Chapter 3: He's a Demon, He's a Devil, He's a Doll – Betty Hutton
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Fallout or Potter. At all. Otherwise I wouldn't have to work so much and could spend more time writing.
POV: Harry Potter, Above Salem
Her scream was long and loud, redolent with youthful energy and excitement as the wind tousled her hair fiercely and made her eyes water.
Harry pushed the broom to its limits as Nat held on with one arm, the other raised into the air to feel the air as it rushed over them. He grinned back at her as he took her on loops above Salem, banking so hard that they could look to their left and see the ground whizzing by.
Settlers going about their day looked up at the hoots and yells, smirking at the duo as they put on a little show above them.
Harry leaned to the right, Nat naturally following suit, as they turned and headed south. He gives the crater a wide berth, not chancing any further contact with those fanatics for the time being. He looped a tight spiral around the lighthouse, gasping as they reached the top and saw that the glow coming from its apex seemed to come from a terribly irradiated ghoul.
Shaking the image of it pressing its face against the glass, Harry turned the broom back over the crashing waves and surged north, going low enough to get their legs wet from the ocean spray.
Nat squealed in delight and reached down to dip her fingers in the water, withdrawing it quickly from the sting of hitting the water at high speed. Harry looked back and though she nursed her fingers, her smile wasn't abated in the slightest. Grinning at her, he climbed almost vertically for several hundred feet and hovered for the barest moment before diving back down at incredible speed.
Nat opened her mouth to scream in delight but found that the air muffled her as it forced its way into her mouth. Harry pulled up at the last moment and whirled around some kind of pre-war industrial plant. Looking down, they saw several people shooting at each other, one side composed of men and women in ragged metal armor… raiders most likely, and the other with… mannequins?
He felt more than heard the sharp intake of breath from Nat and her arms tightened around his waist.
"Synths!" She shouted into his ear, over the roaring wind.
So that's what they looked like, he pondered as he took another look. The raiders were being systematically wiped out by bursts of blue laser fire from the methodical synthetic soldiers. He felt a wave of concern at the implications. The plant wasn't that far from Salem and he had no idea of what the motivation or capabilities of these synthetic men or their Institute masters. He should probably check in with Nick Valentine, he can maybe get some information about Cait and find out everything he knows about the Institute.
A single blue laser split the sky in front of them just as Harry decided that they had lingered long enough. He wondered for a moment if he shouldn't go down there and take them out, having them report on a man flying on a broom would be bad. He looked back at Nat, no… he couldn't expose her to danger like that. He sighed as he realized he would have to cut this joy ride short… he had some work to do.
POV: Harry Potter, Salem Settlement, later that day
"Do we have to stop?" Nat complained, clearly unhappy with her joyride being cut short.
"Afraid so, Natalie. I promised your sister I'd have you back shortly and there are some things I have to do."
"Alright. Can we do it again soon?" Her face was the very picture of youthful hope.
"Absolutely!" Her smile was like sunlight, brightening his mood against the dark thoughts that pervaded it. He watched her head back to the Publick Occurrence before taking off on his broom, heading to the south again.
He didn't have to wait long, hovering over the ramshackle settlement, before the Children of Atom noticed him. He heard the stirring murmurs and awed voices which slowly increased in volume and emotion until he was inundated by cries of reverence. It made him feel almost sick.
"He has come! The Messiah comes to us! Witness now the glory of Atom!"
"I'm not here to join you!" Harry roared down at them, magically amplifying his voice. Several of the Children actually fell to their knees at the powerful voice projecting at them.
"You will!" The crazed leader screamed, emerging from under a metal stanchion, "We will guide you on the proper path! Don't you see? The power you wield is Atom's gift to you! You must acquiesce to our wisdom! Atom wills it!"
"I'm not. You're a bunch of nutters if you think I'm going to leave my friends to hang out with a bunch of fanatics."
"Ah yes! The tendrils of the flesh have enthralled you, Messiah! Let us make your decision easier."
At his signal, the Children pulled the curtains off of several cages, the wrought metal boxes unnoticed by him before. Each of them contained a snarling menagerie of feral ghouls, emaciated limbs reaching through the bars to claw at empty air.
"These failed tools of Atom's beneficence will serve in the Great Crusade to free you from the shackles of sentiment! We will unleash the tide of radiation on your beloved friends! Unless you come down NOW!"
Harry's face was stone, unfeeling and unmoving.
"Not going to happen." He murmured, too quietly for the Children to hear.
He drew within himself, felt the raw core of his power and let it uncoil. His heart beat faster as the storm built within him, his limbs trembling and his lips shaking as he let it build up within him. He cast his gaze out onto the ocean, its sedate tides rolled gently in contrast to the tremendous power in them. He pushed at the water, feeling the strain as his magic answered his call and forced millions of gallons of water back from the shore.
The Children muttered, confused as their Messiah seemingly convulsed atop his broom. One of them cried out, point at the receding ocean. The others rushed to look and were awestruck at the power and wonder displayed to them. Even these believers could scarcely come to terms with the raw elemental forces being displayed. Their leader, crazed beyond care, capered with glee at the manifest glory of his absolute belief.
Harry gasped and choked as he released the power and realized that he had not breathed in several minutes, his lips having turned blue and his limbs cold and waxy. He drank in great gulps of air as he flew up higher, in case the fanatics realized their doom and fired up at him in spite.
No. They bowed and scraped, calling out praise to their beloved Atom. Heedless of the cool moist wind which plastered their clothes to their thin frames and whipped the hair about their heads. They knelt even as a forty foot wave smashed into the crater and utterly erased all trace that the children had ever been there. The ghouls snarled and hissed as they too were swept away, the scrapped pieces of the airplane fuselage giving no more protection from the wave than a paper sack.
Harry witnessed it all, sprays of salt water soaking him even from his height. In minutes it was over, the crater nothing more than a filthy cove empty of both inhabitants and habitats. He held his wand out, searching for any trace of survivors.
There! One person. As he flew closer Harry couldn't help the scowl that uglied his face. The cult leader treaded water, blood streaming down his head as he smiled up at Harry in rapturous bliss. His disgust having reached its apex, Harry whipped his wand and snapped the man's neck, watching dispassionately for a long time as the man's body bobbed lifelessly in the water.
A quick charm to rid himself of the ocean water which had drenched him, he cut to the north, swinging wide along the outskirts of Salem. He gazed at it with wonder, already in love with the place and its people. They were a good lot, working together to build something for everyone to share joy in. He saw Barney Rook and another man, working hard to repair a boat despite the clamoring of children at their heels. They were why he did what he did. And why he was going to do more.
By the time he arrived back at the plant, the battle had ended. His heart was in his throat as he moved through the detritus of the fight, hoping that the robotic servants of the institute hadn't left yet.
"Movement detected. Analyzing threat."
He almost sighed in relief. The 'synths' had merely gone inside to finish off those raiders within. His nose wrinkled at the smell of long dead fish, his confusion palpable as he wondered how on earth it could still smell like that after 200 years.
He instinctually dodged as a bright blue lance of energy impacted the wall next to him, the clanking strides of the approaching synths echoing in the vast packing plant. He wasted no time, throwing his wand forward and casting an achingly bright blast of lightning at the first synth.
The lightning forked and raced hungrily through the air, striking the synths as if the charm were alive and took special delight in destroying mechanical aberrations as these. They stood upright and convulsed, millions of volts systemically destroying their sensitive components. He stepped over the sparking remains, careful not to burn himself on the pools of melted plastic.
He descended deeper into the plant, riding a freight elevator down and nearly wetting himself as a limbless torso tumbled down the shaft with him and bounced around on the lift. He exited the lift, a little faster than was dignified, and continued his hunt.
He emerged two hours later, scouring the interior of the plant and now coming under renewed laser fire from a force that had somehow concealed itself outside. Harry had no time to recriminate himself for the lapse, lashing out with his wand in whatever destructive manner he could devise.
A laser burned along his calf and sent him tumbling to the grated metal floor. He gritted his teeth against the pain and sent a confringo at the offending synth. He stumbled to his feet only to lose his balance again when a freight train struck him in the back.
If his shoulder wasn't dislocated, he'd count himself lucky. The agony on his back was profound and a scream nearly tore itself from his throat as he rolled, an armor wearing synth bearing down on him with its fists raised.
He whipped his wand upward and sent the synth shooting straight up several hundred feet, limping away as it crashed back down in a jumbled mess of sparking circuits. 3 more came in to finish him, their weapons raised with lethal intent.
Harry conjured a wall of fire, wielding it like a massive curtain of fiery brilliance and swept it over the trio again and again. The first pass set them ablaze, the second melting their plastic casing and the third reducing them to molten slag that bubbled and popped on the ground.
The pain in his back decided that now was a good time to remind him of his injuries, and he fell to the ground in agony. Day had long failed and he struggled to crawl in the dark with only the glow from the smoldering synths to guide him. Finally he reached the spot where he had secreted his broom.
'Next time, I bring a stimpack… or three.' Harry thought to himself, as he mounted the broom and pushed off, trying not to faint from the pain spiking though him. He glided into Salem, his energy nearly spent. Thankfully, few were awake at this hour and none saw his approach. Even the guards on the walls, watchful for enemies approaching along the ground took no heed of the exhausted wizard coasting in above them.
He landed on the roof of the house he shared with Neville and George and stumbled into his room through the fire escape.
"Bloody hell Harry! What are you doing in there?"
"Nothing! Sorry! Fell out of bed!" He called back, hoping that it would satisfy George.
George merely grumbled something about wrapping Harry in feathers so he'd be quieter if he insisted on being so clumsy. Harry sighed in relief and fell on his bed, very nearly tumbling off of it when he bounced against the edge. He caught himself in time, his shoulder screaming at the abuse. He half pulled and half rolled onto the bed properly and lay there panting. The room began to lighten with dawn as his exhaustion overwhelmed the pain and sent Harry into the arms of Morpheus.
POV: Harry Potter, Salem Settlement
Harry awoke after a restless sleep, the bright afternoon sun stabbing painfully in his face as he lay in bed. He swung his legs off and set them on the floor, rising up and clutching his throbbing head. He stood up on shaky legs and padded over to his sink, hoping that some cold water splashed on his face would wake him from his stupor. Hermione was due back later this evening after her adventures with the Minuteman General, and he wanted to be ready to meet her.
He rolled his shoulder, testing the movement against the massive bruise which shadowed his pale skin. He covered it with a shirt and tried not to wince as he pulled his arm through the sleeve. Hopefully he could squeeze in a quick visit to Doc Anderson and grab a bite before she came back. He figured it would be much easier to talk about what he had been up to since she were gone if he was hale and hearty. He replayed the events in his head, second guessing himself, searching for the guilt he thought he ought to feel and finding nothing but smug satisfaction instead.
What he hadn't counted on was the dark look on Daphne's face. She was standing right outside his door and he had nearly walked into her on his way out. He sputtered for a moment, confusion screwing up his face at her angry expression.
"You didn't say goodnight to me. I came looking for you and saw you gliding in on your broom in the dead of night looking like you had rolled around with a dragon. You care to explain yourself?" She nearly shouted into his face.
Harry groaned, a headache blossoming in his head like an angry red explosion. "Any chance we could go to the diner and talk about it? Quietly?" Harry pleaded.
Concern replaced the anger to a large degree and she brusquely nodded as he led the way to the diner. At some point during their walk, his hand found hers and he felt a palpable sensation of relief when she accepted his hand readily. He brought her hand up and kissed it gently, glancing at her with his customary crooked grin.
Her eyebrow was a crooked arch above her right eye, "If you think being sweet makes me any less angry at you, you are quite mistaken."
Harry sighed and held up a hand to ward off the chorus of hellos and good mornings that assailed them as he opened the door to the diner. He mumbled something appropriate and sank into the padded booth nearest the door, Daphne squeezing in beside him.
Without preamble, "Alright, spill it."
Harry began slowly, first relating the broom ride he had taken Nat on and the things they had seen. He paused as if gathering his nerve, Daphne leaning over and patting his hand encouragingly. He told her of his confrontation with the Children of Atom and his subsequent battle with the synths at the fish packing plant.
Hesitatingly, he looked up at her, expecting horror or a recriminating look of some kind. Instead he looked upon a beautiful and resolute face of a woman whose eyes held nothing but acceptance and pride.
"You did what you had to do to protect us Harry. This is a harsh world and it sometimes takes an action that we would never have conceived of back in the old world. It's like the 2d Wizarding War only magnified."
Relief flooded through him, though he felt no guilt for the lives he had taken, it would have devastated him had Daphne pulled away. Instead, she pulled in closer and rested her head on his shoulder. He resisted wincing despite the pain that arced through him. He endured it for the emotional comfort her closeness brought to him.
They kissed briefly, just as the matron brought a plate for them.
Neville and the settlers assigned to help him with the crops hadn't yet finished transplanting the crops from the Minutemen settlement. So the plate was a little barer than he was used to. He sighed at the plate, knowing that the meager offering for his grumbling stomach was not going to be well received. Daphne chuckled at his expense and nudged him, prompting a bemused smile from the hungry and sore wizard.
Though paltry, the food was still quite good. Someone had made butter and sweetened it with sugar that Luna had extracted from a case of sugar bombs. Harry and Daphne slathered the rich, sweet butter on their razorgrain bread and alternated bites of it with salted molerat. It actually tasted like salted pork! Harry remembered someone saying that the molerat had to be prepped by cleansing it of the rancid chemicals that the beast uses to ward off predators then soaked in brine.
After their meal, they were pleasantly surprised to be given small teacups with actual tea and a creamer filled with cream made from brahmin milk. Harry closed his eyes in wonder at the delight to his tastebuds. The tea was ancient and most of the flavor had leeched out over time, but it was still heavenly. Later he learned that Tommy Lonegan had brought several cases that had been preserved in a museum somewhere. They had been touted as the few crates of tea not tossed into the harbor during the Boston Tea Party. He made a promise to himself to repay Tommy for this kindness.
They left the diner and at Harry's urging, headed to George's workshop.
At any given time of day, and often well into the night as well, George Weasley could be found in his shop, a portion of a brick building across from the church's north side. He shared space with the muggle inventor Mr. William, an old and kindly man who had arrived weeks ago with his granddaughter.
They approached the shop to the sounds of industry coming from within. It took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the dim light bleeding feebly from a pair of desk lamps.
A sudden bang was followed by a yelp. A redhead staggered out from a plume of smoke coughing and hacking to be quickly followed by a man wearing an assault gas mask. Clearly, Mr. William was swiftly learning to take precautions in the company of wizards and witches.
Daphne waved her wand to clear the smoke and rushed over to George, who nodded in thanks just as another coughing fit overcame him.
Mr. William pulled the gas mask off and gifted the both of them with a smile and a slight bow. "Good day to you both. What brings you to our happy little corner?"
Harry grinned back at the inventor, "Good day Mr. William. Came to see how you two were getting on, especially as it relates to owls."
George recovered, wiping his soot covered hands over a soot covered forehead, succeeding only in making a bigger mess of himself. "Hey Harry. We were just working on a modification. A self-destruct in case an owl gets captured."
"So, back to the drawing board then?" Harry asked wryly.
"Oh no. Worked perfectly. I was just eh… too enthusiastic to take the same precaution as Walt here."
"Brilliant." Daphne snorted.
"So, how many owls do you two have ready?" Harry asked, suppressing his own mirth admirably.
"We have twelve so far, had to use a quietus charm for all the ruckus. They like to talk to each other see. You wouldn't believe the noise." George led the way to a shelf along the back of the workshop. Perched along the middle shelf were the promised dozen owls, all different colors and possessing other minor variations among them to make each unique.
"This is fantastic George! Walt! Now that we're friendly with the Minutemen, we can send some of these owls to their settlements, tell them how to use them so we can all communicate with each other."
"Wait, the minutemen are back?" Walt pressed, eagerly.
"Well yes. We met their General in Sanctuary. They're making some kind of comeback. I think Piper's going to do a story about it. In fact, I'm pretty sure she was making preparations to head out to Sanctuary in the next day or so."
Walt absolutely beamed, "Years ago, some minutemen rescued my granddaughter and I from some raiders when we used to live near Bunker Hill. We had to abandon our home there, but they saw us safely to Diamond City. I never got the chance to thank them. I was disheartened to hear about their collapse. But now I get a second chance to thank them properly."
"Well, I'm sure Piper wouldn't mind some company on her trip. Luna and Fingers were going along as well, I hear Luna is going a little wonky being cooped up here. Besides, she heard about Mama Murphy's visions or whatnot and wanted to meet her."
"Well then, I'll just need to make arrangements for my Annabelle."
"No worries Mr. William, I'll be happy to look after her." Daphne volunteered. She leapt at any chance to care for the children, Harry was almost frightened at her intensity in that regard as it was a facet of her that he would have never imagined.
Harry and Daphne left the workshop a short time later, after securing George's promise that he would send the owls that were ready along with Walt and Piper as they visited the Minuteman settlements. He had also asked that one be sent to Diamond City, as Harry was anxious for any scrap of news about the wayward Cait.
They were headed to the office/home of their local newspaper when Barney came jogging up to them.
"Morning, Mr. Mayor. Mrs. Mayor."
Harry gaped at the greeting and for her part, Daphne appeared charmed by it. Before Harry could rationally respond, Barney cut to the chase.
"I heard that there was a fight up at the fish packing plant."
Harry glanced at Daphne, she was the only one he had told and she had been at his side all morning…
"Heard the gunfire yesterday, sent a few watchmen to check it out early this morning. They came back after a brief look to say that some raiders and synths had wiped each other out up there." Barney fixed Harry with a look as if to say, 'you know anything about that?'
"Yeah, actually I do know about it." Harry admitted, "I flew over it yesterday and was afraid of the synths reporting back that they saw a man flying around on a broom. So I went down and made sure none of them made it back."
"Well done, Mr. Mayor, sir." Harry blanched at the formality, which wasn't entirely sarcastic from Barney's point of view.
"You mind if I send some boys up there proper then? We can collect whatever salvage we can from the raiders and the synths, maybe even some from the plant itself. Lots of metal and machinery up there."
"Yeah, actually that's a good idea."
Later that day, with their lunch of grilled carrots and cooked softshell meat following after breakfast in terms of disappointment, Harry gathered up all the witches and wizards, minus Hermione of course, in the basement of the old church.
Daphne stood next him, Harry drawing support from her proximity. He gave the group an abridged version of events from yesterday. His proclamation was met at first with silence. Eventually, as a group, they all came to terms with what he had done and as Daphne had, agreed that he had taken the lesser of the necessary evils. Better them than us, Neville had declared, somewhat surprising Harry.
He then told them of Barney's request to send some of the militia out to the fish packing plant to gather salvage. Susan Bones volunteered to accompany the group, a declaration that seemed to surprise no one as much as it did Susan itself. She admitted that she needed to toughen up to be able to face threats like Harry did, as they could not always rely on him to fight their battles for them.
POV: Unknown group, heading south along Commonwealth coast
The soft mewling cries from the youngest among them had diminished over time until there was no energy to do anything other than place one foot in front of another.
He had never been so tired in his life, but as one of the few security officers left, it was his duty to keep alert and safeguard his wards. He felt keenly exposed on the road, as if the Vault security armor and 10mm pistol were woefully inadequate against the outside world.
Why had they come? The question was one he still wrestled with, despite the futility of it in the face of day to day survival. All that mattered was that they HAD come. That somehow, the vault blast door had answered to them and opened. That frightening figures in power armor had marched in and taken them in droves at gunpoint, killing any who resisted or even questioned their actions.
The overseer was the first to die, followed by Doctor Chambers and Security Chief Yukio. They had taken their fill and commanded the rest to stay, sealing the door back to ensure their compliance. Panic had nearly overcome them then, the few left behind, wailing for lost family members.
Chief Engineer Ramona Vargas has managed to get the door open, urged them all to flee, to run! A tentative first step turned into an exodus. Thinking back, they should have planned better, taken only what they needed. The road behind them was choked with the detritus of useless items that the vault dwellers had brought. So few brought food, or water. At least the security force had brought their weapons and extra ammunition.
Now, a week after the exodus, exhaustion and hunger proving to be more of a threat to their survival than raiders or mutated beasts. For the hundredth time since they left, he did a headcount, standing along the side of the road as the shuffling morass of human misery shambled past. Damn… 68 people, lost 2 more since the last time he counted.
His eyes were long dried of any tears he would have shed for the lost souls left behind somewhere on the road behind them. He walked at a swifter pace to reach the front of the column and once again led the way south.
His despair had started to play tricks on his mind, as out of the grey dirt that surrounded them, a gleaming white wall rose up to their left, its smooth surface unmarred by time or conflict. He could even see gates, shining steel completely bereft of rust or dirt. He wouldn't have been surprised to see something like it in the vault. But then, delusions drew on what you knew, he reasoned.
POV: Harry Potter, Salem Settlement
"Harry! You need to come see this!"
Harry frowned up at the militiaman up on the wall, gripping the rail firmly with one hand and gesturing wildly with the other. He made it sound urgent, so Harry raised his wand, "Ascendio!"
Harry rocketed upward, the spell propelling him upward and pushing his stomach somewhere in the vicinity of his feet. He disliked the spell, as it gave no provision for how to land after the upward burst it provided. Thankfully, the Militia was on point and grabbed him as he sailed up to them.
He wobbled a bit but regained his balance long enough to murmur his thanks before the object of the guardsman's concern had him gaping out to the road.
A long line of ragged looking men, women and children shuffled along, some of them looking up at the wall with blank stares. Curiously, they were all dressed in blue jumpsuits of a sort, with the number 202 emblazoned on the back. Vault suits, he recalled. Piper had filled in some information about some of the idiosyncrasies of the wastelands. One of them being underground Vaults that many people took shelter in during the Great War.
"They don't seem to notice us. Like they're all in a daze or something." Harry pondered aloud.
"Yeah, I noticed that too. Many of them are wounded. I think they must have travelled a long way. The surface is probably a lot different from what they were used to below. Must be in shock."
"Periculum!" Harry shouted, lobbing the flare upwards.
Several of the refugees paused at the signal, some eyes fearful, others blank. In minutes, the ramparts were crowded with witches, wizards and militia all looking out over the refugees with astonished and pitied expressions.
"We have to help Harry." Daphne murmured, so quietly that he almost didn't hear her. He nodded, agreeing with her assessment.
The gates were opened wide and the entire Salem Volunteer Militia rushed forth, all ten veterans and six newly inducted members taking up positions along either side of the road. The line of refugees staggered to a halt as half a dozen men and women wearily raised side arms in a show of resistance.
"No, no!" Harry shouted, running out trailed by the others, "We're here to help!"
The security personnel dropped their weapons, more as a testament to their exhaustion than to any assurance they gleaned from Harry's announcement.
"Please, come in. We have food and shelter. You're safe now." Daphne cooed, as she led a young mother with her two children. The refugees animated a little, hope daring to stir within their haggard breasts as more people streamed from the walled city with gentle hands and sympathetic eyes.
Many finally found some measure of emotion and simply cried as they were led into the protection of the city's walls, kind faces smiling with reassurance and passing out purified water containers and loaves of hardy bread, reassuringly warm in their cold hands. No, it was no illusion, it was perhaps an end to their waking nightmare.
Harry and company worked through the night, tending to injuries though most suffered from malnourishment, dehydration and simple exhaustion. They bedded them down in every available space, Harry bemoaning the fact that there was little room for a group of this size all at once.
He could tell that Neville was nervous too, as even with limited duplication, there wasn't enough food for them all over the long term. He put these concerns aside for now, as he carried a boy of eight to an empty bed and laid the malnourished little body down to rest.
By morning, the folk of Salem were haggard, though not to the extent that their guests were. Harry sat in the church with the de facto leader of the group, along with Daphne, Barney and Luna. The others had taken the chance to catch a little rest before resuming their work.
"Can you explain? Who are you and why are you out here?" Harry began, as gently as he could.
They waited patiently, as the man gazed empty eyed at his own feet. The words, when they came, were scarcely a whisper.
"We're from Vault 202, in what was once Montreal. Our ancestors fled to it when the bombs fell and lived there ever since, safe from the dangers outside. Until recently, when the outside came to us."
Another long pause, as if every word spoken leeched precious vitality directly from him.
"They forced the door open. I wasn't on duty then. My partner Glen was there, they shot him down before he could even get his pistol out. They came in, scores of them. They had robots, the likes of which I've never even heard of. They were of every type and description, skulls for heads, blades for hands… they were nightmares forged from metal. The people were armored in the corpses of their servants, robotic parts fashioned into protection for them. They started to take people, man or woman, it didn't matter."
Harry swallowed hard, trying to draw back from empathizing too much. He needed to be clear headed to really help these people and look out for his own at the same time.
"They killed the Overseer when he demanded to know what they were doing. They killed the Chief of Security for the same thing. They killed the doctor for no good reason at all. I saw the pattern though. Anyone over 40 was killed. Anyone with any kind of infirmity… they only wanted the healthy and the young."
Daphne gasped in shock and reached out blindly for Harry's hand. He squeezed it in reassurance and encouraged the man to continue.
"They took hundreds, killed hundreds more. In the end, they left two hundred of us. Sealed us back in, told us to await their return. Chief Engineer, she… found a way to open the door. Told us to run. She didn't. She did something I think. We were just in the tunnel, the last of us, when my pip-boy went crazy with rads. We ran. She… must have disabled the coolant. Reactor meltdown. Denying our home to the enemy I guess."
"We walked southeast. Thought that maybe along the coast we would find help, or… god I don't know what we were thinking. We started as 200. My last count put us at 68 survivors. Dehydration and exhaustion took most, raiders and mutated crabs took others. We're all that's left."
"My god. Do you know who did this to you? What they wanted?" Barney asked.
"They never said why. But I did hear a name. The name of the one who wanted us. They whispered it amongst themselves when they thought we couldn't hear. They spoke the name in awe and fear. The name was… Jeremiah."
POV: Morgan Le Fay, Mount Greylock, West Commonwealth
The castle barely deserved the moniker 'ruin'. There was little enough left to be called anything at all. Still, a single trapdoor, shrouded against casual observation, opened easily enough at her urging.
She stayed in the circle of light provided by her lumos, the orb bobbing along above her left shoulder. Her thrall scampered along behind her, his hands firmly clasped around the satchel she occasionally filled with items of she deemed of worth as they explored the vaults beneath Ilvermorny.
She paused as she sensed something… a thickening of the air in front of her. Damn her lack of a wand! With one she could discern the nature of the mystery which confounded her. Without one, well there was nothing for it but to proceed. She took a deep breath and stepped forward, and again. Nothing.
A low groan reverberated throughout the vaults, like the earth was settling above them. A thrumming wave of force passed beneath their feet and suddenly Morgan knew. It was a time lock. A time lock she had broken by crossing.
Peering about carefully, she walked with almost painful deliberation.
She felt something…
A shadow disengaged from the wall and plodded on small feet, planting itself firmly in her path.
"Finally!" It roared. "Do you know how much back pay you owe my clan?! This is unacceptable! I don't care that the world ended, it is no way to honor a contract!"
The curious figure stood a mere two feet high with wild bushy hair radiating from its body in complete disarray. Its skin was the grey of potter's clay and its ears were large and round. It held a bow and arrow in one hand, the other curled in a fist and shaking at her in anger.
"A pukwudgie!" Morgan exclaimed, delighted that something of her world survived.
"What were you expecting?! A house elf?" It demanded.
"What can I call you?" Morgan asked politely. She knew that a Pukwudgie would never tell a human its individual name.
"If you must, you may call me William. Now about my payment."
"Yes, I do apologize for the oversight my dear William. I will be sure to recompense you for the time you had served."
"And the rest of my contract? I can't very well go back out into the world your people destroyed now can I!" He was incensed, over two centuries trapped within a time lock meant to keep the school safe, knowing only that great fire had rained on the world. And that it was likely the human's fault.
"I will honor your contract, sir."
"Fine." It snapped, as if cajoled into agreeing against his wishes. It waved her on and plodded alongside her, snapping at her thrall when it veered too close.
"Since you are here, you can do something with these." He growled, pushing an armful of letters her way. She took one daintily and smiled in thanks. She gestured for her thrall to take the others, which he did fearfully under the diminutive figure's scowl.
She quickly perused the letter… an invitation to join a magical society… in Salem.
POV: Harry Potter, Salem Settlement
With every word Neville uttered, the headache that had begun in Harry's head only grew in degrees to match the gravity of their situation.
He had found him in the field next to the church, busily tending to the crops already planted there. He had sent the others to the fields just inside the walls, planting those crops that the Minutemen had given them.
"I'm telling you Harry, we have maybe 3 or 4 days' worth of food. Unless of course I use the crops that the Minutemen gave us, it'll extend our supplies by a week at most… but then we won't have the plants to grow more food with. We can't have our cake and eat it too."
Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, "How did it get so desperate Neville?" He didn't mean to be accusatory, but they were in a tough spot.
"We had plenty before those vaultees showed up, enough to last us until the new crops got planted and started producing. Plants grow much faster than before, but not fast enough to compensate for more than doubling the number of mouths to feed."
They were on the cusp of an argument, and Harry didn't want to fight with Neville over something he knew logically wasn't his fault.
"What were we supposed to do, Neville? Should we have turned them away?"
Neville's face fell, "Of course not. But we have to come up with a plan and fast."
Harry promised that they would come up with something and walked away, heading for the old convalescent home, repaired and refurbished for the vault survivors. The building was large enough to house them all, but only had about a dozen individual rooms, the rest were laying on mattresses spread out over the common rooms.
The only ones happy about the situation were the Mr. Handy robots still operational after all these years. They happily helped care for the refugees, heedless of the fact that they were young people and not elderly.
He met Daphne coming out of the building, a tired and haggard look somehow making her even more beautiful. Despite their situation, her presence brightened his mood a little.
She smiled at him, like sunlight peeking behind grey clouds. He leaned in and gave her a quick kiss, her lips warm against his and making him forget everything else for a moment.
"How is everyone?" Harry asked, choosing to walk with Daphne instead of heading into the shelter.
"They're getting on, all their wounds had been seen to by Doc Anderson. They've all been fed and given clean water; all that is left is for them to rest and come to terms with what has happened to them. It may take a while." Daphne reported sadly.
"We'll do everything we can for them." He sighed deeply, "But them being here puts a strain on our food situation. It's too bad that duplication is so…" He couldn't finish his thought, despair edging back in.
They walked silently for a moment, entering the church intent on reaching the new rookery to check for messages.
"It's a temporary solution, but at the very least, we can go out hunting. Mirelurk meat is quite good even though I'd be just as happy if I never ate crab again."
Daphne's face screwed up in exaggerated disgust, "I know what you mean. Do you know what I'd do for some chocolate and a butter beer?"
Harry groaned, "Ah, don't remind me!"
She laughed as they climbed the stairs to the bell tower. At the top, the six owls that remained hooted their greetings. The other six were out on assignment, with two at Sanctuary, one delivering a message to Nick Valentine in Diamond City, the fourth flying to Bunker Hill with a request for the traders there and the last two circling high above Salem keeping a lookout.
Wait. There were seven owls here. The seventh, a bright orange and yellow fellow with bright green eyes, hooted and hopped forward, presenting a message tube to the pair.
"What is it?" Daphne asked, squeezing in closer to get a look.
"It's from Mr. Valentine! That was fast!" Harry exclaimed, his eyes tore through the message, hopeful for a scrap of good news.
"Nick says that everything is well in Diamond City, the mayor is especially jubilant lately now that Piper and Nat had left. Nick wants me to give the girls his regards. Oh here we go, he had been talking to traders in Diamond City; turns out one had heard a story from Trashcan Carla…Trashcan Carla?"
Harry shook his head at the name, "Anyway, the trader heard a story from her about a vault dweller and a redheaded firecracker taking on some Gunners near Old North Church. He has gone to on to Bunker Hill to talk to Carla directly and get more details. Wishing us well, Nick. Well, there's a small bit of news at least."
"It's something." Daphne agreed.
"I may have something else for you then, if news is what you crave." Lady Helena stated, as she glided up to them.
"Good morning, Lady Ravenclaw. You're right, though I would prefer good news." Harry managed a small smile for the ghostly woman.
"Ms. Granger asked me to send word that you need to pay attention to the mirror, she's been worried sick that something has happened to you all. Also, I am to berate you heartily but under the circumstances, I believe I will refrain."
"My thanks." Harry breathed, his hope dimming.
"In any case, she and that handsome dark haired fellow have been touring the settlements and looking for rocks apparently. We were at a settlement called, 'Starlight', a far more whimsical name then that place deserves, when she asked me to come back. Mr. Jonathan had received some kind of distress call from a caravan that he seemed rather adamant about investigating. He offered to let her stay there or return to Salem, but she insisted on going with him. They don't seem to get on very well." Helena mused.
The silence stretched out as Helena pondered their relationship until a gentle cough brought her back from her rumination.
"My apologies. Ah, before they left, Jonathan had asked that a trade caravan add Salem to its list of stops. Do forgive me, I'm trying to remember it all… I should have written it all down."
"It's fine. It'd be good to have open trade with the Minuteman settlements. Though I doubt it will help us in time with our food shortage."
"Ah yes! The caravan is being loaded with tools and material to help a new settlement at Taffy boathouse. Taffy? That can't be right. Anyway, then they will continue to another new settlement called Greentop to deliver more parts and pick up mutfruit and carrots. From there they go to the Slog, drop off the last of the tools and pick up corn and tarberries. Tarberry sound dreadful, but I'm told that aside from being a little tart, that they are quite good, especially as jam."
She made a face, as if unused to using such crude words. She had been a particularly proud and haughty witch in life, and that certainly hadn't changed in death.
Harry felt a tiny sense of relief. Knowing that the Minutemen, despite not knowing how dire Salem's situation was, was nonetheless sending precisely the type of help they needed. He just hoped that it would arrive in time.
"Lady, could I prevail on you to go back and keep an eye on this caravan?"
Helena sighed dramatically, as though such tasks were beneath her.
"I'm to be an errand girl then is it? Very well, let it not be said that I am unhelpful." She nodded tersely and floated away.
"She seems less sad than she used to." Daphne noted.
"Probably has a lot to do with being far away from the Bloody Baron." Harry murmured.
"They didn't get along?"
"He's the one that killed her."
POV: Susan Bones, Coastal Cottage
Her cheeks were flushed with adrenaline, her chest heaving with exertion after her harrowing fight on the hilltop. She and Vincent had approached the lone cottage while Barney and his group of militia checked out the fish packing plant, each of them holding a bag enchanted with extension charms.
She had asked Vincent to check the garage while she approached the house blissfully unaware of the greedy eyes which followed her. She poked through the debris, considering how much it would take to repair the house when she first became aware that she wasn't alone. It hit her first as a stench of liquor, cigarette smoke and rancid body odor.
She whirled, her wand out when a body slammed into hers and clasped a dirty hand around her white throat. Her breath cut off by the powerful grip, she couldn't call for help. She writhed and gasped as the filthy raider leered at her, pulling a rusty combat knife from his belt.
Her wand! She jabbed it at the raider, her intent and desperate need manifesting as a blast of energy which hurled the man back. He roared in pain and rage as Susan scrambled back to her feet. With snarl of her own, she repeated her feat, blasting the raider through the thin wall behind him. Vincent shouted out, though his words were indistinct with the roaring in her ears.
Susan stalked forward as the raider struggled to his feet. With an animalistic cry, she blasted him a third time, hurling him clear off the hill hundreds of feet. She watched as he sailed through the air and landed with a wet smack on the rocks along the coastline. She stood and stared out even as Vincent joined her, probing her body for any wounds. He said something, she didn't know what, and ran off to check on the raider.
A single gunshot later, he returned to her, still standing at the edge of the hilltop looking out at the ocean.
"Susan?"
She looked at him and blinked, her face screwing up in a sudden giggle. She doubled over as the fit overtook her, laughing at the absurdity of it all. She wiped the streaming tears from her cheeks, her eyes blazing with a strange heat. She grabbed a frowning Vincent and pulled his face down, planting a fierce kiss on his lips.
"Hey!" She said in wonder, "You don't smell like cigarettes!"
Vincent looked somewhat flushed and abashed, "Yeah, I heard you didn't like it, so I quit."
He would have died for her right then, for the smile that she gave him almost made his heart weep at the beauty it evoked in his soul. She pulled him down for another kiss, softly this time, slower, but more passionate for the deliberate tenderness in the gesture.
Several hours later, the pair rejoined Barney and his troopers, their faces brightened with satisfied smiles at the haul they liberated from the plant. They smiled up at the restored cottage, the magic Susan mustered having answered her call in a way that it never had before. The house was pristine and she had warded it as best as she could to keep it for Salem's future use.
The group hiked back to Salem, none of them so much as batting an eye at Susan and Vincent holding hands.
POV: Harry Potter, 3 days after the Refugees arrival
Harry's smile was broad and genuine as he greeted the caravan that trundled through the gates of Salem. There were four pack brahmin loaded with sacks of what he hoped was food being escorted by four provisioners and an equal number of Minutemen. They tipped their hats to Harry as Neville took charge of them, directing a small group of settlers to unload the crops near the field adjacent to the church.
"Preston! I didn't know you were with this group! You are well met, sir!"
Preston grinned at him, tipping his hat in respect.
"I've wanted to check out how you folks were settling in over here. In many ways, you already outshine Diamond City! Not to mention, our special escort was a delight."
Wait. Did he mean the Grey lady? A delight?
"Well, you are most welcome. You and your men can make use of that building there," Harry pointed to a dual two story structure attached to the diner. It was some kind of textile mill and clothing outlet, but we remodeled it for traders passing through. Brahmin can be penned behind the fence there."
The building was shaped like a "U" with a walkway built to connect the two wings of the building and the empty space in between fenced off and covered in a layer of fresh razorgrain stalks.
"That's great!" Preston agreed, "I thought that we could iron out what kind of trade you guys may want to engage in, make a somewhat more formal agreement between us."
"We recently got a spate of new mouths to feed. This food you brought is a huge relief. I think we will need more for the short term until Neville can get our own farmland up to the task of feeding everyone."
"That's certainly doable, most of our settlements were self-sufficient farms even before they joined the Minutemen. Now that they have Minuteman support, they are doing even better. At a guess, I would say we grow 3 to 4 times more food than we need. In fact, the next time we're up here, I'll have the provisioners bring up some extra brahmin for you. Their milk is good and they produce it their whole adult life. Once they get infirm, we put them down gently and store their meat in those coolers you folks fixed for us. There are settlers are out there that would give you guys the shirts off their backs just for that! Nothing beats a cold beer on a hot day!"
Harry grinned and decided to throw in a personal request, "Well, if any of your people come across some tea, we'll call it even."
"Deal!" Preston laughed.
Harry gave Preston the nickel tour, first showing him the old convalescent home where the bulk of the vault refugees still stayed.
Next they walked along the wall that closed off their little peninsula, pointing out the blister along the outer edge which held a panoply of different turrets.
He showed him the church where they held their town meetings and the field next to it, where Neville grew the bulk of their crops.
They skirted the edge of the church, Harry pointing out the restored houses and the businesses being refurbished for other use. He stopped at a small factory like building where muffled banging could be heard coming from within.
"This is where George and Walt, our resident inventors, come up with new ideas that combine magic with muggle technology. They made those owls that you saw."
"That reminds me," Preston replied, "those owls are perfect for scouting and delivering secure packages, I'd like to officially request some more part of our next trade package."
"Consider it done." Harry agreed, "About how many do you think you'll need?"
"We have eight settlements now, I would like to have two for each. Maybe a few more for future expansion? Make it an even 20 for now."
Harry nodded, "That will take a bit of time. If they do nothing else, George and Walt can build 3 a day. We got plenty of raw material from the fish packing plant north of here. We'll deliver them in batches until you say stop, how about that?"
"Perfect." Preston answered, "The General will be pleased by that."
"Speaking of. What's the last you heard from him and Hermione? I haven't spoken to her since yesterday morning and she seemed pensive."
"The last I heard, they were heading for some General Atomics Factory. Seems as though there are new threats in the Commonwealth these days. Marauding bands of rogue robots and a new raider gang that uses robots too to terrorize people."
A chill ran down Harry's spine at the description. It sounded like the attackers that the Vault refugees had described.
"You alright? You look pale." Preston noted, worry edging into his tone.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Do you know anything about these new raiders?"
"Only that they call themselves the Rust Devils. They seem to concentrate on gathering robot parts and kidnapping people for the most part, but they aren't above the usual bit of murder and mayhem that other raiders engage in. I've stepped up patrols in the areas we control, but we haven't sighted them ourselves yet."
"What about those, rogue robots you mentioned?"
"The General sent me a holotape, a recording of some guy who calls himself the Mechanist. Apparently he has a sick sense of humor, he claims to be helping the Commonwealth. Meanwhile his robots menace the countryside, killing anything living they come across. His current mission is aimed at stopping this Mechanist."
Harry sighed as he considered his people in the midst of so much strife. When food itself was a challenge to provide, how would they deal effectively against so many variables while trying to pursue any leads on the magical children likely scattered across the Commonwealth?
POV: Cait, somewhere to the west of the Commonwealth.
"I should have known better than to trust that crazy bitch," she chided herself for perhaps the hundredth time.
"If I see that Harvey, I'll be putting me fist so far up his arse that he'll be tasting me nail polish for a month." She grumbled, directing her ire at anyone she could think of that had led to her current predicament.
If she were to be honest, her dependence on psycho had probably led her to making some bad decisions… it certainly didn't help when she had had a falling out with Nora. She was all for some arse kicking, but Nora was becoming too extreme even for her. She hightailed it out of there before things got worse, anyone saying that it couldn't possibly get worse was clearly lacking in imagination.
Like the position she was in now, dangling a hundred feet in the air, the only thing holding her up was the buckle of a seatbelt caught in a belt loop of her pants. If she moved too much, the tram groaned precipitously, rapidly making her rethink her life plans.
She had been coming back to the Commonwealth, riding that damn tram back when Nora, the spiteful bitch that she was, shot at her with a fuckin missile launcher! Whether she meant to kill her or not was irrelevant, as the missile struck the train and caused it to wobble horribly as it barreled along the raised rail network.
It had eventually skidded to a halt, but not before throwing her clear from it, dangling by a single and unusually long seatbelt. It must have been a seatbelt for a fat person, she couldn't imagine anyone else needin' a four foot strap to secure their arses on a damn bench.
So there she was, dangling like a ragdoll from a tram in the middle of the nowhere between the Commonwealth and Nuka-World, wondering how in the hell she was going to get out of this one.
POV: Harry Potter, flying south along the eastern coast of the Commonwealth
Despite his relief that Hermione had finally made contact via mirror, her tone had injected him with a sense of trepidation that more than her physical state might be in jeopardy.
She was holed up in a General Atomics Factory somewhere to the east of Diamond City with a wounded and possibly dying Minuteman General. Though they had managed to wipe out the mechanist's robots inside, the brain-bot had exploded while Jonathan was right next to it, blowing him clear through the metal security fencing closing off that part of the room. He was badly hurt and unconscious, Hermione on the edge of panic.
Harry had had a flash of inspiration, trying the mirror to an owl's ability to locate its destination. It flew ahead of them now, the silvery contrails a visible marker for Daphne and him to follow.
They were able to fly high enough to avoid detection, but the owl began to dip, indicating that they were getting close.
There! Strange… there was a motley assemblage right outside the doors, as if waiting. They looked like… Rust Devils!
The details had started to come together in Harry's mind, between the testimony of the Vault refugees and Preston's report. These raiders had to be servants of Jeremiah. If he became aware of their existence…
The Rust Devils had no inkling of the doom that was about to befall them. One moment they were waiting outside the factory, rumor having it that not only was there sweet salvage inside, but there were two adults in their prime there that Jeremiah would reward them handsomely for bringing back. The next they were flying through the air, strangely and painfully aflame as they howled like human comets in the sky.
Harry didn't spare them a moment to recover, he vaulted from his broom and hit the ground at a roll. Daphne joined him and the pair of them sent spears of ice or bursts of lightning into the struggling raiders.
In moments, the raiding party was dead and the earnest witch and wizard were pounding their way through the factory, calling out for their friend.
They found her kneeling in a pool of blood, no less than 3 spent stimpacks littered on the ground around her. Lying next to her, his skin wan and pale, Jonathan tenuously held on to life. His body had been badly burned and perforated by a multitude of metal shards, each thrown aside as Hermione pulled them from his body.
She was untrained in the use of stimpacks, and so used quantity as a quality all its own, as the ever prepared General carried a thigh pouch with several of them. She held the last one in her blood soaked hands, eyes red as she considered where to put it.
Daphne gently took it from her and nodded to Harry. Harry took hold of Hermione and comforted her as Daphne looked over Jonathan and determined the best way to proceed.
"Are you alright?" Harry asked.
"I'm fine." Hermione answered, in a tone that said that she was anything but, "We were doing so well. Ada there," Hermione gestured, and Harry saw their robot companion for the first time, "guided us here; helped us fight our way through these robots. We didn't know that the leader would explode like that! He… shielded me from the blast. I did the best I could, but I'm not a doctor and I don't have any ditony!"
"He'll be alright." Daphne called out, "You saved him, Hermione. He'll be alright."