I'd say this kind of thing has probably been done already, but this is just a stupid idea I had a bit ago, and I figured it might work. Have a read if you want.
It was a cold night. The moon periodically peered from behind the clouds, as though aware of the dark nature of what was soon to occur, and fearful of being seen by those assembled on the ground. The huge and luxurious manor house squatted on a hill, where lights shone out like feral eyes, ever watchful for potential intruders. Outside its hedge; a small and strangely unimposing lane wound around the mansion, bordered by an ugly pile of scrambled brambles.
The two men materialised from nowhere, pivoting into an alert stance and jerking wands towards each other's throats, and, recognising each other, calmed a little. They lowered their wands, stowing them carefully away, before turning in the road and walking towards the massive gates. They began to mutter to each other in careful, confidential tones. One of them, a man with long, dark, greasy black hair, with a nose hooked like the beak of some predatory bird, gave a curious glance at the wad of thorns beside them, where some animalistic instinct seemed to direct that danger lay. Seeing nothing, he began to stroll again, with a little more speed in his stride, and the other man had to jog a few steps to catch up. They both gave an odd, straight armed salute, and passed through the gate as through it were made of air. They began to move up the drive, where one of the men, a tall and ugly being, paused to scoff at a white peacock that marched along the top of the hedge.
Black figures rose from the brambles, their green-tinted vision centred on the men that had entered the grounds. They moved as one, scuttling forward in an unnatural manner, and in their minds was a blank determination, a machine like concentration on their one and only mission. Snape seemed to realise, for he trusted his instincts and had never relaxed since he had arrived, that he was in some danger. He began to turn, vaguely reaching to his side. There was two flashes of white light, and he jerked, his neck snapping, and then fell in a pathetic heap into the dust. Yaxley's mouth opened to utter a gasp of surprise, before there was another flash, and he too went down. Two of the figures detached themselves from the group, and placed something that looked like a fat white parcel on the gates. The group retreated, waiting expectantly. One of them muttered, and his companion nodded. A second later, there was a retort, where white flames and black smoke punched the gates inward, spinning them into the grounds like giant ninja stars. Almost before they had stopped grinding themselves into the grass, the group had moved inside…
The explosion did not go unnoticed in the mansion. At a long wooden table in a room off the main hall, figures leapt from their chairs, eyes cast to the ceiling as though hoping it might give them some answer to the commotion. There was a small silence, as they glanced towards the man (if he was a man) at the head of the table for instruction. He alone had not jumped to his feet, seemingly unconcerned at the idea of any potential danger. He gazed lazily at the fat snake he was stroking that lay in his lap.
"My lord," sputtered a defeated looking blonde man, who failed to catch Voldemort's eyes "Should we-Should we check the-"
"You doubt my powers?" The pale man answered "One cannot apparate into this house, I ensured so personally. Neither could they get through the gates or past the other barriers. There is no sorcerer with magic to rival mine, Lucius. Does none of you possess any… Faith?" He sounded like he was only pretending to be offended, but it still caused several of those gathered to flinch, and one or two made movements to sit back down to pretend they hadn't stood. He sighed as though experiencing a long and frustrating period in his life.
"If all of you are so worried… Then…" he paused "Bellatrix, Dollohov, Rookwood…" he pointed out several more at the table "Go outside and search for our colleagues. They're late" The selected sorcerers moved wordlessly from the room, though one of the women with a heap of black, tangled hair gave him a reproachful look, as though upset at being sent from his side. They trouped out into the hall, and began to walk toward the door, where the woman, Bellatrix seemed to take charge, stalking in front with a casual air of superiority. The others trouped behind her, seeming unwilling to upset this hierarchy, either due to fear or simply because it was easier that way. She threw the door open and marched out onto the lawn with an uneven stride, as though drunk, her hands waving erratically through the air.
"That slimy… Slippery…" she hissed, seemingly to herself "Hopefully he's drowned. Or been stung to death by bees. Or been mauled by a chimera. Or fallen of a broomstick. Or splinched himself into a chimera nest-" She seemed to approve of this solution, and stared around, as though expecting signs of this scenario to appear before her eyes. It was only then that she saw the two lumps that lay crumpled in the road. She plunged her hand into her pocket, her mouth twisting in a snarl, a savage incantation already rising from her throat for whatever it was that was attacking them. That was when it happened.
For the Death Eaters, there were few enemies that were to be considered, even less to be wary of, and barely any to be respected. Only aurors and perhaps a member of the Order of the Phoenix caused any concern among them. This was their greatest flaw. They underestimated too much. That which they did not know, they ignored. They tormented certain people and creatures only after being careful that they were too weak to strike back, for each Death Eater, though they would refuse to admit it, was a coward at heart. And yet, finally, an enemy that no one in the magical world could have expected, had finally had enough.
The muggle government had been busy in this last year. Posting wanted pictures of Voldemort's supporters in airports and other public areas, though labelling them terrorists of the Global Liberation Army, they had eventually tracked down the man known Lucius Malfoy to this house. After weeks of observation, and monitoring the conversations of the murderers going in and out of the manor (for some strange reason their equipment failed within its grounds) they had selected this night for their revenge. For although the non-magical people of the world had yet to learn to make inanimate objects fly, or disappear, they had made advances in warfare and violence the like of which no wizard had ever had to witness. Until now. The muggles had sent their best. The SAS had arrived.
Three of the seven men were armed with MP5 sub-machine guns, equipped with silencers and laser sights. Two more were armed with M249 Squad Automatic Weapons, or SAWs, heavy belt fed guns that would soon eat through the heavy ammunition boxes that hung at their belts. The last man within the grounds carried an MP7, but also a massive cylindrical object on his back. It was long, with several raised edges and one side it was rather flat. This was the men's ace in the hole. Apart from…
Then the enemy began to move from the house. The team leader raised a fist, and the group sank to the ground, levelling their weapons.
Bellatrix had her mouth open when the two M249s opened up, ripping her skin and robes to shreds. Not releasing the triggers, the two machine-gunners raked the death eaters with a deafening hail of deadly bullets, and they scattered, several tumbling and falling with terrible wails of agony before the more accurate bursts from the MP5s ended their lives. The SAS had the advantage of surprise, and were told to prepare for anything. Their briefing had informed them that these men and women possessed some sort of super weapon, that, should the enemy gain the upper hand, would render them somehow invincible, and they had instructions to retreat at that point. Most of the Death Eaters outside were dead by now, and those that had gained cover were going down rapidly. Any cover they could find, like a stone pillar, which might have protected them from spells, was soon torn apart by the armour piercing rounds. Rookwood gave a howl, and attempted to scamper back into the house for safety, before something smashed into his jaw. Forgetting the danger, he reached toward his face, for where he could no longer feel his mouth. He felt aware that blood was pumping from his shredded upper lip onto his hands. Something else impacted his back and he felt his legs instantly go numb, and he hit the dirt.
The Death Eaters attempted to fight back. They cast repeated killing curses into the grounds, but every time one of them poked their heads from behind cover, bullets ripped into their faces if they did not instantly withdraw. The death eaters could only manage a spell every second, and they were inaccurate, hasty attacks, whereas the SAS bursts could unload several rounds in an accurate instant. Though it seemed to last an age, the conflict lasted only about a minute.
Inside the house, even Voldemort's calm demeanour had changed. The death eaters were moving into a wad at the door, and then swarmed into the main hall. They sprinted to the windows, sending out random busts of energy from their wands into the night where the sounds of battle sill emitted. Outside, the SAS had dealt with the last of the Death Eaters, with only one casualty. One of the MP5 users had been hit with some blast, and he lay paralysed in the grass, eyes still moving and full of fear. Though they seemed to be winning the conflict, none of them liked the way the enemies weapons worked, and had no desire to be caught alive. They turned their weapons towards the house itself, where they could see more enemies gathered beside the windows, firing from cover in a haphazard manner. One of the SAWs clicked as it fired its last round, and the others kept up a barrage of bullets in attempt to keep the enemies at bay as the man holding it desperately reloaded. The Death Eaters, regaining their sense of purpose, angered at being beaten let out a surge of simultaneous spells out into the night and the SAS men were forced to scramble away. As they were distracted, unable to keep up the suppressive fire, the Death Eaters began dashing outside.
As the battle began tipping in the Death Eaters favour, the leader gave a single nod, and the man with the tubular object on his back swung it into position on his shoulders. He aimed for a second, and flicked a switch atop the cylinder. The AT4 fired with a thud, heat and vapour washing over the man's back. The rocket swished gracefully into the open doorway over the shoulder of Lucius Malfoy. He had barely turned by the time it impacted on the far wall. They was a concussive whump sound, as the house's front was blasted outwards with a roar of flame, twisting smoke, spinning masonry and shattering glass. The Death Eaters inside were evaporated, the ones outside had their skeletons shattered by the force of the blast. They crashed into the dirt with horrific force, chunks of rock cannoning into their backs, glass slashing into their faces and scalps. Even as they fell, more bullets stormed towards their position, cutting into their motionless and rag-clad forms. For a few seconds, there was only the sound of thumping of tumbling, falling rubble, and the crackle of gunfire. Then, slowly, even that faded out to leave a ringing silence.
The SAS men paused, taking the time to reload. They knew that their enemies were resourceful and probably not above feigning their death to draw them nearer. Their team member who had been suffering from paralysis suddenly found he could move, and they could only assume whatever technology had been keeping him still had been destroyed in the blast. For a few moments, they waited. When nothing happened, they slowly approached the house. Their feet scrunched across the perfectly kept lawn, crushing chunks of rubble. They began to split up wandering to the nearest body, and ensuring it never moved again with a quick burst. It was over.
The pile of shattered wall at the front of the house blasted up into the air, as a lone figure hovered upward into their midst. Instantly, they all opened fire, their weapons filling the air with a storm of lead. But this time their weapons did nothing, the rounds ricocheting against some invisible bubble that curled around their final target. One flung a carefully timed grenade, and it exploded only a few moments after being repelled from the shield. A blast of light ripped through the night and shrapnel struck outwards, though it had no impact on the hovering man. He had a snakelike appearance, with red eyes, with slits like some nocturnal reptile, wearing some black robe that billowed around him though there was no breeze. This man was obviously wielding the weapon that they had been warned of.
"Fall back!" yelled the squad leader, dropping an expended magazine and reaching for another "Fall ba-"
Again, there was a huge blast of light and power, only this time it was the SAS men that spun into the air, their weapons shattering, equipment scattering into the darkness. The team leader, known only as Axe, saw his squad go down, and in that instant he realised that they had been too confident. The ease at which he and his team had been thrown about like rag-dolls made him realise that they were dealing with something he had never even imagined. Some technology he couldn't understand existed, it was decades, nay, centuries ahead of anything he knew of. His head was ringing, and suddenly, his body wouldn't obey him. He felt himself leave the ground, frozen, as the white-skinned man stepped lightly toward him, as though he had barely noticed an inconvenience in his day. This casual acceptance of the death of his closest and most loyal of followers was more frightening than rage, the man so desensitized to death that his only emotion seemed to be one of idle curiosity. They hung in the air, as the pale man stalked forward, the wand emitting a sickly yellow light:
"When I was a boy…" Voldemort said quietly "I learned about one of your wars, you know. A massive conflict, one which even we wizards had difficulty understanding. I know about your weapons. Crude, projectile based things…" he kicked a fragment of MP5 out of his way "But more effective than I thought. My servants never studied any of your ways, muggle, we felt no need. But I… I had no choice. And it was saved me." He laughed, an evil, high-pitched sound that had little mirth. He jerked his wand, and the six men fell to the ground. He levelled it at the leaders face "No matter" he continued "I have loyal followers elsewhere worthy of promotion, my fight is not over. But you…" he laughed again "You have lost. You put up a better fight than I could have imagined… I must say I almost enjoyed it-"
There was a small pop, and Voldemort's head jerked backward as the round entered just under his eye, ripping through his cranium and punching a hole out the other side. He keeled over backwards, and sprawled on the grass. At the gate, the final SAS man held an Accuracy International Arctic Warfare sniper rifle, the barrel smoking as he ejected the spent cartridge from his weapon.
"Target down," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else…
The prime minister sat at his desk, watching the fire dance in the corner. The room was filled with a flickering light that cast the huge paintings hanging on the walls in and out of twisting shadows. His hand hovered above the telephone, as he chewed his lip nervously. The phone rang, and he snatched it up instantly, obviously expecting the call.
"Progress report?" he said.
"Sir, the targets are down, we've taken out their leader and are returning their weapons for further study. The target building has been levelled with high explosives"
"Good" said the Prime Minister, smiling for the first time that month "That'll teach 'em to wreck my bridge,"