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Handfasting a Solider

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The Boy Who Lives triumphs again!!

The Daily Prophet - Les Tenpeker

The brave soul, whom we know as Harry James Potter, under the direction of Dumbledore, has triumphantly taken back our great society!!  Vanquishing the evil soul who we once knew as the Dark Lord, formally a simple man named Tom Riddle Jr.  This twisted excuse of a man was able to cultivate and infiltrate the most upper crust of our society; twist our steadfast traditional beliefs into some mangled mania.

Now with this great stain upon our society has been removed, the people under the Ministry of Magic’s direction shall rebuild and become prosperous surpassing our days of the Empire!


The reign of terror has come to an end, The Boy Who Lives triumphs?

The Atlantis Post Jurgisr Mikos

Greek newspaper

Hogwarts, a formal haven for children to learn the craft and lore of Magic, grounds have been desecrated in blood. "Headmaster" Dumbledore’s, who self-proclaimed Hogwarts quote: “Safest place in Britain outside Gringotts”. This “safest place” fell to the followers known as Death Eaters, who prayed on the innocents and the non-magical. However, a reckoning that hasn’t been seen within its borders since Merlin fought Morgana, all matters of Beasts native to the Forbidden Forest, came to the aid of the students forcibly turned to child soldiers.

The final battle between the dissident bestowed the name You-Know-Who, a.k.a. self-proclaimed Lord Voldemort and young Lord Harry James Potter came to pass.  It was bloody, brutal and luckily for this once is esteemed enclave the child won.

Diagon Alley is most burnt out with all but a few shops open.  Both Hogsmeade, the only magical village in Britain and Hogwarts received heavy damage at this time the death toll is currently unknown.

Where were the authorities and adults in this fight?


Reconstruction of the British Enclave has begun all the able-bodied are asked to lend your magic and a helping hand!!

The Daily Prophet – Les Tenpeker

For much more than a century, The Daily Prophet has been an integral and important part of the Great Magical British Enclave.  We with the Ministry of Magic are calling all able persons to help in a reconstruction of our great society. Let us come together as a people to wipe out the terror, injustice, and destruction that shortly reigned upon our streets, homes, and hearts.

Donations dedicated to constructing a commemoration of the fallen are still being received from around the world.  The Ministry of Magic is thankful that others outside our great country are thinking of us and sending in aid.


The Reconstruction of the British Enclave

The Guardian – Eric Aldo

Spanish newspaper

It seems that the call from the Ministry of Magic has been answered by the small population. Many are working towards a brighter future. After all, so much horror has been felt that maybe the Gods will look favorably upon the people of the British Enclave.

Hopefully, lessons are learned, the right people are put in place to govern, long heartfelt grievances will be forgiven and misguided beliefs abandoned. In this society, as a whole will be able to heal and move on from this devastating time.


Has the British Enclave learned any lessons? - a look back

Nuevo Dia – Lyneue Orella

Venezuelan newspaper

It has been ten years since what is now called the Half-blood war in England. The ill-prepared Ministry of Magic was seized by a fanatical pureblood group who took the name Death Eaters, their leader was known as Lord Voldemort, the birth name Tom Marvolo Riddle Jr. A charismatic half-blood who easily stoked their fears of any change in society would undermine their power. Their scapegoat: Muggleborns. The magical societies outside Europe deem new-bloods. For eighteen months these terrorists established bigoted laws to tear the society from the inside out.

Many old families, from both sides of the war, whose lineage could be traced back for generations were snuffed out. To this day it is still undetermined how many Muggle (No magi) were traumatized and or killed. The global magical society saw the British Enclave go mad.

Not much has changed. Many of the anti-no Magi and sentient magical creature laws have yet to come off the books. Forcing many to relocate to a more prosperous open-minded enclave or return to No-Magi society as a whole.

The mass exodus has impacted economically, socially and culturally.

Should we use the British Enclave as a cautionary tale?  Once applauded as traditionalists now are considered stalwart isolationists. Those who refuse to move forward in thinking discarding detrimental views and actions have become stagnant. The old guard still controls the government thus old habits still run unchecked. Disenchantment is rising with no end in sight especially for the next generation.

It seems a wake-up call is needed for this magical society.  I hope dear readers, it will not be a new Dark Lord who does it.


Marcelino with Paulina Granger sit in the study contemplating the news articles and letters from Hermione’s contacts, each was read and reread until each word was memorized. Paulina stood and went into the next room looking for their daughter. She found Hermione sitting in the breakfast nook gazing outside onto the Moroccan rooftops. For a moment a mother gives her daughter support by caresses her head, placing a kiss on top of her head.

“We will get through this together as a family.”

A masculine voice joins hers "We will never abandon you, Duchess."

The tension in Hermione's shoulders lessens.

The day they found out Hermione is a witch was bittersweet.  The unexplained occurrences could be laid to rest and maybe their little one could find acceptance with children her age.

Sadly, it wasn’t found, Hermione has always been a practical girl.  She earned it honestly between them.  Dreams are fine, you would use them to push boundaries and create ideas.  But just to leave things or actions without thought was just asinine. Paulina’s mother, Ophilea would say “Common sense isn’t so common.” 



Well, it seems the turmoil never stops and it’s what, only six years after the Massacre of Hogwarts?

There were too many disturbances left unchecked and unreported, that negatively impacted the total populace. Crimes that reeked of the supernatural and cocked up coverups pointed straight to Wizardry.

It seems that there was an old decree that the Ministry of Magic was to contact the Prime Minister for support in the time of crisis.

Of course, that went over like a lead balloon.

It seems once the Ministry was able to contact the Prime Minister, he gave the new Ministry staff three years to give a total briefing of what happened. When the Ministry didn’t and tried to play politics and ignorance, he had no choice but to turn over evidence to the Royal Crown.

The cheeky bastard!

Unlike our government the King's men swiftly and oh so efficiently pieced together the total picture of Riddle's madness.

If it was not so pathetic, I would laugh. It seems all this time the Crown kept an eye on us.

Can you please tell me how the Wizengamont forgot we are under the Royal rule?  This, of course, has not come out yet. The investigation is being whitewashed as an audit and being swept under the rug.

Seriously, some are buying this tosh!

The howling Niffler


Dear Hummingbird,

I don’t know if you heard.

The British Wizarding Broadcasting Corporation was taken over by the Crown. The Prime Minister gave a blinding speech on bringing the Wizard world forward.

And I have to say it has been one of the best programming, I have ever heard. A grand majority of the shows still on the air but the news. The news has actual facts!

I guess the daily Prophet actually has to be on this P’s in Q’s.

The speckled badger



No one speaks of the growing mass exodus.

Jobs are not being filled within and outside the Ministry.  Important roles like Potioneers, Healers, Clerks, Aurors just to name a few.  Our numbers were small before but it shrinks more after every graduation.

Slowly the Crown has repealed a great deal of old dusty, obscure and intolerant laws. Both MoM and the Crown hope this movement entices Muggleborns to stay.

Our economy doesn’t look good.

There, of course, is a weak resistance with the old guard complaining of the loss of steadfast practices.

Did you know that they buried yours and quite a few others NEWTS? It may be a moot point by now but I thought you may want to know.  Such coincident high-ranking candidates left, escaped, fled the Reconstruction.  What do you think as a bi-line?

England’s great loss is the world’s gain – Bright minds escape being tied

Ministry NEWT granted subjects scores never made it light!!

All those with little connections chose to leave behind menial positions and dead-end jobs!

 (Tap the parchment twice for an early edition.) 😊

Howling Niffler


Dear Hummingbird,

Such delicious things are being kept very hush-hush.

The Royal Crown has stripped all purebloods their titles. Graciously the Crown offered a way to keep the titles.  It involves heavy fines, reprocessing fees, and multiple research fees. To ensure the ‘said’ titles were empty and can be ‘legally’ bestowed.

Some thought the gold was going into Muggle pockets. Quickly it was found it went straight into the Reconstruction funds, coincidentally monitored by the Goblin Nation. No other party is allowed access.

The nerve! Such distrust!  Serves the tosspots right!

Valid (born on the right side of the blanket) magical Pureblood births have dropped dramatically. A majority that venture to the continent or abroad for ‘likeminded matches' are being treated as pariahs and rejected. Even the craftiest buggers dare not cross too many lines.  

Justice has been swift and lasting. Such a concept?!

The old bloodlines are dying out while new bloodlines are increasing.  Grumblings from the old factions speak of a ‘Marriage law’ to preserve the bloodlines.

The old guards are now desperate and gaining ground.  Desperation leads to dangerous things…

The speckled badger


A majestic looking owl taps its beak against the old stained-glass to get the occupants' attention. After a few moments, the windows open and the claws are heard as it hops in... 

Chapter Text

A pile of parchment litters the once neat breakfast nook.  Bustling around the kitchen collecting the wine Paulina huffs. Then shoves the pile into a folder moving it off the table in disgust.

“The halfwits!  Didn’t they learn from the last campaign of asinine ideas?!”

Hermione finishes putting the deserts on the service trays, then levitates them to the dining room.

“No, they can’t see past their 19th century nonexistent faux aristocratic bloodlines into the 21st century.”

Marcelino shifts the plates and cutlery in agitation, then helps his wife open the wine before placing in the middle of the table within reach of their guests.  “Just a bunch of pedophiles taking youthful wives and husbands to prove their virility, the tossers.”

Chucking and giggles fill the areas people seat themselves at the table.  Six in all, some of whom left England shortly after their graduation.

Patrice Twycross a pureblood clerk in Regulations and Control of Magical Creatures, “You are not too far off there.”  Taking a healthy swallow of wine, “I got it from Cassandra Wetherton in Wizengamot Administration Services some of the letters were being tampered with so choice pairing could be made.”

Shaking his head, Cemoyre Mellin a half-blood clerk in the Ludicrous Patents Office, “It hasn’t gone through Wizengamont but they are already having people creating the scheme of the pairing calculations. I have a cousin in the Portkey office has it on authority it will go through no later than this time of next year.”

All shake their head in disgust before tucking in.  After a few bites, Hermione cuts through the banter, “We know they won’t stop.  Those who didn’t take Riddle’s brand but sided with the rhetoric are still entrenched.  The righteous Order of the Phoenix is just going along it-- How do we save ourselves?”

Paulina holds her husband's hand looking into his eyes.  Taking her cue, he sighs, "Why don't we look at this from a non-magical view."

18 months later

Senior staff representing each department was in attendance within the chamber of Wizengamont. Pureblood families were voicing their grief against the ones in charge. Each shouting their own opinions over one another, creating such a commotion an aggravated Kingsley’s sent up sparks to shut everybody up.

It has been many days since he has had a good night’s rest since this resolution has been drafted. “Let the floor recognize Dreues Brafyne.”

A tall man of forgettable aristocratic features stands to take the floor. Turning he addresses the Wizengamont; “Today we come together in an emergency meeting because our society is once again in crisis.”  Pausing to fortify himself. “We are dying society; each generation has become smaller. Our once teaming streets have been to the point of an almost crawl. Children’s laughter is hardly heard now, not because of fear but of absence. Enrollment into Hogwarts has dropped so dramatically a grand majority of the classes are empty. Our population, ladies and gentlemen, haven’t seen this drop since the ‘Black Plague’.

The numbers do not lie ladies and gentlemen. We will not last another generation and if we do not act now. It may seem distasteful now however, we guarantee our society has survived.”

Resounding applause is heard. Kingsley and the others shake their heads in grief and remorse. For history will deem this act as the first step to the extinction of British Enclave.


The Procreation Act has passed within Wizengamont

The QuibblerStacy Collins

For quite some time whispers of enforcing a ‘Marriage law’ floated around the Ministry of Magic.  Many thought it was just grumblings of the discontent is now a fact my dear readers.  It will impact all able-bodied British Witches and Wizards age 17 to 64.  All unmarried candidates will be carefully paired to ensure magical children.  Matches can be prearranged or negotiated, however, once contacted the selected must comply within six months or face the penalty of a broken wand and expulsion from the Wizard World. 

It seems another fine decision like the Muggleborn Registration Commission of 1997 is now on the books of the Ministry of Magic. Full disclosure is found on page 4.


In the lurking shadows, the few that worked behind the scenes for the forced magical baby boom, by any means necessary gloated in the victory.  Blinded by success opposers were left unchecked as several plans of preemptive counter strikes were set in motion. 

Not all will be lost.  People were tired of sacrificing and shedding blood for a society of sycophants. 


A week later…

A group of young Aurors quickly make their way to the latest emergency meeting.  Since the enactment of the “Procreation Act” picketing against the law has been seen in various places within both the Ministry Atrium and Diagon Alley.  This was unprecedented in a society used to compliance from the masses.

Many in the ranks couldn’t understand why the Wizengamont refused to let people just live their lives. Some have refused to enforce the arrest for non-compliance, some went as far as quitting, negatively impacted their numbers.  Civil unrest is on the rise, many still remember those dark days, didn’t they suffer enough?

Six months after the Procreation Act was ratified…


The deadline for the ‘Procreation Act' has now passed. – Now what?

The QuibblerGervese Huston

In the last six months, there has been a whirlwind of marriage announcements and bonding ceremonies, credited by the Ministry of Magic.  Big bold venues shouting unity and equality.  Reaching across blood status lines to ensure a greater society. Although a grand majority are between pureblood and pureblood raised half-bloods.

Do they also take credit for the rise in suicide rates or the exponential increase of domestic violence?

Many ‘sanctioned’ matched couples that have quietly complied are now being touted as fine examples of the society. 


An anonymous Ministry worker confirmed there are 260 matches on the books.  140 have been confirmed; ten were renegotiated. Twenty are pending for the bride/groom to reach their majority.  Leaving ninety pairs still pending.  Does this mean we shall see our first explosion or Ministry enforced bonds in the future?


Chapter Text

Seven months after the Procreation Act was ratified…

Ladies and gentlemen on today’s broadcast of Empire Service we have the advocate against the ‘Procreation Act’ Ludovicus Hildebrand and the father of the ‘Procreation Act’ Dreues Brafyne.  I am your host Aliss Helyssent.

“Now gentlemen this is a very sensitive multilayer topic that many are discussing not only in their homes but in the pub and out in the streets.

Why was this act passed?  Why the strong-arm tactic to ensure marriages?  Lastly, what doesn’t the public know that Wizengamont does? I would like Mr. Brafyne to start.”

“Aliss, let me just say thank you for having me on the show to share the Ministry findings.  As you and the audience know there has been a severe drop in the enrollment at Hogwarts.  What wasn’t shares is how severe, this year there was only forty children admitted.  Four from pure-blood families, six from well-respected half-blood families the remaining from new bloodlines.  This is unprecedented, Healers from St Mungo’s has projected since the rise of the two Dark Lords.  We have lost significant numbers in our population and we may not exist in a mere generation.  Now I know many are resistant to the idea of a contracted marriage.  We come from a rich history of traditional unions that have given viable magical births.  There is no reason why this tradition should not be carried on this time of need.”

“Your response Counselor Hildebrand.”

“Thank you for having me on the program.  Your information on the enrollment for this year’s Hogwarts is correct Brafyne.  However, there are many children whom cannot enroll to the predigest Hogwarts due to non-transfer policies.  Then there is the financial factor, tuition which incidentally favors parents who are aware of magic.  There is a sliding scale for tuition payment but only to those who enroll their children at birth.

Now let’s address the contract marriage.  This practice was shared in both the magical and non-magical communities.  However, it’s considered a very outdated practice by many muggles.  Muggles and Muggle-borns are prone to marry at a later age, wanting to ensure they have the financial means to raise a child in comfort.  Children are expensive and it is irresponsible to have them without means.  As of to date there are no tax breaks giving couples incentives to have more than one child.  The Ministry is casting a needless burden upon the community.

Finally, tradition.  The ‘Procreation Act’ itself is an affront to our most sacred values.  The union between husband and wife is a family matter, not a MoM matter.  This act presses family to united under dire circumstances.  I don’t know about you but I was raised with the belief there is to be harmony within the household.  The husband role is to protect family and treat their wives as a treasure.  My mother was taught her role was to respect her husband’s strength, maintain the household, raise the children, all the while knowing her husband’s strength is to be relied on, not feared.  This act attacks our moral beliefs we hold so dear, Aliss. All to ensure not only a pregnancy but to quote Brafyne, ‘one with a viable magical birth.’  Last time I checked any healthy pregnancy and birth in any community viable. The horrific history of Riddle is being repeated, this time on a large scale sanctioned by the Ministry.”

 12 Grimmauld Place, Islington, London, England

Turning off the radio, all within the receiving room digest the debate. Sighing heavily Harry turns to some of the remaining Order of the Phoenix members, “That just planted many seeds.”

A platter of sandwiches floats by each guest as Winky brings in the tea cart.  Ginny’s head rests on the back of the couch parallel the second couch accompanied by George and Angelina.  Agitated Angelina settles their plates on the coffee table.  “I didn’t know about the tuition scale.”  Molly paused “I thought that was common knowledge.”  George rolls his eyes, “How would a Muggle know to register their magical kid, mum?” 

Huffing, “That’s not the point George.”

Resigned Angelina replies “It is, Molly.  That close-minded thoughtless, that constantly enforce the cultural gap in the first place.”

Molly begins to retort.

Kingsley cuts to the matter at hand “Look we can debate all day but there is an issue that must be addressed.”

Harry nods in agreement.  “The missing seventy.”

Rolling the amber liquid in his glass, Arthur contemplates “The exact numbers and names were kept under lock and key.  How did the Quibbler of all papers get that information?”

Ginny looks over at the group, “What happens to them?  Breaking their wands and throwing them out of the Wizard World seems counterproductive.”

Neville answers with a bark of disgust “They will go after the most influential ones and ‘pursued’ them to come back and do their duty for the “greater good’.”   Many in the room flinch at Neville’s venom, “We all know who they want, the icon of Muggleborns and one-third of the ‘Golden Trio’, Hermione.  These people will use any means to find her and break her, believing the rest will follow.”

Kingsley, “I refuse to have a kangaroo court.”

George raises a brow, “You know they won’t ask permission.  It will be the classic ‘ask for forgiveness later’.  All the while Hermione will be used as a broodmare for some tainted rich pureblood.”


Angelina sneers at Molly “Please, is that outrage for Hermione who is already sold to the highest bidder to be raped until she breeds?  Or for the rest of the population in the same predicament.” 

Molly stands wringing her hands nervously, “Look I know it not the best solution but we are so close to dying out.  We need the numbers, I am sure that the goodwill out way the bad.  We have enough influence to make sure Hermione will be placed with a light family.  Children can pull people together in the end.”

The room grows deathly quiet, “Mother you agree with this?  Forced breeding?” Quickly turning to Percy, “No, but what can we do?  There is so little of our people left.”

“Why am I not surprised.  Still believing Dumbledore’s philosophy.  Muggleborns need to be lead. You’re a damn fool, Molly.”  Turning back to Angelina and George in anger Molly sees George restraining his crying wife.  Molly has never seen Angelina in this state before or George’s shame in his eyes.

Forcing Angelina to face him, George hugs her close, murmuring in her ear then pushes her towards the fireplace to leave.  In the coldest voice, anyone has heard from the normally jovial man, “I promised never to let anyone make my wife cry.  Before any more words are said know this Mother.  Don’t come to the house or shop for a very long time.  Don’t expect any of us at Sunday breakfast.”

Arthur looks at Molly contemplating, “You crossed the line there, Molly.  A line that can’t be taken back.  I think you forget Angelina is muggle-born.  Their children although half-bloods are considered of good breeding stock.  I’ve already received explorations for contracts.  For the greater good of the community.”  Molly’s polar becomes deathly pale as she sits heavily, with watery eyes. “Go home, Molly.  We’ll talk later.”

Tea is quickly replaced with Ogden from the cellar. 

The floo activates letting Ron walk out of the green flames “What did I miss?”

 On the other side of the pond…

The first-class action suit against a Magical Government

Magical Village VoiceAlexander Q. Palmer

Well brothers and sisters of the now free world, the Ministry of Magic (MoM) has made the media once again.  For those who don’t know the British Enclave has suffered a massive drop in their population.  Between a massive migration and low birth rates, it doesn’t look good.  In an effort to stem this problem the “Procreation Act” was implemented.  Long story short all British Wizards and Witch within child-rearing age are being paired to ensure a magical baby boom.  If a pairing doesn’t comply they wands are broken and kicked out of the British Enclave.

Yes, they went there.

Warin Alderman of Palwin and Ingeram Law Firm is suing for human rights violations on the behalf of six new blood families.  An anonymous source revealed more are pending in the English Crowd’s court. 

For the first time since MoM’s inception, the common people have collectively spoken. 

Interesting enough hard evidence of ‘pairing’ tampering has come to light and into both the ICW and UME hands.  Documentation and photos show nine old family’s schemes of bribing officials to tamper with the pairing selection.  The better the social status of the candidate the higher the ‘processing fee’. 

Magical Embassies around the world are seeing a sharp increase of British born witches and wizards seeking asylum, which are being granted as never before.

Smart people, they got the hell out of dodge into countries that been clamoring for a fight with England for a long time.

Fight the good fight!

 Brafyne Estates, Bedfordshire, England

“How in the fuck are these people being accepted with open arms in the most anti-English embassies?! It usually takes months to years before a decision in a refugee case is made.  Every single fucking case is being fast-tracked for asylum!  This is a fucking embarrassment!” 

Dreues Brafyne was vibrating with anger, all their careful planning.  Hiding, bowing and scheming as the Dark Lord reigned terror.  He knew it wouldn’t last, the man was powerful but clearly unstable.  Dreues kept his head down, digging deep into the Ministry.  Although a pureblood he didn’t have the coffers like Le Strange or the influence like Malfoy.  He knew secrets that would ensure his rise and his bloodline to survive.  A few placed whispers and pointing in the right direction.  The remaining ‘Sacred twenty-eight’ were so easy to bring to his thinking.  Ensure the existence of their noble bloodlines, by any means necessary. 

History can be easily re-written. 

Mudbloods are so easy to dispose of.

Chapter Text

Chasing down sightings and rumors from all over the magical world they finally found the Mudblood.  Almost four years she somehow avoided his best Snatchers but he wouldn't be beaten by a tainted slag.  He heard the rumors of her greatness, but he saw nothing to substantiate the claim. Some did advise layoff, she was protected.  What would those creatines know? Lowborn with minimum intelligence their mediocre magic only saves them from being muggles animals.  His coffers were going to overflow by 15,000 Galleons.  Gathering the reports Dreues pulls Hermione's most updated picture.  She has filled out, long dark curls, glowing brown skin from the Spanish sun. After all the trouble he went through he may take a taste before handing her over.

Beneath a nondescript office building in the coastal city of Nador, the Magical Cabinet of Morocco (MCM) is in mid-session.

Grimacing Judge Cherkaoui slams the gavel.  “I have heard both arguments for the approval and denial of admitting these British citizens seeking asylum in our country.”  Looking over his glasses he ponders on the case before him. 

These people, standing before me, seek refuge to escape a marriage law.  Normally, I would agree to a marriage contract, they would have been regarded as scandalous for disregarding societal obligation.    

But! But many within this group are survivors of that ridiculous British Half-blood war.

At the cusp of becoming adults, these individuals took responsibility for warriors and fought for their very right to exist. To breath, think, be worthy!  There is no greater cause than to shed blood for countrymen.  Instead of given praise for their sacrifice and valor they are demonized as cowards that are fighting against a just system.  Each brings a skill thus, a stronger standing in not becoming a burden to the country.

Glancing to the side of the room, a small cloister of men and women, an assortment of people, who normally wouldn’t cross paths due to different creed and status.  Put aside their differences for a common goal, to take each expat into their homes.  The British Enclave were fools.  The Moroccans understand and respect fierce devotion is not to be discarded but savored.

“Permission granted.”

From the side of the chambers, the small crowd crows in delight.  The gravel hits again “Out, out I have other cases to hear.”  Quickly many of the refugees join the group then spill into the corridor to be greeted by another more official group. 

Cameras flashed and microphones were shoved into the faces of attorneys, Giovanni, and Natale Buscema. These powerful, highly paid men were known for representing the elite of both the No Maji and Maji.  It was widely known their law firm had a very personal grievance against the British Enclave. One sparked by one too many British pureblood hands greased to escape charges pressed for heritage theft, rape, murder the list goes on.

Fate brought together the most interesting people together.  High-quality Pro bono was good for the social status of the law firm and the community. 

“Giovanni! Gervese Huston from the Quibbler.  Can you tell us what is next now that you were able to ensure these British refugees’ asylum?”

Flashing his signature smile he leans closer the reporter with a gleam in his eye “I must say that I am proud to see a reporter of your caliber is willing to write the truth in your country.  We of Buscema Law Firm are ecstatic that our great country of Morocco, has opened arms to a rejected people who have so much to offer not only in knowledge and skill but loyalty.  Child soldiers that fought amid such chaotic times and leadership.  These children who shed blood for freedom, now adults are being targeted by the same government they fought to establish for the "Greater Good".  They deserve the right to live on their terms not has chattel." 

“Eric Aldo, The Guardian.  Will you reach out to your constituents at Palwin and Ingeram?”

Natale boyishly grins, “Why what a splendid idea!  I am sure they would welcome more resources to bring this deplorable law to a sure and quick end.  Now please let us through we have clients who would like to celebrate their new status as Moroccan citizens.”


The small café was teeming with activity as Harry Potter entered unnoticed.  He watched as the people chattered in excitement.  After witnessing another approval of asylum, Harry and his team weren't keen on confronting the group.  Especially with so many reporters around. So, the operation was revised, to keep it under the media spotlight and he was ordered to bring Hermione in himself.

Alone, no backup to spook her.  Maybe she would, he hoped she would understand.  Given their history and her need to please authority come quietly.  His once sister in arms, confident and friend.  He knew it was wrong to use their friendship, but he had to seemingly uphold the law and flush out to her ‘assigned’ spouse, so with Gryffindor courage, he moved in on his target.

People stepped aside as he moved forward.  Hermione sat by the wall, chatting with some unremarkable men with black robes, a third was contributing to the conversation just off her shoulder.

He hasn't seen her in so long, but she seemed so happy, glowing even.  But she needed to come home where the Order could protect her. Here it was too open and foreign.

On the other side of the room, Attaché Asira Davin watches the Grangers work the room.  Each target small cluster of people with assuring gestures of comfort and smiles.  At first, the attaché thought this assignment was a demotion.  The group was so unassuming, she may even say dull.  None were of any status, simple people fleeing due to Human rights violations. 

Before she knew it, a man, maybe an admirer, tried to accost Hermione Granger.   Before she could blink every wand, carrier had their weapons out pointing to the man that was thrown to the floor by the local Maji. 

The poor sap, M’Baku was going to have his spleen.


Sub-Basement of the café

The festivities were coming to an end as the patrons began leaving.  Soon the courtyard in the back of the café only had the workers were seen cleaning up and putting the tables and chairs away.

Lead Auror, Harry Potter sits in the storage room wondering where he went wrong. 

Yeah, it went pear-shaped the moment he decided to go after Hermione. 

The door opens behind him, three pairs of footsteps are heard before coming in front of him.  All men of dark complexion dressed in traditional muggle clothing stand with blank faces.

The man speaking was approximately sixty years, salt and pepper hair and beard with a London accent “I know you don’t remember me, boy.  It has been almost nine years since we meet on the Platform.”

Anger laced through Harry at the term ‘boy’ but he set it aside.  Looking closer Harry can’t seem to place the man.  “No, I don’t.  Look, I’m sure that we talk this out.  I can ensure that I can keep your involvement from my superiors.  Your impeding on a case for the British Enclave.  I need to see Hermione, she’s in danger and I need to get her to a safe place.”

The other two men stayed silent as the speaker took a step closer to Harry.  “I don’t look in the least familiar?  Not around the eyes or lips or chin?”  Shaking his head in disappointment.  “Duchess did say you tend to go with minimum intel but fully cocked."

The man smirked “You’re here to take her to safety?  The fucking arrogance, Dumbledore’s doing?  Let me give you a quick rundown of what will happen.  Pictures of you attacking a female British muggleborn after the verdict of the MCM admitting British refugees will be in tomorrow’s international early edition paper.  The first set of pictures will be the chaos you created has already gone viral.  The mid-morning edition will identify most of the party-goers, the late-night edition will show a very pregnant Hermione Jean Granger cowering from her once best friend, Harry Potter.”  

Harry paled not only from the implication it was created against MoM but also the news of Hermione pregnancy “She is ok, right?”

Sneering, “Auror Potter, Hermione is a strong woman even in her condition.  How should she react to the boy who she helped saved countless times, and always stood by his side come to forcibly take her back to the country that would sell her to the highest bidder?”

Shaking his head in denial “No, I won’t let that happen to Mione.  Look let me talk to her, I’m sure she would understand.”  

Raising a questioning eyebrow, the man waits for a further explanation.

“Look there was, uh, is a plan to keep her safe. Once she set foot in England the public would know who is her match.  Now things changed.  When it is known she complied the Ministry can't touch her.  All she needs to do is come back to England and the charges will be dropped.”

Letting go a long sigh “You are a fool boy.  Let me spell it out.  By quietly disappearing, the most prize Muggleborn defied the Ministry. The Ministry wasn’t able to use her as an example of fine Muggleborn compliance.  Now she has reappeared with a bang, meeting the requirements of that damn law your enforcing.  All without Ministry involvement.  They cannot control her bloodline or money; her accomplishments will not be credited to MoM.  She out of their reach, unlike you!”

Harry nearly flinches at the man’s words.  “Look it wasn’t easy for any of us after the war.  We moved on in our lives and lived it the best way we knew.  Hermione left to find her way and we went along with it.  The act blindsided us but we still believe in the system.  If she came to us, we would have kept her safe.”

“You think as if you had a choice in Hermione’s life, boy.  So, I call on your bullshite Potter.  She was safe but then you never thought things through have you Auror Potter?  When has that girl ever done anything without thinking and planning?  When she was ready, her whereabouts would have been ‘leaked’.  A compromise would have been settled between governments. A quick news conference for photo opportunities.  All would have been forgiven.  Yet, a certain green-eyed boy and his band of fuck wits just bollocks that plan.  Wanting to keep her safe!?  Where the fuck, have you all been these last fifteen years?!  Now, you tosspots, come to save the day? “

Leaning forward, “Tell your superiors and the Order of the Flaming Chicken, Hermione Jean Granger is protected by the Order of Malta.  Any move against her or her family will have dire consequences.”

The men turn to leave, as Harry sits stunned.  “Oh, and Harry, my daughter has no words for you or the others that abandoned her.  Also, she always hated that damn nickname.”

The door closes leaving the young man to realize his mistakes.  Blinking several times, he bends over in grief and sobs.

36 hours later - The British consulate, Morocco

At the back of the consulate, the night guards change for the morning shift, an expensive SUV quickly drives by, dumping a body bag that comes to a stop at the gate.  Cautiously the guards find an alive slightly bruised person inside. 

Azhaar al-Kamel was not a man that tolerated people who carelessly broke rules.  Governments are to civilize the savages and the rule weak.  Men of social status and means created them to control the masses.  He was one of many who ensured this order was maintained.  A man weaned on negotiations and closely guarded secrets.  al-Kamel understood sacrifice and had his share of dubious decisions to ensure the British Enclave was kept secret at all costs.  In front of him was what he considered a waste of space and time.

British Hero, Lead Auror, Harry Potter was unceremoniously dumped on the sanction grounds of Magical Britain like trash.  The paperwork alone was going to be a nightmare. 

International papers are already circling pictures of ‘The Chosen One' amid a festive celebration lunging at a very pregnant muggleborn icon, Hermione Granger on Moroccan soil.

The debriefing is going to create a shite storm.

All before fucking breakfast.

It was a smooth ride on the Bugatti.  Looking from the side Hermione watched the scenery speed by.  Her mood was melancholy, her heart was breaking.  She knew the possibilities of MoM sending Harry, it was their best bet to get close to her.  Hope against hope she thought he would refuse, the little girl in her still yearned for the skinny little boy she called ‘brother'.  She winced as the baby moved, causing her to shift and rub until she settled.  Her baby girl would be ready to see the world soon.  Another shift against her lap, a mewl, and snuggle.


“Yes, Idris?”

“Are we there yet?”

The pilot chuckled, "No, little one, we won't reach Wakanda for another thirty minutes."

 Attaché Ce’Athauna Asira Davin, sat across from Hermione smiling.  She has only been in the presence of this woman for mere hours and comes to deeply respect her.  Watching Dr. Granger whip the crowd into a well-oiled machine was interesting.  Within a half an hour her family with the help of the refugees managed to pull off a contingency plan with flawless determination and ease.  Hermione inspired trust in her quiet command even the seasoned Malta Maji listened.

That sealed Ce’Athauna decision to allow her into Wakanda, present Dr. Granger as a refugee and start the paperwork for this small family to become citizens.

M’Baku loves babies.  She’ll let him talk to King T’Challa.


Chapter Text

Wakanda – J’Abari territory, Gorilla City

“Now why has my cousin, brought an outsider to my throne?”

 “To spice up your life and give the other tribes’ soothsayers a headache.”

 Knowing her input wouldn’t be welcomed, Hermione watches the bantering between M’Baku, Chief of the J’Abari Tribe and his cousin, Attaché Ce’Athauna Asira Davin.  Soon fatigue begins to set in, making it hard to ignore the constant aches and pain of pregnancy.  Mindful of the guards flanking them, holding Idris’ hand they move to sit on the side bench.  Looking at the hard surface, Hermione tuts then conjures padding, sitting with a soft groan.  Idris scrambles to next her, rubbing her stomach.  Looking up Idris loudly whispers “I’m hungry, momma.”  Chuckling Hermione opens her tiny beaded bag and pulls out a container twice its size.  Peeling the top open she starts to feed her son sliced apples and peanut butter.

“Do you always ignore people in the same room, Dr. Granger?”

 Looking up with a wane smile Hermione shrugs, “You haven’t acknowledged my presence as costumed, Chief M’Baku.  So, I sit and wait for your questions.”

 M’Baku tilts his head “Tell me why I should go to the King on your behalf seeking asylum?”  Sighing wearily Hermione faces the one man that may be able to help her, “I am fleeing from a dying enclave selling off its people as breeding stock.  I am what the controlling party, the purebloods, an anomaly of the norm.  A witch born with no known magical bloodline or knowledge of magic that should be dumb as a doornail and twice as thick.  A pitiful creature that should be happy of any attention a pureblood would give.  Instead, I outstripped many of my peers, both magically and academically.  I come with financial backing from the magical world.  Hold titles and have access to long-forgotten knowledge and bring good tiding from brothers and sisters of the North.”

 “We are of old traditions here in Wakanda.  We have been hidden in plain sight for centuries, shed blood for our people.  It looks as if you just run away from a duty to your country.  Not worthy of our protection.  I have no need for weakness especially from a child of a lost tribe.”

 As M'Baku sat back the structure trembled, the glass surrounding the throne becomes thick with ice. Guards quickly position their spears towards the witch and her child, softly Hermione whispers "You should speak wiser Chief of J'Abari, for you know not of my pain and suffering at the hands of those who deem themselves my betters.  I am a product of war.  This child soldier is not one to be easily dismissed or ignored.  I come in peace and expect to leave as such, but I will not stand to be disrespected."  In sequence, the guards rush her, only shrink into juvenile pigmy apes, their spears wilts into flowers.  The hanging decor becomes spears pointing directly at the chief and attaché.

 M’Baku, snickers looking down at his guards turned apes trying to get snacks from the boy, “What other talents do you have?”

 Ce’Athauna sighs in disappointment, “Next time turn him into the ape.”


 Royal Palace of Wakanda – a week later

 Placing the tablet down, T'Challa looks over to his mother and sister, "Dr. Granger has impressive credentials plus her references are interesting, to say the least."

 Queen Mother, Romanda, shakes her head in agreement, "I do not like the possible ramifications.  From what I see she has abandoned her country.  She may also disrupt our magical community with her ways." 

 "Mother, she didn't run away, she escaped.  Dr. Granger's generation fought at such a young age, needlessly.  Instead of becoming a lost generation, they became productive members of society.  We barely see that in our neighboring countries.  Now the British Enclave asks for more from their people without regard to the consequences.  She is the only one requesting asylum here.  Also, she has traveled and studied in different Enclaves, she may have contacts that we may use."

 T'Challa raising his hand to quell the argument between his mother and sister, "What did Nakia’s sources find, Shuri?"

 Scrolling down she murmurs the highlights, "The Grangers have strong Iberian lineage but are British born by several generations with dual citizenship in Spain. In the last fifteen years, Dr. Hermione Granger has obtained masters in Transfiguration, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Potions.  She has patented several Potions that assists cursed wounds and helped improve Wolfbane.  The Grangers have helped start several mix magic and nonmagical clinics around Europe. Now, this is where it gets interesting.  They are members of the Malta Order giving magical leniency.” 

 Perplexed Romanda voices the question, T'Challa wanted to ask.  "What makes that interesting?"

 " Each clinic has been magically warded to the teeth. The wards not only protect the land and building from different types of destruction.  Each individual who crosses into the wards is instantly recorded and tracked until they leave. Her wards can filter through any magical disguise, such as the Polyjuice potion or Animagus.  If a person is blacklisted from a site, they are instantly ejected.  If necessary, cast out to the nearest holding cell of the local government.  Her wards are very popular with the Slavic Enclaves."

 All in the room was impressed.  "Remind me what is her specialty as a doctor."

 "Brother, she is an Orthic doctor, specializing in musculoskeletal injuries and related disorders.  She can work with my team, I'm sure to find something for her to do if she is interested in expanding her work."

Romanda taps Shuri’s knee, “Her children, what of them?”

 Shuri scrolls further after a moment she chuckles “Oh, I like her style.”  Looking up Shuri explains, “Let’s say if Hermione were caught.  She would tie up the British Enclave courts for months.”

 Romanda pokes her daughter “Stop stalling, explain.”

 Shuri giggles, “Hermione circumvented the ‘Procreation Act’ by being artificially inseminated.  She fulfilled the spirit of the law.  Having more children.  She has one child and a second on the way meeting the minimum requirement.”

 Romanda points to her children, “That is why she seeks asylum here, she knows we can protect her.  In other countries, she would need twenty-four hours of protection and yet still be at risk.  Here there is no separation between the magical and nonmagical.  No Statute of Wizarding Secrecy.  Our society is closely knit and would recognize an outsider.  She could potentially have a normal life here.  Does she have a request on where she would like to live?”

 T’Challa answers, “J’Abari tribe.  Isolated with minimum technology a perfect place for her and her children.”

 Shuri grins, “Did I mention I like her style?”

The royal throne room – Same day Mid-morning

 Shuri stands next to T’Challa, “The last agenda for today’s meeting is the request of asylum by Dr. Hermione Granger and her family formerly of the British Enclave.  Please bring in the doctor and her child to the Throne room.”

 The twin doors open admitting a very pregnant curly-haired woman and four-year-old son in matching brown and green Kaftans. After both sat to facing the council, T’Challa spoke.  “After careful deliberation with the elders of the Tribal Counsel wish to speak to you before we make a decision.” 

 Hermione looks at each elder then nods her head.  The Queen Mother spoke, “Will you take an oath in exchange for shelter in our land? Will a mage of your caliber take an oath to serve Wakanda and observes its laws?”

 Hermione responds in Xhosa “I, Hermione Jean Granger, swear that I will be faithful and bear true allegiance to Wakanda and observe its laws, if given shelter upon its land, so mote be.”

 A gentle breeze ruffles everyone's clothing as the sunlight bent into the shape of two large panthers circle the witch and child then proceed to the king only to disappear.  Power was felt by all within the chambers, a blessing was made.

 M’Baku smirks as the others are stunned, “Remember she’s living in my tribe.”

 Refraining from rolling his eyes T’Challa speaks “After looking at the evidence and urgency we grant you asylum and hopefully future citizenship.”

 Seeing Hermione’s expression, T’Challa asks “Is this not what you wanted?”

 Hissing in pain “Yes, ecstatic.”  Nudging her son towards M’Baku, “My water just broke.”

 As Mercury appeared in the night sky, Noelle Simone Granger, 8lbs 8 oz, 19 in, was added to the Wakandan population.

Six months later

 After two years of data gathering, reconnaissance, bribery, and chasing lead the international operation comes to an end.  Selling body parts on the Black market is a very lucrative business, generating millions of dollars each year.  Super serum-induced body parts made in small quantities makes billions.  

 A small number of men and women including Ayo and Bucky disembark the Talon fighter, all are expressionless after the operation in Croatia.  Everyone knew the mission but sometimes knowing and personally seeing was different.  The intel revealed a terrorist group was raising money by selling the salvageable body parts of the Winter Soldiers Zemo killed. 

 There was more to the story, babies up to a week old were also included.  Each body infused with super serum, ready to dissection for shipment.

 After extracting the needed data, the team collectively vaporized the facility and its occupants.

 No one was left alive including vegetation.

 They triple checked.

 Sometimes the evils that Man can achieve is profound and the punishment is seldom dealt.  On a few occasions then must be by swift through hand.

After a full checkup, Ayo and Bucky proceeded to T’Challa’s office for debriefing, the guards look amused as they opened the doors to pandemonium.

 Both the Merchant Tribe and River Tribe shaman were up in arms.  It seems a prank was committed towards them and they demanded satisfaction.

 T'Challa looked resigned as the Queen Mother was cooing at a child in her arms.  A woman with wild hair, wearing Gorilla Tribe colors were looking out to the night sky.

 The River Shaman B'Tumba, "We demand respect for our position.  This child has made a mockery of tradition and should be punished accordingly!  This woman refuses to do so."

 “This woman has a name Shaman B’Tumba of the River Tribe.  Dr. Hermione Granger, mother of the child you wish to bend to your will.”  The woman near the window turns, patting an infant’s back gently.  Her golden eyes are fathomless, her British upper crust voice crisp, “Idris is four years old, and holds no ill will towards either of you.”

 “The boy deliberately changed our clothing.”

 The Queen Mother questions, “What exactly is changed, I only see your traditional robes?”

 Both move the cloth draped over their shoulders.  The embroidered figures begin to wave then stop and repeat.  Both T’Challa and Romanda eyebrows rise.

 “Seriously? You are harping on the thread on your scarves moving?” Hermione rubs the bridge of her nose. 


 The child on Romanda’s hip perks up.  “Yes, momma?”

 “Remember not every picture should move?”

 The golden-eyed boy nodded "Yes, momma.  Some can see others can't.  The ones that shouldn't.  Can get scared when they see it."

 “Correct, now why did you make Shaman B’Tumba and Shaman N’Baza pictures move?”

 Idris innocently smiles, then looks confused, “To help tell their stories.  Do I do bad?”

 All the adults look at the Shaman with annoyance.  Hermione gently corrects Idris, “Did I do something wrong?  No honey, but you have to ask permission first.”

 Scrunching his face, Idris then nods. “Down please.”  Just as Romanda bends to place Idris down, he gives a quick kiss on her cheek.  “Thank you.”

 Chuckling the Queen Mother releases him.  “Your welcome.”

 Darting in front of the shamans, “Sorry, sirs.  I only wanted to help.  You tell great stories!”  Scrunching his face again, a purple flash later the embroidery stops moving.

 Both men huff, they became annoyed when their magic couldn't remove the enchantment. Now they look just petty in front of the royal family.  “I take this matter is now absolved, gentlemen?”  Both men look to the Queen Mother, both nod in agreement.  They would need to maneuver quickly to regain their reputation.

 “We may have taken offense too quickly.”  Sighing knowing it took a lot for these stoic men to say that much T’Challa relieves the tension.  “I understand it will take some time, but I am sure we all will come to a working relationship.”  Then proceeds to lead the Spiritual leaders out the door.

 Seeing both Shamans, were no longer looking at him, Idris wonders over to Ayo and Bucky. 

 Idris loudly greets them, “Hiya, Miss Ayo.  Who dis? Another warrior?  You look sad.  Need a hug?  Momma says a good hug helps a lot.”

Chuckling at the young boy’s rapid inquiry, Ayo bends to Idris’ level, “Hello Idris. Remember your inside voice.  The man next to me is a warrior.  His name is Sgt. Barnes.  Yes, a hug would do wonders right now.”

Gathered in Ayo's arms Idris tries to give his best hug.  Then turns to Bucky, peering at him.  "Can I give you anything?"

 Perplexed Bucky nods.  Idris pulls something out his pocket, holding his hand a red button.  Just as Bucky reaches over the boy’s hand a small flash of purple turns into an agate bead.

 All but Bucky chuckle, it was not the first time Idris performed this feat.  All the members of the Dora Milaje have a stone bead from the boy.

 “I don’t know you.  But Miss Ayo says you are a warrior.  Warriors need good things.  Now you have a happy bead.”

 Surprised Bucky looks at the bead, “Thank you.”

 “Come on love, I’m sure Miss Ayo and her friend need to see the King.”

Scrambling down the boy darts back to his mother.  Bidding everyone good night they swiftly exit.

 T’Challa settles down, “Now tell me what you have found.”

Late that night in Shuri's Lab beneath Mount Bashenga

 A notice blink on Shuri’s screen.  All files retrieved from the Croatian facility was decrypted.  Quickly

Shuri funnels a majority of the files to her team.  Pausing additional files open.  Not believing the information she runs several tests.  Then cross-reference.  Twice.

“Well shit.”

Chapter Text

Shuri stands beside her brother as they disseminate the information uncovered. 

Various doctors’ meticulous notes told a tangled web of dark medical history, the application of the Super solider serum.  There were only four soldiers were known successes.  Three Americans and one German. No similarities were found between the men; therefore, a template to recreate the serum’s success was mute.  Each batch created was based on stolen partial notes and the determination to prove Man was greater than the Creator.  Each failed experiment once dissected, scrutinized then discarded was later sold to fund other experiments.  In the 1970s reproductive experiments were explored.  For three decades both sperm and eggs were harvested and implanted.  All accounted samples were sent to different facilities across Europe and Russia, none of the children survived. The mothers eliminated, bodies cremated.

Here is where the records became inconsistent, the sequence was off, a sample was missing.

“Brother, do we share this information or bury it?” 

Six months later

Bucky sits close to the village shrouded by the twilight.  Sitting high in the trees the heat seeps into his pores.  Rubbing his left shoulder, he ignores the phantom pains of where his left arm should be.   Here he is a man marred by war, a survivor trying to balance the realities of the present with the specters of the past. 

Shuri and her team have been a great help both physically and psychologically.  In return, he acts as a third party when the Wankandan tribes are unable to be involved or as helping hand.  The realist in him understood what was being invested in him. Talents and skills like his are a valuable commodity, tools of war, this time he can be used to balance the scales. 

Each mission kept his body prime, reflexes sharp and his mind focused on the moment. Pushing aside the ongoing issue of his fragmented mind is still piecing together memories like a puzzle. Some would arise with clarity and fit into its space.  Others dig like sharp slivers with jagged edges into his psyche before absorbing into the picture.  

Weeks would go by as he continuously work his body into a calm state, trying to avoid his triggers.  But it doesn’t always work and the haunting echoing screams of those bastards’ missions would awaken him.

This will be the cycle for the rest of his life.  Control his triggers or be controlled.

His eyes focus as the echoing pain fades as the faint pulse of…something.  A tender coaxing feeling, welcoming, secure.  Curling around him, soothing his twitching skin, unknotting his tight muscles, easing the aches of his bones then recede into a longing. 

This hasn’t happened since his mother passed.  Something she could only do when he or his sister was severely stressed.

Closing his eyes as he raises his head towards the stars baring his teeth, his faint core pulse with a yearning response. 

Flipping the Kimoyo beads, into his hand and rotating it, praying for guidance, his fingers press against the agate bead, three scents fill his senses.

'Indian ink'



Blinking, Bucky stares at the lone semi-precious bead. filled with innocence.  A gift from the magical child he met in T’Challa’s chambers. A black, white striped fire agate. Properties; helps clear emotional pain, ideal for focusing and alertness.  He wasn’t naïve to believe in coincidences.  Maybe his heritage wasn’t so useless after all.

Under the same sky

Across the country situated in one of the tiered valleys of the J’Abari mountain range the village, Indlu Endlwin, the oldest community of the tribe was now the home to the Granger family. 

Leaning against the window frame Hermione watches the snow gently fall. 

This land calls so sweetly, beckoning with open arms.  Take root, settle down, make it, Home

Then there was the sensual prodding of her aura. 

Teasing her to take notice.  Like a strutting sleek predator, headbutting her for attention.  Not prickly, harsh or demanding, ready to take and leave behind nothing in its wake if not acknowledge as hinted by Molly. Nor did it feel as the energy would swell and become domineering as explained by Tonks.

It did not twist mercilessly with an impertinent energy to conquer, well not in a destructive way. 

This was a profound feeling, genuine, and dark, so vastly dark, whispering, faintly leaving lingering scents of freshly mown grass, parchment and...

Hermione closes her eyes, breathing deeply, separating the notes of the phantom scent, ending with a wanting sigh.  Her whole body trembled with anticipation.

Oh, the moon and stars above…

The bite of iron or metal.

The primal call, the Elders in Peru would say.  All magical beings are attuned to find the most idealistic mate to produce the most well-balanced offspring. 

Nature is a sadistic force when not acknowledged.  It can be ignored or suppressed to hide it.  But it will have its way. 

If not properly heeded then consequences will be paid.  In blood, flesh or mental anguish. 

One of the main suspected reasons magical the birth rates among the British Purebloods have dropped since the 1940s.  Man’s need to control nature always ends deadly.  Selective breeding based on political standing and wealth is standard practice within the elite, true magical matches became nonexistent.


Hermione didn’t want to make the same mistake as the dimwitted and bigoted.  But it was hard to submit to her instincts and trust another outside family.  History etched that mistake into her skin and taken some of her sanity.  Making her so cautious especially now with the children.

Looking at the horizon, the tendril of his call ends in a sorrowful pulse, causing her to ache in response.  Closing her eyes, she prays, pushing her magic towards him slowly so not to cause alarm.

She has trusted her magic so far.  It saved her from madness and those whom would do her harm.  Now was time to find her mate.

Noelle happily squeaks as Idris tells his sister of his day at camp.  Hermione's eyes roam their home.  Magic is building waiting for an anchor.  She couldn’t be put off any longer.

Three days later

Clad in traditional Wakandan clothing of the Golden Tribe, Bucky ventures from one city to another.  Taking the train line, he watches the passing landscape; his instincts pulling him towards his witch.  He wasn’t stupid, the call and response started manifesting since she gave birth a year ago. Only after her son gave him the bead was he able to put the pieces together.  Dr. Hermione J. Granger was his, so were her children by tradition. 

Considering her reputation, he may need to take a blood oath. 

Around the age of ten, his mother and father sat down at the family table and told him all of their family histories.  He and his sister, Rebecca, were second generation squibs. 

His father, George Morven Ó Bearáin, came from southern Ireland, his mother, Winifred Ceana Swancott, was from Wales.  Both were born with little to no ability to wield magic. His parents were proud of this great heritage but warned him of the many prejudges they would face.  Their families didn’t abide by the old belief to kill or abandon squib children.  Kinfolk was few and precious, therefore, treated as such.  To avoid persecution each was sent to American relatives with altered names with the hope one day their descendants would return.

Be wary of blood magic, artifacts or those who used wands.  Like their non-magical brothers and sisters, there are good people and others who wish to do them harm because of their blood status.  Those were usually the purebloods who had forgotten the true way and are now being corrupted by the imbalance.

Magic is a mysterious force that can seem benevolent or malevolent, in its natural state.  If fought or deliberately delayed lasting devastating consequences will be felt by anyone involved.  

Should he ask Shuri what happened to his sister? No, it would be best to leave things be. The genius was still a teenager, impulsive and too nosey.

The train bell alerts the passengers of J’Abari Station, stepping on to the platform Bucky watches the flow of passengers as the train departs for the last stop, ‘The Northern Gate’.  The station set on the far side of the small trading town of Mbali, Bucky wandered about appreciating the robust marketplace.  Intel was easier to get in such a place.  Soon he found several accounts, rumors, and innuendos of his witch. 

Within the first six months of settling in the J’Abari territory, ‘his witch’ quickly acclimated herself with the Elders. Injecting the tribe with funds also helped quell the possibility of being perceived as a burden.  She took the little ramshackle of a stone house and magically renovated it scaring away the lingering ghosts that occupied it. Smooth talked just about every Mason of any tribe within fifty miles to create works of arts for the terrace and steps.  The women of the tribe heard this and not to be outdone, presented their best works. The tiny, cheeky English female calmly invited them in for tea and bought every piece, defusing the situation masterfully.  From them, she found there was a need for a tutor for the tribal children.  Taking on that role helped further immerse herself with the people. Of course, Bast blessed ‘the foreign witch’ but of all the tribes she preferred the most ancient, the Gorilla tribe.

If half of what he heard is true then she’s a sly one and could adapt.  Good, then a one-armed, scarred solider should be easy to accept.

Quickly he gathered some supplies for his trek further into J’Abari Territory and his witch. 

Within the Chilling Mist foothills

“Aneka, remember falconry is not about dominance.  It’s training to hunt between Man, with bird and canine. It’s not your will over the beast but a partnership between predators.”  Twirling the line far enough to entice the young adult golden eagle named Dew to strike the lure with each hit Hermione gives praise and reward.  This is repeated as Aneka sits with her Redtail buzzard, Taz. 

Within the foothills of the J’Abari mountains Dora Milaje trainee, Aneka and her nieces, Nareema and Zola along with the Granger children sit within the encampment watching Hermione train.  Aneka wanted to study falconry but it was a lost art in most of the tribes.  Except for the Gorilla Tribe, they specialized in wolf-hunting eagles. Considering their isolationist ways, it was a slim chance for her to find a Master willing to teach. If it weren’t for Hermione’s shipping manifest raising a flag, set of falcons, vultures and a trio of wolves. She would have never known Dr. H. J. Granger was a registered Master Falconer.  The Golden Tribe was able to convince M’Baku to trade her services for a future favor. 

M’Baku was more of a political animal then many gave him credit.

The piercing cry of a golden eagle echoes as Hermione whistles putting the bird through the paces with the passing of the lure.  “Is Taz taking it on the fist yet?” 

Shaking her head in denial, Aneka responds, “No, not yet. He hasn’t eaten in almost four days, and has dropped some weight.”  A juvenile golden eagle perched on Anek’s fist flitters as she strokes his feathers and talons, keeping his attention on the meat in her fist while getting used to being touched and around humans.

Completing the exercise with Dew, Hermione places the bird on the curved post.  Stroking Dew’s breast, “I’m positive Taz will today.  Once he does work on have him land on the fist tomorrow then the lure.”  Calling over to the children Hermione has them each pet and describe the different parts of the bird.  Then sends them back to the tent promising more lessons after her hunt.

Stepping over to the larger birds, the bone breaking Bearded Vultures; Mauve and Kemp.  Cooing Hermione takes their hoods off, and unties their leashes. “I’ll leave to children to you then.  Reed will stay with you.”  The golden mountain wolf perks up at the sound of his name bounding over for attention.  Hermione laughs as the large wolf scent marks her then step next to Aneka.  Settling Kemp back on his perch she watches the sky then turns walking past the tent where the children play giggling as they pounce and rough house.  Up the hill far from the camp, she whistles then shout.

The birds take off as two adult wolves dart up the hill.

While trekking through the wild Hermione watches for telling signs of prey.  Long ago while on the run half starved, losing hope and purpose she grew past the boundaries set by the adults.  There without the influence of ‘civilization’, Hermione found the reason why the men dismissed witchcraft.  It composed of offensive skills.  The British were comprised of such a stagnate ideas, just accepting the what was deemed traditional; a woman’s purpose to make men comfortable.  There were so many details of a woman’s role.  It involved more than using incantations to soften the material for comfort, strengthen the stitching so it didn’t fray. Make nourishing meals and calming drinks. Hermione smiles at the last train of thought.  The last took longer than the others. By ignorance or design during their run, it fell to her to find food, a place to hide then place camouflage wards around the tent.  The wards feed on nature itself, making them virtually invisible by the naked eye and scrying spells.  Communing with nature with different terrain at the speed they were forced to run was not done.  She had to flex an unknown magical muscle under constant duress for a solid year. 

So many years later her call to nature became seamless, it could explain why Molly wanted her to marry Ron.  Molly saw her potential as a mate to Ron.


Crouching down the breeze pass over her.  Something was coming and it wasn’t all good.

Settling on the hoverbike rental Bucky scanned the skies, far in the distance birds dip and disappear into the foothills.  A few times he swore he heard a howl or two on the wind.  A two and half hours ride from the station towards the river, he felt a need change direction directly to the foothills.  More birds flew over his head, the hairs on the back of his head rose. 

Something was coming this way.

The echoing call of 'gwoks' caused the witch to pause, a male Verreaux's eagle-owl call, in this part of Africa?  It should be in a dry savanna or semi-deserts. A second call echoed a female this time. 

‘A breeding pair?’

A third answered another male just a few meters to her left, perched high cocking it head watching her.  From what she could see it’s a beautiful creature. The facial disc is off-white, with a broad blackish rim. Eyes are dark brown, with the upper eyelids being bare and pink with ochre eyelashes. The bill, pale creamy-beige with a dark grey base. It's coloring, pale grey-brown, with fine whitish marks which are darker on the fluffy ear-tufts.

'Its body wasn’t built for this cold rocky climate.'

'Two males one female.'

'Curiouser and Curiouser.'

Hermione’s eyes narrow, paranoia has been a friend for far too long to dismiss this anomaly. 

'The buzzards were tracking deer when they veered off, the wolves followed.'

'For now, she is alone.'

Taking her glove off she tucks it in her belt slipping small wooden disks into her hand, without thought she threw them in three directions as she darted towards the nearest target. The shattered disk activated a 10-meter anti-Animagus and Apparition/Portkey wards.  Now all Animagus were forced into their human forms, unable to escape by Apparition or Portkey.  A forced shift from animal to human was a painful jarring experience.  Hermione knew there was a short window of opportunity, these people should be unbalanced and dizzy.

The eagle-owl dropped to the ground morphing to a masked bounty hunter on bended knee scrambling to stand, not a moment later his target leaped knocking him onto his back.  His body jerked as her blade sunk into his chest severing skin, nerves, and muscles, nicking bone straight into his heart stopping only with the hilt pressed against his skin. Pulling the blade out, blood flows from his mouth with his last gasp.  Quickly rolling off and taking cover the witch listens, body leaning forward, legs bending to into a crouch before then darting towards the next target. 

Male screams were heard not far ahead as canine snarls followed.  Just as Hermione came to the scene she was hit with a dart.  Hermione cursed herself, ‘Must be the female..’  She stumbled as her muscles began to weaken and vision became blurry, ‘F*ck, paralyzing poison.’  A spell hits her back, locking her arms and legs, Hermione topples face forward. 

The female bounty hunter watches the wolves render her partner to pieces as she quickly found the portkey to activate it.  Turing the target over, she suppressed the urge to break the witch’s jaw.  Sneering she knew not to hurt the woman.

Errant brides were to be brought back with little to no harm.  Punishments were to be given by the bride’s family or husband, not strangers.  In the background flesh being torn as the crunching of bone was heard, the screams faded and the snarling increased.


Startled the bounty hunter turns facing an unknown man, quickly recovering to lunge the man counters by sweeping her feet from under her causing her to fall.  Quickly grabbing her head, as his knee snaps up forcing the nose cartilage into her brain, killing her.  Dropping the body, Bucky tends to Hermione.  Figuring the dead woman was a witch from her wand, whatever she hit Hermione with should wear off soon.

Eyeing the large iron ring with suspicion he grabs a nearby branch knocking it off her chest.  Unnoticed Mauve and Kemp silently watches the man handle their witch.  The wolves move in a crouched position as they lick their bloody muzzles baring teeth.

Bucky eyes the wolves pulling his knife cautiously moving forward, placing himself between them and his ‘witch’.

Bearing his own teeth, he murmurs, “Ty ne mozhesh' yeye. (You can’t have her).”

Above Kemp releases a high-pitched trill.  The wolves bodies slacken as they huff and whine sniffing the air, backing off. Behind Bucky, Mauve glides down next to Hermione, shaking its tail feathers causing the attached bell to ring.  Bucky turns throwing the knife towards the sound in a single motion.  Kemp snatches it out of the air as his mate hops on the witch, making the bell ring as it walks repeatedly up and down her body. Dropping the knife Kemp settles next to her face making soft trills. 

Not sure what just happened Bucky stood for a moment, looking at the two set of predators.

A set vulture acting like mother hens over his witch and a set of wolves large enough to rip his arm off darting about trying to look cute and cuddly.

Resigned they were no threat, but allies or pets to his witch, he walks back trying to contact Shuri.  The signal couldn’t get through, he would suspect from the high concentration of magic discharged from the others.  He would need details of what happened once Hermione woke up.

Noticing the bird on the ground pulling a cord on Hermione’s neck he leans over gently nudging the bird over to help.  A small medallion pulls free of her clothes, both vultures open their wings as the wolves dart over, Bucky rubs it with this thumb.

Both vultures let loose high-pitched trills.


The surviving party disappears.

Chapter Text

M’Baku with his generals watches their new British-born Magi warrior work seamlessly with the sons and daughters of Wakanda.

His countrymen were out for blood, she had the respect of many for one reason. Pride. Pride is the core of one’s charter which should not be easily sacrificed. Dr. Hermione Jean Granger, humbled hers to ask a well-known insular nation for help, not for herself but for her children. While in their care she was personally assaulted and nearly kidnapped, to become a forced bride. There is not a slight against their honor this was a direct assault to it.

Again, this foreigner has made a lasting impression on all who have come to know her; she laid no blame. Taking the permeant assignment of Stg. Barnes of the Golden Tribe to her family and a rotation of others in stride. Instead of screaming in outrage and despair, Dr. H. Granger sheds her civilized persona to be the warrior she is known to be. Ruthless and unstoppable, but most importantly flexible enough to change course to reach her goal.

Total annihilation of her enemy.

M'Baku taps the table holding the magically induced image of a forgotten Temple of ‘Bal'. It was based on the descriptions from their network as well as pictures of missing women, Hermione managed to produce through secured unnamed sources. All nod in agreeance "It seems we have come to accordance with the strategy and the execution." Shifting, a broad smile spreads on his face. “Now let’s talk about it your ability to meet the elders’ requirements to accompany the soldiers assigned. They are well-seasoned crew, and as your skills are known." He raises his hand waving to the rest of the occupants, “Well the rest of the elders of the tribes need to gage your experience.”

Hermione’s head tilts just so as the corner of her lips slightly curve, her eyes go at half-mast. Placing her hands on the table she appears to be at ease, non-threatening almost docile. None within the room believed it. “Shall we begin before or after you leave, Chief M’Baku?”

It is a sight to behold, the spells thrown at such speeds were certainly impressive. Each pulsed with ferocity crossing and colliding, the colors were beginning to tread towards the danger zone of attack as the males threw spells at her then one another. It was a deadly dance as it escalated, each male wanted to prove their worth as Hermione danced between the colors.

His wife, Cebisa, sighs as she stands by his side, “We really must find her a husband.” Taken off guard he looks to her. She smiles as a mischievous gleam alights her eyes. “She has made quite the stir since the birth of Noelle.”

Tilting his head M'Baku listens, surprisingly there were several subtle inquires on their doctor and her children. Strong strategic alliances, through marriage, would benefit the tribe greatly. "Before we move to the next stage of this operation. The elders of all the tribes wanted to see a demonstration of her combat magic."M'Baku heard what was not being said.

Tread carefully this could go cockeyed quickly.

Now it made sense why the female battle majis left the room.

M’Baku sighs as the men begin to drop, during the elimination process, their doctor twirl and coos in delight. Some start to doubt her sanity. Then a stray spell singed her hair.

Reed whimpers as he drops to the floor, covering his eyes with his paws.

They heard Bucky in the background, “They are sooo.”

Hermione’s eyes narrow, beads begin to pop off her braids.


 The city of Turbo known for its majestic temples. Towering structures of faith cast shadows of comfort to their followers of conviction. In a decrypted alley, the stone pathway broken and forgotten leads to a crumbling temple, gently flickering light peek from the cracked boarded windows. Gently the light moves in a hypnotic motion, suggesting of serenity. Little would the observer know it was a small controlled inferno within the base of the oldest slave dens in the city. Slave Trade is as old if not older than the city itself. Others would take place in the power vacuum but the message was clear. Trafficking British brides brought the not fury of the Gods, which would suggest justice. No, this was attack steeped in pure revenge; brought by those made of the flesh and there was no mercy. The body count was high, cages torn to pieces, shackles once adorned the captured now laid on the ground useless or imbedded in empty husks. The once pristine halls that house terror and misery, became the tomb of the oppressor, for nothing moved, man, beast or insect just the sway of smoldering Fiendfyre consuming the guilty.

Magic is a force of nature many misinterpret, as it is not weak or unfocused, it predatory and direct. The line of good or evil is a conception of man. It easily consumes foolish chasers and rewards strong-minded. There is always an exchange in the attempt to harness this force of nature. Some call it a price other wisely call it a trade of sorts.

The children of Wakanda, never forgotten their lesson in the struggle of life or magic. They came to harness this deadly knowledge revering the never-ending cycle life, for there is no beginning or end. Wrapped in all that alive and dormant, acceptance is the key to balance to this chaotic world. By this, they survived the colonization of the continent and grew into independent, powerful blended magical/ no magi society. Outsiders are not entirely unwelcomed in this tight-knit society, laws, and customs were held with the highest regard. If broken in the slightest retribution is felt instantaneously.

It doesn’t take long for the aftermath of the attempted kidnapping of the honorable Dr. Hermione Granger was known. Many saw it as an aggrievance against a Wakanda’s citizen. Which was met with such a swift force. The goddess Wadjet, took notes. Unlike some, this government protects it people.

Phase 1 completed