AN: Here's Chapter VI, Reunion. Bear in mind, this was not one of my favourite chapters, if only because I'm not satisfied with the reunion scenes. I might edit at a later date.

When Harry woke up, he instantly recognized his surroundings as the Retaliation's medical facilities. Which ultimately led to his wondering how he got there.

Of course, that's when the memories of his fight against Rodolphus came back, and he felt himself wincing as his forehead throbbed with pain. Haltingly bringing up a hand, he tried to touch his wound, only to flinch violently as his fingertips touched the sensitive skin.

As he flinched, he unwillingly moaned in pain, which brought a nearby nurse to his bed.

"Ah, Your Grace, you're awake!" declared the nurse gaily. "I'll just fetch the doctor, then, shall I?" she told him kindly before walking away.

Harry growled unconsciously at this act. He didn't want to be left alone! He wanted answers!

Answers, he thought, that would explain why he had such a big bloody headache!

Groaning again, he let his head fall back onto his pillow roughly.

Bad idea.

Yelping in pain as that brought forth another headache, Harry scowled with his eyes closed. He hadn't thought Rodolphus' blows had hurt him that much during the duel itself. Obviously, he'd underestimated the Death Eater, thinking that, like the rest of the psychotic, megalomaniacal cult, he'd become complacent with his skills and not improve.

Obviously, he'd been wrong.

Sighing in frustration, Harry brought his thoughts back to the current situation. He was incapacitated for Merlin knows how long, his head bloody hurt, and he had no idea how long he'd been unconscious.

"Your Grace?"

Harry sighed in relief. That was probably the doctor. "I'm awake, doctor," he informed the man simply.

Opening his eyes slightly, he saw the man nod once and writing something on his clipboard.

"How long have I been out?" asked Harry.

"Two days, Your Grace. Although, one of those days was due to the medication," added the doctor quickly at Harry's look. "You were suffering from serious fractures to your forehead, Your Grace, and the potion wouldn't have had much of an effect if you'd moved around."

Harry nodded contritely. "Any lasting damage?"

The doctor shrugged as he wrote something else on the clipboard. "Unfortunately, we don't know. The fractures were somewhat severe, but as far as we can tell, no lasting damage was done on the brain or the surrounding nerves."

"Where are we?"

"Right above the Confederate Capital, Your Grace. We were granted leave by their Parliament to enter their airspace"

Harry nodded. He recognized the doctor, of course. He was an Ungifted—one that had been the ship's surgeon since the Retaliation first took flight. Thus, he'd been raised with Ungifted medical knowledge, which came with quite a wealth of knowledge concerning the intricate workings of the human anatomy.

"When can I leave?" asked Harry, making the doctor titter. Harry was infamous amongst medical circles for refusing to stay put after being injured, despite the doctors' orders.

"Tomorrow should be fine," said the doctor amusedly. When his countenance changed to seriousness, however, Harry got worried. "Although, I was given orders to inform you of something urgent, Your Grace…"

Harry rose an eyebrow. "What?"

The doctor seemed about to reply when he shut his mouth and seemed to consider something. After about half a minute, he shook his head. "I think it's better if you see this yourself, Your Grace," he said a length, frowning.

Harry raised an eyebrow once more. "I can get up? No, 'If you get up I swear I'll dope you into a mild coma'?" he asked sardonically. The doctor chuckled.

"It's fine. The damage to your forehead and back shouldn't impede your basic motor skills."

"Then why do I have to stay until tomorrow?"

The doctor smirked at Harry's whinging. "Observation purposes, mainly. We don't want you doing anything that might slow down the potion's effect, and this thing I wish to show you is within the confinements of the med bay."

Harry sulked somewhat, making the doctor chuckle once more.

Slowly, the young Duke got to his feet and, accepting a cane from the doctor, followed the man out of his draped-off cubicle. Thankfully, the Imperial reinforcements to the Confederacy had not sustained any serious injuries—completely taking the Death Eaters by surprise by their quick reaction time. As such, the medical bay was devoid of anyone other than Harry, the doctor, and the nurses. Or, at least, that's what Harry assumed, anyway.

He quickly disregarded these assumptions when he noticed they were heading towards another draped-off cubicle.

"Who else got injured?" asked Harry. He paled quickly. "Surely not the Queen?"

The doctor waved off the guess. "No, not Her Majesty. Someone we all thought was dead."

Harry froze at those words, his eyes shot towards the drapes surrounding the cubicle. Immediately, he remembered the words of the Japanese Emperor, and felt a surge of fear, hope, and curiosity shoot through his spine.

Looking at the Duke's reaction, the doctor misinterpreted it for some discomfort, and shook his head. "Maybe we should put this off for another time…" he suggested, but Harry quickly shot that down with a shake of his head.

"No. I…let me see this person," he ordered.

Eyeing Harry concernedly, the doctor nodded and parted the drapes slowly, allowing Harry inside.

Slowly, Harry walked into the cubicle and felt his breath leave him. His cane fell from his limp hands as his eyes bulged at the figure lying on the bed in front of him, red hair fanning out underneath her, forming a sort-of halo.

"Ginny," whispered Harry, moments before his eyes rolled upwards and he fainted dead to the ground.

Moments later, Harry woke up to the horrible smell of salts underneath his nose. Sneezing, he sat up, only to find that he was on the floor, and the doctor, along with several nurses, were crowding around him.

"You fainted," explained the doctor simply. Harry nodded briefly, before freezing.

"Wh—What happened?" he asked groggily. His eyes snapped open as he remembered. "Ginny!"

Instantly, Harry shot to his feet, fighting down the nausea as he got up too fast. Still dizzy, he stumbled his way to his unconscious wife's side. Harry clasped her left hand with both his hands as he leaned over her.

"Ginny?" he asked frantically. "Ginny love, please say something to me!"

The doctor looked sadly at the scene before him. The Iron Duke, Britannia's Scourge, the Restorer of the Throne was, at the moment, nothing more than a heart broken man, pleading pathetically with a person that he knew, personally, would not wake up for a while.

"She's in a mild coma at the moment, Your Grace," the doctor interrupted at length. Harry raised horrified eyes towards the doctor. "I'm sorry, Your Grace, but it seems she hurt herself badly during the battle. We don't expect her to wake up for another week or so."

"But you said she was in a coma! How can you be sure she'll wake up ever again?" asked Harry, who looked heartbroken as he voiced his own worst fears.

"Perhaps I chose the wrong terminology," conceded the doctor after some thought. "You see, she is displaying all the natural signs of a coma, except for the fact that her magic is still functioning, if at an accelerated pace."

Harry looked confused. "What does her magic have to do with the fact that she's in a coma?"

The doctor looked incredulous for a moment, but then realized that the Duke had never taken a thorough medical class in his life. "Magic, Your Grace, is much like blood. If it ever stopped pumping, the human body would eventually cease to function. Magic, however, is not a vital component of the body, as we Ungifted show, but its very 'pumping', so to speak, relies on the brain's constant activity, which tells me that the Duchess is still mentally alive."

Harry let out a sigh of relief. That was always good news. "How long did you say you estimated her to be in this state?"

"About a week, Your Grace," repeated the doctor, now scribbling something on his clipboard as he checked some of the monitors around the Duchess' bed. He absently tapped the IV drip connected to her left arm. It seemed to be transmitting some sort of clear liquid. After looking at its steady flow for a second or so, he scribbled something else on his report. "Assuming, of course, that nothing goes wrong," he added as he wrote down his observations.

"Meaning?" asked Harry, suddenly extremely nervous.

"Coma patients, even Gifted ones, are extremely delicate, Your Grace," explained the doctor. "We must keep them under constant supervision," here he nodded to a nurse who just walked in with a replacement bag for the drip. "One problem we usually find with comatose patients is potential deterioration of their mental capacities if adequate care is not kept."

"What do you mean?"

"Coma patients of your wife's scale, being unable to take care of themselves, require constant attention. If we were to ever stop, the Duchess could easily starve, dehydrate, and/or fall into a deeper coma."

Harry paled. "I see. I hope you'll spare no effort to make sure that doesn't happen?" he asked, a menacing note in his tone.

The doctor gave the Duke an assuring smile. "Of course, Your Grace. She's not just precious to you, after all," he reminded him.

Harry looked confused. "What do you mean?"

The doctor smiled as he turned and grabbed a clipboard hanging from the wall behind Ginny's bed and passed it over to Harry. "That's the visitor's log"

Harry's eyes bulged as he saw nearly nine pages worth of signatures—some even being scribbled outside the charts! He recognized some of the names, too. Neville and Susan had been here at least four times each, and Wolf and Sharpe had been here twice. The rest, he recognized as various members from the former Royal Northern Army.

A few names, in particular, however, snapped his eyes back up to the doctor. "Doctor…" he said slowly, "do we have any visitors on board?"

The doctor smiled at him. "I wondered when you'd find those names," he mused out loud. "They're in the visitor's quarters on deck two," he informed the Duke, only to look up and see that he was already gone. The doctor chuckled as he went back to his inspection. He knew he'd told the Duke not to leave, but he also knew that to stop him would have resulted in his own prolonged stay in the medical bay.

It took Harry a good thirty minutes to reach the Visitor's Quarters. He'd surprised quite a few people on his way down, including Neville and Susan, both of whom had come with the Imperial reinforcements once the call had been received in Harrisburg about the Queen's danger.

Once Harry reached the desired door, he quickly banged on it repeatedly, ignoring the cries from within to wait. Eventually, the door slid open to reveal an irritated Sirius Black, who looked about to shout at whoever was banging on the door when he caught a good look at his potential victim.

"Harry?" he whispered unbelievingly.

"Sirius!" cried Harry as he launched himself at his presumed-dead godfather.

Sirius let out an unbelieving laugh as he hugged his godson for all he was worth. "Harry, it is you!" he yelled happily.

Harry laughed as he returned the hug, laughing madly in happiness.

Eventually, the two men broke the hug, though both were still grinning widely. Minutes later, however, Sirius realized the scene they were making in public and quickly ushered Harry in, smiling the whole time.

As he led Harry through the narrow hallway that led to the small living room, Sirius bellowed, "Remus! Joachim! Get your arses in here!"

Harry looked wide-eyed at the revelation that more of his family had survived. His grin widened as he saw the fair-haired werewolf and his former aide-de-camps enter the living room. Both men were looking at Sirius curiously for a moment, not recognizing Harry immediately, but then dropped their jaws as recognition finally hit them.

"Harry!" cried Remus as he ran forward and grabbed his surrogate nephew in a tight hug. Blackthorne merely smiled brilliantly as he looked on.

Once Remus disengaged from the hug, Blackthorne stepped up and offered his hand to Harry, who laughed as he shook it.

"Always the professional, eh, Joachim?" he asked laughingly.

Blackthorne merely smiled as he nodded and, using his free hand, made hand signs. Harry looked at him confused just as Blackthorne's eyes widened in realization. The older man turned to Sirius and rapidly signalled him.

"Oh, that's right!" exclaimed Sirius as he slapped his forehead. "You were never told!"

"Told what?" asked Harry.

Looking at Blackthorne sadly, which the Portuguese-descended man returned with a glare, Sirius explained the man's accident and consequent loss of speech. Harry merely gave his former aide a manly hug and promised to learn sign language as quickly as possible. Blackthorne merely smiled amusedly.

The four men chatted away the afternoon, with Sirius, Remus, and Blackthorne looking astounded at the fact that the Northern Duke, the Field Marshall of the Imperial Army, the Restorer of the Throne, and the Head of the Imperial Armed Forces were all the same person—Harry.

"I mean, I knew you were good, kid," explained Sirius. "But damn!"

Remus and Blackthorne nodded. Harry had always been a prodigy at the Academy, but this just ranked him up there with geniuses like Caesar and Alexander the Great.

Harry smiled somewhat abashedly. He could take a compliment from his peers, but he'd always get embarrassed when his family complimented him. Sirius, seeing this, grinned gleefully.

"Good to know something about you is still the same!"

All four men laughed at this. Soon, however, the talk turned to more serious matters.

"Harry, your parents and siblings will want to see you," Remus told him. The three men had previously informed Harry of the survival of the rest of his family, but wisely decided to omit the existence of his daughter until Ginny was conscious once more. Harry had been ecstatic at the news.

"I know," Harry told the older man. "I'll make arrangements for them to be quartered aboard the Anchorage while their Visas get approved."

"Not the Retaliation?" asked Blackthorne through Remus, who was interpreting.

Harry shook. "All civilians are banned from military ships under the new Military Security Act," he told them. "You lot are a temporary exception since Her Majesty had the men bring you here."

Remus rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I see," he mumbled while Blackthorne took on a similar thoughtful look. Sirius, meanwhile, looked bored at the turn of conversation.

"What can you tell us about the Death Eaters?" asked Sirius, trying to get back to more interesting conversational routes. Remus and Blackthorne rolled their eyes at him.

"They've been strangely quiet, with the exception of this half-baked attack and a few other skirmishes," Harry told him. "We're frankly getting worried."

"Are you allowed to tell us this?" Remus interpreted for Blackthorne. Harry smirked at them.

"Not really, unless I was summarily drafting you for the military," he told them nonchalantly. All three men widened their eyes. Harry chuckled. "Not to worry. I'm not that mean. And anyway, most of this is on public record."

All three looked relieved, making Harry laugh.

Near Stonehenge, in a man-made cave, a shadowy figure cackled insanely as he made preparations for a very particular ceremony.

"Soon…soon, master," cackled the figure as he stirred the solution inside his cauldron. " Soon, you will rise once more, and I shall serve you, as I always have!"

Nearby, an intricate urn with the Potter shield engraved on its front glowed ominously black.