Chapter 9: The Siege of Azkaban

Written By: The Black Hart

In the Para Bellum Dimension…

Accompanied by their quick thinking cohorts, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, the Weasley twins were the last to appear within the bounds of Azkaban prison. To call the scene chaos was an understatement. The vice like grip of the nearby Dementors' presence latched tightly to them from the moment they had breathed in Azkaban's air, and the claustrophobia of the sensation was not helped by the cacophony of movement and noise that surrounded them. All around them, Aurors milled about as fast as their legs would carry them, shouting orders and updates to unseen allies far above or below them. Some carried rocks in their hands of various shaped and sizes, the purpose of which was unknown but clearly important as all of these men and women were given wide berths and clear paths. There was not one among them that did not have their wand out and none moved without purpose.

Blankly, the four teenagers realized they had entered into a siege.

"Bloody hell!" The baritone of the voice was familiar to the four of them, but it was clunky thud of his wooden leg on the stone floor that told them who was approaching. "Can I expect the whole of Magical England to be joining us tonight!? Are you four the last coming!?"

The four children blinked owlishly at the man. To see the other Sirius had been one thing - there had been no extremely discernible differences between the two besides, perhaps, a healthier palette - but this Mad-Eye was something entirely different. He bore all the same markings of the man they had known now for the past few months - the wooden leg, the scarred nose, the cranky disposition and, of course, the magical eye - but he was old. Very old. His hair, or what remained of it, was snow white and even the magically preserved eye whizzing about in its socket looked a bit dimmer.

Mad-Eye rolled his good eye and leaned on his staff. "They make 'em bright over here, don't they?" he grumbled. "I said are you the last one's coming or aren't you!?"

Hermione managed to find her voice. "We're the last ones we think, sir."

Mad-Eye grunted. "It'll have to do." His magical eye focused hard on Ron, even as he began stalking off down the stairs. "You! Make yourself useful! Top floor! Tell them to set the wards! We aren't expecting more friendlies!"

Ron was prepared to dart off, more out of fear of this older, harsher Moody than out of any real understanding of what was happening, but Mad-Eye had already turned back around, grumbling harshly too himself. "Second thought," the magical eye whizzed directly upward even as his good one zeroed in on Hermione, "you go."

Hermione, a bit more up to snuff about what was happening, wasted no time in running up the stairs, hoping the layout of the prison was sensible enough that the top floor would be easy to find.

Mad-Eye returned his attention to the Weasley boys. "Can you use a wand?" he barked at the lot of them.

"Yes, sir!" the twins responded like trained soldiers despite the dimpled grins on their faces.

Mad-Eye grunted. "We'll see." He waved his staff in the direction of the stairs. "With me! I've got a place for you!"

~!~!~!~!~!

Hermione was beginning to wish Moody had, indeed, sent Ron off on this errand. Did Azkaban actually have an end? Or was it meant to go on forever in some hellish labyrinth to confuse and deter would be escapees? Through the miniscule slats in the walls of the place that passed for windows, Hermione could discern no differences in the dark sky, and it was beginning to convince her that she had not yet made any progress at all. Even the Aurors refused to cooperate. Their numbers had not changed at all. They were still all about her, running up and down the stairs with an urgency like she had never scene, even occasionally vaulting over the steps to fall a dozen feet and save themselves the time of travel. Hermione couldn't make hide nor hair of their tasks, save perhaps the stone carriers who she did notice were stopping - seemingly at random - on various floors to affix their cargoes in various locations and ways. Rarely did she stop long enough to see what they were actually doing, but she did believe she had seen a young Unspeakable working some kind of magic and that sunk her stone into the wall she had stuck it to.

Finally, when Hermione was beginning to believe that she would shortly be unable to climb any more steps, Hermione faced a door that gave way when she pushed it. Despite herself, Hermione gasped shrilly against the icy wind that blasted her in the face. Her arms wrapped reflexively around herself, she cursed her choice of attire. It had been all 'dinner party' and no 'wartime'.

The roof was, mercifully, far calmer than the chaos below. Were it not for the roar of the winds about them, the scene would have been practically silent. There were four people milling about, weaving complicated patterns in the air with their wands that Hermione could not begin to decipher. In the center of the roof was a woman that stood, seemingly oblivious to the cold, in front of a jutting altar that held an overly large stone that was covered head to toe in ancient inscriptions and engravings.. Her hands were pocketed in an overlarge sweater that hung a couple inches past her waist and her hair blew wildly to and fro in the wind but seemingly never touched her face.

Presuming this to be the person that she was meant to speak to, Hermione rushed forward, stumbling against the force of the winds. "Moody sent me to deliver a message!" she cried as loud as she could, her voice coming out almost as a whisper against the roar of the winds.

Hermione blinked blearily through her hair as it whipped across her eyes as the woman turned to face her. Hermione gaped. Sirius and Mad-Eye had been one thing, but this...

Director Granger smiled kindly at her, plucked her wand from atop her ear and waved casually at her far younger counterpart, banishing for her the sound of the winds and the trouble of her traitorous hair. "The message child," she said gently. "We don't have the time."

Somewhere deep within her, Hermione found the strength to ignore her most base instinct. She did not launch into a tireless tirade of questions seemingly without the need to breath, nor did she begin to rattle off a wide arrange of theories and book references about the possibilities of this phenomena. Somehow, despite herself, she managed to very calmly say, "There's no one else coming. Activate the wards."

A look of palpable relief passed across Director Granger's face. "Very good," she said in a tone that suggested she wasn't sure if she was actually going to get to activate these mystery wards.

The older woman turned her back to Hermione and began immediately to wave her wand over and around the stone in front of her, going so far as to even begin to walk around it in circles. Occasionally, she would mutter some indecipherable incantation under her breath, and this was always accompanied by a very brief tap of her and against a very specific rune which would thereafter glow brightly.

Hermione rubbed her arms timidly. Director Granger had banished the sounds of the wind and spared her from the effects of its whippings, but it was still bloody cold up here. "What should I do!?" Hermione asked, wincing as her voice came out louder than it should have due to her adjustment to the wind.

Director Granger seemed unperturbed, and her eyes never left her work as she continued to circle the stone. When she had finished muttering her latest spell and tapped yet another rune, she said, "This is a lengthy process. You are free to go and seek out another assignment with Moody or Sirius, but you are welcome to stay up here with me. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm not quite sure you have the stomach for the battle that's coming."

Hermione shivered, and it wasn't because of the cold. "There's definitely going to be a battle?"

Ever so briefly, Director Granger lifted her eyes from the stone to meet Hermione's. "Oh, yes."

~!~!~!~!~!~!

Despite all contributing factors to the contrary, Mad-Eye kept a relentless pace, and the path he carved for himself through the sea of Aurors was not afforded to the Weasley brothers. Bobbing, weaving, shoving and slipping through the gaps in the crowd, they tried in vain to keep track of the grizzled Auror to no avail, and so they generally relied on one of them keeping sight of them as the other two followed. It was easier to keep track of the Weasley red than Mad-Eye's snow white hair. The hallways of Azkaban were far less labyrinthian than Ron had assumed they might be. In the here and now, that made sense and the youngest Weasley male thought himself rather foolish for thinking otherwise. The Dementors were good enough deterrents to Prisoners. There was no reason to make things harder on the staff by adding in a twisting maze of corridors. Still, at Mad-Eye's pace, it was becoming difficult to keep track of his many turns and sudden directional changes. If his mental mapping was right, Ron thought they might be moving further towards the center of the prison, but he could be off.

Just as he was beginning to believe that Mad-Eye did not, in fact, know where he was going, the old Auror took a sharp turn into a random door that emptied into a large conference room of sorts.

"About bloody time," Fred moaned, wishing very dearly for a seat he could collapse into.

Mad-Eye stopped short, lowering his staff so that it caught Fred in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. "Stuff it, boy!"

Ron and George had enough time to chuckle at their brother's misfortune before Leo Black was there, smiling benignly at them. "Thought you lot might follow me," he grinned. Passively, he side-eyed Mad-Eye. "Not sure what you're doing here though."

Mad-Eye paused long enough to grunt, "This lot are always important, yeah?"

Leo ran an appraising eye over the three of him, the first of his actions that were not wholly kind. "Important," he echoed quietly, "does not necessarily mean skilled."

The young Ambassador Black was gone without further comment.

Putting aside Leo's words, Ron reassed. They were not in a conference room. They were in the cafeteria, and he could see why. While there were not an enormous amount of people in the room (compared to the size of it, they seemed a small group) there were certainly too many for one of the smaller offices to fit comfortably. Within the room were perhaps two dozen people. Most were Aurors that he didn't recognize - presumably, they were immigrants from the neighboring dimension. However, he did quickly recognize Professor Dumbledore who stood calmly beside his version of Moody who himself looked positively irate. Ron's parents were also there, huddled up beside Remus Lupin. The Sirius Blacks were nearer to the front of the room, conversing with Leo whilst the younger Black's better half was talking briskly with...Ron gulped. Across the room was an older, more mature version of himself wearing an expression Ron could not begin to imagine himself ever wearing.

He looked...old. No, that wasn't the right word. This Ron weasley was perhaps in his thirties and looked fit for it. He was not portly like his father and his hair showed no sign of thinning or discoloration. He looked wise, Ron realized. Wise and sharp. Ron felt a stab of envy for having never felt either of those two feelings. Gazing across the room in what amounted to adoration, Ron wondered if he could ever wear the commanding look his counterpart now had on his face as he seemingly waved off the concerns of Rose Black.

"Blimey, we're a looker, though aren't we, George?" Fred's voice shocked Ron from his thoughts. He'd been too wrapped up in his own alternate self's appearance to notice that Fred and George's parallel versions were also present.

"No surprise there, old sport," George snarked with a posh look as he leaned on his twin's shoulder.

"Right you are, right you are," Fred agreed in much the same tone.

"Where's Tonks!?" Mad-Eye's voice rose above the crowd, accompanied by the thunk of his leg as he heaved himself onto the makeshift platform that someone had created.

A brief silence fell over the crowd as people looked around. "Erm," a reluctant voice stepped forward. "Right here."

Ron could see only the top fringe of vibrant pink hair through the crowd. Mad-Eye's eye whizzed about, rapidly scanning the crowd. He rolled his good one. "Not you," he grouched. His magical eye turned to Leo questioningly.

"She had to return home immediately," the young Black supplied. "Bellatrix only needed her in command of the assault, not the occupation."

Mad-Eye growled something unintelligible. "Thought it took more prep time than that."

Leo shrugged. "Hermione was able to get her home without a fuss when she got here."

Ron's ears perked up at the mention of his friend's name. Another Hermione was here? He glanced furtively at his older self. Were they still friends there, he wondered. Were they ever friends there?

"So that leaves…" Mad-Eye trailed off.

"Me in charge!" Captain Black said, stepping onto the platform in a single stride that caused him to momentarily upset his balance. Righting himself, Captain Black struck a pose.

Mad-Eye gazed at him dispassionately. "Make peace with your gods," he said dryly.

"That shouldn't be necessary," Rose said just as blandly from her position beneath the platform.

The older Ron Weasley - Ron noticed that, that one had an Undersecretary Badge pinned to his robes - bopped her once on the head as he climbed onto the platform himself. "Stuff it, Sibyll ," he said waspishly as he passed her. Undersecretary Weasley turned to face the assembled crowd. "Questions?"

Looking around him, Ron quickly took stock of the fact that the only hands raised were those of this dimension.

Undersecretary Weasley sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "To cover the basics," he began, "Azkaban Prison will very shortly be under siege. We aren't sure of the specifics. We don't know how large the attack will be, how prepared for us they are or what they're ultimate goal is."

"Sounds like your informants could strive for a bit more detail," Remus commented, loud enough for the group to hear. Several of the Order murmured their assent. Privately, Ron agreed, but he knew enough to keep quiet for now.

"Aye!" Moody concurred. "On whose authority do you have this information? On whose authority did you see fit to come into our world and take over our prison!?"

Ron was again struck by feelings of inadequacy as his older counterpart gazed at Moody with an expression of such disinterest, Ron almost took it for contempt. "Very good authority," the Undersecretary told him.

"And we're just meant to take that at face value!?" someone from the back cried. A member of the Order, surely, but Ron did not recognize the voice nor could he see who had spoken.

Leo, from his position beside his father, arched an eyebrow. "If you weren't prepared to do that," he said calmingly, "why are you here?"

A number of voices rang out in an explosion of noise that Ron could not decipher. Above them all, however, rang the voice of Dumbledore. "Quiet please, everyone, quiet," he urged them. It took only a few seconds for his words to be heeded. "For now I believe we should trust our guests' judgement and follow their lead. I do, however, have one concern."

Undersecretary Weasley gestured for him to continue.

Dumbledore folded his hands. "I do not sense the presence of Azkaban's protective wards. I had thought that only the anti-apparition wards had been removed, but further analysis reveals none are active."

"Not to worry!" Captain Black assured him with a carefree smile. "It's being dealt with as we speak."

An explosion suddenly shook the building, raining dust down on them.

Lieutenant Black arched an eyebrow and looked passively at the ceiling before turning his gaze to his counterpart. "How quickly?" he asked.

~!~!~!~!~!~!

"What was that!?"

The explosion that had rocked the building had been intense and bone-rattling. Hermione, as well as three of the Unspeakables had been upended and ended up sprawled on the roof of the prison. Whatever that was, Hermione suspected it had been aimed right near the top of the building. Shakily, she climbed to her feet and found that, miraculously, Director Granger had not so much as stumbled.

"It would seem our enemy has arrived earlier than was hoped," she said in the same tone one might discuss a passing rainstorm. Suddenly, she tilted her head as if in curiosity. "Hermione, be a dear and fish the mirror out of my sweater's left pocket. Tap it with your wand to answer it."

Quick on her feet, Hermione did just that, darting forward and snaking her hand into her counterpart's pocket as quickly and seamlessly as she could. It was awkward, having to follow behind her for a couple steps as she did not want to upset the Director's ritual, but she managed to free the mirror from its prison and fumbled for her wand to answer it.

"HOW BLOODY LONG -!?" Mad-Eye's enraged shouts screamed from the mirror the moment it was answered. Mid-sentence, he seemed to take in who he was really talking to and released a bellow of rage like Hermione had never heard. "WHERE'S THE OTHER ONE!?"

"Uhhh," Hermione said dumbly, looking up at her counterpart. "Busy."

"WE NEED THOSE WARDS UP NOW!"

With the same level headedness she had displayed up till now, Director Granger calmly told Hermione, "Tell Mad-Eye that if he ever shouts at me like that again, I'll turn him into a naked molerat."

Hermione glanced briefly back and forth between the mirror and her counterpart before she covered the mirror with her hand, hoping that would muffle the sound as well. "I'm-I'm not going to say that," she stammered.

Director Granger's face contorted into something between a grimace and a smile. "End the call, Hermione," she told her, pausing to mutter another of her incantations and light up another rune. At a glance, Hermione surmised that about half had been lit. "Mad-Eye just wants to vent."

This time, Hermione did as she was told. With little else to do, she shoved the compact mirror into her bra, crying out as another, far less intense blast shook the building.

Hermione blinked, pointlessly steadying herself with her outstretched arms. "That wasn't near as bad," she said, somewhere between surety and hope.

If she could have, Director Granger would have shrugged. "Define bad. They're probing the prison. It'll only take a couple more hits to find out the wards are down." For the second time that night, she took her eyes off her work to look into Hermione's eyes. " That will be bad."

In a very distant, disconnected sort of way, Hermione realized her breathing was becoming quite erratic. "What do we do?" she asked, not hiding the frightened desperation in her voice.

"I need more time," Director Granger said. "Shield charms. All of you."

Hermione didn't know what she meant by that, but the Unspeakables did. Seemingly as one, they dropped what they were doing and formed a circle around Director Granger. Their wands outstretched, they cried " Protego Maxima !". Solid beams of magic, glowing bright gold or polished silver leapt from the Unspeakables' wands, stretching out and expanding like a living mass to form an opaque dome of pulsating, gold and silver energy that slowly cocooned the entire top of the building. Hermione gazed at it, in wonder. She had never seen a Protego cast like this.

"You too, Hermione," Director Granger instructed quickly. "All wands on hand."

Hermione jumped, startled at being included, but quickly took her place in the circle and stretched out her own wand hand. " Protego Maxima !" she exclaimed with all her might.

~!~!~!~!~!~!

A third blast shook the building.

Stepping down from the platform, Undersecretary Weasley griped, "If it takes them another hit to realize, the Death Eaters of this world are stupid indeed."

"Let us hope for another hit, then," Rose quipped in her impassive way, falling into step beside him. Leo and Captain Black were soon to follow. Behind them and across the room, Ron saw Mad-Eye leading the Dumbledore and the rest of the Order out another door to places unknown.

Without pausing in his stride, Undersecretary Weasley snapped his fingers under Ron's nose to get his attention. "With me!"

Ron didn't hesitate, stumbling over himself to catch up.

"What about us!?" the Weasley twins cried as one.

"You'll be with us," the older of the two Freds grinned at them.

"Causing mischief and havoc for our uninvited guests," the older George finished for him.

The younger twins looked each other in the eye. " Wicked! "

~!~!~!~!~!~!

In the Delenda Est dimension…

Tonks moved with all the urgency and noise of a stampede. Never slowing, never stopping, she charged through people, shouldering those who would not move themselves out of the way. The doors of the Ministry gave way to her banishing charms with tremendous crashes, echoing off the stone walls. Many in the Ministry side-eyed her or glared at her or stared in what she took to be mistrust, but they were all wise enough to stay out of her way. Perhaps they feared they'd come face to face with their own banishing charms.

In the days of the War, when Minister Prewitt had held Office, the Office of the Minister had been the most secure wing in the entire country. No one got in or out without three separate checks of identity and a constant Auror guard on your person at all times. When he had taken up the mantle, Minister Black II had done away with those protocols. The Minister's Office, under his reign, was open to any who wished to come and see him. Harry had thought it would promote unity and assurance in his government. He was right, but he had paid the price for it by almost never having a calm work day. Nowadays, Tonks was aware that Bellatrix did not agree at all with the way her husband had handled that particular policy. She hadn't agreed at the time, either, but he had been Minister then and she had kept her complaints to herself. When she had taken the Office herself, security measures had been reinstalled, albeit not to their wartime extremes. Still, it was expected that any who wished to visit the Minister - particularly unannounced visitors - were required to check in at the desk, state their intent and surrender their wand for the duration of their stay.

It was no surprise then that the two Aurors stationed outside the Minister's door beared down on her hard when Tonks breezed through those security checkpoints. They recognized her, of course and she them, but she did not share their restraint. A single sweep of her wand laid them both to the ground, and she somehow managed to step over their unconscious forms without stumbling or tripping. Tonks was glad of that. She'd made it a long way through the Ministry today looking imposing and important. If she could avoid mucking it up here at the end, it would probably help her career later.

The doors to the Minister's office flew open at her command. Stepping through the doorway with a shield charm already active, she caught Auror Bell's expected curse with ease. The room was exactly as she had expected it. Sidra was to her right, crouched beneath her desk and out of sight. No doubt she had her wand drawn, ready to strike at the invader from behind. This was not the first time she'd dealt with an aggressive incursion in one Bellatrix's offices. Katie was stood in front of her, her body - small though it was - blocking most of the Minister from view. She faltered now as she recognized just who was storming the castle. Bellatrix, for her part, had not yet looked up from the papers she was scribbling on.

"Stand down, Auror Bell," Bellatrix instructed blandly.

"Minister-," Katie began.

"I am not in the habit of repeating orders, Auror Bell," Bellatrix glared at her sharply. Katie hesitated once more, but dropped her wand and stood to the side.

"Azkaban is ours," Tonks informed her, eliciting a confused look from her fellow Auror. "When I left, we had just taken it. If Harry's timeline is correct, the attack is likely already underway."

Bellatrix paused in her scribblings, set down her quill and steepled her hands. "That would not give Hermione enough time to set the Wards. If the attack is happening now, they are in for a fight." She looked up into her niece's eyes. "Is Harry aware of the proceedings?"

Tonks shrugged. "Not so far as I know," she said. "My last order was to send word to Leo and Sirius that the prison had been taken. They're likely already there."

Bellatrix nodded. "With the Order of the Phoenix in tow, no doubt. Provided they are at all like their counterparts here."

"Will that be enough?" Tonks asked.

Bellatrix breathed deeply and shook her head. "I don't know," she admitted. Trying to hide the annoyance in her tone, she said, "Harry's report lacked all detail. I shall have to talk to him about the need for more scrutiny during wartime."

"I'm...confused," Katie piped up.

Bellatrix gazed at the Auror for a long moment, before returning her attention to Tonks and standing up. "It would seem I have run out of time," she said. "I hope you like dimensional travel, Nymphadora. We're taking another trip."

It took most of Tonks' effort not to groan.

Craning over her desk, Bellatrix hastily scribbled her signature onto an official looking piece of parchment and handed it to Katie. "You are now officially on the guard detail of Vice Minister Arthur Weasley, Auror Bell. Protect him with the same fervor you have protected me." She turned towards the lobby of the office and raised her voice, "Sidra! Contact Arthur and tell him he'll have to expedite his appointment."

Sidra, who had crawled back into her chair and resumed her paperwork in the ensuing conversation, hummed her noncommittal answer.

Bellatrix was already moving towards the door. "Come along, Nymphadora," she called back over her shoulder. "The trip is not a short one!"

"You're telling me," Tonks grumbled, but followed all the same.

~!~!~!~!~!~!

In the Para Bellum Dimension...

Ron felt a bit foolish, being too intimidated by his counterpart to even speak to him. He, Leo and Rose trudged ahead of him, leading him ever upward to some place unknown near the top of the prison. Ron remembered that Mad-Eye had sent Hermione to the top of the prison when they'd first arrived, and he hoped she was okay. With a start, Ron realized that he didn't quite know what he would do if she wasn't. In the time since they'd left the impromptu conference, no fourth blast had shook the building, proving the Undersecretary right - the Death Eaters had figured out that Azkaban was defenseless.

No, that wasn't right. Ron could still see glimpses of the dozens of Aurors that had been brought from the other dimension. The chaos had calmed down now. They were not running to and fro on urgent tasks. Instead, they had slowed, and some had come to absolute stops. There were handfuls of them - in groups of five or six - scattered on every floor. Some watched the stairs, some eyed the narrow windows and others merely camped in dark corners with their wands drawn. It was the same on every floor, and it confused Ron.

Finding the courage to speak, Ron piped up, "Isn't spreading out the Aurors like this a bad idea? They could be overwhelmed, couldn't they?"

Leo and Rose shared a knowing look as Undersecretary Weasley said, "We're expecting the attack to come from the ground level. Most of our force is concentrated there to bottleneck them. If the Death Eaters of this world are anything like the ones of our world, they aren't particularly adept at strategy. They rely on brute force and ferocity to win battles."

Captain Black snorted. "That didn't really answer his question, Ronniekins."

Undersecretary Weasley wheeled on the spot, pointing an angry finger in Leo's face. " Stop telling him about Fred and George's pranks! " he roared. Leo had the decency to stifle his laugh. Calming considerably, the Undersecretary returned his attention to his younger counterpart. "If the Death Eaters get the bright idea to blast their way into the upper floors, spreading our forces throughout them will allow us to mob them from wherever they land. Besides, if they're scrying to figure out our numbers, they'll see the largest force on the bottom floor. Which is good for us."

They continued walking.

Ron wasn't so sure. "Won't they try and attack away from the larger group?"

"These are Death Eaters we're talking about," Captain Black snarked.

Undersecretary Weasley nodded his head. "A smarter enemy would definitely do that," he concurred. "But Death Eaters love to posture, even if it costs their lives. The more torment they can inflict, the happier they are. Thus, the more people there are to torment, the happier they will be."

"So you're better victory on the Death Eaters being stupid!?" Ron cried angrily.

Undersecretary Weasley side-eyed a lightly smirking Rose. "I have it on...reasonably authority that the Death Eaters are going to attack the main force."

To Leo, this was hilarious. "Ron Weasley, are you actually basing a strategy on divination?"

The Undersecretary set his shoulders. "No!" he argued. "I am not ."

Rose reached up to pat him on the shoulder. "Whatever helps you sleep at night," she said, and slyly added, "Ronniekins."

Undersecretary Weasley growled. "I'm going to kill Fred and George."

Well, Ron thought, I guess some things are universal no matter what dimension you were in. Fred and George would always be pains in his ass. "So what are we doing?" he asked.

"You me and Sirius are going to the top floor. The last line of defense while Hermione gets the wards up," the Undersecretary told him.

Captain Black seemed to take issue with this. "Aren't I supposed to be the one in charge here?" he complained, slightly out of breath. He was beginning to find it difficult to keep pace with the Quidditch Coach. He tried not to think about how long it had been since he'd been in the field. "You've got me on guard duty?"

Undersecretary Weasley wheeled around. "I have no idea how the Sirius of this world fights," he snapped. "You are one of the best duelists we have and I need Hermione safe until the Wards are up. Let the other one handle the battle downstairs. We are standing in the middle of an army, Sirius. We cannot lose this fight."

Rose grumbled something unintelligible.

"What was that!?" the Undersecretary snapped.

Rose rolled her eyes. "Nothing," she assured him. Gesturing to herself and her husband, she asked, "How do we figure into your grand plan then?"

Leo said nothing but looked very interested in the answer.

"The Triplets were incapacitated taking down the Wards," Undersecretary Weasley explained. "They're comatose on one of the upper levels."

"And we're meant to watch them?" Rose cut him off, sounding affronted. "Talking about good duelists, Ron, Leo is the best fighter here."

The Undersecretary waved her off, saying, "I would rather face Voldemort in a two-on-one duel this very moment then face up to Harry Black if something were to happen to his daughters. I am asking you to keep watch over your cousins and make sure nothing happens to them!"

Leo snorted, folding his arms. "No, you're asking us to take the blame if something does happen to them."

Ron's head moved like a metronome, bouncing back and forth from speaker to speaker as they each had their turn. It was the Undersecretary's at the moment, and he looked thunderously at Rose. "What about you?" he snapped. "Any insights regarding the Black Triplets?"

Rose shrugged, quite unconcerned. "No," she admitted. "But even if I did, you wouldn't listen."

"Exactly," Undersecretary Weasley grinned without any humor. "We do not have time for this. You have your assignments. You can bitch to me about them later."

"What about the Dementors?" Leo's question paused the Undersecretary on the stairs.

Ron perked up. He'd been wondering about the foul guards of Azkaban. He could feel them, of course. Their presence perverted the air he breathed. But he remembered the iron grip of being in their immediate vicinity and, as bad as it was being on this island, he had not felt that intensity at all. So where were they?

Undersecretary Weasley, however, seemed unconcerned. "I don't think they're going to have much effect on the Death Eaters."

"Not the Death Eaters," Captain Black said, cottoning on. "Us. They might turn sides if the Dark Lord shows up. Let alone two of them."

Trying hard to hide his fear of the notion of the Dark Lords making an appearance, Undersecretary Weasley shrugged. "The sword is with the Triplets," he told Leo. "If you feel the tide turning, use it. As far as I can tell, and as far as Violet told me, they'll listen. No matter what."

Leo nodded, the Undersecretary waved for Ron to follow and the group dispersed.

~!~!~!~!~!~!

"Do we have to be out here!?" Fred shouted to his older counterpart. The older Fred Weasley had cast a remarkable charm on him that blotted out the roar of the winds, but they were still high above the ground, separated by dozens of feet and accompanied by the distant, but loud, sounds of the Death Eater army below. Somewhere, hundreds of feet to the left, the Georges were in the same position they were, looking down upon their enemies.

"'Course we don't," the older Fred exclaimed glibly, floating a bit closer to the younger man. "But this is the place to be, don't you think?"

'The place to be' was hundreds of feet above the ground with a broom between their legs and heavy saddlebags strapped to the wood behind them. Beneath them, they could just make out the moving mass Death Eaters. The older Fred had a pair of Omnioculars he was allowing him to use on occasion which allowed him to see more intimate details of the group - not that, that helped much. They were all robed and masked, allowing for no identification. To the older Fred, the overhead view was a bit of a relief. It allowed him to see that their numbers weren't insurmountable. If anything, the older Fred thought their own forces might well outnumber them. But the younger Fred had never seen battle, and so he only saw a rabid mob of what must have been dozens of Death Eaters who were more than ready to rip, tear, maim and murder their way through the building.

"Tell it to me again," the younger Fred requested.

The older Fred obliged. "A mob this size - and blimey, it is a big mob though, isn't it," the older Fred trailed off, gazing briefly through him omnioculars again. He refocused and tried again. "A mob this size needs to be confused, confuddled and confounded if we're to stand a half decent chance at coming out of this half decent. You get me?"

The younger Fred nodded.

The older Fred grinned. "That's where we come in." Fishing into one of the burlap saddlebags tied to his broom for the first time, the older Fred withdrew a perfectly spherical silver ball. "The troublemakers we are, we're meant to...well, make trouble."

He tossed the ball to the younger Fred who's years of Quidditch reflexes allowed him to catch it quickly. He examined it with a critical eye. "Is this," he hesitated, before looking back up to his older counterpart with a grin. "Is this a Wheeze?"

The older Fred matched his grin, and plucked the ball back from his grip. "Some of them," he told him. "But most are from Weasley Corp. This is war, yeah? We need a bit more... pop ."

The younger Fred's grin grew all the wider. "What all do we have?" he asked eagerly.

The older Fred shrugged. "Bit of this, bit of that," he said. "Don't waste time with strategy. Grab what you grab and dive bomb. Everything in that bag will help to confuse the bastards."

"Wicked," Fred whispered. Then he hesitated. "Only...aren't they going to see us?"

The older Fred shrugged, seemingly unperturbed. "The clouds and darkness will help to hide us, but yeah," he gave the younger Fred a serious look, "the sharp-eyed ones are gonna see us."

Involuntarily, the younger Fred tightened his grip on his broom handle. "Can't be half as bad as playing Flint in Quidditch, eh?" he joked.

The older Fred let out an uproarious laugh. "That bastard," he giggled to himself. "Never could play fair."

A genuine smile slipped across the Younger Fred's face. "Well," he drew the word out, "neither could we."

"Right you are, Fred," the older Fred grinned wickedly, "right you are."

He tossed his ball into the air once and caught it again. "Shall we?"

As he had been told to do, Fred plucked his wand out of his robes and lit it with bright red sparks. "We shall," he agreed, diving headfirst towards the mass of Death Eaters, followed shortly by his laughing counterpart.

Distantly, he thought he might have heard one of the George's give a tremendous whoop.

~!~!~!~!~!~!

A long serious of raucous explosions with no discernible impact met the ears of those assembled in Azkaban's lobby. Several looked around in confusion, bracing for some form of delayed impact. Those in the know reacted in a range of ways - rolled eyes, sharp grins or steely-eyed resolve.

"That'll be our cue," Mad-Eye grunted to those out of the loop. "LISTEN UP! All hell's about to break loose through those doors. If the Weasley Quartet is successful, they'll be coming in confused and shaken. DO NOT give them the time to recuperate. You put 'em down! You put 'em down hard! Any man here dies without a spell on his lips, I'll give your body to the Black Mutts to eat for dinner. AM I CLEAR!?"

Lieutenant Black made a show of bearing his teeth to his audience of none who were all far too preoccupied watching the doors to listen to Mad-Eye's speech or care about the Lieutenant's joke. There was a clear divide within the room, between Aurors and Order. The Order, fat off of peace time and long off the field, lacked the firm surety of the trained and disciplined Aurors. Some fared better than others. Moody didn't so much as twitch with his wand outstretched towards the door and Tonks, for all her clumsiness, was steady as a rock from her vantage point on the stairs. Dumbledore appeared calm, if resigned. Long had it been since he'd been in any major battle, and he had reservations about lending his wand to such a fight again. But there were others who looked positively panicked. Molly Weasley was shaking like a leaf, and her husband didn't look much better. Dedalus Diggle and Elphias Doge pressed close to each other, pretending they weren't as terrified as they were.

Then the doors opened, and all fear vanished, replaced by the desperate fervor of battle. To articulate any of the spells being used save for your own was impossible as a hundred voices - Death Eater, Auror and Order alike - cried out as one, showering the room in a wave of multi colored light. Magic collided with magic, exploding in showers of sparks, detonating in miniature explosions or careening into the floors and ceilings. Spells that struck left lasting impacts - deep gouges and scorch marks on the ancient stones or transfigurations into ice or magma or glass. Odd effects brought on by the mingling magic resulted into shoots of vines sprouting from the ceilings or stone-like thorns jutting out of the ground. And this was to say nothing of the effects the magic had on the humans it connected with. Death Eaters, Aurors, Order members; they all fell, suffering a variety of effects. Some collapsed silently, the victims of killing curses. Others fell gagging to the floor, drowned by the blood a well placed cutting curse had connected. But there were more gruesome effects; showers of blood rained down on those too close to the victims of blasting curses, whole segments of people's bodies were transfigured horrifically and combatants were gored by summoned beasts or projectiles. The screams of a Death Eater, caught in the throes of some inextinguishable fire echoed in the room. The vines that had sprouted from the ceilings crawled outward, snagging at throats and ankles and wrists, choking and binding those it caught. It was a scene of horror. A scene of war.

But more Death Eaters were falling than anyone else and, though the Aurors were suffering casualties, the Order was holding strong. Dumbledore alone held his ground, weaving transformative magic that hindered Death Eater progress or stymied their well placed spells. His support allowed those brave enough to cast, trusting in him to conjure their last minutes defenses as they stood without any natural cover to take the best shots. Sirius was rolling, jumping, sliding and dodging through the room, never wasting a second. He cast and jabbed and punched and stabbed and bit at anyone he could, fighting like a crazed animal, unwilling to give up anything. Towards the back, Tonks weaved protective shields around Mad-Eye and Moody who were casting like the trained professionals they were, their hits always landing.

But it wasn't enough.

"How many are there?" Tonks groaned, straining to hold her shield against the impact of a banished support column.

"Too many," Mad-Eye grunted, silently casting a purple spell at a bold young Death Eater who had lost his mask to reveal a fresh-faced, blonde fool who could be no more than twenty. The boy took the spell mid-jump, and his limbs contorted into unnatural angles. He fell limply to the floor, screaming in pain.

"Aye," Moody agreed, his own spell burning the skin off a Death Eater who had been charging down Captain Bones. Moody growled. "Though the fabulous foursome were supposed to be mitigating this."

Having fallen back to take cover behind a crumbled support beam, Arthur Weasley peeked around the corner, fired a bludgeoning spell that missed and shrunk back into his hiding place. "They can only do so much," he panted, "against this."

He chanced another peek, gasping as he jerked back, narrowly avoiding contact with a sickly yellow spell that melted the stone wall it connected with. "We can't keep this up," the Weasley Patriarch said.

"We're winning!" Tonks cried even as her shield flickered momentarily, having taken the brunt of three blasting curses at once.

"No," Moody countered. "We're holding."

Mad-Eye grunted his assent. "And we'll keep holding," he stated firmly. "We pull back now and we won't make it three feet up the stairs."

Moody shook his head, his latest curse catching a Death Eater in the eye and blowing his head clean off. "Granger needs to get those wards up."

~!~!~!~!~!~!

The younger Fred Weasley blinked stupidly and prayed to whatever God was listening that he was not flying blindly in the direction of Azkaban. His last spell had come to him out of the blue, and he had cast it without thinking much of the consequences. He did, however, take great pleasure in knowing that if the enormous explosion of light he'd created had blinded him so badly, it had surely done the same to the Death Eaters. Finally blinking his way back into some semblance of vision, Fred found that he had managed to avoid careening towards Azkaban and had, in fact, been flying steadily away from the prison. In the distance, he could make out his older counterpart, hovering a few dozen feet above the Death Eaters as he rained dungbombs down upon them with reckless abandon. Presumably, if he had even noticed the younger Fred's sudden directional change, he had been too preoccupied to care. Fred also noted that he could see the Georges, who were taking a more proactive approach than the Freds were. No sooner had they pulled out of a dive were they careening back into one. Disconcertingly, the younger Fred realized he couldn't tell which George was his own. That was...an odd feeling to say the least - he knew his brother's face as well as he knew his own.

Shaking off the discomfort of the situation, the younger Fred leaned hard into his broom, reaching back with one hand to grasp at anything he could in his burlap sack. His hand wrapped tight around a bulbous sphere, not unlike the one the older Fred had used to start off the battle. This one, though, was imperfect and bloated with round portrubances. With reckless abandon, Fred hurled the sphere to the ground as he flew by, pulling up quickly to survey the results of his work. The results were, in a word, spectacular. The sphere exploded upon contact with the ground, mushrooming into an inky black cloud that seemed to destroy the very notion of any light that may touch it. The younger Fred watched with glee as the mushroom cloud rose, solidified into a single fluffy, black cloud and then began to rain a similarly disgusting, black liquid upon the Death Eaters beneath it. Fred had just enough time to wonder what the substance was before the winds carried the answer to him. The younger Fed curled his nose. He'd know the smell of tar anywhere.

What was the use in that, Fred wondered. Certainly, it was a good deterrent, and would likely slow the Death Eaters down by its abrasive odour alone, but Fred failed to see why it warranted the resources it must have taken to mass produce the product. The older Fred had mentioned something called Weasley Corp, implying the Weasleys of that dimension were in possession of a company that might well allow them to mass produce such products. The younger Fred supposed that made a certain sort of sense. Still, he wondered what -

The younger Fred's musings were cut short by an all powerful explosion. Bright orange flames, hot and searing, leapt through the air, greedily grabbing onto anyone and everything it could. Primed by the tar, the Death Eaters quickly devolved into a mass of screaming, flailing limbs. The younger Fred, filled with a ferocity like he had never felt, angled his broom directly at his older counterpart, flying full tilt towards the man. Coming to a breakneck stop in front of him, he shouted, red in the face, "What the bloody hell was that!?"

If the older Fred was surprised by his younger counterpart's outrage, he didn't show it. He only levelled a hard stare at him and spoke plainly, "This is war, Fred."

The younger Fred was at a loss for words. Somewhere in the back of his mind, perhaps he had been aware of that fact. Perhaps he had known, deep down, that he would have to become used to atrocities and the unthinkable in the coming days. But to have it so plainly spelled out in front him? To hear the results of his labors in all their tortured glory? To this Fred, young and fresh-faced, it really had all been a game till now.

"Oi! Freds!" George's voice interrupted them. The both of them looked up, and the younger Fred was relieved to note that, at this distance, he could easily tell this was his brother's older counterpart. "Stop staring at the light show! We've got company!"

The Freds followed their brother's finger, catching sight of a new mob of Death Eaters - perhaps two dozen - now atop their own brooms as they flew around Azkaban like buzzing bees, probing the thick, stone walls for weaknesses. Neither of the Freds thought it would be long before they found one.

"Damn her!" The older Fred cursed suddenly. At what, the younger Fred didn't know. "Always speaking in riddles and half-truths! Why can't she just tell it straight!? Come on, Fred!"

The older Fred, accompanied by his brother, did not give him time to question anything, zooming off towards the upper levels of the prison. The younger Fred gaped after them, still wrapped up in his own surprise about the tar incident to fully comprehend just what was happened. The sight of his brother - his true brother - approaching at an oddly slow pace shocked him from his thoughts. Fred realized with a start that George had a bat in his hand and was holding something close to his chest with his other, although it was too dark for him to make out what.

"This is…" Fred trailed off.

"Yeah," George agreed. "Not over yet though, is it?"

"What are we going to do?"

"Ah!" George replied in a very chipper tone. "Well, it would seem I'm the smarter brother in any reality because I - that being the older, devilishly handsome I, mind you - came prepared."

With that said, George thrusted the bat into his brother's hand and withdrew an entirely new one from one of his saddlebags. Fred examined the bat closer, identifying it more properly now as a Beater's Bat. Fred looked up and eyed the dark shape in his brother's arms that he now noticed was quivering slightly.

"Is that…?"

"Oh yes!"

Fred grinned, real and proper. "Knock 'em dead, eh?"

George's smile matched his brother as he released the Bludger and THWACKED! it with all his might. "Literally," he agreed.

~!~!~!~!~!~!

"BREACH! WE HAVE A BREACH!"

" Avada Kedavra! "

" Reducto! "

" Bombarda! "

Spells flew through the halls of Azkaban as more and more Death Eaters poured through the newly created hole in the wall. Some hopped directly inside, allowing their brooms to fall helplessly to the unforgiving ground far below. Others flew inside with reckless abandon, breezing past friend and foe alike as they flung spells like madmen. An unfortunately successful, if short-lived strategy.

Still, the Death Eater were quickly gaining ground. It was unclear how many were coming, but there seemed to be no end to the steady stream of them, and, as another distant explosion rustled the building, it seemed clear that there were more yet to come.

"The roof!" one of the Death Eaters was shouting. "The roof! Get to the roof! Kill whoever's casting that shield charm!"

Three Aurors charged up the stairway, wands brandished and spells flying, only to meet brutal ends at the hands of three killing curses that sent them sprawling back down the steps.

"You three!" the same Death Eater who had shouted before indicated to three masked figures. "Hold this point! The rest of you! Climb! Climb!"

~!~!~!~!~!~!

Leo grimaced as a third explosion shook the building, worryingly close to their current position. "Sounds like they've figured out how to make quicker progress."

His wife, who was preoccupied with eyeing the dark hallway they stood at the end of, hummed non-committedly. Leo couldn't blame her for her lack of interest in his words. Whoever had stashed the Black Triplets here had no doubt done so in an effort to keep them as far out of the way as possible. They had been shoved into in a storeroom, hidden deep within the prison near the very top. When they had first arrived, Rose had guessed it was used to store long term supplies to the High Security wing so as to limit access to those prisoners. In theory, the idea was a sound one. In practice, the storeroom was at the very end of a long hallway with no other exit and no other entrance. If a force of Death Eaters happened upon them, they were trapped.

"I don't believe we need to expect any more breaches," Rose supplied suddenly.

Leo eyed her. "That's... insightful ."

Rose shook her head. "No, just a feeling," she argued. "There's something else though. Something I can't shake."

"Something you saw?" Leo pressed. When she had turned her Inner Eye onto this battle, Rose had been able to confidently proclaim that they would hold the prison against the assault. She had not seen any specifics - no death tolls or casualties - but had assured Ron that the battle would be a victory. Only Leo was her husband, and he knew that Rose often withheld aspects of her visions for use at the proper, dramatic time.

He supposed this qualified.

She shook her head again, more vigorously. "No. Something I should have seen but that...eluded me."

Leo sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You didn't mention this," he chided her.

Rose gave him a patronizing look. "What was I meant to say?" she demanded. "You wanted me to tell Ron 'I've got a bad feeling about this'?"

"No!" Leo snapped, instantly regretting his tone. "I'm sorry, it's just...you're right. Something is off. I do have a bad feeling about this."

Rose said nothing and continued to eye the hallway.

~!~!~!~!~!~!

"Eyes up, cowboy!" the older George shouted to his brother. "We've got problems!"

The older Fred looked up, taking his eyes of he and his brother's younger counterparts who had just bagged their seventh hit of the night with that bludger the older George had given them. Fred saw the problem immediately. The Death Eaters pouring into the prison had been, if anything, a distraction. A force of twelve Death Eaters were swarming the top of the prison, blasting at the glowing shield charm with frenetic frenzy. Perhaps it was his imagination, Fred thought the shield charm may well have lost some of its glow.

"They're not gonna last much longer," Fred observed.

George tongued his cheek. "The odds aren't in our favor."

Fred shrugged. "Never stopped us before," he smirked.

George set his shoulders. "We were younger before," he complained. "I've got back pains now!"

Fred barked a laugh. "Come on, old man!" he cried, rocketing upward. "We've got a job to do!"

George followed as close behind his brother as speed would allow, but Fred made it into the thick of things far before he caught up, sweeping into the middle of the mob with the confidence only a brain-dead Beater could have. A dozen spells already on his lips, George watched his brother sweep his wand around in a wide arc, catching the falling rain in an invisible grip that quickly swelled the droplets into a powerful mass of moving water that Fred used to sweep, catch and knock the Death Eaters off of their brooms with. Within a few seconds, the force of six had been reduced to six.

George flew past his brother as he cancelled the spell, allowing the captured Death Eaters to plummet, screaming, to their deaths. Not to be outdone, George stabbed his wand aggressively at a trio of Death Eaters stupid enough to stay together and watched with satisfaction as the pressurized funnel of air he'd created blasted them off of their brooms. Their odds had quickly become much more favorable.

Unfortunately, the Death Eaters who remained were the ones who'd been smart enough to avoid the brothers' spells, and they were already preparing their own counters. The smell of ozone filled George's nostrils - his only warning - and he swerved wildly to the side, narrowly avoiding the bright white lightning bolt which arched downward and collided with the shield charm, ricocheting off of it in a shower of sparks. A second bolt followed and a third, but George avoided them both, only for them to contact brightly with the shield charm below.

"Are you taking the piss!?" Fred cried, flying up to him. "We're meant to be protecting the shield not breaking it!"

"So, I'm meant to take a lightning bolt to the face, am I!?" George shouted back.

"Aye!" Fred replied with such fervor that George almost believed. "Watch and learn, eh?"

Then Fred pulled back on the broom, backflipping into one of the straightest divebombs George had ever seen. George, never one to be too surprised by his brother, watched, gobsmacked, as he flew ever closer to the dome of the shield charm until he pulled up at the very last moment, pulled his broom out from under his legs and skidded his feet along the glowing surface of the shield, somehow coming to a stop directly in the middle of it.

George's draw dropped.

"COME ON THEN!" Fred was shouting, waving dramatically at the three, swarming Death Eaters. "GIVE ME ALL YOU'VE GOT! COME ON!"

George watched as, as if on cue, another summoned lightning bolt arced through the sky, moving with almost malevolent precision directly at his twin. George had a moment of absolute fear when Fred disappeared behind the bright light of the lightning, only to swallow his scream when he realized no explosion had been forthcoming. George refocused and found that, despite some singed clothing, Fred appeared unharmed.

"THAT THE BEST YOU'VE GOT!?" Fred challenged.

Another lighting bolt rained down, but it met much the same mysterious end, contacting with his brother for seemingly very little effect. Across the way, illuminated by the afterglow of the lightning, George spotted a very frustrated looking trio of Death Eaters, who all angled their wands. A third lightning bolt flashed to no effect, and George heard his brother laugh.

Seeing his chance, George readied his wand, and when the fourth lightning bolt hit, he used the afterglow to land a successful bludgeoning curse on the lead Death Eater. The man - presumably he was a man - crumpled, rocking backwards so far on his broom that it began to careen downward. His friends, recognizing him as a lost cause, cursed and retreated, angling their brooms back towards the ground as fast they would carry them.

From his position on the dome, Fred mounted his broom and flew back up to hover beside his brother.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL WAS THAT!?" George exclaimed.

Fred grinned wickedly. "Conduction Charm," he replied glibly. "Read about it in a book Bellatrix left lying about once."

"Conduction Charm?" George echoed dumbly.

"Aye! I cast the spell and turn myself into a conductor of pure energy," Fred explained. "In other words, lightning went in and energy came out."

"Where'd the energy go?" George asked, well aware that holding that type of energy inside yourself would burn you from the inside out.

"The shield!" Fred shouted gleefully. "Reckon it's nearly back to full strength now!"

George released an uproarious laugh. "Sod the odds, brother dear!" he shouted. "Let's go win us a battle!"

"Aye!" Fred cried his agreement.

~!~!~!~!~!~!

The younger George Weasley whooped! in joy as his latest Bludger connected viciously with the side of yet another Death Eater, causing the heavyset man to careen wildly off course and into the side of the building. George watched - with one eye on his Bludger - as the Death Eater skidded along the side of the building for several feet before his broom suddenly disintegrated in his hands and he fell the remaining fifty feet to the ground. George was breathing heavy, his heart beating so madly he thought it might jump from his chest, but he didn't slow down. He didn't dare pause long enough to properly consider what he was doing, knowing that his actions would leave him shell shocked if he gave them any real thought. There would be time for that later. For now, his family was in danger, and he would do anything he could to protect them.

A mighty THWACK! met his ears, and George turned, watching as the younger Fred's Bludger contacted brutally with a Death Eater's mask. The Death Eater slumped, his weight pushing the broom into a nosedive that ended abruptly in the icy waters of the ocean surrounding the prison. Flying up beside him, Fred - in much the same mindset as George was - gave his brother a shaky grin.

"I've got five," he told him, breathing hard.

George managed his own smile. "Seven," he said, as if he was proud and not about to be sick.

Amidst the roaring winds and sleeting rain, it was only years on the Quidditch Pitch that allowed the Weasley Twins to hear the tell-tale sound of the oncoming Bludger. With the eyes of a trained Beater, George's eyes found a new target. He angled his bat, swung with a force enough to crack the wood and watched yet another Death Eater fall to his doom.

George breathed out a shaky breath. "Eight."

Fred laughed, even if his heart wasn't in it. "It's almost too easy."

George managed his own laugh, and surveyed the skies as quickly as he could. There were no more Death Eaters that he could see, the lot of them having either ducked into the prison through one of their created holes or been dealt with by the Weasley quartet. He and his brother had, had a few close calls, but they had so far escaped unscathed. George pulled back on his broom, turning himself around so that he could get a proper look at the Death Eaters on the ground below. He figured that, by now, most were either inside, incapacitated or dead. Still, George figured it was better to keep an eye on them, and head off any would-be fliers before they could properly gain any altitude.

Only, if George's eyes weren't deceiving him, it seemed he'd been wrong. George fished the omnioculars his counterpart had thrown to him out of his robes, fumbling with them a moment as he tried to key in the right setting.

"What?" Fred asked, noticing his brother's worry. "What is it?"

"How long do you reckon we've been up here?"

Fred shrugged. "Can't tell. Hard to keep track of time in all this."

George nodded, pushing the omnioculars up to his eyes. "Just looks a bit crowded down there to me," he muttered. "Figured we'd have thinned most of 'em out by now."

Even now, barely visible through the sheets of rain and the dark of the night, Fred could see his brother tense up.

"George?" Fred asked fearfully.

George lowered the omnioculars from his eyes, turning to look at his brother with the most blatant look of fear that Fred had ever seen on his face. "You had to say it didn't you Fred?"

"What!?" Fred cried dumbly, properly worried now.

George opened his mouth, but whatever he was going to say never made it out. Fred watched in horror, seemingly in slow motion, as a spell connected with the side of his twin's face, blowing a bloody hole into where his ear just was. Managing a final look of surprise before all consciousness slacked off his face, George slumped sideways off his broom and began to fall.

~!~!~!~!~!~!

Dimly, and from a distance, the older George heard the distant, frenzied cry of his name. He looked about, attempting to zero in on the source, looking first for his own brother before remembering that he actually had three brothers in this fight right now. Pulled by some unknown force, his eyes travelled down, somehow managing to find the younger set of Weasley twins within seconds.

"Fred!" he caught his brother's attention.

The older Fred followed his brother's eyes, taking in the scene with the same speed that his brother had. George, the younger one, was falling, limp, towards the icy waters of the ocean. The younger Fred was diving, screaming inarticulately in a desperate bid to catch him before he contacted with the ground. He was too young, too set in the habits of not using his magic, that he had not even thought to levitate his brother.

The older Weasleys wasted no time, blasting off at the full speed of what their brooms would allow. They rocketed through the sky, cutting a path through the rain with their wands drawn and levitation charms on their lips. It happened as if in slow motion. The both of them launched their charms, watching with glee as they connected with the younger George Weasley, pausing him in midair only feet away from the cruel body of the ocean as the younger Fred swooped in to grab his brother straight from the air. Wasting no time, the younger Fred carried his brother to the closest piece of land there was, uncaring that it might bring them closer to the Death Eaters.

Within moments, the older twins had joined him, dismounting their brooms with practiced ease. They skidded to their knees beside their counterparts. The older George took a tight hold on the younger Fred, holding him back from his brother whilst the older Fred examined the wounded boy.

"What hit him?" the older Fred demanded, tilting the younger George's head to better look at the gaping hole in the side of his head.

"A spell!" the younger Fred stammered out. "A spell! I don't know what spell!"

The older Fred peered closer and waved his wand over the wound, breathing a sigh of relief when he found no traces of Dark Magic on the boy's wound. "Whatever it was, it wasn't dark," he panted. "I need to clean it. Aguamenti! "

The younger George came alive, gasping for breath from the moment the water touched his skin, screaming for all his might, "VOLDEMORT!"

The older Fred, startled by the completely unexpected display, jumped back on reflex, but was forcibly pulled back in by the Younger George, who took a tight grip on his robes.

"VOLDEMORT!" the younger George screamed again. "Voldemort is here! I saw him! He's here!"

His message delivered, the younger George slumped limply into the older Fred's chest.

" Expecto Patronum ," the older George cast suddenly, summoning the ghostly apparition of some kind of wild dog. Staring at the Patronus intensely, he said to it, "Voldemort is here. We need you."

The Patronus, with a magical understanding of its task, reduced itself into a ball of light and sped away into the night at an unnatural speed. The older George pocketed his wand, picked up his younger counterpart in his arms and began to trudge on.

"Fred!" he called, meaning his own brother. "Blast a hole in the wall, we need to get inside. I have a feeling things are about to get explosive."

Needing no further encouragement, the older Fred Weasley did as his brother asked, destroying a large segment of the wall with the most powerful Bombarda he had ever cast in his life. He ushered the two Georges in, followed quickly by his own counterpart.

"Who was that Patronus going to?" the younger Fred asked.

~!~!~!~!~!~!

Harry hadn't meant to fall asleep, he really hadn't. But old habits are so easy to slip back into, particularly when they're contextualized properly. In the old days of the war, he would often go days without sleep, flitting from assignment to assignment - or worse, battle to battle - without an ounce of down time in between. He remembered, more than once, Bella having to sit on him to get him to stay in place. Usually, it only took a few moments of stagnation for him to succumb to his exhaustion, and Bellatrix would be off to whatever her latest task at the time had been.

Bella wasn't here now, and so he had fallen asleep all of his own accord. He'd been apparating across the British countryside like a mad man, tracking down leads and looking into hideouts that he remembered from years ago. Most turned out to be duds or barely used safehouses, and he had not yet managed to locate a true Death Eater stronghold. As such, when he'd retreated back to Sirius' self proclaimed 'Tower of London' for a quick bite to eat, the lack of results lulled him into laziness and he had passed out some few minutes later.

Which was good, in hindsight, because if there was anything he remembered from the war, it was that being woken up in the middle of the night with by a Patronus was never a good thing. The effervescent glow of the Patronus shone brightly in the cramped, windowless room Harry had fallen asleep in, easily waking him with its intensity.

Shocked from his sleep, Harry nonetheless shrugged off his exhaustion as quick as he could, straining his ears to catch the Patronus' message.

As if it had been waiting for Harry to wake up just enough to hear its words, the Patronus solidified into the recognizable shape of a coyote.

" Voldemort is here, " it told him in George's voice. " We need you. "

Harry ran a hand through his hair, leaning back against the headboard.

Bella was not going to like this.

~!~!~!~!~!~!

When he arrived, he brought with him a sudden silence. The gathered mass of what remained of the Order and the Aurors had huddled together in the main lobby of the prison. They had done their best to barricade the door and were confident enough that it would buy them some time, but most still eyed it as if they expected the gathered stones to betray them. It was clear that they had taken losses - many of them were strewn about on the floor in various states of disrepair and decomposition - but the majority of the fighting force still stood. No one knew what was happening upstairs - the prison was far too big for any telling sounds to travel down - and they hoped that the Unspeakables and the Blacks were all okay.

Just moments ago, the Weasley Quartet had arrived, barging in from the back of the building with an unconscious and bleeding George Weasley in the arms of his older counterpart. Battlefield medics had already worked their magic on him and had pronounced that he would be fine. Still, it was disheartening to see the boy laid out on a table with his sobbing mother huddled over him. For the people native to this dimension, it reminded them all far too much of the dark days they'd all hoped to have escaped.

Then he had appeared, looking no more resplendent than a common man on the street. They eyes of Dumbledore, McGonagall, Arthur Weasley and Sirius Black were on him, scrutinizing him with an intensity like he had never felt. They eyed him up and down, with a look in their eye that varied from person to person. He'd been apprised of what they'd all been told about him. Perhaps they had been wondering what sort of man he'd have to be to marry Bellatrix Black - or Bellatrix Lestrange as she was known here.

He paid them no mind and turned his attention onto the most ranking person he could find. "Status," he demanded when his eyes had found Mad-Eye.

The old man grunted, leaning hard on his staff. He'd never admit it, and no one would ever say it, but a fight like he'd just had, had not been easy on him. "Enemy at the gates," he growled, gesturing roughly to the unconscious George. "The boy said he saw the Dark Lord before he got hit."

"Yeah, I got that," Harry muttered, moving closer to the unconscious - and far younger - George Weasley. Careful not to touch him, Harry examined him and smiled grimly at the wound, recognizing it from a long distant - and happily avoided - memory. "Fate is a funny thing."

Molly looked up at him, blinking blearily. He expected she may have been confused even if she wasn't grief stricken over her wounded son. He smiled kindly at her. "He's going to be okay, Molly," he spoke from experience, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I promise."

Molly - or, he supposed to this world's Harry Potter, Mrs. Weasley - looked at the hand as if it belonged to an alien and turned back to her son.

"Why hasn't he attacked?" Harry asked, turning back to Mad-Eye.

Mad-Eye gave a hefty shrug. "No idea," he admitted. "Perhaps he thinks our Head Unspeakable got the wards up."

Harry was shaking his head before Mad-Eye had finished. "He knows they aren't," he stated firmly. "What's he doing? This isn't like him."

From her position sprawled out on the floor, Tonks brushed a blood-matted piece of hair out of her eyes. Looking over this older, more sure Harry with an unreadable expression, she said, "Maybe he's calling for help."

Harry and Mad-Eye exchanged a heavy glance. "Possible," Harry admitted.

"Is it?" Mad-Eye questioned. "Thought this bastard was in the infancy of his campaign. Minimal numbers, hiding in the shadows."

Harry shrugged. "Those were preliminary reports. Before we knew about the involvement of this second Dark Lord." Harry stroked his chin, thinking darkly. "God only knows what he's brought to the table."

"Well if he's got so many soldiers he can spare," Moody piped up, his growl a bit deeper and less shaken then his elderly counterpart's, "why's he wasting them attacking this place."

"In chess, the pawns go first," the older Fred piped up. They turned to look at him, and he shrugged. "Something Ron said once when he was trying to teach me the ins and outs of the game. Think he stole it from a Muggle film."

Harry nodded. "Maybe," he agreed. "That makes sense. After all, if those are the pawns, we've got the rest of his pieces locked up in here."

"A fanatic never has enough followers," Sirius grumbled. Harry nodded at him, but the man did not meet his eyes, seemingly unwilling to look at this older version of his godson.

Moody growled. "Enlightening as this philosophical claptrap is," he snapped, "shouldn't we be thinking about how we're gonna survive when the Dark Lord gets off his ass and decides to move!?"

"We won't. Survive, that is. Not if he attacks. Not if the wards aren't up." Harry looked to Mad-Eye. "How long until Hermione's done?"

Mad-Eye shrugged again. "Haven't been able to reach her. She was getting pelted hard earlier, but if I know that girl she hasn't stopped. I reckon if we can give her a while longer, she'll have us safe and sound."

"So we just need to get Voldemort to retreat," Harry beamed. "Easy."

Sirius snorted. "Right," he said. "How are you gonna do that, then?"

Harry, for his part, seemed remarkably chipper about the plan. Refusing to be put off by Sirius' tone, he smirked. "Well," he drew the word out, grinning impishly. "Through some old gimmicks I should think."

Mad-Eye gave his own snort at this. "Somehow I don't think the Ghost of Ashworth is gonna strike fear in the heart of this bastard."

"No," Harry agreed, "but the foundation is a good one."

Seemingly recognizing something in Harry's eyes, Mad-Eye narrowed his own. "What are you thinking?"

Harry only grinned in reply. "Professor Dumbledore!" he called for the man's attention. "I'm gonna need a favor."

~!~!~!~!~!~!

Lord Voldemort stood, silent and resolute, at the head of his army, gazing across the short span of craggy rock at his prize. Azkaban prison. It had stood for centuries, built by some of the most powerful mages of all time and staffed by some of the most skilled fighters of each generation. Patrolled by soul-sucking creatures of the abyss, the entire building radiated an aura of hopelessness and fear. They called it impregnable. Insurmountable. Inescapable.

A cruel sort of smile twisted onto the Dark Lord's face. By morning, he will have disproved that.

"The last has arrived, my Lord," Severus Snape informed him from behind.

The Dark Lord turned, gazing past the masked Potions Master at the gathered contingent of Death Eaters he had summoned or brought with him. His eyes narrowed. He would admit he was displeased. The initial force he had sent to the prison should have been more than enough to take it. It had not even been their purpose to hold the prison! Only to infiltrate it, and release from its depths his most loyal followers! Such a simple task, and they had failed! The evidence of their failure lay all about him, amidst the scattered and desecrated remains of his former followers.

Lord Voldemort had appeared on the scene, alight with vengeful fury, but the massacre before him had given him pause. The Dark Lord was not known for his caution - caution was for weak men - but he knew well enough to wait for further reinforcements. Something unexpected had interfered with his plans tonight. Azkaban should not have stood. Certainly, it should not have been able to mount such a defense as this with the paltry Auror contingent that was stationed there. What was he missing?

The Dark Lord sniffed. "Very good," he hissed. "Forward."

He had only spoken the word, but it resonated throughout the army like a shout, propelling them forward with a swiftness that only absolute loyalty could produce. No sooner had the word left his lips, however, that another surprise reared its ugly head.

A great wall of fire, the deepest orange the Dark Lord had ever seen, exploded to life with such ferocity that all who saw it were blinded by the harshness of its light. As one, they stumbled back, shielding their eyes to the harsh, unexpected light. Even Lord Voldemort himself cried out and fell back a step.

The surprises, alas, were not to end there.

Out from the wall stepped a man with all the confidence in the world and without a mark upon his body. Voldemort blinked, furious, as his vision acclimated to the new light. Slowly, the man came into focus.

"Hello, Tom," the man smiled at him.

"Potter!" Voldemort spat even as his wand moved. The sickly green light of the killing curse ripped through the air, and...passed harmlessly through him. Voldemort growled. "What sorcery is this, you coward!?"

Quite unconcerned by the development, Harry gave a hearty shrug. "In another world perhaps," he smirked. Then he adopted a puzzled sort of face. "Though I suppose in this case, 'another world' is actually this world. So I can forgive you the mistake. In my world, however, I go by Harry Black."

Involuntarily, the Dark Lord took a single step back. "Another of you," he whispered. "Another of you to pester me! Why is fate so cruel?"

Harry gave a great laugh. "To hear those words from your lips, Tom?" he grinned. "Better than any therapy. Perhaps we're more alike than I thought, you and I."

Voldemort gave his own wicked grin. "Ah, but we could not be more different, Black ," he hissed the name. "For I have the fortitude to stand where I am and face my opponent. Whilst you hide behind petty illusions."

A mysterious sort of smile came across Harry's face.

"Ah but Tom," the illusion began.

"I am here," a voice directly behind him finished.

Voldemort whipped around, cutting a wide arch through the air with a cutting curse powerful enough to gouge rock. But Harry had moved, somehow appearing on the side opposite to which he had spoken and his own spell was on his lips when Voldemort dodged. Where he had stood, the ground had melted, burning into molten magma.

With a casualness that Harry almost envied, Voldemort stabbed his wand at the newly created lava, watching with glee as it began to bubble violently until had coalesced into a wolf shaped creature, with dripping teeth and coals for eyes. Harry treated it with indifference, taking a single step back and drawing his wand up above his head, pulling the waters of the ocean behind him up with it. They crashed into the molten wolf, solidifying him to stone in an instant.

Voldemort growled, twisting on the spot and reappearing some thirty feet away, closer to the still burning wall of Fiendfyre. He needed to reassess. This was not Harry Potter, the feeble minded boy too afraid of his own destiny. This was a fully realized wizard, with the confidence and strength to match him.

No.

He was Lord Voldemort, and he would not be bested.

The casual saunter of Harry Black as he crossed the rocky terrain grated on the Dark Lord's nerves. He cast a killing curse, and another and another only to watch as the man contorted and twisted to avoid them without missing a step. Suddenly Black was matching him, stabbing and flicking his wand all about, compelling the Fiendfyre behind the Dark Lord to reach out, grasping, clawing and burning at his skin and robes. Voldemort roared, raising his wand to strike just as Harry stabbed his wand directly at the Dark Lord's outstretched hand. Harry watched with glee as a thick arm of Fiendfyre lanced out, enveloping the Dark Lord's hand and searing his wand to ash.

Screaming in pain and rage, Voldemort flung his hand in a wide arch, catching Harry off guard with the telekinetic wave of wandless magic that sent him sprawling to the ground. He had just picked himself up, poised to defend when a Death Eater apparated in, took a tight hold on the Dark Lord's arm and twisted the both of them away.

The tell-tale signs of dozens of cracks met his ears from behind, and Harry turned to watch the entirety of the Death Eater army retreat.