Across the British Isles, a blood red dawn streaked the sky. A stiff north-east wind snapped banners, standards and flags taut throughout the day. Cresting high tides slapped jetties and threatened to pull apart piers and pilings as the sun started its downward journey to late afternoon. The rumble of thunder shook the earth. The crack of lightening seared the cloudless sky.

Londoners, Scots, Welsh and Irish kept their windows locked, doors barricaded and marketplaces vacant. Children did not cry. Men did not begrudge staying indoors. Women were quiet.

Muggle or wizard, squib or witch did not matter. All were aware that the building blocks of life: earth, fire, wind and water were turmoil. That the four elements and the secrets they carried were now the instruments of survival and conquest.

Riders clad in leather pulled the reins tight on the bits forced deep into the dragons' mouths. Dipping and swooping, the downdrafts from their wings knocked Death Eaters, werewolves and other Dark allies off their feet. Smoke, stench, swirling dirt and the ugliness of battle came into sharp focus as his dragon's belly nearly scraped the ground before climbing to the sky again. A sudden flick of the animal's tail had him turning in his saddle. A masked, robed figure slid off one of the longer spikes at the base of the beast's tail, leaving a discernable smear. Tumbling a hundred feet to the field below, his cries were swallowed by the wind that made the air currents treacherous to navigate. A red-haired man pulled his dragon's head to the left and began an upward spiral. Levelling off, he waited. Within moments, eight more dragons and their riders were fanned out behind him. A wicked gleam shone in his eyes. Calling out his command, he turned his head into the wind and set his heels into the flanks of his dragon. Primal and powerful, the animal surged forward. This time, he pulled the creature to the right. Diving once again, all nine dragons plummeted. Their wings all but completely folded flat against their bodies. Glancing around him, he lifted his hand and then let it fall: mimicking their leader, all reins fell slack against the dragon's necks. The ground was rushing up at him and adrenaline thrummed through Charlie's veins as he heard the bit clank freely inside the animal's mouth and he felt the ribcage of his dragon expand and swell. Leaning forward, clutching onto the spiny mane and gripping the saddle with his thighs, his eyes sparked with anticipation. Grit flew into his mouth. The sound of curses – magical and explicative – roared in his ears. The snapping of eighteen wings unfolding pulled a war-cry from the nine riders as they glided over enemy lines. Fire spewed from the dragons they incinerated everything left, right and centre. The beast's deep breaths transformed the Riddle family fields into a hell on earth.

Feeling the beast completely exhale, Charlie snatched up the reins and gave them a practiced flip which secured the bit – and retainer – firmly in the animal's mouth. A certain tension settled over the animal as they once again sought the sanctuary of the sky. The ability to produce fire had once again been capped. Clapping the dragon on its neck, knowing full well that the scales would send the vibrations of his touch to the sensitive receptors, he conveyed his gratitude and respect.

Looking behind him, seven out of eight of his comrades took up formation. Scanning the fray below, it was a moment before he saw a sight that turned his stomach. A blinded Short Snout, trailing a nearly severed wing, was being taunted by a pack of snarling werewolves as it defended the mangled body of its rider. Shallow breaths and brief spurts of fire told him what happened. It had been hit with a Conjuctivus Curse. Unable to see, the dragon nicked the ground, crashed and broke some ribs in the fall, crushing the rider in the process.

Steeling his face, Charlie un-strapped his wand from his thigh and pointed at the flagging dragon. Timing the words Incendio Inflamare with the split second the dragon converted breath to flame, the creature, the rider and a vicious werewolf burst into flames.

Turning away from the sight of the burning carcass, Charlie re-sheathed his wand and pulled the reins to the left. The chill of high altitude bit through his protective leather gear. Hovering safely behind D.A. and Phoenix lines, he waited.

Ron's plan may work after all…