Si Vis Pacem, Para Bellum

-Omake Fourteen: The Hero Quartet Better Keep On Their Toes

"I really do appreciate this this Filius."

"Think nothing of it, Minerva," Filius stated as he stretched his arms over his head. "Anything I can do to help a fellow educator; especially, with what I've heard about those students of yours." It would be good to duel again. It had been too long.

"They are a nightmare," Minerva groaned. "I've been hanging on by the skin of my teeth, so I need to get back into real fighting shape."

"I know the feeling," Filius admitted. "During class, an overzealous summoning charm sent a marble flying at Miss Lovegood. She reacted before I could even move and sent it straight back at its sender. Thankfully, by then I was able to get my wand and summon it to myself. I've never felt so old and slow before."

"An accident?" Minerva ventured. "I've heard certain rumors about Miss Lovegood's treatment."

"As have I," Filus stated, his jaw tightening. "Fortunately, perhaps, by the time such rumors had reached me, Miss Lovegood had fallen in with your merry band of troublemakers."

"Oh?" Minerva pressed.

"Falling in with Potter means that she is protected now, not that I think she was ever aware that she needed to be protected," Filius admitted. "Being a friend of Potter's means that any adversaries are subject to violent overreactions from your three. Also, being a friend of Potter's means that she is a friend of Mister Diggory. Potter is a Hufflepuff by vote and that makes his friends Hufflepuff by proxy."

"What's the difference?" Minerva asked curiously.

"As far as I can tell?" Filus began. "The only difference is in name. Hufflepuffs, Hufflepuffs by vote and Hufflepuffs by proxy are all one and the same. I asked Pomona, but she just gave me that smile."

"That smile?" Minerva pressed.

"That smile," Filius confirmed.

"Ah, that smile," Minerva said with a nod. "I feel like we all underappreciate the threat of that house."

"I feel that they wanted us to underappreciate the threat of their house," Filius countered. Minerva pondered that for a moment before nodding to herself.

"Yes. That's so much worse."

"Uh huh," Filis grunted as they both squared up. "As the challenger, I will, of course, offer you the first. . ." The diminutive man threw himself to the side as a curse blew past his head. He started to take a breath before the paving stones under him exploded. His joints creaked and groaned as his arm moved at speeds that it hadn't in decades. A flat shield appeared before him and he jumped, riding the force in the impact instead of trying to stand against it. He landed in a role that ended with him on his feet and his wand before him.

Oh yes. Minerva had requested rather informal rules.

He had been too busy thinking of this as a duel. His reflexes, dulled as they were by inactivity, were still calibrated for the methodical and thoughtful forms of formal combat where points mattered more than plain old violence. Where bashing your opponent's head in with a summoned chunk of marble was oddly against regulation.

Old memories kicked in as old insults reappeared in his mind.

Half breed. Beast. Subhuman. The names from his childhood.

He had learned to brawl long before he had learned to duel.

"Is that the best you've got?" he roared, a vicious grin stretching his face in ways that it hadn't in his entire adult life. "I thought you wanted to fight! Do try to take this seriously!"

His opponent let out a terrifying shriek that was more emotion than language. A way of communication far older than human society. It was followed by a wave of crimson magic surging at him.

Minerva feared falling a step behind her student.

Filius feared nothing.

Afterall, he had already humiliated and destroyed his enemies.

He had nothing left to prove.

Perhaps he should take a more active role in teaching Minerva's favored renegades. Afterall, one of them was his.


Author's quickie drunken ramblings. Dude. I am not going to lie. I fucking love writing omakes. You don't have to worry about build up. You don't have to worry about where it falls in the story. Hell, you don't even have to worry about continuity necessarily.

You can just go hog wild and that suits a dumb drunk like me way better than trying to write a coherent story.

Plus, in a story like this, anything really is possible and could be cannon. Minerva and Filius brushing up on beating the shit out of something by beating the shit out of each other? Sure. A blast ended screwt working as a gun for hire in Los Angeles? Why not? Snape being entertainingly snarky instead of a shit bag and anonymously writing a column for a witch's magazine? Kind of a stretch, but possible.

I mean, semi coherent crack, not a story. I'm not really trying, so you can't judge me too harshly.

Si Vis Pacem, Para Bellum

-Omake Fifteen: Sharp Dressed Man

Draco glared at the building before him. It had taken quite some doing and, worse, feeling a bit foolish on his part, to get here. He pushed the door to the establishment open and stepped inside.

"Hello, young sir," an older man stated, head bowing slightly. "Welcome to Kingsman. How may I serve you?" Draco's scowl lightened a little. At least these muggles understood their place.

"Good afternoon," he stated as he glanced at the wares on display. "My name is Draco Malfoy." He paused as he considered his words. "I go to a rather. . .exclusive school. An. . .acquaintance of mine has recently had a change of wardrobe and I have found myself rather impressed by an article of clothing known as a tux."

"I see," the man stated with the appropriate amount of respect. "A well fitted tuxedo is always the talk of the town and appropriate for men of high standing such as yourself." Draco nodded. "May I humbly offer my opinion young sir?"

"You may," Draco replied, somewhat impressed by a muggle having the proper respect. Of course, being given respect demanded respect to be shown. A good servant was hard to come by and it would be foolish to alienate one.

"A tuxedo should be held in reserve for a special occasion," the muggle stated. "Now, a bespoke suit is what a man of status needs for day-to-day wear." Draco studied the man's own outfit. It was certainly well fitting.

"I see," he replied. "Do you accept gold?"

"Of course, sir," the older man said simply.

"May I ask about your. . .acquaintance's style, sir?"

"Why?" Draco asked suspiciously.

"Well, it just wouldn't do for a man of standing to arrive in a similar fashion to anyone else," the old man replied. "Society has finally moved past the dark ages and accepted that men are allowed to have their own styles again."

"Indeed," Draco agreed.



"Yes father?" Draco asked as he adjusted his sterling silver, snake shaped tie pin.

"What are you wearing?" Lucious asked. Such was his shock that the man seemed unable to summon any anger.

"A suit father," Draco stated. "This will be a casual luncheon, will it not?"

"It will," Lucious allowed. "Is there a reason you have chosen muggle wear?"

"Because I look good," Draco said simply. His father pondered that for a long moment as Narcissa looked her son over.

"He isn't wrong," she said finally before she stepped forward to fold down his collar and snug up the trinity knot on his tie a little.

"No, he is not," Luscious allowed. "I don't suppose you would share your tailor with your father."

"I'm sure I could be brought around to sharing such information."


Author's quickie drunken rambling. So. I have a secret. I kind of like dressing up fancy. It's really not that hard, though it can be ridiculously expensive. The last time I went full tux was my buddy's wedding and I looked good. Something about red accents with reddish hair brings out blue eyes. Before that I always had the old USMC dress blues to fall back on and that shit slaps. Trust me. Especially when I made corporal and got my blood stripe. Both the ones stitched to my trousers and the ones that other corporals gave my thighs. Especially the one I got right before the run on a CFT. Thanks Vinny.

Also, the rare occasion where I arrived with a sword on my hip and white gloves on my hands. Possibly also rocking aviators.

I don't make many claims, but damn that felt gangster.

Anyway, robes, not flattering. Suits and tuxes, flattering. Thus begins the slow transformation of magical society into accepting one more muggle thing. All because Harry Potter looks good in a white and emerald tuxedo that he bought to blend in with muggle crowds while making an appearance in Monte Carlo.

Also, Beau Brummell was the devil.

Si Vis Pacem, Para Bellum

-Omake Sixteen: Dentists

"I told you this was worth the expense," Mister Granger stated as he and his wife watched their daughter excitedly flit about the Australian fair.

"You did," Miss Granger admitted. "I'm not sure what that was at the train station, but she has unwound quite a bit."

"She has." Mister Granger knew exactly what that was at the train station. It was a Granger woman slipping and letting her true self show through. He just didn't want to say that since he and his wife were having a lovely stroll and he didn't want to ruin it. His wife was also holding his hand and he wasn't sure he could shake her off quick enough to avoid retaliation for speaking the truth. "Also, we don't have too long before she'll graduate and maybe strike out on her own."

"I know," Miss Granger groaned. Only a few more years of school and they might suffer an empty nest as their daughter ran off to torment the magical world.

"Experience," Mister Granger mumble. "Experience, not torment."

"What was that dear?"

"Nothing," Mister Granger said quickly. Too quickly judging by how his wife's fingers clamped down on his own. Thankfully, he was saved by the other most important pair of loony X-chromosomes in his life.

"Dad!" Hermione shrieked as she crashed to a halt in front of her parents.

"Yes?" Mister Granger ventured cautiously. He had long ago learned to get all the details before agreeing to anything involving his wife or his daughter. Or his sisters in law. Or his mother-in-law.

Wow. He had married into quite the group of women, hadn't he?

Teach him for marrying the daughter of an SAS man and an SOE woman. He glanced back and forth between his wife and daughter for a moment.

"Meh. Worth it."

"What?" Hermione asked.

"Nothing sweetie," he said magnanimously. "What did you want?"

"They have a traveling boxing troupe!" Hermione announced eagerly.

"Is there a cover?" Mister Granger asked, already reaching for his wallet.

"No, but the barker said I need parental permission to participate!" Hermione announced. "Please, Daddy." Mister Granger's jaw tightened at the thought of his sweet little girl in a dingy ring with some horrible man. "It's been ages since I got to beat somebody!"

"Alright then," Mister Granger replied.

"Darling?" Miss Granger began.

"You heard her, she needs to beat somebody," Mister Granger replied. "Far be it for me to stand between one of you and a patsy."

"Thank you!" Hermione squealed as she hugged the man tightly and began dragging them towards a tent.

"I understand that you let your brother teach her boxing, but really. . ."

"Let the girl fight," Mister Granger interrupted. "What's the worst that can happen?"


The crowd roared as Hermione stood over her unconscious opponent. The young woman threw up her bloodied gloves and let out an impressive banshee shriek back. She looked to be half a second away from planting her foot on the man's back to establish dominance.

"Darling?" Miss Granger growled. "What do you have to say about this?"

"Did you give her permission to get tattooed?" Mister Granger countered, glaring at his wife. "Isn't she a little young for that?"

"Tattooed?" Miss Granger parroted, pivoting to squint at their daughter and the emerald green, red crested ouroboros tattooed around her left bicep.

"How about the scarification?" he added.

"What?" Mister Granger pointed at the pink lines of some large design on Hermione's back poking up from her spaghetti strapped undershirt.

"We are going to have a long talk about this," Mister Granger stated. "This, and the response to violence that you have passed on to her."

"Your brother taught her boxing!" Miss Granger insisted.

"Yes, a disciplined and strategic method," Mister Granger countered. "That was shrieking like a harpy and pounding a man into puddin. You know that comes from you and you side and we are going to settle that before it goes any further. We are dentists and all violence in our house is to be disciplined, methodical and surgical." His wife glared at him suspiciously for a moment before her concern was drawn back to their daughter's opponent.

"Should we tell him to stop?" she wondered. In the ring, the promoter continued to slap his fighter and wave salts under his nose to try and rouse the man. "He definitely has a concussion."

"You think that guy cares?"


Author's quickie drunken rambling. I don't like dentists. Sue me.

I've broken toes, fingers, noses and ribs. I've lost fingernails and toenails with varying levels of trauma. I spent years of my life with my femoral heads grinding into my acetabular cups. Hell, I've chipped teeth in rock fights.

Uh, for you young'uns, a rock fight is where all the kids in a neighborhood gather and throw rocks at each other until somebody cries. Then everybody runs.

Times were different before videogames and I don't know why people complain about that.

Anyway, I do not do teeth pain.

I respect dentists, but they can go fuck themselves.

Also, I may never actually give Mister and Misses Granger names.

Author's big end of story drunken ramblings.

So, I do believe this is the end of Si Vis Pacem Parabellum. The real end. No more updates. No more omakes. Dead after more than half a decade.

So sad.

Fortunately, as you read this, The Two Princes of Hogwarts should be live.

Welcome to the sequel. Shit will be weird. Though probably not gay considering the title could be misconstrued that way. Probably not gay. Probably.

Love you. Fuck you. Goodnight!

-Uncle Jack