Fight the Good Fight
Disclaimer: All characters and recognizable entities belong to their respective owners. JonHarper and I are making no profit off of this story.
Welcome, ladies and gents, to what is sure to be a fun, wild ride. A few weeks ago, JonHarper approached me to help him with his amazing and brilliant idea and I just could not pass up the opportunity to work on such a great story. We hope you enjoy!
For those among you who have an account on , Jon is also posting the story there under the user name Spartan303, so check it out there too.
Alright, let's get this show on the road, folks.
Chapter 1
The attic was a maze of tottering stacks of boxes and tarp covered furniture, cobwebs and dust formed a fine film over nearly every surface, and Hermione thought she could hear the scuttling, scratching noises of little paws, but she wouldn't leave now. She'd promised to organize and clean out the attic for her parents, and, really, it was nice to have a moment away from them. She loved her parents, otherwise she never would have done what she did but it seemed they were struggling to come to terms with it, the betrayal. And it had been a betrayal. Hermione was under no illusions. She'd done the right thing, protecting her parents had been of the utmost priority, but when she'd found them in the United States and reversed the False Memory Charm they'd been… less than thrilled.
Things were still tense, even a year later. It seemed every time her mother looked at her it was with hurt and confusion, and her father? He didn't really look at her at all anymore, just through her. She didn't blame them for how they felt but it still hurt all the same, to be looked at by her own parent's as if she were a stranger, or a ghost. That was partly why she'd agreed to organize the attic for them, to get away from the looks, her mother's sighs and the awkward tension that settled over them every time the three of them were in the same room together. So here she was, picking her way carefully through dust and furniture in an attempt to get to the center of the room, so she could see the whole of the mess and Merlin's beard was it a mess. It seemed like this attic hadn't been properly sorted for years. Still, it gave her something to do besides think, and Hermione was happy to keep her aging father from throwing his back out any more than he already had.
It had only been a few years since the war, just a few short years and already everything had changed. Harry and Ginny were dating, though how happily was up for debate,and he was working in the Auror's office with Ron. Hermione sighed and nudged a box to the side with the toe of her sneaker, looking for evidence of mice. She'd really thought she and Ron might make it there for a while. They'd dated rather intensely after the war, and, for a bit, everything had gone well. It was after they settled, after they relearned how to be normal, that things took a nosedive. Arguments broke out, initially civil, but quickly turning vicious and sometimes cruel. They forgot how to understand each other, how to communicate. It got harder and harder for Hermione to reconcile and forgive Ron's flaws, and it finally just broke when he asked her to abandon her parents. It had taken nearly three and a half years of searching, but she'd finally managed to find them, settled here in the states and not Australia. When she invited Ron to come with her, hoping he'd be there for emotional support, he looked her dead in the eye and asked her why?
Why go get them? Why give them their memories back? Why bring them back to England? They were happy, weren't they? Let them live their lives. They were doing just fine. She'd been so floored, so stunned, so hurt that she'd flung a hex at him, didn't remember what, and stormed out, moving out of their flat and making her way here immediately after. They hadn't spoken since, though Harry occasionally mentioned him in their exchanged letters. She couldn't say she regretted what happened with Ron. She'd always love him, but she'd likely never be in love with him again, if she even was to begin with, or if their ultimately doomed relationship would just be the results of years together and the rush of battle.
Looking around at the boxes and crates, the tarp covered furniture and old bookcases, the chests and tables, the trash bags full of old clothes, and the matted cobwebs, Hermione sighed, lifted her wand, and got to work, happy for a distraction. Levitating and cleaning, chasing out mice and squirrels that had settled into nooks and crannies, brushing away cobwebs and clearing dust; if she hadn't had her wand it would have been a full day's work, maybe more, but with her wand she was able to get things ordered and straightened out in just a few hours, giving her plenty of time to actually dig in and sort through the stored junk. With furniture neatly lined up, old bookcases pressed back into walls and crates and boxes stacked neatly it was time to get down to proper work. Another hour or so in, and Hermione was up to her elbows in faded, aged parchment and paper, and was getting so irritated and frazzled she was this close to taking a break and getting a bite to eat when a small leather bound book caught her eye.
It, along with all the other papers she was currently sorting through, had come out of an old steamer trunk so covered in dust she doubted anyone had sorted through it since it had been stored away up here. The book was small, the cover blank and the leather cracking and dry, bound only by a thin string of leather wrapped twice around the outside and knotted. Settling back onto a box she'd been using as a makeshift chair, Hermione picked and tugged at the knot, momentarily forgetting her wand, and, as gently as she could given the dry, frail pages, pried the little book open to find it filled with the neat, slanting script of one Margaret Carter.
Propping a foot up on the box, Hermione frowned and gently flipped through the pages, looking for ink that wasn't so faded it couldn't be read. Hermione had only met her maternal Great Aunt Peggy a handful of times. Great Aunt Peggy lived in Washington and Hermione had only visited when she was young, so she hadn't seen her in years but those few meetings were enough to paint a rather solid portrait of her Aunt. The woman was determined, kind, but a spitfire, tough as nails and wicked smart, and had always intimidated Hermione a little with her sharp eyes and war stories. Many women had served in the military during World War II but few in her capacity, and here was a woman, who Hermione was related to, that had served her country as an intelligence officer. Great Aunt Peggy had never told Hermione much about the war, and even Hermione hadn't been curious enough to ask too many questions of this proud, elegant woman, and for a while she'd thought she'd missed her chance to get to know her better, particularly since Hermione hadn't seen or contacted her for years. Now though, in Hermione'shands, was a direct line to her Great Aunt, a direct connection she may have never had because of her own limitations, and it was dated 1942, right in the thick of World War II.
Hermione made her way through the diary, skimming passages that hadn't yet faded with time, and carefully reading the ones she could make out properly. Hermione was thrilled to find her Great Aunt had always been a spitfire, and didn't waste her time mooning over handsome soldiers, but concerned herself mostly with her work. Her dedication was admirable, though there were a few things in the entries that didn't entirely make sense. Mentioned several times throughout the book was something called the Super Soldier Project, and then Serum. Hermione, irritated at not knowing something, kept reading in hopes of finding more, but most of the diary was too faded and aged in places, so she turned to the piles of papers and files she'd found locked in the chest with the diary, and started to sort through them, intending to find more, when a knock startled her.
"Hermione?"
"Mum? Over here."
Her mother appeared around the stack of crates Hermione had organized and labeled in the center of the room, smiling in bemusement "Hermione it's almost dinner time. Haven't you finished yet?"
Was it that late already? Hermione looked around and found, through the small circular window across the room, that it was dark outside, and, at one point or another, without even realizing it, Hermione had lit her wand to bathe the attic in a warm glow.
"Oh, no not quite. I've just got to sort through these last few trunks, and I'll be finished."
Her mother smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes "Well. That can wait until tomorrow. Come down for dinner. I've made lamb chops."
Hermione was itching to get back to her Great Aunt's diaries, and to see if the other steamer trunks might have any more information, but with a low rumble and a sudden ache, her stomach announced it was far too hungry to continue like this. Stowing the papers in the trunk, the diary on top, Hermione followed her mother down to the dining room to suffer through another silent, awkward dinner. Her father didn't ask how the attic was coming along, and her mother stared fixedly at her plate through the entire meal, making eye contact only be accident. The tension in the room was palatable, and, finally, Hermione had had enough of it, and left, fixing herself a cup of tea and returning to the attic to get back to work. Her mother didn't even chastise her for failing to excuse herself. Her parents were like totally different people; Great Aunt Peggy's diaries, however, more than made up for the disappointing relationship that had developed between Hermione and her parents.
The Super Soldier Serum, from what Hermione could put together from the paper work and the diary, had been intended to give an average, Muggle soldier immense power and strength, as well as a regenerative healing ability and enhancements to the soldier's overall potential: their intelligence, their loyalty and strength of character, their entire person enhanced to their greatest potential, inside and out. It was astounding to think about, really, what could happen to someone who took this serum. Unfortunately the first test, on Johann Schmidt, led to disastrous results and side effects, and the group nearly abandoned the project, but the scientists working on the project apparently made a few adjustments and made another attempt. Unfortunately, that's where her Great Aunt's diary ended, her handwriting tiny and cramped in the margins from her attempt to include everything, and Hermione couldn't find any more specifics on the project, and nearly gave up finding anything else altogether until she opened the next steamer trunk and found the thing stacked from bottom to lid with journals and diaries similar to the one she'd just finished.
They were out of order, naturally, and Hermione spent hours getting them all organized and in order, but when she finally did she was thrilled to find her Great Aunt had picked up right where she left off on the great success of the Serum when it was used on a soldier named Steve Rogers, and, for the next three or four diaries, he was the primary subject. As sensible as her Great Aunt was, Steve Rogers, at least the image her Great Aunt painted in her diaries, had clearly swept her off her feet. He was, according to this, sweet and loyal, patriotic to a fault, respectful and dedicated, a bit naïve yet endearing. Perfect, really, the complete Prince Charming. That Great Aunt Peggy mentioned more than a couple times how handsome Steve was made Hermione wonder just how honest this portrayal was, and if, perhaps, she'd been a bit blinded by a particularly intense crush.
Hermione knew that feeling well. For a few years Hermione had only seen Ron's good traits. His loyalty and dedication to his friends, and his protectiveness of Harry and herself, his occasional cleverness and stubborn pride, something that'd been attractive to her at one point, and his sweetness… she'd talked herself into forgetting his flaws. His laziness and stubbornness, no longer attractive, as well as his inherent, though fairly unintentional, close mindedness and racism, as well as his absolute determination to have the same, large family that he grew up in, had ended their relationship, not just succinctly, but permanently. Not even their shared history, the war and years at Hogwarts, had been enough incentive for them to maintain civility and contact. Harry was the go between, as usual, but this time the position was a permanent one.
Just the thought of Harry had Hermione suddenly itching to write to him, itching to tell someone who loved and cared for her about her new discoveries, particularly someone who might be just as interested. Harry's family was gone, and he'd never get the chance to know them except through second-hand stories and passed down photographs, so if anyone could understand her desire to get to know her family, particularly when her parents were so distant, it would be Harry. She stood, stretched, put all but an armful of the diaries away, and made her way out to her room. The house was dark, an illuminated clock read three, and Hermione could just hear snores from beyond her parent's door. They hadn't even come in to say goodnight to her, or to remind her to go to bed, something they would have done before.
With a sudden flood of emotion Hermione remembered all the nights her father would bring a steaming cup of tea to her in the middle of the night while she read, and the mornings her mother would let her sleep in, a book pressed to her chest and covers tucked up to her chin. Biting back tears, Hermione rushed to her room and shut the door, practically throwing herself at her desk and nearly tearing the parchment she was writing on in her haste to write to Harry. She desperately missed her friends, their unity and sense of security, and, for the first time ever, she felt lonelier without them than with her parents.
And that was how this entire situation began.