Chapter 6:
Charity
Their trip to the blood donation center was rain-drenched and reeked of rotten eggs due to the ash and sulfur in said rain. It was made even more uncomfortable by taking place in the overly cramped pedo-van that Fletcher managed to "procure" during the recent chaos and enchant with space expansion those charms it was still a tight fit.
Their eight person group hug including Ron, Fred, George, Ginny, Hermione, Crookshanks and a transformed Padfoot. Mundungus was driving and Tonks was riding shotgun - actual shotgun in hand, though it was just for show.
"Muggle rustlers, yeggs and cracksman taking advantage of this weather won't be scared off by me twig, but they damn sure'll flit when they gets a glance of me BOOOOOMSTICK!" She had said, brandishing a long-barrel shotgun.
All Harry understood from that was the word boomstick.
Harry was trapped between Hermione and Ginny, and consequently trapped suffocating in the smell of their too warring perfumes - which were both far too strong - along with the cacophony of whatever scented shampoos, soaps, deodorants and lotions they tortured their bodies with every morning. It was nice to be shielded from Crookshanks and Padfoot's natural musk by the girl's artificial musk was the only thing about this situation he found himself thankful for. That and the expansion charms fletcher had placed inside.
Honestly it wouldn't have been so bad if it wasn't for the stacks upon stacks of medicinal potions they'd been stocking over the last couple days. Hell, even Harry had pitched in and earned his first ever Exceeds Expectations on a potion after Snape - in what passed for good humor to the miserable bat - started handing out grades to them all with each potion.
There was one noteworthy moment when Fred and George had suggested using salamander oil - oil drained from the skins of salamanders. Don't ask. - as an additive for a fever relieving potion.
"It should force the drinker to not only sweat out toxins, like the normal potions do, but also drain it out through the oil from their hair follicles." Fred had explained.
"They'll be grungy, but healthy." George had added, before handing Snape a vial of what looked like habanero sauce mixed with bacon grease.
Harry had a niggling suspicion that Fred and George had procured the Salamander oil through less than legal means. And possibly with the aid of this Mundungus gentleman.
Snape had examined the vial for a few moments before placing it down and turning his eyes onto the twins, as if seeing them for the first time. The potions master stared at them for nearly an entire minute, as if clinically examining them and logging all of his findings in a dark compartment deep inside of that mind of his.
"You two have been holding on me haven't you?" Snape suddenly said.
"Uh, what?"
"I mean, you two have seldom achieved an Exceeds Expectations in my class, and yet you are knowledgeable enough about potions ingredients to know what effects altering the formula of a potion with what is, undeniably, a rare and esoteric ingredient?" Snape summarized rather succinctly. "You're correct, by the way. That is exactly what adding this will do, and I'm experienced enough to tell you that despite never having tried it. You've been holding back in my class. That or feigning incompetence."
Fred and George shared a nervous look that seemed to indicate the latter. If it weren't for that look Snape might even have believed the tsunami of bullshit that came pouring out of their mouths as they tried to explain away their "lucky guess."
"I'm only going to say this once, because it makes every molecule in my body want to vomit by doing so." Snape pre-empted. "The two of you, both of you, have the making of genuine potion prodigies. Based on this alone I can recognize that. And I will not see your talent go to waste. You two will be dropping Care of Magical Creatures and rejoining my NEWT level class."
Their ability to make up excuses for why they wouldn't be able to join him in his exceptionally enjoyable classes were actually pretty reasonable.
"But we're in seventh year!"
"And we didn't take your classes in sixth year!"
"We're already in Divination and Care!"
"Then you will be dropping one of them, I don't care which, and rejoining the seventh year students. I doubt you will have any difficulty catching up." He had told them. "Especially seeing as both of you are dating my top students in your year. Who I'm sure will be happy to lend your their old notes."
Angelina and Katie were great at potions? Good to know.
"And cram an entire years worth of potions material before term starts?" George said doubtfully.
"Indeed. I believe that gives you three entire weeks to cram. Fortunately for you, I keep multiple spares of my assigned coursework." He had said before picking up his physicians bag.
Not for the first time since Harry's arrival Snape pulled a Mary Poppins and out of the bag came an entire potions cabinet, triangular in shape with glass doors and no fewer the seven shelves. He pulled open the bottom drawer only for it to extend outwards to a comical length, to the point it was longer than the cabinet was tall. Within this drawer were copies of the books assigned to each year of potions students, in triplicate.
He retrieved two of the three copies of what must have been the assigned books for sixth years - titled "Advanced Potions Making" - and handed them to the twins.
"I suggest you get started." Were Snape's final words. "And if I hear so much as a complaint about being railroaded into my class, I might just pay Molly a visit and tell her about your budding talent. If I fail to see you through your potions mastery, she won't."
Lo and behold, they had yet to complain. In fact their noses were in the books even now, though reading in the van couldn't have been easy with Fletcher's driving. Somehow they were both managing, as was Hermione.
"The hell do I pay me taxes for if Parliament doesn't do nuffink about these 'ere potholes." Fletcher complained as they drove clear off what little road remained and into what could charitably be called a fissure, before climbing back up the other side and onto the road again.
"A have half a mind to to snub the tax collectors this year see."
Harry had to admit. The creepy, smelly smuggler was starting to grow on him. Or at least his sense of humor was.
The rest of the ride went similarly, and at one point devolved into an off-roading tour of the ruins of London. Harry didn't know what modifications Fletcher had made to the shocks, axel and transmission but they must have been pretty hefty feats of magic to allow this old rust bucket to drive through the completely flattened remains of homes, hotels restaurants and more with little difficulty. Hell, the only time they stopped was for him and Tonks to stick their wands out through the window and blast away any rubble - usually fallen telephone lines or uprooted trees - out of the way before continuing their journey.
The utter destruction eased-up when they hit Romford, and by the time they passed Basildon it was smooth roads all the way to Rochsford.
Even though it was almost midday by the time they arrived at their destination it still felt like night as the sky had yet to clear up and was still nothing more than billowing waves of black and grey. Fortunately the rain had stopped and they had yet to see any crimson lightning streaking across the sky as was the case a few days ago. So things looked to be improving somewhat.
When they were finally let out of the cramped vehicle Harry had sudden flashbacks of the world cup just a year before; if the world cup had been significantly more depressing and more resembled a refugee camp in a war torn country crossed with Woodstock. There were nearly as many campers, families sleeping in cramped cars and the occasional rv as there were tents. The abodes of the homeless and displaced stretched on for as far as the eye could sre. To his left, extending north all the way to the River Crouch, and to his right nestled in the ashes of South End, and in front of him all the way out to sea.
"My god." Hermione had gasped. "How many people have been displaced?"
"Millions. And more arrive every day." Fletcher answered, and the sadness in his voice actually sounded genuine. "This here tent city extends all the way North to Tiptree. Most forming small tent and motorhome villages On what used to be crop fields."
"Used to be, on account of everybody needing to eat now that supply chains have been cut off." Tonks explained in perfect, normal English. "They're gathering near the bay in the hopes of being first when the next shipment of humanitarian aid comes through from France, Belgium and the Netherlands. They all got hit pretty bad by the impact too, but at least they have some food to spare. If not much."
The solemn mood continued as Fletcher and Tonks backed the van into the front flap of a wedding tent and uploaded the cargo, leaving Padfoot and Crookshanks to watch over them. It only took a few minutes for them to finish before motioning for the "children" to join them.
Surprise surprise, the tent space was expanded. Clean, white beds reminiscent of the Hogwarts hospital wing filled the entire football court sized space. And upon spotting Madame Pomfrey speaking to pale man Harry realized it was more than just a resemblance, they were the Hogwarts hospital wing beds.
Most of the beds were filled with people hooked up to machines via intravenous tubes but there was a curtained of section in the back which he supposed was for helping people with serious injuries. This was a magical blood donation center and clinic.
Pomfrey herself was standing beside a figurative mountain of blood replenishing potions. So that's what this was all about. Farming blood from witches and wizards using potions, and using that blood for Muggles for whom potions don't work. Clever.
"Ah! Such a pleasure to see you here to volunteer instead of demanding my resources for a change, Mister Potter." Pomfrey greeted as they approached her.
"Good morning Madame Pomfrey. Is there anything we can do to help?" Harry offered stoically.
"Well since you're so eager to offer your services, perhaps you can help Mr Sanguini here transport the blood we already harvested." Madame Pomfrey said, indicating the man beside her.
Vampire. Sanguini was a vampire. Sanguini was very obviously, a vampire. Surely if he could recognize this then Madame Pomfrey could as well. By extension, logically speaking, was he trustworthy?
"One shipment will be delivered to my fellow vampires. We have also been displaced during this crisis and are in need of food like any other." Sanguini spoke as if trying to head off any suspicion. "It's all some of us can do to keep our brothers and sisters from resorting to preying on mortal refugees in their time of desperation. It is only thanks to your Order's, excuse me, 'School's' diligence and forethought that we've prevented any incidents to date."
Sanguine gave them a wink to show he was an ally of the Order, but knew to pretend Dumbledore was acting as if his humanitarian aid was being done on behalf of Hogwarts to keep up a front. What an interesting circle of allies Dumbledore was building.
"And once you're done with that we need to prepare the shipment of wolvesbane for the displaced werewolves." Madame Pomfrey pressed on as if oblivious to their interaction. "Miss Granger, while the boys are taking care of that why not go see your parents? I'm sure you have experience helping them around their clinic."
"Your parents are here?" Ron asked abruptly.
"Of course. People still need dental work after an alien spaceship crashes into their back yards " Hermione chuckled at her own joke.
Ron mumbled something about "tooth healers", probably trying to remember what he could about her parents.
"Can I, um. Meet them?" Ron asked with a nervousness that seemed disproportionate to the question being asked.
"No worming your way out of work!" Pomfrey re-inserted herself in the conversation. "When you're done with that can jump into one of these beds and donate. What are your blood types?"
"A positive." Hermione said with a grin.
So that where her grades come from.
"I dunno." Were Ron and Harry's simultaneous answer.
"Right. Off with you then." Madame Pomfrey ordered
They scampered to their individual tasks.
Harry and Ron joined Sanguini at the stacks of potions, Hermione followed Pomfrey's directions out of the magical tent and presumably to whatever tent her parents had setup shop in, carrying Crookshanks with her. Ginny remained with Madame Pomfrey, donning the same white apron and healers hat the other volunteers did. Fred had George seemed to have vanished during the kerfuffle, as had Padfoot.
"Sooooo." Ron queried as they removed the plastic wrap from the first pallet. "Do you reckon it's too soon to ask her father's permission?"
Harry paused in his work from confusion at the sheer oddity of the question.
"Permission?" Harry pressed.
"You know. Permission to persue... Hermione" He whispered the last part with his teeth clenched tight. As if the admission didn't want to leave his mouth.
"You want to ask him if you can marry her?!" Harry asked aghast, barely managing to keep things below a whisper.
"No! Of course not." Ron deflected. "Well maybe. Hopefully; if things go really well, but that's a bit far off init? I meant is it too soon to ask his permission to court her?"
Harry tried to mentally conjure a bridge over whatever cultural gap Ron seemed to be trying to leap over with this conversation. In his head he deciphered "court" as "date" but without the Muggle acceptability of premarital sex and the express purpose of marriage down the line. Apparently dating in the wizarding world is a family affair?
Well yeah, of course it is. He reasoned, if it's meant to lead to marriage, the joining of families, then it is the entire family's business who dates who. And it's most certainly the father's business.
"Er, when did you set your heart on this one Ron?" Harry sidestepped the issue as he separated the different crates of potions into their own stacks.
"Honestly? I'm not sure. It probably happened the day she punched Malfoy, though looking back further I think the seeds were sewn when I saw her petrified in that bed for months." Ron explained wistfully. "Back then I didn't know what possessed me to visit her bedside at every free hour, even though you didn't, or to put flowers in a vase beside her bed. Or replace those flowers. But after the Yule ball I think what my heart was trying to tell me finally got through my skull and I've been thinking about the right way to do this ever since, you know?"
Harry could only nod. He didn't exactly know what to say to that, but that was partly because he wanted to defend his identity as Hermione's friend at the suggestion that he hadn't visited her often enough after her run in with the basilisk. Then he realized Ron had made no such accusation. There was also the fact that he didn't know what the hell Ron was talking about.
"You were raised by Muggles, so I figured you might know how these things are done on the other side of the train better, if you catch my meaning." Ron explained.
"Sorry mate, my cousin is a guy and he's not exactly smooth with the ladies. So I don't really have experience with these kinds of things, on either side of the barrier." Harry explained. "My aunt and uncle don't exactly share their romantic adventures over dinner either."
Thank God for small miracles. Were the Dursleys even still alive? Probably something to look into. Eventually.
"If you want my opinion though, I think you should just ask her on a date." Harry decided. "And explicitly say it's going to be a date."
"What?! Without her parent's permission?" Ron asked.
Harry nodded.
"But that's just so... Disrespectful!" He concluded. "He made and raised her, he has the right to approve or disapprove of me before things even start. It's his legacy I'll be marrying into after all."
Harry suddenly found himself wishing for Tonk's presence so she could translate what Ron was saying into her usual gibberish and Fletcher could, in turn, translate that into English. Where were those two anyways?
"I mean, does she need approval from your parents before you ask her out?" Harry tried to reason with him.
"Well yeah, obviously." Ron shrugged.
"What?" Harry asked.
"They approve. They already like her and want her in the family." Ron explained.
Well, Harry was definitely out of his depth now. He wondered if he should ask Arthur for lesson on pureblood etiquette. At this rate because clearly he was in need of some, and was way behind his peers.
"What about the Yule Ball?" Harry realized. "Were we supposed to ask Mr Patil before taking his daughters to the dance?"
"That was a school ball! Not potential wedding and kids."
The couples Snape caught in the rose bushes would beg to differ on the latter point.
"I really don't think I'm the best person to be asking, Ron." Harry said finally with a time of finality.
Ron dropped it.
"It took some workarounds, but I did manage to splice into one of our ship's sensors." General Kenobi explained over the holographic map of earth. "And according to the records it kept of the impact we know that droid drop ship remains crashed here, here and here.'
He pointed to several places in the Atlantic ocean, though the map also showed several smaller places over the European landmass in red. With green spot indicating Mandaloreans forces all over the Sahara and middle east. Blue dots indicated places their own clone troopers had crash landed.
"And you're sure your ship's remains don't pose a biohazard to our world, General?" Dumbledore pressed.
"Positive. We keep our ships clean. Droid forces forego that, as their soldiers can't exactly get sick." General Windu explained.
"But that doesn't make any sense!" Moody grumbled. "Metal or flesh, they are soldiers, and shit duty is part and parcel of maintaining discipline and a clean ship, in every sense. Why wouldn't they have their droid soldiers mopping the deck on occasion, if for no other reason than to prevent exactly this!?"
It had been a long two days of negotiations and explanations, but learning that there was a republic of alien worlds spanning the galaxy had come as a shock to the system. A shock they had shared with the governing bodies not only of their own countries, but all leaders in the world. Through encrypted messages to keep it all top secret until it was decided on how they would share this information with the public, of course.
After that bombshell learning of these Jedi and their order, or more aptly, philosophy came as a much lesser concern. Space wizards were something Albus expected to encounter after learning of space Muggles. Seemed like a logical step from them. Dark space wizards, like the two that were likely to be planetside now, was just more bad news in the maelstrom of it they found themselves in.
Mace Windu and Obi-Wan Kenobi had explained the lines draw in the galaxy-spanning war taking place in the heavens at this very moment and their role in it. They had all decided to refer to them by their military ranking rather than their order ranking, as the U.S soldiers correctly pointed out referring to people as "master" held negative connotations in the current dialect.
They had little time to actually sit down and talk and had spent that time discussing the current crisis and how to go about dealing with it. And yet They had developed a great deal of rapport and trust in one another, but the captain of the sip still refused to return the warrior's "lightsabers" to them. Dumbledore got the distinct impression they were perfectly capable of escaping or wreaking destruction without them, seeing as he had witnessed a few of their "force" abilities. Abilities they shelved discussion on for after they dealt with the current dilemma and which Dumbledore sincerely doubted only encompassed telekinesis.
"You are making the assumption that the leaders of the droid forces want to prevent collateral damage by way of accidentally introducing invasive species, pathogens and waste products into the biospheres of battlefront worlds." General Windu responded.
Dumbledore mentally amended General Windu's explanation to include the horrendous military application of forcing your enemies to expend resources quarantining and disinfecting battlefields and effected areas instead of devoting those resources to the frontlines.
"We have vessels capable of reaching the ocean depths, and torpedoes capable of delivering payloads there if need be." The ship's captain, Greaves, interjected. "But we don't have any payloads capable of disinfecting hundreds of square miles of ocean floor, save for nukes, which I would prefer to avoid."
"You have nuclear armaments?" General Kenobi interjected. "That is very frightening news. Most civilizations don't develop those until a century or two after mastering space flight, and by then they've developed means of purifying radioactive fallout or have shielding technology that make their destructive potential moot. How have you not wiped yourselves out yet."
"Barely." Captain Greaves answered in place of being offended by the accusation.
It was a fair accusation, after all.
"But we have several thousand tonnes of disinfectant on board our ships. One of which is crash landed in one of your capital cities. Landin?" General Windu asked.
"London." Dumbledore corrected.
"Well it looks to have been a rather bad crash, and we had lost contact with the ship before the crash when it was overrun with droid forces. Our best hope is retrieving the disinfectant from the ship in orbit. Here." Kenobi offered as he pressed his fingers onto the hologram.
The hologram expanded to include the moon, the array of ruined satellites that had been shut down by the electromagnetic wave created by the spacetime anomaly which brought these aliens to earth's doorstep and several space ships. Battleships, Dumbledore amended.
"The one shaped like an arrowhead is ours, the one shaped like a sphere with a halo around it is a droid command ship. Both appear to be offline. These rocky fragments are what remains of the Mandalorian asteroid base." General Windu explained as he indicated each model in turn. " Our goal is to board our own ship and release the disinfectant tanks. The unloading process is automatic and once released, the tanks will fall quickly into the atmosphere. They are more than capable of surviving re-entry and are buoyant. If we plan it right they should crash into the ocean near the infections are likely to be, and we need only row out to them and prepare them for use. In a manner of speaking."
"There's just one problem with that. How are we going to get up there?" Alastor correctly poked a hole in their plan. "Albus might be able to disappirate that far vertically and with enough accuracy to appirate back inside of the ship, but the velocity of the ship means that the interior walls will reduce him to spaghetti sauce within a nanosecond of his arrival."
His assumptions were true, in all cases.
"Appirate?" Asked General Windu.
"Disappirate?" Asked General Kenobi.
"Teleport." Captain Greaves answered simply.
This raised their eyebrows.
"Well, with some modifications our escape pods could escape your atmosphere, but we have neither the tools nor the parts. And entering London to try and salvage either is too dangerous and a fools errand. Our best bet is to contact a droid already on board the ship and have them do it." General Kenobi explained. "Hopefully one or two has survived or regained power and is repairing the ship. It has enough oxygen and supplies to keep our men alive for a week or two without the filter system being active, so hopefully they're fine."
"Wait... I thought droids were the enemy?" One of the officers prodded
"Oh, we have droids too. Protocol droids, astromechs, cleaning droids. And other types of droids you would scratch your heads if I told you the names of." General Kenobi explained before tinkering with the device which served as the projected and the communicator. "Let me just boost the signal to try and catch any of our droid's frequencies."
The device erupted with more of that "space static" that sounded so eerie to Albus' ears. They remained in silence for several minutes as General Kenobi tuned the device.
"Oh no." General Kenobi moaned before slouching in his seat and bringing both palms up to his face
"What?" Prodded Mace. "What is it?!"
General Kenobi groaned before bringing the transmitter up to his mouth and speaking.
"Come in R2."
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