DISCLAIMER: That part of this world and those characters you've seen before belong to their Creator: JKR. The rest is mine - although I cannot quit my day job as I make no $$$
A/N: How did the Durlseys get through the wards? It will be explained in detail. But the short answer is the really nasty wards are for MAGICAL threats. Since Muggles can't even hope to find the place without Charenwell help, they're no threat at all.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE: FLYBOY
SATURDAY, JULY 13th, 1996 – RAF Pottersport, West Farm, Charenwell.
A different sports car pulled up to the Flight Operations building at around ten in the morning. The driver had toured the rest of the "base" on the way in, unlike the day before. It was as if the base was all out on a pass for the day, not like it had ceased to be an airbase almost fifty years earlier. There were barracks, housing units, a base hospital, warehouses and facilities too numerous to count all looking like it could start up again once the word was given. He did not go in any of the buildings, but they looked well maintained. The man had said this was granddad's hobby. Some hobby, he thought.
He entered the Flight Operations building and there was Mr. Jennings and another man waiting. The other man was named Owens and was part of "this cobbled together" operation. Harry learned there were about a hundred or so who came here to fly the planes or held the elves maintain them. The grounds and other buildings were all maintained by the elves. Harry was led into what looked not unlike a locker room and an elf assisted him in getting "kitted out." He was soon in a set of coveralls, with a leather jacket and boots. There was a leather cap with goggles and earmuffs that he was told allowed him to hear radio communications in flight. Finally, a large backpack was placed over the whole thing. It had more straps than Harry knew what to do with and the elf made sure they were all where secured the way they were supposed to be – including two between his legs that were cinched so tight he was almost hoping his girls were too tired to play later.
"What's this?" he asked the Elf.
"Parachute, just in case," the Elf replied. "You don't know how to apparate, do you?"
Harry shook his head.
"Good! Worst thing you can do if something goes really wrong. Most likely you'd wind up splinching and still falling to your death. Parachutes are safer in a catastrophic emergency. But no need to worry. Our pilots have been wearing them for going on fifty years now and never had a need to use one for real."
"For real?"
"Well, there are those who jump out of airplanes for fun," the Elf said. "Not my idea of fun, but it does mean I get to repack the chute. I'm Eddy. I handle survival gear."
"Survival gear?"
"Parachutes, oxygen supplies, life rafts for ditching over the sea, flares, that sort of thing. Aside from the oxygen, my job is best if it's never needed and so far so good, although it means no case of beer."
"Beer?"
"Custom is if you bail out and walk away, the parachute rigger gets a case of beer for his efforts. Never got one in thirty years and neither did my Dad. The maintenance section's never had a problem so the only thing dangerous about our planes would be the pilots and we haven't lost a bird yet."
"Good to know."
"Right then," Eddy said, "they're waiting for you on the flight line, Sir." The Elf then proceeded to give Harry directions.
Harry soon was out the far side of Flight Operations from his car and Mr. Jennings, Mr. Owens and another Elf was waiting. He noticed he was the only one dressed as he was and walked up to them with a very confused look on his face.
"Er…is there some reason why I'm the only one dressed?" Harry asked.
"You look smashing," Mr. Jennings said. "Harry, this is Darpa our Line Chief," he said indicating to the Elf. "Bow to him, please?"
Harry wondered if this was a prank, but complied and the Elf placed his hands on either side of Harry's head for a moment without saying a word. Once the hands were gone, Harry stood up and looked at Mr. Jennings with a confused expression.
"Now," Mr. Jennings said, "do you really need one of us to come along and hold your hand?"
Harry thought for a moment. He then smiled. He did not! It was just like when Tinker "taught" him how to drive! He looked at the bi-wing Tiger Moth and knew he could fly it! He smiled at Mr. Jennings then trotted over to the plane beginning his preflight checks to make sure everything was buttoned up and in proper order. He checked the fuel levels and opened a section of the cowling that allowed him to check the oil level. Satisfied that all was in order, he stepped on a foot strut and climbed into the front cockpit.
There was a preflight checklist there and he read it. He worked the controls of the plane and looked at the wings and tail to make sure the right bits moved when they were supposed to. He made sure everything was set up properly in the cockpit and adjusted his engine fuel mixture for start up. He plugged his radio cord into the right receptacle and looked to see if the ground crew was ready. Standing by the right side of the nose of the plane was an elf with a hand crank already in place. Another Elf stood at a safe distance with a fire extinguisher, again just in case. He was ready!
"Contact!" Harry called. The Elf began turning the handle and the propeller began to rotate in a somewhat jerky manner until Harry heard the engine caught a couple of times and then catch and begin to hum, the propeller now spinning to fast to see. He had a face mask that had his microphone and put it on. "Pottersport Tower, this is Potter One, request instructions for taxi to active."
"Potter One, Runway two-seven is the active. Winds 110 at five knots. Altimeter is fifty-eight feet."
Harry made an adjustment to one of his gauges. "Runway two-seven, Roger," he said. He made a hand single to indicate the ground crew could pull the chocks. When he was signaled that it was done, he pushed the throttle forward, the engine pitch increased and his plane began to move.
SATURDAY, JULY 13th, 1996 – Pottersport, Charenwell.
Dudley had woken early his first morning in this new place. True, he thought as he changed out of his pajamas, this might be a new place in another country, but he was not about to let that interfere with his routine. Ever since he returned to his school, he was intent on changing things, and the first thing he could change was his appearance. He had taken up running along with other forms of exercise and he had not missed a morning run in months and would not let something like being in a strange new place change that. He wouldn't even let his own mother change that. She had insisted he eat breakfast when he returned over the Christmas Holidays, but that interfered with his runs so he refused.
"You're going out for a walk today?" Petunia asked in shock as he passed the kitchen in his running kit.
"Yes," Dudley said.
"Surely you can miss one day," she huffed. "We don't even know our way around. We don't even know if this place is safe!"
"I'm not missing a run," Dudley said. He found it mildly amusing that his mother thought he went for walks. She didn't seem to get the need for exercise, then again the woman could pack the food in and never gain weight. From his own recent experience, Dudley knew he did not enjoy that luxury. Two years ago, his waistline was almost equal to his height and walking of a flight of stairs left him winded and in need of a sugary soda. He had thought that was normal. His father was just as corpulent. His school had not thought so and forced him onto a strict diet and exercise program that he had to adhere to or be dropped. At the time, the only good thing he could say about it was that his size got him into boxing. But he soon learned that boxers had to be really fit to throw punches for even one round and keep their guard up. Since he did not like getting knocked down all the time after a few seconds, he had taken to getting fit. The results showed. None of his clothes from before fit. True, he had grown a few inches in height and was now the tallest in the family, but he had lost feet in all probability around the middle. His mother fretted that he was too thin, but he refused to allow her any chance to fatten him up.
Dudley stretched in the courtyard before running out the gate and turning left up a slight hill towards the bluff. He counted the blocks as they past so he could find his way back. The sixth cross street was as far as he could go as the houses across the way were right against the bluff. It did not matter, but he chose to turn left. After two more blocks he came to the main street with all the shops. He could turn left and run past the shops, but there were a lot of shoppers about. He could go straight and continue to run along the street at the base of the bluff, or right and follow a road that looked like it would take him to the top of the bluff. He chose to run up the hill. The road up the hill began pretty much in the same direction he had been running. It was not an easy run, but Dudley took it as a challenge and was determined to make it to the top without stopping. About half way up as near as he could judge the road switched back and climbed in the other direction. In front of him now as he climbed was a huge and impressive castle.
Dudley was pleased when he crested the ridge without stopping, but having achieved his goal and being quite winded with lungs burning, decided it was prudent to stop. Across the road to his right, facing away from the town, towered the castle, even though it was at least a couple of football pitches to the outer fortification. To his left, a paved, tree lined walk with a railing hugged the edge of the bluff and overlooked the town below. He walked along the path catching his breath and looking down on the town below, the harbor filled with fishing craft and the bay and sea beyond. As hard as the run up had been, Dudley thought it was worth it. He leaned over against the rail and looked out at the view.
"Nice day isn't it?" a feminine voice asked after several minutes.
Dudley turned and saw a girl standing near him, just a few feet away actually. She was not looking at him but out at the view. The breeze had seemed to pull her long, light brown hair away from her face. Dudley thought she was very pretty.
"Yeah," he said nervously. Back home, no girl had ever said a word to him before; at least not nice ones.
"It's so peaceful up here, don't you think?" the girl continued.
Dudley nodded. She had a nice voice too.
"I like to come up here on days like today," she said. "It's a good place to read."
"I suppose," Dudley said.
"You don't seem to like it," she said.
"No," he said quickly, "I do. It's just…"
"Yes?"
"Never been before."
"Oh. Why not?"
"My family moved here just yesterday."
"Oh. Sorry, I just assumed you were from around here. Odd that, though."
"It is," Dudley asked.
"Well, people here don't really move much. So you're from Port of Darby originally?"
"Where?"
"Oh my! You're not from here at all, are you? Not until yesterday, I mean."
"Little Whinging," he said.
"What? What's that?"
"It's where I lived. It's in Surry."
"That's in England, isn't it?" the girl gasped. "Near London, right?"
Dudley nodded.
"Oh my! Don't meet many folks from there and most of them are old. Well, since you are new here, I'm Clara."
"Dudley," he replied.
"That's your name? Dudley?"
Dudley nodded hoping the girl would not laugh, or worse make some comment about Mounties or Dudley Dooright or Nell. When he was little the older boys at school loved doing that to him … and then he took out his frustrations on Harry. It was no longer a memory he was proud of.
"It's a family name," Dudley said. "Don't know which side, though."
"Oh. Well, we don't get to pick our names, do we?"
"You don't like yours?"
"Not really."
"I do," Dudley said. "It's not common and not silly either."
"Th-thanks," she said and smiled at him. "Why'd your family move here?"
"Dad's job," Dudley said. "His company's doing something here and he was sent."
"Oh. We don't get many people from England here. Mostly someone from here meets someone over there and they get married. That's kind of what happened in my family. My Granddad was from … can't remember if it was England or Wales … anyway, he joined the Royal Air Force during World War II as an aircraft mechanic. The RAF had a base here and that's where he was sent to work on planes. He met my grandmother, whose family's been here for ages, at a dance here in Pottersport. They got married and when the War ended he stayed. I don't think I've ever met someone from Britain who was here who was not somehow connected or married into a family from here."
"We're not all that bad," Dudley said. He didn't think he was anymore, but that change was recent. A year ago, she would not have said a word to him.
"Oh, I do know people from Britain," she said. "I do go to school there. A place called St. George's near London. Ever heard of it?"
"Don't think so," Dudley said. "There're a lot of schools in London. I went to Smeltings myself."
He thought she looked at him a little funny, but she didn't seem to act like anything was off. "I suppose there are," she said. "I liked my school mostly, but Mum and Dad are thinking of not sending me back."
"Oh?"
"What with the troubles and all."
Dudley wondered what that was about. The only troubles he heard about were in Northern Ireland and he thought they were mostly over.
"Not going back to Smeltings either," Dudley said. "Something 'bout travel restrictions or some such."
"So what are you going to do with your year off?" Clara asked.
"Year off?"
"Certainly," she said. "The Duke's building schools for us, but they won't be open 'til next year, or so they say."
"I was told there were schools."
"Primary schools," she said then paused for a moment. "Why do you think I was in school in England? If it were up to me, I'd never want to go there at all. It's much nicer here. Course, it means my O.W.L.s will be delayed, but I could use the time to revise so they won't be the nightmare they seem to be."
Did she just say something about owls? Dudley thought. He was certain he heard wrong.
"Oh MY!" she gasped. Clara was not looking at Dudley, but he could tell something upset her. She looked either scared, disgusted or both and he was about to ask when she did something that rendered him incapable of speech. She pulled out a wooden stick. He did not want to believe it, but he knew what it was. She then said something like "Depulso" and shuddered for a moment. "I hate spiders," she said to no one in particular. Dudley felt the blood draining from his body.
"You're a…" he began, but could not say it.
She looked at him and he saw concern on her face.
"Dudley, are you okay?"
"You're a…"
"You should sit. You don't look too good."
"You're a…"
"I'm a what? What's wrong? I'm breaking out, aren't I?"
Dudley shook his head. "…a …a…a…"
"Try and breathe, Dudley. I really don't know any spells for chocking. What are you on about?"
"…a witch! You're a witch!"
"Don't be silly, Dudley. Of course I'm a witch! What's so surprising about… Oh my! You're not magical, are you?"
Dudley was calming down a little. He shook his head.
"But you do know magic is real, right?"
Dudley nodded.
"Come," she said, "let's have a seat. I meant it when I said I don't know many good Healing spells. I think it would be best if we sat down." She took his hand gently in hers and led him to a tree, bidding him so sit. For some reason, Dudley sat. Sometime later he wondered why he did not run off, but decided is that he really kind of liked the girl even if she was one of those people. "Are you okay, Dudley?" she asked after he and she were seated on the grass. There was genuine concern on his voice.
Dudley nodded. "I just didn't expect…"
"Oh," she said seeming to understand. "I'm sorry. I thought you knew."
"How would I have known?" Dudley asked, hoping he did not seem annoyed.
"This is Charenwell, after all," she said as if this was somehow obvious. She quickly realized it was not. "You've known someone who was magical back in England, right?"
"My cousin," Dudley said starting to relax. "He was…is…well…"
"Was? Is?" Clara asked confused.
"My Mum's sister was a … a witch apparently. She died when I was a baby, so I never met her as far as I know," Dudley said.
"I'm sorry," Clara said softly.
Dudley shrugged. "Anyway, my Aunt married a wizard, I guess. Never met him either 'cause he died back then as well. Dad always said they were no account, lay about drunks and died in a car crash. I believed him too, just not anymore. That was before I knew they were like you, or that my cousin Harry was like you too. He came to live with us. He went to a magical school called Hog – something."
"Hogwarts?"
"That's it. Anyway, he didn't like living with us. Don't blame him. Mum never liked him and Dad hates magic. Got me to hate it too for a time. Harry didn't … he didn't deserve the way my Dad saw him treated. No one does. Anyway, when he got back at the end of last term, he scampered. I would too if I were him; assuming I had somewhere else to go. I hope he's with friends. He deserves that."
"Were you mean to him too?"
Dudley hesitated. "Yes," he said in a small voice. "I – I don't know if I wanted to be when I was real little. But my parents expected me to be and … I'm not proud of it. I don't know if I ever was, but not anymore."
"Something happened?" Clara asked.
"Dementors," Dudley said and Clara gasped. "You ever meet those."
"No," she said horrified. "I've heard of them. We don't have them here. That's a British magical thing."
"Nasty things," Dudley said. "It was last summer. I was out with my gang doing what we usually did, which was not very nice. It was night. I was heading home and we ran into my cousin Harry who was sitting in a play park for some reason. Anyway, it had been really hot outside and suddenly it was really cold. The others ran for it and Harry says to me something about Dementors and we needed to run for it too. I usually wouldn't have listened to him, but something was off around us and there was this tone in his voice and…we ran for it. But they caught us."
"Oh my!"
"I never saw the things…"
"There was more than one?"
Dudley nodded. "Two, I was told later. Anyway I never saw them. Not being magical is what I was told. But I sure knew they were there! I felt … horrible. They made me see horrible things. What's worse, they made me see what I really was like somehow and it was not pleasant. I didn't want to be that boy, and yet I was and they made me think it was all I ever could be and I'd never be happy or have real friends or anything and all I wanted to do right then was die.
"Then there was this bright light. Really bright! And the darkness faded and I felt … I don't know how I felt. Better? I saw Harry with his wand out and at first thought he had done that to me."
"I don't think there's a spell that can do that," Clara said.
"But how would I know?" Dudley replied. "Besides, deep down I thought if it was him what done it, I deserved it. I was really out of it when we got home. My parents actually took me to a magic hospital. When I got back, Harry was gone. He was off to friends or something for the rest of the summer. I never got to say thanks and now he's gone all over again." Dudley was trying not to cry.
"Spent the last year trying to become worthy of what he did for me that night," Dudley said. "I tried hard at school and did better. I dumped all my so called friends, 'cause they were really the wrong sort. I stopped picking on people or worse. Got in shape. I don't want to be like I was before. I don't want those Dementors to be right about me. My Dad doesn't know this. Mum doesn't really know either. Dad wants me to be a no good lout who hates everything and everyone just like him. Mum just wants to pamper me to death. I want to be someone I can be proud of, which is someone my Dad would probably hate, but…," he shrugged.
"So in a way, a magical like me made you a better person?"
"Made me want to be, yeah. Magic still freaks me out a bit," Dudley said.
"Then I'll not do it with you around," Clara said.
"Wait a sec," Dudley exclaimed. "You're not 'of age' or whatever it's called, are you?"
"Fifteen," Clara said. "I'll be sixteen in November."
"Sixteen myself little less than a month ago," Dudley nodded. "But why didn't you get in trouble for that magic thing? Once Harry started school, anytime he did it he got in loads of trouble from the wizards. Doing magic under age. Doing it in front of … people like me."
"That's Britain for you," Clara said. "People here say nothing good ever came from living there."
"Hey!"
"They meant the British magicals are a backward lot. They are. We were originally part of England a long time ago, but then we became independent and they went their way and we went ours. We think our way is much better. You know why your Cousin got in trouble for doing magic?"
Dudley shook his head.
"We have this thing called the Statute of Secrecy. It's very old. Most magical governments signed it. The purpose of the Statute was to hide magic from the rest of the world. Britain hides it by punishing people for doing it and by making non-magicals forget they saw it. Their way, however, makes them live apart from the others. Did you know they don't even have electricity? It's like they stopped in the sixteen hundreds or earlier and stayed there while the rest of us moved ahead. But if you speak to them, they think they're all high and mighty. Superior to everyone else. They forgot why the Statute was signed in the first place."
"Why was it signed?"
"Well, if you learned history from the Brits, you'd think it was because we were doing everything for the non-magicals and got tired of it. They think they are all powerful compared to people like you. Not all of them, mind you. Some do know better and the ones who were raised outside of magical society – like your cousin I suppose – know that's not true. But ask yourself this: if you were more powerful than someone, so powerful they could never match you, would you hide from them?"
"No," Dudley said. "That's just silly."
Clara nodded. "The reason for that Statute and the laws magical countries have passed to enforce it is because when it was signed, we were no longer so much more powerful than you that we had nothing to fear. One on one, I guess we still might be. But in Britain and in most of the world, for every one of us, there's a thousand of you. And now you have technologies that are far more dangerous than magic."
"Okay, so why is it different here?" Dudley asked.
"Because most of us are magical," Clara said. "Here, for every one like you, there's eight or nine of us. Almost every child born here is magical. The rest know all about magic. There's nothing to hide from each other here. We choose to enforce the Statute not by hiding from our neighbors, but by hiding all of us from the rest of the world. We've been safe for ages. While we supported Britain in World War II, war has never touched us. Not a non-magical one, nor a magical one. Not even the magicals in Britain know where we are, assuming they even know we exist."
"You hid a whole country?" Dudley asked. "How?"
"Magic," Clara said. "And please don't ask what kind. I really don't know. It's not that big a secret, but it's awfully complex and I haven't got anywhere close to learning about it in school."
"So where is this place really? I mean, well, I know it's not on any maps."
"Port of Darby is on our eastern sea shore," Clara said. "It's about a hundred and twenty miles east of us. It's the closest point to England. It's about three hundred miles southwest of Land's End. Maybe a bit more."
"You hid a huge bloody island? You can do that?"
Clara shrugged. "I don't know if we could if we had a neighboring country like in Europe. But being an island, yes I suppose."
"That's really kind of cool," Dudley began. A noise up in the sky caught his attention. He looked up and saw a small bi-plane passing overhead. "What's that?"
"You have seen and airplane before," Clara chided.
"Oh yeah," Dudley shrugged. "I guess … well, I didn't think…"
"Didn't think we'd have any?"
Dudley nodded.
"Our British 'cousins' probably don't. They fear technology. We don't. We have cars and computers and everything."
"Really? Cool."
"So," Clara said with a smile. "You're not still scared of me?"
"No," Dudley said. "You've been very nice."
"Well then," Clara said, "since you're not scared and since you're new here, why don't we go back to town. We can stop by where you're living and you can get showered and changed and I could show you around your new home."
"I'd like that," Dudley said standing up and helping Clara to her feet.
"And can you promise me you won't get all freaked out if you see a wand?" Clara asked.
"I promise to try not to," Dudley said.
"That'll work," Clara smiled as the two began the walk back to town.
SATURDAY, JULY 13th, 1996 – RAF Pottersport, West Farm, Charenwell
He had been up almost three hours. Harry had begun by shooting four "touch and goes" to practice landing the plane with the knowledge the Line Chief had passed. He knew that like the cars, he still had to fine tune his coordination. Once he was satisfied, he flew off to the Exercise Area just off the coast to practice spin and stall recovery, as if that went really wrong, he would be in his parachute and the plane would crash into the water and not on someone's head. But nothing had gone wrong. A loop and a couple of rolls later and he decided it was time to head back. As he still had more than enough fuel, he decided to fly over Pottersport and then his Manor on the way back to the base for his final landing. This was almost as much fun as flying his broom! But the best bit, he thought, this was flying Hermione might not object to – well, he probably could leave out the spins, stalls, loops and rolls.
He "greased" his landing and began the taxi back to Flight Operations. In his mind, he began thinking that this might be something useful. He was not sure how, yet. But he wondered if others could learn like he had and if they did, if they could also learn to fly the other planes here. That would be something, he thought as he noticed that one of the big Lancasters was moving, all four of its propellers spinning. A moment's confusion, then he remembered that Mr. Jennings said the people here tried to fly all these planes somewhat regularly. And if they had a few more pilots…
He soon had his plane parked in front of the Flight Operations building, its engine shut down and the wheel chocks in place. As he climbed out of the cockpit, he stopped as he watched the large bomber take off. Man that's so cool, he thought. He jumped to the ground and saw Mr. Owens snap a picture of him before he could even think to react. He did not like "surprise" photographs.
"What was that for?" he asked.
"Tradition, Milord," Mr. Owens said. "We always snap a photo of a new pilot right after their first solo flight. One copy will be yours to keep and another will hang in the Officer's Club here on base. Every pilot who ever learned to fly here has their solo picture there, including your Grandfather."
"Oh," Harry replied. Despite the special pensieve, he actually felt more connected to his grandfather now. Mr. Jennings walked up and pinned something on the flight jacket. "What's this?"
"You're wings, Milord," Mr. Owens said. "Once you solo, you are a pilot. Now, it doesn't mean you're fully qualified. We're not about to let you take off in any of our other birds and certainly not at night or in bad weather. You still need several more hours and you need to learn instrument flying, navigation and a lot of other stuff. But we offer a "Ground School" for that."
"Ground school?"
"There's a lot more to flying than just being able to take off and land safely," Mr. Jennings said. "Your Grandfather's regulations are clear. You can fly Tiger Moths under VFR conditions, but you need to complete ground school and have at least fifty flight hours logged before moving on to the bigger birds. The school takes four weeks, three hours a day four days a week if you do it all at once."
"Oh."
"But no worries. Welcome to the Royal Duchy of Charenwell Air Force, Flying Officer Potter!"
"Wow! Um…"
"Yes Harry?"
"I mean, could others learn with me?" Harry was not about to not let his girls know about this. He didn't thing all of them would want to, but he knew some would."
"How many?" Mr. Jennings nodded.
"Not sure right now," Harry said. "Could be only twenty or so. Could be a lot more than that."
"Ideally, if it's more than that, we'd need a few more trainers," Mr. Jennings said in an odd tone. It did not seem to Harry that the man was saying it could not be done. "You got some time, Harry? There's something I think you should see."
Harry looked at his watch. "I've got time," he said.
They took Harry's car. Harry had not even bothered to change out of his kit, save for taking off the unused parachute. Mr. Jennings directed him on a drive along a road that had been built around the perimeter of the airfield, and then on what looked like a dirt road leading to a very large, rocky hill about a half mile to the east (and, Harry noted, also out of any of the flight patterns). The road looked like a dirt track, but drove like a regular road. He headed straight at the hill and was told not to slow down, even though Harry thought he was going to crash.
Except he didn't crash. Just when the car should have smashed into the side of the hill, it passed through a barrier and he was on a huge tarmac. The side of the hill was now a good hundred yards from the barrier and looked like it had been carved away into a vertical space. Spaced several hundred yards from each other, or so it seemed, and where the manmade cliff met the tarmac were four sets of huge hanger doors. Harry was directed to park in front of the nearest one. He followed Mr. Jennings to a small, normal sized door that was within one of the center panels. Mr. Jennings unlocked the smaller door, opened it and stepped inside with Harry following. Lights came on and Harry saw he was in a huge cave carved into the hill.
"What we passed through was a ward," Mr. Jennings said. "It's a form of magical camouflage. Unnecessary, really. But back early in World War Two, the Muggle RAF was concerned the Germans might actually find this place and try and do something about it. We're out of range of the bombers they sent against Britain, but their Condors could make it this far. And, at the time this was built, the Royal Navy had not yet contained the German Surface Fleet. The RAF wanted someplace safe from bombs and shells for hangers and for munitions stores. Your Great-grandfather proposed this, an underground complex. Needless to say, while the Muggles were impressed with the idea, they felt it might take years to build. Wonderful thing, magic. It took two weeks."
"So? I mean the camouflage is amazing and this is too, but so? What does this have to do with training pilots?" Harry asked.
"Off to the sides of this hanger – and all the others – and in back are smaller tunnels that were to house workshops, even barracks and the like. After the War, when your Grandfather began his collection, he knew that getting all the parts he might need to keep his babies flying might be a problem. At some point, you might need to replace something bigger than a piston – something say like a wing?
"So, in storage and in pieces are complete airplanes. They were acquired the same time the ones you have seen were and were here to provide a parts bin to keep the others flying. Thing is, our fabricators managed to do that without ever having to raid this place for so much as a screw."
"So," Harry said, "what you're saying is we have all we need to put together more planes?"
Mr. Jennings nodded. "A lot more planes, Harry. Your Granddad did not skimp on his hobby. With the exception of his Mosquitoes and the Hudsons, you have all you need to triple the number of planes in each category. In the case of the Dakotas and Tiger Moths, you could quadruple them."
"Whoa! How … how long … er … how much would it take?"
"During the last Wizards War in Britain, your Great-granddad and Granddad both felt we either might have to defend ourselves or intervene. The bad guys can't get to us. But with these, we can get to them. These things fly higher and faster than any broom known. The Duke had a study done to see just how large and Air Force he could have and how quick. Turned out, the planes are not the problem. With the elves we have and the people who help out, we could assemble all of these planes in twelve to eighteen months. But that would mean the planes we do have could not be flown as we would not be able to maintain them. Assuming we could get a lot more elves…"
"That might not be a problem," Harry said. "There's about a hundred in need of works as it now stands. And I've been told that many who are employed consider themselves underemployed."
"Anyway, with current staff and assuming large scale flight operations with the existing planes, figure two years. With a much larger staff? We could – in theory, of course – build two to three Tiger Moths per week and three Spitfires or Hawkers. At the same time, we could roll out two Dakotas or Bostons every ten days and one Lanc every two weeks. In probably less time for a woman to carry their baby to term, we could have all these planes put together and flying."
"Whoa! Why didn't you?"
"Our problem was never planes, Harry. It's always been aircrew. Even with the upgrades we can do in avionics, it's aircrew. The Lancs needed seven men during the War. If we forgo the need for gunners, modern equipment can drop that to three: a pilot, flight engineer/navigator and bomb aimer. That's seventy-two right there. The Bostons are the same. The Dakotas are as well as they need a crew chief even with the technology. It's close to three hundred aircrew. While a lot of the ground crew could be elves, we figured we'd need over seven hundred witches and wizards to fully man the expanded Air Force. That says nothing about an Army or anything else. I take it you're thinking about the current troubles in Britain?"
"Assuming we could do this, what would it give us?" Harry asked.
"Three squadrons of Lancaster Heavy Bombers, three Squadrons of Boston Light Bombers, four Squadrons of Dakotas – although you don't need those to defend the country. They'd only be of use in those numbers for doing something abroad. You'd also have three squadrons of Spitfires and Typhoons."
"Let's assume we were going to do something abroad…"
"Only the Lancs and Dakotas have the range to hit almost anything from here. The Bostons could take you to the Midlands, maybe, but no further north. As for the Spits and Typhoons? Maybe the southwest of England and southern Ireland and even then, they'd be there and have to turn back immediately or risk running out of fuel, and that assumes they fly out of Port of Darby, not here. Even if they could reach, we don't have any munitions!"
Harry nodded. "We barely have the what, we don't even have the who; it's a bit early to worry about the how or where right now. What do I need to do to get this started?"
"It's your stuff, Milord. We'd need help, but…just say the word."
"I want the trainers first. I'll find the pilots and the others, as well as the folks for an Army."
"We don't have the population," Mr. Jennings protested.
"Let me worry about that," Harry said as reassuringly as he could. "But I'd rather have the planes and not need them, then not have them when they're needed. Get the trainers ready first. If it can be done, I'd like the rest ready by the end of next year."
"At least you don't want this done tomorrow," Mr. Jennings replied. "May I ask why? I mean aside from the troubles across the water."
"You may ask," Harry said, "but unless and until I am certain we can do what I have in mind, there's really no point in answering. It may come to nothing in the end. I just don't know yet."
"Yes, Milord," Mr. Jennings replied.
SATURDAY, JULY 13th, 1996 – Pottersport, Charenwell.
Dudley and Clara had gone to the building where he lived. She suggested she wait in the courtyard for him, even though he did invite her up. She said they had just met and she did not want people, especially his parents, thinking there was anything – not so innocent – going on. He whole heartedly agreed, although deep down he thought that one day being more than friends might be a good thing. As soon as he returned, she took him down to High Street and they window shopped. In reality, she was pointing out just how unmagical a lot of life here was. There were magical shops. She pointed out the Wand Maker and a place for potions equipment and ingredients and a few others. But most of the shops were "normal." Dudley was at first surprised to see a computer store, but soon passing by shops he would expect to see back in Britain was not so surprising. They soon found themselves on Front Street along the harbor. There were shops dedicated to the fishing industry, including the fish market, but she led him to a nice restaurant that had outside seating so they could sit, talk and look at the water.
"Can I ask you something, Clara?"
"Sure?"
"If you have magic here, why technology?"
"Oh. I suppose you might think we have no need for it or something."
Dudley nodded.
She pulled out her wand. "This is just a tool, Dudley. You ever see those electric tools that have end bits you can change to do different sorts of things?"
Dudley nodded.
"In a way, that's all this is. My magic is like the battery. Through training, I can use my mind to change the end bit to do what I want. But, it takes years and years to get really good with a wand. You could use that electric tool practically right out of the box. You could turn a light on as soon as you were tall enough to reach the switch. It took me months to be able to do that with this; at least to have a light that lasted more than a few seconds. We spend seven years in school just learning how to use this so we can function with magic. To actually work with it takes even longer.
"We use technology where it is easier or better or less annoying than the magical alternative. Most forms of magical travel are faster than cars, but few of us like it. So we only use it when we need to get somewhere fast. Otherwise, we take the train, or a car or bus or walk or bike. We have to take planes or ships to get to Britain. It's too far for most magical travel and to allow the type than can get there would allow magicals from there to get here, and we don't want them popping around for tea whenever it suits them. We don't like them that much."
Dudley chuckled. "Okay, but what about blokes like me? Bet we get the worst jobs."
"Most jobs don't need magic. My dad works on airplanes at the old air base, just as his dad did. He might use magic to take the engine off a plane because it is faster and less dangerous than the non-magical way. But he uses a wrench and screwdriver and whatever to actually work on the engine. Same's true with the fishing fleet. They have magic, but it is seldom better than the non-magical way. There are some jobs where you have to be magical. Magical Healing is one. That's one area where we still enjoy a bit of an edge over non-magicals. But we also have Healers and Doctors who went to non-magical medical school because that rounds out treating people. Warding – that's the art that keeps us 'off the maps' among other things is strictly magical.
"We tend to do construction that way too. Not because magic is better. But it is faster. You heard they're building a new city?"
Dudley nodded. "My dad's company is going to have a plant there."
"Well, it's on the South Coast, about thirty miles from here or so. It's right on the beach. Anyway, when I came back from school three weeks ago, they had not even started yet. All that was there was a road. Now the railroad is already there and beyond and buildings are going up so fast that it's said it will be ready for people by the end of August, if not sooner. That's where magic helps. But the construction manager is not magical at all. Don't think the architect is either. See?
"In Britain, the magicals use their wands for everything. I wouldn't be a bit surprised if they magic their mess away rather than use bog rolls."
Dudley laughed at that.
"We think they're lazy. The biggest insult you can say to someone here is 'you're so British.' Nothing good ever came from living there. By that we mean magical Britain, of course."
"Of course," Dudley said.
"Here," Clara continued, "we are all Charenwellians. Makes no difference whether you're magical or not. All of us have non-magical ancestors if you go back far enough and we are proud of that. There, if you're in magical Britain, you might live your whole life without ever knowing anything about non-magical Britain and the ignorant fools are proud of that. I may not be a huge football fan, but Daddy is. He hates going into magical Britain when he takes me to school 'cause he can't keep up with the scores."
"Doesn't sound so bad here," Dudley thought.
"I don't know anyone who does not like it here," Clara said. "We're part of non-magical Britain in a way. Our Duke is our Head of State, but his rule is derived from the British Crown and Her Majesty and her family comes here every year for Holiday. It has the advantage for them that our press pretty much leaves them alone and their press can't come here at all. She's here now, you know."
"The Queen? Here?"
"Well, not in Pottersport. She has an estate on the South Coast. But she and her family arrived yesterday. She will be here tomorrow, though."
"Really?"
Clara nodded. "Up at Government House…"
"Where?"
"The Castle."
"Why?"
"Well, she was unable to attend the investiture of our new Duke two weeks ago. I so wanted to go, but Daddy couldn't get tickets. They're free, you know. But everyone wanted to be there and they only could admit ten thousand or so and they had to have people from all over, not just Pottersport…
"Anyway, the Duke became Duke and his wife became a Duchess and the British Ambassador was there to Knight them and a couple of others for services to the Crown. Tomorrow, the Queen will preside when his other wife becomes a Countess and three others get knighted."
"Other wife? He has two?"
"Consorts. An ancient law. Because of an inheritance that made him the head of two very ancient houses with roots in Britain and magical Britain dating back to King Arthur…"
"He was real?"
"Of course. He's myth in most places because that was during the Dark Ages and he apparently did not get on with the Bishops so they didn't see fit to write about him. He was tight with Merlin, so we magicals did. Anyway, there is an obscure law still on the books here and in magical Britain that if you come to head two such lines, you can take a wife to bear the heir to preserve each such line."
"Lucky bloke," Dudley said.
"Really? A girl expects attention, can get moody and cranky and weepy for reasons a boy can't understand and can nag and complain and all that. Would you want two?"
"No," Dudley said. "One would be enough. And if I was really lucky, I'd get one who either wasn't like that or who I didn't mind when she was. In which case, getting another would really be pushing it."
Clara smiled.
"So this Duke is like a King?"
Clara nodded. "We have a High Council which is like the Parliament in Britain. We have the Lord Mayor, who's like your Prime Minister and he has various Ministries under him. They are both elected. We have a separate court, headed by the High Chancellor who is recommended by the Lord Mayor and appointed by our Duke. Then there's our Duke. His role is limited, but perhaps not as much as the Queen's. After all, he owns most of the land in this country and that gives him a lot of say as to how it's used. But he cannot make laws or see them enforced. His biggest role is only he can ratify a treaty or agree to a declaration of war."
"He must be as stiff as the British royals. Dad's always on about them," Dudley said.
Clara shrugged. "I haven't met him. He lived most of his life abroad for some reason. I do know his parents were assassinated."
"Ouch!"
"He was a baby then. His Mum was killed in front of him."
"That's not right."
"No, it's not. He finally returned home – or came home 'cause I think he was born abroad as well – he finally came home three weeks ago. People who have met him say he's really a nice kid. Doesn't act at all like he's special or nothing."
"Kid?"
"He's almost sixteen."
"Wait! He's fifteen and has two wives? How long has he been married?"
"A few weeks at most," Clara said. "Some think he did it to avoid throngs of fan girls," she added conspiratorially. "So, Dudley, would you like to see him?"
"Why? I'm not into being a Duchess and …"
Clara laughed. "I didn't mean like that. That was funny! No silly. Daddy's got tickets to tomorrows even up at Government House. I was wondering if you'd like to come with me?"
"Really?"
Clara nodded. "It's not that big a deal. We go, stand in the crowd, watch the Duke arrive and the Queen listen to speeches and then have a big meal in the Castle Courtyard, unless we get lucky."
"Lucky?"
"Do you have a nice suit?"
Dudley nodded.
"Well, the Royal Banquette and Ball is for invited guests mostly. But the custom here is several regular people like you and me get to go as well. There's a lottery and we find out when we get to the Castle. It's a long shot, but everyone has a chance to go. It's really popular here."
Dudley thought about it for a moment. On the one hand, he didn't like those sort of things. His Mum and Dad would be over the moon to go, even though his Dad hated royals. He just didn't like getting all dressed up nor going to see someone he would never really meet and who was not on a sports stage or in a rock band. On the other, however, he was really beginning to like Clara and could tell she really wanted him to go with her. "Sure," he said.
SATURDAY, JULY 13th, 1996 – Potter Manor, Charenwell.
Harry entered the Manor with his "street clothes" in his arms. "Dobby?" he called.
"The Great Harry Potter calls Dobby?" a voice said. The Elf looked nothing like a House Elf, but the features and attitude were pure Dobby. Harry smiled. "Has His Lordship had a fine day?"
"Have indeed."
"And what is his Lordship wearing? Dobby is sure that neither Lady Dora nor Ladies Astoria or Daphne picked those. Or would have picked those, come to think of it."
Harry chuckled. "Nope. But do take care of what they did pick," he said handing Dobby his bundle. "Now where are my Ladies?"
"Ladies Daphne and Astoria have finally managed to take Ladies Minerva and Mallory shopping. If history is to judge, the elders will return all grousing about the experience, but privately will have loved at least the results. Ladies Hermione, Luna, Dora, Ginny and Stacey are in the Library trying to finish their books. House Longbottom is there as well and Mr. Remus, Sir."
"Thanks Dobby."
Harry was still wearing his "flying kit" (less parachute), although he now had the stripes of a Flying Officer on the shoulders of his coveralls (hidden beneath his leather flight jacket) and an Officer's Cap on his head. His plan was to see if girls really did fall for men in uniform, but with the Longbottoms and Remus in the Library, the evidence of that would have to wait. Still, he wondered about the reaction his current attire would get as he entered the Library. The girls were gathered around a table and had not noticed him enter. He walked over, unnoticed, sat at a chair at the table, placed his feet up on it (knowing at least that would get a reaction out of Hermione), leaned back with his hands behind his head and waited all of two second.
Hermione seemed to be the first to notice him, or rather his feet on the table. "Harry! Get your feet off … and just what is that get up your wearing?"
Harry took his feet off the table with a mischievous smirk. "This? Just something I threw on."
"I know for a fact there was nothing like that in the closet. I'm sure the fashion twins would find it revolting. You look like something out of an old movie. What were you doing? Rummaging around the attic?"
"So much for that idea," Harry grumbled.
"Excuse me?"
"I heard that women find men in uniform very sexy. Obviously I was mistaken."
"We all find you very sexy, Harry," Ginny said.
"You don't need fancy clothes to warm us up," Stacey added. "But I think you look dashing."
"Thanks. It's nice to know this was not wasted entirely."
"Still Harry," Hermione said. "Just what are you wearing?"
"Flight suit."
"Never seen Quidditch robes like that," Ginny commented.
"Not broom flight, airplanes! Flying Officer Harry Potter, Royal Duchy of Charenwell Air Force at your service!" Harry added a salute for emphasis.
"Are you mad? What Air Force?" Hermione asked.
"Our Air Force," Remus said walking over. He turned to Harry. "I see you finally found the time to visit our base, Flying Officer Potter."
"Sure did, Moony. It was brilliant. I soloed this morning!"
"Tut, tut, Flying Officer Potter. Proper respect for senior ranks is expected. Were I in my flying suit you would address me as Group Captain Lupin."
"Really?" Harry asked. "Sorry. Really Group Captain Lupin Sir?"
Remus chuckled. "Close enough."
"You fly too?" Harry asked.
"I've been one of the pilots since I was about your age, Harry. I'm certified for all the aircraft at the base."
"What are you talking about?" Hermione asked in mild frustration.
Harry explained about his visit to the base the day before when he was bringing Dora's car up from Pottersport and how he had gone there today to learn as much as he could about his Grandfather's rather unique collection. He finished his explanation by describing in detail his first flight in an airplane. "Kind of funny really," he finished. "The first time I was ever in a plane and I was the one flying it."
"But Harry," Hermione said, "how could you fly it all by yourself? Are they mad? It takes a long time to learn to fly, or so I've been told."
"Remember how I learned to drive?" he replied with a smile.
"An elf taught you with magic?" Hermione nodded.
"The mechanics of it. I knew what to do and how to do it. It was fun, really. But the why eludes me. I was told if I ever want to really learn to fly, I have to go to something called ground school and learn the details."
"He's right," Remus said. "We get our pilots to fly with magic, but then they have to learn the rest just like anyone else. Ground school is usually done in the mornings for new pilots. We actually offer several. The basic school is five days a week for four weeks or until you complete the eighty classroom hours. It is the same kind of course anyone learning to fly for the first time would take. It's only the in flight instruction that we omit because the Elf magic covers that. To advance beyond the trainers, you need to complete that course and accumulate forty hours flight time in the Tiger Moths. How many did you log today Harry?"
"Two and a half," Harry said.
"After you complete basic flight training, we have advanced ground school classes in instrument flying, so you can fly in all weather, and navigation as well as a course on each of the other aircraft in our inventory. To certify in the other aircraft, you need to complete the advanced ground school and the aircraft specific course and log at least forty hours in that aircraft. Are you thinking of going forward with your flying, Harry?"
"Am I? You bet! Hopefully it won't be just me."
"Oh?" several voices asked.
"I won't make any of you do this, but I would like you to," Harry said. "I know you don't like brooms, Hermione. But you're not afraid of flying in a plane are you?"
Hermione shook her head.
"Just come down to the base on Monday and check it out," Harry said.
"Okay, I'll check it out," Hermione replied.
"The same goes for the rest of you," he added looking at the other four witches, "and Daphne and Astoria too."
"Harry," Dora said, "the Auction is Monday."
"Then Tuesday for you, okay?"
Dora nodded with a smile.
"Is this just a Potter thing," a new voice asked. Harry turned and saw Neville, "or can any of us check it out?"
"You too, Neville, if you want," Harry replied, "and your girls as well. And I'll make the same offer to the Weasleys."
"Why?" Hermione asked.
"The War," Harry said. "I was thinking that having an Air Force – a real one – would come in handy. The bad guys no next to nothing about Muggle weapons and don't think about Muggle airplanes. But airplanes can drop bombs and those things are lethal to wizards as well. We need and army to take back Britain. But an Air Force would provide that Army with massive firepower that the wizards back there cannot counter. They won't have Fighters or anti-aircraft guns…"
"They have brooms and magic, though," Hermione said.
"Brooms can't fly as high or as fast as these planes," Harry said. "Even if they could, spells might not work too well."
"Why not?" Stacey asked.
"The range," Hermione gasped. "They would need to get within twenty meters just to have the spell hit with full effect."
"And even then they probably won't be too effective," Remus nodded. "Spells are not designed to destroy something that big. A blasting curse might get lucky. Most anything else would be useless. A severing charm would barely scratch the skin of a metal airplane. Transfiguration might work, but not on something that large and you have to be even closer. You have to know what to hit as well."
"But the Killing Curse?" Hermione asked.
"During the last War," Remus answered, "Duke Charlus and Harry's Grandfather considered just what Harry is proposing. They were concerned about magical attacks as well. They bought a plane and ran tests to see just how much damage magic could do and whether a wand could bring down a plane. The magical effect of the curse destroys magic and the usual defense is to conjure a solid object – and a plane is a solid object. While the curse can cause damage, it's actually less effective than a blasting curse. It would take a really lucky shot."
"Like at the pilot?" Hermione suggested.
"The windscreen would absorb the curse," Remus said. "It would probably shatter, but the pilot would not be hit. It would take two shots. And Harry was right about the speed. The most anyone would get at a plane is one shot before it's gone and that assumes the shooter is practically right in front of it as it approaches."
"And most of the planes have guns," Harry added. "Unless the shooter was invisible – which is not out of the realm of possibility – fair bet the machine guns would end the duel before it began."
"But if the planes would have worked and been practically immune from magical counter, why didn't the last Duke use them?"
"He was not able to find enough pilots to man enough planes to make a difference," Harry said. "That might be changing."
"Oh?"
"Remus? The last time were they thinking of using women pilots?"
"No Harry."
"I am. Although I intend to learn to fly, my Air Force will be mostly women."
"Why?" Hermione asked.
"By the time we are ready to go to war, and assuming we then need to, many of you will be mothers. Whatever else happens, I do not want to create orphans of my children. I have every intention of living to a ripe old age, but I want you lot to as well. And I know damn well you won't be the type who'll sit back and knit and wait for your soldier boy to come home. You'll want to be part of the fight as well. This is a way you can be a very significant part of the fight, possibly do all kinds of damage to the bad guys, maybe enough that our ground forces really just have to go in and count the bodies, while at the same time you're relatively safe and our children will not lose their Mum's."
Hermione nodded. "I'd rather be at your side, Harry." The other girls nodded their agreement, "but I'll think about it for now. At the very least, your idea means we can draw upon the young women of this country too. Still, with everything else we're doing…"
"We'll make it work, Hermione," Harry said. "It's all just a question of scheduling, isn't it?"
"We'll need more planes," Remus said.
"Granddad already saw to that," Harry said. "What's at the base is only a fraction of what we have. We have loads of planes in storage. They'll need to be put back together and made airworthy, but I was told it can be done. Right now, all we are really lacking are the aircrews to man those planes. Well that and the weapons. But since we are not about to go off to War anytime soon, we have time to get the planes, train the aircrews and mechanics and find a way to arm our planes. I've already given the order to reassemble the rest of our planes. The girls we have now and will have soon will be the cadre around which our Air Force will be built."
"Now that that's settled for now," Remus said, "I did come over here for a reason, Harry."
"Oh?"
"Mallory informed me your magic is finally unbound," Remus said. "You rate at a 948 making you easily the most magically powerful wizard alive. But as I'm sure you were told, you need to learn to both harness and control that power. Minerva and I want you to begin training on Monday. It will be an hour a day, nothing too strenuous, and will probably last the rest of the summer. We're not going to teach you anything new, just to control your magic with spells you know or should know by now."
"Is this just for Harry," Stacey asked. "I could use some help too. I haven't had a wand in ages."
"The training is mainly for Harry," Remus said, "but I don't see why not."
"Thank you," Stacey said with and eager smile.
"One more thing to add to my schedule," Harry said shaking his head.
"So," Luna said, "do we get to take Harry upstairs to show him how sexy with think he is in his flying suit now, or after dinner?"
A/N: RELATIONSHIP SCORECARD:
If you didn't read the Intro, you missed that. This is so you can keep up with who's with who and how.
Key:
Names in Italics = OCGr – Gryffindor, Hu – Hufflepuff, Ra – Ravenclaw, Sl – Slytherin. SG – St. George's School, PE – Prince Edward School, SA – St. Andrew's, SP – St. Patrick's, SD – St. David's.(Number indicates last year completed. No number means they finished all seven years.)
P = pregnant.
Harry James Potter, age 15.
1. Hermione Jane (Granger) Potter, age 16 (Gr-5); CONSORT (POTTER).
2. Luna Celeste (Lovegood) Black, age 15 (Ra-4); CONSORT (BLACK).
3. Dora (Tonks) Black-Potter, age 22 (Hu); CONCUBINE (BLACK).
4. Minerva Grace (McGonagall) Potter-Black, age 68 (Gr); CONCUBINE (POTTER).P
5. Mallory Michelle (Grant) Black Potter, age 39 (Hu); CONCUBINE (BLACK).P
6. Daphne Renee (Greengrass) Black-Potter, age 16 (Sl-5); CONCUBINE (BLACK).
7. Astoria Lynn (Greengrass) Potter-Black, age 14 (Sl-3); CONCUBINE (POTTER).
8. Ginevra Molly (Weasley) Potter-Black, age 14 (Gr-4); CONCUBINE (POTTER).
9. Stacey Marie (Campbell) Potter-Black, age 17 (SA-5); CONCUBINE (POTTER).
Bill Weasley, age 25.
1. Fleur Patrice (Delacour) Weasley, age 19; CONSORT (BILL WEASLEY).
2. Mary Ellen Howard Weasley, age 18 (Ra-5); CONCUBINE (BILL).
3. Samantha Christine (Johnson) Weasley, age 17 (SG-5); CONCUBINE (BILL).
Neville Algicyrus Longbottom, age 15.
1. Susan Marie (Bones) Longbottom, age 16 (Hu-5); CONSORT (NEVILLE).
2. Amber Selma (Harker) Longbottom, age 33 (Sl-5); CONCUBINE (LONGBOTTOM).P
Fred Weasley, age 18.
1. Alicia May Spinet, age 18 (Gr). CONSORT (FRED).
2. Verity Nicole (Smith) Weasley, age 21 (SG-5). CONCUBINE (FRED).
3. Danielle Louise (Carter) Weasley, age 20 (SG-5). CONCUBINE (FRED).
George Weasley, age 18.
1. Angelina Olivia (Johnson) Weasley, age 18 (Gr). CONSORT (GEORGE).
2. Shelly Ann (Parker) Weasley, age 22 (SD). CONCUBINE (GEORGE).
3. Ellen Suzanne (North) Weasley, age 20 (PE). CONCUBINE (GEORGE).