I own nothing.

Si Vis Pacem, Para Bellum

-Omake One: Probably Another True Ending

Harry stepped off the Hogwarts Express and glanced around the platform eagerly. This was the first time anyone who had felt like family had been available to pick him up. He frowned as he failed to spot the face he was hoping for.

"He's over there," Hermione stated. Harry turned and found himself staring at nothing.

"That is really creepy," Sirius stated, his voice emanating from the nothing.

"No, what's creepy, is lurking about a platform under an invisibility cloak," Hermione stated, her grey eyes narrowing.

"I'm not lurking, I'm waiting!" Sirius protested. Harry stuck a hand out until it thumped into something and he gripped the cloth.

"You're making this weird," he stated as he pulled the cloak away.

"Yeah, I just didn't want to make this. . ." Sirius trailed off and Harry glanced around as he realized that the entire platform had gone silent. Everyone was staring at them. "I didn't want to make this awkward," Sirius said.

"Good job."

"Shut up Harry." Any further verbal sparring was cancelled as a redheaded cannonball hit Sirius and almost took him off his feet.

"Sirius!" Molly wailed as she almost strangled the man. Arthur had been just a step behind her. He wasn't crying, but his eyes watered as he gripped Sirius's shoulder tightly. "I can't believe we ever doubted you!"

"Uh," Sirius managed.

"She's not letting go until you hug her," Ron commented. "Believe me on that. This can last a lot longer than you think it can."

"Well," Sirius began as he wrapped his arms around the sobbing woman. "Come on. You couldn't have known. Who would have ever thought that Peter could do something like that?"

"That's no excuse," Arthur said firmly. "We have wronged you and we owe you a debt."

"Whoa," Ron grunted. "Weasley debts are no joke."

"Don't you owe me?" Harry ventured.

"Don't you?" Ron countered.

"No," Hermione announced firmly. "We are not talking about anybody owing anybody. That would be a nightmare to keep track of."

"We could use a ledger!" Luna chirped.

"We'd need to use a ledger," Hermione corrected.


It took some doing, but the Weasley patriarch and matriarch were eventually mollified and Harry was left with his new guardian and his friends.

"So," Sirius began, "France?"

"France," Harry agreed.

"I even found you a Triumph," Sirius stated.

"A what?" Sirius let out a long sigh.

"Don't you know anything about motorcycles?" he demanded.

"Harley Davidson?" Harry ventured, his mind going back to the late-night showings of Easy Rider he had caught when the Dursleys had gone to bed.

"You have no pride in your homeland."

"Didn't you flee as soon as you were legally allowed back?" Harry countered.

"I'm an ex-pat," Sirius stated. "We are allowed to be highly patriotic while also being smart enough to get the hell out. Let's get going. Who knows, maybe some pretty French blondes are waiting for us."

"Right." They turned and began walking for the exit. There was only one thing that could stop them and it announced itself rather proudly.

"Harry James Potter!" Harry's shoulders made a valiant effort to meet his ears as he turned. Hermione glared at him, stance wide and arms crossed over her chest. "You thought I forgot?"

"How could you forget what I don't remember?" Harry asked.

"You are coming with me and we are visiting a real specialist!" Hermione announced. "No more of this fix it with booze nonsense!" Harry stared at her for a long moment before a loud crash sounded behind her. She spun out of instinct only to realize what was happening and continue spinning. By the time she had finished her three-sixty, Harry and Sirius were gone.

"Oh, he is going to owe us for leaving us to deal with this," Ron groaned.

"Potter!" Hermione wailed, dropping to her knees and raising her fists in anger. "You can't escape me forever!"

"Well!" Ron announced, kneeling to give Hermione a quick hug, "see you next year!" He hugged Luna too and made a break for his family. Nearby Hermione's parents stared at the proceedings in shock.

"Well," her father finally began, "let it never be said that I can't admit when I was wrong."

"Okay?" Hermione's mother allowed.

"She does take after you more than me." The man swayed out of the way of the punch aimed at him arm and wrapped his arms around the woman. "I love you." The woman's struggles waned slightly. "You're so pretty when you're angry." The struggles decreased again. "Our little girl has your fiery spirit." She finally went limp.

"I know you're manipulating me," the woman grumbled.

"Of course you do," he stated as he rested his chin on the top of her head, "you're so smart."

Hermione's dad had lived the most important years of his life with crazy-ass women and survived.

Mister Granger was a fucking genius.


-Author's quickie notes. So, yeah. I spent way too much time googling about and the parents of one of the main three remain completely unknown as far as I can figure. That wouldn't be too weird, except every pure blood character has a massive incestuous family tree tying them all together.

Si Vis Pacem, Para Bellum

-Omake Two: A Possible Future?

"Minister Malfoy!" Draco looked up from his desk and stared at the young man who had just barged his way into his office against any form of decorum.

"Come in," Draco offered politely. "Seat?"

"I am here to tell you that the House of Lords will never back your agenda!" the young man announced.

"Ah," Draco replied, finally placing the freshmen member of the House of Lords. "Albert, correct?"


"I am a little surprised to see you here," Draco stated. "I thought they would have picked someone from a less prominent family."

"This was something they would only entrust to me," the young man stated proudly. Draco had to smile at that.

"You were not trusted with this," he explained. "You were sent here as a sacrifice."

"Minister Ma. . ."

"Potter," Draco interrupted. Albert's eyes went wide and his face paled. It only became worse as a new voice spoke from behind him.

"What?" The young man spun and Draco could see him tremble as he took in the scowling man leaning back against the shadowy corner of his office.

"Go make my opinion clear to the blood purists if you would," Draco ordered.

"And why would I do that?" Harry growled.

"Because the only reason you haven't done it already, is because you're obstinate," Draco answered. "Pick your poison. Do what I told you to do, or do what you want to do. I couldn't care less because they're the same thing and you know it." Harry's eyes narrowed as he seemed to shrink back into the shadows around him. After a second, only those angry emerald eyes remained before they blinked out of existence, along with the shadows that sometimes plagued Draco's well-lit office. Albert turned back to stare at him. "Seat?" The young man stumbled forward and collapsed into the chair across from Draco's desk.

"Potter," he gasped.

"That's a dangerous name to conjure with," Draco said as he rooted around in his desk. "I don't think it summons him. I don't think. I wouldn't risk it." He found the bottle of scotch and three glasses.

"Fire whiskey is illegal on ministry grounds," Albert managed.

"I do love whoever wrote that rule," Draco admitted as he poured a finger in each glass. A scream of pure terror tore through the air from somewhere nearby. Draco cocked an eyebrow at it and added another finger. "So, you were not entrusted with this job. You were sent because you were too naïve to understand the danger."

"I. . ." the young man trailed off and Draco nudge the glass towards him. He accepted it and took a sip before beginning to cough.

"Laphroaig 10 Year Cast Strength," Draco stated. "Perhaps, not the most. . .civilized drink, but nothing quite solves problems like it." Albert took a more careful sip and nodded. "Now, I believe you have just realized that you don't have as many friends here as you once believed." Albert nodded again. "I can always use more friends."


"I came to this office because I spent years forging friendships, not political connections," Draco stated. "I stick by my friends and I hope they will stick by me. Do you understand?"

"I think so," Albert said.

"If nothing else, I won't plant you in Potter's path."

"What was that?" Harry snarled, causing the younger man to nearly jump out of his skin.

"Nothing Potter," Draco stated as he nudged the third glass across his desk.

"Is it poison?" Harry demanded as he took the glass suspiciously. Draco took a swig from the bottle and exhaled fire. Though more metaphorical than with fire whiskey.

"Yup," he managed.

"Good," Harry growled. "That pathetic worm practically fell to his knees when he saw me."

"I can't imagine why," Draco murmured. He held up his glass. "To friends." Harry scowled, but he would never refuse such a toast and held up his glass. After a long moment of trembling, Albert touched his glass to theirs.

"Friends," Harry said.

"Friends," Albert croaked.

"Friends," Draco confirmed with a smile. They all drank. "Welcome to being my friend Albert. Now, let's talk about what your former friends are completely wrong about."

"Okay," the young man said.

"Potter, for the love of God, stop haunting that young man. Either sit down or go scare someone more deserving," Draco ordered.

"And he isn't deserving?" Harry hissed, glaring at the young man.

"He isn't," Draco said. "Shoo." The last Potter scowled, but then he was gone. "Another?"

"Please." Draco topped off Albert's glass.

"Now, down to business."

"Yes Minister."

"My friends call my Draco," Draco stated. "You are my friend, right?"

"Yes. . .Draco."


-Author's quickie notes. The politician and his attack dog that isn't so much trained as aimed. Both working together for power and equality. I think we know who holds which in more importance. Maybe this happens. Maybe it doesn't. Who knows? I mean, I only write this shit. I don't know where it's going.

Only the liquor knows and she doesn't always like the tell me anything before she knocks me about.

Si Vis Pacem, Para Bellum

-Omake Three: That Awkward Summer Moment.

"And make it a double!"

"Yeah, yeah!" Harry called back as he made his way towards the bar. "Can I get four Malibu Sunrises?"

"Coming right up," the bartender replied as he set about mixing. Harry dug out a few bills and entertained himself trying to read the French words on the daily special board. Fluency was a bitch, but immersion certainly helped. The bartended set down four glasses and began pouring.

"My, that's a beautiful drink," a woman stated in rather rough French.

"Yeah, it's a Malibu Sunrise," Harry stated as he turned. His eyes met the woman's and his jaw dropped. Her eyes widened in shock for a moment before narrowing. Harry turned resolutely back to the bartender and handed over the bills.

"One moment," the man stated.

"Keep the change."

"Thank you!"

"What is taking so long?" Sirius demanded as he crashed to a halt next to Harry.

"Nothing," the younger man said quickly. Sirius leaned to his right and his eyes widened.

"Professor McGon. . ."

"Shut up Sirius," Harry growled.

"But that's Professor Mc. . ."

"Shut up Black," Minerva snarled. "This is not happening."

"But," Sirius began. Harry snatched him up by the collar of his shirt and twisted it, cutting off the man's words. . .and his oxygen intake.

"Did you not hear her?" he demanded. "This is not happening. Understand?" Harry relaxed his hold slightly. "Green?"

"Super green!" Sirius squeaked.

"Good. Now grab two of the drinks. The ladies are waiting for us."


Author's quickie drunken rambling. Ah, yes. That moment when you're a student and you run into a teacher during summer. Considering my parents were teachers, I caught this from the other side when students ran into them. To me, all the adults I knew were teachers and I knew them as a drunken, rowdy lot from the get go.


Why? Why, oh why did I end with a Fifth Element reference? I mean I love the Fifth Element. It is up there with Blade Runner, Alien, Aliens and Soldier as a sci-fi that transcends genre into classic.

Don't at me. And I'm about ninety-five percent sure you've never heard of Soldier. That needs to fucking change. Before shitty Resident Evil movies, you know, the live action ones, there was a man. A man who made some of the greatest movies that you might have heard of and the greatest movies you never heard of.

Mortal Kombat, Event Horizon, Soldier.

Paul W.S. Anderson is an idiot savant. A savant who made some fantastic movies and an idiot who made some pretty shitty movies starring his wife.

Cutting it there. This is supposed to be a quickie ramble.

Si Vis Pacem, Para Bellum

-Omake Four: Ron has had enough of your shit.

"That doesn't sound like "kill it now, Harry," does it?" Ron demanded. Harry started toward the blazing grave, but stopped as a hand landed on his shoulder. He glanced at his hooded friend. "No."

"What do you mean, no?" Harry demanded.

"Who here has monologued over a fallen enemy?" Ron demanded. A few of the SPIE officer's hands rose. Hermione's hand rose a second later. Voldemort managed to raise one spindly pale limb as well. Ron took a deep breath. "Okay, who here has used magic to try to kill a toddler?" Thankfully, only one skinny, white arm rose. "And how did that work out for him?"

"What are you getting at?" Harry demanded.

"That thing is a floppy toddler," Ron stated. "Those things are always trying to kill themselves. It's not hard. Trust me, I've had to listen to my mom's stories." Ron took a deep breath. "Okay, you know what? Gimme." The redhead snatched the Dark Lord by the ankle.

He flopped the pale body about and snatched it under its arms. Then he gave it a rather vigorous shaking.

There was a rather disturbing wet crunch.

"There we go," Ron stated as he yeeted the flabby pale mass over his shoulder. The ex-Dark Lord hit the side of the grave and bounced a few times before remaining on the edge. Ron glanced back at it and let out a sigh of annoyance before kicking at it with one foot until it plunged into the flaming grave. "Tada! See how easy that was?" They graveyard was silent for a moment.

"I will curse the next person who tries to blame this one on me," Sal said into the silence that the fallen upon the cemetery.

"No. No, that one makes sense," Eddie stated. "He is Molly's spawn after all."

"You did call her a bad word before she did that to you," Suzie pointed out. "You have to forgive her eventually."

"Oh, I forgave her," Eddie said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I was absolutely, disgustingly, horrifying in the wrong. I just can't forget since all my bones still throb whenever it's about to rain."

"On the plus side," John offered, "she wasn't dating Arthur at the time."

"Arthur would have just killed me, not. . .what she did," Eddie countered.



Author's quickie drunken rambling. Ah, the only good character in Harry Potter with a confirmed body count. At least, the only one I can remember. I mean, Harry did kill Voldemort in a convoluted bullshit hero way of killing people without accepting the morally gray area involved in ending a life. Neville did kill a snake that turned out to be a woman. I mean, depending on what kind of mind-altering substances you've taken to get to that point of weird bullshit.

Yeah. No young adult novel bullshit there. Molly straight up merced little miss crazy pants.

I dig it.

People always seem to mistake sadism for combat ability.

Check out how Frankie dealt with Agent Orange for how well that would actually work out.

Wait, now that I'm thinking about it, how many characters, good or bad, really had a confirmed count? Voldemort, Bellatrix accidentally, some guy called Rookwood according to the internet and. . .Molly fucking Weasley?

Oh, this is inspiring all kinds of fun for later.

-Author's end of the chapter drunken rambling. Surprise! I don't know why but something about zero, two, two, two, two, zero, two, two on Tuesday just made me laugh and I need no other reason to throw the first of these up.

I mean we aren't going to have a day like this until, like, two hundred years from now in 2222. I don't know about you, but I'm not really penning myself in to post a chapter in two hundred years.

Well, my card does say organ donor, maybe we'll get really good at keeping this running and part of me will still be running around. Probably not the liver. Definitely not the liver. Lungs are pretty good though. Haven't smoked in over a decade. Well, cigarettes anyway. Hips should be good too. Titanium is pretty wear resistant.

So, shooty stuff news. Was looking to replaced my bedside wheel gun with something a little more modern. Asked my gun guy at the local shop about 10mm. He asked me if I lived on a farm.

Turns out, 10mm in actually more powerful than .357 Magnum and it's more dangerous for shoot throughs than even 5.56mm, which in my under bed gun.

Yeah, I love sharing with my neighbors. I will and have shared bullets with them, I just prefer to do so in the prefired state.

So, getting another 9mm. I like power, but thirty rounds of 9mm is not a bad compromise against fifteen rounds of 10mm.

Like the Soviet's say: Quantity has a quality all its own.

Or, as we say in the Marines: What? Are you paying for the ammo? Dump the fucking belt.

Yeah, I was not infantry. I was a company security gunner for a POG unit. My machinegun days at the range were less about competency and ability and more about dumping the rounds so I could get dragged back to doing stupid shit or make room for the CO, XO and First Sergeant who are hunting for that good facebook profile picture shit.

Though you can never find those guys when it's time to clean the machineguns. Or the pistols that they're the only ones who carry.

How odd.

Catch you cats next time.


-Uncle Jack

P.S. I know a shit load about guns, but I am not afraid to ask questions about things I don't know about and neither should you. Pretending to know everything just makes you look dumb.

Also, totally still going to get a 10mm. It'll just be a fun gun instead of a defense gun. More powerful than .357 Magnum. Hell yeah I want that.