A/N: This is my attempt at a Band of Brothers/Harry Potter story. The idea randomly came to me as I was reading the book and heard the words "Harry Potter". This is based off both the HBO miniseries and the book, but I have made significant alterations to both, such as the fact that some characters who ere supposed to die will not, etc. This will jump right into the action, so be prepared.


Disclaimer: I do not own anything of either of these creations. This is purely fictional. I mean no disrespect to the legitimate members of Easy Company.


Ka-chuck. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

That eerie red light that carried the message of imminent death sprang to life. It was duly noted by the Jumpmaster. The time had come.

Lieutenant Richard Winters, eyes wide but countenance firmly stoic, shouted over the din of the exploding flak and the roar of the engine.

"Stand up and hook up!"

The other occupants of the plane did so, hooking themselves to the stick. They were anxious, nearly overtly so; the helmets on some of the men shook as their bodies trembled. Prayers were uttered, and men aloud spoke final goodbyes to their families and loved ones.


The plane rattled as flak detonated nearby.

"Sound off for equipment check!" Winters cried.

"Twelve okay! Eleven okay! Ten okay! Nine okay!" each man in turn exclaimed, all the way up the line to the foremost of the line.

"One okay!"

Lieutenant Winters' C-47 shook and shuddered in the wake of the incoming fire of the anti-aircraft guns situated on the ground of Normandy below. Though the men aboard quaked as well, a fierce resolve had settled over their collective hearts. And although the fear was still existent, the men aboard knew what had to be done. They must complete the jump. They must defeat Hitler. For America. For family. For freedom.

Winters steeled himself.

"Get ready, boys!"


Meanwhile, in a separate C-47 positioned a stone's throw away in the same airspace, the red light went on as well. Sergeant Carwood Lipton screamed back to the troops sitting on the plane's transportation seats.

"Up! Everyone get up and hook in!"

Sweat broke across Lipton's brow: was he truly prepared for this? Lieutenant Schmitz was supposed to be Jumpmaster, not himself. Doubt settled into his mind about his own abilities. He knew not of what was to come;

But there was one thing that was certain.

Fate may have a cruel hand when dealing with Carwood Lipton, he thought, but not so with my men; they will be kept alive.

Ka-chuck. BOOM. BOOM.

And so it begins.


Lieutenant Harry Welsh gazed nervously at the empty red light.

Where is it? The flak's already started, so where's the light?

He looked to the rear, and discovered all of his men observing the empty light as well. Luz was staring at the metal flooring of the plane, his humor having dissipated in the face of the looming peril. A cigarette slid from its position between his lips and fell descendant to the floor. The plane jerked, and it rolled out the open door. He didn't notice.

The light suddenly began to emit its red glow.

"Up, boys! Let's go! Hook up!"

He turned back to the light. Nothing. It had been destroyed by a piece of flak.

"Shit!" he yelled. He must act, and swiftly. He decided to abandon the equipment check, and the get the hell out of there.

"GO! GO! GO-

But he could not finish his command, for the plane was abruptly hit by a massive force. It rolled over in the air, throwing the men it contained about the inside chamber. Welsh was tossed violently against the steel wall behind him.

In a state of near-unconsciousness, he rose unsteadily to his feet, and managed to scream to his men,



The Great Hall of Hogwarts, usually a sanctuary of the vibrant effects of life, was unusually quiet, and a sense of trepidation hung in the air. The Golden Trio, as they were often referred to as, had arrived only but a few hours earlier from the secret passage at Hogsmeade, bringing along with them the collective remnants of the Order of the Phoenix. The threat that was Voldemort fell like an ugly shadow over them all, for the peril of the undoubtedly coming battle was at hand. McGonagall stood with Shacklebolt at the helm of the Hall.

"Harry… Harry… HARRY."

Harry Potter was abruptly extricated from his thoughts by a certain Hermione Granger, who wore a look of concern upon her visage. He gazed at her expectantly.

"Harry, are you feeling alright? You haven't slept in day."

He sighed, though he knew she was right. Exhaustion was not a fit enough word for the state Harry James Potter was currently in. His countenance was a pure illustration of it. Bags hung limply under his eyes, his skin held a sallow color to it, his emerald orbs were crimson bloodshot.

"Bloody hell, Hermione. I'll be fine." Harry snapped. He instantly regretted it as Hermione's expression became that of one taken aback. "I'm sorry; it's just all this stress of the Battle on my shoulders. Lord, Voldemort's army hasn't even assembled outside the gates and I'm already feeling as if we've lost."

Ron looked up from the meager portions of a meal he was staring at.

"Hey, Harry, c'mon. Don't talk like that. You very bloody well know we have a shot at this."

Harry's eyes filled with a modicum of confidence.

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right Ron. We do have a chance. And I'm gonna' spend every last ounce of my spirit on killing that nose-less bugger."


From all sides a roaring sound began to crash down upon the ears of those in the Great Hall. It was nearly like a buzzing that had been amplified to enormous proportions; like an immense swarm of massive bees that was passing overhead. The Hall, which had been nearly silent, went completely so. The staff rose to their feet as one. More than one piece of silverware was dropped unheedingly to the stone floor.

A bellow sounded from the Slytherin table.

"What the bloody hell is that noise?"

Hermione looked at Harry and Ron, swallowed, and whispered fearfully:

"I know that sound. It's what's produced from the engines of those metal, Muggle-made monsters: airplanes."


Four C-47's, all holding men of Easy Company, were each hit by a massive, unknown force as they flew over Normandy. The planes had rolled over and the men aboard sullied and tossed about the metal interior. The pilots, who had been thrown about equivalent to the men, had regained control of their respective crafts in time and found themselves flying through a large cloud pocket.

In reality, they had been transported nearly sixty years into the future; April 26th, 1998. Instead of participating in one of the largest militaristic operations the world has ever known, they had been transferred from the skies above Normandy, to the sky above Hogwarts, in England.

They were perplexed, but figured it must have been a sudden bout of extreme turbulence that had done it. The flak had stopped, confusing them further. They assumed the turbulence had blown them very far off course. Nonetheless, the jump had to be completed, for they would not have an ample quantity of fuel to make it to a runway carrying the men.

The green light was flipped on for all four airplanes.


Green light bathed the inside of Winters', Lipton's, Welsh's, and Headquarters' C-47s. Each Jumpmaster proceeded to give that final command.


The men plunged into the black night.


"Everyone stay down, if you will!"

Shacklebolt stood like a statue at the helm of the Great Hall. With a flick of his wand, the massive double doors of the Hall were thrown shut.

McGonagall stood beside him. Even the valiant Transfiguration Professor's voice shook with trepidation.

"What is happening, Kingsley?"

He turned his firm visage to her. Frightened chocolate eyes met her own.

"I do not know, Minerva. Friendly or not, however, we must be prepared to deal with whatever it is."