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Harry's Army
an Harry Potter fanfiction
by Andrew yclept Aelfwine

*

The characters and situations of the Harry Potter series are
copyright J.K. Rowling. The characters and situations of the
Draka series are copyright S.M. Stirling. They may not be
used or reproduced commercially without permission. The use of
these characters and situations is not to be construed as
challenge to said copyright. They are merely borrowed for this
work of non-commercial fanfiction, from which the author
derives no financial benefit.

Warnings: Gratuitous silliness. Out-of-characterness.
Extreme parodic elements. Polyamoury. Femmeslash. Heterosexuality.
Suggestive elements. Cute, cuddly, and misunderstood Draka.
Yours Truly.

Pairings/Triplings/Insert-number-here-ings:
Ginny/Hermione/Luna. Ginny/Hermione/Luna/Millicent.
Ginny/Hermione/Luna/Millicent/Gwendolyn Ingolfsson/Winifred
Makers. Future
Harry/Ginny/Hermione/Luna/Millicent/Gwen/Winnie/?+ implied.
Past Harry/Ginny implied. Past Hermione/Ron implied. Past
Pansy/Millicent implied. Pansy/Draco implied. Elvis/Nixon implied.

*

Hermione Granger yawned, stretched, and set down the book
of Victorian spells she'd been leafing through all evening.
"I wonder... what is 'the power the Dark Lord knows not?'"
She poured herself more tea from the pot that sat on the
scarred endtable she and Ginny Weasley had found in a storage
room, to match the battered couch that Luna Lovegood had
conjured from midair, or possibly an alternate dimension.

They had redecorated the drawing room of 12 Grimmauld
Place a few days previous, taking advantage of the facts that
Kreacher's head had joined his ancestors' on the wall and Mrs.
Black's portrait had been encased in concrete. Both of which
had been accomplished within minutes after Sirus Black's last
will and testament, naming Harry James Potter his sole heir,
had been read.

Ginny Weasley giggled. "Being dishy. And damned
snoggable." The aforesaid sole heir was currently at his
Muggle relations' home in Surrey, soaking up a final year's
supply of genetically-based magical protection. Which, along
with the disappearance of Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks
into a locked bedroom, the departure of Molly and Arthur
Weasley for the Burrow, and Ron Weasley's attendance at his
brother's stag night, meant that the three girls could spend
the evening in their night clothes, giggling about the
aforesaid Harry Potter.

Hermione shook her head. "Really, Ginny... just because
you get to snog the handsomest boy at Hogwarts doesn't mean
you've got the right to rub it in."

"Why not?"

"Cos it's cruel. Here we are, all of us in danger of
attack by masked Tommy-worshippers every day, and you've
seduced him away from us. You could share, you know?"

"But you've got my brother!"

"Ron? Spare me. He kisses like a dead fish. And
sometimes he forgets and calls me 'Krumm.' If he wanted a
threesome, he should have said something back then. Viktor
wouldn't have minded."

"Hermione. Truly?"

"'Truly' what?"

"You fancy Harry?"

"Yes. And, just for the record, I fancy you and Luna as
well."

Luna closed her copy of Snappdove's Hippogriffs of the
South and set it on the table. "Hermione? If you wanted a
foursome with us, why didn't you tell me? Or Ginevra?"
Before Hermione could answer, Ginny and Luna had hugged her
close and kissed her on the lips.

"Harry's birthday is five days from now," Ginny said.
"We'll tell him once we spring him from his durance vile."

"And whatever shall we do til then?" Hermione said.

"Well," Luna said, "we could take a telescope up to the
roof and watch the Lesser Xats roosting on the moon. Or we
could search old issues of the Prophet for coded references to
Cornelius Fudge's war against the Goblins. But personally...
I'd suggest we practise for what we'll do after we tell him."
She fingered the top button of Hermione's pyjama top.

Much later, the three of them lay in each others' arms in
Hermione and Ginny's bedroom. "It occurs to me," Luna mused,
"That our Ginevra might be exactly right."

"About that trick with the practice Snitch? Absolutely,"
Hermione nuzzled Ginny's neck. "Let's try it with Harry
sometime."

"She is quite right about that," Luna said. "But what I
was really thinking about was 'the power the Dark Lord knows
not.'"

"The sixteen year old Tom Riddle," Ginny said, "was
passing handsome, but the current version doesn't sound to be
worth much. And McGonagall told me he was never known to so
much as hold hands with anyone when they were at Hogwarts
together. But how could that defeat him?"

"Well..." Luna said, "we three are quite taken with
Harry. And each other. So... what if Harry's women are the
force that defeats Lord Moldieshort?"

"Us?"

"Not only us. We'd have to select others, of course."

"Luna! You mean we'd assemble a... a... harem for Harry?
A harem of luscious, gorgeous, deadly, combative, capable,
bisexual women? How utterly... completely... absolutely..."
Apparently Hermione had run out of adverbs and adjectives
alike.

"Delicious? Brilliant?" Ginny said.

"Tommorrow we start," Hermione said. "After breakfast,
with a visit to Miss Bulstrode?"

"Her?" Ginny said.

"We could use a Slytherin," Hermione said. "She's on the
outs with Malfoy due to the breakup of the Inquisitorial
Squad. And with Parkinson, so Winky tells me, due to
Parkinson's admission that kissing her was only meant as an
attempt to turn Malfoy on. She's about the best duellist at
Hogwarts who's not in the DA, her family has a long history of
grey magick but none of black magick, and I'm told she fences
thrice weekly at a salle in Holborn."

"We'll talk about it tomorrow morning, Hermione," Ginny
said, stilling her with a finger on the lips and a final soft
kiss.

*

Millicent Bulstrode proved most willing. Not to mention
fetching in black leather fencing garb. And out of it.

"Now, my darlings," she said that afternoon, lying
amongst scattered pillows on the much-enlarged bed in what had
been Ginny and Hermione's room alone in Grimmauld Place, "I've
been thinking about this plan of yours. The 'army of Harry-and-
each-other-lovers.' It's brilliant, but where will we get
the rest of us? We could use a Hufflepuff, maybe Susan Bones,
and perhaps we could recruit a few others from Hogwarts,
but..."

"That's not a very sizeable fighting force for defeating
the Dark Lord? Was that what you intended that charming
ellipsis to mean, my dear Millicent?" Hermione said, stroking
her cheek.

Millicent nuzzled Hermione's hand, and Ginny's that
covered it. "Yes."

"As it happens, I've got a plan. When I went home to my
parents' at the end of term, I raided the local bookshop.
Combined with a few obscure spells from a book Professor
MacGonagall was kind enough to forget on my table one day in
the library, I think we can find ourselves plenty of
willing comrades-in-arms."

"Who?" Ginny said.

"Well, to start off... her." Hermione reached under a
pile of rumpled clothes and fished out a paperback novel. On
the cover, a red-haired woman gestured towards a painting of a
hairy wolf-baboon clutching a rifle.

"Gwendolyn Ingolfsson? Hermione, are you mad?"
Millicent said. "I mean, she's sexy as all hells, but she'll
try to take over the world."

"Not if we get the young version," Hermione said. "At
sixteen, I think-- wait a minute. You've read this?"

"But of course. We're not all noses-in-the-air-at-anything-
Muggle idiots in Slytherin. Besides, Steve Stirling
is a Squib. And a cousin of mine."

"Oh."

*

They sat in the drawing room again, having established it
as a cross-universal Apparition Point and warded it with
explosive-propellant-suppressing charms. Which latter,
fortunately, had proven unnecessary, as Gwen Ingolfsson,
encountering four unusual girls of about her own age on her
evening run, had been more than willing to try a quick jaunt
across time and space.

"Well," Gwen said, "this is pretty convincing.
Especially that bat-eared houseserf with the socks. Y'all
really must be witches from an alternate universe where magic
works. And, given the rest, I suppose it's only reasonable
that I take your word there's no Domination here."

"Yes," Hermione said, "that's about the extent of it.
Except Dobby isn't a serf."

Millicent elbowed her. "Leave the girl alone, Hermione.
We can raise her consciousness later. I'm just glad she's not
calling us feral serfs."

"Y'all don't seem terrible serf-like to me, Miz
Bulstrode. And if those-there wands ain't sidearms, I'll eat
a ghouloon." Gwen smiled. "Besides, I've never much wanted
to be a frog. So, y'all are fighting some kind of... magical
warlord? And you think I'll help?"

"We think that's possible, yes."

"Why? Don't you realise that I'm genetically engineered
to side with capital-E Evil? To conquer and dominate? To
rape and murder and ruin in the name of my Race?"

"Something makes me think you don't like it so much."

"Not really," Gwen said. "I mean... the cute serf girls
to warm your bed bit is kind of fun. So is the hunting tiger
bit, and the cool black uniforms bit, and the being
fantastically fit and deadly and sexy bit. But... I don't
want to go kill the Yankees so they won't kill me and Ma and
Winnie-that's my girlfriend, and I wish she were here because
she just loves scientifiction and stories about wizards and
magic. I don't want to spend all my time /ruling/. I just want
to make out with Winnie, and a few other people besides, and
to... to paint, and write songs, and put a 'Commit Senseless
Acts of Kindness and Meaningless Acts of Beauty' sticker on my
aircar."

"We haven't got aircars, but you could have a Muggle
car," Hermione said. "They're sort of like your autosteamers,
only with internal combustion engines."

"Weird! Why? Was your world designed by a
scientifiction writer obsessed with dead-end technologies?"

"I don't think so," Millicent said. "But in our world we
think your world was designed by my cousin. I quite like him,
myself, but there are folk who'd call him something along
those lines."

"Whyever for?" Gwen said. "We don't use any dead-end
technologies."

"Dirigibles," Hermione said.

"Well, they are oldfashioned, but they're so lovely to
fly on. They're comfortable and quiet, and the ride's so
smooth... you can just sit in your stateroom by the window and
watch the landscape go by and kiss your girlfriend."

"But they're not very efficient, and they're slow, and-"
Luna elbowed her.

"You could have a broomstick, Gwen," Ginny said.
"They're lots more fun than a Muggle car!"

"A broomstick? Truly? Like the ones witches ride in
stories? Does everyone have one in your world?"

"Not everyone," Hermione said. "Only magical people can
use them. But you've got fairly high magical potential, and
we'll have to get you a wand, and blackmail Professor
McGonagall into letting you into Hogwarts, so..."

"I think I'd like that," Gwen said. "Would you teach me
how to fly?"

"Sure! Harry and I will," Ginny said.

"So," Gwen said, "this Harry of yours. I have to sleep
with him as well as the four of y'all, do I understand that
correctly?"

"Yes," Ginny said, "but he's quite lovely. It's how
he'll defeat the Dark Lord, in the end. So many sweet, kind,
gorgeous, dangerous girls will fall in love with him that no
one will be able stand against us." She smiled sweetly at
Gwen. "I rather like the idea of making a Harry sandwich with
you. And of watching Hermione and Luna and Millicent make
their own Harry and Gwen sandwiches. And then trying some of
the other combinations."

"I don't know," Gwen said. "I mean... sure, I like the
idea of boys. But they're so gross. Really! Winnie's cousin
Alois has gone into orbit over this Yankee wench. Met her at
a chess tournament, of all things; some fool in Yankeeland
thought we could all learn to be friends and love each other
if we just got young Draka and young Yankees together and they
played games. And some other fool on our side thought it
would be a great way to gather more so-called intelligence and
lull the Yankees into greater complacency.

"So, Alois meets this wench, and they commence to write
back and forth, and then they link up a perscomp channel so
they can 'chat.' And then she introduces Alois to this gods-
curst game called 'Knights and Sorcerers.' And Alois goes
just as orbital for that as for her.

"Some days he wants to start the Final War right now so
he can have her for his very own bedwench. Other days he
wants Winnie to convince me to use my allegedly enormous
influence on Uncle Eric the Archon to have her made a Citizen
so they can marry and have lots of cute little super-superhuman
offspring when they're not defeating the Alliance
and becoming the Unquestioned Evil Overlord and Overlordess of
the Galaxy."

"Well," Ginny said, "Harry's not like that. He's very
cuddly and sweet, and he's never played 'Knights and
Sorcerers.' He likes Quidditch. So do I, actually."

"Quidditch?"

"It's the Wizarding sport," Hermione said. "I could take
it or leave it, myself, but Harry and Ginny are quite obsessed
with it."

"You forgot me, dear Hermione," Millicent said. "I'm
hoping we can make our own Quidditch side. With Harry for
Seeker, and Ginny for a Chaser, and I for a Beater or Keeper.
And I think Gwen would make a lovely Chaser."

"Could you show me?" Gwen said.

"Of course," Luna said, and drew her wand from behind her
ear. "I announced at this game last year, when Ginevra played
Chaser for Gryffindor. Or would you prefer a game between
other Houses, sweet Millicent?"

"Not at all, my dear Luna," Millicent said, stroking
Luna's bare foot. "I rather liked that match. That prat
Malfoy, and those fools Crabbe and Goyle... I should have been
Beater, did you know that? And I wasn't, only because that
stupid ferret wanted his bodyguards on the pitch to protect
his little arse."

The final word and wand-flick of Luna's spell brought the
game to tiny life, as images floating over the table. "Oh
my!" Gwen said. "How magnificent! I must learn to do that."

"Convinced?" Hermione said.

"Well... do you know what will happen at home if I leave?
I do have my duty to think of."

"If you /stay/," Hermione said, "your mother will
start the Final War. And your Tantie-Ma, your surrogate
mother, she'll turn out to be an Alliance intelligence agent
and run off to Alpha Centauri. You'll become Archon, and
marry Alois, but he'll die in a hunting accident and centuries
later you'll wind up stuck on an alternate Earth and trying to
take itover.

"I marry Alois? No way! Let that freak have his
Yankee. But... could I bring Winnie?"

"I think we could manage that, Miz Ingolfsson," Hermione
said.

"Call me Gwen. We are getting married, aftah-all."

"Gwen. I'm sure we could use another Draka in the
family."

Several hours later, Gwen and Winnie having been properly
welcomed, they were all in bed again. "So," Luna said, "who's
next? A barbarian, perhaps? I always did rather fancy Red
Sonja. She always reminded me of someone else."

Ginny glowed. "I'm not so sure about that," Gwen said.
"She sounded awfully thick. And quite exclusively
heterosexual. Not so much like our Ginevra."

"What? You've read Robert E. Howard?" Hermione said.
"Inconceivable!"

"No, only unlikely. Books from alternate universes used
to fall into my grandparents' library, sometimes, when I was
on school holidays. Temporal rebound always snatched them
back in a day or two, but I can read ten thousand words a
minute, when I have to.

"Besides... Red Sonja was in Marvel's Conan /comics/, not
the Howard stories. And a clutch of spin-off novels. Also,
I'm told, an awful movie. But I never saw that, because the
tape wouldn't fit in our player."

Hermione blushed. "Sorry."

"We don't expect you to be /perfect/, Hermione. Just
brilliant, and brave, and a bushy-haired goddess of
seduction..." Gwen eeled her way over Ginny and Millicent to
kiss her on the nose. "And with that, perhaps we should get
back to business?"

Hermione sighed. "I suppose you're right."

"After we woke up," Winnie said, "I started reading this
book /Saber and Shadow/. Shkai'ra and Meghan sound quite
lovely. We might could use an archer, and someone with magic
that's not quite like yours with the wands. And if we need to
fight as horse cavalry, or sneak around in a city and slit
throats, who better could we find?"

"I think you're right about them," Luna said, "but first
we might look at this." She held up a trade paperback,
emblazoned with Japanese characters and drawings of cute, big-
eyed people fighting with each other. "Ranma ½ seems to have
some suitable recruits. Especially if Ranma and Akane do get
married after the end of the last volume."

"I still think it's going to be Ranma and all four
fiancées," Millicent said. "But Kasumi, now, she's got to be
tired of keeping house for her father and that idiot panda.
And we're rather badly in need of a logistics specialist."

*

Petunia Dursley was normal, thank you very much. So was
everyone else in her street, Privet Drive. Not as normal as
Petunia and Vernon and their Dudley, of course, but, then
again, no one was quite perfect, with the exception of Her
Majesty and the dear Queen Mother. Perhaps Mrs. Figg wasn't
quite as normal as the rest, but at least she had the decency
to be well into her seventh decade. Old age pensioners, like
the aristocracy, might safely be allowed a few eccentricities.

Petunia valued the normalcy of her street. And even more
so that of her home. So, she was pleased that this was to be
the last day that her roof would shelter the head of her
ingrate nephew, the one whom she and Vernon had tried to save.
She'd hoped they'd make an accountant of him, or at least a
decent ordinary criminal. How long had she laboured to
correct him? How often had she worried, even prayed for him?

Naturally, she hadn't done so much of the last as to make
a spectacle. Her family were good members of the Church of
England, putting in the appropriate two appearances a year at
the quaint Gothic church in Little Whinging High Street. It
wouldn't do to strain the Good Lord's hospitality by visiting
Him every week, as if He hadn't actual problems to concern
Him.

Such as the horrible creatures who wore freakish clothes,
waved sticks, chanted in Latin, and went about turning teacups
into mice, like Petunia's worthless nephew and her late
misguided sister. And all the other sorts of degraded savages
that unfortunately still inhabited the world, such as the
Irish, tribal Africans, rock musicians, and Americans.

All of which might perhaps be found amongst the crowd
which had appeared in the street a few minutes ago, rendering
it somewhat less quiet and considerably less normal. She
forced her eyes to fall on the nearest of the lot, and
realised that all were... female. Certainly they weren't
ladies. Nor girls. Even "women" seemed too decorous.

Their dress ranged from the overly-covering, in the form
of robes and leather suits and several sorts of metal armour,
to the inadequately-covering, in the form of... best not to go
there. Thank God Dudley was still enjoying his well-earned
slumber, as she'd have been forced to cover his eyes, even
though he was nearly a man grown. All of them seemed to carry
weapons: swords, spears, guns, even large cooking utensils.
Not a one looked to have ever come near a proper hairdresser,
and several had locks of hues that did not belong in nature,
let alone on a human head.

Even worse, at least half were accompanied by animals.
The horses were bad enough. They were necessary for the
Trooping of the Colours, of course, or when ladies and
gentlemen rode to hounds, but surely large, live, dropping-
producing animals had no place in a modern neighbourhood.
The assortment of huge birds, great dogs, giant mice, reindeer,
reptiles, and bizarre mixed-up /things/, however, didn't
belong /anywhere/.

This must all be her nephew's fault. "Harry!!!" Petunia
called. "There's a mob here! And if they've not come to hang
you, you'll regret it! Now come downstairs and let them take
you away! Now, you worthless, stupid, ungrateful boy!"

"Auntie, dear," Harry said, coming down the stairs,
dressed in freakish clothes, his accursed stick in his hand,
"mayn't I take a moment more, to bid adieu to the fond abode
of my childhood memories?" She would have slapped him for his
cheek, but today he was an adult, according to the freaks'
laws, and able to use his vile arts wherever he pleased. God
alone knew what he might do now, with that last small
restraint on his wickedness removed.

"Out, boy! And tell those creatures to be gone."

He opened the door. And paused for a moment, apparently
surprised at the scene. "Ginny? Luna? Hermione? What is
going on?"

The three nearest the door threw themselves at him.
Petunia hoped they didn't intend on carrying out some
disgusting ritual in her front garden. Or, if they must, that
at least they would be gone before Mrs. Bouquet next door
noticed. She bolted the door and wedged a chair beneath the
knob, just in case, before heading for the kitchen and the
bottle of sherry.

"Harry! Our leader! Our husband! Command us!" came the
shout from outside, a score of voices or more. Petunia
shuddered with horror at her sudden terrible realisation.
"First to bed, and then to victory!"

Instead of the sherry, she reached for Vernon's scotch.
It wasn't very ladylike, but she needed the additional
alcohol. At least a water-glass-full of it.
*

Well... I was thinking about the "Harry/Harem" genre of fanfic
a while ago. Know the sort I mean? Harry winds up with five or
seven girls willingly sharing him, learns exotic magicks that
make him the deadliest warrior the Wizarding World has seen since
the time of Merlin, then proceeds to wipe out Voldemort and
generally kick arse.

I actually like some of them, but... well, when I thought about
what might happen if the notion were taken to its logical extreme,
this is what fell out of my head.

Thanks for reading through to the end!