"Shite," Charlie breathed.

Rooted to the front landing, Charlie stood gobsmacked as chaos unfolded before him. One troll battered the Whomping Willow with its club. Splinters and branches flew with each sickening crack. The other monster rained blows down on the Quidditch pitch. The bleachers should disintegrate like kindling, but somehow they resisted.

Hagrid tumbled out the doors behind Charlie. "Two!"

"The students must have cast a shield."

Adrian, tall and slender, pointed his wand in the direction of the pitch. He could have been commenting on the weather—which was shite if anyone cared—but his knuckles were white and his wand in danger of being snapped in half. Charlie chose to concentrate on his fellow professor's tone. It helped keep the panic, thick with squirming tentacles, from climbing up his throat.

"Adrian," Neville marched out the door, stabbing his wand in the direction of his fellow professor. "Get busy reinforcing those wards around the castle. Charlie, Hagrid and I will keep this troll distracted while you head out to the pitch. Do your best until I can send reinforcements."

The paunchy, cardigan-wearing professor hurried down the steps without glancing behind him. The scars on each cheek were faded now making it easy to forget Neville Longbottom had once led Dumbledore's Army. He'd even had the unpleasant duty of issuing orders to Ginny. Charlie wouldn't mistake Neville for mild-mannered again.

Shaking himself, Charlie raced down the steps and over the slick grass away from the castle. He had a job to do.

It had been a long time since he was a full-time dragon keeper. He'd accrued enough good will with his old boss to earn an open invitation to play at it every summer in a limited capacity. Sergei liked to laugh over Charlie's rusty skills. Still, facing a two-ton, fire-breathing reptile was a walk in the park compared with the job ahead of him. It wasn't the troll—Charlie could handle trolls—it was the danger posed to Pax.

oOo

The troll's roar rattled the windows high above the Hospital Wing. Alicia, clipboard in hand, allowed herself one glance. She pointed her wand at the supply cabinet and an enamel bucket of rolled bandages floated out. St. Mungo's had promised a medi-witch as soon as one became available. The hospital seemed to be experiencing its own emergency.

The next roar came from further away, but that gave Alicia no relief. She settled the bucket on the table along with the other supplies she'd gathered for potential casualties. With any luck, she wouldn't need any of it, much less the promised medi-witch.

"Do you need any assistance?"

Madam Pince stood in the archway. The ancient librarian was shriveled, her iron gray hair pulled into a tight bun atop her head. A pair of pince-nez was perched at the end of her pointy nose. Over the last year, Alicia had become accustomed to calling Professors McGonagall and Flitwick by their Christian names, but Madam Pince was still Madam Pince. Not even Minerva called her "Irma."

"Do you have any experience with healing charms and potions?" Alicia asked.

The librarian's hands were clasped before her, her elbows at stiff angles. "I've read about them, yes."

Alicia summoned a second clipboard and self-inking quill, offering them to the elderly witch. "Hopefully casualties will be minimal, but I do need someone to keep a list of patients and their ailments."

"Of course." Madam Pince took the clipboard with a sniff. "Orderly papers are important to any successful enterprise."

Alicia tried for a smile, but it felt more like a grimace. She turned on her heel and marched over to the supply cabinet in order to retrieve the last item on her list. With great care, she pulled the tray of dittany bottles from the shelf, the clink of glass against glass overly loud in the cavernous Hospital Wing.

"Roooaaarrrr!"

Retracing her steps, Alicia's hands tightened around the tray in the instant before the explosion. The castle shook. Alicia pitched forward, banging her shin against the metal frame of a bed. She flung out one hand, the tray tipping. Her foot caught on the leg of the bed and she tumbled to the stone floor. The tray arced through the air, the bottles crashing on the flagstone and shattering. Alicia landed hard on her hip and the tray skidded under the neighboring bed.

"Madam Spinnet-Pucey!"

Alicia sucked in a breath. For a moment she stayed down, both hands braced on the floor, and her eyes squeezed shut. Time warped, it whirled around her so fast she couldn't catch her breath, and yet it felt an eternity. It felt like she was still falling.

"Give me a moment, please."

The oaken rafters groaned overhead. Pain radiated in waves from her hip. Alicia balled one hand, nestling it against her abdomen. No matter how many years or how much happiness separated Alicia from the war, the fear of losing her loved ones never fully left her. It lurked, marrow deep, in her bones, waiting to steal her peace. Where was her husband?

No. Stop right there.

There wasn't time to wallow in the past or worry about the future. There was work to be done. Alicia blew out the breath she'd been holding. She took another one, slow and steady, and blew it out again. She opened her eyes. A layer of dust covered the floor and beds. Greenish smoke wafted from the brown puddles on the floor. Muddy stains blossomed on the white blankets. Glass winked everywhere. Her hip hurt, but nothing else.

Standing, Alicia brushed her hands down her apron. What happened outside the castle walls was out of her control. However, she could manage what happened inside the Hospital Wing and she controlled her own response. There would be patients soon, if the violence of the last blow meant anything. Probably sooner than they could clean up this mess. At the very least, the glass and potion needed to be vanished. She'd need more dittany, too.

Right. Work would save her.

"Madam Pince." Alicia was already limping away. "Please clean up this mess, I just need to pop into the storeroom for a tic."

oOo

"Oi, Pucey! Watch out!"

Adrian flattened himself against the stone wall of the castle. The whoosh of the troll's club stole his breath as it swung by. Hagrid was waving his arms and yelling at the troll while Neville blasted hexes at its ankles and feet. The thing roared and shook its club above its head, still too close to Hogwarts for comfort. Pulling oxygen back into his lungs, Adrian stepped away from the wall. He'd only reinforced the wards on a fraction of the castle.

Hexes pinged in the dirt by Adrian's feet.

"Away from the bloody castle!"

From the front steps, Jerome Snowe and Electa Edwards' stunning spells went wildly awry. As professors of Arithmancy and Astronomy, respectively, neither of them were skilled duelist nor did they know the first thing about trolls. They were more likely to take out another teacher than hit a twelve foot tall opponent.

"Snowe!" Adrian jerked his wand at the two professors. "Edwa—Bloody! Nev!"

The troll lumbered by the edge of Adrian's vision with its club in half-swing. Pivoting, Adrian pointed his wand at the castle.

"Protego!"

He wasn't close enough or fast enough.

The club smashed into Gryffindor tower with a deafening bang. Rock and glass exploded. The ground quaked and Adrian was pitched to his knees. Screams tinkled out of the gaping hole. The troll shook its club above its head, making a strange, gurgling whistle. Neville and Hagrid were already running towards it.

The troll swung.

Adrian's wand slashed through the air. "Impedimenta!"

Frozen in mid-swing, Neville hit the troll with a Knock-back jinx. It stumbled back and Neville hit it again and again. Adrian rushed into the space created by the Head of Gryffindor and cast a shield over the cavity in the castle wall. It would keep the students from falling to their death and slow the troll if it intended to take another whack at the walls.

"Well, this is a pickle."

Adrian glanced down to find Rolanda Hooch, her hair perpetually windblown and skin leathery. How many students were still in Gryffindor tower? Surely most of them had been evacuated by now. Regardless, Adrian feared Alicia would soon have patients.

"Need a wand?" Rolanda asked.

"Reinforce the wards on this section of castle," Adrian instructed. "I'll press Jerome and Electra into duty as well."

oOo

Bright lights exploded next to the troll's head. It screamed, reaching for the disintegrating sparkles. A lasso flew out the tip of Charlie's wand and looped around the troll's club. Charlie dug his heels in and yanked on the rope only to be torn from the ground. The bellowing troll swung the club. The world whirled past Charlie's eyes in the seconds before he smacked into the shield surrounding the Quidditch pitch. The magic crackled against Charlie's back as he slid off the shield onto the spongy ground.

I'm getting too old for this.

Everything was going to hurt tomorrow, but there was no time to dwell. Groaning, Charlie rolled away from another swing of that bloody club. The shield was battered. Holes gaped in its shimmering dome. Another hit and the shield would disintegrate.

Getting to his feet, Charlie hit the troll with a series of stinging hexes. It wailed, flailing its club. At this point, Charlie had only one goal—keep the damned thing distracted until help arrived.

Racing behind the troll, Charlie aimed a Bombarda charm at its feet. Dirt and grass exploded into the air. The troll yelped, stumbling forward. Charlie did it again, hoping to force the troll away from the Quidditch pitch. He hadn't seen Pax or any of the other members of Gryffindor's team, but suspected they were close. If they had a shred of sense, they'd be hiding in the changing rooms below ground.

The next Bombarda hit the troll in the shin.

It screamed, clutching its leg and hopping around. Time slowed as the troll lost its balance, arms flailing, and fell. Charlie scrambled out the way as the troll crashed through the shield and onto the walls surrounding the pitch. The ground quaked, tossing Charlie into the air along with dirt and splinters. He landed several feet away and rolled onto his side.

Panting, Charlie stared at the troll as it stumbled to its feet and brought a crashing blow down on the arch leading to the changing rooms.

oOo

The walls shook. Dust and bits of rock rained into Roxy's springy curls. She covered her head, her screams drowned out by the percussion of blows against the Quidditch pitch above. The troll must be right on top of the changing rooms. What if it broke through the ceiling? Roxy snuffled and wiped her face against Rory's chest.

The two of them were huddled into the corner by the lockers. The Beaters and Melinda were huddled under a table on the opposite side of the room. Pax was crouched near the other locker bay, sticking his head around the corner every few moments, probably watching for Bobby who hadn't been seen since the team got underground. A purple haze of fear clogged Roxy's brain—she didn't like to admit it, but she was so scared her bones felt like jelly—but a niggling worry wormed through.

"Where's Bobby?"

"Right there."

Roxy pried herself away from Rory's jersey to see Bobby striding around the locker bay with his crimson Quidditch robes trailing behind him. Just for a tiny second, she forgot she'd known him her entire life and that he was a humorless git. She also forgot her general disdain for all boys in general. There was something reassuring about the wave of Bobby's brown hair and grim frown.

"Everybody, huddle together," Bobby yelled, waving his arms in a wide arc to herd the team into the middle of the changing rooms.

The other team members crawled across the floor, but Roxy couldn't make her legs move.

"C'mon, Rox." Rory's fingers hooked under her armpits as he half-dragged her out of their corner.

Another gigantic blow rattled the changing rooms. Plaster sprayed down, the floor bucked beneath Roxy's feet. The candles flickered. Roxy whimpered. Please stay lit. Please stay lit. Total blackness smothered Roxy and she screamed.

"Move, Rox." Rory was still half-pushing, half dragging her across the floor.

"Lumos Maxima."

Bluish light cast shadows against the walls, and Bobby was visible standing between two benches, his wand held aloft. Another blow rattled the rafters. Roxy grappled with her courage. George would be so ashamed of her—freezing like an ickle baby. Even Mum's eyebrows would have something to say about Roxy's behavior. Freddie didn't bare thinking about. You're a Gryffindor and a Weasley. Act like it! She forced one foot forward at the same time another blow shook the walls. And another. And another. The lockers toppled over with a clanging crash. Rory pushed Roxy away, but she still fell, cracking her elbow and chin on the stone floor. Her leg pinned by something more ungainly than heavy.

Pain blossomed in Roxy's face, and it felt like her teeth had been rattled loose. She peered over her shoulder to see what trapped her leg. Now the tremors were inside her body, trying to shake all her bones apart. The cries seemed to start in her chest and burst out in short, keening wails. Roxy's foot was trapped under Rory's arm. Only his dark head and shoulders were visible, the rest of him pinned under a metal locker.

"Rory!"

"Shite!" Bobby skidded to his brother's side, falling to his knees. He glared at her, his eyes wet, and snarled, "Shut it, Roxy!"

She did. Her lips sealed shut, her breath trapped inside her burning lungs.

oOo

Wind lashed Minerva's aged face with chilly fingers. Stone, timber, and broken furniture lay between the Headmistress and the gaping hole in Gryffindor tower's mighty walls. She couldn't begin to calculate the number of times she'd stood in this very common room, but it must number into the thousands. Maybe more. Her favorite spot as a student was the tartan chair nearest the window. A lamp stood beside it, casting the perfect amount of light for doing her assigned reading. It was also exceedingly comfortable with its beaten down cushions and worn soft velvet. Of course, Minerva hadn't been the only one with a preference for that particular spot. She had to be particularly crafty to beat Augusta Longbottom, née Fawley, to the chair each night.

Perhaps Minerva should write Augusta to inform her of the chair's demise, as well as the lamp's and window's, or perhaps not. The old cow wasn't one for sentimentality, but then, neither was Minerva. It was shameful to mourn the end of a chair, of all things, when students had been injured.

"Merlin's pants!"

Filius picked his way through the rubble, eyes sweeping the wreckage. Ravenclaw tower had been destroyed during the Battle of Hogwarts. They'd rebuilt, of course, but Minerva understood the grief her friend had felt a bit better.

What was she doing? Minerva shook herself. Really! This was no time for lollygagging. Pulling out her wand, Minerva performed a Homenum Revelio. The charm swooped up each stairwell and back again within moments.

Minerva gasped.

oOo

An unconscious girl floated at the end of Minerva's wand.

"We found Miss Sedgewick under some rubble in her dorm room," the Headmistress said. "Her breathing is shallow and pulse weak."

"Third bed," Alicia instructed, kneeling beside Mr. Averill in bed one. His diagnostic spell revealed no internal injuries, but a concussion and broken arm, both of which she healed. Alicia summoned a purple vial containing essence of foxglove. "Take this for the pain. I'll administer Skelo-Gro when I can monitor you more closely."

Injured Gryffindors lined the walls of the Hospital Wing, clinging to one another and crying. Alicia limped to Miss Sedgewick's side, a stiff ache in her hip and lower back. She would need to attend to her own injuries, but not yet. Pulling back Miss Sedgewick's eyelid, Alicia flashed her wand in the girl's eye.

"Is this the last of them?" she asked Minerva.

"For now," the Headmistress answered, frowning.

Alicia felt a hand on her shoulder and a firm squeeze, but focused on her patient.

oOo

Vines poked out of the dirt at the base of the troll's feet, climbed its legs, and wound around its waist. The troll bellowed and thrashed, but the vines tightened. It was beautiful magic.

"Plants?" Adrian shouted.

Something approximating a grin flashed across Neville's face. "It's what I know best."

The troll swung its club at the suffocating vegetation and bashed itself in the leg. It howled in pain and took another swing, clobbering itself in the head. The eyes crossed, and it swayed on its feet.

"We got this," Neville yelled over his shoulder to Adrian. "Go help Charlie."

Adrian made a wide arc around the troll, still writhing against the vines. The grass was still dewy slick under his feet, but the clear autumn sun had burned away the fog. More than twenty yards separated the castle and the Quidditch pitch. Adrian ran every one, his lungs burning in his chest. Red and purple jets exploded from the end of Charlie Weasley's wand. Blood oozed from cuts and gashes in the trolls hide as it raged at the professor. Its club swiped through the air. Charlie leapt away at the last moment.

"Need a hand?" Adrian said. Breath puffed out of his heaving chest, sweat staining his armpits, black hair plastered to his forehead. He aimed a stunning spell at the troll. Their hide wasn't as thick as a giants', a stunner could work but it had to be aimed precisely between the eyes. Adrian's charm pinged, useless, off the troll's cheek.

"Where's bloody Creature Control?" Charlie demanded.

Excellent question. Beyond the troll, half the Quidditch pitch was demolished. Shattered stone, splintered lumber, crimson and blue banners muddied and shredded in the dirt. Adrian swallowed. The tunnel leading into the changing rooms was collapsed.

"Where is the Gryffindor team?" Adrian asked.

Charlie's wand wavered. He dragged his gaze away from the troll to stare at his fellow professor. Charlie's eyes were dry, but his expression stricken. There was a sickening cramp in Adrian's stomach. He didn't glance at the pitch again. He didn't need to. The ruins were burned into his mind's eye. Robert Wood was his best student—tactical and determined. Adrian tried to put faith in that singular mind.

What will I tell Alicia if….

The blow came in that instant of distraction. One moment, Adrian was contemplating the fate of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, the next he was flying through the air. He landed hard in the dirt, what oxygen left in his lungs whooshed out of him. There was a split-second of bleary disorientation before pain exploded in Adrian's arm.

oOo

Charlie shook his head to clear the fuzziness from his brain. Blinking, he saw Adrian sprawled on the grass several yards away. The troll. Where was the troll? Charlie looked around, seeing the beast shaking its club in the air and bellowing his victory.

Picking himself off the ground (every muscle in his middle-aged body was going to hurt by nightfall), he dashed to Adrian's side. The other professor was conscious, and cursing a blue streak. Adrian's left arm lay at an unnatural angle.

"I didn't know you blue-blooded types knew such colorful language."

Adrian gritted his teeth. "Help…me…up."

Gripping his good arm, Charlie hauled the other man out of the dirt. Adrian swayed on his feet, his face ashen. The injured arm hung at his side. It was a matter of moments before the troll noticed them again, but the only cover was the Quidditch pitch. Charlie would not lead the troll back that direction.

Charlie cast a shield charm around himself and his mate. "Are you up to this?"

Sweat was beading on Adrian's forehead, his teeth clenched so hard Charlie feared he might crack one, but Adrian nodded. "I'm…all…you've got."

The club hung at the troll's side as it sniffed the air. Mountain trolls were half-blind—it was what made them so dangerous and mean—but they had a keen sense of smell and even keener sense of vengeance. The longer Charlie and Adrian stood in the open, doing nothing, the more danger they were in.

"Any bright ideas?" Charlie asked.

"Stunners," Adrian said between gasps. "Double strength."

There were tears in Adrian's eyes, and Charlie doubted the other man's ability to aim worth a damn in his condition. Still, it wasn't like there were many options left. Charlie had done everything he could to distract the troll, and it still bashed in the Quidditch pitch. For all Charlie knew, the changing rooms may have caved in and the kids were running out of oxygen.

"You have to hit it right between the eyes," Charlie said.

Adrian nodded. "Get its…attention."

Squaring his position, Charlie dropped the shield charm. The troll was lumbering about, still sniffing the air. Charlie let out an ear-splitting whistle and watched as the troll froze, turned, and stalked towards the two wizards.

"When he's ten feet from us," Charlie shouted.

The troll roared.

"I promised...my wife…no unnecessary risks."

"Well, I won't tell her if you don't." Charlie clutched his wand with both hands. "Now!"