A/N: It's been awhile and a lot has happened since I lasted posted an update. My wife got COVID and though it wasn't as bad as many experienced, it was certainly more than a mere flu! She still occasionally suffers from post-COVID complications, but is much better now. Because it has been so long, I found it difficult to pick up where I left off, especially as I had already written half of this chapter before the bottom fell out. I want to apologize in advance if there are any continuity errors within the next several chapters, as I try to get re-engaged and finish this story at last. I plan on doing approximately six more Chapters to this story in addition to a brief intermission that will describe the organization and disposition of the various factions of the Commonwealth. I was jotting down some notes to help frame a narrative in my mind about the state of things, and figured I'd share it with the more detail minded individuals out there.

Chapter 21: It's a Man – Betty Hutton

POV: Harry

The radio crackled briefly before going silent, the Shakespearean quote still resonating in his head as he turned the dial on his pip-boy off. He looked up and noted the thoughtful look on Danse's face.

"That was… something." Harry began, adjusting his glasses and wondering at what his companions thought of the broadcast.

"Indeed. It seems that this 'General is quite ardent. He's passionate about this mission… I can respect that. I have to wonder how he intends to deploy his forces to effect this retributory strike." Danse commented.

"Whatever plan Jonathan has, he can count on our help." Daphne announced, her jaw set with determination.

Harry nodded in agreement, "Once we find the last beacon, we should stop at Finch Farms; see if we can find any information that'll help."

"A reconnaissance mission? Prudent. The Minutemen will need good intelligence in order to plan their campaign." Danse agreed.

The basics of their next move plotted, the trio carefully navigated up the rusted stairs of the satellite dish, Danse's equipment indicating that they were very close to the source of the pulse beacon.

Despite their caution as they advanced, the only sounds aside from the clanking of their boots against the metal grated stairs were the occasional groans from the dish itself. The remains of the super mutants that had once called this place home were still in evidence spattered around the rusted ruin. The wind's howl would abate from time to time, and revealed to their ears the vomitous sound of chitinous delight, clouds of buzzing insects feasting on the cornucopia of rotting flesh.

Harry felt his stomach churn at the sight, not to mention the smell. These super mutants didn't seem to smell any worse now that they were dead, though their penchant for decorating their lairs with the gory corpses of their former meals and playthings certainly didn't help.

As they ascended, the wind's effect of diminishing the macabre miasma became more pronounced, granting the trio some relief. A small outbuilding perched precariously in the support struts, the rotten boards not offering much in the way of privacy for the poor soul that met his end there. Like the others, he was sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, his eyeless sockets focused on the beacon that pulsed weakly at his feet.

"He bled out, looks like an unlucky hit in the leg. From the blood, I would guess it hit his femoral artery." Danse murmured, as he crouched and examined the unfortunate man and the aged stain of dried blood spreading out beneath him.

Harry noted that he was dressed a little differently from the other two bodies they had found, his outfit and gear more closely resembling Scribe Haylen.

"Did he leave a holotape too?" Daphne asked quietly.

In answer, Danse held the small plastic data tape toward her, waiting until she took it and inserted it into her pip-boy with a click.

"It's been… two hours since the Paladin left. My leg… I can't staunch the bleeding. Bullet must've hit an artery. Brandis… if you get this… I hope you make it back to Astlin in time. There was nothing you could do for me. Get to the bunker up north. You'll survive. That's all that... all that matters…"

"There seems to be some encrypted data embedded in the holotape. It's linked with the phrase, 'bunker up north.'" Daphne noted, her eyebrows drawn together in concentration.

Danse stood and towered over her, his head angled to peer down at the slight woman's wrist. Daphne turned it to afford him a better view of the tiny screen. He grunted and nodded in comprehension.

"Those are coordinates. You can use your Pip-boy to display them on your map."

"You seem to know a lot about these things." Harry murmured, as Daphne fiddled with her map as the wrist-mounted computer cogitated with a faint whir.

"As an initiate, I was afforded the opportunity to study one under Scribe Rothschild. It was apparently on loan from a famous Vault Dweller that people called, 'The Lone Wanderer'."

"Lone Wanderer? Sounds like a load of bollox."

Danse snorted, "It did seem a rather silly title. But the man himself, he had this 'presence' that was… palpable."

Humoring their obvious curiosity, Danse began to relate the tale of the Vault 111 and the man who had such an impact on the Capital Wasteland as they descended the rickety tower and headed for Finch. It was almost pleasant, despite the desolation that greeted them in towers of wispy grey smoke rising from the ashes of the former settlement.

The coppery stink of blood fought with the oppressively choking ash and the tang of warm metal. Harry swiftly cleared the air around them with a simple charm, though the improved visibility nearly made him regret the choice.

The Forged and their allies had left the settlement in shambles, with no structure left intact and the corpses of the people who had fallen left to bloat in the afternoon heat. A raucous laugh broke the eerie stillness and the trio tensed, Danse swiftly bringing his rifle up and advancing ahead of the others.

Completely oblivious to their presence, three filthy and scarred Forged sat around a makeshift fire. The gathered spoils from their looting spread around them as they joked and overindulged themselves on the myriad of libations.

Danse took it all in and began to form a tactical assessment, but his thought process was swiftly stymied when Harry strode purposefully past him, his wand raised and his face a pure expression of cold rage.

"Incarcerous!" He shouted, gesturing his wand in the trio's general direction. Suddenly, thick ropes, seemingly conjured from thin air, erupted all around the startled raiders. They wrapped themselves around their necks, chests and legs, simultaneously binding them and presenting a very real threat against their continued existence.

The three raiders, two men and a woman, writhed on the ground and gasped, their eyes bulging from their sockets as they struggled against the ropes constricting their necks.

"We should leave at least one of them alive, for questioning." Danse commented, his eyes scanning their surroundings for any additional threats.

Harry didn't react as though he heard the paladin, instead glaring with cold malice at the trio of filthy raiders as they writhed at his feet. He jerked when Daphne placed a hand on his forearm and shook himself from his haze. He gave her a sardonic grin and idly waved at one of the raiders, an older man with slightly better equipment than the others, allowing the ropes around his neck to loosen sufficiently for him to pull a ragged gasp of air past his tortured throat.

The others pleaded with their eyes as they futiley grasped at his worn sneakers, their faces bloating and turning purple as they struggled. Daphne turned from Harry and glared at the raiders, kicking their hands off of his shoes.

"Children lived here. Mothers, fathers… families. You burned them alive and cut them down without mercy. What makes you think you will get any from us?" Daphne spat, her usual compassionate and giving heart turned to stone in her chest.

"We'll deliver this one to the Minutemen. I'm sure Jonathan will be able to get some info out of the tosser."

Harry regarded the chosen raider for a moment, watching as he scooted away from his dying companions and sat up as best he could given the thick ropes binding him.

A bright red flash of energy struck the man in the shoulder and spun him back down to the ground, his body skidding and bouncing along the ground as he flopped about like a ragdoll.

Glancing at Daphne's surprised expression, Harry shrugged, "What? I'm a wizard, not a saint."

Minutes later, after the raiders finally succumbed to the inevitable conclusion of being robbed of air, Harry opened a tumultuous portal several feet above the Castle's courtyard, ignoring the surprised exclamations he heard from the other side as he flicked his wand and sent their hapless captive to plummet and land with a soft groan. Affixed to his neck was a simple handwritten note hastily scrawled in Harry's less than praiseworthy penmanship, 'From Finch'.

Harry let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding as he released the magic that held the portal open between Finch and the Castle. Taking Daphne's hand, they walked from the ruin, intercepting Danse as he completed his investigation of the settlement.

"This settlement was subject to a three pronged assault," he began without preamble, "They breached the walls here and at the southern edge while a third force attacked from the overpass. Despite being completely surprised, the defenders accounted themselves well. I counted at least eight Forged and the evidence points to more bodies that had been removed."

"Why would they recover some of their bodies but not others?" Daphne asked, Harry nodding at the question.

"Though I am not completely familiar with how the Forged operate, if they are anything like other raider gangs I have experience with, they would not be concerned with casualty recovery. I would guess that their allies removed the bodies of their own people."

"That matches what Jonathan said in his speech. Gunners and Rust Devils aided them in their attack." Harry affirmed.

"It is unusual for such different groups to work together like this. Though Gunners are mercenaries and will work for whoever pays them, I doubt the Forged would have the intelligence or foresight to secure Gunner support beforehand." Danse offered.

"It must have been the Rust Devils then. We know that they are an instrument of the Dark Wizard Jeremiah and he is certainly calculating and intelligent enough to hire mercs… the question is, why? What was his goal here?" Harry shook his head at his own question, the mystery of it all making his head pound.

"Hopefully the Minutemen can glean something from the captive. But until they are ready to make their move, we have other things to deal with." Daphne added.

"Plus, I have the location of that north bunker referenced from the holotapes. It's actually quite close to the Minuteman base, Zimonja outpost."

"Brilliant, I know the place." Harry stated, "We can apparate straight there and save ourselves a slog through the Commonwealth."

Danse blanched at the mention of his least favorite mode of travel but otherwise accepted the plan with stoicism.

After the nightmarish swirl of reality that accompanied their god-awful magic, Danse drew in a deep breath to settle his mild nausea. He was mildly surprised to find that his body seemed to be getting accustomed to apparating, his stomach's protests tapering much more quickly than before.

Several excited shouts broke him from his self-examination. Looking up, Danse noted a small crowd of mostly young people waving excitedly at Harry and Daphne. Peering about at their surroundings, he noted that this 'Outpost Zimonja' appeared to be some sort of schoolhouse, with gun ranges, obstacle courses and other signs of being an active recruit depot for the Minutemen.

"What the ever-living crap are you slimes looking at!?"

The air was rent by the strident bark of a rough voice, instantly startling the recruits from their excited babble and sent them scampering back to whatever training they were engaged with. A scarred older man dressed immaculately in a crisp and clean Minuteman uniform shouted after the few who were too slow for his liking. He paused long enough to toss a wink and a grin Harry and Daphne's way before stomping off and resuming his bellowing.

Harry chuckled while Daphne could only shake her head.

"He reminds me of Paladin Krieg." Danse murmured quietly.

"Was he a friend of yours?" Daphne probed gently, eager to learn more of their stoic companion.

"He was like a father to me. To both me and Cutler. He was the one who molded me into the man I am today."

Danse cleared his throat and gestured to the east with his chin, "The coordinates are that way, yes?"

Clearly, Danse was through sharing, so Daphne led the way with her pip-boy raised to guide them as they searched for the mysterious outpost where the previous recon squad was supposedly hiding out.

Harry couldn't help the hiss of discomfort as the cold water soaked through his shoes. They were wading through a small stream just yards away from the supposed bunker and for a moment Harry envied Danse his power armor, certain that he didn't have to worry about soggy socks.

Then again, he didn't really either, as his problem was rectified with a murmured charm. Daphne stiffened beside him when Danse suddenly shouted.

"Hit the deck!"

With reflexes born of surviving a war, Harry ducked and pulled Daphne down with him. A boulder the size of a cupboard soared over their heads, accompanied by a bellicose roar that vibrated through his body.

Glancing up, Harry gaped for a moment at the sheer size of the super mutant striding angrily toward them, pointedly ignoring the flashes of red fury that splashed ineffectually against its thick hide.

"Confringo!" Daphne shouted, a blast of red wreathing the behemoth in fiery raiment. It paused and shook like a dog, molten metal from the junk it had festooned all over its body flying away in a glittering spray. If it was the least bit harmed by her magic, it gave no indication as it reached behind itself to grasp another, albeit smaller boulder.

Danse scrambled up the nearly sheer cliff side, attempting to gain height to better battle the creature and was directly in its line of sight. Harry's nerves tingled with adrenaline as he watched the boulder leave the giant's meaty hand.

"Arresto Momentum!"

The super mutant was thoroughly confounded when the boulder shuddered to a stop then simply thudded to the ground in front of it. Its face screwed up in an almost comical fashion as it regarded the stone, even as it rose into the air and flew right back at it.

The creature howled as the boulder smacked into it, knocking it back and forcing the hapless creature to stagger and shake its head furiously, its jowls flapping noisily. In a rare display of critical thought, the behemoth opted to flee instead of continuing the fight, perhaps non-plussed by the boulder that did not act as a boulder should. Its howls echoed through the narrow canyon as it tromped north, an almost forlorn keen to its bellows punctuating its dismay.

Harry chuckled and grinned at Daphne's exasperated expression with an insouciant mien.

A sudden reverberating crash heralded Danse's arrival, having jumped down from the cliff side after watching to ensure that the beast wasn't returning.

"That was an… unconventional tactic." Danse grumbled, "I'm reticent to allow that abomination to roam free. You can well imagine the havoc one of those things can cause."

"Almost every super mutant I've run into has only been interested in tearing my head off. I am rather fond of it where it is, but I can't say I completely disagree with you." Harry conceded.

"But?" Danse asked.

"But… we have our hands full already. We can't fix everything nor should we. It's the Minutemen's mission to defend the Commonwealth. After we find this bunker, we can pop over to Zimonja and inform them that there is a behemoth mucking about."

Danse nodded, his pensive look easing as he accepted Harry's reasoning.

"Well enough there. Because I think we just found it." Daphne announced, gesturing toward a cliff face with a concrete bunker protruding from the grey rock, a dull grey metal door and a terminal mounted to the right of it.

"Indeed." Danse agreed affably.

"This door has been used recently." Danse announced as they approached the bunker entrance.

Harry quirked his eyebrow quizzically at the paladin, and then at the door, examining it and its surroundings with a critical eye.

Harry grunted in comprehension as he noted the way the rocky ground bore scratches from the opening and closing of the door, his respect for the keen-eyed paladin growing with how quickly the man had come to that conclusion.

"So, how do you want to do this?" Daphne asked with an impish grin, tapping chin with her wand meaningfully.

"Please no." Danse was quick to answer, "Let's try the terminal."

Daphne shrugged as he stomped over to the ancient computer. He carefully pressed a button, impressing both magicals with his dexterity while equipped in the bulky power armor.

"It's requesting an access code. The terminology is distinctly Brotherhood. This is either the right location or a very clever trap."

"Scribe Faris had that code, how'd it go? 429A? Try that." Harry added.

Daphne squinted at the archaic keyboard, tapping it with her wand to clear the crusted dirt that was obscuring the characters. She tapped in the keys, several requiring several jabs before the terminal acknowledged the input.

"Brilliant." Harry congratulated, as the door shuddered open. The trio entered and blinked as their eyes adjusted to the somewhat gloomy interior.

"All right, that's far enough! I don't know how you… my god." A rough voice called out from behind a barricade.

An old man, the weight of his years tracing lines of history across his face, stood erect with a laser pistol pointed at them. Despite his age, his body showed no sign of weakness, even as his eyes widened and his pistol began to tremble in his grasp.

"Is that… Initiate Danse?"

"It's Paladin now, sir." Danse spoke with a hint of reverence in his voice.

Brandis lowered his pistol and cradled his face with his left hand, turning aside from them as if unwilling to face the actualization of hope manifested.

"My squad, no. You can't be here. I've finally gone and lost my mind. That's it. I've finally cracked."

"Paladin Danse, Recon squad Gladius, authorization Arx, Ferrum, Nine, Five. One of my missions was to find you and your team, Paladin Brandis. With the help of my… friends, Daphne Greengrass and Harry Potter of Salem, we have succeeded."

Harry and Daphne looked at one another meaningfully at Danse proclaiming them friends, even if it was with a moment of hesitation.

"You mean, you found them? You found my people?"

Danse moved closer and held out their holotags, the gentle blue glow drawing the eyes like a beacon. Brandis took them hesitantly and gazed at them for a long time. His shoulders dropped, his entire body deflating as his fist closed over the tags.

His voice came out a broken thing, as if all life had been leached from it. "I thank you for finding them. They were good soldiers. They deserved to be remembered by someone aside from a foolish old man."

"Your survival is a testament to your tenacity, sir. My own squad has suffered grievous losses in this forsaken place. I could use your help. We could use your help."

"I'm not sure what good I could do for anyone."

Daphne placed a hand on the man's arm, he startled, having forgotten that she and Harry were there.

"Your team made the sacrifice. Now it is up to you to place value in the price they paid. You are all that remains of them, but not all that remains of the Brotherhood. You still have family that needs your help. Do it for your team."

Brandis looked at her like seeing sunlight for the first time. He nodded and looked to Danse, his eyes clear.

"Paladin Brandis, reporting for duty."

POV: Harry and Daphne

It took hours to gather the equipment that Brandis had gathered that he deemed of use to Danse's team. It took hours more to first convince Brandis what Daphne and Harry were and to accept their help in retrieving the bodies of his squadmates. To his credit, he adjusted quickly to the rigors of apparition and took it as a matter of course that Harry and Daphne possessed the ability to preserve the bodies of his people. Brandis appeared deeply grateful when he saw them restored, their faces at peace. If not for their pallor, one could be forgiven for thinking them merely asleep.

They arrived back at Cambridge just before nightfall, the sunset painting the sky in hues of red and orange against a purple sky.

As Danse began to lead Brandis inside, the old man turned to the duo and they could see that years seemed to have sloughed away from his features, many of the deep lines of his face smoothing away with the unburdening of grief and the despondency of hopelessness. His smile conveyed the depth of his gratitude and his earnest salute, fist over heart, a token of his respect.

As they disappeared inside, Harry took Daphne's hands in his own and gazed appreciably into her eyes. Their lips met in a tender kiss, almost feather soft for a few beats before a gruff cough interrupted their moment.

If Harry was surprised to see Knight Rhys glaring at them, he gave no indication aside from a profound sigh.

The ever hostile knight glanced to the left and right, his eyes taking in the bodies of Squad Artemis as he shifted nervously. He coughed again and looked at them, all trace of his rancor erased.

"I wanted to thank you for your aid to the Brotherhood. And uh… I guess that's it."

He awaited no response before turning swiftly and marching back into the police station.

"Well, that just happened." Daphne breathed.

"Huh. Well if we can turn a guy like that, then maybe we can work with the Brotherhood."

"Did you have doubts that we would?" Daphne asked.

"Actually, I did. I still do, truth be told. Danse himself took a bit of convincing, but in the end, he is a rational bloke. I don't know if he is the rule or the exception, but given their 'mission' I would guess that he is a rare exception."

"I hope you're wrong. I'd hate to be at odds with them. After all, they are people who are trying to do the right thing."

"I don't doubt that… I just question their definition of 'right thing'. Remember, they don't think much of ghouls." Harry pointed out.

"Anyway," Harry shook his head and grinned at Daphne, "Its past time for us to get back home."

POV: Soleil

With a ruffling whistle of displaced air, Luna popped back and stumbled atop of small hill of broken pews. She looked even more pale than usual and heaved as her stomach attempted to evacuate everything she had ever eaten.

"I… I think I'm sick." She murmured, sucking in ragged breaths as she pressed her fists into her stomach.

Soleil jumped up with a cry and rushed to Luna's side, her stress and worry since her disappearance temporarily cracking her gruff veneer. She pulled the young witch from the splintered pile and half carried her over to a relatively clean bedroll. Soleil wasted no time pulling a Rad-Away from her pack and affixing it to an intact bench. She uncoiled the surgical catheter with its built in needle and slid it almost effortlessly in Luna's arm. The young witch hissed at the pinch.

"You could have stabbed me a little harder I think." She complained.

Soleil sniffed, "A lot harder, good thing I actually like you. When you aren't worrying the shit out of me."

"Did the… guy get away? The railroad come for him?"

"Just this morning." Soleil answered softly, "Rest now, this medicine will clear the radiation from your system, just have to give it time to work."

"I am… quite tired. A short nap does sound lovely."

"And when you wake up, you can tell me what happened and how you got away." Soleil shifted from her work and glanced at her charge, closing her eyes in relief at the peacefully sleeping witch.

The sun cast a reddish glow across the ruined landscape outside the church, its bloody rays painting the walls in macabre shades. Luna sighed as she awoke, a distinctly profound pressure in her midsection punctuating her pressing need for relief. Soleil eyed her with concern, her feet propped up on a rusted stewpot as she idly turned a haunch of radstag on a spit. The fire sizzled as juices dripped from the cooking meat, flashing into steam as they struck the hot coals. The scent of decay was abated temporarily as it filled with the scent of roasting meat.

Luna drew a deep breath in through her nose, her pale lips curling into a smile as she stretched into a sitting position.

"Was I asleep long?" Luna asked.

"Not long, a couple of hours. You probably need to hit the head, Rad Away tends to do that to a body. We'll eat afterwards and you can tell me what the hell happened with you."

A few minutes and seemingly half a gallon later, Luna skipped back to the campsite and plopped down next to Soleil. She accepted a tin plate with a grateful hum and wasted no time before tucking in. She blew out around the chunk of hot meat even as she tried to chew it, succulent juices running down her chin.

"So." Soleil began, speaking around a hunk of meat, "I assume that the bastard what made off with you was one of those Institute coursers."

"Was it? He was quite serious, not at all welcoming. It was a bit better than the last time I was captured, the Death Eaters weren't at all polite."

Soleil knew better than to ask, for Luna needed little excuse to divert onto a tangent.

"It was really quite nice, though a little cold. Very clean and neat. They had mechanical people keeping it tidy. Lots of muggle scientists going about their business. They were rather rude mostly, but it wasn't really their fault. They were busy with their muggle work and don't know any better."

"Don't know any better?" Soleil cursed inwardly as soon as the words left her mouth. Thankfully Luna opted not to take the offered path.

"I met several of the more important ones, very serious and… a little sad. Especially their headmaster… eh, leader. They call him father. He seemed the most sad. But part of that might have been because he is dying."

Soleil spluttered, "The leader of the Institute is dying?!"

"I think that Neville or maybe Lilith will know something that should help. I just needed to make sure you were ok before I went to ask them."

"Help the Institute?! Are you insane? You can't help the Institute?" Soleil shouted as she shot to her feet.

Luna was nonplussed by Soleil's outburst, "That's true, I'm don't know as much about healing illnesses or injuries as the others. That's why I'm asking them."

"No. I mean you can't do something that offers assistance to them. Luna, the Institute is evil!"

"I'm sure that isn't true at all. They're just people. Disconnected people, sadly. They forgot who they are. But they'll never get a chance to learn if we don't help them."

"They don't see us as people Luna. Just specimens for their experiments. I've been to settlements where the Institute murdered and replaced people, just to gather data!"

"They don't see themselves as people. Not really. But that doesn't change the fact that they are." Luna said firmly, standing up and fixing Soleil with a level look. "Many of them have done bad things, most of us have. But they are still people and I'm going to ask my friends to help one of them. If we can remind them of who they are, then that would be good thing."

Soleil drew in a breath and shut her eyes. It was clear that Luna's naiveté was getting in the way. But… there was a tiny voice in the back of her head that wondered… what if? No. NO. She remembered the ruins of University Point, where the Institute had sent in their synths and wiped out every man, woman and child there. It was only by the purest chance that she happened to be at Bunker Hill to do some trading, otherwise, she'd be six feet under too. She'd have to follow Luna and protect her, and maybe the opportunity will arise for her to avenge her friends…

Soleil nodded to herself as the plan began to form in her mind, barely noticing that Luna was still speaking.

"…It looked remarkably like Jonathan. It wasn't a ghost like we have, and I never heard of muggles having ghosts like that. Maybe strong enough emotions could make a muggle spirit stay. He did seem chained to Father. I think it might be Father's father."

POV: Harry

The soft glow of radiation wafted from their shielding charms as Harry and Daphne popped just before the main gates of Salem. It was quiet and peaceful, Harry pulling a deep breath and relishing the sensation. The air smelled of the ocean, with a slightly bitter tang of salt and a hint of pine. A light breeze ruffled his hair and seemed to whisper a welcome. Taking Daphne's hand, they strolled through the open gates, nodding in greeting to the posted Salem militia guarding it.

"Have you given any thought of Jonathan's proposal?" Daphne murmured quietly, giving his arm a tug.

Harry stumbled for a moment, caught off guard by the question.

"What? Did you think I had forgotten about that?" Daphne teased.

"Yeah, er no. I just didn't really take it seriously. I led during the war because I had to. I don't have the foggiest idea how to lead during peacetime."

"Given the nature of this new world, I doubt you will have trouble with any length of 'peace'." Her voice was resigned.

"It's bollox! Me? Even if I thought I could do a good job, would I even want to? And wouldn't I have to be voted in or some such? Isn't how the muggles elect their Prime Ministers, or Presidents, or whatever they call them?"

"Two hundred years plus. And no one has managed to achieve any kind of leadership that wasn't small scale or selfishly motivated in that whole time. Besides, you could make sure there were term limits or something. So if you got elected PM, it wouldn't be forever."

Any further commentary was stymied by the sudden appearance of a mischievous redhead just behind them.

"Harry! Daphne! Welcome home!" George exclaimed, draping an arm over their shoulders, "I thought I heard your dulcet tones, Harry. What's this about becoming Minister? You running for office now Harry?"

Harry paled and shook his head in denial, "No, I."

"You'd have my vote Harry! You'd make a brilliant Minister of Magic! Or was it Prime Minister? Why not both?"

Harry groaned and Daphne giggled at George's enthusiasm.

"What's this? Harry is going to be Minister?" Lilith shouted, having stepped out of the church just in time to hear George's enthusiastic announcement.

"Oh no, he has to run for office first. But since I don't know of anyone who is running too, the ballot would be pretty scant, eh Potter? I can hear it now, Harry Potter, Minister of Magic and Prime Minister of the muckety muck Muggles."

"Oh that's rude." Lilith chided George.

"Let's table this discussion for now." Harry hissed, "We aren't here for long, just needed to catch a little break and find out how things have been here."

"Neville is helping cook today, we can tuck in for some while we chat." George grinned.

"Didn't you just eat?" Lilith asked.

"Just the one serving, it's settled now. Come on then! Get it while it's hot!" George pulled the trio with him as he swept toward the café.

Other friends joined in the impromptu feasting as Harry and Daphne shared their most recent adventures. Harry was pleased at the progress being made there at Salem as Lilith and George filled him and Daphne in on their recent developments.

"Have you heard from Luna lately?" Daphne asked around a mouthful of biscuit, the delightfully sweet confection a welcome treat from the salty green tinted stew that Neville crafted.

"Not since you've gone. Hope she's doing alright." Neville muttered.

"I'm sure she is Neville. She does have Soleil looking after her and she's as tough as they come." Daphne assured him.

"So what's the plans for the next chapter of the adventures of Potter and Greengrass?" George jokingly asked.

"Heading back to the Castle. The Minutemen are planning a big operation and they'll be needing our help."

"Brilliant! I can grab a few things and come along…" George was interrupted by a profound 'uh hum' from Lilith. He glanced over at her with a chagrined expression, her own face twisted into a scowl.

"I believe you are taking some of the load off of me by teaching 3 classes this evening."

"Ah yes, of course. I wouldn't dream of abandoning you."

"Right."

Despite everything, Harry couldn't help but laugh, his infectious humor spreading to the others at the table. It was good to be home.

POV: Nora

"It's time to go doll." Nick murmured, resting his intact hand on Nora's shoulder. They had watched in silence as the massive Brotherhood airship flew sedately past them toward the east, numerous verti-birds flitting about it like hummingbirds.

"Right." Nora replied, shaking herself from her temporary daze. It didn't mean much of anything to her, she mused. A potential problem later on, but for now, her path was set.

She checked the fit of Kellogg's pistol in her holster, lamenting that the massive .44 didn't quite sit well. She'd have to mod it later. Checking herself over for the rest of her gear, she barely acknowledged the rest of her team exiting the fort.

In the lead, the Operator hefted a large sack over his shoulder, his glee obvious over the loot they had plundered from the depths of Kellogg's hideout. The Pack member glanced over at the man, a suspicious scowl making the stinking man even more unattractive. Lastly, a blood drenched Disciple, her thin lips spattered with ichor, sashayed past the others to present Nora with her findings.

Nora glanced at the offering, a chunk of brain with a complicated looking cybernetic component attached.

"This was in his head?"

The Disciple nodded, absently wiping her hands clean on the Pack member's furred coat, ignoring his deep throated growls.

"What do you make of this Nick?" Nora held up the gory prize for his inspection.

"Institute tech, I can't make heads or tails of it. But I think I know someone who can." He said after a few moments, the pulsing glow from his cigarette making his face appear more skeletal.

"Where is this expert of yours?"

"Goodneighbor. Her name is Dr. Amari. Runs the equipment at the Memory Den."

Nora nodded, stuffing the cybernetic component into her pack, "Looks like we're heading to Goodneighbor… man, Hancock is going to be pissed."