M*A*G*I*C* 4077 - Kgfinkel - Harry Potter (2024)

Chapter 1: Welcome to Korea

Chapter Text

M*A*G*I*C* 4077

Welcome to Korea

Korea 20 September 1952, Mobile Army Surgical Hospital (MASH) 4077^th, Colonel Sherman T. Potter’s office, about 2pm

Colonel Sherman T. Potter sighed as he reached for another form. He’d just arrived at this camp yesterday morning yet it felt like he’d been here for years.

The office he was working in looked like any other barebones office though it did have a couple of personal touches. Along one wall was a row of filing cabinets, another wall held a dusty window that overlooked the camp, the third wall had some pictures of horses and familiar scenes while the fourth wall held shelving filled with various items. A sturdy office desk was situated in the center of the room in front of the ‘picture wall’ and it was at that desk that Sherman toiled away.

The scratching sound of his pen was the only noise in the room; outside, his company clerk was moving about doing his job while outside, the distant thumping of artillery could be just made out.

His office door opened to admit his company clerk, a young 19-year-old teen by the name of Walter “Radar” O’Reilly as the lad strode in armed with yet another stack of forms and such. Sherman sighed when he saw it, “What have you got there, Radar?”

“More requisitions for replacements of food in the kitchens, sir. I Corp never sent the shipment of beef the cook requested so tonight’s dinner’s going to be Spam again.”

Sherman made a disgusted face, “Yuck.”

Radar nodded sympathetically, “Yes, sir.” He quickly gathered up the previously completed paperwork and started to head out the door. His footsteps faltered which caused Sherman to look up, “Uh-oh…”

Sherman didn’t even have a chance to open his mouth to inquire what the problem was when the bombs started exploding in the camp.

19 September 2002, Ministry for Magic, Department of Mysteries, Director Croaker’s office

“I’m just saying sir, I don’t need to be taking along a rookie to go pick up one fugitive.” Director Croaker shook his head and tuned out his senior Hitwizard as he led the way into his office.

“Bobby, I’m not sending him with you. I’m sending him instead of you. How else is the rookie supposed to get experience, hmm? Besides, this ought to be a doddle for him.” Croaker sighed as he sank into his chair. “You ought to know that after defeating Voldemort, a prisoner transfer ought to be a simple matter.”

The senior Hitwizard, Bobby, paused; his face was puzzled but it cleared when it became obvious as to who Croaker was sending in his place, “You’re sending Potter? Well, I guess…”

Croaker smirked, “I thought so. Go grab him and tell him he’ll need a long-term kit then on your way back, grab Granger from her office and tell them both I need to speak with them.”

Bobby nodded his understanding and left to complete his assignment.

When both Granger and Potter arrived, Croaker nearly laughed at the comedic timing of the pair trying to get into his office at the exact same time and getting lodged in the doorframe. “Come on, you two. We’ve got a lot to discuss and not much time to do so. Potter, I’m sending you down to Australia to oversee a prisoner transfer. It seems that your old adversary from Hogwarts is up to his old tricks again and when things got hot, tried to disappear into the Australian Outback.

Harry Potter, aged 22 and newly recruited Unspeakable Hitwizard, dropped his head and groaned, “Which idiot am I picking up? I had a lot of adversaries at Hogwarts.”

“Draco Malfoy.”

Harry’s groan turned to an aborted cough, “Perfect. For a moment there, I thought you were going to say it was Weasley.”

Croaker snorted, “That twit couldn’t find his way out of a brightly lit room with a clearly marked exit sign.”

Hermione Granger, department researcher and newly turned 23 today, rolled her eyes and shook her head, “Have I mentioned recently how glad I am that you decided to ditch him back in first year?”

Harry gave her a wink and a kissy face, “Only every time his name is spoken, my love.” She half-heartedly swiped at his face.

Croaker cleared his throat, “As amusing as this is, I want you to go with him, Granger. That new Portkey you and your team have been developing could use a field test to shake out any bugs.”

“A new Portkey?” Harry inquired.

“Well, actually it’s the same calculations we’ve been using since the late fifties but this time we’ve included Time Turner dust to shorten the amount of travel time going over long distances. As with all Turners, one flip of the hourglass sends you back one hour so with a trip that would normally take eleven hours via muggle transport should take less than an hour with this new method. Unfortunately, we’ll need to make multiple jumps.”

Harry’s face was a picture of confusion as he tried to interpret Hermione-speak into regular English, “Ookay, sure…”

Croaker handed him the prisoner’s file, “You have the kit already?”

Harry nodded as he quickly flipped through the file’s contents, “Yes, sir. All packed and shrunk. When do we leave?”

“Right now is as good a time as any; I’ll even let you Portkey out of my office.”

Harry tipped him an imaginary hat and turned to Hermione, “Shall we, milady?”

Hermione rolled her eyes as she stood and looped the chain over his head, “Five turns, five hours for the first leg.” She took the knob between her fingers and counted out the turns and let go. Just as the otherspace magic started to envelope the pair, there was a sudden power surge from elsewhere in the department. The glow of transport immediately took on an unusual hue as the pair vanished from sight. The floor seemed to groan and heave weirdly before settling down.

Croaker grumbled and rose from his chair, “Those idiots in Section 31 had better not be messing around with the power converters again or there’ll be Hell to pay.”

Fate is a fickle Mistress. Some would use the term ‘bitch’ to describe her vagaries. Whatever her motive, you just knew that someone was either going to win big or go home in some manner of distress.

Harry was leaning towards Fate being a bitch again. Why it always involved him, and Hermione to some extension, he figured he’d never know. The power surge that occurred right as they were leaving altered the Time Turner dust by boosting their temporal connection to the magical ley lines that encompassed the Earth. It also changed their direction in both time and space. Instead of heading towards India and making a slight adjustment south to land them in Sydney, Australia; they were rerouted north to the small village of Oijeonbu, South Korea fifty years in the past.

KA-BLAM! BOOM! “GET UNDER COVER! ATTENTION ALL PERSONNEL, STEER CLEAR OF THE COMPOUND!”

Another titanic blast of kinetic energy was released as the maelstrom of otherspace magic dumped Harry and Hermione in a heap on the dusty ground. Judging by the noise, the pair had crash landed right in the middle of a battle. Training kicked in as Harry grabbed Hermione’s arm and half-dragged her behind a wood wall and ducked as dirt rained down upon them.

“What the Hell happened?!” Hermione screamed over the noise.

“I don’t know! It was your device. We’ve got to get to safety wherever that is!”

“Hey, you two! Get inside! Come on!” The pair swung around to see a worried looking older man wearing what appeared to be a pair of scrubs in white poking his head out of an open door and gesturing quickly. They dove inside and flopped up against a desk and sighed in relief as the door shut.

“Thank you for the assist, sir.” Harry wiped his face and glanced around, startled at the seemingly primitive conditions, “Where are we and who are you?”

The senior man of the group looked at him strangely, “Sonny, you’re at the 4077^th MASH. My name is Colonel Sherman T. Potter.”

Harry’s eyes bugged open as his mouth dropped. Hermione took pity on him and introduced themselves, “Hello, Colonel. My name is Hermione Jean Granger and this is my partner Harry James Potter.”

Sherman looked surprised, “A Potter? Well ain’t that a surprise? Not that I should be, Potter is a rather common family name, I guess. Whereabouts did you come from? I wouldn’t have thought that the UN would be sending civilian Brits out into combat for no reason.”

Hermione kind of bobbled her head, “Not exactly, Colonel. We arrived rather by accident.” She glanced over at Harry as the young man finally wrapped his head around the situation, “You feeling better? Sorry about that, he kind of gets a bit discombobulated whenever he hears someone has the same last name.”

Sherman slowly nodded, “Orphan?”

Harry swallowed, “Yes, sir. How did you know?”

Sherman’s tone quieted, “We get a lot of that around here.”

“If I may, Colonel but what is the year here?”

Sherman turned to the bushy-haired young woman curiously, “Odd question to be asking but it’s 1952.”

Now it was Hermione’s turn to look stunned as her mouth gaped open and shut like a gasping fish. Harry had a slight smirk teasing his lips, “Okay, my turn for the questions. Where is here specifically? I mean, which country? We were headed towards Australia originally.”

A couple of the others in the room started whispering to themselves. Sherman chuckled, “You’re a long ways away from Australia, young man. The village nearby is Oijeonbu and in the country of Korea.”

Harry leant back against the desk and groaned, “Damn…”

Sherman made his excuses and ushered the others out of the room to go check on casualties and damage while Harry and Hermione worked to figure out their next steps. “I don’t understand what happened, Harry. The calculations were perfect…” Hermione worried as she reached for her bag.

“I know, but now we need to discuss our options. If this really is 1952, should we try to apparate back to the ministry and let them know that something went wrong? Who even is in charge of the DoM right now? I don’t think it’s Croaker.”

Hermione shook her head as she dug her arm all the way into her travel case, “No, he didn’t become Director until the mid-70s.”

Harry took another look around and watched as the camp’s staff began clearing out the damage from the now-finished artillery attack and looking for wounded, “Hermione? What if we were to stay here and help out?”

She looked up from her notes and frowned, “I don’t know about that, Harry. If we really are back this far in time, who knows what our interference might affect.”

“Well, as far as we know; we could’ve been fated to be here. It does seem par for the course in my life.”

She grinned at his grumbling, “Mine too, you know. I guess if we kept a low profile it might be okay. What did you have in mind, help-wise?” The sound of an amplified voice was heard calling for the doctors and nurses to the compound.

Harry shrugged, “Some kind of civilian position for sure so we don’t have to register ourselves with the military here. Maybe work in a support role like an orderly or stock clerk. By the looks of things, this camp could probably use help hauling things and people around.”

Hermione clambered to her feet and stuffed her things back in her travel case, “Let’s go see that colonel and get his input first.”

Compound, out in front of the Pre-Operative Ward, a few minutes later…

The pair found the colonel directing traffic and performing triage on the incoming wounded soldiers. “Colonel, if you have a moment?”

Sherman held up a finger while he continued to examine a badly wounded soldier, the man’s chest was bandaged yet still heavily bleeding, “Alright, get this one straight into the OR, stat! Chest wound, type and crossmatch!” He straightened up and motioned for the pair to follow, “Let me guess, you want to help out?”

Both nodded; Harry pointed to himself, “I have some training in combat medicine but I don’t mind doing grunt work.” Hermione agreed with his self-assessment and included her own.

Sherman eyed the pair; they seemed to be just your ordinary civilians despite being oddly dressed yet there was a look in their eyes that they’d seen their share of death and destruction. He sucked on his cheek for a moment before agreeing, “Okay, the person you need to find is Major Margaret Houlihan. Last I saw her was just inside the Pre-Op ward. She’s the Chief Nurse and the one in charge of the rank and file personnel. Tell her I sent you to help out with whatever she needs.”

They found Major Houlihan without too much trouble; a corpsman pointed her out before hurrying off on his assignment. Hermione introduced themselves to her and mentioned that Colonel Potter sent them to help her with whatever needed to be done. Margaret distractedly nodded and pointed them towards a stack of boxes, “I need you to unpack those boxes and load each of the packs onto these trays. Kelly! (A portly nurse turned) Show these two where the changing room is.”

Once changed, Harry and Hermione began unpacking and loading trays as directed. From their position, they watched the camp work. To Harry, it was a study in organized chaos as corpsmen transported the wounded based on what the nurses and doctors had written on the patient’s information cards. To Hermione, it was like watching those old documentaries her father liked to watch on the history of warfare.

Once the boxes were unpacked and the packs loaded onto the trays, they were then redirected to the supply room to pick up more towels, bandages, gloves and a myriad of other things. About halfway into this never-ending whirlwind, Harry pulled Hermione aside, “I’ve got a suggestion. What if we were to use magic to help ease tensions and speed things along?”

She stared at him, her lower lip getting abused by her teeth, “I don’t know about that, Harry. I mean, moving boxes and supplies around is one thing but to blatantly use magic in contravention of the Statute seems…”

Harry waved her down, “I’m not saying that we should just whip our wands out and make everything fly around but do something more subtle like…I don’t know, set up an enchantment that calms nerves or something.”

When her head tilted in thought, he knew he convinced her. “Okay, say that I put up this enchantment. What then?”

Harry shrugged, “Lots of things never get reported during a war simply because no one has the time or inclination. I think we should get the tent set-up at least so we can have a base of operations to plan and figure out what went wrong. I also have the feeling that this Sherman Potter is related to me somehow. I can’t explain it better than that.”

Hermione gently touched his cheek and smiled warmly, “I understand.”

The pair snuck away for a few minutes and dug the tent out of Harry’s travel kit. A simple wave of their wands, they cast an Erecto charm as the fabric tent rose up off the ground and settled itself. From outward appearances, it looked like a basic two-person tent. Hermione ducked inside as Harry inspected the surroundings before joining her. Inside, the space had expanded to include a fully-stocked kitchen, living room complete with furniture, two bedrooms, one bathroom and plenty of storage. The floor was covered with rugs of all types and sizes and the lighting was supplied by glowing orbs suspended from the ceiling.

“All we need now is Arthur to start playing with matches to get a fire lit,” Harry reminisced causing Hermione to laugh lightly.

“Okay, I’m going to get a reading of the camp’s perimeter and set up the basic protective enchantments like we had on the Hunt minus the muggle-repelling, Muffliato and the disillusionment charms. I’m then going to add a mosquito-repelling charm since Korea seems to be swamped with them,” Hermione commented as she gathered up a notepad and pen.

“Okay, I’m going to head back to the pre-op and make some excuse that you needed some ‘female time.’” Hermione gave him a disappointed glare as he chuckled, “Don’t worry, I’ll think of something appropriate.”

Back in the Pre-Op ward…

“Where’s your friend?” Houlihan wanted to know just as Harry stepped through the door and danced out of the way of a corpsman pushing a gurney.

“She’ll be along. She said something about…you know.” He trailed off uncertainly.

Houlihan took it in stride and directed him to a gurney and to get the patient into surgery. “This one goes to Captain Pierce.”

He pushed open the doors and guided the gurney inside, “Order up for Captain Pierce!” Some light laughter was heard. A taller man in blood-speckled scrubs held up a finger, “Over here, I’m all dressed up with no place to go.”

Patient in place, Harry took a brief moment to watch the surgeons at work. Being muggle-raised, it didn’t shock him to see the doctors cutting into the patients. ‘I bet Poppy would be heaving up her lunch if she could see this.’ He mused before shaking his head and going back for the next load.

Several hours later…

The deluge was finally over. Nearly everyone was dead on their feet and it showed. Hermione groaned as she sank onto an open bench in the changing room and rubbed her feet and ankles. Harry joined her a few moments later and went through the same thing. Sherman and his officers appeared a moment later. “I think I inhaled a pound of lint through that mask,” someone muttered.

“Boys, I want to introduce you to our guests. The young man is Harry James Potter and his companion is Hermione Jean Granger. Both are…well, they’re just visiting. Harry, Hermione; from my left is Captain Benjamin “Hawkeye” Pierce, Captain BJ Hunnicutt and Major Frank Burns.”

Hellos were given all around. Pierce quipped, “We’re turning into an artist’s colony if we’ve got two Potters in the camp.”

“So how did you get all the way out here?” BJ asked them.

Hermione shrugged, “We’re not sure. One moment we were flying towards Sydney, Australia and the next thing we know…here we are.”

Pierce chuckled, “It sounds like you took the American plan. It gets you to wherever you need to go as long as you don’t get to where you want to go.”

Harry rolled his eyes, “Something like that.”

Sherman wanted to know what their future plans were. Hermione glanced once at Harry who subtly nodded, “Well, we wanted to discuss that with you, Colonel. We’d like to offer our services as civilian liaisons for as long as you have need of us. I’m sure there are things that need to be done that just get shunted off to the side simply because you don’t have the time, energy or the personnel to do it.”

Sherman mused while the others commented, “That we do. Are you sure about this?”

Harry added in, “We need to do something in between figuring out how we got here and what we need to do to get home. For myself, I’m pretty handy in the kitchen and foraging for food and stuff. Hermione here is good at anything she sets her mind to.” (She crinkled her nose at him.)

BJ interjected, “There’s a lot of death and destruction around here. Most people can’t handle the strain of being in a combat zone. No offense, but you both seem like you’d be better suited in an office somewhere rubber stamping order forms.”

Both Harry and Hermione dropped their calm appearance ‘masks’ and faced the man with war-hardened countenances. BJ and the others stiffened as they took in the change in personalities. “I, uh…oh.”

“I take it this isn’t your first rodeo?” Sherman quietly asked.

Harry shook his head, “No, sir. We were involved with…well, I’m not sure if you have the security clearance to hear what we got up to during…”

Sherman waved him down, “No problem. We understand.”

Hermione cleared her throat. “So, why ‘Hawkeye?’” she asked Pierce in an effort to change the mood.

Hawkeye smirked, “My father gave me that nickname. It comes from a book called ‘Last of the Mohicans. He was crazy about that book. He was crazy about Indians too. My grandfather used to serve them whiskey and hor d'oeuvres.”

Hermione got a distant-eyed look on her face, “My day has been too long. In the morning I saw the sons of the Unarms happy and strong; and yet, before the sun has come, have I lived to see the last warrior of the wise race of the Mohicans.” Hawkeye’s mouth dropped open in surprise.

“You know the book?”

Harry laughed, “There’s not a book in existence today that my Hermione hasn’t read. It’s like magic what she does.” She gave him a sidelong glance at the mention of magic.

“Magic,” Major Burns scoffed, having remained quiet this entire time, “There’s no such thing as magic.”

Harry turned his gaze upon the weak-chinned man, “Care to make a wager on that?” All eyes turned to him.

“What are you saying, son?” Sherman asked him.

Harry silently replied by pulling his wand from his holster and caused a discarded towel to change into a rabbit. The men shouted in alarm as they scrambled back from the action and sight of the towel-rabbit as it hopped and sniffed the room before returning to its pre-bunny form.

“But…that…that’s not possible!” Frank near yelled.

Hermione sighed as she simultaneously glared daggers at Harry, “There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio; than are dreamt of in your philosophy. We’ve been trying to keep it a secret because we didn’t want to cause a scene. The pair of us are what is commonly referred to as a witch and wizard, respectively. Magic is as real as you are and can be used for both good and evil. What we are proposing, and frankly what we’ve already put in place since we’ve arrived, is your chance to use magic to make this war a little bit easier. Nothing elaborate or newsworthy but just a little bit of extra help when the wounded start coming in.”

“Is that why about halfway through this session things seemed to be getting a mite calmer?”

She nodded, “Yes, I put up enchantments that would aid in promoting peace and healing as well as some protections that would aid against incoming artillery, repel mosquitoes and other bugs, and repel those with ill-intent towards those in the camp.”

Sherman glanced at his surgeons. BJ seemed ambivalent, Hawkeye was curious while Frank seemed to be teetering between running for the hills and squealing to Command, “Why don’t we just take the night to think everything over? We’ve got a VIP tent set up that you can bunk in, if you don’t mind sharing?”

Harry’s eyes took on a merry twinkle, “Thanks for the offer, Colonel but we have our own accommodations if you’d like to see them?”

The Potter Tent, located behind the Mess Tent

Sherman and his surgeons now accompanied by Major Houlihan, Radar and the camp priest, Father Francis Mulcahy; followed Harry and Hermione behind the Mess Tent where a stack of crates had been dumped. He frowned in confusion since these crates hadn’t been here earlier. “Uh, sonny; if you think I’m going to let you live in a packing crate…”

Harry had an indecipherable smirk on his face as he withdrew his wand and waved it at the pile, “Finite incantatum.” The image of the crates vanished without a sound revealing a two-person tent. Mutters of amazement and consternation were heard from the others. Hermione ducked inside ahead of the others. Harry swept his hand towards the tent flap, “Lady and Gentlemen, please step in and be amazed…well, more amazed.”

Frank pointed at the tent, “But there’s hardly enough room for two in there.”

Hawkeye took the first step and poked his head in then pulled back and looked at the size of the outside in confusion. Twice more before he turned to the others, “You’re never going to believe this.”

As he disappeared inside, BJ took the next place and went through the same discovery, “I’m…wow.”

One by one, the officers and Radar stepped into the tent.

Their jaws scraping the floor, no one breathed for fear that this was just some sort of mass delusion and that a noise would shatter the image of a fully stocked apartment existed within something that seemed so ordinary on the outside.

“Pretty neat, huh?” Harry quipped as he leant up against the kitchen table. “We’ve got a fully furnished flat in here. Two bedrooms, shared loo unfortunately; kitchen, living room, storage and even a laboratory for brewing potions and whatnot.”

Father Mulcahy crossed himself before commenting, “Just imagine what we could do with more tents like this, Colonel.” He turned to Harry, “How easy is it to put together if you don’t have magic?”

Harry shrugged, “Not all that hard, really. On the tent pole where you came in, there’s a rune you could press to set it up or collapse it automatically. Not everyone in our world can use a wand; some are people known as ‘Squibs’ or children born to magical families who they themselves cannot use magic.”

“As opposed to me,” Hermione commented as she re-entered the room, “I’m what’s known as a ‘muggleborn’ which is the opposite of a Squib. Anyone, like yourselves who have zero capabilities with magic are known as ‘muggles’ though different countries use other terms; some polite, some not.”

“What about you, Mr. Potter?” BJ asked.

“Half-blood. One magically-born parent, one muggleborn. The final distinction is pureblood which has two magically-born parents.”

Both Harry and Hermione showed the group around and demonstrated some of the more interesting objects of magic, like the pensieve. “Imagine learning something remotely. You have a world-renown surgeon share his or her memories of a particular procedure by magical means. You would view those memories through use of this device known as a ‘pensieve.’ Inside, you would be able to view the experience as if you had been in the classroom alongside the famous surgeon.”

“Astounding. There’d be no need to compromise his safety traveling around the world, then?”

“Nope, just send the pensieve and a vial of the memories. It’s not just a learning tool either. It can share the memories of just about anything. As long as someone experienced it, it can be played back. For example…” Harry used his wand to extract a memory and dropped it in then pressed a specific rune on the side of the bowl; the others gathered to watch a procession of strangely dressed older teens being handed a diploma from an older woman wearing a greenish sash in McGonagall Tartan and the school’s crest on her robes. “This is our graduation from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the Scottish Highlands.”

Sherman was impressed, “There’s a school to learn magic?”

Hermione bobbed her head, “Not just a school but entire magical community with its own currency, laws, government, shops and more. We normally live in secret but there are exceptions of course.” She took a fortifying breath, “This is what we’re offering, Colonel. We’re offering our abilities with magic to make your jobs easier. We’re not going to try and supplant you as I feel that’s what Major Burns here is thinking. (Frank looked startled.) We want nothing more than to return to our homeland but for the time being, we’d like to help.”

Margaret spoke up, “What sort of help did you have in mind?”

Hermione gestured towards the laboratory, “We can brew up potions, um…medicines that can boost the potency of your own.” She tilted her head in thought for a moment before heading into another room before returning carrying a vial containing something pink, “Here, taste this. It’s what’s known as ‘Pepper-up.’”

Margaret hesitantly took the vial, “Just drink the whole thing?”

Hermione nodded, “Each vial is a single dose. Don’t worry, we’ve used this many times before whenever we have a cold or just not feeling all that well.”

Hawkeye was curious, “It cures the cold?”

Harry waggled his hand, “Not so much as cures it but speeds up your metabolism to augment your body’s own natural ability to fight infections.”

Still with a bit of trepidation, Margaret uncorked the vial and downed it in one swallow. Her face turned bright red and a bit of steam erupted from her ears as she gasped at the feeling, “Whoa…”

Hermione laughed lightly, “Oh, yeah. A couple of side effects are that it makes you turn that color and leak steam out of your ears. No one is quite sure why but it’s hilarious to first time users.”

Sherman examined his Chief Nurse, “Margaret? How do you feel?”

She looked at the now-empty vial in amazement, “Like I just swallowed an entire urn of coffee, Colonel. I feel…energized.”

Harry took the lead now, “Pepper-up isn’t the only potion we can brew either. We have in our stock Skele-grow, Essence of Dittany, organ-repair, wit sharpening, burn and scar salves, blood replenishment and more.”

Harry escorted the staff back outside and shook the Colonel’s hand, “Thank you for not booting us out immediately when confronted with magic. There are some who would’ve felt threatened by such knowledge that we exist.”

Sherman looked Harry straight in the eye, “Harry, if I may call you that?” Harry nodded his acceptance, “I would never look a gift horse in the mouth. You’ve only been here for a couple of hours and yet I can tell you that you and your lady friend in there will always be welcome at the 4077^th. I’ll see you in the morning so we can get you started, okay?”

Harry bowed his head, “I look forward to it, sir.”

The Bachelor’s Officers Quarters aka ‘The Swamp’

BJ, Hawkeye and Frank were settling in their respective bunks for the night. The events and revelations of what had transpired earlier running like mad through their minds.

“Hawk?” BJ hesitated, “Do you believe them?”

Hawkeye was silent for a moment, “I think I do. Magic…who’d have thought it was possible? What about you, Frank? You’re usually the skeptic in the camp.”

Frank laid his head on his pillow, “I’ll admit, I was all set to report this sort of nonsense to HQ but now, I’m not so sure.”

Hawkeye grunted as he laid down and turned off his light, “I guess we’ll know more in the morning.”

The next morning

Both Harry and Hermione were up at the crack of dawn; Hermione was taking an inventory of their supplies while Harry had gone out to do some scouting of what sort of game and vegetation were available. He apparated in an hour later all smiles, “Well, it looks like that there’s plenty of wild game in the area that hasn’t been spooked by the war and I found a field of tea leaves about a mile away. I thought that we harvest the tea and use it as an offering to the local leaders to facilitate any negotiations we might encounter.”

“Good idea. Our supplies are in good standing, not surprising since we just pulled them from the stores back home and they weren’t damaged in transit. I was just about ready to head out to check on the perimeter wards; I got pinged earlier that something was trying to breach them.”

“Need any help?”

“If you wouldn’t mind? It shouldn’t take very long; I will need to set up a central wardstone eventually but I’m not sure how long the camp stays in one place.”

Harry kept watch over the terrain as Hermione checked the perimeter stones and figured that it was just small animals that hadn’t figured out that this was an area to stay away from. She engraved a new array into them and installed an avoidance scheme so there wouldn’t be any more problems before standing up and dusting off her hands, “Done.”

“All clear here too. Let’s head in, I’m hungry.”

They got back to the camp and entered the mess tent then joined the line at the end. A tap on his shoulder caused Harry to turn and smile at the arrival of Father Mulcahy, “Good morning, Father. Have you come to grips with our presence?”

“Never had any doubt, my son. Unlike so many of my brethren, I like to keep an open mind about the existence of other avenues of faith. There are many routes to the Creator and one shouldn’t be so narrow-minded to think that yours is the best. Besides, who doesn’t like a good magic show?”

Harry laughed and clapped the man on the shoulder, “If only there were more like you? So, what’s on the menu this morning?”

Mulcahy was ambivalent, “Meh, it varies somewhat but for the most part it’s the usual eggs, toast, sausage and pancakes or at least that’s what they tell us. It’s just reconstituted powder formed into familiar shapes.”

Plates loaded and mugs filled with coffee, the trio joined Colonel Potter and Radar at an available table. Harry took a bite of his eggs then reached for the pepper, “It’s not bad. Not good but not bad. Oh, before I forget; Colonel, there’s a herd of wild pig not too far from here as well as some decent foraging. If you’re willing, I’d be happy to go and do some hunting to provide fresh meat and salads.”

Sherman blinked for a moment before stuttering out his permission. Radar was a bit more vocal, “Why didn’t we ever think of hunting for meat?” Sherman shrugged, his face one of incredulity.

Hawkeye and BJ arrived a few moments later; Hawkeye made some crack about the food and the amazing way the cook was able to sculpt grease into the shape of food. Harry reached over and waved his wand over the man’s plate and turned the offering into a plate of steak and potatoes with vegetables on the side, “Better?”

Everyone just stared at him. Harry grinned widely, “Keep in mind that it’s not actually steak but just the original ingredients reshaped into food or as you put it ‘resculpted grease into the shape of food;’ nutritionally, it’s still sausages and eggs.”

Hawkeye took a bite and made a pained face, “Yeah, still tastes like it too.”

Time Skip:

During the first month, Harry and Hermione availed themselves to whatever needed to be done. It didn’t matter if it was bed pan duty or restocking shelves, hauling litters from the compound or even assisting in the OR. When not helping out in surgery; Hermione busied herself in their laboratory brewing up various compounds, salves, ointments, potions and more to supplement the pharmacy’s own supplies of drugs. The pair learned the local dialect and sat in as mediators between the villagers and the military to resolve disputes or miscommunications.

Hermione pranked Harry one day after their shift was over. He had gone in to take a shower and when he returned, his hair was a brilliant, electric blue. It took him a few moments to notice the others staring at him. Hawkeye stopped him, “Um, I can’t quite put my finger on it but there’s something different about you.”

Harry snorted, “Well, I did just take a shower. Maybe it’s the lack of stench from the war?”

“Mmm…no, I don’t think that’s it. Did you get a tan or something? Your color seems almost electric.”

Harry was perplexed, “What aren’t you telling me?”

Hawkeye patted him on the shoulder, “Go take a gander in the mirror and you’ll see.”

Five minutes later and the whole camp burst out laughing as they heard an anguished yell, “HERMIONE!”

He did get her back eventually. She was using the pensieve to review the latest mediation with the Oijeonbu village leaders regarding recycling scrap material from the camp’s garbage dump to fashion farming equipment without using heavy machinery, which the elders had repeatedly tried to get the camp to loan them. About halfway through, the mayor had leant forward as to impart a great secret and Hermione subconsciously scooted forward. In a flash, a roaring demon jumped towards her causing her to flip backwards over her chair, spilling her drink everywhere. The memory paused as Harry appeared in the pensieve laughing his butt off saying, “I think you’re gonna need a mop to clean up that mess, Granger.”

As good as his word, Harry made repeated hunting trips to bring back wild boar, water deer, seafood and fish from the inlet bays of Incheon that they shared with the mayor of the village as well as for the 4077^th. The camp cook was rightfully vindicated about how the influx of fresh food and the food quality improved morale and cut down on the number of complaints and gripes his servers had to endure each day. He pointed out that this is why he kept putting in so many requisitions but that the Army repeatedly denied him. Harry also assisted in the kitchen preparing ingredients as well as acting as a visiting chef and introducing new flavors to the camp’s jaded palates.

Margaret was staring at the new dish up for dinner one evening and whispered at Frank, “What is that?”

Harry overheard her, “This is what’s known as ‘Bibimbap’ or mixed rice. Bibimbapis essentially a bowl of mixed ingredients including, but not limited to, rice,namul(seasoned and sautéed vegetables), mushrooms, beef, soy sauce,gochujang(chili pepper paste), and a fried egg. The ingredients found in bibimbap vary by region, and the most famous versions of the dish are found in Jeonju, Tongyeong, and Jinju. It’s also incredibly easy to make once you have all the ingredients on hand.” He ladled up a sample for her to taste; her eyes bugged out as the flavors and heat danced in her mouth and she nodded wordlessly to put some on her tray.

“Margaret?” Frank worriedly nudged her.

“Ooh, that’s spicy! Try it, Frank. You won’t be disappointed,” She suggested as she took a cup of locally produced tea.

Harry and conversely Hermione weren’t the only victims of harmless pranks within the camp nor were they the only perpetrators. BJ managed to prank the magical duo by applying plastic wrap to their toilet seat as well as the outer flap to their tent. Hawkeye swapped the labels on the ketchup and hot sauce in the mess tent. He also unscrewed the tops of the salt and pepper shakers just enough to look sealed until used.

Even Sherman got into the act of pranking. He teamed up with Harry to prank Radar after asking the lad if he knew of any other languages not commonly heard in the regular world. “Um, I know of a few. What did you have in mind?” Harry had asked him.

“I was thinking of pranking Radar with some order forms in a foreign language but if I try to order from the Army; he’ll know.”

“Ah, well…”

The next morning when Radar got started with his paperwork, he noticed a stack of order forms and loaded the first one in his typewriter. He scrolled it up to the first line and frowned. ‘Either my eyes are more tired than I think or something’s wrong here. How am I supposed to pronounce this?’ “Duj QI'noS? What language is that? Maybe their typewriter got stuck…let’s see, what the… pannal cunntais fala coileanta cbc?”

Sherman entered the outer office, coffee mug in hand and saw the confused expression on Radar’s face, “Problem, son?”

“I’m not sure, sir. Someone sent me a batch of bad order forms.” He pointed to the confusion.

Sherman leant in, “Well, the first one is for wrist splints. The second one there is for a CBC complete blood count panel. I don’t understand your confusion, it’s plain as day.” He left with a smirk on his face as Radar tilted his head and nearly whined like a confused puppy.

It was the end of the day when BJ and Hawkeye introduced the pair to the ‘delights’ of the Officer’s Club (though it allowed anyone in, except the enemy of course.) “Well, here’s the place. It’s not much but it’ll get you drunk all the same. This weekend, we’ll show you Rosie’s Bar. It’s just up the road and a great place to get trashed.”

Hermione eyed the bar and snorted, “Nice. What’s on tap?”

Radar moved behind the bar and gestured at a couple of different brands of whiskey, beer, and non-alcoholic beverages like his personal favorite, Grape Ne-hi. Harry wondered out loud if they ought to share their one and only bottle of Firewhiskey or that case of Butterbeer they had in the fridge.

Hermione shrugged, “Why not? I’d love to see their reactions to both.”

Harry disappeared outside and returned fifteen minutes later carrying the case of bottles. Their clinking sounds heralded his arrival. Sherman joined them for a drink; he examined a bottle of the Butterbeer and asked about its name.

“There’s a type of rose called a ‘Butter Rose’ found only in Magical Britain that’s used in its distillation. I’m told that the production is the same of beer making the world over,” Hermione supplied.

Sherman took a sip and smiled pleasantly, “Mmmm…I like it. It gives a warm feeling as it descends and while I do detect a hint of alcohol, it’s not overwhelming.”

Hawkeye was eyeing the Firewhiskey, “What are the effects of this stuff?”

Both Harry and Hermione grinned wickedly, “Well, it’s got a bit of a kick to it.”

So Hawkeye took a sip and nearly gagged as it burned its way down his throat. He belched a finger of flame a moment later and wheezed, “Whoa! I think I found my new favorite drink!”

BJ picked up the bottle and read the label, “So where can we buy stuff like this?”

Harry sniffed, “I’m not sure. It’s one of those things that I’ll have to inquire about when I get a free moment. If anything, I could probably hitch a ride to Tokyo and see if there’s a Gringott’s branch there. They’d probably know if there’s a distributor here or nearby. If not, I could order some to be delivered.”

Sherman patted his shoulder, “If it’s something that needs to be shipped in from Britain, don’t go making a fuss just for some alcohol. I don’t want to put you out of pocket as I’m not certain if our money is accepted where you’re from.”

Harry settled back in his chair and raised his glass to his lips, “Fair enough.”

Hawkeye pulled out a deck of cards, “Anyone wanna play a game of poker?”

Harry glanced over at Hermione whose eyes were twinkling, “Sure, though we’re not very good at it.”

Hawkeye and the others were stunned when Hermione Granger, she-of-quiet-nature, turned out to be a card shark and took Hawkeye to the cleaners. By night’s end, he was down a hundred and fifty dollars with a promise to make good on payday. “Don’t worry, Captain. It’s not like you can run away, what with the tracking charms I put on everyone earlier,” she said with mirth.

Radar leant over and whispered to Harry, “You knew this would happen? How?”

Harry chuckled quietly, “Seven years of Hogwarts plus four years of working together. Girl’s got an analytical mind like you wouldn’t believe. She’s able to read people almost as if they were jumping up and down in a clown’s costume while singing at the top of their lungs what their cards are.”

Saturday 18 October 1952

It was mid-October when the camp got a wounded visitor in the form of a general making a ‘tour of the combat zone.’ He acted like he was God’s gift to war and had a no nonsense attitude regarding alcohol. Sherman was making the rounds in the Post-Op ward and introduced himself, “Hello, General. How are you feeling? My name’s Colonel Potter. I’m the CO around these parts.”

The general nodded back, “Hello, Colonel. Thank you for taking such good care of us; I’m feeling a bit better. How are my men?”

Sherman waggled his hand, “Some moderate injuries, like broken bones and about what you’d expect from this dust-up.”

“Listen, Colonel. When I was brought in, one of your corpsmen had alcohol on his breath.”

“I assure you, sir that no one is impaired while on duty. Everyone is required to be off the bottle by no later than 10 pm before the battle,” Sherman joked.

The general didn’t seem convinced, “Uh-huh. I assume that this corpsman got his alcohol from an appropriate club?”

Sherman hemmed and hawed, “Well, it’s not a dedicated Enlisted Club if that’s what you’re implying. Out here, we just don’t have the room to host two...”

“What I meant, is this club staffed by appropriate USO personnel?” The general interrupted.

Sherman paused then shook his head, “No, it is not.”

The general started getting upset, “Then what is it doing there?”

Sherman shrugged, “The personnel are not USO; the club is staffed by a pair of Brits.”

The general, momentarily surprised, deflated, “Brits?”

Harry was walking past pushing a cart of medicines destined for the nurses, “Colonel.”

Sherman hitched a thumb at Harry as the young man passed, “That’s one of them. They also help out in a support role when things get busy.”

The general was impressed, “Oh. Awfully nice of them. Rare to find such selflessness these days.”

Sherman quipped, “Yeah, they’re truly magical.”

Harry was quietly observing Radar at work and marveled at the teen’s skill of working the system to get their supplies, shipping patients out and anything else that needed to be done. “So what do you want to do when you get back home?”

Radar didn’t even pause, “I’m not sure. I know I’ll need to help out around the family farm though. My ma’s not young anymore and my Uncle Ed is doing the best he can under the circ*mstances.”

Harry co*cked his head, “Is this not something that could get you a hardship discharge?”

Radar shrugged, “Tried that once. The Army needs me more, I guess.”

“What about getting some help?”

Again the shoulders shrugged, “Can’t always afford it.”

The phone rang and Radar picked it up, “4077^th MASH… (indistinct voices on the other end)… Augh, don’t tell me that…Ok, thanks Sparky.” He hung up and grumbled under his breath.

“Problems?”

“I Corp messed up on our order again. The truck with our supplies is all loaded and ready to go but the driver somehow got himself transferred to another division.”

Harry shook his head in exasperation as he stood up, “What’s the coordinates for the depot?”

Radar frowned and pointed to the wall map, “It’s here. Why?”

Harry examined it carefully then nodded once, “I’ll be right back.” He headed out the door. Perplexed, Radar watched him go then went back to work. He heard a sound like something had cracked but thought nothing of it. Thirty minutes later, an even louder crack, more like a bang, was heard just outside and a truck’s horn honked twice. Radar stepped out to see what the commotion was all about and was taken aback by the sight of Harry sitting in the driver’s seat with a wicked grin on his face, “Delivery for the 4077^th.”

Radar’s face was a picture of wide-eyed, open-mouthed stupefied astonishment.

Monday 20 October 1952 Sherman Potter’s Office, two days later

Sherman reclined in his chair and pondered the events that had transpired since the arrival of the British magicians. The pair of young adults had integrated themselves with apparent ease; nothing seemed to faze them. It didn’t matter how chaotic it got, the amount of crying or screaming from the patients, the occasional shelling; Harry Potter and Hermione Granger just seemed to ride the wave as if they were on a gentle trail through the countryside.

‘It’s incredible to realize that they’ve only been here as long as me. I just can’t picture this place without them now.’

A knock at the door startled him out of his reverie, “Come in!” The door opened to admit Army psychiatrist Major Sidney Freedman. “Sidney! Come on in, what brings you by?”

“I was passing by and thought I’d drop in on my favorite MASH. How are you doing?”

“Surprisingly well. I’ve had a rough couple of months but things seemed to have evened out.”

Sidney looked concerned, “Care to share?”

Sherman shrugged, “Just settling in sort of problems. I’m still the new kid on the block while they have their own ways. I’m coping though, especially with the help of our new-ish civilian liaisons.”

Sidney co*cked his head curiously, “How so?”

Sherman had to think, “Well, before they showed up things always had an edge of barely-restrained chaos. Like we were one step away from collapse but then they showed up and everything seems to run smoother. I’m sorry if that doesn’t make sense; you really just need to be in their presence to understand.”

“Where are they now?”

Sherman held up a finger, “Radar!” The teen stuck his head in the doorway, a look of curiosity on his face. “Do you know where Harry or Hermione are?”

“Um, last I heard Harry was going out to do some hunting and see about getting some more of the ingredients for the Bulgogi. Hermione said she was going to do some laundry.”

Sherman thanked him and turned back to Sidney, “Why don’t you wait until later? I’m sure they’d be happy to meet you.”

Sidney smiled, “Thank you, Colonel. I’ll go see what Hawkeye and BJ are up to.”

Just as Sidney stepped outside, the call went out that casualties were on their way by both chopper and ambulance and jeep. He hurried over to where he could jump in and assist where needed; usually it was as a corpsman. He spotted a raven-haired young man appear out of nowhere, pull a stick out of his sleeve and watched in open-mouthed stunned silence as a ramped platform materialized out of thin air. The young man then conjured a sign that read, ‘Bus here!’ and mounted it to a pole at the edge of the platform before dashing off again towards the mess tent.

Shaking himself out of his befuddlement, Sidney ran over to where the wounded were being unloaded from the jeeps and offered his assistance.

In the OR…

“Sherman? I saw something. Something I can’t explain,” he said sotto voce.

Sherman barely looked up, “What was it?”

Sidney glanced once over his shoulder, “I saw this raven-haired corpsman, I think, wave a stick and conjured up the bus platform and sign.”

“Yeah, he does that whenever we get a bus delivery. Makes it easier to offload the stretchers when you just have to run down a ramp instead of stairs.”

Sidney was confused by Sherman’s nonchalance, “Huh?”

“That young man you saw is named Harry Potter and no, I have no idea if he’s related or not. I wouldn’t mind if he was, actually. Great kid and a fast learner. He and that young lady he’s with have made this camp almost enjoyable with their contributions.” He reached over and plucked up a vial that held a shiny green liquid and unscrewed the cap. He dripped three drops onto the liver resection he was working on. The site smoked and popped a bit; when it cleared, Sidney was flabbergasted to see that the wound looked like it had been healing for almost a week.

“What was that?”

“Essence of Dittany. Potter and his partner brewed it up in their lab last week. Great stuff too, almost miraculous in use,” He finally noticed Sidney’s distress, “Relax, Sidney. I promise to introduce you to them later.”

When all was said and done, the patients transferred off to post-op; Sherman took Sidney over to the Potter tent and tapped on the pole, “Anyone home?”

Hermione poked her head out and smiled when she saw him, “Hey, Colonel. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing wrong, just wanted to introduce you and Harry to a colleague of mine. This is Major Sidney Freedman, Army psychiatrist and first-time viewer of those miraculous potions of yours.”

Hermione laughed, “Well, come on in. Harry’s finishing up his own shower so he’ll be along in a moment. Can I get either of you a drink?”

Sherman glanced at Sidney, “I think he could definitely use one. Perhaps a Butterbeer?” He guided the mildly distraught man to a chair, “Maybe with a Calming draught chaser?”

Snorting lightly, Hermione handed over the bottle, “Sorry, the draughts change the taste badly so I wouldn’t recommend them. So, Major Freedman? How are you? You crazy about the place yet?”

Despite Sidney’s whirling mind, he speared Hermione a light sneer of sardonic bemusem*nt, “Funny you should mention crazy. What I witnessed today has me questioning my sanity.”

Hermione nodded as she leant back in her chair, “Let me guess; Harry conjuring up the bus platform and sign and no doubt the potions used in the OR?”

“How’d you know?”

“I was there when he did that and in the OR when you were at Colonel Potter’s table. I was reloading a bottle of O neg blood behind you.”

Harry emerged from the loo just then, “Hey, Colonel. I’ll be right with you.” He disappeared into his bedroom and emerged a few moments later dressed in clean clothes. “Hi, I’m Harry Potter.”

Sidney stuck around for a week to play a couple of rounds of poker (and unsurprisingly lost to Hermione), helped out with another deluge of wounded and spoke at length with Harry and Hermione about their own demons that would surface every now and then. Neither realized it but once in a while they would just slow to a stop and stare off into the distance before shaking themselves out it and continuing on. He sat each of them down separately at first then together when he discovered that they went through the same war and the same battles.

“Patient-doctor confidentiality rules forbid me from discussing anything that gets revealed here with anyone unless it’s a matter of someone else’s life or something big like treason. I want to help you get past your demons. We all have them, especially since this war started.” He patiently explained to Hermione who was once again abusing her lower lip with her teeth.

“I’m not sure that you can help. The war that Harry and I went through is so much different than the ‘usual’ sort you find here.”

Sidney spread his hands, “While the techniques and weapons used might be different, death and destruction is always the same. Why don’t you just start at the beginning?”

Hermione sighed deeply, “Okay, the date is 1 September 1991 and I had received a letter of acceptance to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry the previous year…”

Saturday 1 November 1952

Halloween approached rather suddenly in Harry’s mind, what with being constantly busy; having no real time to look at a calendar. Despite the usual reminders of what Harry had lost; this time he was surrounded by real friends and in the case of Hermione and in his opinion Sherman, family. He had explained to the others what Halloween represented to him and why he seemed so morose. The staff of the 4077^th gathered around him to hold a memorial to those they’d lost and even took part in a Samhain ritual to honor the dead.

Harry and Hermione were lying in bed together; he was tracing his fingers along her arm as she snuggled into his chest. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing really, just surprised by how integrated we both are into the camp. You realize that we’ve only been here for not even a month and a half yet?”

He grunted softly, “I know, it’s weird but I feel closer to these people than I ever did back home.”

“Me too. I wonder if it’s because we’re all trying to get to the same goal. No one is playing politics or letting ‘celebrity status’ cloud their judgments?”

Harry let out a harrumph, “No petty jealousies or misdirected obsessions just because your mother filled your head with stupid stories. Hermione, I know that you want to figure out how to reverse the events of the Time Turner but I’m seriously tempted to just stay here until the war ends.”

The next day, BJ and Hawkeye inquired if it would be okay if the pair of them could use the pensieve to research some new surgical techniques they’d heard about the last time they were on R&R. “Sure, come on in. You know that you’re always welcome to use it, don’t you?”

BJ pinked, “We didn’t want to intrude on your privacy.”

Hermione waved that off, “Just stay out of our bedrooms and you’ll be fine. Come on in; let’s see what we have in storage.” She led them over to the pensieve library and handed them the list. “Tell me which ones you want and I’ll pull the vials.”

Hawkeye read over BJ’s shoulder, “Polio vaccination? Heart surgery? Artificial hearts? Electric shock? What’s that last one?”

“The electric shock therapy is used to stop a heart from ventricular fibrillation. The doctor or nurse can deliver an electric shock to victims of ventricular fibrillation to restore the heart rhythm to normal.”

BJ co*cked his head, “So you basically electrocute the patient to heal them? Sounds backwards.”

Hermione shrugged as she pulled the vial, “I’ll let you be the judge. I’ve seen it work before many times. They even have an automatic version; it’s all covered in here.”

Frank entered an hour later curious to see if he could use the pensieve as well. “Well, Hawkeye and BJ are currently using it. Did you want to sit in on a session? They should be just about done with the memory on arterial reconstruction.”

He chewed on his lips, “I think that would be fine. Which one is up next?”

Hermione held up the vial, “The next one is going to be a memory on kidney transplants.”

“I can wait, thank you.”

“I’m glad to see you taking part in this, Major.”

He gestured to where the other two were sitting with their fingers in the bowl and glassy-eyed, “Before your arrival, those two were always showing off that they knew the latest and greatest with the medical journals that always seemed to arrive on time to them. It used to annoy me something fierce but now, with this thing; I’m no longer stuck behind the curve.”

She eyed him for a moment then nodded her understanding.

Monday 3 November 1952 Officer’s Club

It was relatively quiet in the club; there was a lull going on with the fighting having been redirected towards another stretch of the Korean peninsula. Harry had just brought back a magnificent example of elk for the cook to process plus some Meowi or as it was known in English, ‘Sweet Coltsfoot’ so Hermione could make some more of the medicine used to treat asthma and phlegmy coughs. Radar was feeding his menagerie of wild animals he’d rescued and was rehabilitating. Sherman was out riding his horse while the senior staff was holed up in the Officer’s Club playing poker.

“Hermione, I had been thinking about your predicament since you’ve arrived and I was wondering if you should inform your government of your presence as well as what will happen over the next fifty years?”

Harry grinned at her which caused her to narrow her eyes at him, “You put him up to this, didn’t you?”

He held his hands up in submission, “I swear I had no clue he was going to ask that.”

Giving him another exasperated glare, she turned back to BJ, “The problem with that is a concept known as the ‘Temporal Paradox.’ If I were to tell my government everything that happens over the next fifty years, it could cause some events to happen that otherwise wouldn’t. For example and I’m sorry Harry but what if I said that in nearly twenty years a war will break out on our shores and cost the lives of so many people? One of those people has a crush on Harry’s father and asks him out thereby denying his mother a chance to fall in love with him and eventually marry? If I did that then Harry wouldn’t have been born and if Harry isn’t born then how could he have come back in time with me to inform our government of things yet to pass? I’ll take two more cards, please.”

BJ pondered the explanation as he dealt out the cards, “That’s deep; I also understand it surprisingly and sympathize. I can’t imagine how difficult it must be to have such incredible future knowledge at your fingertips and not being able to do a damn thing about it.”

“Right? There’s going to be, if he’s not already active, a terrorist who will divide the country based on modified Nazi ideology that muggleborns, muggles and Squibs need to be eradicated if not subjugated while those magically-born who do not hold to his teachings are to be branded as ‘blood traitors,’” Harry remarked.

BJ flinched, “So how was this terrorist eventually stopped? I’m assuming he was?”

Harry sighed, “It was a combined effort between my mother and father. They did something, I’m still hazy on the details, that used a ritual circle similar to the one we used on Samhain to banish his soul from his body. My mother sacrificed her life to protect me and to power the circle. He cast an unforgiveable curse known as the ‘Avada Kedavra’ at me while I was in my crib. The ritual grabbed the curse, overpowered it and blasted it back at him causing his body to be destroyed and his soul left to, allegedly, be dragged to the afterlife. The blast was so powerful that a sliver of his soul broke off from the main wraith and was embedded behind a scar on my forehead in the shape of a rune that was part of an array supposedly designed to protect the newborn.”

Hawkeye frowned, “You make it sound like it didn’t go according to plan.”

Harry waggled his hand, “It did for the most part but my parents were working with incomplete knowledge. Unbeknownst to them, he’d created what’s known as Horcruxes, which are containers that each held a portion of his soul. Without those, he would’ve crossed over, no problem but with them, he could have his followers conduct a resurrection ritual to give him a fresh body. It took Hermione and I, along with a couple of others, seven years to round them all up and destroy them so when the final battle took place; he could be killed for good. We lost a lot of good people along the way.” His voice trailed off and his gaze lengthened. Hermione reached over and compassionately took his hand in hers bringing him back to the present.

Chapter 2: Flaggs, Surgeons, Music and Bugouts

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: Flaggs, Surgeons, Music and Bugouts

Tuesday 4 November 1952

Harry was sitting on a camp chair while sipping on a cup of coffee the next morning, an expression of amusem*nt danced on his face at the ‘sight’ of someone repeatedly attempting to get into the camp but running afoul of the anti-ill-intent wards. While he couldn’t physically see said person, he was aware of what was happening through the ward’s connection to him as a co-administrator. Hermione had set the outer perimeter at 50 meters that would give the intruder a sense of foreboding and the idea that maybe attempting to invade wasn’t such a good idea. At 30 meters, those feelings intensified and the intruder would start to see hallucinations of random nightmarish or gross things like an open pit filled with corpses or a cesspool that hadn’t been flushed yet. If the intruder managed to get past that, at the ten meter line; they would encounter the fully immersive hallucination that there was some sort of hellish creature bearing down on them and that if they valued their life; they’d best turn tail and run.

So far, whoever this guy was; he kept getting to about 40 meters before turning around and hightailing it out of the area.

The camp’s intrepid fashion designer and corpsman, Corporal Max Klinger came around a few minutes later and saw the smug grin on Harry’s face, “Hey, Harry; what’s that look for?”

Harry explained what was happening on the boundaries to the camp, “I don’t know who it is but it’s hilarious. They just keep trying and failing.”

Klinger turned his gaze to the camp’s property line, “Yeah? Is that so? How are you so sure?”

Harry shrugged, “Hermione set it up so she or I can feel when someone runs afoul to the enchantments. It’s like having a sentry dog barking at anything strange. We’ve been getting alerts that they’ve been repeatedly butting up against the wards for the past week.”

Klinger looked pensive, “Should we go investigate?”

Harry shrugged, “If you want. Personally, I’m not curious enough to get up.”

Klinger wandered off to go tell the colonel. Harry found out later that it was some annoying CIA agent by the name of Colonel Flagg with whom they’ve had past problems with. “Is he dangerous?”

Hawkeye scoffed, “More annoying than actually dangerous. He sees spies, commies and nonconformists everywhere.”

Harry bobbed his head understandingly, “Ah, yeah. I’ve known a few people like that.”

BJ gestured to the camp perimeter, “So why is it that we can come and go as we please?”

Harry glanced at him, “Because you don’t have any ill-will towards the camp or its inhabitants. Start thinking like you’d want to harm someone within and things will change.”

Hawkeye chuckled, “I almost wish he’d get further than he’s been. It’d be hilarious to watch him panic at the sight of his worst nightmare supposedly come to life.”

Harry shot him a derisive huff, “I can always alter the wards to let him in if you want.”

Hawkeye shook his head, “I said almost. Not having him here annoying us is a blessing…although, could you alter them to activate at random? Let him think everything is normal then when he gets closer; hit him with some sort of prank effect?”

Harry took a bite out of an apple he’d brought along, “I could…what sort of thing did you have in mind?”

“Ohh…I don’t know. Something memorable though.”

Harry snickered, “How about a case of explosive diarrhea? Is that memorable enough for you?”

BJ turned to stare incredulously, “There are wards for that sort of thing?”

Harry shrugged nonchalantly, “Actually, it would be a trigger for a spray. He would inhale it and it would absorb into his system causing the diarrhea." He wiped some dribbled apple juice off his shirt, “Mmm... I remember this one job I had where a vendor had been selling illegally-obtained magical meats at a muggle shopping center. I set up the ward that would trigger a mister that caused anyone who got within range to start getting violently ill. The potion was mixed with water and because it was hot out; people tended to congregate there for the cooling effect. Since the mister was near the vendor’s stall, everyone assumed it was he who got them sick.”

BJ and Hawkeye burst out laughing, “Was the illness easy to cure?”

Harry waved his hand dismissively, “Ever had Pepto Bismol?” They nodded. “One dose of the pink stuff and they’d be fine.”

“What’s wrong with magical meat?”

Crunching on another bite, Harry replied, “If I were to eat them? Nothing; but you and the rest of the muggle world? Terrible reactions up to and including death. There are magical compounds within the meat that an ordinary person couldn’t process and builds up in their tissues, kind of like lead poisoning.”

“Yuck. Okay, that kills off any interest I had in having a unicorn burger,” Hawkeye’s quip received a glare from Harry. “What?”

“To kill something so pure for your own selfish consumption would be on par with mass murdering babies.”

“So, they’re protected? I’m not trying to be nasty, you understand.”

“I know and yes, they are protected. There are some commercial reasons to use the parts of a unicorn but they have to be freely given like hair, shavings of their horns, or even a sample of their blood.”

BJ was curious about those items, “So what do you use those for?”

“Wand making and some rare potions.”

“Is that what’s in your wand?”

Harry shook his head, “No, mine is holly wood with a phoenix feather core.”

BJ blinked, “Phoenixes are real?”

“Yup. The one that gave the wandmaker who made my wand is a pretty awesome creature. They’re proud, honorable and totally Light in nature, meaning that anyone who practices Dark Magic will repel them.”

Hawkeye made a rolling motion with his finger off towards Harry’s tent, “What about Hermione’s? What’s her wand made from?”

“Vinewood and dragon heartstring.”

Both men’s eyes widened dramatically, “Dragons are real too?”

Harry grinned, “Oh yeah. There’s at least a dozen species spread out across the globe. Heck, Korea has a dragon calleda ‘Yong,’ and there are three main types: Yong is the most powerful and protects the sky. ‘Yo’ is hornless and lives in the ocean. ‘Kyo’ dwells in the mountains on Earth. There’s a substantial mythology built up around them.”

“Do any of them exist around here?” BJ wanted to know.

Harry shrugged, “Unlikely since there aren’t any large bodies of water around these parts and with the constant bombardment, they probably wouldn’t risk sticking around. Would you like me to inquire about known residences?”

BJ held his hands up, “Nah, I’m good. I was just curious.”

The next day, when the bus rolled in carrying the newest batch of wounded soldiers, Harry was surprised to learn that they’d picked up some of the enemy soldiers too. “Does that happen often?” He asked Hawkeye who shrugged.

“Sometimes, things are moving fast; everyone’s bugging out and you get turned around. There’ve been times where our soldiers end up over there as well. That’s why we have the prisoner transfers.” They heard Frank arguing with someone near the back.

“Hey, Pierce; you want to hear a hot one? This pinko is trying to teach me medicine.”

Hawkeye was in no mood for Frank’s intransigence, “Tell him he’s wasting his time.” The PA called Frank to the OR; Frank gave Hawkeye a goodbye sneer and hurried off.

Harry watched him go, “I heard that he’s married?”

“Yeah, he is. Why? You looking for some fun?”

Harry snorted in amusem*nt, “Funny guy. No, I just heard that he was also fooling around with Major Houlihan.”

Hawkeye nodded as he inspected a soldier’s wounds, “Shattered patella, get him inside. Yeah, he and Hot Lips have been an item ever since they laid their beady little eyes on each other. They think no one’s wise to them but the only person who’s oblivious is General MacArthur’s pipe stuffer.”

Harry co*cked his head in confusion, “Hot Lips?”

Hawkeye smirked, “Yeah, it’s a nickname she picked up from somewhere. He’s got one too. Well, he’s got a bunch of them but the tamest would have to be ‘Ferret-face.’”

Harry burst out laughing, “Oh, that’s hilarious! I knew someone back home who could match that claim. Ferret-face, I’m going to have to remember that.” He kept chuckling every so often as he continued to work.

In the Post-Op…

Harry arrived carrying a load of towels and potion replacements and saw Hawkeye discussing new techniques to repair a leg by taking a segment of a saphenous vein, reversing it and grafting it into the femoral artery. He caught Pierce’s eye and subtly shook his head that the doctor shouldn’t mention the pensieve; Hawkeye’s returned nod of understanding set his worry at ease.

Hermione arrived a little while later and found him stocking the shelves, “Got a minute?”

He turned and winked, “For you, I’ve got all the minutes you need. What’s up?”

She rolled her eyes and huffed at his antics, “You’ve been hanging around Pierce too much. Listen, I think I’ve solved the equation problems.”

Harry halted his stocking immediately and turned to fully face her, “Really?”

She nodded, “Yeah but here’s the thing; powering up the Portkey isn’t going to be easy.”

His face grew puzzled, “Powering it? Don’t you just tap it and say the activation phrase?”

She shook her head, “No, not for this variant. Remember it had the Time Turner dust embedded in it? (He nodded) Well, we don’t have any more dust so the temporal ‘drive’ if you will needs to be powered from an alternate source.”

Harry harrumphed, “So we need a flux capacitor and a lightning bolt?”

“Silly, but close. We’re going to need some uranium.”

Harry just blinked at her before croaking out, “…Uranium?”

Hermione threw her hands up submissively, “I know, I know! Dangerous stuff, not to mention incredibly difficult to obtain especially in this era but don’t forget, we’re magical.”

Slowly, Harry took a deep breath and released it then waved her on, “Walk me through your idea.”

Also taking a deep breath, Hermione began to explain the properties of uranium and where it could be found as well as some unorthodox sources, “What I’m proposing is to take a yet unknown amount of material that is closest to uranium ore, I’m thinking of something like that radioactive glass you usually find in museums back home and alter the crystalline structure of the chain which should hopefully result in…”

“Whoa, hold on Hermione. Are there any alternatives you could use that won’t result in the US Army getting curious and come sniffing around? I took a look at the politics of this era and anything that has radioactive material was confiscated for their nuclear program.”

She stood there kind of loosely, obviously suffering from a bit of overload and just stared at him, “Well, I um…don’t know. I just got excited to solve the problem in the equation and didn’t…”

He drew her in for a comforting hug, “It’ll be okay, Hermione. I appreciate the time you took to at least get this far. You did well, my love.”

Hermione kissed him on the cheek and smiled tiredly at him, “Thanks, Harry.”

Hermione stopped into the Swamp after their shift to let BJ know that his prescription was ready and stuttered to a halt when she saw a new occupant sitting on one of the beds chatting with the two surgeons, “Oh, is this a bad time?”

Hawkeye waved her in, “Nah, this is Doctor Cho Wunho. He’s our new surgeon. Doc, this is Hermione Granger of the exotic country of Great Britain and our resident magical elixir maker.”

She huffed and shot him a glare before turning back to the Korean doctor, “What Hawkeye is so eloquently saying is that I’m the camp’s pharmacist. It’s a pleasure to meet you, doctor.”

Doctor Wunho bowed, “It’s a pleasure to meet you too.”

Hermione co*cked her head, “Your English is remarkable, sir.”

“Thank you, I studied at the University of Chicago and attended Cooks County Hospital.”

Hermione nodded, “I take it that’s a prestigious hospital?”

BJ scrunched up his face briefly, “If I recall correctly, I would have to say it’s on par with the University College Hospital in London.”

She looked impressed, “Good training then. Well…I only stopped by to tell you BJ, that your prescription is ready. Feel free to swing by the dispensary to pick it up.”

BJ thanked her so she excused herself. She headed back to their tent where she found Sherman examining their Memory List, “Colonel?”

“Hello, Hermione. I was just taking a look at some of the cultural memories, if you don’t mind.”

She shrugged indifferently, “I just need to use the pensieve for a moment before you lose yourself in the future.” She pulled her wand and extracted a memory then dropped it into the bowl. She tapped the playback rune and watched quietly. “Damn, I thought so. I think we may have an infiltrator.”

Sherman perked up, “What was that?”

“That new surgeon, Doctor Wunho, I don’t think he’s South Korean.”

“How do you figure that? I saw his paperwork.”

She gave him a look, “Paperwork can be forged. Here, watch the memory.” It only took a few minutes then she put the two images of the doctor and soldier side by side. The similarities were unmistakable.

Sherman grumbled, “Damn. I need to contact I Corp about this. Do you have anything to restrain and interrogate him?”

Hermione looked just as grim, “Yeah, we do. Now?”

Sherman stood up, resolute, “Yeah, let’s get this done before he attempts anything.”

Back at the Swamp…

Sherman opened the door just as Hermione cast a lightning-quick Petrificus Totalis on Doctor Wunho. The Korean’s arms and legs snapped together and he fell off his bed with a muffled thump. BJ and Hawkeye jumped up, shouting exclamations of shock.

“Quiet, you two,” Sherman ordered over their yells, “This man may not be who he says he is.”

Both men looked sheepish which set off Hermione’s internal alarms, “What do you two know?”

Hawkeye spoke up first, “Well…BJ and I may have sort of…helped him.”

Sherman pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily, “Why?”

BJ shrugged helplessly, “He was impressed with our work, he was trained by our schools and wanted to help. He said that ‘if we can treat the enemy, why can’t he?’”

Hermione cast another spell and waited; Harry appeared a moment later carrying two small vials of clear liquid, “What’s up?”

She pointed at the still petrified doctor, “We may have a problem. We need the Veritaserum.”

He nodded and held up the vials, “I figured as much from your messenger so I brought a vial and the antidote. Okay, unlock his head and I’ll dose him.” She cast a Finis Capitis Petrificus. The man blinked and tried to look around. He saw Harry approach and opened his mouth to shout but Harry quickly put three drops of the liquid in his mouth. The doctor’s eyes glazed over a moment later.

“What is your name?” Harry asked.

“Doctor Syn Paik,” he replied in a monotone voice.

“Why did you infiltrate the camp?”

“I was wounded and they brought me in. I was impressed by the quality of the work and wanted to help.”

“Who are you loyal to?”

Doctor Paik struggled a bit so Harry rephrased it, “Are you trying to hurt anyone in the camp?”

“No.”

“What is your wish?”

“I want to help heal the wounded.”

“Do you care if they are the enemy?”

“No.”

Harry glanced up at Sherman who stood there, eyes narrowed in thought. The older man caught his eye and nodded, “I’m satisfied. Release him.” Harry gave the antidote and Hermione released him from the body-bind.

“Doctor Paik, I’m sorry that we had to do this to you but your arrival was suspicious,” Sherman apologized. Paik nervously glanced at Harry and Hermione before straightening up, “I understand, Colonel. I think that if I were in your shoes, I’d have done the same.”

Sherman had an uncomfortable look though, “That being said, I cannot allow you to continue to work in this camp. If someone other than us were to become suspicious, it would end badly for all of us. I’m sorry.”

Paik bowed his head, “I understand. I just wish it didn’t have to be like this.” He glanced at the others, “Do not fear, lady and gentlemen; soon the war will end and maybe we can get together once more.”

Army Intelligence was called; they sent a pair of MPs out to pick up Dr. Paik and take him to a P.O.W. camp. Hermione obliviated Dr. Paik of his memory that they had used magic, as well as their existence in the camp. BJ and Hawkeye were depressed and rather disgusted that a talented surgeon had to be treated this way just because of what uniform he wore. Hermione laid low for a little while just in case the two took their emotions out on her.

She caught sight of Hawkeye in the chow line that evening, “Um, Hawkeye?”

He turned and gently laid his hand on her shoulder, “We don’t blame you, Hermione. If you hadn’t figured it out, someone would’ve eventually and we’d have been in even worse shape. Probably be charged with treason or something.” She let out a sigh of relief and nodded her understanding.

Friday 7 November 1952

Harry was relaxing in the tent’s living area reading a book when Radar approached, “Hey, Harry?”

He looked up, “What is it, Radar?”

“I was wondering if you have any music stored in those memories. Maybe something we could play over the PA?”

Harry pursed his lips in thought, “Well, let’s see.” He picked up the List and turned the page to the Music section, “I suppose we shouldn’t go too far into the future of music, mainly because none of you would have any reference to it. Have you ever heard of rock ‘n’ roll?”

Radar shook his head, “No, I don’t think so.”

“Well, let’s start simple then. I think Elvis Presley is always a good introduction. Hmm, let’s try you out on ‘Jailhouse Rock.’” He selected the correct vial and poured it into the pensieve. The music was fast-paced and soon Radar was snapping his fingers and tapping his feet, a wide smile on his face as he nodded along with the lyrics.

“I like this! What else do you have?”

Harry, along with Radar and Hermione, figured out how to run a line and microphone out from his office to their tent so they didn’t have to remove the pensieve from its table (and security.) From there, it became the ‘difficult’ task of choosing which songs to play. They created a list of possibilities, from rock and roll through to folk music. Hermione put her foot down and restricted Harry to choosing only those from within the 1950s. “They’re just not ready for some of the genres we’re used to. Can you imagine anyone here listening to rap, grunge or heavy metal?”

Harry snorted, trying to picture Hawkeye or the others head-banging to bands like Metallica or Megadeath and understood her concerns, “No problem. I think we have a pretty good line-up; Elvis Presley, Chuck Berry, Jerry Lee Lewis for example in the Rock category, Pat Boone in the R&B; Frank Sinatra, Pattie Page in Classic Pop. There’re others of course, but that should give you an idea of what we’re working with.”

That afternoon, everyone’s head snapped up as the fast electric guitar sounds belted out of the compound’s speakers and the guitarist singing his lyrics:

“Deep down in Louisiana, close to New Orleans

Way back up in the woods among the evergreens

There stood a log cabin made of earth and wood

Where lived a country boy named Johnny B. Goode;

Who never ever learned to read or write so well

But he could play a guitar just like a-ringin' a bell

Go go, Go Johnny go go

Go Johnny, go go

Go Johnny, go go;

Go Johnny, go go

Johnny B. Goode!”

Out in the space between the hospital and the Swamp, Harry and Hermione began dancing and grooving to the song, inspiring others to join in. Harry grabbed ahold of Margaret and led her around for a fast-paced step while Hermione caught Sherman and encouraged him to do the best he could. Next up in the playlist was Jerry Lee Lewis’ ‘Great Balls of Fire.’

“You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain

Too much love drives a man insane,

You broke my will, but what a thrill;

Goodness gracious, great balls of fire!

I laughed at love 'cause I thought it was funny

You came along and you moved me honey!

I've changed my mind, this love is fine;

Goodness gracious, great balls of fire!”

Harry traded places with Frank as the usually antagonistic man actually cracked a smile and began fast-stepping to the melody. Hermione moved up alongside of him and took his hand in hers, “This was a wonderful idea, Harry. Just the sort of morale-booster they all needed but didn’t know how to get.”

Monday 10 November 1952

It was a strident call sent out over the PA that sent chills and terror amongst the camp’s inhabitants, “ATTENTION ALL PERSONNEL! ENEMY FORCES HAVE OVERRUN THE LINE! ALL PERSONNEL, BUGOUT!!”

Harry was tugging on his boots as he tried to get outside without tripping over himself, “What’s going on?”

Radar ran past, “We’re getting out! The enemy is twenty minutes away.”

Harry dashed back inside and into Hermione’s room, “Hermione!”

She was already up and casting packing charms, “I heard; go help the camp. I’ve got this!”

He paused long enough to grab his shirt and wand then headed back outside. He headed over to the kitchen and burst in through the door. He yelled at the cook to clear the room so he could pack. “What the hell do you think I’m trying to do?”

“Watch.” Harry cast the same packing spell Hermione was ostensibly doing to their tent. All of the equipment such as the stove, oven, utensils and even the shelving flew from their spots, shrunk in size and into an open crate. He moved onto the pantry and cold storage and within five minutes; the kitchen was packed and ready to go on the truck. Harry shot the man a sardonic expression and winked before leaving a stunned cook in his wake.

The deuce and half cargo transports began rolling in from the motor pool as the crews began loading them with the various crates and materials from the camp. Harry, and soon Hermione were on hand to shrink and levitate what they could to facilitate a quicker evacuation. Radar ran up to them, “We’ve got a problem. Hawkeye’s spinal patient… they’ve just started operating and can’t move him.”

The trio returned to the OR and masked up before entering, “We heard you have a problem?”

Hawkeye complained, “We just started operating. Will that petrification spell of yours work in this case?”

Hermione affirmed that it would, “We can go one better. It’s called a ‘Stasis spell.’ It’ll put his entire world on hold until it’s lifted. All functions basically stop at the moment of application. He won’t be dead, merely frozen for lack of better term.”

Hawkeye stepped back, “We’ve got no choice. Do it.”

Hermione cast the spell; Hawkeye and the team watched in amazement as a shimmering field appeared around the patient. “Done, let’s get him loaded onto the ambulance.”

As they watched the trucks rolling out, Sherman turned to Harry, “What about those perimeter stones you said you set up? Will you need to take them too?”

Harry shook his head, “No, they’re expendable.”

“Alright, get yourself on a truck; I’m going up in the chopper to scout a new location.”

Both men shook hands and headed off.

An hour later, Sherman radioed in with a possible location; unfortunately it was being occupied by a brothel of prostitutes. Sherman tried to foist off a case of Vienna sausage in exchange for the building but in the end, it was Klinger’s collection of dresses that was the deal-maker. Hermione patted him on the shoulder consolingly, “Cheer up, Max. This’ll just give you an opportunity to try new designs. I’ll even chip in to buy you a new bolt of fabric; your choice.”

Word reached them as they were getting settled that the UN forces managed to regroup and push back the enemy so it was decided to send Harry to take a look to see if it were feasible to return. He returned fifteen minutes later and gave the green light, “Nothing seems to be touched, not even the wardstones were harmed. Good thing too…”

Father Mulcahy was puzzled, “Why’s that?”

“If they’re tampered with, even just a simple scratch will cause them to detonate with the equivalent explosive force of a 155mm artillery shell.”

Everyone’s eyes widened fearfully as they realized that magic truly was powerful. Mulcahy summed it up simply, “Dear God…”

The unit returned to their original location and things settled down in an uneasy peace. Hawkeye saved his patient, Klinger was gifted a couple of bolts of fabric in his choice by Hermione and Sherman; Harry and Hermione took a break from all the excitement and went on a mini-vacation to Seoul for some R&R.

Wednesday 19 November 1952

Hermione entered the mess tent, picked up a tray and looked over the selection; it wasn’t so bad today. A variety of vegetables and some shredded pork with an option for a salad. She loaded up her tray and took a seat next to Harry where he and the others of the senior staff plus Radar were sitting and discussing the latest round of medical warfare going on in the camp. “HQ thinks the disease might be caused by rat-borne mites and fleas,” Sherman explained, “Anyone notice more rats hanging around the camp?”

“I thought the wards were supposed to prevent them from getting in,” Margaret commented with an eye towards Hermione.

“They should. I’ll check them after lunch.”

“In the meantime, I have something here that should be helpful in improving morale. It’s a War Department directive for a ‘Soldier of the Month’ contest. One lucky enlisted man will get to spend six days in Tokyo.”

Klinger had come around armed with a pot of coffee and overheard the announcement, “Wow.” Radar agreed with him.

“Contestants will be judged on dress and deportment. Finalists will take an oral quiz on American history. Post this Radar and have everyone bone up. The judge, as determined by HQ will be the Second in Command, Frank Burns.”

Radar froze and slowly turned his eyes to the Major who sneered, “I heard that.”

Harry snickered, “Relax, Radar. I’m not sure if we have the memories for your country’s history but you’re welcome to check.”

As it turned out, the anti-creature wards were holding just fine so there wasn’t any possibility of one of the infected rats getting into the camp which meant that the contagious soldiers got sick somewhere else. As a group, the senior medical staff took part in reviewing the memories of identifying and treating hemorrhagic fever. Margaret had her nursing staff put together a batch of IV saline but restricted the concentration to less than one percent isotonic saline so as to not overload the patient’s overtaxed system.

Frank ended up getting sick from the fever somehow. Harry figured that he must’ve come in contact with one of the patient’s clothing before they were disinfected and one of the mites or fleas transferred over. After a couple of rounds of his whining, Harry finally slipped him a mild sleeping draught so the rest of the ward could get some rest.

Sherman was shaking his head at the whole ordeal, “I just don’t understand him. He knows that you have a bunch of future information where all of this was solved yet he still treats it as if he’s the only patient on Earth who needs critical care.”

Hermione stood there next to him, “Munchausen's syndrome, maybe?”

“With Burns, anything is possible. Okay, I’ll be in my office if you need me.”

BJ and Pierce ended up acting as the contest’s judges, asking a set of four finalists including Radar and Klinger a bunch of questions on the topic of American history. Klinger was discovered to have been cheating by stealing and copying the answers; the other two were too clueless to have paid attention to their education from what Harry had heard later. Radar was the only one who put in the effort and therefore won the contest. He packed and headed out that very night. A week later, he was dropped off by a Military Police officer with a list of charges against him; all of them utterly hilarious in hindsight. Harry offered to extract Radar’s memories and play them back for proof that the teen did actually go to Tokyo to have fun and not just pass out in a gutter somewhere.

A week later, the camp (and Harry) were in for a surprise visit. Colonel Flagg had managed to overcome the ill-intent aversion wards. It surprised Harry so much that he immediately went to check out the main wardstone and the perimeter stones to make sure they hadn’t been tampered with. Seeing nothing amiss, he headed over to the colonel’s office to see if he could listen in on whatever conversation was taking place.

He entered and saw the door was still open so he poked his head in. Sherman saw him and waved him in before continuing his conversation with Flagg, “I'll be grateful to you, Colonel, if you'd clear this matter up.”

Hawkeye snarked, “Without taking hostages, if possible.” He motioned to BJ, “Colonel Flagg's over here to keep us all safe from democracy.

Sherman shook his head and growled, “Can it, Pierce.”

Flagg was unimpressed, “Still a cutie-pie, ain't you?”

Hawkeye acted all smug, “Well, some guys have got it.”

Harry was confused, “What’s going on?”

“We got a patient in today who claims to be Jesus Christ. We can’t get any real information out of him because he’s lacking any sort of identification,” Sherman explained. Harry made a noise of understanding.

Flagg turned on Harry, “Who are you supposed to be?”

“My name is ‘None-yah’ and I’m supposed to be the one who’s in charge of perimeter security. I don’t remember seeing your name on the permission list to enter the camp,” he snarked back.

Flagg looked peeved, “None-yah? What kind of name is that?”

Harry gave him a sneer back, “It’s my first name. My family name is ‘Bizness.’” Hawkeye had to bite on his fist to keep from bursting out laughing. BJ was in no better shape either. Even Sherman had a twinkle in his eye and a smirk ghosting his lips. “Now that we’ve introduced each other, why don’t you tell us the reason for your visit?”

Flagg hesitated; this wasn’t going how he thought it was supposed to go. He was the colonel; everyone should be giving him information and jumping through hoops to please him. He got a sour look on his face, “I’m here to send that patient with the phony messiah complex back to combat where he belongs.”

Hawkeye couldn’t stand it any longer and interjected before tempers flared anymore, “Hold it. None of us are qualified to make diagnoses on the mind. I suggest that we bring in Sidney Freedman for his professional opinion.”

Flagg pulled out his notepad and a pencil, “Is that Freedman with an ie or ei?”

Hawkeye leaned in, “It’s spelled with two e’s as in ‘freedom,’ that’s probably where you got mixed up.” He nodded to Sherman and Harry then stalked off.

Sherman caught up to Harry a little while later, “None-yah Bizness? If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were turning into an American.” He laughed and clapped Harry on the shoulder.

Harry put on a mock-horrified look for a moment then shrugged it off, “I couldn’t help it and yes, I see the same problem happening. Since he’s Army Intelligence or whatever, I didn’t want to give him any usable information to investigate with. I have to tell you though, after all the time spent here in camp, it’s going to make going home that much more interesting.”

Sherman sobered, “How’s that coming along?”

“Hermione’s figured out the calculations supposedly but has now run into the problem of finding a suitable power source since we don’t have any more Time Turner dust.”

Sherman looked thoughtful, “What’s the dust made from?”

“Um, I’m not exactly sure. You’d have to ask Hermione on that but if I recall correctly, it’s powdered Pixie Wings embued with an Hour-Reversal Charm or some such thing.”

“Are pixie wings not available here in Korea?”

Harry shrugged again, “Not sure. I don’t think anyone’s ever checked before. I’ll ask Hermione if she knows.”

That evening in the magical tent…

“Hey, Hermione I’ve got a question for you.” She looked up from her reading. “Isn’t Time Turner dust made from Pixie wings?”

“Uh-huh, it has to be in powder form. Why?”

“Conversation I had earlier with Sherman. I told him that you’d finished the calculations to get us home but needed an alternate power source because we were out of the dust. Is the wing powder difficult to obtain?”

Hermione marked her place and put the book down, “I’m not sure. I suppose anything is possible if you look hard enough. You do know that it’s not just the dust that makes the time turner work right?”

Harry nodded, “Yeah, I heard it was some kind of Hour Reversal charm?”

“And it’s incredibly tricky to work with. The slightest mistake will cost you dearly; you’d be trapped in a temporal loop with no way to get out unless you have a trained team to extract you from the otherspace regions. It’s why it’s so heavily regulated back home, and now too I guess.”

Harry slumped in his chair, “Well, there goes that idea.”

She patted his hand, “I’m still pleased that you thought of it. I’ve been looking into alternative power sources and I think that the uranium glass is still the best option at the moment. I remember seeing a few pieces in Seoul when we were on R&R last time. It shouldn’t be a problem to buy a vase or something.”

“If it’s not that difficult, I’m surprised that you’re waiting,” he commented.

Hermione started growing sheepish, “I…um, I wanted to wait until you were ready.”

A knowing smile slid onto his features, “Admit it, Hermione. You’re growing attached to the people here too.”

She dropped her face into her hands as he started snickering. She looked back up at him and sighed, “Fine, I’ll admit it. Yes, I’m growing to love the place despite us being in a war. I’ve made friends with the nurses and enjoy the work we’re doing with the locals.”

Harry puffed up in feigned superiority for a moment, “I had a feeling this might happen. Well then, we have options. I know that according to history, this war concludes in 1953 around late July or something. We could stick around until then and leave when everyone else is going home too so we don’t leave them in the lurch.”

Hermione’s eyes grew distant as she imagined that scenario, “I think that’d be the best outcome.”

The next morning, Sidney Freedman arrived to the camp. When he entered Radar’s office, he found it occupied by the arrogant Colonel Flagg who tried to accuse him of being a Communist when Sidney refused to go along with Flagg’s suggestion of returning the wounded man to combat. Sidney finally put an end to Flagg’s coercion attempt, “Just between the two of us and whatever mic I might be talking into, do you really believe if I were a Communist, I'd hesitate for a second to sign a loyalty oath? I'd like to go on talking to you, Flagg, but with your schizophrenia, I'd have to charge you double time. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've already kept Jesus waiting five minutes.”

A little while later, the doctors, Flagg, Freedman’ along with Harry and Hermione were situated in Sherman’s office again for the diagnosis results. Sherman got the ball rolling, “Well Dr. Freedman what's the diagnosis?”

Sidney quipped, “He's Christ.”

“If you look closely you may notice, I'm not laughing.”

Sidney relented, “OK, he's not Christ, but he's also not Chandler.”

Flagg made some muttered comment about psychoanalytical double-talk. He then made some ridiculous claims about Sidney’s loyalty then stormed out of the office. Harry pinched the bridge of his nose and grumbled, “He’s just a muggle, right?”

Hermione looked at him strangely, “Yes, so?”

“I’m wondering if we could modify the muggle-repelling ward to exclude just him so we don’t have to go through this again.” She laughed and said she’d look into it.

Friday 28 November 1952

‘When it rains, it pours.’ So went the old adage, Harry thought. They’d gotten reports of snipers in the area and so he was patrolling the perimeter once again checking on the wards to make sure they were secure. He returned to their tent and put a pot on the stove to make some tea before settling down at the kitchen table. Hermione entered a little while later, her face stormy. “What’s wrong?”

She flopped down in the chair opposite of him, “Failed negotiations between the local leaders. Jeong wants to take possession of some land off to the east but it’s currently being used by Kang who is waiting a season before tilling under the cover crop. The two of them were at each other’s throats by the time I got there but nothing I tried got them to shut up long enough to get a word in edgewise.”

Harry grimaced, “And you can’t use magic on them which would add to the problems.”

“Exactly. So, I finally just took a bucket of water from the trough and dumped it on the both of them.”

Harry burst out laughing, “So now they’re wet and mad. What happened next?”

“I gave them my soon-to-be patented ‘Granger Glare of Death’ and they calmed down to where I was able to find out their particulars.”

“But you said the negotiations failed.”

“They did, just as I was about to strike a bargain between the two, their wives got into an argument which set off the men again. I finally gave up and left,” she groused and sniffed the air, “What’re you making?”

“Tea. You look like you could use a cup, I’d think.”

“Definitely, I’m going to take it and go soak in the tub.” She rose and poured herself a cup and disappeared into her bedroom for a moment before ducking into the bathroom.

Upon entering the mess tent later, Harry took a seat next to BJ and Hawkeye. His attention perked up when he heard the distinct sounds of a Bristol accent. He peered around the tent before his gaze landed on a limping lieutenant headed their way. The man introduced himself to BJ and Hawkeye as Lieutenant Chivers of the 29th Brigade, Gloucestershire Regiment. Pierce handled the introductions for him and BJ whilst shooting Harry a curious look. Harry subtly shook his head so Pierce introduced him as a patient recovering from laryngitis. Harry mutely smiled and shook the lieutenant’s hand before focusing on his tray.

When he was done, he dove back into their tent and sank with a sigh on the couch. Hermione poked her head out of their laboratory with a curious look on her face, “What’s wrong?”

“A British unit is in camp to handle our sniper trouble. I nearly got introduced by Hawkeye but managed to stop him just in time.”

She winced, “Ouch. Anyone we know?”

Harry shrugged a shoulder, “I don’t think so. Man with the last name of Chivers? (She thought for a moment before shaking her head.) Anyway, he’s a lieutenant in the Gloucestershire Regiment and is suffering from an ingrown toenail apparently. He, BJ and Hawkeye went to go deal with it.”

She nodded her understanding and returned to the lab.

As the events unfolded, a tank commander had come in to visit with some of his wounded men, got treated for a case of ‘carnal flu’ then was eventually called upon to let the camp borrow a tank to act as a ‘guard dog’ deterrent against the sniper who was still plaguing the camp. Harry saw the gleam in Frank’s eyes as he examined the machine so he cast a fairly powerful Sticking charm on the engine of the Sherman tank to keep it from operating. Hawkeye and BJ got a bottle of Scotch from Lieutenant Chivers as payment for treating his ingrown toenail.

The sniper was eventually dealt with by Harry who sent out his Patronus. The ghostly stag scared the sniper so badly that he left all of his gear and his weapon behind.

Tuesday 2 December 1952

Harry was in their tent going through some paperwork that had been left undone for too long when Frank came storming in. The perpetually sour man glared around the kitchen area before turning his gaze on a bemused Harry, “You got something that I can destroy?”

“I think so. Why, what happened?”

“Margaret came back from her trip to Tokyo and apparently she went and got herself engaged,” he growled.

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed and motioned towards the empty chair, “So why does this make you upset?”

Frank grumped and slumped down in the available chair, “I don’t know, it just does.”

Harry pondered the situation for a moment, “You are aware that nearly everyone in the camp knows about your relationship with Margaret?”

Frank shrugged, “So?”

“Well, you’re married; she’s engaged to get married so why should things change between you two? You’re already committing adultery so...” Harry trailed off uncertainly.

Frank let out a frustrated sigh and ran his fingers through his hair, “You think I’m overreacting?”

Harry’s face had a neutral expression, “Maybe a little? I’m just saying that sudden news should be taken with a calming draught and a cup of tea.” He got up and put action to words and handed both to Frank who promptly quaffed both before thanking Harry and leaving.

“Harry,” Hermione greeted him as she stepped into the tent, “What’re you working on?”

“Just some reports that got put on the back burner for too long. I figured I’d finish them before the end of civilization.” He chuckled at his own humor.

“Goof. Did you hear about Margaret’s engagement?”

Harry snorted, “Yeah, straight from Frank. The man came boiling in here all ready to throw a class one temper tantrum but I managed to talk him down from a murderous rampage. Gave him some advice and a calming draught before he stumbled away.”

“This isn’t going to end well. It kind of reminds me when Lavender Brown finally got wise and dumped Weasley at the end of seventh year. She, like Margaret, were telling everyone within earshot about this hot and capable new guy she was seeing; I think it was a last-ditch effort on her part to light a fire under Weasley’s arse and get him to man up to propose to her. In Margaret’s case, she’s picked the absolute worst time to get married. I mean, seriously, her fiancé is stationed in Tokyo which is party central for the Eastern Asia theater of operation while she’s stuck out on the front lines. He’s going to treat this whole thing as a lark while she’s head over heels, dancing in the clouds.”

Harry was unconcerned, “Not our problem. If they want to bomb out their lives and make an absolute wreck of things, I’m not going to get involved.”

Hermione sighed and picked up a cup of tea, “You want to go prank someone?”

Harry lifted his face and saw the twinkle in her eyes, “Who and what did you have in mind, my dear?”

The next morning, everything seemed normal but there was an air of anticipation hanging over the camp as if a certain pair of futuristic pranksters were waiting for the show to begin. Hawkeye was the first to be hit; he’d just sat down to breakfast and picked up his fork when it suddenly let out a scream of terror. He dropped the utensil in shock and it quieted down. BJ watched amused from his position opposite of him, “What was that?”

“Not sure.” He picked up the fork again and it resumed its screaming. Once more he dropped it on the table and it silenced itself. Sighing in defeat and realization he glanced around the mess tent and spotted a pink-faced Harry standing in the serving line with an expression that suggested he was trying (and failing) to keep from outright laughter. “Bravo, Harry.”

Next up in the Day of Pranking, was Klinger who had his hands spelled so that all the doorknobs in the camp, be it from drawer pulls to closet doors, would be stuck in his grip. The only way they could be released was if he rubbed the handle sensuously. Sherman got pinged when he found himself waking up from a pleasant dream that he’d been riding his horse resplendent in his full military uniform but in reality was riding a large boulder not too far from the camp.

Rightly figuring that Frank would be too high-strung to appreciate any sort of public pranks, Harry and Hermione refrained from targeting him. Well, at least Hermione did... Hawkeye and Harry teamed up to slip Veritaserum into Frank’s coffee then start asking him a bunch of embarrassing questions like ‘What don’t you want us to know?’ or ‘What is your real opinion of Margaret?’ Frank’s answers were borderline disgraceful with some of the knowledge he’d obtained since the war started to downright illegal with some of the black market trades he’d made to bolster his wealth he’d hidden from the government.

“You think we ought to report him?” Harry queried Hawkeye who shrugged indifferently.

“Nah, let him go home thinking all is clear then we’ll alert the authorities. It would make for a nice headline in his hometown’s newspaper, don’t you think?”

Harry’s return grin was predatory, “Evil, I like it.”

Father Mulcahy was pranked by charming the text within his bible into Tolkien Elvish. His look of panic was the source of much laughter until he figured out that he’d gotten pranked and joined in. “It certainly is a pretty language.”

BJ got pranked into thinking that Hawkeye had shaved every bit of hair from his body during the night and kept screaming at his bunkmate that he was bald! It didn’t matter if Hawkeye kept showing him in the mirror that he still had his hair, BJ was adamant that he was hairless. The prank lasted until the next morning when surprise, surprise! all his hair had been regrown.

That evening in the mess tent for dinner, everyone discovered that their plates remained full no matter how much had been eaten off of them. No one was willing to waste the food so they continued to sit and eat until fit to burst. The cook was mystified because he didn’t remember making so much food and scratched his head trying to figure out where it all came from.

One other prank, Harry pulled on the doctors was hiding some helium tanks in Colonel Potter’s office before one of their usual staff meetings and watching under a disillusionment and bubblehead charm as they started freaking out as their voices changed to a higher pitch.

At the end of the day...

Harry was lounging in his bed, his door still open when Hermione came in to say good-night. “That was fun today, Hermione. I’m glad we decided to do that.”

She kissed him on the lips and slipped in under the covers, “Me too, Harry. You interested in a bit of personal fun?”

With a lascivious grin, he pulled her close, “As my lady desires.”

Saturday 6 December 1952

Hermione was wandering the camp with no particular destination in mind. It wasn’t that she was bored; Hell, she had a to-do list a mile long but she stopped to think about the last time that she’d just done what she wanted to do. She was gazing over the expansive field of wildflowers that grew in the area marked off for suspected landmines when she heard her name being called. Turning, she spotted Kelly Nakahara approaching, “Hey, Kelly. What’s up?”

“I saw you heading in this direction and I just wanted to make sure you were aware of the landmines.”

Hermione nodded, “Yeah, I saw the sign over there. I was just taking some me-time to look at pretty flowers for a change. Too much death and destruction, annoying interpersonal conflicts amongst the staff and the civilian population and wracking my brain trying to figure out a way to go home.”

Kelly shook her head sadly, “I don’t know how you hold together for so long. If it were me, I’d be screaming or bashing something over a rock by now.”

Hermione smiled wistfully, “I do that too but I also have a ready supply of calming draughts.”

“So what is your home like?” Kelly asked her as they both settled on the ground.

“Well, I was born in Crawley which is a large town and borough in West Sussex, England. It is 28 miles (45 km) south of London, and has been inhabited since the Stone Age and was the center of ironworking during the Roman times.”

Kelly smiled, “Sounds lovely. I was born and raised in Honolulu, graduated from college with a degree in nursing and joined the Army just after the end of the last world war. Nothing fancy in my life, really.”

Hermione nodded and leaned in conspiratorially, “Any sordid tales of adventurous boyfriends, Miss Nakahara? It is Hawaii after all!” Kelly blushed which egged Hermione on, “Oh, come on! Let’s hear it!”

Back in camp...

A call had come through the radio that an aid station had a badly wounded patient that needed immediate transport to the hospital. Hawkeye convinced Radar to take a jeep up to the station; Radar received permission from Sherman who told him to take someone else with him for backup. Father Mulchahy had been in the office and was upset with his feeling of being left out of the action, so to speak therefore had asked for a transfer up to the front where he could be more like the line chaplains of old.

“Padre, It’s a different war these days; line officers don’t want an unarmed man up on the front any more. It’s just one more person they have to be responsible for,” Sherman had explained. Depressed, Mulcahy left his office and stood there with a defiant look on his face as he wrestled with the crazy notion of joining Radar. BJ stopped him and asked him everything was alright; Mulcahy distractedly replied that he was and that this was something he needed to do for himself. He jumped in Radar’s jeep before anyone could say otherwise and the two drove off.

An hour later, Klinger had picked up the frantic call from Radar saying that their patient was choking and barely breathing. “Go get one of the doctors!” Hawkeye, BJ and Sherman were soon on hand; Sherman demanded to know why Mulcahy was there but let it go for later. In the meantime, Hawkeye took charge of describing the operation to cut a hole in the man’s neck to stick a tube in so he could breathe through that.

Once the emergency tracheostomy was performed, it was left to Father Mulcahy to finish the drive back to camp since Radar had gotten woozy from the sight of the blood and field surgery.

BJ was talking with Harry later about the ordeal, “It’s a shame that there’s no method I know of that would allow us to see what they’re seeing.” He noticed the look on Harry’s face, “Harry?”

Harry bobbled his head amusedly; thinking of those communication mirrors that he and Hermione had stashed away, “Well...”

Thursday 25 December 1952

It was the ramp up towards Christmas as holiday cheer warred with holiday depression. Harry and Hermione were kept busy as personal shoppers for the camp since they couldn’t just pick up and take some time off to go get presents or whatnot from town. Armed with lists and the money to pay for the same; the pair took Seoul by storm. More than once, their praises were sung by all the recipients and whatever deity they believed for bringing such wonderful people to their camp.

Hermione was on one such shopping trip when she decided to duck into one of the local booksellers to see what was on offer. Browsing through the stacks, she smiled when she saw such classics (from her perspective) like Charlotte’s Web, The Old Man and the Sea, The Invisible Man, and others.

“May I help you find something, miss?” She turned to see the shopkeeper looking expectantly at her.

“Oh, I’m just browsing for potential Christmas gifts.”

He smiled warmly, “Ah, the best kind of gift to get is that of a good book. Let me know if you have any questions.”

After a while, she managed to drag herself out of the shop after buying a dozen or so of books. ‘First edition copies of my favorites, no less!’ She ducked behind a building and shrunk down her bag then slipped it into her pocket before meeting up with Harry, “Did you find everything?”

“Yeah, I think so. Come on, let’s get back to camp.”

Harry was amused to see which books she’d bought for herself, “Don’t you already have these somewhere?”

“I do but these are first editions, just published this year.”

He nodded appreciatively, “Nice score then. I managed to find something too though it’s significantly older.”

She lifted her gaze away from her purchases, “Oh? What did you get?”

He uncovered the box he was holding and placed it down on the table, the title was in French of all languages. “Traité de l'harmonie réduite à ses principes naturels?” She asked perplexed, “Treatise on Harmony reduced to its natural principles?”

“It’s a music treatise written by Jean-Philippe Rameau. It was first published in Paris in 1722 by Jean-Baptiste-Christophe Ballard. The Treatise describes music and how to write it based on the tonal system used today in classical music,” he explained.

“I get that but why; it just seems so out of character.”

Harry got an amused look on his face, “I overheard a few people here describe the two of us as being one person. Harry and Hermione combined down to ‘Harmony.’ I thought the title was funny. A treatise on us and how we make such wonderful music.”

Hermione rolled her eyes but giggled and leaned over to kiss him, “We are Harmony, now and forever.”

Chapter 3: A New Year Brings New Challenges

Chapter Text

Chapter 3: A New Year Brings New Challenges

Thursday 1 January 1953

It was quiet in the camp the morning of the New Year. The only sounds were from the occasional dog barking in the background or the random chicken or two that had managed to escape their pens. Inside their tent, Harry rolled out of bed and scratched for a couple of minutes before grabbing a robe and ambling out to the kitchen. He spotted Hermione already awake and sipping on a cup of tea, “Morning. Happy new year.”

“Happy new year to you too. Got any plans for today?”

He shrugged unconcernedly, “Haven’t the foggiest. Why? What’d you have in mind?”

“I want to brew up a couple of batches of Sober-up and distribute them to the camp. I have a feeling they’ll be needed.”

Harry chuckled as he poured himself a cup of tea and swiped a donut from the serving tray, “I’d imagine so; especially Hawkeye and BJ.”

Once they’d cleared their plates, the pair entered the laboratory and began brewing up two large cauldrons of hangover remedies. The sultry baritone sounds of Tom Jones playing in the background. “Harry, hand me those vials that have the vitamin B complex please.”

He looked over at the shelf and plucked the ones that contained B1 (thiamine), B2 (riboflavin), folic acid, B6 and B12 and handed them over. “Do you need vitamin C too?”

She examined her recipe before nodding, “Yes, please.”

While Harry was just as skilled at brewing potions as she was, there was only one brewing station within the tent so he was content to let her do the work while he played go-fer. He peered at the recipe and noticed some additions, “Why do you have the ingredients for a Pepper-up in there? I didn’t think that the Sober-up needed capsaicin.”

“Normally no, but this is a variant I created since we got here to boost the effectiveness of the remedy since most of our patients are muggles.”

This was new information, “How so?”

“Any potion we as magical people use is only capable of about 50% effectiveness to your average muggle. By combining two known powerful curatives such as these two, I’m able to boost the healing effect to 80%. It’s not perfect but it’s a heck of a lot better than suffering from a hangover dry or trying to suck down coffee, which just makes things worse.”

“But I’d always heard that coffee is a good drink to have the morning after.”

“Yes, but only if it’s a single 8 oz cup. Alcohol and coffee are diuretics which is the worst thing to be imbibing when trying to recover from a hangover. Your body has lost a lot of fluids, salts and minerals so what this will do is help replace them faster so our friends can get ready for the inevitable incoming wounded you know is bound to pop up after the parties.”

Harry bobbed his head in understanding, “What about the usual side effects from the Pepper-up? Will this one have that too?”

Hermione shrugged, “Yeah, but it’s a small price to pay and frankly, I think everyone here is used to that by now.”

The improved brew simmered for another hour before being allowed to cool when Harry began assembling the bottles. He joined Hermione in transferring the potion from the cauldrons to the bottles with a tap of his wand as the bright red liquid jumped up and split like a magical fountain into the single dose vials then magically capped themselves off. He handed one tray to Hermione and picked up the other one, “You go left, I’ll go right?”

“Deal.”

They headed out and quietly entered each of the tents to distribute their gifts, leaving a note instructing the tent inhabitants what the potion was for, what the dosage was, and what to do with the vials once they were done.

Harry entered the Swamp and belted out, “Good Morning, Sunshine! Let’s start the day with a smile!”

Anguished groans and growled deprecations on his parenthood (amongst other things) were heard from Hawkeye, BJ and even Frank. “Get out of here with that morning cheerfulness. Don’t you know it’s wrong to violate the dead?” Hawkeye managed to grumble as he blearily tried to focus on Harry’s form.

“Awww, is the poor super-surgeon hungover?” Harry teased and tapped the other man’s foot who kicked back ineffectually, “Seriously though, I come bearing gifts. I have here the latest in modern magical potioneering, the Sober-up Potion! One dose and you’ll be on your feet again with the bare minimum of side effects.”

“Don’ wan’ it.”

Harry snorted, “You’d rather lie around moaning and groaning like a concussed cow? Fine. BJ, how about you?”

BJ held one hand over his eyes to shield them from the stabbing daylight and the other out for the vial, “I’ll take whatever I can get to remove this tennis ball from my mouth.” He sucked down the contents and waited for the steam to stop leaking out of his ears. He slowly sat up while staring at the now empty vial with a look of astonishment on his face, “That was fast! Hawk, you need to try this.”

More grumbling was heard from Pierce. Frank on the other hand, reached out for his own vial, “I’ll take one so I don’t have to listen to him whine.”

Harry finally had enough of Pierce’s grumbling so he put his vial on the nightstand, “When you’ve had enough of your pity party, feel free to join the rest of the camp.”

In Sherman’s office, an hour later…

Harry entered armed with a stack of order request forms and placed them on Colonel Potter’s desk, “Got some requisitions for you to sign, sir.”

Sherman glanced up then frowned, “Where’s Radar?”

“Indisposed for the moment.”

Sherman nodded understandingly, “Right. Okay, I’ll get to them. Oh, by the way, thank you so much for that hangover potion; that was incredible.”

Harry grinned, “Thank Hermione. It was her creation.”

The rest of the day was relatively quiet; everyone rightly figured that both sides of the war were either still hung-over or just feeling too lazy to get up and kill each other. Harry took the opportunity to practice his spell-casting drills for speed and accuracy up behind the camp in the space normally reserved for the camp garbage dump. Hermione spent the day puttering around the tent, organizing and cleaning then wandered over to the nurse’s tent to see if anyone wanted to chat. She was of course, welcome and joined in on the topics of the day. Klinger came in before she left and asked if he could use the pensieve to research some new fashion designs he’d had ideas on and wanted to know what the trends had in store for the coming decade.

When he emerged, he thanked her and went back to his tent to begin sewing. He enlisted the aid of several nurses to model his ideas. When he was done, Max held a show for the camp. He had received permission from Sherman who was intrigued despite the fact that there would be no press coverage and no one had any purchasing power. He rightly figured that if he didn’t, Max would just redirect his energy to try and go A.W.O.L. again.

Max and Hermione got together to figure out what sort of music to play after she’d commented that a good playlist always got the audience in the proper mindset and mood. First up was ‘Good Vibrations’ by Loleatta Holloway featuring Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch:

“Yeah, can you feel it, baby
(Ooohooo) I can too
(Ooohooo)
(Ooohooo)
(Ooohooo) Come on, swing it, c-come on, swing it,
(Ooohooo) Come on, swing it, c-come on, swing it!
(Ooohooo) One, two
(Ooohooo) Three, now we come to the pay off

It's such a good vibration!
It's such a sweeeeet sensation!
It's such a good vibration!
It's such a sweeeeet sensation!

Yo, it's about that time
To bring forth the rhythm and the rhyme
(Ooohooo) I'm a-gettin' mine so get yours
I wanna see sweat coming out your pores
(Ooohooo) On the house tip is how I'm swingin' this
Strictly hip hop, boy, I ain't singin' this
(Ooohooo) Bringin' this to the entire nation
Black, white, red, brown, feel the vibration
Come on, come on
Feel it, feel it
Feel the vibration

It's such a good vibration!
It's such a sweeeeet sensation!
It's such a good vibration!
It's such a sweeeeet sensation!

Max’s fashion designs were marked by a flirty, energetic mood. Soft hands and often brightly colored fabrics gave the outfits a pop that stood out amongst the drab background of the camp. The coats nearly always came with matching dresses and jacket costumes were accompanied by specially designed over-blouses. His jackets came in varied lengths, with shortest a bosom-high bolero and the longest was aptly named the “skyscraper jacket.” The men of the camp applauded and cheered as the nurses paraded back and forth the impromptu runway conjured up by Harry and Hermione. Speaking of Hermione, Max had managed to convince her to model a one piece swimsuit in a bold red that had a ruched front, high leg opening to showcase her thighs and hips and bare shoulders with a tulle sleeve. Harry’s brain nearly blew a rod the moment he saw it and swore right there that he just had to buy that from Max for Hermione’s next birthday present.

Frank caused a bit of a stir when he tried and failed to reconnect with Margaret (yet again.) He got drunk and ended up ‘arresting’ a cow for looking at him wrong. Sherman was exasperated at him as Frank led his ‘prisoner’ back into camp, drunkenly demanding justice. Sherman restricted his punishment to just making Frank run laps around the camp until he either passed out or came back to his senses. Another Sober-up potion request was denied.

The next morning…

Radar was making his morning mail call rounds, handing out letters and packages to the staff. He waved as he passed by Harry as he was getting a shave by the camp barber before disappearing into Colonel Potter’s tent. A jubilant yell erupted a moment later followed by the sounds of Sherman singing someone’s praises to the heavens. He glanced up at the barber who merely shrugged, “No idea, Harry but it must be good. I can’t remember the last time he was that happy about mail call.”

Harry caught up to Sherman later, “Heard you got some good news. Care to share?”

Sherman was all smiles, “I’m going to be a grandfather! My son just wrote to tell me that his wife is pregnant and due within the next couple of days.”

Harry congratulated him. Sherman beamed happily, “Thanks, it was a surprise. They certainly kept things secret from me and my wife.”

Harry sank into a chair, “Any idea if it’s a boy or girl?”

Sherman shook his head, “No, but we have a pool going. Date of birth, baby’s weight, and gender for a dollar; I think Radar’s got the sign-up sheet.”

Harry grinned, “I think I’ll stay out of it.”

Sherman’s eyes grew a bit wider, “You have the pensieve.”

Harry snapped his fingers and pointed lazily at Sherman, “Exactly.”

“So you know my family’s line up to when you left?”

Harry shrugged a shoulder, “Only if they made some noteworthy contribution to society. That being said, there is a way to check who they’re related to.”

“Oh?”

He nodded, “Yeah, it’s called a ‘Lineage Test;’ you place a drop of blood on a specially prepared parchment and it uses that to determine the particulars. I used it last year when Hermione and I made the decision to stay; I had gotten the feeling that you and I were related somehow.”

Sherman looked curious, “Are we?”

A smile slid over the younger Potter’s face, “You’re a distant cousin of mine.”

Sherman was floored, “How? Who, who was it?”

Harry smirked and pulled out a parchment scroll, “I had a feeling you’d want to know so I’ve been carrying this around with me. His name was Abraham Potter and he was a soldier during the Revolutionary War. Abraham"Abram"Potter; Born10 Oct 1745inRowan County, North Carolina; SonofJohn M Potter andHannah Sarah (Tidwell) Potter. Brother ofJohn Potter,Hannah Jane (Potter) Rainbolt, John Manuel Potter Jr.[half],Nancy Potter,Elizabeth (Potter) Stout,John M. PotterandSarah Potter. He married twice and was the husband ofAlice (Goodell) Potter in 1764. After her death due to unknown causes, he then met and married Lydia (Stewart) Potter12 Jul 1787 in Floyd County, Kentucky. He had several children between his two wives, Rachel Potter, Richard Potter, Levi Potter, Benjamin Potter, Isaac Potter, and Abraham Potter Jr. He served as a private for the North Carolina militia with Captain John Armstrong, and Colonel Joseph Phelps. He died1837at the age of 92 inElkhorn City, Pike County, Kentucky.”

Sherman blew out a surprised breath, “Whew, the first American Potter... Was there nothing known about his parents; like where they came from?”

Harry shook his head, “Sorry, no; at least not that I could determine. If you really want to screw up the timeline beyond our own little circle, you could write to the Head of the Potter Family in Britain. Then you get to explain how you learned of their existence.” His eyes glinted with mirth.

Sherman shook his head and snorted, “Forget it. I don’t want to be the one responsible for that mess besides I wouldn’t even know how to contact them. Would the letter have to go through the normal mail? How would the magical post office even know to look? Thanks anyhow, Harry. So…Cousins? That’s wonderful! Family is important and should be cherished when found.”

Harry wiped the corners of his eyes and sniffed, “I agree. You should’ve seen my face when I found out.” He made his excuses and left. Sherman watched him go before pulling out a piece of paper and began to write.

‘To the Head of the Potter Family…

Back in the Swamp, Frank was going through his own personal Hell. His wife had written him an angry letter telling him about how some soldier she knew from who-knew-where had been passing through his area when he spotted Frank and Margaret together then passed the news onto Louise. She in turn was now threatening all of his financial planning, scheming, illegal kickbacks and more by demanding a divorce. If the lawyers found out about his red ledger, a divorce would be the least of his problems!

He hurried into Radar’s office and demanded to know if his call to Indiana had gone through yet.

Radar nervously replied, “Not right now sir, I've got another call going through to Ohio.”

Frank arced up and snarled, “Don't give me any of your snottiness! I'm not that old dimwit you work for!”

Sherman happened to walk into the office then, “The Ohio call's mine, Major.”

Frank immediately backpedaled, “Sir... I... uh... just a little joke with Radar.” Radar rolled his eyes derisively.

Sherman wasn’t impressed and closed the gap between them, “I'd watch that dimwit talk, Burns. Your bulb's been out since I met you.”

Properly chastised, Frank all but ran out of the office.

“ATTENTION ALL PERSONNEL! INCOMING WOUNDED! INCOMING WOUNDED BY CHOPPER AND BUS, ALL SURGICAL TEAMS TO THE OR!”

Sherman had to put his inquiry on hold while the ravages of war needed to be dealt with as he raced out to the compound and started performing triage, “Corpsman! I’ve got a sucking chest wound here. Get him inside, stat!” He slapped on a plastic bandage and taped it into place.

“Busted Left clavicle; get him prepped,” Someone else ordered as he passed by on his way to another litter.

“BJ, I’ve got one with shrapnel wounds to his arse and a broken ankle!” Harry yelled. BJ told him to ‘Yellow Tag’ the patient.

In the pre-op ward, Hermione was busy handing out calming draughts, IV drips, along with various potions and salves to the nurses for immediate application on the Red Tagged patients. Several were already being taken inside the OR.

“Hey, bushy-haired girl, hubba hubba!” Hermione barely turned but rolled her eyes. It wasn’t unusual for the wounded soldiers to hit on the nurses as the calming draughts or painkillers started to take effect. Sure enough, her would-be ‘suitor’ soon passed out with a smile on his face.

Harry was assisting Sherman in the operating room, having proven multiple times prior that it took more than a little blood and guts to upset the younger Potter. They worked quickly and efficiently, almost to the point where a simple grunt with a point was the only communication between the two. They finished with the sucking chest wounded patient before being handed a thoracotomy. Four hours later, the deluge was finished so Harry immediately ducked into his tent to shower then headed over to the O-club for a drink.

The rest of the senior staff dribbled in over the course of the next hour. Hermione sat down next to Harry and leaned her head on his shoulder. He reached over and took her hand in his before giving it a gentle kiss. She smiled tiredly and made a contented humming noise. Radar burst in a moment later, “Colonel! Your son’s on the line!” Sherman raced out of the club as fast as he could. The collective tiredness suddenly vanished as it was replaced with eager anticipation; everyone waiting and hoping that the Colonel’s grandchild was healthy and what the gender was.

The door was wrenched back open causing everyone to turn as one. Sherman came strutting in, “It’s a girl! My grandchild is a girl! Sherry Pershing Potter, six and a half pounds.”

The room cheered as the ‘good’ alcohol was brought out. Hermione transfigured a napkin into a sash that read ‘First Time Grandfather’ and draped it over his shoulders while Harry conjured up a crown that featured a baby bottle and pacifiers on the points with ‘Grandfather’ embossed on the face.

Friday 16 January 1953

There was something different about Frank Burns today. Normally, he’d walk around the camp as if he were sucking on a lemon with another one shoved up his arse. Today however, he was strutting about as if he had singlehandedly won the Nobel Prize. Harry was standing next to Hermione; both were watching the older man with puzzled expressions. “You have any clue as to what changed?”

She shook her head, “Nope. Maybe he’s found a new girlfriend willing to put up with him?”

Harry snorted derisively, “Like that’ll ever happen. Even the farm animals want nothing to do with Ferret-face.”

Hermione squealed in surprise at the mention of the nickname, “Harry! That was rude. Besides, there can only be one Ferret-face and he hasn’t been born yet.”

Harry gave her a lopsided smirk, “It’s no less true. I’ve seen just about everyone and everything shy away from Frank the moment that toxic waste he generously calls ‘cologne’ wafts their way.”

She grimaced, “Sometimes I wonder if that bottle was a prank by Hawkeye.”

“Margaret gave it to him for Christmas, I think.” She stared goggle-eyed at him. “At least that’s what I heard.”

Later, Hermione intercepted Margaret as the Chief Nurse was preparing some requisition forms. “Major, do you have a moment?”

Margaret smiled up at her, “What’s on your mind, Hermione?”

“Did you prank Frank this past Christmas?”

Margaret looked warily back at her, “What makes you ask that?”

“That sludge he likes to call ‘cologne.’ Harry mentioned that it was you that gave it to him but it smells so terrible that I thought it might have been a gag gift from Pierce or BJ.”

Margaret started laughing, “I guess it could be considered a gag gift. When I went away to Tokyo but before I met and got engaged to my fiancé, I found a perfumier and I guess I asked the right sort of questions that got me a chance to buy some of his more ‘exotic’ blends.”

One of Hermione’s eyebrows quirked up, “Exotic? You mean ‘magical?’”

“Exactly; so according to the perfumier; the scent is tied into his personality and is supposed to accentuate it. Given how badly he smells is a good indication that it’s working.” Margaret grew thoughtful, “The thing that the shopkeeper told me was that the cologne smells differently to the user and is probably why Frank hasn’t cottoned onto why everyone is backing away.”

Hermione was mirthfully shaking her head, “It must be a variant of the Amortentia Potion. That was a beautiful prank by the way; if you don’t mind, I’ll let the others know.”

Margaret smirked and replied that she didn’t mind so Hermione made her excuses and left.

She caught up with Harry in the mess tent at lunch, “I’ve got news.”

Harry eyed her carefully, “You’re not…” He waggled his finger towards her midsection. She huffed and swatted his arm.

“No, you prat. I’m waiting until we get home before that happens.”

“That’s a relief because being pregnant and raising a family in a warzone is not the best of ideas.”

She waved that off, “Stop distracting me. I found out who gave Frank that cologne; it was Margaret.” They sat down at the same table as Pierce and BJ both of whom asked what it was that Margaret had done. She related what she’d learned and by the end of the tale, all three men were choking with laughter.

“I always knew she had it in her,” Hawkeye wheezed.

Hermione speared a pickle with her fork, “So, did you ever find out what caused Frank’s change of attitude?”

Hawkeye growled, “Somehow, the Army thought it was a good idea to give Frank a Purple Heart for wounds received in ‘combat.’ According to the incident report, he’d gotten a shell fragment in his eye during one of the shellings we had last week. I operated on that eye and it was an eggshell fragment! He’d been cracking open a boiled egg when the bombing started and he got nervous. We’ve been trying to convince him to give it back (he pointed between himself and BJ) but he’s refusing saying that it technically was battle-related because we’re a front-line unit. Of all the co*ckamamie reasons!”

Harry snorted and chewed on his fried chicken leg, “Sounds like he’s using it to try and garner admiration from Margaret. Ever since she dumped him and got engaged to what’s-his-face from Tokyo, Frank’s been self-destructing left, right and center. Remember how he arrested that cow for looking at him sideways?” BJ mock-sighed in fond memory.

The camp got a new batch of visitors during the late-afternoon in the form of a bus full of refugee children and their Red Cross caretaker, Meg Kratty. She was a tough, no nonsense but still warm-hearted old bird, completely dedicated to making sure that her charges were safe and sound. Blankets and bedding were brought out while the kids were bathed and given a hot meal in the mess tent then allowed to play in the compound. Nearly everyone was drafted to help out and with the exception of Frank; they all eagerly joined in to provide a welcome distraction.

Hermione offered the usage of the pensieve and their era appropriate playlist so during dinner they were treated to a mixed selection of kids’ songs from the thirties, forties and fifties like ‘We’re off to see the Wizard;’ ‘Tubby the Tuba,’ ‘Buckingham Palace’ and more. Hawkeye got into it when ‘Der Fuhrer’s Face’ by Spike Jones came on. He played up the lead singer’s act causing much laughter. Sherman even got up to share a dance with some of the kids when ‘I like bananas, because they have no bones’ by the Hoosier Hot Shots was played.

After dinner, Meg was feeling rather anxious when one of her older assistants hadn’t shown up on time. “She’s pregnant and went to go visit with her in-laws but she promised that she’d be here by now.”

A quiet call was put out to the sentries to keep an eye out for the missing pregnant woman and they promised to sound the alarm the moment she was spotted. It was during Klinger’s rotation of sentry duty when he came upon a slumped figure barely holding onto a metal drum, blood pooling around her. He rushed over and found the person to be the missing pregnant woman and she’d been shot in the stomach. He immediately sounded the alarm and helped rush her straight into the OR.

The baby’s vitals were checked and found to be in distress which meant that a Caesarian birth was going to be needed since the mother was also losing too much blood. While the pregnant Korean woman was being prepped for surgery, Col. Potter asked if any of the doctors have done a Caesarean section recently. Hawkeye quipped, "I haven't delivered a kid since I drove my nephew over to his grandmother's."

“Well, I wouldn’t consider it recent but I did do my fair share of deliveries during my residency training back home.” Sherman accepted that and told him to go scrub.

The whole camp was on tenterhooks; everyone hoping that the procedure went well and that both mother and child would survive. Sherman emerged a while later with a relieved smile on his face. “It’s a boy and both he and the mother are doing just fine. He’s got a tiny nick in his tush where the bullet grazed him but other than that, he’s a healthy and loud little boy.”

Harry nudged Frank, “That’s a combat wound. It’d be a shame if he weren’t awarded a medal for surviving a life-threatening injury.”

Frank sneered at him, “If you’re suggesting that I give up my medal, you can forget it. I earned mine too, you know.”

Harry stared at him with deadened eyes for a moment; just long enough to give Frank the jitters before silently leaving the man where he stood. Later, Frank started panicking when he couldn’t find his medal where he’d left it. He accused one of the older boys of stealing it and chased after him but was intercepted by BJ who dragged him over to the post-op windows and pointed to where Sherman was awarding said medal to the sleeping tyke.

Frank gasped and started whining, “But that’s my medal!”

BJ clapped him on the shoulder as he pushed him off, “They’re staying up nights making Purple Hearts, Frank; you can always get another one.”

The next morning, during the early calm; the kids and the new mother were loaded onto the bus to head further south away from the fighting. The whole camp turned out to wave goodbye and wish them good luck. Not two hours later, they were back in action as a fresh batch of wounded rolled in.

One of the soldiers caught Radar’s eye as the teen got excited when he stepped over to get the man’s information, “Hey Hawk,” he whispered excitedly, “You know who that is over there? That’s Billy Tyler!”

Hawkeye spared the man a glance, “Who?”

Radar rattled off the man’s football stats which caused Pierce to chuckle, “Did you swallow a sports announcer?”

Radar was indifferent but still worried, “How is he? Is he hurt bad?”

Pierce shrugged, “Well, he ain’t hurt good. Help me get him into the OR.”

The leg procedure hit a snag, one of the veins that Hawkeye needed to bypass the artery was atrophied yet it was the best of the lot. He called for Harry who moved over, “You got anything that could help with this?” Harry examined the wound and the veins that Hawkeye was pointing to and nodded, “Yeah, I think we do and if we don’t have it in stock; I’ll put him in stasis and get a batch brewed up.” He hurried out of the room towards his tent where he rummaged around the laboratory and discovered that unfortunately, they didn’t have the required organ-repair potion in stock. He rushed back and told them the bad news, “But like I said, I’ll put him under stasis while you work on the others so I can get a batch brewed.”

“How long will that take?” Hawkeye queried.

“Figure no more than four hours which for him; won’t be a problem.” Hawkeye agreed and stepped back to allow Harry the room to cast the charm.

When Billy awoke, the first thing he did when his brain no longer felt like it had gone one on one with a freight train was to check that both his legs were still there. He was eminently relieved to find that he still had two good legs. He laid back down on the bed with a smile on his face as Hawkeye and BJ joined him a moment later. “How’re you feeling, Billy? Stupid question, you probably feel lousy.”

Billy shook his head, “Nah, I’m feeling pretty good. I just checked and my leg is still there so I’m doing great.”

Hawkeye got a strange look on his face, “Listen Billy, we had to remove a few things from you in order to save your leg. Aside from the shrapnel, I mean.” He seemed hesitant to elaborate further which started Billy worrying.

“What did you guys do to me?”

“I’m sorry but we had to remove your reason for fathering children…”

Billy gaped at Hawkeye in horror, “You did what?!”

That’s when Hawkeye sprung the punchline, “Well, we had to! Otherwise, those big brass balls of yours were going to cause further damage when you go strutting around the football field.” By this time, both surgeons were grinning widely, trying and failing miserably from refraining from outright laughter.

Billy flopped back onto the bed and let out his own relieved bark of laughter, “Oh, you guys! Give a man a heart attack, in a hospital no less!”

“Sorry, but it was too good of an opportunity to pass up.” Hawkeye’s laughter was clear that he was anything but sorry.

Billy sobered though, “Was it a difficult operation though? Everything worked out okay, right?”

Hawkeye acknowledged that his veins made things difficult for a while and suggested that when he got home, Billy should contact his local VA hospital about getting a femoral angioplasty for those narrowed arteries. “Everything that I did will be in your records so you don’t have to remember the specifics but at some point you will need to get that treated and unfortunately, as with all surgeries; it does come with the risk of you not being able to play football again.”

Billy looked pensive, “How long do you figure I have?”

Hawkeye could only shrug, “It’s not my specialty but I would give it a rough estimate of about two years maybe less. I’ll put an urgent consultation in your records that you should get a complete workup when you get to Tokyo.”

Billy dipped his head in appreciation, “Thank you, doc. I appreciate it.”

Tuesday 20 January 1953

Harry had offered to go into Seoul to pick up their supplies after getting word that marauders had taken up position and were ambushing travelers in a stretch of mountainous terrain that proved difficult to rout them out of. The supply sergeant looked at Harry’s non-standard uniform (It had a British flag and Gryffindor patch on the sleeves and his name done up in bright gold on the right chest) up and down with a critical and disapproving eye, “Just who the Hell do you think you are?”

“Harry Potter, Civilian Liaison for MASH 4077. I’m here to pick up their supplies since they’re currently swamped with casualties with the push to take Hill 403.” He handed over the documentation from Sherman. The sergeant scanned the documents, frowning the entire time. Harry silently withdrew his wand and cast a compulsion to push the man into accepting the paperwork.

“Okay, it looks good here,” the sergeant replied, his eyes slightly glassy from the compulsion.

“Thank you, sergeant.” Harry made his way back outside where he oversaw the final loading of the truck before climbing into the cab and starting the engine.

When he got to the outskirts of town, he stopped and affixed a rune plate to the grill of the engine hood then activated the magic. The truck seemed to shimmer a bit before fading slowly in and out from view; Harry restarted the engine and continued driving home. He passed right by the waiting marauders who seemed distracted and confused by the repeated appearance and disappearance of the truck; several swore off whatever alcohol or drugs they’d been taking.

As Harry pulled to a stop in the compound, he killed the engine and removed the rune plate before handing off the manifest to Margaret who had come out to oversee the transfer of materials, “Any problems with those marauders?”

Harry smirked, “None whatsoever. I just ghosted right past them.”

He entered his tent and found Hermione about ready to enter the pensieve, “What’s going on?”

She looked up and smiled with relief, “Oh, good you’re back. Come on, I could use another set of eyes and ears in here. Father Mulcahy came down with hepatitis and I don’t recall the treatment procedures.”

He frowned, “Wouldn’t the doctors know?”

She bobbled her head in acknowledgement and shrugged, “I’m sure they do but I just wanted to know about what medications there are, or will be, available.”

He accepted that and so joined her in a lesson in hepatitis virology and treatments. When they emerged, they both transcribed their newly learned knowledge and handed those off to the doctors and Margaret. BJ was appreciative of the help, “This is great work. Makes me wish I had a pensieve back in medical school.”

Pierce agreed with him, “Just how rare are those things?”

Hermione pursed her lips in thought, “They’re not so much rare as they are super expensive. The one we have in the tent came from our research department and is fairly old but if you were to go into a well-stocked magical shopping district like Diagon Alley in London, Olvera Street in Los Angeles or Fifth Avenue in New York; you can probably find a reputable dealer who will sell you one for about ten thousand Galleons.”

Silence pervaded the room before Margaret croaked out, “Ten thousand?”

Hermione looked apologetic, “Well, that’s in magical currency from our era. Nowadays, I’m not so sure.”

“How about a rough estimate?”

“Based on what I’ve seen is the purchasing power for today’s money?” She hesitated for a moment, her mind racing to link together what information she had on the subject, “Um… If you figure that the exchange rate from magical to muggle is set at 5:1; ten thousand Galleons will be fifty thousand pounds. Then when you take those fifty thousand pounds and downtrend them to 1953 values which is set at 2.8:1, it would become roughly ten thousand, four hundred dollars. Interestingly, if I were to take that number in USD and convert it back to Galleons…”

Harry gently placed his hand on her shoulder as she trailed off, causing the others to smirk understandingly. “You should’ve seen her during exam time back at school. How she managed to get sorted into Gryffindor is a hotly discussed topic amongst the teachers and students.”

Sherman shook his head, “Regardless, buying one of those pensieves is something that’s way out of our budget for the time being.”

Wednesday 4 February 1953

It was shaping up to be yet another wet and miserable week for the inhabitants of MASH 4077^th. It had been raining nonstop for four days and according to the latest weather intelligence from HQ, it would be like this for another two days. The staff was sniping at one another with even Harry and Hermione taking shots at one another on occasion. This clued the both of them into realizing that it was nothing that was their fault so to make it up to her, Harry proposed a Game Day Marathon.

“And how would playing games improve things, Mr. Fancy Pants Potter?” She asked snootily.

“That’s Lord Fancy Pants Potter, if you please, Miss Granger,” he booped her nose and smirked, “It’s just something to take everyone’s mind off the weather. I’m sure that we could recreate the various games from this era.”

She nipped playfully at his still extended finger, “Which ones did you have in mind?”

“I was going to suggest Monopoly but the last time that was played at Hogwarts, it nearly caused two couples in Ravenclaw to declare a blood feud on each other.” He rummaged around for the Master List, “Ah, here we go; how about we conjure up Kerplunk, Operation, Uno, Cluedo, Jenga and a couple of Rubik’s Cubes?”

In the mess tent…

Naturally, everyone was curious about the games from the future so they all crowded around to listen in on the explanations of how to play the various games. Hermione handed out copies of the Rules of Play for the different options then set up the boards at a couple of tables and turned the camp loose on them. Radar took an instant shine to the Rubik’s Cubes as he quickly mastered how to solve the puzzles in record time. “I’m impressed, Radar. Most people who are first introduced to these infernal things get frustrated first before going on to solve them,” Harry had complimented the teen who sat there proudly.

The repeated buzzing from the Operation game had Hawkeye growling, “You’d think that with my skill as a surgeon, I’d be tops at this damn thing!”

Even Frank tried his hand at it and surprised everyone by removing the most difficult piece without setting off the alarm. Pierce scoffed, “Harry, you must’ve jinxed the game somehow!”

Harry laughed, “It’s a simple electrical connection, Hawk. There’s no reason to jinx it.”

Over at the card table, Sherman and a couple of others were playing a game of Uno. Hermione ambled over to make sure everyone was doing okay, “Who’s winning so far?”

Sherman grumbled and pointed at one of the corpsmen, “Him. I don’t know how though; it’s not like this game has much in the way of strategy.” The corpsman just shrugged and winked.

A clattering of wood hitting wood coupled with cheers and jeers sounded a few minutes later at the Jenga table. Harry joined them in congratulations, “Great job, everyone. Where’s the sign-up sheet so I can play too?”

Harry disappeared into the kitchen after a few rounds of games and emerged later with the cook carrying a large rack of barbecued meats and three different types of salad. Folks cheered and those not otherwise occupied got in line to grab some hot food and drinks. Father Mulcahy sat down at one of the empty dining tables and quietly ate his dinner. Sherman joined him a moment later, “You having fun, Padre?”

Mulcahy smiled happily, “The most fun I’ve had in years. Those two are a godsend.”

“I know, right? Can you imagine what life would’ve been like if they hadn’t shown up?”

Mulcahy shuddered, “Perish the thought.”

Hermione brought the pensieve line into the mess tent so a bit of music could be played to hopefully drown out the noise of the rain which was doing its damndest to drown them all. She loaded in some music from the nineties just for some variety from the usual 50s pop they’d been playing. Harry quirked an eyebrow up at her which caused her to blush. First up in the playlist was Tag Team’s Whoomp, there it is!:

“Party-people!
Yeah, Tag Team music in full effect!
That's me - DC the Brain Supreme, and my man Steve Roll'n!
We're kickin' the flow! (We're kickin' the flow!)
And it goes a little something like this!

Tag Team, back again
Check it to wreck it, let's begin
Party on, party people, let me hear some noise
DC's in the house, jump, jump, rejoice
Says there's a party over here, a party over there
Wave your hands in the air, shake the derriere
These three words mean you're gettin' busy
Whoomp, there it is! Hit me!

Whoomp, there it is!
Whoomp, there it is!
Whoomp, there it is!
Whoomp, there it is!
Whoomp, there it is!
Whoomp, there it is!
Whoomp, there it is!
Whoomp, there it is!”

Everyone turned and stared at the speaker for a moment before either returning to their games or starting to dance to the music, smiles on their faces as their moods drastically improved. Once that was done, the genre switched over to AC/DC’s Thunderstruck. The opening guitar riff got some of them to bob their heads along to the beat.

“Thunder!

Thunder!

Thunder!

Thunder!
I was caught
In the middle of a railroad track (thunder)
I looked 'round
And I knew there was no turning back (thunder)
My mind raced
And I thought, what could I do? (Thunder)
And I knew
There was no help, no help from you (thunder)
Sound of the drums
Beating in my heart
The thunder of guns
Tore me apart
You've been
Thunderstruck!”

“What happened to keeping things era-appropriate?” Harry asked her during a break in the music so the audience could create a request list.

Hermione made an indifferent face and shrug, “I just figured, what the Hell. Live a little, you know? It’s not like we’re sharing this with anyone other than those in the camp. They're family and know not to share knowledge of the future. Besides, who’d believe them?”

“Hermione Granger, you rebel,” he grinned at her and winked.

Monday 9 February 1953

The camp was going through yet another deluge and this time it got so bad that their blood supply was running dangerously low. Both Harry and Hermione took turns brewing up endless batches of Blood Replenishment potions just to even the score but they were just barely holding it together. Everyone in the camp had already donated twice in the past forty-eight hours and if they didn’t find a fresh source of blood, things would get dire. “What I wouldn’t give to have a vampire in camp,” Harry had groused about midway through his sixth brewing session.

Hermione co*cked her head in curiosity, “Why?”

“If anyone knows blood, it’s them. They might be willing to donate a few pints if we asked nicely.”

“Harry, we both know that vampires aren’t nice people.”

He gave her a contemptuous look, “Only because we treat them as such. I got to know one during my training back home. Nicest person you could ever meet and had some great tales about his time during the later years of the Hellenistic era.”

She blinked in surprise, “You met with one of the Elders? Wow, they don’t usually leave home very often.”

Harry nodded, “Yeah, he was at the ministry to give a lecture on the Greek colonization of Asia and Africa. Croaker brought him by afterwards for a tour and we happened to meet.”

“Where do you suppose is he now?”

“No idea. I know that he was at Alexandria Eschate in Tajikistan for a couple of decades but I don’t know if that extended back to now.”

She made a disparaging grunt, “That’s a shame but maybe if I write to him and explain our problem, he might have a solution for us.”

Shrugging, he wished her good luck and turned back to his brew to decant it.

Father Mulcahy appeared later to pick up the newest batch of potions and commented that one of Frank’s patients had been bitten by a snake. “Do you need any anti-venom?”

“Colonel Potter already called for some from the pharmacy,” Mulcahy informed them.

“Is the snake here?” Harry asked.

Mulcahy looked puzzled, “I hope not. Why?”

“I could apologize to it for the boneheaded mistake of the soldier for not looking where he stepped.” Stunned staring from the Father clued Harry in that this was one aspect that he’d never shared with the camp before, “Haven’t I mentioned I can speak with snakes before?”

The Father slowly shook his head, “No, you haven’t but keep it in mind when we get through this day. I’d love to know more.”

The camp’s blood supply was saved when a Turkish convoy truck arrived with a platoon of soldiers ready to donate blood in exchange for saving the life of their captain when he had been brought in during the deluge. Frank too, was roped into donating even if was against his will. Sherman gave him a direct order stating that if he didn’t, then Sherman would have no choice than to mention it in the younger man’s service record. Defeated, Frank was dragged inside by Klinger and drained of a pint. Harry asked in an aside of what sort of mention could the colonel put in Frank’s service record. Sherman winked, “Nothing, but he doesn’t need to know that.”

Post-op…

Margaret entered the ward and spotted Hermione assisting one of the patients who had had peripheral nerve surgery on his left arm caused by flying shrapnel from an exploding mine. The doctors had cleared the patient to start using his arm for short periods of time and to try picking up small, light objects. Hermione had a square, plastic tower set up and demonstrating how to play the game of connecting four tokens in a row to win the round.

“How’s everyone doing here?” Margaret asked pleasantly.

“Corporal Brighton is doing exceptionally well, Major. Aren’t you, Chris?” Chris beamed at the compliment then concentrated on picking up a red plastic disc and dropping it into the slot, earning him a row of four and congratulations from Margaret.

Colonel Potter’s office…

The surgeons were staring at Harry who was silently staring back. All of them were waiting on a special delivery from Radar who promised them that he’d go out and find a snake from his collection for Harry to speak with. The door banged open and admitted the teen in question as he carried a crate in his arms. Inside was a venomous Tiger Keelback snake curled up and making hissing noises. Radar placed the crate on top of the colonel’s desk, “Be careful, he’s not happy about being moved.”

Sherman made a gesture to Harry that it was his show now. Harry leant forward, /”Hello.”/

The snake’s mouth dropped open in surprise, /”Speaker? Whoa…”/

/”I hope that the young one here has been treating you well?”/ Harry inquired gesturing towards Radar.

The snake nodded its head which caused a bit of susurration amongst the doctors; this was clearly not a normal thing for a snake to do. /”Yes, Speaker. The young one is a kind and gentle healer and brings me many juicy rats to eat. I’m sorry for my earlier grumbling and attempt to bite him; had I known that you would be here, I’d have shined my scales.”/

Harry waved the snake down, /”It’s not a problem. Are you male or female? What is your name?”/

/”I am female, Speaker. My name is not pronounceable by human tongues though it does roughly translate to ‘Hunter of Rats.’ I am proud of it for I am a mighty hunter.”/

/”As you should rightly be. That is a fine name for anyone. With your permission, I’d like to further translate that into ‘Ratsbane.’ It means the same thing just without all the extra words.”/ She gave her permission then he glanced up and translated what he and Ratsbane had just discussed. Radar looked sheepish for giving the snake the name of ‘Gary,’ thinking it was a male. Father Mulcahy was astounded by the language, “It makes me wonder if the legends and stories of snake speakers and handlers mentioned in the bible are true. It all sounds so interesting but chilling in a weird way.”

Harry offered the explanation that because it’s a magical language and not something that could be taught, might be the reason why it seemed so chilling. “It has the same effect on non-speakers in the magical world too.”

Friday 13 February 1953

Frank had been heckling Margaret for a while now over how long her engagement to Lieutenant Colonel Donald Penobscot was going. “Three months is an awfully long time to be engaged, Major Houlihan. Personally, I think your Colonel Penobscot’s full of banana oil and that it’s ‘thanks for the buggy ride.’”

Margaret was in no mood for his griping, “I hardly think it’s any of your affair, Major Burns.”

Their sniping was salvoed back and forth across the operating room until Sherman finally put a stop to it by asking for a change of subject.

Radar managed to get a hold of Penobscot afterwards; Margaret eagerly yanked the telephone away from him and practically pushed him out of the office, demanding some privacy. Radar only went far enough away to sort of overhear and keep an eye on things if need be. Frank burst into the room and made some disparaged remarks about the lack of a wedding, which Margaret included in her conversation with her fiancé. She joyously congratulated Frank that he’d convinced Donald to come up to the camp within the next day so he could speak with him. Frank panicked and ran out into Sherman’s office, frantically requesting a furlough which was of course, denied.

Later that afternoon…

Harry was idly watching the pick-up basketball game and once again wishing that he could take his broom out for a spin. Hermione was sitting next to him working on another knitting project. He glanced over at her efforts, “What are you making this time?”

“A blanket for my bed. My old one is starting to fray too much to be salvageable,” she replied still focused on her needles.

“Why aren’t you doing that magically?”

She shrugged, “I want to do it manually because it’s a great way to pass the time and keeps my mind busy.”

“I ought to find a project like that then.”

“I have other crafting projects in the bag here if you’re interested.” She tapped said bag with her foot. Harry picked it up and began rummaging through it before settling on a small weaving frame and some red and gold yarn. A jeep rolled into camp as Harry was getting settled. The pair of them looked up at the sound of Margaret squealing in happiness, “Donald Penobscot, darling!”

“Oh, this ought to be good. I can’t wait until Frank meets Donald; I wonder if there’ll be enough pieces of Burns to send home to his wife,” Harry quipped.

“How much do you want to bet that Frank wets himself at the first sight of the man,” Hermione giggled.

“Loser has to cook dinner tonight?”

She leveled a sardonic glare at him, “You know that’s not fair. While I’m talented in the laboratory, I’m pants at cooking food.”

Shrugging, Harry commented that it would be his problem if she lost but still kissed her on her temple, “Any pain and suffering would be worth the short amount of time for you, my love.”

Blushing, Hermione kissed him on the lips, “My knight in khaki green armor.”

Harry ended up winning the bet but let Hermione off the hook for cooking dinner, “I can think of something better you can do with me.” He waggled his eyebrows at her causing her to blush and smile sultrily. He put on his modern ‘Getting Frisky’ music playlist and soon Blackstreet’s ‘No Diggity’ started echoing through the tent as he settled onto the couch while Hermione closed her eyes and started grooving to the beats. She danced and gyrated, slowly pulling off her clothes and tossing them to Harry giving him the best strip-tease she could. Harry was practically drooling by the time her bra came off, “I like the way you work it, no diggity…”

She was down to her lace knickers by the time the playlist moved onto Salt-N-Pepa’s ‘Push it’:

Ah, push it!

Ah, push it!

Ow!
Push it good
Ooh, baby, baby, baby, baby
Ooh, baby, baby, ba-baby, baby

Push it good
Push it real good
Ah, push it

Ooh, baby, baby, baby, baby;
Ooh, baby, baby, ba-baby, baby
Get up on this!

Harry lustily growled and picked Hermione up by her bum, his fingers gripping her firm flesh causing her to whimper hungrily as she wrapped her legs around his waist and they locked lips. He then carried her into his bedroom, with her giggling the entire way.

Saturday 14 February 1953

The wedding of Margaret Houlihan to Donald Penobscot was planned to happen that day as soon as they could. The previous evening the camp split along gender lines with the nurses holding a bridal shower for the Major while the surgeons held a Stag Smoker for Donald.

Hermione had set up silencing charms around Margaret’s tent so they could play loud music without disturbing the rest of the camp. She piped in some ‘girly’ rock music from the Spice Girls ‘Wannabe’:

“Yo, I'll tell you what I want, what I really, really want
So tell me what you want, what you really, really want
I'll tell you what I want, what I really, really want
So tell me what you want, what you really, really want
I wanna, (ha) I wanna, (ha) I wanna, (ha) I wanna, (ha)
I wanna really, really, really wanna zigazig ah

If you want my future, forget my past
If you wanna get with me, better make it fast
Now don't go wasting my precious time
Get your act together we could be just fine

I'll tell you what I want, what I really, really want
So tell me what you want, what you really, really want
I wanna, (ha) I wanna, (ha) I wanna, (ha) I wanna, (ha)
I wanna really, really, really wanna zigazig ah
If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends
(Gotta get with my friends)
Make it last forever, friendship never ends
If you wanna be my lover, you have got to give
Taking is too easy, but that's the way it is!”

Over at the Swamp, Harry did a better job keeping the music era-appropriate though he correctly figured that the more they got smashed, the less likely that was going to be an issue. As it was, he decided to open the party with Elvis Presley’s ‘Hound Dog’:

“You ain't nothin' but a hound dog
Cryin' all the time
You ain't nothin' but a hound dog
Cryin' all the time
Well, you ain't never caught a rabbit
And you ain't no friend of mine

Well, they said you was high-classed
Well, that was just a lie
Yeah, they said you was high-classed
Well, that was just a lie
Yeah, you ain't never caught a rabbit
And you ain't no friend of mine

You ain't nothin' but a hound dog
Cryin' all the time
You ain't nothin' but a hound dog
Cryin' all the time
Well, you ain't never caught a rabbit
And you ain't no friend of mine!”

Both parties got rip-roaring drunk as evidence by the raging hangovers the next morning. Hawkeye complained that they needed those Sober-up potions. Donald was standing there resplendent in his bathrobe and chest to toes in a full body cast. Harry nudged BJ and gestured towards the groom with a questioning look. BJ just grinned and shook his head, “Just a little send-off prank.”

Playing softly in the background while they were waiting was Frankie Valli’s ‘Can’t take my eyes off you’:

“You're just too good to be true
Can't take my eyes off of you
You'd be like Heaven to touch
I wanna hold you so much
At long last, love has arrived
And I thank God I'm alive
You're just too good to be true
Can't take my eyes off of you

Pardon the way that I stare
There's nothin' else to compare
The sight of you leaves me weak
There are no words left to speak
But if you feel like I feel
Please let me know that it's real
You're just too good to be true
Can't take my eyes off of you

I love you, baby
And if it's quite alright
I need you, baby
To warm the lonely night
I love you, baby
Trust in me when I say
Oh, pretty baby
Don't bring me down, I pray
Oh, pretty baby
Now that I've found you, stay
And let me love you, baby
Let me love you

You're just too good to be true
Can't take my eyes off of you
You'd be like Heaven to touch
I wanna hold you so much
At long last, love has arrived
And I thank God I'm alive
You're just too good to be true
Can't take my eyes off you…”

The ceremony was officiated by Father Mulcahy, he too was suffering from a mild headache and a bit of queasiness, “Dearly beloved…”

They were interrupted unfortunately by the sounds of incoming choppers and Radar yelling about incoming wounded. After the rush and the wounded operated on and sent to the post-op, Margaret and Donald were practically shoved onto the helicopter to take them to Tokyo. BJ and Hawkeye tried to tell Margaret about the prank but it was lost in the noise of the chopper’s engine. As they were all leaving, Hermione noticed Frank standing there watching the departing helicopter with a strange look on his face.

“Goodbye Margaret…”

Chapter 4: Major Departures and Arrivals

Chapter Text

Chapter 4: Major Departures and Arrivals

Sunday 15 February 1953

It had taken BJ and Hawkeye all of about twenty minutes the next morning after they woke up before they sought out Radar to arrange some R&R time for Frank. Sherman was surprised by this act of generosity until Hawkeye informed him that if they had to put up with more of his incessant clucking, the two of them would go out of their own minds.

“Clucking?” Sherman asked, perplexed by the non sequitur.

Hawkeye shook his head in a sort of bemused manner, “Like a chicken. Nine straight hours of nonstop clucking before he finally passed out; I’m just glad he didn’t start crowing.”

Sherman glanced over at BJ who was still showing signs of wanting to go back to bed. Shrugging, he signed the request and handed it back to them. “Have fun getting him packed and shipped. If you need to, I’m sure Radar has a crate you can borrow.”

A week later and Radar was waiting up at the chopper pad, anxious that Frank would show up some time soon. Harry was standing in his tent’s opening sipping on a cup of coffee watching Sherman climb the stairs on his way up to see what the teen was so worried about.

“Frank’s not back yet?” Hermione’s voice floated out.

“Doesn’t look like it.”

She emerged from the tent munching on a piece of buttered toast, “I’m worried.”

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed a bit as he turned to look at her, “Why?”

Finishing her bite of toast, “If we get another wave of wounded in the next couple of hours, we’re going to be a surgeon short.”

Harry snorted, “According to Pierce, this camp’s been short a doctor since the moment Frank showed up.” She nudged playfully him for his comment. “I wouldn’t be too worried, you know. I’m more than capable of handling the less critical cases. Both Sherman and Hawkeye have been coaching me for my credentials.”

Hermione turned wide-eyed, “Really? That’s great!”

Harry toed the ground sheepishly, “It won’t make any difference in the long run once we go home but it should keep the brass from sniffing around if someone were to squeal on us.”

She made a disbelieving face, “Why would anyone do that?”

Harry sighed and shrugged, “Who knows? We might get a patient who wasn’t too thrilled with our care or some other selfish reason and report to the brass that this camp is using an unlicensed doctor to handle surgery. I don’t want anything to happen so we’re taking no chances.”

“How would Sherman and the others describe what you’re doing?”

“I’m a combat medic getting some on-the-job training under supervision while waiting for the war to end so I can get transferred to the Army’s medical school program. It’s the same program that Sherman used when he made the switch from the cavalry to medicine.”

Bobbing her head, Hermione replied, “Clever end run around the system.”

He took another sip of his coffee, “I wouldn’t exactly call it an ‘end run’ but it’s definitely skirting the sidelines. From what I’ve heard, this sort of thing happens all the time amongst the other M.O.S’s. Sometimes seeing the other professions in action makes them more interesting than when you’re standing in line reading the brochure. That’s what got me interested in following the DoM track instead of going into the Aurors like everyone expected.”

“Who was it that inspired you there? I don’t remember Croaker taking anyone on a tour.”

Harry turned to face her, “It was you, Hermione. I watched what you did and learned then took a good, hard look at what my education had been like and realized that I didn’t want to go down the ‘tried and true Potter Family business’ of being an Auror chasing after some wannabe Dark Lord with delusions of grandeur, or a ‘Mot member playing politics all day. Some of your discoveries are ground-breaking and still a hot topic of discussion amongst everyone who’s ever gotten to see them in action.”

Their touching moment was shattered by the camp’s PA flaring to life, “ATTENTION ALL PERSONNEL, WOUNDED ARRIVING BY CHOPPER, AMBULANCE AND JEEP! ALL PERSONNEL TO THE COMPOUND!”

As the wounded were being off-loaded, word reached Harry that they were from an aid station up at the front that had gotten hit by artillery. BJ grumped disgustedly, “What a mess, once up at the line then three hours later at the aid station.”

Sherman sadly agreed, “It’s their lucky day.”

Radar came bustling up and pointed to another patient, “Colonel, one of the wounded over there’s a doctor.”

Harry squatted down above the head of the wheezing and bleeding doctor. Hawkeye introduced himself and started taking the man’s vitals while Sherman stood at the ready, “Doctor Berman, I’m Doctor Pierce.”

“Don’t waste your time, doctor,” the man croaked, “Right hemothorax, full of blood.” Hawkeye tried to shush him but he just continued to recount his injuries, including a fragment near the heart. He finished off his defeatism with a call for a rabbi. Sherman admonished him by saying that, ‘no one died around here without his say so.’ Hawk finished his evaluation and ordered the corpsmen to get him inside, including that he’d take him first thing.

“What do you think?” Sherman wondered.

Hawkeye glanced over at Harry who nodded and ran off, “I’ve got to try. I just hope that Harry has something in that collection of his.”

The wounded kept coming and coming. Being short a licensed surgeon, Sherman made the executive decision to bump Harry up to working at the grown-up’s table (while still having one of the regulars check in on him from time to time.) “Understand that it’s not permanent; I’m still going to request a regular surgeon.”

Harry huffed good-naturedly with his eyes twinkling merrily, “You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Sherman.” The Colonel nudged him lightly with his elbow since his hands were still gloved.

Hawkeye emerged from the pensieve and began his operation on the wounded doctor, “Is there a way to project the memory, Harry?”

“Yeah…why?”

“Future reference if I need to re-watch something,” Hawk explained.

“Oh, in that case um… Abi? (The nurse glanced up) Tap that rune that looks like a bucket of water spilling over the ledge.” Nurse Abigail pointed to the wrong one, “No, the one to its left. That’s it, tap that and it should start playing. All you have to then is just say ‘Start,’ ‘Pause,’ or ‘End.’”

“Thank, Harry,” Pierce said as he continued to open the patient up.

Sherman growled out a moment later, “Where the Hell is Burns?”

Hawkeye quipped, “If we’re lucky, he deserted.”

BJ started laughing to himself, “Well, Margaret’s on her honeymoon in Tokyo and Frank’s late getting back from Seoul.”

Hawkeye joined in on the laughter, “You think Frank went to Tokyo?”

Sherman wondered, “What could he do there?”

“Put saltpeter in Margaret’s teriyaki sauce?” someone joked to general amusem*nt.

In Sherman’s office…

The phone rang and on the other end was a Military Police Officer, Staff Sergeant Williams who was looking for Frank because while drunk, he accosted a blonde WAC but ran off before they could apprehend him. “Is he there, sir?”

Sherman sighed heavily, “No, and he’s long overdue! Keep me posted, Sergeant.” He slammed down the phone and called out to Radar, “Jackass Burns. Radar, get a hold of Colonel Baldwin at Tokyo General Hospital and let him know that we’re desperate for a surgeon. I’m going back to the OR if my legs get me that far.”

Radar sympathized with his commanding officer and placed the call.

Sherman returned to the OR and took up a position opposite of Harry who was up to his wrists in guts trying to find one last piece to a bowel resection, “Tough going?”

“I’ve got a couple of bubbles I can’t account for.”

“You got X-rays on the patient?”

“Up on the board but I’m pretty sure I got all the ones shown.” A frown flittered over his face for a moment before he spotted Hermione, “Hermione, could you replicate a magnet for me? If these fragments are metallic, I might be able to at least get a rough idea where they are.”

She stepped over, withdrew her wand and pointed it at the intestines, “Magnetis Metalli.” The section she aimed at shifted upwards a fraction of an inch. She slowly moved her wand around before zeroing in on the most likely location, “Try there.”

Harry reached in and felt around for a moment before his eyes crinkled up like he was grinning, “Bingo!” He removed his fingers clutching the piece of shrapnel and plunked it into the tray.

Sherman bobbed his head appreciatively, “That’s going to be one for the training manuals for sure.”

Word came down from Radar that they’d gotten a new surgeon on his way, “It’s a Major Charles Emerson…Winchester.”

“I knew a Winchester,” quipped Sherman.

“I know an Emerson,” echoed BJ.

“I’ve got an Uncle Charles!” Radar happily joined in.

“Well, at least we won’t be working with a complete stranger,” Hawkeye snarked as he finished removing a sliver of metal from a chest wound.

About mid-morning…

A jeep rolled up and a very familiar blonde woman got out. Hermione was the first to spot her, “Margaret! Welcome back.” The near snarl that she received from the clearly annoyed major set her back a bit, “What happened?”

Margaret growled roughly, “My honeymoon…wasn’t.”

Hermione laid a comforting hand on the older woman’s arm, “That stinks. Listen, I’ve got a shift to get back to but let’s talk later, okay?”

Margaret accepted that unhappily and trudged off to her tent.

When she entered the OR, she was greeted by the well-wishes of the staff and a bit of teasing from Hawkeye and BJ, “Shouldn’t you be wearing out your ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign?”

“Heard you were busy, more sponges!”

Harry watched her for a moment and leant over whispering, “If you need to talk…”

She replied just quietly, “Thank you but Hermione’s got that covered.”

Margaret found Hermione later and the two women had their chat. She complained that the first couple of days were perfect but after returning from a wedding shower thrown by an old friend of her father’s; things had turned sour between the two of them. “It was like being on a honeymoon with my old auntie. I don’t understand it! What could’ve happened?”

Hermione consoled her, “Listen, if you want; I can withdraw your memories and we can watch them together to root out the problem.”

Margaret nodded desperately, “Please! What do I have to do?”

Hermione removed her wand and placed it against the other’s temple, “Think in your mind’s eye the moment you arrived at the party.” She waited until Margaret nodded and cast ‘memento praeterita.’ As she withdrew the wand, a thin fuzzy strand of white gossamer light attached itself to the tip and was extracted from Margaret’s head. Hermione then dropped the thread into the pensieve and tapped a rune on the side. “Ready?”

Both dipped a finger in as Hermione hit the ‘Play’ rune. Thirty minutes went past before the light returned to their eyes and Margaret burst into tears, “Oh, poor Donald! I need to write to him and apologize for springing this on him. I had no idea that Lyle was going to throw that party on us and make him feel so inferior. Thank you so much, Hermione.”

Hermione just smiled, “I’m always happy to help. Go get your man.”

Late Afternoon, two days later…

Radar watched as a local led a filthy ox-driven cart into the camp and paused long enough for a disheveled man in dress uniform with a major’s gold oak leaf on his collar to clamber off the back. He paid the driver a tip then stumbled over to where his bags were. He started to bend down when he realized that Radar was standing there staring at him, “Are you staring at me, Corporal?”

Radar started, “Oh, I’m sorry sir; it’s just that we don’t get many strangers around here standing up.”

The man glanced around with a disapproving sneer, “Charming place. An inflamed boil on the buttocks of the world. What is that odor?”

Radar looked confused and sniffed, “Um, there shouldn’t be an odor.” He turned and spotted Hermione walking nearby, “Hermione? He says there’s an odor coming from somewhere.”

Hermione frowned and sniffed the air too, “I don’t detect anything. Are you sure, sir?”

“It’s coming from the south.”

Her confusion cleared, “Oh, that’s the kitchen. I’m told that they’re working on a new Korean dish for tonight.”

Radar thanked her and turned back to the Major, “Sir? Are you the doctor we’ve been waiting for?”

The man pompously replied, “That’s quite likely. Major Charles Emerson Winchester the Third, surgeon.”

Radar smiled back, “Corporal Walter Eugene O’Reilly, Company Clerk. Shall I get your bags?”

Winchester snottily replied, “Of course.”

Hermione stopped Radar and pointed at his currently full hands, “Where were these going?”

“I was going to take them over to the pharmacy.”

She gestured with a grabby hands motion, “I’ll take them. No sense in overloading yourself.”

Radar smiled happily, “Thanks, Hermione. This way, Major.”

Radar led Major Winchester to Sherman Potter’s office where he was having a drink with BJ and Hawkeye, “Sir, this is Major Charles Emerson, uh…”

Charles grimaced and finished, “Winchester.” He handed over his papers to the colonel and dropped his gloves on his bags. Radar commented on what ‘swell’ gloves they were. “Calf,” was the major’s response which caused the teen to look a bit green around the gills and leave the office.

“Where you from, Charlie?” Hawkeye inquired.

“Charles,” was the pompous response.

“Uh, we’re pretty informal up here. We get pretty close after a while,” Sherman muttered while still reading.

“I don’t intend to be here long enough to get chummy,” Charles declared.

“I’ll drink to that,” Hawkeye announced as he reached for the bottle. BJ held his out his glass as well, “I’ll join you.”

“Impressive file, Major. Harvard Med, Massachusetts General. What were you doing in Tokyo?” Sherman asked him as he continued to read the man’s 201 file.

“Demonstrating a new surgical technique, sir.”

Hawkeye snarked, “Up here it’s strictly meatball surgery.”

BJ sipped from his glass, “Patch them up and ship them out quick…though we do get a bit of help occasionally.” He finished with a knowing glance at his friend who saluted him with his own glass of whiskey.

Charles scoffed arrogantly, “Bit primitive, don’t you think?”

Sherman nipped that attitude right in the bud, “We’ve got a 98% survival rate, cowboy.”

“Charles,” Hawkeye’s snide reply caused Charles’ eyes to roll a bit.

“No offense intended.”

BJ made to say something back but Sherman raised his hand, “Look it, let’s not get off on the wrong foot. We’re all a little tired.”

Radar stopped in, “Sir, I’m going to go to lunch.”

BJ examined his glass’ contents, “What’re they serving, Radar?”

“Korean-style barbecued ribs with rice and vegetables,” was the eager reply.

“Every meal is an adventure,” quipped Pierce.

“Do the officers have similar arrangements?” Charles inquired, his face slightly pinched.

“Yup, we’re all one big happy family here,” Hawkeye joked.

“Don’t we get a choice?”

“Sure, there’s Rosie’s Bar across the road, Spam when the supply truck is running late or something exotic when Harry gets back from his hunting trips.”

“Who might that be?” Charles was curious.

Sherman puffed up a bit proudly, “Harry Potter is a distantly related cousin of mine who helps out in the kitchen and occasionally goes out and hunts for game and vegetables when time permits to supplement our military shipments. He and his lady friend are the camp’s Civilian Liaisons. They handle all of our communication between us and the local population.”

Charles dipped his head in understanding, “Ah yes, I met Hermione out in the compound when I arrived. Will I get to meet him sometime?”

Sherman glanced at his clock, “He ought to be in the mess tent helping the cook.” Margaret dashed in just then, “Hawkeye, Doctor Berman is going into heart failure; he can hardly breathe.”

“Damn, I thought I got it that time. Come on, ventricular aneurysm,” he said as he quickly headed out the door.

Charles looked curious, “Why the panic?”

Pierce looked him square in the eye, “Can you do something about it?”

Charles looked smug, “I’ve done at least a dozen.”

“Successfully?” BJ quipped, “No offense intended, of course.”

Sherman clapped the new surgeon on the back, “Let’s hang out your shingle, Major.”

In the OR…

“More light on the heart,” Charles ordered then grimaced, “That light flickers!”

“It’s our number two generator,” Sherman explained.

“Switch to number one,” replied Charles in a tone that suggested it should’ve been obvious.

“Number one was stolen by some locals,” BJ commented as he monitored Berman’s pulse.

“I’m still not sure how they managed to get around the wards to pull that off,” Hawkeye commented idly. “You should’ve heard Hermione when she found out.” BJ chuckled at the memory.

Charles made a mental note to find out more about these two mysterious people. “More suction... There’s your aneurysm, gentlemen. Now the main difficulty here is that the aneurysm may have a clot in it and if you don’t do this very carefully, it could break off and go to the brain.”

“So that’s how you do this, you over-sew the aneurysm…” Pierce commented in wonder. “I don’t remember seeing that in the…” Sherman cleared his throat in warning. “…surgical journal.”

“Voila! Ready to close,” Charles announced then watched in amazement as the nurse applied a dose of some kind of liquid that caused the heart muscle to smoke a bit and the suture line to appear as if it had been healing for at least a week. “What was that?" He yelped.

“Essence of Dittany,” Sherman explained, “It’s a healing potion brewed by Hermione and Harry to help speed patient recovery.”

Charles examined the vial closer, “It’s like magic (he frowned) but that’s not possible…”

Sherman glanced and grinned at the others who were all equally amused, “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

BJ and Hawkeye entered the mess tent a little while later and waved to Harry from where he stood behind the serving line. “BJ, Hawk; you two look rather pleased with something.”

BJ answered, “Burns was found and arrested. Seems he accosted a general and his wife when they went into a public bath.”

Harry scrunched his face up for a moment before realization hit, “Let me guess, the wife was blonde and the general was still in uniform?”

“Got it in one. The Army is holding Burns for psychiatric evaluation before transferring him out of here for good.”

Harry danced a little jig right there, “Oh, that’s wonderful!”

Hawkeye held out his tray, “Load it up, dear sir. I’m feeling rather hungry today.”

“So what’s our new surgeon like?” Harry asked as he filled the tray with the barbecued meat.

“Arrogant, pompous, rich…you know; the usual sort that Tokyo thinks would fit in here,” BJ said with a smirk.

Harry snorted, “Has he seen anything interesting?”

BJ shrugged, “He saw the usage of the Dittany in OR after finishing up with that aneurysm patient of Hawk’s.”

Harry turned to Hawkeye, “What happened? I thought you fixed it.”

Pierce looked chagrinned, “I thought so too. I guess I didn’t close up all the holes properly.”

Charles entered the mess tent, curious now about the food selection and was surprised by how good it smelled. He picked up a tray after a moment’s hesitation and got in line. His tray filled, he sat down at an open table and took a look around at his surroundings. Everyone seemed rather cheerful and chatty as was their wont, there was some easy listening music playing in the background. All in all, it didn’t match his initial impression of what a MASH was supposed to be like.

“Do you mind if I join you?” He looked up to see a smiling raven-haired young man standing in front of him holding his own tray.

“Not at all,” He took a bite of the meat and was again impressed; this time by the quality, tastes, and textures of the sauce and meat. The rice and vegetables added a bit of bulk and fiber plus plenty of crunch. “This meal is incredible; does this camp eat like this often?”

The young man nodded then held out his hand, “I try to vary the animals I hunt so that way no one gets bored with the same old thing. By the way, I’m Harry Potter. I believe you’ve already met my distant cousin?”

Charles shook Harry’s offered hand, “Charles Winchester and yes, I met him earlier when I arrived,” He co*cked his head for a moment, “British?”

Harry dipped his head once in acknowledgement, “That’s correct, sir.”

“Hmmm, I think I met your companion too. Hermione, was it?”

“That’s her, Hermione Granger. She’s my technical specialist for our mission here.” A curious expression caused him to shake his head, “I’m sorry but I can’t divulge anything past that.”

“I was informed that you and she are the camp’s civilian liaisons or some such thing.”

“Officially yes but it’s just a cover. Please don’t ask more on that.”

Charles indicated he wouldn’t and kept eating.

Tuesday 24 February 1953

Charles was waiting anxiously in the Officer’s Club, if the tiny shack could really be counted as a ‘club.’ His anxiety was due in part on the account of the jeep that was supposed to be taking him back to civilization was running late. “Where is that blasted jeep?” He checked his watch for the umpteenth time and took a sip from his glass of alcohol the bartender claimed was scotch whiskey. He nearly choked on the harshness, “Is this the best you’ve got?”

The bartender came over, “Well, I’ve got some private stock but it’ll cost you a nickel more.”

Charles rolled his eyes, “Oh…let’s splurge.”

His glass poured, the bartender slid it over and watched with an amused smirk ghosting his face. Charles glanced apprehensively for a moment before taking a sip. The rush of heat and flame that burped from his mouth caught him off-guard, “What was that?”

“Firewhiskey. Imported directly from Merry Ol’ England herself, courtesy of Harry Potter.”

Charles harrumphed, “He seems too good to be true with all the contributions I’ve heard he’s made.”

The door burst open as Radar stumbled in, “Oh! Major Winchester, wait right here; the colonel wants to speak with you.” He hurried back to the door and yelled for the colonel.

Sherman entered and tried to calm the excitable clerk, “Radar, go type that up in triplicate.” He practically pushed him out of the door along with the bartender. Turning back to Charles, “I’ve got some good news for you, Major.”

Radar got a hold of BJ and Hawkeye to let them know that Burns was calling them. When Hawk took his turn, his face grew stormy as he listened to Burns on the other end. He gave some platitudes and well-wishes to Frank before hanging up, grabbing the phone and stalked to the door where he chucked the whole thing outside.

“You seem a trifle irked,” BJ commented.

Pierce glowered, utterly incensed, “The Army, in its infinite wisdom, has not only cleared Frank of all charges, they have assigned him to a Veterans' hospital in Indiana, and promoted him…to Lt. Colonel.”

BJ stared at him in disbelief as Pierce stormed from the office.

Harry caught up to him later and asked what had happened with all the noise in Radar’s office earlier. Pierce explained with a touch of a growl still evident in his voice which changed to confusion as Harry started grinning wickedly, “What?”

“Do you remember that Veritaserum-induced confession we got from him a while back?” Hawkeye slowly nodded. “Well, remember how I suggested that if we really wanted to destroy him; all we’d have to do is send a copy of the transcripts to the Indiana State and Federal AG’s plus the local papers?”

Hawkeye cheered and kissed Harry on the cheek, “Let’s do it!”

The Swamp, later…

Hawkeye, BJ and Harry entered after a relaxing dip in the camp’s pool to celebrate their win over the tyranny of Frank Burns and spotted a quietly seething Winchester overseeing a local woman who was ostensibly cleaning up his allotted space. Harry bowed his head to her, “joh-eun ohueyo.”

Pierce gestured in the direction of the cleaning woman, “Who’s this?”

Winchester shrugged unconcernedly, “Dollar a day.”

“Funny name for a Korean. Oh, goody! You found it!” He picked up a beanie cap with a propeller on top and put it on. Harry laughed at the sight of it.

The woman finally had enough of cleaning and argued with Charles about it until he finally paid her. She bowed once and left. His anger finally boiled over and he started ranting, “Why me? Why did Tokyo forsake me to this pestilential…dump!”

Harry propped his legs up on the tent’s stove, “I wouldn’t say that this place is a dump. Things have improved greatly in the past five months or so.”

Hawkeye poured himself a glass of gin, “Hear, hear! It’s been quite the magical ride.”

Sherman, Hermione and Margaret entered just then. Hermione wove her way into the tent and parked herself down next to Harry, “Oh, I’m glad you’re all here. I think now would be the best time to introduce Major Winchester here to Harry and Hermione.”

Charles’ face pinched, “I already met them.”

Sherman had a twinkle in his eye, “Not properly, I’d say. We told you that they’re our liaisons between the camp and the local population, right? Well, they’re more than that. The two of them are magical in every sense of the word.” Charles turned to them as they were pulling their wands and stared in incomprehension as they proceeded to transfigure random objects, caused others to dance or float around the tent, changed the color of clothing and the most incredible of them all; the two British civilians transformed into animals! He stumbled off his chair and practically crawled up the wall as a large black panther stalked its way up to him and huffed. A largish Tawny owl perched itself on the back of the chair Hermione had been sitting on and let out a ‘Prek!’

The two animals changed back into their human forms and cuddled up together, smirking at the look of terror on the man’s face. Harry explained a key point to him, “Keep in mind that we don’t change all that often. It’s only used for special circ*mstances like when I go hunting.”

“But…But…”

Margaret patted him on the shoulder, “I know, it’s a lot to take in all of a sudden but now that you’re a part of the staff here; it was decided that you needed to be brought into the fold so to speak. You’re going to see plenty of magic being used everywhere so you might as well get used to it.”

Radar rushed up, “We’ve got incoming wounded, five minutes out!”

Hawkeye grumbled, “Let’s go.”

Charles let Harry and Hermione go ahead of him as he tried to regain his wits.

The seemingly endless OR session was one of the toughest that Charles had had to endure in a very long time. In addition, he got to witness some of the magic that the colonel had alluded to earlier. Modern surgical practices combined with medieval medicines made for an interesting session. He’d seen Harry and Hermione occasionally waving a wand to get some kind of desired effect before being handed a scalpel. Once such instance was when Harry conjured up a life-sized copy of the patient then proceeded to vanish the epidermis to see inside. Charles asked what he was doing and was told that it was an advanced version of an X-ray where he’d be able to see the patient’s insides in three dimensions and in layers. “It makes it easier for me to see where the real problem lays so I don’t create a bigger wound than necessary.”

At the end of the rush, Charles collapsed on the changing room bench and sighed in defeat. The other surgeons came out and settled down as well. “Winchester, don’t feel so bad. You’ll catch on eventually,” Sherman consoled him.

“It’s not that we’re any better than you, it’s just by sheer repetition that we’ve gotten fast,” Hawkeye added.

“I haven’t felt that slow since I was an intern,” He glanced over at Harry, “I’m surprised that you were at the tables too. Don’t you have some sort of magical spell that heals people immediately?”

Harry snorted, “No, actually. Magical healing isn’t done with cutting people open and physically repairing wounds. Our medicine relies heavily on potions and our own magic to heal our injured bodies. Any wand waving you see is going to be primarily used for diagnostics.” Hermione entered the room and began handing out cups of a mild tea. Harry thanked her and began sipping from his.

Charles glanced down at his, “What’s in this?”

“It’s a blend of chamomile with a touch of wit-sharpening and mild pain-reliever potions,” she explained and took a large swallow.

Sherman saluted her with his and sipped from his cup, “We have this every time we leave the OR. It calms our nerves and gives our brains a boost.”

Charles took a sip and noted that the tea took effect almost immediately, “Nice. If you’ll excuse me; I think I want to be alone right now.” He nodded to them all and left.

“That is not a happy camper,” Sherman observed then turned to his two surgeons, “Do us all a favor and leave him be for a while until he gets broken in.”

Pierce and BJ looked sheepish as they laughed, “I wish you’d had told us that before we left the snake in his bed.”

The two men entered their tent to the sounds of classical music being played from Charles’ record player, “Hey, we’ve got ourselves a new record player.”

“Please Beej, Mozart. Have you no respect for classical music?” Hawkeye pompously admonished his friend.

Charles rolled his eyes at the pair’s antics and tried to get back into the music’s flow. He heard Hawkeye yelp and toss the snake he’d discovered in his own bed and smirked.

“Clever, very clever,” Hawk congratulated him.

Charles rolled his head over and smugly replied, “Please, Mozart…”

Saturday 28 February 1953

The days following his ‘grand’ introduction to MASH 4077, Charles spent the time observing and trying to make sense of things. On one hand, the camp was full of the usual sort of activities that one would expect from a medical unit: Corpsmen and nurses keeping the supplies and equipment in order and maintained, the motor pool doing the same with the unit’s trucks and jeeps; the doctors keeping abreast of the latest medical reviews and journals.

On the other hand, there were little things that he’d begun to notice that were completely out of the ordinary. That young cousin of the commanding officer would disappear for hours at a time then return with a freshly killed animal or more. Yesterday, he’d mysteriously appeared with a moderate crack of noise carrying a large bag of seafood then disappeared into the kitchen. His female companion was equally mysterious. She was seen conversing with the local population in their own language to barter and trade for ingredients or supplies for those incredible potions.

There was also a distinct lack of flying and crawling pests in the camp. Outside the perimeter, one would instantly be assaulted by mosquitoes and flies plus potentially run afoul of rats and snakes but the minute he returned to the confines of the camp, it was as if they were terrified to follow.

Charles entered Radar’s office with the intent of calling Colonel Baldwin to figure out some way to get transferred back to civilization but the obstinate myopic clerk informed him that the colonel said there were to be no outside calls permitted. Charles immediately flared up, “You pusillanimous little squirt!” He reigned himself in viciously, “Just do it. I am going…”

“Winchester, you’re not going anywhere,” Sherman declared as he stepped into the outer office.

Charles rolled his head to try and release some of his tension, “I just want to hear it from Baldwin himself as to his reasoning for banishing me here. Why me? Was it something I said? Was it something I did?”

Sherman nodded thoughtfully, “I understand your frustration, Major. As he explained it to me; you had beaten him at too many games and won some six hundred plus dollars, correct?”

Charles slowly dipped his chin, “You mean… I have to stay here because he didn’t want to pay me the $672.17? That’s ridiculous! If I refuse to stay?”

“Then you’ll be making gravel at Leavenworth! Comprende?”

Sighing in defeat, Charles nodded, “Comprendo. Do you… at least have any suggestions I could have to get my mind off of this outrage?”

Sherman patted him on the shoulder, “The mess tent has some games and activities stored away in a cabinet. There’s always someone willing to take part.”

Back in his tent, Charles pulled out his tape recorder and loaded a new reel before picking up the microphone, “Dear Mother and Dad…”

Klinger barged in just as he was about to get going. The strange swarthy man was dressed up as some kind of feminine mail carrier, “Mail! Hunnicutt, Hunnicutt, Hunnicutt… Pierce, and two for our resident high-class society Major Winchester.”

“Klinger, you really are full of it,” he dismissed the man as he took the letters.

“We are what we eat,” was his response before leaving.

Charles watched him go and was just about ready to restart his audio ‘letter’ to his parents when the PA flared to life, “ATTENTION ALL PERSONNEL!”

Another wave of wounded rolled in halfway through the triage, much to Charles incredulity, “Isn’t there a limit as to how many a camp can take?”

BJ laughed humorlessly, “Yeah, when our supplies run out and we’re hoisting the white flag.”

In the OR, Sherman was quietly singing along to some Tex Ritter music that was being piped in on the camp’s PA:

“Gunsmoke trail oh tell me of days gone by
Though alone you still wind your way
All the ghostly horsem*n ridin' as they speed the eastern mail
It's up to you to see them through gunsmoke trail, gunsmoke trail

The gunsmoke now has faded from the blazing 44
The stagecoach is rusting on the hill
The wagon wheels you used to feel will sing their song no more
The sound of the caravan is still

Gunsmoke trail no traveler to care where you go
Sands of time are hard in your way
Bet if heaven ever let you you could tell a rugged tale
That's why I hate to see you fade gunsmoke trail

Bet if heaven ever let you you could tell a rugged tale
That's why I hate to see you fade gunsmoke trail (gunsmoke trail)

The song eventually ended as Hermione’s voice came over the speaker, “That was Tex Ritter’s ‘Gunsmoke Trails’ as requested by Sherman Potter. Next up in our ‘Surgical Serenade’ is a request by Father Mulcahy. I give you the dancing piano tunes of the ‘Charleston Rag’ by Eubie Banks.”

The music started playing. It was quick and peppy, the sort of music you just couldn’t help but tap your feet to. Pretty soon, heads were bobbing to the melody. Charles turned to his nurse, “Is this common? Playing music on the PA?”

She nodded, “Yes, doctor. It helps to pass the time and makes the OR not be so discouraging.”

“Who do I go to for my requests?”

“Normally, you would just seek out Hermione Granger beforehand and put in a request but I can pass the message along now, if you’d like.”

“Please. I’d like to listen to Rachmanioff, ‘Rhapsody on a theme of Paganini’ if she has it available.” The nurse excused herself and left the room for a moment before returning. He nodded his appreciation and requested a clamp.

‘Life wasn’t all that bad’ Charles mused the next day as he was introduced to the novelty of Harry and Hermione’s pensieve. He perused the Master List of Memories and took note of some of the concerts and theater plays, operas and other cultural interests. He’d just finished experiencing a fully immersive and impressive recollection of some composer he’d never heard of. ‘This John Williams certainly is talented. I thoroughly enjoyed that ‘Hedwig’s Theme.’ Harpsichord, wasn’t it in the beginning? Very uplifting and inspired.’

“Major?” He turned and saw Harry entering the tent. That was another thing that blew any sort of preconceptions he may have had of magic. The tent was diminutive and unassuming; much like its inhabitants yet completely blew his mind as to its potential. ‘If only I could get my hands on my own tent, I wouldn’t be forced to share that pestilential dump with Pierce and Hunnicutt.’

“Harry? I was just…” Harry waved him down then disappeared down a hallway. Charles turned back to the List and made the decision to watch a surgical procedure for a Coronary Artery Bypass Graft.

Friday 6 March 1953

After the rush of the previous week, Harry was glad for a bit of down-time. The fighting had shifted once again and left the camp with nothing to do but try and catch up on their sleep or work on side projects that had built up over time. Harry was sitting on the ‘porch’ of their tent people-watching and doing some wood-crafting, Hermione was busy with her laundry, Radar was busy with his ongoing rehabilitation efforts of wounded and lost animals in his menagerie. BJ and Hawkeye had gone to smack a few golf balls into the minefield while Sherman decided to take a much needed ride on his mare. Charles was doing who-knew-what; Harry watched Klinger as he was passing by, carrying a couple of bolts of fabric into his tent.

Hermione returned from the laundry tent, her basket loaded with freshly washed clothes and spotted Harry carving a block of wood, “Hey, what’re you carving?”

Harry sniffed, “I was thinking of experimenting with a new style of wand; something that will blend in better with the weapons of this era.”

She quirked an eyebrow, “How so?”

He held up a picture of a pistol, “This is the Enfield No. 2 Mk. 1 revolver. I got to wondering why a wand was traditionally shaped the way it is and figured what the heck, let’s try something new.”

“Ok, let me put this away then I want you to explain further.” She disappeared inside for a few minutes before returning and pulling up a chair.

“So, from what I remember of Ollivander’s ramblings; the modern wand hasn’t changed since the 12^th century. In all that time, no one has experimented with the general shape? I want to see if it’s possible to craft one to resemble a muggle weapon.”

Bobbing her head in intrigue, “But what if it gets stolen and someone tries to use it?”

Harry shrugged, “It’ll be obvious that it’s made from wood. If anyone examines it, they’ll most likely think that some soldier got bored and carved a gun like some people carve animals or vehicles.”

“What sort of core were you thinking of using?”

“I was hoping for something with a bit of power like dragon heartstring. I definitely wouldn’t use anything like unicorn hair or phoenix feather.”

“Why not?”

“Both are Light-oriented materials and not the sort of thing that should be used in a weapon of war.”

Hermione bobbed her head again, “Where were you planning on getting the core?”

Harry leant down and picked up a bag that had been lying at his feet, “Already stopped by the Magical Ginza and bought what I needed. I got the wood there too; it’s Alder wood. The heartstring is from a Yong Dragon.”

“Well, color me impressed, Harry. I wish you good luck then.”

Wednesday 18 March 1953

“Hey Harry! I’ve got one here that I need your opinion on,” BJ called out during a wave of wounded caused not by enemy fire but because of an avalanche in the mountains. Harry hurried over and was surprised to see not a wounded soldier but the bulky form of a Goblin!

“Well, that’s different. Let me see if I remember my Gob’lean… bIpIv'a'? qatlh Heghpu'? (How do you feel? Are you hurt?)” The words he spoke were harsh and guttural. The Goblin shifted and murmured something back. “He was investigating a new vein of ore when the mountainside collapsed. naDev Data'rup'a'? (Is there someone we can call for you?)”

Again, the response was short. Harry nodded and cast a stasis charm on the Goblin, “Put him aside for now. I’m going to place a call to Gringotts so they can come pick him up.” BJ nodded and motioned for a corpsman to help him carry the stretcher.

Harry entered Radar’s office and rang up a special number he’d been given to connect him to the Goblin branch in Tokyo, “lutmey tlhaQDaq puqloD qorDu'lI' ghaH. ghIpDIjDaq bIlengtaHvIS, ghIHtaHvIS. (This is Harry Potter of MASH 4077 in Oijeonbu, Korea. We have one of your scouts here and no way to treat him for his injuries sustained when a mountainside collapsed on him.)” The voice on the other end growled a response. “choQoq 'ach yIra'taHvIS, 'ach choQoq'a'. (Alert me when you get here.)”

BJ was overseeing Harry’s work in the OR afterwards, “So… Goblin? They’re not what I expected.”

Harry snorted, “That’s probably the most common thing anyone’s ever said about them. Goblins are a martial race of people. Socially, they value honor, respect of their elders as well as their children. They don’t tolerate anyone who wastes their time waffling on about idiotic conversation niceties like ‘how was your day’ when there’s business to be dealt with. They’re gruff to downright belligerent to outsiders yet seem to like the muggleborns when they’re first introduced to the magical world.”

“Why’s that?”

“Probably because the muggleborn still hold to the general principle that you should respect those who control your money. The magically-raised are dismissive to them and like to hold grudges over things that are usually their fault to begin with.”

“That scout looked like a swarthier version of Klinger,” BJ joked.

Harry laughed, “He’d probably agree with you. Incidentally, Goblins areour closest ancient human relatives. Scientific evidence suggests our two species shared a common ancestor. Current evidence from both fossils and DNA suggests that Goblins and modern human lineages separated at least 500,000 years ago.”

BJ was dumbfounded, “You’re kidding!”

“Nope, you know the Goblin ancestors by another name. They’re also known as Neanderthals.”

“Please tell me that the memory of that research is amongst the Master List?” BJ pleaded.

Harry nodded, “Page 24 of the History Series.”

When the day’s surgery was completed, the camp was greeted by a delegation of Goblin warriors in full armor and a couple of healers. Harry bowed before the leader and spoke quietly explaining what had happened. He led them over to where the scout was still laying in stasis, “vIta'laH…” (I can…)

The leader held up his hand, “We can speak English if you need to. My name is Goldhand, I’m impressed that you can speak our language. Where were you taught?”

“Greetings Goldhand, my name is Harry Potter. I was taught at Gringotts London many years ago though not in this time.”

“Explain.”

“My companion, Hermione Granger and I are the unfortunate victims of a faulty experimental portkey that the British Department of Mysteries had been working on. They were trying to combine a Time Turner with a standard Portkey to reduce travel times.” The leader snorted dismissively and Harry shrugged sheepishly, “I’m not complaining really. Since we’ve been here, I’ve discovered that I have family amongst this camp. The leader here is a distant cousin and someone I’m proud to call a Potter.”

The Goblin looked impressed, “Family is important and once found should always be cherished. What year did you come from and where were you headed?”

“September 2002. We were originally trying to head to Australia but were redirected here by powers unknown.”

The Goblin grunted, “Do you have the means to go home?”

Harry shrugged, “If we do, we’re not planning on using it until this war is won. We both refuse to leave our friends behind in the midst of war.”

The Goblin bared his teeth slightly, “That is indeed honorable thinking.” One of the healers indicated that they were ready to move out. He turned and sketched a bow to Harry, “I wish you well, Harry Potter. May you find long life and peace in all your endeavors.”

Harry returned the bow, “And may your enemies pray they never meet you on the battlefield.”

Wednesday 1 April 1953

Harry was in Sherman’s office and pouting, “Aww, come on! Today is the day to be pulling pranks!”

Sherman was unapologetic, “Not today, it’s not. We’ve got some brass visiting and I don’t want them to get caught in the crossfire.”

Sighing, Harry understood, “Fine, but I reserve the right to drive everyone crazy the moment they leave.”

“I look forward to it,” Sherman grinned then shooed Harry off.

Harry ducked back into his tent and flopped down on the couch. Hermione poked her head out of her room, “Harry? What’s wrong? I could feel your disappointment all the way in here.”

“Sherman’s forbidden me to pull any pranks today, something about brass visiting and him wanting to put on a good impression.”

“Oh…when are they supposed to get here?” She looked a mite worried.

“Sometime just after lunch, I think. Why?”

“I wanted to run a complete diagnostic on the wards and see about adding a Ley line power regulator.”

“Didn’t you include one when you first set it up?”

She nodded in memory, “Yeah, but I’ve improved the design since then. You remember when I powered it up; the sky seemed a bit red for a while?”

He made a face, “Honestly, no. I had other things on my mind back then.”

She giggled, “Fine, smarty pants. Anyhow, it shouldn’t take me long if I get started now.”

“Will you need to drop the array?”

She scrunched her nose, “For about fifteen minutes. It shouldn’t be a problem, I’ll make an announcement before I hit the power rune.”

“Announ…oh, that’s right; you put the main wardstone behind Radar’s office?” She nodded so he clicked his fingers in understanding.

Back in Sherman’s office…

“We have some important brass showing up soon. Colonel Daniel Webster Tucker, lord high executioner of the surgeon general's office, is coming to observe our medical setup. He’s a stickler’s stickler, quotes army medical regulations from memory. He’s got a three second fuse so I want everyone here on their absolute best behavior until he leaves. Understood?” He glared at his surgeons.

Hawkeye held up his hand, “I swear I won’t pull anything while he’s here, Colonel.” The other two made similar declarations so Sherman let them go.

As they were leaving, BJ noticed the look on Hawkeye’s face, “Didn't you hear what Potter said?”

Hawk continued to grin, “All he said was no jokes while Tucker's here. Well, Tucker's not here yet. Who’s with me to pull a couple of quick one-two shots?”

Charles shook his head, “I’m going to quietly wait in my bunk.”

Hawkeye scoffed, “You mean you’re going to dismiss the opportunity to get back at Harry and Hermione? It was she who gave you the cookies that tasted like toothpaste and he was the one who glued your feet into your boots.”

Charles looked pained, “Well, maybe we have time for one prank…”

Harry awoke later from his nap utterly confused. He opened his eyes and found that he wasn’t in his bedroom anymore and there were more people surrounding him. In fact, the room appeared to be full of smiling and whispering nurses. He made to get up but froze, his clothing was missing and all he had to cover himself was the tiny blanket currently draped across his torso. He glanced at the now toothily grinning women and sighed, “I’m guessing that my wand isn’t here, either? Fine…” He boldly stood up and strode out of the tent to the whistles and cheers of the nurses.

As he was crossing the compound, a jeep pulled up. The senior officer stared at him for a moment, “Soldier, did you forget something this morning?”

Harry sighed, “I’m actually a civilian, sir. Harry Potter, Civilian Liaison to MASH 4077 and the apparent victim of an April Fool’s Day prank. If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to go put on at least a pair of shoes and socks so my feet don’t get hurt seeing as how my pride has already taken a direct hit.”

The senior officer chuckled, “I'm Colonel Daniel Tucker. As you were then but before you go; which way to the commanding officer’s office?” Harry pointed him in the right direction then resumed his walk.

The next morning in the mess tent, Hermione entered all glares; fortunately, they were directed at Charles and Hunnicutt, “You…”

BJ smirked, “You seem a trifle irked. Did you not have a pleasant evening?”

She leveled her finger at the both of them, “Just remember, payback can be a bitch; especially when it involves an angry witch.” Charles gulped nervously.

BJ on the other hand was unrepentant, “It’s just a joke, Hermione.”

Waggling her finger, she was unconvinced, “I learned the fine art of retribution from a Highland Scottish witch. You best watch yourselves.” She stormed off out of the tent.

Margaret appeared, “What did you two reprobates do to her?”

“We moved the contents of her bedroom outside to the compound by the flagpole,” BJ said as he scratched his scruffy chin.

Margaret shook her head in exasperation, “You better hope that she doesn’t feel the need to transfigure the pair of you into a couple of jackasses and sell you to the locals.” Charles paled and whimpered.

The load in the OR was relatively light that day, just a couple of jeeps worth of casualties. Harry was working on a corporal with a busted femur and a lacerated subclavian artery. Sherman hovered nearby in case he had any questions. Colonel Tucker wandered over to observe, “That’s some good work there, Mr. Potter.” He glanced between Harry and Sherman, “Are you two related?”

“Distantly. A something great-grandfather of his emigrated to America during the Revolutionary War,” Sherman explained. Tucker blinked in surprise to which Sherman nodded then pointed out a bleeder to Harry who promptly packed it off. “Well, it didn’t take you long to get a chance to see our team in action.”

Tucker’s response was derisive, “I saw them in action last night, Colonel. Tell me, do they practice their surgery with the same attention they give their pillow fights?” Harry snorted quietly, Sherman nudged him.

“Colonel, I’ll admit that we have a full rack of eight balls here but when it comes to cutting, these people are the real McCoy here.

“I should hope so. I assume they've all been to medical school? Oh, I am so sorry. I should give the good doctors a round of applause for doing their jobs. Hear, hear, Doctors. Hear, hear.”

Colonel Tucker was crossing the compound heading towards the Officer’s Club when he spotted a corpsman wearing a dress yet not acting like he was the unwitting victim of a prank, “Corporal? What happened?”

Klinger was confused, “Sir?”

Tucker gestured at Klinger’s outfit, “Did you lose a bet or a victim of a prank?”

Klinger glanced at his outfit and his confusion cleared, “No sir. I’m an aspiring fashion designer and I sometimes test my outfits on myself. I feel that if it’s comfortable for me, it should be comfortable to my clientele. I know that I look ridiculous but it’s a small price to pay for quality work.”

Tucker’s mouth had dropped open slightly as he fought to find the right words, “Well…okay, then carry on, soldier.” Klinger saluted and left.

Harry and Hermione were in the O-Club when Pierce, BJ and Charles entered full of steam, “What’s going on?”

Charles answered them, “Tucker’s about to face retribution, MASH style.”

Hermione took a sip of her Butterbeer, “Oh, this ought to be good.” They watched as BJ filled a bucket up with beer and hung it from the rafters with a rope hanging down. Pierce had roused one of the corporals from his spot and dumped him off in the corner just in time for the two colonels to enter the room. Tucker took a spot at the bar while BJ pulled Sherman aside, “Something’s come up.”

“Huh?”

“Tucker’s number.”

“What?” Sherman’s confusion grew.

Tucker yelled to the barman, “I ordered a shot and a beer! Where’s my beer?”

Pierce pulled on the rope, “Beers on you, Colonel!”

The senior surgeons broke out in laughter as Tucker was doused in beer, yelling and shouting until he started choking and grabbing at his chest. Hermione shot Harry a look and saw the exasperated smirk, “Quirrell was a better actor than this tripe.”

“I know, right?”

Tucker and Sherman got their prank on the surgeons, “I gotcha, Pierce! I got all of you April fools! You were marvelous, Dan!” Relieved laughter burst from the others.

Friday 10 April 1953

Hermione was relaxing in the sun, armed with a book and a cup of iced tea sitting on a short end table she’d conjured. She was taking some me-time in hopes of getting some much-needed vitamin D to take the winter pallor off. It was the first spring day worthy of sunning to a healthy tan. Unfortunately, the camp was inundated with wounded just as she got comfortable.

“One of these days…” she grumbled as she hurried over to the ambulances. She heard her last name being called so she turned and headed over to where Klinger and BJ were working, “You called?”

BJ blinked then glanced at her then down at the wounded soldier, “Um, it looks like we now have two Grangers in camp.”

Hermione took a look at the soldier and gasped in shock, “No! Grandpa Robert?”

The wounded Granger opened his feverish eyes and tried to focus on Hermione, “You…you look like my son Ian…” He then passed out.

Hermione scooted back, “I, uh… BJ…you…”

BJ took her gently by the arm and led her away, “I’ll do my absolute best, Hermione. You’re here which means he lives so don’t worry.”

Word got around that one of the British soldiers was Hermione’s grandfather. She was barred from the OR by Sherman’s orders, “You’ll be of no help to anyone if I let you in there. Go roll some bandages or something simple that’ll keep you busy but not a danger to those around you.” She huffed in annoyance but followed his orders and helped out with running supplies from storage.

When Robert Granger got out of surgery and shunted off to post-op, Hermione rushed in and took up a position by his bed and absolutely refused to leave. The nurses understood and let her be; Harry arrived later and sat down next to her, “He should be waking up soon. How are you going to tell him who you are?”

Tears were dripping down her cheeks, “That’s the thing, I don’t know. He died when I was five years old so my recollection of him is vague. I only have the anecdotes that my dad told me; that he loved to hold me and make up cute stories to get me to go to sleep.” She rubbed her hands over her arms and leaned into Harry.

Robert Granger finally clawed his way back into consciousness; he quietly took in his surroundings and winced when he tried to move. He heard a gentle voice from his left, “Don’t try to move too much, you got hit pretty hard.” He slowly (and painfully) turned his head to see who that voice belonged to. The owner of the voice had him questioning his sanity, “You look familiar somehow.”

Hermione smiled tearfully, “I get that a lot. How are you feeling? Any pain?”

“Just the old noggin, hurts like I went one on one with a lorry.”

“I can imagine. Your unit is not known for wearing helmets. Fortunately for you, your hard heads make up for the lack.”

Robert chuckled weakly, “I guess we do. What’s your name, my dear?”

Hermione choked back a sob, “Hermione. Hermione Granger.”

Robert blinked once, twice then slowly let a smile grow on his face, “That’s a beautiful name. Granger, huh? I guess I’m not the only one to have that family name.”

Hermione silently shook her head. Robert could see the tear stains on her cheeks and the red-rimmed eyes, “Was it something I said?”

“No, it’s just…” She glanced around then seemed to come to a resolution, “I’m your granddaughter.”

Robert’s eyebrows quickly disappeared into his hairline, “I’d think I’d know if I had a granddaughter. My only son isn’t even out of nappies yet.”

Hermione sighed heavily, “Let me start from the beginning.”

When she finished her tale, Robert lay there pondering the believability of the whole thing, “I’m…I should be skeptical but somehow I believe you, Hermione. Something inside me feels like it’s pulling me to you.”

“Do you have magic?”

Robert shook his head, “No, I don’t. I wish I did; I remember some of the stories my own grandfather told us. Tales that sounded so fantastic at the time. Dragons, learning magic in a castle, wands, flying brooms, some crazy sport where the balls are charmed to fly and knock you off those brooms… I can see that it’s all true, now.”

Hermione sniffed again, “It is. It’s called ‘Quidditch’ and it’s horribly dangerous. My best friend loves to play and it scares me whenever he pulls some crazy stunt to catch the Snitch.”

“Why the tears, Hermione? You get to meet me properly now.”

“But I barely knew you in my childhood. You died when I was only five and the stories my dad told me were sporadic. I got the impression that you and he didn’t really connect that well.”

Robert looked pensive, “I can see how that might happen. Well, things can change for the better now that we’ve talked. I can try to be more receptive to my son and therefore you in the future. Do you, do you know how I died?”

Hermione shook her head, “My parents just told me that you died of old age.”

Robert huffed in a manner so reminiscent of Hermione that it caused her to smile, “I’m not so old now. When were you born?”

“19 September 1979.”

“So, five years past that would make it 1984. My god, I was only 56! Way too young and handsome to shuffle off this mortal coil.” She giggled at his indignation.

A new voice caught her attention, one that she would instantly recognize anywhere, “Ah, there you are lads. All looking quite chipper, I must say.” She whirled around and felt her jaw hit the floor.

The voice belonged to younger version of Saul Croaker!

“Oi, Major.”

“Well, we'll have you chaps back on duty in no time,” the major informed them. Hermione glanced at Robert who co*cked his head questioningly. She pulled her wand discreetly and cleared her throat. The major turned and spotted her (and her wand), his eyes widened a tiny bit and he tilted his head in the direction of the door. She nodded and whispered that she’d be back to Robert before hurrying outside. She cast a messenger Patronus to go find Harry telling him to get to post-op post haste. Harry came running up as fast as he could, “What’s going on?”

“You’ll never believe it.” She pointed with her chin as the major stepped outside.

Harry blinked in shock, “Croaker?”

Major Derek Ross pursed his lips, “That’s not a name I’d like to be spread around at this point. When, where and what unit are you with?”

Harry gestured between the two of them, “I’m Harry James Potter, Unspeakable Junior Hitwizard, Division Two. This is Hermione Jean Granger, Temporal Research Division.”

Croaker nodded thoughtfully, “What was your mission here?”

Hermione answered, “Actually, we ended up here by mistake. My department was experimenting with a new variant of a portkey but something went wrong. As far as my review has revealed, there was a power surge right when the otherspace gateway opened and we were shunted from the India-Australia line to the India-Korea line.”

“Do you require the department’s assistance?”

She shook her head, “No, sir. I’ve figured out the mistake and the power requirements. We’re just waiting until the end of the conflict before going home.”

Croaker co*cked his head, “Why would you risk more temporal incursions?”

“Well, we’ve built up a bit of a family here with the camp and we don’t want to leave them in the lurch.”

“I see. I also note that I have a Granger in my unit; is he a relation of yours?”

“My grandfather, sir. Robert Granger.”

“Have you spoken or interacted with him in any way?”

Hermione blushed, “Yes, sir. We’ve had a rather lengthy conversation about our family and a couple of future events. He knows who I am… I don’t want to lose that.”

Croaker glanced over to Harry who stood a bit straighter, “I found out that the commander of this camp is distantly related to me through a Potter who immigrated to America during the Revolutionary War. Like Hermione, I don’t want to lose that knowledge or the privilege of having met and worked with him.”

Croaker shifted on his feet, “What am I to the both of you?”

“You’re the Director of the Department of Mysteries and our overall boss. You were the one who sent us on the mission to retrieve a former classmate of ours who had skipped out on England after pulling some sort of illegal activities and vanished to Australia where the authorities there eventually captured him. We were supposed to go retrieve him and bring him back to stand trial,” Harry explained.

Gesturing back towards the post-op, Croaker asked Hermione if she wanted her grandfather rotated home and reassigned to another post. “What I would like is to make sure that he’s happy in whatever assignment he wants to take on. If my grandfather is anything like me, he’d hate being stuck in some ‘weenie’ job to use the American slang, rubber stamping order forms.”

Croaker took all this under advisem*nt, “Fair enough the both of you. Miss Granger, would you say that your grandfather is the intellectual type?”

“I’ve just barely gotten to know him, sir. He died when I was five years old.”

“Very well…So, here are my orders to the both of you. Even though in this moment I am nowhere near a position of authority within the department; I want the both of you to continue as you were. Return when you’re able and we’ll discuss your options going from there. Understood?”

Both Harry and Hermione thanked him for being understanding.

While Robert Granger was recuperating, he and Hermione spent as much time as they could getting familiar with each other’s past and futures. Harry took a bunch of photos to share with her later (and gave copies to Robert for him to put away for safekeeping.) Robert was thrilled to get a chance to see the wonders of their tent and even the pensieve. Hermione offered to run a Lineage Test to see if maybe Robert had magic but he turned it down, “It makes no difference to me now. I know that my family is going to be in capable hands and that’s enough for me.”

Croaker, in his guise of Major Ross met the pair at the bus platform, “Corporal Granger?” Robert turned and saluted. “I want you to know that I’ll be reassigning you forthwith.” He glanced briefly at Hermione. “You’re being reassigned to Her Majesty’s Magical branch of MI5. You’ll return to your current base to pack and get your papers. From there, you’ll fly back home immediately; your posting and all information will be in the packet.”

Both Grangers’ jaws were practically scraping the ground. Robert found his voice first, “Yes, sir. Thank you, Major.”

Hermione whispered at Major Ross as he passed by her, with tears of joy streaming down her face, “Thank you, Director Croaker.”

Chapter 5: Farewell, Goodbye, and Amen!

Chapter Text

Chapter 5: Farewell, Goodbye, and Amen!

Sunday 12 April 1953

Harry was demonstrating his wand experiment to Sherman and Hermione in the camp’s garbage dump and his ‘targeting range.’ He explained to Sherman the general concepts of how specific wood species were considered magical and how they combined with the cores to focus and channel a witch or wizard’s magic into accomplishing their intentions. “I had thought about trying to see if I could mass produce these for soldiers who could prove they were magical in some fashion but the amount of work that went into each one would be too cost prohibitive to try and figure out a method during a war.”

Hermione understood that, “If we were back home, you could take the time to figure it out properly and have all the resources available.”

“Exactly. I’ll keep my progress recorded in my notes for later though.” He took aim on a crate and let fly with a silent bombarda curse and the crate exploded in a shower of wooden splinters.

One modification he’d done, almost as an afterthought; was to include a gemstone in the grip that would act as a magical capacitor. Hermione pointed it out and asked him for his reasoning. “Well, I had an idea that what if someone else needed to use the gun-wand but wasn’t powerful enough to wield it like normal, someone like a Squib for example.”

Bobbing her head in acknowledgement, she agreed with his reasoning, “So, do you know any Squibs to test out your theory?”

Harry’s eyes slid over to Sherman who started, “Me?”

Harry shrugged, “It makes sense. You’ve been able to see some of the magical enchantments we’ve put up. I haven’t said anything up to now because I wasn’t entirely convinced but it seems to make sense. Remember that weirdly colored box I had set up in the compound yesterday that no one else noticed and actively avoided the space? Well, I had put up a muggle-repelling charm as a test of my suspicions.”

Hermione was staring open-mouthed at the pair and pointed a shaky finger between the two Potters, “I saw Sherman walk up and stare at it. I had thought the rest of the camp was in on some crazy prank but you could see it…”

Sherman scratched his cheek, “I had been wondering about that too. So that charm would prevent all those without magic from seeing or getting close to it?” Harry nodded a touch smugly at having his ideas confirmed. “Well, how about that. I’m now left wondering what else was hidden from me.”

Harry shrugged unconcernedly, “I did some deeper digging and discovered that your ancestor, Abraham Potter was a Squib or very near to it. It’s entirely likely that he married another Squib and the magic just built up over time to the point where it’s somewhat manifesting itself and you’re able to interact with magic at the very least. There are some who have such low connections that they might as well be complete muggles for all intents and purposes and Hogwarts has a minimum power level cutoff where they don’t bother to send out Acceptance Letters.”

“So would this classify me as a wizard?” Sherman asked as he examined the wand-gun and took aim at the target.

Harry shook his head, “Until we get you tested; I would have to say ‘no.’ Did you want to get that test taken?”

Sherman lowered the gun and sighed, shaking his head, “No. I don’t think I need to. I already know that I’m part of a bigger family and that’s what’s most important to me.” He handed the gun back to Harry, gave him a half-hearted smile and clapped him on the shoulder, “I’ve got some reports to fill out.” He smiled at the pair and ambled off. ‘Now I have more to add to that letter.’ He mused to himself.

Monday 27 April 1953

Evening was starting to fall on the camp when the artillery bombardment started. Harry was in post-op doing some paperwork while BJ and Hawkeye were tending to their patients. A nearby burst of shelling rocked the building and started some of the wounded crying out in near-panic. The nurses rushed to their sides to try and assuage their fears. “Don’t worry everybody, I’m sure they don’t mean it,” Hawkeye announced to the room. He eyed BJ and jerked his head towards the office. He stood and waved to everyone, “Like I said, don’t worry and I’m sure that this will all blow over.”

BJ snorted, “Reassuring, very reassuring.”

Harry and Hermione were pulled away from their tasks to take part in an emergency meeting in the mess tent. “Well, folks, the way I see it, we're in the middle of a boxing ring between two blindfolded fighters,” Sherman explained, “Apparently neither side knows we’re here. I think a major move under these conditions would be more dangerous than staying but there’s no time to dig bunkers.”

Margaret grumped, “Now tell us the bad news.”

Sherman gave her a glance askance, “Well, I did some checking and we do have an alternative.”

Hawkeye quipped in jest, “Dig a hole and come up in Kansas.”

Sherman sighed and shook his head briefly, “Actually, you’re not that far off.”

“California?” BJ asked hopefully.

“About a half mile west of here, there's an abandoned cave that the North Koreans used as an aid station,” Sherman continued. Harry put his hand up before Hawkeye could continue to make jokes.

“If it’ll help, Hermione and I can pack up and shrink the contents of our tent so you can move all the patients into there along with the nurses and equipment that need to be with them. The rest of us can then shelter in the cave.”

“How quickly can you do this?”

Harry glanced at Hermione who shrugged and twitched silently. He turned back, “Figure about twenty minutes. As for the patients, we think that if they’re all put under stasis charms; it would make moving them easier.”

BJ was worried though, “Won’t that much magical usage wear you out?”

Hermione shrugged, “We’ll pack a couple of energy drinks for the ride. We’ve done this before…before, you know?” They did, so preparations were discussed and enacted on.

The buses and jeeps pulled up to the cave with the squeal of brakes as Harry jumped out of his seat, pulled his wand and began setting up the perimeter wards and enchantments while Hermione got their tent set-up. Inside the now completely empty tent was a trio of trunks, one labeled for him, her and the contents of the living space and laboratory. Margaret was on hand to help direct the corpsmen and nurses as they shuttled the still in stasis patients into every available space. Harry’s old room was converted into a temporary operating room while Hermione’s was converted into a storage room with a couple of patients stuffed in there as well.

“Protego totalum…Repello Inimicum…Fianto Duri….” Sherman straightened up and gasped quietly as the first set of protective enchantments washed over the site. He and everyone else turned wide eyes to Harry as the young man continued to demonstrate the awesome power of magic.

"Repello Muggletum…Muffliato Maxima…Cave Inimicum…deceptione perimetri…” He let his hands and wand drop to his sides as he started swaying and sweating. Hermione thrust a sugar-laden energy drink in his hand and guided him to a rock to sit on. He thanked her and leaned back to rest, “Whew, I haven’t done that in ages.”

Hawkeye nervously paced the entrance of the cave; his childhood claustrophobia had flared up something fierce and he was loath to enter the cramped confines unless utterly necessary. When Sherman found out, he sympathized and suggested that he stay closer to the entrance and act as a sentry if need be. Relieved that he wouldn’t have to suffer, he continued to walk back and forth the length of the tent and staring out into the darkness.

“Hawk?” He spun around and sighed with relief when the voice’s owner turned out to be Hermione. She held out a cup of tomato soup to him, “I figured you’d need something to eat.”

He smiled wanly back at her, “Thanks, Hermione. Nice night for a stroll, wouldn’t you agree?”

She giggled quietly, “Oh sure, what with the rockets and artillery, it’s just like our New Year’s celebrations.”

He shook his head in fond memory, “What a wild night that was.”

She smirked over the rim of her mug, “Especially the blackmail photos we took of you getting smashed and giving the nurses a pole dance in your underwear.”

Hawk goggled at her, “I didn’t do that! Please tell me I didn’t!”

She gestured vaguely towards where the tent’s trunk was located, “I’ve got the whole memory vial for you to watch later, if you want.”

Hawk just paled at the thought.

“Do you believe in reincarnation?” Hawkeye asked after a few minutes of silence.

“What?”

"Looking in there makes me think of all the things I wouldn't want to come back as: a snail, an oyster, a turtle.” His chuckle was strained, “Can you imagine me as a turtle; afraid to get into my own shell? I'd die of embarrassment, all the other turtles laughing at me in my underwear.”

Hermione patted him on the arm, “We’ll get through this.”

“Are you sure?”

She leveled a knowing smirk at him, “Pensieve, remember? On top of that is the fact that I and Harry are here with all of our knowledge of the future? That wouldn’t be possible if we died here tonight.”

Hawkeye visibly relaxed, “You’re right. I hadn’t considered that; well, here’s to hoping that we can go back to camp soon.”

A nurse burst out of the tent and spotted Hawkeye, “Doctor! Private Lovett’s blood pressure is dropping fast!” The two of them raced back inside; Hawkeye reexamined his patient and grimaced, “He’s bleeding into his belly; it’s out of control, I need to open him back up or we’re going to lose him.”

Hermione ordered the nurse to prep the make-shift operating room, “I’ll go let Margaret know.”

Margaret, Sherman and Father Mulcahy appeared as if summoned. “What’s the situation?” Sherman inquired; it was left to Hermione to explain as Pierce went to throw on an apron. When he reappeared, he grimaced at the thought of not being able to scrub in. Hermione pulled out her wand and pointed it at his hands, “Aqua et saponem.” A spray of soapy water erupted out of her wand; he quickly washed and was gloved before thanking her briefly and heading inside.

While they were waiting, Sherman made a joking comment about how he wondered if that wand-gun that Harry had made could be turned into a squirt gun. Harry came out just then and overheard him, “I guess you could though the question would be why?”

Sherman commented on Hermione’s soapy water trick to which Harry nodded sagely, “Then to answer your question; yes, it’s entirely possible. Magic doesn’t care what the spell is, just the intent. Even the so-called ‘light’ spells could be used for harm if the intent is negative.”

Father Mulcahy shuddered, “That’s a scary thought.”

Word finally came through the next morning that the artillery units finally pulled back and that it was cleared for the camp to return to their original location. Harry had apparated ahead of everyone else and made his own assessment, “It’s clear as in there’s no unexploded ordinance but there’s heavy damage to the hospital and motor pool. I would recommend sending a team of mechanics and corpsmen to help in clearing the debris first before moving the rest of the camp.”

Sherman gave the orders and gave Harry the command spot for the detail, “Bring us home soon and safely, Harry.” Harry gave him a salute, fired up the jeep’s engine and drove away.

Saturday 2 May 1953

“ATTENTION ALL PERSONNEL! AMBULANCES ARE ON THEIR WAY! MAINTENANCE CREWS ARE INSTRUCTED TO REMOVE ALL DRUNKS FROM THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD!”

Harry sighed from his position, his head was in Hermione’s lap as she gently carded his hair with her fingers, “Duty calls.”

She harrumphed, “I seem to remember that we’re not military and therefore not subject to their rules.”

He looked up at her pouting face, “Really?”

She bent down and kissed him, “I’m comfortable and didn’t want to get up.”

He kissed her back and levered himself up, “Come on, my love. Let’s go repair the effects of war.”

As she took his hand, she let him know, “When we get home, I’m going to make sure that my next posting is a nice, safe, boring office job. I’ve had it with the thrilling adventures, Potter.”

Harry scrambled onto the bus just in time to overhear Charles arguing with Pierce over which patient to take first. “Charles! When they get in here, the uniforms come off.”

The friend of the patient who had been superseded started making a fuss, “Hey, that’s a Commie! He’s North Korean! What’s he doing going ahead of my buddy?”

“Dying,” Hawkeye deadpanned as he ordered the litter to be taken out.

The soldier was all ready to flare up again when Harry reached up and took the man’s tag, “Relax, Corporal…Basgall. You see how many other doctors there are here, right? We’ve got a pretty good success rate at keeping our patients alive when they leave here.”

Basgall was not going to be put off so easily though, “That gook tried to kill us, and now you're gonna save him?”

Harry gave him a hard look, one that was guaranteed to quell any resistance, “Do you consider all the other American forces to be your buddies too?” Basgall gulped and slowly nodded, “Well, what Doctor Pierce did could very well facilitate the transfer of three American prisoners of war. If that man lives, then so do they.” He turned and yelled out an order for the corpsman.

Basgall just stared wordlessly at Harry’s retreating form.

In the OR…

“Doctor Pierce?” Hawkeye took a moment to look up from his shrapnel hunting and spotted Basgall looking uncertain, “Is that North Korean going to make it?”

Wary, Pierce nodded, “I think so. I’m working on your friend now.”

Basgall sighed in relief, “Thank you.”

Hawkeye glanced over at his nurse and co*cked his head in confusion, “What was that about?”

As BJ was stepping up, Klinger commented to Basgall, “Lucky you. You'll be at Captain Hunnicutt's table. Steady nerves, great hands… And best of all, he's a surgeon.” Then Harry leaned in, “Actually, the best part is the last thing you see before going under is Major Penobscot’s gorgeous eyes.” He winked at Basgall who grinned slightly back as Margaret shook her head in exasperation.

When the surgery was completed, Pierce took Harry aside for a chat, “What was all that earlier? That patient was ready to rip my head off with his bare hands when I took the North Korean ahead of his buddy but in OR, he was almost apologetic.”

Harry leant up against the wall and crossed his arms, a smirk ghosting his face, “I merely asked him what he considered the rest of the US Army to be and if it wasn’t worth having the Commie go first in order to facilitate the exchange of three prisoners of war.”

Pierce was confused, “But that’s not how the transfers happen.”

Harry’s grin was in full force, “But he doesn’t need to know that, does he?”

Pierce stared at him incredulously before bursting out laughing, “Genius. Pure genius.”

Sherman Potter’s Office…

“Oh, pony puck! How did you get in here?” Sherman blurted out at the sight of his visitor. Colonel Flagg was sitting in his chair and idly flipping through a file. “Radar!”

Father Mulcahy and Radar stumbled in next. Radar exclaimed, “How? How did you get in here, I was sitting-“

“Not from above,” Mulcahy commented at the same time.

Flagg rose up from the chair, slamming his feet to the floor, “Let's talk about your camp, Potter. (He leveled an accusing finger at him) And don't play dumb. You're not as good at it as I am!”

Sherman sighed in frustration, “What is it this time, Flagg? Fluoride in the soup?”

Mulcahy whispered, “I think I'd better leave.”

“Freeze, Mr. Vatican. Nobody goes till I do, and I never do. Potter, you've got a wounded North Korean officer here, and, as usual, you failed to report it.”

“Oh, no. We did report it,” Radar interjected.

Flagg’s face looked pinched, “You mean I worked over my informant just for the fun of it?”

Mulcahy was aghast, “Oh, my Lord!”

Flagg’s eyes flipped over to the priest, “Good cover, but who are you? Never mind. I'll get to you in a minute.” He pointed to Radar, “You... get out.”

Radar bolted, “Thank you, sir.”

Flagg continued, “I understand your Captain Pierce saved that pinko's miserable skin.”

Sherman growled, “Not to mention his life.”

“And that was his big mistake. Now, I want to question both of them.”

Sherman stood his ground, “Flagg, you don't go near anyone without my permission. What's this?”

Flagg pulled out a set of orders and presented it to Sherman smugly, “Your permission.”

Sherman glared at the other man, “Right.”

Flagg gave one more flippant comment before leaving, “I'll be around. So will you.”

In Post-op…

Hawkeye was sitting next to Basgall calmly explaining his reasoning for the order in which patients were operated on and how it affected the upcoming prisoner transfer when Flagg entered the room. Harry spotted him and surreptitiously used a mild Banishing charm to effectively nudge Pierce on the shoulder.

“Pierce!”

Hawkeye rolled his eyes before turning around to face the irate colonel. “I’m going to give you one chance. Why did you do it?”

Not in the mood for Flagg’s usual brand of insanity, “Oh, I don’t why, why does anyone do it?”

Flagg got in his face, “Now you’ve done it.”

Hawkeye was an inch away from slugging the fool, “Well, you'll have to clean it up. I'm in a hurry.”

Flagg actually grabbed Pierce by the arm, “I've got you dead to rights, Ivan. You saved that Commie crumb-bum. Why?”

Hawkeye backed away from the CIA stooge, “Well, it was something to do. Besides, he was dying.”

Flagg wasn’t done yet, “I'm on to you, Pierce. Now you took a yellow Red before a white American, which is pretty pinko.”

“You're even boring in Technicolor.”

“You're a Communist dupe. I've waited a long time for this. You're mine, your butt is in my sling.”

“All right; take me, I'm yours,” Pierce hammed it up.

Now it was Flagg’s turn to stare at Pierce, “I knew it. You're one of those, too. When I dig up the proof, real or otherwise, that you're the traitor that I know you are; then I'll know it and you'll know it too.” He then stormed from the room.

“It was nice talking to you again,” Pierce called at Flagg’s retreating form.

Harry was leaving the mess tent later when he heard someone calling his name, “Potter!” He glanced around but didn’t see the owner of said voice, “Not funny, whoever you are.”

Flagg stepped out from behind the garbage cans, “Whoever I am is me, Colonel Flagg.”

Harry was immediately on the defensive, especially in light that Flagg knew his real last name, “When did you figure it out?”

“That’s not important right now. I’ve got a proposition for you. Pierce is hiding something. Get it for me and name your price.”

Harry stared at Flagg for a full minute before shaking his head, “It’s not going to work, Colonel. He’s got orders from someone ranked higher than you.”

Flagg started, “To save a Commie? I don’t believe it.”

Harry held up two fingers, “I’ll give you two reasons. One…“ A flash of red light hit and Flagg slumped to the ground unconscious. He looked up and saw Hermione smirking at him, “My girlfriend outranks any order you think you possess.”

Later in the O-Club…

“So Harry, I’ve been meaning to ask you but what happened to Colonel Flagg? Last anyone ever saw him was in your company,” Pierce mentioned as he necked his bottle of Butterbeer.

Harry gave Hermione a sneaking glance and grinned wickedly, “With Hermione’s help, we made sure that he will never bother anyone here in camp ever again.”

Margaret glanced at Pierce worriedly, “Are you scared by that answer too or was it just me?”

“Come on, what did you do?”

“I stunned him then the two of us hid him away for a while we applied some memory modifications and compulsions into his mind. From this point forward, anyone that has ever been assigned to the 4077^th will be ignored by him as if they don’t exist. If he ever gets orders from his superiors assigning him to investigate us or the camp, he’ll pass it to someone else.”

Harry chuckled darkly, “I also put a compulsion in his mind that whenever he thinks about Commies, he’ll wet his pants.”

The others laughed while Hermione nudged him in disgust.

Tuesday 5 May 1953

Tensions were once again climbing thanks in part to the North Koreans bombing the usable roads to Seoul. This meant that supplies would be limited, the wounded couldn’t be driven out and no one was able to go one R&R. Harry and Hermione did what they could to help out; Harry stepped up his hunting and foraging trips so the camp could at least still enjoy fresh food, Hermione organized another Gaming Party and introduced some new activities like Pictionary, Twister, Scrabble and Yahtzee. At one point, she even transfigured a portion of the compound into an 18-hole miniature golf green complete with traps and hazards (windmills, hills, bridges, etc.)

Music from the current era all the way up to the early 2000s was played over the camp’s PA speakers and dance competitions were held to see who could keep up with the randomized styles.

Sherman was taking part in the dance competition and so far was holding his own doing the two-step against Nurse Kelly, at least until Hermione called out a change to start dancing the ‘Funky Chicken.’ He laughed as he bowed out and settled onto a bench next to Harry who was rubbing his knees, “That was fun. I almost had her before that last call.”

Harry griped, “I still can’t believe that I lost to Klinger! Who’d have thought that the ‘Great Gonzo’ could dance the Wah Watusi better than me?”

Sherman laughed, “Even I could dance that better than you and I’m old!”

Friday 15 May 1953

Radar was supposed to be returning from R&R but there was a delay at the MATS base so he was stuck waiting endlessly in the airport’s ‘waiting room.’ The only bright spot was the inclusion of a pretty nurse by the name of Patty Haven. After a stumbling start of a conversation, the pair discovered that their two hometowns were only about 40 miles from each other. Patty asked him what he wanted to do after getting out of the service.

“Well, I don't really know for sure yet. I do know I want to stay around Ottumwa. That's where all my family is-- my mom and my uncle Ed. It's been sort of real rough on 'em, trying to run the farm alone. I mean, my mom's health is only fair, and Uncle Ed isn't as young as me anymore.” He smiled at her, “You'd like my Uncle Ed though. He knows every joke that's ever been told. Couple of 'em are even funny.”

Patty smiled shyly, “Maybe someday I'll meet him and your mom.”

Radar sighed wistfully, “Yeah. Sure.”

The airport terminal sergeant yelled for Radar to grab his stuff and head out to the tarmac. Radar tried to bribe him into letting him stay for his regular flight but wasn’t successful. He returned disheartened to Patty who smiled consolingly, “I'm glad I met you, Radar.”

“Yeah, but it was only for less than an hour.”

“Well, Lancaster's only 40 miles from Ottumwa.”

Radar perked up, “Hey, yeah. I could drive my Uncle Ed's Studebaker there as long as I stop for water every 10 minutes.”

One more yell from the sergeant prompted Radar to reluctantly grab his bag and leave his newfound friend behind.

By the time that Radar returned to camp, he’d been bruised and battered from a rough flight crammed underneath a jeep in the cargo section of the plane as well as a bouncy jeep ride over rough terrain before being booted in order to pick up four other soldiers. He finally managed to flag down a passing local pedaling a bicycle with a wagon attached. He was tired, dirty, hungry and utterly demoralized. Hermione spotted him and rushed over, “What happened to you?”

Sighing in annoyance, “Everything and more. I just want to grab a shower and get some food before hiding under my bunk.”

Motioning for him to follow her, Hermione led him back to her tent, “The showers are experiencing technical problems. Go use ours and I’ll bring you something from the kitchen.”

Shrugging his shoulders, Radar followed the instructions. He emerged later feeling and smelling a bit better. He settled at the kitchen table where she pushed a plate of ham steaks and eggs in front of him, “Thanks, Hermione.”

“Want to talk about it?”

Radar growled unhappily at the memory of his return trip, “You should've seen how they crushed me into the back of that cargo plane. Crunched me in the back seat of a jeep that was lyin' on its side. I was gettin' carsick and airsick at the same time. I wouldn't have minded so much if I was squeezed in there with Patty.”

Hermione’s eyes lit up, “Who?”

Radar blushed, “My gal. I had to leave her behind.”

“Radar! Do my ears deceive me? Do you have a girlfriend?” She giggled as his blush deepened, “Dish, young man. I want to hear all the juicy details!”

Trying to change the subject, he asked about the inoperative showers. She shrugged, “The water supply got tainted somehow. Harry and the others are working on it now to install improved filters. They promise that things should be back to normal by the end of the day. Now stop stalling!”

Resigned to his fate, he filled her in on all the ‘salacious’ details of his encounter with the lovely Patty Haven.

Harry was up to his elbows trying to solve the water filter problem when Sherman arrived to see what the status was. The troubled look on his face suggested that something wasn’t right, “Anyone’s seen Radar?”

“Last I saw him, he was holed up in Harry and Hermione’s tent chatting about some girl he met,” Pierce commented.

Harry rolled over and looked up at the colonel, “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Plenty. I just got a wire from the boy’s mother in Iowa. Radar’s Uncle Ed just passed away.”

Silence fell over them, “Oy…”

In the Hospital’s Outer Office…

Hawkeye, BJ, Sherman, Harry and Hermione anxiously awaited Radar to complete his call. The door opened and Radar emerged dejected and emotionless. “What'd your mom say, Radar?”

“Mostly that she's okay. Uncle Ed's funeral is tomorrow. Everybody in Ottumwa is gonna be there…except me. Our neighbor Mr. Whitsett said he would look after the farm till everything's settled. Then Mom can take over for herself. She says it's about time she gets off her fat you-know-what anyway.”

Sherman quietly commented, “It's not gonna be easy for her, though, is it? As I remember, the lady has some high blood pressure.”

Radar nodded sullenly, “Yep. A little arthritis when it rains, too. But she says she's fine.”

“Quite a woman, your mother,” Hermione added.

“Yeah. I know.”

“Takes after her son. How about you, Radar? You all right?” BJ asked the teen.

Radar blinked a couple of times as memories washed over him, “Huh? Yeah. I'm okay. I mean, I don't wanna be, but I guess I have to be. I'm the man of the family now.

Sherman rose to his feet and took Radar by the shoulder, “That's right, son. And you're going home. Go get yourself a DA-7 hardship discharge and type your name on it.”

Radar was stunned and stammered, “I'm goin' home, sir?”

“Radar, Lord knows your mother is a strong woman, but she won't make it alone. You oughta be there with her,” Harry said sympathetically.

Sherman agreed with Harry, “You heard him right, Radar. Your time has come. I'll notify the Red Cross, and they'll have I-Corps process you tout de suite. You should be home in time for Sunday night supper. Save some leftovers for us.”

The shock was still hitting him, “Home. I'm going home?”

"Where you belong. Just like that.”

“Just like that, Radar. I'm very happy for ya.”

“Yeah; I'm happy for me too. I guess.”

Saturday 16 May 1953

Harry and Hermione approached the distraught and struggling to cope teen the morning of his leaving party. “How are you doing, Radar?”

Sighing yet again, Radar tried to put on a happy face but failed, “I’ll get there, eventually.”

Hermione sat down on the bed next to him, “Listen, Harry and I want to give you a going away present. It’s something that needs to remain a secret from not only your mother but also the government.”

Radar pulled back and looked at her suspiciously, “What is it? Is it illegal?”

Harry made a noise of amusem*nt, “No, but it could cause problems from a government suspicious of anything that isn’t ‘normal.’ They’re wardstones; we created them to help you run your farm easier, the enchantments will promote faster and healthier growth of the crops plus they’ll attract a magical creature known as elves.” He handed him a black soft leather case.

Radar crinkled his forehead in confusion as he took possession of the gift, “As in Santa?”

Hermione giggled and shook her head, “No, not even remotely close. They don’t really look like little bearded men in conical hats. Most of them wear pillowcases or tea towels as a toga. They’re hardier than they look and eager to work. The instructions and guidebook to their species is inside.”

Hawkeye poked his head in, “Is he ready?”

Hermione stood and held her hand out to help Radar stand, “He’s ready.” Harry waved his wand and magically packed his belongings into a duffle bag and his trunk then shrunk both to fit in his pocket. He then conjured a gold ornate badge and pinned it to his chest.

“What’s this?” Radar asked as he fingered the newest addition.

“It’ll signify you as someone who gets VIP treatment. It’s also enchanted to keep anyone from asking you why you don’t seem to have any luggage.”

Radar thanked them both and shook their hands. Hermione opened the door as he stepped through. The sight before him caused him to falter a bit.

The entire camp was standing in two rows. Each and every person, including Hawkeye; were wearing their Class A uniforms. “ATTENTION ALL PERSONNEL! We honor Walter ‘Radar’ O’Reilly as he embarks on his final jeep ride home. Camp, salute!” Everyone snapped to attention and gave the tearing teen a right proper salutation as he climbed into the jeep. The driver started the engine and slowly drove down the line and out of the camp.

Harry watched somberly. “Goodbye, Radar.”

The camp was subdued with the departure of Radar O’Reilly. Harry was in Sherman’s office sharing a drink with his cousin, “Here’s to Radar O’Reilly; Nineteen years old and the life of the party.”

Harry raised his glass then slugged it back, “Hear, hear!” His gaze grew distant before he chuckled mirthfully, “Remember the time that he accidentally discovered what happens when you mix firewhiskey, Hermione and rock music?”

Sherman burst out laughing, “I thought his eyes were going to drop out of his head! He couldn’t look her in the eyes for nearly a week.”

“Where do you suppose he is now?”

“Away from here, that’s all that matters.” Sherman put his glass down, “I’ve been wanting to ask…”

Harry looked up expectantly, “Yes?”

“If I wanted to send a letter to someone in the magical world; how would I go about doing that?”

“Planning on complaining why they didn’t send help?”

Sherman shrugged, “Something like that.”

“Well, you write your letter then address it to whoever the recipient is. Next, you put that in an outer envelope addressed to Royal Mail Central London Delivery Office, Phoenix Pl, London WC1X 0DG, United Kingdom Postal Box 9¾.”

Sherman scratched that onto a piece of paper then folded it and put it in his pocket. Harry watched in bemusem*nt then shrugged it off.

“So what are you going to do when the war is over?” Harry asked a moment later.

Sherman snorted, “That assumes that the war will ever end.”

“The cease-fire was officially put into effect at ten pm on 27 July, 1953 according to our history books,” Harry admitted while pouring himself another glass. Sherman stared at him before breaking out into a happy and relieved smile.

“That’s wonderful! What else do you know?”

Harry’s eyes were partially lidded after finishing off his latest pour, “I know that I’ve been getting drunker the longer I’ve been sitting here.”

“Lightweight… Come on, seriously.”

Harry waved desultorily towards his tent, “See the pensieve for answers.”

Wednesday 1 July 1953

June was rather quiet, as wars go. The camp went through the usual deluges resulting from the Army offenses and counter-offences but beyond that, it was standard operating procedure as far as the camp’s staff was concerned. Hermione took a trip to Tokyo to pick up the uranium glassware in preparations for their return home and began finalizing her calculations and inspection of the Portkey.

“Find anything?” She looked up to see Harry entering the tent and settling in next to her at the kitchen table.

“Well, it looks like there’s a pixie dust residue on the temporal drive which should be enough to power the displacement.”

Harry frowned, “I sense a ‘but’ in there.”

She bobbed her head slowly, “But, I’m not sure if there’s enough residue to work properly.”

“How much do you need to make it work?”

“A minimum of one gram.”

“And where are we at?”

She grimaced, “Just shy of one decigram.”

Harry let his head flop back and groaned, “Why can’t one thing go right?” He pulled his head back up, “What if you were to overpower the uranium reaction? Would that compensate for the missing pixie dust?”

Hermione stared at him. After a moment, he cleared his throat which caused her to blink, “Hermione?”

Snorting, she leant over to kiss him resoundly on the lips, “And they call me the genius. Let me go run the numbers and I’ll get back to you.”

Saturday 4 July 1953

Because the fighting was mostly over near ku*msong; Sherman gave nearly everyone the day off. They loaded up a bus and took off to a deserted cove north of Incheon. Music was playing, a net was set up for a couple of rounds of volleyball. Max was manning the bbq; Hawkeye was juggling some seashells to the amusem*nt of the others. Harry had transfigured a towel into a kite and was lazily flying it in the off-shore breeze. Hermione had remained behind to continue running her calculations.

When the vacationers got back, Sherman could tell something was wrong. They’d picked up some Korean refugees as well as some wounded G.I’s. Hawkeye was walking woodenly and staring off at nothing, refusing to communicate beyond an unusual eye twitch.

“Hawk? Captain?” Sherman took the man by the shoulders but he was unresponsive. Sherman turned to BJ, “What happened?”

BJ shrugged helplessly, “Um… one of the refugees had a baby with her. It kept making noise and nothing the mother could do would silence it. Hawk practically ordered to shut the baby up and she…she smothered the baby.”

Sherman paled, “Dear god…”

As a result of that incident, Hawkeye was shipped off to his tent and Sidney Freedman was called for. Sidney sat in a chair watching Pierce stumble around the tent, “I know you can hear me, Pierce. Ordinarily, you’d be sent to a psychiatric hospital but I happened to be in the area. One way or another, you’re going to need to come to grips with what happened.”

Pierce slowed to a halt, sighed heavily and whispered, “I know.”

“I heard from BJ what happened but I need to hear it from you too.”

Hawk turned deadened eyes at his friend, “If you already heard it, why do you need to hear it again from me?”

“It’s not so much for me, it’s for you. You need to confront the memory.”

Pierce sighed again and leant back in his chair, his eyes distant, “We had to stop the bus and pick up some refugees. About half a mile later, we took on some wounded G. I. s.”

Hawk swallowed hard and paused for a moment, “The squad leader told us that we had to get the bus into the bushes. There was an enemy patrol coming down the road. We killed the lights and waited in the dark as quiet as we could. One of the babies was starting to fuss…it kept making noise. It was driving me crazy; every little sound it made could be the one that would let the Chinese find us. Everyone’s life was in danger because of that damn kid!”

Sidney continued to watch him, “What happened after that?”

Hawk wanted to put it off but Sidney wouldn’t let him, “I whisper-yelled at the mother, ‘Keep that damn kid quiet!’ Then I went back to the front of the bus only… it made an odd noise, almost like…” He stared at Sidney with tortured eyes, “She killed it. She smothered her own baby; I just wanted it to be quiet! I didn’t want her to kill it!”

He burst out into deep, wracking sobs. After a moment, he wiped his eyes and glared at Sidney, “You son of a bitch, why did you make me remember that?”

“You had to get it out in the open. If you hadn’t, it would’ve eaten at you until you finally dealt with it.”

Friday 10 July 1953

Rumors abounded that an armistice was close to being signed. Rightly figuring that if they wanted to be free of the tyranny of Communism; refugees left, right, and center were emigrating south. North Korean and Chinese soldiers were abandoning their posts and trying their best to flee south. A makeshift P.O.W. camp had to be built within the compound just to hold them all until Army brass could send someone to relocate them. On Thursday, a wounded tank driver drove his armored weapon of war into the camp and demolished the Officer’s Latrine in the process.

Harry summed that up rather succinctly, “Well, sh*t…”

Charles had come down with a case of dysentery and was forced to find alternative means of relieving himself until the new latrine was built. On his way back, he was overrun by a band of Chinese musicians. The communication barrier was in hindsight, hilarious. Charles tried to get them to stop playing what he referred to as ‘hideous noise’ and in the end, briefly taught them how to play ‘Camp Town Races’ just to keep them from annoying him any further. It was embarrassing but he held his head up as he led them back to camp.

Sherman met them at the gate to the prisoner’s camp, “Don’t you think a portable radio would’ve been easier?”

Charles rolled his eyes, “I believe these gentlemen are surrendering.”

Hermione got back from delivering Charles’ dysentery relief potion, “I don’t understand why he didn’t come get it earlier.”

Harry shrugged and took a bite of his sandwich he’d made, “Maybe it was fate; who knows?”

A week later, and the camp was still puttering along like normal despite the northern population continuing to flow into the south. Charles had been inspired to teach the musicians Mozart after getting annoyed at their attempts of providing musical entertainment and being stunned at the flute player’s rendition of Mozart’s “Clarinet Quintet I Allegro.”

A spate of artillery hit the camp during the week near where the prisoners were being held during lunch one day. Father Mulcahy ran out to open the gate and usher them out and was blasted to the ground when a shell detonated nearby.

Harry entered post-op where BJ and Sherman were attending to the Father, “How is he?”

“Some skin abrasions and minor concussion. I’ll know more later.”

Mulcahy frowned, “Why are you all mumbling? I’m having trouble hearing you. What’s wrong with me?”

BJ looked concerned and raised his voice, “Turn your head. Do you hear a ringing or buzzing in your ears?”

Mulcahy nodded, “Yes, I do. Is it something serious?”

“You may have done some damage to the inner ear; Tinnitus.”

“Well, that's not serious, is it?”

“I won't know for sure till I get you a hearing test, but I'm kind of concerned.”

Mulcahy put his glasses back on, “Why concerned?”

“Well, if you've damaged the nerve center, you could lose your hearing. Tell you what I'd like to do is get you down to the evac hospital for diagnosis and observation.”

Mulcahy started getting worried, “They wouldn't send me home because of this, would they?”

BJ shrugged, “If it doesn't get better, they might. It depends how bad it gets.”

Mulcahy sat up and took him by the arm, “Listen, there are 40 children at Sister Theresa's orphanage. I bring them food and clothing and medicine. They depend on me; I'm not leaving here if I have to leave them in the lurch.”

BJ stared at him for a moment before nodding his understanding, “I’ll see what I can do. Maybe Harry and Hermione have a solution.”

BJ stopped by the magical tent and tapped the ‘doorbell’ rune. Hermione appeared a moment later, “BJ, what’s up?”

“Father Mulcahy got knocked around by that last artillery attack and has a case of fairly severe tinnitus. I was hoping that you have a solution I could use.”

She beckoned him in and headed over to the pensieve, “Well, there are devices and treatments for the condition but I’m worried that he won’t be able to use them because of what they’d represent to the outside world.”

BJ pursed his lips in thought, “What about a treatment to alleviate the buzzing in his ears? If he can’t wear a hearing aid, I want to give him a little relief.”

She nodded thoughtfully, “Give me an hour to see what I can come up with.”

Monday 27 July 1953

The latest batch of wounded had rolled in, an armistice had been reached earlier in the day and now everyone was just waiting for ten pm when the guns would go silent. Sidney had stopped by to check in with Hawkeye who was still coming to grips with what had happened. The P.O.W’s had been trucked out to get ready for the ‘Big Swap.’

Charles had been practically dancing with joy all morning. He’d previously had a chat with Margaret after getting a rejection letter from Boston General for the position of Chief of Thoracic Surgery. She had commented that she knew someone on the Board of Directors and would be happy to put in a good word for him. ‘That must have been one Hell of a word’ he mused as he fondly thought back on the new acceptance letter.

He had finished with his latest patient before volunteering to go run the triage on the newest contestants of ‘Who Bet Your Life?’ One of the mortally wounded turned out to be the flutist from the Chinese band. He felt his stomach drop through the floor as his his heart broke; he turned to the medic, “Dear god, no… The others in the truck with him, what happened?”

The driver was solemn, “He’s the only one who made it this far.”

Charles unashamedly began to cry.

Hermione was chatting with Margaret during a break, “So what’re your plans after we all go home?”

Margaret was smiling, “Donald’s going to get a posting to Fort Houston in Medical Administration while I take up the position of Chief Nurse in Pediatrics.”

Hermione’s eyebrows rose, “Pediatrics?”

“After all the death in this war, I think it’d be nice to help bring people into the world.”

“I’m glad that you two managed to get past your initial problems.”

Margaret had a sly grin on her face, “Last time we shared R&R together? We never even got out of the hotel room. 3 days and 2 nights of nonstop lovemaking…I was limping to the airport.”

Hermione burst out laughing, “That explains that dreamy look you had when you got back!”

“What about you and Harry?”

Hermione quieted a bit, “Well, as soon as the cease-fire goes into effect; he and I will be taking a ride on a souped-up Portkey and hopefully return to our own time. From there, who knows?”

Five minutes to ten pm…

The news radio was playing; the announcer was describing the sounds of the battle and summing up the cost of the war in both money and casualties. Sherman had just re-entered the OR after a short break. Sidney called out to him, “Hey, Sherman; what’s the first thing you want when you get home?”

He smiled fondly, “Well, I like fresh corn. I’m going to take a pot of water out to the garden and I’m not even going to pick that ear; I’m just going to bend that stalk until the ear dips into the water and eat it right there standing up.” The others laughed.

“What about you, Harry?” The room quieted down.

“Well, Hermione and I are going to take a magical ride for about fifty years. Hopefully, we get to where we need to go. After that, I’m not too sure.”

Sidney finished working with Hawkeye and decided that there were other people he could help. Before he left, he turned back to the room, “You know, I told you people something a long time ago, and it's just as pertinent today as it was then. Ladies and gentlemen, take my advice - pull down your pants and slide on the ice.” Everyone laughed and gave him their farewells.

“This is Robert Pierpoint speaking to you from Panmunjom. It's one minute before 10:00 p. m. We can still hear the sound of nearby artillery. At some point during the next few seconds, the guns should go silent as the cease ‐fire officially goes into effect. (The thundering explosions from the artillery were heard in the background for another minute before dying off into deafening silence.) There it is… That's the sound of peace.”

Tuesday 28 July 1953

Their tent and its contents had been packed and shrunk. All of Hermione’s calculations and modifications to the Portkey had been made. The uranium glassware had been ground down into a powder and loaded into the temporal drive.

Harry clasped Sherman’s hand solemnly, “Thanks, cousin.”

Sherman’s eyes were close to shedding heavy tears, “You take care, Harry. I’m proud to have met you.”

Harry shook his hand once then stepped over to where Hermione was waiting. She looped the chain over his head. They watched as Sherman got into a waiting jeep that drove him up to the camp’s perimeter where the rest of the staff was waiting and watching.

Hermione took a deep breath then kissed Harry on his lips, “You ready?”

Harry looked resolute, “Let’s ride the light.”

She took the knob between her fingers and counted out the turns and let go. A rumbling started under their feet as a blinding ball of atomic energy reacted with the enchanted pixie dust and exploded with a massive surge of power that ripped open time and space. The energy released by the fission of the 1 gram of uranium-235 was aboutabout 83 billion Joules. In comparison, a stick of dynamite released about 1 million Joules.Harry and Hermione spun and tumbled from the rushing compression wave into the Earth’s Ley lines as it caught them and shot them forward through the mesmerizing regions of otherspace.

19 September 2002, Ministry for Magic, Department of Mysteries, Portkey Arrival Room

Croaker had just left his office after the power surge subsided and hung a left turn instead of the one that would’ve taken him to Section 31. Bobby fell into step alongside of him, worry etched on his face, “You think that power surge was them?”

Croaker shrugged, “The timing is right. I guess we’ll see when we get there.” He opened the door and stepped inside. There on the floor was Hermione and Harry; clutching each other desperately, “Granger, Potter... Welcome home.”

Harry carefully cracked his eyes open and glanced around the room before his sight landed on Director Croaker standing near the door, “Sir?” His voice was rough with emotion. He turned back and whispered in Hermione’s ear, “We made it. Hermione! Open your eyes. It’s over.”

Hermione groaned and opened her eyes. She gazed around the room before she too fixated on Director Croaker, “Major Ross?”

Croaker knelt down to help them to their feet, “It’s Director Croaker now, remember? I’ve got someone here that wanted to be here on your return.” He moved out of the way to reveal Senior Hitwizard Robert ‘Bobby’ Granger.

Hermione’s eyes bugged out and her mouth dropped open. She managed to squeak out, “Grandpa?”

Bobby smiled warmly as he opened up his arms, “Hey, Hermione. Welcome home… Ooof!” He grunted as she slammed herself into his embrace.

Croaker turned back to Harry, “I imagine that you’re going to have one Hell of an After Action report for me.”

Harry nearly choked with laughter, “Yeah, you could say that.”

Conference Room, a few minutes later….

“I don’t understand how you’re here,” Hermione said as she sat down in a chair next to her grandfather.

He tilted his head slightly, “Well, you saved me, remember?”

“No, I mean here as a hitwizard; you don’t have magic to wield a wand.”

Robert brushed a stray lock of her bushy hair back behind her ear, “True, but I rose through the ranks on the technical track, analyzing the evidence the Unspeakables and Aurors brought back. I’m also the Department Head for the M/MI-5 Division.”

“Director, how did you know that we would be returning now?” Harry inquired.

Croaker glanced between the two travelers, “You both left me a message outlining your plans and calculations.” Both Harry and Hermione spun to face each other before bursting out laughing. “What’s so funny?”

“We both apparently thought that we’d be sneaky and not tell the other about we planned to do just in case,” Harry wheezed through his laughter, “I should’ve known.”

Hermione was no different, “Me too.”

An Unspeakable entered the room carrying a box which they handed off to Croaker then left. Croaker slid the box over to Harry, “That’s been left in our possession for the past 49 years. It was given to us with the explicit instructions for it to be given to you upon your return from Korea. You’ll probably recognize the handwriting.”

Both Harry and Hermione felt their eyes grow wide; it was in Sherman Potter’s distinct loopy writing. Harry glanced briefly at her before opening it up. Inside was a leather journal, a rack of memory vials and a photo album. Harry started getting choked up, “Sherman…” He picked up the journal and traced his fingers over the cover then opened it up. In the space for the dedication, he read: ‘Harry and Hermione; I don’t know how or why you two young couple came to us but I thank whatever deity was responsible for making it happen. I haven’t met anyone else who was able to come up with exactly what our camp needed and exactly when we needed it since Radar was discharged and went home. Harry and Hermione, if you’re somehow able to read this, I think Radar would’ve been proud of how well you did. I know I am’ – Colonel Sherman T. Potter, 30 July 1953.

“There’s more that we need to go over before I let you get back to your offices,” Croaker began, “As you rightly figured, the world you left in the beginning is not the one you’ve just returned to. Things have changed because of your interference.”

Hermione winced, “How bad did we change things?” The rear door behind them opened quietly and several people entered the room.

“Well, it depends on your definition of bad. Harry, there are some people here to see you.” Croaker gestured to the group behind him. Harry spun around and nearly ended up on the floor at the sight of four people he thought he’d never get to see.

“Mum? Dad? Sirius? Remus?” He managed to croak out.

James and Lily Potter stood there beaming with proud smiles; Sirius was smirking at him amusedly while Remus looked thoughtful. Lily spoke first, “Hi, baby. Welcome home.”

Epilogue

Because of Hermione’s help and usage of the pensieve, Margaret’s marriage to Donald Penobscot was rock-solid and filled with energy and passion. Because of the mutual feelings, Donald had no desire to cheat on her while he was stationed in Tokyo. When they both moved to Fort Houston in Texas, they quickly settled into their jobs. The two ended up adopting a pair of toddlers before having one of their own.

Charles was greatly affected by the senseless deaths of the musicians he had come to know and work with over in Korea near the end. He tried to put on a brave face but if he was on the ward and someone was playing classical music, he’d stop, close his eyes and remember tearfully. In honor of their memory, he started a foundation for aspiring Asian-American musicians and composers.

Frank Burns had his post-war life utterly destroyed when the SHTF over his war profiteering and other illegal activities came to light; secretly thanks to Harry and Hawkeye. He was dishonorably discharged, divorced by his wife, lost custody of his kids and incarcerated. He eventually snapped worse than he had after Margaret’s marriage and was remanded to a secure psychiatric facility. The local and state papers had a field day covering the whole sordid tale for weeks. Hawkeye, BJ, and Harry all had copies mounted on the walls of their offices.

Sherman retired and took up the position of ‘country doctor’ in his hometown of Hannibal, Missouri where he spent half of his days treating the occasional cough or sore throat and the other half with his wife doing odd jobs around the house. He maintained a regular communication with the Potter Head of Family in Britain and lived long enough to be there for Harry’s birth and again for his first birthday.

Benjamin Franklin “Hawkeye” Pierce settled down and opened a family practice instead of returning to a city hospital like he’d originally planned on. He continued to work with Sidney Freedman who helped him adjust to civilian life as well as work through any remaining demons from the war. One of his practice’s ‘secret’ specialties was providing modern medical care to all witches and wizards living in the New England area.

BJ Hunnicutt returned home to Mill Valley, California with his wife Peg and their daughter Erin. When Erin started showing signs that she was a witch, he knew just what to do. He contacted Sherman who wrote to the Potter Head for suggestions on how to raise a magical child. The Potter Head sent him several books on the subject along with contact information in the American magical government for assistance if they needed it. When Erin turned eleven, she was accepted into Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

When Max Klinger went home, he took with him all of his knowledge and skills he’d learned with the help of Hermione and the pensieve and got hired by Sears and Roebuck as a Junior Fashion Designer under the Kerrybrooke line. After twenty years working for them, he eventually branched off and opened up his own boutique in Toledo, Ohio called “Max Fashions.”

Thanks to Harry and Hermione's gifted wardstones, the O’Reilly farm was a big success. Crops were bountiful and earned him a lot of money when sold on the market. He quietly built a small town on his farm for the dozens of elves that were drawn in by the stones’ enchantments. Once the tumult from his Uncle Ed’s passing settled down, he eventually reconnected with Patty Haven and started actively dating her. They got married and eventually had twin boys. Patty was confused as to the names, Harry and Hermes but relented when he explained the miraculous arrival of a pair of Brits named Harry and Hermione who changed everyone’s lives for the better.

Father Francis Mulcahy unfortunately lost the bulk of his hearing. He worked closely with the Army’s audiologists in developing the Behind-the-Ear (BTE) hearing aids for the hearing impaired wounded soldiers. Before settling down in his own parish, he took a trip to England where he managed to meet Director Croaker whom he remembered as English Major Derek Ross. Francis expressed his desire to return to the Philadelphia area and open a clinic helping young deaf muggleborn children learn how to communicate in sign language and still learn magic. The pair remained lifetime friends until the Padre’s passing in the mid-80s.

As for Hermione, because she told him about his life after the war, Robert Granger made sure that he always had time for his son and took an active role in his formative years. When she was born, he quietly whispered in her newborn ear that he was following her instructions and had taken the position within the Magical division of MI-5 where he worked as an analyst. It pained him to know that the Hermione that grew up with him wouldn’t be the same Hermione he used to know until she regained her memories in 2002. Upon her return, she had the Memory Division ‘upload’ the memories collected by Robert. When she asked how it was that weren’t two Hermiones running around; it was somewhat explained that time and events are a loop and there was only one physical form, the other Hermione was now in the past living the life that this form had lived and therefore the loop was completed. She got a transfer from her old job in the Temporal Mechanics Division and moved to the more mundane Memory Research Department and vowed to devote some of her time to smooth out those explanations eventually if she ever got bored. She and Harry eventually got married and had three kids; two boys whom they named Sherman, and Benjamin and finally a girl named Bethany-Jasmine, or as she was usually called ‘BJ.’

When Harry was reconnecting with his parents, Sirius and Remus plus his never-before-met grandparents Charlus and Dorea; he explained that from his previous timeline that Albus Dumbledore had told him that James and Lily had died in a ritual to protect him. James growled at that but Charlus calmed him down and handed Harry a letter, “This letter was written by that cousin of yours, Sherman Potter of the United States of America. (Harry’s eyes popped open and he whispered, “He actually did it!”) He explained the circ*mstances of our counterparts’ deaths according to the conversations he’d had with you back during the Korean War. We heeded that advice and it resulted, obviously, in us living beyond ‘the norm,’ I guess you could call it.”

Harry blinked, “So you didn’t stay in the cottage in Godric’s Hollow back in 1981? What happened to Voldemort?”

James waggled his hand, “We were there long enough to make Albus think we were there but no, we were living in Potter Manor on that Halloween. As for the Dark Loser, Dad here managed to Imperius Peter into thinking that we were in the cottage and lead his Master to his demise. During the intervening ten years, Dad, along with Director Croaker, rounded up Voldemort’s Horcruxes and disposed of them. Voldemort’s wraith expired just about the time that you started attending Hogwarts.”

Harry frowned, “You mean when he possessed Quirrell?”

“Exactly; the possessed teacher tried to fight but your mother clipped him with an ordinary muggle flash-bang grenade which allowed me to blow his head clean off his shoulders.”

“But how did you get around the Prophecy?”

Lily buffed her nails on her shirt proudly, “That was my doing. I wrote up a contract for us adults to go and act as your ‘Hand’ then had you sign it. Since you were only a toddler, your ‘signature’ is an ink-smeared handprint. I’ve got it framed in my office.”

“So Dumbledore’s ‘Greater Good’ plans to let me die by Voldemort’s hand just so he could step in and take the glory for himself never came to pass?” The incredulous looks on their faces prompted him to explain that he’d found the headmaster’s journals about five years ago, in the original timeline.

Charlus was the one who growled this time, “No, and I’m so glad that we found that bit out thanks to your cousin.”

Harry snorted at Sherman’s sneakiness, “So where is the old goat now? I’m surprised he isn’t in here trying to claim the credit.”

Sirius spoke up now, “If you want to visit him, we’d need to take a boat ride to Azkaban.”

“What??”

“After the Blood War, and during the interrogation of the Death Eaters and especially the fathers of the same; it was discovered that Albus was the one who let the information on Horcruxes leak to a young Tom Riddle aka Voldemort as well as nudging him towards where Grindlewald was being held to learn more about the so-called ‘Magical Aryan Supremacy’ or some such rot after graduating from Hogwarts back in the forties. It’s all in the transcripts if you want to slog through them later.”

“Wow, I go for one tiny loop around time and space, and the world turns upside-down when I get back,” Harry quipped.

Once all was said and done, Harry took the opportunity to transfer to a less-travel demanding job within the research arm of the DoM and married Hermione. They settled down in a nice home in the city of Bristol where they raised their three kids. When the kids were old enough, Harry traveled to the United States a couple of times with Hermione (they took a muggle airline, having had their fill of portkeys) and visited with the surviving members of the MASH 4077^th. They shared bottles of Firewhiskey, Butterbeer and the memories of those who had passed on.

Harry stood to make a toast, “To the members of MASH 4077, living or otherwise; in the past or the future, I will always cherish our time together and pray that wherever or whenever we are, we are family.”

Fin.