244A/N. The chapter contains some recognizable dialogue from "The Bourne Legacy" film.
Also, we'll be seeing more of non-magical Harry and Hermione. So, if you haven't been paying attention to dates, I recommend doing so now to avoid any confusion :)
March 27th, 1996 — Dundee, eastern Scotland
A knock came at the door of Hermione's tiny lab, but she ignored it.
"Hermione?" Harry's voice. "I know you're in there. Open the door."
Hermione sighed, tearing her gaze away from the computer screen. She knew Harry wouldn't leave her alone—his persistence and stubbornness rivalled her own. And she knew she couldn't postpone this conversation any longer.
She unlocked the door and stepped aside to let him into the room. He silently took in her workspace, disapproval on his face as he turned to face her.
"How long have you been in here?"
"I don't know, Harry." She ran a hand over her face. "Does it matter?"
"It does to me and Li-Li."
He pulled up a spare folding chair and motioned for her to take her seat.
Great. Now I get a lecture.
"Harry, I was in the middle of a crucial chemical calculation—"
"Too bad. It'll have to wait."
She sighed in defeat and settled back into her chair, facing him.
He studied her with a frown, and Hermione grew uncomfortable under his penetrating gaze. To give herself something to do, she picked up her teacup, took a sip, and immediately grimaced—the tea had gone cold long ago.
"Li-Li and I are worried about you," Harry said as he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees.
"Why?"
"Why? Are you seriously asking that question? Come on, Hermione. We barely see you. And when we do, you look like you haven't slept in days!"
"How's that different from before? It's not like it's the first time—"
"It is different! You are different!"
She was stunned into silence.
Has it been that obvious?
"Yes, Hermione, we've noticed. Ever since . . ." he hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "Ever since we were forced to leave the base in Whitby, you've been different. I know you're grieving. We all are. But this is beyond that."
His gaze briefly shifted to a small bottle of pills by the monitor. "It's those pills, isn't it? They're the reason why you've changed. Still changing. What are they doing to you?"
"What they're supposed to do, I suspect."
Harry sighed as he leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms. "Explain."
"How much do you know about doctors Heisen and Patel?"
"I know they're the ones responsible for the creation of Augments." He curled his mouth in distaste. "I never cared to delve into details."
Nor did he have much spare time to do so, Hermione imagined. Harry had a lot on his plate, so he'd learned to delegate.
"Dr Heisen created the template of the augmented DNA," Hermione explained. "Or a prototype of one. He found that minor alterations to two different chromosomes resulted in a 1.5% rise in mitochondrial protein uptake, which caused an immediate increase in cellular tempo, muscle efficiency, and oxygenation. It also improved neural regeneration and elasticity, sensory function, pain suppression."
"I'm assuming this template has since been changed?" He rolled his eyes. "Those scientists always look to improve things."
Hermione nodded. "Yes. However, synthesizing the advanced DNA was only the first step. Some might even say the easy part, even though there was nothing easy about it. The challenge was to successfully rewrite the genetic code of a living subject using that DNA. That's where Dr Patel's breakthrough in viral receptor mapping came in."
"Viral? You mean they infected their test subjects?"
"Initially, yes. That's how the first Augments were created. They took ordinary people and . . . changed them."
Many didn't survive the transition, she added mentally. But Harry didn't need to know that.
The high mortality and unreliability of this method were the reasons why the second generation of Augments had been created, using the practices of selective breeding and genetic engineering. Lab-made humans. 'Genetically perfect' from the beginning.
"You see, to reprogram human genetic material," Hermione continued, "you need a delivery system. And nothing works better than a virus. It's like a suitcase. You pack in genetic mutation, infect the body, and the vector unloads into the target cells. But getting it exactly where you want it and how you want it—that's a nightmare. Unless—"
"You have a map. Which Dr Patel discovered."
"Right."
"That would be also how you've designed your bioweapon. Using the same map and a virus."
Harry had never asked for the details of her work, never had any oversight of what she and Nikolai had been up to. He only asked for an occasional update and the general rundown of things. He trusted her implicitly.
"Yes. You remember that lab in Switzerland we broke into last year? That's where we got the map and the live virus, among other things."
"Okay. But what does all of that have to do with your pills?"
"Pills only allow for temporary adhesion of the new DNA. To lock it in—"
Realization dawned on him, and Harry abruptly rose to his feet, knocking back his chair in the process. "Bloody hell, Hermione! You want to make the change permanent! Is that it?"
"Vogel was right." She exhaled and pinched the bridge of her nose. "If I am to pull off my mission successfully, I'm going to need more than just the pills."
"No." He picked up the fallen chair and began pacing the small room.
"It's not up to you."
"Yes, it is. I'm still the leader of this cell. I can ban you from working on this altogether. I can—"
"And then what? Do you have a better idea of how to defeat the Augments? How to acquire information on 'Project Liberty'? If you do, I'd like to hear it."
Harry was silent, fuming in frustration.
"I can't let you do this," he finally said.
"Why not? Because I'm family? You said it yourself, we're at war."
"I know what I said!" He blew out a forceful breath and slammed his palm against the wall. "I just . . . The plan you described before . . . You made it sound like the effects would be temporary, and the changes would be reversible. I thought . . ."
He braced himself against the wall as if needing the support. His voice was quiet as he said, "I believed you'd pull this off and come back to us. How naive of me."
"Not naive." She rose to her feet and carefully approached him. "Optimistic. And there's nothing wrong with a bit of optimism in these dreadful times."
"Even if you manage to return, you won't be you anymore! These things are already changing you!" He jabbed an agitated thumb at the pills.
A tense silence settled around them, blanketing Hermione's tiny lab. The two stood facing each other, but neither spoke.
Harry was right, of course. Hermione knew she was changing, too. It might not have been obvious to most people, but those who knew her well must have picked up on it right away.
One did not meddle with the human genome—God's perfect creation, as her father used to say—without consequences.
She'd read about it in Dr Patel's journal they'd acquired in that lab in Switzerland. Genetic experimentations, while enhancing certain abilities, had irrevocably broken others. There was a reason why Augments were so highly prone to aggression and violence. There was a reason why they lacked morals.
"We'll come up with another plan," Harry said, breaking the silence. "Just stop taking the pills."
"I can't."
"Why the hell not?"
"Because I'll die if I do."
His expression changed to a strange mixture of disbelief, shock, and agony. "Did you know? Before you began taking them, did you know?"
"No. But once I began, it became clear very quickly that—"
"So you lied! During that meeting we had, you lied!" His hands clenched into fists. He looked like he might punch a hole in the wall. "When I asked you about it, you assured me it was temporary. When Li-Li asked you about the side effects, you said there weren't any."
He had a fierce look on his face. Sometimes, Hermione had to admit, Harry could look downright scary.
She drew herself up straight and tilted her chin up. "I said that the preliminary primate testing hadn't thrown up any significant red flags."
"You lied!"
He looked as if he was in physical pain. Trust was everything to Harry, and she'd betrayed it. Another casualty of this war. It was as if a metaphorical crystal vase shattered, never to be put together again the same way.
Hermione felt surprisingly calm about it, almost indifferent. Another testament to the changes she was undergoing. It should have scared her, but it didn't. There was only resolve.
Finish what we started. End this war.
Sometimes, all it took to change the course of a war was a handful of people willing to sacrifice everything.
Everything.
"Oh, come off your high horse, Harry," she said, waving a dismissive hand. "Not like you've never lied before."
"Not to the people I love!"
The silence that settled was hard and brittle as glass. She didn't know how long they stood like that, gazes locked in a silent battle.
Finally, Harry pushed himself away from the wall and walked over to Hermione's desk. A little distance away from the monitor was a photograph of Hermione and Juliet. It was taken shortly before the war, when the two of them had gone on a two-week holiday to tour the Lake District. They'd both looked so happy, so carefree.
"It's going to destroy Juliet," Harry said quietly, studying the photograph. "You're the only family she's got left."
"Wrong. She has you."
"It's not the same, and you know it."
"I'm past the point of no return, Harry," she said, attempting to inject optimism she didn't feel into her voice. "Have been, since the moment I began taking those pills. Might as well make the best of my circumstance."
He set the photograph down and stared at her as if he didn't recognize her. As if she'd lost her mind. Perhaps she had.
"It's alright, Harry. I'm prepared for this."
His broad shoulders sagged, and he collapsed into the chair. He looked like he'd already lost the war.
Blowing out a defeated breath, he said, "You've got to tell Li-Li. She deserves to know."
"I will."
"When?"
"Tomorrow."
"You better. Otherwise, I will. But it would be best coming from you."
She sat down across from him once more. "I know."
"How close are you to completing the . . . permanent change?" he asked, jutting his chin towards the table loaded with various lab equipment.
"Very close."
"And then what?"
"And then the infiltration begins, as previously discussed."
He sat back in the chair and crossed his arms. "Last we spoke, your plan wasn't finalized yet."
"I believe I have almost everything in order now."
He stared at her as if unsure whether he could trust anything she had to say anymore. Hermione couldn't blame him. She'd feel the same in his place.
"Well," he said, seemingly deciding to trust her on this, "let's hear it then."
Stardate 2261.25 — coordinates 23-17-46-11, Section 31's Io Facility
Consciousness returned slowly, agonizingly, to the beeping of a vital signs monitor.
"John? John! Can you hear me?"
A brilliant light was glowing through his closed lids. It hurt. John opened his eyes and immediately closed them, with pins and needles of dazzling pain shooting through them.
He opened them cautiously again, pressing his palms flat on the biobed to brace himself. Marcus' concerned face came into focus.
"Welcome back, John. You gave us all a bit of a scare."
John groaned, lifting a heavy hand to rub at his eyes—it bumped into one of the sensors attached to his temple. "What happened? Why am I here?"
"What's the last thing you remember?"
"I . . ." He frowned, contemplating the question.
Panic began settling in as he realized he couldn't remember. He didn't know where he'd been and what he'd been doing that had caused him to wake up in the medbay again. Had he suffered a relapse? Had his memory, instead of getting better, gotten worse?
He remembered who he was and what he did; could list every single project he'd been working on at the lab. He remembered Marcus and Dr Vyas . . .
At least, he didn't have to start from nothing—he did remember most things. But it was as if his most recent memories were missing.
"I can't remember," John said truthfully.
"It's not surprising," Dr Vyas said soothingly, appearing beside Marcus. "Meeting an old friend you have shared trauma with might do that."
"Old friend?" John repeated, furrowing his brow. "Shared trauma?"
"Naomi Nishimura," Marcus supplied. "You childhood friend and a fellow Tarsus IV survivor. Remember her?"
John tried his hardest to remember what Marcus was talking about. There was nothing.
"You said I didn't have any friends."
"Yeah, about that." The admiral shifted uncomfortably. "She was on an extended undercover mission, and there was a chance she might not return. Given everything you've been through, I wanted to spare you the pain in case she didn't make it."
And John had believed Marcus when he'd said John didn't have any family, any friends. Marcus had been very convincing. What else had he lied about?
"Naomi reintroduced herself to you in the mess hall," Marcus continued, "while you were having lunch. It didn't go so well."
"What do you mean?"
"You collapsed," said Dr Vyas. "You don't remember any of it?"
"N-no."
Something resembling relief briefly passed over her face.
"What's happening to me?" The frustration John had felt before began bubbling up again, turning into anger, simmering just under the surface. "I thought I was getting better?"
"I can't say conclusively—"
"Then how about inconclusively?"
"I'd like to run more tests . . ."
The doctor began talking about various scans and procedures she wanted to perform to get to the bottom of it all, but John began to tune her out, focusing on her face and her body language instead. She seemed nervous. Her movements were quick, jerky. Anxious, even. Now and then, she threw a quick glance in Marcus' direction, who stood ramrod still, an unreadable expression on his face.
The more the doctor spoke, the more uneasy she got under John's penetrating gaze. Her heart rate quickened, and—
Wait a minute. Her heart rate?
This new revelation took John aback. He'd never been able to hear other people's heartbeat before. Something must have happened in that mess hall—if that was indeed where he'd been before waking up here. Something more than the doctor and the admiral were telling him. Something significant enough to land him in the medbay.
"John? Did you hear my question?"
Marcus was looking at him calculatingly.
John took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "No, admiral. I'm sorry. What was the question?"
"I asked whether you'd like to see Naomi. Dr Vyas says it should be okay. That you likely won't have the same reaction again."
John contemplated the question. Did he want to see her, this person he couldn't remember? Would her visit be helpful? Or would it just add to his frustration?
"On second thought," Dr Vyas said, glancing at the biobed readings and pressing some buttons, "I think it'll be best for John to rest for now. Lieutenant Nishimura can visit tomorrow."
John's eyelids felt heavy, and his head began pounding again. The sweet oblivion of sleep beckoned.
When the doctor and the admiral quietly left the room, in those moments before sleep claimed him, John resolved to get to the bottom of whatever was happening. He was sure that there was a secret he wasn't supposed to know.
It's only a matter of time, he promised himself.
After all, he'd redesigned this station's entire computer system. He'd find a way.
He would.
Admiral Marcus sat behind his desk, twirling a stylus in his hands, when the door chimed.
"Come," he said, setting the stylus down.
The door slid open, revealing Dr. Vyas. She looked agitated and more than a little worried.
"I apologize, admiral," she said, stepping into the office. "I got here as quickly as I could—"
Marcus waved off any explanation she was about to offer and gestured for her to take a seat. The door slid shut behind her, and the doctor proceeded toward the chair briskly, anxiety practically radiating from her.
Bad news, then.
Not that Marcus didn't already know it. He just wasn't sure how bad it was.
"Would you like some chamomile tea, doctor?" Marcus offered calmly, nodding towards the teapot on his side table by the wall.
"Chamomile tea?!" the doctor repeated in disbelief. "With respect, sir, but are you serious? We have a ticking time bomb on our hands!"
"And freaking out over it won't help." Marcus rose from his seat, walked over to the side table, and began pouring the tea. "Do sit down, doctor."
She let out a long breath and reluctantly lowered herself into the chair. Her hand shook visibly when she picked up the cup of steaming camomile tea that Marcus set down before her.
"Now," Marcus said, settling into his chair as he cradled his teacup, "let's talk about the problem that arose despite all the measures we put in place and all the precautions we took. Can you fix it?"
"I've already done everything I could think of," she said, taking a huge gulp of her tea. "His regenerative capabilities are like nothing I've ever seen. I have to intervene more and more frequently now. It's only a matter of time—"
"How long?"
"A few months? Maybe more. Maybe less. I don't know. I've never dealt with anything like this before."
Marcus studied her over the rim of his cup. "You're scared."
"Of course I'm scared!" She set her teacup down so forcefully that the liquid sloshed over the sides. "Knowing who he is and what he's done . . . What he's capable of . . . Everyone should be scared!"
Many of his subordinates who knew the true story of John Harrison shared the doctor's sentiments. Marcus couldn't blame them, especially considering how horribly wrong the first two Augment revivals had gone.
But Marcus couldn't think like that. He had to look at the big picture—the one that had the very survival of the Federation in mind—and make the tough decisions. The decisions that the Federation Council and the President seemed unwilling to make, seeing how they refused to see reason and tighten the Security.
Initially, anyway. After the events of Dolvia VII, Marcus had been taken more seriously, and certain things had changed. But not enough for Marcus' liking.
"How long till he's back on duty?"
The doctor gave him a disbelieving look. "Admiral, correct me if I'm wrong, but it seems as though you mean to stay the current course of action?"
"Yes," he replied simply.
"With all due respect, sir, that would be a mistake. I strongly advise against it."
"Noted. But we're past the point of no return now."
Marcus couldn't say definitively when the point of no return had been reached. He only knew there was no turning back now: too many things had already been set in motion, and too much was at stake.
He'd known all along who he'd been dealing with—despite the scarce records of the Eugenics era, the historians on the base had figured out who the crew of the Botany Bay were quickly enough. He'd known there was a chance that the still experimental procedure, despite its success thus far, wouldn't work on Augments as expected, and the memories would return.
He just hoped that would happen after they served their purpose.
Marcus sighed, glancing at the screen of one of his PADDs, which had an open file he'd been reviewing—the file belonging to Hermione Granger.
How was he to know that her mere image would trigger a metaphorical avalanche? Thanks to historical data, Marcus knew that this world's Hermione Granger had been instrumental in defeating the Augments, and that these Augments could have been familiar with her. But given how thoroughly they'd wiped Harrison's memories . . .
Augments. Guess they're just wired differently.
At least the other two showed no signs of the procedure's failure. Even the Augments, it would seem, weren't created equal.
Marcus glanced at the doctor, who still hadn't given him an answer and was staring at him skeptically.
"Doctor?" he probed.
"Sir, I'm not convinced we're past the point of no return. We can still stop this. We can—"
"What? Put him back in the cryotube?" Marcus shook his head. The doctor had no idea what she was talking about. She didn't have all the information, after all. "He's more useful to me here."
I just have to make sure he doesn't come across any information regarding Hermione Granger anymore.
The doctor continued staring at him. "And if he regains his memories, and we miss it? They may not always come back as dramatically as they did in the mess hall."
"Then keep tabs on him 24/7 and make sure you don't miss it. Do what you have to do to suppress his memories. A few more months is all I ask. After that, we can reconsider putting him back in the cryotube."
This is the right course of action, Marcus told himself. The benefits outweigh the risks.
It was for the greater good.
He just had to come up with a contingency plan in the event that the memories come back sooner than expected.
"And I'd like to remind you, doctor," Marcus said as he leaned forward in his chair and placed his elbows on the desk, "we still have the failsafe. In the worst-case scenario, we'll use it."
The doctor still seemed reluctant. But after a long pause, she nodded slowly. "Understood, admiral."
A/N. I'm sorry for the delay in posting—real life has been getting in the way. Cold weather is upon us here in the Northern Hemisphere, and for me, that means more time to dedicate to writing.
Take care!