Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling
Harry blearily rubbed his gummy eyes while stretching in the soft, feather-down bed. While he loved flying last night, he couldn't erase the piercing screams from women and the wailing cries of children from his brain.
Things had worsened rapidly in the muggle world in just one day. His keen eyes had picked out roving bands of humans – refugees and mobs by the look of them. Out of control fires raged, once again filling the sky with smoky air. Harry had wrapped a cloaked arm around his face to muffle his coughs, but nothing could be done about his stinging eyes. At least his glasses protected them from the smoke somewhat.
A deep sorrow filled him as he thought of his conversation yesterday with Hermione's father. Ninety percent. That was the estimated mortality rate for an EMP if there was no outside aid. And there would be none, since only peasants would be unaffected by the world-wide bombing. Remote peasants who lived off the land generation after generation would survive as they scratched a living from the dirt. Provided they didn't get overrun by their distant cousins from the city.
Harry finally pulled his hand down and blinked. Covering his eyes wasn't going to change things. Yawning, he rolled out of bed, threw on the nearest set of clean clothes, and trudged out through the front door of the tent, oblivious to the spartan tent that was so unlike the twins.
Bright sunlight blinded him as he stepped out into a large clearing in the Peak District National forest. He could tell they were in Yorkshire. The small tugging that he'd first experienced after grasping the snitch in Gringotts had grown stronger. Now that he was nearer to his family home, he had another, more specific name floating around in his brain to run by John. Hopefully John would then get them close enough that Harry would know the way to go. Like a homing pigeon. He smiled ruefully.
The tents spaced widely in a circle around the fire reminded Harry of pioneer wagon trains in the States. Those wagons would circle in the same way for protection in the face of imminent danger.
Wood smoke wafted toward Harry, enveloping him. He quickly stepped sideways. Once clear of the smoke, the scent of pancakes filled the air.
His stomach rumbled loud enough for Ron, sitting on a stone several feet away, to hear.
Ron laughed. "Pull up a stone, these acorn pancakes are fantastic!" He shoveled a remarkable amount of food in his mouth before continuing. "Wild strawberries beat maple syrup hands down!"
Ginny blithely ignored her brother's table manners as Hermione winced and looked away. Six years ought to have inured her to Ron's eating habits, Harry thought with a smile.
As Harry sat down, he examined the remaining bits of Ron's pancakes. They looked normal aside from an orange tinge. "Don't acorns have something in them that's bad for you?" Harry asked. He remembered Petunia screeching at her precious Dudders to stop putting acorns in his mouth for that very reason.
"I've not keeled over yet." Ron shrugged and patted his stomach. The blissed-out look on his face told Harry that his friend was reliving his meal, bite by bite.
"Harry," Helen's quiet voice caught his attention. "You're right. It normally takes days, if not weeks or months, to soak the tannins out of acorns. Then they have to be dried and ground into flour."
"Normally?" Harry honed in on the pertinent word.
In response, Helen looked at Molly who was busy flipping pancakes with her wand. Each pancake twirled through the air one, two, then three times. As Harry watched, Molly flicked her wand, adding a twist to the flipping pancake. The content light in her eyes gave Harry the answer he needed. Culinary magic. No witch surpassed Molly in the kitchen; what an excellent survival skill.
Harry quickly served himself some of the remaining pancakes. With Fred and George eyeing them like a shark scouting its hapless prey, he knew his time to get breakfast was measured in seconds.
Ron was right. The slightly nutty flavor of the pancakes combined with the rich, sweet taste of wild strawberries created a divine breakfast.
"What are the plans for today?" Harry said, carefully making sure he swallowed first.
"Same as yesterday," Ginny answered clearly despite the mouthful of eggs she'd just shoveled in. He'd never understand how girls could manage that.
Things weren't exactly the same as yesterday. He didn't bond with a powerful, new wand, after all. They collected the same plants as yesterday, with John adding to the mix fennel, wild chestnuts, chickweed, and rose hips.
Harry had found it particularly interesting to see Hermione dig up whole lambs quarter plants and transplant them into pots before depositing them in a large box in her never-ending bag.
He pointed out the suspicious resemblance between the pots and engorged acorn tops. Hermione had blushed at that, but she replied that survival required conserving all types of energy, including magical.
As much as Harry enjoyed teasing his friend, he finally asked why they were transplanting lambs quarters.
Surprisingly enough, lambs quarter seed could be ground into flour, while the leaves could be eaten while small or stewed like cooked spinach once fully grown. He'd wrinkled his nose at that thought. Cooked spinach.
While Harry had been admiring the versatility of such an insignificant weed, John came up to Hermione with a snare in his hands. He was taking full advantage of the magic around him by getting Hermione to place powerful sticking charms on the snare.
"Meat for dinner?" Harry asked, his mouth watering. He could almost smell the sizzling fat as it dripped into the fireplace.
A smile creased John's face. "That depends on what we catch. I'd like to snare a breeding pair of rabbits." John's face sobered as he stared out at the forest. "In very little time the forest – no, all of Britain – will become nearly bare of even the smallest wildlife."
"But surely not many people know how to catch rabbits!" Harry protested, nodding at the snare dangling from John's hand.
"Desperation is an excellent teacher." John disagreed. "All but the most wily animals will be caught eventually."
The thought of this forest bare of all life – no chirping in the trees, no soft scurrying feet running through the leaves, saddened Harry for a moment. But he couldn't blame those people who were already so desperate to survive. He furrowed his brow in concentration. "Shouldn't we snare more breeding pairs, then? And not just rabbits?"
"What would you suggest?" John's face was noncommittal as he asked the question, and Harry felt like he was back in school without having done his homework.
Too bad we never had Survival 101, he told himself. Now that would have been far more useful. Quickly, Harry racked his memory for useful small game. "Quail? Squirrels? Pigeons?" He finally asked.
Amusement brightened John's eyes before he agreed. "All three of those make for good eating. But can you think of anything else?"
Something else? He'd been lucky to think of quail and pigeons to begin with. He only had experience with magical creatures and the squirrels that bothered his Aunt Petunia. She'd complained that their playing in the trees and on the roof would keep her up at night.
Harry cast a pleading look at Hermione.
"There might be wild turkeys or pigs," she said as she finished charming the last of the snares. "You'll be careful, Dad?"
John would have to go beyond the distant muggle repelling wards to set the snares. Their attempts at gathering food were sure to have frightened all the nearby game.
"Of course." John bent to kiss to top of Hermione's head before slipping silently into the shaded forest.
"Hermione?" Harry knew he was asking an obvious question, but they couldn't afford to have John lost. "Why is John going past the muggle repelling wards when he's a muggle himself?"
To his surprise, a quick laugh chirped out of Hermione's mouth. "Oh, Harry, you really should read Hogwarts, A History. They solved that problem centuries ago." Hermione pulled out another set of acorn pots as she left in search of more lambs quarter plants.
Harry shook his head, bemused. Of course Hogwarts would have solved that problem. How else would parents like Hermione's attend graduation? Perhaps he would find out exactly how when John came back. He had no doubt Hermione would tell him to look it up for himself if he asked again.
With a quiet sigh, Harry lifted his nearly full basket off the ground. If he tried thinking like a squirrel, he might be able to find more acorns. While fresh vegetables and fruits had their place, they certainly weren't filling.
Later that night Harry gazed in satisfaction at the pile of food they'd gathered – enough to last their group for several days. His lower back ached as he remembered the many hours he'd spent crouching on the ground. If he'd ever had the desire to be a hunter-gatherer, today had thoroughly squelched it.
Molly began efficiently packing the day's catch – casting both cooling and preserving charms as she did so. Once finished, she brushed her hands together and looked around. "All done, then?"
"Yes, Mrs. Weasley." Harry suspected she'd left the food till last as a sort of monument to the day's work. Judging by everyone's stiff and slow movements, everyone ached in places they'd never felt before. "Just one more night, maybe two, and we'll be there."
"Excellent." Mrs. Weasley's smile was seasoned with a large dose of relief. "As much as I love watching quidditch, I prefer to have my feet firmly on the ground.
"You, too!" Harry was astonished. Hermione felt that way, but Mrs. Weasley had never let on. She was always cheering her children's flying on.
Molly heard the astonishment in his tone. "Ah, Harry. Although it may seem to you that wizarding society never changes, it's been only recently that girls have been encouraged to fly. Despite muggle tales about witches flying."
Molly's eyes watched her daughter as she prepared for the night flight, confidence, excitement, and experience evident in Ginny's quick, economical motions. Pride flashed across Molly's face before she continued. "Albus opened quidditch to women after he became headmaster – it was such the scandal at the time! But Albus was adamant." Fond memories softened the lines of her face.
"But the Harpies – hasn't that quidditch team been around forever?" He asked.
"Oh, no!" Molly laughed. "The Harpies were organized as soon as witches who played quidditch graduated from Hogwarts, although I suspect some of the older members had been practicing on the sly. The very name of their team was a warning to the all-male teams, you see."
"It's a good thing everyone here can fly. I'm sure that would have been one class Hermione would have skipped if she could have." Harry said quietly, wondering if Albus had up-ended centuries of tradition because he could see a time when witches would need to fly as well as wizards.
The future. There were so many possibilities, so many things that could go wrong tonight. Harry softly brushed his hand against his as-yet unused wand. A fleeting, birds-eye view of the forest and it's surroundings filled his mind's eye. For a moment he could once again smell the smoke from the raging fires dotting the landscape. And briefly, ever so briefly, he heard the sound of a gunshot as a small, black-cloaked figure fell from a fast-moving broom.
To Be Continued...
A/N IMPORTANT: The next update will be the prologue, so don't go to the end of the story, read the first chapter/section. The prologue is a direct result of Thomas_berubeg. Thanks! I realized from him that some of the readers might appreciate knowing sooner rather than later how Iran managed to EMP the whole world back in the late 1990s. A hint: it has to do with magic ;)
Also, I couldn't update last Saturday due to bugs in the system, but I've discovered a work-around just in time for today's posting. Hopefully it will last!