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Chapter Text

It’s Monday at the Watchtower, and Hermione’s just told Clark in the Monitor Room of her return from a productive morning patrol. A not too long walk to the housing wing, where she’s surprised to find an official-looking placard set above her door.

A minor amount of detective work finds the culprit not far away, badly trying to stifle laughter. Evidently Iris had mentioned remembering that police show from her childhood years. He’d set out for the League’s graphics facility the next day.

It earns Wally a cocked eyebrow as he explains the quote, then a smile. “Cute, West,” Hermione says with a quick buss to the cheek. She turns the status dial outside the door from On Patrol to Off Duty and enters, hearing him follow. A few notes from the tour of twenty worlds; eleven of them simple monitor flybys, two return visits, three on the cusp of First Contact, three where she’d needed (or wanted) extended cultural immersions.

The last has been to check up on Cinthia and her father on Mecha IV. Both are doing nicely, as a little girl learns of life and being alive amongst fellow beings of synthetic sapience. It turns out there’re a non-trivial number with similar backgrounds to hers there, who’ve arisen to self-awareness in accidental or unintended manners.

Hermione watches Wally out of the corner of her eye as he looks over the wedding invitation set between pictures of her classmates. Finishing up, she joins him for a proper kiss. “This Saturday?” he asks after they separate.

“That would be the plan. Assuming the day goes as planned.”

“Can’t wait to meet her.”

“She’s mentioned the same, actually.” Hermione keeps her face straight. “I believe her words were, ‘That stringbean Yank who was on telly with you.’”

The stringbean chuckles. “I like her already.”

“Sam’s rather amazing. Count on lunch after the registry’s finished; I’m well curious how she rates our dining hall against Hogwarts.”

“I bet neither beats the version you did for me.”

“Ta, twinkletoes. Though to be fair, my version lacked standard elements for full effect, such as studying for exams, helping friends write papers, or dodging pranks.” Or desperately trying to keep your best friend alive whilst figuring out how to kill a genocidal manic. All part of a balanced breakfast.

Enough depressing memories, this is a vacation day. “Right, shall we?” Hermione pulls him from her room, and they make their way to the main airlock. “There’s a good landing spot near Harry and Ginny’s place.”

“They can’t make it?”

“They’ve a major fête in Magical France with her brother’s family. You’d like Bill and Fleur too; think Mr and Mrs Indiana Jones. With wands.”

“Sounds cool. So, hon, ready to go green for the day?”

“What an extremely novel idea,” she deadpans. Wally keys the first set of heavy blast doors to open as Hermione rings them both in an emerald shell. Next stop, a parade.

Last year she’d done the day with Kara in Chicago. This year it’s the properly British celebration, and with Wally. He’s indeed spending more time in Britain, as promised in one of their interviews, and not just at her flat in Croydon.

Hermione’s never done the London parade, and she’s found having a steady beau adds impetus to activities previously unconsidered. Being with him makes her want to do them, as a couple.

They rapidly plumet out of a somewhat cloudy sky via Lantern Express. Big cities are helpful for concealing her entrances – everyone usually has eyes at eye level, and there are lots of tall buildings to land on. Tourists in Metropolis being the exception, as she and her family had witnessed first-hand the skygazing whilst playing tourists. Possibly New York City too, as per Penny. Spider-Man is getting attention throughout the island, a regular neighbourhood fixture.

London as well, to a degree. It’s not like Green Lantern patrols the city like Penny or Bruce. Regardless, she often flies low and slow when passing over. People wave as they spot her, she waves back, and the ‘London Calling!’ shouts follow in her wake. It’s not official or anything, particularly as she doesn’t live here, and yet London’s become known as her city. Even if she’s simply visiting as a tourist, like today.

She goes from supersonic to a soft suspension a few centimetres above the grass in seconds; Hermione’d gotten good at that before graduating. Kilowog’s method of instruction, using his blend of violently explosive soap bubbles, had painfully ensured this. A short check around them to ensure privacy before Wally’s costume is loaded back into his ring and Hermione’s uniform shifts away. Both are now garbed in perfect disguises for the day.

Unlike her usual civilian apparel, Hermione has on plenty of green. Wally’s the same. Twin huge, floppy, fabric hats covered in shamrocks along with loud scarves in matching verdant shades as essential accessories. Wally pulls out a pair of garishly emerald sunglasses to round out their fashion ensembles, and they snap them open in parallel flicks. Not a great deal of sun to filter today, and so what.

Grinning, the two link hands and set out. A short walk, then a cab, then a longer walk as their carriage can’t get close due to congestion. No worries, it’s a splendid day for strolling along with tens of thousands in similar garb. Lots of sunglasses out too, perhaps as an appeal for greater brightness. There’re streetside vendors within a few blocks, and they add ridiculously fake ginger beards to their wardrobe.

Piccadilly is packed, so they move downstream towards Lower Regent to make their stand. Soon, cheering and music can be heard as the parade begins in far away Hyde Park Corner.

People frequently ask Green Lantern about what life is like on other worlds. Always assuming that it must surely be so impossibly bizarre and unusual that humans can’t possibly comprehend what’s happening.

She usually laughs. “Have you seen what we do on this planet?” Such as what’s passing before them currently. Marching bands, floats, dancers, flag-waving politicians, balloon-waving children. It’s loud, and raucous, and sombre, and joyful, and outrageous, and Hermione could keep going. It’s utterly human, is what it is.

Also largely monochromatically colourful; everywhere there’s green in every hue imaginable and no, she’s not jealous that her own light has a fixed wavelength. Plus, bagpipes. Lots of bagpipes.

(Hmmm. Perhaps musical instruments can be a new construct project. Not a subject in Lantern training, despite her use of sonic effects in combat.)

Hermione’s glad she’s finally attended; it’s perfect for an intensively relaxing day off. Wally’s having an equally good time, and Hermione’d like to think she can read him fairly well by now. His accent’s drawn attention, thankfully none linked to an American superhero, and he’s shared tales of parades in his homeland. A touch of ribbing when the talk turns to Fourth of July celebrations, as to be expected. Hermione’s worked out her patrol schedule to best ensure she’ll be free to join him this year in America for it. He’s promising a special day, possibly a weekend.

Their plan for the day, and of course she’s made a plan, is to follow the tail end of the parade to Trafalgar Square, where they can catch the shows. Duration flexible based on quality and enthusiasm. Dinner afterwards, either as they walk back to Islington, or with Harry and Ginny if they hear the couple has returned from the Delacour estate outside Orléans.

The parade seems to be about halfway past them when the light begins to dim early. Clouds growing denser. No, not that at all, a fog bank is rolling in from the south.

“Oh bother,” Hermione mutters with good humour. “We’re in London, we should have anticipated it. The show will go on.”

“Hon, this isn’t fog.” It’s not Wally’s voice. It’s the Flash’s. “You fight a guy called Weather Wizard enough times, you pick up a little meteorology,” he says, pitched just for her ears. “It’s too warm, too dry to be natural.”

Hermione’s about to possibly object, this being England, except the breeze… “The wind. It’s blowing in the wrong direction.”

“Yeah, felt that too. The fog’s also following the parade route. Not suspicious at all.” Judging from the reaction of the marching participants, they can tell it’s also unexpected.

Unexpected turns to threatening as visibility lowers to mere metres. Cloudy tendrils are beginning to encircle groups of onlookers, thickening to treacle against futile attempts of escape. Worse, there’s a loud buzzing sound and then what appears to be swarms of giant, glistening bees racing along the street.

The police are doing their best to maintain order, and with a glace Hermione and Wally know it’s not going to be enough. She points up, he swirls a finger in a flat circle, and that’s all that’s needed. Their hands touch, and both move into the smoke.

A moment later, the Emerald Gladiator is ascending through ossifying murk while the Scarlet Speedster is moving people from harm’s way.

Hermione’s not sure what she’s expecting to find after piercing the fog deck, perhaps thirty metres or so deep. Definitely not an aristocratic blonde not much older than she is, in a plaid Ulster with matching full-length skirt and white opera gloves. She’s sporting a monocle and puffing on a vintage meerschaum cigarette holder that’s easily 40cm long. All this while sitting on a tall throne of solidified smoke.

It's possible a glowing Lantern has mildly startled her. “Oh dear,” comes a drawling recovery. “Somebody’s let the riff-raff in.”

Oa’s Dry Deserts, it’s all of Hermione’s buttons pressed at once, and she fires an entanglement beam at… whoever this is. The non-monocled eyebrow arches, and perfectly pursed lips blow a stream of misted aerosol that befouls the green webbing. The cigarette holder becomes a baton and directs plumes to detach from below and grab Hermione’s arms. A minor annoyance, as carving beams arch from her ring to slice them apart. Except the clouds promptly reform. Okay, maybe not a minor annoyance.

Her foe is readying a fresh exhalation of fog and… it hits her. Not fog. Ffogg!

A tiny note in the League files, from a Batman and Robin (and Batgirl) case around eight years ago. Back when Robin wore shorts. A team-up in London, for some reason listed in the Roman title of Londinium, against one Lord Marmaduke Ffogg and his sister Lady Penelope Peasoup. Alongside his teenage daughter, Prudence, who had crushed all over Robin. Who at the time had been crushing all over Batgirl. Wally couldn’t help pointing it out to her, as the Titans had ensured Dick would never forget about it.

“Lady Ffogg, I presume,” Hermione says in in her finest bored tone. Emerald gauntlets form, expanding to force apart the would-be manacles, and she fires a sequence of enveloping films to blanket oncoming masses of smoke. “Cease and desist immediately. You’re embarrassing Queen and Country.”

That gets an evil grin. “You have no idea, commoner.” Another wave of meerschaum, and monstrous shapes emerge from the fog flooring and coalesce, ten metres tall with snake-like limbs.

Hermione responds with huge fans to dissipate non-corporeal elements, accompanied by chained bubbles to encapsulate and compress the fog monsters into grains of ice. A speedy needle-thin construct grabs the stalk from elegant hands and snaps it in two. And… nothing happens.

Drat.

“Rather behind the times, peasant,” Ffogg proclaims majestically, and rises from her seat. “Dearest Daddy left me more than just the Ffoggshire ancestral homestead. No pipe required anymore.” To prove it, a harsh breath is sent Hermione’s way, this time as a squadron of vaporous daggers.

The Lantern captures them all with ease. “Pity he didn’t leave any tactical acumen as well,” in her best Malfoy smirkiness. Her own spread of green fog radiates from her ring to gel with the air around them, insinuating itself into the throne. Then Hermione adds mass. Then adds it again.

The fog condenses under the pressure of multiple gees into something resembling figgy pudding. Its creator collapses under a mere four. Honestly, the peerage simply isn’t what it used to be.

With Ffogg’s loss of concentration, her formations loosen and disperse in the afternoon breeze. Hermione wraps her in verdant bands, supplemented with a bubble around her head. “You’ll suffocate before you can break this,” she warns with a knock against the shell. “Something to keep in mind.” Oh, and why not. “Also, you might want to brush up on your knightly orders. Lady Lantern was not amused.”

Meanwhile, back on the ground…

Without the obscuring fog, Hermione can see how Wally’s doing. She’d not been worried; if he’d needed help, that’s what the comms are for. And it’s clear (ouch, weather pun) that he hadn’t.

That the parade is stalled seems the worst of it. Several people are laid out unconscious, no signs of injuries or distress judging from the police tending to them. She flies to each, confirming nothing more serious than abrasions and contusions, mostly from collapsing to the concrete. It seems the terrestrial dangers have been dealt with as well. Grand.

There are odd piles of tiny, sparking objects here and there along the route that she’s puzzled by, nothing anywhere that looks hazardous, but where is…

And with a streak he’s there. A look reveals they’re both okay.

Two moments later, Wally has his own villain next to him. Right, that fits. She has Lord Ffogg’s daughter, he has Lady Peasoup’s son. Late-twenties, similarly outfitted for an Edwardian costume party, or at least a gathering of the landed gentry. The binding ropes around his wrists do clash, though Hermione will be polite and not mention the sartorial faux pas.

“Meet Lord Mandrake Peasoup,” who does nod regally towards Hermione. “He took over the beekeeping side of the family,” and Wally motions to one of the piles. “Cybernetic bees that inject knockout juice.” He’d taken a few stings while nabbing them one by one, which his metabolism had swiftly burned through. They’ve been reduced to charred heaps as he’d borrowed an assortment of fabrics and rubber tubing and employed physics as his weapon. “A little superspeed for big static charge bursts, zapped them up real good.”

“Well done, Flash.” She’ll properly express her pride tonight, along with her belief that his Uncle Barry would be proud of him in using science so cleverly. “And who would this be?” as Wally had also fetched a teenage version of Lord Peasoup.

Her boyfriend scratches his head. “This would be Little Lord Montgomery, the ward. Aka Peasoup Junior. He, ah, kinda helped. A little.”

Montgomery’s eyes are practically glowing with manic glee as he takes the lady in a uniform. “My darling Miss Lantern, words cannot express my delight to meet you in the delectable flesh! What say we go Full Monty and–”

Wally puts a hand over his mouth before another word, and before Hermione can do the same via her ring. “Yeah, we’re not gonna go there.” It’s possible he’s a trifle heated. “You did a few warnings; doesn’t erase the accomplice status.”

Oh. No. “So he’s the Prudence? Which means I’m…” Oa, please no.

A grin from Wally. “Congrats, GL. You get to be the Robin.”

Lovely.

Peasoup Junior won’t be stopped. “Why be a robin when you can be a dove, my sweet? After all, we must only distract London’s constabulary for a further ten minutes or so. And I can be ever so distracting.” He doesn’t help his case by wagging his eyebrows.

“Hey kid, I just said–“

Wait. “Distract? Hold on, distract?” Hermione looks around, and it does seem like a great deal of the London’s police are on the scene. Easily most of this borough’s officers.

“Montgomery, that quite is enough from you!” Peasoup Senior isn’t happy at all, and Ffogg is bordering on apoplectic.

“Oops?” Junior doesn’t even bother looking contrite. “Was I not supposed to say that out loud?”

The street is still a congested mess, and the rest of this region likely the same. “Flash, recon?” Hermione’s already ringing a ramp up to the rooftops and extending it to form an emerald spiderweb across London’s high-rises. Wally’s gone before the final tracks solidify on the far side of the Thames.

Clark’s voice is in her ear. “We’ve been watching through the London CCTV and just spotted them. It’s the Tower. They’re at the Tower, GL.”

Affirmation comes in from multiple sources. One of the police officers, saying they’d just gotten a call directly from New Scotland Yard. A notice patched through Clark from the ever-efficient, ever-present Ms Cobert. And, of course, Wally, who’s back in a you-know-what.

“I heard Superman,” he says once he’s decelerated to human tempos. “Yep, it’s under attack. Flying playing cards, you know what that means.”

“The deuce you say!” Hermione is wincing even as the last word leaves her.

There’s a groan from Clark on the comms.

Along with faux outrage from Wally. “Hey, bad puns are my gig!”

Mandrake and Prudence look confident. “Our parents may have failed, yet we will prevail,” the latter shouts through the bubble. “The Crown Jewels will rightfully be ours!”

“I kinda doubt it,” Wally retorts. “Though cheer up, you get front row seats for the ass-kicking to come.”

“Language!” Hermione can’t help responding reflexively. Whatever. “I’ll handle these two, see you there.” Oh! “And protect the ravens!”

“What? Sure, but what?”

“Later!” Before gaining a wand, Hermione would have laughed this off as superstition. Now that she knows magic is real, magic in a variety of flavours to boot, it’s different. Shan’t take any chances with Britain on the line.

In addition, she’d hate to let Her Majesty down.

Also, the Crown Jewels. And the Tower itself. People need to learn not to go about trying to damage her city and its history.

Wally races off, and Hermione gives an overdue status update to Clark. No, no call for backup as of yet. She pulls out zip ties from her pocket dimension; a tip from Dinah and always good to carry around. A transport bubble around the nefarious royals, and she’s in the air and following the lighting east along the river. Famous bridges pass under her till she approaches the one memorable for that irritating team-up with Booster Gold.

He’s already engaged their second assembly of villains. One of the League’s oldest foes, with an ever-changing mix of personnel and powers. Currently in their classic costumes to match their classical card likenesses, spades being the suit, with skin tones dyed to inhuman whiteness. The same for the long, curled hair and beards for the men. Vibrant tresses for the women, baldness for the massively muscled fifth.

The Royal Flush Gang. Now holding court at the Tower of London, performing arial assaults against her man from atop oversized, flying cards.

This will not do.

Thankfully the Tower Guards are keeping the scant tourists away from the action. And a row of ravens perch on the Roman Wall, calmly observing. Ta.

She’s about to join the fray when… Hang on. There’re five cards in the air harassing Wally. Only three of them are actually attacking, via diving melee charges and ruby-red energy strikes. Two are simply circling the Tower, performing ominous gestures.

Hermione unceremoniously dumps her two miscreants onto a grassy area outside the walls and fires a pair of homing lasers. Which pass straight through the suspect pair. “Flash, I’m on-site. Ignore Jack and Ten; they aren’t real. The Jewels aren’t kept in the Tower – I’ll deal with that.”

“Gotcha,” and she sees him dodge a massive swing from Ace. “I got these.” He whirls one arm and launches a tornado at King, almost making him drop his burning sword. “Hey pasty-face,” he shouts, “time to fold!” He gets a snarling insult as a reply, and a fond grin from her.

Hermione can hear him hurling further of these terrible card-themed barbs as she flies into the Waterloo Barracks. Thank Oa for the memories of her childhood field trip. She switches to an unlit shield and zooms silently through the Jewel House. Another Thank Oa for the directional maps within.

Sure enough the missing cards are here, along with a squad of Yeomen Warders who’ve been knocked out. Jack’s bionic eyebeam has already melted through the 15cm thick steel doors and cut wide holes in the thick bulletproof glass displays. He’s grumbling into a wrist-radio about Ffogg botching the job and telling King to keep the capes away for one more minute.

Ten is filling large, hovering strongboxes with the looted royal regalia, and reaches for the final item: the St Edward's Crown. “Last one and we’re done, Jack.”

“Oh, you’re done alright,” Hermione interrupts. Two constructs, one that flips the strongboxes closed and a second that seals up the crown’s display case. Ten doesn’t appear happy at nearly losing her fingers.

No, she’s well upset. “Dammit, I needed this money!” and she flips aside in a graceful acrobatic move. This allows Jack a clear shot, which he takes.

His optical onslaught is powerful; Hermione can nearly feel it against her shielding. No reflecting allowed due to the location, so she has to absorb the energy. All while fending off Ten’s fluid martial attacks and the scores of razor-sharp cards being flung at her in curved arcs and deadly accuracy.

Wally would grab the cards out of the air, probably toss them back with a quip. Hermione instead rings up extended constructs of hyperdense jelly. Or jello, as he insists on calling it. Flying cards become very thin slices of fruit in the green salad; it’s not elegant, almost cheating, and it works so she’s not going to complain. Ten absolutely does, however, in a variety of languages.

Jack can see how this is going to end and pulls out his own card, which expands to a door-sized flying carpet of cardstock. He and Ten leap aboard, and they escape down a hallway.

Fine with her; it will be easier to take them down outside. “Flash, inbound,” Hermione calls out while ensuring the Yeomen aren’t badly hurt. “The real things, and I’m right behind them.”

“10-4, Good Buddy.” She hears assorted rude phrases in the background and verifies the contents of the strongboxes are also undamaged. Hermione’s seen larger gemstones, actually made a few herself, and still the Koh-i-Noor on the Queen Mother's Crown manages to take her breath away.

No attempt at silence or lower luminosity as Hermione blazes into the courtyard to join Wally between the barracks and the Tower. The gang’s all here, and all grounded. Remnants of crashed cards, including the latest, are strewn everywhere. Jack and Ten are slowly getting to their feet.

Time to settle this, and she can see Wally agrees. He doesn’t look worse for wear, mild scorch marks marring the crimson. King is barking coded orders that seem based on bridge conventions, and Hermione keeps herself from correcting the misused bidding responses. Honestly, supervillains aren’t what they used to be either.

They’re prepared for her to go airborne, so she stays on her feet. Hermione does ring out an elaborate network of tracks and ramps throughout the castle environs for Wally to take to the skies. These also ensure no one’s escaping, either.

King charges first, and Hermione forms knightly armour and her own sword to face him. She can hear Wally counting down as he runs through each of Queen’s illusionary duplicates while dodging her sceptre’s fireballs. There’s a parry she makes that King hadn’t been expecting from her, and she adds an emerald aspis to fend off an angry laser from Jack.

An abruptly cut-off yell as Wally reaches ‘one,’ and the thud of a body falling. Hermione intercepts King’s sword just as it fires at her, ensuring Jack takes an energy blast to the chest. That’s two. A manoeuvre that Diana would admire, and she disarms King. Wally pulls the sword from high in the air and vibrates it into the ground. He adds a blur of punches to the stunned monarch. Three.

Ace charges her and Ten uses the tracks as gymnastic bars to go after Wally. So they swap out. Wally does thousands of running hits onto Ace; Hermione fires strobing bursts all around Ten. Irritating and disorienting, and ideally enough to help end the fight.

The wind picks up; Wally must be applying physics at Ace. Ten takes advantage of Hermione’s lack of attention and dives at her. Too bad she’s waiting for that and catches Ten in the air with armoured jab. No one expects Green Lantern to know how to fight hand to hand. Appropriately, ten simultaneous emerald boxing glove impacts follow, and Ten goes limp. Four.

Make that five; there’s no sign of Ace. She looks questioningly to Wally, who shrugs. “Caught him in a super-spin, he went over the front gates.” Hermione lets the tracks dissolve and wraps up the four, including a heavy construct patch over Jack’s eye. With that, they head in search of a lost android. “May have been a splash?” he adds as they exit the castle proper. She raises them both up on a platform to check along the coastline.

So far, Ace has been acting as per the Gang’s dossier. Advanced mechanism, yes; sentient, no. After the affair with A.R.G.U.S. and Cinthia, Hermione wants to validate this before becoming too violent. As historically, it takes a great deal of violence to stop Ace.

The river appears undisturbed; Green Lantern may need to become Aqua Lantern and fish out their foe. Hermione’s about to tell Wally when the first ripples occur.

Ace is very much still in the fight.

He strides out of the Thames and up the shore, punching through the barrier wall like it’s made of matchsticks. Then heading their way in a run that feels like an oncoming avalanche. No expression, no communication, no hesitation. No thoughts discernible.

This has to stay outside the castle. Hermione hits him full-force and halts him flat. No hesitation on her part, either. Concurrent blasts lift him off the pavement, a large dent forming on his torso. Wally adds several hundred rocks thrown at superspeed to add more dents, and a few tears in the white bodysuit that reveal the artificial interior. He’s still active, however.

She’s prepared to continue for as long as it takes when her boyfriend arrives at a better idea. Wally points at a streetlamp, which Hermione breaks open. Stripped cords come out and become added to her next blast.

Sparks erupt from both the streetlamp and Ace, and stop. Ace stops as well, and makes an impressive crack in the street when Hermione lets him fall. It’s possible parts of London may have power issues tonight, for which she’ll apologise once this is over. Which it seems to be.

There’s a moment in fights like these when the brain knows it’s over, and the body needs a minute to agree. Panting, hyperalert, watching for the next enemy when there aren’t any left. This passes, and it’s really over.

Post-fight checklist, starting with checking for injuries. A few bruises, no bleeding, no concussions, no worries. They touch heads together and whisper a few private words.

Blues and twos announce the arrival of the Met. Its members are outfitted in top-line armour and weaponry, almost reminding Hermione of the blue-clad forces she’d met in the Avengers universe whilst fighting the yellow beekeepers. Ms Cobert and her people from the EU’s Supervillain Containment Centre are seconds behind, with specialised restraints prepared. An entire heavily reinforced, highly electrified van simply for Ace.

Christine wants to talk European superhero issues, specifically European superhero group issues. The Lantern manages to beg off; please send a missive and a meeting time can be arranged. Hermione’s fully aware of the importance, and how this might meld (Guardians, a second card pun) with the League’s plans. Just not a topic for this evening.

Tourists are also emerging now that the excitement has passed, with cheers offered and pictures taken. Tourists, guards, Tower officials, and more. A certain tall, governmental Weasley is somehow also here, and tips his brolly as a salute before vanishing into the crowds.

Hermione looks around, searching for… ah, there they are.

The ravens haven’t moved from their perch. They appear quite bored.

It’s not truly over until the civilians are seen to. One of the big superhero rules. She and Wally beg off autographs to doublecheck the area. A few are needing proper attention, and these are carried over the walls to waiting EMS vehicles.

Flash and Green Lantern get an okay that the villains are packed and off, then return to the parade route. Moving up and down the streets and vicinities to individually check for injuries they’d missed, she in the air and he on the land. A dozen are lifted to aid stations, and genuine of cheering for the local hero and her beau as they do so.

The Grand Marshall, a senior tourism official who knows a draw when he sees it, approaches the colourful couple about joining the resumed parade. A shared glance between the two; why not? It’s the reason why came out today, after all.

An amplified announcement over the loudspeakers garners more cheers as the duo perform a consultation before regrouping at the staging area. Hermione forms a five-metre-tall floating lantern with a curved lightning bolt for the bail. A small glow lights the twin lenses, and the twosome take positions at the top. As it’s a known factor now, they’re unabashedly holding hands while waving as they travel towards Trafalgar.

Later, there’s takeout pizza with Ginny and Harry. Later, as they’d done the parade followed with the full festival at the Square to massed thanks. A much longer day than foreseen, what with all the autographs. Ginny remains exaggeratedly upset Wally’s never done one for her, and with an heavy sigh he signs her paper napkin. Harry turns, and desperately insists he needs the same from his idol, the Green Lantern.

The four do make plans for a large Weasley dinner, as many of the members and extended members as possible. Hermione’s quite eager to show off her man to the people who will always be her family, regardless of blood or marriage.

A wonderful, quiet time to end the day. Until someone has to tell two of her oldest friends about a crushing teen would-be supervillain and his absurd adoration towards a bushy-haired superhero.

Prat.

Chapter Text

Hermione’s returned late Friday night from a massive three-day patrol, over a hundred systems including several long-duration stays. Morning in Croydon and Oa after so many different ones does Earth’s familiar gravity feel splendid. As does the taste of its air, and her bed.

Two overnights; first at Caudatia as it’s practically her home away from home. Lissam’s brood family has vigorously made her a member, even if Hermione’s a mammal. The next at Jotham, where she can pass as a native with mild cosmetic alterations. Green Lantern spends hours there, mostly out of uniform. Exploring, enjoying, and absorbing what she might miss from higher altitudes. Seeing how a Lantern might better help the people here. Hal’d done the same on occasion, most notably with Ollie on their own planet.

Hermione had capped it off with a stop outside her sector. Namely 2819 and the Obleron system, where she’d checked on the construction progress for Sector House 282. Several fellow Lanterns also doing the same, and it’d turned into a brainstorming session for customising interior spaces. As the Senior Cadre has permitted, if not heavily encouraged, local Lanterns to do for each.

The plan is for a soft opening, Lanterns and special guests only, before officially going official. Hmmm. Maybe she’ll bring a few friends along.

Right. A few chores to accompany breakfast. Hermione’s been recording notes after each stop, so her final reports should go smoothly. A task for tonight, as today should be busy.

A call to her parents that she’s back on their home planet; a quick call to Wally as well. An hour or so catching up on current events. During which Wally shows up to properly welcome her back. He’s brought assorted Crosstown doughnuts from London along with bagels from Manhattan. Yum on multiple levels.

He provides updates on League events as well. “A minor action or three, and somehow we managed them all without you,” as he puts it. Prat. Still, it’s always nice to hear her planet spins calmly while she’s away. There are plenty that aren’t in her system alone. There’d been rumbles of multi-system aggressions that she’d had to ensure won’t go beyond words, always a pleasure to deal with. A cybernetic experiment on Ghyra gone horribly wrong on that nearly had resulted in a grey goo apocalypse. Only the first two that come to mind from this patrol.

They sort their day out. Wally has assorted appointments including a second breakfast with Iris. Hermione has a mentee to escort, primarily leading her through the registry process. “Call when you hit upstairs,” her beau adds over the last donut. “I’ll join you for lunch. Get her real food, no mushy peas or haggis.” He gets hit by half a blueberry bagel for that.

“Yes, West, do ply her with greasy processed meat-like pucks and poorly flavoured sugar water,” Hermione adds. He negotiates with a kiss, and they agree to an armistice.

“Hope it all goes well, hon. I never had to do this, and you missed it too.”

“Quite happy to have skipped it, Wally. If you lot had thrown this at me back at the start, when I was highly disposed to blast a new crater on the Moon, I’d have likely given up on superheroing altogether and stayed a full-time Lantern.”

Honestly, who would blame her? Submitting your nom de cape and costume design as part of joining the community. It would be absolutely barmy, if it isn’t a smart way to avoid ridiculous conflicts in a life that’s ridiculous enough as is.

Hermione had been told of it during one of Bruce’s early lessons in caped culture. ‘Superheroing 101,’ as Wally puts it. He’d grown up within this life; no lessons required for him.

She and Bruce are in her Tower quarters, both in civilian clothing. It’s a week or two since Hermione had officially joined the League, and it remains odd seeing Bruce Wayne whilst aware he’s also Batman. Or the other way around.

Now that it looks like she’ll be staying, Hermione’s brought further items from her Croydon flat to ‘upstairs,’ as these people call it. Most notably, pictures of her friends engaging in actions that can’t be explained away without invoking photographic alterations. Flying on brooms, notably.

Hermione’s set out an abbreviated service as Bruce launches into today’s talk. “Did you ever wonder of the uniqueness of our costumes and codenames?”

Hermione continues pouring tea as she contemplates. “To be honest, not overly. I rarely thought of the people using them either. You were all so… American, with such loud, garish colours.” She pauses, remembering who she’s with. “Yours excluded, of course. Like so many, I’d always thought you an urban myth. Excellent job on that front.” She’s rewarded with a nod.

Her own uniform, of course, is… is it unfair to view it as flawless? Not too outrageous, not too drab. A design perfected across timespans measured in stellar evolutions. Beat that, Pansy.

They clink cups, and she recalls the years before a wand. “Growing up you all seemed slightly imaginary, including the ones I knew were real like Diana. She’d been a childhood idol, on the level as Mrs Peel, and felt equally fictional. Certainly not part of my world in Britain.”

Having seem their garb up close now… Hmmm. “I’d thought them rather comical, except they’re all distinctive in their loudness, aren’t they? Like warning signs to keep away from a danger zone. A possibly unintentional effect, akin to the way yours is designed to frighten?”

“An interesting supposition,” Bruce replies while taking a biscuit. “that we can discuss at a later time. Check through witness reports for data to support your hypothesis.”

Homework, which makes the lesson feel proper. “And then I discovered magic is real, I was a witch, and soon I had my very own heroes with powers.” Hermione gestures to several of the pictures with her non-cupped hand. “Superheroes. And supervillains. Never thought of using either term, of course.”

“Yes, it was the villains who wore costumes and masks in your society. While everyone knew who everyone else was, if understand it correctly?” Hermione grimaces but nods. “We’ve talked about the reasons for these earlier. First in the Justice Society, then the generation that followed. The one I’m part of.” No need to mention the demarcation between his generation and her own, or of the one to follow hers.

Bruce, of course, sees that she sees and resumes. “We began many years after the JSA disbanded, Clark being the one responsible. I was operating before him, J’onn as well, but neither of us were interested in photographs or interviews. Clark can’t avoid either, given who he is and what he does. ‘Loud,’ as you said. After his very public debut there were soon dozens of costumed adventurers, then hundreds.”

Hermione doesn’t quite smirk. “A veritable explosion of colours, from what I read. Easily as extravagant as the Society’s members.”

“Certainly few designed for stealth,” he agrees. “And several following in the footsteps, both in name and approximate costume, of heroes from the Society. Barry and Jay, Dinah and her mother. Ray and Al as well, to a degree.”

He takes her gaze to the fresh Justice League membership proclamation on the wall. “The majority of our generation created new costumes and names. Individual and different. But no duplications over the years since. No multiple Green Arrows, or schools of Aquamen. Nor copied costumes, for heroes or villains.”

“Well, I imagined it would be poor form to do so,” Hermione says after a moment. “Also, rather confusing.” Again, not a subject she’s thought greatly on. “My own being the exception, of course; I didn’t really choose either my name or attire. And there are thousands of duplicates of both.”

Bruce does smile at that. “A datum we can discard. As you’ve said so often, Hermione, you’re a full-time Lantern, only a part-time superhero.”

“Point taken.” Perfect verbal judo on his part; developing this skill is another course she’s undergoing with a master. “I assume I am incorrect, however? There’s not merely etiquette involved?”

“Not at first. It didn’t take long until someone stepped up to keep it from becoming confusing, or worse.

And he tells her of the registry. Like so much of her part-time occupation, it would be laughable if it isn’t so necessary. After all, you wouldn’t want multiple people flying around in a red cape and calling themself Superman, would you?

“And I bypassed it all as I took on exactly the Hal’s name and costume.”

“Just as Wally did for Barry.”

She’s learned of Barry Allen, what he’d done to save their universe. To save all of them, actually. Hermione gets the opportunity to meet him months from now, and it will remain a high point of her career.

“There’s also a version run strictly for the criminal side,” Bruce goes on, “the Calculator being the prime suspect.” Her reaction is only to roll her eyes. “Not a surprise to you; you’ve also dealt with mentally unstable antagonists. It appeals to vanity and delusions of grandeur. The professionals treat it extremely seriously. For them, there’s also money and reputations involved.”

Hermione finishes her cuppa. “A high degree of punitive violence for infractions, I suppose.”

“It’s usually stronger than a polite request,” Bruce confirms.

Now, after seeing Wally off and sending a reminder to the Tower of today’s visitor, Hermione flies north to Scotland. She’s found the small group of trees between the Forest and Hogsmeade to be a useful spot for Green Lantern’s arrivals and departures, as it had been for last year’s school reunion. No mental fuzziness on approach since then, ta.

A change to civilian clothes, complete with a robe. Hair pulled back neatly. Simply an everyday, normal witch walking to the gates, nothing to see here.

Hermione sees the two ahead, making their way alone to the far side of the iron pickets. A small figure in the lead, almost bouncing along in Hufflepuff robes. Dark, shining hair bouncing as well, darker eyes filled with excitement. Oa, had she herself ever been that small?

The taller of the pair would never permit herself to be caught ‘bouncing’ anywhere. There is a touch of bemusement on her face, however, at today’s convergence.

“You’re here!” Sam would be running up if not for the firm hand on her shoulder. The elder makes a simple gesture, and the rebuilt metal structures open just as the duo reaches them. Show-off. The slight smirk indicates that Minerva knows her thoughts.

“Headmistress,” Hermione begins.

“Ms Lantern. Hogwarts welcomes you,” and Minerva allows the visibly eager girl to venture beyond the gates.

“Thank you. I feel very welcome.” Hermione puts her all into the words, as Graduate and Professor are aware this hadn’t always been a true statement.

Playing out their roles, as they do, complete with handshake. Then their attention turns to the impatient reason for the encounter. She’s possibly vibrating to a different dimension at this point.

Hermione puts out her hand, and it’s taken fast. “Hello, Sam. Ready for the big day?”

“Hi Green Lantern! You bet I’m ready to go, I wanna show off my costume!” Sam pauses. “With your permission, Headmistress.” A properly respectful tone. Well done, mentee.

Hermione herself adopts a slightly formal tone. “I do believe she’s ready, Headmistress.”

“Ms Howell?” Minerva queries, and Sam spins to face her. “You have dispensation to leave school grounds for the day. You will return by curfew.” No question that this is aimed at both present and former student, and Hermione nods along with her charge.

“Do Hogwarts proud,” she orders her student. Then, “You as well, Ms Lantern.”

A perfect culmination to earlier discussions regarding the possibility of a young witch’s extracurricular educational pursuits. Those to occur within a community of few robes, and lots of capes.

It had started months ago, when Sam had first written to her hero of the emerald, wandless magic she’d accidentally produced. Weeks later, she’d received her Hogwarts letter. Essentially as expected; her mother is a witch and her siblings (all older, all brothers) already attend.

Sam had also expressed keen interest in costumed life, which had led to discussions with her parents. The revelation of training programmes with young heroes, under the direction of experienced adults, had lessened their worries while increasing Sam’s enthusiasm.

Which had led to Hermione’s talks with old friends from her old life concerning how, or if, this should proceed. The initial chats hadn’t been productive, possibly due to the necessity of owls for communication. Thus, the agreement for a conversation between a Lantern, Minister of Magic, Headmistress, and Head of House. Taking place in a side room off Minerva’s office and quite not advertised to the student body; Green Lantern having flown in unlit through an open window after curfew.

They’re all busy people, so conversational niceties are trimmed so they can address the issue. She’s told them the reasons earlier, mostly for the Minister’s benefit as Minerva and Pomona are by now very aware of Ms Howell’s special brand of magic. Also, that they’re not equipped to teach its usage.

“That’s where my organisations can come in,” Hermione says once everyone’s settled and tea served, this being a civilised conversation. “She’ll be alongside youngsters like her. No mentions of magic required,” which she directs at Kingsley. “They’re used to unexplainable talents; it’s almost expected. She’ll not be using wand magic while in costume, either, or outside the castle. Sam will learn that here at Hogwarts, like everyone else.”

That point seems to soothe over possible rough waters, Hermione can see. “And she’ll be doing it with me,” she continues, “and individuals experienced with helping youths with exceptional gifts.”

Pomona waves a plate over and nabs a shortbread biscuit. “Your version of Auror trainee classes then?” she asks. A slightly worried tone in the question.

“No, not at their ages,” Hermione reassures. She’d had her own concerns when first discovering the programmes. “The main purpose of Young Justice isn’t combat, it’s control. How to use new, ofttimes scary, abilities with confidence and safety. Just as Hogwarts does with wands. And while it’s not the main focus, strengthening their offensive and defensive capabilities are indeed topics. Again, just like Hogwarts.”

She pauses for a moment. “Additionally, they are taught how to use their powers responsibly and ethically. That’s very important to us as well.” That Hogwarts doesn’t include the latter fields of instruction is left unsaid. Not Hermione’s fight anymore, at least not her primary one. Perhaps it can be Sam’s.

“The world has to trust us, that we know what we’re doing with our incredible talents. Just as I hope you can trust us with Sam.” Yes, she’d practiced that bit. Bruce’s words from long ago, designed to calm a nervous new League member preparing to undergo her first big media interview.

Hermione takes a breath. Time for harder topics. “This is also Sam’s opportunity to see first-hand what life is like for people like myself, people masks and costumes. Wearing them yourself. Full immersion in ‘superhero life,’ if you will. If she’s to properly be part of the programme, she’ll need the costume to preserve her identity. And thus our discussion today, permission for all of this in parallel with her Hogwarts schooling.”

She primarily aims her words at Minerva. “We’re not looking to push her into any of this; if anything, we’ll be throwing cold water every step of the way. We’re only wanting her to be educated so she can make an informed decision on whether she wants to enter this life or not.”

No strings, as Hal had told her on a fateful day on the Moon.

“If Sam wants to go further as a superhero after graduating, we can support her there as well. It’s her decision, it’s always her decision; I cannot emphasise that enough.” Deep breath. “One she can change at any time. Like anyone who joins our youth training programmes, Young Justice for Sam’s age and the Titans for those older.”

“Quite well organised. What of the Statute?” Kingsley asks. His major concern, Hermione knows, just as Sam’s education is Minerva’s and Sam’s wellbeing is Pomona’s.

A topic she’s reviewed heavily. “She won’t be violating the Statute; that’s why we have the costumes and code names. No one outside our community will learn who she is, and even fewer that she has magic at all. As I said earlier, Sam won’t be using a wand outside the school. For the rest of the world, she’s simply one of thousands with unfathomable gifts. Especially America, ‘superpowers’ are unusual but not tremendously so.”

“Yes, this is all in America, isn’t it.” Kingsly almost shudders at that. “Still, I am leaning to concur,” he says to the faculty members, “having read up on the subject soon after first seeing Hermione fly over London. Percy Weasley put together an outstanding briefing package, and I was at first shocked to find instances of wands in several descriptions. Thankfully, there’s no relationship to us.”

“None at all. And those scared me as well, Kings,” Hermione says. Thank Oa Wally had explained the users to her. “No wand, or need for one when in costume either. Sam’s gotten good without one, amazingly so. Limited flight, solid green constructions like my own. It’s impressive, and I can’t wait to see what she’ll do next.”

Pomona lights up at that, and Hermione can see the pride for her Badger.

“Ms Howell is a marvel,” the Senior Hufflepuff says. “Nothing in the histories that matches.” She appraises in the youngest present. “I wonder if it emerged due to seeing someone perform similar ‘magic’ and her accidental magic instinctively trying to duplicate it?”

The someone has to smile at that, as do the three also in the room. “Possibly?” Hermione replies. “I’d assumed my ring to be magical until finding the truth. Most of my friends still feel it’s advanced magic, despite my attempts at explanations.” She lets it glow for a second. “I myself feel it’s my own personal magic. Sam undoubtedly feels the same for her own talents. Possibly the members of Young Justice do too.” Certainly Zachary. Probably Cassie and Greta too; gods and ghosts are kinds of magic, after all.

Kingsley glances at his cup, and it slowly refills. “Percy’s told me of the group. Somewhat comparable to an association which operated in the castle to train students, not that long ago as I recall.”

All look to Hermione. She’s been expecting this. “Comparable, except there’s going to be adult supervision for this group. Lots of supervision. More than she wants, I’ll wager.” Her turn to nab a ginger newt. “Another area we believe important.”

Minerva huffs, possibly as Hermione’d beaten her to the last biscuit. “I trust said supervision will restrain our energetic Ms Howell from costumed flying over Diagon Ally or the like, Ms Lantern?” She waves over a fresh plate while awaiting the reply.

“Should that happen, you’ll be far back in line to deal out disciplinary measures, Headmistress,” is the sober reply. “Also as you’ll be should her grades ever suffer.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Hermione.” She’s smiling; her tone isn’t.

“Not only her grades,” Pomona interjects softly. “Her safety, as you mentioned. She’s a Hogwarts student. We’re responsible for this while she’s away from her home.”

Hermione’d been expecting this as well. “We can’t agree more. As do her parents; Sam isn’t doing anything without their authorisation. We have our version of permission slips for pre-adulthood enrolment. Plus a great many protective procedures.” She’s been ready to say Sam would be a safe as if in Hogwarts but doesn’t. Quidditch alone is far less safe than most days as a superhero.

Pomona looks to be onboard following the impartment of that information. “What about calling these occasional weekend excursions ‘Supervised Field Trips,’ as part of Muggle Studies? Holidays and the summer shouldn’t require permission, should they Minnie?”

“Well, technically,” Minerva begins.

Hermione cuts in. “We did analogous in my final year, as I recall. No costumes, just tours into major cities to show the realities of Muggle life to students who’d never seen them before. On one outing, Superman and Wonder Woman were defending London, and Guardians did that require extensive explanations.” She has a short chuckle. “We’d had difficulties enough with global communications and spaceflight, and then we had to cover ‘superheroes’ as well!”

Minerva huffs again, a Scots one at that. “I dinna recall that in the reports, Ms Granger.”

“I do, Minnie,” Pomona says directly. “You wisely offloaded duties across a dozen of us that year after Winter Break. We all were overwhelmed, and not only by the classwork.” She shifts her attention to the Kingsley.

“Minister. Our world is stretching beyond the walls we’ve had up for hundreds of years. We have a visiting Amazon warrior, older than all of us combined, guest lecturing on Defence. One of Minnie’s Lions travels to distant stars on a regular basis. And now I have a Badger who wants to help protect people in ways in ways that I believe Helga would have loved to see.” Her gaze shifts to include Minerva. “Let’s make this happen.”

“Kings, you were a Slytherin,” Hermione joins in. “Use that cleverness. You can be the Minister who leads this society into the rest of the world, peaceably and purposefully. This isn’t the 1600s; we’re in a new millennium. It’s time. Sam can be part of these first steps.” Anything to avoid the nightmare scenarios that Sophie Roper had laid out in their own discussions.

“In addition,” she proceeds, “let’s be honest. Sam wants this, and her powers need control. It’s why we have teams for youths like her, so we can provide guidance and support. And like I said, ensure they understand that if this isn’t what they want, there’s nothing wrong with putting it aside. It’s not for everyone, powers or not. If they do want it, they’re going to be trained in using them with competence and care.” Oa, she quite feels as Bruce must all the time. “What they do reflects on everyone in my community. What any of us do, frankly,” Hermione finishes.

Kingsly has that Ministerial power-smile. “As what you do reflects on all humanity, if I understand what Percy’s told me of your profession.”

No, Hermione’s not blushing. “An aspect of the job I wasn’t planning on, to be honest.”

His turn to huff, a level of mild irritation as thoughts connect across the tangled political map. “I suppose MACUSA and the ICW should be brought into the discussion at some point.” Hermione has firm thoughts over MACUSA and its attitude towards unusual magic. Those will be addressed at a later date.

Currently, however, it feels like the wind has moved to her back. “If you like. If I remember the language correctly, so long as Sam doesn’t use magic in a way that appears as magic, or in any way reveal her origins, they shouldn’t need to be involved.” She stages a studied hesitation. “I am, of course, only an amateur on the subject.”

“Ms Granger, you have never been ‘only’ anything.” Fine, a touch of blush does appear. “It’s my hope as well, of course.” The smile grows authentic. “Also, Percy arrived at the same conclusion.”

“Good to see Weasley’s turned himself around,” Minerva says. “He’s become quite the asset, hasn’t he?”

“Indispensable to the government, and Merlin I never thought I’d say those words.” Kingsley sits taller, what Hermione can see is his signal for discussions to wrap up. “I imagine the Muggle Minister should hear of it as well. He’s sure to be delighted with a second British superhero on the horizon.”

“Kings, there are already numerous superheroes in Britain.” Hermione watches three sets of eyes widen. “They have wands instead of costumes.” She gets surprised, and pleased, expressions at that. “The PM does seem a good person. Or a formidable politician such as yourself.”

“High praise, on both fronts.” He grows serious again. “I want to see regular reports on Ms Howell’s activities, Ms Lantern. As Pomona said, we have a duty and responsibility for her care, at least until her Hogwarts graduation. No matter if she’s off flying around America.”

“Hermione, I believe we all do,” Minerva adds.

“Of course. I already planned for updates to her parents. I can send them to Percy, he can Geminio copies and owl to everyone.” That seems acceptable.

Handshakes all around, which change to hugs. She really needs to visit more often, as they all remind her.

Hermione thus conducts monthly weekend meetings with Sam, limited training in isolated areas within the Isles. All while imparting what it’s like to be in the caped community; the view of one British witch to another. Also of Young Justice and the plans for short weekend visits with them, and lengthier summer stays.

People her own age who can do things like her? Superheroes-in-training, all in costumes? Sam can’t wait.

And today’s the day. No special training planned for this outing. Today, it’s all about finally making Teen Lantern real.

Hermione leads her to the copse, not a long walk. Which takes seemingly forever, if Sam’s reaction is to be judged.

Once inside, Hermione’s garb shifts into Green Lantern’s, complete with mask. Sam objects at the bubble that begins to form around her. “I don’t need this, I can fly on my own!”

“Teen Lantern can fly, yes,” Hermione replies smoothly. “Sam Howell cannot.” There’s an idea. “Think of lessening that whilst at school, concentrate on wand magic instead. You’ll soon have enough opportunities to practice your powers elsewhere. Consider it all part of reinforcing your secret identity.”

Sam considers this. “Oh. Okay, that makes sense. Hey, maybe I can fake losing my green magic? Have it go away over next couple of weeks, no idea why, outgrew it or whatever?” The bubble fires into the air, unlit and attains a thousand metres in altitude before Sam’s reply is over.

“Clever, that’s smart thinking,” her mentor strongly praises. “Ten points to Hufflepuff. You should let your Head of House in on your plan, perhaps the Headmistress as well. Both are available if you ever need to talk, so please don’t hesitate to do so!”

“Professor Sprout’s always there for us. She’s great!” It seems the pride goes both way. “So’s Professor Parkinson, our Defence teacher. She said that she knows you?”

“She does. I met her at a location we may visit as part of your training. Some distance away, which is the other reason I’ll be doing the flying today. We’re headed to the south, short first part of our trip before we do the much longer one.”

It only takes Sam a moment to figure out the destination. “C’mon, GL, they know already! No need for that, and we can get started sooner!”

The elder Lantern has a slight smirk. “Yes, they do. Regardless, I promised a final approval before we departed. Also, consider patience,” she admonishes gently. “A lesser, yet vital, skill to master in our line of work.”

Sam’s house is on the outskirts of Leeds. Quite peaceful looking amidst a dozen homes on a wide cul-de-sac, with a huge, pastoral area conveniently nearby that Hermione’s used before. A high-speed descent and landing, then a short walk, uniform already dissolved into an unremarkable outfit.

Sam bursts inside, exuberantly calling out their entrance. They’re not a surprise; Hermione had scheduled an approximate arrival. Isobel and Charles welcome their daughter, who dashes upstairs in a veritable hailstorm of boots.

“Samantha Jane Howell!”

“Sorry Mum!” comes down, with a slamming door.

Hermione hides a slight grin. “She’s very excited for today,” she offers.

“From what you’ve told us, Hermione, with good reason,” her father replies. “Have a seat while she unpacks, resorts, and repacks her costume. Again. Tea?”

“That would be grand, Charles, thanks.”

The use of ‘Hermione’ had made for a mildly alarming moment during her first visit here, soon after Sam had sent the letter announcing her Sorting. She’d started going by Sammy by then, changed last year as that’s ‘a little kid’s name,’ and her own brand of magic seems to have grown. All the children had been off at Hogwarts, making for a quiet time to talk of their daughter.

The mother’s a Hufflepuff, the father non-magical, both dark haired like Sam. They’re fully part of Wizarding Britain despite their distance from any wanded families. Stacks of Prophets and even Quibblers in the living room had established that. Along with the wards around the property. Those are the only obvious clues; the rest of the house greatly resembles that of the one she’d grown up in. No visible magic, plenty of the usual mod cons.

It extends to their apparel. No robes, no antiquated or peculiar clothing. They fit in well into the neighbourhood, including their island and the wider world around them.

“Our Sammy’s been a fan ever since we saw you drop in on the Proms,” Isobel says after introductions of superhero to parents. They’d been in the crowds outside the show, and the next day Sam had raided the local library for information on her new hero.

Both parents study the masked woman while Hermione discusses ramifications of their Sammy’s letters before they finally interrupt. A tentative query, bordering on a definitive statement of who’s behind the mask.

“The hair; it does stand out in your pictures,” Charles says a touch awkwardly. “Always wondered where you disappeared to.”

“Doubtful we’d have sussed it from seeing you up in the air, dear,” Isobel adds. “Up close, that’s a different manner.”

Oh. That changes the nature of the talk dramatically. Hermione doesn’t bother refuting their conjecture as both assure the Lantern they’ve no interest in sharing her identity. She’s been honest and upfront with them about their Sammy, after all.

Also, they feel a greater confidence that this superhero’s also a witch. “Merlin, one of our own a superhero!” Isobel might have an element of elation in this.

Hermione shifts from masked uniform to a conservative skirt and blouse ensemble. First impressions always being important, even if it’s a second one.

The conversation drifts from costumes to recent history, now that it’s a shared one. “You’re Muggle-born, I read?” Isobel asks abruptly.

“Quite.” Nearly a Gryff with a question like that, Hermione thinks. “Not something I’ll forget.”

“My apologies, Ms Granger. I was only meaning you had no roots or connections to draw on when you entered magical society, and that must have been hard. Our Sammy’s going to be like that, isn’t she? If she’s going to do this… whatever, wear a cape thing that she wants, it’s important that Sammy has someone to guide her along the way.”

“More than that,” Hermione asserts. It’s not an inaccurate comparison. “I’m prepared to be Sam’s mentor. Ensure she’s protected while she learns how to use her gifts. Also learns enough to choose if she wants a life like mine or not.” That goes over well; she can detect tensed expressions becoming relaxed as they share a quick look. Parental telepathy might be better than what J’onn has.

“And call me Hermione, please,” she continues. “At least when I’m out of uniform.”

The Howells share their experiences of their other children’s education. Sam’s three older brothers, a mix of Puffs and Ravens, still have nightmares. In one’s first year at Hogwarts, a student had been brutally murdered. Then the same for the headmaster when the last had entered. All leading to the year under Snape and the Carrows.

They’d been evacuated away before the final battle had begun. “My boys did what they could. Kept their friends away from the danger. They were just children!” Hermione agrees vehemently. They’d all been children. None should have had this forced on them.

As for the adults, not that Hermione’s asking… “We stayed low, helped ferry mates, ones like yourself, away as best we could. No magic, slipping under their radar.” Charles only asides that he knows people who know people who love to tinker with automobiles, boats, and light aircraft too. Sammy hadn’t shown magic yet, so it had been relatively easy to keep her hidden.

Hermione’s trying to remember any Howells wearing either yellow or blue. “I may have met them in my final year,” she says. “I think. Susan and Hannah, er Bones and Abbott, led efforts to help younger students recover.”

Her two friends had started this on the first day back. It had taken Hermione months before she’d been healthy enough to interact with anyone without drawing her wand.

Subsequent chats dwell less on the past, instead leaning towards the future and a shared wonder of Sam’s future. Hermione’s quite honest she’s no idea where Sam might go, only that it’s going to be incredible.

As for today… minutes pass without a Sam arriving. Which works out nicely, as there’s paperwork. “Almost forgot,” and Hermione reaches into her pocket dimension and pulls out a sheet for their perusal.

A parental permission slip, of a kind; she’d told them about it on a previous visit. It’s permission for Sam to officially register Teen Lantern, needed as she’s a minor. She goes over the document, as well as explaining her invisible bag isn’t magical, honest.

They examine the form carefully. “When you mentioned getting Sammy registered, well, you can imagine how that went over,” the witch says, finger running down the wording.

“Yes, my own reaction when I heard the term. Luckily, I implicitly trusted the person who revealed it to me. Not a hint of pink on them.”

“Sounds like you remember Her Toadship,” Isobel states without humour.

Hermione nearly winces. “Vividly.” Delores is nowhere near the end of a suitably lengthy sentence of several lifetimes. Harry’s promised to advise should that status change.

“Never met her, thankfully. Almost was called in to prove I didn’t steal my magic.” Isobel’s eyes fill with fire. “As if! My line’s a century longer than hers.” Charles puts an arm around her, and she echoes the motion. All three are aware he would’ve been next in line should Isobel have undergone that court’s perversion of justice.

“To be expected from her. We had several fun encounters.”

Isobel reaches out her hand to Hermione. “You’re here and she’s not, that says all I need. That you’re really you, well, it helps us trust Green Lantern with our Sammy.” And Oa does that make a Lantern feel good.

Charles finishes his own inspection. “Nothing here calling for real names, correct?”

“Correct,” Hermione affirms. “No real names. No names, no addresses. No Traces. Nothing connecting Teen Lantern to Sam Howell. Only a code name and pictures of the costume, that’s it. Just to ensure both belong to her, and to her alone.”

“Darn straight they do!” Sam’s on the stairwell, looking down at the adults with backpack over a shoulder. It seems she can be stealthy, when desired. “We worked hard on this!”

That settles things nicely. A form is signed while Hermione finishes her tea. Sam hugs both parents, and the younger pair depart for a memorable day. Sam’s ditched the robe for jeans, a Union Jack tee, and windbreaker. The boots remain.

Hermione pauses for a final talk when they reach the launching pad. It’s almost identical to the direction she’d given Penny from atop the Flatiron Building. Also, it’s the same as she’s already said to Sam, as Ms Howell insists stridently.

“I need to hear it one final time that you want to proceed Sam,” Hermione repeats, overriding any objections. “We’ve a big step next. Always remember you can step away whenever you want.”

Or whenever your parents want, she mentally amends.

“I already said yes! I want to learn how to use my magic like you do your ring.” Sam may be floating a smidgen off the ground.

“Let’s avoid the ‘m’ word,” Hermione says firmly. “In public, in costume, you have superpowers, not magic.”

Sam lands and cocks her head. “What’s the difference?”

A good and important question. “Mentioning magic, particularly mentioning a wand, can get you in severe trouble with the Ministry. Your parents as well. The other…” She gets eye to eye with her mentee. “The other, that you’re using superpowers, won’t. So let’s do that, shall we? Treat this like part of your secret identity, and equally as important.” She turns up the serious a notch. “I’m not fooling around, Sam, and neither is the Ministry. Or Professor Sprout. They’re all trusting us to do this right. Got me?” That gets earnest nods.

Ta. Hermione continues, sliding to her ‘Green Lantern’s talking, pay attention’ voice that comes out to play on patrols. “Sam, you’re entering a new world of people with abilities far beyond anything you’ve seen before. No wands or robes, and costumes instead. Like the one you’re planning on adopting. It’s a different world, a different community. Made up of people who’ve dedicated themselves to helping people. To making things better.”

Sam rolls her own eyes. “Duh! That’s why I want to be a Lantern.” A slight deflation, “Well, not like you are. Close, though!” She reinflates and stands tall. “I’m a Proud Puff, a Fierce Badger, and that’s what we do!”

Oa, is Hermione ever proud of her. And oddly, the Hufflepuff role feels internally correct, though she’s not sure why. “You are indeed, Sam,” she does say. “Ready for us to fly again, show your stuff on a new world?”

Small eyes grow wide. “We’re going to another planet?”

“In a way,” Hermione says. “Stranger than most worlds I’ve gone to. It’s called New York City.”

Eyes widen farther.

“Buckle up, kiddo. Time for Teen Lantern to officially arrive.”

Chapter Text

Hermione’s flying slower than usual for this crossing of the Atlantic. Roughly ten minutes to reach America, plenty of time for Sam to practice changing into costume while in a bubble opaqued for privacy. As they near the coastline Green Lantern allows radars to detect her, and she responds to queries on identity and destination.

Green Lantern appears high over the Manhattan skies without excessive fanfare. This is New York City, after all; she’s been here numerous times. A few lively cries for her own city as the two descend to skyscraper heights.

A confirmation that the transformation is complete before the bubble goes transparent, and Teen Lantern is unveiled for the first time to the public. Conveniently, both are in white, black, and green.

The new hero has on chunky white boots and gloves, worn over a thick, slightly rumpled black bodysuit. A closed white gilet made of ballistic cloth sits over her torso. The expansive emerald headband goes low to double as a mask, fabric wrapping over her forehead and hiding most of her hair as well. To complete the ensemble there’s a bright green starburst on the gilet, centred on her chest. A lantern’s light, if a viewer is inclined to the poetic.

No cape. Well, not now. Possibly later on. Hermione’s heard various recommendations concerning capes and flying, both pro and con, over the last year. Sam’s decided to go without for now, and Hermione has assured her that wearing a cape won’t be seen as a slight.

It all fits in a backpack for ease of transportation. The boots are the hardest part to change out of, Sam’s reported. Also to pack. She may look at covers she can wear over regular shoes; a topic she can discuss with the Young Justice members who have more experience in costumes. Hermione’s rather clueless on this front, having become spoiled with a ring that can alter fabrics as desired.

Their destination is a brownstone in Upper Manhattan, the Morningside Heights neighbourhood along the Hudson River to be precise. As always, forests are fine as landing points, but nothing beats dense cities.

Their approach takes them near the Burke Library, quite the temptation after her encounters with beings relevant to the special collections within. Another day, ideally with Parm. Sam, meanwhile, is agog at seeing a huge city from this angle and not from within a jet aeroplane. Much quieter, for a start. Also, a larger window.

From what Bruce has told her, superheroes arriving here isn’t an unusual occurrence so no attempts at stealth are made. For many years, long ago, such arrivals had been commonplace. After all, this is the former headquarters of the Justice Society of America.

Also the current home of the registrar, Dorothy ‘Dottie’ Hunkel. Daughter of the first registrar, Abigail Mathilda "Ma" Hunkel. The original Red Tornado.

Not an android, as he’d said to her raised eyebrows. Very, very human. No powers or costumes, yet she’d assumed a vital role in the JSA as a combination of mother hen, caretaker, conscience, and manager. Out of the blue Hunkel had simply stormed into the building like a tornado in red, taking over much of what the heroes either didn’t do well or didn’t do at all. No reasons given, and none asked. She’d rarely worn that crimson dress to the brownstone again, yet the nickname had stuck.

Years later, the JSA had disbanded and left. Hunkel had stayed and preserved its history. Then her daughter had maintained the residence. Then heroes returned. Lots of them, from across the country. A new age had begun. And Dottie, like her mother before her, had taken up the cause. These new heroes might not operate out of the brownstone, but she could keep track of them like Ma did. And thus the registry had been reborn.

She’d gotten a helping hand early on. An anonymously delivered, extensively researched database of past and present ‘costumed adventurers,’ as they’d been called in the JSA days.

At this point in the lesson, he’d simply nodded at Hermione’s arched eyebrow. There might have been a slight smirk worthy of playboy Bruce Wayne too.

It’s become almost a ritual when Hermione comes to this city, meeting people on rooftops. Hunkel is already there, a striking woman in her forties with sandy blonde hair who’s sitting amidst a comfortable patio filled with tables and awnings. Appropriately for today, there’s also a good deal of greenery with potted plants scattered everywhere. A large atrium in the middle, almost a small park to fill the centre of the building.

No surprise at their appearance; Green Lantern had made an appointment weeks ago. She brings the two in for a soft landing. “Ms Hunkel?”

“Call me Dottie, dear. Right on time, Green Lantern.” She turns her focus to the smaller of the two. “And you must be?”

“Teen Lantern!” It’s almost a shout, and both adults grin. “Ma’am,” Sam continues at a regular volume.

“Well, let’s see about making that official, shall we?” Dottie replies. She escorts them to a lift to first floor and into an open area filled with superhero history. Framed front pages, trophies that Hermione can’t recognise, large photographs of the JSA and its members in action. This may warrant a return visit for a longer duration perusal.

The largest door leads into Dottie’s office, a combination workplace and photographic studio. A large window allows natural light from the grassy courtyard. She points at two seats while pulling an oversized book from the shelf behind a vintage wooden desk.

Dottie opens the book and uncaps a Bakelite fountain pen. “All ready?” An eager nod in reply. Today’s date is carefully inscribed. “Name?” Before Sam can reply, she follows with “Not your real name. We never ask for that.”

“Teen Lantern,” Sam says. The name is dutifully inscribed in the ledger with precise lettering.

Sam waits a moment. “That’s it?”

“The page is scanned for our digital database as well, dear.” Dottie blows to dry the ink. “The actual ledger, well that’s part of the history. Adds a sense of importance, don’t you agree?”

Dottie studies the new superhero. “Not an adult, not yet.” A look up to the older. “Permission from parents?”

Hermione pulls out paper from her dimensional pocket. Dottie doesn’t bat an eye.

“Young Justice – check. Mentor – check. Always nice to see.” The form is initialled and added to a stack on the desk. “Perfect! Let’s get Teen Lantern immortalised.” She gestures to the cameras behind them and a neutral backdrop, and Sam takes a stance.

“Um. How should I…?”

“However you like, dear.” Dottie clicks buttons on the wall, and the cameras flex out on articulated arms to surround Teen Lantern. “Relax, nobody else will ever see it.”

Lights go up. “Eyes at me, and…” click-click-click, “got it.”

“Impressive,” Hermione says.

“You’re only seeing a fraction. The system’s running checks against previously loaded costumes.” Dottie taps her head. “Plus, I have them all up here. Names too.” The cameras withdraw, and she makes an expert examination. “This is very nice. Functional, sturdy. Good work.”

“Thanks. I had help. My–”

She’s interrupted by a rumble outside the office, as feet rush across the hardwood flooring. “Mom, is she here yet?” comes a cry, then a dazzlingly red-haired head pokes into the office. “Hey, she is!”

Dottie’s not alone today.

“Maxine Abigal Hunkel!” Who enters despite the reprimanding tone. “My daughter, Maxine,” Dottie says to the two masked heroes.

“Max, Mom!”

Maxine is a year or two under Sam’s age, in Hermione’s estimation. Hair so vividly scarlet it makes Ginny look like a Parkinson.

Clearly not as bashful as either. “You’re Green Lantern!”

“I am,” Hermione replies, and puts a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “And this is Teen Lantern.”

“Hey, I’m Max. Neat costume, Teen Lantern! I’ve got powers too!” Her words are like a sustained gust of wind.

Sam’s eyes light, perhaps with a touch of green. “You do? Awesome! I’m… GL?” She looks up at her mentor.

“Important rule. ‘Your identity, your decision.’ Always.”

Teen Lantern considers this. Then, “Hi Max, I’m Sam.”

“Hey Sam! C’mon, lemme show them to you. Mom?”

“No flying! And stay inside the yard!”

“Sure thing Mom! C’mon, Sam, I wanna see yours too!”

The two disappear, then reappear in a rush of excitement outside the window in the grassy atrium.

“They seem to have hit it off,” Hermione says as Sam lights up in emerald. Then Max… Oa, stray blades of grass are rising up, and Hermione can nearly see the air spiralling around her. Her ring relays the intense velocities, probably enough to… yes. Lift a small person off the ground. Slightly, but enough to be visible.

Sam giggles and rises to meet her. Their laughter is perceptible in the office. Possibly in Midtown as well.

“I’m glad,” Dottie says with a fond gaze at her daughter. “I know so many of you, and I know she’ll need friends when it’s her time.” She relates a little of secret origins.

“Reddy was visiting; he does that occasionally. First out of curiosity over his name. Nearly everyone had forgotten Ma’s nickname of Red Tornado. Certainly the madman who created him had.” Hermione can concur at Morrow’s mental stability. Utterly, impossibly brilliant, yes. Then there’s the entire psychopathic supervillain issue, as his favourite student had put it.

“He’s practically family now, and had become interested in the registry process. Makes sense, given Reddy works with young people newly entering the community. One day, that maroon Morrow attacked him near here for lord knows why. Maxine was getting off the school bus and had to see what her Uncle Reddy was doing.”

Evidently, there’d been stray strange energies flying around, Max caught by them while the Tornado tried to protect her with his winds. “And now, powers. Control over them is improving. Slowly.” Hermione asks of causes. “Agitated thermal nanites, I’m told. Meaning nobody knows. Might as well blame it on magic, right?”

“Might as well,” Hermione replies with a neutral expression.

Sam does a little flying and builds sample constructs. Including a windmill, which Max has spinning into invisibility. Sam struggles to keep it intact.

“Maxine’ll need to get on the registry too, once she settles on a name.”

“At least she’s aware of this. I had no idea.”

“Oh, she knows the history,” Dottie chuckles. “Even the clown origins of it.”

“Clowns?” Hermione’s sure she must have misheard. “As in circuses and greasepaint?”

“You think superheroes are jealous over their disguises and costumes?” Dottie replies. “You don’t have anything on clowns, dear. Fiercely protective. They’ve had their own registry for over fifty years.”

“Huh.” She wonders if Bruce knows of this, then doesn’t. He’s Batman, of course he knows.

The caped version isn’t a fixed registry, either. Unlike clowns, superhero costumes and names do change. “More common than you’d think. As powers change, people change their costumes, names too.” She points to the new hero outside. “Most make their own. Part of the entry rites, I’d call it. Or get help from fellow heroes. A few go to professionals, and less said of that the better.”

Reddy, of course, is mentoring Maxine. YJ is likely when she’s older, or she might go west for Stargirl and the rumours of a re-emerging JSA. Dottie would hate to see her move from the coast. Hermione assures her it’s a nice town, and once her daughter gets the flying under control she won’t ever be far away.

Suddenly the duo outside speeds inside, and tromping feet are heard going upstairs. It would seem Max has the quick-change aspect for a costume down pat, as she’s back in less than a minute, Sam next to her.

Max is no longer in jeans and a tee. Now she’s a witch.

She’s an ardent Wizard of Oz afficianado, apparently. Max is a verdant Wicked Witch, complete with a loose green dress that’s nearly a cloak, wide-brimmed hat, and striped stockings. Margaret Hamilton would be proud.

Hermione does manage to keep her laughter contained. A metahuman who’s costuming as a witch, while a witch is costuming as a metahuman. Probably becoming fast friends. Oa, only in this community.

Sam and Hermione both give kudos to the attire, the latter adding she’s also a fan of the movie, books too. A ring reminder goes off during the comparisons between the two new costumes; there’s more scheduled for today.

Dottie takes them all back to the roof. “Drop in anytime, dear. You too, Teen Lantern.” She has a sigh. “Ma always wished there had been a Green Lantern in the Justice Society after the first Lantern went public. She would have loved you, a woman with this much power, flying across the stars.”

Hermione bubbles Sam up for the next stop, while the new hero and the hero-to-be wave goodbyes.

“Hey, we’re flying south! Not north!”

“Well spotted. I thought a quick stop in Greenwich Village would be useful to introduce you to a few further people in the city, and they to you.”

It’s a picturesque flight, with Central Park looking splendid this morning. Sam is awed by the size compared to Hyde Park. Hermione tells her ‘bigger’ is a common adjective for most of this country. Then makes a call. “Hi, it’s Greenie. I’m in town with someone I think you should meet. Rooftop okay?”

Sam listens on, quizzical expression obvious through her mask.

“Them too? Smashing. Five minutes and take the stairs, you need the exercise.” She cuts the line before the anticipated retort.

“‘Greenie?’”

“A professional associate’s nickname for me.”

“So what’s mine?” Sam suddenly looks worried. “I’m not going to let anyone call me ‘Teenie!’”

“I should hope not. Best to step out in front of that, create several you like and push them in conversations. Consider it homework. Anyway, that was Senior Agent Cameron Chase of the Department of Extranormal Operations. She knows who I am, she probably knows who you are. She’s good, that’s her job.” Hermione does a high-level overview of the DEO as Sam will be spending time in this country. Also of Minders.

And a particular friendly neighbourhood hero on the DEO rooftop. Spider-Man is here, along with their own Minder, Junior Agent Cliff Hansen. Cameron joins them just as the two Lanterns touch down, and Hermione does the introductions.

Sam can’t resist announcing the big news. “I just got my costume and name in the registry!”

“Did you now,” Cameron begins. Then holds off at Hermione’s glare.

Spidey offers congratulations. Donna had arranged for registry soon after the two had first met. Evidently there had been a hero known as the Tarantula from the JSA era, nothing closer and definitely nothing like Spider-Man’s costume. “Oh, and you should totally check out the Watchtower.”

“I think it’s on the list? GL?”

“It’s on the list.”

“You’re gonna love it. Well, most of it.”

Agent Hansen jumps in. “Did your spider-sense interact with the teleporters?”

“See! Cliff here thought of that!” Both Cameron and Hermione raise an eyebrow at the declaration. “Yes, it did,” the wallcrawler continues to their Minder. “Like an air horn in stereo. It was better on the return trip. Elevator music decibels.”

Hansen, Teen Lantern, and Spidey split off and begin conversing. Sam is curious about web-based travel and shows she can fly. To a degree. Enough for appreciative applause, anyways.

Meanwhile, the old(er) people have their own chat.

“Greenie, you keep bringing them in younger and younger.”

“Cameron, she’s to be fully enrolled in the Young Justice programme, no costumed action outside of it. Also, primarily during summer hols only. She’s still a full-time student.”

“She sounds like you… same school as well?”

“I couldn’t possibly comment, Agent Chase. Also, we sound nothing alike.”

“Yeah, right. So, a new Lantern. Not seeing a ring on her.”

“Don’t be daft,” Hermione scoffs. “It’s not like the Guardians hand them out to children.” She pauses. “I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”

“Sure did, Greenie.”

“We’ll do a proper follow-up down the road; today’s for welcoming greets. But she doesn’t need a Minder, Cameron. She’s got the Tornado for that, and a team to train with. I’ll be with her as well; there are aspects of her powers applicable to my own training experiences. Regardless, she’ll not be gallivanting in the States on her own, or at all, for years. Probably not until she graduates.”

Cameron’s been surveilling while listening. “I’ll bring it up with the boss, but yeah that sounds fine.” A long sigh from the agent. “British Invasion all over again. Think I’ll go do an interview with the new rock star.”

“Cameron.” Hermione’s tone slows her in mid-stride. “Good Cop only. It’s her first day. Don’t make it like ours was.”

“Me? I’m always Good Cop,” the agent says over her shoulder. “When Director Bones wants to talk, then you’ll get Bad Cop.”

Hansen is asking Sam questions, Sam is deflecting them, and Cameron is watching and critiquing both sides of the process. Improving Hansen’s extracting of information, offering tips for Teen Lantern’s protection of secrets.

Hermione drifts over to Spider-Man. “So, Penny.” She keeps her voice low and private. “How often are you webslinging over for rooftop chats with the ‘kinda cute’ agent?”

The mask conceals what Hermione’s sure is a blush. “Not every day,” she finally says, “And I think he is!”

“Be that as it may, he’s too old for you,” Hermione says without hesitation. “Your uncle will think the same. Readdress the matter only after you’ve got your first diploma. Or your second.”

“Yeah, Coach T said pretty much the same thing.” Penny’s slightly defeated posture adds to the confession.

“She’s rather smart, don’t forget. And I…” Hermione’s knows she needs to say these words, and hasn’t been looking forward to them. “I know I said I didn’t have time to mentor you, back when we first met. And now here I am mentoring someone, as you can see.” Hansen and Sam are still talking, and Hermione’s sure Cameron is listening in. “Teen Lantern’s powers are so similar to my ring that it needs to be me.”

“Well duh.” Not the reaction Hermione’d been expecting. “I get it. The gal here is Next Gen Lantern. Plus like you said then and now, the Coach is a better fit for me than you.”

“Thanks. And grand to hear the teleporter wasn’t as bad on the return trip.”

They watch as Sam creates a few basic constructs for the DEO agents.

“She’s doing pretty good.”

“I think so too. I think she’s going to be amazing.”

“Nope, not allowed. I got dibs on that adjective!”

An exit from the island to head north. Finally, in Sam’s sustained opinion. Ten minutes or so to Rhode Island, Hermione taking a leisurely pace for Sam to grow comfortable with high altitude travel over heavily populated areas.

Sam flies solo once over the mountain. Or performs a controlled decent from several hundred metres, to be accurate. She’s doing well, smooth and steady, Hermione praises. Certainly better than her own efforts early in Lantern training.

A wide hatch opens in the hard, brownish granite near the peak, and the two float down to ground level. Where they’re met by loud welcomes from heroes whose team makes this its headquarters, and which Sam is joining.

Just as boots hit the floor, a blur solidifies into the Fastest Boy Alive. “HiI’mBart!” is fired at Sam. Thankfully the handshake is at a far lower speed.

“Impulse. You’re Impulse.” Robin says, the words an audible representation of a facepalm. “We all agreed no secret identities today. This is a short get to know each other session. We’ll take off the masks next time.”

BartImpulse doesn’t look upset. “Whatever. I’m me, and it’s amzee you’re finally here!”

The sentiment is shared amongst all. Hermione knows they’ve been messaging, and that all have been looking forward to physical introductions. Red Tornado leads off with a formal welcome to the Secret Sanctuary.

Cissie is thrilled for an additional girl in the group. Virgil’s glad for a fellow energy-powers member to practice against. Tim and Cassie have been strategizing how a new flyer will fit into the team dynamic and expand its long-range reaction capabilities. Also happy for a new member too, of course.

Secret is simply happy. Hermione knows that she and Sam have been getting along well electronically, and though a hug isn’t possible the thought is there.

“Blimey. I mean, you said but you’re really a ghost!” Sam says; a big building with supernatural persons likely feels familiar to her. “And with a costume, that’s so different!”

“From what?” Robin asks, in an “I’m a detective, remember?’ manner. “You’ve met ghosts before?”

“Um. Maybe?” Sam looks to her mentor. “I read about them. Say, have you done the registry yet?”

She has, two weeks ago along with the (formerly) newest member of Young Justice, M’gann M'orzz. Aka, Miss Martian.

Sam takes an extraterrestrial in stride as well as she’d a ghost, except for… “That’s your code name? Seriously?”

“J’onn likes it. He’s the Martian Manhunter,” M’gann retorts. “And it’s not forever. I’ll be a Manhunter too when I’m ready.”

“Fair enough.” Sam makes a carefree shrug. “I’ll be surely changing mine once I’m out of my teens.”

“It does almost have a built-in expiration date,” Cassie notes. “Kinda clever.”

Sam notes that Miss Martian doesn’t wear a mask, and M’gann shows why she doesn’t need it by rotating her appearance through a dozen different faces.

“You’re a Metamorphmagus?” Sam gushes. “Wicked!”

“Metashatsis?”

Sam freezes for a moment. “Um, shape-changer!”

“It’s British slang,” Hermione confirms with a straight face.

As for the member sans mask or costume… Hermione’s feeling certain Zachary knows what’s behind Sam’s powers. He doffs his hat to Hermione, then does an old-school peck on Sam’s outheld hand. “Neither are needed for any of the Zatara,” he replies when she asks. “We conceal in plain sight, as my overly protective and unduly famous older cousin likes to say.”

“You… you’re wearing a dinner suit. Complete with tailcoat and gloves, dude.” Sam points out. Hermione also feeling certain nobody’s kissed her hand before, judging from the staggered words. “I’ll not be thinking you can well hide at all in that getup.”

“People are remarkably easy to distract and deceive. And you’d be surprised what magic can do. Or,” he adds with a quick wink, “perhaps you might not.”

Costume critiques lead to reviews of Sam’s efforts from veterans of youthful hero costume designing. Bonus points are offered for fabric choices and overall thematic linkage to her mentor’s own costumeuniform.

The Lantern and the Tornado observe at a safe distance. “Dottie called after you left,” the latter says. His stepsister, in a way that can make sense only in their line of work. “Max let me know that Sam is ‘da bomb,’ which I am hoping is a good thing.”

They’re all having a great time together and Hermione hates to draw this to a close. Curfew isn’t to be ignored, not on this first major outing. “You’ll be staying longer on subsequent trips,” she says to Sam. “Possible overnighting too if things go well.”

“They will,” Sam replies with confidence. Her teammates look equally assured, as does their advisor.

“I have no doubts myself.” The hatch in the ceiling is sliding open; Reddy’s doing she assumes as none of the kids are eager for anyone to leave. “Right, Teen Lantern, onwards we go! Our next stop is upstairs.”

Sam looks around, puzzled. “To the second floor?”

“Quite a bit higher,” and Hermione bubbles her in the level of protection needed for outer space. The Lanterns rise up and out to assorted cheers, along with waves and shouts from the new member.

Hermione does a rapid ascent through the clouds, then slows once out of the atmosphere. Sam grows quiet as the surroundings fade from blue to black. They do a slow lap around their planet, first Hermione calling out landmarks and then Sam taking over. The Sun sets behind them, and Hermione offers high marks as Sam picks out cities from their lights.

Then departure begins, and the Earth dwindles as the Moon becomes larger. Hermione maintains the slow pace, reducing chances of disorientation. A leisurely fifteen minutes estimated travel time.

Sam seems absorbed with the view, so Hermione makes a promised call. “Hi Flash. We’re on our way up.”

There’s gunfire and yelling on his end. “Roger copy, Lantern. Green Lantern, that is.” The gunfire becomes unrelenting. “Should be done with this… now.” The gunfire abruptly stops in the middle of the sentence and is replaced with assorted thudding sounds. Heavy bodies falling unconscious onto cheap rugs, and how bizarre is her life that she knows this?

“Hey, is everyone okay?” He must have left the comms on. “You sure? We’re gonna get you a ride to the hospital, just to check.” Police sirens are now loud and clear, and his voice returns just for her. “Gotta wrap this up, won’t take long. Seeya soon!”

It’s very possible Sam didn’t hear a word of it. She continues to stare at the shrinking Earth, till Hermione taps her on the shoulder and points to their growing destination.

Hermione talks of League histories, headquarters, memberships. Elements that Diana has shared, that Bruce has taught, that she’s read in logbooks and mission reports. She’s not expecting Sam to remember any of it, of course. Her version of a travelogue for the coach tour, adding background along the journey.

Around two hundred kilometres out, Hermione slips into a lunar orbit and calls out famous craters and seas. Then a deliberate trajectory adjustment so the Watchtower seems to emerge on the horizon.

“Helga’s Hearth, that’s a big castle!”

Hermione smiles. “It extends far underground as well.”

“Wicked!”

Hmmm. Helga, that’s a reminder. “As a suggestion? Try to drop referencing wizards or witches. I’d think it a dead giveaway of your real origins.”

“I can do that.” A beat, then, “Can I use yours?”

“I don’t think they’re copyrighted,” Hermione says. “Ones uniquely of your own would be better, obviously. Perhaps add it to the homework assignment.”

Sam makes a noise of agreement, her attention taken with the gleaming fortress. “Can we see this place from the Astronomy Tower?”

“Probably? It does glint in the sunlight. And there’s odd glistening around it when the force fields are at maximum. Consider it an addendum to the assignment.”

Hermione makes a second call once closer. “Green Lantern to Watchtower, Green Lantern to Watchtower.”

“Watchtower here, this is Fire on comms,” comes the quick reply. “Olá, GL.”

“Hello, Fire. Lantern plus guest inbound, requesting airlock clearance.”

“Take Airlock 2, GL; 1 is down for maintenance. Guest protocols active. Bring her over if you can, I’d love to meet your protégé.”

“Thanks Fire and will do. Lantern out.” That will work out well; Hermione had been hoping to introduce Sam to members beyond those from America.

Airlock 2 is indeed clear, and Hermione brings them inside. The massive door slides shut, and a red light above them strobes then changes to green. There’s a hissing sound as the opposite door opens, and Hermione lets the protective energies dissipate.

Sam takes her first steps on another world. Technically a satellite, but who’s counting. “Walking is funny. Like the gravity isn’t right.” She looks around at the corridor leading away from the airlock. “We should be lighter here, yeah? I read about that in a Muggle science book.”

“It’s artificial, to mimic Earth’s,” her mentor says. “Advanced spaceships use similar technologies. It might affect how your superpowers let you fly; we can look into that on our next trip.”

No ‘m’ word. Especially as Hermione has no solid idea how Sam’s magic actually works, except that ‘it’s magic.’ Not really an explanation, closer to an excuse.

“What’s that smell?” Sam takes a second sniff. “It’s kind of… not bad, just not normal.”

“Airscrubbers. You’ll get used to it.” Hermione has a slight shudder. “Trust me, when they’re failing it’s much, much worse.”

The hall leads into the Tower proper, and to many of its regular inhabitants. “Let’s show you around, shall we?” Starting with the Main Hall, and that enormous window. In a perfect confluence, as the Earth is low in the sky.

“Mer… Merciful, um, Emeralds.” Nice recovery there, Sam. “Everything else is grey and black, and all the colour is concentrated in that small circle.”

“Almost all the life in our system is concentrated there. A single small, fragile planet.” Hermione moves in front of her, not blocking the view. “This is what we’re protecting on the large scale. It doesn’t lessen protecting individual people, as you’ll not be saving the world anytime soon and that’s just fine! We all do our part, and all the parts are important. Got it?”

Sam has it. Hermione pulls her away towards the Monitor Room, where Bea remains at the chair. Hermione keeps her charge away from, well, anything that could be pressed or toggled accidentally, despite most switches having safety covers.

There’s a minor emergency in Mexico underway, as displayed on the main screen. Mentor and Mentee stay quiet as Bea coordinates Wonder Woman, the Hawks, and Black Canary on the scene. Dozens of heroes are visible on smaller displays working smaller events. Without context, it might appear the entire planet is engulfed in crime and destruction.

Hermione gestures to screens lining the room. “This is how we see the world. How we see how we’re needed.”

“That’s kinda scary,” Sam whispers.

“It can be, I shan’t lie. I’d hate to say I’ve gotten used to it. I’d like to think I’ve become better skilled, however. Like everything we do, we train and practice extensively first. Much like how you’ll be doing to gain better control over your powers.”

The Mexico incident doesn’t appear to be ending soon. Bea turns and waves, flashing the brilliant smile that’d made her famous long before gaining powers.

Hermione continues tour guide duty, making sure to mention the offsite training facility. “We’ll be doing serious training inside, where you can fully cut loose.” Sam’s eager for that.

The break room, an area not to be skipped in the short tour. Sam gets it immediately. “The common room for Cape House, yeah?”

“Exactly.” Spotless, and Hermione bets her first mentee, Captain Atom, is currently on the duty roster for cleanup. Two of her favourite House members are inside, laughing over fresh cartoons affixed to the refrigerator. Kara and Dick, who of course notice their entrance.

Her super-bestie goes first. “Hey there. Welcome to the Watchtower, Teen Lantern.”

“Hi. You’re Supergirl?” Hermione can understand the question in Sam’s reply. Kara has adopted a new costume this week.

“You betcha. What do you think?” It’s a dark blue full bodysuit with golden trim. Tall boots, gloves, and a sleek floor-length cape, all in crimson. The crest is the only ornamentation. Sam gives it high praise. “Seriously hard core,” and a thumbs up. Kara is delighted.

Dick remains in his current suit, far from the ‘disco trapeze performer’ version he’d begun post-Robin life with. “Hi. I’m Nightwing. Welcome to the Game,” and shakes her hand. Then asks how she’d liked seeing Young Justice, and her thoughts on being a newly teen hero.

It’s brilliant. They talk with her, not at her. Dick knows what it’s like to start this young and relates a few of his early Boy Wonder learning experiences to an enthralled Sam.

“Spaceflight?” Kara asides to Hermione. Dick is whirling his arms about for a tale of Robin’s initial aerial attempts for swinging across Gotham via batarangs and ropes.

“Not yet. Long duration flying isn’t there yet, and her protective field needs strengthening. Also, air generation. A rather vital aspect for those of us who can’t hold their breath for an afternoon.”

Sam’s at her side again. “We may have ways to work around that, don’t we?” Hermione asks her.

“You mean that… thing thing?” Hermione gives a nod. “Yeah. It’s a Sixth Year, uh, thing, but I’m studying up on it.”

Hermione’s leading Sam to the cafeteria when a voice calls to them from behind.

“Hi there.”

They turn to see a tall American chap in blue with a long red cape, who crouches down on one knee to gain eye level with Sam. Smiling a smile that Hermione remembers seeing when she’d woken up on the Moon, the day that she’d first met the League.

“You’re Teen Lantern, right? We’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Um. Yes. Hi?”

“I like your costume.”

“You do? I mean, Mum and Da did most of it. I wanted to…” She looks at Hermione. “I wanted to look like hers. Green Lantern’s. Not too much. I mean, I’m not her; she’s a real Lantern. She’s my hero. I wanted to do her proud.”

“I bet she’s proud. You’re all Green Lantern can talk about lately. She told us you were coming here today.”

She is. She’s very proud.

“It’s my first costume and it sucks and I’ll do it better but I haveta wait till after the term ends.” It’s possible she would go on, but he gently stops her.

“Hey.” He takes Sam’s hand. “It looks great, and don’t let anybody tell you otherwise.”

He shifts to a stage whisper. “Let me tell you a secret. My Ma and Pa helped me make my first costume too.”

“They did a good job,” Sam manages to get out.

“They did. Tell your folks that they did a great job with you. And on your costume as well.”

“Yeah. Yeah! I will!”

“Green Lantern, see you tomorrow at the table. Teen Lantern, it was a real pleasure and honour to meet you.” He shakes her hand. “Keep safe and do good, okay?” As always, his voice is one you trust implicitly. Like the finest of newsreaders and Oa, wouldn’t Clark be excellent at that, Hermione imagines.

He heads away, an effortless stride that’s ready to leap a tall building whenever needed.

“That… that was really…”

“It really was.”

Sam adjusts her mask. “He’s wicked cool.”

“He is indeed,” and the Lanterns watch the back of his cape as he walks down the corridor. “He’s Superman.”

The cafeteria is semi-crowded, making for a festival of dazzling colours and impressive physiques. Hawk and Dove might be arguing while eating, which is the norm for them. Hermione reminds herself to tell Dawn of finding the common Granger in their lineages. The Captain himself is dining with the League’s first Atom, who’s at full size.

Wally’s early for a change, waving at them from a table. He’s got that smile, and Hermione knows she’s mirroring it.

He’s in full costume, cowl down, and gets up when the ladies reach him. “Hey there kid, I’m the stringbean.” Oh, Wally.

“So you’re her boyfriend.” Sam conducts an appraisal before turning to Hermione. “You could do better.” All take seats, Hermione shaking her head and grinning.

Wally is doing similar. “I’m liking her more and more, hon.”

“You should. She’s had a busy day even without coming here.”

“Yeah?” Wally turns back to Sam. “Okay, let’s hear what’s gone down for New Lantern on the Block.”

Sam has had a lot going down today. “I met this girl who can make miniature cyclones, and we’re gonna be friends! And Young Justice, my new team! And Superman, I just met Superman!”

“Not bad.” Wally does a Booster Gold impression. “But now you’ve met… the Flash!”

Sam considers this for a moment. “Eh. What’s to eat here?”

Wally and Hermione laugh at that, and Wally gives her a high five. Then, as he always loves to do, there’s the fries not chips, and chips not crisps, routine. There’s a big plate of chicken wings already present, and he pushes it over to Sam. The gloves come off, in multiple meanings.

“Not bad. Is all American food this mild?”

Wally’s grin collapses. Hermione’s appears.

“Please, I grew up on vindaloo,” Sam says dismissively.

Wally directs his mock ire towards the elder Lantern. “You knew!”

“Of course. I practically burnt my tongue off the first time I visited her house. Her family’s correctly to be feared on the culinary front.”

“She likes to use big words,” Sam stage whispers to him.

“Yeah, she does.” Wally looks over Sam’s head and winks. “Still pretty great though, right?”

“Duh! She’s Green Lantern!”

Hermione carefully nibbles on a wing. “I need to take you to a favourite spot in the middle of America. There’s a version of tea that’s quite addictive.”

The rest of the meal goes splendidly. Sam finally admits the wings have heat; Wally admits to loving shepherd’s pie. A kiss on the cheek to her man, and he’s off for the rest of his own day. Not before reminding Hermione of Titan Togetherness Training this week.

“‘Titans?’” Sam asks. “Wait, are you on that team too?”

“First, points for a good notice,” Hermione says. “Second, in a way. Flash and I, and Supergirl, are doing teamwork practice with the Titans, as many of them will be in the League not long from now.” Hermione thinks a moment. “I’ll wager at least two before the end of the year.”

“Huh.” Sam considers this. “Then us kids from Young Justice move to become Titans later on, fill the gaps, yeah?”

“If they want. If you want,” knowing what she’s thinking. Hermione pulls them to a halt halfway down the residence wing. “This isn’t a non-stop train, like the Express. It’s a series of steps, where you can see what’s on each level and the levels ahead. I know I keep saying it, but there’s no fault in deciding that you’re content at any stage, or want to leave the stage altogether. Not all the current Titans want to join the League, and it’s wonderful they realise that.”

Sam, thankfully, does seem to get it. Not that this won’t stop Hermione from bringing it up again, many times. And she knows the Tornado will be doing likewise.

Then the final part of the tour: Green Lantern’s quarters. And drat. The banner, she’d forgotten about that banner Wally’d put up. Rather a spoiler.

Fortunately, Sam only has eyes for the symbol on the door, and the status dial which shows ‘Training.’ Which is accurate, in that she’s providing it.

Sam takes in the interior, gaze going first to…

“Awesome computer rig! What do you play?”

“Play? The Times crossword puzzle, occasionally.”

“That’s so sad.”

Teenage eyes move across the League proclamation, overstuffed bookshelf, and quilt of unearthly colours, to a very distinctive, very British honour. “Hey, isn’t that…”

“It is.”

“So Your Ladyship?”

“Yes. Not for wider publication, if you please.”

It’s next to a similar award from New Zealand. “Oh! From when you…”

“From when I, yes.”

“That’s where I want to get. I wanna be able to do that.”

“You will. Not today, not anytime soon. But you will.”

Pictures of her and Wally, her and Kara, her and Arisia.

Magical pictures too. Sam sees them and doesn’t see them. It’s possible they’re normal for her, not worth noticing their meaning towards the room’s occupant. The photos of Hermione’s friends from Out There draw stronger interest.

A running patrol schedule above her desk. An electronic whiteboard mounted to one wall, with precious empty space left on it. A map of the Milky Way on the opposite, a map of her sector beside it, handwriting on them both. Notes on her desk, on walls, everywhere.

All glossed over, as “Hey, that’s your Blue Peter Gold Badge!”

“Yes, that was a fun day.”

“I wrote you about that!”

“That was you?” Hermione wonders again at the hands of Fate in her life. The goddesses, not the Doctor.

“I saw you at Proms after that. We’d Apparated into London to watch it. You flew in, and it was so brilliant. We sang with you.”

“We all sang together. A special night.”

“I almost went green. Stuffed my hands in my coat, pulled down my hood till it went away. Came back, of course, which is why I wrote the second letter.”

“Good control, Sam. An important part of a secret identity.” Speaking of which…

“Lesson time. An important rule about secret identities, Teen Lantern. Dottie said it as well. You never ask who someone really is. You get offered the secret.” Hermione makes sure she has Sam’s attention.

“As I’m doing now.” She dissolves the mask, then after it’s gone shifts into a Harpies jumper and denim skirt.

“Hi Sam. I’m Hermione Granger. Nice to meet you.”

“Wicked!” Sam pulls off her own mask. “I read about you; you’re a witch like me!” Then the big realisation lands.

“You… you know Harry Potter!”

Hermione feels a laugh coming on and quashes it. “Yes I do. He’s my hero.”

Sam’s eyes are huge, then fall onto Hermione’s garb.

“Holyhead? Seriously?” Sam huffs disapprovingly. “Weasley’s an overrated publicity stunt. Puddlemere, that’s a real team. Wood’s aces!”

It’s night when Hermione returns Sam back to Hogwarts. The student is bouncing again, and Hermione expects utter collapse once she hits the bed.

Pomona’s there to greet them both and shoos Ms Howell inside. “No dawdling! Curfew in ten minutes, young lady!”

The professor smiles at Hermione. “Twenty, to be honest, but that should get her moving along. How did her day go?”

“She’s going to do great things, Pomona. The First Hufflepuff on the Moon, and that was just today. She’ll be flying there on her own before graduation, mark my words.”

“Minnie’s broken out the good stuff. Care for a tipple while you tell us what won’t be in the official reports?”

“I’ll meet you up there.”

A few days later, there’s a second discussion on how the day had gone. This one occurring deep underground in a cave.

Bruce is aware of the facts via his own sources. He’d also deduced Hermione would reveal her own identity to Ms Howell. He has greater interest in Hermione’s impressions, particularly concerning of heroic generational pathways.

Of which Hermione feels as strongly as he does. “We, the community as a whole, we appear to be on the same page. Beyond here, possibly; I hope I convinced the Avengers of it too. I doubt we’ll find if I was successful.” (She’ll discover the truth not too long from now)

“Regarding our new entrant? I feel it went well. I believe I got across she doesn’t need to do this, especially if she feels the drive is to honour her hero.”

Both are adamant that the League can’t, won’t, end as the Justice Society had. “The world’s different from then. So are its threats. Planning for the future is as important as what we do in the present,” as Bruce states, and Hermione agrees.

This extends to planning for her own future. “I’m not going to be Green Lantern forever. The next Lantern for this sector isn’t likely to be human, either. That someone could follow me and be dedicated to this planet, feels grand. Sam can be a full-time superhero for Earth.” Which Hermione can never be, both know.

Both also know much of these sessions are part of Bruce training her, as Batman won’t be around forever either. She’s aware he has plans for how Green Lantern and Hermione Granger will fit into the next generation of the League. Several of the plans, she’s worked out. A couple of them, she won’t learn of for years. The most important of them, she’s close to figuring out on her own. It helps that she’s her own parallel musings of its necessity.

Not to be sussed today, however. “You’re enjoying having someone like her,” Bruce notes. “Not exactly a sidekick, still someone you can instruct, pass on your knowledge. Share your experiences.”

“I am.” The admission is easy.

“Through children as well? You and Wally?”

“Perhaps. You and Selina?”

“Touché.” They clink cups.

Hermione takes a drink; Alfred’s coffees rival his teas. “I’d not imagined Green Lantern would get this opportunity, save for training a recruit to the Corps. But yes, it feels good. Also that we share a background, fellow witches from Hogwarts.” Hermione smiles. “We speak the same lingo, as you Yanks might say.”

Soon, Green Lantern’s prepares to fly home after a well-deserved thanks to Mr Pennyworth. Stray thoughts continue to coalesce while standing near the subterranean lake. “Introducing Sam to this odd little community, talking with her parents so none of it was unexpected, that felt good too. I’m trying to be the mentor I never really had when introduced to Wizarding Britain. It might have been wonderful if my parents could have visited my school, for example, also seen what that society was like, warts and all.”

“What’s stopping you from doing it now?” Bruce asks. He’s activated the rotating platforms to select the batmobileautomobile to be used in tonight’s patrol.

“Well, for one, the horses have long since left that barn, and for another…” Ah. She gets it. “You don’t mean my old life, do you.”

“‘Well spotted,’ Granger. You’ve been doing this for over a year now. I imagine you’re good enough to have civilians accompany you on a pre-arranged, low-risk day on the job?”

Chapter Text

The first mention had occurred not long after Hermione’d revealed her new job to her parents. Relating of her initial patrols, of the people she’d met and friends she’d made. This expands to mentioning planets she’d saved, invasions she’d thwarted. “So a typical day out walking the beat,” from her smiling Mum.

Several patrols later, “How was your day at the office?” laughingly greets her when she drops in, and “Any chance we can get a tour of the building, meet your co-workers?” Part of which happens when Arisia joins the American Caravan for a night.

Actually taking them out to see her work, however…

There’s historical precedent in the family, to be sure. Little Hermione had watched her parents at their dental practice, studiously taking notes and reading Essentials of Dentistry so she can follow what’s happening. Which had helped when they’d explained the need for braces, and waiting until she’d stopped growing for corrective measures. Intellectually she’d understood. Emotionally, yet another strike against happy school days for a bushy haired, bossy, bucktoothed know-it-all with the funny name.

At least her parents could see her in school back then. After her letter, they’d never had the opportunity to visit, unlike parents with magic. Barely an opportunity to see that society in the single shopping trip, and a splendid day that had been. Two pillars of the magical community brawling like hammered football hooligans; looking back, it should have been indicative of what’s to come.

They’d not even been permitted to attend her (final) graduation ceremony. Nor see her Ministry office, as depressingly banal as that had rapidly become. No, Hermione’s not at all still bitter about any of that.

Visiting Granger & Granger Dental Clinic had been one matter. Visiting Sector 2814, or specifically venturing outside the world they’re accustomed to… Well, it should be feasible. Not overly hazardous, she believes. Besides, it’s a patrol. Sure, out in space, yet safer than practically any of Hermione’s League missions. As they’ve seen from watching her on telly.

The League is different than the Corps. Not her job, for starters, closer to a passionate hobby. They’ve met several of its members, Wally and Kara most numerously. Her boyfriend and her super-bestie, less that they’re League superheroes.

With the League, there’s always an element of danger. She doesn’t patrol a city like so many of her colleagues; she responds to emergencies and large-scale threats with them. And so each outing is nearly guaranteed to be hazardous. The reason why the Tower has such an elaborate med bay with so many beds.

Her job isn’t like that. As a Lantern, Hermione often has days of patrols go by without cause to brightly ignite her ring, either for battle or for emergencies.

Hermione discusses it with her space-bestie, who’s a little bemused as she’d assumed Hermione’d done it already. Arisia’d taken her own out the first month, part of the family tradition of service in the Corps. No attacks from stellar monsters, either. “Well, not that many. Six. Six swarms. Like I said, nothing at all!” as her sister Lantern’d maintained. Having her primary parents along, cheering their daughter, had made it special too.

A calm patrol, for Arisia’s sector. Hermione’s coming to believe it could be the same in her own and with her own family.

Well. Let’s get planning.

Verifying there is actual interest, and not a matter of levity, to start with. Hermione waits for the next light-hearted post-patrol query and asks them both to sit. Then, asks if they’d like to accompany her on one. No, not joking.

“I’m serious,” Hermione continues to the semi-stunned reaction. “If you really want to see a sample of my job, that side of my life, I’m ready to make it happen.”

The discussion becomes interesting after that. Prior to any commitment, there’s talk of safety. Oa, is there talk of safety. It’s not like police officers let their parents ride in the back when chasing after crooks.

Which wouldn’t be the case, their daughter gently rebuts. They know what can happen when she’s on duty; Hermione’s not shied away from sharing what her job can entail. “This won’t be without a level of risk. Nonetheless, I’ve been doing it for over a year,” she insists. “I can plot to expect little to no intense activity, where you can see what I do the majority of my time in space. Guardians know you see enough of me fighting on this world as it is.”

“That’s depressingly true,” Wendell says, and Monica loudly concurs. “How would you rate this compared to, say, motoring in America?” There hadn’t been any accidents, thankfully. A few close calls, yes.

“Less. Imagine if we’d driven purely based on the fewest reported incidents. Which is what we’d be doing; routine check-ins, almost like driving over to see the neighbours. I’m certainly not going to take you to any of the areas I think are heating up.” Hermione’s not sure if adding this will be positive or not, but… “Batman of all people suggested it. Trust me when I say he’s not one for wanting civilians endangered.” Particularly parents.

She moves onto the sofa between them and takes their hands. “I get if you don’t want this. You know what I do on Earth with the League. I want to show you what Lantern Granger does in her sector.”

Also, she owes this to them. They’d not been allowed to see her life as a witch, and yes part of that’d been her own doing. They deserve to see a galaxy filled with wonders, see what she gets to experience Out There. See where humanity is headed.

Drat. They’re doing that looking at each other and not talking bit, and worse are doing it literally over her head. Monica breaks first.

“Honey, we’re not saying no. Or yes, at least not yet.”

“Honestly, I’d be worried if you’d jumped into it immediately, Mum. There’s no rush.”

“And we’d be proud to see our daughter at work. Hermione, you have no idea how proud we are of you, regardless if there’s a ring in your hand or a wand.”

“Not that you need either to be our hero.” No, she’s not tearing up. Nor are they.

“Flying around in space, landing on new worlds, meeting unusual people. Bit like being a Dr Who companion for the day?”

“Much, much less likelihood of danger, Dad. Or attacks from latex monsters.”

Wendell gives her the Father Knows eye. “So, tell us all about the plans you’ve already made for this. What version are you on?” He manages to keep his grin under control.

“Just 2.5,” Hermione admits. After a short pause, “Actually, it became 2.6 while we were talking.”

That unleashes giggles from all around.

The big day comes that weekend. Plenty of time to prepare with assorted snacks, both for them and for offering to people they’ll encounter. The Wilkins are only partially perturbed at the sugar contents of Hermione’s favourite items, which include jaffa cakes and two bulbs of sweet tea. They have their own suggestions, which aren’t better in their daughter’s estimation.

Everyone agrees to consider this to fall under the holiday dieting rules and lets the matter rest.

Additional preparations include reviewing the selected worlds and inhabitants, using pictures Hermione’s taken. The planned flightpath, displayed on a ringed-up map of first the galaxy then Sector 2814, and distances involved. Not exactly a drive round the block to the chemists, as Mum puts it. (Hermione doesn’t mention that for her, it is essentially just that)

Layered clothing. Comfortably shoes. Phones charged and ready for snaps. Standard travel tips.

Hermione arrives in the morning at their usual rendezvous at Royal National Park, and as advised they’ve skipped breakfast. They’ll do a light meal at the first stop. Also, hyperspace might not go over well. Ollie had shared his first experience when Hal had been at the ring, and it’d been messy. The chili from earlier likely hadn’t helped.

She’s carried them before, so nothing new as they go atmospheric then farther. A quick lap, a habit for luck unless there’s rush, then off past the Moon. Green Lantern’s already signed out for the day; Hermione reconfirms her status with Diana in the Monitor Room as they fly by. Kara and Clark are performing exterior maintenance and wave to the trio as they accelerate to interplanetary speeds.

The greatest hits, as Hal had first them described to her. Mars, several asteroids, Jupiter, and Saturn. Then on to Neptune and Uranus. Assorted comets along the way as they leave the solar system. Sustained gasps from the newcomers as they travel; Jupiter does that to a person.

Venus is skipped. “Like I said, I want to keep this safe. There’s no conceivable manner in which Venus could ever be considered remotely safe.”

Out on the fringes the Kuiper Belt, Hermione verifies her tripwires. Intrinsic-level constructs to detect gravity shifts, she explains, such as large amounts of mass moving about or items traveling through our system unexpectedly. “Most of what’s out here is in the database and ignored unless they stray from their orbits. Ditto asteroids.”

Space is flat enough for regular hyperspace travel at this point. Time for the travel advisory from their pilot. “This will feel very weird. Not dangerous, mind you. Just very, very weird.” Hermione moves inside the bubble to reassure the two. “Ready?”

They assure her they are, and Hermione knows they really aren’t. Nobody ever is.

The feeling is familiar to her. Not so much for them. A short hop, which does make it go over better. “We’re here. You both okay?”

“That… that was bracing. Extraordinary,” Monica says after a moment. “Not what I’d call it!” Wendell responds. Then, to his daughter, “It gets better?”

“I’d call it something you get used to,” Hermione says. “A large part of training was simply getting used to it.” She points at the bright star ahead. “Let’s do a rest stop over there. I call it Wally’s World.”

This is where she’d taken him for a special birthday celebration last year, Hermione adds. Possibly the safest world she’s been to, “a couple of hundred million years or so before anything starts walking on land.” And a pleasant place for a light snack and recovery from their first interstellar passage. Shortbread biscuits, jaffa cakes, and tea, while Hermione talks of patrolling.

Full days in her sector comprise no less than a score of systems; thirty if all’s smooth. Not including recons of worlds without life or systems without planets. Yes, a Lantern does have to keep an eye on those too. Half days, a dozen roughly. And of course increasing number of overnight stays she’s been lately. Good for cultural learning (on both sides) as well as reinforcing her commitment to all worlds, not just the primitive one with the funny name.

Spontaneous trips, lasting an hour or so? Three or four, six if all’s quiet. Sometimes just a single system. ‘Surprise inspections’ as Captain Atom might call them. “Oh, he’s turned out to be rather decent,” Hermione includes. “American and military, but he gets what the Corps is about.”

Perhaps a solitary repeat visit on a patrol. The rest are new locations, or new to her. She does the reading on each beforehand, as much as is possible. Hal’s old reports are always fun to review, and Abin’s offer insight into a truly remarkable Lantern who’d been taken too soon.

No new systems for their outing, no surprises being the watchword. Likely no First Contacts either. When possible, she’s prepared for those after keeping a careful eye for readiness. And still they happen without warning roughly once a week. Those are always singular, wonderful events, and often take up the remainder of a patrol.

Otherwise, durations largely depend on the world; identifying those requiring more of her time is a large part of planning. Unless there’s a situation demanding her attention, Lantern Granger stays as long as she’s needed, or feels is beneficial. Oa knows, she’d love to stay on each for days, if not weeks. It’s like trying to read through an infinite library. Well, not quite infinite.

“About thirty billion stars in my beat, nearly five billion cubic light years,” Hermione points out. “So if I don’t get to a planet I’d planned for that day, I work them in the next patrol. I’m not likely to ever run out.”

She’s mentioned the numbers to her parents before. Now, on different planet, the magnitude of her job sinks in. It had been similar for Recruit Granger, reading of them in classroom instruction and then flying across multiple stars and grasping the enormity.

A final item before they leave: recharging her ring. Her parents know the words, and for a spell a green planet becomes greener still.

She eases the Wilkins into their second hyperspace journey, then a dozen further to systems that should only warrant a flyby. Cold collections of gas and dust, freshly ignited stars shining on coalescing planetoids, and dramatic, vibrant worlds lacking intelligent life. Yet.

The parentals offer appreciative sounds as they fly over continent-sized swamplands where the dense atmosphere has allowed insects to attain cyclopean dimensions. “Like watching a fantasy film,” as Wendell remarks.

Then worlds awaiting a First Contact, ideally from their neighbours as Hermione describes. A Lantern being their initial introduction usually means planetary calamity, as she’d learned in her own experience. They (stealthily) witness intelligent life at various levels of technology; a history show now, except the cast isn’t human. She records verbal notes on individual statuses, extensively so for civilisations on the cusp. At her prompting, the Wilkins add their own as well.

Hermione performs mild orbital adjustments at these systems, catching anything that might wipe out intelligent life. “My version of checking for cavities. Everybody deserves a chance,” she says while nudging a giant asteroid a few degrees. If sapient life hasn’t evolved, she doesn’t tamper with anything unless it would eradicate all life on a world.

Her call. “For all I know, if the Lantern of our sector had diverted the asteroid that wiped out the dinosaurs, they might have become the dominant sapience and not us.” She shakes her head as they watch what would have been a planet-killer instead on its way to becoming a bright light in the sky hundred years from now. “I don’t know, it’s too big for me.”

“Honey, that’s too big for anyone,” Monica says simply. “Interesting your Guardians devolve decisions like this to field agents,” Wendell adds, “They put a tremendous amount of trust in you.”

Hermione’s well aware of that and doesn’t quite chuckle. “That’s putting it mildly. Dad, we’re issued rings that can crack open planetary crusts, no asteroids needed. You bet they’re trusting us.”

The routine out of the way, time for lunch on perhaps her favourite place to visit in her sector. Hermione’s home away from home, Caudatia Prima. She’s talked of the people here frequently and Monica and Wendell are also eager to see this world.

She’d done a fast drop-in yesterday, so the arrival isn’t unexpected. The timing works out well, as Captain Lissam’s latest exploration voyage had returned a few hours ago. The welcomes are as welcoming as always, yet not without a snag. Namely, translations between Caudat and English. Oops. Hermione’s ring provides earbuds and throat mikes for the Earthlings, and that immeasurably improves relations between Lissam’s broodkin and Hermione’s, er, parents. No brood, not yet.

There’re new hatchlings to fawn over as they chase after a scampering green otter construct. Juveniles (plus adults) are eager to see if their mammalian friend has brought chocolate biscuits along. Which she has, and they have berrystrips she’d not tried before. Her parents get loads of attention, as only the second and third sentient mammals on the planet.

This being a civilian visit, Hermione’s shifted out of uniform and into similarly casual clothing. The two starfarers observe the interspecies interactions and trade information while trading snack items. “We heard about the empty extragalactic vessel. I have a worrisome scent on my tongue about it, Hermione, like a tail that’s grown back wrong.”

“All of the Lanterns who were there feel the same, Liss. Us mammals, we’d say our hair is standing up. Something’s not right about any part of this.” Hermione asides that she’ll be stopping by today before returning to Earth. “I’m keeping this patrol to low-risk spots, and a dead ship feels pretty secure.”

Lissam hisses with amusement. “You do enjoy tempting the galaxy to spin in reverse, don’t you?”

The meal at their large (and growing larger) habitat is amazing. With a larger number of Caudatians as well; members from the extended brood-family, Lissam says. Monica and Wendell manage to fit in quite well with their own First Contact, Hermione’s proud to notice. Oa knows they’ve had enough unusual occurrences in their lives to prepare them.

When it ends, Polliss, the eldest of the brood, has a special announcement. They would like to make what is informal to be formal, and to officially meld the Wilkins-Granger brood to their own.

Hermione tears up, and so do those around her regardless of their species. She’s held these people as family for a long time, and they for her. To make it official, however, that’s huge in this society. It makes a godparent akin to the forgotten person you’d chatted with once on the Tube.

She turns to the Wilkins, who are holding hands and nodding. “On behalf of my brood, we are honoured to accept.” There’re probably proper words to use here, and drat she’d not read up on it. Dial up the Gryff courage, draw on English Lit, and fly forward. “Know that from now until the end of our stars, there is always a part of my planet that is yours,” she continues. “Wherever I go, you go with me. If I should fall, know that somewhere there will be a green pasture that is for ever Caudatia.”

Neither Brooke nor Blake have cause to worry, but it does get a favourable response.

There’s enthusiastic talk of a reciprocal visit. Probably via Lantern Express as a large cruiser entering Earth orbit might cause alarm. Astronomers upset at ruined viewing, for starters. They’ll work the details out later. For now, three mammals relax in the warm sun for post-meal basking alongside their newly bonded kin.

“I assume that wasn’t part of your plans?”

“What? No! I mean, I’ve been made to feel part of Lissam’s fam for ages, Mum, they’ve always treated me as such from the first. What they just did… this would be a signature event if it’d been with a fellow Caudatian brood.” There’s a great deal of genetics involved as well as social customs, Hermione clarifies. “Not the pure-blood rubbish, Mum; there’s real science behind their family organisations.”

She gives them a glace, and they shoot through hyperspace. No discernible ‘jetlag’ after, so she goes on. “That they would offer bonding to people who can’t continue their broodline, that’s unheard of from what I remember. It’s going to be serious news when it breaks.”

“Along with the pictures of you playing with the kids. I’d never thought of reptiles as cute before, but they were adorable. And you looked very comfortable with children, dear,” and both she and Wendell share a smile all parents possess when thinking of a universal magic word: grandchildren.

Hermione’s seen it on several occasions, notably after dinners where Wally’s present. “We’ve, ah, discussed the matter,” she confesses. “Marriage comes first. As do our respective occupations.” That seems to placate them. For now.

And Clark thinks he has a never-ending battle.

Right. Time for to show them proper science fiction. The Orlanan Primacy.

She takes a slow approach inward, plenty of time for the sensor nets to identify her. No surprise inspections today. They pass numerous starships and heavily developed planets, each beringed with glistening satellites and orbital docks, on their way to Orlana Prime.

“This is what we can be one day,” she says as they take it in. “It’s what the BBC would have loved to do for the Doctor if they’d had an American defence budget for special effects.”

Nothing compares to their destination, where gleaming cities larger than Europe touch the sky. There’s a thick belt around the equator, a metallic ring high in geostationary orbit. Dozens of stalks connect it to the surface, each a transportation lift. Ships of all sizes dock along the ring. “No loud, messy rockets needed to go into space. All making this a major commercial centre for the region.”

Her ring pulses. Huh. There’s a message looping on a special frequency. Shandra’s here, their version of an ‘I’m free if you’re free’ text. Normally, Hermione’s always pleased to see them. Today, however, perhaps she should… no. Shandra’s not a secret to be hidden away. Hermione’d told her parents about them.

Well, not perhaps all about them. There’d been blushing enough as is with what she’d shared.

Hermione sends a response query for a location fix. And the equivalent of a flower emoji. “I just got a note there’s a friend here I’d like you to meet. Aaaand…” The reply is what she’d hoped for. “They’re on the ground. Which is good, as the belt itself is a bit boring, to be honest. Like an airport terminal that goes on forever.”

Green Lantern and company land in a major city a few kilometres from one of the stalks. She gets a few looks, a few cheers, and everyone goes about their business. It’s that kind of world. Hermione loves it. Also that humanoids aren’t unusual, nor are beings who could easily pass as human. Nothing is unusual here. The veritable definition of cosmopolitan.

Of high-tech too, she says as they make their way to the café. The uniform is stowed away; Hermione’s here, not Green Lantern. “Not the magical level of science on Oa and worlds, where they might as well be using wands,” and she can see they get it.

This is closer to what humans imagine of the future. “This is what people like Carol and Hal and Lena are taking us to.” Then, to their questioning eyes, “Lena Kieran. Kara’s steady, serious, and incredibly brilliant girlfriend. Wally and I have double dated with them several times.”

The weather is a trifle dry and oxygen heavy, but it’s a compromise. Hermione takes them to nearby aerial slidewalks so they can take in the spectacular views without worrying over walking. Such as the stalk itself, a thin mountain goes up forever.

And speaking of spectacular, Shandra’s directly ahead.

Her parents have seen pictures of them, though Shandra’s altered their fore-mane to a blueish hue since they’d last met up. The two have a long embrace, followed by kisses. Cheeks only. Hermione performs introductions and it isn’t as awkward as she’d feared.

Light chatter for a light meal, no worries of mistranslations or biological incompatibilities with Shandra. No overt mentions of capers or cons either, only a few fun tales of their adventures together along the lines of Robin Hood. Nothing her parents aren’t aware of, except that Shandra’s a far superior storyteller than their daughter. It might be the aromatic floras on the table that help.

Hermione’s turn to share news from their last stop, and Shandra’s properly impressed. “Congratulations, sweetie!” and there’s likely further except that’s when the screaming starts.

Floating hologram screens appear, several the size of jumbotrons. Each displays live video of a global disaster in progress. A docking gone horribly wrong, a major segment of the belt in jeopardy, an orbital lift three times longer than Earth about to collapse.

Time only for a handful of words. “Shandra. Protect them. And yourself!” Then Hermione is into the air, an emerald streak that resolves into Green Lantern as she reaches the impact zone forty thousand kilometres up and eleven thousand west along the belt.

Automatic repair mechanisms and emergency force fields have activated, rescue vessels are on the way. They’ll help. They won’t be enough.

Prioritisation. Hundreds in the damaged stalk, thousands on the gargantuan cargo ship, additional thousands in the belt where it had crashed. Millions below. Numbers versus time, who needs saving first, who can wait as their danger isn’t immediate.

Constructs of structural support beams and pressure plating, keeping the ship and the belt intact. Inside, and evacuating people by the hundreds into gigantic shelter cubes she forms one by one. Pulling personnel and their gear from the rescue ships in with them. As each area is emptied, killing power systems and exposing flames to space.

The Lantern sees the stalk detaching. It can wait. Further beams race across the belt, dampening out vibrational shocks before they can harmonise and tear the entire structure apart. Replicate down along the lifts, ensure they aren’t swaying beyond material tolerances. A quick examination shows the counterweights extending past each stalk are stable.

Confirmation from her ring that the megastructure is now holding steady. Time for that collapsing stalk, on the verge of tearing apart as it twists violently. A race down the length, and halfway to the surface firing a green lance at the anchor station. The light strikes, then flows up along the stalk, carefully straightening as it goes and ensuring people in the carriages aren’t injured. Following along the enveloping light, then as both reach the summit constructing cables to hold it in position.

Her ring doesn’t show anyone she’d missed. A check with her version of med bays; as per the medicos she takes the evacuated to a waiting hospital plaza. Hundreds of casualties. No deaths so far, thank the Guardians.

Back into the sky. That ship needs relocating, and she pulls it out and pushes into a higher orbit. Force fields close behind her own plating. Engines are safed and dark, excellent work from the crew.

Debris is everywhere. Belt personnel are on it, Green Lantern isn’t needed. She gets signals from the harbourmasters who’ve reached the scene. Coordinating with them as they instal their own emergency supports and reattach the stalk.

One by one, the Lantern withdraws her constructs over the long hours; you simply don’t rush this kind of recovery. Testing at each stage, and only two times she needs to rapidly redeploy her supports. All live on the big screens, as Shandra calls to let her know. Everyone’s safe where they’re at. And quite proud of their Lantern.

Deep breathes, and Hermione Granger slowly returns. When the training kicks in like this, it’s very much Green Lantern in action. Not in a Stevensen or Dr Banner & the Green Troll kind of way. Only that the twenty-something ex-witch must completely focus on applying the skills, and only think about how incredible and scary it is after her job is over.

Like what’s happening around her. All quite sci-fi, astonishing yet not fantastical. What her ring can do, that’s Oan levels of unimaginable. What’s happening around her, how they’re dealing with the aftermath, is just on the edge of imaginable. She can see humans doing the same at Earth. Not in her lifetime, obviously. But it will happen.

Hermione does a few flights across the belt, getting waves from portals as she speeds along the circumference. Scans show the Orlanans build well, repair better. Belt headquarters issues thanks, and that they have it from here. Ta, and a dive into the atmosphere. A good many people also with thanks as she lands.

Including three people watching from the periphery. The crowds lessen shortly, and Green Lantern goes off duty. Hermione makes her way over after returning to her secondary uniform of jeans and cardigan, for a trio of passionate hugs.

“That hadn’t been planned either,” Hermione says after collapsing in a chair. Food is pushed to her, lovely. Those grilled blue algae steaks that a certain someone knows she loves, and a flagon of spiced Kaplactian tea.

It had been fascinating to watch, she’s told. “Sexy as hell,” Shandra adds, and By the Battery Hermione doesn’t want to know what the table talk had been like while she’d been working.

Danger? No, none of the three had thought themselves to be in danger. “Green Lantern was there for us,” Monica says.

“For everyone,” Shandra affirms. “Your daughter’s pretty good at her job.” They pause, and they smile that smile. “For a rookie.”

“Oi!” Hermione gives her former lover a mock glare. “A year plus with this ring, I’ll have you know!”

“Oh, we know. We’ve been talking. Not a rookie with lightning boy either?” Shandra’d seen them together during their dating interviews, and the three had thoroughly discussed Mr West (and Ms Granger) once the situation had been declared as under control. Shandra is adamant that they need to finally meet him and won’t let the arrival of clumsy criminals impede them this time.

Hermione has a retort at the ready when Wendell spots fresh crowds gathering. Reporters, Shandra notes, and adds they’d rather not appear on large screens. Perhaps not until the financial centres of a few dishonest, disgusting people close tomorrow.

It’s the least Hermione can do. Hugs, whispered words, and a uniform returns as Green Lantern very conspicuously takes the Wilkins into the air and towards the ravening hordes. No one is interested in who’d been with them moments before.

Despite the alterations to the plan, Hermione is certain all most some of the remaining scheduled events will happen. All routine stops, honestly! Hopefully to stay routine, too.

Off to Sector 2819 and the Obleron system, where she shows off the progress for Sector House 282. Next week she’s budgeting for a full day’s worth of inspection and familiarisation. “As you should whenever buying a new house,” Monica says and Hermione nods despite never having done so.

Exo-framework complete and anchor holding. Interior carved out, artificial gravity installed, and the hundreds of habitat infrastructures coming along nicely. “Our precinct house and convention hall rolled into one. Trade outpost too,” she says while orbiting them around the refitted asteroid. “Our own town. We’re allowed to customise our House as we see fit. Sort of in keeping how Lanterns manage their sector. I’ll bring you out for lunch once we’re settled in, you’re going to love it!”

On to Eerlik, as she’d told Lissam. A solidly advanced world, advanced enough to have spotted an unlit vessel entering the Milky Way from the black intergalactic void. No power, no life, no crew or crew logs. Nothing except a mystery. A most disquieting one.

“This is also what the job’s like,” Hermione says. “The puzzles don’t always fit together neatly. This one, it’s like several puzzles mixed together and lots of the edge pieces tossed in the bin.”

One piece, however, has been found. “Assuming no trajectory adjustments between, ah, galaxies,” the lead scientist begins. No one is used to using ‘galaxies’ in the plural when talking of spaceflight.

A tentative nibble of a jaffa cake, then a second as ancillary tentacles reach for another. “We believe we have an origin. The Lesser Shade of Declination.” Or the Small Magellanic Cloud, as the ring translates. 200,000 light years distant. Definitely not a stroll out to the chemist, not even for a Lantern.

“This… none of it feels good,” Hermione says as they depart. “Like this is only an opening salvo, and we don’t know of what.”

Not a pleasant thought. Fortunately, she’d arranged for a pleasant way to end the day.

A second trip outside her sector, to 2815 and Graxos IV for dinner with her space-bestie and her family. Monica and Wendell know of the Rrab dynasty. As Hermione’d said after Arisia’s guest starring appearance during the caravan, “Her family is rich. As in Windsor family rich.”

A low-key affair for the Rrabs, their version of the diner they’d taken Arisia to. No parades, no multicourse extravaganzas, no orchestral accompaniments. No disguises necessary as the Rrab’s own the restaurant. There’s a good assortment of Earthly snack items that hadn’t been partaken of, which are donated to the impressive tapas-like arrangement.

The parents delight in sharing childhood stories of their heroic daughters over scrumptious, and utterly unidentifiable, desserts. The daughters in turn have their own tales of how the parents had reacted to their new jobs. Arisia furthermore tells of her own patrolling parentals, and Hermione relates today’s abbreviated version of the same.

The Wilkins offer an invitation to visit their own home, which is promptly accepted. The daughters exchange looks; this will require a great deal of coordination. And additional knit caps to hide distinctive ears.

One final leap into hyperspace, and the patrol grows to a close.

“And this wasn’t a typical day?” asks Wendell as they fly over the South Pole and towards Australia.

Hermione laughs. “This was a quiet day, very quiet. As calm as I could make it, despite the midday actions. I would never take you on a typical day.”

On the drive back to Sydney from, she elaborates. “Typical days can be quiet, sure. Or they can be non-stop battles. We skipped asking of the latest news, the latest rumours, getting a sense of possible disturbances. There’s no small measure of poking around, seeing if I need to take action. Or implementing said action. Fortunately, a stern talking to often prevents outbreaks of idiocy.”

Crookshanks is waiting for their return, and purrs loudly in her arms when it’s evident Hermione is staying the night. She jots a few notes from the day’s events, and yes that’s a standard part of a patrol to be followed by full reports for the Corps and the League. Monica is opening a fine bottle of a local Shiraz, Wendell fetches glasses, and Crooks does his best to interfere with the recording of interstellar activities.

Toasts all around. To an interesting day. To seeing their daughter at work and being so proud of what’s doing. To parents trusting their daughter, and who loves them very much.

Mrow! Yes, also to familiars who hate being left behind.

Chapter Text

“Hermione! Please, come on in.”

“Thanks, Nadya. Good to see you. Is that a new couch?”

“Good eye, and good to see you too. You’re looking well, no injuries?”

“A few bruises, nothing major. As the saying goes, you should see the other guys. And their starships. Idiots, all of them.”

“Would you like to talk about what happened?

“Not particularly. Trivial affair, to be honest.”

“I’ll take your word for it. How are you feeling today?”

“Bruises aside, rather pleasant. I’ve been sleeping well. No nightmares. None of note, at least.”

“Unusual dreams either, like the ones you brought up featuring the raven?”

“None I can recall. I haven’t seen Matthew anywhere, um, else either.”

“What would be your reaction if you did, Hermione?”

“Hmmm. Favourable, I suppose. We got along well. Perhaps nervous should he be acting as a messenger. I’m not sure how much I enjoy mysterious supernatural beings entering my life on occasion, to be honest. Certainly not what I signed up for when I earned my ring.”

“That seems reasonable, from what you’ve said. From your description, Matthew does seem a decent enough person. Bird.”

“I’m not sure he’s either, Nadya. But I concur.”

“I’m glad you’re sleeping well. Anything while awake, sudden anxieties you want to talk about?”

“I feel like I’m making progress. They’re so infrequent that just when I think I’m fine, I see a swinging chandelier or someone drops a glass. Or an ugly tattoo, or ones with scrawled letters. I see that word, then blink and the actual word is there as it should be.”

“You used the exercises?”

“I remembered them this time, but didn’t need to call on them. I feel it happening and it’s over when before I need to draw on them.”

“And…?”

“And yes, I know I’ll never be completely fine. No one’s ever completely fine.”

“And there’s nothing wrong with that. You had an extraordinarily complicated and difficult childhood, Hermione. That you’re the person you are now is frankly incredible, ring or no ring.”

“I do so enjoy when you break out the technical terms, Dr Mavrikos.”

“We’ve discussed deflection before, and how post-war hypocritically issued praise generated a need to dismiss it. Accepting honest praise shouldn’t be a negative when you know this is honestly given and from people who care for you.”

“I… yes. It’s getting better. Being up on a stage with Wally in his city does help. It could feel like empty saccharine words, except it doesn’t there, it feels genuine. I think the first time I remember feeling this way from a group was graduation on Oa, then after New Zealand. Singularly? The Queen, of course. Close friends, family, co-workers with rings or in the League. Always with Superman; I’m not sure he’s capable of being anything less than genuine.”

“Let’s keep working on that and review for next session. As for today, you talked about taking your parents with you into space. How’s that going?”

“Oh yes! We went last week. Smashing all around. They got to see Lissam’s brood family, you recall Lissam, right? And Lissam’s family wanted to bond us into theirs. Adopt, merge; there’s a great deal of responsibilities that humans don’t have.”

“Not just you, your entire family I take it?”

“Just so. Probably Crookshanks too. And Wally, should we marry; I must discuss this with him. As for the rest… a planetary emergency wound up taking up far a greater deal of time, so we didn’t travel everywhere I’d planned. In a bit of serendipity, Shandra turned out to be on the surface of that world, so the Wilkins got to meet them. They spent hours together while I repaired an orbital belt.”

“How did that go? The meeting, not the repair; I assume that went well.”

“Everyone seemed to get along, which was a wee bit frightening I’ll admit. Laughing like old friends by the time I was done. Shandra may have gotten an invitation to visit next time they’re on Earth. Lissam did for sure. Arisia’s fam too.”

“It sounds like your parents had a full day. How do you feel about it, how it went?”

“Good. Luckily there was nothing dangerous except for the collapsing megastructure, and that looked worse than it was. And I feel proud. I feel proud of my parents, Nadya. They say they’re proud of me, and I’m so proud of them and I don’t say that enough. My life is incredible, but I’m living it. They aren’t and they accept what I do, all the craziness from witchcraft to superheroics, and this despite what I did to them or that I don’t have a nice safe job in a safe library. Or a second ring. Or children.”

“Do you feel they’re pushing on that front, or teasing?”

“Oh, mostly teasing. Like how they see infants near me, and yes they were adorable little reptilian hatchlings in this case, and their eyes light up. And I get it, I’m all in favour of family and I do like being around children. I can’t imagine not having ones of my own, of our own, one day years from now.”

“They’re always welcome to accompany you for sessions again, you know.”

“We know and it helped us a lot, back then. I wish they could have been with me for Healer Carver in my last year of school. It wasn’t just the students who needed help of people like her. Or you. We needed it as families.”

“And from how you’ve portrayed the situation, I’d say the same. Overall the tour appears to have gone well. What about the second topic we talked about, the mentoring?”

“Smashing as well, almost exactly as planned. She’s going to be incredible. Wally likes her too and he’s an excellent judge of people, almost as good as Crooks.”

“Speaking of Mr West, how is that part of your life?”

“I think we’re improving on constructive arguing.”

“That feels like a positive motion. Do you want to talk about topics?”

“Yes, actually. He’s… not quite worried over a matter. Concerned? A little concerned? It involves Batman, and if I might be spending excessive time in our classes. He does assign a high degree of homework, to be fair.”

“These are the classes where Batman is teaching you ‘superhero life,’ as you’ve put it.”

“That and more, much more. And I can see Wally’s point, he’s afraid I’m being trained to be like Batman. Which I’m not, and Batman isn’t trying to mould me to be a new him. Guardians, he won’t even let me wear a cape as is. I listen to Batman. I learn from him. I absolutely don’t blindly obey him, and he’d be the first to say so.”

“That seems wise.”

“I think Wally knows it too, but he’s also known Batman longer than I have. For most of Wally’s life Batman’s always been around as the older, scarier hero who growls at everyone. For me, Batman’s an expert in this amazing new field who’s willing take time from a massively busy life to tutor a newcomer. I mean, he’s a human who makes superhumans struggle keep up. He’s fought Superman a couple of times, for Oa’s sake, and won most of those fights. No powers at all. You bet I want to learn from him. After all, I’m just like he is, really. Only I have better gadgets.”

“An interesting way to look at how the two of you operate. Do you feel in control of the instruction?”

“I would say yes. He can be utterly manipulative, and there’s an element of that here, naturally. I don’t see it as a problem, however. I know there are multiple reasons he’s doing this. And Batman surely knows that I know. I don’t ever want to be him. He doesn’t want that either; he’s well aware of how poorly adjusted he is psychologically and that’s how manages the life he’s chosen. Maybe in the future he can move away from that, the sheer, nonstop intensity of it. I don’t know. I’d like to believe that can happen.”

“Hermione, I’d like to discuss this again if there’s continued friction over the matter. From what I’m hearing, though, you’re relating well with your fellow members, especially the new ones. How are other aspects of being a couple who work closely going, now that the world knows about Green Lantern and the Flash?”

“Honestly? Better than I’d expected, not that anything would have stopped us from trying. Like I said, we argue. We keep it separated between when the masks on or off. I feel we’re solid as a couple. That we’re both… superheroes? Oa, all this time and I’m still uneasy over that word. I think we’re better now that we don’t have to be on guard when in our work clothing, not worry about the cape tabloids catching us. Regardless, that we have shared experiences helps, even if ours is rather outside the norm. It can be difficult at times to leave work related discussions up on the Moon but we’re managing.”

“It can be difficult, depending on nature of the work and the people involved. I think you have strong examples of couples who do make it work in their own ways. If your methods work for you two, then that’s good. You’ve mentioned about possibly moving in together. How are you both feeling about that possibility?”

“A ‘holding pattern’ as a friend might put it. Not in a bad way, Nadya. We’re just not in a hurry. Rather like we live next door, that distances aren’t an issue. I have school friends elsewhere not far from where I live, and it’s easier for me to visit Wally than taking a coach to their houses.”

“He feels the similarly?”

“He does. He loves where he lives, he loves his city. I do love my own town and being in Britain. I have to imagine this would change should… no, when we get married. Which we both also do see happening. Though I’d hate to think we split the geographical difference and settle in New York City. Or Atlantis.”

“So long as you’re communicating about it and on a regular basis, Hermione. Jokes aside, making this work includes not letting one of you assume to know what your partner believes.”

“We’ve got three superb coaches telling us that, loudly. Among other things.”

“Always good to hear. I’d like to shift to the person you brought to the holiday gathering with them, if you don’t mind. We didn’t talk about Parsimony last session. How are both of you doing?”

“Well. Well-ish, I guess. We try to chat roughly once a week. Not as regularly as before… all that happened. Oa, I missed that person. We’re trying. When we do meet, it can feel like we’re on a tightrope, though, both afraid to take a wrong step.”

“It can be a good thing that you can see that. I would recommend trying to widen the rope into a grounded path that you can walk side by side. Practice simply talking. It doesn’t need to always be about books now that you each know your lives are more expansive that you’d though. It’s possible you have common interests you’d never explored before. And if needed, warn that you’re about to say or do something that could be possibly hurtful.”

“We may be over-warning each other, being too careful. We loved to debate and did that so well, without ever feeling the need to become violent. We’re trying to rediscover how to do that, how to disagree again. Dispute, become cross, and importantly avoid going nuclear, as the phrase goes. We both know that can’t be an option, given who we are.”

“I may have ideas. Let me do some research on this, see what’s in the literature that could be applicable. Friends turning into arch enemies and then returning back to friends doesn’t come up commonly in your line of work, unfortunately.”

“I wish it would.”

“You’re not alone. And no matter what, and you will accept this, you should feel proud of what you did. That was a good thing you did, Hermione, welcoming her into your family holiday gathering. Also, it was very brave of you.”

“I owed it to her. No, I owed it to us. And I knew they’d all understand once I explained, so no bravery was needed.”

“Hermione…”

“… Yes, fine, I was brave.”

“Goodness, somehow the universe didn’t explode.”

“Laugh riot, you are. What next?”

“We haven’t talked about the League, if that’s okay. How is that part of your life going?”

“Quietly. The League has been quiet. Well, there was the mission in Singapore, with that guy and the iceberg monsters. Which was more embarrassing than anything else; I almost felt sorry for him. The last time there’d been giant ice creatures, everyone was nearly killed when Dr Light scrambled their identities. And so we may have gone a trifle overboard.”

“He seemed to have a greater interest in fleeing than fighting once he saw the full League responding.”

“I’d like to think my laser-breathing dragon construct had a large part in that. Anyways, we’re working hard on designing the new facilities. All quite exciting! Part of why I do so love being in the League; we think things through. So when we must rush, we do it intelligently. Oa, also doing what we’re doing here, it’s smart. I remember the Atom telling me these sessions weren’t optional for anyone, and the look on his face when I wholeheartedly agreed. Starting earlier would have been better. If I’d been seeing someone like you when I got back to Earth, it would have saved a great deal of yelling in those early days.”

“This might be professional blasphemy on my part, but I think all of you needed a small amount of yelling then.”

“Hmmm. Us yelling at each other, or others yelling at us, I wonder? Regardless, it worked out in the end, if not making for a completely pleasant experience. Maybe it was worse after how splendidly joining the Corps had gone.”

“You mentioned a few sessions ago about your future in the Corps. Has this been an area you’ve contemplated lately?”

“Not so much. It comes up as a stray notion every now and then, usually when I’m on Oa. I know I’m going to have busy years to come with the League as current members leave and new people join, but after that, after a decade or two as a Lantern? If the Guardians approached me at that point about going Senior Cadre or being an Instructor… I don’t know. It would depend on Wally, where we are then. I like being out in the field. Maybe a year or two on Oa, a detached duty? All rather hinges on being asked, of course. And not getting killed fighting idiots one day.”

“I’d like to explore that thought. How do you feel when you fight people like this, people you feel are idiots? Specifically as a Green Lantern, fighting people in outer space.”

“How I feel? I’m not angry. Or disparaging of their intellectual capabilities, to be honest. I’m just… I feel disappointed. Frustrated. Mix of both, I guess.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I expect better! It’s just… they have interstellar travel and that’s just the beginning, they’re advanced far beyond anything we have here. Anything we’ll have for a very long time. And they’re acting no better than schoolyard bullies!”

“I remember an early session when you corrected me about using ‘alien,’ and that the beings you encounter in space are people just like us. That they aren’t different. It feels like you’re upset that they’re behaving essentially as we do.”

“But they should be better than that!”

“Why? Because they have advanced technology?”

“Well… yes. It should. By then they’ve learned more, discovered more, so they should know how to behave properly on the galactic stage. And many people across my sector are indeed better, regardless of their technological levels. They’re simply good people. They make me feel proud to be their Lantern.”

“Is the frustration then that everyone’s not meeting your expectations, achieving the standards you believe they should have?”

“Not just my standards, those of their neighbours as well. But yes, I get the point. Also… I worry about what it might mean. I firmly believe humans will reach the stars. What if when that happens we’re still behaving as we are now?”

“I can see how that could be worrisome for you. May I offer that you’ve just said we have a long time before we reach that level? Time to improve, and for others to help in the effort. You’ve mentioned on several occasions the desire to be a ‘lower-case lantern,’ a light who can be an example for a better galaxy. A laudable goal. We both also know you can’t concentrate your time on this world. But consider what you’re doing as a mentor and example for people here; how those you advise and guide can act as lanterns in your stead for Earth.”

“Especially the one with part of my name.”

“Especially her. And your Junior Lanterns, and the Lanternettes. More like them to come, I’d imagine. Think about what you’re doing with them by inspiring and leading them as sharing that light. Also with the League, the new generation, as you put it. You’ve mentioned members see you holding a leadership role in it, and this can be the same. Let all of these be ways to spread that light farther than a single person can do over her lifetime. Even if she has a fancy ring.”

“That… feels good. Thanks. Mockery of ring excluded.”

“I’m glad. You should feel good about that, Hermione. Now, a few areas I’d like to review before we close out today. We’ve talked before about the high standards you place for yourself and your understandable reasons for doing so. How you feel anything less than perfection feels like failure.”

“Yes. Experiencing failures on scales I’d never imagined has helped temper this, as has working with people who’ve undergone their own. Not a fun technique, though it is effective.”

“As you’ve said. About those people, you’re surrounded by incredibly competent people, both in the League and the Corps, and I assume they have no problem meeting your standards. So when you encounter those who don’t, it may feel like an aberration larger than it might be otherwise. Think about if this could be multiplying those feelings of disappointment.”

“It could be. I can see that. That’s as maybe, though, it doesn’t excuse their actions.”

“No it doesn’t. Hermione, I’m not critiquing your feelings. Frankly, I think it’s much healthier that you’re disappointed instead of being angry in these situations. Disappointment means there is a possible hope for progress.”

“I’d like to think so.”

“I’m also not critiquing how you do your job. Like we said in our first meeting, that’s not why we’re here. As an observation, however, it doesn’t seem like this feeling of disappointment is being communicated outside of this room. Think about how you might share this and more, and not just with your friends on other worlds. You’ve spoken of incidents where you’ve engineered non-violent resolutions. Perhaps expanded communication could be useful in doing the same, even for deterrence, now that you’re an established presence in your sector.”

“That… actually ties in nicely with my thoughts for our sector house. Applied violence can be effective, and downright cathartic at times, but there should be better ways to promote long term solutions. Lamplights instead of laser beams.”

“I feel that could be a motto to guide your thoughts. Let’s make this a topic for next time along with the other ones, Hermione. I’d like you to make time to think over this. I’ll work on approaches we can review.”

“Hmmm. Transforming negative emotional attitudes into positive communicative tactics leading to beneficial outcomes in work environments.”

“I’d never put it into those words. Clearly someone’s been doing the reading.”

“Always, doctor. Always.”

“Until next time, Hermione. Stay safe. Don’t wait till then if you need me.”

“That was only the couple of times, but yes. Stay safe as well, Nadya.”

Chapter Text

“Wait, back up. What was that again?”

“The energy weapons? They looked like frozen lightning, or–“

“No, the attackers. Feathered wings, you said feathered wings?”

“On the sides of their heads. I had assumed they were a pair of the enlarged hearing flaps you mammals have, but no, these were small wings.”

Earlier…

She’d come across the crippled survey single-ship while making a quick pass through the lifeless Summol Archipelago. Emergency beacon blaring loudly. Most of the ship dented and ruptured, the hyperspace engines looking the worst.

Seekmistress Cliinil, of the insectoid Oziferan people, had been out on her latest prospecting run. Getting desperate, and afraid this might be her last.

Hermione’d quickly sealed up the torn hull sections and then had entered to find the sole occupant Cliinil inside, removing her survival suit. Half the size of an adult acromantula, wearing an engineer’s vest packed with electronics and tools. Quite thankful, and quite outgoing. Regardless, Hermione will omit this part of day should she share it with Ron.

She’d done a quick scan of the Archipelago on seeing the damaged ship. No signs of anyone else around, not even the plasma residue commonly seen in intrasystem drives. Plenty of rock moving at all directions at high speeds, impacts everywhere. Bit like that old video game her Dad loved to play in the arcades.

“Not Thanagarians, you’re certain?” Hermione asks again.

Cliinil looks at her with a grand imitation of ‘seriously?’ for a gigantic, befurred spider, and gestures emphatically with her long, upper pair of forearms. “No, they didn’t have actual wings on their backs. Fleshy biped endoskels like them, or you. Lumpier than you. And optical sensory organs like bulging white ploya fruit, not recessed like yours. Only the two of them. How species like yours can function without secondary eyes is beyond me.”

Hermione lets it slide. “What did their ship look like?”

“Hah!” A second wave of the forelimbs, and Hermione ducks in time. “No ship. Appeared out of the black, flying in space like you Lanterns do, and started doing violence to the planetoids. Tearing them open like I’d crack an egg to see what’s to eat inside.”

“And the weapons, energy devices you said?”

“Golden energy, crackling like lightning in cold stasis. Didn’t fire them like regular beamers, they threw them instead like lances. Huge detonations on impact, other hits sliced rocks like jelly.”

This… isn’t feeling good. “What did they want?”

“No idea.” All four of her upper limbs shrug. “Nothing they seemed to take with them. Didn’t notice me at all; Silver Spiral is good at hiding when I need to. Didn’t help; I got smacked by planetary shrapnel anyways. Dead in space by the time they all flew out of the system.”

Oa, she’d thought this lot were going to be retired as one of Hal’s old problems, and now they’re hers too. Her brooding is interrupted as Cliinil gets part of the bridge systems to light up. “Hang onto your webline, friend Lantern. I think… let me check,” and she rapidly manipulates keys in an elaborate bypass. “Hah, take that you bizarre bipeds! No offence, friend Lantern. There, you see? The Spiral captured images, passive sensors kicked in when she took damage. Part of the insurance protocols.”

It’s them. Thunderers, the soldier-legions of Qward from the anti-matter universe. A dozen or so, straight out of Corps, League, and Hal’s personal reports. Flying through this system like anti-Lanterns while hurling their signature bolts of solidified Qwa-energy. Shields on their backs, quivers on their hips. Winged helmets with visors badly hiding bulging eyes and tiny pupils. All in identical tan leather and gold trim; all ridiculously, identically fit. And distressingly lumpy, in the way that Clark and J’onn are lumpy.

Oa, this is absolutely not good. It will have to wait, however, as Hermione’s got a rescue to finish up. “Right, now how about a lift back home?”

Ozifer is a compelling world, twin yellow suns overlooking vivid marshlands that cover the bulk of the surface. Incredible varieties of life and cities that float like clouds. Hermione’d love to stay longer. Unfortunately, her day’s just gotten a lot more interesting.

Needless to say, the remainder of her planned patrol has just been pushed to the future.

Her first action is to fly back to Summol, find a quiet rock, and prepare a verbal notification. Minutes later, Lantern Granger calls in her account to Oa. Hermione’s not alone in doing so, she quickly discovers. She’s the third, and four come in while she’s reporting.

Next up, checking with her intelligence gathering network. ‘The Granger Street Irregulars’ as per Wally. Trading centres, information hubs, mercantile posts, anyplace where news is shared or sold. It feels rather like television crime dramas as the detectives go to their neighbourhood informants.

It takes hours to collect and collate the data, then additional hours to personally verify reports from across her sector:
Clanadrern, two days ago.
Mordilam-27, eighteen hours ago.
Tendax, four days ago.
Zamba, earlier today.

Each features the arrival of Thunderers, tremendous damage yet rarely directed specifically at the people there. If local defence forces try engaging the invaders, they’d been swatted away. Whatever the Qwardians want, they feel impatient in their pursuit. They also feel unsuccessful, at least so far.

She does crosschecks, and… Huh. These are locations they’ve been to before, back when Hal had been the Green Lantern of 2814.

Wait. That might mean… Oh no. All Hermione’s speed is poured into flying back to Earth, only to find she’s too late by hours. The Thunderers have already been to her world.

And well fended off.

The victorious defenders in the Watchtower, maintaining the watch for a repeat raid. Which her own blazing arrival had nearly been taken for, the trouble alert deep space sensors not differentiating between green and golden auras.

“We’re not utterly useless when you’re away, hon,” says her man with a hug and a kiss.

“And I’m grateful you are,” Hermione replies. “All of you,” this to the Leaguers gathered in the main hall. An additional two are in Weapon Ops, three on duty in the Monitor Room. Just in case.

Thunderers, Ollie confirms. “Sort of zoomed in, looked around the big planets, then came at us. Must not have known we upgraded the defence grid,” and there’re chuckles at that. “Most got nailed by heavy particle cannons and the new mass drivers. Supers and Company went out and punched them around, and that was fun to watch.”

Then they’d disappeared. “Grouped up, zipped out above the ecliptic, and poof,” as Zatanna puts it.

Hermione is ensured the League has got this. Which is good, as she really can’t stay here any longer. A final kiss and she’s back into space. Now with Hal’s old JLA records of his encounters with the Qwardians.

Her ring’s charge is solid. Hermione has a feeling she’ll be needing every erg.

One of those records is for a system she’d recently visited, Kormorax. A score of Thunderers along with Sinestro, of course, setting an ambush for Lantern Jordan. Hal had taken them out in a clever fashion that combined unexpected cowboy antics with his unparalleled aerial skills. Plus, lots of big green boxing gloves.

Almost the same as their old attacks against Earth with Sinestro. Not quite regular occurrences, Hal possibly debating that point. She thinks about someone else who’d had similar run-ins like these.

Hermione ring-calls to Katma, over in Sector 1417. Nothing in common with 2814, except a single individual who’s often associated with Qward. Katma’s seen her share of Thunderer incidents over the last couple of days, including her homeworld of Korugar itself. Comparing notes, it seems their sectors have had the largest number of them.

They perform data checking. It feels rather like that naval combat game Dean had brought to school in their second year, having been bored silly by chess. Usually the hits are slow to come when playing. As they match recent events against an ex-Lantern’s previous visitations, they’re seeing hit after hit. There’d be a lot of sunken ships at this point, and the two call a pause when barely two-thirds of the way through the checks.

“I don’t like coincidences,” Hermione starts.

“Concur.” Katma ponders a few seconds. “Why isn’t he displaying himself if he’s leading them? And why go to where he’s been before?”

“Certainly not like he’s bashful about showing off,” Hermione adds. “Katma, can you let Oa know of this? I want to review Hal’s notes again. Be safe and stay in touch.” She’s ready to disconnect when she has a thought. Or, she has a thought that Bruce might think.

Contingency plans are laid; they both feel their sectors are where this is most likely to erupt, whatever it is. A quick conversation that includes mention of two stars.

Hermione speeds off with a new collection of targets, places she’s encountered him before like Orlana. She’s on her third before she gets lucky. If that’s the correct word.

The place where they’d first met, roughly a year ago. A dead system along the far rimward edge of the sector. No name, only a number. 2814-235. Where a rookie Lantern had faced the Corps’ greatest failure and greatest enemy. And fought. If it matters, there should be huge amounts of his ring’s Qwa-energy saturating it and By the Battery who makes up these names?

Now this is the place where she’ll probably be fighting him again. As Hermione can see Thaal Sinestro immediately upon exiting hyperspace. He’s there, and so are Thunderers, over two dozen of them.

She catches his attention in seconds, despite the distance. “A moment, Granger,” Hermione hears, a perfect oily Malfoy Senior tone to them. “I’m busy.”

The words are easy to ignore. Hermione heads in and flares up, stronger than the local star. Not before whispering a series of phrases into her ring.

Her nova-level arrival takes everyone by surprise, Sinestro included. She braces for combat, except… it doesn’t come.

Not that there isn’t combat. The Thunderers are battling Sinestro and… whatever she’d been expecting, this hadn’t been it. He’s down to six conscious foes and isn’t looking so good himself. Her brightness startles them all, and the Thunderers cease hurling golden lightning at Sinestro to hurl them at the fallen. The bolts reform into retrieval lassoes to drag their downed comrades into a hastily created portal. Not into hyperspace, Hermione can tell the difference. Nor to where the Avengers assemble. To somewhere else, she’s sure. Very probably not in this universe.

Sinestro’s not well pleased. “Finally you arrive, and wind up making yourself an unwelcome distraction,” he huffs. “I was about to finish cleaning up this mess.”

It would be grand to snark back, and she holds off. For the moment. “So now I know what they’ve been searching for. Or who they’ve been searching for.”

“A simplistic view of the matter. Once I determined their bumblingly obvious design, I needed only to lie in wait for them to come to me. Unfortunately thanks to you, they eluded deliverance of my final judgement.”

“Yes, you clearly had them on the ropes.” He doesn’t push back. A good sign that he does recognise reality. “So. Qwardians are back in our universe, at least the Thunderers. Your doing?”

“Not at all. Your ridiculous Crime Syndicate obviously isn’t alone in finding ways to cross over from the anti-matter universe, now that the multiversal collapse has settled.”

“So why were they hunting you?” Hermione’s honestly curious.

“A disagreement, Granger. Merely a disagreement.”

“Let me guess. Who gets to rule this galaxy, you or them.”

Sinestro raises an eyebrow. “Of course. The Weaponers insisted I should bow to them in perpetuity for the rightful bestowment of my ring. I disagreed. They may have also disagreed with my efforts to bend all of Qward to my will. Which was almost brought to fruition, before the barriers between universes strengthened to what I believed impermeable status.”

“And now they’re after you.”

“No, I am after them. Keep up, Granger. I also don’t need your aid to convince them of their erroneous actions.”

“You’re not getting it, don’t worry. You’re going to help me instead.”

That gets a reaction, a mix of bemusement and interest. “Am I.”

Hermione moves to her Lantern Granger Is Disappointed voice. “My sector. I want this ended before anyone gets hurt, and the game you’re playing is going to get lots of people hurt, and soon. I also want the Qward intrusions to end and ideally end for good. You want the same.” She pauses. “Except for the caring about anyone getting hurt.”

He floats closer. “A Lantern asking for Sinestro’s aid. Intriguing.”

“More than that.” The curiosity returns, and this seems as good a time as any to get a third side to the stories. And additional data, if she’s lucky. “Qward. Tell me about the Qwardians. And you.”

Sinestro barks a laugh, his thin moustache resiliently staying in perfect place. “Have you forgotten already? Or do they no longer teach recruits of this?”

“They do, don’t be daft,” she snaps back. “Jordan told me as well. I want to hear it from you.”

That does set him back. “Well now. A willingness to listen beyond what you are spoon fed. Perhaps a measure of hope for you after all, Granger.”

Guardians had demanded an ordered galaxy, he starts. She doesn’t interrupt. “I would do exactly that, beginning with my own world, then the rest of my sector, and finally all sectors.” He had been promoted to Instructor. Then to the Senior Cadre. Then back into the field, by his choice.

“The more I saw of the hypocrisy and stagnation around me, the more I grew tired of taking orders. The greater the need to prove my destiny.”

“You were probably the finest Lantern in the Corps, Sinestro. Everyone remembers that.” No lies; that’s straight out of classroom instruction.

“They should, Granger. I was accepted to the Honour Guard, the inner rankings within the Cadre.”

“That’s… new to me. I’ve never heard of it. You left that too, I imagine.”

He laughs again, then holds his ribs. “You don’t leave the Guard, Granger. Ever.”

Chosen to take Jordan under his wing and teach the human the finer points of being a Lantern. Then banishment for doing exactly as the Guardians wanted, all due to Jordan. Sinestro’s account on these matters includes a high measure of vitriol and contempt.

The discovery of Qward, or it of him, after being stripped of his ring and battery, and banished to the anti-matter universe. Convincing the Weapons they had common cause. He’d challenged the Weaponers to create a different kind of weapon for their new ally, and they succeeded. Their finest creation, forged from the terrors of an entire planet as it was ripped apart. Billions, an entire population crying out in fear, the totality of immeasurable fear distilled into a single band. His unique ring, which pulses as if listening appreciatively.

Hermione can almost hear the screaming as she looks at it.

The Weaponers had believed they were fabricating a new weapon for them to employ, both the former member of their despised enemies and the ring they’d granted him. Sinestro would be the field leader for the Thunderers as they attacked the Corps.

Even Hermione could see that wouldn’t last long. And it hadn’t. “They dared name me betrayer when I told them Sinestro kneels to no one. Presumed I would fall as weak prey to the Weaponers who crafted my ring. Fools. The first thing I did upon cracking its secrets was remove the means to shut it down.” Oa, the smugness on his face. Keeping Third Year Action Granger from punching him is a struggle.

“Now they come to me. Which I approve of; all the easier for me to kill them.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Hermione breaks in. It had been well fascinating to hear his version of the truth, and gain insights into somebody who will always be an enemy. Enough, though. “That’s only going to escalate until we have a full-on war that spreads across the galaxy. We stop this here, we stop it now, and we don’t turn it into a bloodbath in doing so.”

He’s smiling a special smile, and that’s not a pleasant sight. “Look at you, a year on the job and you think you can order Sinestro. Before I discovered the truth of the Guardians, I had been wearing a ring longer than you’ve been alive. Longer than Jordan has been alive. You cannot comprehend my skills.”

He’s certainly skilled at pushing her buttons. “Let me put this in words your advanced mind can understand. I don’t care how long you’ve worn a ring. My sector, we do things my way!”

“Will we now?” His ring ignites, a hideous shade that her eyes don’t want to focus on. “I think not, little human. Your sector. My galaxy!”

Her ring ignites as well. “How badly do you want to die today? Or do you want to be smart and live?”

The Thunderers return to witness glorious battle. The thief, their hated traitor, against one of the faceless Guardian-minions. Screams, curses, deathly powers burning the space around the two figures. An ideal and fitting arrangement, and which demands their masters, the Weaponers, be alerted.

Soon their numbers are doubled and doubled again; over fifty Thunderers eager for blood. Weaponers enter to take command of the imminent slaughter, pounding massive Qwa-energy hammers against iron-hard forearms while running cranial simulations to determine the perfect time to attack.

Which is now. Both are distinctly staggered. Both rings are depleted, barely lit. Both are… grinning.

“It would seem your stratagem is successful.”

“It would. Let’s teach them to stay out of our universe.”

“How badly do you want to die today? Or do you want to be smart and live?”

“… You may continue talking, Granger.” The rings lessen their intensities to visible, not quite blinding, luminosities.

Hermione outlines a plan. Sinestro punches holes concerning how it ends. “They must pay, they must fear me again! Treating me like a prey animal to be run down,” he growls. “They have forgotten Thaal Sinestro.”

“We’ll remind them,” she counters. “Seeing you and a Lantern together against them, worrying they could face that again should they return? They’ll remember that, trust me. They’ll fear that, and they’ll take that fear back with them.” It can also allow her to gather data on their portals when they ‘escape.’ Hermione doesn’t mention that part. She is fairly certain he knows anyway.

“We stage a fight, full of light and fury. Lure them in, as many as practical. We take them down, we throw them out.”

He’s looking at her as she finishes. Appraising. Sinestro has great control over tells when he chooses to do so, Hermione assumes. Such as now.

“We shall try your approach, Granger. I reserve the right to slaughter them all should it flicker in the slightest.”

Hermione couldn’t ask for better, knowing the person. She nods and floats away, drawing the battery to recharge her ring.

Sinestro laughs mockingly as she recites the Oath. “We can sense your fear,” he purrs when she’s done, the voice low and dangerous.

“Damn right you can,” Hermione says indifferently. “Lanterns aren’t without fear. We overcome fear. Or have you forgotten already?”

It’s entirely possible he may have.

“Your ring doesn’t feed on simple fear, does it,” she goes on. “That’s too easy. You need the fear that comes from giving in to it, from those who let fear control them.”

His face slips, just enough.

“Enough talking. We’ve a battle to fake.”

“… Let’s teach them to stay out of our universe.”

And they do.

Not a trivial task, to be sure. The sheer numbers of Thunderers weigh against them. Individually none as powerful as a Lantern and displaying little initiative or cunning, but they are practiced at squad warfare. Their bolts configure themselves to achieve any desired payload or function, from brute explosions to razored whips.

Their masters are on a grander scale. The smiths of Qward are hugely muscled behemoths, their prodigious hammers on par with a Lantern’s ring. They strike with blows that can crack apart asteroids, and fire anti-energy blasts capable of slicing through starship hulls.

A target rich environment, as Salaak would say, where everything that’s not a Korugaran is fair game for her. Where Hermione needn’t worry over civilians. Or maintaining planetary orbits. Oa, maintaining planets at all. Limiters off, every action at full power. A battle that’s idly played out in her mind in odd hours, how she would fare against an army of Lanterns. Similar to when she’d fought Ultraman as the proxy for the all-out fight against Superman, a battle she’ll never have. Hopefully.

Overall, perhaps the most dangerous massed foes she’s faced. Thankfully, she’s not alone. Sinestro is… dammit, he’s good. Incredible. Hermione can see how much he’d been holding back when they’d first met. Every action unhurried and precise, as if he’s performing for an audience. A solitary audience, perhaps.

She almost feels sorry for this system, as the battle moves across from molten inner worlds to icy comet fields. Moons are bowled in pitches measured in kilometres, dismissing Thunderers by the score. Solar flares are triggered and lased into coherency, tearing through shields no matter their density. Planets are smashed to fragments, then the fragments are reduced to rubble to be fired as hypervelocity hailstones. Cat and mouse games across asteroid fields, and Crookshanks would be proud of his witch. Gas giants set aflame, or condensed into newborn stars, or their metallic cores removed to be used as incendiary explosives.

Her own hypergravity constructs, homing lasers, the varied tricks she’s developed and perfected for fighting Jinx, all come out to play. New ones for the intruders from Qward, as their unpreparedness shows. New for Sinestro as well, judging from his expression. Ta.

And he’s not forgotten his Lantern training; Oa, he probably established most of her own training. They form a decent team. Not like her and Arisia, especially as Hermione’s only trusting this partner as it’s in his best interest not to stab her in the back. Thus far.

The battle becomes a skirmish; the skirmish becomes a street fight. Sinestro’s ring is growing stronger as Thunderers are left floating unconscious in space, Weaponers driven into solid rock. And then there are two left standing. Barely. A limp third body, stripped of hammer and helmet, held up for beheading from a yellow ring.

“Just him, Granger. Just one.”

“Not as we agreed, Sinestro. We wake them up, we put them in chains, we let them feel how helpless they are. And then we let them run away. Beaten. Defeated.” Hermione lets her ring glow further. “You want them to be afraid? This should do it.”

His own ring seems to agree with her, matching her brightness.

The former Lantern almost becomes angry. Almost. Then he tosses aside the Weaponer, rubbish for a backyard bin. “This time, Granger.” A pause. “You see the value of fear now, don’t you.”

Hermione doesn’t reply. She does ensure her ring’s sensors capture all they can on the portals, to share with Oa and the League. No idea if it will be possible to shut them down. At best, maybe detect if they cross again. Them, or anyone else.

And with that… Hermione doesn’t quite relax, not with Sinestro nearby. She does badly need to charge her ring. Again.

“I could end you with a thought,” she hears from behind her. “And none would know.”

Hermione’s been waiting for this and doesn’t turn. “You would. You would know. Know what you did, and why.”

There’s no sound for too long a time. “You shall live, then, as my messenger. Tell the Guardians that Sinestro saved them today. That one of their lapdogs begged for his aid.”

“I’ll stick to the facts, if you don’t mind.” She can’t tell if he’s serious or poking her to see how she’ll react.

“Tisk. The galaxy is greater than its mere facts, Granger.” Poking it is. “There is magic, for example.”

Wha…

“A remarkable aspect of our reality, sadly quashed as it doesn’t fit with how your masters wish to control this galaxy.” He forms a glistening yellow wand, soft canary flames dancing along its length. “Imagine a Lantern who would wield magic, what she could achieve. Worlds she could lead, people she could guide and protect. Prove to all she does indeed know what’s best for everyone.”

Slowly she moves past the entire ‘Sinestro knows about wand magic and witches’ aspect and forms a reply. “I’ll take it under advisement. That… seems like a lot of work.”

“You’d be surprised. Delegation, along with wise hiring practices. And just punishment when order is not maintained.” He gives the wand an evaluating look before it fades away. “Tell me, how many of my people have perished on my home of Korugar due to insufficient order? None, not while it followed my direction. How many since Jordan arranged my removal?”

Well, she’d been hoping to learn further of how he thinks, and she’s getting it. “A reasonable question, the balance of totalitarian dictatorship ruled by fear against an open, less secure society,” Hermione responds. “I can bring books on the subject if you’re truly interested.”

Sinestro waves his left hand contemptuously and moves on. “I saw that you dealt with the jumped-up hoodlum and his so-called ‘criminal empire.’ That you required aid of your lesser subjects was unfortunate.”

“I call it a group effort,” Hermione fires back. “A team-building exercise. They trust me, and I trust them. We’re brighter together. No fear needed.” Yes, she can also poke back. “And speaking of teams, honestly, the Injustice Gang? And you call the Crime Syndicate ridiculous?”

“It amuses me. I enjoy catching up with Doctor Crane. He’s had his own interactions with you lately too, I understand. Those amuse me as well.”

Amusements. She throws several at him, such as tinkering with gravity along the rim of the Pharon system, initiating a deluge of cometary bombardments. Reigniting a white dwarf star in the Helix Nebula. “And what on Oa were you doing out at the Summol Archipelago?”

“Summol?” Sinestro does love to play mysterious. “Merely… no, Granger, you haven’t earned that tale. Another time, perhaps. You should instead worry about your beloved Oa.”

“No worries needed. I believe it is in fine shape.”

“For now,” and Sinestro has that sly grin again. “I wonder, however, of when I determine its true location and release everyone the Guardians have wrongfully entombed in the Sciencells?” He’s practically twirling his moustache. “Perhaps they shall be the basis for my own Corps.”

Right. He’s monologuing, and she’s had enough. “Let’s get a few things straight. I worked with you today. I don’t like you. I don’t like how you use your ring. Any ring.”

Deep breath, keep a level tone. “I fought a war to stop people like you, who wanted to rule through fear. Thought they were better than anyone else, that might makes right. That fear is the greatest motivator. The leader of that group is quite dead. We had to kill all the parts of his splintered, wretched soul to finally do it, but we did. As you know, if you learned about magic. And me.”

“Hmmm.” Sinestro has that appraising gaze again. “I believe I have hope for you yet, human.”

“Do you.”

“The Qwardians will have marked you as an enemy, former-Recruit Granger. Be proud.”

“I’ve been getting people telling me to do so a lot lately.”

They take in what’s left of the system, a mess of gravitational eddies, spacetime fractures, and irregularly erupting solar flares. Multitudes of microscale black holes bleeding radiation away as they devour what’s left of planets. There won’t be much left save pebbles within a year. The star itself is in its last days; maybe a few hundred million years left, tops.

“Jordan is getting married,” and she’s not entirely sure why she’s saying this, but continues. “You really don’t want to attend, trust me.”

Sinestro’s quite aware of the event. “Despite being deplorably inept, the Society does maintain excellent communications amongst the membership. Star Sapphire has always been a respected associate.” He sighs. “I watched your planet survive the magneto-spawn birthing. Witnessed what your people can do when you act in an orderly, united manner under a single command. Sapphire led your efforts so well. It could have been you, perhaps should have been you.”

“Carol. Her name is Carol Ferris,” Hermione insists, dodging the issue of leadership.

“It was.” He begins to float away, arms folded over his chest. “That’s not who she is now, who she became upon the sapphire choosing her. One day she might discover the truth of who she’s become.”

Hermione is realising that with Sinestro, differentiating between actual truth, his truth, his imagination, and his dissembling is always going to forever be a difficult, frustrating process.

“Here.” From out of his pocket dimension he withdraws a precisely organised stack of hardback books and floats them her way. Titles that she’d lent him roughly a year ago concerning political theory, often involving infamous authors. “Not overly simplistic for such a primitive species, Granger. There is hope for your planet as well.”

With that, Sinestro is gone, a ray of yellow light that effortlessly shatters the stray debris in his way. Now, Hermione can relax. “Katma, you there?”

“Of course. Charge your ring, and I’ll be with you shortly.”

The veteran Lantern arrives just as Hermione finishes the Oath, both ring and herself feeling refreshed.

Katma’s turn to take in the surroundings. “Guardians Be Praised. Remind me not to get you upset, Hermione.”

“Knowing you were nearby and listening in helped. I knew if I went down, you could take him out or deal with the Qwardians, whichever were still active. So I may have veered away from proper Corps defensive stances.”

“Remedial training could be warranted.” Katma studies the dying star, and drops the light tone. “You should have let me fight with you. Or let me finish him.”

Hermione shakes her head. “Sinestro would have joined with the Weaponers against us. Somehow. Also, I’m the Lantern for this sector, we follow my lead. If he’d attacked Korugar, it would have been your call.”

“You would have argued with me over my direction.”

“Yes, I would have. You can’t pull back from killing. I know you’re senior to me. I’m senior to you on this subject, sadly.”

“Perhaps. He was allowed to leave, escape Korugar’s justice.”

“I know. As the saying goes, ‘the enemy of my enemy is a useful ally.’ For the moment.”

“No,” Katma says firmly. “The enemy of my enemy remains my enemy’s enemy. There is no transformational synthesis to be gained, Hermione.”

The younger human has a faint smile. “I should introduce you do a couple of my friends on Earth. That’s exactly what they say too. They also like to wear green.” The smile goes away, and Hermione thinks on Katma’s past.

“I can’t imagine what it was like under Sinestro’s rule.”

“Stifling. Ridged. Proper Order, as he called it. Any deviation wasn’t permitted. Imprisonment and re-education all too common for the slightest infractions. We had it the worst of any of 1417’s systems, of course. We were his people, the shining example for everyone else to follow. And I was his prize pupil.”

“We almost had the same, with a large degree of attempted genocide.” Hermione wonders if Katma shares the physical memories of her own revolution in scars that will never disappear.

“In that war you mentioned. Over magic?”

“Magic. Along with genealogies. Whatever worked best to draw followers and gain power.”

“Magic. I cannot imagine what magic is like. I understand why the Guardians abhor it so, if that is the result.” Katma’s turn to cross her arms. “I don’t wholly agree with your actions today, Hermione. Your methods were problematic. However it is your sector, as you said.”

Her fellow Lantern sighs. “That’s a nice word to use for them, far too nice. Leaning on fear like that, it was the only language I knew he would understand. I didn’t like taking ownership of the sector, but that’s how he sees being a Lantern and I needed to connect with him.” She’s tired and puts what she has left into her words. “Not my sector, Katma, never my sector. I’m their Lantern.”

“I’ve never put it that way, yet I see the concept. I’d felt so for Korugar, when I was pushed into leading the liberation armies.” Katma’s eyes grow curious.

“The stars as the code words you suggested we use to secretly indicate one of us had found him. Why Sirius and Regulus?”

Epilogue

He’s not hiding. Sinestro does not hide. He has chosen to make his home here, outside the galactic rim. A system containing a stray red giant star and a handful of planets that isn’t registered on any charts. Where he can contemplate his next moves, plot the strategies that will deliver the galaxy to his capable hands.

Granger. It was somewhat shrewd of her to have Tui, the Korugaran who’d betrayed his trust, as backup. Not that it would have helped should he have decided to turn on the human.

There is promise in her. Looking back, it had been a good decision not to remove the novice on their first meeting.

It is likely she knows that he is aware of what she’d done. She knows he can track Lantern rings. That hadn’t been wise to reveal. Still, the gall of that mere criminal to seek Sinestro for hire! He’d tracked her to complain of the outrage, and that hadn’t been smart of him. Emotion overriding intellect, always the erroneous tactic.

She’s not unintelligent. Raw, unformed, not ossified as the Corps has become. Someone who can trained, better than any of the clouts on Oa could ever accomplish. Moulded. What she’d done today…

Lantern Granger is now officially Interesting to him.

Chapter Text

It’s a subject that our hero has had mixed relations with over the years. Before receiving an owl-borne letter, she’d had carefully arranged dining courtesy of parents who know all about dietary and dental care.

Whilst at her new school? Plenty to eat and she’d done so, certainly not as much as her boys, but then they each had reasons for their enthusiasm during meals. She herself had shortly put proper eating low in her priorities, below items like Keep Harry Alive and Show Them All a Muggleborn Can Do This. Though she did love her sugar quills.

And then there had been all those months scavenging whatever they could. Mushrooms… never again will they darken her plate. Not even on pizza.

A rather poor diet after school had ended. Daily frustration and depression will do that.

On a planet where she’d been the only human, more so the only human in countless light years? Oa had taken care of her as it does all Lanterns, including the fresh recruits. It’s possible an earlier human had been remembered in the culinary databases. A great deal of American selections she’d found ready for, augmented by selections from fellow recruits. Where biologically compatible, of course.

As for now? Well, let’s take a look.

Breakfast

…is often with her man. Roughly a third in his city, a third in hers. Roughly an even split between home cooking and going out.

Today, they’re at the Canary Café & Restaurant. This after a short bus ride from her flat to Croham Hurst Woods. Somehow she’s never taken him here, to where her journey had begun. Where Hal had lifted her into the heavens (well, taken her into space to be less poetic). A tour of the solar system, then on to Oa and the beginning of half a year of intense training before gaining a ring and a sector.

She might be a tad misty eyed telling him what it had been like.

Tummies rumble in stereo, so a walk to the café. It’s early, and not many people are here. A mild level of disguise; a baseball cap to hide his hair, her own cowboy hat for hers. Green Lantern’s the person everyone knows for her uncontrollable, bushy hair, not Hermione Granger.

Wally orders the full breakfast, which has been growing on him despite still favouring crunchy bacon. For her sake, he skips the mushrooms. Ta, and that gets him a kiss as Hermione goes for a pancake dish. They both add smoothies when done, ideal for slow discussions of recent events. Actual named names carefully excised, of course.

“So far no return engagements?”

“So far. I’ll admit not being comfortable with him, not at all. I will say it did seem to get the issue resolved.”

“If it keeps him from crashing the wedding too, I’d call it a win. Just keep an eye out, hon.”

“Katma’s said the same. Hello from her, by the way. Put that back, I’ve got this one.”

“Next on me then. What’s your day like?”

“Short outing. Two dozen scheduled, then back for the briefing on those annoying chaps in Metropolis.”

“Right, that gang for today. They’re getting supplied with out-of-town gear, I heard. Any tech you recognise?”

“I only had a glance, however I’m not entirely sure these are from my neck of the woods. Or that of any of my co-workers.”

“Huh. Well, I’m doing an interview in the morning about the early Titan days, and then… hey is that the bus?”

“Quick, hurry! And stop laughing!”

Food Trucks

…hadn’t ever been part of Hermione’s life until she’d flown back to Earth with a ring. Not for months after that, actually. Another change due to Mr West, and like him she’s been loving all of them.

Such a wide variety of foods. Also, quite perfect for her when she’s in uniform and in a rush. From high above, Green Lantern can check if a truck is busy or not and thus dash in and out before crowds coalesce around her.

London sees their local hero dropping in occasionally. Paris, Stuttgart, Los Angeles, Brasilia, Osaka, Portland; no matter the city there’s always something new to try.

Then there’s a city on the East Coast, and a resident expert.

On this day, Hermione’s in New York City to see Cameron at the DEO branch office in Greenwich Village. A short chat, catching up mostly. Agent Chase is taking two weeks’ vacation with her sister and mother, and to use Agent Hansen if needed. The Lantern has further details on the Singapore mission; they swap information on the extraordinary creatures and their less-than-extraordinary creator.

It goes faster than planned, and Hermione closes by wishing the Chase family well in San Francisco. Once in the sky, she spots a familiar figure weblining northwards to Midtown, bobbing above and below the rooftops. She’s time to spare, and flies over to catch up.

Penny’s day has been quiet, breaking up a sidewalk tussle between rival leverage buyout firms down in the Financial District being the highlight. She’d just written to Ray and they’re planning a science-fest at the Watchtower and is excited for a return trip ‘upstairs.’ Also, she’s getting hungry and maybe Hermione is too? There’s a new truck just ahead with barbeque that’s to die for as Penny intones with an exaggerated accent.

Hermione doesn’t get it and assumes this might be from 90s pop culture. Nearly an entire decade she’d missed out on and is still trying to recover.

The crew is surprised when two superheroes literally drop in next to their truck, but these are New Yorkers and hide it well. There’s a nice rooftop on 55th Street with a great view of Central Park that they pick for outdoors dining. The barbeque is excellent and new to Hermione, pulled pork with a vinegar sauce instead of the tomato style she’d encountered during the caravan tour of the southwest. Penny assures the visiting Brit that there are countless further varieties as well. She watches enviously as Hermione’s white gloves remain ridiculously spotless throughout the messy meal, the fabric resisting all would-be stains.

The Lantern shares the latest goings on elsewhere in Sector 2814. There’s excitement of the sector house launch; scant months from now if all goes well. The plan is for a soft opening, admittance limited to Lanterns and invited guests. This will make it Hermione’s (she stops to count) fifth home away from her home in Croydon.

Penny relates her latest wacky day, this time from saving a lady with long, pale blonde hair from three muggers. “She was skipping along the sidewalk then went down a dark alley like it was a theme park or something. They went in, and she pulled out a piece of wood like she was gonna chopstick them to death or something.”

Hermione’s eyebrows raise up.

“I webbed them up, then she talked gibberish about rackshorts and bargles. I was worried she had a concussion. Tourist, I guess, had an accent like you or Teen Lantern.”

Hermione’s about to interject that she and Sam sound nothing alike, then lets it pass. Americans.

“No concussion, no damage at all. She had a big smile, thanked me, and skipped away.” The wallcrawler shakes her head. “Only in the Big Apple, amiright?”

Second Breakfast

…is an uncommon occurrence, which makes each a welcome event. As much as they try to synchronise their schedules, seven thousand kilometres and five time zones are a large gap between the League’s latest couple. Distance is rarely an issue; time zones are harder to defeat.

The ritual had begun early in their relationship, when Hermione has breakfast in Croydon before a patrol or a shift at the Tower. Then, in her afternoon/his morning, they rendezvous at his place in Central City for his breakfast/her lunch. Alternatively, Wally meets her in the Watchtower cafeteria if he has an early shift in the chair.

He’d been the one to give it a name, soon after her revelation that she’ll be appearing in a movie. It sticks.

This morning is at his place. He cooks. She kibitzes. They make it work.

Downtime

…can be anywhere when Hermione needs time for herself. Quiet time for when it all feels too much. When Green Lantern can relax into Hermione Granger, ordinary person. No crowds. No attention. No worries.

Usually out in space, a few solitary minutes. Tea and biscuits. Comfort food. Sometimes her ring plays soft music gleaned from a thousand, thousand civilisations. Sometimes there’s only quiet of distant solar winds.

She rests, takes unstressed breaths, takes in the sights. Can be amazed at her life. That she’s still alive. That she has such wonderful friends. That she’s found love.

She loves her job. She loves her life. Hermione still takes breaks from both, and she’s learned enough to know when to. Decompress, defragment her thoughts, steady herself.

Then back to work.

Foreign Foods, Part One

…namely, the interesting foodstuffs Hermione encounters on the job. Most commonly on new planets, doubly so for First Contacts. New adventures in every bite.

So long as her ring assures her there aren’t any health concerns, she goes for it. Unique texture and taste experiences. Several have no flavour at all; human senses can’t process the chemical reactions. A few are quite indescribably the opposite bordering on hallucinogenic.

Some… well, let’s say they should be confined to boxes of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. With loud warning labels that actually yell Howler-level admonitions. Ideally wrapped in sturdy chains, or quarantined to George’s latest productions.

Hermione imagines her own items have a similarly mixed reception. That’s never important, however. The sharing of items between different peoples, sharing customs and learning of each other, those are important. One of the parts she loves the best of being a Lantern.

Working Lunch

…might be anywhere as well. Oa, for example, in the recreation complex with fellow Lanterns. Sharing activities in their sectors, victories and losses. Gossiping (though none would label it as such) while watching recruits along the skyline struggling to maintain altitude.

The Watchtower often sees Hermione taking them. Lately, sessions with Kara, Barbara, Dick, Donna, Vic, and Wally to Talk Titans. Specifically, Turning Titans into Legal Leaguers, and that gets several food items chucked at Wally.

Topics, training lists, teamwork exercises. Trust building, especially for Hermione and Kara who’ve only had a handful of team-ups with teams of Titans. Karen and Garth drop by when they can; everyone’s fairly certain that Garth is likely to be the next to graduate. If all goes smoothly, of course. No one wants to mention death. Everyone is only thinking it.

The talk often drifts to the generation after them. Those in Young Justice, those soon to arrive in its ranks. Those who might never officially be part of that group, such as teen whom Barbara is training. Wendy Harris, aka Proxy. ‘Overwatch’ seems the group consensus for a better name once she goes active.

Snacks

…can get silly. They’re the ones Hermione brings on patrols. Then there’re the ones she brings for her friends. When she remembers.

“You know the rules, Hermione. No snacks, no seating. And no using laps, conjuring a chair, or hovering.”

“Don’t look at me, hon. They’re your friends.” Wally does a blur. “And you forgot to restock your fridge.”

“Snacks, Granger! You do adore following the rules, don’t you?”

“Blast. Fine, Pans.” She gives Wally a quick peck. “Back shortly.”

“No, we were kidding ’Mione! Aaaand she’s gone.”

“Salazar. There wasn’t even a breeze this time. She’s getting good.”

“She is, isn’t she? The flying part really helps; there’s less worry about obstacles.”

“Just how quickly can she fly? Are we talking the Moon? Or farther?”

“So, bets? 10 galleons says a different planet. Thirty minutes, tops.”

“You’re on, Theo. What’s a galleon again?”

They settle back to watch the screen, waiting the call for brooms up and the start of the match.

She doesn’t come back for two hours, having spotted a nascent invasion growing just outside her destination. A system where on one world plant resins are marinated, heated, and compressed into circular stacks. J’onn, a true connoisseur, praises them.

Her fellow Lanterns applaud Hermione for the early detection and interception. Her friends laugh when she spins the tale on her return. Everyone enjoys the rather oddly shaped and indescribably delicious biscuits she’s brought. Wally gives her a kiss and says she’s almost getting fast.

Foreign Foods, Part Two

…and then there’s America.

“Right, I promised you a quick lunch break in a foreign land.”

“I thought you meant on another planet.”

“Not happening anytime soon, and not a subject for debate. As to the menu… trust me, everything here is worth trying, despite the odd titles. There is the chicken fried steak, for example. It lacks both chicken and steak, yet is quite good. Or the tea, which isn’t as to be expected. A rather plebian brew, yet very sweet and served chilled with ice. Also quite good. Dangerously so.”

“Hi, um, Miss Lanterns. Ya’ll ready to order?”

“You bet. I’ll have the CFS, heavy on the pounding, heavy on the gravy, heavy on the pepper. With steak fries… do you have black eyed peas?”

“That we do.”

“Perfect! Those as well, and a side of hush puppies. Big Red if you have it, tea if not.”

“Got it. And for you, Ms Lantern?”

“I… may need a moment, Robin. Tea to start, please.”

“Sounds great! I’ll be right back with the drinks.”

“What’s with the stare, GL? I’ve been doing the reading since you brought me to America that first time.”

Hermione couldn’t be prouder.

Family Dinner

…this time at the Burrow. Where she’s eaten so often, lived a good portion of her life. Surrounded by her second family, the one she’d gained when she got her wand. Her magical family.

This one is unique. She’ll be introducing her special someone to them all. And Ron has mentioned it could be a full house.

Hermione handles the transport, knowing Wally won’t be able to see anything until they are…

“Holy Cow, that’s a weird looking house!”

…right on top of it. The aromas hit before they reach the door. The wards still admit her, which is always a nice feeling.

“Hi everyone! Molly, that smells wonderful!” She pulls him out in front of her. “Arthur, Molly, I’d like to introduce Wally West. My boyfriend.”

Wally gets a firm handshake and a welcoming hug. “Our girl picked a good one, didn’t she,” he hears. Hermione hears as well, with a blush.

Ginny, Ron, and Harry come out of the living room to add waves his way. Bad news; evidently Percy can’t make it, last minute thing with the kids, and he and Audrey send love.

Ron and Hermione take Wally on a tour, Ginny popping in at times to add embarrassing memories throughout. Ron gets revenge relating of the first time his sister had stumbled upon her now-fiancé.

Wally clearly loves the whirling, lively magic embedded everywhere they go. “Like a big Disney ride! And that clock… we could use of those in the Monitor Room.”

Hermione hums. “Possible. Let me discuss with Z.” It turns out not, yet does offer ideas for the member status display.

George Apparates in next, Charlie right after him, and Hermione tackles both. She’s told Wally about them, including George’s impersonation of Ralph at a comedy club where they’d learned Polyjuice and Gingold don’t mix well. Or mix hilariously well, depending on how you view it.

Dragons… Wally had given her a long look when she’d spoken of those. Despite Harry confirming her tale of their bank heist escape, and later all her friends doing the same. An entire reservation of dragons in Rumania? They must be pulling his leg.

Charlie brings out photographs as everybody not actively cooking is shooed out of the kitchen, making the living room quite crowded. Wally studies the photos with awe as Charlie turns to Hermione. “Saw you in action on an internet video. Hungarian Horntail, was it?”

Hermione winces a bit. “Hope the twin laser-breath wasn’t too off-putting.”

“That did startle us, lot of laughing from the team I’ll admit. Rest was spot on, Hermione. Good to see you remember your Care of Magical Creatures.”

“Also the Tournament.”

“Yeah, that too.”

There could be a level of magical happenstance, as that heralds the Floo arrival of two Tournament participants (albeit one who’d been non-willingly). Fleur and Bill and baby Victorie, now six months old, along with Gabrielle who’s now fifteen.

“Wow. Mr & Mrs Indiana Jones, just like you said,” Wally mutters to Hermione, who then does the introductions. And is quite pleased when he doesn’t react to Fleur. Or to Bill, for that matter.

Wally sees Hermione seeing him. “Magic whammy, right? Circe had the same and stronger. Plus,” as he leans towards her, “nothing on you hon.”

Fleur looks impressed. “Quite the catch she has,” she says in soft French to Bill, and they grin.

So does Hermione. “Isn’t he?” she replies in matching Parisian, lips not matching her words. “Finest in the oceans.”

That gets an arched eyebrow from the Veela, who beckons at Hermione’s hidden ring. “I know it is impressive,” this time in deliberate, lightly accented English, “and it continues to be so. Casually impressive.”

Bill pulls out multiple bottles from his bottomless satchel, trading them with his wife for his daughter. Fleur wandlessly leads her Gaelic charges into the kitchen for appropriate preparations such as decanting and chilling.

Victorie is utterly adorable, and has grown so much since Hermione’s last seen her while rescuing the French wine industry. Gabrielle has as well and remains a Lantern fan judging from her eagerness.

“Could you, s'il te plaît? Become la Femme Émeraude?”

Hermione notes Gaby’s not alone, as Harry and Bill have adopted overly pleading faces. They get mock glares in return. As for a fellow Black Lake Hostage… “Just this once, okay?” she replies, and lets herself glow as the uniform shifts around her.

“Sensationnel!”

“Oh, that’s nothing,” Ginny insists. “Please, Mr Flash Sir, we’re your biggest fans!” and manages to engage deadly dual eye battage at Wally without breaking into laughter.

“Hon?”

“Parity, Mr West. How could you refuse your biggest fans?”

“Fine.” Wally activates his own ring, and for a small fraction of a second the expanding scarlet costume emerges into visibility. Then he’s wearing it.

Ginny wolf whistles. Harry sighs. Gaby is speechless.

Hermione looks smug.

Fleur is watching from the kitchen. “I must tell Mère to call for you whenever la petite sœur is screeching about whatever she is screeching about that day.”

Charlie and George have questions for the couple concerning jocular uses for speed and reptilian life in space, which are cut short as Molly announces dinner is an hour away. This, Hermione knows, is the signal for everyone not cooking or aiding the cook to rush outside. For Quidditch, of course. Wally and Hermione return to less distinctive clothing as Ginny retrieves brooms from the shed. Bill adds several from his satchel.

Wally’s enthusiastic to give it a try. Hermione rings up an unlit green broom for them to jointly ride, as they’d done on his birthday. “No magic means no magic means no magic brooms,” she adds to curious stares as the two mount up.

Gaby is quite the Seeker, and the curse breakers are exceptional Beaters. Ginny shows why she’ll be Chasing for England at the World Cup this year while Harry shows that he hasn’t lost his touch. The male Weasleys haven’t, either.

Wally’s speed can’t come into play, though it does ensure he’s never caught unawares by a hurled Bludger. Hermione surprises many who remember her school years by how well she can manoeuvre a broom. No, she’s not cheating, come the retorts to the accusations.

A grand time. No injuries, plenty of fun. Gaby narrowly takes the Snitch, not that anyone had been keeping score.

The timing is excellent as the call to eat is announced right after. Either that, or Molly’s been watching and waiting for the game to end. Hermione’s wondering where everyone will fit, envisioning the famous scene from a Marx Brothers movie, as they head for the kitchen door.

Duh. She does forget where she’s at, who she’s with. The kitchen (and table) is now twice as large as it has been. Arthur’s work, she guesses. Easy for him to get a temporary extension charm at work.

The table is heavily laden. Steaming slabs of roast beef, neeps, mash, fresh bread and butter, steak and kidney pies, endless veg dishes. “And for Hermione,” Molly adds as a shepherd’s pie hovers out of the oven.

Hermione claps with delight. “Wally, you’re seriously going to love this.”

And he does. All of it. Including the table talk.

“So the two of you go into pyramids, tombs, catacombs, vaults, and remove the curses on them? Recover lost artefacts, just like in–”
“Yes, we’ve seen the movies. Hermione insisted.”
“Nothing like the real thing Wally.”
“What about that time at the place, where the thing went off?”
“Ah, yes Beel. That was remarkably as per the movie.”

“Pass the carrots, please?”

“And it could fly and turn invisible. Dad did fantastic work.”
“Which you two berks drove into a killer tree.”
“Now Ginevra, we’ve discussed that. Anyways, Wally, currently I’m working on a Morris Marina out in the garage.”
“Wow. That’s… wow. I just have to see that.”
“I think we can make time. Now a ring to store your clothing, is that a new Muggle invention?”

“Pass the butter, please?”

“Lizards, complete with tails, and they can fly to other stars?”
“Including one of my best friends, and we’ve been adopted into their family. They’re coming to visit Earth in a couple of weeks or so.”

“Pass the potatoes, please?”

“You should know there is talk of issuing you l'Ordre national du Mérite for your actions that day. Très impressionnant, Hermione.”
“Huh. A certain somebody in the French government is really doing her best to convince me to spend greater time in Europe.”

“Pass the roast beef, please?”

“You’re kidding, Ron. They still haven’t cleared away my desk?”
“Nope. Downright inspiring, it is, all those memos stacked up on it. People come from all over the Ministry just to get a glimpse.”
“I hear it’s going to become part of the orientation tour.”

“Pass the beans, please.”

“And that’s how we had our first date, in a cafeteria of all places.”
“cough-taco truck-cough”
“Don’t listen to her. You two?”
“Similar, I would say. Beel and I were new co-workers at the bank, rekindling the attraction from first glances months ago. There was a nightclub in London that didn’t know how to serve café au lait.”
“Then we found one that did. We closed it out.”

“Pass shepherd’s pie, please. If Hermione’s left any.”
“Oi, West!”
“C’mon, split the last slice with me.”
“Well. Okay.”

When the plates are cleaned, Ron is awestruck. Molly looks over them all, contented and happy. Save perhaps for the lack of a ring on the left hand of someone she’ll always consider a daughter.

Wally’s back with Bill and Fleur over curse breaking, and Hermione uses the opportunity to take Harry and Ron upstairs to the room they used to share.

“I wanted to let you know,” she begins. “That mysterious witch who was raiding the Ministry and Gringotts? She’s no longer an issue.”

She gets shocked faces. “Blimey, did you do her in?”

“What? No!” Honestly! “Why does everyone think I killed her?”

“Because you would, Hermione,” Harry says slowly. “If you had to.”

“Well. I didn’t have to. I am saying that you needn’t worry about her. No need to spread that information around, however.” Hmmm. “If you can, do send me copies of any new Wanted posters you put up.”

“Hermione…”

“All I will say on the matter. Trust me, okay?”

“Always. You’re not lying, I know that.”

“You do?” Drat. “I need to work harder on my tells.”

“No tells. I just know you.”

“We both do, ’Mione.”

A big smile at her boys, and they get pulled in for a Golden Trio hug.

As people start leaving, Hermione pulls Harry aside again, just Harry. A few questions about a particular object, as so far as she knows he’s the last person who’s seen it.

Drinks

…are often the reason for a Survivor House gathering when Quidditch isn’t in season. (Hermione’s tried to instil interest in cricket, Dean the same for football. Both sadly to little avail.)

Dress is semi-formal. Meaning Hermione trades up her cowboy hat for her new trilby. Wally, when he can make join her, always looks quite yummy in a blazer.

The location varies. Longbottom, Malfoy, and Abbot manors are popular, as is the Bones estate. Blaise often rents out entire bars, knowing which are the best to select through his reviews.

They all take turns as bartender, which adds to the entertainment. Several of them are quite good at it, even without using magic or magical constituents. As are the two who never use magic. Hermione does dozens of drinks at once, not that difficult as this is similar to a training exercise Kilowog had run in sixth week. Wally simply tosses bottles, glasses, everything into the air, then produces final arrangements in front of each person seconds later.

Part of the enjoyment is introducing new concoctions. Such as espresso martinis, with the Granger family touch of cacao syrup and a pinch of salt. These are mixed sans ring support for a special touch. Wally offers authentic Mint Julips using Kentucky bourbon. Blaise always has a latest discovery to share, or variations on standards like his beloved negroni. Draco and Pansy have ancient family potions, a few that take hours to completely temper and meld.

One evening, Harry brings in a thin booklet he’d found in a lost Grimmauld attic. All in Sirius’s writing, notes on the best bars in London. They include his attempts to reverse engineer the favourite drinks of the Marauders. Not all are successful; he gets many sincere toasts for his efforts, nonetheless.

And then there are the times when Hermione makes the unique drinks, the note to be found on this planet. A trifle tricky, as it’s one thing to find ingredients compatible with human digestion. Another to find ones that induce the desired quasi-alcoholic effects.

She’d discovered her first on her third visit to Lissam’s brood family, a tea-like beverage infused for honoured guests. One sip and Hermione’s ring had to go into overdrive to re-engage her higher thought processes. Needless to say, this gets diluted dozens of times before distribution to her friends.

Currently, Neville is adding small flower petals to each glass of gin and tonics. Each dissolve slowly into swirling rainbows that sparkle as they interact with carbonation. Hermione won’t say which world they’re from, only sharing a smile with Wally as they drink.

Dessert

…can be a tricky subject for two dentists and their daughter. A truce had been declared between zero tolerance and full indulgence in Hermione’s late teen years. Later, this is reaffirmed and refined when the Wilkins had remembered they are Grangers too. Moderation is the watchword, difficult at times when she has a bestie and a boyfriend who can both eat their weight in chocolate and maintain dazzling smiles. Or worry about diabetes.

Tonight, all agree to throw the watchwords to the curb. The Wilkins are visiting London, and so are the Howells. Both accompanied by their rather extraordinary daughters.

All four parentals insist doing at the original Hard Rock Café. The daughters roll their eyes at the selection. Regardless, it turns out to be a great time. Along with a nice element of pop culture education.

As for afters… Hermione knows several places in Croydon. No ring-based transportation; they instead take the train. Not a short trip but it does allow time for appetites to return.

Hermione’s heard good things about a location with an unusual name and an incredible selection. Isobel has a sticky toffee pudding, Charles the mango and coconut arancini. Monica goes with a strawberry-covered crepe, Wendell a slice of cheesecake. Sam takes a very long time before deciding on the Oreo Crunch Waffle. Hermione feels compelled to order the Black Forest cake, a thicker cut than she’d assumed and after the first mouthful is happy for the size. Then, checking they’re in a secluded area, tells of the double date in Germany.

They end with toasts from two shared milkshakes to their two wonderful daughters. Sam starts embarrassed at it, then catches her mentor shining and leaning in for hugs and does the same.

This makes the first time the Howells have been to Croydon. Not nearly so for the Wilkins, who know there’s a place nearby that Hermione might like to show Sam.

Not a long walk to the park, and to the bench where the former Green Lantern had met Hermione the second time. The day of her departure for Oa. Eager and worried and oh-so ready for a new life.

Sam hops on and gazes around. “This is where you started.” She has the same look as Hermione’s parents had earlier on taking in Clapton’s iconic guitar on the wall.

Hermione sits beside her. “It is. I’d also like to think of it as where we got started.”

Fortunately there’s no one else nearby to see the twin emerald glows that light up.

Chapter Text

“Hyperspace? Seriously?”

“Quite. Quite painful, too.”

“Herm, you projected yourself into a higher dimension while mass-anchored in a gravity well! ‘Painful’ shouldn’t have even been on the list of possible outcomes!”

“As numerous people angrily pointed out once I woke up. It seemed the best option at the time, what with my arch enemy having ensnared me in a death trap.”

“Yeah, you know I’m sorry on that, but you did pummel me into paste after escaping. You scared the crap out of me that day, Herm. Not just with the punches, either. Hyperspace… huh. I figured you’d vibrated through the enscrolled lattices, like West does.”

“Unfortunately no, Parm. Had to do it the hard way.”

“Damn. If it helps, you really did a number on my face. Multiple broken and shifted bones. Hey, wait, I was your arch enemy?”

“You totally were. I have a few applications to review now for the opening, none as promising as who’d previously held the position.”

“Aw, thanks Herm. Can I get a letter of recommendation for my resumé?”

“Have your people call my people. No promises.”

A small laugh from them both, and a clink of tall glasses filled with iced soft drinks. Definitely not the expected beverages for a (former) supervillain’s lair, not that Hermione’s complaining.

Nor complaining of the surroundings. Very spacious and relaxed for a villainous hideout buried underneath a lake. Not that Hermione has an extensive variety of comparisons to draw on. Malfoy Manor leaps to mind, as it is wont to do. Though she must admit it currently looks–and feels–a great deal more welcoming that it had on her first trip.

The witch’s home is also well lit, far better than another cave she’s become well acquainted with. Bright fixtures on the crystalline walls and along the vaulted roof of main room, all via magical illumination. Warmer, too. And huge windows, brass-framed ovals along the walls and ceiling. These are new from her last visit, when Hermione’d been barely functioning on half a lung.

All charmed to show not the cold rock around them, and instead the Schoharie Reservoir waters above. Possibly nearer the surface, given the amount of sunlight coming through. Different bodies of water as well, based on the varied sea life swimming in several panes. No giant squid to be seen, Hermione’d noted smugly. Parsimony had huffed and said she’s working on that.

They’d agreed to an early lunch at Parsimony’s place in the latest of their series of ‘learning to be sisters again’ sessions. An overall humdrum event, Hermione had thought, save for the ‘place’ is twenty metres below the bottom of a fifty-metre-deep lake.

The hatchway had been in the same spot, still looking rarely used. Necessary for those who can’t teleport, such as herself. Hermione’d wondered who else might have come here and had convinced herself to wonder further at a later time.

She’d shifted out of uniform and into casual clothes once inside. Parsimony had walleye, fresh caught from the lake that morning, ready for pan frying in a surprisingly well-stocked kitchen. Hermione had felt a bit off for simply putting out tea and biscuits when she’d come to her Croydon flat.

No tea; there’d been sodas and crisps instead. Including that Diet Soder Cola Hermione’d grown fond of whilst caravaning across this country. Eyebrows had been raised to Parsimony, who’d simply nodded. She’d earlier admitted to jealously spying on the Family Granger on the road.

As for the meal…

The walleye is excellent, as are the sides. Not Hermione’s first time with this fish. “Yes, had it as deep fried cubes skewered on a stick, farther in the middle part of the country.”

“West?”

“Midwest, actually.”

“I meant–“

“I know. Yes, with Wally.” Hermione points a fork at the host, a horrid breach of decorum she’s sure. “You can use first his name, you know,” she adds with a roll of the silverware.

“Not feeling it,” Parsimony levelly replies. “Not yet.”

Hermione will keep working on that. Not like she’s known for giving up.

They retire to ridiculously comfortable armchairs for afters. Root beer floats, a wonderfully American concoction. “I have a friend who adores these. Anything with ice cream in it, frankly.”

“Hmmm. One of your super friends?” Parsimony slurps loudly.

Hermione glares. “Yes. Milkshakes too, she loves those.”

“Hah, you mean frappes.” Slurp.

Hermione is taken aback. “What’s a–“

“–frappe?” they ask at the same time.

“Milkshake,” Parsimony asks, puzzled. “Why did I call it a frappe? What the hell’s a frappe?”

Hermione’s mentally asking an expert. On everything. “Frappe,” her ring answers audibly and definitively. “A regional term for ‘milkshake’ associated with Earth. United States. Massachusetts. Boston.”

“Boston?” Parsimony waves her float to, well, float into the kitchen. “Been there a couple of times, you know that. But I don’t remember ever getting a milkshake. Frappe. Whatever.”

Hermione’s turn to be puzzled. “I do recall when we met there, you said you’re a native. And you gave a tour like one.”

“I did, didn’t I. Maybe I faked it? I do recall trying to impress someone I’d just met.”

Hermione rings her own float to the kitchen. “Parm, how often does this happen? At New Year’s you mentioned knots, knowing how to tie ship’s knots without knowing how you knew.”

“It happens. Only for old memories, pre-Ilvermorny and brain-scrambling. Cooking, for example.” A gesture to the kitchen. “I’d been on a fast-food diet since they kicked me to the curb, then a year or so ago I suddenly remembered cooking. Like, fancy cooking. I think there may have been formal lessons and watching the experts in action.”

“Based on the walleye, you learned well.”

“Thanks. I figure this is a useful skill, what with takeout being hard when you’re trying to maintain a low-pro.”

Yes. The mutual decision for Jinx to vanish. “Parm, if you want, I’m sure–“

“No, you were right then, and we agreed.” Neither look happy about this. Neither have alternatives. “Like I said then, penance of a sort. And not so bad. I’ve been dead for years. Meeting you that day in Boston was the first spark of life since… they tried to destroy me.” Parsimony tries a smile. “And now I feel genuinely alive. Not whole, but at least alive.”

The chairs are close enough that they don’t need to stretch their arms to clasp hands.

“Boston,” Parsimony says after a few moment pass. “Is that where I’m from, originally? A real native?”

They’ve examined what they could find of her Ilvermorny records. The former student had hurled so many improvised curses at the school upon regaining her magic, however, that these are a mess of untrustworthy data. The names of those responsible, especially so. Likely all that’s kept them alive, Hermione knows. Non-magical accounts of her childhood had become similarly corrupted, as searching for a family by the name of ‘Jinx’ hadn’t ever been successful. This in spite of that being the name found in electronic and paper records.

“Yeah, I may have used a little too much dynamite there, Butch,” had been Parsimony’s not-at-all embarrassed response.

It’s not like she hadn’t been trying to recover the memories herself. Only by herself, as “I don’t trust anyone to muck around in my head after that spiffy expulsion ceremony.” J’onn could help, except Hermione’s uncertain how his telepathy might interact with her ‘delicate little magical lobotomy’ as Parsimony calls it.

Hermione can’t imagine going through any part of Parsimony’s life that year. Losing her parents. Losing her home, her school. Losing most of her identity. Nearly losing her magic. All for ‘thaumaturgical incompatibility,’ which might also be how she’d held onto herself, had rebuilt both her psyche and her magic.

There may be a way to help, Hermione has been thinking. Not entirely a new idea, as Parsimony, or rather Jinx, had already tried it.

How to begin. “You remember that night in Scotland, in the woods?”

“Fun times, Herm.” Parsimony absently rubs one knee. “I was really wound up by then.”

“We both were. You were looking for the Resurrection Stone. I took that personally.”

“Makes sense, your files mentioned the kid’s book. Children’s stories, except one matched the legend of the Deathly Hallows. It took serious researching and applied matrix arithmancy to get the facts. Once I had the reality of it nailed down, I could feel the Stone out there. It had to be at your old school, of course.”

“I’d thought you’d come to attack the castle again, Parm. It was only when I was flying there that I put it together with the words, the ones you used while trying to create the portal under the Gateway Arch.”

No one speaks for a minute, lost in memories of the battle that night. One of their last, before their final one. Parsimony rubs her knee; Hermione feels the puncture scar on her shoulder pulse.

“I wanted to see them again. Talk to them,” Parsimony finally says, without emotion. “I can’t remember being anybody’s daughter. I remember faces, but no names. No feelings.”

“And I stopped you,” Hermione replies.

The witch sighs. “Probably for the best. Not sure how well that would have gone. That forest was feeling flammable. And angry; I don’t think it liked me tromping around,” she says with resignation. “Thinking back, and with a hell of a lot more clarity, I don’t think that rock wanted to be found.”

“I concur, for what it’s worth,” Hermione adds. Time to dive into it. Gryff courage. “Parm, I’ve talked to a friend. He was the last person to use the Stone.” That they know of, a worrisome thought.

“Parm, I think it is still there. He’s feels he’d know if it had been moved.”

There’s no response. Nary a dismissive laugh or snarky retort. Not what Hermione’d expected.

“And?” There might be a sliver of curiosity, Hermione thinks and hopes.

“So. Want to give it a go?”

That does get a response. “What, now?” Curiosity for sure, and bewilderment.

Hermione can work with that. “Why not. Did you have elaborate plans for the evening?”

“Surprisingly, Granger, I do not.” Parsimony abruptly rises from her chair and pulls Hermione out of her own. “Who am I to say no to a superhero?”

That gets her a mild punch on the forearm.

Hermione’s never been side-along Apparated so smoothly for such a long distance, assuming that’s what has happened. She can tell that Parsimony can tell, judging from the self-satisfied appearance.

Right. They’re on the far side of the Forest, opposite the castle. Ideally, this is a stealth mission. Hermione remains in blouse and jeans; she does, however, ring on a subdued jumper as it’s chilly here. It’s always chilly here, she remembers.

Parsimony gives her a look and stays in the knit amethyst dress. Except she does surreptitiously lengthen the hem and sleeves.

They venture in, no lights required for either despite the lateness of the hour. Ten metres in, and now no sign of where they’d entered. Ten minutes pass, and blankets of dense fog begin to emerge. Both travellers choose to rise slightly into the air, the twisted roots becoming nearly sentient in attempts to snag their feet.

Parsimony moves with her hands out, though it doesn’t appear to Hermione that she’s fending off branches. If there’s a trail to follow, Hermione can’t see it. She’s not entirely sure Parsimony’s eyes are actually open.

“As spooky as before,” her friend comments. “Can’t believe this is part of a kid’s school.”

“It was never a favourite place,” Hermione replies softly. “First time here we found fresh unicorn blood, and what caused it. It’s where my best friend died.”

“Damn. Sorry, Herm.” Parsimony’s voice is equally low as she curls left, and Hermione’s not confident she’s aware of the redirection. “That must have made it nastier, us fighting here.”

“Oh, he got better.” She rethinks her words. “Drat, that sounded flippant.”

“You think?” Parsimony snorts. “We’ll talk about this later. Also about old movies.” Her movement becomes faster, assured. Minutes later, they pass out of a thicket and into an area that’s barren save for hundreds, no thousands of small rocks. Many thousands. Enough to line the tracks of the Express all the way back to London.

Parsimony slows, then stops. Hermione does the same. Utter silence around them now; a forest filled with an impossible variety of life and not a sound.

Hermione takes in the scale of what’s ahead. They might be here for a long time. Her ring might be needed tonight after all.

Or not.

“Herm? Think I found it.”

Hermione turns to see a small black object rising from the ground to hover in front of Parsimony. It looks exactly as Harry had described it. A carved stone, a square pyramid to be precise, etched with a familiar symbol.

“I thought it’d be bigger,” the witch says. “A lot of power crammed into a tiny little thing. Sort of like you, Herm.”

“Hah bloody hah, Parm. But nice work.” Impossibly nice work, she thinks.

Parsimony might be thinking the same, as she puts out her hand. “I don’t think I found it. I think it found me,” as the Resurrection Stone glides to a rest slightly above her open palm.

Asking, not demanding. That fits. “There’s a sword that’s similar. It comes to those who’ve shown themselves worthy of its aid.”

“Huh.” Parsimony studies the floating gemstone. “So, is there a spell to cast? Pump magic into it?”

Hermione shakes her head. “He didn’t say.”

“Never any instructions when you need them,” Parsimony mutters, and closes her hand. And disappears.

“Parm?” She’s gone, like she’d put on Harry’s cloak. Hermione scans, and the ring isn’t detecting any signs of life in the vicinity. Well, human life. No breathing, no heat signatures.

“Hiya, Hermione.”

She spins. She’s not alone anymore.

There’s a young woman standing a couple of metres away, dressed in loose black clothing, her hair darker than black. A single, intricately curled tattoo below one eye. A woman she’s seen before.

A friendly smile and a friendly voice, same as before. “Your gal pal’s going to be busy for a spell. I thought you’d like company while you wait?” She’s wearing a simple metal ankh on a necklace, and how had Hermione not noticed that in the med bay?

She sees Hermione noticing, and the smile becomes gentle. “Honey, don’t worry yourself. I’m not here on business.”

“Herm?”

Hermione hears the question coming from behind her, and shakes her head. How long has it been? She turns, and Parsimony is there.

“Parm!”

“Catch you later, alligator. Say hi to Z for me.” Friendly words that drift in the mist, and Hermione knows she’ll hear them again. One day.

Right now, however, “Parm! You’re back!”

“Back?” Parsimony looks confused. Happy, but confused, and she wipes her eyes. “Was I gone?”

“Yes! You disappeared, and then she appeared.”

“Who? She who?”

Hermione glances over her shoulder to check. Yes, exactly as expected, only trees and drifting fog.

“She… she’s who made the Deathly Hallows, Parm.”

“Oh.” Parsimony looks down at the gem floating above her now open palm. “Oh.”

“Well, technically made them,” Hermione elaborates. “A large bit of fibbing in the stories, it seems. Artistic licence.” There’d been good-natured amusement as that had been revealed to Hermione. Laughter, even, that the three bestow ‘mastery.’

The two women are silent. Oddly, the Forest isn’t anymore. If feels, and sounds, properly alive.

Parsimony recovers first. “Damn. We didn’t piss her off or anything, did we?”

“I don’t think so? I hope not.” Hermione really, really hopes not. “Honestly, it was quite a lovely chat.”

“You had a fun chat. With the her we’re not going to name. Chatting about…?

Nervous giggles are keen to rush out, and she keeps them in control. “Cricket, of all things.”

“Cricket.” Parsimony might be a tough upset. “She’s, what, British? Her?”

A grand thought, if a silly one. “I believe she was simply being friendly. She is, by the way. Friendly. Nice.”

“Huh. Seriously, cricket?”

“And families. Siblings,” and that had been fascinating even if no names had been mentioned. “Hers are rather interesting. Very, ah, human. Good relations with a few, terrible with others. Younger brother she cares for dearly. Another who’s run away. One is utterly venomous most of the time.” Hermione shrugs; it’s not like she has siblings of her own. “Fam can be like that, I guess, irrespective of who they are.”

“Families!” Parsimony proclaims suddenly. “Herm, I have one!”

Parsimony’s hand had closed around the Stone, and the air had gone grey. “Washed out. Like all the colours had drained away. I heard voices, and when I turned to look there they were.”

The faces, those she’d known despite the lack of hues. Now names had erupted as she’d heard the magic words.

“Our little Jinx!”

Names, such as Prudence Ruth Kathrynne Wilmington, né Endicott. Royce Porter Landon Wilmington. And Parsimony Alicia Georgianne Wilmington. Their Jinx.

It had never been a last name, Parsimony explains. Just a name she’d preserved through the attempts to strip memories from her. Jinx, a fond nickname that had arisen alongside her magic as a child. When her magic had surfaced, so had all sorts of odd occurrences around her. “They didn’t have magic. But they knew about it, somehow. So they did the reading, like you always push.”

And Mother and Father had loved to see their only child’s magic in action, no matter what might break or twirl through the air or burst into flames. Their little Jinx.

Who they have loved, greatly. Always. Watching her over the years, saddened they couldn’t be there for her. When she’d most needed them, when she’d made a childhood pet name into an object of vilification. Now proud of who she’s become, what she will do. The friend she’s made.

“We talked. We couldn’t touch each other, but we had everything else,” Parsimony says, and wipes her eyes again. “They told me stuff, how I was as a kid, how I was doing magic that nobody could understand. Silly stuff, Herm, like my favourite toys. Important stuff, like that they still love me. They’ll always love me. Now I can remember them, and I love them too. I can remember being their daughter again. Their Jinx.”

And far too soon, they had to leave. “They’d been waiting for me. I got the feeling what we were doing wasn’t pleasant when you’re where they are. They needed to move on, and I needed to let them.”

Then she’d opened her palm, and her parents had faded into the air. Smiles on their faces, a smile and tears on hers. Sounds returning as the world retunes to technicolour.

“Seeing them, hearing them,” Parsimony says, “I can feel it happening in my head, Herm. Neurons restitching, rebuilding. Petals unfurling, crystals solidifying, clouds parting. Pick your metaphor.”

Memories are returning. Gradually, in fragments, and perhaps never all of them. “Mother called it a long, hard path. Father said they’ll always be with me. I know they’re both right.”

Hermione can see the change in her. Determination, not the kind before launching an attack against Green Lantern. A determination to prove herself to the parents she’s just regained. And to herself.

She’s clearly remembering new parts of her past. “Knots. We used to go sailing all the time when I was a kid. One of the family boats, a double masted twenty-footer. I can smell the salt air, feel the rope in my hands.”

“One of the boats?”

“One of the smaller ones. Herm, I think we were loaded. I want to find our house, if it’s still around. There could be family items there. My childhood could be there.”

The Stone has been floating between them the entire time. Parsimony reaches for it slowly, eyes towards Hermione with an unsaid query. She gets a nod in agreement.

Not the finest bowling Hermione’s ever seen. No batters dismissed, possibly a no-ball as the elbow is highly flexed. It functions as intended, however.

They watch as the Stone disappears far, far into the woods.

The Forest feels… peaceful. They eschew hovering for walking back out. Parsimony’s unsure how the stray magic permeating the region will combine with her handcrafted relocation spells. Hermione walks simply to be with her friend.

Who’s well appreciative. “Thanks. Really, thanks Hermione. You have no idea what you did.” She neatly avoids an entanglement of roots. “Hell, I’m still figuring it out. But I can see a way forward, to getting back what was torn from me.”

They reach the edges in less time than expected, and take in the clear night sky. “You can get back okay?” Parsimony asks. “I think I need some alone time.”

“If you want, but Parm you don’t have to be alone anymore. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, I know. This is stuff I have to sort thru. Give me a couple of days, Herm. You know where to find me.” She pauses. “Until I move.”

“Hmmm. Pack extra scarves. Significantly colder there than here, isn’t it.”

“Dew tell, Encyclopaedia Granger. Me, I hear it’s a nice, quiet place. When you’re not fighting anyone.”

“I’ve heard that too. Call me if you require help moving. I could offer a discount rate.”

“Funny as always, Herm.”

Parsimony moves away. Hermione waits for the puff of purple smoke that’s usually part of her teleport spells.

No smoke. Instead, Hermione’s pulled into a powerful hug. Which she returns.

“Thank you. Thank you so much,” she hears. Then she’s clutching a swirl of amethyst vapour.

That, that had felt right. Overdue. Good. And a good way to end the night, Hermione thinks. She’s ready to shift into her uniform and depart when there’s a gruff voice from out of the darkness.

“Did you really think you could do this without me knowing?”

A form steps closer. One she knows.

“Hermione, you’re incredible at being heroic and you’re rubbish at being subtle.”

“Harry. Or is it Deputy Head Auror Potter?” The voice now sounds more of the former, and Hermione hopes she's correct.

“I’m not in uniform, Hermione. Neither are you.” He walks closer, and she does the same.

“Harry, let me–“

“Stop,” and she does. “Hermione. I trust you. I trust my best friend, who’s always been there for me.” He moves nearer, eyes strong and green behind the round lenses. “If my best friend thinks this was the right thing to do, that’s all I need to know.”

“It was, Harry. It really was.”

“Then it was. So I’m not going to ask, and you’re so not going to tell. I have bosses who remain determined to apprehend a certain American criminal, one who’s got plenty of Wanted posters.” He is definitely a Harry now. “I brought the latest.”

He has a rolled-up parchment in one hand and unwraps it for her. Hermione can’t hold back laughing at the image, and he joins her. It’s a rather good representation of the evil queen from Snow White. Parm is going to love it.

“Harry. Thank you.”

They hold each other a long time, a not uncommon experience.

“C’mon, before Minerva sees us. Or worse, officially sees us and we get detention.”

Chapter Text

Meetings.

Honestly, Hermione can’t understand why so many people dislike meetings. They get people together, information shared, plans made, things happening. Perhaps it’s the part of her that could have been wearing blue and bronze instead of red and gold.

Her schedule is full of them before her day is half accomplished. The first being an early trip to the Obleron System and the status of Sector House 282. Which is coming together nicely from what she can tell.

Her nine fellow Lanterns for this region (which would be a ‘decade,’ according to her ring) are feeling the same. Today, they’re performing tests of security systems, authentication challenges & acceptances, and automated defensive systems. Almost like being in training again.

Then sit-downs to discuss interior areas, each sector having a dedicated zone as starters. All ten Lantern with their own offices and living quarters within these. Quite nice facilities, Hermione thinks, and hers has been set up to her requests. Ta. And well fascinating to see they’ve done with theirs.

Commercial areas, like huge shopping malls, with amusements as well. Places to foster community growth, ideally. Countless kilometres of transportation tubes snaking in all directions, a necessity given the size of the installation. Plenty of space undeveloped for expansion, which Hermione feels is clever.

Then there’re the places not in the maps. The holding cells, not as strong as the ones on Oa but will do for most foes. Confinement until a representative of a harmed world or people arrive to take custody.

The best part? Simply getting to know additional Lanterns. Arisia, Tomar; these she already calls friends. Seven more now with her; again, it feels rather like being in training. Hoosk Vray of 2820 proposes regular meetings once the House is operational. Reviewing recent developments that might extend beyond only one sector, actions that have gone well and those that haven’t. Lessons Learned. Keeping in touch. The motion carries.

Rather like the League does. She’s there next for a Table meeting later that morning, once she’s done with a short patrol. A fairly light discussion for the superhero side of her life. Talk of who’s going to be off duty and when, who’s going to be unavailable and when. Hermione doing a four-day sustained patrol, for example, or Bruce going very undercover to take down a rising (and vicious) gang leader on the Gotham docks.

Everyone officially agrees the latest members are working well. Kudos to their mentors, who all take a short bow. No notes on the two major League actions, the first after Amos Fortune had absorbed the luck out of a casino to make himself unbeatable. Which had worked, until it didn’t; turns out you burn good luck rapidly when you’re fighting the League. The second, disaster support from a volcanic eruption in Chile along the Andes. Hermione’d been away for that one and is proud at how well Captain Atom had led the first responders.

The last item on the agenda, Dinah turning over the quarterly Chair to Katar. Along with a mention that Green Lantern is next up. Oa. She hadn’t been expecting her turn in the rotation till next year. Yay for her? Hermione mentally schedules herself to study up on, well, everything.

Farther down to the surface for a quick chat with Red Tornado. Hermione’s set for a longer visit this weekend, part of the ‘outsider’s perspective’ for the youthful membership. Which will include Sam as part of an overnight stay in the mountain. The importance of training to be the jointly agreed upon topic, along with the importance of practice, practice, practice.

She heads south for her two awesome assemblages: the Junior Lanterns and the Lanternettes. Talks with both groups of Conway’s letter, their latest activities, her latest praise and pride in them. Demands for the latest concerning her boyfriend, concerns over yucky kissing, requests for data on dates they’ve had. And no, there’s not to be any pre-teen flying about today. Hermione makes a note to check on parents and permissions, possibly take them too. A precedent’s been established, after all.

The Junior Lantern Corps and the League of Lanternettes. Titles not set in stone, yet, and she’s sure Arisia’s going to love this.

Finally, a meeting on the West Coast in National City, where the AL’s sign is turning on. An out of uniform discussion with assorted expats; her way of gathering info in the sector via sources beyond her regular ‘Irregulars.’ Fallout from the Thunderers. Crisp words between four systems over a religious schism, if she understands it correctly. Rumours, ‘friend of a friend of an acquaintance in a nearby system’ types of tales about a starship arriving empty. Or everyone onboard dead. Or both.

The latter feels like a matter for the local Lantern to look into. Hermione makes a note. A big one.

With that, her duty day comes to an end. Earlier than planned as well, which Hermione’s not certain is good or bad. Another note to examine time allocation routines built into her scheduling programmes. (Which run on a new smart display in her Watchtower room, synched to her ring. Not that her cherished notepads will ever be forsaken.)

Not that the rest of the day is filled with events. Laundry, housecleaning, grocery shopping. The never-ending thrills of being a world-famous superhero. So why not take in the Southern Californian sights? Hours till dinner with her boyfriend, when his Monitor Room shift ends.

National City itself looks peaceful from above. A baseball game is in progress; Kara’s said it has a thriving club. Er, team. A smidgen farther south, Los Angeles is anything but peaceful. Honestly, so many helicopters buzzing about like flies.

Disneyland becomes further amazing from the air. A patchwork world, which she’s seen a few of. Planets artificially covered with multiple biospheres, devoted to interstellar trade and diplomacy. Yes, she must do this again, with Wally. Or the larger park in Florida.

From up here, Hermione can see all of the parts in endless motion. Paddlewheels, riverboats, semi-submerged submarines, monorails, race cars, steam trains; such a mix of technologies.

Well, back to Croydon, that laundry isn’t going to… Wait. One of the trains seems to be accelerating as it rolls into Tomorrowland. Screams, and not the fun kind.

Hermione dives down as the vehicle rounds a bend, barely staying on the tracks. Her plan is to careful lift the entire assembly at once, slowly and carefully so nobody falls out. Then she sees passengers vanishing. One by one, nearly faster than she can observe. New screams draw her attention away, as one by one people appear on sidewalks, with cries both from the newcomers and those shocked at their arrival.

No one looks injured, and a glance at the train shows all carriages are vacant including the engine car. A master-class display of Apparition or teleportation, and a matter for later as there’s still a runaway locomotive speeding towards an unsuspecting train ahead.

Right. Hermione rings a separate emerald track that ramps up and over to avoid collision, while simultaneously disengaging the drive system and softly applies braking pads. And everyone’d said researching The Hogwarts Express would be a waste of time. Looking down, she sees the second train is also barren. Huh.

There’s a vacant side track at the front of the part. Perfect. Hermione slopes her track downward to merge, and the train she’s supporting coasts to a stop. She should be paying greater attention to this, except the questions aren’t going away. Why cause the train to lose control, and then teleport everyone to safety?

The cheering pulls Hermione back. Always appreciated, of course, and comes from onlookers as well people running up to offer enthusiastic thanks for their rescue from the trains. Not a few are astounded at the display of Green Lantern’s new powers.

Hermione’s wondering about those powers herself, as she signs autographs and accepts the thanks. Poses for photos, none with park logos behind her; she’s not there to be a promotional display. There’s a wonderfully diverse collection of people around her, and she’ll bet not all of them are from Earth. A couple of familiar accents proper manners of speaking, a number of languages her ring is needed to translate, and–

Oa. That face towards the back of the crowd, that hair. Hermione’s seen the photo, knows the name. And she can see her recognition has been recognised, judging from the widened blue eyes.

The face disappears. A piece of paper appears in Hermione’s hand a moment later as she reaches for the next item to sign. She’d not felt or seen a thing, and surreptitiously reads the neat handwriting. We should talk.

We should indeed, she thinks. The face is back, and Hermione gives a slight nod.

Half a second later, the paper has new words on it. A meeting place atop of the Hollywood Bowl, which is parenthetically mentioned as being unused today. A time ten minutes from now. And a hefty lunch order, from someplace called ‘In-And-Out’ located in Hollywood.

She’s sitting relaxed on the large concentric shells when Hermione arrives. A short tan jacket, sleeves rolled up, over a tee and shorts. Serious trainers. Long blonde hair in a ponytail. A year or two older than Hermione. Or Wally.

And gorgeous, let’s not forget that. The picture doesn’t do her justice.

Hermione flies in low across the shrubland and gets a twenty-dollar bill waved at her when she lands. An odd manner of greeting. “For the burgers.” Ah.

Hermione hands the stuffed bag and a tall fizzy drink over, keeping a much smaller set for herself, and ignores the offering. “No need, I can expense this.”

The blue eyes widen again. “The League has expense accounts. That, I did not know.”

“People who do good deeds shouldn’t have to pay when they’re with us. And you did perform a good deed earlier, easily over a hundred of them.”

“If I’d known you were in the sky, I’d have let you handle it. Walk in the park for you, right? You’re Green Lantern.” She takes a deep draw from the drink and smiles a dazzling smile, plenty of teeth. “Wally talks so much about you when we’re together.”

Hermione takes a deep breath, stilling herself. “Does he now.”

There’s sorting through the sack. “Oh yeah. All the time. Tough to keep him on track for the questions.”

Oh. “Oh.”

One of several large, messy hamburgers is withdrawn for examination and approval. “Normally I’m in the wind after stunts like that. This time, I had to stick around and see you in person.” She holds the wrapped sandwich at the ready and adds, “I guess you know who I am.”

“He’s mentioned you, yes.” Simply a name. No mention of tall, or blonde, or blue eyes. Or gorgeous.

Said eyes have redirected towards Hermione. “He’s a good man.” Then, in a very deliberate tone, “And hasn’t ever shown the slightest interest. And I get hit on from all directions.” A dramatic sigh. “Or I used to. This is LA, we’ve got models and actors everywhere.”

Oh. Well. That’s…

“I put out feelers after the first interview, so you know. Zilch.” She cocks her head, the smile almost wistful. “Looking at you up close, I can see why.”

“Yes. Well.” A breath, a calmer one. Oh Wally. Wally, Wally, Wally. “You indicated you’d like to talk?”

A bite is paused. “Yeah. On second thought, maybe where choppers won’t spot us, either the police or news.” She points with her soda and says, “How about we relocate to the trees, out past the nosebleed seats?”

Hermione looks up the hill and can hear low, mumbled words. And there she is, just outside a wooded area and waving a half-eaten burger.

Impressive. It takes a few seconds to follow. They venture in, and Hermione adds a verdant table with matching seats under a suitably obscuring tree. “Privacy shield as well? Better safe, and all that.”

Her companion is delighted. “Cool, always wanted to see that up close! ‘Priv-a-cee.’” She enunciates the word slowly. “Love it! Genuine accent too; there’re so many fakes around here.”

They dive in. Talking, as well as eating. Not the best burger Hermione’s had; perhaps a contender.

Hermione starts. “The train?”

“Not my doing!”

“Quite agree. It didn’t make sense.” Well, perhaps it had for a minute. “From what I could tell, a normal, unfortunate mechanical failure. Unless this had been a trick to draw Green Lantern out. After seeing you I believed that not to be the case, as you could have asked Wally if meeting me was the goal.”

“Exactly.” Jesse Chambers could have done so during any of the interviews she’d had with the Flash.

Hermione knows of Ms Chambers, a graduate student working on her advanced degree. She’d looked her up after Wally had mentioned the interviews he’s doing as part of her thesis, ‘The Impact of Superheroes on Society.’ Gorgeous, athletic, tall, blue eyes, blonde of course. No, Hermione’d not gotten jealous. Not at all. That green had 100% been from her uniform.

Ms Chambers having superpowers, that she hadn’t known.

She’d been taking a day off in the park, “Season pass, natch, and call me Jesse”, when the train had raced by. “Then the screams, they always sound different when they’re for real.”

Hermione hmmms in agreement. “So, teleportation? Dimensional shifting? Telekinesis too?”

Jesse looks surprised. “I figured you of all people would get it,” as a fresh burger appears abruptly in her hands. “Superspeed. My grandpa is Johnny Quick.”

Hermione’s always wanted to meet a female speedster. This hadn’t been how she’d imagined it.

“And grandma is Liberty Belle,” Jesse continues. “She gave me superstrength and flight.” She levitates half a metre off her chair.

Wow. “I’ve heard the stories about her,” Hermione says. “Quite a hero.” Both of them, to be honest, as members of the JSA.

The powers had skipped a generation. “Daddy got nada. Then whammo, I got both sets. Strength landed all of a sudden at age ten. I think they’re still looking for that soccer ball.” They laugh at that. “Then Grandpa Johnny told me about his mantra, and I had speed. Flight came out of nowhere when I hit my teens.”

“Mantra?” Hermione knows of another hero, actually a family of them, who use a special word to activate their powers. They’d never called it a mantra, however.

Jesse’s now on her second burger. “Grandpa’s name for it. You know, like magic words to chant. His ‘speed formula’ that lets you visualise true motion. Once your mind’s in tune, the body follows. And zoom, you’re in the Speed Force.”

She can see the look on Hermione’s face. “Hey, not my moniker. First I heard it used was from Wally in our first talk.”

“It is rather… on the nose.” Hermione doesn’t like disparaging, especially around Wally, except it is rather unimaginative. Also, a bit silly.

Jesse nods. “I don’t need it that much nowadays. Still easier to say it if there’s a rush, but I can internalise the process. Grandpa says it may be due to learning it at an earlier age.”

“I don’t think any of the passengers noticed they were moving when you pulled them away,” Hermione says, a professional evaluation. “You’re very skilled with your powers.”

“I’d better be,” Jesse grins. “I had the two best people in the world teaching me.”

LA’s nice and quiet according to Jesse, on the superpowers side of things. Except when a kaiju straight out of the movies attacks. She’d been ready to step in, “but it was already under control,” and raises her soda to Hermione. “Nice work on that, GL. The post-rampage aid to motorists too; LA’s all about the cars.”

No, she doesn’t have a costume. Or is listed in the Registry. Jesse just moves fast, very fast. “I see something, I help. I’m not planning on putting on a mask.” She makes for a third burger. “I don’t feel the drive like they had, like your Wally does. That could change, never say never,” she does admit.

She has, however, been hearing good things on the capevine about Stargirl and reforming the JSA. “That’s tempting.”

“You might need a costume,” Hermione offers. “And a name.” They collab on a few, in proper Hollywood fashion.

Liberty Belle? “I love Grammy and that feels a little like stealing.”

Jesse Quick? “Possibly. I like the vibes from Grandpa Johnny there. Could work.”

Lady Flash? “Oh hells no!” Hermione giggles at the reaction. “West put you up to that, didn’t he?”

“Not at all. I don’t think he knows you have powers. Furthermore, he doesn’t know we’ve met.”

Jesse confirms that Wally doesn’t know, or at least she’s never told him. Nobody knows, outside her family. And now Green Lantern.

Besides, Ms Chambers is busy with the research. Wally’s been helping for months with (curated) info about the current generation and the generations to come. Her grandparents the same on the previous one. Including a ridiculous tale of the JSA fighting cloaked magicians in Sherwood Forest, who’d been armed with magic wands and brooms.

Hermione laughs along with that one.

They’ve also told Jesse of the heroes before them. Including the legends of “a speedster in the Old West, before the Civil War,” the scholar relates. “Then another near the end of the century. Then during Prohibition, and again in the 60s.” Which is fascinating, Hermione thinks. Possibly Barry Allen, the first Flash, timeskipping on the Cosmic Treadmill?

That’s not all, either. “That got me reading up on unusual occurrences in the American 1800s. There was a place called Salvation over in the Dakotas; all sorts of weird things happened there. I found photos of the townsfolk.” Jesse squints and takes a close view. “Ever worn calico? Or a cowboy hat?”

Hermione’s laughs have elements of nervousness in them.

The burgers are gone by now. Jesse has a meeting with her thesis adviser in an hour.

“Just about ready for submission for my Master’s here with UCLA, then advancing as part of a doctorate programme at Yale if all goes well. California has been sweet, but I miss the East Coast and Queens. And yes, I know I can be wherever in the country in seconds. Doesn’t matter.”

“I feel the same. I could live anywhere, yet I love where I am. In Britain.” She pauses. Drat. “And I realise you’ve been doing all the sharing today.”

Jesse chuckles. “GL, you’ve done way over two dozen press interviews, five with Lane alone. Another ten, maybe eleven, jointly with the Flash. You’ve said tons already, I don’t need more.” She leans in her seat. “Plus it’s nice to talk about the powers for a change; I don’t get to do that much.” Then she sits back up.

“However…” Jesse has gained a look, the kind Lois gets when she changes to Lane and there are Pulitzers in the water. “Maybe there’s room for an interview with Green Lantern. No longer the Newbie from Nowhere. Coming at us from outside America and spearheading a younger, global League. All about the impacts she’s making. Such as the possible future leader of, what, Justice League Europe?”

Hermione’s turn to widen her eyes. “I interviewed her last week. The charming Ms Cobert has a lot of plans for superheroes and doesn’t mind talking to lowly grad students about them. Most revolve around you.”

That does indeed sound like Catherine. She’s very good at her job.

Superheroes. A word Hermione continues to believe is not completely applicable. She’s a Lantern. And a lantern. Inspiring people. Making things better. A few of her favourite magic words.

Magic words… Hmmm.

“Jesse, what is the mantra? The words you use.” Oh. This might be a secret. “If you don’t mind my asking.”

"3X2(9YZ)4A." The voice is a blur, similar to when Wally hasn’t recalibrated himself after prolonged superspeed. Jesse herself becomes a blur, then solidifies.

That almost… “Can you say that again, slowly?”

Jesse has a bemused look. “Three-Ex-Two. Nine-Why-Zee. Four-Ay. The fractal imagery doesn’t really translate into words, so it doesn’t work just by saying them. If that’s what you’re wondering.”

“I assumed not. Once more, please?”

“Tre’exto. Ny’yeezee. Fuar’aay.” Hermione lets them mix around in her head, swirling around phrases from quite old books she remembers of a lifetime ago. The words aren’t correct, yet… Thry’crosstu. Nywyzee. Fooray.

It almost sounds familiar. Not the words; those aren’t close. The cadence, though, the rhythm. The syllables and emphatics. Likely not hers, probably not Zatanna’s. Somebody else, perhaps?

Hermione’s very much not sure and says it anyway. “Jesse, that sounds almost like magic. A spell.”

Jesse might be smelling a Pulitzer of her own. “Interesting. Very interesting. And when did a Lantern pick up magic?” She points a finger at one of Hermione’s. “You’ve got to be the least magical person I know of.”

“Another time,” she stumbles. Oa, definitely for another time. “Where, ah, where did your grandfather learn the mantra?”

“Grandpa told us he got it from the professor who’d been his guardian. Who said he uncovered it in a lost tomb under an Egyptian pyramid.”

Oa’s Red Deserts. Hermione so needs to discuss this with Fleur and Beel.

Jesse gives her a keenly appraising look. “Yeah, we’re definitely going to do an interview.”

Chapter Text

It’s very rare that people know when a patrolling Lantern Granger will be visiting their system. Part of it is due to not advertising her schedule. Part is due to her schedule frequently being altered due to unscheduled events such as First Contacts. Or she feels like staying longer than planned. Yes, to her friends’ humorously incredulous stares, she does treat the patrol schedule as a flexible guide and cease your giggling Potter!

Thus, Hermione’s feeling rather puzzled when officials on Jenuwyne say they’d been expecting her arrival.

All seems fine; these are a sophisticated and cosmopolitan people, well used to Lanterns and the Corps. They do have an uncomfortable resemblance to a certain Second Year Polyjuice Failure, sans tall ears in exchange for quite vibrant stripes in their fur.

What would have been a short stop, except for the expectations. Her attention is directed to an unremarkable transport, anchored in high orbit far above the primary planet. Unremarkable, save for the status of everyone aboard.

Dead, all of them. Worse, mere death isn’t the largest mystery.

The vessel had arrived on time, departing hyperspace and engaging plasma drives, automatic systems operating perfectly. Which had been good, as no one had been alive to take control if they hadn’t.

The bodies have already been removed, she’s told. Examinations in progress, and the expert is in the ship waiting for her. An agent from Arcadia, where the ship had originated. All as per the Lantern’s direction, as the agent had related.

Hermione keeps her face steady. Yes, she’d indeed quite like to inspect the ship. And have a chat with the agent as well.

There’s a small singleship docked to the transport.

She doesn’t announce her entrance. The lights are low and solid, the air stale and breathable. No signs of anything remotely harmful. Regardless, her shields are up.

The passenger decks utterly empty; her ring isn’t picking up either life or movement. Wait, yes there is a ping, in the secondary bridge. Making that Hermione’s destination.

She finds a single figure crouched there, wearing an environmental suit and almost buried in the multicoloured cables within an open access panel. The helmet is heavily augmented with elaborate sensors and brightly shining lenses. There’s no reaction to Hermione’s approach, until…

“The ship belongs to a corporate entity on Arcadia,” a friendly voice says. “Lady Yul’s family owns a significant stake.” Right. Arcadia, monarchy, Yul linage as the present rulers. The speaker turns to face Hermione. “They are not pleased over this.”

The helmet is removed, revealing a rosy face textured like Blue Stilton, hairless with braided tendrils descending from behind furled ears. Arcadian, of course; the compact form with extended, attenuated limbs and fused ivory teeth are all reflective of the species. Hermione’s been there a couple of times. A nice, highly advanced, structured society that is content with orderly progress on a timetable. Lower gravity too, which makes trips there enjoyable.

“I’m rather uncaring.” Hermione lets her ring illuminate the bridge into angry emerald. “I do care about anyone flashing my name about. Who are you?”

A good smile in response, Hermione must admit. “Kys. Doctor Lymaas Kys.” The doctor reaches out with a very long arm. “Apologies for the fibbing. I hate red tape; it might have been months before I’d have been allowed in there otherwise without mentioning a Lantern wished it so.” The doctor also has a good handshake.

“Her Ladyship becomes less pleased with delays. I don’t get paid when They are displeased, my dear Lantern,” Kys continues. Who, she says, is currently at the Royal Science Directorate as its resident forensic analysis lead. “Among other fields; comparative technologies, archeolinguistics, macro-biology. I freelance; whatever is needed, I do. Or I learn how to do it. The money isn’t grand, but ah the mysteries the jobs offer!”

Including this matter. She’s already gathered a great deal of data, and is going to share with her sector’s Lantern. And promises not to use her name again, honest. Which does help calm the situation, as does the doctor’s easy manner. Hermione lets her shields and the room’s glow diminish.

“And you, you are the new Green Lantern. Though not so new anymore, eh Lantern Granger?” as she gives Hermione an appreciative look. “Defeater of Nebullox, Conqueror of the Ironstar, Hero of our Sector. An unexpected delight; I honestly had no idea you were coming. Kind of hoped you wouldn’t, eh?”

“I’m glad I did, Doctor Kys.” Blind chance, all blind chance. As always, Hermione hates knowing how many incidents she misses due to the lack of interstellar communications outside of messenger ships. And Lantern rings, of course. A mental note to talk with Ray on the progress of the tests.

Kys waves an arm easily as lengthy as Hermione herself. “Call me Doc, as everyone I work with does.” She makes a barking chortle. “Hah, as is done in the fictional entertainments of your world, yes?”

“Hello Doc. I’m Hermione.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Hermione Lantern,” and Doc performs a short bow, arms bending on multiple elbows to flex under her head. “Under the circumstances, of course.”

Speaking of the circumstances, Hermione hears further of what’s known. Which isn’t much. Ship logs had cut off recording after entering hyperspace. All files blanked, as if they’d been overwritten thousands of times. Crew and passengers, everyone deceased.

“This isn’t like that extragalactic monster you Lanterns pulled over,” Doc says with a thin finger pointed at Hermione. “That’s become famous, yes? Sitting in the Eerlik system, everyone wanting to study it. The bodies within very definitively dead from standard, boring reasons. Exposure to the void, very unpleasant and boring.” She makes an expansive shrug. “Happens far too often.”

She motions towards their surroundings. “The bodies found here were deader than death. Cessation of life. No causes, no physiological damage.” A tap on her suit’s armband, and a holo display scrolls numbers and charts. “No cellular decay. All life switched off, including bacteria. Enzymatic, all chemical reactions of any kind halted. Not until exposed to a fresh atmosphere did decomposition begin.”

Another tap, and a chip detaches from the suit. “I gathered data on them; ensure their families are notified, as well as Her Ladyship.” It’s tossed to Hermione, and she stows it away in her dimensional pocket. Which gets raised eyes from Doc.

“Fascinating! I’d heard of that, and…” She takes a breath. “Another time. Oddly, there’s no great rush to fly the ship back to Arcadia. New crews aren’t enthusiastic. I can’t imagine why.”

It reminds Doc of another ship, a freighter that had arrived empty a month ago at Garon V. No bodies, no organic material of any kind within. “Oh, not being speciesist, these were organic beings as crew. Hauling a variety of organic foodstuffs, all gone. Only metal and synthetics remained. Augmentics, cranial plugs, retinal upgrades littered the decks.”

Oa, why hasn’t she heard about this?

“Quite the fascinating mystery, yes Hermione Lantern?”

“That’s putting it mildly.” Not a mystery, possibly an emergency. And dammit, there needs to be better method than this to find out about them!

Doc is staring off at the overhead, lost. “There are legends, myths, stories you haven’t heard of.” She hesitates and returns to Hermione’s gaze. “Not you, personally. Your people not having reached interstellar travel yet, thus the lack of legends, no offence meant.”

The dark folklore of the spaceways. “Ships go missing or arrive barren of life. They went into Dead Space, so the tales say. ‘Nothing alive is permitted to escape,’ and all that.” She shrugs again. “What can I say, I like to study everything I can. Even legends. Maybe not legends so much, hah!” she says with a harsh laugh.

“You Lanterns, you have your rings to protect you when you travel through hyperspace,” she goes on. “What of the rest of us? We have naught save the hulls of our ships. What if there are dangerous reefs and hidden rocks lurking under the surface? Whirlpools, sea monsters?” Doc shrugs, a possibly favoured gesture. “I fear my expertise in transdimensional physics is lacking, which I must address. When I have the time, or someone will pay me to do so!” Another barking laugh, and she readies her helmet.

Doc is well acquainted with Earth, beyond its low technological level. “I looked up your planet years ago when we lost Abin Sur. A sad day for us all. He was a great hero. The Jordan from your world, he took getting used to.” She smiles and clicks a pallid tongue against her upper tooth-ridge. “Oh, did he. Brash, ill-mannered, arrogant, loud, oblivious to stellar customs. So unlike Lantern Sur. Yet Jordan earned our respect, in time. A great hero he became, yes.”

The jury remains out on this Lantern, she says. “Though you are impressing numerous people,” Doc stresses. “Urinating on the dismissive emotions of others, if I have the saying correct. However, the right people in both cases.” She lowers her voice. “I won’t corroborate if asked, but the Lady has good words to say of your actions.” The helmet is fixed into place. “Who expects a timely report, Her Ladyship does. As I do for my payment. And so a farewell to you, Hermione Lantern!”

They part on another handshake. Hermione spends the rest of the day planetside reviewing the data with investigators, which offers the same questions. Then she flies to Garon and checks of that other ship. It’s exactly as Doc had described.

Roughly a week later, a week without any news of similar incidents either in her sector or others…

Then a caravan ship comes out of hyperspace at the Kormorax system. Everyone dead.

She hears about it while at Ramnos, in the midst of a splendid series of picnic-style gatherings at schools across the planet. A courier vessel part of the trade/information network operated by Mecha IV arrives with the latest mercantile offers, corporate bids, and news. Hermione abruptly cuts short the visit.

The ship is full of medical personnel who’ve begun respectfully removing the corpses. Technicians are carefully examining engines and computers. A mild amount of curiosity and awe at Green Lantern’s presence; no one had been expecting her arrival this time.

Hermione’s doing her best to stay out of the way, when a familiar singleship slides up to dock. Doc’s heard too, it appears.

“A pleasure, again,” she says softly after joining Hermione off to one side. “Have to stop meeting like this, my dear Lantern. People will start talking!”

Her Ladyship has allowed the trip to gather more data. Hermione relates what’s been found so far. No cargo of valuables missing. Crew, passengers, all accounted for. All simply dead.

Hermione’s checked the flightpaths for all three ships. The departure and destination systems don’t seem to have any correlation in locations, durations, orientations. Which Doc confirms, as she’s done the same.

They move to a row of bodies awaiting transport. All so peaceful looking. Damn, it hurts seeing this and there’s a sense that’s a good thing. When it’s not, that’s when to worry, as Wally’s said. Clark as well.

Hermione points out the obvious on one body, then another. And a dozen more.

“Hmmm.” Tendrils of braided hair wave on Doc’s face. “This is different. Fascinating.”

The bodies have markings, raised scar tissue along the outer epidermal layer. A single, small mark on a forehead, or an arm, or wherever skin is visible.

On many, this is identical: three lines intersecting at a single point, each extending a short distance after the point of concurrency. The rest of are different, each uniquely marked. “Not enough to get a sampling for linguistical analysis,” Hermione relates. “No frame of reference my ring can discern. It has never seen the like, and it has an enormous database to work from.” Which is well annoying.

The two are still talking after the ship is emptied out and left alone for the Lantern and her companion. Hermione’s projecting the… symbols? sigils? icons? on a flat section of inner hull for examination.

“Could these be natural, a byproduct of whatever happened?” Hermione’s reaching, and Doc doesn’t bother replying.

“We can’t really be certain they were properly in hyperspace or not, Hermione Lantern,” Doc does offer. “Another level of hyperspace? Hah, outside my expertise.”

Perhaps not natural, Hermione imagines. They don’t look precise, either. Hand-made. But by whose hands?

Oddly reminiscent. The arches, crossed segments, angled barbs, at once both simple and complex. They almost look like… no, that would be too bizarre. Her encounter with Jesse and the speed mantra is surely the reason for such thoughts.

“Hermione Lantern?” Doc’s turned the examination to the human beside her. “Do you have cognition to share?”

“No. Not yet.”

“Hmmm.” Doc returns to the markings, and waves at the wall. “Myself, I am thinking these could be magical runes, yes?”

What?!? “What?”

“Runes. Magical runes.” Doc carries on, as if conversing about the weather. “I’ve read about the magic on your world, Hermione Lantern.” She waves again. “Or sorcery, the terms seemed interchangeable? Such a common theme in so much of your world’s literature, hah!”

Hermione has to comment. “Sorcery has darker connotations, I’ve found.”

Doc is actively studying her now. “Your world isn’t the only where it is found, you know. Not a widespread topic of discussion, as so few can channel such fickle energies while everyone can channel reliable science,” and she beckons to the row of blinking monitors along the hull. “So why bother?”

“So… runes?” Hermione’s turn for a mild shrug. “It’s possible, I guess.”

“I don’t think these are science, my dear Lantern. I know science and these don’t feel like science. And if not science, then magic. Sorcery. Pick a term.”

A mystery’s gotten more mysterious. “I hate mysteries,” Hermione mutters.

“Hah!” Doc is practically aghast. “Hate? Mysteries are wonderful, I adore mysteries! Of any kind.” Her near joyful expression should feel out of place, considering why they are here. “Call it a hobby, one of my many to keep life interesting,” she says plainly. “Scientists should always welcome mysteries, yes?”

That does track. Lena is always filled with questions about, well, everything. And Ray loves when his experiments go wrong. Hearing someone Out Here talking about magic, however… it feels off.

Doc may have entered lecture mode. “By definition, all things are natural phenomena. Magic must thus be a form of energy yet to be melded into scientific explanation, Hermione Lantern. A fascinating process that science struggles to codify. So far.”

She nods towards Hermione’s hand. “Your rings would be labelled as magic if not for assurances that they are not. The word of your Guardians in assuring this, yes?”

Hermione starts to reply, then pauses. “I don’t see a need to correct them. I know they aren’t magic,” Hermione finally says.

“Oh, I agree. Still, it is fascinating.” She eyes Hermione. “And a Lantern who knows of magic, that’s equally fascinating, if not more so!”

“Well, I also like to learn,” Hermione tries gamely. “My planet has plenty of mysteries of its own.”

“Hah! Don’t they all!” Doc continues in a jovial tone. “Your planet is interesting. Terribly behind on so many levels, no offense, this is a truth. Yet attracting so many exceptional beings as well as producing its own unique natives. Incredibly malleable genetic codes is my hypothesis.” A long sigh. “Alas, multiple proposals for a research grant to study your species along biological and sociological fronts haven’t had success. Yet.”

“Look me up if you do get that grant, Doc. I’d love to show you around.” A reminder that Lissam’s brood is coming soon, and Hermione still needs to work out lodgings.

“I certainly shall. You’re a fascinating person, human Lantern. Ideally we can meet again without, you know,” she waves her hands, “this.”

Hermione couldn’t agree more.

Mysteries. Nope, Hermione still dislikes them days later.

There’s a murder board in her room with everything she knows. Then, everything she can think of.

Piracy makes no sense and is ruled out. Then re-added. Dammit. Too many unknowns.

2814-113, the dead world where magic had once existed and now nothing does. It feels like the empty ship. However, this is a planet. Also, it doesn’t fit what the Mech have uncovered. Dammit again. 113 stays on the board.

Doc’s left field thoughts get pinned up as well. Sea monsters, reefs in the shallows of higher dimensions. Arthur would love these.

Speaking of which, she briefs the League on the mystery. Or mysteries; the ships may not actually be connected. The incidents shouldn’t affect Earth; regardless, she does like to keep her comrades appraised of interstellar activities. Especially those that echo historical events on this world.

Wally pipes in on that front first, Arthur right after him. “Like the Marie Celeste, right hon?”

“Mary Celeste,” Bruce and Ralph automatically and simultaneously reply. “The name was mixed up in popular fiction,” Hermione clarifies. “It was similar, though the lifeboats were intact and unused in my cases.”

The Hawks don’t have theories, but they’ve also heard the legends of Dead Space. Most spacers have, evidently. “Ridiculous superstitions,” Shayera asserts. Katar doesn’t say anything.

Ghost ships. Doc will love this one.

The following day, Hermione carves out time in the patrol to include Arcadia. Ideally, Doc might have new information or ideas. Hermione could use both.

Her ring finds a record of Dr Kys in the Science Directorate, and she makes way to the imposing complex. The staff at the entrance don’t look happy to see her. It does happen like this every now and then, she’s found. A Lantern showing up is often a sign that a calm and relaxing day may soon become neither.

Hermione tries to project serenity. “Hello. Can you notify Dr Kys that that I’m here? Or if not, where she might be?” It works, or at least helps reduce the number of people waving worried angular arms in her direction.

The greeter smiles nervously, then stops smiling and his braids shake “Doctor Kys? You’re looking for Lymaas Kys, correct?”

Hermione looks around the foyer. Maybe Doc’s already on the way. “Yes, is she here today?”

“Lantern Granger, Doctor Kys died four months ago.”

Chapter Text

“… and then they said she’d died months ago.”

“Seriously?” The spoon that’s been gesturing at Hermione is about to drip hot fudge onto the table, and she nods while sliding a paper napkin under the potential mess. “Rao.”

Kara notices the averted disaster and plunges the spoon back into her intensely chocolate ice cream sundae.

They’re doing post-sparring treats, in Croydon and not too far north from Hermione’s flat. Pleasant weather, so they’ve taken their purchases to tables outside the shop. Which is also a good way to lessen the chances of anyone listening on what would be a very unusual conversation.

Hermione’s slowly making a dent in an enormous lemon meringue ‘cheesecakeundae’ that had been selected based largely for the name. Slowly, due to the richness as well as her doing most of the talking.

“An explosion in her office,” Hermione says. “Very little left intact for identification.” And yes, she’d ensured there hadn’t been a single, undamaged finger miraculously remaining. “Fortunately the lab monitors captured the event. DNA that matches her records, the office samples, and what my ring detected where I saw her.”

Kara’s about to speak, and Hermione beats her. “A clone, right?” Kara nods. “I dunno, it feels too easy a solution.”

“Not a holographic projection?”

“Nope. Shook her hand and everything.”

They trade spoonfulls. Oa, there’s scrumptious vanilla ice cream hiding under the hot fudge. Kara’s also loving the various lemon flavours.

“Hard light construct? Like your ring?”

Drat. Hermione’d not considered it. “Maybe? If so, it’s impossibly good work. Multicoloured, for starters.”

Kara spoon-gestures again, with greater mindfulness of drippage. “And she brought up the M-word as a possible explanation?”

“Honestly, she seemed as puzzled about everything as I was.” Hermione swirls a piece of meringue around in her dish. “Except why? Did she know my background, wanted to see how I’d react?”

“Hmmm. Maybe to study a potential adversary up close?”

Hermione winces slightly. Hopefully not. She should double check that Nebullox remains firmly imprisoned.

“Feels like one of Big Cuz’s usual gang of idiots,” Kara goes on. “Something the imp in the bowler hat might do.”

“I so don’t need that,” Hermione moans. “A quiet year; lighting the sector, helping Sam with her powers, enjoying a steady boyfriend. Too much to ask for?”

“Comes with the cape. Or a ring.” They tap spoons. “Speaking of, what did the sultan of speed think about this?”

“Oh, he had theories of his own, ranging from robots to trans-dimensional duplicates. Several he’s had happen to him personally.” Said sultan is still asleep in the middle of the US; they’ve plans for his afternoon. “At least there haven’t been any further travel incidents.”

“See, I would be worried about that. Maybe she’s gotten the info she wanted from you, so she doesn’t need to stage any more of them.”

“It’s growing increasingly disturbing how your mind works.”

“Hey, I’m just–”

Hermione feels her ring pulse a single beat; Kara’s face reveals she’s also heard it in her earbud. Sundaes are abandoned as the two hastily depart, super-bestie pulling lantern-bestie into an empty alleyway. Having been checked in advance via X-ray vision, Hermione presumes.

A shared nod, then “Watchtower, Green Lantern and Supergirl are on comms.”

“Hei, Ice here. This is emergency and you should be airborne and flying to Italy now! I will brief on the way. No delays, there is great concern for geographic stability!”

They’re in their work clothes on the word ‘emergency’ and in the air headed for the Channel on mention of ‘Italy.’ It must be bad if Tora’s usually excellent English is faltering.

They’re past Paris when the details come in. Volcanic eruptions are imminent in an island chain off the coast of Sicily. “The Aeolians?” Kara asks, and Tora confirms. Of course, Supergirl knows her adopted planet better than natives; she’s spent more time flying over this planet than Hermione likely ever will.

Volcanoes. Sure, the two of them can handle this. Probably. Tora would be ideal, so of course she’d be sitting in the chair when it happens. “Anyone on site?” Hermione asks. “Who called it in?”

“That would be us, Green Lantern,” responds an unfamiliar voice. They’re flying across the Tyrrhenian Sea, the chain visible ahead, when Kara looks down through the clouds and her eyes get wide.

“We’re the Challengers of the Unknown.”

Kara’s eyes get wider, Hermione’s now matching.

A group that remains quite famous in the community, their origin story is one of astonishing survival from a plane crash that should have killed them all. An incredible and lengthy career of adventuring that began decades ago in the dark ages between the Justice Society’s dissolution and Superman’s appearance.

No powers. No gimmicks. Simply regular humans with amazing skills, excellent teamwork, and the willingness to investigate, contest, and defeat what no one else would dare to face. To challenge the unknown, irrespective of the danger or hazards involved, as they’re living on borrowed time. Or so their motto would have it.

And they’re on hoverpacks twenty meters above the island of Stromboli and its eponymous volcano, watching as the Girl of Steel and the Emerald Gladiator dive out of the sky to join them. Hermione thinks they all are looking fit in their rugged purple jumpsuits despite all being well over twice her age. The stylised hourglass emblems they wear are, unfortunately, reminders of tranquil third year experiences with time travel.

Kara calls to the Tower, letting Tora know they’ve arrived. Hermione calls to the Challengers. “Hello! What’s the situation?”

The blond with the crewcut and streaks of encroaching grey grins to the other four. “What’d I tell you? No nonsense operator, just like Highball said.” Right, Ace Morgan, pilot and ‘a damn good one’ according to Hal.

The sole female Challenger rolls her eyes and points to herself. “June Robbins.” She follows by pointing to the island below. “That one’s set to blow first, but all seven are rumbling.”

Wait. Stromboli? Volcano? The inspiration for Mount Doom, she’d read. And a familiar climactic location from a favourite childhood novel, reinforced after Wally’d taken her to dine at the Eiffel Tower. Yet that’s fiction… isn’t it?

The eldest, a thin brunet, must have noticed her reaction. “Our suppositions match, and why we were originally here. We can discuss it later.” He gestures to the stocky, black-haired man to his left, “Rocky Davis,” then to the wiry ginger on the other side, “Red Ryan. And I’m–”

“Walter Haley! ‘Prof’ Haley!” Kara might be a tad excited. “We’re big fans!” Hermione shakes her head in agreement.

Haley’s reply is cut off by a series of not-friendly beeps from rectangular devices affixed to the quintet’s belts. Kara’s eyes get that slightly out of focus look, directed at the mountain island. Hermione trains her ring’s scans at the same target. It’s rapidly getting hotter there, with increasing tremors.

“It’s not a single eruption,” Haley reminds. “The sensors we planted are detecting activity on each of the islands, including the tiny one near Stromboli. Multiple ventings projected for them as well, nearly simultaneous.”

Simultaneous. Ouch. It’s not going to be a fun time.

Kara reacts first. “Okay, we got this. GL, I’ll take the big ones in the middle, you take the ones around them.” Easy to say, and Hermione wishes they had time to sort out a better plan than ‘go get ’em!’

Luckily, others have. “Hey, you two,” Robbins says as they’d been about to rocket away. “The old people have suggestions.”

The Challengers had watched Hermione deal with the Mount Asama eruption, it turns out. And they have ideas for today, worked out in the scant minutes after hearing she’d be accompanied by Supergirl for this event.

They’re that good, Hermione thinks, as she plants another dozen green pipes into areas where the team has readings of approaching magma. Frictionless tubes, as she’d done in Honshū, only this time extending higher into the air. Controlling the constellation of straws from a spot far above the central island (‘Lipari’ according to her ring).

No draining the molten rock into the water, either. Kara is freezing the pluming lava into jagged boulders and superspeeding them to an empty region of Sicilian coastline. “Aquaman will be happy. He’d been cross about my dumping megatonnes of lava into the Sea of Japan,” Hermione mentions. New coordinates on another island from Morgan, and she soars off.

“Lots of folks are gonna be thankful,” and she sees Davis on the comms. “Volcanic rock makes for excellent vineyards.”

Huh. Green Lantern, Defender of Oenological Pursuits, once again flies to the rescue. Blaise will be happy, as will his mother. And no one wants to make his mother unhappy.

They’re establishing a rhythm and can hear discussions in the Watchtower of a second shift to relieve them at sundown. Kara and herself to return in the morning. Stray inhabitants and tourists are either already departed or in the process of doing so, making for an impressive flotilla. Ta.

So, of course, once things seem under control…

“We have a problem,” Hermione hears Haley suddenly announce. “There’s a colossal surge heading upwards across the entire chain. There won’t be a chain after it breaks through.”

“Not much of a Sicily, either,” from another Challenger, Ryan she thinks.

Nope. That’s not going to happen. Blaise’s mum would be really, really unhappy should that occur.

Hermione has ideas herself, thanks to her own professor. Professor Palmer, that is. “Supergirl, gain altitude and prep for incoming!” Then she concentrates, hard, and applies physics to the problem.

The pipes extend an additional kilometre upwards, and now include Archimedes’ Screws within. Unseen except perhaps by her fellow superhero, each screw begins rotating at thousands of RPMs. Lava is pulled out of the ground at speeds Wally (and Jesse) would admire.

Mechanics 101, using one of the six classical simple machines. Ray will be proud.

Kara is a blurred streak punctuated by puffs of supercold breath; not a trace of lava falls on either land or sea. Hermione doesn’t bother trying to talk to her; she knows at these velocities the rest of the world is a series of still-life pictures and sounds are long stretches of atonal notes. No need, really; Kara’s good at this.

Then they see the cause. A gargantuan humanoid creature, and one seemingly made of living magma, is extruding itself from the smallest island. The air is burning along its glowing hide, and it roars hungrily with a toothed maw that widens to an impossible degree. Fifty metres sinuously rise, and the waters boil as it strides to the boats.

This will be tricky and messy, and she and Kara know it. The eruptions are going to become a lesser issue as people are in jeopardy. They share a glance, then prepare for battle.

They’re also not alone, as the forgotten heroes remind them. “Relax, we’ve been doing this for a long time,” Robbins states with confidence.

Well earned; these are veteran monster-hunters, after all. Hermione follows their actions mostly via the comms, only allowing herself a quick look between ensuring hundreds of lava-extraction drills function properly.

Morgan becomes a teasing, irritating insect buzzing the creature, ensuring its attention keeps away from people, populated land, or Hermione’s assembly of jade straws.

Robbins flies in close and throws orders based on thermal readings, adjusting them after each roar. Then a countdown, while Haley pulls his hoverpack off and one-handedly begins reconfiguring the power source.

Davis grabs Haley so he can use both hands and steers them at a mouth bubbling with sulphurous gases. Haley dives, throwing his smoking pack down the burning throat. Ryan accelerates from the other direction after him.

“Not today, Walter!” Robbins’ words are hard and feel like a familiar order.

There’s an implosion within its head, and an encompassing halo of heat and light is pulled within for a millisecond. An entropic collapse, as per her ring. First the head, then the remainder of the creature go dark. It holds upright for a second, a statue of gleaming stone, before cold fragments splash heavily into the warm waters.

Out of the spray Ryan emerges, hanging upside down with his pack wrapped around his ankles. Haley’s below him, arms linked in circus acrobat grab.

“Not today, June,” comes his measured reply.

“Not today,” all five say together. An affirmation, or prayer. Or both.

The lava is slowing, which is good as Hermione feels like… applauding? If that’s appropriate. Kara’s identical, she sees. The teamwork, it reminds her of watching the Four in that other version of New York City. Wow.

On Stromboli, which should keep standing for another day (and has so been reported to the Tower), the Challengers have rapt audience on a Kara-cooled crater rim. They’d been investigating elements of a recently discovered ancient scroll, containing descriptions similar to a well-known tale of subterranean journeying. Fictional, or so everyone has thought for over a century.

They’d been deploying sensors across Stromboli, then to the rest of the chain. First seismic detections, then more of them in a harmonic signature. Eruptions on one island is one thing. On all of them, all at the same time?

“Kinda out of our league,” Ryan says with an easy smile. “So we called yours.”

“And we got to see you two youngsters in action,” Morgan adds. “I can see why Highball picked you, kid.”

The youngsters are about to express their admiration, when belts begin beeping. Oa, not another…

Oh. Not a monster rising from the crater. An acquaintance, of sorts. Midnight bob, black sleeves and leggings, white for her torso. She’s added fingerless gloves, also white. Then Hermione realises what this entrance might mean.

“Atlee! Please tell me–”

The teen doesn’t look angry. “Not a pet this time, Green Lantern. I was here to apprehend that magmovore.” Language, right; Hermione tells her ring to project English for everyone else.

The newcomer rises on a chunk of floating rock and flies to the group. “I could feel its molecular cessation. A clever method.” Wait, Atlee’s speaking in English. “I have been studying your surface world,” to Hermione’s questioning look. She’s also studied how to smirk.

“You have our thanks,” Atlee says to the group. “It was threatening a primary biocavern nearby until driven off. I was tasked with its elimination.”

Hermione does introductions, Atlee showing why her task hadn’t been an impossible one by making the rocky remains lift from the water and relocate to a distant beach. The sceptical Challengers are suitably impressed. For the most part. “They’re gettin’ younger each day,” Davis mockingly gripes.

“Girl’s got chops,” Kara adds. Which gets Atlee’s attention. Or to be precise, Kara’s crest does.

Kara’s latest costume is a blue bodysuit, short red jacket instead of a cape. Her family crest also on both halves of the jacket, so when closed it’s still visible. A neat touch. And not only because Hermione’s been doing the same when wearing a cardigan with her uniform.

Atlee doesn’t appear appreciative. “You wear a sigil of Lost Krypton?” she gets out. Then turns to Hermione, dismayed. “Green Lantern, this is a shameful mark of disrespect you permit a human to display.”

Hermione steps in before Kara can. “She’s Kryptonian. Honest.”

Kara hovers into the air. “You bet I am! What’s it to you?” she growls.

“How…” Atlee’s very much looking her age. “Krypton died. Its people died. Everyone knows this!”

“Not all of them. Two of us left, me and my cousin.” Kara ratchets down to ‘don’t mess with me’ levels. “And we’re pretty hard to kill now.”

Atlee looks shocked. “Why would anyone…”

Robbins, who’s been watching this along with her fellow Challengers, steps in. “Sounds like you three need to talk. Interspecies and interplanetary diplomacy, part of a Lantern’s job if I’ve read correctly?”

It is indeed. Not always a welcome part of it, and not something Hermione’d envisioned for today. This, though, she’s eager to perform.

It doesn’t take as long as expected. Atlee, as Strata’s first official ‘terranaut’ (which feels like one of the lesser 70s Hammer Horror films Hermione and her Dad had watched when Mum was out) has been authorised to welcome this sector’s Lantern to her civilisation.

Also welcome, she decides on her own, are an actual living Kryptonian plus various humans for their roles in stopping the rampaging monster. Evidently, there are worse menaces dwelling below where Strata resides; this one had barely cracked the top ten.

Atlee’s certain there are people eager to meet Kara Zor-El. As is Kara for them. “They know about Krypton, of course I want to meet them!” comes a hushed exclamation from her super-bestie.

As for the Challengers? Hidden underground societies, cryptic accounts of unbelievable feats, possibly further giant monsters to face? Yes, please. Quite their bailiwick.

And so they swiftly descend through the winding tunnel Atlee had crafted, her in the lead and Kara flying at her side. Hermione carries everyone else, both for speed and to shield them from the surrounding heat. Which grows harsher the farther down they go, kilometres through side branches and areas of freshly congealing rock which Atlee widens with a wave of her hands.

They soon come upon metal, then a massive hatch. Inside… it feels a lot like being inside a large starship to Hermione. Or the planned sector house main hall. There’re thousands here, and the arrival earns a degree of attention.

This is only one of many biocaverns of Strata, Atlee explains. “Our first cities had been converted from the colony ships from multiple worlds who landed thousands of years ago. They went underground, as humans were violently unwelcoming towards any not of their forms.” She doesn’t bother to be apologetic for the statement. “Underground as we also wished to avoid notice of any starfarers passing through this system.”

They’d wanted a place to live where they could be left alone from outside intervention, including the Guardians and their Lanterns. “But after arriving, primarily to keep away from humans,” she stresses.

“We’re different now, Atlee,” Hermione points out. “I’m a human.”

“No, you’re a Green Lantern.” Atlee isn’t a teenager anymore. She’s been selected to represent her world, and it shows. “That transcends any single species.”

Oh. “Yes, it does,” Hermione replies. How had she forgotten?

“We have a good life. And we desire to keep our existence a secret from the surface world, Lantern. Strongly desire,” Atlee stresses to them all.

“No problemo. We’re used to keeping secrets,” Kara says. “Kryptonians are pretty good at that too.”

“As are the Challengers,” Ryan says. “We challenge, we don’t write tell-all exposés,” Morgan adds.

There aren’t actual crowds gathering around them, however it’s close. Hermione’s uniform gets attention, and she keeps her ring low and unlit. A few spot Kara’s crest with gasps. Mild ones; these are a polite people. Living underground might have something to do with that.

There are numerous dozens of cities under the surface, Atlee describes, each connected via the ultimate Tube network spanning thousands of kilometres, passing under oceans and mountains of utterly lethal environments. ‘Mind the Gap,’ indeed.

Hermione takes in the variety of species here. In Here, it feels like Out There. Right, and time to go to work again. Atlee notices the change in expression – sharp girl – and takes the surface inhabitants to an open, park-like area. Perfect for onlookers to gather, not too closely, and listen to this intrusive Lantern speak.

Which she does, pitched stronger than necessary for only Atlee to hear. “Thank you for inviting me. This is your civilisation, first and foremost. I honestly don’t have the desire, or the time, to meddle on any planet or it’s people, no matter where they live.” She pauses. “But I’m your Lantern, and not just because this is also my planet. If you require my assistance, you can contact me. Or the Justice League, as I’m often away to other systems. I’ll explain who they are,” to Atlee’s puzzled look.

Hermione goes a trifle louder. “I, no we, will respect your privacy. If you want to explore above, you’ll be welcome Atlee. I’ll ensure that,” and she sees Kara’s in agreement. “As for contacting me, I will return with a device which should–”

“Not needed, Miss Lantern.” A human steps from the assorted non-humans, late fifties and heavily bearded in a vibrantly crimson outfit. “Give me the frequency and I’ll get it circulated.”

“Cave?” Haley’s surprised, as are his comrades, possibly for the first time today. Until now they’d been rather blasé regarding underground cities of non-native people. “Of course you’d be here,” he recovers with a laugh, and reaches out for a firm handshake. More follow, along with hugs.

Davis turns to the bewildered duo. “Lantern, Supergirl, meet Doctor Calvin Carson. ‘Cave’ Carson, and you can guess why.”

He’s perhaps the greatest underground explorer on the planet, Haley explains to the three younger ladies. Or within it, as Carson quickly adds that he’s an infrequent guest in Strata. Possibly the only human allowed to do so; even Atlee’d been unaware of him

The doctor also keeps a low profile, avoiding the ‘absurd superhero tomfoolerly,’ as he puts it. “Present company perhaps excluded,” Carson pronounces authoritatively. He’d observed their earlier actions from local monitors, curious to see how these two members of the latest generation act and has grudging approval.

Approval, and advice. “You’ll be best to keep to those words, both of you,” Carson admonishes Kara and Hermione. “They don’t want interference. They’re not head-in-the-sand insular, they simply want their own way of life without your world interfering. Same as Atlanteans or Themyscirans. Or the Hidden Ones for that matter.”

Hermione has thoughts… no, convictions about this. For another time, however.

Carson’s spending most of his time underground, exploring and occasionally locating caverns to make into new Stratan settlements. They provide his equipment in exchange. Including a new eye, after losing the right one a year ago. Cybernetic, and Hermione can tell it’s a highly advanced model.

Robbins is smart enough to ask Carson about the reason her team had been at Stromboli. It does save them a bit of challenging.

“That story?” He huffs. “Exaggerated, grew down the centuries. Possibly Verne had heard of it. Certainly not a passage through the centre of a planet, a ridiculous notion. Through a portion of it, possibly. Stromboli’s had stranger things than merely lava erupt from it, June,” he concludes with a wink.

“A rich oral history,” he asides, mostly to Supergirl. “Stories passed down from the olden days. I’ve heard several, of times prior to when Krypton isolated itself from the galaxy.” Before it and its people had perished, he doesn’t need to add.

Several storytellers might be around them now. Mixtures of happiness and sorrow as the Stratans take in the Last Kryptonian, who is inexplicably on a world chosen for its remoteness. Hermione can tell Kara’s ready to spend months here listening to each of them. Probably bringing Clark too; a second voyage to a new world for them both.

The other planetary voyager is also ready to explore a strange new world. Since her chance encounter with a Green Lantern and a collection of humans with outlandish abilities, Atlee’s been pushing daily to be chosen to journey to the surface.

Convincing her parents, the entire sextet, had been the first hurdle. “Abilities beyond the genetic norm are an extremely rare occurrence in Strata, and the Governance finally agreed that having them would allow me to blend in above better than anyone else.” They’d already decided an explorer and investigator is needed to determine the current nature of Over Space, and now they have one. A new challenger of the unknown, and Hermione’s not the only person thinking so.

“I do need to work out details,” the new challenger admits. Such as how is living space allocated, and where to access genetically compatible sustenance. “Oxygen usage registration, is this done in person or via remote transmission?”

Carson and the humans withhold laughter, and shift her towards the two superheroes. ‘Your problem, kids’ is the clear indication. Hermione prepares a response; fortunately she’d been getting ready for her off-world family to arrive and so she’s done the reading. Who’d have thought Louisiana swamplands would make for a perfect spot for guests?

Kara has an odd look, and speaks first in a gentler tone than earlier. “Those are good questions, Atlee. I had the pretty much same, when I came to this planet.” Hermione gives her super-bestie a side glance. Is she going to…

“You’re going want somebody to help you learn about the surface world,” the Kryptonian continues. “Somebody who’s already gone through it, knows what you’re going to go through.”

Yes, she’s going to. Hermione’s both amused and concerned. “Are you sure about this?” she whispers softly.

“I honestly think I am, GL.” Hermione’s ring relays the subvocalised response. “I can share the experience of landing on a new world. Help her live there. It’s what I was supposed to do with Cousin Kal.” There’s a seating area close by, and the two make for them. Atlee already looks enthusiastic.

“And I always wanted a little sister.”

Epilogue One

“‘Terra?’”

“Kara, even I know it’s too soon from what the Titans went through.”

“Point. ‘Terranaut,’ then?

“I’m quite sure that was an old movie. Either way, rather off-putting.”

“‘Stone Girl?’”

“Not worthy of a response. Also, has Atlee agreed to any of this?”

“She will once we have a good name for her to cape under. Once she gets here, gets settled in. All part of being a strange visitor from another planet, right?”

“If she truly wants this, Kara. Promise me, no pushing her.”

“Of course, Herms. Hey, what about ‘Power Girl?’”

“Hmmm…”

Epilogue Two

“Kara, sorry I’m early, I… Oh.”

Lena enters Kara’s living room to discover a teenage brunette within. An unfamiliar one, laying on the sofa and watching a superhero documentary while devouring Cracker Jacks.

“I am Atlee of Strata. Kara’s roommate.”

“Well now, that’s… that’s… Kara! I know you can hear me, get in here!”

Chapter Text

Space is generally dark and quiet out past the Kuiper Belt. Except when it’s not, as a flash of emerald heralds the arrival from hyperspace of one native and four visitors.

The native has done this thousands of times. The visitors have only travelled this way via starships, and it shows. Hermione slows their velocity and joins them within the giant green transport bubble.

“How are we feeling?” she asks gently.

Lissam, veteran captain of numerous Caudatian exploration vessels, gives her an ‘are you kidding?’ look. Which would normally be difficult for a human to discern on the toothy face of a two-metre bipedal reptile sporting beaded scales and a long, thick tail. Except this human has known Lissam from the day of her first patrol. After Arisia, they’re her oldest and best friend out in the stars.

“Feeling, Hermione?” they begin unsteadily. “That was–“

“Awesome!” shouts the youngest of the group. She’d also met Kollill that day, when they’d been a juvenile on the cusp of maturation. They’ve also picked up a large degree of human colloquialisms, probably from various books and films she’s brought to their world. “Two thumbs up, Hermione!” An easy task as Caudatians have twin opposing thumbs along with two fingers on each hand.

Polledd gives a slow, long hiss before thumping their tail hesitantly. “It was exceedingly unusual,” they admit. “I felt as if I was my limbs were extruding to infinity. Do all species react this way?”

Hermione’d been expecting the question from Lissam’s lead exobiologist and primary partner. “It varies. Everyone in my training class had differing initial responses. You get used to it.” Or you don’t graduate, she doesn’t bother adding.

The last visitor (and brood leader), Jenniss, is smelling the air, tongue extending and retracting rapidly. “I would affirm on my egg that I could hear starlight and taste the green of your shell, Hermione.” They wriggle their arms. “My respect for you and your Corps grows.”

“I still prefer a ship,” Lissam says with a mock grumble.

Hermione regards her ring. “I can’t imagine any other way to fly,” she replies after a moment. “So, we’re all good then?” Tail taps all around. “Splendid. And you all look very sharp.” Which they do, in metallic-weave tunics that complement their scales. Not exactly formal wear, she knows, which is fine as this isn’t a formal visit. Simply dropping in to visit family for a day, and thus the Caudatian version of casual.

“’Ionee, what’s that on your face?”

Huh? Oh. She’s done this so often that there hadn’t been any thought to the process. Depart, it goes off. Arrive, if goes on. “A means of disguising my identity on my home world, Liss. Not part of the uniform, technically. Masks and such are considered an accepted variation depending on a Lantern’s homeworld culture.” Still a big ‘no’ on capes, however. Grrrr.

She explains further of secret identities, the desire for a private life on her planet, and most important personally as a way to honour her predecessor. “Ah yes, Lantern Jordan,” Jenniss recalls. “He visited Caudatia once, when I was barely hatched. Saved many of us from a massive Caloricidic swarm. A stupendous feat.”

Hermione smiles. “He’ll be happy to hear that. We’ll be seeing him later.” Their vertical irises widen.

She makes a second verification that everyone is ready to proceed, then goes spiralling towards the star that’s a smidgen brighter than the rest. Another habit on arrival along the way; checking her tripwires throughout this remote region of her system. Lissam approves highly of her tactical paranoia. Well, she’s learned from the best.

Then, a slower flight into the system proper, a sightseeing tour for her visiting family. Saturn gets their attention, as she’d known it would. There aren’t many systems with rings this large and visible. Video cameras come out from belt pouches for souvenir snaps.

The rest of her system? Eh.

As they near Earth, however… “Hermione, your satellite is enormous!” Kollill bellows.

“Especially when compared to its host,” Polledd observes. “Too close as well. How do you survive the excessive tidal forces?”

She knows Caudatia has assorted tiny moons at greater distances. The concept of ‘tide’ is almost a completely an academic one there. “Life evolved around them. Not that they can’t be problematic at times.” Her visitors hiss in a tremolo that Hermione knows is their version of appreciative whistling.

Speaking of the Moon, Hermione calls in a status update. “Green Lantern to the Tower.”

“Tower here, Supergirl on comms. Hey GL, back already?”

“Back with the fam,” and the fam gives minor tail thumps at this. “Shift me to ‘off duty but available.’”

“Gotcha. Laters, bestie!”

Lissam has an inquisitive gaze. “That is the Kryptonian you mentioned?”

“It is,” Hermione says. “One of my best friends. I’ve invited her for lunch today, her girlfriend and my boyfriend too. They’ve been wanting to meet you for ages.”

She indicates the Watchtower as they fly past, with promises to explain further of its purpose after they land. Then a couple of high orbit laps around Earth, to assorted commentary.

“So much water, Hermione! Your world is drowning!”

“Why do you call it Earth when it should be called Water?”

“And why call it ‘Earth’ at all?”

“I’ll have you know my ring translates ‘Caudatia’ to ‘Swamp.’”

Hiss. “And here I believed your Guardians to be infallible.”

“Your polar ice caps are small, why would… Ah, you have a greater axial tilt than our world. A greater annual thermal volatility?”

“Spot on, Jenniss. One hemisphere can be significantly hotter than the other depending on the orientation with our star.”

“That’s pretty neat, Hermione.”

“It makes for plenty of warmth where we’ll stay. Mum and Dad found an area that should feel like home aside from the gravity. Ours is slightly heavier.”

She highlights a few special geological locations as they fly. Such as her special island of Britain, where it’s midday. And Australia, where her parents live. Evening there.

Finally, to the southern part of North America and Louisiana. Hermione’s rented a large, very isolated dock house outside of a small city named Houma. It’s morning here on the coast, part of a vast marshland.

A quick check of the area before a fast landing on the expansive rear porch. Nobody’s outside, nobody’s watching.

Or so she thinks.

Her parents are within, having spent the night, and it makes for a wonderful gathering of the multi-species family when they greet the arrivals. The hot, wet, ‘muggy’ (as Wally would call the high humidity) environment goes over well for the visitors. Not so much for the humans from the far side of the planet; they know of Australian swamps, yes, and had never felt the urge to venture into them.

Even less approval from the feline member of the family, who loudly meows forlorn discontent to his witch. That between welcoming curls around her legs and keeping a distance from the odd-smelling people she’s brought.

Once inside, however, Crookshanks perks up when food is mentioned.

They all do. It’s how Hermione and Lissam had first become friends. The Caudatians are enthralled to find chocolate comes in bricks. They also impress the professionals with their dental care regimens. Teeth like theirs, maintenance is a serious matter.

They’ve brough a new assortment of spiced and dried berries, which Crooks reluctantly agrees to try. Then he never leaves Kollill’s side, the earlier uncertainty towards the newcomers quite abandoned. The Wilkins dispense a variety of prepped breakfast meats and breads. Not quite a Full English, all carefully analysed to ensure there won’t be biological issues. Fruit juices are a hit.

Fish are as well, this being common on their world. Fried in strips is an unexpected delight, however, as is bacon. Mammals, being barely the size of mice, are an annoyance instead of a food source. Animals of even larger magnitudes are unheard of; Caudatia simply never evolved them.

While dining, Hermione reviews safety topics for the guests to her planet. Foremost, that Earth isn’t as cosmopolitan as Caudatia, or most anywhere else. Very unused to peaceful non-humans and often resulting in violence from one or both parties. She’s shared her own fun encounter with Despero as an example.

Primitive and dangerous. And so is the wildlife. “Assume everything you see is hungry and a threat.”

And on what might prove to be an embarrassing note, “We have creatures resembling your species, only they never grew to sapience.” Hermione ring-projects what might be lurking in the swamps. “Alligators. An apex predator in regions like these.”

Hisses of laughter. “Hermione, we have the same,” Polledd says. “A variety of evolutionary cousins. As do you humans, based on the books you brought on your second trip?”

Right, she’d forgotten that. In her defence, she’d brought a lot of books that day.

Jenniss grins at her. “These aren’t just for eating chocolate, Hermione.”

“Let’s not go there if we don’t have to, please?” She knows, and they know she knows, they’re all carrying broad-spectrum stunners. Don’t ask, don’t tell, as the saying goes.

However… they don’t have experience with large fauna, not even fossils from primordial ages. So Hermione rings up a few from this world, with a Caudatian to scale. Elephant, polar bear, giraffe, rhinoceros. Then she shifts the magnitude shift for the dinosaurs.

Silence, then one of them whispers “scale my tail…”

“Not currently alive,” aside from on Skartaris, she thinks to herself. “Planetary disruptions lead to extinction for most of them millions of years ago. Those that are left…” and she directs attention out the porch window to a flock of herons. “They adjusted.” Not a perfect dissertation, except the birds had made too good a hook to resist.

“We’ll be seeing even larger mammals today if we’re lucky.” That really gets eager thumps.

As for her own species. “If asked, we’re filming a fantasy movie.” It works remarkably well, she’s found. Perhaps no need to cover tapered ears when Arisia’s family does its own visit next month.

Brekky and advisories done with, time for a flying tour of Earth. A low level, slow, scenic version with her parents too. Crooks is left in the house and firmly admonished to stay inside.

Not an official tour as this isn’t an official visit, so no government centres or state leaders. “This is me showing the second world of our combined brood, not Green Lantern performing an interplanetary contact. That can come a different day.” Hermione thinks for a moment as she pulls the transport bubble across the Atlantic. “Earth… I think it needs to grow a bit before a proper First Contact. Perhaps it needs to initiate contact, reach out on its own. We know of life elsewhere, obviously. I’m not sure it’s really sunk in sufficiently, however.”

There’s not a great deal of reply, as the enormity of the waters below take breaths away. Then out to Africa and Europe, dry deserts and thick forests and arid plains.

And cities, of course. “We had expected so, knew it, but the reality of it, Hermione” exclaims Lissam. “Cities filled with millions of you!”

She gets lucky when they’re flying above the Pacific. A pod of blues, several dozen.

“Those… that’s unbelievable,” Polledd gets out.

“And there’re plenty of deadly predators in our oceans too.”

Monica starts humming the theme to a favourite monster film.

Her daughter chuckles and decides to share a few secrets. “Oh, imagine him four times bigger, Mum.”

The theme cuts off abruptly.

“They didn’t all die off. And there’re creatures far bigger down there with them.”

Crossing New Zealand, and two of Hermione’s biggest fans relate her actions there. Jenniss is mentally working the numbers involved, not easy as ‘ocean’ is still a novel concept, and their tail rumbles on completion. Then to a nearby island she’d also saved that day: Tasmania, and its isolated Franklin-Gordon Wild Rivers National Park.

Her parents have assured Hermione it will be perfect, and so it is. Rugged, remote, and with areas that are barely accessible. They’ll be in a spot that is as close to truly inaccessible as can be. Not a problem for a lady with a power ring, of course. Just to be safe, and as it’s the right thing to do, the Wilkins had purchased passes for everyone.

Everyone includes a crimson blur, which solidifies into one Mr West just as Hermione shifts from uniform to her own casual wear. Their kiss gets a mix of hisses and coughing from the six onlookers.

A moment later the group grows by two as someone falls from the sky, carrying her cape-wrapped girlfriend. Hermione handles the introductions of her new family members to a Kryptonian, enhanced human, and regular human but smarter than anyone here. And yes, Hermione has graciously admitted this to be so after watching Lena in action.

An early picnic lunch for family and friends, courtesy of Wally. Kara and Hermione monitor for anyone who might disturb their solitude, plus Lena’s hovering microdrone sensors. The film crew story discussed, laughed at, and ready to roll if necessary. Time to tuck in.

Her friends have brought assorted faves, along with cake-like cubes that Kara’d created at the Fortress. The Caudatians, who have heard the legend of Lost Krypton, are stunned. That, along with meeting the last being to ever walk its surface.

Hermione and her parents sit back as the people not from this planet talk about it, and their own worlds. They share a few words from native languages, trade tales of customs and traditions. Lena enters when the talk turns to sciency topics. Hermione adds jots here and there, as does Wally when it turns to matters of velocity.

Then, when asked, displays the enhancements by disappearing and reappearing a few seconds later with a stack of Cubs hats and steaming hot dogs. “I noticed they were playing the Stars in Central City today,” which gets a “Yes!” plus a hug from Kara.

Lena provides the distance involved, and Jenniss works the numbers again. “Hermione, your species is equally bizarre and amazing,” they mutter and grab a dog. Which leads to a technical discussion between Polledd and Lena on the comparative genetic stability of their two species. The concept of Caudatians gaining enhanced abilities due to random genomic alterations is virtually impossible, evidently. Very much not uncommon for the people from this world.

A stroll through the dense forest and rocky terrain afterwards. Waterfalls are also new, and moss never caught on for their world. Kara relates her own experiences coming to this strange, crazy world after the pristine sterility of Krypton. “I was scared to death for the longest time! All this uncontrolled, wild everything! My first mosquito bite, I was sure I was going to die from disease or blood loss!” That the mosquito had promptly perished due to indigestion had increased her willingness to explore (and embrace) her new home. That, and her emergent invulnerability.

Kara’s lived, really lived, on two completely different worlds. It comes out every now and then.

The group remains undiscovered when it’s time for a wrap on the picnic. The visitors are sure to be back, and it’s always possible Hermione might take friends to Caudatia. She has ideas for how they all might meet again, and not long from now. Which she’ll discuss with Arisia soon.

Kara whirls back into her Supergirl garb, then blankets Lena for their flight back. Hermione can hear the human’s proposals of a personal force field as “getting mummified is a ridiculous way to travel!” Wally has a hug and kiss and a hug for Hermione, a handshake for Wendell, and a hug for Monica. Then finger-grips with the Caudatians, his five with their four.

(Plus a whispered message from Lissam, concerning how many heavily armed starships would be eager to visit Earth should they see their human broodkin’s eyes ever leaking water. In English. Wally recovers and says similar in Caudat.)

Hermione wonders what’s going on when the two separate and Lissam thumps their tail approvingly. Huh. Wally gives her a smile, then pops his ring. Once in red, the scarlet speedster is gone in a flurry of leaves.

“Bizarre and amazing,” Jenniss repeats.

Two further people Hermione wants to introduce to them, one of whom they know. Or know of. They’re almost her family as well, the aunt and uncle she’d never had. As well as mentors for both her Lantern and superhero careers.

Along the way, she does a flyby of the Watchtower, closer so they can see of Earth’s defences. Its perimeter fortress, and Kollill picks out the weaponry emplacements and shield generators lining the superstructure.

“Wow. Impressive, Hermione.”

“It’s not for show. I’m not always about, and they’ve nicely fended off invasions without me. Most recently, the Thunderers from Qward,” and that garners respectful noises. “It’s also an occasional home; we all have rooms there. Our gathering den.”

She’s spoken of the Justice League, how costumed ‘superheroes’ are part of Earth culture. Not only enhanced humans; people from a variety of planets who’ve chosen to defend their adopted homeworld. “Sort of like a concentrated version of the Corps for a single world instead of sectors. They, us, we operate as a cohesive team. ‘Stronger together,’ a Kryptonian maxim.”

The Thanagarian spacer on a landing pad is clearly recognised, and they don’t say anything. Hermione does. “They are a valued part of the League. And they are not a concern. They are my friends, so trust me that I trust them.” She pauses a moment. “They aren’t a secret. They don’t need to be advertised, either. Please.” Lissam gives a low hiss but doesn’t argue.

California comes next, and Hermione passes across dense redwood forests, sunny beaches and snowcapped mountains before a fast landing in a quiet area outside Coast City. There, they get to meet Earth’s first Green Lantern, the first human to go to the stars. Kollill is awestruck. Jinniss too, possibly.

Carol is there as well, enhanced and yet not, as she explains, including an item comparable to a Lantern’s ring, and not. It’s not a clear delineation. (And it hadn’t been improved when she’d heard of Sinestro’s words to Hermione. That had been after Hal had his own words concerning her team-up with his greatest foe. It hadn’t made for a tranquil day.)

On discovering that Carol builds aerospace vehicles and Hal tests them, Lissam has found true kin. That Hal had previously been the Lantern of their sector is irrelevant; he’s a pilot and that’s what is important. The three of them are soon waving arms vigorously to emulate liftoff vectors and stall angles, and talking magic words such as specific impulse and apoapsis and payload constraints.

Jenniss interjects with thanks for Lantern Jordan’s planetary rescue. Hal snorts. “You would have dealt with them just fine. I happened to be flying by and needed something to punch that morning. Happy to have helped, of course. You got a great world,” and Hermione offers her concurrence.

That Hermione’s bonded part of that world, that’s pretty great too. Impressive, even. “You always do me proud, kiddo,” he says as they make ready to leave. “Us proud,” Carol corrects.

Flying back, Lissam demands to know why her eyes are dampening.

Once at Casa de Caudatia (her Dad’s choice; Kollill favours ‘Caudatian Earth Outpost #1’), a bit of rest before a relaxing voyage of through the local echo of their homeworld. Shallow lakes and marshes, quite lacking expanses of deep water or stretches of dry land. Crooks is happy to see his people return, and happier not to follow them onto the water.

Lissam, of course, takes command of the exploration vessel, a flatbottomed airboat large enough for everyone. No seats required for the visiting team, who simply lean back on their tails.

Hermione has the helm. Everyone provides a degree of propulsion by paddling, Hermione doing the bulk via dark twin constructs below the hull. Her lava screws, this time slowly and quietly pushing far cooler liquids. Quietly being the watchword; the ship’s noisy fans are left unpowered.

Then out into the bayou. No particular direction, wherever the channels take them. Also no alligators or other hazardous fauna detected. Ta.

Polledd is also scanning, then leans to extend their long tongue overboard. “Unpleasant,” they wince. “Too much sodium, not enough magnesium.” They do notice the undersea engines, and those do get approval. Which leads to the story of Hermione and Kara’s volcanic adventure.

She leaves out Strata (the inhabitants are insistent on privacy) and the persistent Ms Colbert (who’d somehow managed to be waiting at the surface when they’d returned). Kara’s myriad powers fascinate the Caudatians, particularly Polledd. “Our star, their cellular biology,” Hermione adds. “Possibly the best team-up around. It makes sparring with either of them well frustrating.”

‘Either of them’ needs explaining too. Kara’s cousin, the greatest superhero of this planet. No, not Hermione, no. He’s a hero for Earth, for everyone here both human and non-human. “And there’d a good many of the latter making wonderful lives here,” she adds.

Hermione is the Lantern for an entire sector; being a superhero for her planet comes firmly second. “It’s a touch strange. I’m a Green Lantern, member of the Corps. Here, I’m the Green Lantern, a superhero for Earth and member of the League.” She recalls the early, problematic days. “It took time to sort out the differences.”

The reptilian side of her family asks to hear further details of her non-Lantern life, this being a largely unheard-of occupation elsewhere in the galaxy. Hermione’s doing her best and has a captivated audience, which might explain how no one notices the approaching skiff.

“Hey there!”

The woman paddling the boat is pale, with long, Malfoy-esque white hair featuring twin streaks of ebony. Early thirties, Hermione guesses, wearing a bright red shirt and jeans. Barefoot, she notices when the boat gets closer.

“I’m Abby Holland. You folks okay?” She points at the unused engine behind Hermione. “’Cause you really, really don’t look like you’re from around here. Or know what you’re doing.” The intonation is American. Southern, with traces of what could be Eastern Europe? A very light version of Viktor’s accent.

Wendel starts snapping pictures. Ta, Dad. “We’re location scouts, Ms Holland,” Monica jumps in. “Seeing how the makeup effects and costumes will look in authentic settings.”

The Caudatians are now assuming a variety of heroic poses. Hermione is struggling to keep her composure while loving her family so much.

“It’s Mrs,” and Holland flashes a gold ring, paired by one of braided green. “Not bad,” she continues in a humorous tone. “I’ll give y’all a 7.5 on the Weirdness Scale.” The expression grows serious. “And I’m an Arcane, so I know weird. I also know when somebody’s fibbing. I got that from skill my first husband. And dear old Uncle Anton.”

She’s pointing again, now at the paddles. “Inept with them, and yet still pushing through the current.” Holland crosses her arms. “So what is this?”

Wait… Abby Holland… Abigail? Abigail Holland? Oa, what are the odds. Isn’t America supposed to be huge? Spacious?

Hermione’s read about Mrs Holland. And her husband. To be precise, of her second husband.

She nods to her parents first, then, “Honestly, Mrs Holland, we’re only taking in the scenery. Tourists.” Wendell holds out his camera, and the Caudatians pull out their own. “Vacation pictures with family. We aren’t here to intrude or be a disturbance, ma’am.” Hermione adds emphatically, “Especially to your family.”

“Tourists. Vacation. Sure.” Holland cocks her head. “Those aren’t Un-Men; too civilised for that. Don’t smell like demons either.” That she knows both settles her identity, which could be good or bad, Hermione thinks. The husband does have a history.

“Going by what Alec saw, flying bubbles, I’m guessing these folks aren’t what you’d call local?” Saw? Duh, of course. There are plants everywhere. And thus eyes.

“Quite so,” Hermione confirms. She strengthens her voice. “And they’re not just visitors, Mrs Holland. They’re family. I invited them to see where this side of our family lives.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

Holland shrugs. “You’d be surprised at what I find okay so long as it leaves us in peace. And call me Abby.”

“I’m Hermione, Abby,” and she continues with introductions of captain and crew.

Abby looks pleased, then isn’t. “Wait, you’re British.” She searches around. “Is Constantine hiding with you?” The serious expression has returned. “He’s always around when things get weirder than usual.”

Constantine? “Blond, smokes, irritating, ‘limey bastard’ would be an apt description?” Hermione replies with a grimace. Her Mum chokes back a snicker.

“Sounds like you’ve met him.” Abby gives them all a stern examination. “Okay, even with the accent you get credit from the expression on your face. So who are you, really?”

The Hollands are in the community, or on the fringes with a large ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the lawn. Still, Bruce has good words from his encounters. So has Clark.

Hermione lets her own ring become visible and luminous.

“Well now. You, I was not expecting,” and Abby’s expression softens. “Fits, I guess, considering the out of state folks with you.” She glances upwards and mutters, “Serves me right for not keeping up with the costumes.”

She turns her head to a shore, her hair an avalanche as it swirls on her shoulders, and shouts “Alec?”

One of the taller mangrove trees separates from its forest and unhurriedly wades through the water towards them. The humanoid shape is apparent as he grows closer, and Hermione knows this isn’t his usual appearance. Which might be inapplicable, on second thought. He’s whatever flora he wishes to be.

Her parents stay calm as their daughter is staying calm. Caudatians aren’t nearly so. “This is one your superheroes, Hermione?” Lissam gets out when Mr Holland reaches the boats.

“Ha…” The voice is measured and raspy, and very American. “In a… way. I have… been called… worse.”

“Family, this is Alec Holland,” and Hermione waits for a nod before continuing. She hadn’t been sure if he’d rather go by his appellation. “The manifested spirit of this world’s plant life. These swamps are his, ah, their, home.” Then, to the elemental, “Mr Holland, we came here as it resembles their own home. If we’d known…”

Holland, or the Swamp Thing, gestures a leafy arm dismissively. “You can call me… Alec. You are… a Green Lantern?” he asks instead.

“For well over a year now.”

“One of yours… aided me. Years ago. When I… was stranded in… space.” Oa, that’s a story she needs to hear. “He helped me… return. To Earth… and my love.”

Abby takes the branch bending around her waist up for a kiss.

“Consider this… a favour returned. You and yours… treated the swamp… well. With… respect.” The massive trunk turns to his bride. “Abby?”

“Sure, sounds good.” Abby puts out a hand for Hermione. “Y’all are for real, and I’m the last person to have issues with unusual families,” she continues. “What Alec’s asking is, if you want to see the true swamp, how about a visit to our home?”

Hermione does face checks on her boat, sees acceptances. “We’d be delighted to. Abby.”

They shake, and Abby pushes her boat away. “Follow me. See you back at the house, Alec.”

The walking tree splinters apart before silently toppling into the murky waters.

Abby notices the stares. “Hmmm? Oh, Alec leaves old bodies everywhere. And he’s also been at the house the entire time.” She gives them a puzzled glance. “What, you didn’t think we’d leave our little girl all alone?

Along the way, of course, conversation returns to…

“Constantine. So you’ve run into him?” The boats are moving side by side, Hermione propelling the small fleet at Abby’s direction.

“He, with myself and a small team, saved Britain last Halloween,” Hermione says. “Then he bought a round of drinks when I was out with friends. That’s enough of him for me.”

Abby hums in agreement. “And you know what he can do?”

“Quite. He also knows what I can do.” Quite too much of what she can, or used, to do, though no need to elaborate here. Abby signals to take the left passage when their route splits ahead. “I take it your encounters have been lovely as well?”

“Yes.” It’s almost an existential sigh, strongly on the European accent. “Pain in the ass. Even when he’s doing the right thing. We got him back, though, Alec and me.” Abby gives an evil laugh. “Ask him about the tattoo on his butt if you see him again.”

Hermione’s reply is cut off as they finish the turn and see the house.

They have a treehouse. A gigantic treehouse. What else would they have?

It’s Hermione’s turn to enter a new world. Her parents remember them as kids; pre-Hogwarts Hermione hadn’t been one to partake of nature except to find a comfortable spot to read. (Actually, this holds mainly for Hogwarts Hermione too) The Caudatian cadre are quite familiar and are still dazzled at the melding of so many disparate types of flora in the formation.

Alec is there waiting when they go up and inside. A far more verdant body of lush vegetation and lichen, tendrils of Spanish Moss dangling along the heavy musculature. He waves at them, and the daughter sitting at his side hesitantly echoes the motion. “This is… Tefé,” and it’s obvious he’s a proud parent.

As is her mother, with whom she shares snowy tresses. “Hi Little Sprout!” as Abby scoops up the infant with a spin. “Tefé, these are new friends,” and the new friends melt as Tefé lights up with a smile.

She’s adorable. Not only for the newcomers; the plants lining this room begin to stretch and gain a stronger emerald hue as her smile widens.

She’s also dangerous, very dangerous. Her parents have that look again, possibly amplified by Abby’s rings. Thank the Guardians that Wally hadn’t been able accompany the nautical expedition; the look might have doubled in intensity if he’d been here too.

Mr Holland explains how he can assume multiple bodies simultaneously, while Mrs Holland watches as a giggling Tefé toddles eagerly to the Caudatians. They hesitantly put out their hands for her to fall in to, and a unique style of interspecies pat-a-cake is launched as the Wilkins join in.

Tefé herself is unique. She’s already shown elemental powers, Alec says just for Hermione’s hearing, and probably has further types to follow. This hadn’t been a surprise to either himself or Abby, either. “Tefé’s heritage is… more than human. She will be part… of many… worlds.”

Her form of accidental magic, Hermione thinks, watching as the flora around them is virtually iridescent. Straddling multiple worlds, an area of which she’s also well familiar. “She looks to be in excellent hands,” said hands being her Mum’s currently, but never mind. Parents who can explain and teach her about powers in a very secure area. And once she gets older, perhaps also with children of her own age to learn with. “She’s going to be incredible,” Hermione concludes. No argument from the plant elemental towering next to her watching Tefé charming everyone.

It’s an incredible location, too. Nature and the natural dominate, with small aspects of the outside world here and there. Clothing, for example, like Tefé’s cute shirt and overalls number. Knickknacks on walls and shelves. Books, mostly fiction, a few on child-rearing. Framed pictures, one of a young, aristocratic Abby. When she’d been Abigail Arcane, according to the files Hermione’s read. Then had become Abigail Cable, wife of Matt Cable, before lastly Abigail Holland.

Cable. Matt. Matthew. It can’t be, can it? Which means it likely is, given how these things go in her life.

Watching the Hollands with their extraordinary daughter, Hermione decides this can be discussion for a future day. Abby might already know of her ex-husband’s current avian occupation, after all. Also, the supernatural; a topic that could require as much time to explain as superheroes.

Hermione learns later that Abby’s well unaware of her late husband’s flight status. Nor that her late uncle is plotting oh so many special things, his niece’s second death to be merely an amusing dessert.

It had been tough to leave. Many pictures are taken and promises made to exchange copies. This has been a very unanticipated additional voyage for them all.

The twilight is clear, without any interfering city lights (or excessively radiant superheroes), and the stars appear throughout the sky. Crooks deigns to accompany his family onto the roof for viewing.

Hermione checks with her ring and points out the one belonging to Caudatia Prima.

“Ready to see it again up close?” Hermione asks.

“No,” hisses Lissam. “We do need to return. I have a mission to make ready for launch. Polledd is flying with me.”

“I’ve a mission to prep for too, actually. Three-day patrol.”

They both sigh dramatically, not that either would change their jobs, and gather the brood for a final hug. Even Crookshanks cosies around them.

Kollill nicely sums it up. “You have a really neat planet, Hermione. Weird, but neat.”

She charges her ring, family speaking the words with her. The region becomes aglow in blazing green, and soon there are fresh legends of the swamp.

Chapter Text

Three days fully on patrol; no return flights for Lantern Granger. There’d been a time when that would’ve felt intensely stressful. Now? ‘No biggie,’ as Sam might say. After a full day immersed in showing off her home planet, seeing other worlds and letting the inhabitants do the same had seemed… restful, in an odd way.

Not that all had been soothingly tranquil. Her first stopover included fresh reports of hijacked ships carrying badly needed medicinal cybernetics. Twenty hours later, Green Lantern had tracked down the thefts across three systems and caught one ‘Plasma’ Fig as he’d been attempting to slip away. Quite the charming fellow, until she’d learned he’d also pitilessly murdered twelve people on those ships, double that number during earlier crimes. Fortunately, Hermione’d also been able to retrieve almost all of the stolen supplies.

Then there’d been a superbolide shower over the entirety of a continent-wide megapolis, two First Contacts, and a dispute between two aggressive systems over settling a third. Those, plus rendezvousing with a starship that travels from system to system accumulating and sharing knowledge; her first interstellar bookmobile. Arriving to witness Igrell’s first launch to its primary moon, the one she’d stitched back together after being torn apart by a newborn Haaplal during its emergence. Interviews with several student-run media outlets on assorted worlds; no propaganda or slanted reporting, plenty of sharp questions that had reminded her of Lois going after a Pulitzer. They have a stake in their future and their Lantern, and it had shown.

All in all, a solid 100+ hours among the stars. Still, it’s nice to be back home. And being with the ginger sitting across from her in the Tower cafeteria. Wally had just finished his stretch in the Monitor Room, and she’d surprised him during the shift change to Ray.

They swap stories while enjoying shawarma, the dish Hermione’s grown to appreciate since visiting a different universe’s superhero team. Discussions of the where and the who as part of 4th of July plans are underway when her ring begins to glow.

“One sec, call incoming” Hermione says, trying to think if she’s done anything warranting contact from Oa. The small figure of a human female, also garbed in her uniform, appears above the table in a green hologram. “Lantern Granger here… Kay, hi, Oa, it’s been–”

There’s a warbling tone from the figure, like a seagull trying to squawk a sonata. “What? Well… damn. Do we know how?” Now an opera, an angry one. Hermione collapses back in her chair, fork dropping to her plate. “Dammit. That’s really… damn.” Italian for the response. “There is? Of course. I’ll be there.” Further gull cries, nearly musical. “Good. I’ll see you then. Fly safe, Kay. Thanks for organising us for this.”

The figure fades out. “That didn’t sound like good news, hon,” Wally says after a pause.

“One of my classmates died last week,” she replies simply. “Lantern classmates, to clarify.”

Hermione sits up a touch straighter. “That was Kaylark, kind of our self-appointed class leader. A D’xen from 1721. Rather bossy and shut up,” she pre-empts before he goes there.

Wally ignores the admonishment. “I thought you said there aren’t any humans in the Corps, you and Hal being it?”

“What? No, there aren’t.” She’s puzzled for a moment. “Oh, right, Kay. Not human. Her skin’s burnt orange and her natural hair’s an irritating shade of metallic indigo. D’xen are completely human looking if you ignore the colourations. Or we’re like them. And you’d think that would’ve helped us be better friends, or friends at all, but no…” Hermione concludes in low mutter.

A sigh before continuing. “Barogg is the one we lost,” she goes on, voice firmer. “None of us really got along with him that well. Regardless, he was one of us. Both as a classmate and a Lantern. Kay called to let everyone in our class know there’s a memorial service tomorrow on his homeworld. Sorry, I should have broadcast the translation.”

“I’ll clear you off the roster.”

“Thanks. Love you, West.”

They are ready to talk dessert when Ray’s voice comes from the ceiling, calling for GL, Wonder Woman, and Aquaman to assemble in the main hall.

“Probably a coastal disaster if you three,” Wally observes. Hermione rises up, and so does he. A quick kiss. “Love you too, Granger. ‘Fly safe,’ right?”

Hermione barks out a laugh. “Bullocks to a disaster. I really feel like punching baddies right now.”

That had been yesterday. No baddies to punch, a great many people to rescue. Wally had pegged it, a coastal disaster. There are places not suitable for winding roads. Or bridges connecting them. Or mega-yachts where owners can take the wheel no matter their levels of intoxication.

Today… Hermione’s flying through Sector 675 to Garon IV, and remembering its Lantern.

Kay had gotten word from a friend, a Senior Lantern. That she has Senior Lantern buddies isn’t lost. Kay is a damn good Lantern, excellent at construct creation. Also excellent at constructing ladders for social climbing.

Meeting the fellow recruits in her training class had been an interesting experience on that initial day. Prior to that, she’d known exactly one Lantern (Hal) and had met a further two (her soon-to-be instructors). Soon, it’d become apparent that while the selection process for recruitment leans heavily into overcoming fear, factors such as sociability aren’t prerequisites.

Twenty-four individuals, a mixture of quite disparate personalities including gradual geniality (the majority), blasé readiness (several from highly advanced worlds), and extreme swottiness (a single bushy-haired human). There’d been no formal (or informal) requirement to bond, yet they had. Due (Hermione had to admit) largely to Kaylark’s drive to make it so, as there couldn’t be a team leader without a team. And Kay very much had wanted to be viewed as a leader, prepared for advancement.

Hermione couldn’t have given a fig. She’d wanted nothing else than to absolutely crush the programme, O’s across the board, and show them all what this backwater primitive can do. It had taken an outsider like Arisia to let Hermione know of Kaylark’s growing frustration. Apparently, and without any awareness of doing so, the human had been attracting classmates into her own orbit. First while studying, and then later when they hadn’t been studying. Kay had also started attending, then had taken over from within… a positively Slytherin move, Hermione’d thought with grudging admiration. And Kay had made for an excellent leader, even as she’d kept accusing Hermione of undermining her. Much to Hermione’s amusement (see above, re: not giving a fig).

Still, the group (down to fifteen by graduation) had become somewhat of a family. All save one. Barogg.

He’d arrived to replace his sector’s Lantern, who’d simply gone missing while on an lengthy patrol. A Protocol Zeta-Phi, meaning Oa has lost connection to a Lantern’s battery. No one had ever found out what’d occurred. Turnover is a thing, as per Veteran Lantern Jordan.

Barogg had been abrupt and off-putting at first. And repeatedly every time after that. Little desire for connecting outside of class hours, absolutely none for replying to queries of his earlier life. He hadn’t liked to talk about himself, or to talk with anyone outside of instructors. It had been weeks before he’d come near to socialising, which had meant tolerating classmates enough not to stride away should any approach him.

His appearance had aided in the quest for solitude. Easily two metres tall, protruding fangs, spiked horns, and a red-eyed visage that would send the Noseless Wonder running back to cower in his cauldron. Strong enough that he’d could probably have gone toe to toe with Kilowog in unringed combat matches.

Not once had he talked of his past. The best Hermione’d ever gotten had been “This is my future. That’s all that matters.” And now he doesn’t have that either.

Kay is already at the designated assembly spot outside the Goran system when Hermione arrives. Of course. None of the passive-aggressive barbs she’d usually field against the human, but then that’d been over a year ago. Instead, they share the Corp’s infinity symbol of greeting before gripping forearms. Perhaps they’re not to be friends, but they are Lanterns.

Drighol is there too, and they briefly talk of the case he’d helped her with months ago. More as well; the Winanthian Coulyn (an only child, like Hermione), neo-insectoid Tig, amorphous Eddore, boneless gastropod Pathavim, and Krista X who resembles a human far better than Kaylark. Or most humans; she’s practically a processed rendering of blended humanity.

The remaining members of the class appear soon after. Then they wordlessly assemble in a tight formation, Kay in the lead, and it’s as if they’re back in training as the chevron flies towards Barogg’s home planet.

It’s pleasant if perhaps overly heated in Hermione’s opinion, reminding her of where she’d stayed recently with her families. She’d read that they’ve had spaceflight for several hundred years, mainly to the dozen or so nearby moons and limited interstellar travel for the last century. Kay directs the squadron to a grassy region overlooking turbulent waters, a number of people resembling Barogg there along with a few non-natives.

There’re no remains to offer to the roiling deep, as per the customary ceremonies for Goranians. Where they come from, where they return to. Thus a service on a shoreline of crashing surf; an uncommon but not unknown practice as per the cultural notes.

The Lanterns land outside the gathering and make their way to join. They’re expected, particularly by a tall, thin, and hairless individual. Foioun Sey of the Eternal Revoi Conglomeration, as per his steady introductions. Formerly an independent salvage engineer. He’s to be the new Lantern for this sector, his class beginning in two days. Sey had flown in his own ship here for the ceremony.

Which is now starting.

An elderly Garonian wearing a thick, textured shawl conducts, and Oa she’s larger than Barogg. She begins with short words about the fallen, of his life before leaving this world over a decade ago.

He’d left behind two brothers and a sister; their parents having died over the time he’d been away. Together, they run a family business that’s endured over ten generations. Each has little to say when they’re asked to do so. He’d not been part of the business, had barely been part of the family. Barogg might have been gone for weeks before they’d found his habitat barren and empty. An investigation had only revealed the purchase of a berth off this system. One way.

None of his family had ever seen him again. They’d assumed that he’d died years ago, somewhere out there, and have already spoken their farewells. Now they must make them again, and it shows.

Kay represents for the Lanterns as best she can. Six months he’d lived with them, and Hermione knows she’s struggling to find words. Barogg had been with them, and not part of them. He’d done what’s needed to graduate. Making friends, mingling with fellow recruits, areas unrelated to the training regimen, all ignored in favour of isolation.

Not an entirely new existence for him, as she learns, as people who’d come from distant systems add their own experiences. Those who’d known Trader Barogg and his single-ship, taking on minor jobs on minor worlds. Solitary, obscure, inconspicuous, and yet no matter where he’d gone, life had changed for the better. Not in big, flashy ways, Hermione hears. Small, personal ways. Ways that are lasting.

People had noticed. Then, presumably, the Guardians had noticed.

Over the last year Lantern Barogg had done the same, on a wider scale. New speakers have tales of those deeds. The occasional planetary calamities and similar, yes, though these feel more like punctuations than paragraphs in Hermione’s estimation. Then there’d been his final action. Foioun Sey shares his own involvement of that.

The engineer had come across a stricken colony ship sinking into the upper atmosphere a gas giant, emerald bands preventing it from tumbling deeper. A tiny glowing figure extracting thousands of lifeboats and propelling them beyond the dense gravity well, before entering the gigantic vessel. Sensors detecting multiple, imminent anti-matter containment failures, each capable of vaporising the fleeing flotilla (and his own ship). Worse, also igniting the planet and burning the surface of every inhabited world in the system. Then the ship accelerating away, receding faster and faster until it becomes a barely visible dot high over the ecliptic plane.

“I know what he was doing, now,” he relates. “They told me on Oa. His ring, he pushed his ring too long and too hard between containing the explosions and pulling the ship from us.” There’d been a new star soon after, brightening the system and making rescuing damaged boats easier for Sey. Then a green ring had passed into his ship and onto his finger.

He’s flying his ship one last time to his family, then a Senior Lantern will bring him to Oa. And then? “I want to honour what he did, all that he did,” in the same slow cadence. “He saved my life, he saved… I have no idea of the number.” He stops and takes a breath. “He will be remembered. I will ensure that.”

“We will ensure that!” comes the spirited roar from one of the people who’d spoken earlier, a stout Klebb matriarch. Additional cries also emerge from those around her, whether they’d know Barogg as Trader or Lantern. The people he’d touched in either of his lives.

Hermione adds a loud affirmation, Kay and her classmates alongside her, and it’s not enough, it’s never enough. It’s close. Enough to get his family members to find their voices again.

The service concludes as one by one each attendee offers a small, clearly hand-made patch of cloth to the waters. Items that the Lanterns don’t have, as their faces reveal to one another. Then they see Hermione calmly removing a swatch of roughly knitted fabric from her dimensional pocket, and she takes in their stares.

“I did the reading,” is her quiet response.

Kay is going from burnt orange to dark red. “Granger, you–” she starts to whisper.

Hermione isn’t listening. She’s busy pulling out thirteen additional pieces.

“You think I’d be that petty? Today?” She subtly hands them out. “We’re representing the Corps. We’re always representing the Corps.”

The multitude of offerings float out to sea, to be pulled under by churning waves. Fourteen rings light up for a huge infinity symbol over them until they disappear.

The Lanterns attract people wishing to talk before they leave, seeking to impress greater details of a seemingly unimportant trader’s influence on their lives to his comrades. Most had no idea he’d gone on to gain a ring and are equally proud and unsurprised.

His relatives remain in mild denial of his accomplishments. It’s possible interacting with the uniformly dressed offworlders helps. Evidently there’d been rumours over the last year that the sector’s current Lantern is one of their own. Now they know. That it had been their long-lost sibling… mild denial.

Barogg had also left nieces and nephews. Bundled in their family shawls, bundled together off to one side and perhaps a little forgotten. Hermione and Tomy-Fai jointly decide to change that.

They’ve had easier battles. The eldest is angry, the memory of an uncle’s running away resurging strongly. Then the time that had followed, of how his mother had been slowly crushed from the abandonment. The younger ones are confused over a person they’ve never known, who’s never been in their lives. Both Lanterns attempt to reinforce everyone he’d saved, the people he’d aided, and aren’t sure they’re successful.

As for the person hoping to enrol in their ranks… Despite his collected manner when speaking earlier, Sey is nervous, eager, and apprehensive of the coming programme. Followed with membership in the Corps. He doesn’t want to disappoint his ancestors, and he doesn’t want to stain Barogg’s legacy. “A lot of people here are darned insistent I don’t do him wrong,” he says with an uneasy expression.

Hermione watches Kay glance at the several Lanterns near her, lastly at the human who nods in agreement. “You saw a Lantern die,” the D'xen starts firmly. “So you know the score, what they don’t teach in class. Now I’m going to tell you what training is really like, and why a third of us didn’t get through it. Then you’re going to go to Oa and totally nail it and come back with a ring to be a damn good Lantern for this world and sector. Got that?”

He does. Seven months later, he is.

The Lanterns rendezvous where they’d met earlier, and Quond forms a large structure on a stray asteroid so they can drop their fields. All know it’s horrible this is what’d been required to bring them together, and despite that here they are, together.

Only a few have seen each other since graduation. None had seen Barogg since they’d charged their newly-awarded rings on Oa, obviously. There’d been proclamations they should do gatherings, and yet…

They share tales of their first year inspections, stories of memorable actions. Everybody knows of Hermione’s biggest action as it’s anchored at Oa for all Lanterns to see. “Sure, an ancient Ironstar Dreadnought merely happens to burn into your system,” Kay snarks. “Show-off.” Except she does give Hermione a mock shove, then a slight grin. “I heard you let your ring get broken. Try to do better, Granger.”

Everyone has similar accomplishments, if not so… splashy. Heroes all. “And we’re still alive,” Lan Dibbux adds, then continues with “Don’t stare at me. You’re all thinking it.” And he’s right.

It brings them to the main topics they’re not addressed. How it happened. Why it happened.

It shouldn’t have happened. What he’d done had been incredible, however it shouldn’t have been lethal. None of them are novices anymore; they all know how to sling a ring pretty well by now. And believe they could have survived where he hadn’t.

Ideas are tossed about. Maybe the containment fields had been in worse shape than the kid had scanned, or there’d been active anti-matter overloads in progress? Field implosions, spacetime ruptures? Undetected hostiles inside, threats nobody’d known about?

And, of course, why didn’t his ring protect him? “The emergency reserve,” Coulyn states. “That’s what it’s there for. You can’t drain your ring below that; it won’t let you.”

“If his was emptied…” Eddore begins.

“It’s impossible, Salaak told us numerous times,” Tomy-Fai adds empathically. “And even if you could, that would be deeply stupid!”

Kay’s smart enough to be glaring at Hermione by now. Who finally does speak up. “Yes, well, it’s not wholly impossible,” the swot begins. “Stupid, I’ll give you that.”

Thirteen sets of sensory organs are affixed on her. “I worked the math. Back in class.” That brings assorted laments and groans, because of course she had. “You’re all correct, and it’s exactly as we’ve been taught. It’s indeed impossible to fully self-drain a ring.” That gets questioning looks.

“To asymptotically approach a fully drained state, however, isn’t.” It’s very tricky, that she does concede. “Withdrawing a tiny fraction of the reserve, I worked that out before graduating. Not really worth the effort; it did provide a proof of concept. That led to how to pull half the charge; I didn’t get the equations to line up till months ago after the reserve saved my life. Good timing on my part,” to Kay’s unending glare.

“Once you can pull half, you continue the process, and it isn’t easy as you’re fighting your ring the entire time. You won’t ever reach zero.” Hermione pauses. “Ideally you get enough to do what’s needed. Ideally you leave enough to keep you alive.”

No, she will not share the details. “Look what may have resulted from it! And I’ve not done this, trust me.” She has, though, devised several scenarios where she will. “You really want to know, work it out yourself,” Hermione insists. “Honestly, I can’t be the only Lantern in the entirety of the Corps who’s done so.”

Pathavim twirls a primary tendril, swirls of ammonia vapour in its wake. “Do you think he did, then? Work it out?”

Krista snorts. “Offhand, I’d say yes, wouldn’t you?” Hermione’d been thinking the same, perhaps in less flippantly. Odds are they all are.

They unite for a final task before departing. Fourteen rings charge as one, making for a brilliant verdant eruption in the cometary cloud. It will be hours before anyone else sees the light.

They are reluctant to separate, except there are fourteen sectors demanding of attention. There’s discussion of a real reunion to mark the second year after graduation, this time on Oa. As reunions are usually held at schools. Kaylark will see to organising it. Of course.

She and Hermione haven’t become friends; probably they won’t ever be. Hermione’d like to think they can and do respect each other’s fields of expertise. (And Hermione vows to work harder on her leadership skills. Purely for the League. Not for ofttimes irritating classmates.)

Lantern Granger takes a measured route to Earth, a couple of flybys of quiet systems before a full check of the myriad tripwires around her system’s outer fringes. Plenty of time to think of the job, of who she’s become since putting on a ring. It doesn’t guarantee an extended or healthy life. And she’s fine with that. For this ex-witch, there’s no envisioning anything else.

The ceremony itself had been a good one. This hadn’t been her first funeral or memorial, not by a long shot. Hermione’s reminded of the services she’s attended. Sirius. Remus and Tonks. Fred. Colin. Albus. Lavender (who’d been appreciative of the turnout). Cedric. Dobby. Moody. Snape. Professor Burbage. Scrimgeour. So many, and there’s still guilt remaining that she hadn’t been able to save more of them.

It hadn’t even been her first service for a Lantern. After her class had graduated, a week later she’d flown back for Arisia’s own graduation, landing a day prior. And there’d been a service scheduled for a Lantern, they are told. Perhaps not an auspicious beginning for their new careers. They’d both attended; it had felt correct to do so. They hadn’t been alone, thousands of Lanterns and Recruits there as well.

The Sepulchre on Oa is the favoured option for a Lantern’s final rest. Given the age of the Corps, it must be larger than Oa itself she knows and likely utilises dimensional expansions. Akin to a Lantern’s personal dimensional pocket, just… off the scale. Par for existence when the Guardians are involved.

It makes her think of things she’d rather not. Like making a proper will, ideally less enigmatic than Dumbledore’s. Her present one hasn’t been updated since restoring her parent’s memories.

A will, and funeral arrangements as turnover will always be a thing. Hers will occur one day, a certainly. As for a location. Earth. Probably. Hogwarts, possibly? Oa, or on the world where she falls, a corner for ever England? Hermione makes a note to schedule time for sorting this out.

Harry as executor. Not Wally, assuming he survives whatever has killed her. She’d like to not burden him with this. The same for her parents.

Hmmm. She should probably check with Harry first. She can do the same if he wants.

And as for dying…

Hermione’s met the personification of that… aspect? Portion of reality? Really cool person, fun to hang out with when she’s not on duty?

She wonders if Barogg had met her too. Hermione has no idea how this works and is in no great rush to find out. Only that she’d never known him, none of them had. Maybe this had been the life he’d wanted, maybe not. Maybe this had been how he’d wanted to see it through, and she’d like to think there’d been a friendly face with him there at the end.

Chapter Text

How can it be that an absolutely boring Monitor Room shift leaves you with greater tiredness than when you’d begun it?

Hours of near tedium, not that she’d ever complain. Plenty of time to catch up on reports, plot out next week’s patrol schedule, and start on Book Club’s next selection. They’re finally getting around to House of Leaves and, as Sue’s insisted, reading actual books. No screens or tablets.

The shift changeover to J’onn goes swiftly, and she nicks one of his Chocos before flying back home.

Times like this, Hermione’s appreciative of the current English weather. Partly cloudy, pleasant breeze. Perfect for laying out in her yard, familiar stretched out along her side and contentedly purring at being with his witch. Both dozing for a few hours before she’s off to the stars. Until then, Green Lantern is quite Off Duty, not to be disturbed.

Meaning, of course, she is disturbed. First, in a very welcome way, as she hears the front door opening. “Hey hon, surprise!”

The back opens next, and Wally pops his head out. “Hermione?” He takes in the scenery. “You awake?”

Crookshanks purrs increase in volume, in a ‘can’t you tell we’re trying to sleep?’ approach to reinforce that both sets of eyes are closed. Hermione’s own response is intercepted by the second disturbance, as ‘Volare’ erupts from her ring.

Hermione does her own groaning purr, and forms a soaring pedestal telephone construct for Wally to catch in midair. He grins as he puts earphone to ear and speaks grandly into the green mouthpiece. “You have reached the Granger Home for Resting Cats. How may I help you?”

That gets a sly smile. “Oh, hey Blaise.” No surprises there; that’s his ring tone. “Yep, that sounds like her. You do? Sure, should be fun!” Hmmm? “I’ll let her know. Thanks again!”

Wally clicks receiver onto hook and lobs the unit back to her; Hermione lets it dissolve midway across the arc. “Pack your bags, we’re going to LA!”

That gets her eyes to open. “What?”

It seems Blaise has made an offer they can’t refuse, as she discovers via a returned call. Two passes for an invitation only, grand opening for a new LA nightclub tomorrow. He’d overseen the bar setup, stocked the wine cellar, and created the menus, plus arranged and staffed the kitchen. As for the actual opening night? “The softs all went fine; he doesn’t need me for this.”

‘He,’ being the owner. Ridiculously rich, ridiculously handsome, ridiculously egotistical. “Also charming and sexy as hell when he wants to be,” Blaise says. “Despite a ridiculous stage name.”

Blaise can’t make it himself; he’ll be in Tiranë this week. There’s word of an old friend that he needs to catch up with. “Could be the last time we see each other. I want to make it memorable.”

Hermione, passes in hand, rendezvouses with Wally at his place the following night. He has questions before departure. “Blaise said something about you saving his life in Florida?”

“Oh that. He can be rather heavy on the melodramatics.” Hat or no hat. She decides on no hat and a neat, low pony. “I simply investigated his death, then helped stop a baddie from killing him again. Both of him.”

Wally takes a step to the door, then stops. “Yeah, we’re gonna have to make time for you to tell me that one.”

An emerald bubble flight and a yellow taxi drive later, they’re in West Hollywood outside a large, Art Deco tower. Mum and Dad would love this.

They wouldn’t love the line, which extends around the building. That generates a small spat over correct timeliness versus fashionable lateness as they prepare to journey to the end.

Wally’s rejoinder is cut off as a convertible roars up at the front entrance. The driver exits nimbly, tossing the keys casually (and accurately) to a valet. Like almost everyone they’ve seen tonight, he’s dressed to kill in a suit as black as the car.

“Wow.” Her man is entranced. “Hon, did you see that?”

“Honestly, I wasn’t looking at him.” Much. Honestly, the entire town is entirely too attractive, as Jesse had complained.

“What?” he replies with puzzlement. “No, the car! Hermione, that was a mint 1962 Chevrolet Corvette C1.”

And… “That’s good, I take it?”

“You betcha! That’s a sharp model. Whoever he is, he knows his wheels.”

That gets a new discussion going, this time over automobiles. Not with her; it’s with people also in line. Wally’s in his element, and yes Hermione can be happy that he’s having a fun time. Got to love LA. Cars everywhere, car-crazed people the same.

And she really needs to get that driver’s license.

It does help occupy the minutes as the line slogs towards the entrance. There’re a couple of interruptions as the rich and famous are outraged to find puissant beings such as they will require passes this evening. Rather like street theatre as caustic demands and steadfast refusals are volleyed back and forth.

Then it’s their turn to present credentials. Hermione had only been checking her clutch obsessively during the onward shuffle and thank the Battery that the passes remain intact. They ought to be inscribed with nuclear codes given the degree of inspection. No hand stamps are offered as they pass inside. Once you enter, there’s no leaving.

The sound hits them before the reach the club proper. A pounding intensity throughout the hall, across the booths along the perimeter and up to an encircling mezzanine level. It’s a full house, especially on the central dance floor. People are also at the dance poles; hired professionals or enthusiastic amateurs, she imagines.

Both of them have their attention pulled in every possible direction. Most notably to the club’s title. LUX is in huge, brightly lit marquee letters, an odd name for an otherwise dimly lit hall. Well, there are lances of multicoloured hues pulsing to the music, that could count.

There’s also a wall-to-wall bar. Wally cocks his head at her; Hermione shakes hers and points to the floor instead. Soon they’re dancing with the crowd, no uniforms, no costumes, no special attention. No worries.

It’s going to be a hell of a night.

It helps that they’re in outstanding physical condition.

Many songs later, Wally notices an empty booth and this time Hermione nods in agreement. She claims the abandoned land for England while he goes off to do battle in the front lines at the bar.

The mood slows and shifts from the energetic DJ to a series of torch ballads. The singer is young, pretty and pretty talented. Oh, and there’s the driver of the fancy car accompanying her on the piano. He’s also pretty talented at it, the same for singing when he joins her in duets. There’s a gathering around them, respectfully listening and then ardently applauding between songs.

There’s also… magic? Nothing powerful, like drifting melodies that don’t quite blend with the primary tune. Likely from Blaise, she assumes. Or simply one of the types of magic Hermione’s learned exist since putting aside her wand for a ring. Not her concern, so long as nobody is getting hurt.

Better yet, there’s her man with a tray containing their drinks. Her expresso martini, and his absurdly named horsefeather. Oa’s Dry Deserts, Hermione’s not realised how thirsty she’s become from dancing.

Glasses are clinked, and a kiss exchanged before imbibing.

“Hope it’s good,” Wally says after a long sip. “The lady behind the bar gave me an angry look.”

Hermione catches a glimpse of the woman. A striking brunette, smiling while filling orders. Then daggers at their table. “You did tip, I hope?” The daggers are now from him. “Fine. You do have to admit your choice isn’t common on either coast.”

“Nope.” He gives the golden-brown contents in his highball glass a swirl. “She knew it exactly, down to rye instead of blended and ginger beer, not ginger ale. Also, yours is harder to make.”

“That’s part of what makes mine superior.” She nearly keeps a straight face. “Oh, and there’s a note!”

Blaise must have set this up. A special tasting is awaiting them in a private dining room, complements of the chef. They’ll have to think up an appropriate thank you gift for this; it’s grown beyond merely ‘saving your life’ levels for their crowd.

A helpful waitress named Beatice offers directions, a left at the private elevator then down the hallway to the end. Ta. Hermione’s glad she hadn’t ordered anything to eat earlier. Wally, of course, is always ready to eat.

Neither are ready, however, for… a barren room, except for the bartender. Why’s she inside? And why the ornate knives in her hands?

Before Hermione can ask, the knives aren’t in her hands – they’re coming directly at her in a blur. Then they’re in Wally’s hands. Oa, she loves her man.

“Cute,” the assailant smirks, and instantly pulls a second pair from behind her back. “You idiots are getting better. This might be fun.” Then she lunges Wally in a burst of speed and blades clang with a noise rivalling machine gun fire.

The two become a whirlwind, barely coherent shapes that change in the blink of an eye. Hermione’s ready to put up a barrier between them, once they separate. Or when she can make them out clearly. Dammit, this isn’t a tactic that she’s practised, and it so needs to be added to the list. Maybe erecting a solid wall will work; Wally can vibrate through those.

Before she can act there’s a steady voice from behind her. “Enough, Maze.” It’s smooth and low and impossibly compelling. Hermione spins, ring hand out and prepared to blast whoever it is into the Pacific Ocean.

“Woah there, don’t shoot me!” British, almost amused. “I’m only the piano player.”

It’s indeed the piano player, grinning and waving what looks like a whiskey on the rocks as a peace sign.

“Maze, let’s not kill the guests,” he calls loudly to the ongoing battle, “that might depress repeat attendance.” Hermione hears the hailstorm subside, then irritated huffing. She feels Wally at her back, panting, and is confident he’s keeping an eye on the would-be killer. Then she feels him shudder.

Hermione turns and gasps. The left half the attacker’s face is hideously flayed, exposing a ruin of cracked bone and torn tendons. Tendrils of flesh hang uncertainly from fragments of muscle. There’s no way Wally would have…

“Your Glamour’s fallen, Maze.” The observation is laced with a laugh. “If you would, please. They’re mortals.”

The… (zombie? Hermione’s unsure) flips her stunning locks, and her former face is restored. This shouldn’t have been that horrible a visage for her; numerous persons she’s seen on the job are at least as disquieting. This had been… unnaturally horrible. Bypassing rational thought and digging deep into the primordial part of her brain.

“Now, let’s everybody take a moment. No one,” and the player glares at the bartender, “is getting hurt tonight.”

“Tell that to these two assassins who snuck in!” she shouts her reply. The knives are down, though not stowed.

His attention goes to Wally and Hermione, and it’s like being under a klieg lamp as he studies their faces. “She has a point, I believe. I don’t think I remember inviting either of you fascinating young people.”

“Blaise,” Wally gets out as Hermione says, “We’re friends of Blaise Zabini.”

His face lights up. “Ah, lovely chap, lovely name to boot. I couldn’t have launched without him.” He’s beaming as he talks and it feels she should be asking about the magic charm or the rotted face or doing something and instead Hermione’s standing and listening.

“Pity the sumptuous Mr Zabini couldn’t be here, but he does have a truly marvellous hobby,” he continues, and his teeth appear to be gleaming. “As for us, perhaps we could sit and relax, chat a spell before you go off and wreck my brand-new club? Plus my building, I fear.”

Hermione takes a seat and finds her voice. At last. “Does your bartender habitually draw weapons and attack people for no reason?”

“Mazikeen is my ever-loyal head bartender,” and there’s a strong, respectful tone in his reply. “Maze is also my self-appointed, and utterly unnecessary, bodyguard.” Not a great deal of respect in the latter statement.

“You keep saying that, and idiots keep trying,” Mazikeen retorts. “And these two, you can smell it, don’t say you can’t.”

“Naturally. However, I’m not convinced they came for aggression, outside of the dance floor. As for who they are…” His eyes are dark and hard, and neither of them can turn away.

“You, my sexy little witch… are just that,” he starts, and Oa he makes it far too suggestive. “As for this very fit, yummy young squire; not the garden variety from the Garden either, are you?” He taps the table rhythmically. “Lightning in your veins, to paraphrase my dear friend Rod.”

Wally snorts dismissively. “You’re adept at make-believe storytelling,” Hermione says firmly. This is escalating in a disturbingly tangential manner.

“No, not at all Ms Granger,” and he’s completely serious, perhaps mildly offended. “I never lie.”

“Yeah, right,” Wally says. “So who are you?”

He adopts a positively delighted appearance, eyes twinkling. “‘Please allow me to introduce myself.’ Oh, how I do love that line!”

Mazikeen rolls her eyes.

“Lucifer.” Wally gives a heavy pause. “Morningstar.”

“Old Scratch himself, Mr West. Originally called as Samael, but I wasn’t a fan. Bit too posh sounding.”

“You’ll pardon us if we don’t believe you,” Hermione joins in, slowly.

He smiles, and no she won’t call it a devilish grin. “Won’t change a thing. Dear Old Daddy demands belief; I don’t care either way.”

“And the Devil is running a nightclub.”

“Not running, I own it my dear Ms Granger,” he corrects. “The building as well. As for a nightclub… why not?” He, fine she’ll call him Lucifer, leans back and savours his whiskey. “I got tired of my job – which I’d never wanted – and decided to quit. Ten billion years, give or take, and enough’s enough, wouldn’t you agree?”

Maze twirls her blades expertly and absently. Hermione gets the feeling she’s heard this tale before.

“I spent decades in Perth out on the beaches and watching sunsets.” Which, he admits, aren’t bad. “Some of His better work,” he says grudgingly.

Hermione tries and fails to imagine artistic discussions at that grade. Wally pushes forward. “And then what, you come to LA?”

Lucifer waves his glass at their surroundings. “The City of Angels, has a certain ring to it?” He stops circling and leans the crystal to Hermione. “Speaking of rings… A bedazzling gem hidden on your finger. Courtesy of those depressingly solemn embodiments of the blues. Despite that, look at you, such a shining light you are!” He waggles his eyebrows, subtlety on the scale of an avalanche. “I’d be happy to share tips, myself being the original lightbringer.”

“I’ll take that under advisement,” she replies evenly. “Deals with the Devil do have a poor reputation.” Wally hadn’t leapt to defender her, not that she’d needed or expected him to, and Oa does she love him.

The Devil doesn’t take it personally; if anything, his interest increases. In both of them, actually. “There’s so many of you now, running about in your deliciously tight costumes, so brave and heroic. Turning back mighty oceans, leaping over tall buildings, it’s all so superbly dramatic. How could I not want to spend greater time up here?”

He clinks his rocks glass to her long-emptied martini vessel. “I’ve heard of two mortals having a run-in with one of my former subordinates. Word got all the way up here, imagine. Good show, as we say back in Jolly Old.”

“You… you aren’t really British, are you.” The Devil is an Englishman. Not an agreeable thought to have.

“No, not at all,” as he shakes his head. “That would be so limiting. It’s all about the accent; this suits me to the ground. Fetching, isn’t it? Especially towards all these tasty Americans.” He pulls her gaze to Wally.

“Thus, I picked an accent. Made a decision. Better than… I’ll wager you’ve run across that annoying coward swanning about in a cloak and fedora. Couldn’t pick a side or make a decision, so both sides gave him the heave-ho.” The tone has a bit of… nostalgia? “After burning off his wings, of course.” Right, let’s not forget this is the actual, Biblical, Devil she’s having a nice chat with.

Going to church next time with Mum and Dad will be an interesting experience.

They must stay for closing, he insists. Everything on the house. “As the house shouldn’t be trying to kill anyone.” He possibly feels the glare from Maze on his back. “Fine, not without my say-so.” The glare turns to an eager smile.

“And do try the hors d'oeuvres, children. Blaise outdid himself on the devilled eggs.”

Wally groans. “You enjoy doing that, don’t you.” Hermione doesn’t allow it to be a question.

“Could you tell?” Laughter, not at all sinister, as he escorts them back to the club. No escaping his domain. He makes a majestically theatrical bow to the applause of his entrance, then moves off to play host to the adoring flocks.

It’s far past midnight before the last guests make their way out the doors. Lucifer has been at the keyboard for the last hour or so, and moves to unfamiliar, expressive numbers once they are gone. Wally and Maze are throwing objects back and forth, though the actual objects can’t be seen. Hermione is hoping they aren’t knives.

What a night. And now a morning. “Can’t believe I’m having a drink while being serenaded by the Devil,” she mutters.

“Serenading?” The Devil has remarkable hearing. “Oh, do tell, is it working? For either of you? Or both?” He segues into a jazzy ‘Bolero,’ because he’s… him. “My penthouse bed is big enough for three. Five, actually; six if we want to get cozy.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply, instead regarding her in a different light. “Speaking of cozy… you look a similar age, you wouldn’t be acquainted with a fellow British witch named Lavender? Scrumptious lass, slightly less so for a few days each month?”

Um. “Yes. We went to school together.”

“She had quite the pack with her,” he says fondly, and slides the music to allegrezza. “Ah, that was a week to remember.”

He lowers the tempo before ending with a flourish. “Say, you’re a witch, you know magic, I don’t suppose you know–”

No. No. No.

Hermione clonks her head on the piano. Wally doesn’t attempt to restrain his laughter.

“Was it something I said?”

Chapter Text

Argh. Sunlight. Burns.

Hermione slowly opens her eyes, then slams them shut. Head aching… how many drinks had she done last night? And this morning?

Bed. Comfy. She snuggles into the body next to her. Warm. Nice. Her man.

A second body snuggles behind her. Very warm. Definitely not so nice.

Her eyes burst open. A saucy, British voice whispering in her ear, “And a very good morning to you, my sexy little witch.”

Her eyes burst open. Again. For real, this time.

Ouch, sunlight remains an issue. Wally sleeping at her side; nobody else is present or needed, thank you very much. The hangover, that’s real too. Hang on, she hasn’t had one of those since gaining her ring. Exactly what had they been drinking?

Of course. Their good friend Maze. An archdemon high in the hierarchy, Lucifer had revealed. He wouldn’t let her kill them, so she’d settled for the second-best thing. Oa, does her head hurt.

Hermione wonders if he is feeling similar, as he’d attained the level of talkative usually found in the inebriated. Or in a monologing villain. Technically, he’s the First Villain, so it fits, she guesses. He’d begun rambling over siblings and associates, such as “that tosser Raguel. ‘He Who Is Entrusted the Vengeance of Daddy,’ as he loves to proclaim. Self-righteous git.”

She’s trying to piece together what he’d been asking before they’d left, what she truly liked or wanted or desired, when Wally stirs. Hermione leans over to awaken sleeping beauty with a kiss, and he leans into it. Then abruptly slaps the bedding behind him, and sighs thankfully. “Hon, you would not believe…”

“Oh, I think I would.” Hermione pauses. “That really happened, didn’t it?”

His turn to wince. “My head makes me think so.”

Wow. There are immortals, and then there are Immortals. It’s possible the word isn’t applicable for who they’d encountered. The implications alone…

…are for later, and she can tell he’s thinking the same. They lay back and slowly allow hypermetabolism and power ring to swap hangovers for smiles. There are more important activities for today. Planning the weekend gathering, for instance.

Honest, they’ll get to that soon.

It had been quite the large-scale occasion last year, when Wally had celebrated Guy Fawkes Night in London with her. That it had also been for her first year as a Lantern had a big part to play in that.

This year, she’ll be in his country as it commemorates its independence from her own. His turn for arranging for the fireworks. Also for the location, a former summer camp which can be rented out in its entirety. Quiet and isolated, which allows for a loosened attitude towards secretive identities. Rather like their own small enclave.

Enclaves should be greater than a single couple, so two more are invited to share the holiday. Both are happy to attend. Everyone’d had a wonderful time in San Diego, and this promises for smaller crowds, lower intensity, and (hopefully) fewer ocean liner disasters to avert.

For Lena and Kara, it’s their first weekend excursion with friends. Lena is seriously excited for this, as she badly needs a break from Kara’s new roommate. Not that she’s telling Kara that, “and neither are you,” as she insists to Hermione during a call.

Kara doesn’t see any problems with Atlee being on her own for a few days. “One, I’m bringing Streaky so no issues over care or feeding,” her super-bestie had said. Namely, that the visitor from Strata feeds Streaky whenever he meows, and he knows it. “Two, she’s ready to explore our strange new surface world on her own. She can handle herself.” And three? “Hermione, we’ll have me, you, Wally, and the Wandy Twins on call. We can be back in Chicago before she finishes asking.”

Speaking of the twins, this will be the first time Harry and Ginny have stayed a full weekend in the States. Not that Hermione needs to, though she still does, there’s a short review with them over cover backgrounds of insular villages and private boarding schools. As Lana doesn’t know about magic.

And she won’t hear about it from Hermione. “I know it seems everybody in the League knows, and that’s probably true, but none hear it from me. Statute!” That she keeps any respect for it is largely due to a special bespectacled Auror and his ginger partner.

Harry is thankful for her attention, as neither of them wants to go through the paperwork nightmare that could result. Ginny isn’t, insisting that she (or even Harry) is better at hiding magic than a certain somebody is at hiding her identity of Emerald Lumos.

Chaser G. Weasley also reinforces that a starting member of Britain’s Quidditch World Cup team needs to return for Monday’s practice session. The qualifiers starting soon.

Early Friday afternoon witnesses the arrivals at Blair Lakeside Resort (previously Camp Cedar Shores), near the Pennsylvania border of New Jersey. Also a good distance from Gotham, just to be on the safe side.

First are Hermione, Harry, Ginny, and Wally in a comfortable estate car. Rented in Trenton, and large enough for the foursome and familiar plus luggage. Which includes a worn steamer trunk. That had gotten a disbelievingly look from Hermione when she’d picked them up outside London, met with a shrug from Harry and a giggle from Ginny.

They’re negotiating the removal of said trunk, which had been so easy to stow back at the rental office, when the remaining campers glide up in a silent hiss. Kara and Lena, and Streaky, whose meows are louder than the vehicle.

Wally gives a low whistle as it comes to a stop. “I don’t remember them making an electric Pontiac Firebird Trans Am.”

“They didn’t,” Lena smoothly replies through the open window. “I did.”

She pops the hood while Kara grabs the luggage and cooler. Wally smiles apologetically to Hermione and jets over to check out the exposed motor. The owner points out mechanisms while he looks on admiringly. Soon they’re deep into technical jargon.

“Oh bother,” Hermione says, tilting up her Stetson with mock displeasure “More car talk, lovely.”

Kara sidles up to and puts an arm over her shoulder. “She’s going to love another gearhead around. So is he.”

They give exaggerated, suffering sighs together.

Ginny pokes her head from behind them. “Ooo, it’s shiny enough. Does it fly?”

Kara chuckles; she’s heard that story. “No, I’m the engine for that part. At night, obvs. Helped reduce the time from Chicago by over half.” She smiles at her lady. “Lena refused anything beyond that; she does love to drive.”

Ginny isn’t quite listening, as Streaky has discovered new humans. Crookshanks stridently demands matching attention.

Automotive and feline appreciations lessen; it’s time to inspect their homes for the weekend. As advertised, there’s a summer camp feel with adult amenities. The cabins are designed for couples and not kids. Wally randomly selects and lobs three pairs of keys, Harry catching his expertly to the rolled eyes of his adoring fiancé.

The resort is fully stocked with food and beverages; the guests have also brought favourite items. Coolers and bags are ferried into the fourth cabin, which is reserved for cooking, dining, and group events. Then they’re off to claim their rooms.

The trunk gets an inquisitive gaze from Lena. “From school,” Hermione answers. “We had to carry so much with us to the train. Like,” and she grins to the British couple, “sporting supplies.”

“Books!” Harry retorts. “Entire libraries she brought each year,” Ginny adds. “Even the first one!” Harry finishes.

“Well… more sporting supplies!” Not her best comeback. Wally is laughing anyways when they begin unpacking in their cabin.

Hermione and Lena have similar plans on exiting their rooms and taking in the woodland surroundings. Namely, ensuring privacy. The former sends dark green tripwires to anchor around the perimeter and along the far side of the wide lake. The latter has her own variety, via drone-deployed sensors for sound and vibration.

They give dual headshakes of satisfaction. Lena turns and takes in the well-appointed cabins perched not far from the shore while the rest meander out. “Pretty fine choice, Wally. I worried that we’d be in tents.”

“Nope, no tents for us,” he replies. Harry and Hermione vigorously concur. “There was an outdoors expedition during our school years,” she offers. “It was, ah, memorable.”

“So what are we doing for lunch?” Ginny jumps in. “Lots to throw on a grill, right?”

“A barbeque sounds great,” Lena says. She doesn’t ask about tents again.

There’s not one but four grills on site. A very American barbeque of burgers and brats, and any attempts to clarify countries of origin are forcibly shouted down by Wally and Kara. The refrigerators have a solid selection of beers, which everyone agrees make for ideal pairings.

It’s nice and long and relaxing. Hermione assures Lena that yes, there is a baddie known as the Condiment King. Harry and Ginny refuse to believe and erupt in giggling at the insistence from the superheroes. Lunch slides into an extended affair as sunset starts and a full moon rises. With that, Wally, Lena, and Ginny depart for their rooms to retrieve the holiday’s famous necessities.

Hermione gives Harry an inquiring look, and he gives a confirming nod. Ta. She hadn’t imagined otherwise and had wanted to be sure, just to be safe. Harry escorts the felines into his wandlessly Silencio’d cabin, as it’s about to get upsettingly bright and noisy.

The trio return and spread out their bundles of pyrotechnics. Wally’s are decidedly normal looking. Lena’s may have undergone a modicum of subtle upgrades. Ginny’s look completely handmade, and she smirks at Hermione’s close scrutiny.

Time for fun.

The darkening sky over the lake soon is filled with streaming rockets, multicoloured flares, and flowering bursts of fragmenting explosives. The group provides expressive oooo’s and awwww’s at each display.

Hermione realises between detonations that the group has an even split between loyalists and revolutionaries. Kara confirms which team she’s on, to Harry’s uncertainty. “Passport and everything. Baseball, Apple Pie, you name it. Down with the Redcoats!” Cheers from two as three boo her expressively.

Wally adds figurative petrol, remarking on how commonly the holiday’s reason is celebrated across the globe. “About six days on average, somebody’s doing this.” Ginny humphs and pulls out a frankly terrifying looking device, surely on par with what Umbridge had faced that lovely day. Her selection fires a hundred metres upwards, spitting burning filaments before splitting into dozens of missiles. Each spirals away before reuniting with a thunderclap that shakes the ground. Hermione’s awed, particularly as she knows there hadn’t been a trace of magic involved. Superb work, George.

Lena turns to Kara with “Hold my beer.” Kara does so, not trying to hold her laughter.

Her projectile employs multiple stages, each firing an enormous spray of differently coloured stars on separation. The final payload ejects tiny parachutes of glowing decorations that strobe from red to white to blue on their swirling descent. All disappear perhaps ten seconds later, only to explode in ripples that form the opening notes to the ‘Star-Spangled Banner.’

The four judges confer. Lena and Ginny clink their bottles and take bows at the declaration of a well fought draw.

Additional fireworks follow, off-the-shelf yet no less fun types to go with the unique creations, and they dazzle everybody.

A final illumination for the night. Hermione charges her ring, her friends, besties, and beloved, plus two curious cats, along with her. The woods take on a ghostly emerald splendour, aided by the residual fireworks smoke, and the lake’s surface shimmers in reflection. It always feels stronger when she has special people with her.

Dinner is almost an afterthought, dessert being the primary focus. Hermione recognises a few ice cream samples from Diagon shops, which are especially welcome. Kara’s brought selections courtesy of Kelex and the Fortress, which receive excellent grades from Harry and Ginny.

And it’s enough for the day.

Good Nights are made, and not long after she feels a second Silencio charm go up around Team Britain’s cabin. Hermione adds a muffling field over hers and Wally’s. She hears a click and a dampening field around the third cabin, and it too grows silent.

No one hears the usually placid waters of the lake churn throughout the night.

It’s a clear morning and a brilliant sunrise. Half are sleeping. Half aren’t and are watching the sparkling rays on the water. Kara, as can be imagined, is quite the fan of the dawn’s early light, or any light at all. Harry and Ginny… not so much; it’s more that they’re still on London time.

No matter. The trio decide to procure sustenance from nature. Kara’d learned to fish while growing up in Midvale. Harry had picked it up during that horrid summer, and Charlie’d taught Ginny at a burbling stream near the Burrow. Poles with hooks are in a shed, and a few Transfiguration spells later they have wriggling lures.

Taking a small boat out onto the lake… that’s a bit trickier. They manage, barely. Catching and reeling the fish in is an easier process than any of them remember; they’re practically leaping out of the water.

The sleepers awaken to the smell of grilling pike and trout, and all hail the mighty hunters. That they had made the voyage without falling into the water is also heralded. The hunters mind the grill while fruit is sliced, grits are boiled, and (this being America) bacon is fried to a crisp. Bagels and assorted juices to round it out. Streaky and Crooks stick with the fish, offered by hand as it should be.

It’s a great way to start the day.

The party splits up after liberal applications of sunscreen, Kara included as Lena’s doing her application. Ginny, Kara, and Hermione set out to circumnavigate the lake on foot with two felines as their guides. Meanwhile, Lena, Wally, and Harry, perhaps tempting fate, have discovered canoes.

Everyone succeeds in staying dry, though there are close calls. The Chosen One hadn’t been chosen to use paddles, for example. Streaky and Crooks alternate dashing to the shoreline then scampering away, and Hermione nearly plummets in while on a ledge waving her hat towards the distant mariners.

On reunification, Kara and Wally locate a sand-filled court and introduce the group to volleyball. Then they split into the predicable teams, Yanks vs Brits. No spiking, definitely no powers as there’s only a single ball, and no accessories either (this directly to Hermione and Lena).

It should have been a rout, what with Kara and Wally on the same side and Lena a quick study. The three schoolmates counter with secret weapons, such as outstanding teamwork. They also have a secret language that none save a handful of other people on the planet could follow, perfect for calling actions. Harry and Ginny are even quicker studies as well and possess excellent skills for tracking objects in the air.

The home team carries the day, narrowly. It’s fun, and sweaty in the hot sun. And there’s an inviting lake nearby, and it’s now perfectly fine to fall in the water…

Shorts and shirts are traded for swimwear. Hermione’s developed responses to questions she knows Lena is mentally asking when she sees the scars exposed by her suit. The scars on Harry and Ginny as well. “The boarding school we went to… as you can see, it had a severe problem with gang violence.” Technically, not completely untrue.

Lena doesn’t reply, simply gives her a measured look and heads for the shore.

Damn. Harry and Ginny don’t look pleased either, Kara too as she heads after her girl.

Swimming helps. Hermione’s become adept due to Arthur’s aid; she’ll not get a low score on her next inspection. Harry jokes about Viktor coming to her rescue if she goes under, and she splashes water at him. Then Ginny splashes water at her. And then it’s on. No teams, no mercy.

That ends when Kara pulls Lena onto her shoulders, both practiced at this aquatic warrior sport, and Team Krypton go on the offensive. The two other couples are unfamiliar with this mode of combat and take a few pushed plunges before catching on. Team England rules the waves, primarily due to Ginny’s Chaser-developed arm strength, until Lena and Hermione launch coordinated attacks.

The mood’s a great deal lighter on leaving the water than it had been when they’d gone in. Showers before lunch, as lake water leaves a whiff. Walking back, Hermione tells the visitors they must do ocean swimming, with proper waves and glorious seashells. Far superior.

She doesn’t mention the monsters in those depths. Later she will, if only in comparison.

Lunch is kept basic, outside on picnic tables with assorted breads and fixings to combine into sandwiches. Beers, along with wine coolers and hard lemonade (and Oa it’s hard). Wally promises dinner will feature Long Island ice teas for the visiting English-folk, tea being an important part of the reasons for the holiday. Hermione makes a note to warn them as she’s had this concoction before.

By late afternoon appetites are sated, and the sky is darkening with clouds. It’s not enough to convince anyone to go inside. The umbrellas over the tables may come in handy, though.

They share updates on their lives, easy and comfortable. Crooks is snoozing in his witch’s lap. Streaky has claimed Lena’s, who talks of a new generation of high-end batteries she’s developing; the prototype is resting next to Wally’s rental. Ginny does a good job talking around her upcoming sports event; field hockey’s become a big thing in England, evidently. Harry’s been busy chasing down several gang members who keep getting away. He’s glad to have lowered the emphasis on catching a feared American criminal, now that she may no longer be operating in his jurisdiction. Hermione toasts his efforts.

There’s the wedding coming, of course. “It’s going to be a small one, or we’d invite more,” Ginny says. Kara and Lena nod with understanding. “Hermione’s only coming as she’s practically a Weasley,” Harry continues. That gets smiles among all three.

“We’re going for less drama than the last Weasley Wedding,” Ginny finishes, and Oa please let it be so. (It isn’t. It is, however, splendidly memorable.)

Wally mentions recent combats with his Rogues. Golden Glider is trying to get Kite Man be made an official part of the group. It’s becoming comedic as combat is mostly between the dating pair and other Rogues. In the last outing, Wally and Pied Piper had passed a bag of popcorn back and forth while watching the (often hapless) violence. By the end, no handcuffs had been needed as each is unconscious. “I let the Piper go,” he wraps up. “He brought the popcorn, after all.”

He snaps his fingers. “Almost forgot! We’re getting our own dedicated lawyers.” Right, Hermione remembers that’s happening soon. She’s met one of them already, if but briefly.

“Finally!” Lena exclaims. “I’ve been pressing Kara on that forever! I’ve got two firms on retainer, and that’s just for me.” She points a finger at Wally. “The League is the League, but powers won’t win legal arguments.”

Harry snorts. “You’d be surprised.”

Lena arches an eyebrow. “I have a young trainee!” Hermione intercepts. “Teen Lantern!”

It works, and Lena’s attention redirects. “You’re joking.”

“Not at all,” Hermione rejoins. “Her choice. It comes with an expiration date to segue into an adult name, which I believe to be clever. Just as she is.”

“Hmmm. Yes, motion withdrawn. British?”

“Spot on. Goes to my old school.”

“Here’s hoping she knows how to feed your cat.”

By now, the sky’s become properly dark. “Hey!” Lena shouts, as Streaky abruptly darts under her chair. Crookshanks looks up and hisses, fur on his back rising. He’s staring towards the lake.

A huge, hulking body is striding onto the shore, dripping detritus and stagnant water. Clothing in tatters, skin pale grey and utterly dead.

“Born on Monday!”

“Oh, crap,” Wally mutters.

“Yeah, that sums it up,” Kara says, and the clouds open up.

While later writing up her report, Hermione’s not sure if the rain had caused the emergence, or if the emergence had triggered the showers.

She’s not faced yet Solomon Grundy. Undead, zombie, monster, perhaps all three. An unkillable creature created in a swamp from an unholy mix of toxic chemicals and the supernatural. Invulnerable, unstoppable, and ridiculously Clark-level strong. That he’s usually not the brightest ring around is the only weakness.

Why here, why now… will have to wait.

Reflexively Hermione shifts into uniform. Kara and Wally aren’t bothering and charge at him. It. Whatever.

There’s a smack like a wet sonic boom, and Kara goes hurtling into one of the cabins. Wally is trying tornado funnels with equal success. He dodges the first swing, and not the second.

Lena’s done the reading, it seems. Hermione’s hears her call out, “Ginny, Harry, get in a car and get ready to drive away fast if we can’t stop him.”

“We?” Ginny wipes the rain from her face while keeping one hand near her pocket.

“I brought a few toys with me.”

Hermione almost smiles. They’ll ignore Lena, of course. She lights up and sends multidirectional cutting lasers at Grundy, following with hyperdense gravity pulses. He doesn’t bother swatting them away. Instead… ”Hur! Hur!”

He’s laughing, in an inhumanly guttural tone. And critiquing. “Green keeps changing! Cape then no cape then long hair! Hur!”

What…?

They keep at it. Lena unveils her toys. The belt is wrapped around her fist and reassembles into a blaster. The butterfly hairpin hits transonic speed when thrown. The fountain pen in her pocket opens to fire an x-ray laser.

Impressive, and they might as well be insect stings.

The four of them are keeping him from advancing farther from the water’s edge, and that’s about it.

Kara’s trading blows and not even knocking Grundy’s head back. Wally’s landing thousands of strikes per second, to no avail. Hermione tries bubbling him up, as she’d done to Chemo, and Grundy grabs the surface and rips it open. Then takes Hermione’s construct line used to project maximum power for her creations and cracks it like a whip. Hermione’s turn to fly into a cabin, and Guardians that hurts.

“Hur! Green always weak no matter who they are!”

Wally pulls her out, a thin field keeping her dry while he looks soaked. “This isn’t going well!”

“You think?” Kara shouts while trying superspeed jabs mixed with heat vision.

“We need the Hawks,” he yells back through the rain, “their maces usually take him out!”

Hermione’s mind races. Their maces. Made of Nth metal. Anti-magical. That would stop him, if he’s magical. And if he has magic in him… “No, we have what we need right here! Harry, Ginny!”

Wally looks to her, and then to them. “You sure?”

Kara gets in a lucky punch, sending Grundy back to waist-high in the lake. She’s waving her possibly broken hand in pain as he lands.

“Yes!” Wally gives her a thumbs-up and tags in with Kara against the creature.

To her best friend, “Harry!” Who looks quite at the ready, the ginger beside him equally so. “We can’t violate it, but someone else can tell Lena!”

“Tell me what?” Lena fires her blaster a final time, then ditches the smoking mechanism. “And hurry it up heroes, there’s an unstoppable monster coming for round three!”

Harry gets it. “I can’t tell you who we really are. But she can!”

“Me?” while wiping bloody knuckles against her jeans.

Grundy’s advancing. “Tell her, Kara!”

Her eyes widen, and there’s almost a blur of words sent at Lena. “Harry and Ginny have wands and do magic!”

And do they ever.

Wands are extracted out of impossibly long pockets. Toothpicks enlarge to become brooms, then are mounted for aerial attacks coordinated over years of practice before and after graduation.

Faux Latin and beams of eldritch radiance fill the air. Petrificus Totalus and Incarcerous stumble Grundy. Stupifies cast in rapid-fire mode stagger him.

A broom zips near Hermione. “What is this thing?” Ginny calls. “Inferius?”

Harry maintains a steady barrage. Reducto. Expulso. Flipendo.

“Not quite. I don’t think. He’s worse, Gin.”

“Fire it is then, ta,” and she’s back in orbit around the monster. Ginny introduces Grundy to tricks from her Sixth Year, the Year from Hell courtesy of the Carrows.

Then curses at his left and right; Incendio from her, Firestorm from Harry. No Sectumsempra; good to see he remembers that hadn’t worked in the cave.

Bombarda Maxima. Glacius. It feels like watching her battle against Despero. Except this is actually working.

Wally limps over, a foot dragging poorly in the mud. “They okay flying in this?”

“Please, we’ve played in real rain!” Harry yells, then ducks a massive fist to cast a close range Incendio.

“They have, trust me,” Hermione says loudly over the downpour. “I had to sit through them!”

Grundy’s trying to get underwater to dowse the magical fire. That’s not going to happen. “Harry! Ginny!” It’s tough shouting over the rain, and Hermione adds volume with her own version of Sonorus. “Ron’s favourite spell!” They nod, and Harry raises his wand.

To the ladies on the ground, “Everything you have. You’ll know when.”

Harry’s perfectly pronounced charm roars through the deluge. “Wingardium Leviosa!” Accompanied with the precise swish and flick. Ginny mirrors him, and Grundy is no longer in the water. Or on the ground.

He hangs there for a moment as Hermione hurls fractalizing lances, Kara’s eyes burn like stars, and Lena unleashes exotic energies. It’s the twin eruptions of raw magic that seal the deal, blasting his mindlessly laughing figure far into the lake.

Numerous splashes are slightly visible through the torrent. Kara and Hermione fly out, Harry and Ginny right behind them.

Scorched and torn shreds of clothing float up to the surface. Nothing else.

Super-vision, ring scans, and detection spells show the lake only contains fish, broken tree limbs, and a couple of cars at the bottom.

The rain levels off to an annoying drizzle that fades as the four return. Nobody is going inside. Eyes stay on the lake.

Harry and Ginny deal with injuries. A few healing spells; Kara begs off as she and magic have issues. “An hour in the sun, I’ll be fine.” Wally will be the same; his ankle’s already on the mend.

Hermione takes a long breath, wincing a touch from her knitting ribs, and calls it in to the Tower. Diana’s on comms and she can hear the relieved reaction that no one’s been badly injured. Grundy has a reputation. A report is promised for tomorrow, and Hermione signs off. Then she recharges her ring, Wally behind her with a close embrace.

Kara discovers dry firewood under a tarp. It feels correct to light it up, this being a summer camp originally. Harry and Hermione see to arranging the wood and overseeing the flames. Lena praises their efforts, then blinks and sits back, looking both upset and satisfied. “Brooms and wands,” she mutters. “And magic.”

There’re marshmallows and chocolate bars and graham crackers, and instructions for Harry and Ginny. Wally’d shown Hermione ages ago in one of their first cookouts.

And now there’s honesty too.

Hermione’s about to speak, and Lena holds up her hand. “Let me try.” And the easily smartest person around the campfire unravels the secrets.

Wands, Magic. Your villages – no, not villages, there’s an entire community of you. You’d require support infrastructure. Housing, shops. Law enforcement. Social activities, like sports. Currency. Banking. Education.

School, you went to a magic school. Why? To learn magic, of course. All three of you and plenty more, this is an entire… not a community. A country. Within Britain, as a separate country.

A school for magic. Ergo, Hermione can do magic as well. Or used to. Except she doesn’t, she didn’t do it tonight. Why? At a guess, rings and wands don’t go together. Or aren’t allowed to co-exist? Magic and Science at those levels have incompatibility.

And Hermione’s scars; Harry and Ginny, yours as well. Those weren’t from hooligans, even magical gangers, there was a proper war with magical weapons that leave scars that can’t be healed by magic.

A civil war. A bad one. You were on the run, tents and campfires, right? But your side won, or you wouldn’t be here. You’d be dead or worse as magic’s involved. You called Grundy a nearly Latin name, so I assume there are monsters in your world. That it hasn’t been overrun by them also means a sizable population hiding away. Thousands, tens of thousands. Possibly mingling with outside world. In a controlled way.

You didn’t want anyone to know. Like me. Hermione couldn’t tell me; Harry and Ginny couldn’t either. Someone who already knows, who isn’t in your society, like Kara – she could. Your magical nation has laws about talking to people without magic. Damn strict ones too, I bet.

This level of organisation… the British government must know. Which means so does the US government. Which means there’s the same setup in the US, American magic users…

“Magicians?” Lena turns and asks the wand users.

“Witches and Wizards,” Ginny replies, after it’s clear this is a question.

Gender insistent titles. Meaning probably old fashioned. Lineage a factor, possibly to establish and reinforce the power structure. Government through hereditary seats, a House of Lords. No House of Commons. All lead by your most powerful magic user.

“Rao you are so sprokkin’ sexy right now,” Kara whispers.

Magic driving the government… so those without magic are second class citizens. Or those from new families, the old lines not liking upstarts disturbing the status quo. Thus, civil war. Magically violent, and everybody carries a deadly weapon. A small community, and each death is personal. God...

She stops and looks at Harry and Ginny, then Hermione, eyes firm. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

The don’t. Instead, they tell their own tales. Lena’s already heard the origins of the Fastest Man Alive, the Last Kryptonian, the Emerald Gladiator. She hears new ones now, including letters and owls, a castle and a troll. The Boy Who Lived, the Brightest Witch of Her Age, the Girl Who Fought Back. And more.

The campfire needs to be refuelled several times.

No one should be getting up early the next morning. Only they do, first Hermione to double check that the new tripwires around and inside the lake haven’t gone off. Wally next, and a few seconds later reports no oversized footprints to be found in the region. Lena checks her own sensors, a quiet nod to them both. Ginny and Harry fly over the water, not finding any disturbances. Kara floats down from a kilometre up, shaking her head.

Hermione looks up the poem and forms a scroll construct. She starts, and all join in by the middle of the week.

Solomon Grundy,
Born on a Monday,
Christened on Tuesday,
Married on Wednesday,
Took ill on Thursday,
Worse on Friday,
Died on Saturday,
Buried on Sunday.
This is the end
Of Solomon Grundy.

Kara looks up at the cloudless sky. “Sunday. We got that right.”

“He’ll be back,” Wally says. He picks up a pebble and sends it skipping to the far shore. “He always comes back. There’s always another Monday.”

Harry’s looking at Hermione. “Those are the worst.”

“Call us next time he shows,” Ginny adds. “We can try Fiendfyre.” She might be enthusiastic at the prospect.

Part of Hermione would welcome that return. What he’d said hadn’t made sense. She’d very much like to have that sorted out.

With the daylight they can see the carnage and debris; not as bad as they’d worried. Magic will certainly aid in recovery as it had last night for the cabins. That’s for post-breakfast, however. Which is less easy than yesterday’s.

Lena’s still taking it in. Entire societies isolated away. “Atlantis, I get that. It’s under the oceans, and they can’t breathe air. But this? Hiding in the middle of Britain?”

“It’s been that way for a long, long time,” Hermione says. “Isolated, and deliberately so by choice.”

“Which is deliberately stupid,” Kara interjects. “My own home planet being case in point.”

Lena turns to Wally. “The League knows all about it too, right?”

“It was before us; the JSA knew about it. And then Hermione here shows up, and this wasn’t ancient history anymore. Our crossover girl.”

“Not my intention,” she replies. “Yet,” and she includes Harry and Ginny, “the isolation and secrecy can’t last much longer. Technology is catching up far faster than could have been imagined a hundred years ago. This,” and she pauses. “I believe this will be the last generation for the Statute.”

“For what it’s worth, I agree,” Harry says. It feels like a proclamation.

“Me too,” Lena adds. “You’re going to need people on this side to work the transition,” and leans towards the witch and wizard. “I want in. Where do I sign up?”

Chapter Text

That had been an interesting weekend.

Lena’d been keen to examine both wands and brooms before departing. Sadly, she’d only found ornamental sticks and old-school constructions. Three people had watched, with a ‘what were you expecting?’ gaze.

“It’s all in the person, not the tools,” Hermione’d said finally. “The reverse of this,” and she’d tossed her ring to Lena. A solid chunk of carved, dense material, and a similar lack of obvious or hidden workings. “A Lantern without their ring is regular person. A witch or wizard without their wand is still magical. And possibly still powerful, too.”

Ginny and Harry had completed the demonstration by wordlessly summoning their wands and shrinking their brooms. After that, Lena’s eagerness to be part of the ‘transition team’ had measurably increased.

The three Hogwarts grads had talked transitions while Hermione’d flown them back home to London. There’re brainstorming sessions to follow, perhaps with Dean and similar newcomers to magic. Others from Survivor House, as most are living at least half their lives in the non-magical world.

Hermione’d said no promises and will try to participate when her own life permits. People like her, and Sam as well, almost live in a third world, neither Muggle nor Magical. One that’s Super.

For Hermione, one that’s also a job. A usually stable job. Except when she hears of how that might change.

It seems there’re unofficial discussions of adding a second Lantern to each sector.

Lanterns gossip, for lack of a better term. Not particularly a surprise. Perhaps only the magnitude of the topics differentiates them; little concerning celebrity scandals, for example.

It’s rare, of course, given how infrequently Lanterns encounter each other. That might be a large part of how much they do talk when they meet.

The sector houses are sure to change that; even before opening, Hermione’s spent long hours with the nine Lanterns who form their… Hmmm. What does one call a group of sectors? (On reading through GL’s League reports, Barbara insists it should be called a cluster. Ha bloody ha. Irritatingly enough, it does begin to slowly catch on after Hermione mentions this in their next status gathering.)

The gatherings are foremost to ensure their new house is not only functional but also impressive and welcoming. Emptiness and disinterest post-opening simply will not do. Gatherings also allow for ten Lanterns to socialise, beyond the two who’ve associated together since graduation. Which leads to topics of informal chatter, and one in particular.

Hermione herself had heard it on Oa about a month ago, whilst reviewing her recent reports with a Senior Lantern. They’d wanted shorter; she’d been giving them shorter. Honestly, no one should be seriously counting footnotes and appendices towards page lengths or word counts! And yes, she has taken someone under her wing, and yes that person is magical, and no Lantern Granger isn’t using magic. Merely helping train someone whose powers emulate those of a power ring. Nothing more.

Subsequently, she’d taken a well-deserved break in the recreation centre. Uniform shifting to relaxed apparel, stretching out on a lounge under a star-emulator, enjoying a delicious beverage impossible to fashion on Earth. And listening to three Lanterns talking while playing an unfamiliar game involving marbles, cubes, and cards. Ignoring them until words started connecting together.

Another Lantern in each sector. Huh.

She doesn’t react, but she does keep listening.

By now, Hermione’s halfway into her second year and feeling quite good about her calling. She’s into triple digits now for saving worlds, the people of 2814 (including Earth) seem to approve of her, and she’s so going to get O’s across the board on her next inspection. Ta, Arthur. And Garth too; lately he’s been spending greater time at the Watchtower.

Two Lanterns per sector.

Hermione’s on a lounge, this time in her back yard and under her own star. Crookshanks is underneath in the shade, snoozing.

It seems a good idea. Each sector is staggeringly huge, to start. More Lanterns in each means less chance of missing threats, expanded capability to meet multiple demands for aid, overall strength in response times for covering emergencies. Working together for the larger missions, splitting patrol destinations and durations. Herself and a second Lantern for a sector what she’s been solely covering for since she gained her ring.

Then Hermione thinks further and she’s a bit unsure, and then a bit upset with herself that she’s unsure.

She’s feeling… possessive? Yes, possessive. This is the sector that’s been assigned to her, her responsibility. The burden is enormous, but it’s hers. Singular. Hermione likes the solitary time she has when on patrol, being the Green Lantern for her worlds. ‘One Sector, One Lantern,’ as the saying goes.

And the people within. 2814 Shines! Would the sector feel the same with two ringslingers? Would the light be doubled, or divided?

It’s childish, yet she feels like she’s been judged not capable of the duty, that she can’t handle it. There’re 3600 Lanterns out in the field; it’s certainly not due to any single member of the Corps. Definitely childish.

A Partner. A Lantern Partner.

She knows police on her planet have partners. Aurors as well; Harry and Ron partner up for most of their cases. Thanagar does the same. Not all result in marriages.

It seems to work well in the examples she knows of. It’s just not something she is enthusiastic about; it’s too different from how things are, how she’d been trained. How she’s used to. How she likes them. Change is unsettling and yes, she can admit this. To herself, anyways.

Splitting up a sector… would it be a daily partnership? Would they work from the same location, or each have their own base, own home planet? Would one of them be the senior partner, in charge of the junior? One on duty whilst the other isn’t, trading back and forth?

And the League… would her partner join the League as well? Or even take her place as they split membership time? She’d gotten the feeling Arisia wouldn’t mind doing so, though of course Arisia’s up for anything where action’s involved. Would Hermione need to train the Lantern in how the League operates?

Training… ignore the League, what of the timeframe required for regular training of new Lanterns. How long would it take to recruit and train 3600? While existing Lanterns need continual replacing. Years for this? Decades?

Doubling numbers; would this dilute quality? Would standards be lowered? More instructors would be needed, likely pulled from existing Veteran Lanterns. She’s not met a Lantern she wouldn’t trust at her side in battle. Behind a desk teaching, however? Hermione remembers her late Potions Professor as the signature example that expertise in a subject matter doesn’t translate to expertise with students.

Oa, would they first need extra classes just to instruct the new instructors?

However…

This could be a good thing, surely. She and Arisia have shown it can work; they’ve been something of a proof of concept, Hermione guesses. Except they’ll never be made partners; each would almost certainly get a Lantern who’s native to their own sector.

Would it end their own team-ups? Lessen their friendship? Make it stronger as they’d be spending a greater portion of time off duty than on?

By the Battery… The ‘Lantern Twins.’ Is that what’s driving this? A source, or at least an impetus? Hermione’d always made a note of their work together, how they complimented each other, a light brighter than merely two adjacent lights in the dark.

The two of them hadn’t been friends at first, when they’d offered reciprocal aid sessions during training. It hadn’t taken long to reach real friendship; despite their many dissimilarities, the recruits clicked like Hermione’d done with Ginny. Would partnership work with someone who never becomes a friend, or worse is intolerable to be around?

Hermione doesn’t want to go there and does so, nevertheless. Not partners, don’t think of the two Lanterns as partners. Think of them as mutual observers. Not quite spying. Definitely reporting of what they see. Forget friendship developing; this could ruin trust.

It’s not a comfortable thought, and yet it does fit. A way for the Senior Cadre to watch carefully how Lanterns operate in the field, beyond merely reading reports. Would one of the pair foremost be there to report to… whoever? Particularly the new Lanterns; who knows what could be part of their instruction? All a fringe benefit for having a second Lantern, or the primary goal?

Keeping an eye on each other. All for the good of the Corps, of course.

Again, possibly a plus. It might reduce the chances of another Sinestro.

Or it might increase the chances of two of them. No way of knowing when it happens, Hermione imagines, until it happens. And how long might that take? Could entire sector houses become… she hesitates. Corrupted. Leading to a civil war between Lanterns. A genuine galactic war, horrific beyond what any space opera movie could depict.

She wonders what the Guardians think about this proposal, assuming this isn’t their idea. They’re relatively hands-off for the most part, from what she’s seen. Remarkably so given what they provide, what’s resting on her finger. This might be coming from the Senior Cadre and not the Guardians.

Which makes her wonder if she should be worrying about how the Corps operates. It’s a first for her.

There’s really no one else who will understand this other than a fellow Lantern. Hermione’s not sure she wants to share where she’s been going with her thinking, not even with Arisia or Katma. Not yet, at least.

She goes to Hal.

He listens for a few minutes, then puts up a hand and drives her to Ferris Aerospace. Far too soon before she’s in the two-seat version of a testbed jet designed for hyper-manoeuvrability. No rings allowed. Hermione tries to keep it so during a series of rolls. Then he truly starts flying, and it’s like when Harry took her out on a broom that time in First Year. She doesn’t scream. Too often.

She’d needed to clear her head, he says, laughing once on the ground and Hermione unleashes her unlawfully imprisoned hair. And kisses the tarmac.

Then they resume talking. He’s told tales before of butting heads right and left, Lanterns and Guardians alike, on an almost daily basis. Of the oh-so-many mistakes both he and they’d made in his time. She knows he’ll be brutally honest with her when she launches into thoughts and worries.

He is. Hal has his own data points and experiences with partners, official and unofficial. Wingmates. Backseaters while flying (no, not her). Barry. Ollie. Tomar. Carol.

Sinestro.

It helps.

It’s not much of a surprise when a few days later she receives an official message from the Senior Cadre. A request for Lantern Granger’s consideration of a proposition for doubling the number of Lanterns per sector. No further details or mentions of procedural alterations are included. She is welcome, of course, to include suggestions of her own.

Hermione does. Oa, does she. With footnotes.

She’ll wait to see what happens.

She also starts paying closer attention to happenings on Oa.

Chapter Text

“Yer kiddin’ me.”

“I kid thee not,” as Wally might put it.

“Okay, Hermione, lemme take a look.”

She passes over the printouts of trade industry articles, sales projections, and statements of ownership, then settles back in her chair. Oberon flicks on a desk lamp and begins examinations. Hermione thinks of Severus in his office reviewing submitted tests. Or Salaak.

Oberon’s is more relaxing than either. It helps that it’s in his house, which also has a relaxed feel. This quiet suburb of Trenton helps. As does the distance from Gotham. There’s a pleasant breeze coming through the open windows, mildly disturbing the papers not in his hands.

Hermione takes in the numerous pictures lining the office walls, of the people he’s worked with from run-down circus tents to colossal arenas. Photos of him with the three identities of Mister Miracle, several of the Free family in and out of costume.

“Sonovagun.” Hermione turns her attention back to Oberon. “This is…”

“Quite.”

Because it looks like Green Lantern’s back, and bigger than ever!

Or to be accurate, in the roleplaying game that includes her as a character.

Hermione lets out a soft groan, not the first after she’d received the documents, as he continues scrutinising the legalese.

She’d been duly noted that there’s a new edition coming based on the high sales numbers. With a new company producing it. New to this property, to be precise, as they aren’t actually new to her. National Comics has bought the rights, with plans for ‘increasing synergistic crossover appeal’ with readers of the Green Lantern comic book. Oi.

Thankfully, Kyle will be acting as overall ‘Green Lantern Intellectual Property and Story Development Manager.’ She’ll trust him to keep it from becoming embarrassing. It’s already going to be so when either Kara or Ginny (or both) shows up with copies of the new edition, demanding autographs. Likely Harry and Wally too.

Notably, Funky Flashman’s been cut out of the lucrative financial deals. Evidently years ago he’d tried to con Morgan Edge, CEO of Galaxy-Warner, which owns National Comics. And Edge never forgets.

Oberon’s just spotted that bit. “Funky’s going to take this personally.”

“Oh, he has,” Hermione replies. “We’ve exchanged broadsides.”

That gets an arched brow, then a laugh. “Good for you, kid. And watch yerself; he always has an angle to his angles, and plenty of connections.”

“Thanks, I shall.” He holds up the papers, eyebrows raised, and she waves her hands dismissively. The originals are in her own office on the Moon. “Anyways, I thought you might want to see what’s happening with… what this is expanding into. Also, to thank you again, for helping with the original review. Are you sure about recompense?”

“Hey, I’m doing just fine,” he interjects with a grin. “I gotta nice place, I handle Scott when he does the occasional show and those ten-percents aren’t to sneeze at. I got enough.”

“Well. If you insist, though if you’re interested–”

She’s interrupted by a noise exploding from outdoors, a loud boom.

Oberon’s eyes light up. “We got company.” He gestures out the window.

Hermione turns and sees… well, the phrase ‘old banger’ comes to mind. It must have been a grand 4x4 back in its day, and the exterior’s clearly been maintained well. From the backfires, however, the interior may need work.

Boom.

Perhaps a lot of work.

It pulls to a stop in front of Oberon’s house, and the two who get out can certainly afford better. Celebrities both; he’s been on numerous chat shows to promote his performances, which always get tremendous coverage. Occasionally she tours with him and is nearly as famous.

It’s interesting watching them get out of the car. Scott flows to his feet, complete control over his body. Easy to see how he makes his escapes. Bruce has the same, but this is The World’s Greatest Escape Artist. Batman is excellent; Mister Miracle is the pinnacle of the profession.

Barda’s exit is slower as there’s so much more Barda to exit. The vehicle rises notably after she steps out. Hermione can understand why the large 4x4: headroom. Barda towers over Scott the way Wally towers over her. She’s not just tall, she’s… Big. Olympe Maxime is tall; Barda is Big. Hagrid Big. Like a larger size of human, layered with heavy muscles that bulge under her loose shirt.

Stunning, both of them. Hollywood smiles, appropriate for show people.

Fine. They’re god-like. Satisfied?

Even while wearing casual, comfortable clothes. Scott has an unfamiliar vintage Flash tee, and Hermione makes a note to ask where he’d found it.

Hermione knows of Scott and Barda Free from League reports. Also, watching them on Jonathon Ross. Two of the New Gods, and she’s always unsure exactly that means. She’s not met either of them or any of their… pantheon, would that be the correct word? She does know Scott’s a very reserve reservist, along with Barda. As is Scott’s sort of stepbrother Orion.

It will be wonderful to meet Scott and Barda. Orion, from what she’s read, can wait. He tends to make Batman feel like Ambush Bug.

“Hey, we’re in the office,” Oberon yells through the window. “Door’s open!” Though it might have been interesting to see Scott in action picking the lock.

Hermione rises as they enter the room, Oberon coming around the desk and leaping onto a chair to enthusiastically welcome them. Scott first, as Barda needs to duck carefully under the doorframe.

“Still got Thaddeus’s jalopy,” Oberon says as the hugs part.

“Still do,” Scott replies with a grin. “The backfiring’s just started. Made the drive down from Connecticut loads of fun.”

Barda cocks her head and looks up to the quite nearby ceiling. “Hmmm. Reminded me of the blasting pitches, trying get across while dodging acid-blades before breakfast.”

Scott adopts the same nostalgic expression. “Yeah, now that you mention it. Three or Four?”

“Three. Four’s when we started having to do it so we could have breakfast.”

They both sigh.

He recovers first. “Obie, we wanted to tell you in person–”

She notices first. “Hey, you’re the new Lantern!”

“She is!” Scott redirects to Hermione, hand out. “Cool to meet you at last.”

They obviously can see right through Hermione’s complete lack of disguise, which is very rare for anyone who didn’t go to school with her. She’s not even wearing green today.

Barda answers the unasked question with aplomb. “We’re gods.” No additional explanation needed, Hermione guesses.

First demons and the devil. Now gods. Whatever happened to simply patrolling the spaceways?

Hermione explains why she’s here, and the mention of Funky gets low chuckles. They know Hal, have done several missions with him. And they’ve seen her in action. “Nifty moves in New Zealand,” as Scott puts it. He’s heard about her death trap exploits. Word gets around in the escapology circles.

Also, advice. “Practice, practice, practice. And try not to die.”

Scott’s slowing down his own act, only going on tour once a year or so. Hermione remembers last year, Wally raving over his appearance with ‘Weird Al’ Yankovic on the Touring with Scissors finale. Scott had escaped from a treadmill with a thousand scissors fired at him. Then he’d pulled off his mask to reveal Yankovic in a muscle body suit. The show finished with a duet on “Dare to be Stupid.”

Hermione needs to research further on this person, she notes.

Barda’s head is out the window and basking in the sunlight, rather like Kara does. “We never had a sun growing up,” eyes closed and enjoying the rays. “Something bright in the sky.”

“Or a bright sky at all,” Scott notes.

“Ha!” Barda turns to him. “I remember seeing that thing for the first time. Thought it was an incoming fusion lance.”

“Same here.”

Another joint sigh.

“So, Oberon, Scott and I drove down to tell you–”

That wasn’t a car backfire. Hermione’s heard Boom Tubes activate in several League recordings, and she watches the three of them going into alert. Scott has a high tech mobile out. No, not a mobile, that’s a Mother Box, an impossibly advanced sentient computer that can do nearly anything. Bit like her ring.

Barda looks out the window again, then doesn’t quite relax against the frame.

“Her?” Scott asks.

“Her.”

There’s a tall (not as tall as Barda), muscular (not as muscular as Barda), brunette outside, calmly staring at the occupants. Tank top, khakis, a low pony of long black hair (not as shiny as Barda’s).

“Barda!” comes the call from the front lawn.

“Lashina.” Her reply leans into the annoyed.

Ah, right. One of the Female Furies, the elite warriors of Apokolips. Of which Barda had once been the leader. Lashina had been abandoned on Earth with Waller’s group while suffering from amnesia, according to the records and yes Hermione’s done a lot of reading up on them since that encounter. Barbara’s always happy to share those the files.

Hermione’s braced for a brawl, first objective getting Oberon to safety. Thankfully she’d charged her ring this morning. Except…

“Same as before, Barda, I’m not here to fight.” That’s an unusual stance, given her associations. “I tracked you here to talk, like last time. I will kill you one day, spike your head on the Orphanage walls. But not today.”

Barda rolls her eyes. “Like you could.” Then, over her shoulder, “Oberon?”

“How ’bout you two take this out back? To keep any audiences away.” Which Hermione can tell could be coming.

Barda motions to the front door with a jerk of her head and goes out to greet the newcomer. A moment later, she’s back with a Fury who isn’t hesitant in offering opinions.

“Oh Barda,” Lashina tsks. “Deluded as ever, treating mortals as equals instead of prey.” She eyes Hermione the way Crookshanks eyes a hapless rodent. Particularly the invisible ring on her finger; Hermione can sense the hunger in her appraisal.

“Listen, I don’t care what you’re here for,” Scott begins heatedly…

Ping!

The chime comes from the Mother Box in his hand. He gives the screen a look, then an apologetic one to his wife. “Honey, I sort of need to take this. You go do you, that okay?”

“Sure thing, honey.” Lashina’s turn to roll her eyes. She does, though, follow Barda out and out behind the house. Scott pauses a moment, and Hermione can see the love in his face. Then he’s gone, upstairs from the sounds. Not entirely happy judging from the footsteps. “Yo, Penn, kind of in the middle of something…” The footsteps halt. “For reals? Her too? I thought she’d left touring.”

Huh. It’s a mobile as well as being everything else. Perhaps more than a bit like her ring. “Yeah, it would be tremendous, no doubt. It’s just that I’m not sure about a full tour next year.” His voice fades as he reaches the top of the stairs. “Maybe select shows? Who else you got lined up?”

Despite being in the back yard, it’s easy to hear what’s happening out there. Or what’s not happening. No furniture breaking, weapons firing, or bones snapping. Instead… conversation.

“It’s all been dumb since you left, and now it’s worse. Bernadeth is all I’m in charge, when everybody knows I’m in charge, which means I have to keep busy checking for a knife in my back. When you were in charge, it was simple. We followed your orders, or you’d break our faces. Or we’d kill you in a real fight and take charge. None of this sneaky sneaky stabby stabby stuff.”

“She’s DeSaad’s sister, what do you expect from her? And you, Lash, you’ve gotten soft. Staying on Earth for months softened you up. Just kill her and get it over with.”

“You know why I can’t. Nothing to do with being soft, no matter how long I was stuck on this mudhole. You’ve been on Earth for years, Barda. What does that make you?”

“The greatest Fury the Orphanage ever produced. Still.”

“Like I said, deluded.”

For two people casually talking murder and killing each other, it’s familial sounding to Hermione. Rather like Daphne and Astoria going at it. No matter what’s said, that they are sisters remains solid.

Oops. Hermione (finally) sees Oberon watching her as she listens. “Perhaps we finish up our talk while everyone else is talking?”

“Those two,” he says, not quite replying and shaking his head. “Lashie comes around every now and then to see Barda. Between you an’ me, I think she misses Earth. And I think Barda misses her old gang in a weird way. I never had any siblings, I dunno how that works.” He shrugs. “Lashie’s the sanest of that bunch, and I’m not sayin’ a lot by that.”

He points at a chair and takes one next to her. “So, game is looking good, Funky’s out of the picture, all sounds pretty swell to me.”

“As ‘swell’ as I can envision, aside it all going away.”

“There’s money involved, nobody’s going anywhere. Sorry, kid.”

“Yes, that’s horridly apparent.” Hermione takes a breath. “Back about the reviews, the League has its own legal team now to deal with these sorts of items. They’ll be handling these situations from here on out. Not that you didn’t do a splendid job!”

Oberon slides back in his seat. “Yeah, heard about that. Jean, huh? That going over well?”

Hermione relaxes; she hadn’t been sure if he knows who’s involved. “There’ve been… less than smooth waters,” she starts, careful on her words. “Not as bad as his side versus her side. It does help that she’s frighteningly competent, and that’s an area I’m happy we’d all been in agreement on.”

Hermione’d met Jean in passing at the Tower, a week or so after officially joining the League. Very intense, very professional demeanour. She’d been extremely out of town during the recent interviews for Jean and Kate but had given both thumbs up based on their résumés.

“Regardless, if you’d like to take part, I bet they could use your expertise and support. Everyone trusts you, and you’ve a proven track record.”

He doesn’t look overly excited. “Yeah, I’ll think about it. See if I get bored in suburbia or not.” About as she’d expected, nevertheless she had wanted to tender the offer.

Barda returns, furious conversations concluded it would appear.

“Aaaand she’s gone. Oberon, I had no idea she’s pull a stunt like this, hunting me down when I’m not at the house.”

“Eh, whadday gonna to do? And don’t say kill her,” when it’s clear she’d been about to.

“Whatever.” Barda puts her head out the office door and shouts upstairs. “Scott? I’m done, get down here so we can tell him!”

Hermione makes ready to take her leave; this sounds like a matter not for visiting characters in a game. Except… there’s only silence from above.

“Scott?” Louder now. Less demand, more query.

Silence. And then, Ping!

It’s coming from Barda’s side, and she pulls out her Mother Box. Ping!

“Scott?” Softly, then Barda’s pounding up the stairs.

A scream of rage follows.

The discussion has moved to the back yard.

Barda’s going after her husband. Then killing anyone involved. Starting with Lashina. Regardless of whether she’s involved or not. General principles.

Hermione insists on coming along. Perhaps less killing and greater emphasis on rescue.

Oberon insists on also coming. Both of the ladies insist that no, he isn’t.

Barda insists this is a matter for gods alone.

Oa, Hermione’s quite had enough of that sound.

Barda, even bigger in full armour and helmet, has her Mega-Rod energised and aimed before the Tube fully opens into a circular, glowing portal. Then stows it back on her belt. “Oh. It’s you.”

A figure in blue, covered in advanced circuitry or ancient runes or a combination of the two, emerges in a floating conveyance that glistens with arcane energy. Metron, also from the files, and his throne-like Mobius Chair. Scientist and researcher; the New God unaligned with either side. Or so the reports state.

“Barda is correct. This is not your concern, mortal.” An utterly emotionless voice, dry as the Oan sands. It’s clear who he’s talking to, even as he’s not bothering to look her way.

Nope, not going to happen. “I’m going. I don’t care who they are or what any of you claim to be, but they live on Earth and that makes me their Lantern!”

“Of humans, perhaps, and equally lesser beings.” He keeps only looking at Barda. Probably she’s the only one worthy of his attention. “None are gods.”

Enough of that. Hermione wills her uniform on, lets her ring light up. Thankfully the yard has a tall fence.

That get’s his attention. Curiosity, like witnessing a pet do a clever trick. “You realise this is a trap,” and he deigns to speak to them both this time. “It will only result in battle.”

“Of course it’s a trap!” Barda yells, a mix of anger and disbelief. “By the Source, I thought you were smart Metron!”

Something tells Hermione that saying there’s a fight coming isn’t the cleverest way to dissuade Barda. Not a smart god at all, is our Metron. Oberon is scarcely keeping the guffaws internalised.

He overlooks this and launches an arpeggio on the chair’s keypads. Lights race across the structure, coalescing into a transparent screen of glyphs and flowing graphical forms. “As I conjectured. This will be a disruptive act unless reversed quickly.” Now, he looks troubled. “This will interfere my investigations of aleph formation if the galaxies in this region are destroyed.”

Oh. Barda and Hermione exchange glances. No arguments now, Green Lantern is going with her.

As to where, exactly… Barda knows the destination. Or is pretty sure. Where, specifically, is an issue. The threat of investigatory disruptions gives Metron a reason to help, or perhaps justify his actions.

Hermione’s ring picks up where the Boom Tube occurred, molecules in the air residually vibrating from the rupture in spacetime. Metron’s Mobius Chair runs through billions of possible transdimensional trajectories. Barda’s Mother Box inspects the routes of highest favourability, seeking out a familiar neuro-electronic signal. And she finds it.

They’re ready. A destination adjacent, but not too adjacent, to the revealed pathway’s termination point. Barda and Oberon hug, and Hermione hears words wishing safety and success. Metron observes from a distance, silent and dispassionate.

None of them spot Hermione speaking into her ring.

It’s different than moving within hyperspace. There’s a feeling of actual movement as the two of them walk through the Tube, Hermione doubling her steps to keep pace with Barda. She can see the exit several metres away, and it doesn’t get nearer regardless of their stride until it’s suddenly upon her.

“Be it ever so horrible…” Barda mutters. Then, “Welcome to Apokolips, Green Lantern.”

It’s as unpleasant as she’d been imagining. Harsh toxins in the dense atmosphere which her ring is working overtime to filter. Hot, and not a dry heat either. Distant screams carry like wind through trees. Not that there’s any wind. Or trees; no green anywhere. Airborne screams, and with them the terrible stench of burnt blood and charred flesh.

There’s no sun, and yet the sky is somehow a dismal, brownish red. A shade Hermione’s seen far too much of both before and after gaining her ring.

Also, “Everything feels… oversized,” she replies. “Big.” Ah. “Sorry.”

Barda manages a grim smile at that. “You’re on a homeworld of gods. What did you expect?”

They’re on a vast plain, and the horizon extends forever. No curvature, even with a ringed-up lens. “Where’s…”

“The end of it?” Barda’s busy searching with Mother Box. “Like you said, oversized. Our worlds are roughly half the size of your solar system. This is just one of Granny’s training grounds.”

Each step crunches, and Hermione doesn’t need to examine the whitish shards littering the desiccated soil to know what they are. No plants. No life. No hope, drifts in her ears.

A different dimension… Oh. Oa, not again! She makes a quick check. Battery remains connected. Phew.

Barda shakes her head. “This dimension isn’t separate from Earth’s. Apokolips is everywhere. New Genesis too. This is a dimension above your own, as gods are to mortals.” She turns back to the Mother Box, then back to Hermione. “No offence.”

“None taken.” Hermione’s busy scanning for threats. Also, for a specific signal. Scott should have a League comms unit, or has added it to his Mother Box similarly to how she’s set her ring. Either way, she should be able to pick it up.

They both gain success, Barda first. “Got him. About fifty miles away, a couple of miles underground. Not far from the Orphanage. Must be a new torture block.”

Hermione points upwards. “Incoming.”

In the distance are winged creatures of burning eyes and fanged mouths, screeching their hatred as they approach. Parademons, the aerial assault forces of Apokolips. Armed with… Oa, those are virtually identical to the weapons Intergang’s been using. That’s not good. Neither is it when they begin diving down, and a second flock comes in from the opposite direction. Trying to attack without detection, while…

…the main attack arrives. The four Furies are accompanied by clouds of noxious smoke. The core membership according to the records. Stompa, each step an earthquake. Bernadeth, expertly twirling a superheated Faren-Knife. Mad Harriet, delightedly licking filaments of dried blood from her razored talons.

And Lashina, now in costume and brandishing one of her many whip-like straps with a lazy confidence. “Hey Barda. You’re not going to die today, don’t worry.”

Barda ignites her Mega-Rod. “Not worried. Getting bored. You should have brought Scott with you.” She nods upwards, and Hermione takes the hint.

Above her it’s a target rich environment, as Lady Blackhawk might say. Hermione takes to the air, ignoring Harriet’s poor attempts at insults and flying directly at the thickly packed enemies. She can hear the clash below, and Barda displays how to properly hurl insults.

Hermione’s own clash isn’t fun. Several dozen for her to deal with, and thankfully her foes have little in the way of advanced combat tactics except overwhelming their opponent. They don’t particularly care if their weapons strike the fellow parademons surrounding her, either. However, they are tough and mindless of what should be debilitating injuries, and every blast against her shields hurts. It takes far too long to pick out their best weakness, namely their wings.

Hyperdense emerald beams break apart cybernetic augments, snatching the users several at a time and throwing them at what isn’t quite orbital velocity. And it takes too long. Hermione doesn’t pause before plunging into the fight under her.

Barda’s taken two of the Furies out, acrid smoke rising off them, limbs bent at unnatural angles. She’s in in bad shape, holding her ribs and limping. Lashina and Bernadeth are on either side, preparing to finish her.

Hermione accelerates and Barda must have seen her as she suddenly collapses. The attention is on her. Perfectly done, possibly a degree of stage skills in play and a definite wink to her ally. Hermione stops a few metres off the ground and firing a squadron of homing lasers, as Barda leaps to her feet, not a trace of pain allowed on her face.

The Furies don’t look happy at what’s become a fair fight. Not that they fight fair, Hermione discovers. Thank Oa she’s spent so much time sparring at full power with people like Kara and Diana. And Bruce, as who also doesn’t fight fair. Or Barda, for that matter.

It’s all rather horrible, and yet… there’s no civilians around them. No cities to preserve, no monuments or bridges to keep intact. No concerns that her foes are misguided or too soft for the hardest she can hit. She can cut loose. So she does.

It ends embarrassingly. Barda’s managed to stun them by knocking their heads together, and Hermione rings giant fists to take both by the feet and smash them headfirst into the rocky ground. Then again. Four more times until there’s no movement. Ta. She turns to Barda, who can barely make out a “behind.”

Sure enough, there’s fiery knife coming straight at her. Ouch. It’s painfully hot through the catcher’s mitt construct Hermione uses to stop it. She makes another toss, the blade spinning towards what passes for the stratosphere on this wretched planet. Then a multi-tonne jab to the head that takes Bernadeth out for good.

And there’s… applause?

How did they not see these two? Sure, there’s smoke and haze all around and they had been fighting for their lives. But how?

The unknown male is the person applauding vigorously. Perfect hair and perfect smile, garbed in a flowing white tunic and a billowing red cape that shows gold on the upturned collar.

The female has scale armour akin to Barda’s, sans the helmet. A squat, powerful build with shocking white hair. Even Hermione can tell that shade of lipstick doesn’t work for her. Unless it’s deliberate. Older, as is an appropriate look for Granny Goodness. The monster who raised Scott and Barda on Apokolips.

Her own Mega-Rod in hand, and Hermione can hear Barda reflexively whispering “Granny never spares the rod. Or spares the child.”

She’s a monster, and she’s smiling warmly at Barda as she steps closer. “Look at you, dear! Granny is so proud of you!” she says, equally warm despite the edged, rumbling quality in her voice.

“Hi Granny. Where’s Scott?”

The question is brushed away, the weapon staying down as she continues. “Do you remember the battle here, sweet Barda? How many died, how many you killed? Goodness knows.” The smile widens. “Goodness always knows who you really are, what’s underneath.”

Hermione is waiting for Barda to give a sign as to their next action and instead finds herself the focus of Goodness. “And who is this morsal? Did you bring your Granny a new pupil for her Orphanage?” There’s an unpleasant, oily feeling as she’s visually examined. “Humph. No, too soft for Granny, oh yes. A pretty ring but not enough flesh on the bones for the warhounds to gnaw upon.”

She turns to the male. “Perhaps you could find a better role for her?”

He makes a short bow and before Hermione can react, he’s in front of her. Talking. Beseeching. Imploring. Suggesting. “You should listen to Godfrey, you want to, don’t you? Godfrey knows best.” Beguiling layers to his honeyed, dulcet notes that want to permeate beyond mere hearing.

“Let Godfrey decide for you. Life is easier that way. You don’t want to fight. You don’t want to die here.” His eyes are glorious, she thinks.

“No, I don’t want to fight.” He grins in triumph.

“Doesn’t mean I won’t.” She lets her ring flare. Rather like a slick Imperio, and thank the Guardians that psychic defences are part of Lantern training.

He pouts expressively. “How unfortunate. You could have had a place at His side, worshipped by everyone on your planet. Instead, you have to die.”

The exaggerated expressions they both have, the way they talk, it’s been feeling familiar. And it comes to her.

Granny, squat, toadlike. Godfrey, smiling, mesmerizingly perfect.

Umbridge. Lockhart.

Goodness must be able to do surface scans. Or it could be that she’s experienced at seeing mortals coming to similar conclusions.

“We are gods, little human, and gods cast long shadows. The echoes of our divinity are everywhere.”

Godfrey joins in. “Mortals take inspiration from us. As they should!” No longer smiling; he’s smirking with his words.

Barda nods, and Hermione realises there are shadows from the Furies as well. Bella. Millicent. Narcissa and Pansy, in their earlier versions.

Goodness, frowning, has moved on to the pile of downed Furies. A kick to Lashina, enough to lift her into the air. “You should have known an interfering mortal would come. Granny may have to conduct remedial education.”

“Granny. I’m not caring.” Good on Barda to keep eyes on the prize. “I want Scott. And maybe kill a few gods depending on how fast I find him.”

“Honey, I’m home!”

Scott has escaped. Of course. He’s in full, colourful costume, the one he wears for his shows, and hovering on Aero Discs. Then he’s not hovering as Barda performs a running tackle-hug, bad leg be damned.

Hermione smiles at them. Goodness puts on a smiling face. Godfrey slowly backs away.

Barda de-clenches and stares hard at her Granny. “That was fast enough, so no killings. We’re going now.”

Goodness shakes her head sadly. “No, Granny can’t let that happen.” An extended sigh. “If only you’d come to Granny instead of fighting. She’ll become a Fury, the greatest of all! A shame her poor parents won’t live to see the ceremony.”

She? Becoming a…? Ah. Ah! Barda, what on Oa are you doing fighting?

“Granny will take such good care of her,” Goodness croons. “And she will never know who you are. She will only know Granny’s love.”

“You done?” Scott doesn’t look worried. “You always had nice speeches, Granny. Lantern, you had enough of this?”

She has. She also wants words with Barda when they return. “Let’s.”

The words come from behind them. “Let’s not, then let’s kill you.”

Dammit. Situational Awareness. A slight turn and yes, the Furies are awake and thirsty for revenge.

Scott and Barda assume stances, Hermione preps to get into the air. “You knew?” Barda asks Lashina.

A ‘duh’ expression fired back. “We’re gods.”

“We’re your sisters!” adds Stompa.

“And I’m your Granny,” Goodness says calmly, finality in her tone.

Lashina goes on. “A new god is being born, the first to a Fury in… So we can’t kill you. We’ll keep you alive. Caged. It’s why we stole him, just to get you here.”

“We shall exterminate you afterwards,” Bernadeth announces. “Now, we shall kill these two. You may watch.” She’s glaring daggers at Hermione, possibly noticing her own dagger is missing.

Scott persists in not looking worried. “Yeah, no. We have a kid coming and maybe a few guest spots on the tour of the century to discuss. Last chance, get out of our way.”

They don’t.

They do, though, get thoroughly pummelled. No parademons, so Hermione owns the sky. Scott and Barda have teamwork the Furies can only wish for. The words ‘kicking asses’ come to mind.

Granny watches, critiquing and unhappy that her children are fighting and none are killing. “Didn’t Granny teach you better?” It’s almost to laugh.

Dammit. Now what.

Oh. By the Guardians…

A huge, furry behemoth leaps from the Boom Tube, salivating and waving a massive club. Next to him is an elegant man clothed for an Italian Renaissance festival (or the actual Italian Renaissance), complete with goatee and rapier. A third on a gigantic canine steed, a cavalry of dozens with him. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of parademons pour into the air.

Dammit. Yet Granny doesn’t look pleased. A touch… worried?

Then, one last form, a dark silhouette against the swirling glow.

Hermione knows who this is.

“Okay,” Scott whispers, grabbing their hands. “We move fast, boom out quick before he can do anything.”

“Do?” Hermione asks. “What’s he going to do?”

His words precedes him through the Tube, heralding his entrance. “Darkseid does not do.”

It is the voice of the jeers and wails as Harry’s corpse is carried from the Forest. The cackles as her arm is carved open. The cries as Sirius falls into the Veil. The sound her heart makes as she erases a daughter from her parents’ memories, believes an innocent creature has been beheaded, learns Dumbledore has died, sees so many dead after the Battle.

Darkseid Is.

Chapter Text

Hermione remembers descriptions from the few remaining people of their experiences encountering Tom Riddle up close and personal. Not the magnetic schoolboy of Ginny’s first year. No, this had been the disfigured monster brimming with inhuman arrogance and genocidal megalomania, as per Harry, Draco, and Narcissa. The worst they’d ever met by far; worse than any nightmare they could imagine.

She’s certain they’re all truthful. Hermione also knows their imaginations have never gone to where she’s at now.

Riddle was. Darkseid Is.

It’s not his appearance, which is horrid to be sure. The thick build has a cracked, dark-grey hide as if hewn from actual stone and as solid as continents. Dark blue tunic, gloves, and boots. A helmet that covers all but his face. Crimson eyes, smouldering embers plucked from angry stars.

No frills, no ornamentation. Darkseid does not need them.

Darkseid Is.

Hermione has had a hard time thinking of Scott and Barda as actual gods. They’re quite powerful, yes, except she knows plenty of powerful people. Entities as well, such as the delightfully spectral Mr Corrigan, and the actual Devil himself. Or the Female Furies – they are rather second rate compared to the likes of Sinestro, Nebullox, and Despero. Or Solomon Grundy, as she’s recently discovered. Honestly, Parsimony on her best Jinxiest days had been more dangerous.

The being before her? This is a god. No mistaking it. The embodiment of unnatural power, the dread feeling that reaches out and seeps through her bones. His gaze curdles her soul, fills it with despair and desolation.

She’s faced terrors before. Darkseid is no mere terror. He is beyond the concept of terror.

Darkseid Is.

But she’s a Lantern, dammit. And a Gryff. And Hermione manages to overcome fear. Just.

Darkseid is… here. On Apokolips. Striding towards Hermione, Barda, and Scott from out of a massive Boom Tube. His hosts of parademons embrace the sky, his elites marching behind him. Kalibak the beast, Kanto the assassin, Steppenwolf the general. She’d done the reading, never thinking she’d encounter any of them. Particularly like this.

Too late to fly away. Simply standing her ground takes everything she has. His bootsteps crunch harshly into the rocky surface, reflections of the supremacy over every aspect of his domain.

All save for her and the two gods with her. Three against thousands. Hermione hears Scott mutter about ‘here comes dear old daddy’ and Barda chuckles and Oa it helps.

Darkseid stops a few metres away, and the sheer gravitational pull of his presence nearly takes her to her knees.

He shakes his head slowly to the former students. “The soft whelp of Izaya, and the betrayer of generations of my Furies.” The voice claws down her spine. “You cannot conceive of my disappointment with you. Breeding new life without Darkseid’s permission.”

Barda’s about to react, except Hermione sees Scott touch her arm. Ah. Somehow, he knows.

“You dare have hope for the future,” Darkseid continues, as merciless as an avalanche. “I thought Granny raised you better than this.”

Then his attention turns to Hermione. It’s as if she’s an ant slowly frying under a magnifying glass.

“And you brought a pet with you. Or a gift?” He cocks his head, contemplating the mortal. “A new Fury, should she survive the Orphanage?” Darkseid’s gaze returns to the gods, particularly the female one. “Though none could ever replace you, Barda.”

He smiles, a horrific expression Hermione had never dared visualise. “Perhaps your daughter. I look forward to moulding her in my image.”

Scott struggles to keep Barda from going for his throat.

Hermione finds her voice. “That’s not going to happen,” and it increases in volume and confidence with each word. Lanterns don’t cower. They overcome.

Her ring ignites, and his amused face glows. “Humans. I expected such prattling bravado from this most insignificant of species.”

The leader of his armies, Steppenwolf, jumps off his oversized warhound. “Another of Oa’s blind devotees, Great Darkseid. If you would grant the favour, this would make it my fourth of these tawdry lights to extinguish.”

Extinguish… That had been him on Themyscira, thousands of years ago. Hermione has absolutely no proof of this and yet knows it to be true. He’d killed Lantern Roiemia Ylliao as she defended Earth from his invasion. He’s killed other Lanterns. He will pay, if not today then soon, she vows.

Darkseid is… studying her? Like the ant could be of greater interest? “Remarkable. What mortals call magic resides in your pathetic shell.” He steps forward, and she fights to keep her place. “You carry echoes of Anti-Life as well, as most humans do. Notably from the letters on your arm, bestowed by an unknowing acolyte. How delightful. I shall be sure to resurrect her once your world embraces my truth.”

The countenance hits her again. “And now you dare come to my domain to challenge gods. Foolish.” He steps closer. “I am Darkseid. I am inevitable.”

Oa, please let them… A tiny pulse in her ring. Thank the Guardians.

He must have sensed it too. He’s a god, of course he does. “You believe you can stop Great Darkseid with the paltry bauble on your finger?”

She stands a bit taller. “That and added things I have. Things you don’t possess. Things you can’t comprehend.” He’s watching her, and he’s not watching Scott. Who’s reaching behind his back. Not watching; that’s a big mistake when there’s an escape artist in your midst.

“Ah,” he sneers. “You believe ‘love’ will save you. Or compassion. Frailties I have no use for, that will be eradicated from the universe when all exist only to worship Darkseid.”

“I have those, those and more. For example…”

Ping. Ping. Ping.

The stereophonic sounds come both Scott and Barda. Specifically, the Mother Boxes on their belts.

“No.” The face of a god alters to disbelieving denial. “No!”

“…I have friends.”

Interdimensional portals burst open from three different directions. No striding; these allies within are racing out at supersonic speeds or higher.

Such as her boyfriend. Hermione feels Wally’s kiss as he passes at near lightspeed. She’s come to know and love the superspeed impression, a sensation faster than the receptors in her skin can process.

Clark and Kara, Cameron and Diana. Three she only knows from their League dossiers: Orion, son of Darkseid, raised by Highfather on New Genesis, and said to be the mightiest warrior to ever walk the stars. Lightray, personification of brightness in both emotion and energy. Fastback, the New God of Speed and yes Wally’s mentioned him a time or twelve.

Hermione hears the voice she lives for a fraction of a second later. “Let it never be said my gal doesn’t always have a plan. Sorry we took so long getting here; Orion was hard to track down.”

With that, war comes to Apokolips. Her shields go up, and just in time.

Clark has a boom of his own as he plows into Darkseid, Kara right behind a millisecond later. He’s knocked back, but not down. It doesn’t seem either had been expecting anything better. Her ring can’t even tell what he’s made of, it’s so absurdly dense. God-stuff, Hermione imagines.

Then Orion takes over, flight harness channelling his Astro-Force to levels that can tear holes in moons. Bolts of primordial energies scorch the air as he blasts his father. This does stagger Darkseid, almost to the ground.

Captain Atom and Wonder Woman are in the sky, decimating parademons. Diana is a skilled diplomat and consensus builder, a goddess of peace. Today, she doesn’t have to be and demonstrates what it means to be an Amazon, especially when trained by the goddess of war herself. Weapons forged by gods from a differing pantheon rip through foes, particularly the wings once Hermione passes word of that weakness. Between her and the quantum fires of the Captain, they control the air.

Along the surface, the battle goes less well. Darkseid, of course, demands their big guns. Kara, Clark, and Orion, and they are holding their own. Barely. Omega Beams crisscross the air, colliding with heat vision and god-forces, tearing apart molecules to subatomic shards. Fists that can splinter planetary crusts impact against invulnerable flesh. The ground underneath the clash begins to rend apart and melt.

The Furies eagerly face Barda again, Darkseid’s presence swelling their ferver or adding to their fear of reprisal. Scott supports his wife from aboard his newly donned Aero Discs. A few seconds of watching and Hermione’s certain they don’t need any help. Lashina might as well be phoning it in.

As for Granny… she snipes with biting words and energy blasts, and otherwise stays out of the fray. Keeping out of the limelight. Curious. Hermione fires a nasty hammerbeam at Harriet just because, then looks for Wally… where’s Wally? Abruptly he’s there her with a wink before racing to team up with Fastbak against Kanto, who laughingly wields a rapier and dagger with an inconceivable finesse that thwarts their speed. It could be stunning to watch, if not for the lethality of the steel involved.

Lightray and Kalibak perform a dance of their own. A duet of radiation and velocity versus barbarity and muscle, and Hermione imagines it could predate her solar system.

There’s a huge concussive detonation, and Kryptonians and gods alike are tossed apart. Forces at such levels, applied so quickly. Boom. She’s flying there to aid Clark and Kara, when there’s a growl of rage.

Orion’s helmet is demolished, revealing a bestial face resembling his brother Kalibak. He growls again, his harness left a mangled ruin, and hurls himself at Darkseid in a snarling jump. Father and son exchange blows that could shatter mountains, any thought of employing martial skills ignored. It’s brutal and horrible and…

Steppenwolf is looking up at her, grinning and beckoning with a gauntleted finger. Oh, it’s so on, murderer.

Arcing up to launch a multi-faceted dive attack against him, Hermione spots countless thousands of combatants marching towards them. Hunger Dogs. Lowlies. The dreg-like slaves of Apokolips. Hermione can see the ground tremble as they march in perfect synchronization, their will only what their master wills, their chants audible despite the distance.

“Die for Darkseid! Die for Darkseid! Die for Darkseid!” And they will, and they will cry his name in devotion as they do. Dammit. They really need to get off this world before that happens.

Her high-altitude, high-gravity assault snaps a horned helmet into multiple parts, and perhaps the owner’s skull the same. He doesn’t look to be getting back into the saddle for a while. Ta. Hermione gets a soft alert that her ring’s running low from the sheer amount of mass she’d had to focus into the effort. With perfectly poor timing, she’s also smashed by Kalibak’s Beta-Club, and goes flying for half a kilometre. The uncontrolled type of flying, and her hip smacks hard into the ground, then against an unyielding object.

No, not an object. A large chair. Lined with runic circuitry and thrumming with unfathomable energies.

“You again.”

Metron doesn’t bother replying or looking at what’s hit the side of his Mobius Chair. “There is Prophesy at play, here and now and forever. The Father who gave his Son to his greatest enemy. It has ordained that the Father shall face that Son in the firepits of Apokolips and perish at his hand. The final battle between Chaos and Order.”

He may as well have been reciting simple sums to an infant. And maybe for him, it is.

“I don’t believe in prophecies,” Hermione gets out. She needs to return. Those blades probably only need a minute scratch to kill a human.

“Irrelevant.” He deigns to take her in as she stands up, slowly, not just her hip but a leg also in pain. “Your lack of belief doesn’t make them less powerful when others do. Riddle, for example. Or Darkseid.”

That… dammit. Yes. An entire war of her childhood because of a belief in prophesy. And that had been only concerning humans.

“Do you?” she asks. “Believe?”

“I believe in what I know, nothing else,” and that’s easy to believe. “I exist to observe. To participate is to disturb observation.”

“Right. The Uncertainty Principle.” Ray would be proud.

“As you understand it,” Metron allows. “One day, you may understand the proper meaning.” He studies the battlefield of energy discharges and percussive eruptions. “I do not take sides. I only observe. Here, I observe god-war,” he ends calmly.

“No, mortals are not authentic participants,” before she can reply. “Poor players who strut and fret, brief flickers that shine and then dim. Fireflies on the stage.” Metron’s turn to analyse her, though it’s as if he’s trying to communicate, not talk down at her.

“Gods, however, are gods,” he goes on. “And gods must do battle. It is in their nature. There can only be a singular divinity. This is inescapable, just as the stars extinguish and fall to the eternal blackness of night.”

Blackness of… Well sonuvagun, as her old riding pardner Bat Lash might say. Also, her new friend Oberon.

Metron might have a minor, godlike smirk.

Not here, not now. “Nothing’s falling to night while I’m around,” Hermione confirms, and withdraws her battery. “It’s in the Oath.”

She needs to become a lantern. And help will be most definitely welcome.

Hermione only has to say the names softly into the dry, acrid winds. Kara. Wally. A best friend, her true love. Alien concepts to this world’s ruler. His loss.

And they are there with her, solidifying blurs of (markedly damaged) red and blue as she starts. A hand tight around her waist, another gripping the lantern’s bail with her own. The glow magnifies as the words resonate around them. They accompany her for the final line, passion uniting their voices.

“…Green Lantern’s Light!”

Emerald incandescence roars across the land, stilling the combat. It might be stronger due to the contrast of the surroundings. It might be due to the two very special people with her. Probably both, she concludes in the days to come. Right now, she’s going to bring this world its first dawn.

Hermione redirects their light upwards, and a dismal, sunless sky turns brilliant green. The darkest night banished. Lightray adds to the effort, as does Cameron, both adding luminant energies to her own. Pacifist and soldier uniting, and it feels better than right.

A thanks to Kara, followed by a whispered request to Wally. Instantly she’s scooped up as so she can put everything into lighting up regions far beyond the field of the war. Moving faster than her light itself, permitting her to instil the heavens of a hellish world with verdant radiance.

They’re back before anyone can react, even Darkseid. Back to silence.

Silence. A lack of screams drifting across the barren surface. The sound of marching legions falters, becomes disjointed. Perfect, unthinkingly adherence fades as darkness dissolves away.

Light is everywhere. Costumes once drably subdued under the carmine darkness of this world re-emerge with shades of green. The stillness is broken by the sound of an extraordinary mortal without any powers, explosions serving as a backing track over the comms.

“Batman to League. DeSaad is out of commission.” Wally disappears into a gust of fine, brownish-red dirt. “Retrieval would be appreciated.” Wally reappears, dust swirling around him and the Dark Knight in tow. Who very much looks worse for wear, cape and cowl in tatters. Bruce, how…

Duh. He’s Batman, she answers herself.

Darkseid Is… not happy. His own royal garb is torn and rent, with ebon bloodstains lining granite skin. Not as terrifying in the bright of day. Rather diminished, especially in the short tunic. Bare legs, honestly.

He’s also fast on the uptake. God and all. He turns from Orion to a new target.

“Granny.” The solitary word is an accusation, no sentence required. Barring perhaps a legal phrase. “You allowed a mortal onto Apokolips without my leave.”

She cringes and whimpers with the best of them. “Great Darkseid, I only wished to–”

He cuts her off. “Your machinations are as inept as ever. The last battle will happen when Darkseid wills. Not when you scheme. Not when mortals desire.” His eyes burn bright, no matter the light around him. “Granny… you have disappointed me.”

The Omega Beams dart out, parallel scarlet lances that twist and arc as they hunt her ponderously fleeing form. They hit like a cobra’s strike. She’s still for an instant, the next she’s a shrieking outline that leaves aching after-images on Hermione’s retinas. Then nothing.

Yes, definitely a death sentence.

Barda notices Hermione’s reaction. She herself isn’t impressed. “Eh, she’s only dead,” she asides. “He’ll revive her when he feels like it.”

Lightray is suddenly next to her and agrees. “There’s death. And then there’s god-death.”

“This matter has been ended,” Darkseid proclaims loudly. “Leave now. Remain, and die.”

Hermione blinks, and blinks a second time. She, Scott, and Barda have emerged at Oberon’s home. It’s properly sunny here, far brighter than her emerald awakening. The last she remembers of Apokolips is Orion preparing to defy his father’s proclamation, and Clark dragging him away like a recalcitrant iceberg. Hopefully they all…

She says the name into her ring, and a few seconds later Wally’s vibrating in front of her. “You’re slowing down, dear.”

He waves a hand dismissively upwards, at the Moon hovering above. “Teleporting takes forever! We really need that planetside base pronto, hon.”

Everyone’s safely back at the Tower, he says. The god contingent’s already taken off. “Lightray gave you props. Orion, not so much. Anybody not punching his dad to death isn’t worth much in his book.” Kara and Diana had given him grief over that. “He didn’t exactly run out, but yeah he ran out.”

Hermione’s not particularly listening after the ‘everyone’s safe’ bit and draws him close for an extended kiss. “Lovely to see you, Mr West,” she whispers.

“You too, Ms Lantern. Might wanna mask up.”

Ouch. And a second ouch, as Hermione’s leg reminds her that she’s not returned unscathed. Wally’s costume is thankfully unscratched, though there’s a charred section along his side. No ascertaining the origin, given the myriad combatants.

He knows the Free family and Oberon, the latter of whom is mixing welcoming hugs with cigar-punctuated diatribes over leaving him behind. It’s been some time since he’s seen them, so Wally’s brought in for the thanks and handshakes and hugs. A visible wince when Barda takes her turn.

Hermione and Wally couple-up as they watch Oberon learning of a new god’s arrival. It’s a warm feeling to witness the reaction, and she rests her head on his shoulder for a spell. Life wins out. Today.

It breaks up a little, as Oberon tries to berate Barda for going into battle. The ex-Fury accepts it, only a trifling degree of eye-rolling.

Scott’s watching the humans and walks over when he notices that they notice. “You kids did good, and we can’t thank you enough. Seriously. B is big on leaping, not big on looking. It could have gone bad if you hadn’t gone with her, Hermione.”

“Like I told her, you live in this sector, that makes me your Lantern,” Hermione replies. “Even if you’re, ah, gods. And all.” Still a hard time, yes.

“Hey. I get that a lot, no worries.” He motions to the towering figure that is his wife. “Her, it’s hard not to believe.” All three chuckle at that.

“But being gods, that’s been my entire life. What went down today isn’t too out of the norm for us.” He gives Hermione a penetrating look. “I could tell it was your first time encountering dear old daddy.”

Hermione shivers, enough for Wally to feel it and for Scott to detect it. God and all.

“Darkseid… he’s not stupid, for all he is,” Scott adds, “And he’s a lot. Scary brilliant too, emphasis on scary. A fight like that, it wasn’t going to end. And with Orion, on Apokolips… it could have been it. The final battle. He wasn’t ready, not yet. So he takes Granny out of play, declares the battle over. We get to go; he gets to call it a win of sorts as we’re the side running away.”

He'd got a look of admiration. “What you did… that really pissed him off. I can tell; I’ve pissed him off plenty of times myself.” He concludes by warning, “He’s not the forgiving type. Don’t ever forget it.” Oh yes, there’s no doubt of that.

Hermione wonders if Scott had overheard whilst in the Boom Tube on their return travel. She’d assumed the words had been for her ears only, however… god and all.

She’s making up her mind as to telling them or not when Barda is there with her Mother Box. A series of pinging sounds, a sensation of caring comfort, and the humans are healed. Better than any potion or medbed, Hermione thinks. Chicken soup of the gods.

Hermione sighs. “You. Again.” Yes, he’d been an overall help, and is still grating like wand wood scraping along a chalkboard.

He doesn’t seem to care. “Hermione Granger. You have… promise.” Another possible smirk, as that can’t be respect on his face. “Metron offers a choice. You may take your leave, go about your day as you would normally. Oblivious. Or you may come with me and learn of the true nature of this universe.”

It’s a hard to refuse the offer, no matter the offeree. As he had put it, she is “a human perhaps ready to see further of reality. Not a handful of stars in a prosaic galaxy. I would show you–”

“You would show us,” Hermione had cut in while tugging Wally close. “We’re a package deal.” They’d held up an entwined pair of hands.

One glowing eyebrow had raised almost imperceptibly. Gods can be taken aback, it seems.

She’d been ready to ring up chairs of their own. Metron anticipates this. When the humans emerge into space, they’re in seats alongside his own. The Mobius Chair plus a foldout loveseat. Not that Hermione can imagine him using the phrase.

They’re far beyond the fringes of their system, farther than Hermione usually travels. She’s normally long into hyperspace by now. Out here, there’s only a stray comet or two every cubic light year or so. A vast desert between stars.

Metron changes the view, and Hermione can hear Wally’s gasp with her own. A magnification that retains the immense distances, as they can see filaments of dust clouds, ice fragments, and tendrils of elemental gases along the void. Linking their system to not just a nearby neighbour, but to dozens.

Only seconds until their next destination. Megaparsecs removed from the galaxy, a scene no one’s had outside of cartological projections. Aka ‘best guesses.’ Hermione points out a tiny section to Wally. Sector 2814. Their home. Her job.

The magnification resumes, now turned to intergalactic space to reveal dwarf stars. Collapsed stars and black holes. Dark, unlit gas giants. Archipelagos of rocky planetary remnants. Systems that have never happened or already ended. Or are yet to come. The connective tissue between galaxies.

They’re now… outside. Of everything. Galaxies are miniscule spirals, tiny holiday ornaments. Flashbulbs as stars explode into supernovae. The universe, from an outside view.

How are they seeing this?

“We are looking from the close edge of reality,” and his voice is jarring after the incredible imagery of their journey. Metron slowly spins the Chair, and now they can perceive what’s at the far edge.

There’s a limit, far in the distance, that absorbs every direction they can perceive. A fixed end to eternity. The boundary of the universe.

They approach, velocity impossible to determine, and rough details arise. It’s not a smooth permanence they’re moving towards.

“You know of the Source,” he continues. Wally’s nodding. Hermione’s seen it referenced within the League reports on the New Gods, with explanations that completely lack lucidity. The force of creation, the energies that power the gods of New Genesis and Apokolips alike, that which created and has guided the universe. All of the above, or take your pick. Bit woolly in her estimation. Now, however…

What’s ahead is resolving into a barrier. No matter where they look, it exists. No borders to be seen.

“Researching the Source is… problematic.” That admission gets stares from the passengers. “It exists beyond what lies before us. Many have tried to open a breach to the other side, to directly become one with the Source and discover its secrets.”

The closer they get, the greater the dominance over their senses. She can now make out pinpricks of golden light.

“You can see what happens when they try.”

The details… are people. Larger than planets, larger than solar systems. Millions, billions of them extending infinitely in all directions in a population that minds cannot grasp. All embedded into carved rock, outstretched side by side, head to feet, endless arrays of frozen figures, their faces in perpetual rictus. Species beyond her imagination. Humans, or humanoid. Far to the side… is that a Guardian?

Hermione holds his hand tighter as Wally does the same for hers.

Metron has eyes only for what’s in front of him. “This is Source Wall. These are the Promethean Giants, they who form the Wall.” Whatever is on the far side is projecting through their eyes, coherent beams of incoherent energy. Starlight the size of stars.

“Alive and not alive. Eternity imprisoned. The ultimate fate.” He has a mixture of disappointment and approval for their attempts. “I continue my own preparations, as I have for aeons. Perhaps in a few million years…”

He finally turns to the couple. “One attempt. Succeed in comprehending the totality of the Source, or…” He gestures to the Giants. Hermione gets the feeling he doesn’t share often with others. A loneliness of godlike proportions.

She has to ask. “But why? If you know this will happen, why?”

“Gods…” he starts. The restarts. “The nature of gods is that of permanence. What we are is what we will always be. I can no more refrain from this than I could renounce my existence, forsake my divinity.” The Chair spins again, and they depart for the reality of stars and galaxies. Hermione can feel the gaze of billions at her back.

He presses a panel light, and the loveseat splits away so they can face him. “This is why Scott Free and Big Barda have gained such attention. Orion too. They have defied either nature or nurture or both. That they desire to do so is unheralded. This new child will garner a far greater fixation.”

They’re now amidst galactic formations. “Love. Friendship. Empathy.” Metron has both their focus now these are words they live by. “Hope. Darkseid cannot understand such concepts, so he must destroy them.”

“Anti-Life,” Wally says. She loves it so when he’s done the reading.

Metron nods. “Anti-Life. The means to eradicate all free will until there is only the will of Darkseid throughout the universe.”

Hermione’s ring gets a lock. They’re in the Milky Way again, deep in Sector 1211. The feel of normality, at least for Hermione. Space, stars, home. The job.

“Darkseid Is… Not everything. Not yet.” Metron looks to the mortals. “For now, Hermione Granger Is. Wallace West Is. Everyone Is.” Stars grow closer, planets race by. Life everywhere.

“And Darkseid will not stop until this is ends. When no one Is… except Darkseid. His will, forever, subjugating over all life.”

“He knows about magic,” Hermione says after a moment. “I hadn’t expected it. For any of you. Your science is magical, yes; that I’m familiar with. Actual magic, though… I hadn’t been ready for that.”

“We are gods. Of course we know of this.” Metron might be affronted. “So human, to put a label on a portion of reality’s fundamental foundation and consider it neatly understood.” His Chair shimmers as fresh lambent circuity streams develop, lattice formations that wouldn’t be out of place in her old Ancient Runes textbooks.

“Woah!” Not in space any longer, as Wally’s noticed, and their seats are back in a single row. They’re flying at ridiculous speeds over a peaceful landscape of brightly garbed figures. Bucolic pastures, extensive structures that blend the natural and synthetic, harmony on a planetary scale. Said scale extending far further than any planet could have.

Ah. The counterpart to Apokolips, of course. She’s seen the former (probably its least horrifying portion, given the barren location), so it makes sense Metron takes them to the latter.

“We are the New Gods.” He speaks as if reading from the tome that dictates reality. “One day we are to become the Old Gods and perish. New gods shall rise to replace us. It is the nature of divinity.” He spreads his arms at the landscape. “Even here, on New Genesis.”

There’s a floating city ahead, perhaps the size of Europe. Supertown, the home to much of the godly populace from what Hermione’s read. Atop a gleaming platform reaching towards the clouds, magnification shows a white-haired patrician holding a staff which he raises to the trio. The Highfather of New Genesis, she knows. Izaya, father of Scott Free.

Also adoptive father to Orion, who has a Mother Box to his face. When it’s removed, his visage has become smooth and quite handsome, Hermione must admit. Nevertheless, she’ll always remember the first face she’d seen, the Hyde to this Jekyll. Animalistic and savage, as befits a son of Darkseid.

Gods fill the air, flying on their own power, on winged steeds, on devices she can’t be sure are possible. Lightray is laughing as he performs barrel rolls around them before disappearing in a thin sunbeam out to the horizon.

And is that… a flying, multi-passenger tricycle with gigantic wheels? Crewed with what must be younger gods (or at the least younger in appearance), a wildly bearded man on the handlebar. They fly in parallel and wave, mostly to Wally. This does happen frequently; his history with super-life is far greater than her own.

There’s a person aboard who does look familiar, but that would be… Nope. It’s him, yet again managing to be anywhere there’s action. Jimmy raises his camera for a series of shots, waving and calling their names. Hermione’s glad Wally had reminded her to mask up. You never know who you’ll run into while traveling across higher dimensions.

Earth. Her ring confirms it, as her eyes confirm they’ve returned to Oberon’s front yard. Luckily no crowds. Or people on his street are used to this.

Hermione… is processing. She feels rather like that astronaut from the 60’s film. Ideally without rapid aging or evolving into a star-baby. It’s like trying to take in the entirety of her training plus her first year in the Corps and the League all in a few minutes. What they’ve been shown, what Metron’s told them – she knows that had been only the surface of what he’d wanted to impart.

Wally knows too, she can tell when he checks her expression. Later, they agree with a look. For now, he’s jumping out of the loveseat and goes light-hearted. “See, this is why I like keeping my feet on the ground. I’ll leave the outer space stuff to you, hon.”

He gets a green poke for that when she’s on her feet. “Says the stringbean with a cosmic treadmill.”

Their seating arrangement becomes a diagram, then ceases to be. Metron regards the two mortals. “You both hold promise. Eternity permitting, we shall meet again.”

The Mobius Chair slides backwards into the dimensional aperture. It feels bizarre to wave goodbye to a god, and she does it anyway. Scott and Barda don’t bother; Hermione imagines part of godhood is running into different divinities every alternate week.

Right. Important discussions. Such as “Do you have a due date?” with Barda.

They take this out to the back porch, where names are brought up. The mother favours Rosalind, her grandmother. “Rosalind the Gold,” Barda reminisces. “I never met her, but she sounded pretty awesome. Everybody said I reminded them of her. Combat styles, finishing moves. That sort of thing.”

Wally shares a few tales of Titans and New Gods, Kid Flash first meeting Mister Miracle. Fun times, when times could be fun.

She’s got an arm around him, Scott has the same for Barda, Oberon is chomping an unlit cigar. It’s pleasant and relaxing and totally not quelling the acid in her soul. Parting gifts from the Lord of Apokolips, the words still fresh in her mind.

You believe you have defeated Darkseid, brought light to the darkness. Darkness can never be defeated, child. Soon a blackest night comes, and your pitiful world, your entire galaxy, will be reduced to ash and tears.

Then you will beg Darkseid for salvation. You will beg to worship Darkseid. Beg to have no will but my will. Anti-Life, forever.

Chapter Text

Well, that had been fun.

Plenty of action, so after-action reports all around. On her side, a second for the Corps as is standard. There’re sure to be questions from the Senior Lanterns. Hermione wonders if she’s approaching the number of times Hal had been requested to review his reports on Oa. (She’s nowhere near. Yet.)

There’re also discussions at the Big Table, given that what had started with only her had then turned into a full League affair. Remarks on powers they’d faced, environmental issues, combat tactics. With gods. Hermione’s nearly there in terms of accepting that had happened, that she’d fought gods. Nearly there.

Battling Darkseid, let alone traveling to Apokolips, had been new experiences for Captain Atom and the new(ish) Green Lantern. Cameron relates his admiration for the details in old League records concerning the New Gods; it had been nasty but at least he’d been prepared for it.

The two get high marks from the veterans, as does the League as a whole. That Katar had made the call not to commit a wider membership is commended as well, as Intergang must have detected the multiple Boom Tube activity. It had launched a series of physical and net-based attacks on financial data servers across Metropolis. Which had been stomped down quite firmly on all fronts due to Katar’s direction.

Hermione gets a few extra mentions. Ray had indeed been proud of her comments to Metron. Also, that she’d done the right thing, calling for backup before Booming away. “That’s why we have a League,” he adds; not needed to be said except it’s always good to say.

Plus bringing the fight to an end in her own special way. “You struck him where he is most vulnerable,” Diana says. “None there will dare speak it aloud, but Darkseid’s rule was visibly threatened. He was reduced in magnitude, simply and perfectly by bringing light to his world.”

Kara and Wally are the loudest in the applause, and a smiling Hermione knows she couldn’t have done it without them. They know it as well. Metron too, she imagines. He’s likely off in a distant galaxy smirking about it. Not picking either side, only observing. Hah.

“You nailed him without throwing a punch!” Ollie laughs. “Wish I coulda been there to see it. Hal woulda loved it too.”

“It worked once,” Hermione notes. “Probably won’t work a second time. He’ll be ready.”

“And so will you,” Clark replies confidently. He’s the expert, probably having fought Darkseid more often than anyone who’s not a god, and Oa the look of pride on his face. On all their faces.

She’s not blushing. Hermione has indeed gotten better at accepting praise.

Moving on… Katar continues down the agenda items. Reviews for upcoming events and assignments, last call for comments for outlines of the new satellite facility and concept sketches for the ground base. An ‘embassy’ seems to be the consensus for the latter. Exactly what that will mean (and where it will be located) isn’t firm yet. Potentially for the next League Chairperson in the rotation to address. Namely, H.J. Granger. Gulp.

Katar gavels the meeting concluded, and the heroes break up to chat. Hermione and Wally drift together a few minutes later, hands together. She’d told him of Darkseid’s parting salvo. Prophetic words, or boastful. Time will tell.

She hasn’t told anyone else.

Wally’s fine with that. “He’s trying to get inside your head. Don’t ignore it. Don’t let it get to you, either.” He grips her hand. “God knows Zoom is always doing the same with me.”

Her man has greater experience in such matters, so Hermione defers to it. For now. Soon, time will tell.

Soon, it will. Except for different reasons, and it won't only be telling. Time will be screaming.

They separate after a kiss; he’s off to the Monitor Room and she to the main airlock. Hermione flies out for four straight days on the job, patrolling in gloriously real space with real planets. No alternate dimensions, no outrageously exaggerated worlds. No infinitely elongated barriers filled with eternally frozen visages, either. Nightmare fuel those are, and Wally had strenuously agreed.

No, instead Hermione does what she loves. Saving lives. Stomping down asinine interstellar conflicts. Making friends. Helping people. Welcoming societies to the galactic setting. Being a lantern.

And speaking of what she loves, or specifically who she loves…

She takes a full down day on the return, solidly with Wally. Out and about in their heroic guises as a changeup from their usual civilian excursions, and it feels easier as there aren’t any worries over identity protection. Simply two superheroes doing the town. Not his or hers, this time. They’re doing it in San Francisco.

Years back the Titans had made the city their home, and the city has responded by embracing the role of Superhero Town. Costumes abound, not so much indications of powers as supportive fashion statements. The Titans themselves are commonly found on the streets or in the air, when they’re not on their island in the bay.

Hermione’s passed overhead a few times, and (finally) Wally brings her into Titans Tower. Which is… mostly empty. The Titans are Together out in Kansas today, investigating and then battling a H.I.V.E. outbreak. Save for Ravager; Rose is nursing a strained ligament from a four storey fall and isn’t thrilled at being left out of the action. Somehow, she manages to be less snarky while angry than her usually pleasant self.

Wally plays tour guide while Rose remains grumpily couch-ridden. Hermione must admit it’s quite remarkable. Perhaps not as much after the Watchtower or a magical school in Scotland, yet impressive all the same. She holds the views are at least as good as lunar surfaces or highlands.

Wally’s old room is quite barren, as he’d moved his belongings upstairs or to his Midwest home. It’s ready for Bart, when he’s ready for the Titans.

They next descend on the city itself. The true locals call out friendly hellos to Wally as they land, several to Hermione as well. A few non-locals ask for autographs and pictures; the manner in which everyone else treats the couple as simply a couple does keep this lower than normal. That it’s clear they’re here to enjoy the day, not save it, aids as well.

A slightly different dynamic from how the two are treated in Wally’s hometown. Perhaps as they’re in work clothes yet off work; Green Lantern and the Flash are visiting the City by the Bay, not local boy Wally and his British girlfriend dropping in at Central City. Here, there’s no secret that everyone is secretly keeping for the Flash. It’s purely a matter of the San Fran residents being cool when the capes come around.

And so many capes. A few Hermione recognises as actual superheroes; many possibly aren’t or are keeping their activities out of the spotlight. Pansy would both love and hate the sartorial choices on display. ‘Daring’ doesn’t come close to describing several.

They’d decided on no flying or running. Hermione rings up a tandem bicycle to take them to a favourite of Wally’s that specialises in Big Easy cuisine. No worries about keeping pace with automobile traffic, a greater worry on overtaking them.

Music’s in the air the entire way, from passing cars and streetside cafés. Much of it revolving around superhero life. The local stations lean heavily into the genre, making this the Cape Music Capital of the World. Or so she’s read. Also, word may have gotten out that two of the biggest are in town, two who are also the hottest caped couple.

Hermione’s heard many of the songs revolving around either her, or Wally; mostly her and Wally. “My Girl in Green,” “Lightning to My Heart,” “Supersonic Love,” “(She’s Got a) Bling Ring, Baby!” and more. Oh, so many more. Kara, who has a good number herself, and Oracle ensure the latest are always in heavy rotation within the Watchtower break room.

Oldies too. The Stones had re-recorded “2000 Light Years from Home” back in Hal’s days. Recently, they’d revised it into a plaintive ballad of a Lantern and her speedster who are separated while she’s in space and he’s on Earth.

Then there’s Blondie, a timeless part of the scene. They’ve been leaders of cape-pop since the superhero resurgence that Clark had spearheaded, their songs often touching on people with powers and their relationships with those without. Hermione feels the powers could easily instead be wand-based. As can be imagined band’s quite popular here, judging from how often she hears songs about dreaming and telepathy as they pedal along.

All part of Cape Chic, Titans Togetherness. They’d never trained her for this on Oa. She tries to imagine Salaak trying and devolves into giggles as they arrive at the restaurant.

Brunch is quite wonderful; Hermione’s never tried this cuisine before. Wally knows his eating establishments. He has the staff on a first name basis, and the patrons respect the young couple’s desire for a measure of privacy. Ta.

Out the reconstructed bike, press attention becomes a thing. They roll with it, literally, while sightseeing in Golden Gate Park. Occasional calls for Wally to Put a Ring On It! from grinning people as they pass, and Hermione smiles back. It feels good.

All good things must, and so on. Hermione lays out a green track that goes up, up, and away, and a bicycle built for two disappears into the clouds.

That had been refreshing. Her next four days are busy. Long patrols, fortunately nothing exceptionally arduous. Also nothing on the mysteriously not-dead Dr Kys. Hermione’s turn for a stint in the Monitor Room plus leading two ongoing presentation series. The first on the latest offworld news for this sector, then a matched talk on offworld technology (namely weapons) and how to recognise and react when encountered. Hermione tries to fit these in each month or so.

All building up to a day she’s been looking forward to: Auntie Hermione’s going to be babysitting her favourite nephew. Which she hasn’t done properly in ages, not since leaving Earth her first time. Green Lantern’s gotten better at time management (even with a fulltime boyfriend) and had made the offer a few weeks ago. Andromeda’s acceptance message may have travelled faster than said boyfriend.

Hermione checks her flat for the usual suspects in preparation of the entrance, sharp and fragile items to be relocated to a closet. Irreplaceables too, such as the first edition book on her mantlepiece. Assorted food items set out as munchies that she (and her ring-supported constitution) is comfortable with, and that a child might not be.

Precisely on schedule, an immaculately robed Andromeda Apparates into the living room with a soft whirl of vintage fabrics. At her side, a giggling, not at all berobed Teddy clutches a small wooden chest. “Auntie Mione!” and he dashes over to be scooped up for an extended hug. His hair’s already changing to Lantern green.

“Oa, you’re getting so big!” Which he is. Hermione hadn’t seen much of him during Eighth Year aside from holiday breaks, then later helping with babysitting duties in the couple of years that followed as Andromeda so deserves time off. All the while insisting she doesn’t need any assistance, thank you very much. Typical Black stubbornness.

After returning to Earth with a uniform and ring, there hadn’t been free time for sitting. Hermione recalls after the League announcement and ludicrous media attention to the new member, when Teddy had insistently toddled up to her at the Burrow. His hair had transformed from sapphire to lime, and Hermione’d given Andromeda a questioning look.

She’d gotten a perfectly arched eyebrow in exchange. “Oh yes, he’s been watching someone flying about on the Muggle television. Picked them out quite quickly, despite a magnificently effective method of disguise.” She’d not been alone in owling Hermione after Green Lantern’s debut. The phrase ‘Really, this is the best you can do?’ had been stressed across multiple paragraphs.

Hermione lets Teddy down and brings Andromeda in for her own hug. “It’s been entirely too long.” Weeks if not months since they’ve been together, usually at Grimmauld or the Burrow for holiday gatherings.

“It has been.” Andromeda points a precisely accusatory finger. “And I still need to meet this young man of yours.”

Hermione doesn’t get a chance to reply. “Where’s Crooks?” Teddy demands after a fast exploration.

“He’s not here today, Teddy. Just Aunt Mione.” And drat, she should have thought of bringing Crookshanks over for the day.

“Oh.” A slight look of sadness, then “Okay!” Teddy grabs the chest and empties out a flood of Legos and books onto the floor. A good number of the small bricks match his hair colour, and he holds up an angular translucent piece. “We can make green things, like you do!”

“We can indeed, kiddo!” Hermione takes a couple herself, and the two plop down and begin creating. She catches Andromeda’s eyes and winks.

“Right then, I’m off. Teddy, be good and listen to your Aunt Hermione,” Andromeda says, and sighs at the perfunctory “I will” tossed over a shoulder to her. She gives him a kiss on the back of his head, nonetheless, and a mouths thank you to Auntie H. A soft crack, and she’s departed for tea. No one doubts her love for Teddy, and everyone knows she deserves adult time.

Sitter and Sittee rapidly become absorbed in plastic construct formation. Hermione’d never done these as a child and is having fun. Also, there are design elements she can use on the job as well. Teddy’s clearly been watching Hermione in action judging from a couple of his works. The living room floor is soon covered with assemblies, then mega-assemblies as they meld individual structures together.

Bricks turn to books; Teddy reading to Hermione and then Hermione to Teddy. A pleasant day, so a bus trip follows to a park that’s special for Lanterns. She waves off any remarks concerning his hair as part of a punk rock phase he’s going through.

Both are relaxing in the yard after returning when Hermione hears a loud crack from inside the flat. Then a shout. “Oi, Granger, you decent?”

The bellow is familiar. Teddy knows it as well. “Auntie Gin!” and runs for the back door. Ginny’s just inside, looking out.

“Teddy!” As the door opens, he reaches up and it’s her turn to pull him in for a hug. “You having fun with Auntie Mione?”

He nods solemnly. “We built things! And made chocolates!”

Hermione points to a (decimated) plate of fresh biscuits. “A hands-on process, to be sure.” Sticky fingerprints are strewn across the counters and floor. Crookshanks would have had a field day if he’s been here as well.

Ginny’s already sampling with approval. “Good job Teddy!” He gets a bite for his efforts, then demands to go back outside. Witch and ex-witch accompany him as he inspects the grass, possibly in search of garden gnomes. Hermione rings out soft drinks.

“Hermione. Just the person I was hunting for.” Ginny’s face grows grim. “I have a life-threatening, serious problem. And only you can solve it.”

Hermione’s eyes raise and she sits up on the patio chair.

Ginny draws close. “What are you doing three days from now?”

Teddy looks over at Ginny’s cackles, then returns to the hunt. “Merlin, your face!”

“Ha bloody Ha, Weasley,” Hermione replies with a whisper. Honestly. People shouldn’t joke about life-threatening situations with people who deal with life-threatening situations. On a semi-routine basis, too.

“Okay, seriously for serious now,” Ginny finally says. “I suddenly again have tickets for the Finals. I know I said I did, then I didn’t, and this morning it turns out I have three.” She pulls out the small pieces of stiff parchment. “I don’t want them unused; it could mean getting fewer for the Cup.”

Hermione’s eyes light up. Finals as in Quidditch World Cup Finals, which England’s national team (featuring her witch-bestie) has advanced into. Cup as in… well, the Cup. Which Ginny is completely certain England will reach. And then win.

The plan had been for Hermione and Wally to also come along with assorted Weasleys and a Weasley-to-be, until Ginny’s ticket allotment had been erased. Thus everyone had become free to do different things that day. Fiancée and slightly older brother had volunteered for taking down a major illegal Amortentia ring based in the Midlands. Older older brother had always been iffy, now firmly a ‘no’ as one of the reserve’s dragons has gone into labour early. Fleur and Beel are tackling a mysterious and deadly vault discovered underneath York. A big opening for the revamped WWW store had tied up the remaining gingers.

Which leaves Hermione. “Please?”

“Wally’s become unavailable,” she says while thinking. An appointment made that day, exercises with Bart, meaning most of it will be at velocities she can’t comprehend. She herself had been planning to catch up on patrol planning, nothing that can’t be rescheduled.

“I can make myself free. Can’t wait to watch my bestie in action!” That gets a squeal and a hug, and Teddy’s momentary attention again.

Who else… “Kara? I can try Kara?”

“Sure! Love to see her again. High time she got to watch a proper sport.” Ginny hadn’t been impressed with the descriptions of baseball; nobody kicks or throws the bases, nor can they hit the ball at enemy players. Boring.

And as for a third… yes, she might be interested. She does love flying, and violence, and shares a flexible work schedule too. Also, having the four of her besties together, finally!

“I’ll surprise you with the third. Consider it done, Gin. How should we rendezvous?”

The details are sorted out, and then they can return to the important things. Namely, playing with their nephew. Ginny tries her hand at constructs and admits Hermione’s magic could possibly be a smidgeon harder than it looks.

Three days later, a trio of unusual people arrive at a bland, ordinary clearing in Portugal, not far outside of Lisbon. The setting sun aids in keeping their superspeed landing unnoticed.

Kara looks around after setting the darkened green bubble to the ground, particularly for nearby heat signatures. Satisfied, she swirls out of her latest costume and into a denim skirt and a white Quidditch jersey with ‘Weasley’ spelled out on the back. Distinctive golden hair tucked under a woolly hat.

The bubble simultaneously dissolves away to reveal two passengers. Hermione’s dressed for Britain as a whole, her Union Jack shawl over a red Henley and long blue skirt. The similarly holiday-gifted Trilby has the impossible mission of keeping her hair under control.

The final member is also wearing a soft knit hat, despite not having a hair issue. For her, the issue is the ears. Arisia also sports a long sleeve T-shirt in Harpies’ dark green, a denim jacket, and widely flared slacks (which had never gone out of style on her world).

Hermione does a manual verification and yes, the tickets remain intact in her pocket. Courtesy of Ms Weasley, three oversized rectangles of colourful checkerboard patterns. She also has provided three robes for them, tucked away in Hermione’s dimensional pocket, should the crowds be leaning towards traditional wear.

Oa knows that years ago at the ’94 World Cup the fashions were across the spectrum, from her own Muggle apparel to formal Wizengamot styles. Beyond that level, the impeccable Malfoy wardrobes.

The three start walking, and Hermione can hear Arisia offer condolences to the Last Kryptonian. What had happened to Kara’s world is well known throughout the galaxy. “I cannot imagine the depth of your loss, Kara Zor-El,” Arisia says softly. It hurts, Kara had shared with Hermione; no matter the sincerity each time she hears words like this it always hurts. That people remember Kara’s people, however, and if this can prevent a single planet from Krypton’s fate, makes it worth any personal pain.

Arisia isn’t clueless, and redirects the conversation to adapting to Earth’s lower (practically non-existent) degrees of technology. Which had gotten a rebuttal from Hermione and a chortle from Kara, along with humorous examples of learning the local tech. Stone knives and bear skins, and Kara explains the reference to Arisia.

Pretty soon they’re soon not alone, and Hermione overhears several people chatting on roughly the same topic. For them, it’s adjusting from using magic to employing Muggle devices. She tries to keep a straight face.

Greater numbers make it easy to move with the crowds towards the common destination. A few appraisals, and it seems their clothing selections won’t stand out from their fellow spectators. Everything from conservative pureblood wear to outfits that wouldn’t be amiss at a football match.

A bemused Arisia decides to try out a robe, just because. “So many ways to dress on your world. Every time I visit there’s something different.”

Hermione can feel the magic around them, growing the closer they get to the stadium and tents not far ahead. So can Kara.

Kara really doesn’t like magic, and with good reason. It’s like Kryptonite, but worse; magic works on everyone and it works harsher on its native inhabitants. A matter she’d mentioned while recovering from the airborne Kryptonite over Germany last year. “Something in our cells. Doesn’t matter the type of spell; even healing magic pushes solar energy from our bodies.”

As for Arisia… She’s only seen magic upon rescuing her sister Lantern and Hermione’s weird friend/enemy, who’d been trying to kill or severely maim Hermione for most of a year. It simply doesn’t register on her senses, despite the intensity. By now it’s part of every action, and Arisia can’t help seeing those.

Everyday magic. Not that impressive, nothing out of the ordinary, aside from using a thin piece of flora instead of technology. Arisia doesn’t see what all the fuss is about. Different methods, same results. Albeit a rustic, almost musical feel to it all. Kind of amusing to watch, particularly with the elaborate stick waving and nonsense phrases.

Kara feels somewhat the same except is politer about it. She doesn’t ever treat magic as merely an amusement. Not when it’s one of the two things that can readily kill her.

Otherwise there’s no effect on either of them, especially from the extensive Muggle-repelling charms. Magic had never anticipated different worlds, let along people from them.

Hermione’s about to wonder how much farther when the ground veers downward into a gigantic oval bowl illuminated with countless floodlight charms. This stadium doesn’t go up, it goes down. Far, far down. At least no worries over it collapsing.

The seats are good, mid-court and mid-height. Enthusiastic fans all about, roughly a third rooting for the home team, a third for England, and a third just out for a high-quality Quidditch match.

Hermione hadn’t remembered so many advertisements running across the stadium walls in first, and quite memorable, Quidditch match. She well remembers the mascots, and is pleased that today they aren’t horridly embarrassing to, well, everyone present.

Portugal’s team features a group of Tágides, the water nymphs arising from a freshly charmed pool to the sounds of oceanic roars. Aquatic voices are amplified across the stadium as they solemnly infuse the local players with inspiration, courage, and bravery to do great deeds this day.

England includes a very pleasant surprise: hippogriffs! A familiar feathering flies by; it might possibly be Buckbeak, er Witherwings, Hermione thinks. Jockeys dressed in red and white robes are atop each as they do a lap around the stadium to cheers from visiting fans, Hermione and her friends very much included. Additional cheers as the big screen introduces the players, standing acclamation this time for G. Weasley, Chaser.

Hermione begins explaining the rules to Arisia. Kara already knows them and soon takes over the duty. She also provides the histories of the two teams, their progress in this tournament, star players, and special plays both teams are known for. Which figures; Kara does love sports. Hermione’s seen the reams of notebooks for her beloved Cubs she has stowed away in her townhouse (and in her Watchtower room).

And it’s off. The Snitch, that is, and the three employ non-magical methods to keep an eye on its movement for a few moments. They almost miss Ginny scoring her first goal, less than a minute in. It’s actually quite exciting and fun, Hermione thinks. For once. No casualties, always a good note too. Plenty of emergency medical staff from what she can see.

Arisia catches on to the tactics quickly. She’s always been better than Hermione in the air. Also, she doesn’t have the mental interference from Hermione’s childhood nightmares concerning her best friend nearly dying while playing. On multiple occasions.

They’re in a stadium and so partake of stadium dining. Finger food, a variety of sausages and fried seafoods mostly along with a wide range of beers. Hermione assures Arisia it will be fine, metabolically speaking. All except for the secret ingredient in the preparations.

Magic. Lots of magic, infused in each item. Kara abstains, just in case; the heavy magic permeating everywhere is already making her slightly unsettled. No, she’s fine, to Hermione worried look. And yes, she’ll let her space-bestie know if that changes. Soon she’s once again caught up in the game play.

Both teams are very, very good. Professional, practiced. Outstanding teamwork. Perfect formation flying, an area Hermione’d never imagined she could appreciate let alone possess a skilled opinion.

Ginny is on fire. By the finish she has 7 goals and 4 assists, plus 2 steals and 3 fumble recoveries. Kara also spots four instances when she’d positioned herself so a Bludger targeting her would instead strike an opponent once she ducks out of the way. Which she had, every time.

England takes the Snitch and the win, 310-100, in a match that only lasts roughly a hundred minutes.

Post-match, both teams return to the grounds for interviews, accolades from the owners and sponsors, and trophy presentations, the entirety being displayed on the big screen. Seeing her oldest witchy friend becoming a sports (and media) superstar after dominating the day feels like… anti-Anti-Life? An invisible patronus? It feels good, maybe no label needed.

The three wait for the superstar at a hidden doorway leading into the underground facilities, not far from the stadium boundaries. She’s with several teammates, hugging and laughing before they split up to chants of “Cup! Cup! Cup!” and more laughing.

Ginny spots them and runs over, throwing herself into Hermione’s arms, then has hugs for Kara and a ‘sure, any friend of Hermione’ hug for Arisia.

She’s exchanged her own battle uniform for jeans, a red tunic with an encircled lightning bolt, and a casually open cloak. She can also tell when Hermione starts to issue an advisory. “Oh relax, Prefect Granger. Everyone will think the mark is for Harry.”

Kara giggles. “Ah. Yes. Carry on,” Hermione gets out.

Introductions for Ginny and Arisia, both of whom have a ‘we will most definitely talk about Hermione later’ look to them. Not now, as congratulating fans are converging on Ginny for autographs and pictures. She signs dozens, poses for the same. Hermione takes a turn to fawningly request a head shot and Ginny’s turn to mock-scowl a response.

They get a pause in the action and decide to make a break for it, dashing far enough into the dark landscape for a huddled Weasley to pull a hood over her distinctive tresses. With that, there’s enough anonymity for the foursome to think over their plans for the rest of the night.

The new superstar could very well be mobbed, Kara points out. Depending on where they go, of course.

Hermione agrees. “Possibly all of Europe tonight, Gin.:

Ginny sighs dramatically. “It’s the hair, does me in every time.”

“It is a fascinating hue,” Arisia observes. Graxosians rarely stray from variations on straw-yellow, she adds.

Right. Four smart ladies, out for dinner, drinks, probably both. They can do this.

Kara, Hermione, and Ginny throw around ideas for a destination. Arisia adds in her own; why settle for just this planet, after all? Not tonight, though Hermione does promise an eager Ginny that this is a postponement and not a cancellation.

Earth it is. The Americas? Distance from Europe a plus. The North American teams had been eliminated from the Cup earlier so no attention. Also, two magic words: time zones. “We go backwards into earlier today,” Hermione points out to Ginny. Who doesn’t get it, but she goes with it.

As to where… Canada? Why not. Ginny’s never been there.

Vancouver? None of them have been to Vancouver. Also, it will be earlier in that city.

Vancouver it is.

And so they’re off to Canada.

Arisia and Hermione switch to their uniforms as part of take-off procedures. Kara goes back into her latest costume, a blue bodysuit with long red cape that extends over her shoulders and into the House of El crest. Matching red gloves and boots. Hermione gives it a thumbs up, as does Ginny after a pause to take it in.

Arisia carries Ginny, or rather they share a bubble as the Lantern has so many questions for the pro athlete. Kara and Hermione chat about League affairs and cat maintenance.

A high-speed, high-altitude flight towards the setting Sun takes them back in time, and they’re once again in the late afternoon. Scoping out the city from above, it’s… odd. As in oddly familiar, despite never have flown here. There’s a segment Hermione could swear she’s seen before, except in Boston.

Kara has the same expression. “That building, that’s on the Chicago South Side.” She points at a plaza filled with layers of steps. “That’s pure National City.”

“Or Seattle.” Dinah and Ollie had shown Hermione around a few months ago.

“And that park,” Kara begins, “New York City.” Hermione unites with her for the end.

Kara stops and reflects. “Or Moscow?”

“So Earther cities share design specs,” Arisia notes. “Seems smart to me.”

“They all look the same, too much grey and metal and not enough wood,” Ginny cuts in. “Boring. And I haven’t eaten since, Merlin, it feels like yesterday!” That the sky is once again early afternoon isn’t helping.

“Oa, sorry Gin!” Hermione replies quickly. They can wonder at the commonality later. “Perhaps we land and find a restaurant?” Kara leads the quartet in skimming low and dark over the neighbouring waters to a beachfront park. X-ray and telescopic vision finds a nice, casual place on the waterfront with patio tables, perfect for drinks and sustenance for the starving sports star. Once seated, a charm from Ginny to keep conversations isolated from inquisitive ears.

Arisia and Ginny continue their in-flight conversations, now extended to the often-comical strangeness that encompasses most of this planet. Smelly, smoke-belching conveyances on the ground; painfully loud versions in the air. Cities that are too bright and too crowded. The words “I know, right?” are volleyed back and forth.

Hermione had been half worried, half expecting this. Ginny’s the youngest, and Arisia the oldest by far (at least in biological years; Kara’s hyperspace stasis sleep doesn’t count), and yet they look the same age. Scary. As is how well they are getting along. Thick as thieves, they are.

They pause to look at Hermione, then return to the other. Ginny thanks Arisia for keeping Hermione alive while swanning about across the universe. Arisia thanks Ginny for keeping Hermione alive long enough to, ah, swan. A human handshake, a Graxosian forearm grip, dual nods of respect.

Both have already heard of each other from Hermione. Rings, flying lessons, space baddies, monsters. Wands, magic lessons, masked baddies, more monsters. Now they’re sharing stories of their mutual bestie, much to Kara’s amusement and Hermione’s growing alarm.

The subject alters after entrees are served, thankfully, to how Hermione’d met each of them. A shared glance at train station in London; Ginny remembers the intense, bushy-haired student with her worried parents the year the Weasley’s sent the youngest brother to school. Hermione recalls flame-haired children, the daughter upset she's not to follow them into the train. Both she and Kara well remember their ‘not paying attention to hallway traffic’ mid-air collision at the Watchtower soon after Hermione’d earned her ring. Arisia and Hermione, first on an empty training field on Oa, then in an unused room they appropriate for their study group. And look at them now, sharing what’s happening in their lives. Besties.

Kara’s move to National City is likely on hold for a while, at least until she’s confident her roommate is fine with living solo. Who her roommate is and where she’s from gets wide-eyed expressions from Ginny and Arisia, and for quite different reasons. Currently, the roommate and the girlfriend are spending the day together. Indoors. “I’ll either return to peaceful coexistence or a wrecked townhouse,” Kara laughs nervously.

Ginny’s also discussing living spaces, tolerating her fiancée’s thoughts on the matter. Should they stay where they are or find somewhere new to mark their new lives of officially living together, “As Mum refuses to admit we’ve been shacking up for years.” Arisia has questions concerning human bonding rites and relates of typical Graxosian family structure. Her own family being outside the norm, she’s well aware, and Hermione offers Ginny comparisons to the British royalty.

Which is a mistake, as Kara spills the beans concerning the actual Royal Knight sitting amongst them. Hermione quickly throws her own glaring version of heat vision at her super-bestie. Thankfully Arisia is nonplussed; she’d been bestowed an analogous honour ages ago and had always assumed Hermione’d been granted the same. Ginny is similarly unimpressed as the royals barely register in her society.

Hermione brings the talk back to weddings, mentioning Hal and Carol have set a date that’s not too long after the Weasley-Potter nuptial. She follows by clarifying to Ginny who they are, and who they were. And what they’ve become for Hermione, her mentors and also honorary aunt and uncle.

Two dates, actually. The first with capes and a second without. Hermione’s to be their ringbearer for the caped ceremony, which all find fittingly sweet. It’s similar to what happens in mixed magical weddings, Hermione and Ginny add, when knowledge of wands isn’t on both sides of the attendees.

No wedding alarms for Arisia currently. (“Is that right, Hermie?” “Bells, not alarms, Risa. Alarms if it’s not a good thing, I guess?”) She may have a possibility worth pursuing, someone she’d encountered during a patrol. “Less chance of the parents scaring them away for once,” and three toast for the fourth’s success.

The parents, and the Rrab family, haven’t stopped talking about their recent visit to Earth and the graciousness of Hermione’s family. Also the quietness, Hermione thinks to herself. For once Arisia and Hermione had been in proximity, and nothing had happened. An almost preternatural calm despite the global scale sightseeing. Hermione’d been on edge the entire time, waiting. And yet it had gone smashingly, the Rrabs had deemed humans to be charmingly quaint, enhanced humans as well (Wally’d made it to the final night’s beach barbeque), and there’d been no emergencies or monsters. Arisia’d been a tad crestfallen.

While she’d been reminiscing, talk has moved to sport. Arisia is completely in love with Quidditch. “The randomness, the ferocity!” as she puts it. Hermione tries to bring up cricket and is promptly dismissed. Instead, Arisia enthrals Ginny with Gronsozz, the favourite sport on Graxos IV. Only a single ball, except it’s solid steel and players use magnetic controls in gloves to control its movement. While they themselves leap about in a micro-gravity, enclosed pitch. A loss of points if a player touches (or is hit) by the ball; points awarded for sending it into the opponent’s mag-trap.

Ginny’s quite ready to try it out. Moreso once she hears of the rapid-fire multiball segment that ends each of the three phases in a match. Kara has childhood memories of a Kryptonian pastime that is close, where the ball itself is magnetic, and soon the three are energetically devising a sport combining elements from all three along with Kara’s favourite from her adopted planet. Different worlds, different peoples, blending and creating something better than any single element.

Hermione quietly watches her best friends becoming best friends. Joy that it’s happening, a twinge of sadness that it’s so long in coming. Doesn’t matter that sport is the instigator, only that it’s happening and how strongly it’s making her feel.

Kara notices first. Not that surprising; she can effortlessly hear eyes moistening from across the table. “Herm?”

Hermione starts to speak, then stops. Arisia and Ginny have joined Kara in studying her face, which doesn’t help with selecting the words. Finally, she goes for simplicity.

“I love you so much.” They’re getting blurry, so she wiped her eyes before continuing. “I’m not sure you know how much you mean to me. Each of you. That I have friends like you… I can’t imagine where I’d be otherwise.”

Ginny’s heard similar words years ago, as Hermione’d slowly recovered from the war. Simply being alive hadn’t meant much for someone who’d long ago written herself off as an acceptable casualty if it would mean stopping Riddle. It had taken people like her first female friend to restore a semblance of her old self.

“My besties,” Hermione says, her gaze now moving around the table. “Keeping me sane, keeping me alive throughout this utterly incredible life that’s improbably fallen onto me. After the previously incredible one. Wands and rings, friendship and bravery.” Harry’d never let her forget her short speech when they’d parted under the castle. “And I know that each of us can do this for any of us. Our own mutually life-preserving, sanity-keeping little group.”

Kara rises out of her seat and comes around; Ginny and Arisia reach Hermione at the same time. All three pull her up, and diners studiously ignore the group hug. Not only Hermione’s eyes are glistening.

It’s a perfect moment, and one Hermione will cherish forever. Which is the signal for the ground to start shaking.

Not only the ground; the quartet notice plates sliding and glasses tipping over as well.

Everyone quickly issues variations of “That isn’t me,” Ginny’s with a giggle. “What?” to the serious looks. She’s never had a tremor, let along an earthquake, magic having damped such trivialities centuries ago. “It’s part of the ambiance for the restaurant, right? A Muggle thing?”

She’s assured it most certainly is not.

Kara knows natural crises formations throughout North America, having dealt with many of them personally. “This place has plenty of tectonic action, small scale mostly. This could be the Big One they’ve been anticipating. Not only quakes, volcanoes too.”

They can all see people dashing for exits, and Hermione points for a door that few are using. Kara throws large denominations on the table, and they race outside.

Terse messages splash across the radio spectrum; Hermione begins reading them aloud with Kara accompanying her a second later. Ground disturbances across the city, seek immediate shelter. On the non-public wavebands, additional talk that there hadn’t been early warnings on sensor grid.

People rush by, leaving the alleyway empty. Ta. Hermione shifts to her uniform and Arisia follows, with a mask for the former. Kara spins at superspeed and Supergirl is present. Ginny stays Ginny, checking what Hermione suspects is a magically concealed wand holster on her forearm.

Kara turns to Hermione. Then Arisia does as well. Ginny’s gaze has been on Hermione the entire time. They’re waiting.

Right. She can do this. Deep breath. Make the call. “Tower, this is Green Lantern.”

She gets a fast reply. As expected. “Lantern, Sue here on comms. What’s up?”

“Sue, we have a seismic situation in Vancouver, BC, Canada. An A-2, possibly higher. Supergirl and Green Lantern, Lanterns, on site.”

“Oi!”

“With, ah, extremely covert support.” Hermione mouths a second Extremely! at Ginny.

“Whatever, Emerald Lumos.” A spiralling twist of her drawn wand, a poking motion into the air. “Audiux Opticas!”

A vision screen forms along a wall, containing a very surprised Sue staring at them.

“Think that ring’s so fancy, yah?” Gin gives her wand a twirl and it vanishes back into her holster. Arisia and Kara look impressed.

Hermione knows Sue is watching, and she takes in her trio of friends. Kara gives a thumbs up.

“Lantern to Tower. We’ve got this. Monitor for activity along the entire zone, Alaska to Northen California. Have teams prepped if it spreads.” Oa, she hopes she sounds confident.

Sue nods. “Roger, Lantern, you have the ball. I’m getting notifications coming in; so far this looks localised on you. No signs of tremors elsewhere. Yet. There’re also signs of imminent rockslides and avalanches in the mountains to your north. Tsunamis and volcanoes a probability too.” She punches a button off-screen. “I’ve got the Vancouver Emergency Management Centre standing by.”

Everyone’s looking at her for direction, Sue included. Guardians, please don’t let me screw this up.

Hermione does need to address an important item before beginning. “Ginny?”

Before she can continue, she gets a loud response. “Don’t you dare try and keep me out of this, Gr… Green Lantern!” Her wand is back in her hand, held low. “I’ve been reading up on you leotard-wearing types since the lake and I’m ready.”

“Gin, I need you to…”

A precise wave of yew, and Ginny is now in superhero-wear. Quite tight-fitting bright red costume, cowl over her head that covers her face rather like Bruce’s. Red hair streaming out the back like a Batgirl, coordinating perfectly as if it’s been recoloured to match her garb. A billowing cloak over her shoulders in a brighter shade of red. A shake of her hand, and suddenly she has a similarly coloured broom.

“…dress the part. Is what I was trying to say.” Ta Weasley, who has a wide grin. Hermione assumes Lantern Granger lays down the law mode. “Ginny. You can’t be seen doing magic. Understand? For your sake, for Harry’s sake, for your family’s sake.”

Weasley rolls her eyes. “Well duh! I’m getting married to an Auror, I know a wee bit about the law.” A whispered Disillusionment charm, and she becomes a reddish distortion, barely visible and certainly not discernible. Lady Flash, except Hermione would never say that aloud to Ginny. Or to Wally. Or to Jesse, for that matter.

Arisia already has a ringed up comm unit for Ginny to place in her ear. “Just talk like normal, we’ll hear you.”

“No names, only titles,” Hermione adds. “Arisia,” she points to her, “Supergirl, and I’m Green Lantern, to keep it straight. You can’t be Ginny, so…” Scarlet Witch leaps to mind and is quashed down. “The Blur. As that’s all you better be, young lady!”

Ginny face looks like she’s swallowing a misbrewed potion, yet she does nod in agreement.

Right. She’s not Harry. She’s not Clark or Steve, either. She’ll have to be Hermione, and hope that’s enough.

“Besties, Assemble!” Hermione puts out a hand, ring glowing, and three more unite with hers.

“Arisia, you’re on volcano prevention and venting. Blur is on rescue. Keep people safe and keep it secret, that’s an order. Supergirl, avalanches and anything else in the mountains. I’ll take tectonics.”

Supergirl has a respectful counter. “Lantern, let me switch with you. Kal’s shown me a few tricks after keeping the San Andreas fault intact all these years.”

“Done,” Hermione says. “I’ll also be overwatching from above for bridges and tsunamis plus coordinating with local responders.” No deep breath necessary. “People are counting on us. Let’s get to work.”

And so they do.

Kara is far underground, doing… something remarkable, on scales beyond Hermione’s imagination. The ground isn’t shaking very much now.

Arisia has a couple of lava ventings. Nothing she can’t handle; the lava isn’t forming into predatory piscine creatures, after all.

Ginny… Ginny is as awesome here as she is on the pitch. A crimson impression, impossible to focus on, who is saving people right and left. Pulling them out of trapped automobiles, flying them past falling rubble, quietly whispering healing spells and subtly applying potions. Calling to the Lanterns when hospital evacuation is necessary. A real hero, no ‘super’ prefix necessary.

She’s always been a hero in Hermione’s eyes. Even before all she’d done in the castle as the three of them had been tramping about in the tent that year. The Girl Who Fought Back.

Hermione herself is high in the air watching it all. A variation of her New Zealand wall using softer blocks is absorbing debris coming down the mountains; nothing reaches the city’s outskirts. Teddy would be proud. Reinforcing bridges where needed. She keeps the line open with the city personnel, using her aerial viewpoint to direct actions as well as listening when they have alerts. They’re also very good at what they do.

And it’s not enough. The tremors are rising. “Supergirl?”

“I know, the sprokking plates are fighting back!”

Hermione’s not seeing activity out in the waters, either coastal or oceanic. Which there should be. She’d been almost itching to try barrier structures updated with Carol and Tony’s engineering tips. Nothing, barely any waves.

The city’s emergency management centres have new alerts that aren’t making sense. Buildings collapsing as if support beams are spontaneously cracking apart. Cars abruptly stalling and bursting into flames. Streetlights going green in all directions.

Arisia’s listening in. “Is this natural for your world?”

“No. It’s not natural at all.” Kara’s voice is barely discernible amidst her battle against grumbling megatonnes of rock.

Not natural. Not natural disasters. Oa, she should have caught this earlier and mentally smacks her head.

She’d knocked him out before he could act, back when her ‘rogues’ attacked at Trafalgar. She’d read about him and should have spotted his work tonight. Dummy.

“Everyone, listen up. This isn’t natural. Be ready for fighting.” That gets a ‘whoop!’ from Arisia. And Ginny. She gives quick summaries to Arisia and Ginny of his powers; Kara’s well aware. A low whistle from Ginny. A “You humans are so weird,” from Arisia just as Kara punches out of the ground, dripping strands of molten planetary crust.

Supersenses, power rings, and magic spells home in on the energy signatures, triangulating on his location. He’s across the strait at Vancouver Island. And he sees them coming.

Paul Booker, aka Major Disaster. He’s in a new outfit, a basic dark blue overcoat with horizonal gold bars like rank insignia. It blends him into the darkness. Not terribly effective when infrared vision, counter-darkness charms, and heat-detection constructs are employed.

As Hermione’s briefed, they attack fast and don’t let up. Don’t let him think of specific disasters such as ring malfunctions or Kryptonite meteor showers, her chief concern. She’s no idea if he can create anti-magical disasters as well and doesn’t want to find out.

Booker’s been at full power long enough to rapidly turn his abilities at the incoming trio. Directed magma eruptions and hurricanes. Lightning strikes from cloudless skies, hailstorms out of thin air. Waterspouts and tornadoes. Gas mains igniting out of the ground, explosions of sparks from torn power cables.

Night over the island becomes filled with furious lights and flames, emerald beams and concussive booms. Blows from invulnerable fists, bashes from emerald Graxosian reactor plating, lances of heat vision, green fanged frisbees arcing from multiple directions, gusts of super-breath, all to keep him off balance.

He’s good at this, Hermione admits while funnelling a tornado against an oncoming magma blast. Booker’s tough and keeps his feet despite the pummelling. He’s also outnumbered. The besties have each other, alternating offensive and defensive patterns. Teamwork, which Booker doesn’t have.

They grab his attention and hold it, just as she’d wanted. His focus off the city and onto them. So fixed that he doesn’t notice a carmine shadow closing in. “Now” Hermione whispers into the comms, and a point-blank Heavy Stunner nails him between the eyes.

When Booker comes to, he’s thickly mummified in downed telephone lines. Not one but two Green Lanterns have their rings trained, lit so hard it’s difficult to see the faces behind them. Supergirl’s eyes are burning suns. The Blur is quite invisible and will stay that way if she knows what’s good for her.

“I feel a soft breeze or a grain of sand move, we get very angry.” Dangerous Lantern Granger is in the house, as she’d been at Trafalgar.

“Hey Greenie. Greenies.” He tries for a smirk and quite fails. “What, you gotta bring in reinforcements now?”

Hermione shakes her head slowly. “Booker. You’re lucky we were here. If anyone had been seriously injured, I would be cross.” She leans in and lets her ring burn the air. “I’m not Superman, remember? He doesn’t kill. Or maim. I don’t make any promises.”

“Don’t look at me,” Kara adds, letting her eyes flare. “I’m not him either.”

Hermione sees a flicker of that momentary respect her rogues had shown on believing she’s on speaking terms with Sinestro. Which she might be. An item to reflect upon later.

Booker looks steadily over his captors. “Not sure I believe you. Not gonna push it, either. Not today at least.”

“As it is, you hurt people. Destroyed homes, ruined lives.” Hermione dials back the ring and crosses her arms with a degree of exasperation. “Dammit Booker, last I saw you were off to the EU supervillain facility. Also, incredibly rich.”

He shrugs as best able given his confinement. “Yeah, well, that last part didn’t last.”

That takes Hermione aback. “That was easily 2.1 million euros in untraceable gold!” A low whistle, from Kara this time.

“Three kids going through college, Greenie.”

“And?”

“And I play the ponies, okay? Geesh.”

Hermione can hear Ginny mentally taking notes on Muggle Supervillain behaviour for share at the next Survivor House gathering. Lovely.

Booker’s still talking. “One’s got powers and wants to get in the family business, no matter how much I try and stop her.” It’s only getting better, she sighs internally. Everyone’s continuing to let her take the lead, perhaps if only to contain their laughter.

“So you needed the money?”

“Ain’t that always the case?” His eyes are honest, she thinks. Not overly so, but close enough. “Not like I do this for fun, not like the whackjobs in Gotham or hardcores like Luthor and Grodd.”

“Who would pay to level a city?” She’s not asking him in particular, more the universe.

Cui Bono. Who benefits from wanton destruction, seemingly from natural causes. Think like Batman, like The Question. Like how they’ve been training her to think.

Who benefits. Who gets paid to repair real estate, rebuild infrastructure, buy and sell property?

He can tell she’s worked it out. “American or Canadian? Multinational?”

“No idea, Greenie. And wouldn’t tell if I knew.” He manages a shudder. “You think you’re scary? These are hedge fund vulture kinds of scary. Soulless bastards.”

A compliment, possibly there. “And Vancouver?”

“They told me to pick a city. I’d never been here. And it’s Canada, so who cares?” Kara bristles at that; Hermione’s aware she does love her neighbour to the north. “Close to Seattle for the media coverage, they liked that.”

They’ll be answering for this, whoever they are. Hermione makes a note to bring in Batman’s billionaire industrialist alter ego for technical advice, as well as the League’s legal team. How to ensure charges are brought. And that they stick.

Booker turns talkative, almost gleeful, as he reveals his escape from the European Supervillain prison. Mirror Master had made a dupe of him. “McCulloch owed me. Also he is seriously terrified of you, Lantern. Um, human Lantern. With all the hair.”

Right. Hermione will also have words with Christine Cobert concerning the Centre de Confinement des Méchants du Pouvoir. As there’s a supervillain who hasn’t been contained layout out in front of her. Honestly, that had been less than a year ago.

Canadian federal forces shortly arrive on site to deal with the powered suspect. They don’t have many meta issues in this country, and from what Hermione can tell they are quite prepared should that change.

Disaster gets hauled away in powered fetters. Hopefully as this is Canada, he’ll be transferred back to the EU for the remainder of his sentence plus bonus time for this escapade. Belle Reve is unfortunately a possibility, given how the Americans like to throw their weight around. Another note to watch for Booker appearing in the Squad. Hermione won’t shed any tears if he does.

Oa, that had taken far too long. The besties make further passes across the city as well as the island. Injuries seen to, and first aid personnel ferried as needed. When in doubt, individuals are flown to hospitals.

Fires and assorted damage seen to as well. Streets are slowly being cleared. The city has most of it under control. They know their stuff.

Assorted cheers for the Lanterns and Supergirl as they pass overhead. Minor griping on the comms from a fourth over how she’s been (properly!) unnoticed.

The Bestie Brigade (Kara mentions she’ll talk with Stephanie on workshopping the name) reconvene far outside the city, an isolated area near a lighthouse to the west. Ginny de-blurs and everyone confirms only slight bruises and cuts. A few healing charms, a few hours in the sunshine, and all will be good.

“So that’s being a superhero,” Ginny opens, post-battle nervous energy visible on her face.

“Well done,” Kara says with a patented Supergirl smile. “You were better at this than at the broom-sweeping game.”

Gin assumes her ‘it’s so on’ gaze. “Says the girl who likes the world’s most boring sport.”

“No, that would be cricket.”

“Merlin, is it ever!” They break into laughs…

“Oi!” …And get soft green smacks to the backs of their heads.

“Not what I imagined it to be after watching you and Hermione do this. I liked it.” Ginny pauses in rubbing her head. “Think I’ll stick with Quidditch, though.”

“I’m really not a regular superhero, Arisia even less so,” Hermione replies. “It’s a peculiar occupation we have on Earth. Almost unheard of elsewhere.”

Arisia hums her agreement. “As Hermione says. To be honest, it’s viewed as kind of weird.”

“Where I’m from, where Hermione was from, everyone can do magic, so no one’s really viewed as having special powers.” Ginny considers a moment. “Grades of power, sure. Knowing more spells. Like our ‘Brightest Witch’ here.”

Hermione attempts diversion from discussion of that title. “Kara is a superhero, if you want a textbook example. The classic powers too; flight, strength, invulnerability.”

Kara demurs. “It’s not the powers. It’s what they represent, how what we do can inspire people.” She reaches for Hermione’s hand. “Make things better, as our gal here likes to say. Powers are optional. Attitude and outlook are mandatory.”

Ginny and Arisia reach in with their own hands, and the besties re-assemble.

Exhaustion seems to follow. Arisia rings up comfortable chairs for bestie collapsing.

“Superhero.” Hermione’s voice almost evaporates into the darkness around them. “I never wanted to be a superhero. I only wanted to be a witch. Before that, a librarian.” Ginny chuckles at that. “Now a Lantern. And that was enough, beyond my wildest dreams.”

Kara’s heard this before and is as absorbed as when Hermione’d related it originally, angry and tears barely in check. “When things were going badly, early on, that was my plan. Be a Lantern and none of this costumed amateur ridiculousness. I loved being a Lantern. I still do and always will. The League was fine on its own; it didn’t seem to want me, and I didn’t feel I needed it. I didn’t have anyone in that community aside from Kara, friendly and not yet real friends. It was a hard time. I felt alone despite being back on my planet.” If not for Diana, Hermione feels quite sure that the Lantern of Sector 2814 would likely be living on a different world and paying nominal attention to Earth.

“You could have talked to me.” Ginny’s words are low, and Hermione can hear the hurt in them.

And they should hurt, hurt Hermione as well. “Yes. I should have, Gin.” Or turned to Harry. Or Kara and Arisia; they didn’t have Hermione’s backstory, and nonetheless they could have helped. At that stage, any friendly words of encouragement would have helped. If she’d allowed them.

So many things handled badly those initial weeks after returning with a ring. Lantern Granger had been fully prepared, a trained professional ready to start her new job. The fresh Green Lantern of Earth, not so much. Not fitting in anywhere on her homeworld and unwilling to ask for outside assistance on any of the personal fronts bedevilling her.

Hermione hovers her chair so they’re facing. “I’m so, so sorry. You were my first bestie. It’s stupid now, but then I really needed to solve this…”

“On your own. Like you always do.” No malice, a non-judgemental statement due to knowing the subject so well and for so long.

Hermione shakes her head. “Like I always did. I’ve learned better, Gin, a good deal from Lantern training. Nearly 4000 people also wearing rings means you’re never alone, even if we operate alone. The League taught me that, too.”

She sends small bottles of dancing green flames near each chair. “That I can admit to not always knowing enough to solve a problem. That I know that I can call for help, that I can accept it when offered. It’s a lesson I’m still learning. Having friends like you three makes it possible.”

Arisia catches her eye. “Like you did with me, with what’s-her-name. The funny human who broke your ring.”

Ginny suddenly perks up. “Broke your ring?”

Hermione’s not-quite bestie. Most like the sister she’d never had. “I’d love for you all to meet Parsimony. Properly, wands and rings lowered.” As she remains rather wanted throughout Magical Britain. No, the entire magical world, knowing Parm. “And by supervillains too. She was a bad girl across the entire board. Made a lot of enemies, not just Green Lantern.”

As for her current whereabouts… “She wants to lay low and do better. Make up for her past actions, and not only against me.” Antarctica won’t ever be the same. Nor will magical education, if it works out well. Hermione feels quite confident it will.

“The idiot twins know about this?”

“Yes, Gin. They don’t know you know. Let’s keep it under wraps.” Hermione tries for plaintive. “Please?”

“Your call.” A familiar smirk. “Greenie.”

“Oi, Weasley!”

“Here, I’ve got one for you, Granger. How little old me covered for you when you were off saving the world.” With that, Ginny relates how she’d helped the war effort by polyjuicing as Hermione during the Panic. “A favour I owed Percey, my poncey git of a brother.” Which had been a fun time. And doesn’t have to be the last time. “So many hairs left in the Burrow. Cat hairs too!”

“Ha bloody ha.” That had not been pleasant. At all. Then she grudgingly relates the Feline Adventures of Young Hermione Granger to a laughing, enraptured Kara and Arisia.

Epilogue

Later, the next day.

Ms Cobert, EU Superpowers Liaison, reviews the reports a third time with a truly Gallic sigh. A mirror image duplicate of Booker that hadn’t been detected, despite an absurd amount of euros spent to ensure this wouldn’t happen. Très embarrassant. That a British superhero had uncovered it, doubly so.

Not fully a negative, she thinks after consideration. A mysterious fourth hero involved with the two Lanterns and la Femme d'Acier. The person no one could identify, their form like retinal afterimages, their powers equally vague. Impossible to scrutinise.

Unless you have insider knowledge.

Goyle had perhaps been the first and certainly won’t be the last, irrespective if la nouvelle personne appears instead to be operating as a ‘hero.’ It might be time to look up acquaintances from school. Perhaps visit a few who currently teach there. The Pyrenees are so lovely this time of the year, after all.

Chapter Text

Hermione finishes typing a line. Stops and stares at the screen. Erases the line.

Oa, this is frustrating.

Not the writing. The waiting.

It’s been… a glance at the clock hung above the window… over four hours since they’d left.

It can happen at any time. Any time now. Any… time… now. Like… now!

Drat. Nothing.

A look out the window, a full Earth today, and she returns to working on her patrol reports from the last couple of days.

Still nothing.

Hermione switches to plans for next week’s activities. Three days of patrols, a down day with her parents and Crooks as it’s been too long, two days of patrols, lastly a half League/half Wally day. Fit in a trip to the nearly finished sector house and a training session with Sam. Plus a few hours with Katar in handover prep.

An hour later and ta. A good week is looking at her, Hermione thinks; not overly busy. She’ll check with Wally and his own life before setting it in stone.

And drat, still nothing.

At this point, one of two events will occur before the day’s out. Either it works, or she hears the spacer returning to the Watchtower.

Either way, back to the drawing board. As per Ray, you’re constantly going back to the drawing board. There’s always room for improvement.

Especially when you’re attempting what nobody’s ever done since… ever, as far as Hermione knows.

It had started not long after she’d entered Lantern training. Recruit Granger is struggling with compensating for her probationary ring’s absolutely ridiculous weight. Flying is an issue as well; Godric, she’s a Firstie on a broom all over again. Far, far away, she can hear Ron and Harry laughing it up, Ginny giggling like mad.

There’re issues with a few of her classmates as well. Hermione’s merely a human from a backwards planet, as she gets reminded quite often. Jordan is a legendary Lantern, and out of an entire sector with thousands of candidates, this is the best he could find to carry the light? Her?

A recruit from D’xe, indistinguishable from human aside from the bizarre epidermal and hair colourations, leads in the sniping. Hermione ignores it, and her. That doesn’t stave off the burning feeling on those early nights, after Kilowog’s ‘train till you collapse’ sessions.

Classwork is her favourite. Once again, she’s arriving at school behind students who’ve grown up in a galactic society, who know of hyperspace travel and interstellar trade and endless intelligent species. So she does the reading, then finds further to read. And she finds something that doesn’t make sense. Something missing.

Today they are to be introduced to sector patrols, so it seems a good opportunity to ask. “Instructor Salaak, how do our systems alert us when we’re needed?”

Hermione marvels again at the Snape-ishness in the sarcastic reply. “They don’t, as they can’t. Only those possessing a Lantern’s ring can. This is why we must patrol our sectors, Recruit Granger. And thus today’s class.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.” It escapes before she can hold it in. A quick check of the room reveals she’s not alone. The recruits like her, who didn’t know of life outside their own world, match her disbelief. Hermione decides she’ll press the issue, the question launching a fraction of a second before the decision itself. “Why aren’t there interstellar communications? With this incredible technology I keep getting told about, that my own world is so lacking in, why isn’t this possible?”

She’s totally not side-eyeing Kaylark, as that wouldn’t befit a Lantern. “Seriously, the best this galaxy can do is post a letter into a ship and have it hand-delivered days or weeks later to the recipient?”

“Yes, it is,” he replies, as dry as the deserts outside the Citadel. “And has been so, for longer than your species has stood upright.”

Ouch. That stings. “Our galaxy is filled with wonders, Recruit Granger,” he continues in a warmer (for him) tone. “The works of the Guardians chief among them. That doesn’t mean whatever you can imagine exists or is possible. Sending letters, as you put it, through hyperspace is one of them.”

He waits until she nods. “With that, let us review the assigned text for today. I believe we have time for a short quiz to see who bothered to do the reading and who has not.”

Groans are an area for which a ring’s translation matrix isn’t needed.

No worries on her part. Hermione’s done the reading for the next three weeks.

She doesn’t bring up the topic again during training. She doesn’t forget about it, either.

After months of instruction, Hermione returns to Earth as the newly assigned Lantern for Sector 2814. She’s made a new best friend, a fellow Lantern whom she’ll see again in a few weeks at her own graduation ceremony. A solid surety, as if anyone deserves to be a Lantern it’s Arisia Rrab.

A difficult time follows for Hermione, not as a Lantern but as a ‘superhero.’ Everyone expects this Green Lantern to become part of the Justice League, exactly as her precursor had been. Everyone expects this to be an easy process. Everyone is wrong. Very wrong.

She keeps busy with her new job while tolerating the costumed amateurs who seem to be doing their level best to make her otherwise incredible life miserable. Not everyone, however. Supergirl, aka Kara Zor-El, is one; a possible new bestie she thinks. And the Atom, he seems friendly enough. And unlike the others, he’s fascinated by her skills with hypermass constructs and multi-dimensional shunting. Quite professionally, beyond the caped ridiculousness Hermione can’t seem to avoid. ‘Superheroes.’ Honestly.

Then Hermione has a remarkable day. Masks come off, people emerge. Trust, real trust, begins.

It gets better. Hermione sees what the League really is and who its members really are, and the League adjusts itself around the new member. Not the same as it had been, as she’s not the same as the former Lantern. She gets to know the people she’s working with, who they are when not in costume.

Such as the Atom. Ray Palmer, a fairly famous scientist. ‘America’s Professor,’ well-known author, frequent guest expert on television programmes. Quite the life and accomplishments without the need to include taming a sliver from a white dwarf star to conquer mass and physical dimensions. Thus the interest earlier, as he admits.

They’ve been talking, taking lunches or chatting in his lab room. Despite in no manner being a scientist, Hermione’s intensely inquisitive about her ring. Much as she’d been curious over magic and her wand. Lantern training teaches how to use a ring, not how they’re made. She mentions how she’s working on a technique to pull energy from the emergency reserve on her ring, and that impresses him.

That leads to class sessions. He becomes her personal instructor and guide for the years of science, mathematics, and engineering courses she’d missed whilst being a witch. She shows off her ring so they can attempt glimpses into the inner workings, improve what can be done with it.

Time passes. They’ve not managed to blow up the Tower or break her ring, so cheers all around. The new Green Lantern’s making a name for herself across the sector. Here on Earth, she’s making sparks with the ginger speedster and by the Guardians how unbelievable is that?

A great many patrols, and excessive numbers of ‘arrived barely in time’ situations. During a meal at the Tower caff, she brings up the matter that’s never stopped bugging her.

“Ray, it’s like the Pony Express out there for comms. No real way for systems to alert me when I’m needed. Too often it’s sheer luck that I happen to be nearby.” She pauses and points a demolished slice of pizza his way. “How can we make that better?”

He’s long been aware of the limits of interstellar communications from talks with Hal. A fact of galactic life, nothing unusual. Hal had said mostly the same to his successor when she’d brought it up. He’d also told her to not accept that as final. “Like I said, your turn to break the rules, make new mistakes. Go for it, kiddo.” He’d paused. “Um, don’t break your ring. Not in the first year, at least.” He’d spoken from experience, she later learns.

“Everyone tells me it’s impossible,” she continues after a bite. “Maybe I’m used to easy communication. I told you about the owls and fireplaces. I could shout a spell and pass messages to anyone, no matter where they were. That was the height of magic; I have a mobile now that’s even better. And my ring, of course.”

He nods and lets the fork rest in his shepherd's pie. “It reminds me of physics in the late 1800s. Everyone was sure everything had been discovered. Electromagnetics. Thermodynamics. Gravity. Mechanics. Students were actually warned not to bother entering the field as it was considered dead. Then the 1900s came along and people started poking, people who kept asking questions. And wham, physics exploded.”

Ray points at her ring. “I think it’s worth doing a little poking. Let’s see what’s right, and what’s traditional assumption.”

“Let’s,” and she puts up her teacup to clink with his coffee mug. “And thanks, Ray.”

He makes a dismissive gesture. “You need a better system. Bruce has a signal in the night sky. Plus a direct line to the police commissioner’s office. Clark has a signal watch with that young photographer, Olsen.”

Hermione chuckles at that. “Yes, Kara’s told me about it. Clark gave it to him before she’d arrived on Earth, and it scared her to death first time she could hear it.”

They work out several guidelines and goals. Foremost for Hermione is that this won’t be replacing patrols. Nothing can replace patrols, can provide that personal touch she gets when landing on a planet and meeting people face to face. You can’t do a proper First Contact over the telephone.

They get seriously underway over the coming months. ‘For Science!’ as Ray likes to say.

It shouldn’t be too difficult, right? Hermione can use her ring as a mobile, after all. And she gets calls on it. Particularly from people who enjoy fiddling with her ring tone, *cough*Barbara*cough*.

This will be their version of a wireless telephone line. Or a police call box, as she remembers from her beloved show. Sure, nobody’s done it before. So what?

It’s turning out to be not so easy. Not knowing exactly how her ring works is a major hurdle, and it’s not the only one. Ray can’t use her ring, can’t get a first-hand feeling in how she uses it for communication, so Hermione’s having to translate to him. There aren’t exact scientific methodologies and terminologies they can employ. “Must be tough,” Wally says over dinner while discussing their days.

“We’re working on it,” she replies with a straight face. “Bit like you explaining your Speedy Force.” She gets a ketchup-laden chip tossed her way and bats it back with a verdant cricket bat. And then it’s on.

Hermione’s reached out to her sister Lanterns about the work. From Arisia, she gets enthusiasm mixed with a realistic “Don’t get your hopes, Hermie.” Lanterns have been a part of her family for a very, very long time so this is informed advice.

Katma has her own opinions. Hermione’d run into her as word had spread that Sinestro’d gone out of his way to meet the new Lantern. “You’re joking,” is the simple reaction. “It’s not our way, Hermione.” The Corps isn’t a fan of people examining rings, she says. Even if they are friends.

Fair enough. Hermione trusts Ray. They press on.

Hyperspace, that’s the hard part.

Lantern rings allow conversing at interstellar ranges. Via hyperspace, or similar. Ray has theories of how many might exist beyond the ‘familiar’ alternate dimension that Lanterns and starships travel through.

They’ve been studying how her ring manages interstellar messaging with other rings. Hermione interfaces with it mentally, so recently there’s been extensive studying of her brainwaves and neural pathways while she does feats of ringslinging. Communication and flight; construct and shield formation. For the sake of additional data, they try letting him wear the ring and compare his scans against hers. He can’t operate it, of course, and she’s offsetting the weight so his hand doesn’t smash into the lunar surface far below. No useful insights gained.

The next week, Hermione isn’t looking her usual, energetic self that morning. Ray sits next to her, silently, and waits. He’s seen this before on masked faces over the years. He’s been through it himself.

Her voice is low and hoarse. “I should have been there faster. Saved everyone. Saved each of them.” She keeps staring at the far wall covered with sensory gear. “An entire planet, Ray. I lost a world and its people.”

He lets her tell the tale, pulling information and making her add revisions. No, not everyone had died. Not even most of the population. Yes, she’d saved billions. Yes, if she’d not been there everyone would have perished.

When she writes up the event for the League, Ray kicks it back multiple times. “More facts, Lantern. Less ‘what if’ blaming yourself.” Many members do likewise, in their own styles.

Hermione improves, lets her friends brighten her. Not that she’ll ever forget, and she puts greater effort into the project. If they could have sent an alarm to her. Advance warning; an hour, maybe three. And everyone would still be alive. She wouldn’t have failed.

Hyperspace remains the hard part.

Sending a signal into hyperspace is trivial. Controlling where it emerges isn’t. Nor is retaining the integrity of the signal. It’s requiring a very non-trivial amount of energy to boot, which does jibe with the observed drain on her ring or a ship’s hyperspace engines.

All part of why everyone sends messages via starship. There are entire fleets that essentially are devoted to dependably carrying news and information along regular routes.

That’s not good enough for Hermione. When there’s an emergency, would there be time to send a ship to find her? Additionally, every possible ship is likely going to be used to aid in the emergency. She needs messages that can reach her rapidly and directly.

Hermione, or rather Schoolmarm Katherine Beatrice Winslet, had gotten to enjoy slow-moving communications first hand. The Pony Express had ended before the American Civil War had begun, roughly fifteen years ago. Townsfolk had continued to reminisce of it fondly, despite the brevity of its operation.

Stagecoaches had brought in the mail and news during the time of her stay, and everyone had been awaiting the promised telegraph line coming within the year. Hermione’d been happy to have departed Salvation before then.

Oa, that had been exasperating. Knowing events are transpiring across the globe and not seeing confirmation for days if not weeks. So tempting to covertly fly to major cities and pick up local newspapers each day.

Stagecoaches and starships. Communications technology has come oh so far, Hermione thinks. She had better as a child at school. And advanced methods, of which Harry’d excelled.

“We need a patronus,” she says absently. Then explains. “Magical force projection spell, excellent for fending off soul-stealing anti-happiness monsters.” Then pauses to explain Dementors, as best she can, before going on.

“Skilled users can fashion them into animals, magical animals included.” A second pause to form her cavorting green otter construct. “Quite skilled users can have them carry verbal messages to a desired destination or even specific person. The magic finds them on its own.”

Ray cocks an eyebrow. “And you were quite skilled, I imagine.”

“Not the top, but yes.” No false modesty. “And they’re fast.” Possibly skipping through reality? She’d never followed her otter, watched a terrier or stag fly out of the air to her. They simply and suddenly are, wherever the recipient is located.

“Hmmm.” Ray’s in thought. “New test. Don’t do the magic, of course. Try thinking about how you did the magic. How it felt when you sent a message.” Hermione takes a seat, and Ray gets the sensor helmet.

Later, she tells him of further magical messaging. Her DA coins, for example. Also, the Dark Mark and the Name Taboo. How those latter lovely items had worked, and to be honest worked quite well. Just not pleasantly.

He’s taken aback. “That’s… pretty amazing. And horrifying.”

“Congratulations, Ray. You’ve summed up most of magic.”

Ray says the information gathered over these past weeks is helpful. He remains optimistic, but then he’s always rather optimistic. Despite his own personal life not going well.

They’ve talked, argued a bit, and finally they agree to scale back the project. Full communication isn’t feasible, at least right now. “Let’s get the bare minimum working,” Ray outlines. “Then we can ramp it up.” Thus, appropriately considering the Pony Express analogy, they’re going to try a simple telegraph. Pre-Morse Code, a solitary on-off pulse.

As a first step, Ray’s constructing a singular invention incorporating an EM projector, tiny hyperspace apparatus reverse engineered from the Thanagarian spacer docked outside, and navigational computer.

Speaking of a spacer… Katar and Shayera are interested and willing to help. So is Kara, who’s a touch insulted that Hermione’s not brought it up before an offhand mention after sparring.

Meanwhile, Ray continues the experiments with shrinking into her ring. He’s done so periodically, each time returning with slightly greater coherency.

“Monochromatic. Everything green,” are his words today. “Compact. Stuffed. Overlapping dimensions, surplus dimensions. It keeps going.” A cup of strong coffee later, he’s himself again. “It feels like being in the core of a star, Hermione. Or at the heart of the Big Bang. So much energy. Contained and wanting to escape.” She rings over the pot for a refill. “You keep all of that under control. All the time.” He raises the steaming mug in salute.

Hermione nods back. “I guess that feels right? It takes willpower to call forth what’s inside, shape it as desired. Keeping it in check… yes, that fits. It’s a continuous action, so maybe I don’t feel the process anymore. Like thinking to breathe.”

She remembers New Zealand, how her ring had wanted to keep going after the waves had subsided. It had felt like she’d been almost tampering it down at the end, easing it back and letting it relax after a job well done. Her ring hadn’t been fighting her; it had been eager to continue the fight itself with her at the lead.

Six weeks later, Ray has the micropulse projector aimed at across the lab, where she’s carefully sitting. It’s going to be pulling an ungodly number of gigajoules to activate, with the equivalent of a flashlight left to shine at Hermione. No worries. A weak beam on a short distance, so no need for properly smooth spacetime.

Ray does the countdown and turns a dial. Hermione’s ring gains a very dim glow, too low for them to see. Barely enough for the sensors to detect.

It then goes dark. As does the Tower. Only for a moment, then the backups kick in and Oracle begins yelling at them over the PA system.

Ray and Hermione are loudly celebrating and don’t hear the complaints.

Two weeks ago…

Hermione is continuing her preparations to take over from Katar as League Chair for next three months. She’s ready to start the shadowing period before handover. Her first time, and the ribbing has begun. Hair to the Chair, Chair Knight, Chair Lantern, Chair-in-Waiting; Ollie always has a fun name for the oncoming person.

She’s terrified and anxious and so ready for this.

A signal watch would be really useful now with Chair duties. Arthur’s ready to step in early if needed, such as if her presence is needed for extended Lantern duties on other worlds. Whether early or on schedule, each member knows this is possibly Arthurs’s last time to lead the League.

Ray’s been busy himself, brainstorming with Kara and now J’onn as well. They believe there’s a different approach that could prove effective as a starting system. Namely, have it directed at Earth, and so make a homing sub-system unneeded. A step back, yes, and a step forward if it allows the device reach functionality.

Kara, J’onn, and the Hols are in the lab for the latest attempt. Louder cheers when there’s a bright pulse on her ring. Less yelling from Oracle as the Tower’s lights dim but a slight degree.

Right. Field experimentation time.

Hermione’s to be on Earth, everyone else in the empty spaces of the Oort Cloud. Everyone including one Penny Parker, who’d been in the lab yesterday working on anti-K costumes for a pair of Super-cousins. A pleading request, an approval from her uncle, and Spider-Man will be leaving the Solar System.

They need to do a high-power test, which means well away from gravity wells like planets. Regular hyperspace protocols. As Kara reminds her before departure. “Right, Hermione? Nobody’d ever enter hyperspace inside a gravity well. Or standing on it.”

“Hah bloody hah.” Her bestie, honestly. She can feel Penny’s eyes widening behind her. “Later, Spidey.”

An hour later, back in the lab, there’s a single pulse. Hermione pumps her fist.

Test complete, and she speeds to the vessel. Harder than usual as it’s utterly dark and slowly drifting in the void.

Hermione provides the illumination on entry as the interior is equally dark; the drain had emptied the power systems. Even the redundant and emergency backups. It’s already cold inside and Penny’s visibly feeling it. Her costume is thick, however not thick enough. (Ray’s own costume has thermal elements drawing power from the stellar material on his belt)

Penny’s holding together, though. Donna will be proud.

Hermione pushes emerald energy into the ship’s batteries. The lights flicker on as exterior floods begin illuminating the vessel. “This is why we’re testing at short ranges first,” Ray mentions casually.

“Short range?” Penny’s not casual. “We’re a hundred billion kilometres from Earth!”

“Short range, Spidey,” Hermione replies. “A different scale than webbing across Manhattan.”

Penny leans back against the hull. “Wow.” Then she pulls off her mask and grins. “There’s a comet tumbling outside the window. I have a problem set due on Monday, and there’s a comet outside the window. I love my life.” She gets a round of return grins, from J’onn as well, and a slap on the back from Kara. Hermione gives her a thumbs up and exits to tow the spacer back to Earth.

The next test puts the ship (and extra batteries) on the opposite side of the Earth, to see if the Sun interferes or not. It doesn’t.

Time for long range testing.

The Hol’s spacer will travel to a ‘boring’ system, as Shayera puts it; far from their home system of Polaris, still within Thanagarian space. As systems outside of that region don’t take kindly to a Hawk-Police vessel’s presence, particularly one as up-gunned as theirs. “Imagine that,” Katar snorts.

The test is successful. The ship’s power systems are heavily drained despite bringing each of the augmented engines to 150% rated capacity. Still, a success.

Next, an attempt in the Caudatia system, pre-arranged with her pod-mate Captain Lissam and the Caudatian leadership. A proper prototype this time, built for hands-on, rigorous deployment as opposed to Ray’s elaborately entangled (and fragile) lab designs.

This will have a dedicated reactor to power the call box, the name which Hermione insists on using. It’s going to draw roughly what a major city would consume for a year.

Ray’s been to different worlds a couple of times, the rare occasions when the League or its members have accompanied Lantern Jordan on the Big Missions. Thus, it’s not totally unfamiliar for him to walk on another planet. It remains exciting, she can tell.

Hermione catches up with her extra-terrestrial fam and performs introductions before flying back to Earth. To wait.

And wait. Guardians, this is hard. Perhaps she can start work on the schedule for the week after next. Or…

There’s a solid pulse on her finger with a strong, sustained glow. A heavier pulse than a League alert signal. Perfect.

Hermione’s out the main airlock before it fades. Fifty or so light years later, she reaches the assembly hosting the box and crew out in the Caudatian comet field. The reactor is in bad shape, scarcely providing life support.

Nevertheless, a great success and that calls for a celebration. It’s working. Amazingly, it’s working.

Further tests at Caudatia, a success rate at 98%. Room for improvement, yes, though not much. She’d call that a solid ‘O.’ Then explains the meaning to everyone. The words ‘no, seriously?’ come up often. Particularly when she goes into avian raptors and amphibious quadrupeds for her exams.

Tweaks are made. The Caudatian Engineering Fleet builds a dedicated station to oversee the device, complete with a new, powerful reactor. The fuel tanks are larger than many ships.

A final test, a success, and Ray, Hermione, and Lissam’s superior Fleet Admiral Koddin declare the Mark I Call Box to be operational.

A solo pulse signal which can broadcast to Earth, as calculated by a converted naval astrogation computer. Nothing else. No reply capability. Nor can she send messages to it. And if she’s not on Earth… that will be unfortunate. It’s better than before, however, everyone agrees. A solid start.

An alert system for their Lantern. Who makes it very clear “she’ll drop whatever she’s doing and respond, so no false alarms!” (And yes, she’s always going to be expecting a trap. “Duh, Bruce,” as they privately discuss it back on Earth.)

She’ll be developing additional rules for use, an operations manual. Hermione’s become familiar with these from the Watchtower’s own handbooks. “For now,” she tells the initial crew, “don’t abuse it! Or you’ll lose the privilege.” Not that she’s worried they will. She’s familiar part of that world now, part of a brood-family.

The device itself is unique. Ray’s not sure if can be duplicated for non-Hermione Lanterns without the extensive neural mapping he’d done with her. It will take a long time, regardless.

Ray and Hermione formally brief the League, to joint acclamation. Barbara’s happy there won’t be further brownouts in the Tower. Hermione adds the news to her next report to the Corps. That doesn’t receive as much acclamation.

Not everyone on Oa is pleased, to put it mildly. Hermione’s called in for a discussion with the Senior Cadre. She arrives early to witness a Lantern unhappily leaving the conference hall while a second is called in. It must be a full day.

Now it’s her turn to take a seat inside. It’s not quite a dressing-down, certainly not universal compliments. There’s a feeling that the novice Lantern should have cleared this with them first. As it is a change to how she is operating in the sector, a manner different from Corps training. Plus a separate, unsaid feeling that’s a bit near to what she’d had with the Ministry when fighting for reforms. ‘Such things simply aren’t done, pity you don’t know better.’ People are indeed people, no matter where you go. At least these people are willing to listen to her. And they do.

Hermione brings up that she’s been mentioning the ongoing testing programme for nearly a year now. A few embarrassed expressions result. “We didn’t think it would ever work,” she hears. And thus no one had been paying close attention.

Ah. She really needs to introduce them to Ray Palmer.

The members who are accepting aren’t quite fully accepting. For example, Lanterns are to be uniform, so what does it mean when there’s a Lantern who isn’t, who has an added capability? A valid point, for which Hermione’s prepared. She always does the reading.

“This is a beginning,” while Hermione regards the veteran Lanterns around her. “A trial run. If it works, in a sustained and accurate manner, if planets are saved though its use, in due time why can’t it be broadened across the Corps, Lantern by Lantern?” Which has always been her goal. That it could include Kaylark flying to Earth and personally asking Hermione for a call box, that would purely be a small side benefit. One she might record.

That aids her case immeasurably. That the construction is limited to a lone Lantern, and isn’t ready for mass production, also helps. There could be changes for the Corps, yes, and they will be slow in coming if they do. Plenty of time for adjustments, new training, new protocols.

They’re overall intrigued. Mostly unsaid, except there’s a few who do say. A high degree of astonishment at what humans have done. “Progress on an interstellar scale from a species that has barely visited its closest moon.” She doesn’t bristle. Oa knows Hermione’s heard worse. And it’s factual, she can’t argue that.

“Let’s see how this goes, Lantern Granger,” is the consensus.

Hermione calls that a win. Then asks a question despite not being sure of wanting the answer. “What have the Guardians said?”

“They have not become involved,” replies the lead questioner, Cadre Lantern Omicron Gold-201. “Yet.”

“Which means?” She has a mix of curiosity and concern.

“For time being, proceed,” they reply. “Record each usage and the reason why, along with details as you see fit. These,” and they look across the room, “will be reviewed. As such, we’ll expect lengthier reports.”

Oh. Well, that will be…

Their photosensors might be twinkling. “Not that lengthier, if you please.”

Drat.

Work on the Mark II begins apace, which will eventually incorporate an actual Morse Code system.

It doesn’t end there.

The Mark V can locate Hermione’s ring anywhere in the galaxy. Instead transmitting to Earth, it broadcasts wide, quite wide. Once the matching signature is detected, the focus narrows onto her ring. Which isn’t possible for actual physical materials like a starship. For sub-atomic wavicles, it is. “Like a collapsing wave function,” as Ray puts it. “And you’re the observer,” Kara adds.

With that capability, a fresh unit is placed in the Oort Cloud of her homeworld, so that Earth can contact its Green Lantern when she’s on patrol elsewhere. They begin weaving in system identifiers, so that Hermione can tell where the emergency is occurring. Only two stations, now. Soon there’ll be dozens on the telegraph line.

The Mark XXIII lets her to send reply messages in coded pulses. Lantern Rrab trades sectors with Hermione for a week, and delightedly returns to Graxos with a call box of her own.

It’s simply called a Palmer (the Mark numerations having gotten ungainly over the scores of decades) by the time a Lantern’s ring isn’t needed anymore. Systems can now communicate with each other, no starships required.

Centuries later, historians will note this as a major step that eventually leads to planets across the stars uniting in a galaxy-wide alliance.

Chapter Text

The Stone and Anchor doesn’t seem to have changed from her previous (and only) visit, Hermione imagines. Still that Hollywood movie stereotype of a British pub. Not a hint that, according to what the person whom she’s meeting here had said, it’s at least ten centuries old. Give or take a decade or two.

It’d been an early start for her. No flying for the journey from the Croydon flat; public transport all the way. Partly as it’s just to London, and mostly as that’s one of the rules for today.

And please don’t bring up her lack of a driver’s license. Hermione’s working on it, okay?

The door opens easily. According to the same source it might not have closing hours. Half lit inside, not that her eyes need to adjust. Part of ring-based automatic protections, not conscious usage should she be asked.

A few people inside despite the hour, reading Times and Prophets alike. There’s a Quibbler resting atop a Telegraph on a seat. No heads turn as she enters. Cosmopolitan, and also respectful of privacy.

The yeoman behind the lengthy bar is polishing glasses, and watches as she enters. Hermione gets the feeling he remembers her from last year. Perhaps remembers every person who’s stepped inside. Before she can ask, he jerks his head to the tables at the rear wall.

Only the one in the back corner is occupied. The figure is in a trench coat, fedora low over the brow and writing in a pocket notebook with a metal fountainpen. Hermione reaches the near side of the table and pulls out a chair.

“Well now,” Hermione hears. “Wasn’t sure you would show up. What with your fancy regular job.” The speaker leans back and tips her hat up. “Ready to get your pretty white gloves dirty, Granger?” asks Susan Bones, Private Eye.

It had started about a week ago.

A meeting at Susan’s country house. No trench coats or robes; Susan in a vaguely Muggle-esque slacks, blouse, and vest ensemble of muted browns and yellows. Hermione in a skirt and tunic, comprised of beige and blue solids.

Susan serves a Battenberg to go with the tea. As always, her home looks faultless. Not so for the weather, and they stay inside.

Hermione describes her goals and the request. Susan simply sips her tea slowly, eyes remaining on her visitor for what seems to be an entirely too long duration. Hermione puts her attention to the service. The Battenburg is too good to ignore, after all.

Susan finally places her cup on the tray. “Hermione.” Who puts her own plate down.

“Let me get this straight,” Susan starts, crispness mixed with incredulity. “You have a magic/not-magic ring. Routinely fly to different worlds, hold back an ocean, do battle with the Sun. Live in a posh castle on the Moon. Swan about with the most powerful people on this planet.”

The redhead points a finger at Hermione. “And you want to watch me at work for a day.”

“I’d love to have longer. A month, perhaps,” Hermione responds without hesitation. “You’ve a well-employed skill set I need to improve myself on, Susan. You impressed someone who’s not easily impressed.”

“Wait.” Hermione could see the sums running in her head. “Seriously, Granger, is this about that disguised Muggle I caught poking around my favourite pub?”

“Ask me no questions, Detective Bones.”

“Not about him; him I think I have enough to work with.” Susan smirks. “As for the rest. Why me, why now?”

Hermione settled in the quite comfortable chair. “It’s about those chums you mentioned. Our own version of the DA, save for a much wider scope.”

“Yes, your Justice Gang or whatever.”

Wally would love that sobriquet. “The Justice League,” and judging from her expression Hermione can tell Susan is well aware of the correct name, “has excellent detectives, people who can think like you can. They’ve been a valued part of training me, as well.” She takes a short drink of tea. “We won’t have them forever.”

Hermione pauses. “One of our best… will be leaving us soon. He’s preparing a replacement, has been for at least half a year. I doubt anyone can really replace him, though. I guess we’ll see,” and she shrugs slightly. “He is a singular individual. Irritating, exasperating, and incredibly brilliant in left field ways I can rarely follow. Sort of like Luna can be, right?” Susan nods in agreement. Luna can be an acquired taste, yet they both know she’s never actually wrong in the end.

“More will depart too in time; none of us can last forever. We’ll have new members joining. A slow-moving updating to the roster. Wally and I were the start. Kara too; you remember Kara, right?” She gets a ‘duh’ look from Susan. “A couple more you haven’t met, great people all of them.”

Hermione sighs. “Several are good at your line of work, none as outstanding as the current members. It’s a deficiency we need to address before it becomes a liability. Part of our long-term planning.”

“Smart,” Susan says approvingly.

“I won’t ever be as good as any of them. Guardians’ know I’m not on Earth that often,” shaking her head. “Every little bit helps, however,” Hermione continues. “Might make me a better Lantern; that’s also my hope.”

“Hmmm.” Susan steeples fingers under her chin, unknowingly echoing the Muggle in Gotham who’s keen on disguises. “To be a detective then, my dear Granger?”

“Hah,” she retorts with a touch of amusement. “I won’t ever be a true detective; I know how long that takes and my real job won’t allow the time. I need to learn how to try and think like one. Like I said, every little bit helps.”

“Good,” replies Susan. “If you’d thought you could learn in a day I’d have shown you the fireplace. Sorry, the door,” she smiles. “I can’t teach you the skills, not in a day. Took me months to achieve mediocrity. Luckily, the early cases weren’t taxing.”

She stands, and Hermione echoes her.

“Well. Let’s see what we can do with what we have. Rules,” and Susan begins listing them.

“One. We avoid violence. I don’t draw my wand unless I have to, and I rarely have to. If you’re doing the job right, there isn’t violence. I know that might be hard for a Gryffindor to follow but try.”

“I’ll do my best,” and Hermione keeps the sarcasm to a low level.

“Of course you will. Two. No wand for you, I assume. You can keep your ring, of course. I don’t want to see it in use. Or see it at all. Understand?”

“No arguments.”

“Good. Third and last. Hermione Granger won’t be tromping about with me. Adjust your hair and I know you have several hats. Add boring clothing; you’ve gotten entirely too stylish of late. Perhaps play the Muggle, if you like. Don’t talk a lot. Mangle an American accent if you can; nobody we’ll be dealing with will know a correct one.”

Hermione thinks a bit. It might be time for her Judith Hamilton identity to return.

Susan cuts her off before the thinking goes too far. “Questions?”

“Oh, a good many.”

“I expect as much. You wouldn’t be you otherwise.” A smile, a warm one, as Susan leads her to the door. “I think this will be educational. Maybe fun, Hermione. And thanks for picking me.”

“Like I said, you received high marks and rave reviews.”

“Pity I can’t add it to my calling cards. Ah well.” Susan gives an exaggerated sigh. “Thursday next, the morning?”

A mental check, and “I can make that work.”

“I’ll see you then, half past eight. You know where.”

“I do?”

“You do. Consider it your first lesson. And off with you now, I need to go meet a client.”

“Thanks again, Susan. I’ll be owing you for this.”

“You most certainly will. I rarely do cases pro bono. Oh and Hermione?”

She’s a few steps down the walkway and turns. “Yes?”

“The game is afoot.”

Stop. Rewind. For Susan Bones, it had truly started years ago, before graduation.

She begins her last year at Hogwarts as an orphan. Not technically; her parents are quite alive. They’ve also fought, vigorously, against Susan returning to school regardless of if the war is over. They’d insisted she stay safe with them.

And she can see their point. The once numerous Bones family has been reduced to three. Nevertheless, Susan fights back and attends. She stays there the entire year. Before the year has started, actually, aiding with the reconstruction efforts of the summer.

Susan doesn’t need her parents for a residence, not anymore. She has a home of her own, complete with a large pastoral meadow. Aunt Amy had left it specifically to her favourite niece, along with a moderate vault. Thus, Susan moves out, moves in, and then goes off to school. It remains a sore point to this day.

Everyone assumes Susan will join the Aurors with Harry and Ron after they graduate. She’d been practically raised in the DMLE, after all.

Nope.

Susan had watched how justice had been applied before the war, during the war, then after it. How the Ministry had treated Harry before it had fallen. Before it had become ‘tainted,’ as is the correct phrase nowadays.

Justice, she determines, is whatever the Ministry decides is just. Or serves its purposes.

And that’s not good enough. Susan wants real justice.

What Aunt Amy, so many in her family, so many across Britain, never could get. Justice in matters that the Ministry doesn’t wish to draw attention to, that it demands be nicely wrapped up without care of guilt or innocence.

Justice also for those who’ve escaped it. Bribery, blackmail, extortion, blatant lies; so easy for them to avoid Azkaban. Aunt Amy hadn’t been shy about telling Susan of the names who could only be suspected, never charged.

But graduation is less than a year away… and it’s time to figure out her life. Becoming an Auror is becoming less appealing. Yes, their work is important. However, they take cases as assigned. Aurors and their superiors can be suborned, she knows. As they’d been after the Ministry had fallen. She’d rather have the freedom to decide her actions, free from external pressures.

No, she doesn’t trust the Ministry to apply justice. And she doesn’t want to be told by the Ministry how to achieve it.

Susan had been describing her thoughts aloud early in the Spring holiday break, unsure of how to achieve her goals. Dean, overhearing, had flippantly mentioned what exists out in the Muggle world. In fiction, and in real life.

Those not raised in Magical Britain had been shocked that it didn’t exist within this land. Well, not that shocked. Extra-legal operatives and groups, yes; the Order of the Phoenix for one. A private, professional investigator who’s not part of the DMLE? Unheard of.

Or, as Hermione had pointed out, simply no one’s heard of them. Doesn’t mean they haven’t existed.

Susan had been intrigued. Quite intrigued.

Hermione, while not an enthusiast of the genre, had provided Susan with the classics. Dupin, Blake, Poirot, Marple. Spade, Marlowe, Archer. Queen, Wimsey, Wolfe. The Brothers Hardy and Ms Drew.

Dean, an actual fan, had access to the movies which they’d watched together. Farewells and Goodbyes. Deadly Kisses and Big Sleeps. Dried out towns in Los Angeles, snowbound trains in Croatia. And, of course, the falcon from Malta.

Susan had found her calling. The sweet little Hufflepuff would be Wizarding Britain’s answer to Sam Spade, down to the apparel. Fedora, trench coat, slacks. No smoking because that’s stupid; she hadn’t lived through the war only to poison herself and others. Robes as needed, depending on the clientele.

She’d found and devoured a trove of instructional books on the subject. Weekends spent with Muggle detectives in England, picking up the tricks. The highlight: successfully tracking down an elderly beekeeper near Sussex Downs, for which Susan had been gifted with a day of unsurpassed tutelage.

All this, woven into previous summers with Aunt Amy, who’d been at first bemused to discuss her work (or what had been age-appropriate). Learning at the feet of her idol. It’s literally in Susan’s blood.

And so after Hogwarts, PI Bones is born.

She takes cases Aurors don’t want to or aren’t permitted to. The cases where the victims aren’t satisfied by Ministerial justice. Where the crooked avoid the courtroom.

Cold cases, from before or during the war. There are many of them, enough for a platoon of private detectives. Murders and missing persons primarily. Often, they don’t want to be found, wishing to escape magic forever. She lets them. Others have darker reasons. Those, Susan doggedly tracks down for free. Though the bounties do help pay the bills.

Bodyguard, on rare occasions. Not her forte, to be honest.

Background checks, usually prior to engagement announcements for parents who only want to look out for their naïve offspring. Susan nods solemnly and jacks up the rates. Once in a while, she does find hidden or falsified histories, proper galleon-miners. Most scamper on threat of exposure before her clients or the Aurors are notified.

Fraud; there is always fraud when galleons outweigh brains. The Enchanted Emporium Empire, for example, despite not having yet worked out who’d been behind the shutdown it had suffered. Wizarding laws are far behind real life in these areas; so many scams that fall through the cracks of legality. It keeps Susan busy.

Theft, not so much. Most of the targets deserve to be nicked, in her view. Besides, it’s more Padma’s field, and she’s bloody good at those kinds of mysteries. Recovering the unrecoverable for a percentage of the worth, as even ‘priceless’ has an insured value, keeps the Ravenclaw busy too.

Muggle cases as well, often where the two societies intermix. Magic used for muggle crimes, and vice versa. Those… those are always a challenge. It’s where Bones Investigations has really made its name, and in such a short time.

As a rule, Susan doesn’t get involved in active investigations. Harry and Ron and their comrades are competent, and poor form to get in their way. Not that they don’t share information, or she with them. And checking their files is always the best way to start the cold cases. A mutually beneficial arrangement that their bosses don’t pry over so long as it’s discrete.

Years doing this, and she’s damn good at her job. Good enough to get an outside recommendation and become an instructor herself.

Which brings us to today’s sunny morning, and the interior of a very, very old pub.

“Ha bloody ha. Got that out of your system, did you Bones?”

“For now. Hello and welcome to my office.” Hermione’s never seen her at work, and Susan’s different here. A greater self-assurance and confidence. Proof, like Primrose, that being a Puff doesn’t mean being a pushover.

“I like it here, this part of London,” Susan says, “not behind the brick wall and not completely unmagical. Enough people know the score to make it exciting. Not just wand magic; players from across the spectrum.” She appraises her companion. “How was your flight?”

“Nice try. Rules; I can follow them when I need to. I took a train from Croydon. Left the gloves in my ring. Which will stay hidden.”

“Good. I see you followed Rule Three as well.”

Hermione’s borrowed from her Ms Hamilton guise, last seen at a nightclub performance of a masquerading Ralph Dibny. Straightened, glossy hair with dark streaks under a cabbie cap, heavily made-up eyes behind hornrims. A faded dark blue peacoat courtesy of a local charity shop rounds it out.

“Not bad.”

“Thanks. I’m not unfamiliar with the practice when Hermione Granger is out of uniform in London.”

“Yes, we’ll be chatting about that. Meantime, there’s my nine o’clock.”

Thirty minutes later, they’re alone again. The notebook, which Susan had been filling in while talking, is flipped closed and slipped into a pocket. “Right. Tell me what we have.”

Hermione is wishing she’d brought a notebook too. She’s become reliant on her ring for recording, well, everything. Still…

“Lomingvule wants you to find whoever swindled him out of a significant number of galleons. Doesn’t want to involve the Aurors, as it would be embarrassing. He claims the gold wasn’t his, it was from his wife’s vault. She doesn’t know, and he insists she’ll dump him and run to her father if she does. The father was described as a most unpleasant person.”

“He’s not, trust me. The client himself?”

“Male, mid-thirties. Demonstrably apprehensive about what’s happening. Married.”

“Why married?”

“He told us. Also the ring. It seemed to fit him well, no fidgeting with the band.”

“Go on.”

“Familiar with the wider world from his non-magical garb. It fit him well, and he looked comfortable in it.”

“Good. Do we believe him?”

Hermione’s taken aback. “Why wouldn’t we?”

“This could be a setup,” Susan says levelly. “I get hired to go after a target who’s innocent of the accusation. I might find criminal evidence, I might not. It could be planted for me to find. The target, whoever they are, is removed; client is happy. I might be the target myself; a set up so when it’s uncovered, I’m the patsy to take the fall. It’s happened.” She adopts a satisfied grin. “Or it’s been tried.”

“See, this is part of the way of thinking I need.” Hermione knows it would be the first approach the Question would take, using his regular blend of relentless suspicion and paranoia.

“So. How would you commence the case? Not now,” and Susan rises before Hermione begin. “Tell me over brekkie. There’s a great place four blocks over, fully Muggle.”

The lessons continue as they walk. Susan provides details of the people they pass; what they do, where they live, where they’re going. Hermione finally calls her on it. “Making these up, you are!”

Susan calmly asks questions of the next pedestrians, merely doing a survey and it’ll only take a moment and thanks, and gets confirmations every time.

“You see, but you don’t observe,” she tells the apprentice. “You read books, Hermione. Read the people, read the room, read the surroundings like you’d do for a book.” Hermione makes her own attempts, with Susan calling hit or miss while offering further guidance.

They reach what Susan proudly calls a greasy spoon. Quite brightly let, and the staff cheerfully call out to her by name as they enter. She does the same while pointing to an empty, isolated table, and is firmly told it’s hers if she wants it.

“People, environments, everything has clues. Look for them. Apply them. Clues are honest. Books might not be.”

This is practically a declaration of war to Hermione, who abruptly puts down her menu. Then she reflects for a moment. “The author is deliberately lying or withholding facts. Unreliable narrators.”

Susan holds up her coffee in a toast. “That must have hurt. Well done.”

They put in their orders, or Hermione does. Susan is having her regular. “They know me here. Landlord was trying to kick them out on health code violations he’d bribed to make happen. He wanted a fast-food chain restaurant here instead. American, or practically so. I worked with the local constables to ensure that didn’t happen.”

Hermione raises her own coffee for that. “What? I didn’t want to lose my favourite breakfast spot,” Susan claims, unconvincingly.

“People are usually honest,” Susan says, gesturing to the fellow diners, “not in what they say but how they look, how they carry themselves. When they’re trying to be someone else, remember they’re still there underneath. How they are trying to fake the truth reveals the truth. Which brings us back to the Muggle at the pub…”

Hermione knows Matches Malone’s true identity and is both curious and worried if Susan has puzzled it out.

“Disguised, clearly. Human, which rules out the finest detective on the planet, in my estimation. Muggle; he knows about magic, doesn’t use it. Wealthy to afford the details. Skilled, very skilled at this. Expert at accents. In all, a very, very good disguise.” They pause as heavily laden plates are placed. Susan grips hands and proffers gratitude, then resumes.

“Underneath? I can make guesses. There are only a few people rumoured to be that good. By assuming such a perfect disguise, the disguise is compromised. Which narrows it down to only, say, a half-dozen people. None of them magical.” Hermione’s face might be leaning towards worry.

Susan detects it. “Relax. I don’t feel a strong need to investigate further. One, it’s not part of a case, and two, professional courtesy to a fellow detective. The world’s greatest, if you believe the hyperbole. Even if he officially doesn’t exist, right Hermione?” She leans over the remnants of her fried eggs, black pudding, and sausages. “Tell him next time he’s in Britain, I’d love to meet Malone again. Tips from the master, and all that.”

“I’ll… relay your request. Do you employ disguises yourself?” Hermione asks, a non-subtle way of changing the subject.

Susan allows it. “Not often. And always Muggle techniques; Thief's Downfall isn’t cheap but does show up when least desired. As you’re aware.”

“As I’m aware.”

“I do need to work up how many laws you’ve broken, oh valiant Space Auror. Anyway, too many criminals rely on magic. Too many ground Aurors assume magic. All of which makes it easier for me to solve the unsolvable cases. Harry and Ron are both far better at magic than I am. Meaning I need to be better at everything else.”

Interesting. Possibly applicable for Hermione when dealing with the ridiculously high-tech devices and super-science she comes across frequently. Or, possibly, how Green Lantern’s own foes might view her.

“Disguises,” Susan continues. “I keep them simple. Easy to apply, easy to remove. Not too embellished. The goal is to pull eyes away from your actual self. Most importantly, don’t try it until you’re seamless at it. Yours today, for example, is fine. For an amateur.”

“Which I am; my real job doesn’t go into disguise techniques.”

“I can tell, based on your frankly ludicrous mask. Which shouldn’t work.”

“And yet it does.”

“And yet it does, agreed.” Susan readies a forkful of sausage. “Which is an entire mystery in and of itself. Don’t worry, nobody’s paying me, so I won’t be snooping.”

Breakfast done (and Hermione makes a note to perhaps bring Wally here), and back to work. Susan tubes and taxis across the wider London environs to visit unassuming shoppes and streetcorners, makes a few phone calls here and there. Checking in with her people whom she keeps on retainer for information of possible interest. “Greengrass Senior has her webs, I have mine,” as Susan puts it and brushes off attempts to divulge further.

Normally this activity would include an excursion down Diagon and deep into Knockturn, which will be skipped due as Hermione might draw attention. Hermione scoffs at that, and Susan scoffs back. Regardless, Susan makes it clear that attention is never desired, both for her and the people she talks with.

A few items applicable for her active cases, Susan mentions as they return to London proper, Bayswater Rd along Hyde Park to be exact, and return to walking. Hermione’s glad she’d picked out comfortable trainers.

Her biggest, currently? A cold case Missing Person. “Parents looking for the son who went missing back in ’95. Pure-blood, traditional, and angry, and disappearing right before Riddle reappeared. You can do the math.” Ah, yes. Not everyone had been as famous as Lestrange or Dolohov. Or Lestrange. “They’re paying, and paying a great deal, so I’m looking. Can’t all be saints,” Susan adds. “And, once and awhile, I get pleasantly surprised.”

They take a left, now walking north on Queensway. “Another presently where the wife hired me; she thinks her husband’s seeing someone who doesn’t have a wand. He’s not, but he’s involved with nasty people and up to something. I’m keen to find out what. We’re on that one now.”

Hermione stumbles, and Susan catches her. “We’ve been following that man in the mismatched suit, ahead about a block. No, don’t look,” just as Hermione’s about to.

Damn if Hermione can tell people apart that far away without cheating with her ring. Another skill she needs to learn.

“Oh, and a third case you’d appreciate. Three siblings who’d been sent to America before the war and are trying to find their parents. I get one of those a month, on average. Expenses only for these, no fees. Ah, there he goes.”

Susan keeps going. After a block, she ducks around a corner, Hermione a step behind. “Frankly, I hadn’t expected that. He went into the bakehouse back there.”

“And…?”

“From what I’ve heard, they make most of their income dealing in illegal potion ingredients.”

“Ah.” Hermione waits for her to continue. When she doesn’t, “So we…?”

“We go have lunch. Come along Granger, there’s a decent Chinese place across the street.”

“Where we can observe when he leaves.”

“Spot on. And eat, as I’m famished.”

It’s decent, Hermione judges. Just. Wally’s taken her to far better establishments in his nation. Susan is soon working on her noodles, and Hermione can tell she’s also keeping an eye on the bakehouse. “You’re very good at this.”

“Good to know. I’d be wasting your time otherwise. And from what I’ve seen, you’re pretty good at your own job. Earth still in one piece and all.”

“Who’d have thought we’d turn out like this. I remember us sharing the boat ride that first night.”

“And you running about the train with hapless Neville in search of Trevor.” A clinked toast, this time with green tea. “I’ve wondered where I’d be now if you and Dean hadn’t helped with the detective media. Speaking of that, I wrapped up a case a month ago. You would have loved that one, Hermione. A classic, straight out of the novels.” She puts down her chopsticks and wandlessly casts a Muffliato.

“It all started when she walked into the pub…”

She walked into the pub like she owned it. Nobody looked up at first, then the entrance rolled across the floor and heads turned her way. Classy robes, unbuttoned to allow glimpses of stylish Muggle fashions underneath with each stride. The properly well-off of both worlds, and not afraid to show it.

I was busy reviewing the Ghoul of Havershams case records and nursing an Ogden’s, so I didn’t notice until the expensive perfume hit my corner table. A timeless face that might have been my age or a decade older. Hair draped down her shoulders like a waterfall at midnight. Eyes that made emeralds decide to pack it in and quit the precious gem business. Stunning, and knew it.

Direct, too. Dropped herself into a chair opposite me and went straight to the point. She wanted me to investigate her grandfather’s murder. Grandfather being Kirkland Averlance Pennforth, and that made me push my hat back. I’d seen the coverage in the Prophet; Merlin knows everybody in Wizarding Britain had. That kind of money, it was hard to miss.

Pennforth had died peacefully, according to the article. His children agreed. The lady at the table, Gwendolyn Pennforth, believed to the contrary. And so did Pennforth’s other three grandchildren. They were certain it was murder.

Two hundred galleons to listen to her story. Triple that to visit the manor tonight and interview the family members who’d been present when he died. Double that twice again if she can prove this was murder. Plus expenses, she said before I could.

That got my attention. It had been a slow week. Hell, I’d have listened if she’d only covered today’s bar tab. She put a pouch of coins on the table, which I slid onto the chair next to mine. Then I turned to a fresh page in my notebook and listened to her story.

Pennforth had a daily schedule, she said, which he’d been following without fail since Grandmother Lillianne had passed decades ago. Slept most of the day, alternating that with sketching out new spell configurations while in bed. Did his best work there, he’d always joke. It was how he’d made the family fortune, so a good joke there.

After a final dinner meal, he stayed up all night in the adjoining private study with a bottle of brandy and a book. Read, drink, then to his desk for reviewing the latest in the transfiguration scholarly digests. Then more brandy, more reading. Repeat until dawn. Undisturbed the entire time; everybody knew better than to try. He demanded solitude.

Eccentric, it appeared. Although for the rich, it was known as ‘uniquely unconventional.’ Not the strangest I’d come across, no matter what you called it.

Most of the family was there that night, her included. Granddaddy was reliably at the dining table for breakfast each day. That morning, he wasn’t. They went to the study; it was still warded and locked, just as they’d left it the night before.

No answer to numerous knocks, so her uncle took down the magical protections and one of her aunts spelled open the thick iron lock. His massive wingchair in place, the back facing the door as he kept his back to his family. To the world, she said bitterly.

And there he was. Half-empty bottle resting against the chair, book in his lap. Snifter on the rug. Fire still burning hot in the fireplace front of him, but Pennforth’s flame had gone out.

It was hectic after that. Several had a touch of healing; it didn’t help. Someone cast a Homenum Revelio to no avail; the number revealed equalled the family present. The ones alive, that is. Nobody else in the room. No elves there or in the house; Pennforth never trusted them after hearing tales of rebelliously betraying creatures during the war years. Charming as well as eccentric.

The Aurors arrived minutes later through the downstairs Floo. Their initial checks didn’t expose any surprises. The wards were functional and unaltered. Locks undisturbed. Windows barred, as was the chimney. The room and manor itself had Apparition and portkey prevention, the finest galleons could buy.

No signs of violence, no signs of poisons or curses. He passed through the Veil in his sleep.

Everyone agreed. There were a few tears. Not many, mind you, from the sound of it.

Everyone was able to move on, except the lady in front of me and her cousins.

“No one listened to us, and we didn’t know where to turn. Then a friend mentioned your singular… enterprise. And thus my presence. Can you help us?”

“Got to say, your story doesn’t seem to include murder,” I said. I’ll admit I was intrigued, nevertheless.

“There’s more,” the possible client replied. “Grandfather was about to severely update his will. He’d been hinting as much the recently. Anyone planning to kill him would make certain they stood to benefit from any changes or have learned of it beforehand. Yes, we suspected each other; you’d do the same if you’d grown up in our family. None of us wants to see his killer get a single sickle if we can help it.” She looked up with those big green eyes. “That’s a real motive, right?”

Motive, that’s a classic motive. I’d need to examine the scene for Means and Opportunity. Could be interesting. And for what she was paying, this was worth my time regardless if I found a murderer.

I took the case, and her handshake was firm. The manor’s Floo would be ready for me tonight, along with the remaining Pennforths.

She stood and left, and the patrons watched her leave. Myself included. Nick from behind the bar didn’t, he was watching me with a sigh. “Not again, Susie.”

“Not again, Nicholas,” I promised. Maybe my fingers were crossed, so what.

I reviewed my notes, then pulled a small stack of coins from the bag. Those went to Nick, should cover the last week and probably the rest of the month. Rental for the table included; I routinely took one of the pub’s best.

A tip of the hat his way, and I was off to my next stop. I’d heard a story. Now I needed facts.

It wasn’t yet noon, just enough time to brew a tried-and-true potions recipe at home. One of Aunt Amy’s specialities, a family secret she’d passed on to me. When it was ready, I put on a proper robe and headed for my favourite contact at the DMLE.

He was at his office down on the second floor, his partner off being heroic elsewhere. Tall heaps of parchment and folders dominated his desk, so I could unveil the present out of sight but not out of smell.

A sniff, followed by ginger hair poking out from between the pillars. “Susan?” Then he saw what I had with a mix of longing and hesitation. “What’s it this time, Bones?”

I smirked back and put the plate of fresh scones with jam and clotted cream on an unoccupied space. “Can’t a mate drop in simply to visit, Auror Weasley?”

“You can. You never do,” he said with mock exasperation. Then he honestly smiled. “Must be a big one if you’re breaking out the secret scones.”

“Excellent deduction. Ever considered being a detective? And tuck in already.”

He brushed away a reply to break one in half then fill it Cornish style. Heathen. One bite and half was gone, and I admired his restraint in putting the remainder down. “Big case, aye?”

“The Pennforth Death.”

“Seriously? I read that one; Froughly and Cavendish didn’t find anything.” The rest of the scone disappeared, and the second was prepared to meet its doom.

“I’m getting paid to double check, Ron. Could be easy money, could be more. Can you get me the case files?” It was a familiar pattern, and while not a secret it wasn’t advertised. Half the office assumed we were seeing each other.

And are you?
Don’t be ridiculous, Hermione. No more than Eighth Year with you and–
Point taken. Do please continue.

Ron shook his head. “Not today; it’s a right mess going on with the hunt for those smuggled wands. Morning?” I nodded and took half a scone for myself, with a silent toast to Aunt Amy. “It looked solid. If you have a client paying you, easy money, yeah? You’ll let us know if it’s not, alright?” I rolled my eyes.

“Call us, Susan. Don’t try to catch them on your own; you know you were lucky in the Cardamom Fiend case!”

“Ron, it barely singed my hair.”

“And it would have done less if you’d sent a Patronus before going in.”

“The professor would have been gone by the time the Aurors arrived, and you know it.” I bumped my scone with his third. “I’m no Gryff. That’s not how I operate. When I can call, I do.” Hmmm. Yes. If the examination tonight, and the files tomorrow, confirmed… “Promise. This one, if it pans out, you’ll be the first to know. I’ll leave the rushing about courageously to you and Harry.”

I left the plate with him and headed out. Aside from wealth, I didn’t know much about the Pennforths. Time to change that. Hit the streets, as they said in the books. Seemed the family had avoided the last war simply by being rich. Before the Ministry fell they, and a few like-minded families, had bought passage on a Muggle cruise liner bound for the Azores. Nice timing.

Asking around got me details on the family members. What they’ve done, where they’ve been. That was rewarding, very rewarding. I found a lawyer, too.

That took longer than I’d predicted; barely had time to find a decent robe before walking through my home’s fireplace. Gwendolyn was there on the other side, in the manor’s living room from the look of it.

Well appointed, would be the proper description. Bright with none of the garish oppressiveness you find in most big manors. Strong and dignified, no need to prove itself to visitors.

Stern, unanimated portraits of Pennforth dominated the space. Not a friendly expression. Unlike my client, who looked happy to see me. She had a heftier pouch in one hand and took mine with the other.

“Ms Bones, you came! Over here; everyone’s in the sitting room.” Not everyone, she quickly clarified. Only the ones who were in the house that night. The witnesses.

Looking at them as we entered, my first thought was rich living. In every sense of the word; ‘stout’ would be polite, for the spouses as well. The oldest looked too young. The youngest too old. Glamour charms, and expensive ones.

I’d done the reading, chatted up the right people. There was only so much privacy that galleons can buy, which was useful in my profession.

Roderick Pennforth, eldest son. Recognised expert in wards and called upon to aid the Ministry at times. Word had it that he’d done the spellwork for numerous sites, and now maintains the interior and exterior for Pennforth Manor. Bulky, rugged look to him. Next to him, his wife Ophelia. She was expert at being a society wife. Enough said.

Danielle Handlefeld, standing by the sofa. The eldest daughter had worked closely with the deceased. Serious, with hands that indicated plenty of ungloved brewing. She was anticipated to take over the family enterprises one day. A much sooner day than expected, I’d reckon. Sitting at her side, her husband Lamont. He didn’t look serious. Grateful might fit better; he knew the coins were going to be rolling their way shortly.

Then there was the other daughter, Winnifred Pennforth, who lounged in a tall-backed armchair. She had made it very clear to any reporter who’d listen that she wanted nothing to do with the family business. Presently, she had a small shoppe in Diagon which sold boutique owl treats tailored to specific birds. The latest in a long list of enterprises that danced for at most a year before she flittered to a new passion.

Grandfather Pennforth’s youngest son wasn’t there, nor was his wife. I hadn’t expected otherwise as they had matching beds at St Mungo’s. Matching comas too, due to a Muggle automobile a month ago. From what the staff told me, it looked irreversible. Clayton and Penelope Pennforth. My client’s parents.

As for the second generation…

Avril and Elliot to the eldest Pennforth. She was thinking of becoming a teacher and had been doing so for the last ten years, at least. The grades had been solid, particularly in Transfigurations. Maybe leaving home was too much to imagine. His grades weren’t so good, and I’d bet the string of Acceptables were the best his father could arrange. They could also explain the way Elliot gambled so poorly.

The third was a Handlefeld, Jeannine, and couldn’t have been more different. While she kept a room in the house, she spent most of her time traveling the globe and breaking curses. Damn capable at it too, from what my sources at Gringotts said. She’d only been in town for the last week or so, recuperating from a pair of gloves that didn’t need hands for strangling.

The last was Gwendolyn. Good grades, good reviews, fascination with matters Medically Muggle. Was going to be a doctor, not a healer, and Merlin had that gone over well in this house. Her parents had supported her, however, and often visited to Muggle London. One too many times, as it had turned out. She’d returned them home, moved back into the manor, and switched to the healer programme.

They each gave me an appraisal as Gwendolyn withdrew to a chair of her own. No need for introductions, I guessed. She must have prepared them all for my arrival. Smart.

Roderick thinned his eyes my way. “Young lady, we’re here only at the request of our children. This is a difficult time for the family, and if this… endeavour aids the grieving process, then we will acquiesce.” He paused dramatically, and I got the feeling he’d been practicing for assumption as Head of the Household. “For the moment.”

“‘Grieving process,’ hah!” Winnifred shot back. “You mean hurry along the reading of the will, don’t you Rod!”

Dannielle coughed. “Yes, the will.” She had steel in her voice, and I was thinking Roderick might have a fight on his hands for leading the family. “We all know about the will. There’s naught to be done to change his mind, not anymore. Let’s get this over with so we can proceed with our lives as best we can.”

“Old coot.” It came from Winnifred and was possibly louder than intended. She glared at those glaring at her. “What? I’m glad he’s dead, and there I said it!”

“Winnie!”

I jumped in before wands could be drawn. “If I could?” It got the attention redirected onto me, as desired. “I know this is difficult. I’m not here to accuse anyone. I’m just here to gather information. Think of me… as a friendly adjunct to the Aurors.” Not quite technically accurate, but they didn’t know that.

That lessened the tension. I started with the older generation, one by one in the living room. Easy questions, mostly to see if they matched what Gwendolyn had told me. Also, that they matched each other. Their statements would be in the case files, of course. Hearing them firsthand, however, also allowed for personal impressions. The nearly identical words they used were well illuminating.

“Everybody knew Father’s best days were long in the past.”
“Stayed in bed or in his chair, rarely moved during the day. Or the night.”
“Old, drinking each day, and died. It happens.”

Yes, I imagine there weren’t many tears from this lot. The younger generation had more for me.

None of them were as ‘robustly stout,’ as their parents. With the robes off, you could see the athletic, if hefty, builds. Even Gwendolyn, trim with muscles that sleeves couldn’t conceal.

They backed what I’d been told earlier in the pub. Murder was on their minds. Grandfather was old yet still fit for his age. And the issue of the will was raw Erumpent horns dumped in a boiling cauldron. A little less than a month that their parents had been increasingly cross over the likelihood the will would be updated. Aunt Winnie was the worst, loudly angry with Grandfather all week.

As the rumours grew, the level of genteel familial discourse had diminished. What everyone knew, or believed strongly, had been the will held for equal distributions, double for his children. Alterations could mean parties getting more. Worse, it definitely meant parties getting less. And if you were one of those parties…

None of them trust the others, not a whit. Save for their own parents. Probably. “Not mine, for certain. They’re not waking up, ever,” Gwendolyn whispered mournfully. Elliot rolled his eyes, and Avril elbowed him in the ribs.

“Let’s be frank, Ms Bones,” Jeannine broke in with a strong voice. “The Pennforth vault is cavernous. None of us wants a murderer to get any of it. And to be blunt, if there is a murderer and they’re caught, that’s more galleons for the rest of us.” Nods all around in agreement.

Honest, I had to give them that. It would make my job easier if I saw it more often. And it did corroborate Gwendolyn’s story in the pub.

I had enough to work with; if not I might come back to a couple of them later. The crime scene was next. The old man’s study, where he died.

All four guided the way upstairs. Gwendolyn stayed at my side, and I did my best to ignore it.

Down the long hallway was the study. “It’s been left as it was that night,” Avril said. “We insisted.”

Sizable, was my first thought. Fireplace at the far side. His wingchair nearby and facing it. The back to the door, just as Gwendolyn had described.

“Bottle and glass?” I asked.

“The Aurors took those and the book to check for curses and poisons,” Jeannine said. “Along with Grandfather.”

“One of our finest brandies, too,” Elliot muttered. “Damnable waste that was.”

His cousins gave him a hard look. “Fine, sorry,” he added.

A desk, and a desk chair, off to the right. Atop, scholarly journals neatly lined up. Spell development logs in tidy sets, quills and ink pots sitting at the ready. A couple of parchment sheets rested amidst it all in a slight disarray.

The walls had floor length tapestries suspended from the ceiling. High quality material with excellent artwork, to my untrained eye. I checked each. Secret passages, stashed wands, household vaults, silenced paintings; I’d seen those and more hidden behind them. Not today, though. I’d figured Pennforth for a concealed staircase kind of guy. Ah well.

The windows were thick, barred, and unopened. Of course.

The fireplace was large, enough to warm the room. Stray ash remained on the hearth from where the logs had cindered, rather more than I’d expect despite the standard charms to keep them burning. It looked lumpy, so I poked around with my trusty extendable metal rod, a Muggle invention Dean had gotten me last year. There were melted bits of metal mixed in, thin and rounded. Knut-sized, a tad smaller.

I cast a Lumos and inspected the chimney. A thick metal grid halfway up. Impressive, I had to admit.

They were quietly watching, which ended when I turned to the chair facing the fireplace. “Backs to us at the end of every night,” Elliot said. “Always made us feel like a loving family, didn’t he.”

“Elliot!” Avril exclaimed.

He shrugged. “Not like we have to worry about him hearing us anymore.”

“11pm, like clockwork,” Gwendolyn said abruptly. “He waved dismissively over the back to whoever was there to bid him good night, snifter raised high.”

Again, charming. “Who locked the room and activated the wards?”

“Originally, he did himself,” Jeannine said. “Then Uncle Roderick took over. Finally, any of us could. A tap of a wand after the door was shut would bring up the wards and spring the lock.”

“So long as it was only him inside, of course,” Elliot murmured. “Merlin forbid anyone else be there too.”

Avril’s face had a shred of fondness. “Sometimes a bunch of us would be there for it, sometimes just one of us. Like a nightly ceremony.”

“The whole family that night, weren’t we?” asked Elliot. “Or close enough,” Jeannine replied.

Over to the left side of the study was a… “Where’s that door lead to?”

“His bedroom,” from Gwendolyn. “But nothing ever happened in there,” from Elliot.

I remembered that Muggle film we’d all watched our last year and kept from giving the following line. Not the right time.

Regularly warded, like the door we came through, they said. Not tonight, and I ventured inside.

A huge bed covered in layers of blankets, what could be stretches along the topmost. Books, plenty of them along the walls; this was more a library than a bedroom. A stack of tomes on the hardwood floor next to the bed, of random and varied topics. Meaty, ancient volumes with thick iron bindings and clasps. Old school, like you’d see in the Restricted Section.

A peek underneath the bed got only the odd looks when I raised my head. “People keep all sorts of oddities tucked away there. You never know.” It quelled the expressions.

The bedside table held large sheets of thick parchment along with quills and inks. His charm works in progress, easy to tell as I flipped through the pages. Same paper type as those on the desk.

I returned to the study. The faces… they wanted me to find a murderer among them. Or prove there wasn’t one.

I sighed internally. All the classics said the last person to see the victim alive was the killer. Here, it seemed like everybody saw him last. M Poirot, where were you when I needed you?

I was joking, of course. He was always with me, him and the rest. I stopped at the hallway door and looked back into the study. Yes. The little grey cells felt a spark.

That should do it. I thanked them all, and Gwendolyn walked me down to the living room.

I turned to her at the fireplace. “Tomorrow night. Can you do this again, get them together? Same time but in the study?” I watched her face. “I can show what happened.”

“It was murder?” Her eye shown. “I mean, I hoped, but you can prove it? Really prove it, Ms Bones?”

“Call me Susan,” and regretted it. Damn you, Nick. “I’m afraid this wasn’t murder, Ms Pennforth. You’ll all be able to sleep easier knowing that.”

The happiness dimmed. “Oh. Yes, well I guess so. I was so sure…”

I took her hand. “Not everything turns out how we’d expect. That can be for the best.” I gave it a squeeze. “See you then, Ms Pennforth.”

“Till then, Susan.” She squeezed back. “And call me Gwen.”

We didn’t kiss. She was my client, and I had professional ethics.

I tossed the powder into the fire, exiting at my home. Chucked my robe onto a couch and put together a quick bite to eat.

The pub was where I spent the rest of the night, reviewing the case and working on my freshly renewed bar tab. I could feel Nick’s scowl through the customers. I had promised not again, fingers crossed or not.

Summing up… Means, I’d need confirmation on that. Opportunity, oh Helga yes. It would all come down to what Ron had for me.

I rolled in to find him in his office, a hovering teapot refilling his cup.

“No scones?”

“Files first, Weasley.” He pointed to a folder on his desk, and I pulled up a seat.

Witness statements matched what I’d heard last night, more or less. Photographs matched too, save for what I knew would be missing. Such as the victim.

Wards showed no signs of tampering. Windows and doors, the same. The book was clean, no time-delayed curses or toxic inks. A shame, as those were my favourites.

The witnesses’ wands were tested and also came up clean. No harmful spells on any in last 24 hours. Particularly the Kedavra. Which jibed; everyone talked about that one but it’s damned hard to cast. So many easier ways to commit murder.

The body was warm on discovery; deceased two, maybe three hours at most. Detection spells showed brandy in his mouth and stomach. Spilled on his robes and the rug as well. No poisons in the bottle or the glass.

Or in him. Except Pennforth was aces at magic; maybe he had brews that only he knew about. Until his killer did too. Damn.

No signs of injuries, visible or invisible. No evidence of deadly curses. Assorted bruises, the kind you get when you’re old and tables suddenly jump at you as you’re walking. Several on the arms and legs, a fresh one on the chest. None serious enough to list as an injury, and certainly none were enough to be lethal.

He was elderly, overweight, sedentary, and a heavy drinker. An easy case to close. Hell, it’d barely been opened.

I cast a rapid Geminio, to which Ron carefully turned a blind eye. He did provide a blank folder to go over the duplicate, to avoid any questions as to why I was walking out with DMLE files.

I had to smile. It was the perfect touch to cap off the visit. “Ron, no scones I’m afraid.” He signed with resignation. “I owe you a proper bottle for this one,” I continued. That perked him up, and I stood and made for the door.

“Hold on, don’t tell me…” he started.

“I won’t,” I said over my shoulder. “Not yet.”

A return to the pub to sit and check the file multiple times. To be sure.

Followed by errands. That lawyer, to start. Arrangement for special backup. Checked records from a separate incident. Hunted down a nice bottle for Ron; that took the most time.

In a few hours, I would meet the suspects at the scene of the crime and reveal what had really happened. As was traditional in my trade.

“So, Brightest Witch of Her Age,” Susan smirks. “Any ideas?”

“You know I hated that sobriquet, to start. Second, a good number of genre classics can be ruled out. Dammit.” Hermione tics off methods with her fingers. “Burning candles that release poison into the air, poisoned ice cubes. Creeping down the chimney. And books with contact toxins imbued in the ink you already caught.”

“Well, Blaise would say that anyone who would put ice in brandy that exquisite would deserve to die,” Susan says.

Hermione absently moves her teacup and water glass about, muttering to herself. Susan keeps at least half of her gaze across the street. No signs of the husband.

Finally, Hermione looks up, frustrated. “The books. There’s something off about them. And that’s all I have.”

“Well done, and I’m not being sarcastic. I had a day or so; you only a few minutes.” Susan finishes her tea. “A few more hours, I’m sure you would have cracked it.”

“So how was it done?” Hermione huffs in reply. “Magic?”

Susan grins. “That’s going to take a fresh pot. Could you see about that? And ask for a splash.”

“Right, drinks are part of the lessons. Way to play up to the trope, Bones. Back in a tic.”

Hermione departs, and Susan turns to face you. “Hi there, dear reader. It’s time for a proper whodunnit reveal. But first, you get your chance to solve the case.”

She leans towards you, brown eyes lively. “I know who killed Pennforth. Do you? If you’ve been following along, you’ve all the facts you need.” Susan started tapping the table, as she lists off the suspects.

“Was it the eldest son Roderick, the wards expert? Or Danielle the eldest daughter, the skilled portioneer? Angry, dilettante daughter Winnifred? Perhaps Avril or Elliot, the granddaughter and grandson siblings, both of whom needed the gold? Jeannine the cursebreaker; she might know of clever methods of death. And of course Gwendolyn, our semi-orphaned client. Or is she? Could her parents be involved? Don’t forget the spouses either; they weren’t blood-related to him and that might make murder more tolerable.”

Susan points down a few paragraphs. “The solution is below, blocked out so you won’t be spoiled. Click on the button when you’re ready, or if desired you can skip it to go on for the rest of the spoiler-free story.” The detective peeks across the street, then back to you.

“Here’s a hint: Geometry is significant. As are the books. Hermione, not unsurprisingly, picked up on that correctly.” She leans in her chair for a final message. “Once you know how, you’ll know who.”

The apprentice returns. “Here’s the pot, extra splash. Were you talking to somebody?”

“Hmmm? Don’t be silly; no one else’s here. Pour us a cuppa, and I’ll close the case.”

“A side note, Susan. Speaking from experience, I’d say you’ve made an enemy.”

“Hermione, if I’m not making enemies, I’m not doing this right. And I have a lot of enemies.”

Allies too, she adds. There’s a ghost named Jim who frequents the pub, English with a monocle and gentlemanly ivory garments when he manifests visibility. Hermione’s had one run-in with Mr Craddock herself, and she’s still thankful he hadn’t been feeling villainous that night in Vermont.

She’s also worked with the legendary Detective Chimp. Hermione’s only read about him. Bruce holds him as the true World’s Greatest Detective. The world rarely looks beyond humans to bestow the title, as he puts it.

“I’ve run across that bloke Constantine as well, the one who crashed Ginny’s night at the pub,” Susan mentions, “and wish I hadn’t.” That gets a clinked cup. Hermione couldn’t agree more. Though the annoying limey dork always has a ready plan for the latest mystical threat, dammit.

Susan’s telling of a reporter from the States named Lane, then stops. “And there goes our suspect.”

Hermione covers the bill, and they race into the street. The tail goes well for three blocks, then they lose him after a turn down an alley. There’s a skip bin within, and Susan suspects an Apparition at the other side.

“No worries,” she says. “This is about where I picked him up. Probably headed home. I’ll get pictures tomorrow.”

“And the bakehouse?”

“Yes, we need further from it. Once there’s enough, I’ll get our friendly local Aurors involved. So let’s head back there.” A brisk walk, at the end of which Susan looks along the rooftops.

“There. That one. With me, Granger.” At the rear they find a fire escape ladder and make for the top. “Time for the most exciting part of the job, Hermione. The stakeout.”

They begin watching to see who else exits, people Susan would know or know of. Sitting on stray bricks isn’t fun until the witch turns them into cushions. They sit and wait for… crime, Hermione guesses.

“Patience,” Susan admonishes after the first hour. “Half of this job is patience.” She helps pass the time by relating cases, noting the relevant clues and how she’d detected them. Letters to a non-existent address. Galleons appearing unexpectedly in a vault. Stains on the bottom of a newly purchased cauldron. A set of antique scales that had gone out of balance. “Those gave away the entire scheme on the Pleiades Vapours case. You see–”

“Susan,” Hermione whispers. “Four, make that five people are nearly at the roof, on the ladder we used. Steel-toed boots. Trying to be sneaky and failing miserably.”

That garners praise. “Not bad. Keep talking; going silent gives it away.” She cocks her head and listens. “This would probably be one of those enemies I was talking about. He’s got goons. Thick ones.”

Susan takes off her trench coat and hat, and Hermione copies her. Preparation, right. They return to conversing, until the bootsteps grow too noisy to be ignored. “Maxie,” Susan says, not bothering to turn her head, “don’t suppose you can just say you beat me up and we part on good terms?”

“Not a chance. I’m gonna enjoy this, Bonesie,” comes the laughing reply. “Gonna be nothing but broken Bonesies when we’re done!”

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “Bonesie?”

“Like I said, thick.”

Not much to say after that, as the five go after the two. No magic. No rings. Just fists.

And kicks, as Hermione discovers. Susan is good. She fights nasty. Bruce would love her, Dinah too.

Hermione more than holds her own. She’s only had instruction, and painful instruction, from among the best martial artists alive. The last of the five goes down from a jump front snap kick to the chin, then a punch to the back of the head as he falls.

Susan applauds. “3-2, in your favour.” She’s breathing hard. Hermione isn’t. “And I bet you could’ve taken all five. Not just a ring, are you?”

“I was at first. My, ah, chums were rightfully insistent that I improve.” Hermione’s knuckles are bleeding, a new look for her. “I started sparring sans powers with Kara, as we both needed it. Now it’s weekly. With powers too, when we can.”

“That, I would love to see. Both of them.”

“Maybe we could set it up. Nowhere magical, however. And we normally have ice cream and milkshakes afterwards, lots of them, so that would be necessary.”

“How about stronger drinks?”

They head for the ladders. “I must be getting closer if they’re trying to kill me,” Susan says absently as steps in to descend.

The pub is waiting for them, with firewhiskey shots and seedy cake.

Minor magic for their knuckles and assorted contusions from Susan. Dittany, bruise paste, and band-aids.

“Don’t knock them. Think disguise,” Susan insists. “Anyone not in the know would expect them if they heard I was in a brawl.”

Hermione is remembering. “Dittany. I haven’t had dittany since my last day using a wand.”

“Right, when you became a superhero,” Susan says, and stows her own away.

“Not for half a year later, when I returned from training,” Hermione replies with a shake of her head. “Also, I consider myself only a part-time superhero.” She pauses. “Like yourself.”

“Granger, you did not go there.” Susan is shocked or faking it well. “Use your newfound observation skills, do you see a skin-tight, brightly coloured combination on me?”

Hermione waves a finger in negation. “Not all of us wear those. But you don a costume, as inspired from fictional heroes. Operate outside the law. Do what’s right, simply because it’s the right thing to do.”

“Not likely. I expect to get paid for my efforts!”

Hermione replies with an arched eyebrow.

“Fine, well, most of the time,” Susan caves. “The house and estate are a bugbear to maintain.”

Each does a shot at that.

“So, detective,” Hermione says, after the glass hit upside down on the table. “Our day’s coming to an end. Any last words for your apprentice?”

She has several, particularly on clues. Learning which ones are valid pieces of the puzzle and which aren’t. How to fit them together. When they don’t fit together as there’s nil to assemble. As that does occur, as Susan notes. “I could walk into a broom store and detect an entire criminal conspiracy, and it’s all doxy floss I’ve invented.”

Which ties into hunches, and their importance. “‘Gut feelings’ as they were called in those old movies you let me borrow.”

Hermione nods. “My training was much the same way. The previous holder of my job had much the same advice, as did his former enemy, now his fiancé. Can’t wait for their wedding.”

“You costumed people have weird lives,” Susan remarks. “And yes, I know you wear a uniform in your job.”

“My job.” Hermione studies the hidden object on her right hand. “My job kind of found me. It already existed, has been around before we stood upright.” She points a finger towards Susan. “You created yours. Certainly there were precedents, but what you’ve done is all you. I don’t think I’ve really understood what you’ve done until today.”

Susan’s up for repeats if ever Hermione finds the time. Most assuredly if ever Hermione encounters her own murders in a locked spaceship, or moon, or whatever. She’ll be sure to let her fellow detective on Earth know of it.

“And next time you see Lavender, tell her I said hi,” Susan adds. “She’s done excellent detective work of her own, hasn’t she?”

Chapter Text

Lena Kieran isn’t by nature a morning person. This despite her girlfriend being quite the opposite. Well, at least on sunny mornings.

Today’s Chicago is cloudless, and she’s not surprised to awaken to what feels like dawn’s early light and find her bed only half full. Still warm, and still smelling of Kara, and that brings a smile.

It’s not uncommon for Kara to rise before her, starting the day in the upper stratosphere to drink in unfiltered solar rays. Returning practically glowing, which they both do their best to burn off.

Certainly not where Lena had imagined she would be after deciding to emancipate and move to the US. As much as she loves her adoptive parents, it had been time to take off on her own. She’d expected by now to be well off, holding numerous degrees and patents, and running an inordinately successful tech firm. Missions accomplished. Linda Danvers, aka Kara Zor-EL, better known as Supergirl, as her girlfriend? Becoming quasi-adjacent to superhero life and friends who perform actual magic? Absolutely unimaginable. Totally wonderful.

Even if her girlfriend is on the phone at this ungodly hour. Possibly on her second phone, the one that connects to her costumed associates. Which could mean Kara’s soon off to save the world.

Lena sighs. It’s what she’s signed up for, or at least knows is part of their relationship, and pulls herself up to sit back against the pillows. “Athena, coffee please.” It will be about twenty seconds in arriving, and she’s not at all listening to the conversation. Kara’s keeping it low, barring the words “GL” and “of course” and “what time?” which unavoidably leap out.

Code names, like ‘GL,’ and never Hermione or Wally or Kara on their frustratingly secure channels. The tone, however, doesn’t sound like Super Friends business. Less save the world, more save the date. Kara confirms this as she ambles into the bedroom, bubbly. “Thanks bestie, this sounds like a blast!”

She’s got one of her oversized Cubs jerseys on, possibly little else, and Lena’s feeling wider awake. Not enough to hear the panel on her bedside table slide open and a saucered cup of steaming rocket fuel rise out. “Oooo, coffee!” and Kara has it in her hands. “No, not for you, for me. Bye, Greenie!”

“That,” Lena says as sternly as she can while watching Kara slide into bed, “was mine.”

“Ours, babe, ours.” Kara takes a sip, steals a kiss, and passes it over.

Lena takes her own sip, first blowing as it’s a touch hot and makes a note to adjust the settings. On second thought, Kara likes it this way, and compromise is good. “Hermione on the phone? She’s okay?” Kara’s snuggling in and Lena struggles to keep the coffee from spilling.

“She’s fine. What’s your day like this Friday?”

Lena passes the cup and considers. “Nothing I can’t reschedule. Why?”

“How would you feel about going to the soft opening of a… let’s call it a mall.”

“A mall?” Lena blinks. “Green Lantern and Supergirl doing a mall opening, signing autographs for fans?” Not very appealing, she’s thinking.

“Lantern Granger and friends, no costumes. And the mall’s about 14,000 light years away.”

Oh. Wow. “I, I suppose I can make time for it. I assume driving the Firebird there isn’t an option.”

“Hah!” Kara passes the coffee back. “Sweetie, we’ll be riding in the back with Wally, limo style. I bet if we ask nicely Herms will do a chauffeur variation of her uniform for us.”

The date works out well. Atlee, who to be fair is growing on Lena, will be with the Titans that weekend. So will the ‘Wonder Twins’ and God only knows how they got that name. ‘Comical’ had come to mind when hearing several of their adventures. Kara’s said they are genuinely good kids and doing their best to fit in on Earth.

They meet up in the mountains north of Vancouver, a region that Kara and Hermione had become acquainted with recently. Lena and Kara arrive first, the former glad she’d added a light jacket to her slacks, long sleeve shirt, and vest as it’s brisk up here. Kara’s wearing a long green pleated skirt and orange blouse, her ‘Me Am Bizarro Supergirl!’ ensemble. So long as the headband isn’t making a comeback, it’s all fine for her girlfriend.

A light plummets from the sky as Hermione and Wally join them in one of those fascinating force fields that she’s fond of employing. Hermione’s in uniform, Wally’s in costume, and the green bubble dissolves away once on the ground. Then in a crimson swirl he’s in jeans, polo shirt, and sportscoat. Spiffy, as they say.

Hermione remains in uniform. Lena’s observed how she always wears it when using her ring. “Lovely to see you both! Everyone ready?” Hermione’s certainly is, from the sound if it.

Lena, not so much. “Before we fly across the galaxy, could you explain more about this shopping mall we’re going to?”

Hermione begins to reply, then stops and her eyes grow cross. Wally’s suppressing a giggle. Kara looks to the Sun, as innocent as possible. “One, not across the galaxy. Honestly, it’s a short hop! Well, short-ish. We’ll do it in two segments as well.”

Lena’s not entirely assured, but she trusts Kara and Kara trusts Hermione.

“And two,” and the glare directs at Kara, “it’s not a shopping mall! It’s the new sector house for our region of space. Which I’ve been helping develop for close to a year now!”

“Herms, you said it was a big station with shops inside. ‘Shopping Mall,’ right?” Lena knows her lady and her expressions, and now Wally’s not alone in keeping a straight face.

“Well yes, it does, except that’s not the primary function…” Hermione pauses in mid-rant and smirks. “You know, it also has numerous armaments. I’d hate to confuse the duress code for the authentication signal when we approach.”

At that, Kara breaks into dramatic distress, Lena and Wally in genuine laughs. Hermione gives a final glare, then resumes. “Lena, there are stores. There’s a lot more. Think of it… as a frontier outpost.” Which she knows Hermione has personal experience with. “It’s a gathering place for people across these ten sectors, as well as the regional Lantern headquarters.”

“That sounds a lot more believable,” and Lena elbows her lady. “14,000 light years still seems more than taking the L downtown.”

“It is. It will be.” Hermione turns to… “Kara, Wally, you’ve travelled through hyperspace before, with the League.”

Wally nods. “A couple via Lantern Express, last for Kanjar Ro.”

“Despero,” Kara says. “You’d have loved that one, Hermione. He’d kidnapped Kal. Sort of.” Lena notices she doesn’t include her flight from Krypton as it had exploded.

“Lena, you haven’t and to be honest there’s nought that will prepare for this, trust me,” the Lantern continues. “It’s going to be an experience. The best advice I’ve heard is ‘let it flow through you,’ which assumes you’re a passenger.”

That’s not ominous at all. “Sweetie, you’ll be fine,” from Kara, who never needs X-ray vision to see through her. “Well start with a short jump,” Hermione adds, “and take a break before the longer one.” Wally has a grin at that, and Lena’s unsure why.

“Lena,” Hermione’s got her full gaze aimed at her, with that Lantern Granger presence. Maybe it’s the uniform, or the bearing, or the sheer scale of what she and thousands of Lanterns do on a regular basis. It makes you want to pay attention. “I didn’t invite you because you’re Kara’s girlfriend, or my friend. I wanted you to come as a human who deserves to see where her people will go from what she’s doing. Your work is going to take us the stars, and I want to show you where we’re headed. As someone once told me before my first hyperspace trip, you’re so gonna rock this. So no worries, okay?”

No worries. Lena can do this. She’s been into outer space before, helped save the Earth. Road trip to a new mall? Piece of cake.

The Green Lantern of her world, her sector, can tell it too. A smile, and she’s Hermione again. “This is informal. A ‘soft opening’ as a friend in the restaurant business would call it. The proper grand opening will happen when we’re ready. I’m positive there will be hiccups in the meantime.”

Lena approves. Start with open beta testing, with outside beta testers, before going stable and shipping. A major facility like this, there are bound to be bugs to sort out.

“Right, everyone ready to fly?”

Kara raises her hand with a small request.

No, Hermione won’t alter the uniform. No, not even for a chauffeur’s hat.

Next they’re in the air, a moment later beyond the air. Departing the Solar System, and Hermione assures her that they can do the tourist route on the return.

Lena’s done space before. The bubble makes it interesting, like they’re stationary and the heavens move about them. Complete control over inertia, and Hermione’s making it feel like a stroll through the park.

Past the Moon, and Earth becomes a blue dot, and Lena’s back of the envelope calculations go off the charts. The Sun becomes a brighter star than most. Then a final check, and Lord those are only making her increasingly nervous, and then… hyperspace.

Not close to what she’d expected, which to be frank Lena’d been imagining along the lines of Dave Bowman’s psychedelic journey. She’s softly drifting and also moving so fast that stars streak by her as multicoloured fibres of light. Glowing filaments in every direction around her.

Kara’s hand takes hers. She can feel it but can’t see Kara, or her hand, or anything except the lines. Like lines of code that might weave to form reality. Like–

And the lines collapse into dots and they’re in space again. As if they’d never left, aside from that there’s more than one star rapidly approaching. Kara squeezes her hand. Lena squeezes back, slowly. Hermione peers inside, verifies everyone’s copacetic, and leads them to what could be Earth.

“I call it Wally’s World,” she says as they land, and he has the decency to try and be embarrassed. “It’s become a stopover for long trips; it’s only about 300 parsecs away. Lena, you with us?”

Lena’s bouncing back from the use of ‘only’ in this context. “Aye, grand,” she manages, and squints. “Assuming everyone sees two suns?” The landscape is a mossy green in all directions, and aside from that this would feel like that cheesy old sci-fi movie.

She’s assured two is the correct number. Kara is Kara, even under stars that don’t allow Kryptonian cells to behave in marvellous ways. Wally is mildly shaken, not stirred. And Lena notices Hermione’s no longer wearing that miniscule mask. Duh, there can’t be anyone in space who would care of her ‘secret identity.’ She’s Lantern Granger, a Lantern and not the Lantern, out here.

Wally stretches and points to the horizon. “She took me there for my birthday last year. Made a replica of her magic school. Which is a huge castle, complete with a lake.”

Hermione leans against him. “With a giant squid inside.” She pauses. “And inhabitants. Reminds me, I haven’t visited them in ages.”

This leads to talks of Green Lantern visiting Earth as she would any world, to people who live underwater or subterrestrial existences, persons in hidden dimensions or atop mountains. “Which you get to do today, Lena. Welcome to representing humanity. No pressure.”

Lena had not considered this. ‘No pressure.’ Hah.

“Relax,” Hermione says. “I go through it all the time. Be yourself, be honest, don’t dodge questions if they come up, and be prepared for condescension towards us humans. As I keep getting told, we’ve barely able to visit our absurdly nearby moon.”

Hermione continues with more about where they’re going. A ‘sector house,’ one for every ten space sectors, 360 in all. Theirs is Sector House 282, and she agrees with Lena that it so needs a better name.

Not only a mall, or a local Corps office. Hermione stresses it’s a place where Lanterns can listen to their people, improve communication with them. And for today, to let humans (and a Kryptonian) meet the people in this part of the galaxy. Their part of the galaxy.

It sounds incredible to Lena, and she feels a greater confidence.

“After it’s operational, we can see about longer stays,” Hermione says. “I’ll certainly be spending more time there.” After being insanely busy for the grand opening, she adds.

The newly gained expertise in constructing the station is paying off at Earth, Wally adds. “Don’t tell anyone, but we’re working on a new satellite base.” They’re assembling it in lunar orbit before towing it to Earth; LEO this time rather than geosynchronous. Yes, Lena’s read up a little on girlfriend’s friends and their headquarters.

This time, also with professionals assisting. First on this, possibly next on a surface site. “Architects, engineers, you name it,” Wally goes on. Hermione hmmms agreement. “I met one, John Stewart, who really impressed us. American, former Marine. We had an insightful chat comparing his Corps and mine.”

Lena’s heard of him herself. He’s an excellent reputation with metallurgical advances and she’d been thinking of hiring him for a new LK Inc research centre. Which may have to wait until he’s done with current work.

Hermione circles through the passengers. Wally gives a thumbs up, Kara and Lena duet a nod. The green bubble forms again, and they rise into space.

They’re going to Sector 2819 and the Obleron System along the sector’s spinward fringes. Which has no real meaning for Lena. The ‘not too far, about 13,000 light years’ does, and doesn’t help.

The second time isn’t as… no, it is. Only in a slightly different way. There should be a feeling of a longer duration, and there isn’t. When they emerge, the feeling arrives and all at once. Kara’s holding her as she crumples slightly. Hermione’s inside the bubble checking on Wally and apologetic. “Sorry! Sorry! I should have broken up this leg!”

“We’re cool, Hermione,” Lena says. And yes, she’s coming around, faster than previously. “She does love rollercoasters,” Kara puts in with a kiss to her forehead.

Hermione takes it slowly into the system, nevertheless. The (single) star is a standard G-type main sequence, like her own. Not exactly so; Kara says she can tell the difference, as she could on their last stop. If there exists a second star with the secret herbs and spices as Earth’s, so far it hasn’t been found.

‘Slowly’ means it takes a dozen minutes to reach an asteroid field. Relatively barren, as is the rest of the system according to Lantern Granger. “On design. We picked a place no one would want.”

Lena’s first assessment is that the station is big. Perhaps as there’s so much activity around it to give perspective. Starships flock at both poles of the roughly ovoid asteroid, where multi-pronged moorings that must extend for dozens of kilometres. Zipping about are minute shuttles buzzing about like bees in a hive.

“It’s approximately the size of the Britain Isles,” Hermione says. “Or Texas,” Wally adds.

“Everyone here goes through what we did?” Lena asks, curious. It doesn’t seem a healthy method to travel. And it isn’t.

“Rao, no,” her lady exclaims. “Kinda normal in a ship,” Wally says. “The Hawks have taken the League out in their spacer a couple of times.”

“They’re quite correct,” Hermione winces. “Possibly due to the artificial structure, or the way hyperspace engines work. Lanterns have neither and are used to it, all part of our training. We practice until it’s routine. Like riding a bicycle.”

One helluva bike, is all Lena can think. Then they’re getting nearer. Smaller ports dot the rocky surface, with smaller ships. “The ten of you built this?” She knows that Hermione’s smart, sure, and also not a construction type. No matter what she can make with her ring.

“I’m flattered, Lena. No, this required our own boffins.” Yes, the ten had been a large part of the effort. Deliberately; this is their house, and they should invest in its design and creation. For the bulk of the work, each house is also assigned a pair of specialists from the Lantern Corps of Engineers.

That gets Lena’s eyebrows raised. “No, it’s not exactly their title,” Hermione says. “They’re stationed on Oa and practically run the planet. The infrastructure side of it, at least.” They’d been the ones to hollow out the asteroid’s interior, install prefabricated components fashioned on Oa. Power, environmental control, consumables reclamation and restoration systems, docking bays, habitation modules, you name it.”

“Don’t suppose they’re open for outside contracting?”

“’Fraid not, Lena.”

“Had to ask.”

They’re close enough that it’s dominating their view. Hermione takes the trio to what looks like… yes, it’s a symbol on the surface, about halfway between pole and equator. Identical to what Hermione wears on her chest, or that forms the shape of her ring. It must be ten metres tall. Barely perceptibly on a rock this big.

Lena can tell Hermione knows exactly where it is. She sends a vibrating emerald beam directly at it, then holds still. A second later, a matching beam envelopes the bubble and they can all hear the reply.

Security scan detected. Responding. Lantern Granger, Sector 2814. Authenticated. Entry authorised.

“That took practice,” Lantern Granger says, and Lena sees the circular centre of the symbol irising open. “There’s a duress version too; I wasn’t fibbing. All mentally done. I think the wrong thoughts, and a large number of unpleasant weapons become upset.”

They pass through and inside, down a very long tunnel lined with green bands of light. “Everyone else requires an invitation access after they dock.”

Inside… inside is also wow. Lena’s eyes grow wide, as do Kara’s and Wally’s. This is going to be fun, and she’s full of energy to open the hell out of this mall.

She’s not alone. So much eagerness, so many emotions. So much life. Down below, it begins waking up.

“Welcome to Lantern Land,” Hermione says. They’re in an open area the size of a baseball infield, maybe half that in height. Lena can tell the design assumes the ability to fly. Or to scale walls that might be plastic, or metal, or plasticised metal.

“Not the real name,” Hermione adds before anyone can remark. “Let’s get some gear for you all.” She takes them over to a rack, and lets the bubble turn into a disc. “The air is fine for us, for the most part. Bit low on oxygen,” and she runs her fingers down a row of canisters before selecting three for distribution. “Just in case. Each has enough O₂ for hours.” Lena straps the cylinder to her belt.

“Gravity will feel a touch light when you’re on the ground,” Hermione continues. “Radiation is acceptable. If you were staying for a month I’d recommend sunblock.”

She hands out thick, fist-sized octagons next. “Translation matrix. Not universal or perfect, so we advise keeping to basic concepts. They’ve got a good number of languages loaded to recognise. Including English.” Hermione demonstrates how to withdraw a neckband. “If you’re near me, my ring will provide.”

Hermione gestures around them. “It’s all a compromise. People are free to bring their own tech and protective gear, and there’s plenty who require them. We’re going to be adding underwater habitats, areas with atmospheres that would be lethal to oxygen breathers, and micro-gravity sections next.” A work in progress, as she’d remarked several thousand light years ago.

“So,” as she lifts them upwards. “The layout is pretty straightforward. We have an established north and south, corresponding along the standard gravity field. Where we are now is roughly Britain, if you will. Both poles contain the majority of our docking facilities. The core holds power systems and the like. Around the equator, buried about a hundred metres below the surface, is the region for inhabitants of our cluster.” Hermione pauses. “As ten sectors–”

“Forms a cluster,” Lena says. “Clever.”

“Not mine, but I’ll tell them you said so. Anyways, we’ve roughly a matching design across the galaxy.”

“And a very solid design it is, eh Adara?” The voice is below them, from a powerfully muscled, squat alienperson with scarlet skin, fangs, and horns. One of two Lanterns rising to meet them.

“It is indeed, Palagua!” the second replies, who could pass as human aside from the lime-green skin tones. “Greetings, Lantern Granger!”

They each generate an animated infinity symbol, and Hermione repeats the action. “Greetings, Lanterns Garq and Ossl!” Kara’d mentioned this is the Corp’s combination of an aloha and a salute. Lena thinks it’s pretty cool.

“Decided to drop in today, Granger?” Adara says, “Bring some civilians along?”

“Friends,” Hermione counters, and does introductions. “I was just telling them about you two, how you were the ones who really made this station happen.” Okay, these are the engineers. They do good work.

The shorter Lantern snorts a burst of umber soot. “Team effort. Ten amateurs with two professionals, and everyone pulled their share.” They point a thick claw at Hermione. “Your friend here put in respectable ideas at the alpha planning level.”

“She helped make the project launch better,” their partner adds. “Only 360 to build; give us a year and we should have them fully up and running.”

“Yes. Well.” Hermione takes a breath, and it reminds Lena of the first time she’d been told how exceptional her coding is. “A team effort, as you said. The willingness to work together did help.”

Adara laughs. “Remember that one proposal?” and her fellow Lanterns join her. “They wanted each house to look like a gigantic battery,” Hermione explains to her friends. “A big, green, glowing battery hanging in space.”

Wally snickers. “That seems a little like overcompensating.”

“I know, right?” his girlfriend agrees. “Or gratuitously intimidating.”

“Tacky,” her girlfriend adds.

“I was going with structurally unsound across tertiary stress points, susceptibility to compression fractures, and a high risk of vibrational feedback loops,” Lena says. “Form should follow function, not non-applicable aesthetics.”

The pair study Lena, and Lena studies back. “Not bad,” Adara says finally. “Hermione, if she ever gets a ring, point her our way. She might be too good to waste in the field.” Spoken like a true engineer, Lena thinks. Plus, wearing a tool that can form any tool imaginable? Utter catnip.

Suddenly, both engineers cock their heads. Lena sees Hermione doing the same. “And with that, we must depart,” Adara continues. “Reports of irregular power surges on multiple levels.”

“Truly, our work is never done,” Palagua says with a toothy grin. “May your spanners span the stars, Lantern Granger and friends!”

Three infinity symbols form, and the pair dives through a hatchway on the flooring.

Lena nods. Bugs, as she’d expected.

Hermione gets back to showing off the area, guiding them to where she and her fellow Lanterns can reside. Quarters for their guests and visiting Lanterns too. Her own room is signified by the ‘2814’ marked above the door, or what she says Lanterns would see as that number. For Lena, it’s a collection of circles, bars, and triangles.

The door itself opens as they near, and Lena’s stunned for a moment when they enter. As they’re now in the living room of a cozy Swiss chalet.

Spruce log walls, icicles dangling from windows that display snowcapped mountains. Fragrant hot cocoa steaming on the desk, fireplace cracking with flames. Entries into what look to be a bedroom and a kitchenette on opposite sides.

“We did summer hols in France and the Alps,” she says. “Rubbish at skiing; love the ambiance.”

Wally inspects what looks like a front door. Cautiously opening it allows a cold breeze to flood in, and Lena spies a wintery wonderland outside. “All holograms, matter rearrangements, force fields, and environmental deceptions,” Hermione remarks, “just like the fireplace and everything else in the room.”

The long desk holds heavily populated bookshelves, several large monitors, and what Lena guesses might be a Lantern-style keyboard. This isn’t merely a vacation room, clearly. Well furnished, or well replicated, with pictures and paintings. Lena recognises many of the people in the photographs waving wands and wearing capes. There’s an otter plushie on the sofa, and from the look between the Lantern and the Flash she can guess its secret origin.

“My current setting,” Hermione adds. “It can change as desired, like the wallpaper on a computer.” Her ring brightens, and the suddenly barren room turns dull grey. A moment later, they’re back in Switzerland. Kara appears to be taking mental notes, and Lena wonders what Supergirl’s room in the Fortress will look like on their next trip.

Hermione has to pull them out, as Wally and Kara might be itching for a snowball fight. She grabs one, Lena takes the second, and they laughingly make an exit. A decametre away, what Lena guesses is the adjoining room now has an open door, and they can hear voices inside. Seems Hermione isn’t the only Lantern visiting today.

“Arisia!” Hermione yells and knocks glowing green knuckles beside the entrance while Wally and Kara grin. Lena’s heard of Hermione’s ‘Sister Lantern’ and has been interested in meeting her.

A straw-blonde head pops out of the doorway, eyes wide on her golden face. “Hermione?” Lena thinks the pointed ears could be twitching, or it might be the glee the Lantern has. The hugging isn’t at all like the greetings Hermione’d done with the engineer Lanterns. Kara gets one, Wally too, and Lena an enthusiastic forearm grip as Kara introduces her.

She’s also not alone. Her parents step out in you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me bell-bottom slacks, and Lena would swear neither look more than ten years older than Arisia. They’ve met Wally before, heard of the Last Daughter of Krypton, and as for the third…? “Baseline human,” Lena says. “No frills.”

“No frills, only genius!” Kara rejoins firmly. “I’d bet she’s the smartest person on this rock.” That garners a closer examination from the elder Rrabs. “Kara might be exaggerating,” Lena adds while gripping her love’s hand. “I don’t have extranormal abilities.” She is, however, carrying a variety of disguised tech to emulate a good many of them. Ever since the holiday fun at the lake, she’s never left home without them.

They look to Wally and Hermione, who solemnly nod. There might be further discussion except Arisia’s rolling her eyes and dragging in Hermione, who drags the rest to follow. The wallpaper inside is filled with flora, and Lena sees a few that could be from her world. The rest are right out of fantasy illustrations or animated movies. They’re moving, subtly swaying while emitting soft, dulcet harmonies. Hermione catches Lena’s eye. “It’s glorious on their world. Entire choirs in the forests.”

“We’ve been sorting out my stuff,” Arisia explains. “So it’s me, you, and…” her ring projects a small green panel. “Tomar, Kor, Venizz, Mazzille.”

“I didn’t think we’d see Kor until the big opening,” her fellow Lantern replies. “He sounded pretty busy last month.”

Lena’s finding it fascinating to hear people like these talking of their extraordinary lives in mundane terms. The talk turns to Hermione’s ‘call box,’ and the Rrabs have questions. Kara had spoken of it, and Lena gets that it’s a Big Thing. The science behind it seems fairly straightforward, even if Kara disagrees with her analysis. Hermione’s to get a second unit installed in the station, likely in her room. Arisia’s due for one as well.

The Rrab family will be occupied here for a while, so after agreements to meet later the Earth Squad heads out. Hermione points out a large doorway at the ground level to a recreation centre, a much smaller version of what’s on Oa. Like their rooms, it can replicate sunny beaches or glacial mountains. “Plus it allows for immersive, narrative entertainments. Like a movie you can be part of.”

Lena knows of roleplaying games, Wally too, and they explain them to their significant others. A room like this for running a campaign? Lena’s ready to dig out her college-year books and immediately schedule a session.

Afterward there’s the Conference Room, which… looks like a conference room. Lena notices Kara and Wally have similar thoughts, and Hermione notices it too. “I get it. Rather plebeian, yeah?” She pats the round table. “I pushed hard for this in the alpha design, and I was quite thrilled my own sector agreed with the intention. This is where Lanterns can gather, share information, share issues, become more than singular agents. What Arisia and I do, except across ten sectors and not two. No high-tech props needed. Just us.”

There’s more, Hermione says, and not part of the tour’s itinerary. “Such as the holding cells.” Lena nods; if this is a frontier outpost, the sheriffs would have jails. “Temporary confinement until a representative of a harmed world or people arrive to take custody.”

The station is almost completely automated, she adds as they leave. “It wouldn’t have been practical elsewise. Next up’s the really neat part. You’re going to love it!”

Just as they leave the lobby, one of the monitor screens pulses five times with insistent bursts of static. A few seconds later, a second screen does likewise. No one is there to notice.

Lena can almost feel it before they arrive. There’s a vibration as the tube’s pod deposits the quartet, and she can see why as the doors separate. People, all living loudly. Aside from the languages and physiogamies, it feels incredibly like open bazaars on Earth mixed into big tech conventions. Also a portion of that comic book convention the foursome, plus the magical (magical!) couple, had done last year.

The commercial districts of the station, Hermione calls it. Commercial, and community. A wide, circular belt, a concourse of maybe thirty metres down the middle, multiple tiers, and lined with… everything. Not particularly crowded, and that’s expected; Hermione’d said roughly half of the locations are occupied. And plenty of room for expansion beyond what’s available now, as it’s a large asteroid.

The original plan had been limited to only Lanterns and guests attending during the pre-opening timeframe. It’d been vetoed later in discussions, Hermione mentions. More fun this way. Also a better test, Lena thinks.

Hermione stays in uniform. Which Lena also feels is correct; it shows the investiture of Corps in this effort. As Hermione says often enough, she’s their Lantern. People know her and call out by name as she leads the group along. Walking at times, taking slidewalks at times. Every now and then, hopping in one of the transportation tubes that run through the asteroid like an arterial network to reach distant sections.

There’s a lot, and this is the station unfilled. Numerous kiosks provide interactive location and other information. Several locations feature that peculiar lettering Lena’d seen earlier, some use representational images. As she’d read about in Medieval towns, when shops had used depictions of what they were selling or offering. Shoeshops had drawings of shoes, candlemakers had candles, and so on. That had been for a pre-literate society; here it’s for hyper-literate societies that are awaiting a common literacy.

Luckily, they have Hermione to identify goods and services. Bespoke starships and commonplace foodstuffs. Travel agencies, rare and exotic wares, information brokerages, messenger services, amusements, musical entertainments, and restaurants. Genetic codes and scanning devices. Crafting, art, construction, and similar companies advertising their prowesses.

There’s the community side too. Even if they have little to trade, there’re spaces that allow peoples to interact with faraway worlds without needing to fly there. Zones where worlds can conduct trade talks and negotiations. As Hermione puts it, “Where they can stop being the kinds of idiots that require me to step in.” Lena imagines her friend’s version of negotiated settlements carries a Big Ring.

Equidistant along the equator are even larger sections, dedicated neighbourhoods for each sector. Including regional offices, of a sort; Hermione’s readied the one for 2814 with help from its residents. It’s where a Lantern can sit down with various planetary representatives. Lena sees Hermione’s eyes brighten at the thought.

Building a galactic community, one sector at a time. Lena can feel it happening all around her.

It’s more than they can see in a day, that’s obvious. Likely they’ll miss what’s described as a magnificent gathering hall for the entire house. Wally brings up a state fair, and Hermione giggles. Kara promises Lena they’ll attend next year’s show.

Hundreds of kilometres below their feet, something older than the asteroid has been waging war on rock, and now on circuitry. And winning.

Life continues to exist. Action must be taken.

They take a break in a bistro that Hermione swears by, and “yes, they handle human biologies quite well, relax.” She does the selections, and Kara nabs a table for the tapas-like dishes soon to arrive. The items have unfamiliar (of course) yet delicious flavours, as does the pitcher of sparkling mauve liquid. Kudos to their local Lantern and food critic.

Hermione’s own dining is stalled as she’s been discovered by reptilian people from the world of Caudatia. Wally explains how she’s famous there beyond just being a Lantern. Her own brood family evidently couldn’t make it today and promises to be at the grand opening.

That opens it up for more to approach their Lantern. Expressions of thanks, messages of support, descriptions of what’s been going on since her last call. Hermione’s damn good at faces and names, Lena observes. Or the ring is helping. The attention blends to the three people with her, and yes, they also live on Hermione’s planet. Kara doesn’t lie about her own origins, and that brings extra attention. Lena’s happy to enjoy the oddly tasting and textured appetisers, and to watch the woman she loves be at ease. In a better universe, Kara’s own people would be here too. They’d be everywhere.

It's a wonderful feeling. Sitting back as a portion of the galaxy promenades past her. Certainly beats her earlier plans, speccing out RFPs on the new site.

Wally’s the first of them to notice when it starts.

Everywhere around them, kiosks are filling with static. Shouts of tech failure diminish as the salt-and-pepper noise resolves into view. A robotic humanoid head encased in crimson armour, with a pale blue faceplate and burning white eyes, arises on each screen. Its words rumble over the station.

No Man Escapes the Manhunters!

Her first belief is that this seems over the top for a commercial. Lena’s not even certain what they are selling. The second is wondering why three people at the table have grown intensely serious. She’s about to ask and Hermione cuts her off, on her feet and talking into her ring. Green heads appear in front of her, three of which Lena’s met today.

“Yo! You seein’ this?” Adara says. There’re sounds of mechanical chaos in the background, sounds that Lena’s familiar with. “We thought we had this purged, just random deposits of piezoelectric crystals slicing into the cyberneural conduits.”

“Clearly not,” a Lantern with avian features dryly replies. The screens have returned to static; the people around them are puzzled.

“We’re all seeing it Adara,” Hermione jumps in. “We need to stop it, and fast. We’re surrounded by civilians under our protection.” Kara and Wally might be about to bristle at the label until Hermione looks their way, and to Lena. Not now, the Lantern mouths at them. Not just Lantern Granger, this is Field Commander Granger in action.

A female with a spectacular ponytail closes her eyes for a moment. “I propose a rendezvous at Level 47, Juncture 81-Delta,” and a fresh hologram of the sector house arrives displaying a blinking point within. “The tube network should suffice; no need to establish fresh tunnels.”

The avian nods. “Everyone prepares tactical strike nodes by then, agreed?”

“Somebody needs to stay topside, Tomar” the second engineer, Palagua, interjects. “Get ships undocked, warn off any inbound. Prep for evacuations. My job; you kids have fun.”

“And let Oa know!” Hermione shouts, Arisia a second behind her.

“Fly safe, Lanterns,” Tomar declares, and the heads disappear one by one. Hermione looks to her ring, and Lena hears a calm voice from it say “74%” and that must be acceptable based on Hermione’s expression.

Wally reacts first. “Seven of you. Will that be enough?”

“It will have to be, won’t it?” she replies. Lena can tell she’s steeling herself. This isn’t feeling like a commercial anymore.

Kara settles it. “What can we do?”

“Stay here,” Hermione says, and her eyes turn wishes into orders. “Stay safe. Help where you can.” She pulls them in for a quick hug. “Love you all so much.” Then she’s glowing and airborne, racing towards a transport tube portal on the opposite side of the concourse.

Lena watches her vanish. “Where’s she going?”

Wally’s at her side, also watching. “To work.” She can hear the pride in his tone. “C’mon, she’s got her job, we’ve got ours.”

The job begins… quietly. All three keeping a lookout for disasters around them. Lena knows her lady’s seeing across the entire station as well. Possibly checking on her bestie too. “So who’s the blue boy?” Lena finally asks. “What’s so scary?

Wally gives a low whistle. “This would go better back in Hermione’s ski lodge with a fire going. We’re talking old school horror story, Lena. Like millions of years ago.”

Yep, it’s pretty horrific, she discovers between Wally and Kara. Back then, Hermione’s bosses, the Guardians, had decided to do something about evil, as in eliminating it. So they built epically powerful robots to carry out their will. The Manhunters, designed to battle against injustice. Long before Lantern rings; these had only an energy pistol and a battery to charge it. And they’d done an outstanding job, for a pretty long time too. Then they started doing too good of a job.

No infraction became too small; no punishment became too severe. Implacable, without empathy, without deviation. Faultless, as they could not admit fault in themselves. They’d begun seeing injustice in all living beings. Kara had spelled their evolved intentions out. “Evil is the result of emotions. Emotions arise from life. Therefore, life should be eliminated in order to eliminate evil.” Seems pretty logical.

The Guardians had deemed this experiment to be faulty and thus terminated. The Manhunters had, naturally, disagreed. Violently. “It was across the stars, the entire galaxy. Entire systems ripped apart and burned. In the end the Manhunters were destroyed. After that, the Guardians had a second go, this time with living agents. Like Hermione.” Wow. There’s history, and then there’s history. Definitely a horror story.

Lena feels a tremor, and she’s not the only one.

“Everybody assumed they were long gone,” Wally continues with eyes on the floor, “until we found that wasn’t true.” Earth had encountered just one of them. “It KO’d Superman. Blew through the League like tissue paper. Nearly broke Hal’s ring in two.” He looks down. “If there’s one here, eight Lanterns could be enough.” He seems confident. Mostly.

“We’ll be the second wave if not,” Kara asserts. With that, the lights go out. Followed by gravity doubling. The lights flicker, as if swarms of insects cloud them, and gravity recovers to half normal. Next a subsequent tremor, heavier this time.

Time to go to work. First a comms check; Wally and Kara have their League earpieces. Lena’s built her own. They’re five by five. Hermione… is busy doing her job. If they need to talk, they will, says Kara.

Wally salutes the ladies with a tap to the forehead and is gone in a cascade of golden lightning. Kara’s departure is better as it involves a kiss. “You heard the Lantern. Stay safe.”

“You too. You’re on reserve sunlight; get back here if you start to fade!” Her lady heads near the ceiling and flies opposite from Wally’s direction.

Lena readies a few toys. The watch on her left hand unfurls into a force field projector. A ring on her right charges for the inset cutting laser, as super-rings seem to be the popular fad. A touch to her boots energises tiny jets, enough for a few minutes of flight. Reversing her belt displays the controls to operate them all, including the augmentations in slacks for high-speed sprints. Finally, Lena activates her vest, and a golden glow surrounds her. Enough to deflect projectiles, or it had in testing.

She gets appreciative appraisals for her gear from people studying the hirsute primitive mammal in their midst. Yay, humans! Until a kiosk sparks and bursts into flames. The cutting beam severs its power; a force field suffocates the fire. Nobody injured. That changes when gravity reverses, and seconds later reverse back. She tries and can’t catch everyone around her.

As bad as this is, it could be worse, and Lena curses herself for even thinking it. They still have air. They still have heat.

Of course, that’s the cue for the air to become still and stagnant. Damn you, Murphy and your law.

“Kara?” she calls.

“Yeah, it’s out here too. I’ll be fine for another hour or so if it cuts out completely. Luckily, there’s a shop selling O₂ rebreathers. I’m making them an offer on their entire inventory.”

“Not so good here,” from Wally. He sounds out of breath, and Lena’s checks her canister is still on her belt. She’ll be needing it in about five minutes at this rate.

Damn. There’s a kiosk further down, and it’s fissuring. Followed by a second that bursts into flames just as the ceiling lights shatter. There’s a massive tremor, and everyone around her is knocked to their lower appendages.

Plenty of power in her nano-laced thermocouples. Back to work, first with force fields to lift fallen ceiling fragments and pull away those trapped underneath. Lena’s jetting to deal with sparking power lines when there’s a pulse in her ear and Hermione’s on the phone and Lord that’s a welcome voice. “Hey, is everyone alright?” Lena can hear loud, structural distress as well.

“Hon?” Wally’s short of breath for a different reason now.

“All good. Wait, hold one.” Hermione departs, and the Field Commander re-emerges. “Mazzile, I need a support pylon vertical to the one Arisia put up. There! Make it two, if you please. Venizz and Kor, so we’re sure, could you both send macro-phase pulses down... perfect, ta!” And their friend returns. “Hey. We’re all good. We’ll be back up in a tic.”

Hallelujah. Lena’s grinning as she fires the boots towards the wreckage. Superheroics isn’t too bad. So long as costumes aren’t mandatory.

Wally arrives, less lightning and more a blur. Kara as well, none too steady in her flight. Lena herself is okay; she’d given her canister to a family whose species has greater oxygen demands. They’ve set up a triage station outside a medical supplies store, and thankfully the staff know their wares.

All three, and those around them, improve as a breeze returns. They improve even more as six Lanterns emerge from the tube station. Hermione is cradling her left arm in a green sling, Arisia is floating to keep one twisted leg off the ground. The rest similarly look battle-worn and bleeding remarkable shades of liquids.

Six? “Hermione, where’s–”

“Adara’s fine. She and Palaqua kicked us out, said we were getting in the way.” The six share a chuckle, several wincing as they do.

Wally performs a visual inspection as Hermione glowers, and Lena keeps back a grin. “You got it?”

“We got it,” she replies. “And it wasn’t even a Manhunter.”

“… Explain?” asks Kara.

“It was the ghost of a Manhunter.”

“That’s not helping, hon.”

“Nor is it accurate, Lantern Granger.”

Hermione exhales sharply, puffing sweaty hair from her forehead. “Fine, Tomar, it wasn’t a ghost.” She gives an exaggerated wink to her friends.

The tale is regaled while introductions are made and first aid is applied. Technically, not a ghost. Closer to a virus, and not that either. “Probably what was left of the Manhunter originally fell out of hyperspace at near lightspeed, smashed a proto-planet or two. What we’re sitting in,” and Arisia thumps the ground, “formed around it.”

“Its construction degraded, crushed into the surrounding rock as the asteroid formed.” Tomar hesitates. “For lack of a better term, a residue of its mentality endured. Whatever drove its programming insinuated itself into the surrounding rock and crystals over millennia. Then more recently into power circuitry and data channels.”

Lantern Vray, who resembles a manta ray with arms, waves a fin. “It was a Manhunter in all but the body. It hated life. Life came here, and restored its purpose. No corporeal form, so it occupied the sector house. I would call that a haunting.” Lena’s never seen a mantra ray huff definitively before. Fascinating.

“A ghost in the machine. Or of a machine,” Lantern Venizz, she of the awesome ponytail, muses. “A subject for supplementary introspection. We had engineers; would exorcists have also been effective?”

“And we needed our engineers,” Hermione asserts. It had been a different type of battle, from the Lanterns’ description. Locate infected crystal silicates and metallic strata, driving out the contamination through their lighted willpower, all while the superstructures and support framework fought against them. At the centre of the manifestation, it had gotten painful during the final cauterisations. Power cells rupturing, megawatts of electrical arcs, all hell breaking loose from what Lena can tell.

And this had been from just an imprint of a Manhunter, not even a shred of actual machinery or weaponry. Lena really, really hopes they’re all fully destroyed. Even dead they’re a threat.

Once patched up, the Lanterns are back on the clock. Plenty to do, plenty of people to help. Systems come back online, the kiosks notably as they’re used for reporting injuries and damages requiring a Lantern’s attention.

It could have been worse, seems a common refrain.

The Corps symbol appears on the screens soon after, informing viewers that the Lanterns would be addressing the situation at the Great Hall in an hour. The assembly to be broadcast as well.

Well now. It looks like Lena’s going to see it after all.

An hour later, it’s SRO inside. And yes, it’s magnificent for the size alone. Bigger than football stadiums, easily room for over a hundred thousand. Floating screens help seeing what, or who, is at the centre. In this case, six Lanterns hovering metres above the flooring.

Lantern guests are nearby on the ground, such as Lena, Wally, Kara, and Arisia’s parents Fentara and Marata. If Wally’s been proud before, there’s no comparison to his face now. Moreso when he sees that Hermione’s been chosen to make the address.

She’s good at it, too. Honest, direct, and not hesitant of where the fault lies. Hermione tells of the Manhunters, to start. “A grave mistake was made millions of years ago. An error that haunts the Corps to this day.” Literally, Lena contemplates.

Hermione turns her gaze around the spectators, so no one’s left out. “We believed them extinguished from the galaxy. What was here wasn’t one. It was the remnant of one long since destroyed.” She recounts the corrupted determination, of infallibility turning fallible and horrendous. How an echo tried to eliminate this population, and how it failed.

Hermione also keeps it short, which Lena knows few given a podium can manage. “We’ve removed the threat. This station, your sector house, is safe and secure.” She pauses, perfect timing and finishes with a subtle shift in her register. “We hope you will stay. We hope to regain your trust. It’s an honour for us to serve as your Lanterns, and we thank you.”

Lena wonders if she’s gotten training in this as well. Not from her Corps. From her League, perhaps?

It does the job. Not what Lena would call a thunderous eruption of cheers; close enough for a populace that might have died an hour earlier. There’s a large group in the crowds, several hundred who are enthusiastically waving signs and banners with those symbols above Hermione’s door. So ‘2814’ plus six symbols she can’t decipher. Hermione must know of them, as she’s happily waving back.

(Later, Hermione reveals what the six symbols spell out. Grassroots support melding with regional patriotism; anyone else and Lena’d suspect they are running for office. Or establishing a monarchy.)

Tomar points at two figures high in the rafters, practically invisible, and his voice booms over the loudness. “There are two Lanterns who have been instrumental in building this, our new home. Perhaps with encouragement they will light up and join us?” They get it, and they do, and six become eight.

The affair lasts longer than anticipated, from what Lena can tell. In a good way, of course.

Not every attendee is noticed. There’s someone present, someone Hermione should have spotted, who leaves with a delighted smile. Soon, she thinks. Soon.

Epilogues

“…darkness, Green Lantern’s Light!”
“That felt good.”
“It felt right. Thank you, our friends and relations, for joining us.”
“Next time, all of ten, no twelve, of us. In the Hall, with everyone. Agreed?”

“I cannot conceive of your loss. The Manhunters are a shame of the Guardians. Krypton is a shame of the Corps.”
“You weren’t the Lantern then, Lantern Re. Tomar. Krypton itself was also to blame, maybe more than its Lantern.”
“Irrelevant. It is now my sector, and I carry the failure. Every Lantern that follows me will do so as well. The Corps owes both you and your cousin a debt that cannot ever be repaid in full.”
“Hermione said pretty much the same.”
“And?”
“I told her what I’m telling you. Work to prevent the next Krypton from happening.”
“That we shall, Kara Zor-El.”

“Hey, Risi, we’re heading out. See you soon, if not at the opening.”
“Oh, I thought I told you. I’m not leaving, I’m moving in.”
“No, you most certainly didn’t mention that.”
“Well, I am. About time I got a place of my own, according to mater and pater. And me too, I guess. I’ve been living at the palace for thirty years past majority.”

“No, not all could be here. We hadn’t really planned for formal attendance aside from the real opening.”
“Isn’t that kinda tempting fate, having all ten Lanterns lined up and everybody knowing it?”
“Hmmm. My rings says ‘FAFO’ is a valid response? Ah, I get it. Tomar responded similarly. ‘Anybody who thinks they can take on ten Lanterns is welcome to try.’”
“Couldn’t have said it better myself. Pleasure to meet you, Lantern Kor.”
“And to you, Human Wally.”

“If only I could write this up for my travel blog, Hermione.”
“Hmmm. Kara, have I ever told you about The Green Lantern's Guide to the Galaxy?”

“That had been a lot more than a mall opening, K. Thanks.”
“Sorry for putting you in mortal peril, babe. You really rocked it. You’d rock it more in a costume, you know.”
“There’s only room for one costume in this relationship and you already have dozens.”
“I left ‘dozens’ years ago, and dozens you haven’t seen yet. I haven’t broken out the black outfit I had before going public, for one.”
“That’s what you wore when secretly helping Kal, right?”
“My super-accident prone cousin, yeah. That’d almost been a full-time job… Hey, what’s wrong?”
“You’ve lost so much, and you still have him. Hermione and Arisia have their folks, Wally’s got his aunt. And for a Corps of solitary individuals, Hermione’s peeps are a family, of sorts. Not only her and Arisia, who feel like sisters. It’s gotten me thinking…
“Yeah?”
“The Kierans have always been amazing… and I think I’d like to learn about my own family roots. Not hunt anyone down; maybe let them know if they’re willing, I’m willing.”
“Your call, babe. It can’t change the woman I love.”

Chapter Text

It’s a full table today. Which is always desired, and rarely achievable. For the original seven, it’s a touch mandatory. Superman. Batman. Wonder Woman. The Martian Manhunter. Aquaman. The Flash. And Green Lantern. Currently wearing the ring, a certain Hermione Granger.

Kara is here too, as has become standard lately. She’s already considered part of the core team.

Plenty are with her. The rest of the actives, from the Hawkcouple to Ray on his floating miniature chair. Plus the newer members Cameron, Tora, and Bea, all of whom are soon to be moving to active status. Regular reservists like Zatanna, Reddy, and Rex. Barely enough space for them all.

They’re reviewing member reports and Katar’s down to the last of them. Namely, the manifestation of a Manhunter. 14,000 light years away, yet still.

“Just to confirm, Hermione, your little blue bosses don’t have any other wacky wind-up toys from a couple of million years ago ready to pop up?”

Hah bloody hah, Ollie. “No. Not to my knowledge. Frankly, I’d been shocked to learn there’d been a Manhunter present on Earth.” It seems all attention is on her, so Hermione continues. “You’ve all read my report on the ghost. Questions?”

“Not a ghost,” comes a near growl. “Electronic aftermath. A binary residue.”

“I grew up with ghosts, Bruce.” She keeps her voice level. “One was a professor at school; several were good friends who fought at my side. I fought this and have no compunction in labelling it a ghost.”

It looks as if everyone’s indeed read her report, as they’re now turning to Wally and Kara.

“Don’t look at me, Kara and I were tourists that day.”

Kara, Oa love her, unzips her red Supergirl jacket to reveal A Manhunter Haunted My Sector House and All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt. She adds amidst the laughter that Lena already has hers, and Wally’s and Hermione’s are in their rooms. Even Bruce grins at it, though Hermione’s certain the discussion isn’t over. Lantern Venizz had a raised a good many philosophical and technological points herself which he might find interesting.

The questions Hermione does get refer more to the house itself, and Katar firmly slides those to the next agenda topic of expansion plans. It’s become a standing final item.

He touches a portion of his screen, and a hologram appears above the centre of the table. Blueprints of a vertical core with multiple spoked rings around the axis. Their new satellite facility. Which needs a proper name, Hermione believes.

They’ve all seen it, and now they see it together. Larger engines that their previous satellite HQ to allow for rapid redeployment in the lower orbit. Hangars for shuttles and the Hol’s spacer, along with teleporters that can reach both Earth and Moon. Proper lifeboats, an insistence from multiple members. Heavy defensive shielding and force fields, enough that it willshould survive an uncontrolled re-entry.

Accommodation for weapon emplacements, mostly along the primary ring. No armaments mounted, particularly none pointed down. Yet. Arguments are ongoing. An action item for next Chair to resolve, and again the attention turns to Hermione way.

The brilliant team of Stewart, Steel, Holt, and Kord as lead interior designers. Hermione had also offered tips from sector house construction. Kara and Clark are providing automated construction aids adapted from those in the Fortress.

It’s going to be less spacious than the Tower, with fewer support personnel. No dedicated quarters as this won’t be where anyone lives, or overnights. It’s where they work.

“It’s our outpost. Not our home,” as Barbara sums up. Motion carries to proceed as per the submitted diagrams and fabrication schedule.

The design for the ground facility is underway. ‘Embassy’ is the name, regardless of if it technically doesn’t become one. The location remains the thorny issue. New York City would be ideal, except where? Washington, DC smacks of too close an association with the US government. The American West Coast could be shoehorning into Titans territory. Europe might be too European; picking a spot there raises its own set of issues (and Hermione’s not going to push for London). Also, most believe it would be a second embassy to go there after the first.

Talking is only leading to more talking, and Katar draws it to a close. His meetings never run over, which everyone appreciates as Hermione observes.

He looks over his screen, types a series of notes. “Assignments roster is out, minutes to follow. Both will be posted in the break room, along with the updated chores wheel. It’s been an honour, as always. And with that…” He rises and puts out a hand to Hermione. “Green Lantern, you have the perch.”

Applause, wide smiles, and a few cheers as he shakes her hand. A figure in the corner shadows tips his fedora to her. Then there are only shadows, then no shadows at all.

Right. It’s now her job to make sure the League runs smoothly for the next three months. Among her usual obligations and primary job.

Hermione’s life will be getting busy. Scratch that, busier.

It should be fine. Shouldn’t it? Aside from not being ever-present on this world. Not even most of the time anymore. The call box will help, she hopes.

Hermione’s been doing the reading, of course. There’s plenty to be found on how to run meetings. Preparing and following agendas. Producing useful minutes. Assignments, both issuing and tracking them. Unfortunately, most are similarly desired outcomes in different packages.

For chairing the League, there’s understandably less published material. Thankfully, they have internally developed guides for positional responsibilities. Many revolve around ensuring the tasks necessary to maintain the Watchtower are getting done, along with administrative chores concerning the support staff.

As for the League itself… Reviewing and monitoring training logs and after-action reports. Ditto for those from the Titans and Young Justice (and sending League copies to Dick and Reddy). Overseeing the standing subcommittees for Intelligence, Threat Assessments, and New Talent. Monitoring the varied study groups and promoting attendance.

The calibre of the membership does make it easier. As does knowing you’ll get your own slot in the rotation, so it’s best to do your best for the current person. Plus, saving the Earth, an excellent motivator.

Knowing she’d be assuming the role, which she’d learned of in orientation, had led Hermione to carefully study each Chairperson in action. As expected, Bruce excels at this. Diana as well. Ollie, and it’s easy to forget he runs a major corporation when not fighting crime. Wally only appears to be letting extraneous chatting get out of control. As per those books, each runs them in their own fashion, and yet each makes it work. With assistance; see the note concerning membership calibre above.

Hermione has her own remembrances to call upon as well, and those of her school friends. Harry is an inspirational leader, brilliant with magic and teaching it; he’d been not as skilled at running the DA meetings. Dumbledore… the less said the better. Keeping secrets and providing enigmatic direction won’t save the planet; almost didn’t save Britain. She’d also heard of how Riddle had overseen his forces. A low bar to clear; so long as Hermione doesn’t kill anyone, she should be safe.

The fellow ladies of Book Club are there for her with accurate and practical advice. Via sarcastic quips and barbed critiques, naturally. They’d started weeks ago, while discussing the recent bestseller Tugging on the Cape: An Examination of Superheroes and Society. The author seems to have inside (and accurate) information, and no one in the community is fessing up as to being a source. So far.

The first week goes well, which is wonderful as her second week features an important event to attend for the day. Ideally, just the single day. As you never know with this sport.

Green Lantern slides her status to Off Duty, as does the Flash. Hermione Granger and Wally West head for Bulgaria, and the Quidditch World Cup of United States vs Britain. Notably, G. Weasley (soon to be G. Potter) will be Chasing for Hermione’s country. Wally promises to root for her regardless.

Hermione’s wearing a new ensemble of tweed jacket and trousers, high boots, and proudly displaying her Union Jack shawl. Then explains to Wally why she’s calling it her Ranger Wear. He himself goes with shades of grey, which does look edible on him. She’s got her gifted lightning bolt earrings along with the golden boots. He’s sporting a black sports coat that had been a gift from her.

An utterly isolated area for touchdown. They aren’t routinely Obliviating Muggles anymore, according to Ron. Ta, Kings.

A lovely and unexpected surprise greets them as they approach, as Viktor’s there for Herm-own-ninny! And to meet this Fastman Wall-ee of whom he’s heard so much. Also seen so much on television, racing alongside the Зелен фенер. Viktor is in charge administering the Cup but demanded a few minutes to greet an old friend. He promises to join Champions and Hostages after the match for the toast, before leaping on a broom and flying back to work.

Hermione’s explaining her transfigured name when she spots Sam and the Howell family. They make a detour to briefly chat about their daughter’s progress and school plans. Ms Granger is kindly offering tutoring, particularly now that the youngest Howell has at last gotten over that embarrassing ‘green magic’ phase and is properly using a wand. Hermione says there may be a second trip to the remote castle before classes start, and Sam struggles to keep her feet on the ground.

Then back to hunting for the Weasley tent, and there it is. Arthur welcomes them, and a moment later Molly does as well. Fleur and Bill are inside, as are Andromeda and Teddy.

George and Angelina drop in while they’re here, and Molly says they’d just missed Percy, Audrey, and their children. Charlie can’t arrive till tomorrow, so he’s wishing for a marathon match. Gabrielle should be here and isn’t, as she’s hanging out with the cooler, older kids.

Which will be Hermione’s and Wally’s destination to rendezvous with her schoolmates. They agree to also ensure Gabby’s respecting the local drinking age, quite lower than in France.

The Survivor House tent is straightforward to find. It’s got the most crowds around it.

Bother. Somebody must have spotted Harry and Ron, or Draco and Pansy, or all four. Hermione pulls down her Trilby and hopes her hair stays concealed.

Unlike the gawkers, the wards allow entry for the former witch and Muggle. Ta. The gang’s all here, along with Gabby. Only a small glass of wine in her hand, so Hermione postpones the talk until she’s finished it. Or perhaps her latest idol L'éclair can do so.

Hermione hears an appraising ‘hmmm’ from behind. “Not terrible, Granger,” Pansy says. Who herself looks like she’d stepped off the cover of Witch Weekly. “You as well, Wally. I could make a comment on how you’re rubbing off on her,” and at that Daphne, who’d just joined them, smacks her shoulder. “But I won’t.”

“I can’t take you anywhere, can I?” Daphne bemoans. Then leads Hermione and Wally to where Neville and Blaise are mixing and dispensing beverages.

All of Survivor House, and Gabby’s visibly thrilled to be amongst them. By mutual agreement, nobody brings up the years leading up to their Eighth; the youngest Delacour had spent most of the war safely ensconced in an ancestral cottage deep in the Morvan forests. Talk is firmly kept to current matters. Susan mentions the day spent with a not entirely hapless apprentice, then closing a bakehouse tied to most of London’s illegal potions. Padma raises an eyebrow and casually relates recovering a set of priceless tomes of magical lore that had been seemingly stolen from the courier in mid-Apparition. They offer toasts to each other.

Dean and Seamus are to be moving in together, which gains a second round of toasts. Ron and Harry, who has excellent composure despite his fiancé’s activities tonight, have smashed a budding group of Dark Magic practitioners eager to resurrect Riddle. Or anyone else; they hadn’t been fussy so long as blood would be spilt.

Hannah’s curious as what Hermione’s been up to, as she hasn’t been in the Muggle newspapers. She starts, then comes back. How do you begin to describe Apokolips? Or Darkseid? Wally jumps in with the tale of Solomon Grundy versus six holiday vacationers. Hermione squeezes his hand in thanks as Harry takes a bow. Dean, who’s been buying each edition of Jane’s All the World’s Superheroes ever since finding one of his housemates is one of the biggest, is wowed. Luna’s happy to hear Kara’s found love, “and right on schedule.”

Dean nearly falls over when Wally shares her most recent news. It’s sure to be in the news shortly, it always comes out no matter the League never announcing it, so why not share it here? Their friend, his own love, has just become the new Justice League Chairperson. Also, she’d fought a haunted space station. The latter gets a great deal more reaction.

They’d likely still be talking of ghosts except it’s an hour till the match starts and best to make for their seats. Which means braving the crowds. To hell with rubberneckers; they link arms, ‘heroes’ and ‘villains’ united, and march for the stands.

Harry parts the masses as if advancing on the Red Sea. Pansy in his right hand, Ron in the left. Draco and Hermione are directly behind them, drawing gasps of their own. It’s the only time when she’s recognised in this society, when she’s with Ron and Harry and people remember there had been three in the Trio. As for Wally, it’s possible everyone assumes he’s a long-lost Weasley.

The pre-game ceremonies are astounding, featuring a flyover of Thunderbirds, the mascots of the American team. Hermione can only imagine how much magic is being used to keep them undetected.

The game itself is… rather a letdown. Fifteen minutes in, after Ginny’d scored two goals, Britain suddenly (almost accidentally) catches the snitch. A good many concessions stand operators moan in despair, nearly drowning out the Anglophilic cheering.

The group, including the victorious Chaser, refill their tent. Drinks, chatting, chilling. Gabby cuts herself off on her own, showing more maturity than most of the schoolmates Hermione remembers. Wally’s telling Blaise of the LA nightclub owner’s former occupation, and Blaise nearly drops a bottle of the ’45. Ginny is repeating her scores, waving her hands about and levitating formations of corks to replicate manoeuvres, to an appreciative Cho. Harry has that besotted look to him, and he’d better. Hermione’s enjoying her butterbeer and enjoying the peace.

Viktor drops in, and Fleur a few minutes later. To gather Gabbrielle, Hermione thinks, then rethinks. Ron comes over, then Cho. The last is Harry.

They shift to a quieter room, and he pours for everyone.

To Cedric.

The next day, the call box goes off. A strong, single pulse on her ring in the middle of the night, and it’s Hermione’s turn to leave a kiss on Wally’s forehead before he registers that she’s gone. Out of her flat and within seconds shifting into uniform as she punctures the clouds. Thank the Guardians she’d charged her ring last night, which had dazzled Gabby. Her older sister and Viktor too.

She’s at Caudatia Prima within a minute and can see the reason for the alert. A sizable squadron of warships, moving at a sizable fraction of lightspeed and directly towards inhabited worlds. They must have come out of hyperspace in the emptiness of interstellar space and begun accelerating ever since. Far too fast now for the home fleet to intercept.

Not for her, and Hermione speeds to catch them. The standard comm bands are empty, no heat plumes either. No EM emissions at all.

Hermione can tell why in moments. These aren’t ships; they’re carved rocks in the shape of ships. Solid, boring, rock; possibly ex-asteroids. It’s what Sinestro might do, but it seems beneath him to repeat ‘throwing asteroids at a planet’ to get her notice. As they both know he can simply find her wherever might be. And dammit, she needs to figure out how he’s doing that.

Soon, the faux fleet is slowed and put into pasture inside one of the local asteroid belts. Hermione’s lack of ideas match those of Fleet Admiral Koddin. A mystery, clearly aimed at this Green Lantern. But why? It almost feels like a joke. Also, how; this hadn’t been a trivial exercise. Someone’s gone to a lot of effort, particularly if it’s only a joke.

Hermione really, really hates mysteries.

Hermione gets bad news at the end of the week. It had happened while she’d been patrolling, a shooting in Metropolis with multiple officers wounded. A DEO agent who’d been liaising with the Met SCU is among them.

She carves out an hour. Fostering League-DEO relations, if anyone asks. An internal debate on what to bring, settled by not deciding and getting both, and soon Hermione’s floating outside a hospital window in downtown Metropolis.

“Yo, Cam, you got a visitor,” says a woman who’d been watching Hermione’s arrival. Short blonde hair, amused look on her face, and sitting near assortments of flowers.

“God, is it two already?” Cameron’s propped up in bed, thick bandages on her left shoulder and an IV in the forearm. She sighs and closes her eyes. “I love Terry but why isn’t she touristing fulltime instead of checking in three times a day?”

Hermione alights on the open windowsill. “Apologies but it’s not your sister, Agent Chase. I do come bearing gifts, however.”

Cameron perks up and discovers who’s stepping inside. “Greenie. And…” She sniffs unashamedly. “Brisket?”

“And a side of kreplach. If you’re cleared for regular food?” Hermione slides vases apart to make room for a wrapped sandwich and container of soup, plus a brightly wrapped package of digestives. “I’ve McVitie's if not.”

“She is. And she’ll be sharing,” the third person says. “Captain Maggie Sawyer, Met Special Crimes. A pleasure, Green Lantern.”

She has a strong grip, Hermione thinks. “All mine, Captain. Superman has nothing but praise.”

“Mags is here for her people,” Cameron remarks. “And before you ask, Bones and Cliffy already stopped by. Using the door, I might add.”

Hermione throws a mock scowl at the bedridden, then pulls out cutlery and paper plates from the bags. The brisket is divvied up and served; paper coffee cups will have to do for the soup. It’s possible Cameron’s vitals are shooting up with each bite.

Sawyer relates of the situation; no superheroes, only tuffs with looted Intergang tech. MCU had arranged a raid, DEO supporting, and it hadn’t gone as planned. A second gang had been present, there to either buy or steal the weaponry.

No fatalities; none of the shooters had known their photon pulse rifles had higher power settings. Bad burns, laced with radiation damage, and broken bones had been the worst. Hermione sneaks in a scan, Cameron looks lucky to have only been clipped. She’ll be discharged and snarking within a week, Sawyer says, back on duty in two.

She’s also completely, and noisily, absorbed with the brisket. “So, Green Lantern, we don’t see you much in this city,” Swayer asides. “Or Gotham. Or DC. But you get around the Big Apple up the road, swinging around with Spider… Man.”

Hermione lets the unsaid, unsubtle words on Penny slide. Sawyer is fishing, and she’s not interested in biting. “Honestly, do I sound as if I often frequent your country?” Sawyer can tell there’s nada on the line, and responds with a chuckle and raised cup of kreplach to her.

“I really do wish I had greater time for this country. And this planet.” More time here with Wally, she doesn’t add. “And feel free to use ‘Lantern’ or ‘GL.’ Not ‘Greenie,’ if you please.”

Cameron laughs and stops with a grimace. “Damn ribs,” and gestures at Hermione with her spoon. “Madam HRH Lantern here will be around more often, Mags. For the next three months or so, at least.” Sawyer puts two and two together and gets Chair.

Of course Chase knows. Hermione’d almost be disappointed if not. They move on to other topics, Cameron sharing an edited version of their first lunch at the source of their current meal and Sawyer wishing Metropolis had similar. The Captain isn’t batting an eye over what the ring can do, but then she deals with Clark on a near daily basis.

It must be getting close to two, as a bundle of balloons tries to push through the doorway. “Cammy, guess what I found! The very first Big Belly Burger franchise!” The balloons enter and float to the ceiling, revealing a younger brunette. She’s got a smile that gets wider when she sees who’s inside.

Green Lantern winds up autographing the deli receipt, that being the best anyone can find. Cameron aggressively rolls her eyes and sighs loudly during the process. Then both the Captain and the Lantern leave the Chase sisters to sister time, Hermione exchanging a wave with Cameron. Friendly terms, and perhaps never actual friends.

Hermione departs, rather hungry. A cape descends as she ascends, and she grins.

He grins back. “Madam Chairperson.”

“Man of Steel. They’re on the fifth floor, east wing.”

Being the Chairperson doesn’t mean automatically leading missions. It doesn’t mean field leader. Or even necessarily being in the field. The guides Hermione’d been reading have this in big letters. Underlined. Perhaps with sound effects in the electronic versions.

She’s been taking field leadership on occasion, when her skill set makes it applicable. Which is rare, to be sure. J’onn, Bruce, Diana, plenty more have greater tactical acumen. Nevertheless, she, Wally, Kara are doing it. They need the experience. As Ollie had said to Penny, this will be their League, and not too long from now.

It starts with a call while Hermione’s in her lunar residence. A late night revising her recent after-actions, reviewing those from others, and jotting thoughts on patrol plans for the following week.

“Hermione?” Sue asks over the room speakers. “There’s a call for the League Chairperson that I think you should take.”

That gets her sitting up. “Agency or country?”

“America.” A pause, and Sue adds, “It’s Waller.”

Oa’s Dry Deserts. This should be interesting, the horrid sense of the word.

And it is. Amanda Waller needs the League’s help. Hermione can hear how painful it is for her to ask.

Hermione takes the call and begins taking notes. Task Force X, aka the Suicide Squad, is MIA. The idea of this motley group of superpowered convicts turned loose in the wild churns her stomach, and Hermione confirms Waller is in her office. This demands a face-to-face. The League Chairperson masks up and tells Sue that she’ll return shortly.

Wally’s free to assist in a repeat of their magic act. Waller’s office lights go out and come back a second later in an emerald flash, along with a Green Lantern. Waller huffs, and points to an empty seat.

“Ms Waller.”

“Lantern. Thank you for coming.” Oa, this is indeed painful for her. Hermione sits and hears how it had happened. Ten minutes ago there’d been a satphone call from Flag, heavy gunfire in the background. His force had taken casualties and the evac chopper won’t reach them for another thirty. A desperation measure to escape, via Nightshade’s teleportation.

Hermione mentally reviews the League’s record on her. Relatively new, solo operator, can transform herself into a tangible shadow and form portals across great distances. Rather reminiscent of the immortal chap she’d met in Opal City. “She can carry passengers with her?” Hermione asks.

Waller looks like she’s chewing on lemons. “No, she can’t. Not yet.” A longer huff. “She’d been working on it. Those portals go through a nasty dimension, where she claims to come from. She’s used to what it does to brains. Anyone else who’s gone with her comes out screaming about their worst nightmares. Not all of them recover.” Waller shakes her head. “Flag must have really, really been serious about the op going south.”

Hmmm. Nightmares. Last year’s action against the Key comes to mind. “I assume they aren’t on this planet, as you can’t detect their implanted explosives. Likely trapped in that dimension, also likely that Nightshade’s badly injured or dead.”

That gets a nod, maybe a degree of respect. “That’s our profile. I don’t have anybody who can get to them. You do.” She doesn’t ask again for help, and Hermione doesn’t push it. This is the Justice League; saving people is in the job description. No matter the people involved.

Hermione pushes for details. Who’d been on the mission for starters. Of course Quinn’s on the list, plus several she’d encountered in Germany, and a few she’s not familiar with. As to what they’d been doing…

“No, you don’t need to know the mission,” Waller insists.

“We don’t know what we need to know,” Hermione shoots back. “And frankly, I don’t care what it was. Don’t make me want to care, Ms Waller.”

They lock gazes, and the woman behind the desk blinks first. “Bialya. They were in Bialya. That’s all your getting.”

Grand. The infamous rogue state, why isn’t Hermione surprised? “If it’s not enough, I’ll be back,” she replies. “We’ll find them.” A second emerald flare, and Green Lantern has left the building.

Once back on the Moon, Hermione has Sue make the calls. First to Zatanna, who reaches Dr Fate, who contacts the Stranger. Location is the initial step; if they can’t identify and access this dimension, the mission will be rather short.

While they’re busy, Hermione decides on the team. A place of unending darkness strikes Clark and Kara from the list. Besides, she wants them here as the fiasco at the Department of Mysteries has left more than scars. “This could be a setup. It’s Waller.” Bruce nods, as does Ollie.

The Chairperson looks over those assembled for the mission. The Martian Manhunter, Fire, Captain Atom, Zatanna, Green Arrow, Batman, the Elongated Man, Hawkwoman.

And the Flash. And not Green Lantern. Who’ll be highly irritated and ready with a second team in case it does turn out to be a trap.

Oa, she wishes Ron could be here. She’d done up the strategy while flying back and outwardly expresses confidence. Internally, fingers are quite crossed.

Hermione reviews the mission parameters. Ollie has a few grumbles concerning the nature of who’s to be rescued, but they come off as pro forma. Then she doublechecks on individual assignments, and why Bruce is field leader and not J’onn. As the latter has a more important job for this mission. It doesn’t need to be said that once they’re inside, any planning she’s done is likely to be rendered be invalid.

As they wrap up, Z announces she’s set. A circular array of glistening runic crystals is now floating inside an empty meeting room. A long string of reversed phrases, a glimpse into what does appear suitably nightmarish, and Hermione’s squad steps into darkness.

Now comes the hard part.

Hermione keeps the Watchtower on Amber status for the ‘possible trap’ scenario. She also thinks of who else is waiting and decides to make a call. So that they can wait together.

Belle Reve is imposing when viewed from above. Three massive, slab-like towers rising out of the swampland, interconnected after several storeys. The central area hosts a large courtyard. The towers themselves host emplacements for guards, and today one also hosts a table with two folding metal chairs.

It’s where Green Lantern and Amanda Waller are waiting. Keeping an eye on each other, an added bonus. If Waller has a trap planned, there’s nought giving it away on her face. Her voice when Hermione’d called had also sounded convincingly off guard and unready.

Hermione’s brought a satchel containing a thermos of Atlantean tea and two cups. Not employing her own pocket dimension; no point in revealing it exists despite being rather sure Waller’s aware. Waller herself has a steaming mug of coffee and hadn’t brought a second. Poor form, Hermione mentally chides. Or, knowing Waller, she’d presumed Hermione would never accept a beverage that might contain poisons, or mind-control nanites, or whatever else the US covert ops boffins can invent.

The day’s partially cloudy with a nice breeze, and Hermione’s tries to look relaxed as her ring tracks every heartbeat and motion around them. Waller’s mobile rests on the table and stays silent.

As do the two of them. Waller doesn’t touch the proffered tea. Possibly a diehard coffee type.

They don’t bother to face each other. It’s not like they are going to chat. Or become friends, or allies.

The quiet is broken, once.

“You and West.”

“Me and West.”

At the 28m, 14s mark (not that she’s counting), Hermione’s ring pulses and Waller’s phone goes off. They’re back (and Yes!, she shouts to herself). Not too far either, according to Sue. Roughly two kilometres north of the penitentiary.

She rings up binoculars, and projects the view on a screen for Waller’s benefit. Two distinct groups, forcing their way out of midnight disc lined with burning lights. Between them, Nightshade looks to be struggling to close the portal while midnight inks drip from her wounds. Captain Atom props her up and fires nuclear blasts at whatever is chasing them.

Seconds later the portal closes; Nightshade goes limp and collapses. Cameron performs a neatly executed catch and pulls her up into a bridal carry.

Hermione’s people… all accounted for. J’onn sends a brief telepathic status report; all ambulatory, several bleeding and limping. Closeups reveal Alert and Responsive, ta. The nightmares they’d faced as part of taking down the Key had helped. For those who hadn’t been there, such as Wally, there’d been J’onn and psychic dampening. Her guy tosses a thumbs up her way.

Most of the rest of the Squad are in a bad way, but none are screaming. J’onn’s work, as planned. No, Hermione takes that back, there’s screaming after all. Quinn is shrieking with glee and demanding to go on the ride again.

A helicopter’s on its way to fetch Waller’s people. Hermione takes her cup and the thermos, leaving the second cup behind. Scrubbed of DNA and fingerprints. A look to Waller, who is registering as grateful and infuriated.

Waller owes them. They both know it. Who knows, Hermione thinks. There could be a day she’ll call in this marker. (There is, and that day is coming)

Tomorrow comes, and Cameron puts in for several days off active duty. He’ll be taking leave in Louisiana, helping care for a recuperating patient. Hermione grins to herself and wishes them both well.

Membership. Always a large issue for the League, particularly these days. The next few years will be interesting, ideally in a better sense of the word.

One of the founding members will be shifting away from superheroing to monarchical duties. King of the Seven Seas, Ruler of Atlantis; it’s long overdue for Arthur to properly assume his throne. Producing heirs as well, which is an important part of royalty.

Simultaneously Garth, no longer Aqualad and now Tempest, will be moving from the Titans to the League. Possibly it all could occur during Hermione’s tenure as Chairperson.

This is the transition everyone has been striving for. Smooth, sans abruptness or unpleasantness. Not that anyone’s looking her way when it comes up.

Victor will follow Garth. No rush on the process. Smooth transitions. Garth to be mentored by Diana; Vic by Ray.

Hermione manages to work in a team exercise with Garth and Vic along Kara, Wally, and Dick. They do a series of three on three combats, then two on two on two. It’s coming together.

They also discuss this year’s gathering, Titancon, in California. Kara asks about Lena attending. That doesn’t go as smoothly. They can only decide that they need to decide. Hermione has opinions and is pretty sure Kara won’t like them.

The League is adding members. It’s losing a member as well. Not to retirement. To death.

The Question hasn’t been in the Tower for long months now. Not to be found on Earth, either. Bruce admits he has suspicions as to where he is and what he’s doing, and refuses to say further.

Hermione receives an untraceable letter soon after the Squad episode; a handwritten ‘Q’ as the sender and addressed to Chairperson Green Lantern. At least she knows he’s aware of the changeover from Katar.

It’s simple and to the point. He’s resigning from the Justice League, as of this date. The rest of the page is blank, save that she can expect additional information.

As to when… that will be the question.

Cryptic as always. Dammit. This just… dammit.

And during it all, her job. Her real job, which comes first. Always. Her colleagues respect and approve, nice as otherwise Hermione doubts being an active member would be feasible.

Patrols, light to moderate activities with a scattering of incidents. Quite a few First Contacts, always uniquely exciting. A few natural disasters, a few non-natural disasters, fewer still armed conflicts to de-escalate. Full days and overnights occasionally, with Arthur delegated as her stand-in should she be away when a crisis erupts.

Word is spreading of the sector house, as well as the event within. Hermione persists that it had been, and will continue to be, a unique and never to be repeated occurrence. She also puts in the hours to make ready for the proper grand opening.

Hermione gets called to Oa, as she’d been expecting. Fighting a Manhunter, or its shade, gets noticed at the Senior Cadre level.

Lantern Omicron Gold-201 is at the table when she arrives. They begin with talk of the call box status, and her (appropriately lengthened) report of the false attack. Full stars for its operation and her response. Many questions remaining as to the Who and Why, of lesser importance is the How, and Hermione heartedly concurs. They expect to see ongoing investigation on the matter from her. It seems Gold-201 really hates mysteries as well.

As to the ghost in the asteroid… the behaviour of the sector’s Lanterns is applauded. Minimal disruption. Minor injuries. Gold-201 alludes to discussions over Lantern Granger’s use of civilians, uniquely powered yes and still civilians. They themselves, however, hold to the ‘whatever works, works’ school of Lantern training. Lantern Granger’s unscheduled allies, as stressed in her report, had acquitted themselves well. Which reflects well on the Corps.

The public address after completing action, perhaps not. “While the Manhunters are not a secret, we have never actively advertised their existence. There is dismay over projecting unnecessary worries.”

There’d been a minor level of it at the sector house, before she’d pushed through on doing the address. “We didn’t believe it needless. There’s a saying on my planet, ‘Truth will out.’ Better they know,” she firmly replies, “rather than wonder why we weren’t honest with them.” And she’s prepared to fight on this point. The green Lantern Granger from a year ago wouldn’t dare. This no-longer-green Lantern very much is, hasn’t considered otherwise.

Gold-201 might realise this or might not; the photosensors don’t vary an iota in hue or intensity. “My people have a similar assertion,” they say, finally. “However, your justification could use additional reinforcements beyond a saying. I expect to see this in your subsequent reports, Lantern Granger. I do not expect to see significant expansion in their length.”

Drat.

Then it’s the day of her first meeting as Chairperson.

Hermione’s been thinking and planning. No surprise there. She’ll keep to firm durations. Allocated discussion lengths, cap them off if they aren’t going anywhere. Side discussions to go elsewhere for resolution. They’re busy people; many have proper jobs with less flexible schedules than her own.

Everyone’s on time, ta. “Welcome, all. Let’s get started, shall we?” Nods of readiness, and she lets Gryff confidence take over. “First on the agenda…”

There’s little that is terribly interesting since they’d last assembled. Only a few incidents of note.

Anton Allegro, the Fiddler, and Sonar had joined harmonics to override the world-wide broadcast of a ‘Monsters of Rock’ festival in São Paulo. The goal had been to hold the concert goes hostage and project enormous sonic creatures against nations unless their demands are met. Points for a novel concept; protecting so many densely packed people while combatting gigantic and vicious kaiju hadn’t been fun. The best part had been Dinah taking the stage with Van Halen for an impromptu finale. Barbara mentions she has the video for those who’d missed it live.

A clash with the latest iteration of the Injustice Gang, this group heavy on both power and internal squabbling. The fight had reminded Hermione of McLaggen in a Quidditch match, with a dozen Cormac’s interfering with each other. It had been brutal, and never in doubt.

The Squad rescue is the highpoint and gets applause directed to Cameron, who’d been significant in the op’s success. Also for his bridal carry, worthy of motion picture romance. Luckily for Captain Atom, mercury can’t blush.

Next to appraisals on possible members, with Huntress the perennial top of the list. Hermione cuts off the standard discussion before it can start. “Honestly, what’s changed? Has she changed? Have anyone’s views changed?”

It doesn’t seem they have. Effective fighter, needlessly violent, skilled crimefighter, abrasive, proficient detective, single-minded; all familiar to everyone. Most everyone, that is.

“I don’t know her,” Tora offers tentatively, “and I don’t know the history, but…” She looks around the table. “Does she actually want to be a member?”

Dinah snorts, and all eyes move her way. “This is Huntress we’re talking about. If we ask, she says no and berates us for assuming she’d want it. If we don’t, she rages that we haven’t asked.” That does sound like Helena.

“Meet her halfway,” Diana suggests a moment later. “A conversation. Not an offer.”

Hermione reads the room. “We call it a process. Nothing on the table. She’d be valuable in the team; we make sure that comes across. And who knows, maybe she might fit in well after she’s in.”

“We’ve got a history of bossy newbie types somehow working out,” and Ollie gets laughter. From Hermione included.

“Right. Dinah, could you perhaps–”

“Nope,” the Canary cuts in. “I’m maybe the closest to a friend she’s got. Can’t be me, Hermione. It has to be the League that she meets. And honey,” with a wicked smile, “currently that’s you.”

Hermione blinks. Suddenly, it’s real to her. She’s officially representing the League, much as she does for the Corps (and also unofficially for humanity). “Yes, it is. I’ll take the action; either you or Barbara, please send me contact information. I’ll let everyone know how it goes.”

Onwards, now that it feels they’re moving forward. A young new meta, nuclear powered, matter rearrangement, flight, energy blasts, goes by ‘Firestorm.’ “Not to infringe, Captain,” and Cameron waves it off. Clark vouches, as does Katar. Bruce Wayne hasn’t approached him. Yet. Identifying his identity is proving problematic.

As for the hero himself, “Training,” growls Batman. “Half the time he knows what he’s doing, the other half he’s a danger at a city-wide level.” Motion carries for Katar to visit the novice hero, Cameron to develop a plan of instruction.

Then there’s Vixen, who gets numerous notes of approval as a solid hero who uses her powers well. Dinah takes the action to sound her out. She could be a welcome reservist, from what Hermione hears.

That closes out membership issues. Hermione’s shared the Question’s letter. There’s not much else to be said on the matter until a second letter arrives. She quickly moves along on the agenda. Expansion plans.

Subassembly machining areas are nearly ready in the Tower, with the necessary launch systems to hurl each section into lunar orbit for integration. Hermione stresses on ensuring the UN and spacefaring countries know. Diana takes the lead on it. She’ll bring in the League’s Lawyers, Jean and Kate, too. “Let’s not break any laws,” Hermione adds. “No colliding into anything during construction or while towing it to LEO either.”

Satellite-based offensive weaponry concepts, and Ollie and Shayera trade demi-glares. “Submit proposals by end of next week, including rationales for each item,” Hermione calls out. “Or no items,” before Ollie can object. “Assume worst-case scenarios; no members with space-capable powers present and the Tower’s down.”

Hermione has her own thoughts on the matter. No one would argue over an anti-warship gun atop the satellite, facing out to space. Which, with a simple twist of orientation, could point down. A cute trick that only works once until the audience catches on, and hopefully once is enough.

“Finally,” Hermione says while typing notes, “I can’t be the sole person who thinks we need a name for it?” She’s not. Ideas due by next meeting please. And no, the League will not open this up for external voting, via either letters or emails.

On to the embassy. “We need a separate task force,” Ray starts off. “Building a satellite is a lot easier than untangling property codes and city ordinances.”

Vocal concurrence from the members who deal with or know of them; Bruce, Ollie, and Clark predominantly. Arthur too, who’s been dealing with his own embassies. Financial issues too, and who is the legal signatory for the League? “We have superhero names, would those even count?” wonders Wally, and gets several negatively shaking heads in reply.

“We need Jean and Kate,” Hermione concludes. “Again. Possibly front and centre for this.” Motion carries for the task force, membership pending based her chat with the two. Thank Oa they’d been brought on board.

“All this is moot if we don’t have land for it,” she continues. “I want three ideas for locations from everyone by next week. Then everyone can critique everyone else’s ideas.”

“Think big,” Ray adds. “Not just buying a block. Maybe we buy an island. Maybe we build one.” Hermione can see the neurons swirling at that. Good. The League should always be thinking big. It’s a big planet, after all.

“Right.” She strikes keys, so much better than quills and parchment, and leans forward. “The updated roster is out. I’ll have minutes in a few. Reminder copies in the break room, and don’t forget to check the chores wheel people.”

With that, her first is over. Almost. “Be good and stay safe. Let’s make things better.”

And they do.

Chapter Text

“…and finally, we’ve no contact from the Question since the letter.”

“Damn.”

“Indeed.”

“Quite. We’ll let you both know should that change. Dick?”

It’s the regular summit meeting for the leadership of the League, Titans, and Young Justice. The League’s attendee is the current chair, while Nightwing is usually there for the Titans and Red Tornado always for YJ. This trio’s gathered in San Francisco at Titans Tower.

On the Titans’ side, they review Garth’s status and Vic’s readiness. All is going smoothly; no surprises and no notes. After several stays with the Titans, a surface world explorer (and roommate of Kara Zor-El) is moving from Chicago to the City by the Bay. Atlee’s found the frequent earthquakes to be fondly reminiscent of her subterranean birthplace, Dick says.

She’s also taken the caped callsign ‘Power Girl’ and may become a Titan. Time permitting, as her real job is to investigate and study the bizarre populations atop Earth’s crust. Acting as a ‘superhero’ is firmly a secondary occupation.

Hermione can relate.

The unexpected hero from New York City, the Silver Scarab, has been attending training sessions. Probably not joining; she’s more a solo act, he adds. The Titans will, however, be welcoming a fulltime member shortly: Raquel Ervin, aka Rocket. A powerhouse flyer, which is always welcome. The group may have a new Aqualad as well, stay tuned.

Reddy relates of a quiet month. Static is fitting in well, as is Miss Martian. The self-styled ‘Superboy’ is loud and abrasive and is slowly learning better. Empress has dropped her mysterious masked identity to the group after her father had unintentionally revealed it to the team. Oops, and Hermione and Dick have to chuckle at that. Lastly, the Tornado reports that part-time trainee Teen Lantern is performing in an exemplary manner, to her mentor’s unconcealed pride.

As a digression, Reddy asks of Cinthia Frederick. Hermione offers to take him to Mecha IV if he’s interested. She’d like to see Cinthia too, see how the sweet little girl is acclimating to life and self-awareness as a non-organic technopath.

He ends with news from Blue Valley. Stargirl is reforming the Justice Society of America, she and her stepfather forming the nucleus. The consensus is to ensure Courtney knows assistance is available if requested. Otherwise, it’s her show and they have only best wishes for it and her. Hermione adds that perhaps Stargirl should be invited for next month’s summit, and no one disagrees.

Next month will be upstairs and include a trip to the Far Side to observe the satellite’s construction progress. With that, Hermione bids farewell and takes to the sky. She calls out her status change while passing the Moon, then accelerates to leave the Solar System behind. A minor patrol, a good close for the day. Should be a smooth one.

Instead, it’s going to be memorable. For all the wrong reasons.

It starts to become unsmooth at Hermione’s first stop. Mentions of interstellar cargos offloaded only to find the radioactives have decayed to stable elements, making what would have been classy gastronomical ingredients into tasteless dross. Two systems later, captains are complaining of their ships falling out of hyperspace and re-entry taking far greater power than usual.

The Technist Guild has plenty more from their sector-wide trading fleets, as she discovers at her next stop. Foodstocks from multiple production worlds gone rancid or stale. Intrasystem haulers in distress as their sublight power plants drain dry in seconds. Ship hulls growing brittle. Spaceport docking floodlights redshifting past radio, wavelengths in the thousands of kilometres and photons sapped of energy. Gravity plates, the reliably standard technology used across of the galaxy, attenuating down to micro-gee levels.

Plus, as Hermione recalls, the faux invasion squadron sent against Caudatia. No ships arriving devoid of living passengers and thank the Guardians that’s not been repeated.

Perhaps the memory triggers her eyes. As while Guild Primengineer Damil is showing vidcaps of a darkened, panicked, spaceport, there’s a face in one window that stands out. Laughing cheerfully while chaos erupts around her.

She’s seen it before, several times. Smiling despite being surrounded by death. Gregarious and pleasant enough, for person who is supposed to be dead and yet hadn’t been when encountered.

Hermione retraces her patrol stops, examines records with her ring, questions witnesses with a sample image. Confirmations abound. Smiling, waving, clearly enjoying herself during catastrophes.

She’d been a mystery. Not a Lantern matter, at the time. Now, maybe she is. Maybe she wants Hermione’s attention.

Hermione decides Dr Kys has it.

Within minutes, Hermione’s at Arcadia and the Royal Science Directorate. Where Doctor Lymaas Kys had worked and, according to everyone there, also died.

After recovering from the astonishing announcement, Hermione’d learned further from the front desk personnel. Kys had been regarded as skilled in her varied pursuits, including transdimensional physics. An easy lie to catch, so why lie about it?

There’d also been a patina of a shady reputation to her efforts. A common assessment of a lack of discipline, entirely too willing to jump fields without warning for following whatever’s struck her interest. Reckless, obsessive, and occasionally obsessively curious.

Officially, the explosion itself had been a terrible accident involving unknown chemicals. Scuttlebutt has it they’d likely been brought back from one of Kys’s many field trips to explore ancient worlds, investigate abandoned technologies, and probe long-forgotten mythologies. Given her uneasy standing, the detonation had terminated her a step before the Directorate’s security agencies and review boards could do the same on legal and academic levels.

Unsaid, and quite imparted to the Lantern, had been that most thought of it all as an unfortunately, and tidy, ending. No casualties or injuries aside from Kys, which had encouraged a speedy closure.

Hermione hadn’t dug deeper before as frankly she didn’t believe it a Lantern situation. She’s too many mysteries for one that didn’t seem a threat.

Looking back, perhaps one of her biggest mistakes.

This time, Hermione asks to speak with people knowledgeable of the matter. She gets one and quickly; the ring and uniform can be intimidating even when not actively trying.

Doctor Pon has, or had, an office next to Kys. The explosion had only rattled his shelves with a muffled shock; the sound had been akin to a huge rubbery object bouncing off the wall or when the emergency air filtrations collapse shut. As to his co-worker, well he’s not one to talk… so he does. At length.

They all had known Kys to be suspected of criminal activities, unsavoury connections, owing credits to the wrong people. “And not only on Arcadia, either,” he asserts confidently. Whispers of accusations concerning heresy and sedition towards the royal Yul lineage too. Worse, in Pon’s eyes, Kys had garnering numerous professional censures. “We all had heard about the notorious sloppiness in her research methodologies. I’m only surprised this didn’t happen sooner.”

Not that Madam Lantern has heard any of that from him.

Kys’s office itself has long since been repaired yet remains unassigned. Not empty; there is an Arcadian official waiting within. Inspector Jou of Her Ladyship’s Third District Constabulary, who’d heard the local Lantern is expressing interest in what had been his own case.

He’s eager to talk to Hermione. Incredibly so. Not simply as she’s a Lantern, which Hermione gets the feeling is translating to ‘space cop’ for Jou. He’s been upset that the case had been closed and has kept it active on his own time.

The Inspector had just missed Hermione on her last visit and had rushed over when word had spread of today’s arrival. Nothing about it had added up for him; a simple explosion is too easy a solution.

Hermione takes one of the replacement chairs; Jou remains standing and explains. “The techies said the energy release should have destroyed the entire room, the building, most of the surrounding city. It didn’t, all confined to barely a square metre or so. Hardly scorched the walls!” He displays what could be images not authorised to be shared outside his office, and it does appear less than what would be necessary to reduce a body to biological residue.

She reviews the case file as he continues. “Power drop-off by factor of 100 each centimetre. Dissipated virtually instantly. Like liquid nitrogen poured on a fire.” Hermione’s certainly not an expert in the field of thermodynamics and molecular cohesion (and makes a note to find appropriate books), but it seems less an explosion and more an implosion. Imploding into what, however?

Jou holds that it’s not death by misadventure, it’s a cover up. “Faked her death, didn’t want to hurt anyone else in it. Fewer hurt, fewer questions, easier escape,” which does make sense to Hermione. Kys had obviously wanted to get free from threatened investigations into researching prohibited academics. Juo’s superiors had disagreed with that theory; she’s dead, and thus so is the case. No unflattering inquiries into the Directorate’s operations, and thus Her Ladyship can remain unperturbed and serene. Everyone wins.

He relates the latter with enough sarcasm to possibly bring heresy charges his way. Nonetheless, “I always suspected Kys was a crook,” Jou concludes. “She got away from us. One officer to another, don’t let her get away from you!”

Hermione’s listening and trying to be attentive except the images of Kys’s office include large galactic maps along the walls. Not charred enough to obscure location identifiers and plentiful handwritten notes next to several. Most predominantly concerning a system Hermione knows well.

Kys had been researching System 2814-113. The dead world, barren of organic elements and plentiful in primeval magic.

That… can’t be coincidental. Or at all welcome.

The planet is identical to as it’s been for her previous visits, as it must have been for untold millennia. Inert atmosphere and inert surface. Only someone like Hermione would notice what makes it stand out.

Magic. Old, powerful magic. The only indication that living beings had been here.

She’d ceded the Mech control over it, in exchange for their search for any information on civilisations that should have once resided. All had been well, until it hadn’t.

The Mech had been forced to withdraw from the deal and remove themselves from the planet. Amidst proffering extensive binaric apologies, they’d described how it lengthy occupation is detrimental due to unique, disconcerting properties.

Magic, which they know of and view with offhand disdain, isn’t the issue. There are deeper concerns. Quantum uncertainty, for one; it doesn’t function. Or rather, it functions too well: there is absolute certainty within and around the planet. Position and momentum can be determined with impossible exactitude. Wave functions collapse to fixed values, no probability calculations required.

Ray would have been tearing out his hair with delight.

Ken-Lo-97, lead researcher and formerly eager coloniser, had been the one assigned to give their Lantern the news. “There is an unsettling sensation on that world. Chronal sequencers became unreliable, quantum operations could not function properly. Dangers of mental instability, sentience distortions, and muted consciousness. We envisioned emotional subroutines rerouted into negative feedback loops. All leading to possible cessation of processing.”

As for Hermione, “Your ring protects you, obviously.” They’d made an excellent approximation of a shrug. “It would be otherwise… abruptly unhealthy, for organics such as yourself.”

They’d added potential rationales. Dimensional contaminants, dark matter neutrino saturation, quantum filaments disintegrating into nano-helix formations in the core. Each had come across like a lesson from First Year Transfigurations, and just as frustratingly bewildering. She’d hit the books the next day.

Hermione’d called a no harm (thankfully), no foul on the deal. Ray had indeed pulled a few hairs out when she’d told him about it. Space is Weird, as one of his shirts states.

Right. She has evidence of oddness. She also has a power ring. Time to find out what kinds of oddness it can detect.

Hermione goes to high orbit and launches scanning filters across quantum spectra. Huh. Oddities ahoy, and on the macro-scale.

She overlays multiple filters, shifting the combinations. It’s as if there is a Disillusionment Charm covering the planet and she’s figuring out which pronunciation of Finite will work.

Wait. She re-applies the last filter matrix. Shapes shimmer into view across the surface. Carvings not in matter or flesh, instead in dimensions.

Runes. Like those Hermione’d seen on the bodies at Kormorax.

“Pretty cool, huh?”

Kys is behind her, hovering in space without a suit. And grinning.

“Took you long enough, Lantern Hermione.”

Hermione’s ring verifies this as Dr Kys. Or the same being she’d encountered before. How Kys is talking in space, let alone floating unharmed in a vacuum wearing only a thin worksuit, it can’t ascertain.

“Dr Kys?” Hermione leads off.

She gets a finger playfully wagged at her. “No no no no, green girl. You’ve never met Lymaas Kys, only what she has become. Which is us.”

“And who is us?”

“We are. We are. We have always been. We always will be.” Whoever they are, they can hold a straight face for a moment before breaking. “We also adore how serious you are! You’re a light, so lighten up already. Look on the bright side and stare into the abyss!” Kys, and Hermione’s going to keep calling her that or it will be her turn to pull out hair, giggles. “We stared so long, seeking mysteries to unravel, and now we are one!”

Fine, let’s go with the schtick, as Ralph would say. “I take it Dr Kys isn’t dead, then.”

Kys issues a moue in return. “Honey, that’s not only not right, it’s not even wrong,” and adopts a mocking lecture tone. “We’re not dead. That implies, my dear human, that we were alive. We were never alive. We can never dead. Life, death, merely antithetical concepts to who we are.” Her form visibly ripples, rapidly flipped pages producing the illusion of movement. “We’re an animated cartoon, chickadee, still pictures that only look lifelike. Frozen images in motion,” and the pages coalesce as the wide smile returns. “We’re infinity and beyond, baby.”

Hermione isn’t smiling. “Whoever you are, you killed the people in those ships.”

Kys appears offended. “Us? Not at all. Their state of existence had issues with our state of inexistence. Immovable force, meet unstoppable object. Or make that very stoppable objects.” Offended shifts to comical contrite. “What can we say, we leave strong impressions. Potholes in reality. No intent, ossifer, honest!” A wicked smile. “Not yet.”

She goes on before Hermione can speak. “Bee-tee-dubs, did you like our little gift to your friends on Claudatia? Or the others elsewhere, we threw so many breadcrumbs across the stars for you to scarf up.”

“To what end?” Hermione asks, shifting gears to follow.

To no avail, as Kys moves to another raceway. “And such a pretty speech at the debut of your haunted house! Poor marks for skipping an encore; you’ll need to work on that for your next show.”

“You were there?”

“How could we miss it?” Kys replies instantly. “So much certainty you have, ditto for your fun cohort. How little you know of true certainly, of the purity of absolutes.” She smirks. “But you will. So driven. So pointless,” with a long sigh. “If everyone had died that day, what difference would it make a million years from now?”

She waves at the sterile world below them. “Or a million years ago. Let us tell you a joke, Lantern Hermione…” And she, they, whatever this is, does so.

~~~~~~

Long, long ago, Kys starts, the folks here were good at magic. Too good.

Also good at war. Very good. Or very bad, depending on your pee-oh-vee for the magical equivalent of thermonuclear annihilation.

Continent-wide mystical bombardments, spells that inscribed runes into reality, rattled the entire system with stray gravitational deformations. Enchantments that carved apart spacetime, then began carving each other to form runes they hadn’t foretold, had never been imagined. Can you say ‘uh-oh?’ Knew you could.

They fissured through dimensions afar of hyperspace, to where dimensions are summated into a finite infinity. Fancy way of saying, they burrowed to our place. A place where there is no life. Where life cannot exist, ever, and thus no death either, only eternal nonexistence. Where we are. Capisce, chica?

The first time we had encountered what you call life. We had no notion of it.

This was a disruption. Billions of intruders, screaming in pain as they intersected into us. We gave them ouchies. They gave us a name. Or a description. Perhaps a title, or a curse. Are we multiple choice, or all of the above? Time’s up, pencils down!

They saw. They are no longer. They have never been. They became as we are. End of line. The end of every line.

A pity their planet couldn’t stay. Push a float underwater, out it pops. This one resurfaced all shiny with that new car smell, fresh coat of new runes, a big bumper sticker celebrating the achievement. Cleaned out of… everything. Incapable of life or death at an intrinsic depth. Like your many-greats might say, the soil was thoroughly salted and every seed turned to dust. You don’t drop in on us without a getting parting gift, after all. That would be totes impolite, amiright?

Enemies all defeated, meaning both sides won their war. Who could ask for a better result? Definitely not us. Makes for a good joke, yes?

~~~~~~

“All a joke,” Kys grins an impossibly wide grin. “A big joke. All of it. Life or death, there’s no difference. Utterly irrelevant.”

It had been a fascinating tale, and Hermione isn’t ready to buy any of it. “I would beg to differ. I think Dr Kys might have as well.”

“Funny, we don’t think so,” she’s countered. “What happened, that wacky explosion, an experiment to see what was on the other side. It worked. Boy, did it work! Designed for a peek, gets a front row seat at the concert. The observation ended. We became. We always have been, will never not be.” Kys furrows her tufted eyebrows. “Hmmm. Maybe that’s our motto. Or catchphrase. We should get a trademark, whaddya think?”

Hermione’s growing irritated. If this is an act to reinforce escaping from Arcadian authorities, it’s ridiculously elaborate. “I think you and I should discuss this on your homeworld, Kys.”

“Honey, that’s right out,” Kys says while shaking her head, cranial tendrils swaying. “We have a galaxy to play with, why go back there? We left enough bait to attract you, chummed the water for a chum, dropped your name like anvils, all that effort to see who was it that smelled so good.” Kys theatrically inhales, despite the lack of air. “Magic. Science. Life. Death. Resurrection. So many lovely flavours. So curious; we recognised that well enough. And runes, you knew of runes.”

Kys draws soft patterns in empty space, leaving afterimages like Wally does at superspeed. “Those funny little scribbles that can render reality malleable. We’d never dreamed of them until we had visitors employing them. First on a planet, the second on a tablet. At least the latter bothered to knock, showed respect,” and it’s similar to sharing the lowdown on new neighbours.

“Truth be told, that last changed the plot. A deliberate action to seek us out.” Kys sounds…wistful? “She looked. We saw. A mystery solved, or a solution imposed onto a quester, 100% guaranteed to drive us completely sane. Quite the eye opener.”

Her attenuated limbs move behind her head, a pose that should look relaxed. Or part of the act. Hermione’s content to let Kys make the first move, for now.

“Imagine. No subterfuge, no deception, no deceit. Only perpetual inexistence, now and forever.”

Oa. That sounds horribly familiar. “Anti-Life,” Hermione whispers. “You’re Anti-Life.”

~~~~~~

Kys… huffs, a decent impression of a former Potions Professor or her Lantern academics instructor. “We thought you cleverer than such a base insult, comparing us to that triviality,” she grumbles. “Not Anti-Life. Anti-Life devours will, imposes will. Will implies life. We have no life. We have no death. Weren’t you paying attention?” One limb points accusingly at the Lantern. “Kids these days,” with a plaintive moan.

“Time, energy; we had no perceptions for these either. Now we do, and now we can eliminate them all until all is as we are.” Right, those don’t sound like friendly words. Nor those from a simple crook going on the lam.

“Remake this and all other dimensions,” she continues, the attempts at humour absent, “a seamless dissolution of barriers so every existence becomes nonexistence. Each has never existed, each does not exist, each will never exist. Inexistence without end.” It’s as if she’s preaching a sermon at Hermione, interspaced with recitations spelling out the laws of physics.

“We are. Soon, you will be too. Everyone, everywhere,” and the eyes could be glowing. “This universe, all universes, all dimensions. All that is, all that ever will be, will be no more. Matter and energy, life and death. Gods and devils. Heavens and hells, and the soul within.” The preacher leaves, and the comedian returns as Hermione tries to process the claim.

So has the smile, a touch too wide and manic to be friendly. “It’s what is waiting, so why not cut to the chase? Forget about overdue library books and failed resolutions, instead cut out a billion trillion years. It’s just a tick of the clock when you comprehend the size of the stage. Last act for the night, draw the curtains for the close. No second act, of course. No anything. No existence. Only nonexistence remains.”

Kys straightens dramatically. “World by world, the lights will go out; doesn’t matter if they are batteries or stars. Galaxy by galaxy. And that last act opens here.” And then she takes her bow.

Hermione’s ring notices first. The world below… no longer has gravity. Planets, including the outer giants, stop rotating. Storms larger than Earth recede and fall still. Darkness descends as the central sun becomes a cold accumulation of gases.

She’s turned off a star, like pulling the plug on a desk lamp. Godric and Guardians… how’s she done that?

This isn’t a clever trick. It’s a damned impressive one. If it’s a trick.

Kys, and Hermione’s now ready to accept this isn’t Kys, fades into the darkness with echoes of trilling laughter. “Oh honey. We’re going to have so much fun!”

The darkness allows the runic symbols below Hermione to stand out in greater prominence. She can’t get a full translation, then calls upon the original symbols found on the unfortunates to add data points. Kys and potholes. Next time, there will be blows.

Each symbol encompasses entire libraries, almost overwhelming her ring. She’s only getting fragments, vague conceptual words to represent all of Shakespeare. Crossroads of sorrow, cessations of life, where ends converge, the woe for the end of all that is.

Hermione manually inputs suggestions and makes a second pass. Then a third. Dreadful clarity emerges.

We are where life intersects death and neither survive. Where hope is reduced to painful sanity. Where every timeline, every dimension, every possibility, every existence terminates to inexistence.
We are the Vertices of Tears.
We are.

Chapter Text

Grand. Kys, or whatever she’s calling herself, or themselves, has graduated from disturbing mystery to possible danger to all of existence. It looks like Hermione might have a new archenemy. Simply fantastic.

Time to go to the experts.

On galactic threats…
“Your reports are, as always, exciting to read,” Cadre Lantern Omicron Gold-201 states. “For a novice Lantern, you manage to become involved on large scales. As you suspected, there are no records in the Book of Oa on who or what you confronted. Assessing a response requires additional data. Strategize how to confront this threat. Assume it is real.”

“I tend to always assume the worst. One of my better lessons from school.”

“Accessing… yes, your ‘magic school.’ We shall discuss this further one day. As for now, know that the Guardians are aware of this situation. Until we meet again, Lantern Granger, may you fly luminously.”

On science…
“Damn,” Ray starts, and mentally runs calculations. “The amount of energy involved is off the charts. Off onto a different printing press. The cessation of a star’s angular momentum alone, plus whatever dampened stellar fusion, and shut down fundamental force interactions? If it’s not fakery, this is power on a level of creating a universe.” Or destroying one, they both know.

On magic…
“Could be pure stagecraft. No magic or powers needed,” Zatanna retorts with long years of experience. “Remember, she lured you to her own stage, which she could have prepped with gimmicks. Give me a few days and I could do the same. Easier still, make you think I had. However,” and she taps her cheek, “it could be for real. Let me chat up the Stranger and the Doctor, get their opinions.”

On supervillains…
There’s a long pause once she’s done briefing the League. “We’re looking at an E–11, annihilation of reality as we know it,” Barbara responds, voice steady. Slow nods all around at that.

“A second Crisis. This time we won’t have the Monitor to gather the opposing forces,” Bruce says, laying it out.

“We’ve got better. We have our Lantern. She’s got this. If it gets to Earth, she’s got us too.” Oa, she loves Wally. She only wishes she could be as certain as he is.

Barry Allen had died in that Crisis. Hermione’s not going to let Wally West die in the second. No matter what it takes.

On mysterious beings…
Luna isn’t displaying her usual serene confidence after hearing the tale. “I don’t believe I’ve heard of the like, Hermione,” she finally says, “which is a worry. There are a few I know of who are similar, none of whom you’ve met so far. Whom no one wearing emerald jewellery has, either,” before Hermione can get names.

“Unnecessarily enigmatic, as if she’s trying too hard to maintain a façade. It’s quite sad; she could be a healer rather than a jester. Be sure to tell her so when you see her next.”

On the Underworld…
Hermione’s grits her teeth in Faneuil Hall. Blood has the good sense to keep his face as bland as possible. Nary a smirk that she’d (with extreme reluctance) come to him with questions.

“Never heard of them,” when she’s done. “Which makes them fascinating. And menacing. I wonder…” and it’s obvious he is contemplating if the conclusion of reality might also finally end his immortality. And welcome it, regardless of if everyone and everything also ends with him.

On the forces of primordial creation…
“Utter poser.” Lucifer is taking a breather between piano numbers. “A pure showboater, she is. Not a jot of style, either. Or true celestial puissance. Dear Old Daddy, or Mummy, could do the same by waving a pinkie. This one’s trying to shoehorn in on the divinity biz, pure and simple. Enough about her, now how about that drink, my scrumptious ray of light?”

On people…
J’onn steeples his fingers. “She’s been a step ahead of you in every encounter. Note her mixed use of jovial and deadly language, designed to keep you off balance. She seeks to command the battlefield. So don’t let her.” He bites into one of the wafers Hermione’s brought and points the remaining half her way. “You need to jump ahead, take a lead in the interactions. Press her back on her heels. Put her in your game, don’t play in hers.”

Hmmm. Hermione has a plan coming on. Perhaps four or five. The Manhunter continues as they coalesce.

“Think psychology, not powers, for tactics. It could very well be that beating her is impossible if this isn’t an act. So don’t fight her on her terms. Design a setting that you control, place her into that instead. Don’t approach head on, come at her from a direction she can’t anticipate.”

Yes. A few people she can call on for tips, play supporting roles. Or perhaps take the lead. That would knock her back for sure. Luna will be happy she’d sparked part of the idea as well. Kys might expect jewellery. Hermione will ensure she gets it.

Hermione’s working on version 4.2 when Oa! she remembers it’s Sunday and she’s almost late. And Guardians know Green Lantern needs a day to clear her head. Better hurry, Sam will be expecting her any minute at…

…Merlin’s Beard, where is… No, um, must practice sounding non-magical. Green… Glaciers! Green Glaciers, where is Hermione?

Sam winces. She’s going to need to work on these.

She’s well aware that her mentor has a busy schedule, what with presently leading the Justice freakin’ League to go along with her usually packed life. That Hermione takes time to teach a mere Firstie how to be a superhero is properly excellent. Even if she follows Holyhead. Even if Weasley did mostly win the World Cup.

Studying the clear air above the nearby woods, there’re still no moving lights in the morning sky at Hogwarts, no sign of her ‘Advanced Muggle Studies’ professor. Not quite a fib, that; ‘Advanced Muggle’ does kinda translate to ‘metahuman’ if you squint.

No escort with Sam today, as has been the practice these last couple of weeks. The Headmistress and Head of House Sprout trust them both, which is also a nice feeling. Sam’s not going to let any of them down.

C’mon, Granger, where are–

“Hullo, Sam.”

Darn it. Hermione’s right behind her, on the ground and grinning. “One of these days,” Sam groans. The agreement is if Sam sees Hermione before she lands, she can fly up to meet her. Hermione has said it’s excellent practice of her own in Advanced Sneakiness, a big topic with the League.

So far, Sam’s not been successful. Hermione reveals her means of approach, including using trees for cover and avoidance of stepping on stray branches. Then it’s time to rise. Sam double checks her backpack, and they head into the copse. Moments later, Teen Lantern (and Green Lantern) are headed for the Moon.

It’s as amazingly amazing as the last time she’d been here. Superpeople say hi, and Sam tries her best to stay cool and say hi back without flubbering up like she’d done with Superman. A silvery guy, American from the way he talks (like in cowboy movies), takes an interest in her as he’s also Hermione’s mentee. Or had been, sort of a graduate. They trade badly whispered descriptions of Mean Lantern and her bossy training programmes, and Sam tries not to giggle at Hermione’s series of ‘Well I Never!’ declarations.

He seems pretty cool. Hermione confirms it; she’s fought alongside him several times now and he’s fit into the League better than Green Lantern had in her early days.

Sam hears another American voice from an open room. Her eyes get wide behind the mask; Superman(!) is inside, teaching a class complete with a whiteboard. Hermione puts a gloved finger to her lips, and Sam stays silent. ‘De-Escalation’ is in big letters on the board.

Oh. Yeah, that could be useful when people are throwing lorries about. De-escalation at school usually means somebody’s been taken to Madam Pomfrey’s for healing potions.

He must have seen them, and duh Supervision!, and that smile could light up a city. Sam manages, barely, not to flubber and gives a thumbs up his way. Then they’re off again, down identical hallways and HelgaEmeralds does this place seem like a maze. At least the stairs don’t move about.

Hermione slows after a few passage twists and turns to her. “Superman is running a class. What does that tell us?”

‘That he’d be an awesome professor!’ springs to mind and is promptly quashed. Hermione’s shifted to Instructor Granger mode. “That… even superheroes go to school?”

“And?”

And… “There’s always more to learn about?”

“Spot on,” and Hermione’s back with a warm look. “The classes don’t end, ever. What we do demands it. I attended his class the day before yesterday, and next week I’m doing one myself on the current geo-political affairs in our region of space.”

School forever doesn’t sound like fun. Superman teaching class? Sam could get used to that. Maybe show up early.

Brilliant, Hermione’s led them to their caff as Sam’d skipped breakfast. Her boyfriend is there and starts ribbing Sam about stealing away his girl. Wally’s not as cool as Superman, or Harry Potter, but if Hermione is lovey-dovey eyes around him then he must be okay.

Next stop? A big chamber straight out of Muggle movies with panels of crazy lights and weird metal arms from out of the ceiling and glowing screens everywhere. Her oldest brother Todd, who raves over ‘sci-fi,’ would love this place.

Sam gets to meet the lead wizard, a tall American in a red and blue costume under a long white coat. His cowl is pulled back, and he starts to lean down to shake her hand. Nope, she’s gonna be cool, and hovers up to his level for it.

It gets an appreciative chuckle from him. “Well done! I’m Ray Palmer. Aka the Atom. And you’re Teen Lantern, right?”

He seems cool enough. “I’m Sam Howell. Pleasure!”

“Well, Ms Howell, our mutual friend Green… Hermione,” at her nod, “thinks it would be useful to run a few tests on your powers. Which you seem to have a handle on.” Sam confirms by descending gracefully. Quite happy that she’d not shot through the roof or into the floor.

Tests sound good to Sam. Hermione trusts him, so she will too.

It’s kinda like annual healer examinations, with buzzing metal sticks instead of sparking wooden wands. He does a lot of “hmmms” and “that’s interesting” and looks over to Hermione a couple of times, and Hermione’s face is totes Petrificus.

It includes Sam stepping into a glass chamber, and Ray fiddling with her surroundings. First, she floats off the ground, and he turns off the gravity. Sam can feel it going away and holds position. Hermione gives her a thumbs up. Sam forms a boxy green shield around herself and Ray does something beeping to tell if it’s airtight or not. Without removing the air, which woulda been scary even in a room full of superheroes.

No leaks. It does need more strength for her to go flying around in space, which kinda sucks. Not that Sam will be in space anytime soon, she knows. She’s learning the Bubble-Head charm as without that, space won’t be fun at all. Sixth-Year spellwork, and it’s almost solid, and Hermione and Prof Sprout both say she’s so crushing it for such advanced magic at her age.

They’ve also been working on transport bubbles and that cool skintight shield Hermione can do. Her mentor keeps assuring her that yes, she’d learned that and more in only six months. She’s also using a ring designed expressly for that and more, and the best teachers in the galaxy to train her. While not studying magic and maintaining her grades, as everyone keeps telling Sam. As if she’d let them drop.

Nobody knows what Sam’s limits might be, or how to best access them. Which is why they’re doing tests as well as practices. Hermione’d said one day that Sam might be able to do things no Lantern could, and she hadn’t been joking. Which would be brilliant.

“Green Lantern?” A voice is coming from the ceiling, young and American and vaguely familiar. “Supergirl here.” Right, Sam’s met her. Wicked mod outfits. “Rain check on the pickup, if that’s good?” There’s yelling and the sounds of Troll-degree potions failures in the background. “I got a welcome wagon of earthquakes. Pee-Gee’s assisting.”

“Go fix the ground, I’ve got it,” Hermione replies. The ceiling makes a clicking noise, and Ray makes a shooing gesture at her. “Sam and I will be fine, and you’re faster anyways.”

Hermione nods, telling Sam “I’ll be right back. There’s someone I think you’d like to meet, who’s also learning about their powers.” Sam watches as she heads for the doorway, talking into her ring about airlock clearance.

“We truly need a teleport station in Japan,” Ray mentions to the room. “Or Asia.” He turns the attention to Sam and picks up fresh buzzing metal sticks. “Onwards!”

What looks like a thick glassy dartboard slides out from behind a panel, and Ray wants her to fire a beam at the bullseye. Then green-punch it as hard as she can, followed by trying to use a thin beam to drill through it. Lots more “hmmms” and “that’s interesting” as she does.

Sam makes a couple of objects as well, and Ray pokes and prods at them. Then, he simply asks her to form a hand, and he shakes it. “Personal sensory data collection, always a bedrock part of experimentation. When it’s safe, of course.” He pauses. “Well, when it’s not unsafe.” His left hand reaches out. “Do you have pat-a-cake in England?”

Pat-a-what? “You mean patty cake?”

He grins. “Sure. Put out another hand and let’s go for a speed run.”

Now the testing gets fun. He’s good. He’s also old and male. Girls are the best, as Sam proves. He concedes after minutes of verses. “And I’m faster with my own hands,” she asserts.

“That’s a frightening thought,” Ray laughs, and she joins him. He points to a chair and falls into one by a big desk with lots of Muggle typewriter keyboards. Sam settles in, and he shows her a button on the armrest that lowers the seat so her boots don’t dangle.

She can tell he’s about to talk about the results; he’s got that look that Professor Flitwick gets when he’s ready to unleash a new charm on the class. Hermione enters just as he starts, along with woman with shining black hair and a fitted black boilersuit.

“Doctor Hoshi, meet a new hero. Teen Lantern.”

Uh-oh. This Doctor Hoshi, whoever she is, goes fast from surprised to upset. Angry, even.

“Ray, why is a child here? And why is she dressed in a Green Lantern Halloween costume?”

Her mentor turns and reacts before Sam can. “Oi! Her parents helped her with it!” Hermione exclaims. “Do not snark on the costume, Kimiyo; that’s a low blow.”

Sam jumps in, practically glowing. “Yeah! Superman liked it so there, lady!” ‘Child?’ Seriously? “And I’m almost thirteen! Soon!”

Her new pal the wizard also steps in. “Not nice, Doctor. No one’s here unless they should be. She’s here for the same reasons you are.”

Hermione adds the parts that Sam doesn’t believe are strictly necessary. “She has powers and wants to learn how to use them. As such, we have express permission from her parents and school administrators to aid her.” She gives the Doctor Lady a level 8 glare. Sam can believe Hermione’d picked it up from Headmistress McGonagall.

Doctor Lady (and she’s all in black and Sam wonders if she’s a reformed supervillain or close?) must be smart enough to know when real superheroes aren’t happy with her. Plus, smart enough to spot the costume is Green Lantern related, so props there.

The angry look shifts down a couple of gears. “I must state for the record that this individual is too young for this… lifestyle, regardless of permissions. She is also not my responsibility.” Sam’s turn to get her gaze, now approaching mild friendliness. “I offer apologies for, ah, ‘dissing’ your costume.”

Yowch. Only thing worse than old people is old people trying to talk young.

Sam isn’t just here to learn about powers. She’s here to make her mentor proud, so “Apology accepted. Doctor, um?”

“Kimiyo Hoshi. Director of Astrophysical Research at the National Astronomical Observatory of Japan.” Okay, that sounds pretty cool, whatever it is.

“Teen Lantern also gained powers in a non-deliberate manner,” Hermione says and Sam imagines there’s a message in her words for the doctor.

“Well.” Looks like the message has been received. “Nice to meet you, Teen Lantern.” Either fully reformed or maybe never a baddie? She hasn’t dissed on her name, so extra points. Maybe enough by now…

“Green Lantern?” Sam asks, touching her mask.

Hermione might be a step ahead of her. “She knows who Ray and I are. I trust her a great deal. It’s your identity and your secret, remember? Which makes it your decision.”

Sam considers. Doctor H’s also new to powers. Maybe they’ll to be learning together. Also, Hermione trusts her; she isn’t wearing her own, after all.

She pulls the mask back over her head. “Hi, Doctor H. I’m Sam Howell.” She puts out her hand, flesh and not a green projection, for shaking. “Full-time student and part-time superhero-in-training.”

“While I am a full-time scientist and, ideally, a zero-time superhero.” She’s got a slight smile while speaking, like it’s becoming not that horrible a concept.

“Oh don’t fret on that,” Hermione says. “You have months yet before having enough control for any true superheroics.”

She’s honestly new, Sam guesses. “What are your powers?” Oops, is that rude to ask? Too late.

Doctor H doesn’t reply except to glow a pure white light, and her boilersuit glows white too which is wicked! Sam can make out her face, concentrating, and a wave of her hand spreads a rainbow in the air. And cooler, she rises half a metre off the ground!

“Wow, you can fly too! And make light!” Sam gushes. “You should be Doctor Spectrum!”

“Yes, I am the human firefly,” and the glow and hovering recede away. “My life sucks and laughs at me.” Despite the words, she doesn’t look all that upset. Adults are weird.

“Is that your costume?” It’s an odd choice, Sam thinks. Maybe scientists go for the minimal.

“What?” Sam almost laughs at her reaction. “No, no costume! Multiple colours were throwing off energy dispersion and photon measurements. Basic black simply interferes the least.” It’s kinda stylish too, actually.

“I was kinda worried if it was,” Sam says. “A bit dodgy compared to everyone else’s. You’ll need a proper costume along with your superhero name. Then you can get in the registry.” There’s a sound behind her that might be Hermione and Ray stifling giggles, and Sam refuses to turn for confirmation.

“You’re kidding, right?” Doctor H is well shocked. “You people register your bizarre names and costumes?” she demands from the adults.

Sam loves this part of superhero life, and her day entering it had been fantastic. “Yeah, it was really cool! I made a new friend who can form cyclones!” She thinks back. “Well, kinda small ones.”

“Meteorological manipulation or mental control over atmospheric gases?” Sam has no idea.

“A very good question,” Ray says, and it makes her feel better that he doesn’t either.

“I can fly and make light like you can,” Sam moves on. “And my light is solid when I want it to be!”

Time to show off. Sam lights up and does her own hovering, then makes a chair to jump into. There’s a dartboard, so she makes darts and scores a perfect 60. Okay, she’d guided the darts. All part of showing off, right?

“It’s… green.” Doctor H is studying her creations the way Ray had been doing earlier.

There’s a slight dis in the tone, maybe? Sam won’t stand for that. Nobody insults the colour. “Hey, green’s the coolest!”

“Sam can do different shades, all the same consistency,” Ray says. ‘For now’ Sam says to herself. “Hermione’s only got the single hue with differing consistencies and mass levels.” Like walls that stop oceans or move moons. Plus freakin’ hyperspace!

Hermione’s looking at a couple of the panels, all filled with runes that must be part of Fifth Year classes. “Were you able to get useful data, Ray?” She’s got that expression, when like when she’s quizzing Sam. Or when Reddy does for the YJ team. That she knows something you don’t.

Oh, right. Magic.

Ray smiles while shaking his head. “The instruments aren’t detecting Sam’s light. I can see it, I can sense it, and the spectroscopes, photometers, and mass detectors have zilch.” Doctor H’s eyebrows go up, and she steps over to check the runes. “Not like Hermione’s light, which I can detect, despite not being able to fully explain.”

Cool. Sam had no clue if his gadgets could pick up magic. Definitely cool they can’t. Hermione looks a touch relieved and quickly changes to disappointed.

“These numbers make no sense.” Sam believes Doctor H isn’t unhappy with her, more that she’s unhappy with reality. “Technicolor telekinesis. Gah. Might as well be magic.”

Hermione blinks. Sam’s eyes get big. And Ray, he almost coughs. Wow, he had figured it out! He winks at her, and she winks back. Yep, he’s pretty cool.

Good that Doctor H is facing the panels the entire time.

“How did you meet Hermione?” Sam asks. Let’s get the conversation away from magic!

“I wrote a letter to Green Lantern.”

“Wicked! I did too!”

“Did you now,” and she’s not looking at Sam, she’s looking at Hermione. Who nods for some reason. Adults, even the awesome ones, can still be weird.

“I saw her on Blue Peter and wrote her a fan letter and she wrote back! Then I started glowing every now and then, and later I saw her at Proms for the Last Night, that’s a big concert in London, and I almost went airborne! I wrote again about going green and making things and she wrote back again and then she came and visited home!” Sam takes a long breath when done and feels proud of herself. An entire secret origin, no mention of magic. Yay her.

“She started teaching me. She took me to meet Young Justice too!”

“Young… Who?”

“A team of youthful teens under adult supervision, gathered to learn control of their extraordinary talents,” Hermione explains. “How to live with unanticipated aptitudes. While not interfering with school.” Bart’s always complaining about that part. Maybe if he went to Hogwarts, he’d say different. Maybe with fewer of those odd words he uses too.

“Speaking of which, we’ve an appointment with them,” she adds. “Ray, thanks and I owe you. Sam, gather your gear please?”

“You know I love when you bring me mysteries, Hermione,” Ray says, and does something that makes the runes run about on the screens and the panels to flicker different lights.

An easy enough task to get her stuff, and Hermione and Doctor H (Doctor Spectrum? That seems a cool name. Maybe she can check if anyone is using it.) are softly talking. Sam isn’t listening in! She’s only close enough to hear the confab. Honest.

“You set me up. Again. Parker, and now Howell.”

“Guilty, of course. I wanted to provide recent examples of unexpected powers not ruining lives. As I’ve said, you might never want to become a superhero. I nor anyone else will ever promote that. All we want to do is help you control your abilities, and not them control you.”

“Two data points barely make a line, Granger.”

“Yet a line, nonetheless. Not too long, I think we’ll gain a third.”

Sam loudly stomps closer. Boots, best footwear ever. “Ready, GL?” She gives Doctor H, maybe Doctor S one day, a second handshake. Ray is calling out that he’s got the scanners recalibrated, and the doctor pauses to let her eyes glow. Sam matches, all colours melding with the central one for a moment. Then she’s off for her own classes, and Sam’s off to America.

Somebody named Diana confirms over the ceiling telephones that she’ll ferry the doctor back to Japan. Her voice moves along with the duo of lanterns as they head for the airlock, which is neat. Diana mentions looking forward to meeting a newfound Lampetia and Sam makes a note to look that up.

“We have about thirty minutes, Hermione,” Sam asks when they’re in space. “Why the rush?”

“One, your magic. Kimiyo is dead clever and probably would have soon sussed it as Ray had. So you know, Ray already knows about magic, wand magic too, and has long before I arrived. Most of the League are the same.”

Wow. That’s superheroes for you, Sam guesses.

“Second, you did very well in there,” and Sam can’t help but glow. “An excellent recitation if anyone asks of how your powers emerges. For that, Teen Lantern, I believe a detour is in order.”

They zoom right past Earth. To Mars! And a couple of big asteroids, just like in the Muggle books, and friggin’ Jupiter! Saturn, and Hermione’s amped up the light so the rings stand out. A return that Hermione weaves around so they meet several comets, which honestly aren’t thrilling till closer to home and the tails extend out like dyed smoke.

Wow, again. Even if Hermione (again) says no trips to distant stars. “No. Not yet. Not until you’ve gained full command of your powers, including sustained flight, solid shields, and a perfect extended Bubble-head charm or the equivalent.”

Sam sighs. So months at least, could be a year. That’s forever!

She perks up as they descend into the mountain to see her super-buds, and they see her. Cassie and M’gann fly up to greet her and quickly introduce new members Superboy (Connor) and Empress (Anita). Sam loves Anita’s accent, which makes her stand out from all the Americans around them. Well, the stereotypical Americans.

It makes things much easier now that secret identities aren’t a thing. Sam honestly couldn’t care less knowing them; she knows secrets the Yanks don’t know exist. Well, except Zachary, who’d knowingly smiled her first day when Sam had mentioned she goes to a boarding school in Scotland.

Reddy’s with Hermione, who relates news of the subterranean adventurer the team had encountered with her months ago. Atlee, now aka Power Girl, is in San Francisco with the Titans. Tim already knows, of course. The rest insist it’s high time for field trip to the West Coast. Sam could believe this comes up a lot.

Time for practice! Reddy shepherds everyone outside. Wordy magic from Zachary, long range Legilimency from M’gann, technological spellwork from Tim and his gizmos, proclaim the area free of people.

Firstly is flying, testing speed and manoeuvrability. Connor has velocity and is working on cornering (and on his temper). Virgil can stop on a knut; M’gann can cheat and fly right through whatever’s in her way by going ghostlike. The actual ghost on the team, Greta, isn’t fast but can disperse herself into the breeze, which is kinda cool. None of the school’s spirits can do the same.

Cassie is aces all around. Sam’s getting better, that’s the best she can admit.

She is better when they move onto force projection. Electricity, heat vision, explosive arrows, magical lightning, and emerald lights race along the ground. Sam puts up her best shield, which does hold off everyone until Connor goes full bore and burns a hole. Thankfully the shield was around a boulder, not her, as there’s not much left of the boulder. Yow.

Combat, unarmed, and Sam royally sucks at this despite three older siblings to fight with. When powers aren’t allowed, Tim is the best, Cissie and Anita are close seconds. With powers… he still wins. Sam watches Hermione watching Tim, nodding her head at his moves. His boss could be teaching Hermione too, which sounds awesome.

Tag team battles follow, Reddy and Hermione acting as referees. Sam gets in a few lucky hits; the practices with Hermione have helped. Her bubbles are improving too, and she manages to keep M’gann and Greta from escaping from them. For a half minute, at least.

Last is the most fun: everyone against Hermione. The team is great, not a single instance of getting in each other’s way. Connor is wickedly strong, Bart might be getting faster, and Tim directs them all with clever attack patterns. It’s a lot like Quidditch plays against goals that fight back. Overall Sam can see how they’re getting better. Darn good, even.

Except, so is Hermione. Sam can tell she’s not going all out, just enough to make the team step up its game. Props to the redheaded stringbean, as he must have taught Hermione how to dodge speeders like Bart. She can hold off mind whammies from M’gann and Anita as well, which Sam needs to figure out how do with her green magic.

Hermione throws green cricket balls that hit the members one by one. Except Sam, who manages to get a bat up in time to smack it back at the bowler. Both grin as Hermione nimbly rings a glove for a fielded dismissal.

Reddy calls off the fighting when it’s growing too heavy. Connor really needs to work on his temper.

Showers. Sam loves the showers in the mountain. No worrying over the hot water. Hogwarts is great and somehow manages to run out of hot water every morning.

After, there are afters. Post fight snackage, as Cissie calls it. Muggles have so many different desserts, and all of them magical without magic. Unless Zachary is casting secretly.

Tim does a short talk on detective techniques. Hermione joins him, and Sam makes a new note to ask when she’d earned the skills. Tim seems kinda surprised and a little impressed at her. Neat.

Zachary and Sam talk softly about special schools while doing a seconds run for Choco-chunk ice cream. No names are mentioned, natch. He wishes he could go to a school like hers. People like him only have their families and customs passed down the generations. “I could possibly master additional mystical arts from outside practitioners. Alas, most are jealous hoarders and not teachers.”

“If you’re serious, we should talk.” Hermione’s at the doorway. Darn, that sneakiness again. “A friend wants to change that. I think you’d be a strong fit.”

She might have made his day.

As is traditional for Green Lantern’s visits, she does Q&A with the group during snackage. Hermione’d mentioned to Sam about the owl service between planets, bit like a patronus that can only say one word? It’s big news to the rest, especially after she explains nobody’s ever done it before. Sam has new respect for Ray the Wizard. Yay for humans!

And Hermione’s been in an actual Lantern team-up at her new space inn, Sam hadn’t heard this tale. Fighting an electric ghost! Sorta; not like Greta or the spectres at school. With the stringbean, Supergirl, and Supergirl’s lady friend whom Sam’s not met. She sounds cool though. And Sam is deffo going to be angling for a trip to there!

Speaking of outer space buildings, that the League is getting a second headquarters is met with envy. “While we get stuck with a second-hand mountain,” gripes Connor. Geesh. Don’t Americans appreciate how much history is around them?

“Fair enough,” Hermione replies. “You’re free at any time to relocate it into orbit, I assume Red Tornado?”

Reddy’s been altering his voice, and the laugh is pretty realistic. “I for one would find the lack of oxygen beneficial to my circuitry.” More giggles from the team. Connor finally gives in and calls for breath-holding to be part of next week’s training exercises.

Having the current Chairperson of the Justice League on hand gets plenty of questions. Particularly on what it’s like being in charge of the World’s Greatest Superheroes.

“Scary,” Hermione says after a moment. “Quite scary at times.”

“No, wait!” Cissie exclaims. “You’re not supposed to be afraid! Of, anything, I guess. Green Lanterns don’t have fear, right?”

Sam could take this one. Hermione’d explained it often enough to her. “I certainly do have fears. Lots of them,” and she’s aiming her words at them all. “I get afraid all the time. Being afraid is a right useful survival trait. Being afraid gets your attention. It’s what can keep you alive.”

Hermione’s got that ‘this is important, so pay attention’ tone. “It’s never about being fearless; that’s simple carelessness or overconfidence. It’s about recognising fear and pushing through it. Overcoming it. Getting the job done.” She holds out her ring. “Part of being Lantern is being able to do so without hesitation.” It glows a little, which is always cool. “The rest is willpower, a good deal of willpower. And lots and lots of training.”

Goosebumps. Sam kinda feels like applauding. She’s not alone.

Her mentor takes a few more, a nice one from Anita about how the League works with government agencies. American ones, of course, though Hermione mentions a European Union group. Cool!

Sam thinks they’re winding up, until Tim stands up to drop a bomb. “First, thanks to Green Lantern for sharing her time with us,” and that does get applause. “Second, as we were talking about leadership… Cassie, it’s time.”

“Now?” Cassie looks kinda startled, and everyone’s now looking at Wonder Girl. What’s going on? Is this team stuff that nobody told newbie Teen Lantern about?

“We’re all here. Sam too.” Who notices both Hermione and Reddy also seem unawares of what’s happening. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. You’ve had me as your team leader ever since we formed Young Justice. Robin was expected to lead what people were calling the New Teen Titans, like the original Robin did for the original team.” He pauses, and the level of serious increases. “Which was fine when we started. I think it’s time to let someone else have a turn.”

Okay, wow. Bombarda Maxima officially cast.

He lets the shockwaves settle. “I’m not leaving the team,” he continues. “Or not acting as field leader, depending on the mission assignments.” That helps, judging from faces.

Cissie asks the obvious question. “So who? And sorry, Connor but a world of no,” and Sam’s awed as he’s behind her with the raised hand. “You just joined; learn the ropes first.”

“Cassie,” Virgil says firmly. “The two of you talked before today, yeah? Seems a little like a reverse staged coup. Whatever; Wondy’s got my vote, coup or not.”

“We did,” Cassie confesses. “And I want to try this,” she continues. “If you’ll have me. We can vote, or– ”

No need, as hands are up before she can end the sentence. Bart has two in the air.

Reddy has only the one. “A new area for training, both in team and field leadership exercises. Excellent!”

Sam’s so ready. If Green Lantern can lead her team, maybe one day Teen Lantern can have a go at leading her own.

The Atlantic is dark and stormy on the trip to Scotland. Hermione’s staying low, so Sam can see the lightning overhead and the tall waves below. Flying through rainstorms is neat when you can stay dry.

Hermione’s moving fast, as curfew is soon. Minutes to cross an ocean. Neat. Not much time for talking, not as neat. No rain as they land, very neat.

They review school issues, and Hermione is kinda scary at knowing details of Sam’s latest grades and ‘areas for improvement’ as she puts it. Sam might not be a Potions Mistress after graduation; “it’s not the end of the world,” as she tells Hermione.

Huh. Sam hasn’t seen Hermione’s face go there before. Like she’s been hit by a curse. No idea why. It’s only potions. Big deal.

They part with a big hug, and Hermione saying how very, very proud she is of Sam. Sam echoes it back for the leader of the Justice League and professional Ghostbuster.

The unlit Lantern is still laughing as she disappears into the night sky. Sam rushes inside. Eight inches due tomorrow on five uses of Plangentine sap. Urgh. Parts of her life can be less exciting than others.

Magic, superpowers, and a kickass mentor, all kinda make up for it.

Chapter Text

“Well now. I was wondering when you’d come ’round. Already chatted up Top Hat and the Fallen Git, so now it’s my turn?”

“I really don’t like you.”

“And I’ll reckon you like that wanker Blood even less, and yet you were out and about with him in Beantown.”

“Oa, I’m already regretting this.”

“Gotta say, helluva new gal pal you made from what I’ve heard. For once you might be punching above your weight class.”

“Possibly. Punching isn’t why I’m here, though.”

“I figured as much. You woulda gone to Nelson or Corrigan, or their better halves, if you wanted boxing gloves. No, you want–”

“A trickster. Somebody with a reputation for deluding and manipulating mages and demons while only possessing a fraction of their power.”

“Helps that the bigger their egos, the easier they are to fool. And this new bird’s got a big one, yeah?”

“Quite. If she’s for real, I’ve gotten rather good at punching of late. If not…”

“If not, you need to beat her without fighting.”

“Like you’re known to do.”

“Like I’m known to do. Right then, luv, order us a round and let’s talk.”

Time passes…

“As I said, I had a few ideas.”

“’Course you did. You’ve got a rep too, luv. Had one before graduating, the tale of how three wee tots took out the nastiest piece of work we’ve had in these parts for a century.”

“I couldn’t possibly comment. Let’s just… Oh bother.”

“Ring went off, dinnit? I’ll cover the bill this time; you better be off to go green. World’s not going to save itself, doncha know.”

There’s an empty, incredibly unhygienic alleyway behind the pub that’s perfect for superheroes to take calls. “Lantern here. What’s up?”

It’s Sue on the comms. “Your Euro-bestie Catherine called in with a doozie. There’s a superpowered battle south of Kraków, and our satellites confirm a level A–2, possibly A–3. There’s a crashed spherical object at the centre of it all, maybe ten metres in diameter. GL, I can verify that Merlyn, the assassin archer and not you-know-who, is there, along with Chronos and Darhk. Thawne’s there too.”

Damn. This has become serious if the Reverse Flash or Professor Zoom or whatever he’s calling himself today is involved. “Anyone else?”

“That new supervillain group we fought a few days ago – they’re back.”

Double damn. That hadn’t been fun, despite the outside help the League had gotten.

“That’s an odd variety.”

“That’s why I’m notifying the Chair. Good news is they seem to be only fighting each other.”

Odder and odder. “I’ll take point. Who do we have nearby?”

“Wonder Woman in Greece, you in Britain. Ice in Iceland, no puns please, with Power Girl to show off volcanoes and the sites of subterranean assaults.”

“Other actives on duty or upstairs?”

“Elongated Man and Captain Atom are conducting Tower training with Aqualad, sorry, Tempest.” Garth’s about to get additional training today, Hermione thinks.

“Superman and Batman are doing a World’s Finest in Detroit. The Atom is wrapping up a live media event. Flash is in the med bay, as you know.”

She does. A shattered arm while stopping an attack on Iron Heights yesterday. It could have been worse. He’ll be sorely missed if Zoom is involved.

“Patch in the first five, please.”

“Already done, GL.”

Cute, but thanks Sue. “League, we’re needed in Eastern Europe. Ice, tell Power Girl she’s welcome if–”

Tora must have her earbud out and on speaker, as Atlee breaks in eagerly. “Yes, we will leave now!”

They can hear Tora’s shouts, accompanied by the sounds of breaking stone and gusting wind filling the channel. “By Odin, she’s fast in the air!”

Diana is already in route. The trio in the Tower will teleport down, then Cameron is to fly Ralph and Garth across the Atlantic. He’s thankfully gotten much faster since joining.

Sue transmits the coordinates; they’ll form up there and observe first, ideally let the idiots do the dirty work for them.

Hermione alters from a pub crawl outfit into her uniform and makes a quick mental note. The League really needs a teleport station in Europe. Perhaps not in her cellar. Percy might have suggestions, she hopes.

As Hermione’s directed in a not-at-all bossy manner, they’re to rendezvous quietly outside the area of fighting. A reconnaissance in force, as the manuals would call it, rather than a direct charge on the combatants.

“Sue, reach out to J’onn please, if possible,” she says on landing. “I’d like a telepath in the field soon, if this is the group we fought before. And assemble a backup force in case it gets as bad as last time.”

They can hear the sounds of combat from a couple of hundred metres away, across a nearby river and forest. Krzeczów is uncomfortably close and her top priority is to keep the fighting away from the population.

Right. Assignments. “Ice, you’re with Power Girl. No offence, Atlee, but you’ve not worked with this team before. Tora, keep her safe, that’s an order.” Next. “Tempest, Wonder Woman, Captain Atom, prep for an assault. Garth, follow their lead please. EM and I are going to see who we’re fighting. Wait for our signal to advance.”

Ralph is already stretching into the woods, sliding snakelike from tree to tree. Hermione rings up unlit green coverings over her white gloves; the rest of her uniform’s colour scheme works well for camouflage. She stays off the ground, and they advance quickly to where the noise is most intense. At the edge of the treeline, they can see…

What on Oa’s Dry Deserts is this.

Chronos, Merlyn, Zoom, Darhk, yes, all present and accounted for.

The supervillain group from earlier, also present. Sort of? Same power sets but they’ve gotten younger, none out of their teens she’s betting, and wearing different costumes. They can fly as well, all of them.

The oddness is now quite off the scale.

There’s a large translucent bubble nearby, badly torn up and cracked, and the teens are defending it from the adults. Several are inside and injured, probably from what Hermione’s assumes had been a crash-landing judging from the wide, smoking crater.

Ralph’s head is staring at her with eyebrows comically raised, the rest of his body a dozen metres deeper in the woodland. Hermione shrugs. No idea.

There’s also what could be a humanoid robot or a radiation containment suit with a glossy faceplate. It’s hurling foreign energy blasts to go with the lightning, magnetism, fiery flares, gigantic shapeshifting fists, and more that the group had used before.

They’ve a speedster this time, and he and Zoom are duelling blurs across the battlefield. Hang on. The blurs solidify for a moment and… he is a she? And she’s wearing a Kid Flash costume. Right, that’s beyond the pale. Whoever this is, they’re about to get a severe thrashing.

Ralph taps her arm and points to his ring finger, then to the teens. Guardians, this is only getting better. They’re each of them wearing Booster Gold rings!

Oaths and Oa. They’ve gone from adult, dangerous, downright vile supervillains to younger crazed fans of the community’s biggest embarrassment. Lovely.

She has to give them props for teamwork, rare for the baddies to possess. They’ve used a combination of powers to hurl Chronos painfully against a road sign. He doesn’t take it well, and with a series of elaborate hand motions huge portals begin opening everywhere. And history pours out.

Dinosaurs of various sizes, all carnivorous. A squadron of WWI biplanes. Stampeding buffalos. A Roman legion at full march. Shouting Vikings. Marauding pirates. And a herd of snarling sabretooth tigers to top it off. All of them frightened and confused, and readily attacking anyone and anything around them.

Right. Enough of this before it spreads. “League, full advance,” Hermione calls to her people. “Let’s take them down!” Diana is overhead before she finishes, leading the airborne cavalry. Tora races in on a frozen slideway, Atlee on a levitated boulder. Cameron is right behind, carrying Garth.

And the oddness abounds. The younger villains are cheering at the Leagues’ arrival? Certainly not very committed to their criminal careers, Hermione thinks. Then dives into the fray herself.

She keeps an eye on the guests whilst throwing down caltrops, hyperdense gravity potholes, and emerald starbursts towards Zoom. Garth’s fitting well with League members, grand. He’ll be one of them very soon. Atlee is actually… proving to be pretty vicious. Merlyn’s not getting a chance to hold solid footing as the ground erupts below him and rocky shards chase after him. Tora is watching Atlee’s back while watching the teens, who’ve consolidated their attention on Darhk’s sophisticated sorcery.

The battle goes from odd to bizarre soon after, however in a good way. Diana dismisses a centurion to the trampled ground and takes control of the Romans, issuing orders in perfect Latin. Cameron takes command of his own air force and leads the Sopwith Camels on attack runs. Tora summons a crystalline platform and calls upon her living ancestors to offer their axes, and they know a Scandinavian Ice Goddess when see one.

Atlee simply hammers the pirates and tigers into tight groups, then pulls up earthen walls to surround them. Ralph is suitably annoying Zoom, as Hermione had hoped. He’d mentioned awhile back how he and Barry had fought Thawne plenty of times.

Hermione herself takes on the reptiles. It reminds her of the raptors she’d ridden into battle on Skartaris. Plus, she can brag to Arisia that she’s now fought the largest predators to ever walk this planet.

Not for much longer, though. Garth sneaks over and knocks out Chronos with a single punch. Everyone forgets how powerful he is, Hermione too at times. The portals start collapsing, and whatever’d passed through are pulled back like stretched pieces of taffy that snap shut upon re-entry. Ta. Nice when the villains can clean up after themselves.

Speaking of stretching… “I think he’s gotten frustrated enough,” Hermione hears on the comms. “GL, Ice, incoming in 3, 2, now.”

Zoom speeds at Ralph, who’s doing his best bullfighter’s cape impression using a flattened crimson and blue torso. Olé, and he pulls himself up just as Thawne would run through him. And with Ralph no longer obscuring his view, the speedster abruptly sees the ice slick Tora’s put out for the next kilometre. Hermione loves the look of furious panic in the glowing red eyes.

She’s at the end of the slick, no amusing boxing gloves or cricket bats for this one. Zoom gets a wide beam at full strength, no possibility of dodging or vibratory avoidance. Wally will be pleased. Ralph makes a ‘beep beep’ noise.

Hermione’s ready to catch Thawne’s airborne and unconscious form, and she’s too late. “Yeah, that’s enough.” Darhk’s rumbling voice sounds nearly bemused, and with a snap Merlyn and Zoom are at his side. “We’re outa here.” And they are. No portals, no doorways, they’re simply gone.

Diana’s got Chronos wrapped up in her lasso. The other opponents, the younger ones, aren’t fighting any more. Smart of them. Hermione makes to approach their damaged ship, her shield firmly up. So young. “They’re kids,” she frowns.

“You’re not much older, anglerfish.”

“Hush, tadpole. Respect the Chair.”

One in a vivid pink bodysuit (and yet he makes it work) steps towards her. “Hollas, Green Lantern.” English, yet the faint accent isn’t familiar.

A blonde in the red and white, seriously rocking a skirt and leggings, hovers out of the vessel.

Hi, Hermione. Time to wake up.

What…

Long Live the Legion.

One by one, the unspoken words realign a series of psychic detours in her mind. Suddenly, Hermione can access the memories from a day from a thousand years in the future.

Oa, her head feels full. Complete. “League, stand down,” Hermione says loudly and drops her shield. “They’re friendlies. I met them last year, a thousand years from now.” Time travel. It needs its own syntax, as she’d discovered Third Year.

“Is this about,” Ralph waves hand like an orchestra conductor.

“No, they’re science.” Well, apart from the White Witch. Hermione glances around and doesn’t see Mysa. She does see, however…

“Rokk, who is this Kid Flash imposter?” Who almost looks familiar, not simply the costume which Hermione does so love seeing Wally wear.

The imposter, who’s slowed into a solid shape, looks irate under the mask. And bizarre goes to impossible with “Oi! You know Dad gave the okay to use it!”

She then seems to shrink into herself. “Oops.” Her voice; she has a proper dialect, unlike the vaguely American-sounding Legionnaires.

“Flash…” Rokk admonishes, shaking his head.

Imra smiles. We’re fine, Cos. I’ve gotten better since we last met Hermione and her memegrammatic pathways have held tightly.

Hermione isn’t listening to the thoughts in her head. “Hang on, I saw a statue of you in the future!” Then it hits, and Hermione really, really looks closely at the teen before her. High pony of ginger hair extending down from the topless cowl. Vivid green eyes.

Wally’s eyes.

“Heya Mum.” The imposter sounds sheepish now.

“Not yet, hunzee.” There’s a strawberry blonde next to this… Flashette, who kisses her on the cheek. She’s in a long-sleeved maillot-style costume, with a stylised feather on the chest. Bird Girl? Fletcher Lass?

“Yass, you’re right,” and they lean into each other. “It’s Mum from after she got pulled into your time, but before she meets us.”

Mum? Mum… By the Battery, this is…

Hermione’s ready to begin the questions, but she’s cut off. “This is not only colossally irrelevant but impacting our return to civilisation!” She well remembers that irritating voice. “We need to fix the Time Bubble,” Brainiac 5 continues. “And get out of this sprockin’ nightmare of an era before we cause a tachyonic cyclone to erupt!”

He’s bleeding dark green blood from a deep cut along his hairline, and Hermione sees he’s not alone. Minor to moderate wounds from arrows, pilums, dinosaur bites, and more; quite an assortment from anachronistic weaponry.

Cosmic Boy sees it as well. “Brainy, first priority is dealing with injuries. Dirk, you’re on primary.” Several of the Legionnaires, led by a ridiculously handsome teen in solar-themed colours from hair to boots, are soon employing what looks like advanced tissue regen devices on their comrades.

The reddish-blonde nudges the female Flash, who grins. “You should recognise this, Mum.” And she reaches into a small hip pouch, far past her elbow, and withdraws… a thin stalk of pale, vine wood. “Couldn’t fight with it in this here’n’now. The Statue, Statute, whatevs, is still around.”

That’s… No, it can’t be. “Oa, is that…”

“Yezzer,” and she waves it about, much as Ralph had pantomimed. “Your old wand. Flew into my six-year-old hand with a burst of lightning at Aunt Ginny & Uncle Harry’s place.” She chuckles, exactly like Wally does. “Scared the drello out of everybody!”

Rokk shakes his head in dismay. “Flash, enough please. The wounded?”

“Sorry Cos!” She perfectly tosses an Episkey variant at Imra’s leg, then dives into the Bubble. “Healing charms ahoy, Legionnaires!”

Guardians and Godric. All her teammates save for Atlee are looking at Hermione, then this Flash person wielding a wand, then back to her. Fine, they’re looking at her, she can work with that. “League, set a perimeter guard. The idiots might return. Wonder Woman, you’re on Chronos watch.”

“And there’s my bossy mom!” comes from inside the vessel. Rokk’s right hand is now supporting his downcast forehead.

“Anything you’d like to share, Lantern?” asks Diana with an amused smile.

Cosmic Boy, Guardians bless him, diverts that conversation to the side. “We hit an unexpected temporal quake while taking Flash home. Blew out the brakes, you could say. The Bubble shot right past our destination and didn’t re-enter the timestream until now. The last readings before smacking into the planet showed spacetime instability in this moment, plus or minus a week or so.” He groans. “Rond will have to investigate when we return.”

Right. Rond Vidar. Just a normal human, just a genius at time travel. And nothing more!

“They wanted the chronotronics,” Rokk adds. “The one with the clock on his face was first to show, the next three right after.”

“We’re ready for them should they decide to have another go,” Hermione assures him. “Now, about this ‘Mum’ business.”

“Green Lantern, I’d really prefer if–”

Lady Kid Flashette appears with a soft breeze, wand twirling in a way that Ron often does when bored. “The crew’s good and Brainy’s into the repairs.” The wand returns to her pouch, and she trains her eyes on Rokk. “Cos?” Almost a pleading tone?

He turns to the Legion’s telepath. “Imra?”

Hermione already knows, Rokk. She simply needs to see. I think we can safely let her.

The Flash pulls away her cowl and undoes the golden hair tie, and the tresses go wild. It’s the unleashed curls first used by Hermione the Witch, then made famous across the stars by the new Green Lantern.

Oa. She’s for real.

Hermione reaches out, tentatively, then quite non-tentatively, and pulls her daughter in for a hug. A strong one.

“Grife, Mum, you’re embarrassing me!” But Hermione feels her hugging back just as hard.

“Aww…” Ayla comments to the duo. “The Fastest Witch Alive, such a softy.”

“No way! A Fierce Badger I am, like Aunt Samantha and Mum!”

Hermione pulls away. A little. “What?”

“You know, Hogwarts? Where I went, when not at Aunt Parm’s academy for the summers?”

The reality is becoming really, really real. Her daughter, their daughter, and they’re not even married yet, only seriously dated for roughly a year, and said daughter is only a few years younger than she is, and looks to be in a relationship, and…

Oa. Is every encounter with the Legion going to be like this? (Sorry, Hermione. They will be.)

Iris, her teenage daughter, is studying her. “Weird seeing you with just the one ring, Mum.” Who is herself wearing two; one of the Booster GoldLegionnaire variety and the other displaying the same lightning bolt that’s on her chest. The Flash’s ring.

“Weird but looking good, Mrs G!” Quill Kid says to Hermione. “Cute moves against Professor Squajbrain.”

Hermione is introduced to the girlfriend. “Mum, meet Ayla Ranzz, aka Light Lass. Again. She’s visited out time lots of times. You and Dad met her years ago. Or will.”

“And who cares,” Brainy interrupts. “Rokk, the longer we’re here the greater the probability of paradox formation or worse. This era is useless; barely evolved from stone knives and bearskins.” He points to Hermione. “They might have slightly better equipment at their primitive lunar base, but we must limit our exposure. Meaning we can’t carry the Bubble up there.”

“No worries. We’ll bring the tech to you,” Hermione says, and begins talking into her ring. “Atom, this is GL, are you free?” There’s a minor pause. “Smashing. You’re badly needed here. You can? Excellent. Grab your toolbox too. Sure, he’s right beside me.” She gestures to the Elongated Man, who pulls out his earpiece. It’s a familiar routine.

Also routine, the rhythmic clicking sound as a trio of swirling energy bands emerge from the comm unit. They grow wider as the Atom pops out, fading when he reaches his full height.

“Hi there, campers. Looks like we won.” Ray takes in the scene. “Huh. That’s a weird design for a spaceship.” Hermione circles a finger, leading him along. “Not space… time?”

Hermione smirks as Brainy tries hard to not look impressed. ‘Iris Jean,’ and yes that does sound like a name she and Wally could agree on, isn’t at all impressed. She’s utterly awestruck.

“You’re the Atom! The Wizard! Wow, Mum talks about you all the time!”

“I do?”
“She does?”

Mum goes first. “Atom, meet the Flash from the distant future. And the current Flash’s and my daughter. She’s in a team called the Legion of Super-Heroes; I ran into them last year. We need to get their ship working.”

Ray reaches out a hand. Iris stares and gingerly shakes as if it might break. “Wow. You, I mean you and her, you–”

Rokk coughs loudly as Ayla elbows her. “You two invented interstellar communication! Let’s me stay in touch with Hermiss, my space-bestie broodkin!”

“Hermiss?” Hermione only needs a second. “Of Caudatia?”

“Who else? They’re the current–”

Rokk jumps in. “They’re your current friend, Flash, and that’s all.”

It’s going to be enough just rerouting memories just with the knowledge of you.

Iris gets to sigh. “Yass, got it guys.”

“Are you done?” Brainy huffs impatiently. “Atom, with me. What do you have?

Ray pulls out a tiny metal object from his belt, and unshrinks to reveal a large wall lined with, well, everything ever Hermione’s seen in his lab. “What do you need?”

“Satisfactory,” Brainy says with hungry appreciation, and picks out a spanner covered with lights and a multi-probe to examine. “Not terrible. There’s hope for this timeframe after all.” The two switch from English/Interlac to Technobabble and descend into the ship’s exposed innards.

“So… where’s Dad?” Hermione’s daughter queries, and Oa she’s really her daughter and her head feels even fuller. As does her heart.

“Laid up.” Hmmm. “But I think he’s well enough for a short dash,” and Hermione once more turns to her ring. “Flash? No, I’m fine. Someone here you should really meet, however.” She smiles at Iris. “A good someone.”

“What the sprocking…” Rokk’s caught the tail end of the call. “No! No more people seeing us!”

It’s fine, Rokk. Let them have it. One more person shouldn’t be–

Wally appears with a gust of wind and studies the person in his old Kid Flash costume, followed by Hermione who nods at him. Then he vanishes, leaves flying into the air behind him.

“No worries, Mum. I said hi and he said he’ll be right back.” Of course, she can converse at superspeed.

And he is. With a second Iris in tow.

Okay, this could be a little excessive.

Hermione’s about to perform the introductions, except Wally disappears again. She has a suspicion…

…that’s confirmed when he reappears carrying her parents. And Crookshanks!

Rokk begins banging his head against the Bubble’s hull.

Iris the Younger is delighted. “Crooksie!” She reaches back into her pouch and pulls out treats for the equally delighted familiar. “You taught me that, Mum,” she says absently over Crookshanks’s heavy purring. “I always carry snacks. Helps with the hypermetabolism munchies too.”

“So… Iris Jean?”

“Spot on, Dad!”

“Better than Harry Barry, hon,” Wally says to Hermione.

“Dad, don’t you mean–”

Iris!

“What?”
“What? Why aren’t your lips… oh, you’re a telepath, like J’onn!”

“Sorry, Imra,” the correct Iris continues to the glaring blonde. Sorry not sorry by now, Hermione imagines, and finally gets to the introductions. Lots of hugging all around, huge smiles from the grandparent namesakes which lead to further hugs with the parents. Parents to be. Oa, best to not think about the time travel aspects and just go with it.

It’s incredible, even if Hermione can tell it’s another Tuesday for her daughter. “Shame Teddy’s not here; they love these get togethers,” she offhandedly remarks. “Oops.”

“Iris Jean!”
“Wait, Teddy?” Hermione’s Mum asks. “Andromeda’s little Teddy?”

“Teddy’s alive now Rokk, Mum knows them, what’s the foul?”

She doesn’t know they’re the Legionnaire codenamed Morph!

“Imra!”

Hermione can hear the mental sigh. Sorry, Rokk.

Iris Jean persists. “Teddy’s way amzee. They’re big in the Legion Espionage Squad, says they learned it all from Mom and Aunt Susan. Myself, I think they got it from Uncle Bruce.”

“Susan? Bruce?”

A roll of her daughter’s eyes. “So many aunts and uncles between you and Dad that we need a chart. Teddy mostly has the wands; I mostly have the capes. Plenty we share too.”

“Unsurprisingly, the inane prattle hasn’t ceased.” Brainy and Ray are at the Bubble’s hatch. They look like old friends, and they look confident. “Everybody inside who’s not a genius, outside. Cham, Cos, Light & Lightning twins, Wildfire, Sun Boy, Green Lantern, Flash, inside.” Brainy can also be bossy.

He’s also got a crush, Hermione remembers. Or will have one. Should she tell him about Kara? And Lena? That’s in his own future, so… no? it’s possibly in his past too. Historical records should record history, surely? Is it kosher to review those before dating a person from the past? Maybe he already knows?

Grife, as the kids say. Her head hurts.

Time to go to work, or time isn’t going to work. Rokk runs polarity alignments and reconfigures monopolar fields. Ayla adjusts gravimetric systems. Reep alters his malleable Durlan flesh to form supports and braces. Ray shrinks and moves from component to component for microscopic repairs. Brainy directs it all, Ray kibbitzing occasionally.

Dirk uses low-power plasma jets to weld together cracks. Iris creates fresh hull plates using… magic. Hermione’s wand. “Transfiguration, my favourite class,” and Oa is Hermione proud of her.

When it’s declared ready, Hermione, Drake, Dirk, and Garth (the twin, not the Atlantean) begin recharging the batteries with lightning, emerald Lantern-light, solar radiation, and an energy her ring can’t decipher. Living energy? It’s well powerful, whatever it is.

It’s not enough, so Hermione recalls Cameron from perimeter control. An injection of quantum nucleonics does the trick, and Brainy’s eyes go up at the numbers. Ta.

Green Lantern winks and rings up a green palm for Captain Atom to high-five. Once his hands have stopped glowing.

“No, honestly, they looked like you. Or at least their powers did. But older. We assumed the worst, sorry.”

“Grokking, scroaching, nass-heads.” Lightning Garth doesn’t sound pleased.

“I’m pretty sure I know who they are,” Rokk says. “Our villains, not yours. I doubt you’ll see them again.”

Sounds fine to Hermione. They hadn’t been at all pleasant.

Final big hugs across three generations of Wests, Grangers, and Wilkins. Then it’s departure time.

First, a short test hop of ten minutes forward. Hermione wonders if this is how she looked when using a Time-Turner. Brainy and Ray make a few adjustments after the Bubble reintegrates with current timestream and declare success.

Before leaving, though, Cos would greatly appreciate if they could restock on ‘period authentic’ j-cakes and straw’d newts. The locals are bewildered, and it takes Iris Jean to translate. “Jaffa Cakes. Nutella and strawberries.” Lantern Mum evidently spreads her love for them across the sector, which spreads to other sectors, and a thousand years later… “Politicos use them in official ceremonies, like welcoming new planets into the UP. It’s a thing.”

Wally and Iris Jean do the honours. He knows where to find them in Croydon as Hermione’s often woken to them with breakfast. She also has a few packages in her own hidden pouch for Cos’s private stash. One leader to another.

The return voyage is plotted. “We’ll go slower, manual control the entire way to slide around the quake,” Dirk says. “Short hop for Iris, then full speed to our time once we’re clear.”

No accurate records of this mission can exist. Can’t be written up, either. Whatever’s already documented needs to be altered to vagueness. The League’s Chairperson ponders on it. “I can leave a message for myself, tell her to bury this mission with banality.”

Iris Jean nods. “Order of the Tent, right? You’ll believe yourself if it’s included. Only you four know in this time. Yeah, Uncle Harry told me about it,” to Hermione’s raised eyebrow.

‘Chronos was fighting those three over a crashed spaceship that turned out to be a fresh meteorite, which crumbled in the battle.’ That should work as the basis, Hermione thinks, and jots a quick narrative on a notepad she carries next to her battery. She underlines ‘Order’ several times.

The Legion’s aboard, except for Iris Jean and Imra.

Ah. Right. Imra.

“The memories are there; nothing is removed or altered,” Hermione reassures her family. “It’s like you can’t remember you have them. If you really need them, if it’s life-threatening, they’ll come out,” her daughter adds.

Hermione gazes at them with as much love as she can. Lastly to her parents. “It’s not like what I did during the war. I learned that lesson.”

“She did,” Iris Jean pipes in. “Made sprockin’ sure I didn’t ever try anything that stupid too.”

“Language!”

“Sorry, Mum” One last hug.

“Good girl,” Hermione whispers.

“Good girls!” she hears from Iris and Jean.

With that… Imra glides forward.

Wait. “Wait, Sue! Wally?”

A few seconds later, Sue’s in place and Ralph makes with the explaining. Married people shortcut language, like the Wilkins do far too often in Hermione’s estimation.

“Everyone, relax. Imra’s quite good at this.”

“Not like if she messes up the timestream will go kerpoof.”

“Wally!”

Relax, as you said. We’ll keep her safe. Teddy as well. Bye-bye for now, Hermione; you won’t remember us, but we’ll remember you. And as always, Long Live the Legion.

Epilogue

The Legionnaires give Ayla and Iris Jean an alone moment before Imra is called upon.

“Your parentals are pretty cool. As always.”

“Grife, don’t ever tell them, but yeah they’re the best. She taught me magic before I went to school, even before Aunt Parm, even if she couldn’t do it herself. He taught me superspeed, him and Aunt Jessie.”

“And his, your, costume is, as always, awesome. And sprockin’ sexy.”

“Don’t say that!” Iris Jean looks mildly ill. “Mum said it to Dad once while I was thinking about using it, and I almost changed my mind.”

“Good you didn’t,” and they share a kiss.

“Iree-Jee, next time we’re together?” Ayla says as they part. “I want to talk about a decision I’m ready to make.”

Not the next time, but not many times later, Ayla travels to the past and stays. Soon after, Gossamer joins the Titans. The Flash, the fourth to bear that name, is already a member. Not too long after, they’re both inducted into the Justice League.

E. Remus "Teddy" Lupin, on the other hand, spends more of their life in the future until deciding to permanently live in it. Their gran, who frequently accompanies them, inspires a Daxamite in choosing a Legion code name. Despite persistent rumours, Andromeda Tonks forever insists that R.J. Brande remains only ‘a very close friend.’

Chapter Text

A couple of days ago, give or take…

Hermione’s life is approaching critical mass. She loves the additional leadership role that’s part of being League Chairperson, no question. She’d also love regaining a life with greater free time.

Patrols, no slacking permitted or desired here. Being 2814’s Lantern is her primary job and Hermione does so love her job. Honestly, it’s her only job; being a superhero is, as she continually insists, a rewarding hobby.

Her job includes getting the sector house ready for a grand opening. Ideally, with less techno-spectral intrusion. Hermione smiles as she recalls Sam’s comment on paranormal elimination services, which she’d also mention to Wally. Who must have mentioned it to Kara, as there are Who You Gonna Call? t-shirts spotted in the Tower, with the iconic ghost trapped in the Green Lantern Corps symbol.

Paperwork. By the Battery, so much paperwork to generate and review. It eats up hours on end, even as it gives her a wider view of the League’s activities. Hermione wonders if this is how the Senior Lanterns feel when reviewing reports from Field Lanterns like herself.

Speaking of, Senior Lantern Omicron Gold-201 has mentioned they might visit her planet. They’re curious of the workings of the League, and how a Lantern fits in with a team of protectors on a planetary scale. Teamwork with a full team and in duos, as she and Arisia have demonstrated. Hermione is again curious if this has to do with the rumours of doubling the number of Lanterns per sector. Maybe she’ll ask when they drop in.

And there’s the possibly omniscient cosmic menace to counter. During patrols, Hermione’s seen hints of Kys or whatever she’s calling herself; indecipherable runes on roaming asteroids, for example, and protostars failing to ignite. No casualties or missing starships, at least not yet. Like they’re teasing her, almost. Toying with her. To what end, she has no idea. This can’t persist, that she does know.

Still, Hermione’s getting better at running the League. Unfortunately, like so many tasks, she has a bad feeling that she’ll get properly good at it just in time to pass the gavel to the next Chair.

A combination of counting the days and wishing it could never end. It will go smoother next time. Less stressful, at the least. As for today, she’s at the Tower and at the table. Prepping, as this will be an interesting meet.

Somebody’s approaching from behind her, and ozone in the air gives his identity away. Wally, whom Hermione’d last seen after a strenuous morning workout at his home. She puts up a finger to forestall conversation, not wishing to disrupt concentration.

From the smell, he does come bearing freshly brewed tea, and she redirects the finger towards an empty spot next to her papers. The main hall (which she sometimes calls the Great Hall as it’s of comparable size) is empty aside from the two of them, so Hermione pulls him down for a quick kiss. Then returns to the fifth reorganisation of her notes between sips.

Wally sips his coffee and silently watches.

It’s nearly a full table today. Along with her, there’s Ray, Dinah, Ollie, Clark, Wally, Katar, Shayera, Bruce, Barbara, J’onn, and Kara. Garth would be here as he’s been recently; instead, he’s with Arthur as part of the turnover from Aquaman to Tempest.

Ray and Kara are taking a break from upgrading the Tower’s force field arrays to bolster both against a wider range of wavelengths and projectile intensities. Aiding them, a trusted expert named Dr Kieran. Who is currently enjoying the cafeteria’s options; her payment for the expert assistance being a free meal and a tour.

Right. Everyone’s here and on time, ta. The usual review of outstanding items, such as the status of upcoming new members, primarily Garth.

Hermione’s itinerary goes smoothly. It helps that everyone’s ready for the big topic, an item of new business most of them have experienced personally. Including her.

Time to get to it, no pun intended she winces. “Ideally, we’ve all read the reports, or at least the newspaper headlines. Thousands of events, happening across the globe.
I thought we should start by relating our own encounters, possibly see if there’s a common connection or reason why it’s happening.” Nods of agreement, grand. “In my own case…”

I was reviewing patrol plans at home when an old friend appeared in my back yard. Somebody I’d never expected to see again, so rather a shock.
He took it better than I. I’d the feeling this wasn’t a unique occasion for Jonah Hex.
“Nice seein’ ya again, Katie,” and he tipped his battered grey hat.
“You as well,” I replied reflexively. “How are… you? How are you here?”
“No idea. Just been out takin’ a long walk. Was thinkin’ to ask Emmylou an important question tonight.”
“Long overdue, Jonah.”
“Ah figured the same. Then the ground turned into pasture, and my favourite schoolmarm and sharpshooter is standin’ before me.” He looked around, and back to me. “Salvation’s changing. Quieting down. Lash is talking ’bout moving out to Frisco, complete the journey Miss Katherine Beatrice Winslet never finished.”
I swear, I’d only closed my eyes for a moment when he mentioned Bat, but when I opened them, Jonah was gone. Bootprints in the grass were the only sign he’d been there.

“It was him, I’m sure of it. I lived there for over a hundred days, over a hundred years ago, and we saw each other every day. Fought at each other’s side. Whatever is happening, I don’t believe it to be falsehood.”

Improbably enough, Bruce nods. Hermione motions, and he begins.

I was flying the jet across Gotham Harbor when a vintage, and well-preserved, German Fokker Dr.I dove out of the night sky and fired its machine gun. Not at me, instead at a French Spad S.13 biplane lurking below. I slowed to a hover as they contested the skies, both ignoring me completely.
The Spad fled into the clouds. The Fokker followed, spewing lead as the pilot’s long yellow scarf taied along the red fuselage. Then it was gone as well. No radar returns whatsoever.

“Planes,” Shayera says. “We had a comparable vehicular event,” Katar adds. “A strange, mysterious adventure in space.”

We were returning from Polaris, making good speed through hyperspace. And a ship pulled alongside our spacer.
Not a ship. A car.
Specifically, a yellow taxicab.
Sealed canopy. Impressive rear-mounted drive engines. And fins.
Inside, a human pilot. Or driver. Wearing the uniform of taxi-drivers from the middle of your prior century, complete with cap and bow tie.
Straight out of one of those colourless movies from half a century ago.
In the wide rear seats, three people. Two males, one female. Arguing and waving their hands animatedly.
The driver kept pace with us then put a finger to his brim and took a left turn. Vanished with a thick stream of ionised gases.
Used his turn signal as well, I believe.

“Do you know us to joke around?” Shayera demands to the amused faces around her. Hermione placates her, then sees that Clark wants to talk. “Mine’s kind of the same. Mix of the past and future.”

There was a disturbance in Centennial Park, and I’d flown down to investigate. It was a young man with long brown hair, wearing only an animal skin as a loincloth and carrying a large stone axe. I landed and he charged at me, then howled and broke the weapon against my chest.
He stumbled back, and in mid stride was replaced with a blond version with ragged blue shorts and boots. And a Colt .45. He seemed awestruck, less by Metropolis and more by the number of people around him.
I turned to calm the crowds, when they gasped. He’d vanished between instants, according to witnesses.

“I didn’t see an anachronistic person,” Ray contributes. “I think I was one.”

I was jogging at Ivy U and one moment I’m on the path and the next I’m on unkept dirt. I wasn’t alone, either; I got hit in the back of the head by a rock. Not my field of expertise, but my assailant looked very Cro-Magnon.
No doubting he was angry, obvious despite the shaggy hair and beard. And everywhere else; ‘hirsute’ wouldn’t do him justice. And the smell…
I was ready to suit up when the sky lit up. A meteor was screaming overhead, burning the air and set to crash not far away. My attacker took one look at it, pushed me away, and ran off in that direction.
I took a step to do the same, there was a flash of light, and my foot landed back on the jogging path.

“Yes, I think it was him,” Ray answers inquiring gazes. “Minutes before his origin.”

That silences the room. Wally’s told her plenty of his own run-ins and the near-death experiences with him. This is one of the most dangerous people on the planet; has been for 50,000 years and counting.

“I believe I also shifted in time,” J’onn says, breaking the quiet. “Detective John Jones was examining an abandoned loft in Denver…”

A loft that had suddenly become enormous. I judged it to be either an art showcase or a museum, based on the numerous exhibits. The language on the placards was unfamiliar; several of the items on display were not. Statues of us, for one. Along with heroes I’ve never seen before.
A young man dressed as a guard and carrying what I assumed were new additions, saw me. And panicked, nearly dropping a modular yellow belt and a blue bodysuit. He sprinted for the exit, and before I could fly after him–

“Let me guess,” Ollie interrupts. “Flash of light, you’re back in Denver.”

There are similar stories. Ollie himself had seen a female Kid Flash with an older woman in a green and white bodysuit, emerald starburst on her chest, walking downtown like tourists. He’d laughed it off until they’d flown up and behind the Star Tower. They hadn’t reappeared on the opposite side.

Dinah’s entry is a lunch encounter with a nondescript British teen. Punk-purple hair and big fan of her singing career, except they kept naming songs she’s never heard of. Zatanna enters the hall and cuts her off, pulling John Constantine behind her. “C’mon, tell them what you told me,” she insists.

He doesn’t look happy to be the storyteller. “Thought we had an agreement; I stay out of your business, keep out of mine. Top Hat says you’d want to hear this, and it does clear a marker, so…”

First off, wasn’t even me. Tim told me yesterday that a little American girl, fancy clothes and a long braid, had marched straight up to him in Hyde Park. Demanding he immediately return her to Boston, or her parents would sic their lawyers on him.
She’d sussed out he had magic; he said she had it in droves. Also she announced she’d be getting a wand next year. Makes her one of yours, Granger.
Tim pulled out his mobile to call me, looked up and ‘poof’ she was gone.

Hermione manages to keep herself together. Barely.

“I worked out who she was last night. Reckon Mr Hunter was lucky he didn’t meet the older version, after she’d been forced out of school,” Constantine continues. “Not much of London would have survived intact.” He looks at the gathered heroes, not quite a smirk on his unshaven face. “Right, you lot, ball’s in your court. Go save the world or whatever, before Michael and Lucy pop in amidst the Rebellion and us mere humans get caught in angelic crossfire, yeah?”

And with that he turns with a dramatic trenchcoated swish and heads out. Zatanna apologetically glances at Hermione, then yells “Don’t you dare try to bespell the teleporters again, you idiot!” to his retreating form.

“Bracing as ever,” Hermione mutters, then straightens and becomes the Chairperson again. “It’s not just people, as most of you know.” Most do. Hard to miss when the Great Pyramid greets the dawn completely covered with gleaming limestone casings and a capstone of shining gold. The American Statue of Liberty appears in a Kansas cornfield, partially melted. To the delight of tourists, extensive and famous walls from China and Britain swap locations.

“All only for a few minutes, so far. Merely irritations or innocuous interactions,” Hermione sums up. “Let’s figure this out before they become more, agreed?”

Tasks are assigned, possible methodologies debated. It feels like they may have a handle on this, when they’re disrupted. Loudly.

It’s the Perimeter Breach alarms. “Intrusion already inside the walls!” comes Sue’s voice from the Monitor Room.

“Justice League!” Hermione shouts, rising from her chair with ring burning hot. “Defend this fortress!”

As one, the World’s Greatest Superheroes follow her direction. Cowls and masks are instantly pulled on, weapons drawn. Hermione can tell Wally’s ready for the call to search the Tower, and she’s thankful he’s watching her face for the command instead of racing off on his own.

A split-second later, there’s no need to search. Their invader isn’t inside the walls; it’s inside the Hall. A small blunt-nosed craft is materialising inside the huge dome, resting on the floor perhaps five metres from the table.

Okay, that is convenient. Hermione throws a containment field around the craft, just as a hatch opens flat. Out steps an incredibly fit blonde in an off-white bodysuit costume, both hands raised high.

She moves like Dinah. Or Natasha. Hermione’s not the only one to notice, as Bruce and Dinah shift into higher-level martial stances.

Ninja Blonde is followed by a brunet male dressed as a sleeveless Captain America. Wait, that’s similar to Commander Steel’s costume from the JSA’s era. What…

Last are two men, one older and one younger; no costumes for them. Clearly civilians and it makes no sense that they are part of a possible attack force. Who are these people?

The blonde reaches the containment wall and taps the emerald shell, smiling at the ping. Nothing unusual about it, Hermione reads from her expression. Also, not worried over it, which is worrisome.

“You’re in a Green Lantern costume with a mask,” she says with a husky voice. “So–”

“Uniform. It’s a uniform,” Hermione interrupts. Honestly, why does she have to keep repeating that to everyone on this planet?

She gets a shaking head in reply. “Right, right, uniform; Diggle keeps insisting on that too. I figured it was his military background.” Then, to Hermione, “He’s our Lantern.”

If they have a Lantern on their side, that’s a tremendously unwelcome admission. “Good for him. I’m the current Green Lantern of this sector.” So take that, Diggle whoever you are. “Also the current Chairperson of the Justice League,” she continues. “Who are you, and what are your intentions?”

“We’re the Legends.” All four puff up a touch at the title. Interesting. “We’re here to save history.”

“Never heard of you,” Ollie rebuts. He’s lowered his drawn bow a fraction. Hermione keeps her ring up.

“Captain Lance, the Waverider is on its way.” The words come from within the small vessel, the polished pronunciation familiar and friendly.

Cool superhero name, Hermione thinks. She’s not alone. “‘Captain Lance?’” Kara asks. “Not bad. Beats ‘Captain Boomerang.”

The Captain furrows her brow. “No, it’s my real name.”

Now Hermione’s confused. “Your parents were superheroes, named you as one too?”

“No!” The three behind her are failing to contain giggles. “Sara Lance, is me. I’m co-captain of the Waverider,” with emphasis on the captain to her crew. “Waverider’s our timeship; we arrived in the jump ship.”

‘Timeship’ would fit well with the earlier discussions. Or could be the cause. “And that voice was?”

“Gideon. She’s the shipboard AI and one of the Legends.”

“League, we have a cyber-intrusion!” Barb is pounding on her keyboards, and unsuccessfully from her grimace.

“Your systems are remarkably advanced for this century.” The AI’s elegant British intonations are a mixture of bemusement and admiration.

“Gideon, back off!” Lance sounds like a den mother. Or Hogwarts Hermione when her boys had been acting up. “We’re trying to play nice with the locals,” and she gestures to the people standing around them.

“Very well, Captain.” Gideon sounds a touch petulant, and Sara rolls her eyes. This AI seems very much her own person, part of their team and not automatically subservient. Point for them. This feels…

Hermione makes the call, and Oa let it be a good one. She drops the containment field. While ringing up a flat ‘7B’ sign on her back.

The foursome immediately relaxes a measure, and Lance puts out her hand. A very firm handshake.

It leads to introductions from Lance, maybe to be thought of as Sara. Nate Heywood, aka Steel and that gets widened eyes from several League members, especially Dinah. The two civilians, Jax Jackson and Martin Stein, and Ray blinks at the latter’s name.

“We try to check in with the local hero team before acting. We’ve seen you at a few of the incursions,” Sara goes on.

“Yeah, learned that the hard way about barging in from the JSA in the 40s,” Nate adds.

Jax nods. “And the Round Table.”

Sara has a wide grin at that mention and works to remove it. “Anyways, we’re giving a heads up that we’ll be correcting the temporal anomalies and getting time back on track.”

“Not without the League, you’re not,” Hermione insists. She shifts the response code to ‘3A’ then says, “We can help. This is our time; we can fight for it.”

Nate moves to Sara’s side. “Hey, we know what we’re doing, and you guys…” he looks across the Leaguers, then stops at Clark. “Ray?”

Clark is equally confused. “No, I’m Superman.”

“What?”

“Hi, I’m Ray,” says the ten centimetre tall growing to full size Ray. “Or the Atom when in costume.”

“Weird. You look shorter and thinner than Ray.”

“No, I look like me. Superman looks like Superman.”

That unleashes the deluge.

“And you would be… Supergirl?” Jax asks. The confusion is mildly understandable, as Kara’s costume of the day is a take on Clark’s electrified age. A blue and white full bodysuit, with a jagged crest and without a cape.

She confirms it by rising into the air and flaring her heat vision for a second. “Oh thank Beebo. You look just like her.”

Jax and Martin are Firestorm. A Firestorm, as the local Firestorm is with Vixen in the League’s underground training chamber a few kilometres away. That there’s a Vixen here gets smiles from the Legends, doubly so when Hermione adds that the Elongated Man, Black Lightning, and Red Tornado are conducting said training.

J’onn is examined and pronounced to be darn close. The Thanagarians, better than the real thing. Ollie, nowhere near. “What is that growth on your chin?” Nate demands.

Martin spots Batman and keeps searching. “Where’s Batwoman?”

“Who?” Bruce responds, and Clark takes a turn trying not to laugh at his dumbstruck face.

Sara and Dinah conduct a stare-off. The former likely had spotted the latter’s pose.

“Sara Lance. The White Canary.”

“Riiiight. I’m Dinah Lance. The Black Canary.”

“Dinah?” Sara is taken aback at the name. “Daddy’s named Quintin?”

“No,” Dinah says levelly, “Larry.”

Sara exhales slowly. “We had a Dinah, Dinah Laurel Lance. The Black Siren. My sister.”

Ouch. Hermione’s not at all eavesdropping. No, not at all.

“Not a bad name,” Dinah says, “except a member of the Crime Syndicate of Amerika uses it. My opposite number. No sisters for me, either a Sara or a Laurel.”

“Mom is a Dinah.”

“So’s mine. She was the original Black Canary.”

“Wow,” and Sara does look thunderstruck at the revelation. “I’m trying to imagine Mom as a superhero. Mind blown.”

Nate’s switched to staring at Wally. “You’re not Barry.”

Guardians, Hermione wishes she could take his hand as that’s a Stunner to the head. “No,” he says with a level tone. “He died.”

“Barry? Damn.” Jax has overheard.

“Who are you?”

“Wally. Wally West.”

“Nope, not ours,” Nate says abstractly, yet offers out a hand. Jax does the same. “How about Iris?”

“Aunt Iris? Doing great.” Wally looks happy they know her.

“Glad to hear it,” Martin adds. “She’s a singular woman.”

That she is, Hermione thinks. No sign of this Diggle person and no, this Lantern’s not feeling left out. However…

Sara beats her to it. “Getting back to the subject!”

“Yes, that would be exceedingly welcome,” Hermione agrees emphatically. “League, stand down,” and she dissolves the threat response code on her back.

“Geeze, you’re like Gideon Mark II,” Nate grumbles. “And bossier.”

“Nate, not helping,” Sara sighs, heavily.

“I appreciate the comparison,” Gideon says. “Ms Granger enunciates the English language correctly. Also, according to their records she is impressive both as a Green Lantern and as a practitioner of the thaumaturgical arts.”

Barb winces. “Sorry, GL.” Hermione waves it off. They’d revealed the identity of their own Lantern, so call it an equaliser.

Sara is apologetic, nevertheless. “What she said. And Gideon, no revealing secret identities. She’s wearing a mask for a reason.” She pauses. “Maybe let’s talk magic later on?” Then, to the eldest Legend, “Martin? Can you kindly explain to the League why we’re here?”

“Of course, Captain.” He’s got a professorial voice, and Hermione sees Ray moving closer. “An unknown object crashing through chronology tore apart temporal walls, creating a rupture that is extending up and down across history. All histories,” he stresses. “We’re facing a raw chunk of compressed spatial/chronal energy that is causing countless temporal anomalies. Possibly altering the intrinsic probabilities that establish realities if not halted.”

“Yes, we managed to notice them all on our own.” Katar says dryly.

Martin brushes off the sarcasm. “Precisely. People and objects are falling out of the ruptures, as if time was a roughly sliced mille-feuille.”

“Aka a Napoleon,” Sara asides. “We’ve met him. Not as little as you’d think.”

“Oh, vanilla slice!” One of Hermione’s favourites. Drat, this isn’t the time.

“Personally hand-crafted for us by Marie-Antoine Carême,” Martin adds. All four Legends sigh at the memory. Hermione’s rather envious.

Sara recovers first. “We were supposed to be tracking down the queen, not the chef.”

Followed by Nate. “Hey, the names were close! Gideon must have heard Ray wrong.”

“I most certainly did not, Mr Heywood,” and Hermione nearly loses it at the perfectly understated British reproachment in her voice.

“Moving on,” Martin presses, “we’ve been scanning for the anomalies ever since we were unexpectedly diverted to your timeline.”

“Hey, I said I was sorry! And you can’t prove it was me!”

“Gideon has it on film, Nathanial.”

“Oh. Well, then it was an accident.”

Sara smacks him on the back of the head, and Martin continues smoothly. This must not be an uncommon occurrence. “Once detected, they are returned to their correct time and dimension as quickly as possible. On multiple occasions, they have returned on their own as we arriving.”

“Like they had rubber bands to pull them back,” Jax says.

“Correct, yet more accurately, Jefferson, there were quantumly coupled tachyons intermingling into their chronal signatures.”

Ray nods at that, Kara as well. Martin delves into multi-multisyllabic terminologies, and it’s only the three of them following at that point. Sara pulls it to a close after the third time the word ‘annihilation’ pops up.

“And that’s that,” she tells the League, attention aimed at Hermione. “It’s our job to stop discrepancies such as this. Fix mistakes in time.”

“You? I find that hard to believe.” Bruce slides out of the shadows he always manages to find. He sounds like he had on learning Hermione’d wielded a wand, heatedly dismissive at reckless power. Hermione decides to let him say essentially what she’d been thinking as well. “You behave like untrained dilettantes.”

“Hey! Rude much?” Jax reacts.

Bruce’s glare is fixed at Sara. “Tell us how to resolve it, and the Justice League will take care of it.”

That’s too far. “Batman!” He has a point, however. “Our time, our responsibility, Captain Lance.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Martin states calmly. “Despite the immaturity of particular members, we’re the professionals in this matter.”

Wally’s quiet no longer. “Seriously? Professionals? Gotta say, you act like a bunch of screwups.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes we screw things up for the better!” Nate blusters.

“It’s kind of our motto,” Sara says with a level smile, and that smile is of absolute conviction in her people.

Hmmm. “Making things better is kind of mine,” Hermione says. The argument isn’t between teams; it’s between the team leaders.

She assesses Sara. The lady has the look Harry gets, eyes that have seen too much. Known death, perhaps personally. And are still fighting the good fight.

Time for a second decision. “You’re here, you seem to know more than we do about this situation,” Hermione begins. “How do you suggest proceeding?”

Wally’s turned to stare at her, and she knows Bruce is using his own version of heat vision at the back of her head. Sara opens her mouth and screams an alert.

Oh. Not her, that’s poor timing; she’s as thrown as everyone. Sue’s on the overhead speakers. “There’s about a dozen powered individuals, plus one huge bipedal creature, tearing apart an old growth forest in Central Siberia. Appeared out of nowhere.”

Barb is reading her screen. “Unfamiliar costumes, not in the database. I’d call it a 2–C in progress.”

“Meaning ‘Country or Regional impact, Tremendous Destruction,’” Hermione explains to Sara.

“Captain, this matches my projection for the origin of the condensed chronon material.”

“Where else would it be, Gideon?” Sara focuses on Hermione. “Whaddya say, Ms Lantern, Team-Up Time?”

Oa, she can turn on the charm, and the smoky voice is pure Shandra. “We’re heading there, regardless. You’re free to accompany us.” A non-committal commitment.

Sara’s also got Shandra’s devilish grin. “First, we’ll need a bigger boat. Babe?”

“Hey Babe, we’re uncloaking.” A second female voice from the small vessel, American this time. Outside the transparent dome, a sizable vessel wavers into visibility. Hermione’s never seen the like. Neither have Katar or Shayera.

Barb whistles. “Okay, they’re good. Not an iota on the sensors.”

“When this is done, let’s make that a priority, please,” Hermione replies.

Sara tells ‘Ava’ to meet them at the scene, and the Legends make to enter their tiny vessel.

Time for a team-up, yes. Including trust. “No need for that. I’ll handle transport. Faster this way,” Hermione calls out.

Sara raises an eyebrow.

“Sue, you have the Tower and prep Airlock 1 for exit,” Bossy Hermione bosses out the orders. “League, Batman has overall tactical command on the mission. Superman, you have air; Green Arrow, ground. Oracle with Sue, watch for further outbreaks.” She turns to Sara. “Legends… you’re with me.”

Sara whoops loudly. “You heard the lady! Get your marching boots on Legends, cuz we’re joining the Corps!”

“You are most definitely not!” Hermione tries to assert over raucousness. They won’t know the way, so she puts up directions leading to the airlock. Both teams head there, fast.

There’s fast, and there’s the Flash. Wally’s tapping his foot when they arrive. “All present, Captain Lantern,” he says with a salute, “and ready for take-off.”

“Splendid,” and she forms a rectangular transport construct around the two groups. A green hand extends to activate the door, and they’re in space a moment later. Hermione pours on the acceleration, not that anyone she’s carrying will feel it.

“So, how long…” Sara starts. Before she gets to ‘long,’ they’re within Earth’s upper atmosphere.

The Legends are yelling again, for different reasons this time. “Grife, a little warning!” Nate cries and might be turning the same colour his enclosure.

“That was sprokkin’ awesome!” Jax exclaims. He and Wally do a high-five.

Siberia’s on the far side of the planet at the moment, then an instant later is below them. A glance to Kara, Clark, and J’onn; they eject while Hermione continues downward through the air. Their targets aren’t difficult to spot; they’ve torn apart hectares of ancient woodland and a good portion of the topsoil. They’re acting as two separate groups and remain unfamiliar to Hermione. Sara shrugs her shoulders to the questioning look.

They unmistakably possess powers and don’t look friendly, the ten-metre-tall monster in particular. Half of them have flight capability, hovering a metre or so.

Hermione does a low-level flyover at Mach 4, as friction filled as she can, and the sonic boom levels all save the clawed kaiju. The trio behind her knock any early risers back to the ground and manages to stumble the giant.

She slows to subsonic and the Hols fly out, then parallels just above the ground for everyone else. Batman’s already calling out commands. The Legends run out, Nate turning to silvery metal and Sara joining two fighting sticks into a long staff and where had she been hiding them in her outfit?

Jax and Martin grab hands and the air combusts as they merge into Firestorm. Different than the one she’s met a few times, even as the costume is similar. He (they?) takes to the sky trailing flames.

The timeship approaches next. That must be Vixen dropping from a hatch; she flies just as Mari does, a human peregrine falcon. A man in a blue and red version of Tony’s Iron Man armour leaps out, expanding in mid-air to twenty metres in height as his method of ‘landing.’ Which is rather impressive. In his hand… is that Heatwave? Oa, any of the other Rogues would have been preferable. And they have an air manipulator too, a brunette who coasts down on a whirlwind then sends devastating gusts at their foes.

Said foes don’t stay down and bark out their own orders mixed with what Hermione assumes are expletives based on their usage. The details aren’t an issue; the intentions of their leaders are obvious. One, dripping with Lucius-level arrogance and matching hair, projects arced lighting from both hands, while a second fires a heavy blaster from his biological half. The other side is completely mechanical. She’s no clue if he’d been a cybernetic humanoid with half his body replaced by flesh, or vice versa.

They pick unwisely for their opening targets. Wally casually side-steps the lightning, as Kara punches the energy bolt away.

It’s not their only attack, and Hermione ups her estimation as it’s a clever one. She can feel tickling behind her eyes. Bruce must feel it too, and points to the redhead with a ringed planet symbol on her chest, and why is that familiar, and focus Granger!

“She’s a telepath,” Bruce shouts. “Manhunter, take her out!” She has mental powers and can fly. J’onn has those and much more. One down.

There’s more. An orange hued shapechanger weaves forms that she’s never imagined, let alone seen before, to dodge infernos from Heatwave’s gun. A male next to them is diverting arrows and batarangs with what her ring detects as intense magnetism, and good that Reddy hadn’t come. A burning man reminiscent the Fantastic Four’s youngest goes airborne, launching fiery bursts at Firestorm and Shayera. A pale-green male, strong Brainiac vibes to him, dances spindly fingers along an array of mechanisms attempting to anticipate Vixen’s and Wally’s moves.

Oa, this isn’t tech from distant worlds; it’s far too advanced. From the future, assuredly, as are the people. Grand, and she should have sussed that far earlier.

No time for that, however. There’s a flying woman who’s picked Hermione as her dance partner with a gleeful “Oooo, a Lantern! I haven’t crushed one of those in ages!” Green is a fine colour, and she’s proving you can love it entirely too much. Green costume, green cape, green tiara, green hair, and to cap it off an oversized floating eyeball with a green iris. It’s acting as a remote ring, firing (of course) green energy.

She’s damn powerful, and it hits like an emerald supernova. Hermione puts a null containment sphere around the orb, reinforcing it with all she has, and the battle moves to eye vs ring.

Green girl is sweating and cursing. Hermione feels confident of the outcome, given time. Thankfully, she doesn’t need to wait, as Ollie pitches in. An arrow serves as the Atom Express, and Ray hits eyeball girl in the head at full mass. Hermione throws a quick thumbs up his way as her foe plummets, unconscious.

The battle has spread everywhere. Hermione’s keeping a watch on the Legends, who are surprisingly well adept at fighting. Fighting dirty, too, and with nasty teamwork in doing so.

The League is busy enough. Dinah, Sara, and Bruce have faced off against a muscular man wearing a metal helmet. He’s swinging a huge axe that seems to slice molecules of air apart. Anyone else would probably have been cut in half; Bruce’s cape, however, will need replacing.

A second male has a dark bubble over his entire head, a palm icon on his chest. Hands aglow, and her ring warns of anti-matter interactions around them. Ollie directs Katar and J’onn after him.

And the gigantic, bestial monster. Its pulsating brain is under a transparent shell, and the pinkish lobes can fire neural lighting just as the Lucius look-alike can. Eyeless and definitely not sightless, somehow. Worse, the creature’s outrageously strong. Clark and Kara are doing their best and it absently smacks both over the horizon.

The Legend’s version of Tony gets a lucky kick against axe-guy then goes after the creature with an identical attack. Twice the size, and it’s not enough. There’s loud cracking as bones inside the armour break.

It works as a distraction, along with a beloved crimson speedster blurring around its feet. Firestorm flies out from nowhere to nail it hard, nuclear restructuring melting the shell around the brain. The windrider has Heatwave aloft, and he’s bathing the cranium with what Hermione knows personally is hotter than any flame should be. That can’t be pleasant, and the monster’s screams confirm this. Waverider fires explosive laser volleys that drown out most of them.

Kara and Clark are on their way, and Bruce assigns them to pummelling duty. Nate joins the cousins, the steel trio landing impacts that are (almost) painful to watch.

It’s feeling like they’re close to wrapping this up. Ideally, finding out what on Oa this is about.

It seems Hermione’s not the only one curious. A metre-wide line slices through reality in the middle of the conflict, then projects parallel incisions upwards from the torn ground that converge to create a window. No, a doorway; rectangular instead of the circular as Dr Strange had employed. Within, a room of tomes and candles similar to Stephen’s library.

A gorgeous head of platinum blonde hair atop a stunning body, barely wearing a glistening white costume, struts out with a swirl of a stylish purple cape. “So, have you found it yet or…”

Her melodic voice tapers as she takes in the carnage. “…not, I’m guessing.”

Guardians! The magic permeating her is absurd; all of Hogwarts concentrated in one person. Maybe all of Britain. Sara’s reacting as well, and they share a look. Hermione flares her ring, Sara spins her staff, and their teams take the lead from their leaders.

They’re beaten to the punch. The cyborg begins yelling at the witch, also in English, as does Electric Malfoy, then the rest of their groups. Demands for payment, which seems to be on the scale of an entire space sector for each, is popular. As is the lack of warnings of powers for this era. Also, the stone isn’t anywhere she’d promised.

Hermione and Sara share another look, this one more of confusion.

The time witch sighs and waves her hand, sealing mouths shut. The shapeshifter tries new heads, and each suffers the same fate. She’s laughing and fails to notice the spell has enraged the creature, and Hermione nearly laughs herself. This should be good, and she forms a fluttering green cape to egg it on.

Ten metres of thick, ultradense muscle strike the witch as a mountain falling from orbit. She’s driven into the doorway, and the monster’s bulk stretches four-fold the magical frame as it pushes through. Sparks fly out into the twilight, and Hermione lets her ring light the region to indicate remaining here won’t be healthy. The remaining costumed idiots get the message and force their way into the widening passage.

It may have been too many, too fast. Or a matter of violating a maximum weight allowance for the enchanted lift. Perhaps it’s due to anti-matter limbs, unstable tech, an angry eyeball, electromagnetic field interference, and an axe that can cut through anything. Plus around 70 tonnes of rampaging momentum.

Hermione puts up a blast shield just as it blows, brighter than her ring can manage. No actual blast, Hermione finds. Only light. Light that slides through the air as if on grease, doesn’t fade so much as collapse into slivers that float about like twisting needles.

“Don’t touch them!” Ray shouts, growing to full size. Nobody had been looking eager to do so, aside from the limping Iron Man wannabee who abruptly pulls a gauntleted finger back. “I think those are shards of frozen time.”

The faux Stark’s faceplate slides back. Oa, it’s… Clark? “I think he’s correct. Chronon particles on a macro scale, compressed and solidified. But only fragments, so…”

“Where’s the main section?” Ray continues. Both shrug in an eerily similar manner.

Sara’s wrist beeps, and a properly British voice enunciates. “If I may, Captain. The chronon cluster disappeared into the temporal zone and moving rapidly backwards through time towards a collision at this location, roughly 100 years ago. I estimate it contains at least 1.3 mega-years of chronal potential.”

“Yeah, that’s not going to be good,” Nate says, as if talking about the weather. These people really do face this on a regular basis. Hermione saves planets, occasionally star systems. They save entire timelines.

Kara drops to the ground. “It must have been what those bozos were after. Or were hired to recover.”

“They got ripped off and went after what she owed them,” Heatwave grunts. “Cash payment or kill her. I can respect that.”

“So…” the Legend with the wind powers starts, “we won? Yay us?”

Sara shakes her head. “We’re not out of the woods yet, kids,” she says. “This is where it gets complicated. Everybody get aboard, and that means everybody. Ava, fire up the engines as we’re out to run down a chronon comet!”

Hermione gives her a long look. Then, to her people, “You heard the captain, Leaguers,” as the timeship lands. “I’ll come up with a catchy phrase once we’re underway.”

“Let me get this straight. Blondie in the future hired two goon squads to recover a chunk of gem-quality time. Sends them back to our year, except nothing’s there. As the rock doesn’t exist until after they arrive and play A Night at the Opera with her door to the future. Now that it’s been created, it’s speeding to the 1800s. When it will hit and blow up the Earth.”

“That sums it up.” Just another Tuesday for the Legends, it seems.

“And we’re going after it. Also, like Sara said, it’s a comet.” This is from Ava, Sara’s co-captain and girlfriend. She’s got her partner’s ‘I can kill you with my left pinkie’ feel about her.

“Thanks, Babe; comet is way better.” They’re very cute together.

Wally complains that his brain hurting. Hermione’s following along slightly better, as it feels much like a Dr Who plot. Zari, the Legends’ tornado from the mid-2000s, turns out to also be a fan. Frustratingly impolite of her not to reveal how many seasons she’s seen.

They’re resting and recuperating inside the Waverider, the combined timeship and home for the Legends. Both teams are scattered across the bridge, mission briefing area, and elegantly appointed captain’s ready room.

Most of both teams, anyways. Heatwave (100% the Mick Rory whom Hermione knows and intensely dislikes) immediately had headed to the kitchen as that’s where beer is to be found. The Ray of the Legends is in their medical bay setting his broken foot. No one can figure out why their Atom looks like Superman and not the League’s Ray Palmer.

Boarding had been rushed. Hermione’d barely had time to alert Sue of their status when Sara’d cried out “Strap down! Gideon, follow that comet, full speed!” At that, they’d plunged into churning cloud-like tendrils, the ‘temporal zone’ according to Martin.

The Legends had been surprised at the lack of physical reaction from the League to the journey. “I think all of us have had chronological adventures,” Hermione’d explained. “The entire League, over the years,” Batman had added. “It’s why we have temporal protocols.” He’d become less dismissive towards the Legends after fighting alongside them.

They’d quickly hit maximum velocity, as measured in years per hour. “It’s going to be close,” Gideon had stated. In roughly seventeen minutes, they’ll find out how close.

Both Rays insist that the slivers they’d left behind aren’t a concern; only a few years of chronal energy and they’ll dissipate harmlessly into the ambient timestream. One less item to worry about, and Hermione can tell Sara’s thinking the same.

The waiting hurts. Everyone wants to punch the problem, and it’s not possible. A few minutes later, the teams calm somewhat and splinter into small discussion groups. Hermione and Wally are in the (very comfortable) captain’s office with a half dozen heroes, chatting on their respective histories. The amazing knickknacks and mementos within are from across the ages and could headline a museum. Maybe buy a one.

“We do movie nights here,” their Vixen says, and that fits her group perfectly. Amaya, not Mari, and they’re very different people. Amaya can’t imagine modelling for a living.

Most of their movies are familiar, a few that are as bizarre as those from the Avenger’s dimension. Not just movies; smaller oddities as well. Such as the small furry plushie Wally’s holding up. “You collect… what, small blue bears?” It reminds Hermione of a four-limbed Arnold.

“That’s Beebo,” Zari replies, nearly in shock. “You don’t know Beebo?”

Hermione’s trying not to chuckle at her astonishment. “Never seen it before. I’m not current on children’s toys, though.”

“There was a time,” Nate says a mock glare, “when that would get you burned at the stake.”

Wally laughs. Hermione waves away a potential pyre. “Not a new threat for people like me.”

Talk of witches is interrupted by Gideon’s voice on speakers across the ship. “Captain, I have unsettling news. Even at full speed and engines at 115 percent, Waverider cannot overtake the object before impact.”

Sara says what they’re all thinking. “Well crap, Gideon.”

Brainstorming commences. Kryptonians, a Martian, a nuclear being, and a Lantern getting out and pushing? Not enough. Also an unpleasant, and quick, death from chronal radiation poisoning.

Driving the engines further? The ship runs out of power before reaching the comet, perhaps a decade too late.

Power. That she might be able to help with. Hermione lets her ring glow, and the Palmer Twins look at her, then each other.

“If the readings I have from Diggle’s battery match–”

“Gotta be close. I’ve done scans on hers; it’s got the juice. More joules than a star, right Madam Chairperson?”

“Worth trying,” Hermione agrees. “I need to recharge anyways. How do we work this?”

“Engine’s room’s this way,” Jax says, and sprints down a corridor.

Sara’s got a hopeful expression, and Hermione’s pretty sure she does too. “Diggle’s let us watch. You okay with that?”

It can’t hurt. Also, time to get catchy. “Grab your sunglasses, Legends and Leaguers, as it’s time to get bright!”

There’s an avalanche out of the bridge. “Not bad,” Nate says as he rounds a corner next to her. “For a rookie. Sara got better each year.”

Wally’s waiting for them impatiently. Hermione, most of the League, and most of the Legends join him. Jax opens up panels, reroutes pipes of multicoloured fluids, and exposes a universal access port.

Hermione takes a breath and withdraws the battery. Wally’s hand with hers on the bail, Kara’s hand on her shoulder. The words begin, all three reciting as one. The room, and perhaps the entire ship, is illuminated in emerald.

“That was so cool,” Zari says softly as it fades.

That is the easy part. Jax performs additional adjustments, and gives Hermione the go-ahead to plug in. She lets the energy flow out as the surrounding dials and gauges rise. Jax monitors the increase, then calls a halt. “We’re overflowing and bleeding out stray ergs. Tank’s full, let’s put the cap back on.” Hermione pulls her ring back. It’s down to 80 percent.

“Gideon?” Ava calls. “Accelerate, as much as you can!”

“Done, Captain Sharpe.” The deck shakes, and a terribly long moment passes. “I am pleased to report that we are now on track for interception before impact, approximately near the end of the 19th century.”

“Praise Beebo,” Sara mutters. “Let’s get ready for the next phase. Gideon, ready the Waverider’s weapons.”

“In progress, Captain. I must also report that I’m detecting disturbances in the wake of the object’s path. The timestream is co-helixing with probability waveforms.”

On the bridge, Superman-Ray studies a screen with worry. “History is becoming… uncertain.” Atom-Ray doesn’t look thrilled either. “Worse. Planck units are no longer behaving as constants.”

“None of that sounds good,” Dinah observes.

Kara shakes her head. “It’s not.”

“Twisting probabilities are likely and impossible to predict.”
“Time out of synch, timestreams interlacing even within the ship’s temporal shielding.”
“Dogs and cats, living together!”

The first two from the Rays, as they talk of what’s happening. The last from Nate, and it does get chuckles. Oa knows the levity does help, Kyle thinks.

“Hey,” Wally says. “We’ll get through this, yeah?”

“You got it,” Kyle replies. Lord knows they’d sniped enough early on. Now, best friends.

Barry grins. “You’re doing fine, son. Hal would be proud.”

“Let’s not mention that name again,” Karen snorts and cracks her knuckles. “We all know what he tried to do, Flash. Needed the combined JLA and JSA to take him down.”

“For which the Corps thanks you,” Abin says evenly. “Sinestro was a threat to the entire galaxy.”

“I’m just glad we once again have a Lantern in the Society,” Henry adds. High praise from The Superman, Dinah thinks. He’d helped train and welcome her to the JSA after Mom had stepped down.

“It’s visible,” Captain Marvelo states, and Hermione can see the fuzzy comet through the bridge’s windows. “Wands at the ready, my League!”

“Ready, Tom!” comes the answer. Hermione’s at the forefront, Parm on her left, Harry on her right, a dozen fellow magicals behind her. She can feel the power they collectively possess. Magic is Mighty, and today they will prove mighty enough to protect their world. Just as they have for generations.

“No one dies today,” Kent repeats with a swirl of his white cape, and the Justice Lords echo his solemn words. “No one else dies on our watch, ever.”

“Holy Ticking Countdowns, Batman!” Robin cries. “We’re almost on it!”

“You said it, old chum,” Batman replies with a grin. “The cosmic legends of the universe didn’t assemble us together to fail now!” He turns to the team alongside his. “Puppets of Tomorrow, are you ready?”

“You bet, Batman!” Sara replies. “Ready and proud to fight at the side of the Super Friends!”

“Don’t forget, ‘Friend’ is our special word of the day!” Ray pronounces.

“Because Friends are Fantastic!” Nate adds. “And Friends are Felt!” Zari continues.

“And it’s always an honour to join forces with the Legends,” Hermione says.

“Back atcha, firefly,” Leonard smiles and clasps arms with his favourite ringslinger.

“Has it really been a year since the last Legends/League team-up?” Amaya asks.

“Just about,” Shayera says. “Eleven months. Against Commander Degaton the Time Monarch, wasn’t it?”

Sara coughs loudly. “Enough chit-chat, team. Time to get serious. Earth’s relying on us.” Two dozen heroes raise their fists, and as one shout “League of Legends, Let’s Go!”

Gideon’s voice cuts through the cheering din. “We are now within weapons range. Impact projected for 1891, ten years from now in linear time, 30 seconds in ship time.”

A trigger grip extends from a side panel, ready to fire anti-tachyons at the comet. Filaments of time sublimate from the surface, decades evaporating away like morning fog.

Arguments over who should take the aim had been contentious. It had come down to Bruce and Ollie, and this is a skill that the Dark Knight isn’t going to be first in.

The first shot hits, and Ollie curses. It’s not square on, and a carved-out segment disappears into the timestream.

Ray and Zari make fresh adjustments. It takes Hermione a moment to notice there’s only one Ray. Then she wonders why she’s wondering about it.

The second hits, stronger. The comet is tougher. A larger piece swerves to starboard, and Gideon is reporting something about the future. No one’s listening.

Five seconds; enough for one last shot. Earth is taking shape ahead of them, a wraithlike blue marble waiting for its moment to merge into reality. Or be destroyed.

“Ollie…” Dinah whispers.

“Not Ollie,” he replies in a gruff tone.

“Oliver.”

He pulls his hood back and notches the targeting overlay a pixel to the left. A second later, Hermione watches twin lances of entropic energy strike true.

The comet bursts apart in a shower of fractalized chronons, and the Waverider disperses them further as it roars through the cloud.

They can all feel it. Timelines restoring. Realities reestablished. Everyone’s back to normal. The standard compliment of Palmers shake hands.

Ollie twirls his moustache. “Piece of cake,” and Dinah plants a big one on him to loud applause.

Gideon announces that both fragments had been thrown to the future. “The second fragment has vanished in the early 21st century, no records of collision. The first took a shorter parabolic arc and impacts in 1908. No injuries, only residual hyper-chronon traces within the ground below the explosive radius. History labels the incident as the Tunguska Blast, a mystery that won’t be solved for over a century.”

“The particle eruption creates the event,” Martin says. “It must have also contributed to the time portal’s collapse and thus the formation of the comet. A closed loop.”

“I think my brain is hurting again,” Wally moans.

“Huh. We changed history,” Hermione muses. “Or invented it, I guess?”

“Welcome to being a Legend,” Sara says with an easy smile.

They’ve saved time, so it’s time to party. A goodbye party of sorts; the Legends are needed in their own timeline so this will be a short one. Thanks to the Waverider, they appear in lunar orbit minutes after departing. Several masks and cowls come off.

The Legends don’t always get meals prepared by history’s finest chefs. Most of the time they eat what their ship reconstitutes. Needless to say, they demolish the Tower’s cafeteria offerings.

Zari utterly drools on seeing the pastry assortments and piles a tray high with donuts. “I love the past!” and inhales her first in a single, prolonged bite.

Dr Kieran is watching and grinning, then turns for a quick kiss as Kara joins with her own loaded tray. Nate and Amaya follow, and Kara introduces them to…

“Lena Kieran. Hi.”

Nate’s surprised and about to speak, except Amaya elbows him and interrupts. “You look just like the Lena where we come from! Just like Kara does!”

“Good to see a Kara together with a Lena!” Nate continues, after getting a sharp glare.

Amaya adds, “Took our couple years to figure it out!” The table shifts to talking food, and the Legends can’t believe Kara’s not a potsticker fanatic. Less, that she’s a fan of baseball.

Mick, who’s managed to smuggle in a six-pack, is demolishing spareribs. Wally’s doing the same at twice the speed, and they share tales of the Barry Allen, the Flash of two worlds.

Sara and Ava corner Hermione to talk leadership. Possibly a ruse, as it moves to an unrelated subject. “Magic. A real live witch before the ring?”

“Complete with tall hat and broomstick,” Hermione nods, then… “Oa. Do you have a Constantine, by any chance?” and both nod. Nearly a part of their team, which Hermione finds unbelievable.

The two Rays are talking higher physics and doodling equations on their table, until two women walk in.

Their Ray does really look like Clark, and both try not to stare. He’s staring back at one of them, not even trying. “Nora?”

“Who?”

“Nora Darhk. His daughter.”

“Darhk doesn’t have a daughter, that we know of,” the local Palmer says. “Rumour has it that he sacrificed her years ago.”

“Yes, a real peach. I’m Jean Loring, she’s Kate Spencer, we’re the League’s law firm. Had been spending the day upstairs on cases and heard about the special guests.”

“You look just like Nora.”

“Hmmm. Or she looks like me. What’s your Superman look like?”

“Like he always needs a shave, to be honest,” and that gets laughter all around. Hermione’s so, so happy that Jean and Ray have managed to stay friends, or at least friendly.

Yes, she’s watching the Legends. So is Bruce. And Barbara. J’onn, too. As far as they’re concerned, the order to defend the Tower hasn’t been rescinded.

Sara catches her with a smirk. Fine. Hermione raises a glass, and the co-captains clink. And it’s time for Legends to depart.

Not quite promises to do this again. No worries if they do. It’d been an experience, all agree.

“What an odd assortment of individuals,” Clark says as the Waverider disappears with a burst of chronological chromatism. “I wonder what brought them together?”

The party doesn’t end. It does slow down and relocate to the break room; it’s been a long day. No injuries aside from plenty of bruises. Kara and Clark are still black and blue from that horrid lightning monster.

Hermione leans against Wally and remembers her unmasked life also has parties coming up. Such as Teddy’s birthday. “It looks like my next mission is conquering toy stores for the latest Beebo doll. Perhaps I’ll get two, one for Sam as well.”

“No fair using your ring against rival shoppers, hon.” Guardians, that would be tempting. “Or magic.”

It triggers a stray thought. Constantine. She should contact him; he might have ideas for the Vertices. As painful as asking for his help might be.

Spider-Man, Spider-Man, does whatever a–

Hermione opens the connection before her ring finishes the verse. “Spidey?”

“Yo, GL!” Penny’s words are slightly muffled. She must have her mask up. “Your friendly neighbourhood wallcrawler is with somebody who’s got a message for… who did you say?”

“Kath-er-ine Be-a-trice Wins-let.” The young, female voice is dripping with Midwestern Americana. ‘Miss,’ as great-great-great grandpappy Jonah wrote on the back of the photo.” Hermione sits up straight. “This really Green Lantern?”

“It is. And you are?”

“Jinny Hex. Uncovered a chest in the attic Jonah had left for ‘Virginia’ and how he knew ’bout me I don’t rightly know. Letter inside said to come to New York City, so here I am.”

“She helped stop bank robbery getaway car,” Penny says, “dressed for a rodeo with a Winchester and glowing sci-fi pistol.” Hermione can hear grumbling over the fashion analysis. “And that picture, it’s old timey style, and it’s Green Lantern. Not in uniform. The You, You. No mask or ring. Dressed up for a Wild West movie.”

“And lookin’ darn cute. You sure you and that West fella are steady?”

“I already said they are! Hang on, GL; I’m taking a picture and sending it up.” Hermione’s ring projects the image for the room to enjoy. Penny’s in costume, behind her two bewebbed crooks dangle from streetlights. Ms Hex is in rustic leathers and a Stetson, rifle resting on her shoulder as she twirls her pistol. Overall, she looks quite pleased. The NYPD officers behind her, not so much.

Hermione expands the image. The eyes. Hex has Emmylou’s eyes. Hair as well. All green, of course. Could be nice to verify colours in person.

Wally’s watching Hermione watching the imagine. “Up for a recon mission?” As always, he’s a step ahead of her.

Epilogue One

As for the shard of the chronon comet that doesn’t land in 1908?

It continues through the temporal zone towards the future, until it strikes a bubble-shaped time machine traveling to the past. The crash wrecks the engines and tears apart the chronal deceleration systems. The bubble overshoots its destination by decades before crashing to Earth.

But that’s another story.

Epilogue Two

“All went as it should.”

“More or less. Ofttimes, it’s the best we can achieve, Booster.”

“Yay for us.”

“It was a busy mission. You did well diverting the chronal shards. The invention of time travel wouldn’t have been possible without either impact.”

“That was easy with Skeets backing me up, Rip. You got the hard part, snapping the fallouts and returning them to their proper times.”

“And we now have Beebo in our timeline.”

“Yeah, furry talking toy, vital for historical continuity and Earth’s preservation.”

“You never know, Booster.”

“So who were these clowns, anyhow? If they do what we do, where were our counterparts?”

“Perhaps they operate behind the scenes, like we do. Their Rip might have formed the team, entrusted them with the ship, and let them operate on their own. Or, more likely, we’re both dead in their timeline.”

“Good Grife, you’re always the optimist.”

“I’d say we both are, given what we do.”

“What’s next? The Vertices?”

“Granger will deal with them. Or all of reality will cease. We have our own missions to worry about.”

“Yeah, so business as usual until business disappears. Boy, I love this job.”

“I trust her implicitly. She’s British, after all.”

Chapter Text

That had been an odd yesterday. The League responding to a battle between Chronos and an unlikely trio of villains; they’d nabbed the former while the latter had escaped.

How that took most of the day… can wait another day for figuring out. Hermione needs to move on to the matter pressing on her resolution. Before, say, reality succumbs to inexistence.

Which, as Wally’d said, would suck.

What hadn’t sucked had been their day last week in NYC, meeting Jinny Hex. Who is perhaps the least shy person Hermione’s encountered.

Jinny’d been… enthusiastic, concerning Green Lantern’s relationship status. Also far too young for Hermione, despite the right hair and how is it gingers keep popping up in her life?

Penny and Wally had bravely kept their laughter contained.

Ms Hex had gotten sold reviews from Penny for her actions in the robbery. Again, enthusiastic, but competent in athletics and use of exotic weaponry. That exotic, high-tech pistol, for example; neither of the Leaguers had seen the like. Jinny has a trunk filled with more oddities Jonah’d collected. Offhand, Hermione’d guess that Jonah’d spent a spell in the far future.

Jinny’s going to make the Big Apple her new home, and Spider-Man brings up mentorship and the DEO. Ta, Penny. Jinny’s eyes had gone wide at the mention of the former Wonder Girl. And those eyes… definitely Emmylou’s. About time indeed, Jonah.

Hermione’d decided that Donna can work the introductions to the local agents. It would be fun to watch Jinny and Cameron interact, however.

Then there’d been shopping for famous furry blue bears at FAO Shwartz. No rings or superspeed, or magic, employed. They’d managed to snag two, so Sam will get one. Perhaps to become the first Beebo in Hogwarts.

That night had also been fun. A Survivor House gathering with her friends.

Hermione’d almost turned and fled when Dean had held up a glossy book. The newly released National Universe Roleplaying Game, with ‘Official Green Lantern character classes!’ as the cover blurb exclaims.

Blessedly, she’s not on the cover. It’s Charlie Vicker and his imaginary comrades. Quite vetted to be completely imaginary; Kyle’s done a wonderful job and not tried to skirt the boundaries. No bushy-haired female Lanterns, for example.

Dean had related that he usually uses GASP – the Generic Amazing Superhero Platform, from East Side Games – for his superpowered games. And yes, his players do recreate Justice League members for their characters. And no, he’s not sharing any details on how they play as Green Lantern.

Instead, there’d been brand new, ready-made characters for them to choose from so they can get to heroing quickly. They’re playing novice capes who’d been invited to the Watchtower for try-outs to join the team, only to find the Justice League has been kidnapped! Now it’s up to them to save the World’s Greatest Heroes from a monologing, tuxedo-wearing supervillain.

Hermione’d played a flyer who can turn invisible; Wally a super-strong, invulnerable, and nothing else. It’d been rather fun. The two actual superheroes in the group had done their best to act as rookies who’d never been properly trained, and Dean had praised their performances. Ron, on the other hand, had to be frequently reminded that because he’s a strategic genius it doesn’t mean his character is one as well.

It'd been like acting in a play, where all the lines are improvised. No stakes, save for being accepting of everyone’s contributions to the ongoing narrative. And having a good time. Dean had several plot twists that’d taken them all by surprise, and it’s clear he does appreciate the genre.

It had been a good night. Seeing Seamus again in particular; she and Wally had talked a bit of the unpublicised, prosaic realities of their life with him (and Dean). Paperwork, training, quarterly physicals. Seeing a professional for mental health as well. Chairing the League; a certain scarlet speedster’s turn in the seat is coming not too long from now. His third time, which she hadn’t realised.

Luna had been delighted with the concept of adopting identities and acting out roles in invented worlds. Of course she’d been, Hermione’d thought. Not even Wally knows of Luna’s non-terrestrial origins. Hermione herself barely knows more than that.

She would’ve loved to stay longer after they’d finished (the heroes had managed to thwart the dastardly nemesis just in the nick of time, right before he could destroy the Tower), except there’s a League meeting early tomorrow. Also, she’d needed to contact Constantine and see if he has insight into her current matter.

Luna’d also been leaving at the same time. She’d given Hermione a hug and whispered, “Mogo says hello.” Then had promptly disappeared into the fireplace’s green flames.

Grrr.

Planning.

Procurement.

Preparation.

And letters. That’s the hardest part.

Hermione leaves the large stack on her bed in the Tower. A long sigh and a kiss for the one at the top, then she charges her ring.

It’s time. Time to team up with somebody whom she’d never imagined doing so.

“Ready?”

“Can’t wait, Granger. Bring ’em on. Nobody gets to destroy reality except me.”

And so Green Lantern orbits far above a dead planet, using emerald laser-light to carve apart the colossal runic marks encrusting the airless surface.

“That’s not very nice of you, old bean, destroying priceless works of art,” the voice tsks from behind her. “They’re historic. As in they’re part of ending history.”

“Took you long enough. I was about to fire a signal flare.” She cocks her head and regards the compact figure blithely ignoring the vacuum. “Staying with that body, are you? How depressing is your lack of imagination.”

“Me-ow!” she gets in reply. “Look at you, so eager for extinction. We imagined months of dancing before pulling the curtains on existence.”

“I grew bored of your prattle.” She waves her gloved hands out. “You talked a big game, Doc, and I figured that one ring wouldn’t be enough. So I got nine more.”

One ring instantly becomes ten. All burning hot. All aimed at the form of Doctor Lymaas Kys, now subsumed by the Vertices of Tears.

Their eyes open wide right before the power of ten rings hit like a freshly emergent solar flare. Followed by four additional flares.

The body sails out of orbit, only to be struck by a massive bat waiting kilometres away. “Good Guardians, look at that! It’s going, going…” and it vanishes from sight.

“Gone.” The Vertices reform from nothingness, entirely too close. “Silly goose. Rings can’t save you. Science can’t save you.”

“Perhaps not,” she says. Confirmation achieved that this isn’t trickery; this is true, off the scale, power. “I bet magic could.”

“Such a pity you don’t do magic anymore, Lantern Hermione.”

“Such a pity you’re going to see how strong a witch I am.”

A wand materialises in her right hand. A second in her left.

“Woah there, honeybunch, what do you think you’re–” Their words are cut off abruptly as magic erupts and blends seamlessly with power ring constructs.

Spells form green blades capable of severing molecules. Swirling emerald curses break down atomic cohesion and magnify background radiation to ultra-powerful cosmic rays. All aimed at one figure.

The Vertices are torn apart, ruptured, and fragmented, only to mend repeatedly. “Your precious Guardians,” they giggle while hit by magically compressed black holes fired from an emerald gatling gun, “aren’t going to be happy!”

“My precious Guardians aren’t here. You are. Not for much longer, though,” and she backs it up with a thorned boxing glove made of ravenous Fiendfyre. “You believe me to be a good little Lantern, following the rules without question. You really don’t know me very well.” Five rings send spikes at them, which duplicate into thousands that arc in curved trajectories.

“I was breaking rules from my first days at school. Setting fire to a teacher, kidnapping and torturing an adult, robbing a bank. Killing people.” The spikes run true, then detonate. “I learned a lot in school. Time for you to learn.”

Both wands raise high, held in beringed hands. “Welcome to Magic 101. Class is now in session.” The professor launches new rounds of deadly enchanted constructs. “Pay attention as there’s to be a test afterwards.”

Her foe is laughing as they’re destroyed over and over again.

“That make you feel good?” they ask after recomposing themselves from tangles of stray molecular chains. “Got it all out of your system? It’s only going to make your end so much sweeter,” they grin. “Sugarbear, we’re so beyond your tiny little imagination.” They’re next wrapped in nets of acidic, constricting webs.

A cloud of viscous liquids solidifies, and they continue talking. “Whaddya say, perhaps I’ll throw your corpse at Oa? Let everyone see that not only did you fail as a Lantern, you also failed as a witch?”

“Failed? Not me. It’s you who’ve failed if you believed me to be alone.” A fresh spell flies not at the Vertices, but at empty space. “I brought a magical friend from the anti-matter universe. She lives for hurting idiots. Say hello to… me.”

A young woman in a dark green bodysuit becomes visible. Angular domino mask, white gloves, green boots and trim. The hair is sleek and ebon; the face is Hermione Granger’s. The burning green ring on her finger, that’s unique.

“Meet Power Ring. Aka Hermione Butcher. My opposite from the anti-matter universe.”

“Surprise, Bitch!” Butcher growls with a savage grin.

“As you can see, we’ve bonded as sisters. Nothing like a common cause to bring family together, wouldn’t you say?”

Butcher’s the one now laughing, and in delight. “Not only do I get to see Granger corrupted into using magic, I also get to kill a superpowered idiot. I love days like this!”

“No fair, I’d only scheduled for killing one Hermione!” the Vertices get out before they’re overrun by dragons, feral unicorns, lava sharks, krakens, and a giant taloned monster that fires lighting from its exposed cranium.

They’ve apparently had enough and begin fighting back. Primordial energies unseen since picoseconds after this universe had awoken wave away most of the rampaging green creatures. But not all of them.

Butcher herself waves off a side-strike. “Hey Granger, Teary Deary’s trying to puncture the field that keeps my body from matter-antimatter annihilation.”

“Failing at that too, I bet?” and the two laugh together.

“You’re weak, ‘Doctor.’ Time to shed tears of your own.” Ten power rings join with a singular one, and the system gains stellar light for a sustained moment.

“Quite agree, Butcher. They keep blabbing that life and death are irrelevant; probably won’t mind if we burn them to subatomic particles.”

The Vertices regain their composure. “Cute,” as they dismiss the nova burst. “Cute tricks. Not enough.” They flow into shapes that are painful to examine, and colours outside any spectrum coalesce around them.

The Lantern looks over to her sister. “Hermione, I do believe I have her woeful measure. Shall we commence?”

Butcher’s grin grows wider. “Bet yer ass, Hermione. I’ve got a knife, let’s sharpen them up.”

“Enough, chickadees. Lantern Hermione, you’re first to–” The blast of coherent anti-tachyons takes the Vertices by surprise, and they turn to see Butcher and her still-smoking jade cannon. “That wasn’t magic!” they shout, a mixture of outrage and bewilderment. And pain, a good degree of that too.

“It never was, you crass simpleton,” Butcher replies cooly. “Let’s finish this, shall we sister mine?”

Wands wave, and a Lantern uniform dissolves into an impeccable vintage dress. Bushy hair darkens and weaves into an impeccable French braid.

“Surprise, Bitch. Part Two,” Parsimony smirks, emerald force field replaced by a radiant amethyst protection charm.

The Vertices become frozen, uncertain, as if their intersections are out of alignment. To their opposite side, a costume reshapes itself into a Lantern’s uniform and hair bushifies.

“Wait till you see what’s next,” Hermione says. She’s kept the savage grin.

Together, the two pound the Vertices to the planet. Then into it.

Rewind, roughly a week ago.

“… And that’s what I’m facing. I’ve achieved a good many impossible feats since gaining my ring. Several before that, with a wand. Whatever she, or they, really are could be beyond what a Lantern can do. Maybe not, however, when teamed with an impossibly powerful witch.”
“I’m listening.”

“Let me get this straight. I pose as you, and you pose as this nut job from another dimension.”
“Precisely. Your big chance to become a uniform-wearing, prissy, know-it-all, goodie-two-shoes, bossy, self-righteous–”
“You had me ‘uniform-wearing,’ Herm. How can I resist?”

“Damn, girl. You’re totally the evil you. Her outfit helps and is pretty cool, gotta say.”
“It is, isn’t it? I received expert tutelage from someone who makes a living as assuming the identities of people threatened with violence. No magic involved.”

“Hang on a tic. Exactly how many of my hairs do you have, Parm?”
“Not saying. Girl’s gotta have a few secrets.”

“No, her animated creatures looked to have real pizazz to them. Dial up the organics, let them flow out on your emotions. Also, bigger teeth.”
“Understood. Running with that, go farther mechanical for mine, Parm; let’s make them as diametrically opposite as we can.”
“Gotcha.”

“Herm, you still sound like you’re upset over missing afternoon tea. Contractions can be your friend! Talk like West does, and no I’m not dissing him. More importantly, you’re not angry enough. You made Butcher sound like hostility personified.
C’mon, act as if this is one of those Ministry asses I read about. The terrorists from your war. Everybody who called you names. Everybody who tried to belittle or kill you. Me, at the end.
Yeah, that’s it.”

“Ready for another pass on Butcher-speak, Herm?”
“Can’t wait, Granger. Bring her on. Nobody gets to destroy reality except me.”
“Grand! I found it quite flawless, my dear. Simply smashing.”
“Oi, I don’t talk like that, Parm! Well, not that often at least. Don’t go for parody Masterpiece Theatre, just be… crisp. A schoolmarm. I had students who adored the way I talked.”

“Pictures of runes engraved into a lifeless planet, and I can’t believe I’m saying that.”
“Also set upon entirely too many dead bodies, Parm.”
“Okay, they’re definitely going down for that. But yeah, your translations are, ah, ‘spot on.’”
“Better.”
“Seriously, this is heavy level thaumaturgy, Herm. Fractal symbology, stuff I’ve only read about in copies of hieroglyphics depicting Atlantean spellwork.”
“It did move an entire planet into a plane of inexistence. I’d call that heavy.”
“Yeah. Okay, I’ll need to feel the magic in person. But yeah, I think we can do this.”
“Splendid. The hard part will be holding them off until you’re sure.”
“They like to talk, from your videos. People I’d been running with, and running from, they talked a lot. Could rarely back it up. Unlike you, greenie.”
“Say that again, girlie, and I’ll run a unicorn’s horn through your spleen!”
“Better!”

“Ray, if you don’t mind before leaving, could I borrow your time-travel expertise? Such as looking over a few ideas on fashioning an anti-tachyon particle caster? I can provide the energy and construction, but I need to be sure the blueprints are solid. I need to really, really disorient a possible deity.”

“Well howdie, ya mangey varmint!” Parsimony yells at the body buried deep in the crater underneath them.

“Time to drown your tears,” Hermione adds. “Also, discover why you shouldn’t mess with humans.”

Parsimony cracks her knuckles, and four crystal wands rise over her shoulders. “Runes, baby; all my game. Runes for dimensional magic. Runes for chronometric curses.”

They split their efforts, Parsimony maintaining the mystical barrage while Hermione fires a hyperthin, hyperpowerful beam at the surface. The emerald lance cuts along the crust and through it, following a carefully plotted pathway through the runic icons.

One fast orbit later, she’s sliced the planet in half, and the pieces drift apart. Step one complete.

The Vertices are again blasted, hard and with no planetary surface to halt their descent this time. They’re no longer joking around and appear prepared to unmake every speck of matter within dozens of light years.

They’re a step behind. Gigantic hands, one of emerald and the second of amethyst, grip hemispheres and twist them into a new orientation. A final burst of force slams them together, leaving the Vertices trapped within the cold core.

Step two accomplished. Hermione looks to Parsimony, who doesn’t appear the slightest bit worried if step three will go off as planned. Sure enough, the newly created runes fashioned from earlier carving and the hemispherical positioning line up perfectly.

Symbols glow as the severing cuts seal. A dead world split asunder becomes a solid mass once more as the runes pull from the residual magics embedded within. What had been used to open a breach is now used to seal it. Hopefully.

Parsimony takes in the characters as they fade from non-magical detection. “That oughta do it. Clinched up tight. They’re cut off and it’s imprinted on their dimensional signature.”

Hermione nods. “Whatever power they have, that’s all they’ll ever have. Which is sure to be a ferocious amount. But they’ve lost access to… whatever was the real power, over unreality. Inexistence. Whatever’s on their side that had made them, well, godlike.”

“I’m betting they won’t stop trying to level back up.”

“Of course. Till then, they’re but one of several interstellar, possibly galactic level threats who’ve sworn to destroy me. So long as they’re focussing on me alone, grand. I can live with that.”

“Hey,” Parsimony pointedly replies. “We can live with that. You weren’t alone, Herm.”

“I wasn’t, was I?” and Hermione smiles. That lessens as she continues. “I’d have taken them to Oa and the Sciencells except… the cells would have required runic magic to hold them.”

“From what you’ve said, your little blue bosses wouldn’t be keen on that.”

“Nope. Nevertheless, I’d so like to introduce you to them.”

“Maybe. Definitely on neutral ground.” She’s staring down. “I can feel them screaming inside. Not a happy camper.”

“They’ll be back.”

“We’ll be ready.”

They bump fists. Parsimony’s the first to say what they’re both thinking. “That… was awesome. Scary but awesome.”

“Welcome to being a superhero, Ms Wilmington.”

“Ha!” snorts the novice champion. “If so, welcome to being a supervillain, Ms Granger.”

Hermione pauses. “It felt liberating, being the baddie. Not caring about propriety, or anything really.” Her eyes drift out of focus. “I have nightmares, Parm, where I faced down an utterly vile woman like this. Destroyed her and never stopped. Riddle and Harry I saved for last. I became Dark Galadriel. All loved me and despaired.”

The former villain known as Jinx catches her eyes, forces them onto her. “Hey. I almost went there too, remember.”

“I think we both might have at the end,” Hermione slowly nods. “We kept each other from falling.”

The screams have lessened, according to Parsimony. Not ended. Hermione will be adding check-ins here as part of her patrols. One day the Vertices will break out, that’s a given. After that… well, that will be an interesting day.

“We did good.”

“That we did.”

“That feels good.”

“It does.” Hermione considers. Why not? Also, she does need to recharge. “Want to see more of what you saved today?”

And so Parsimony is taken on an abbreviated tour of Sector 2814. She’s quite blasé over new planets and watching Green Lantern perform an emergency rescue. The sector house, that floors her.

“It’s the Milky Way crammed into one place!” she says on viewing the commercial district and the myriad crowds within. “Why travel, let the travel come to you. The ultimate big city downtown,” while taking in the numerous signs, displays, and commercials. No need for a translation matrix when magic will suffice.

A quick stop to Hermione’s quarters. 11%, not bad. Early on, she’d be in the low single digits. Greater proficiency brings greater efficiency, perhaps.

Saying the Oath, with Parsimony next to her, is… special. Bright. Her bestie looks good in green.

Hermione locates an eatery compatible with their biology and do lunch. And talk. Parm has questions about Life Out Here, for one. Of dangers at the cosmic level, of which humans are blissfully unaware of.

“We’ve too many. At least we don’t have a Galactus.”

“A what?” Hermione relates her visit to the Avengers’ universe and an enormous being who eats planets. Also, of the very studious, and very boring, Dr Granger.

“Youch. Was I around in that dimension?”

“To be honest, I wasn’t keen to meet a second you. One was enough. Also, I’d enough issues with returning home to keep busy.”

“Good thing you did. I woulda gotten irate without you to punch. Ignited Jupiter or whatever to break up the monotony.” They clink to safe returns, their containers filled with a liquid that reminds both of lemonade laced with peppery ice.

There’re breaks as people come up to talk with their Lantern. Mentions of further establishments coming as the house properly opens for business, a couple of appointments for the regional offices, several messages of thanks for her work.

Parsimony, included. “Seriously. Hermione. I so owe you.”

“No,” Hermione shakes her head, “we’re even. Forever, Parm. Sisters, right?”

“Heh. I was an only child, it turns out,” Parsimony says. “I started remembering always wanting a sister.” The manor house had been sold, of course. She’d nevertheless slipped in and found items hidden deep one in of the attics.

“Such as?”

“Family pictures. So many of them! Each one I see makes parts of my brain light up.”

“Hmmm. Baby pictures?”

“No comment.”

Hermione promises to reciprocally share her own if Parm’s willing. Thankfully her parents hadn’t brought the recreations forth during Parm’s visit to Australia on New Year’s; that day had been touchy enough as is.

Plates finally become empty of unrecognisable and tasty items. Time to go home. “I’ll give you a tour of the Solar System on the way back. Check out that planet you were keen to ignite.”

“I still say it would have been cool. Two Suns in the sky!”

“Debatable, Parm. Debatable.”

Neither notice how much they’re noticed. Hermione’s gotten used to occasional stares when in uniform. Parsimony’s subtle uses of magic, second nature to her, aren’t missed by everyone. People begin talking after they depart.

The talking spreads, and spreads farther after Parsimony’s next voyage to other worlds.

It’s the start of the legend, one that lasts for over a thousand years. The Lantern and the Witch.