even though the biggest army was neither his nor Voldemort's. The largest army was the Crusaders. His organization, Alliance relied mostly on magical weapons and creatures and so did Voldemort's. But what the Crusader didn't have in weapons they made up for it in numbers and muggle supplies. Crusader was an all-muggle organization. And most, if not all of the muggles were a part of it. Not to mention muggle-borns. Even his biggest resources hadn't managed to find out who the leader of the sojourn was. The merging of the Crusaders and Alliance would be the biggest asset since the Order of the phoenix dissolved into the organization. Both in numbers and medics and besides anyone who managed to smuggle spies into the Ministry of magic and the muggle world had to be big with strategy.
Finding Hermione Granger had become much more important. With the brains that the Gryffindor girl had, she was probably immersed deep inside the Crusaders. If he got to her, he could get to the leader. But an even more pressing reason was present. It was time that Hermione was brought into the fold. They would need her to restore magic within the muggle blood. Harry also suspected that his friend had one of the hocruxes with her. but most of all, it'd been too long since had seen any of his best-friends.
He had his leads on Ron Weasley. He protected the red-haired man, who was his reclusive second-in-command. It was his other best friend who had been out of both of their radars for eleven years. He'd have to bring his double agent, the head of death-eaters to complete this delicate mission.
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Ginny was still fuming an hour later pacing in front of her mother's fire place. Max was already asleep or at least she thought so. She didn't notice the small dark-haired boy watching his mother's taut face with worried startling green eyes. The young boy looked no more than four, especially dressed in a shirt a little too big for him. His tiny button nose was an exact copy of Ginny's. Apart from the nose nothing of the little dark-haired boy looked like a Weasley. He was Potter through and through at least where facial features were concerned.
"Mummy?"
Ginny jumped about a foot in the air. She whirled around, her face immediately softening seeing the worried frown on her son's little face.
"Max," she scolded lightly "you're supposed to be in bed."
He shrugged, the gesture so reminiscent of his father that she almost broke down.
"I'm not sleepy, mummy" he pouted just a little "Are you angry again?"
Ginny watched affectionately as he son's eyes suddenly widened.
"Aww mummy you have dirt on you cheek."
She smiled and said "Would you come wipe it for me, love?"
He scrambled towards the kitchen and before his mother knew it, he'd run across the room with a napkin and started dabbing at her face. Ginny laughed, holding the little body close to herself.
"Calm down, you little thing."
"You're all clean now" the little boy grinned.
Ginny kissed his chubby cheek and tickled him. The boy squealed and flailed his arms and legs laughing. She laughed with him.
"Bed time big boy" she commanded mock-sternly.
He pouted and widened his eyes.
"None of that young man, you're going to bed right now"
"Oh okay." The look of exasperated resignation on the little face almost made her giggle. "if I go to bed now, can I see daddy tomorrow?"
Ginny's smile faltered. "We'll see darling" she told him "Now off you go!"
She sank into the couch and buried her face in her hands after she saw him enter his room. Harry could say whatever he wanted. She was the one who was going to locate Hermione
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A new day was supposed to be bright. It was suppose to bring new beginnings. A new year was supposed to wriggle out all types of resolutions from people. Yet when Hermione woke up on the morn of the first day of 2019, all Hermione could think about was that this winter was her last. Of course she didn't know that but she wanted it to be. The Crusaders were powerful and resourceful enough to carry on by themselves. It wouldn't make much of difference if she lived anyway. Only a handful of members even cared if the founder of the army was alive or not. It wasn't about war, even if it had started that way. It was about saving lives.
The weather was dreadfully cold. The fire in front of her wasn't doing much to keep her warm. She felt about for her warmer jumpers from the good ole' days and hopefully a heavier cloak then the brown one she was wore. Her toe was frost-bitten and poking out of the hole in her sock. Hermione's groping hand discovered what she was looking for. Swiftly, she pulled it over her head and wrapped her blanket around her self. Her previously thick gloves were getting too thin for her to wear. Winter was a terrible time for everyone. The pond water they usually drank in the other seasons became ice and the food froze like nobody's business. Everyone had to rely on muggle supplies for food. Which didn't sound terrible but it was. Since waiting for the food would mean going hungry for three-to-five days.
Hermione stood up, unsteadily and pulled her muddy boots on. She would have to visit the fortress and check for developments in replicating the gene resistant to the plague. Then she would have to assign the smuggling of basic medical facilities for a new batch of patients coming in.
She cut her way between the cluster of people crowded around the big fire to the boarded entrance to the fortress. It was trap-door, rather like the one the golden trio had found the giant three-headed dog, Fluffy guarding. She grasped at the round knocker-like handle and pulled it open. With her foot she felt about for the ring of the ladder and lowered herself down the space when she found it, simultaneously shutting the trap-door.
"Hiya Hermione." A big, bear-like man greeted her. "didn't see ya las' nigh'"
"Remy" Hermione grasped his outstretched hand in a handshake. "too tired."
He nodded and turned away when somebody tapped him on his shoulder. Hermione proceeded to the meeting section. A snoozing bald man sat on a wicker chair, his head slumped on the worn-looking table. His arms are bent on the table, resting on various wrinkled papers. Hermione gave a crooked smile at the sight.
Richard Gelting, the sleeping man was Hermione's second-in-command. He was the second man Hermione had recruited twelve ago, responsible for the strategic planning for most of the missions. Richard didn't like active 'dirty' work, he much preferred planning. Unlike Hermione, who led as many missions as she possibly could carry out; Unless they were ministry-based. Although Hermione had desperately wanted to enter the ministry to steal into Department of Mysteries to sneak a time-turner and go back into time, she had refrained herself. There was no use getting herself killed. But she'd already come to a decision. She would lead a Ministry robbery. In fact, she'd lead the group that was supposed to go in this week. The Half-blood spies were too low in their ranks to get to any specific Department to steal anything but old Medic Scrolls used in making potions.
"Richard?" she shook him, gently. "Richard wake up"
The man grunted and woke up with a start.
"wha- what happened?"
He noticed her standing and blinked. "It's you."
Hermione snorted "Who else has the guts to shake you awake?"
Richard grinned casting light upon his rather crooked teeth. "Why'd you shake me awake you minx?"
"Has the ministry robbery been carried out?"
He smiled at her ruefully and shook his bald head. "Supplies are declining extremely fast." He said. "at this rate we'll be out in a month or so. No one's paying much attention to the ministry, we're too busy keeping the patients alive. Most of the muggle hospitals have been raided out."
"Is that a rough statistic or a thorough one?"
"It's the final statistic" he replied "A month would be the most."
Hermione frowned thoughtfully. "That's going to make thing very difficult."
Richard nodded. "Any ideas?" he asked her, taking in the sudden spark in her brown eyes. He mentally rolled his eyes at the obvious indication of something resembling a plan in her head. Here he was, awake the entire night trying to think of plan B and, damn the woman, it didn't even take her five minutes.
"The ministry" she blurted out. "That's it."
He shook his head. "Hermione there's no way we can get in the ministry," he looked determined. "and steal the incoming shipments. The probability of discovery is much too high."
"I know the ministry grounds by heart, if you've forgotten." She reminded him. "we really need those supplies, don't we? Besides the Ministry is one place where we could get the latest magical medic equipment and throw out the rusty ones."
Richard didn't look like he had much in him to argue her out of the mission. He shoulders drooped.
"I don't like it, Granger" he growled.
"C'mon" her tone warranted that she wasn't budging, "we might have the best Muggle equipment, but most of the symptoms of illnesses our patients are showing are magical. They'll get the best treatment magically."
"You're not going to give up the mad-arsed idea?"
She shook her head and confirmed the denial. Richard sighed, feeling every inch of his fifty-five years.
"Just be careful, girl."
"I will." Hermione winked at him and walked away to the research section. This mission would be her last. She'd hand over the army control to Richard and smuggle herself out of England. And that was to be that.
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Harry Potter jumped put of bed, clutching his wand when heard a distinct crash from the floor below. He dug into the pocket of his jeans, searching for his communicator. Even though nobody knew the location of the head quarters, Harry still didn't like to take risks. If there was one thing he'd learn through years and years of training, it was constant vigilance. He stood against the wall and nudged the bedroom door open with his feet. He slowly edged out of the room and glanced down stairs from the narrow banister.
"HARRY??" a familiar voice bellowed his name "You there mate?"
Harry didn't lower his wand. "RON?"
"Yeah it's me mate" then he heard Ron's laughter "you don't believe me, do you?"
"What are you most afraid of Ron?" Harry asked.
He heard another snort of laughter and then the man's reply "You mean apart from my mom?" the man's voice rankled with mirth "Spiders."
Harry lowered his wand and pocketed, while hastening down the stairs. There stood his red-headed best friend, grinning widely. Harry smirked at the man.
"Been a while, eh?"
"A while?" Ron looked incredulous "It's been five years, you arse. What kind of man doesn't communicate with his best friend and second-in-command directly for five bloody years?"
"You tell me"
"A bastard like you." Ron retorted.
Harry laughed "It's good to see you."
Harry strode towards the cocky red-head and gave him a one-armed hug.
"How's the mission?"
Ron groaned. "You still talking about missions?" he asked "Gimme a break and tell me about this urgent meeting."
"We'll talk in the morning about that."
Ron nodded his assent and grabbed a wrapped sandwich from the table and started munching on it.
"I'm famished." Ron told him.
Before Harry could reply to the statement, his communicator burned. He drew it out from his pocket. The galleon was glowing. That would mean that the leader of the death-eaters was coming over. The operation was about to begin in earnest.
The dark lord's reign had gone on long enough. Even the pure-blooded community was getting restless. They were growing tiresome over a man who'd ruled for twelve years. The general fear of being slaughtered for Voldmeort's amusement worried not only the muggle- borns, muggles and half- bloods, but also the pure-bloods. Voldemort, first and foremost was a power-hungry creature. His mad experiments and expeditions to gain that power harmed humans and magical creatures alike in thousands to further his own means. Because of his personal resources, Harry knew that Voldemort was frantically hunting for his remaining Hocruxes. The Dark lord had deemed that his soul was much more protected in his almost non-material body than in material objects. For the past five years the Alliance had been fiercely protecting the Hocruxes from his reach. If Hermione was indeed still hiding the Hocrux-the one that Alliance hadn't been able to locate- then she was in much more danger than Harry had anticipated.
Harry had put off the decision to start an active war for too bloody long. The department branches were in outrage over the prolonged delay in action.
Harry sighed. He had hoped to, but he couldn't put it off forever. The troops were going to march this year.