Maureen blinked at the sound of a knock at the door, already knowing it wasn't Keith because he had a key, and the sound of voices filtered in from downstairs. She glanced hurriedly up at the second floor of the small brownstone, hoping that Trinity was still asleep, and walked down to open the door, meeting Luther, VP of SAMBEL, in the doorway. And…
Two teenagers stood in the doorway, a boy and a girl, who both looked exhausted. They both shuffled into the living room, yawning, and Maureen blinked again at the sight, lifting an eyebrow. The boy's dark hair was in a mess, wild and unbrushed. Maureen could swear there were drops of blood in that hair, or maybe it was dirt? His jeans were ripped from wear and tear and there was a knife at his hip, a dark green sheath holding it. The only thing that was missing, possibly, was a kutte. The boy looked like a Son, with that knife, danger in his eyes and frame.
The girl looked the same kind of tired, her brown bushy hair very wild. Looked like she had forgotten to comb it out from its bedhead state for several days. Her shoulders were tense and curled inward but her gaze was already looking around the room, looking around the floor, as if searching for possible threats.
"Keith says to put 'em in the guest room," Luther remarked, shrugging. "They're guests of the club. Friends, I think. Potter knows Teller in Charming. That's all we know."
"Potter?" Maureen echoed, turning to the teenagers. She could see SAMBEL's van on the curb behind them, no motorcycle in sight. The moonlight glinted down on the van, reflecting off the headlights and the mirrors. The street was otherwise empty and quiet, her storefront quiet, a cold breeze that almost took her breath away. It was a cold winter night and the teenagers didn't have any winter clothes on but they looked like they were very much alright, warm in the almost thirty degree weather.
The boy just stood in the doorway and stared, before his gaze went right to the couch. Maureen watched as his eyes shuttered before reopening, watched as he tugged on the girl's hands and led her right to the couch. The boy flopped down on the couch and tugged the girl down with him. They ended up sandwiched together like octopuses, no telling which limb was whose.
Snores filled the room a minute or two later and Maureen blinked again, looking between the already asleep teenagers and Luther.
"O'Neill and Keith know more than I do and they ain't telling," Luther added warily. "O'Neill being our Sergeant at Arms and a wizard would know more. It's that kind of business."
"Are we in danger?"
"Nah. Those folks know better than to throw their business near the IRA. SAMBEL benefits from that. We put down Snatchers after these two. You good?"
Maureen stared at the two kids and then up to where Trinity was sleeping. Trinity was ten as of this past week and these two kids looked older than they actually were, probably something like 17. "If they're to bunk here, I'll need groceries and supplies. Is someone going to stay here?"
"Aye. We're scheduling the watch now," Luther answered, taking a deep breath and heading towards the door. "Prospects take the first watch for now."
Maureen nodded and watched as Luther stepped out of the house, already on the phone with someone. Her eyes went to the two teenagers, who were not too far away from how old she was when she first met John Teller. And… "Potter knows Teller? Which… Luther?"
She strode towards the door, her heart skipping several beats, as she poked her head out, taking in the dark of the night. Luther turned to look at her, a prospect standing next to him.
"Potter knew John?"
"No. Jax called a couple of months ago, said he knows the kid. They're friends."
Maureen sucked in a breath and turned back around, closing the door behind her. She sighed and walked over to grab a blanket or two from the hall closet, keeping her steps quiet. Though she had the thought that the two teenagers wouldn't wake up at all, even if there was a stampede through the house. Or a motorcycle parade through the streets of Belfast. They looked and sounded that tired.
She carefully draped the blanket over the both of them and then walked over to sit down at the table in the kitchen, pulled out a cigarette and lit up.
Harry yawned and blinked his eyes open to the late morning sun coming through the windows across from him. The smell of freshly brewed coffee filtered in and his nose wrinkled at the scent. He peered down to where Hermione was still asleep-albeit twitching in her sleep- and watched as she woke up slowly.
He swung his legs off the couch that he had all but fallen into and stood up, glancing down at himself. His clothes were dirty, his hair was dirty, sweaty but he was still in one piece. They were still in one piece. His pack was on the floor in front of him and he could hear movement in the kitchen, from what he could hear upstairs.
The small brownstone house was unfamiliar but it looked lived in, pictures of a young woman and her daughter scattered about the house.
"What happened last night?" Hermione finally asked, her voice dry and unused. "I remember arriving in Belfast and… Harry, you know American bikers?"
Harry huffed but nodded. "Yeah, I do. Or at least I know the one. The guy I've been dreaming about is a biker and lives in America. In California."
Hermione ran a hand through her hair, her hand coming away with dirt and a bit of blood.
"Are you alright?" Harry asked, turning to look her over, his heart skipping a beat at the thought of that. "The Snatchers didn't land a hit on you, right?"
"No. We were too quick for them," Hermione whispered, as she turned to look around the first floor of the house. "Whose house is this?"
They heard a clatter from upstairs and Harry shrugged. "McGee said she's a friend of the club's. Maureen Ashby."
"The club?" Hermione echoed then her nose wrinkled. "I really… need to use the bathroom."
"Right upstairs to your left."
They turned to look at the stairs up against the wall and Harry took in the sight of their host. A woman five or so years older then the two of them, in her early twenties, long blond hair loose at her back. Her brown eyes looked them over as they looked her over, taking stock.
"I'm Maureen. You two were fast asleep before I could introduce myself."
Harry nodded. "I'm Harry and this is Hermione. Are you sure we can stay here?"
"Keith says you're friends of the Sons. I don't need any more than that. You two missed breakfast so lunch is on the table. My daughter is eating right now," Maureen offered, lifting her shoulders in a small shrug. "You're in trouble with the law?"
Hermione flinched. "Not here, we're not. Britain though…"
"We're on the run from a certain group in Britain," Harry said, trying to keep the lying to a minimum and mostly succeeding. "They shouldn't… Theoretically, they won't come over here. That group of Snatchers followed us but it wasn't…"
"We'll leave at the first sign of trouble though," Hermione added. "We don't want to cause you trouble."
"The club is used to our fair share of trouble," Maureen offered, gesturing outside. "The IRA sits at the table in Belfast and Keith and his boys do runs. Keith does want to talk to you, Harry. He called for church after you finish eating breakfast and settle in."
"Alright. We'll make our way back to the compound," Harry said, nodding in reply. "You mind if we use…"
"I would have offered the guest room for your use but you two fell asleep before I could ask," Maureen remarked, smiling a little. "You're not Sons but you are friends. Otherwise Keith wouldn't have had Luther bring you two over."
"Church?" Hermione whispered, her eyes sharp but her voice faint.
"I'll explain over breakfast," Harry replied, yawning again. "We could probably both use a shower."
Hermione hesitated before nodding. "Yes, please."
Maureen's smile widened and she led them up to the second floor. "Trinity is ten years old so she'll likely be curious."
"I remember when I was ten," Hermione said, memories flickering in her eyes. Harry met her eyes and smiled. "I was reading so much."
"Yeah?" Maureen asked, as they came up onto the second floor and the kitchen. The table spread out before them and at the head of it sat a ten year old girl, short curly blond hair and bright blue eyes that… Harry tilted his head at the sight of her, the hairs at the back of his neck standing up. Maureen's eyes were not that shade of blue and the hair color… was a little off. The jut of Trinity's jaw as she looked up at them was also faintly familiar. She seemed…
Harry filed it away to examine later, wanting to see Keith McGee in the sunlight.
"Trinity, these are guests of ours," Maureen started, unaware of Harry's brief double take. "They'll be staying for a few nights."
"Oooh! Guests? Are they Sons?" Trinity asked, raising her voice near the end, curiosity making her eyes sharp.
"No, we're not," Hermione answered, shaking her head warily and glancing at Harry with a look. A look that said that they would be talking later. Harry nodded back and walked over to the kitchen counter, where there were plates and food. "What are you drawing over there?"
"It's just a picture of the plane that ma says my da flew," Trinity exclaimed, reaching out to tug Hermione over to show her. "He flew miles in it!"
Harry gathered up plates for both of them and then walked back to sit at the table, watching as Maureen grinned faintly, something dark in her eyes.
"Church is what the bikers call holding council," Harry explained, as they walked through the streets of Belfast. Maureen had offered to drive them but they had both agreed to walk, wanting to be outside and not having to watch their backs constantly. Besides… they had both wanted to see Belfast outside of a van.
It was a cloudless day and chilly, enough for them to pull out jackets, pretending enough to be regular people who couldn't use magic.
"It's…" Harry paused, thinking about what Jax had told him throughout the years. He hadn't shared a dream with his best friend in two weeks but knew Hedwig was still with him. That thought had kept him going over the past few weeks. "It's kind of… sacred… for them? And… I don't know if I told you but they… The Sons of Anarchy run guns."
Hermione sucked in a breath as they turned left at an intersection. They could easily see the bay from here, walking through the city of Belfast, and the smells of fishing boats filled the air. Car exhaust, smoke and food also followed them, as people went about their day. No one paid them much attention and Harry preferred it that way, keeping out of the way. He knew Jax felt different, wanted to be someone instead of a nobody, but they were living different lives.
"Harry. You brought us to a biker club that runs guns?" Hermione muttered, keeping her voice low as the sound of motorcycle engines filled the air.
A bike and rider passed them by, bearing the distinct symbol of the club. The kutte that the rider was wearing was also familiar but this time it said Belfast instead of California on the back.
"I don't know why I started dreaming of Jax in the first place!" Harry retorted, glaring at nothing in particular. "Remember I asked back in first year if there were any instances of wizards or witches dreaming of other people? Dreaming of non magical people the way I dream of Jax?"
"I do. I remember looking that up," Hermione replied, her eyes narrowing in thought and her fingers curling, as if she wanted a book in hand. "You have any idea why?"
"No. Jax Teller is as normal as they come," Harry said, shrugging at the thought. "Aside from the obvious anyway."
Hermione looked at him, lifting an eyebrow.
"Oh, just being a biker. That's what I meant," Harry answered as they turned down another block, away from most of the Belfast traffic. The compound was this way, according to the sounds coming from this street. Harry had been too tired last night to really make a note of the directions they were headed. Mostly motorcycle engines and the like. They came down the street that they had run through last night, the street that should have had… "Looks like they cleaned up the bodies."
"If they run guns, they're probably… used to it," Hermione whispered, as they arrived at the fence of the compound.
"I know Jax has had to deal with some shit," Harry remarked, running a hand through his still wet hair. Taking a shower had felt wonderful and he felt like an actual human being again. He knew Hermione felt the same way, clean and recharged enough to go outside. "He's the one who gave me this knife."
Hermione's eyes flickered down to the knife at Harry's hip, the one he hadn't taken off. The one he had used to kill Bellatrix and two Snatchers. Harry curled his fingers around the hilt of it before dropping them to his sides.
"How long have you dreamed of him?"
"It was only brief dreams at the start," Harry started, as they stepped into the compound. The yard was filled with bikers and their bikes, all of them stopping to stare at them briefly before turning back to their business. "We dreamt of each other starting when I was eight and he was ten. He's now 19 and I'm..."
"17. That's…" Hermione paused at the sight that surrounded them. The reaper was painted onto every available surface, from the walls of SAMBEL's clubhouse to the fence to the bikes that were parked in a line. The only difference between SAMBEL and SAMCRO was the fog that wove itself in a blanket over the buildings around them, the weather colder and greyer than Charming. Or at least he assumed it was different. He'd never actually visited Charming in person. Yet. Everything seemed like home to Harry though and the corner of his mouth turned up in a faint smile. It was more home than Privet Drive certainly and more home right now than Hogwarts. They didn't know what the fuck was going on at Hogwarts right now, knew it was nothing good.
The wanted posters of them had kept them away from most cities and towns in England.
"It sounds like soulmates," Hermione offered quietly, as a couple of men stepped out of the clubhouse door.
"Hermione, you and I know there's nothing like that. They don't exist."
"Potter, Granger."
Keith McGee walked over to them, stopping a few feet from them. Liam O'Neill stood next to him, a patch on his kutte that said he was the Sergeant at Arms of SAMBEL. The man who had driven them to Maureen, Luther, stood on Keith's other side.
"We want you in church this morning," Keith remarked, crossing his arms over his kutte.
"That's what Maureen said," Harry said, taking in the sight of Keith in the sunlight, of everything. Keith did not have blue eyes or blond hair but instead dark brown eyes and dark hair. He lifted an eyebrow in thought, wondering about timelines and relationships and the history of the club. He could just see the outline of a gun on every man in front of them, of maybe a few shoulder holsters and wondered if Jax had… the same equipment. He knew his friend had a gun at least.
"Come on then."
Harry saw Liam and Keith eye Hermione for a second before they turned and led the way in. Hermione met his eyes, exchanging a worried glance before her expression turned firm and steady. Not a teenager but a young woman on the run. Harry nodded in silent reply and followed the bikers in, stepping through the clubhouse front door and taking in the sight of it.
It was different seeing an SoA clubhouse not in a dream definitely though there wasn't a lot of color. There were bits and pieces of bikes littering the walls, held up by screws and nails. A bar was off to the back and Harry could see numerous bottles of alcohol on the shelves. The wall of mugshots was across from them and the door to the right of them was obviously their chapel.
Otherwise the clubhouse was bare of anything else but it seemed like home to the bikers back in the yard. Most of whom had followed them in, standing between them and the chapel before preceding them inside. Harry counted at least nine or ten men, some of them big and broad. Most of them had some kind of facial hair and looked weathered, like old soldiers. There were only a few younger men in the group, two of which had a patch that said prospect on the back of their kuttes.
"You guys don't have a garage like Charming does," Harry remarked, as Keith stopped at the doorway to the chapel.
"No, we don't. Luther's the mechanic here but not every charter has a garage like the original Redwood chapter does," Keith explained, looking Harry over for another extra moment before gesturing inside.
"Aye, and he's a damn good one too," Liam said, grinning at them. "You have a bike, Potter?"
"No. My dogfather has one though," Harry replied, smiling at the thought. He didn't know where Sirius was, probably still at Grimmauld Place, hopefully. "He's been going on rides more often since the war broke out for real."
"Invite him here next time," Liam offered, shrugging before stepping into the chapel. "Could use someone like Black."
Harry blinked and looked at Hermione, who was rocking on the heels of her feet, unsure of herself.
"You don't have to go in there with me," Harry offered, curling his fingers through Hermione's before letting go. "I'm the one with the connection."
"You look like you belong with them," Hermione said warily. "Minus the gun."
"I've told Jax he's a bad influence," Harry replied, rolling his eyes before swallowing. "I don't regret killing Bellatrix."
Hermione's lips twitched and she sighed. "I know you don't. I don't regret you killing her either. The way Neville looked when he saw her… She tortured his parents into insanity."
"She would have killed Sirius too," Harry said, watching as the bikers sat down in their chairs, waiting for them. "She would have killed us."
"Maureen said I'd be welcome to come back for tea. She was going to have a friend over but…" Hermione trailed off, doubt in her voice as she looked between the bikers and Harry. "I should go get more supplies for us."
"Okay. Just a moment," Harry spoke, raising his voice a little. He poked his head inside SAMBEL's chapel, focusing on Liam. "Is there an alley here?"
"Aye. Three blocks south. The storefront is a bookstore. Has a cauldron over it."
Hermione nodded and turned to look at Harry, curling her coat closer around her waist. "Be careful?"
"You too."
Harry watched as Hermione walked back out of the clubhouse and out of the yard. He watched her go before he turned around and headed into SAMBEL's chapel, looking around at the bikers that sat at the table. He closed the doors behind him and heard a few whispers between men at the far end of the table.
Keith McGee sat at the head of the table and Luther sat to his right, the VP to McGee's President. Liam O'Neill sat to McGee's left as his Sergeant at Arms and Harry could sense Liam's magic, the hair on the back of his arms standing up at the feel of it. O'Neill didn't have a lot of magic but what he had was wild and strong, uncontained, like a biker.
McGee reached out to grab the gavel that sat at the table, a wooden one that made every man in the room fall silent, and hit it against the small wooden circle underneath it. Bringing church to a start.
"You say you know Jax Teller," McGee started out, lifting an eyebrow. "How?"
Harry took in the men sitting around the table, meeting Liam's eyes momentarily before flicking his gaze away. He rocked back on the heels of his feet and started to talk. "I'm not at liberty to discuss how we met. Your Sergeant at Arms can explain."
"This have something to do with that Dark Lord over there?" Luther questioned, huffing out a quiet breath and turning to look at O'Neill. "You said we should leave them alone."
"I'm gunning for him," Harry offered, shrugging as nearly all of the men blinked and stared at him, some with disbelief in their eyes. "That Dark Lord knows it. I don't know how you know of…"
"Magic," O'Neill finished, a corner of his mouth turning up in an amused grin. "We all know. Potter, we've seen your wanted posters. There's none in Ireland so you're safe as you can get here."
"How long do you intend on staying here?" McGee asked, clearing his throat and sparing a brief look at Luther, one that probably meant that they would be talking later.
"Ireland… Belfast doesn't have a lot of people who are of the wand wielding type," O'Neill remarked, a glint in his eyes that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. "We do have fae though. The IRA and the Fae tend to keep the Snatchers away. Too scary for most."
Luther snorted at O'Neill's words.
Harry's eyes widened at the words. "You guys have Fae? Like actual Fae folk?"
"Aye. We do. We stay out of their way," Luther answered, crossing his arms. "There are none in the States but we occasionally do business with them. Charming don't know about it. Nor do the other charters."
"Too much iron over there," O'Neill confirmed at Harry's bewildered expression.
"You guys ride motorcycles," Harry said faintly, his heart doing a marathon in his chest at the thought of meeting an actual Fae. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised. He'd heard a few house elves mention the fae but he hadn't thought they had actually existed. "Those are all iron and metal."
"They leave us alone for that exact reason," Luther replied, shaking his head and laughing at something. "But they occasionally want guns. For whatever reason."
"Alright then." Harry ran a hand through his hair and met Keith's eyes again. "I don't exactly know how long we'll stay here but we won't cause trouble."
"Ahhh, damn. I'd been wanting to kill more of those fuckers," Liam muttered, smirking at the thought, and laughter broke out amongst the bikers. "Snatchers get on my nerves. Those ones that do travel over the water."
Harry snorted. "They're getting on my nerves too. With luck… This fight won't go on too much longer."
"How did the club start?" Hermione asked, walking over to help Maureen with tea. She turned on the kettle and peered over to where Trinity was reading through a kid's book. "Harry didn't say much."
Maureen eyed her before sitting down at the kitchen table. "It started with the First Nine, after the Vietnam War. John Teller, Clay Morrow, Keith McGee, Piney Winston were some of the men of the First 9, the founders of the club. They were all veterans of the war and came home to a country that was… uneasy with them. John founded the MC in 1967 so that they could find that brotherhood again, the brotherhood of soldiers. I suppose it lasted a few years before… they got into gun running."
Hermione swallowed but nodded, her eyes moving to the window more often than not. "They do business with the IRA?"
"Aye." Maureen's eyes darkened before she sighed, reaching for a cigarette from her pocket and glancing at Hermione. Hermione shrugged and Maureen lit up, blowing out smoke idly. "It's dangerous business."
"Is Trinity's father a member?" Hermione asked, before shaking her head. "If you don't mind me asking. I'll butt right out if you think I'm prying."
Maureen watched her for a moment, visibly swallowing and took another puff of her cigarette. "No. He wasn't. He was a soldier. Died young. Trinity was 5 at the time."
"I'm sorry." Hermione glanced between Maureen and her daughter, her heart rabbiting her chest. There was something in Maureen's eyes though, something that seemed a little off but she didn't know the Sons. Didn't know the IRA and didn't know what, in truth, Harry's connection to them was. "We'll do our best to not put you guys in any more danger."
The dreamscape was even worse this time around, if that was even possible. It was still grey, darker than usual, and hard to see the room around him as Harry took in the sight of it. It didn't surprise him in the slightest when he figured out where he was, seeing the familiar sight of SAMBEL's chapel spreading out around him. It had been a week since Harry and Hermione had made it to Belfast, a week into November, with the occasional news on Potter radio from Dean Thomas.
There were only a few flickers of light coming through the boundaries of the dream. He frowned and sat down on one of the chairs at the table, stretching his arms out and fitting his head down, sighing as he waited for Jax.
The hisses and whispers of the locket horcrux filled the dreamscape louder and more ominous than before. And he flinched as one particularly loud hiss echoed in his mind. He closed his eyes at the sound and hid his face in his arms, feeling the hair on the back of his neck stand up. His stomach lurched as the dark magic wove itself through the boundaries, edging slowly past his defenses.
"Harry? You here?"
The relief at hearing Jax's voice was physical and he shuddered, poking his head up to see his best friend walk through the ghostly doors. Jax looked the same as he had almost a month ago, a little bruised though, and his blue eyes zeroed right in on Harry. Anger and concern flashed through Jax's eyes and his mouth curled up viciously, his fists clenching.
"I'm here."
"You're here before me," Jax started, blinking as that anger vanished. He looked around at the room, at the chapel, and grinned as realization echoed through him. "You're at Belfast. This is SAMBEL's clubhouse. Not SAMCRO's."
"Yup."
Jax's grin widened as his eyes lit up, walking over to sit at the head of the table. "You made it there alive."
Harry snorted, watching as Jax sat down where Keith McGee sat, the President's chair. Something in his stomach, in his physical body asleep in Maureen Ashby's guestroom, lurched at the sight. He wasn't sure if it was worry for Jax or something else but he knew it wasn't… He wasn't worried about himself. He had shown up in the dreamscape wearing the same clothes he had slept in last night, a ragged shirt and jeans. "Hermione and I made it to Belfast a week ago. We've been here ever since. Thank you for the suggestion."
Jax smiled, his whole face lighting up. "They been treating you right? You're a friend of the club."
"Yeah. I even attended church when we got in. Or at least after sleeping for 11 hours," Harry amended, shrugging and sinking further into his chair. "SAMBEL took out at least three Snatchers when we got in that first night. They know about magic."
Jax's eyes widened at the words, his mouth opening and closing. "I know no one in the Redwood charter knows about magic. Huh."
"Other than you and Ope," Harry said, grinning a little.
"Yeah. Hedwig's doing fine," Jax offered, tracing his fingers over the ghostly table that stood in for the real thing. "She's worried about you."
"Course she would be. Tell her I say hi," Harry said, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know how long we'll be here but McGee says we can stay. There aren't too many magical folk here so we hopefully won't be recognized."
"Good. Do you know of the other horcrux locations?" Jax asked, as Harry conjured up his list from memory. The open scroll mirrored the physical one in reality and Harry watched as Jax looked it over, his eyes darkening as he read. "There's the diary, the locket, the ring… How many did Voldemort make?"
"I… I don't know how many he made but we still don't have a way to destroy them," Harry muttered, his eyes spotting the beginnings of a tattoo on Jax's right arm. The big gravestone had been something Jax had talked about getting, to honor his father, and Harry hadn't commented on it when his friend had brought it up. "I destroyed the diary with a basilisk fang, Dumbledore destroyed the ring. I have the locket with me… It's…"
Jax flinched at Harry's look and moved his ghostly chair close enough to reach out and throw his arm around Harry's shoulders. He shuddered and leaned into Jax's side, taking a shuddering breath.