Pairing: Harry/Hermione
Summary: Hermione Granger never expected to be in the middle of Stalingrad fighting for her life with two complete strangers as her closest companions. She never expected magic to be real. She never expected to fall in love with one of those strangers in the middle of a warzone. She never expected the war to change her the way it did. WWII AU. hhr.
A/N: This will be a very AU story of Harry & Hermione fighting in WWII during the Battle of Stalingrad, and a certain amount of suspension of disbelief will be required to enjoy it, and do keep in mind that while I will be mostly historically accurate, I will be changing some things around in order to fit my plot.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Enemy At the Gates, the movie that inspired this story; I own none of the characters from the book and/or movie that are present in this story, all I own is the plot of this story and any OCs. Certain historical facts, figures, and other ideas are mentioned, but everything else is a work of fiction. I will of course, also be taking several liberties with historical facts and events.
Ch. 1 - The Beginning
October 31st, 1947
"Hermione, can you tell me what the war was like for you? You never talk about it."
"It's painful Harry, and you know we don't have a lot of time as it is. Do you really want to spend it dwelling on something so terrible?"
"I know love, but I want to hear about it from you. I want to know what it was like from your point of view. Besides, I think you owe me for dragging me out here every year, especially since I told you not to in the first place."
"Oh alright, if it will make you happy. Where do you want me to start?"
"The beginning love, leave nothing out."
"Alright then, the beginning."
~o0o~
She remembered loving the smell of the ocean, the feel of ocean spray on her face.
She had always wanted to do something for the war effort, to be a part of something bigger, to relieve the plight of those oppressed by the Nazi war machine.
The Brits wanted to assure the Russians that they were on the same side and were as committed to ending the war as they were. Operation Dervish, the convoy the Lancastrian Prince was a part of, set off August 21st, 1941.
She was a deckhand, mopping the floors, occasionally helping with light physical tasks. She made no friends on that voyage, preferring to submerge herself in the sparse library afforded to the crew members during their off-duty hours.
She loved the poetry most of all.
It didn't matter, really, as the ship was sunk just outside of its destination, Archangel, and almost all hands were lost. For the longest time, she thought she was the only survivor. That would change by 1942.
Stranded in the port city, she had few options available to her. Having spent most of her childhood attempting to sate an unquenchable thirst for knowledge, she was well versed in multiple languages, one of which happened to be Russian. At least she had no trouble on that end.
For better or for worse, the Red Army was recruiting, and she was selected to undergo sharpshooter training, along with several other women around her age.
The journalist attached to her unit was delighted to have a British citizen serving in the Red Army. He said it would bolster support for the cause, having a foreigner fighting for the Rodina. What cause she benefited, she never knew.
She remembered what a sight they were, crisp Red Army uniforms, hair tucked in neat buns underneath their Pilotka's, standing tall and proud. They had yet to be issued their rifles, but at that moment, they felt powerful.
Barely two weeks after their training was complete, orders came down to her unit to take up postings in Stalingrad. The German advance was cutting swiftly through Russia, and Hitler had set his sights on the city. They were to be issued their Mosin-Nagants on the bank of the river Volga before they crossed into the city proper. She learned that they would also be assigned a spotter shortly after.
She remembered how important it was to have a spotter working in tandem with the sniper. They were close-range support, either equipped with a regular Mosin that did not have a PU scope attached, or a PPSH-41, a close-range submachine gun. Spotters also worked to identify targets for the sniper and to verify a sniper's kill in a tally book. Without secondhand verification, a sniper's word was not enough to confirm a kill.
The journey from Port Archangel to Stalingrad passed uneventfully for her, only the occasional stop for supplies marked the passage of time. Long, rolling fields became the backdrop of those hazy days gone by. When they reached the bank of the Volga, they had found it swarming with activity. Transport trucks unloaded all manner of supplies and men, and the smell of diesel was overwhelming. The German 6th Army, as well as parts of the 4th Panzer Army, were mere days away, and supplies and manpower were being shipped across the Volga at a frantic pace.
Her unit was pulled to the side to a small staging area, at the end of one of the many piers lining the dock. There were many crates scattered about the pier, filled with ammo, medicine, rations, anything Russian High Command deemed necessary in the defense of Stalingrad.
They had milled about for a while until a Russian commissar, along with 2 pairs of soldiers each carrying one crate walked into view. The commissar gestured to the men and they dropped the crates in front of her group and popped them open. Inside the crates were their rifles; Mosin-Nagants modified with PU scopes for long-range target acquisition and takedown.
She remembered meeting him for the first time shortly after.
~o0o~
July 10th, 1942
She pulled out one of the rifles and inspected the bolt, pulling it back all the way and checking the chamber for any detritus that may have taken hold, and was delighted to see it clean. She knew that the rifles had to have come straight from the factory, given their present, unfired cleanliness. All the rifles she had handled in training had been hand me downs, the chamber often requiring a thorough cleaning before she even considered firing it downrange. The first thing on her list of to-dos was to acquire several strips of drab grey cloth to wrap around the length of the barrel, as well as around the PU scope, in order to better blend into the concrete buildings of Stalingrad.
She sighed, sliding the bolt back into place and leaning it against the crate she was sitting on, buttstock on the wooden pier. She hadn't eaten since arriving on the docks that morning and was looking forward to some hot food before they were shipped across the Volga.
"Ms. Granger, is that you?"
She looked up, startled by the sound of the Queen's English on a dock full of Russians. A dark-haired man about her age with startling green eyes framed by a set of glasses stood a couple of feet away from her makeshift chair, a standard Red Army uniform in place, several round pouches attached to his hip, giving away his weapon of choice even before she looked at said weapon in his hand.
"Yes," she began in English hesitantly, before noticing the 2 red and 1 gold V-shaped stripes affixed to his right shoulder, and hastily stood at attention.
"Forgive me comrade-lieutenant, I didn't see your insignia."
She was surprised, and slightly confused, when all he did was laugh and bade her to stand at ease.
"Ms. Granger, no need to stand on ceremony, you're one of the three surviving members of the Lancastrian Prince. Rank means nothing between the three of us, understand?"
Surviving members of the Lancastrian Prince? Of course! That's why he seemed vaguely familiar; he must have been a crew member alongside herself. Wait, he mentioned that she was one of three surviving members…
"Ah, forgive me, Ms. Granger," the man started, almost as if he'd read her mind, and looking slightly bashful for some reason. "Junior Lieutenant Harry Potter, a pleasure to meet you. This young woman over here," he said, clasping both hands on a woman's shoulders and pulling her to the forefront, "is Corporal Sarah Vaillancourt, the last member of our little trio, as that Red Star reporter has taken to calling us."
Startled, Hermione got her first look at the last member of their impromptu trio, having not even noticed her until Potter had dragged her in front of him. Blonde hair tied up in a bun, piercing blue eyes, and a haughty, regal-like face that betrayed nothing but cool indifference. The woman, Vaillancourt, looked her over, and Hermione felt like she was being sized up as a potential threat; to Vaillancourt herself or to Potter, she wasn't sure, but she bet her paltry salary on the latter. Hermione didn't miss the subtle squaring of Vaillancourt's shoulders, or the way she moved just that bit closer to Potter, in a way that suggested a fierce protectiveness the woman was obviously trying to hide.
She shrugged the thought off, she didn't really care one way or another.
"Nice to meet you, Comrade-Lieutenant Potter, Comrade Vaillancourt," she said, sticking her hand out, and in turn shaking Potter's, then Vaillancourt's hands. "Junior-Sergeant Hermione Granger, at your command Comrade-Lieutenant Potter."
Potter looked at her for a moment, just like Vaillancourt had done, and she found herself becoming uncomfortable under his gaze, though not as much as with Vaillancourt. Noticing the Mosin leaning against her makeshift chair, his eyes light up with recognition.
"First thing, it's just Potter, alright Granger? No need for rank between us three. Besides, we aren't Russians anyway, just 3 stranded Brits trying to make it through this war," Potter said, finishing his sentence with a smile her way. She nodded and resolved to just call the two of them Potter and Vaillancourt. Although, with the way the conversation was going so far, she had a feeling she wouldn't be calling Vaillancourt much of anything.
"Now," Potter continued, "the second thing I wanted to talk to you about, and really, the main reason Sarah and I came over in the first place, was your rifle."
"My rifle?" She looked between him and her Mosin, confused by Potter's seemingly random interest in her weapon.
"Mhm, seeing as you are lacking a spotter for said rifle of yours, I hereby volunteer myself as your spotter. Since Sarah and I are a matched set, she can provide extra security for both of us."
Hermione thought it over. It wasn't a bad idea; she needed a spotter anyway in order to properly operate and having an extra gun around never hurt anyone. She was slightly suspicious of the offer, especially since they had just met each other, regardless of their similar origins, but she was willing to give Potter the benefit of the doubt. Besides, he was still her commanding officer, regardless of his apparent disregard for rank, so there wasn't much she could do anyway. The only problem was getting reassigned under Potter meant she would fall under a wholly different unit...
Again, as if plucking the thought from her mind, Potter said, "Don't worry about your commander, I'll go sort things out with him, get you reassigned to under my command."
"How?" Hermione said, knowing her commander, he'd sooner shoot Potter then let a random Junior-Lieutenant take her away from his prized sniper unit.
"I have my ways Ms. Granger," Potter said with a wink, and with that said, started to walk away, a jaunty tune wetting his lips before he stopped and addressed Vaillancourt.
"If you don't mind Sarah, keep Granger over here company while I speak to her commander, eh?"
With that said, Potter turned back around and resumed his journey to the command bunker, weaving in and out of soldiers, other officers, and piles of supplies littered about the docks. With Potter gone, an awkward silence befell her and Vaillancourt, with said woman not attempting any form of communication, seemingly content with just staring at the spot where Potter has been, absentmindedly fiddling with the safety on her SVT-40. After several minutes, Vaillancourt turned to address her, a mild French accent coloring her words.
"Granger is it?" Vaillancourt began, setting her rifle down and sitting on the crate next to hers.
Caught off guard by the sudden conversation, Hermione could only nod her head in confirmation.
"'Arry is a good man and will always put others before himself." Vaillancourt sighed, seemingly very frustrated with this facet of Potter.
"'Arry saved my life several weeks ago, and almost died in the process." Hermione looked up and saw a brief flash of sorrow coloring her features before she schooled them back to a mask of indifference. "That stupid man would not leave me behind when the Germans overran our trenches. 'Arry was shot several times, and the surgeons said his heart stopped more than once."
Hermione wondered why she decided to tell her of all people this, especially since they had just met. At least it explained why Vaillancourt was so protective of Potter.
"The reason I am telling you this Granger is that I want you to help me."
Hermione looked confusedly at her. "Help you? Why do you need my help?" She couldn't fathom why this woman, who she just met and didn't know anything about, was essentially telling her life story in regard to Potter, and who was now asking for her help.
"Help me keep him alive, damn it!" Vaillancourt said fiercely, her face peering anxiously into hers. "'Arry won't stop putting his life at risk for others. He cares so much, and I fear that one day it will be the death of him. You must help me bring him home. I owe him that much after all that I've done to him," she finished softly, and Hermione got the feeling she wasn't supposed to hear that last part.
Hermione didn't see a downside to agreeing with the blonde-haired woman. If Potter was to be her spotter, she would protect him to the best of her abilities anyway, and with Vaillancourt tagging along too, it wouldn't be too hard of a job. She stuck out her hand towards Vaillancourt, and the other woman grasped it firmly, giving her hand a quick shake before letting go.
"Thank you, Granger, I really appreciate this," she said, a small smile briefly playing across her lips before her features settled back into a look of cold indifference. Vaillancourt settled back onto her makeshift chair, putting her rifle down next to Hermione's and closing her eyes, seemingly intent on getting a nap in before they were shipped across the Volga.
Hermione debated on whether or not to question her on her relationship with Potter when the staccato bark of machine-gun fire ripped through the air, as well as the telltale sirens of Stuka dive bombers. She and Vaillancourt quickly scrambled up as much of their gear as they could and made a beeline for the command bunker, intent on getting as far away from the docks as possible, as they presented a juicy target for the Luftwaffe pilots.
All along the docks, men scrambled about, abandoning their tasks in favor of foxholes and trenches, anything that could provide shelter from the bombs that would soon drop. Machine gun fire from several Anti-Aircraft emplacements continued to cut through the air in an attempt to shoot down, or at the very least, ward off the oncoming dive bombers.
Hermione managed to throw herself into a foxhole next to the command bunker right before the first bombs fell. Hermione covered her head with her hands as shockwaves rocked the earth beneath her, the bombs detonating and causing dirt and supplies to be thrown into the air. She heard a dull thud next to her, and she quickly snapped to attention, her eyes were drawn to the dull grey of a 45 kg bomb that had landed next to her fox hole, having burrowed itself halfway into the ground.
All she could do was stare at it in disbelief, wondering why it hadn't gone off, and thanking her lucky stars that it didn't. She was startled when a pair of strong hands grabbed her shoulders and pulled her away from the live ordnance.
"Firing pin must have failed to go off, come on Granger, let's leave the sappers to bag the thing before it explodes."
She could only nod in acceptance as she allowed Potter to steer her away from her would-be killer.
After collecting Vaillancourt from a nearby foxhole, the trio made their way back to the docks, surveying the damage left behind by the attack. The short road leading back to the docks had received very little damage, with only one or two craters where supply caches had been, the destroyed supplies littering the area. Hermione stopped at an open crate and pulled out several lengths of drab grey cloth to use on her Mosin, as well as an extra bandolier for her clips of ammo. Happy with her newly acquired gains, she caught up with the other two and the trio continued on their way.
They passed by several injured soldiers who were being tended to by the nurses at the aid station alongside the road. The real damage was at the docks, where soldiers and officers alike were scrambling to clear the debris and injured so they could return to normal operations. Small fires dotted the banks on their side of the Volga, and several piers were destroyed, bits of wood and supplies floating serenely down the river.
Potter lead them to the pier they were originally at, and they found that it was undamaged by the enemy attack, something that Hermione was quite grateful for, as she had foregone most of her gear in the mad dash to safety. Potter stopped near the edge of the pier and bade the two women to take up seats near him.
"Well Granger," he began, "it looks like you are going to be seeing a lot more of Sarah and me, seeing as you are now under my command."
Hermione was surprised that Potter managed to convince her commander to transfer her, but she didn't voice those thoughts aloud. She was secretly glad to be assigned to Potter, he seemed like a capable leader, smart, compassionate, and wasn't at all like her unit commander.
"Understood sir, what are your orders?" Hermione said, coming out of her musings. She hoped her orders included a trip to the mess hall.
"I think the three of us could use some hot food, don't you think Sarah?" Potter replied, prompting a response from the blonde.
"That would be most agreeable 'Arry," Vaillancourt replied, a soft smile briefly adorning her lips.
The two picked up their gear and headed towards the mess, while Hermione lagged behind, squaring away her new acquisitions into her rucksack for later use.
"You coming with, Granger?" Harry called back to her over his shoulder.
"Yeah, just had to put away a few things," she replied.
She swung her rifle over her shoulder and hurried after the pair, intent on grabbing what might be her last hot meal and hopefully get a chance to learn more about her new squadmates.