Chapter 17: Grandma Plays the Numbers – Wynona Harris

POV: Ivey

The dusky skinned woman scratched at the line of sweat running in rivulets down her neck from the oppressive heat within the Saugus Ironworks facility. She did her best to veil her disdain for the filthy and smelly no-maj in front of her and affected what she hoped was her most pleasant expression. The waste of skin she was treating with was aptly called the Burned, and had replaced the former leader of the Forged at that man's fiery demise.

It had happened not long ago, when one of the more senior Minutemen… a man named Roger if their intelligence was correct, led a force at the behest of Abraham Finch to recover a family heirloom. Their operation was a categorical success, as they purged the facility of over a dozen of the Forged and killed their leader, a brutal madman named Slag.

She blinked away another bead of sweat trickling near her eyes, sighing heavily at the onerous man's love affair with the sound of his own voice as he droned on and on. Ivey didn't know how this man would react to her use of magic, so she suffered through the stifling temperature and the man's odious presence, which only made her diplomatic overtures all the more difficult to persuasively execute.

"The fire calls to us. It whispers of vengeance against the interlopers that took our exalted leader." The man's voice rasped from a ruined throat, the extensive burns across his body lending a sinister air to the fanatic. She imagined that they had improved his looks though, for he was as thoroughly an unpleasant and unattractive man that she had ever met.

"Which is precisely why I have come. We share a common enemy in these resurgent 'Minutemen'. It is in your best interest to align with us." She stated, for perhaps the third time since the negotiations had begun.

"The Forged are not in the business of allying ourselves with those who have not embraced the flame." He smiled snidely, guessing that the Rust Devils would not be there unless they needed something from them. As hideous and fanatical as he was, he was not stupid.

"Then you will die alone and your Ironworks will be repurposed to serve the needs of the ones who brought you low. Is this what you want?"

"We are strong…"

"If that were true, I'd not be speaking to you now, I'd be talking with Slag."

He muttered to himself darkly, his eyes taking on a murderous glint.

She had to take another tactic, "Bedlam hasn't been heard from in some time, no? Did you know that the Minutemen assaulted the Dunwich Bore and took her down as well? What of Pyro? Where is he? The strongest of you are scattered. Of the lieutenants, you are the last. You are out of options. With us, you can have your vengeance and feed these damned Minutemen to your crucible."

His eyes flickered uncertainly as she mentioned his comrades, perhaps wondering how the Rust Devils knew so much about the disposition of the Forged. After a tense moment, he seemed to recover some measure of his fire and visibly brightened at the idea of sacrificing the blue clad goody two shoes to his beloved fire.

"Yes… It will do much for my boys to exact some payment for our setbacks as of late." He seemed to consider for a moment, "It all began with that Finch whelp. His attempt to join us prompted his family to engage with the Minutemen to rescue him. They cut down a dozen of my people before killing Slag and desecrating our altar. If you will join us in attacking Finch Farm, we would be more favorable toward a permanent alliance."

"Then I think we have the beginnings of an accord." Ivey agreed, "If you will excuse me, I need a moment of privacy to consult with my father, though I am certain he will agree to your reasonable terms."

Ivey nearly spat as she strode away, the false obsequiousness of her demeanor with the deformed man falling away as she gathered her entourage about her. She heard a snicker from one of the Rust Devil's to her side, and threw a foul look at the man, who had the grace to raise his hands in mock surrender. She murmured a quick charm and breathed far more easily than she had since arriving, the cool breeze wrapping about her and chasing away the sour tang of hot metal and sweat.

Her man led the way to a ladder and proceeded up it toward the roof of the facility. Disdaining dirtying herself further in this sweltering pit, Ivey simply waited until the man had opened the hatch and stood clear of the yawning portal, the failing daylight filtering into the reddened gloom.

Ivey flourished her wand and held her breath as she ascended up and through the opening and only breathed when she was well clear of it. Taking in a 'relatively' fresh breath, she felt profound relief as the others joined her up top, the sentiment of relief shared by her cohorts. She jerked her chin in their direction, and taking their cue, they spread out to ensure that the area was empty of eavesdroppers.

She rubbed her eyes tiredly as she waited, the long negotiation with the sanity challenged Forged having drained her of verve. She longed to be back in her workshop, designing and building new robotic servants. The simple task appealed to her in a way most others did not appreciate. Artifice and arcane melded together in a way that made sense to her, allowed her to express her thoughts without betraying any sense of herself to her siblings or her father. Perhaps it was a measure of her mother's grace, a figure that she had only a few dim memories of.

"All clear." One of her men reported, breaking her from her reverie.

She nodded in acknowledgement and bent her will toward contacting her father, the tendrils of his presence coming into her mind almost immediately. She could feel his eagerness through the blood bond, and shuddered despite herself at the poisonous presence of his psyche pressing in upon her.

"Ah, my dear. I've been awaiting word from you. You have some promising news to report, I trust?"

"Father." She began, respectfully, "The Forged are in some disarray after their defeat against the Minutemen. They are… pliable. The Burned has indicated that they will cleave to us if we help them gain a measure of justice against a nearby settlement, a place called Finch Farms."

"Ah, very good. It will be a good opportunity to see them in action. I approve. Your brother Theodore has been tasked to gather a force to strengthen your position, you may call on him at your leisure. I will expect news of your victory come the morning."

He cut off contact with an alacrity that stunned Ivey, the sudden withdrawal of his spirit leaving her gasping as if it tore air from her lungs with its departure. A wave of nausea threatened, and she had to take several moments to steel herself. Only after she was assured of his absence did she allow the full measure of her hatred for the man wash over her like a balm for her soul. She could justify a great many of her sins against the bulwark of her hatred for that man… the man who had given and taken in equal measure.

Once she had suitably recovered, she then concentrated on her younger brother, one of the few for which she actually had a measure of affection. He answered the summons with youthful vigor, his gap-toothed smile resonating with some small part of her that appreciated its pure naivety.

"Ivey! Father told me to be ready for your call! I'm bringing some of your new robots and my team with me. Is it time?"

She allowed herself an answering smile at his optimistic energy, as despite their father's influence, Theo always managed to be a bright light in the morbid melancholy of their existence. As if repelled by it and him, Jeremiah rarely interacted with Theo, which in the end only served to preserve his good spirit and cheer.

"Yes, Theo. Bring them. We need to show some goodwill toward our new friends and so will be helping them get some payback against the Minutemen that killed their former leader."

"Oh yes! Will I get to use the Bombarda charm? I haven't had the chance to practice it yet!"

"Yes Theo, the settlement has a wall we will need to breach, so it's a good time for you to get some practice in."

She could practically feel the excitement coming through the link… 'Just wait when he gets a little older and discovers girls', she thought, picturing a slightly older Theo energetically pursuing the younger female Rust Devils to experiment 'wand work' of a different type. She felt almost sorry for them.

She eased out of the link and true to form, didn't have long to wait before the boy conjured a dark cloud and stepped from the inky blackness, his teeth shining white against the velvety backdrop. Four of her favored assaultrons flanked him and a little over a dozen Rust Devils walked through after. The ten year old launched himself at Ivey, forcing her to sublimate her normal protective instincts to catch the boy and gift him with a quick hug.

His eyes shone like gemstones, twinkling with the brightness reflected from his bountiful heart. She felt a pang of regret that he would soon be an instrument of destruction, but such was the life they lived.

A few hours later saw their preparations complete and Ivey found herself again in the presence of the Burned, though this time there was space between them as he and his half dozen associates joined her, Theo and a pair of their Rust Devil lieutenants around a crudely drawn map of Finch Farm. She had renewed her cooling charm before coming back inside the Ironworks, so was spared from suffering in the oppressive heat again, though little could be done for the stench coming off of the Forged in waves.

Theo was less diplomatic than she was, his face screwing up in dismay. Before she could stop him, his wand was in the air and he quickly and efficiently cleansed the opposing party without so much as a 'by your leave.' The Forged frowned at the young wizard, but at a glance from the Burned, made no move to chastise the young man for his unbidden use of magic. It seems as though these no-maj fools were far more pragmatic to magic's usefulness than was typical, a useful trait possibly reinforced by their leader, given how highly he now seemed to value their potential friendship.

His eyes fairly glowed with avarice as Ivey made marks on his map, laying out how the Rust Devils would be arrayed in the coming battle.

"My associate here will blast the wall at this location." Ivey repeated, her soot smudged finger tracing a section of wall closest to the Ironworks.

"I will create an opening here, near the opposite end." Her finger moved, to indicate a location nearly opposite the first mark.

"Once we've breached their defenses, I will lead my forces through this opening while you take advantage of the other." Ivey then looked pointedly at Theo, "He WILL stay well outside, and provide cover for your men as you begin your assault. The Minutemen are well-entrenched here, so don't go in expecting an easy fight."

"We've learned the hard lesson of underestimating them." The Burned growled, his appetite for the coming fight made clear by the drool snaking its way from his ruined mouth.

Ivey suppressed a shudder and fixed him with a hard glare, "So you say. The Minutemen are well provisioned and have nearly a dozen troopers here. There are at least another dozen combat capable residents of the settlement and you can be sure that the Mr. Handy's that they've recently introduced to help with the farming will have their pre-war defensive programming active."

"We outnumber them 2 to 1. We have surprise. Though I am ready to accept some losses, this is nothing compared to justice."

Ivey nearly scoffed at the idea. Justice indeed. True justice would see them all dead and the Minuteman flag flying over their corpses, but she kept her opinion to herself.

With nothing more to discuss, she nodded curtly to the man and swept from the room, her followers falling into line in her wake. Once outside the meeting chamber, she grasped Theo painfully by the arm and jerked him to the side.

"You remember your role in this, yes?" She hissed, as if full of the fires of rancor.

"Ye… yes. Of course I do. Ivey, you're hurting my arm." He stuttered.

She jerked again for good measure, fighting back the sudden surge of emotion at the unbidden thought of her brother's body lying broken and bloody on the sands outside the farm, "You will do as I command. You open the way for the Forged, then you stay well back. Practice throwing those fireballs over their heads… they should like that. But you stay the FUCK OUT OF THE FIGHT! Do you FUCKING HEAR ME!"

"I hear you." He meekly mewled, his pre-teen bravado withering beneath his eldest sister's unrelenting gaze. She hated to be so harsh with him, but she would never forgive herself if something were to happen to him. Their father would have no feeling either way, viewing either his survival or his death with as little concern as one would have for any pawn. No, it was not her father's reaction she feared… but the shattering of what remained of her heart.

She released his arm and pulled him into a rough hug, probably confusing the young man even more. She wiped at his face absently and drew in a ragged breath, fighting to keep her tone even, "I want you safe, little brother, that's all."

He gifted her with one of his trademark smiles, showing that all was forgiven. Just like that.

"Did we get word back from those Gunners? Did they accept our terms?" Ivey shifted the topic as she pulled him along to their own mustering point.

"They will make a squad available to us for the 1000 caps we've promised them, plus a share of the spoils." He confirmed.

She nodded, the Forged and the Gunners can squabble over the meager spoils from the settlement, all she wanted to do was to fulfill her father's will and get back home with her life and the life of her brother intact.

Jeremiah had grand plans that were made easier with access to the Ironworks. With the foundry producing a steady supply of metal, their workshops could shift into higher production and increase the number of robotic forces at their disposal. Father foresaw the need for them once the war with the Minutemen swung into high gear.

He had told her that dislodging both the Minutemen and Salem from their hold of the north would reap a bloody harvest among their number, and that victory was not a sure thing. That surprised her more than anything… not that they could be defeated, but that her father would admit that so freely to her. Normally the megalomaniacal dark wizard would wax poetic about the inevitably of his ascension. Not even the appearance of the witches and wizards of Salem had changed his rhetoric. Something else must have changed, perhaps related to the strange aura that had swept over the entire family a week ago… as if something long dormant had awakened.

Reaching the point where they parted ways, she and Theo shared one more hug before she moved off with her assaultrons and Rust Devils, four of her most trusted and skilled fighters going with Theo to assure his safety (and compliance with her orders). They had grumbled at that, but would sooner hack off their own cocks than disobey her.

She was under no illusion that the Forged would approach the settlement with anything resembling stealth, nor was she willing to gamble that the Burned would wait for the designated time before approaching his objective, so she prompted her team to greater haste as they widely skirted the settlement to reach their own position.

Taking a moment to catch her breath, she crouched against an ancient sea wall and glanced to the south, making sure that the surviving super mutants there made no notice of her group. It was ironic that the General had culled their numbers when he was here last, or else she would have had to account for them in her plans. As it was, only a handful remained and even if they were drawn by the sounds of the fighting, would stand little chance of disrupting their tactics more than marginally. Still, she didn't live as long as she had by being less than a little paranoid.

Ivey murmured a quick chant and slashed her palm. Smearing her blood against the wall, she hissed out the remaining words of the spell to create a little surprise for any super mutant who thought to join the party. The bloodfyre curse would lay dormant unless something crossed the wall. Any unfortunate being who completed the spell circuit would find themselves howling in agony as their blood erupted into flames. She didn't think that it would affect more than one or two of the creatures before the magic was spent, but she figured that the sight of two of their own being immolated by blue fire erupting from every orifice would dishearten the others sufficiently.

"Ivey."

She heard the call as a whisper on the wind. The time had come, Theo was in position and ready. She took a steadying breath as she gave the word to her team and raised her wand at the junk wall of Finch farms.

"Bombarda Maxima."

If there was one thing that she particularly noted from every battle she fought, it would be the smell. It twisted her stomach in knots even while it galvanized her into a furor of excitement. It was horror and nausea wrapped up in a single sensation of burning metal and meat.

She decapitated a charging Minuteman, his rifle long lost and a combat knife gripped in his meaty fist. His head flew off in one direction as his legs carried his body a few staggering paces closer before collapsing. She grinned at the great gout of blood which splashed against her feet and felt an almost orgasmic joy at the mayhem. What else could one rationally do in the face of such bloody chaos? Revel in it or be shattered by it.

The Rust Devils around her surged forward through the tall stalks of corn, putting their skills to use against the unfailingly polite Mr. Handy's, even as the robots employed saw and laser to defend their charges. Her men were more than proficient at taking down robots, as it was more lucrative to preserve as much of their frames as possible. Several pulse grenades and a few enthusiastic whacks with super sledges left them with a bounty of salvage.

The bulk of the defenders were contending with the northern breach, where 30 of the Forged were howling as they set fire to everything in reach while a squad of Gunners fought with far more professionalism, using precise laser fire to support their wild allies of contract.

A rustle in the heads of corn alerted her and she lashed out with her wand, a woman's voice crying out in pain as her body thudded into the hard soil. Ivey tromped over to find an aging woman clutching a youngling, perhaps no more than a year old, and desperately trying to push a toddler away from her.

The old woman's eyes went wide with horror as the Ivey's shadow fell over her, though her horror was short lived when Ivey spat death down at her. She stunned the children and left them by the corpse of their presumable grandmother, mentally cataloging the location for their later retrieval.

The main Finch cottage exploded into kindling as the Gunner captain, armored in pre-war glory, plummeted from the overpass and smashed directly into the feeble structure. She waded out from the wreckage, smashing aside the few staggering survivors and gunning down anyone who moved.

A bellicose sound reverberated in the pit of her stomach, causing a flutter of fear to assail her heart. It was a delicious sensation that was touched by her recognition of the grinding roar. A sentry bot, which had been inactive and therefore hidden from her scouts, made itself known as it rumbled from its shed, the bloody smear of the man who had risked his life to activate it gleaming wetly against its armored frame.

"Directive received. Defend settlement from all hostiles. Engaging."

Its twin mini-guns whirred to life and a storm of rounds obliterated a trio of Forged who were too slow in taking cover. The Gunner captain, even in her power-armor, chose discretion as the better part of valor and took cover herself as 5mm rounds stitched the air with hot tracers.

Ivey crouched down low amid the crops, knowing that the sentry bot had plenty of targets for its IFF sensors to feed through. All she had to do was to wait until it underwent its cooling cycle.

She scanned the rest of the battle and found herself entranced by the fury with which Abraham Finch fought. She grinned as he disemboweled a Forged with a flaming blade, a fitting end to one of his ilk and watched as he faced off against another. There was something about older men who surrendered themselves to the clamor of battle that aroused something within her. But there was no time for such indulgences and he, with his sons fighting beside him, were forming the core of a cohesive defense.

With a tiny pang of regret, she lifted the three of them with her power and flung them into the wreckage of their home, their bodies plowing through the wreckage with screams of frustration and pain. The Forged they had been fighting cheered lustily and hurried to set their flame weapons to the task of making their home into their funeral pyre.

The lynchpin of the settlement's defense now rested in the handful of remaining Minutemen and the lone sentry bot, who was nearing its… there! The ponderous monstrosity ceased fire and opened its red hot rear compartment, clouds of super-heated steam erupting from its reactor. With a smirk, Ivey jerked its two fusion cores from its back and giggled a little as the towering robot fell inert. She couldn't wait to get all these parts back to her workshop!

To their credit, the Minutemen didn't break even after their heavy support was out of the fight. They fell back in good order toward the waterline, passing close enough to where Ivey waited that she could have reached out and touched them. But she demurred, letting them slip by her unmolested. This was the Forged fight after all and she felt strangely merciful just then.

A young blonde minuteman (minutewoman?) slipped in the blood soaked ground and was hauled unceremoniously to her feet by her grizzled sergeant with a squeak. He shoved her behind him and lay down an impressive battery of fire from his laser musket, cranking the lever with remarkable alacrity and keeping even the Gunners pinned down.

Ivey saw his plan, to hold the line so that his youngest trooper could get away and carry word of their defeat to their vaunted General. Ivey almost reacted when the young woman reached the children she had left stunned and scooped them up in her skinny arms. No, she would let them have this, though if the blonde teenager tried to cross the seawall, her life would come to a painful end. She doubted that the girl would be so stupid as to run directly at a known super mutant enclave, but panic could do things to one's brain.

The old man barked some order that Ivey couldn't quite make out, her attention riveted on his solid frame and fiery eyes. Twice in one fight? What were the odds? She really needed to get laid soon as these distractions were becoming a little ridiculous in their frequency.

Whatever it was that he said, it would be the last words he uttered as he fell with a wordless roar, tiny explosions of blood erupting from his back as several Gunners bracketed him with intense laser and assault rifle fire. A fitting end for such a man, she thought, to die so bravely. She glanced around for the blonde and saw her head bobbing as she ran to the southwest, clearly not intending to go anywhere near the Revere Satellite Array. Ivey found herself smiling with silent congratulations for the young Minuteman, actually hoping that she made it to safety with her young charges.

She turned back to the battle just in time to witness the last Minuteman fall, the flaming sword that Abraham Finch had until recently used to great effect, slicing through his neck with an exaggerated swing from that disgusting man, the Burned.

What a ridiculous name, she thought. No wonder you were the last in a line of lieutenants. Ivey could only hope that Pyro or one of the other Forged lieutenants were still alive somewhere, dealing with any of them was immensely more appealing than having to forge a lasting alliance with that melted slug.

"Is it done?"

Ivey let go of a breath she didn't realize she was holding at Theo's gentle question. Let the Gunners and the Forged have their fun picking over the corpses. She directed her Rust Devils to gather up the Mr. Handy's and the sentry bot while she went to meet with Theo, pointedly ignoring the riotous celebration already erupting from the jubilant Forged. The Gunner Captain stood motionless, a single hand extended, palm up. Ivey dug a jingling purse from her satchel and tossed it at the Captain, who caught it smartly and saluted with her other hand.

Ivey gave her no more thought as she caught sight of Theo and motioned for him to join her. It was time for them to leave and get what rest they could before the Minutemen inevitably responded.

POV: Harry

The tang of cordite assailed his nose as the thick smoke billowed into his face, narrowing his eyes against their hot sting. The thunderous retort of the cannon rocked him on his heels as he fought to maintain his footing even as robots scurried about him under the percussive cadence of Captain Ironsides' metronome-like count. As a robot, his count was of course precise enough to earn that comparison, though Harry felt too divorced from the flow of time to judge it objectively.

Harry leaned toward the railing and looked out over to the Castle ruins below, or Fort Independence as it was known in the Pre-War days. Aside from a massive rent on a seaward side, the rest of the structure was remarkably intact and looked quite formidable. Minus the obvious signs of heavy mirelurk infestation, it would be a powerful bastion for the Minutemen once it was repaired and re-populated.

He had brought the Constitution and a handful of Salem Militia in response to the Minutemen's call for aid, and had found the his erstwhile friends besieged by a virtual tidal wave of the armored menace pouring forth from the ruin. He had Ironsides pull up above and to the rear of the tide, and the robots were heartily firing down into the press with gusto, their footing not overly endangered by their precarious angle.

He, Daphne and Hermione all were securely tied by guy-lines to the main mast at Ironside's insistence, a precaution that he was grateful for as he had underestimated just how far the ship had to tilt in order to fire down into the press of mirelurks.

The minutemen below had cheered at their arrival, the adulation encouraging one of Harry's trademark grins.

With the Constitution relieving some of the pressure on the Minuteman advance, its cadre of power armored troopers were finally able to press ahead of their deadlock, forging a path through a literal wall of mirelurk corpses.

Ironsides called a halt to the barrage, lamenting that the damned grunts were too far ahead for them to safely fire and ordered the helmsman to re-orient the great ship to a more even keel. Harry breathed a sigh of relief as the guy-line slackened, the deck beneath him straightening and lessening the strain on his legs and back to hold himself upright. With a coy grin at Daphne, he untied the rope and gestured to where their brooms were secured. She rolled her eyes dramatically and shook her head, though her easy smile showed that the disapproving expression was a lie.

His eyes twinkling with mirth, he held out a hand for his broom and barely had time to register surprise as the entire ship lurched. He staggered and in a moment of panic, locked gaze with Daphne as she also struggled. The sound of rending wood was torturous, a wave of sharp snaps rippling along the hull as ancient oak resisted the insane forces twisting it into unnatural shapes.

Harry called his broom to his outstretched hand and mounted it in one fluid movement. He hovered inches above the heaving deck and scooped Daphne up. She mounted behind him and blasted his ears with her panicked cry.

Glancing first at the horrified expression on her face, he cast about for the source of her shock and came face to face with some Lovecraftian horror from the depths of madness. The stench hit him with an almost physical presence, the gorge rising in his throat as a wave of nausea swept through him.

The being towered over the castle walls and gripped the beleaguered Constitution with a single massive claw. Its face was a nightmare amalgam of several types of sea-life, the asymmetry of its countenance adding to the horror that welled up in Harry as he stared, seemingly unable to break the visual contact.

Pedi-palps dripped with acidic ichor as they writhed in what was an approximation of a mouth. Its roar were brass trumpets of bellicose discordance, the sound piercing his ears like hot iron needles.

Harry somehow broke the trance and drew his wand, tunneling his vision to the most pressing of needs. The claw that held the Constitution turned and twisted, forcing the mighty vessel to either roll with it or be split in twain. Ironsides directed his crew as best as he could, but they could not quite match the unpredictability of the creature's movements and so was slowly losing the battle. The angle prevented an answer from the ship's guns and so Harry found his purpose.

He called to mind the searing beam of angry red light from the muggles laser based weapons and sought to replicate that feat through magic. His focus so completely on his pending attack, he had no time to respond to the massive wave of acidic bile the 'queen' launched at them. Thankfully, Hermione and Daphne were not distracted and erected a hasty shield to deflect the majority of the horrid assault. Despite their alacrity, spatters of the foul liquid splashed on the decks and hissed angrily as they ate away at wood, iron and canvas.

Not eager to give the queen another chance to disgorge her bile, Harry unleashed his pent up magic. A searing line of molten fury sprang from his wand and lanced into the creature's claws. A billowing cloud of steam erupted as the brilliant heat contacted the wet chitin of the queen's claw. In mere moments, the angry lance of heat drilled through the organic armor and explosively heated the soft flesh beneath. More steam and chunks of white flesh burst from the joints as the queen recoiled, finally releasing the ship and falling back as if to retreat into the ocean.

Below, Jonathan hoisted an impressive looking missile launcher with four tubes and took aim, sending a brace of missiles into the softer underbelly of the massive creature. As her brood fell to the sustained fire of the advancing minutemen line, more and more of them shifted their fire to the queen. Though the bullets and laser strikes did little individually, the sheer weight of rounds lashing against her began to take their toll.

Harry, Daphne and Hermione added their fire to the assault, blasting the creature with fire and lightning, the thing becoming bracketed by the multiple assaults that it apparently could give no thought to retaliation, merely struggling to move to the safety of the ocean depths while holding its ruined claw before it in a warding gesture.

The queen rallied, roaring its agony and blasting back the advancing minutemen, several of the men and women losing their footing to tumble down the near side of the collapsed wall. The queen sprayed her bile in a wide arc, the chorus of panicked screams from several of the brave Minutemen a testament to the attacks efficacy. Jonathan grimaced even as acid splashed against his legs and chest, reloading the missile launcher as quickly as he could.

Not bothering to aim, he rapidly disgorged all four missile in sequence, each impact blasting chunks of chitinous armor away from her 'chest'.

Harry caught sight of pale milky flesh, the liquid oozing from the holes blasted into it from Jonathan's assault.

"Daphne! Hermione! Aim for the chest!"

Not waiting for a response from the duo, he refocused his attack and sent a stream of white hot lightning directly at the ruined chest of the monster. His fierce attack was joined by the fury of both Daphne and Hermione's magic, their combined might punching through the queen's armor and blasting the contents of her torso out through her back, the shell erupting with an audible screaming hiss of exploding flesh.

With an almost pitiful whine, the creature keened its torment one last time before falling sideways onto the stony beach, vapor billowing from its many wounds as it shuddered away into oblivion.

The silence was profound, interrupted only by the moans of the wounded as the Minutemen and the magicals took stock of their victory.

Harry and Daphne sat at the edge of the Castle walls facing the ocean, their feet dangling over the edge as they enjoyed a magically cooled Nuka-cola while the sun set behind them. Despite every muscle in his body trembling with fatigue, he couldn't quite refute the lightness in his heart as Daphne curled into him, her blonde hair falling over his shoulder like a golden waterfall. Below and behind them, Preston Garvey, with his seemingly inexhaustible enthusiasm, directed the teams of settlers and Minutemen to repairing and fortifying the castle.

Hermione was likewise exhausted, her footsteps dragging as she trudged through the recently cleared passages along the southern wall, utilizing deft wand work to make what repairs she could. She paid little attention, her mind dulled by the tedium of the work and the torpor which settled on her like a blanket after the tumult of the battle earlier that day. Someone brushed past her with a murmured apology, she looked up and could only nod at the pair of Minutemen who patrolled the passages and ensured that no further mirelurks haunted them.

She leaned up against a cool damp wall and tried to rub the tiredness from her eyes. She felt a presence and looked up into the concerned face of her Jonathan, the General's eyebrows raised in a questioning arch. She mumbled something, though Hermione wasn't sure exactly what she was trying to say. The ground swept up around her and she suddenly found herself in his arms, being borne down the hallway to a large chamber. Though barely conscious of her surroundings, she recognized that this must have been the quarters of whoever had been in command of the castle in years past.

She managed a final repairo on the large bed, the sheets and comforter reknitting themselves even as Jonathan laid her atop it. She held on to him, the final vestige of her strength refusing to yield its hold on his arm. He let out an amused breath and awkwardly scrambled into bed with her, his arms moving to pull her into him chest and she knew no more.

POV: Harry

The morning sun barely managed to pierce the gloom in the part of the Castle that Harry and Daphne had claimed for their own use. They had waylaid their exhaustion only long enough to restore the ancient bunks before collapsing into the small space on the nearest bottom bunk.

Harry awoke to the soft light lending the gray walls a hazy gloom like a foggy morning in London. He smiled as Daphne murmured and shifted next to him, though her head rested on his thoroughly numbed arm. She jerked awake as he tried to extricate himself from the tangle, eliciting a grimace from Harry, she had looked so peaceful asleep that he didn't want to wake her.

"Hrmph, breakfast?" She murmured, her eyes still tightly closed.

"I'll see what they have, love." He whispered back, kissing her gently on the brow.

She smiled and nodded in agreement before burrowing further into the warmth he left behind as he rose.

Harry whistled cheerily as he strode along the corridors, occasionally pausing to exchange pleasantries with the settlers or Minutemen who were hard at work even at this early hour. Their good cheer was contagious and once he emerged into the courtyard, the light of day seemed somehow softer and less harsh than it had before.

Taking stock, Harry was impressed by the muggle's industry. They had already re-piped the water purifier which pulled water from the ocean and distributed it throughout the castle. An enterprising individual has conscripted several settlers to set up a feed line, with a large pot of something resembling porridge bubbling in earnest as bleary eyed but smiling men and women formed a queue.

Harry took his place in the queue and grinned in thanks as someone passed him a bowl.

"Two please."

The woman nodded in understanding and passed him a second bowl, her gaze already moving to the next fellow in line.

Harry nearly purred with pleasure as the grinning Minuteman heaped a large helping of porridge in his bowls then layered a spoonful of mutfruit and another of some kind of syrup. Balancing the bowls carefully, he blew on them in turn as he strolled back to the room he shared with Daphne.

He idly wondered where Hermione had gotten off to, knowing that she had to have been as tired as he and Daphne were.

"Mr. Potter, sir!"

Harry turned at the call, recognizing the voice.

"It's just Harry, Preston." Harry grinned at Preston Garvey, the man striding over with a heavy parcel in his arms.

"I can hardly believe that we did it. We got the Castle back. And in no small part thanks to your people."

"It's good to see the wasteland being reclaimed, Preston. Especially for our friends."

"Well, you've certainly made a lot of friends here." Preston remarked, indicating the courtyard full of energetic and happy Commonwealth citizens.

Preston glanced down at the bowls of food Harry was balancing and nodded his head apologetically, "Sorry, you've got other things to do right now. I just wanted to give you these."

Harry's curiosity was piqued as Preston set down the heavy bundle and began rummaging through it.

"Ah ha!" He declared, pulling first one, then another Pip-Boy.

"If you'll accept these, the General wanted you and Ms. Greengrass to have them. It'll make it easier to keep in contact, at least for those of us without the fancy magic. Plus, they do seem to be pretty useful. Sturges found crates of them in Vault 111 and is busy fixing them up to give out to our officers."

Balancing a bowl in the crook of his elbow, Harry took one of the Pip-Boys, a 3000 model like Jonathan's own and noticed that it had been painted in Gryffindor colors. He was moved by the thoughtful touch and appreciated the trust being shown him with the gift.

"Oh… I can carry them for you if you…" Preston began, seeing Harry struggling a little holding 2 bowls and a Pip-Boy.

"No need." Harry interrupted with a smile. He tossed it the Pip-Boy lightly into the air and concentrated on it, willing it to levitate in the air near his shoulder. He took the other from Preston and paused at the Slytherin coloring of the second Pip-Boy, the green and black serpent design causing an image of Severus Snape to flash in his mind.

He repeated his trick and flashed a cocky grin at Preston, "As I said… no need."

Preston laughed heartily and shook his head at the wizard, the man turning away with a wave.

Harry watched him for a moment, the man pausing to exchange a few words with everyone as he went about his business.

'A natural leader.' Harry thought to himself as he hurried along his previous course. Mindful of the porridge beginning to cool in his hands.

He strode into the room a few moments later and nearly lost his hold of the bowls, as Daphne had risen and was framed by the sunlight streaming in through the window, errant wisps of hair dancing about her shoulders as zephyrs streamed through the opening. She was bare from the waist up, having been in the midst of pulling a fresh shirt over her head.

She cocked her head and turned her head, her hands moving to protect her modesty. Seeing that it was Harry, she smiled coyly and let her hands fall at her sides, then turned her entire body towards him.

Harry's mouth went dry and he felt the twitch in his trousers at the sight. Daphne's eyes twinkled at his reaction, raising a hand to her full lips and stroking her mouth suggestively.

Harry's eyes widened at the salacious display, his feet taking an involuntary step forward.

Daphne laughed and swiftly pulled on her shirt, temporarily breaking the trance. Harry shook his head in mock indignation and strode forward, wrapping Daphne in his arms (mindful of the bowls still in his hands) and kissed his beloved hungrily.

She moaned as her lips parted, her moist lips pressing against his and making his heart pound in his chest as if fighting to be free of its mortal cage.

She broke away, "I AM hungry." She reminded him gently.

"Me too." Harry replied huskily.

"For food." She clarified with a laugh.

"Oh, yeah."

Daphne took one of the bowls from him and gave him a quick peck on the lips, "Tonight though…" She murmured.

Harry's expression went from agony to hopeful enthusiasm, the shift nearly comical with its alacrity.

"What are those?" Daphne indicated with her spoon as she sat on the bunk and began to tuck in.

"Oh, Preston gave these to me. They're for us. It seems Jonathan would like to be able to get a hold of us easier."

Daphne's eyes widened in appreciation at the artistry of the Slytherin designs of her Pip-Boy while she examined it.

"These should come in handy, Hermione had explained some of what they can do and it seems they can do quite a lot when dealing with muggle technology."

Any further comment was interrupted by an odd pecking at the window, the pair of them glancing up in surprise at the azure colored owl that perched there, a rolled up bit of parchment held in its beak.

Harry took the parchment from the owl and mumbled a thanks, rubbing its back tenderly with his free hand. The owl preened under the attention for a moment, before shaking loose from the petting and taking wing.

'It must have other messages to deliver.' Harry thought, these mechanical owls seemed to be unusually disposed towards being petted, the only exception to that being when they were busy with assigned tasks.

He unrolled the parchment and quickly read the message written in Lilith's precise script.

"It's from Lilith, she says we need to come back to Salem as soon as possible. P.S. Nothing is wrong, so don't get into a twist. Get into a twist? I don't do that."

Ignoring his comment, Daphne remarked, "Will the ship be ready to take us today? She took a pretty good beating yesterday."

"She'll hold together long enough to get us home, I think. Hermione would probably know better."

Daphne set aside her empty bowl and fiddled with the Pip-Boy a bit more. She nearly dropped it when it crackled to life as soon as she clasped it onto her forearm, a female voice issuing from the device.

Bzzzrt…. "…Scribe Haylen of Recon Squad Gladius" Crackle… "Your presence is requested by Paladin Danse at" Ssssshhhhhh. "Repeating… Attention Daphne Greengrass, this is Scribe Haylen of" bzzzrt… "Cambridge Police Station. Repeating…"

"What's that about?" Daphne wondered aloud.

Harry frowned in thought as Daphne lowered the volume and let the message play once more before turning it off.

"Well, I think we need to head home first to see with what's going on with Lilith. Then we can see what Danse wants."

POV: Harry

Only mildly surprised that Hermione elected to stay behind, he nevertheless took her at her word that the ship was in good enough shape to get them home. Indeed, the robots and the small Salem crew had worked wonders to repair the worst of the damage done to it by the mirelurk queen. The judicious use of a few repair charms under Ironsides' direction had satisfied the Captain that his ship was fit to make the journey back to home port, though he insisted that once back, that he be given a week to refit the ship and his mechanical crew before seeing any more action.

The flight back was swift and incident free, partly due to the course Ironside's had plotted, their journey primarily northward with the coast barely visible to starboard.

The mighty ship groaned as the crew expertly tacked it into dock, a small crowd jostling each other as they eagerly awaited the gangplank. Harry wore an expression of amused surprise as George, Lilith and Morgan all rushed (though in Morgan's case, it was more of a serene glide) up the lowering gang plank to greet Daphne and him.

"Harry! Daphne!" George's voice cut through the din of the crew's preparations as the group surrounded the pair.

"Did you get my message? It doesn't matter, you're here now." Lilith injected.

Morgan was silent, though a slight smile seemed to tug at the corners of her mouth as she regarded the others.

Lilith and George kept speaking over each other, making it impossible for Harry to discern what seemed to have them so excited.

"Whoah guys! Easy! We got your owl Lilith. Now can one of you tell us what's happening?"

Lilith unceremoniously slapped a hand onto George's mouth, the surprising move startling the ginger into silence, "You need to see Helena in the Astronomy lab. She can explain everything."

It wasn't as if Harry and Daphne were given much of a choice, as Lilith took hold of Harry's hand and George took Daphne's and the pair of them were whisked off of the ship into nearly a run toward the abode of Helena Ravenclaw, ghost resident of Salem.

Her normal haughty demeanor was much diminished as she greeted both Harry and Daphne with friendly courtesy, which alone would have merited the buzz surrounding their friends. Helena gestured toward an open book, the very same tome that Morgan had presented to Harry when they first met at Abernathy.

His curiosity suitably aroused, he was all ears as Helena adopted a lecturing tone and began to explain the urgent news.

"As you know, this book is the account of one of the last Ministers of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt. In it, he made some notes about the possibility of the coming Great War from his interaction with the muggle Prime Minister. He went on to formulate a number of calculations that would mitigate the effects of radiation on some magic, most notably those effects which interact with the relationship between witch or wizard and his or her environment. He correctly theorized that the release of so much radiation would present a hazard."

Harry nodded, that much he already knew from reading the man's words himself. He felt a pang of loss thinking about the late Minister, as Kingsley was a great wizard and an even better friend.

He shook off the melancholy and turned his attention back to the ethereal figure.

"In short, it's a shielding charm. Enacting it prior to… for example, apparating, would in theory prevent the negative repercussions of enacting that form of transportation."

Harry felt the shock course through him like a jolt of electricity, it was possible to apparate without succumbing to nearly lethal amounts of radiation?

"Has anyone tried it yet?" Harry asked, barely able to restrain his excitement.

"No. Though not for lack of volunteers." Helena replied.

"I'll do it." Harry stated firmly.

Daphne gasped, "Harry!"

He forestalled her budding opposition, "To be able to apparate and to perform some of the other charms that we've had to do without for fear of radiation… well, it's worth the risk."

Daphne seemed to think furiously for an argument that would sway her headstrong beau, but in the end sagged in defeat.

"My love. It'll be a short trip and I'll have all of you here to help me if something goes wrong."

"When?" She murmured.

"No better time than the present." He declared, standing up and gazing intently at Helena.

The ghostly lady nodded and demonstrated the charm to him several times, her exacting standards giving Harry a measure of confidence that the Lady of Ravenclaw had thoroughly researched the metamagic formulae.

With a wink at Daphne, who looked pale yet determined, Harry enacted the shielding charm. A pearlescent shimmer sprang into being around him before fading.

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath before apparating to Kingston Lighthouse.

The familiar twisting feeling abated and Harry held his breath, waiting for the soul burning sensation to light his nerves on fire. He opened an eye when the horrid radiation feeling failed to manifest and let out his long held breath. He looked around and he was indeed where he intended, standing a few feet from the railing which surrounded the summit of Kingston Lighthouse.

He shook with the chill of the altitude and looked down at a queer yellow glow which surrounded his feet. The circle faded quickly, leaving Harry an impression that the shield blocked the radiation and 'grounded' it around him, like a Faraday cage grounds electricity. With a triumphant whoop, he reenacted the charm and apparated back to the others.

POV: Daphne

She and Harry spent the night at home, enjoying each other's company very intimiately after the impromptu party which had erupted at Harry's successful tests of the radiation shielding charm. George and Lilith were eager to use it themselves to carry the news of the success to their other friends, namely Susan Bones and Luna Lovegood.

Lying together in post-coital bliss, she and Harry had talked long into the night about everything and nothing at all. She awoke to find him stretching his muscles and she took a moment to admire the view. Life in the wastelands was harsh, but the constant adventures had honed his body into a lean but powerful frame, the cords of his muscles twisting beneath his sun-kissed skin as he worked his body into wakefulness. She was tempted to call him back to bed, but sighed when a knock at the door shattered her budding ardor.

Harry murmured quietly, still thinking that Daphne was asleep, so that she did not know who had come.

Harry shut the door and turned to find Daphne looking at him.

"Oh, you're awake." He grinned.

"Just admiring the view." Daphne breathed, winking at his nearly naked form.

Harry's signature grin widened further as he rejoined her in bed, "That was George. He just wanted to let us know that he met up with Luna and Soleil. They are in downtown Boston doing something called 'walking the Freedom Trail', whatever that means."

"When are we heading out?"

Harry mulled it over for a moment, tamping down on the surge of jealousy he felt at that Danse fellow and the way he had looked and spoke to Daphne.

"After breakfast, if you are ready." Harry replied, though she could tell he was reluctant.

"You don't have to go." Daphne began.

"Oh no, I'm definitely going with you."

Her eyes narrowed slightly at his tone, though on some level, she was enjoying Harry's unease.

"You don't like him? Danse I mean."

Harry sighed, "It's not like that. I don't trust him."

"Are you sure that your distrust isn't biased somehow?"

"Oh, I'm sure that it is." Harry admitted.

"Danse seemed an honorable sort for an American and a muggle. Jonathan has certainly earned our trust. These Brotherhood blokes could turn out to be just as good of friends as the Minutemen. We need to at least give them a chance."

"Why'd I have to fall in love with a woman so much smarter than me?" Harry moaned.

"There aren't very many that aren't." She teased, to which Harry howled in mock indignation before pouncing on her, his fingers finding her ticklish bits with worrying tenacity.

As their play became more earnest and the giggles turned to moans, Daphne decided that their visit to Cambridge would have to wait just a bit longer.

POV: Daphne

The familiar sensation of suddenly appearing in a new place put in her mind the old adage, 'like riding a bike.'

"I nearly shot you!" Knight Rhys exclaimed, his normal hostility temporarily waylaid by his profound shock at their sudden appearance.

"We've come at Paladin Danse's request, Knight."

The man stiffened at the formality, he may not respect them, but he respected protocol. He nodded curtly at them as he raised his laser rifle and stepped aside to allow them access through their defensive perimeter.

The ghoul corpses had been removed and little trace of that battle was in evidence now. They walked into the police station and smiled in greeting as Scribe Haylen looked up from her work and seemed genuinely pleased to see them. The young scribe stood up from her terminal and walked over, impulsively hugging Daphne, which the witch returned warmly.

She smiled at Harry, "It's great to see you both! I was kind of shooting in the dark that you'd get our transmission."

Daphne lifted her arm to show off her Pip-Boy.

"Oh! Now that is a nice piece of tech!" Haylen exclaimed, admiring the mobile computer.

"We only recently got them. It's how I got your signal." Daphne explained.

Haylen nodded in understanding, "It was a bit of a longshot that you'd happen to walk by a radio that was on and was receiving at the frequency I was transmitting on. These Pip-Boys must automatically detect signals for you, such impressive technology…"

Anything further Haylen had to say was cut off as an impressive figure tromped into view, the paladin's armored frame towering over them as he marched into the room.

"Ms. Greengrass, Mr. Potter." He greeted them, with a hint of warmth in his brusque tone, "I'm glad you decided to respond to my signal."

"Of course Paladin. We were happy to come." Daphne said quickly, preventing Harry from making any quips that could jeopardize their amity.

"You look well." He said, his tone softening even further, "Both of you. We don't have many allies out here, and I value your company and contribution."

Harry visibly restrained himself, and gifted the man with a tight smile, a gesture which was lost on Danse as he appeared to only have eyes for Daphne.

"Has something happened?" Harry blurted out, wresting Danse's attention from Daphne.

"Indeed. After Ms. Greengrass helped us secure the transmitter, Scribe Haylen was able to successfully integrate the technology with our equipment here. My initial hope was that it would prove strong enough to send a signal to our headquarters at the Citadel. And although that has yet to bear fruit, our ability to receive signals have been improved. Haylen? If you would?"

"Yes sir." The young woman moved back over to her terminal and began typing in commands, her fingers tapping out a rapid fire staccato pattern over the keys.

"Two days ago at 0730 local, I completed the repairs on a tertiary antenna tuned to the EHF band. It picked up this." She tapped a final button on her console, which began to emit a slow but steady chirping noise.

"That is the sound of a pulse beacon. Every Brotherhood Recon group has a number of these devices to aid in our missions. It can be used as a sort of distress beacon."

"A distress beacon? So one of your people could be sending this signal?" Harry asked.

"That is what I believe. The signal is very weak and is difficult for us to triangulate. I was hoping that with your unique talents, you could help us discover the source of this signal and perhaps conduct a rescue or recovery operation."

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Daphne cut him off, "If there are people out there that need help, then Harry and I will do our utmost to find them."

"It is my belief that the signal is being generated from one of the previous recon teams. 3 years ago, Recon squad Artemis, led my Paladin Brandis went missing in the Commonwealth. Officially, they are presumed dead. Our position here is still tenuous and I am loathe to leave Rhys and Haylen here for an indeterminate duration. I appreciate you taking on this task. It means a lot to me personally and to the Brotherhood."

"Of course." Daphne smiled, "We'll get started right away."

Danse nodded and Haylen spoke up, "According to my best estimate, this signal is originating from the area north of a relay tower. Here, I'll upload the location to your Pip-Boys."

When she finished her work, Scribe Haylen stepped back, "Stay safe out there."

"Ad Victoriam." Danse stated, leaving nothing else for the pair except to head out on their new adventure.

A/N: It's been awhile, I know. I am very sorry to make you wait this long. Thank you for being patient with me. I had half this chapter written months ago but lost my impetus to write when my brother-in-law passed away suddenly. I only recently got some tiny iota of motivation to get back to this story so if it seems a little 'uneven'… forgive it and hopefully I'll find my stride soon.

Next Chapter Luna and Soleil are walking the Freedom Trail? What or who will they find at the end of that old Boston tradition?