Summary: Grindlewald escaped from a collapsing Nurmengrad with an old, extraterrestrial magical artefact. Forty years later, Hermione Granger encounters a similar crystal to those that freed him at a muggle High-School.

Harry Potter with Command and Conquer elements in the background and a slightly non-human Hermione, enjoy.

Hermione Granger and the Crystal from Tiber


Friday 13th February 1950

Gellert stood, tattered fragments of cloth blowing against skin and bone. The only person he'd been able to call friend and share his ideas with had betrayed him. Stabbed him in the back in fact, and locked him up in a prison of his own design. Then he'd apparently thrown away the key and forgotten about him. Oh how lucky he was that he, in a fit of ill humour, had crafted a portion of the wards to allow birds through and leave their excrement on his prisoners. Seagulls had become quite the delicacy over the years until they'd stopped coming about three months ago.

Dumbledore must have assumed him dead, it was the only explanation that made sense. Why else would he leave him there, trapped and starving whilst the wards decayed down to nothing on an unplottable isle that only the two of them knew the location of?

Gellert shook his head as he stared out over the unforgiving Arctic ocean. Why had he learnt his lessons too late? Why had he looked down on Hitler simply for being a muggle? They'd used the same tactics, had the same charisma and power and had both used each other for their own games. The difference was that Hitler, with a couple of trinkets, had nearly taken over the world. Gellert's own successes paled in comparison as muggle science applied to magic had forced him to reconsider parts of his beliefs. Then Dumbledore had struck him down months afterwards, his inner circle turning on him as he re-evaluated everything.

What the arrogant bearded fool hadn't known was that this lonely rock wasn't a prison facility. Fingers that where little more than bone wrenched rusted metal aside with unearthly force as he snarled. Dark brown eyes scanned the corridors, noting the wards and architecture snapping and unravelling around him.

Nurmengrad was a laboratory. The prison cells were simply a place to hold test subjects.

He twisted and turned, ignoring wreckage, ignoring the cold, ignoring the beating wind and rain. He'd walked these paths a hundred times in his head, reciting the plan for his escape. He stopped dead at the final turn; the door to his personal laboratory, the backup wands and his spare equipment lay ajar, jutting yellow crystals covering the walls and ceiling around it. Swearing softly under his breath, he reached for his magic and stepped onto the air itself, flying into the room.

Everything was gone. Everything.

Every last drop of magic in the room had been consumed by jutting emerald monoliths, as he hovered, their energies drawing in his own levitation. A pale mist had spread throughout the rooms centre, the fumes of whatever this was searing his lungs even as arcs of killing-curse-coloured lightning danced between the peaks. Gellert Grindlewald, the most feared and successful Dark Lord in several centuries felt fear for the third time since his childhood as he calculated the origin of this phenomena.

Hitler had given it to him as a gift; Early in the war a U-Boat had found a small jagged shard of orange crystal alongside a glowing sphere of energy embedded in the ice of the Arctic. It turned yellow on the voyage over as the captain left it in his office remaking at how it had doubled in size. It was a sad tale after that, the old man was already dying from some sort of sickness the crystal radiated when he tried to carve it, splintering it into pieces and throwing dust across the room.

Three men died within the hour, their bodies being consumed from the inside. The fourth though had been changed by the exposure, becoming stronger, tougher and able to survive the atmosphere these things created. He died a week after they returned to port and before Gellert had been informed and had a chance to study him.

The Okkultisch SS had succeeded in destroying most of the infestation through liberal amounts of promethium and the sacrifices of many. They'd presented it to Gellert with the indecipherable sphere in an attempt to... kill him? Favour him? Appease him? Even after all these years he still wasn't sure. Picking the glowing and intact sphere that now crawled with unknown runes from the crackling sapphire blue column that had grown up beneath it, he wondered if the German dictator had known what he possessed.

These things were magical in the same way that biological agents and Dirac's anti-matter was mundane. Had Hitler realised that fate had handed him an evolving magical weapon. Well, had either of them realised the treasure that this master-work possessed they would never have lost the war. ultimate weapon. Gellert knew how readily they would absorb ambient magic, the perfect weapon for mortals to use against wizards. Yet, if what he guessed of their origins was correct: they would also provide his salvation.

Gellert went through his plan once more as he left Nurmengrad behind. Acquire new clothes, new name and a new face... removing the hair he'd always been vain about in return for a simple goatee. Once he'd secured some contacts in Russia, where the magical population wouldn't recognise him, he'd learn everything he could from the muggles and their ingenuity.

He had always believed that the mark of a true genius was to realise when you had made a mistake and seize the opportunities it presented.

His new identity would be a genius and a prophet, Gellert would accept nothing less.


15th December 1973

"Newly elected Minister for Magic Millicent Bagnold and Professor Albus Dumbledore, Head of their judiciary." The aide announced the pair of magic users to the group of uneasy muggles deep within a secure facility at the heart of England.

"This is General McNeil and Black Hawk Commander Reynolds." The two military men nodded, turning back to the scrawling maps and other datums. "Now, gentlemen, I'm sure you're aware that we, the Allied nations are currently in a state of war with the USSR. This meeting is to seek the aide of our magical counterparts in this war-"

"I'm sorry, esteemed gentlemen but that would be completely against our laws." The old man with the greying beard responded with a sad smile and twinkle in his eye.

"If you'll let me finish Dumbledore, I was to about to add, under the proviso that the Russians have secured magical assistance from their counterparts." The Prime Minister emphasised.

"That is a quite impossible accusation, I'm afraid." Dumbledore said calmly. "I know for a fact that, whilst the Soviets certainly overturned the non-magical Tsar, the magical community of Russia was quite put out with them and is still a determined monarchy. Why, they common muggleborn over there has access to neither wands nor learning. The best you'd find was a few people with uncommonly good skills or strange talents as a result of it." The military personnel shared a look. Someone very like that had defected to their side a few months ago. "I assure you that they pose very little threat to your nation."

Commander Reynolds, the German national who'd personally overseen Tanya's escape and recruitment into the Black Hawk program disagreed. He'd seen what that girl could do and the idea of a few hundred people like that scared him. But he didn't raise a protest, pulling the photography their spies and satellites reported instead, he passed them to the magicals.

"As you can see, the Soviet's have access to lightning throwers, rapid fabrication, planes that defy standard laws for weight and mass along with a highly advanced space program. There is no physical way they can be doing this by mortal means. We believe the source of these advances to be a magical mineral we've dubbed 'Materia'. A crystalline structure that appears to leech precious metals from the ground itself." The general said coldly. "Or transmute them from dirt and stone. As a result of this we are certain it is at least partially magical in nature and are requesting your assistance to contain and neutralise it."

Dumbledore looked it over with a cautious eye. "I am truly sorry, but if the Russians have detected and isolated this on their own and are already utilising it to the amount you are suggesting..." Dumbledore trailed off, considering the amount of effort that would need to be put in to verify this information, the risk of sending in obliviators, Aurors and others and the need to have them in the country to deal with the new Dark Lord that was starting to emerge from the woodwork. "Any action on our part would be a breach of the Statue of Secrecy."

"Are you certain Dumbledore?" The Minister asked absently.

"Defnitely, I'm afraid there is nothing we can do to help you." He turned, "Now then, I needed to talk to you about this Lord Voldemort person, I have a couple of suggestions I'd like to run past you."

"Surely my office would be a better place to talk about this?" Bagnold suggested. Dumbledore nodded and they both disappeared with a crack.

The Prime Minister of England stared at the space they'd been, lost for words at the sheer bloody arrogance of their countries magicals.

"Project M is Green." General McNeill stated firmly, staring at the map and the layer of red that was ripping it's way through France. "There should be facilities here, here and here." He marked them on the map. I want at least five teams assaulting multiple locations. It's too late in the game to just take the Materia, we need the refining and fabrication technology that goes with it." He threw the pencil to the desk, staring at the Black Hawk commander. "Whatever it takes."

Commander Renalds sighed. "Even Tanya?"

"Especially Tanya, we need a local to help hit one of their green sites." The General stated firmly. "And she terrifies me. Think what she'll do to the Russians."

The Commander sighed. "The losses will be..."

"Acceptable. So long as we get that tech, otherwise we just won't be able to match their manufacturing and weapons advantage." The General said with sick finality, meeting his eyes. "I'll take full responsibility for this if it fails. Otherwise, you'll be in charge of securing and developing this technology. This is our second to last resort."

The Commanders eyes hardened. They'd put nukes on the table. However much he hated doing things like this, he knew where to place the blame. Once this war ended he was going to work out everything he could about Materia, and, once that was done, he'd find ways of the mortal man to work against those arrogant magic users for when they finally deigned to take of notice of mere mortals.


16th April 1978

Stalin was dead, still looking to be in his fifties. The Great Mission was over, their nuclear payloads rendered useless by the completion of the Strategic Defence Initiative four years earlier than their analysts had predicted. Ledvik Gorbin, looked through the satellite shots of the Florida Exclusion zone one last time. The Americans had stolen more than their manufacturing techniques and their precious fabrication technology. They'd also taken to talking about 'ditry warheads' and 'radioactive exclusion zones' to hide Materia from the public.

He had thirty pictures of a destroyed military base peppered with glowing green crystals to show that for the lie it was. The days when a little Gold materia was used to leach mineral deposits on the field for rapid repair and reinforcement were long gone, what was left were the massive, well defended manufacturing facilities that exploited green materia's ability to transmute, for the want of a better word, soil and stone into it's own strange crystalline mass that formed the backbone of the Third War's arms race.

All because no one had been willing to bomb or nuke the sites and risk spreading the green plague into the atmosphere. Green materia just didn't go away like that. It could be harvested, refined into raw materials and waste product that could then be sprinkled back onto the fields or partly used as an experimental fuel. What they didn't have was the ability to remove it completely. It made his personal view simple, and the same as his leader's.

He threw the pictures down, watching them slide along the ebony great table their little conclave met at. "The war is over." His voice was a whisper, but they all heard it. "The propagator is dead, the Ingrad battle line is a stalemate. Nuclear weapons are no longer an option and we cannot scale up production further without risking significant population centres."

"Internal security will disagree with you on that one." The ancient, grey haired man at the head of the table raised a token protest. "We'll be shipped to Siberia before you can smoke a cigar if we so much as talk of it."

"Siberia will be a problem." Gorbin stated firmly. "One of my Commanders is dealing with it as we speak." The others looked shocked. "On paper they are searching for Stalin's murderer, but he is as sick of this war as we all are. The position and location of several key soviet figures have been leaked to the Allies. Black Hawk Commando teams and that blasted Tanya will probably be dealing with them as we speak. If not..." He shrugged.

The others looked around nervously, talking was all well and good, but to have already taken action? "What happens afterwards? A dominated Russia, living under some American Tsar?" Someone asked. Gorbin snorted.

"Why would they do that?" He met the eyes of the populist, Markov Millentvich. "It goes against their ideology to subjugate a populace that has risen up demanding it's democratic rights. The old guard, present company excluded, will be dead and some of us will rise up to fill the gaps. We all know just how popular Stalin's regime has been despite his cult." He stood.

"I imagine we will have to make some concessions, the reformation of the UN with greater powers to make it something over than a glorified debating theatre. A few parts of our nation will seek their own independence. We let them. Half of them will come crawling back within a year the rest are too much trouble to worry over. The Americans will accept it to remove the spectre of communism and the other Allies don't have much of a choice in the matter." He outlined a very realistic course for the future to take, the others nodding along in the background.

"And where will you be in all of this?" The most political savvy member of their group asked at the end.

"Where I've always been." Gorbin said with a wry smile. "Dealing with our Materia problems and maintaining the material supply for this country." They could all agree with that. They had oil, what sort of profit would green crystals give in comparison to that? Their production was constant and would create a glut of metals on the commercial market, lowering the price of silica, copper, titanium, aluminium, silver and others to nearly nothing.

They left shortly after, saying their farewells.

Gorbin took the trams back to his well off condo, watching the streets and shaking his head at his nations inability to grow enough bread to feed its people whilst he, at the head of it's military production, had built walls of iron across Europe.

Nevertheless he poured himself a small shot of whiskey, pondering the icy night of Moscow trying not to check that the shipments of food and goods had reached his research centres. Today he celebrated the end of an era. Whisky gurgled into a glass, the first sign he had that he wasn't alone.

"They took your advice well?" That perfect voice sounded and Gorbin turned, bowing low before raising his glass in a toast to the man before him. Shining scalp, black goatee and the most enthralling eyes.

"No, they took your advice brilliantly." He inclined his head to the man. "I still feel like I should be calling you something special... Kane just doesn't do you justice. No mere man can orchestrate everything I've seen or guessed that you're responsible for, or appear in a guarded apartment without making a sound."

Kane smiled faintly, bowing his head in acknowledgement. "I know, brother. But it would demean us both if I claimed to be above you, for we are helping each along the path. That was what this was for, this war. For only during times of death does humanity truly strain to overcome it's shackles. The strides we have made, the people we have met, none of this would have been conceivable without this conflict. Between us all we have managed to progress our technology by a decade, if not more. Now it has served its purpose."

"Because it won't stop." Gorbin said softly, seeing parts of the plan. "The labs are all fully operational and ready. Spare materials will be dumped on the commercial market, advances will filter down as scientist are laid off and companies form, production costs will become very, very small. A bar of copper worth almost as much as a loaf of bread." He smiled, shaking his head. "Fifteen years ago, I doubted you. I was fool." He raised his shot glass, half of the amber liquid swirling in the artificial light. "To the Ascendance of Humanity."

Kane, formerly Gellert Grindlewald, nearly immortal wizard and leader of the Brotherhood of Man, raised his own glass. "To our Brothers and Sisters."

The glasses chinked and shots where downed.


1st November 1981

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was dead. So were Lily and James Potter, but that didn't matter; You-Know-Who was dead, gone. The war was over. Flights of owls scared muggles as the magical world celebrated. A child was left on a doorstep. Life was good.


23rd August 1983

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this meeting?" Dumbledore asked, taking in the assembled Aurors and their new head of department with tinkling eyes. "It's not often I get summoned to the department of Law Enforcement."

Amelia glared at him. "I don't know how to say this so I'll put it bluntly, I did an audit of my departments two weeks ago and it found several detection dead zones that we apparently had no idea about. So I sent a pair of Aurors to investigate. Those two Aurors were immediately confronted and held at gunpoint and imprisoned by a group of muggles who seem to posses the capability of seeing through invisibility cloaks. They were then interrogated and politely informed that what they were doing was not a breach of the Statue of Secrecy and therefore none of our business, as per the guidelines laid down by one Albus Dumbledore."

"Preposterous." The Headmaster said immediately. "I would never do such a thing. Surely this is a simple matter for the Misuse of Magical Artefacts to clear up? They can't have gathered many magical items."

Amelia smiled and shook her head. "There was an entire military base there Dumbledore, and a large amount of it was registering a trace of magic. Moody said they even had some moving painting that showed you and Minister Bagnold talking to several of their military about similar installations in Russia and telling them that we couldn't intervene."

Dumbledore looked about the room, taking in the expectant glances thrown his way. This had the potential to go hideously, hideously wrong. He had to consider the wider picture: He vaguely remembered some accusations regarding the Russian magical establishment back when Voldemort had just begun. The truth was that this wasn't a limited problem, it would be a worldwide one.

"At this point removing or resorting to any other sort of hostilities would result in an open breach of the Statue of Secrecy. Other nations' governments must know of these facilities and likely have their own, the sudden disappearance of these sights could alert them to our existence." He stroked his beard. "Also, I feel that should we miss one or two knowledgeable people they might view it as an act of war or something equally stupid. Admittedly, it's possible to see through invisibility charm by mimicking a snake's view of the world and muggle's could possibly be duplicating that, but they could equally have found a way of penetrating concealment charms or a defence against obliviation."

"They're just muggles." One of the Auror's said, dismissing them out of hand. Dumbledore sighed, taking off his glasses, fogging them and beginning to clean them with his robe.

"You are too young to remember the days of Grindlewald, when London burned as a result of the muggle war. Till that point we had believed muggles beneath us, the repelling wards a presence to stop ourselves from pestering and idiotic witch-hunts. At the start of 1942, one of Hitler's bombers missed his target and twelve wizards died." He looked sadly up at them. "At that time there didn't exist a spell or ward to defend against their weapons. To be honest, few were developed and there weren't many who learnt to cast them." He took them all in. "Never underestimate the muggles ability to destroy, it is why our societies must never be joined."

"So what do we do about these bases?" Amelia asked in the silence that followed Dumbledore's pronouncement.

"I will take it before the ICW." He stated firmly. "If something is to be done about this, it will have to be done worldwide."

"They'll do nothing but sit around and talk." Amelia pointed out. Dumbledore snorted and smiled.

"Let us hope, for all our sakes, that they do not."

But September was close, and Dumbledore would return to Hogwarts. The matter was touched on briefly before the diplomats went onto other things, like the proper thickness for cauldron bottoms. Which varied, depending on which potion you wanted to brew, but the proposer was not a potioneer and refusing to hear the guild out. It was slowly but surely descending into a feud that their ancestors would laugh at.

Chapter 1 - Infection

12th April 1990

Hermione Granger, age 10 and three quarters (nearly), wasn't paying attention in class. This was normal. Her teachers had commended her on it, it stopped all of the raised hands and the asking of questions they couldn't answer. Weyborn Academy was a school for exceptionally talented students (with rich parents) and their rooster of Alumni boasted of politicians, generals, professors and some of the most talented researchers employed in the Philadelphia project. Their teachers were similarly qualified.

There was just something about Granger. It wasn't her parentage, though the pair of dentists did struggle with the fees for their institution. It wasn't quite her intellect, which could make experts in their fields sit down and think for a few moments when confronted by her. It wasn't that she was loud, or boisterous, or got in your face. It was that moment when she stopped. Stopped everything, and considered you.

There was just something unnatural about her. The teachers agreed on it and the students agreed on it. Even her parents agreed on it.

In short: her life was hell and the only thing she could rely on was books and the safety of knowing things. Lots of things.

Hence why, when her pen stopped, people paid more attention to her than Mr. Department Head in the West-European Research Consortium of the United Nations. Even if he was the father of their years most popular child and giving a talk on their latest discovery on parent day. Hermione Granger's eyes were fixed firmly on the slim dark greeny blue crystal said person was holding.

"Do you have a question?" The self-important man asked condescendingly as he felt the attention of the room turn to the misfit. Her eyes weighed him as her head tilted to the side.

"Do you really believe this crystal was discovered only three weeks ago by the Tiber river?" She asked with a puzzled frown. The man looked stumped.

"Why wouldn't I? I have seen conclusive came done with the asteroid. Why I got this very sample from the research team themselves to show to the upper management of the project." He held it up to the light, illuminate the thick blue fragments embedded throughout it's structure to the class. "If you look you can see the large impurities that vastly reduces this crystals net worth to about ten dollars. In it's pure form the mineral is lovely green colour and worth nearly a hundred, they've named it Tiberium after its discovery by the Tiber river in Italy."

Hermione was not dissuaded that easily. "But military budgets have been slashed year on year, yet their operations keep growing. The same could be said of the space project, as part of the SpaceX assignment I made conservative estimate of putting up a self-sufficient space station. With all the problems I have no idea about it was still..." She trailed off, paling as realisation dawned. "Forget I said anything, I must have been mistaken." She replied quickly trying to smile up at him. People laughed. She went back to her notes. The Not-So-Cold War following the Third War may have been over, with the former USSR welcomed back into the fold of the United Nations, but she wasn't stupid. She'd read what happened to people who questioned things or probed too deeply into state secrets. How the military built so much stuff was definitely a secret.

Her hand refused to move as the man at the front of the class seemingly made words up to try and describe this new wonder mineral they'd discovered. Large amounts of aluminium, titanium, other rare metals used in advanced military equipment, emitted potent, similarly rare gasses that where fairly toxic. It was also radioactive. She blinked, totalling up the percentages on her notebook.

No one had noticed that it's chemical composition had a large unknown element, it's impurities were likely only classed as worthless due to their inability to be analysed and... It clicked in her mind, liking the slightly fat man to a kid who'd lied to his parents. He wasn't supposed to be showing his new toy around but he couldn't help it. He just like his son, born to brag about things beyond his understanding whilst saying he was 'just using it to show a few people'.

She pondered it. The contradictions in his words: A radioactive mineral that had only just landed on the surface because of a meteor strike? Nonsense, it would have been slag not a crystalline structure lying on the surface. It must have been planted. From a military deposit. Or something. She stood slowly as the man finished talking and slipped out the door behind him. "Sir, I'm sorry for being an idiot in class, but I couldn't get a good look at it from the back so I was wondering if I could have a quick look?" He smiled down at her.

"You really should learn to pay more attention in class young lady." Gods, he really was patronising. "Edward and his friends wanted to have a closer look at it, but I'm sure he'd be willing to show it to you." Yeah, and then rub it in her face that he had it and she was just a annoying know-it-all.

Hermione stopped, turned and fled back to the class. She had to get to him before they... She looked around the empty classroom. Oh no, they'd already gone out to break. This wouldn't be good. She went out to the playground, the large area with wood chips and swings, backing off onto the wood. Hermione's mind worked furiously. Edward was the kind of person to hoard things, so if he didn't want others to see it...

He'd be in the woods. She'd never been through the woods but she'd heard stories. Nasty stories that she was fairly sure weren't true. Fairly. She followed the path carefully, jumping over muddy puddles and stepping round brambles. There they were, she heard voices talking.

Someone pushed her as she got closer, sending her flying to the ground by a tree as her bag skittered away. Edward and his cronies circled around her as her head stopped spinning. "Well, if it isn't the bookworm chasing after me." He dangled the crystal in front of her, his palms red and aggravated. The... weirdness flexed inside her as he glared at her. "Looking to steal my father's work from him, are you?"

Her heart fluttered as the others leaned over her, eyes darting between their uncaring faces. She could feel it growing, like ants crawling under her skin. "Please," she begged, "I just want to see it, examine it. Please?"

He spat on her and she flinched. There was a twitch and she cringed as they gasped. What had she done? What had she done? Her eyes opened slowly. The crystal in Edward's hand was glowing an unearthly green, motes of blue dancing around it. Not good.

"It burns." He snarled, tearing his skin from the effervescent thing. "What are you? How are you doing this?" The others started running. She pushed her back further into the tree. "Fine you want it so bad, have it!" Hermione saw his arm swing back and raised her hands to protect her face. There was another twitch.

Magic is a strange thing. It is power, it is will and it is intent. The crystal drank it like water, so instead of being flung away or bouncing off a shield, it absorbed and reacted to it, fracturing along it's veins as the different coloured parts grew at different speeds. Several sapphire-like pieces accelerated, drawn towards that wonderful source of energy like a moth to flame.

Fragments peppered Hermione's body. Most embedded into her blazer or splattered along the ground, a few razor thin shards penetrated her shirt, a large glowing sliver slicing through the skin where her breast would grow, fate stopping it before it punctured a lung. Overall, she was lucky. Her forearms had protected her face from a single scratch and it had shattered cleanly, there wasn't any microscopic dust to coat her lungs and she'd had a relatively small dose of the newly named Tiberium.

Sitting there, a warm trickle of blood slurping from her chest, Hermione Granger felt anything but lucky. Her left hand, her writing hand, was bleeding and there where these blue and green things sticking out of her arms. And she hurt. Oh god it hurt. Like a burning, aching its way across her body. The tingling tried to discharge as she cried, her magic seeking for a way, any way to deal with the intruder, to change it, to alter it, to expel it. Bloody green shards where slowly pushed from wounds, but the blue ones refused to budge and some of the damage had already been done as they nestled further in.

Tears ran down her face, filling her mouth with the salty taste as bloody, painful hands pressed her legs to her chest. She was dying, slowly and painfully dying. She knew it. Her weirdness couldn't get rid of it and she couldn't adapt to it... Her eyes closed as waves of irrationality weaved through her body.

Time passed. Her eyes flickered open. Muscles protested as she rolled over, dry heaving on the browned spring shoots. Shaking slightly, she got to her feet, the bastards hadn't even gotten the school nurse to have a look at her. Her hands clenched in anger, the wind picked up and light-headedness overcame her. The bottom dropped out of her stomach. It growled.

Hermioned laughed. Shock, she'd read about it, something to do with trauma and... and accidents. She might be weird and freaky (though her parents said she was just 'different') but it had saved her. She was fine, her left palm unclenched, her lovely, unblemished writing palm. She'd been worried that she'd never be able to write again!

Oh how silly she'd been, she smiled, tracing the hard scar-like material that had formed where the cut had been. So what if the skin was a little blue, her strangeness had probably just sealed the mineral in there. Mum could probably take it out like she did splinters. The bell rang. Hermione's eyes widened as people started filtering from the school to waiting cars... It was the end of the day? Had she been unconscious since first break?

She'd missed classes! They'd put her in detention and Dad would get upset and... The young girl, ridding a wave of fatigue-induced-panic grabbed the bag and books that had been knocked aside earlier and ran to the car park.

Nobody knew what to make of the blood stained little girl who stumbled towards her parent's BMW but assumed it was the result of her falling over or something whilst playing with the others. Emiline Jayce Granger (Emma to her friends) caught her daughter as she fell into her arms for hug. "Mia, sweet, what happened?"

"Tired..." Her daughter just about managed to mumble as her eyelids shut.

AN: Well, that's the prologue and first chapter done. I'm not 100% sure whether this should be a crossover or not since it borrows heavily from the C&C game series but will be almost entirely HP from the third chapter. Hogwarts and Magical Britain is still the same as in the books, it's only the muggle world changed so far.