Chapter 129 – The First Wave Breaks
Sir Harold had gotten up at the crack of dawn that morning, absolutely bristling with a sense of anticipation. Today would be the day! He would lead a small band of soldiers against a fortified castle, and take out the leadership of the scourge of magic in Great Britain. Oh, the honors and recognition that would be his! The accomplishments of his various ancestors would be dwarfed by what he would do today.
He delivered a stirring talk in the mess tent down by the Armory when the men assembled for their morning meal, and was sure all were as stirred by their participation in this moment in history as he was. However, there were some last minute things to take care of, so the group did not actually move out until mid-morning.
Sir Harold had brought Frost up to the estate in mid-week, as Frost had said he knew where the magic castle was. The two had joined the Brigadier and his pilots on a ground-based reconnaissance mission, taking two Land Rovers as any of the helicopters would simply draw far too much attention. The Brigadier reported that the drive took less than an hour, and he estimated that the flying time in the Apaches would be less than 15 minutes. He'd spotted some open ground near the lake in front of the castle, and proposed that they stage their attack from there. The plan was for the "ground divisions" to establish a base, and then for the Apaches to bring in most of the troops, and the cannon.
The spot chosen for the base was slightly hidden from the castle by a forest that ran near the lake. The tanks, supply vehicles and extra troop transports could arrive via a short drive across open fields from the nearest lane, and there was even the chance that the helicopters could set down undetected. The tanks and the troops could count on cover until they were right in firing range of the castle itself. The Brigadier did find it most curious that this particular castle did not have walls or a moat surrounding it; it seemed to be a particularly ancient place, and back then, he thought they always surrounded castles with some kind of defensive structure. Well, their folly not to have thought of it!
When all was finally ready, the transports for the troops who were not going in the Apaches, as well as the tanks and supply vehicles, set out first, following the route the Brigadier described them taking earlier in the week. Fortunately, Sir Harold's estate was large enough that they were able to depart onto a seldom-used lane far from the town. As a result, no one could see the strange assortment of vehicles, to say nothing of several tanks, slowly making their way off the estate. About 45 minutes after they departed, the lead vehicle radioed in that it was not able to see the magic castle. They'd carefully followed the directions provided and were confident that they'd passed all the noted landmarks, but there did not appear to be anything at all on the other side of the lake.
Frost had told the Brigadier that he'd learned that magic had been used to make the place devilishly difficult to see, unless one knew exactly where to look and what to look for. Frost said that he was sure that he knew enough to spot the place, and of course he found it for them. He and the Brigadier were confident that once all those on the reconnaissance trip had spotted the place, they could see it themselves later. Too late, the Brigadier now realized that he'd only brought the Apache pilots along on the reconnaissance, and the drivers of the tanks and other vehicles just had his notes of the route to guide them. He'd assumed that knowing where to look would be adequate, but maybe his description had not been sufficient to overcome whatever magic those wretched wizards had employed.
The Brigadier assured himself that the vehicles were positioned in what he believed was the correct place, and joined his men in the lead Apache to bring in the troops. If the vehicles were even close to where they reported themselves to be, he could spot them from the air and direct any last-minute movements before landing.
Sir Harold joined him in the Apache. Sir Harold had invited Frost half-heartedly to accompany them, feeling that he owed the man recognition for helping them find the castle. However, he was also of the mind that the man was not a true warrior, despite his occasional references to his service in some unnamed military, and really did not belong on a military mission. He was relieved when the older gentleman declined the invitation. Frost even graciously acknowledged that the recognition for this military action should be solely Sir Harold's, and he did not want to infringe on that.
It was well after noon when the five Apache helicopters came in low from behind the screen of the forest to join the small cluster of tanks and other vehicles in a sheltered meadow a very short distance to the castle. Sir Harold saw the magic castle as soon as the Brigadier pointed it out to him, and he marveled that magic was strong enough to prevent anyone from spotting the enormous structure. The Brigadier decided not to mention that the drivers of the vehicles on the ground had no idea themselves, even from this short distance, that they were within a good stone's throw of the castle.
It took the leaders, the Brigadier and several men who he had known from his military days and had hired to help him manage this lot, just a short while to organize the troops on the ground, and get everything arranged. They'd been discussing and reviewing this constantly for that last three days, and everyone knew the battle plan.
The Apaches would lead with a few men in each launching the air-to-surface rockets that were the pride of Sir Harold's armory. It was expected that they would punch holes in the walls of the magic castle at several strategic points, to be expanded by howlitzers and other field artillery, until the word was given for troops to being making their way forward to rout the remaining inhabitants.
The Brigadier set up his command post slightly forward from the camp, where he could see the broad field of battle but beyond the reach of weapons, and was joined there by Sir Harold and a small team of communications experts, also men hired by the Brigadier for their experience. The word was given to engage the enemy, and Sir Harold nearly burst with excitement and expectation.
The five Apaches lifted off in unison and slowly proceeded forward to the imposing castle before them. They hovered in a wide semi-circle and kept a bit of distance, not entirely sure what sort of defensive armament such a stronghold might employ. When the word was given, each launched a rocket toward the target they'd been given. The troops and the pilots, to say nothing of those on the ground, looked on in amazement when the rockets blazed forward, but exploded upon impacting something well in front of the castle itself. The castle was unharmed, and the remains of the exploded rockets seemed to slide down an invisible wall to land harmlessly on the ground below.
Rockets were expensive and they did not have an unlimited supply, so the Brigadier quickly gave an order to hold the rockets, and direct fire from the guns in the Apaches toward the castle. He wanted to understand what they were up against without wasting his most precious resources. Gunfire and a few grenades were directed toward the castle, but each struck something invisible in front of the structure, and all trajectories ended there.
The pilot of one of the Apaches had watched in frustration as weaponry that he knew to be powerful and lethal, and that he knew had been launched correctly, failed to reach its target. That building should have suffered serious damage by now, and not even a blade of grass had been singed by all that they'd fired at it.
He hovered as directed, watching the magic castle closely, waiting for another chance to show those freaks what real fire-power looked like. As he watched, he saw an old man, and a few other oddballs, come out of the door of the castle and walk around the grass in front of it, as if they had not a care in the world. They finally stopped to stand between the walls of the old building and the impressive assault forces hovering and beginning to assemble on the ground to attack it.
The old man had a ridiculously colorful robe and a very long white beard, and he wore a pointed cap – had to be a wizard. The others didn't look like people who could defend anything, let alone a castle, against any kind of threat, let alone the military might arrayed against them. Most of those standing with the old chap were women, and some looked to be pretty old women at that. With the possible exception of a black man in traditional African robes, the few men in the small group did not look imposing at all. What did they think they could do, once the helicopters, tanks and troops found a way in?
That must be the point. They didn't think the men under Sir Harold had a chance of getting to them. And that really angered the pilot. He really, really wanted to show those fools a thing or two.
He popped off a few rounds of the guns in the Apache itself, and watched in fascination as they seemed to make the air itself shimmer above the castle, almost being repelled by that air to fall where they'd struck. He unleashed a longer barrage at one spot, wondering if there might be a weakness there that he could exploit, to get through. As he watched the rounds of ammunition strike repeatedly at one spot, he saw more shimmering around that spot, and he began to think that he'd found something, a possible weakness. He radioed into the Command Post.
"Command, this is Apache One. I believe that repeated assault on one small spot might weaken it. I watched as I sent a significant barrage to the same spot, and there was some shimmering that got more pronounced at that place. Request permission to direct more force. Over."
The Brigadier knew the pilot of Apache One – they'd served together many times, and he knew the man was shrewd as well as fearless. He would be the one in the bunch who'd investigate and try to understand what was happening, and it wasn't surprising that he was the one who thought he saw a way through.
"Apache One, this is Command. Permission granted. Other Apaches, cover him," the Brigadier radioed, to his employer's beaming approval.
Apache One drew closer to the castle, and the various guns in the airship were suddenly blazing, directing a full assortment of the firepower they carried to a small patch of the sky above the castle. Everyone could see the shimmer now, even the men at the Command Post. They assumed it meant that whatever defense was in place was being weakened by their continued assault.
A couple of the other Apaches joined in, directed fire from their own weapons to the same spot, seeing more and more shimmer. The troops and their leaders were heartened by the sight, which they took as a sign of progress.
The strange looking group standing outside the castle walls watched the attack quietly, however, making no effort to shield themselves or take any other action, either defensive or offensive. Albus and Minerva had insisted that Severus and the other professors keep the students occupied by maintaining their class schedules. They were joined instead by several adults in the castle, including Kingsley Shacklebolt and others in the Ministry Annex that day, as well as by a few former students living there now with their families. It was a small group that stood before the castle, not physically imposing in the least.
After several long minutes, the radio crackled to life again.
"Command, this is Apache One. Request permission to take the ship forward and land closer to the magic castle. There appears to be no defensive weaponry in place, and if we get closer, we can inflict damage. That little gaggle of wizards standing in front of the castle can't hope to defend against us!"
The Brigadier had some doubts – after all, if the rockets, grenades and ammunition couldn't get through, was it not possible that the Apache itself might have a problem approaching the castle? He never had a chance to express his doubts, as Sir Harold had grabbed the microphone and was answering Apache One.
"Apache One, this is Command. Permission granted. Begin a direct assault."
The Brigadier knew he could not countermand that order, although he felt a dread in the pit of his stomach. Somehow, that seemed like a really bad idea.
Close to the castle walls, Albus watched the unfolding drama with interest. "We should be sure to ask Arthur to step out here, Minerva. He'd be fascinated by those flying machines the muggles have."
A tall redheaded man had just scurried out of the castle, and called over, "My sons already did tell me about this, thank you, Albus." To no one in the group in particular, Arthur went on, "Merlin's beard, will you look at that! What on earth will the muggles think of next? Do you think they'd let me get a closer look at one of those?"
"And are you certain our wards will repel whatever those awful muggles are shooting at us, Headmaster?" Minerva asked crisply, with distaste evident in every word.
"You do raise a good point, my dear," Albus nodded, looking at his deputy with approval. "After all, we really don't want to see anyone get hurt. I am completely confident that the wards are capable of keeping them and their weaponry out of here. So no one at Hogwarts is going to be hurt. But I suggest that we all begin casting Preoccupo Incendio to prevent the gunpower from ignitiing; that spell will easily pass through the wards. Really, what better way is there to prevent anyone from getting hurt than by preventing their guns from firing?"
There were nods all around, and the half-dozen witches and wizards got out their wands. Some pointed them in the general direction of the hovering helicopters, and a few others focused on the tanks and cars assembled a bit further back.
Just as Apache One headed close to the castle to see if it could land where it would be certain to inflict serious damage on the structure, the small group that was assembled outside the castle began to cast its spells. Apache One actually made contact with the wards before any spells hit it, but the timing was fortuitous.
The Apache hit the wards with the same outcome as if it had flown into a solid wall. The rotors bent from the force of contact with the wards and lost lift, and the entire helicopter began to drop from the sky, starting to spiral out of control. The Preoccupo Incendio that hit it not only prevented the gunpowder from igniting, but it also prevented the cylinders in the engines from firing, so the engines shut down right before it was likely that they would have exploded.
The witches and wizards who'd cast the spells immediately realized that the big muggle machine had been damaged and was now falling to earth at a speed that did not bode well for the muggles inside it. Two of the group quickly cast Wingardium Maximus, to gently bring the large contraption to earth. Once they saw it settle on the grass with no apparent ill effect, they thought to rejoin their fellows in casting spells at the other helicopters, but it became evident immediately that for some reason, even the helicopters nowhere near the wards were falling from the sky as they were hit with the Preoccupo Incendio spells. Suddenly, half the group was casting Wingardium Maximus exclusively, just to help the helicopters land safely as they lost their engines.
"Does anyone have any idea how a spell to stop their guns from firing is causing those contraptions to fall out of the sky?" Minerva asked. "I am quite confident that I see muggles inside of the things, so they can't be guns themselves, can they?"
Arthur tipped his head to the side for a moment as he thought. His study of muggle artifacts was not something that had much practical use in the magical world, and he wanted to be sure he got his information right now that his moment to share his arcane knowledge had arrived. "I've read that muggles use engines that burn gasoline to make them work – most ingenious thing I ever heard of, actually, what they come up with! Anyway, we prevented gunpowder from igniting with the spells we were casting. I'll wager that we prevented the fuel from igniting, too, so we shut down the engines that were keeping the machines working. I'm guessing it was all in those great big whirly things on top, that must be what was making them fly. Oh, how I'd love to have one of those!"
"Do all of their engines work like that?" Amaranth Savoy wanted to know. "I see a few of their other contraptions over there, ones that don't seem capable of flying like these. Can we disable them, too?"
Arthur nodded his agreement. "In all likelihood. The engines are probably similar, or at least work on the same principle."
Once all the helicopters had been gently settled on the ground, a few final Preoccupo Incendio spells were sent through the wards, stopping the forward motion of the tanks, jeeps and other vehicles, as well as preventing the firing of all the muggle weapons.
The muggles were totally puzzled by the apparent lack of any response from the magic castle itself, as well as by the sudden loss of the engines in their vehicles and the fact that all their weapons now seemed not to work. In small groups, they got out of their helicopters and transports, with several breaking away to see to the former occupants of Apache One. That group alone needed help in extracting themselves from their badly-damaged helicopter, although only one of the group, who had been in the back of the helicopter when power was lost and who had been thrown to the floor rather hard, was actually injured. That man was nursing his wrist, likely broken in his fall.
The pilot of Apache One quickly took charge. "All right, lads. Evers here, looks like a bad wrist." Evers nodded with a wince, and the pilot continued. "We have anyone with medic training, who can bandage him up? OK then, Jenkins, you take care of that." Evers followed Jenkins over to a spot by the damaged helicopter to apply a splint.
The pilot continued. "Everyone else alright?" he began, and got nods all around. No other injuries. "Good, then. What happened to the weapons? Do we have any that still function?" he continued.
"No, sir," a man who'd been working the guns in one of the helicopters answered. "Just about the time the 'copters lost their engines, my gun stopped firing. I checked it over thoroughly as we settled down, and there was nothing wrong with the weapon. All parts in good working order, ample ammo, no reason at all for the gun to stop working."
A man who'd been working the guns in a tank responded as well. "Our guns were firing fine, but once the engines stopped working in the tank, the guns went quiet. I have excellent battery power, and all the navigation works, all the electronic systems were fine, we had the radios. Just no firepower. Never saw anything like this." He was shaking his head over this unexpected and unexplainable turn of events.
Others murmured about their own experiences, but those two summed it up. The electronics were fine – it was just the engines and guns that had stopped.
One of the younger men in the group gave voice to a thought in the backs of the minds of many: "I've never heard of helicopters losing engines like that, and just gently settling down like this. I was behind Apache One, and with the rotors bent up like that, I expected a hard landing. But you floated to the ground. What was going on with that?"
No one had any explanations. It was actually a miracle that those in the helicopters hadn't all died in rather firey crashes, and they all knew it. A helicopter without engines, or with damaged rotors, fell fast and hard, and the fuel tended to explode on impact. This was beyond any of their experiences.
The pilot of Apache One reasserted control of the impromptu meeting. "We'll ask the Brigadier about that. For now, we need to contact Command and report. My electronics didn't fare so well when we hit the – well, whatever it was we hit. You say radios are working? Batteries remain charged?"
The radioman who'd served in the closest of the Apaches that were now sitting in a meadow spoke up. "No problem, sir. We can use the radio over in our bird. Everything in there is working fine, except the engines and the guns." He and the pilot of Apache One went off to radio in this most bizarre turn of events.
Another man was fishing about in the pack he'd pulled out of his helicopter when he jumped out on landing. "I have my sidearm in here – yes, here it is. I wonder if small guns like this don't work anymore, either." He pointed his weapon at the ground away from his fellows, and sure enough, there was a click as he pulled the trigger, and then nothing. They all crowded around as he opened the gun and demonstrated that it was mechanically sound, and fully loaded with fresh ammunition.
The pilot of Apache One returned to report, "The Brigadier and Sir Harold are on their way, bringing troops forward too. It will take them a few minutes to walk in, as they report that their vehicles don't work, either."
As the men waited around the Apaches, they were joined by those walking forward from the other tanks and transports that had moved behind the Apaches, now becalmed in the meadow with the helicopters. Most were puzzled by what had gone on, although the pilot of Apache One kept glowering over at the freaks still standing, calm as you please, in front of the magic castle. This was getting personal to him.
The troops joining the Brigadier and Sir Harold on the long walk from Command thought it most prudent to keep close to the edge of the forest for cover, as the information passed along as to why they had to walk in rather than ride was spotty. The same thought occurred to the men standing right at the edge of the meadow near the magic castle; it felt too exposed standing there where they were in full view of the freaks from the castle. They also drifted over to the edge of the forest, just in case.
Unfortunately, all the noise made by the weapons had caught the attention of quite a few of the creatures who made the Dark Forest their home.
The naturally inquisitive unicorns had been among the first to sneak close to where the noise was coming from, although their shyness kept them back far enough to hide safely behind trees. The centaurs were bolder, but several of them had taken time to consult the omens from the stars before stirring to see what was making the noise. The herd trotted forward with more assurance, tinged with caution and with their bows and arrows in hand, closer to the edge of the forest. They were joined in their formation by the feral blue Ford Anglia that had been living in the forest since being flown to Hogwarts by Ron Weasley several years ago. The centaurs had been the most tolerant of the strange new resident, so the Anglia tended to favor their company.
There were other things crawling, striding and slithering from their dark places, curious about the racket. Four copies of the Monster Book of Monsters that had escaped from Hagrid's students over the last few years were hopping toward the noise. Enormous snakes were slithering and even larger spiders were picking their way on their long legs as well. A number of large, furry things were lurking, and way in the back, a small demon had come to look.
A small demon had scampered through the veil when the summons had been cast in Hogsmeade last spring, joining a much larger specimen on the journey into this world. When Neville Longbottom banished the larger demon, the little one scooted quickly to the shelter of the forest; there weren't many souls there to feed on, so it's growth had been stunted. It also crept forward, hopefully. Maybe there was a meal in the offing?
Long before any of the men marching along purposefully in the meadow could see any creatures in the forest, many creatures were watching them. It was just a matter of time.
Finally, someone caught sight of a unicorn that had momentarily come out from behind a tree. Its pearly white coat, silver horn and golden hooves caught light filtering down between the trees, and in the darkness of the forest, the sparkle could not be missed.
It was only when the man called to his friends nearby to point out the extraordinary sight that anyone actually ventured into the forest. Three men followed the first, and almost all of the others followed, as the word spread that someone had seen a unicorn in there.
The four men who'd seen the unicorns first and headed in to investigate were intercepted by what they first thought was a wild horse. It took several moments for anyone's brain to connect the information that their eyes were feeding in: that was not a man astride a horse, that was a man's torso and head growing from the front of the horse, where the horse's head should be. The fact that those men-horse combinations had bows and arrows in their hands was nearly lost on the interlopers as the men closest to them were slow to understand what they were seeing. By the time they realized that they might be coming under attack and turned to run, those behind them were blocking their way, confused by the terrified screams of their fellows.
It seemed that every man saw something different in the panic that followed.
Many men were terrified at the sight of the centaurs. The centaurs had positioned themselves to drive the unwanted visitors from the forest and were the most visible. Others had spotted the gigantic spiders beyond the centaurs, bigger than anything they'd ever imagined. Someone else spotted a blue car – nothing wrong with that, right? Except that no one was at the wheel, and it was herding them out of the forest in concert with the centaurs. Another man had looked skyward and spotted several large snakes – large enough to give those spiders a run for their money – hanging from branches. There were furry things with evil-sounding growls and flashing, sharp-looking teeth, only vaguely seen from a distance.
One man had followed a unicorn on a path that took him away from the centaurs, and as a consequence, got a bit deeper into the forest than the others. He spotted something black, totally black, like nothing he'd ever seen. He looked at it more closely to try to understand what it might be. He was totally horrified when he realized that the blackness was staring back at him, with dark red eyes. He fell hard as he tried to run, and he saw the blackness coming for him as he struggled in vain to find his footing again. He heard a gnashing sound and noticed that the thing had mouths, many of them. His eyes locked on the eyes in the blackness as he awaited his fate, only to have that fate altered by an enormous, hairy creature who seemed to be scolding the menacing blackness as if it was a child and threatening it with a pink umbrella. The man fainted dead away at that point.
As the troops were driven (or ran of their own accord) out of the forest, they assembled on the other side of the meadow, panting from the effort of running for their lives. There was some mumbling about not believing what they'd seen, and what sort of place is this.
The Brigadier and Sir Harold joined them, aghast of the stories told by one and all of what they'd seen in that forest. Finally, it occurred to the Brigadier to determine if they'd lost anyone in the forest. That distracted the men, for at least a moment. Given the general lack of military structure of this ragtag army, there was no infrastructure of leaders who could be counted on to keep track of the men.
"I followed you two blokes in," one allowed, pointing to two others.
"And there were four in the group I entered with," added another, "and we're all here now."
After several rounds of this sort of discussion, the Brigadier realized that one young man was missing. That led to some nervous looks directed among the men, as none wanted to volunteer to go back into that awful place to retrieve a presumably fallen comrade. The Brigadier knew his duty, though, and he was finally joined by some of his comrades from other battles, men who knew their duty as leaders, even of a group like this.
The Brigadier and his small band moved very slowly across the meadow, with some recognition that they had to do something, but no clear understanding as to what that might be.
Before the group reached the forest, though, their dilemma resolved itself.
The man who'd been separated from them was being carried out of the darkness of the forest by someone, or something, that had to be nine feet tall and furry. It was carrying their comrade, a full-grown man in full field gear, as if he was an infant. The man was carried to a spot in the shade of the trees but still a good distance from the forest, and he was gently placed on the ground. As the Brigadier and the others watched in fascination tinged with horror and more than a bit of fear, the creature who'd carried their man out of the forest straightened itself out and looked at them.
"This one got away fum the rest 'o yers," the creature – could that really be a man? – began. "Lucky I found him – the forest's not a fit place for muggles or young'uns to wander on their own. Ran into a little demon that moved in a few months back, so watch yer friend. Demons can do bad things to people, even though it didn't actually get 'im."
The men were flabbergasted. That man, or whatever he was, had to stand nine or ten feet tall, and he was huge. People didn't get that big. And strong! He'd carried a large man like he weighed almost nothing, and wasn't even winded from the exertion! He spoke English, like he was born and raised in these parts.
The giant also didn't seem the least bit intimidated standing alone in front of an armed band of men. At least the ones who'd accompanied the Brigadier on this approach near the forest were trained in combat skills that rendered the loss of the functioning of their weapons just an inconvenience.
Looks were exchanged among the men, and a slight shift occurred. The Brigadier noticed it, and allowed them to proceed. There were at least a dozen men standing around their fallen comrade and this giant from the forest was alone. The men began to shift to encircle the giant, trying to get him away from the man on the ground. A very nasty grin appeared on the faces of several of the men. This had been a day of many unpleasant surprises, and it was going to feel good to give someone a pounding. This man, or whatever, was going to regret his role here.
Before Hagrid could even react to the stealthy moves to surround him, hooves sounded from the forest, and Firenze and three of his fellow centaurs bound out on to the meadow. The centaurs held their bows and arrows in their hands, but reared up on their hind legs to use their front legs to drive the interlopers away from Hagrid and back over to the man prone on the ground. Firenze signaled for his friends to desist when he was satisfied that Hagrid was safely separated from what appeared to be a developing mob.
Looking at the sullen troops huddled now with their still-unconscious comrade, Firenze spoke to them. "You show a disgraceful lack of respect for one who did you a good deed in saving your friend. Hagrid prevented that man from being devoured by a demon, and carried him to safety, and you now plan to attack him? The stars look with great disfavor on those who show no appreciation for their good fortune."
Distrust morphed into amazement. The horse/man spoke English, and better English than the giant? What kind of place was this? Suddenly, it occurred to the Brigadier that the centaurs were likely as skilled in the use of those weapons in their hands as they were at herding them away with the brute show of force using their front legs. Bows and arrows might be no match for guns and grenades, but the guns and grenades did not work right now, so the bows and arrows would carry the day, if it came to that. He tried to quiet the men, and defuse this tense situation.
"We apologize, sir, no disrespect was intended," he began, hoping to placate the angry centaur. "The big man, Hagrid, you called him, carried our friend out of the forest and we assumed he had harmed him."
Firenze wasn't fooled. "Now, you show me disrespect by failing to be truthful," he scolded with growing anger. "Nothing Hagrid said when he placed that muggle on the ground could have led you to believe he'd done anything to that man, except to have rescued him from the demon. Do you know what demons do to people, muggles as well as wizards? They consume them, body and soul. There is absolutely nothing left, except the screams of the souls that have been eaten that reverberate from the demon. And that is for eternity, the stars are clear on that point. A fate worse than death. And that man was spared it because of Hagrid."
All the men were all now very quiet, clearly chastened by the angered centaur, and completely nonplussed by his comments about what a demon might have done to their fallen comrade. One by one, they dropped their gazes to the ground.
Firenze turned to Hagrid, who had been standing amid the other centaurs as Firenze spoke to the troops. "Hagrid, my friend, you are safe now. These men will not seek to harm you, I can see it. We bid you farewell." Directing final looks of menace to the cowering muggle troops, the four centaurs trotted back to the Dark Forest, and Hagrid lumbered along toward the castle.
The eyes of all the troops followed Hagrid, wondering where he was going. Even their most powerful ammunition had not been able to penetrate whatever it was that stood before the castle, and it had crumpled the rotors on one of the Apaches as if there was a stone wall in the air. How was the giant going to get near the magic castle?
The men who had watched the exchange between the giant and centaurs and the small group of men from afar joined their comrades, and stood together watching after the large man. It was another frightening moment to see the way the air itself seemed to shimmer and move, to allow his huge form to proceed past whatever the barrier was, allowing him to approach the castle, where he seemed to be welcomed by the freaks standing outside of it.
The troops could all see some discussion, or maybe even an argument, among the members of the small group. Finally, the old man in the long robes broke away from the others and walked, with surprising quickness and agility for such an obviously old man, down to where the troops were now clustered, at the edge of the wards. Several had reached out their hands, shocked to find that what appeared to be clear air had become hard and impenetrable, feeling quite solid despite its transparency. The old man had been watching the group closely, and had concluded that the older muggle with apparent military bearing was likely the one in charge, so he sought him out for a few words.
"Good day, sir," the Headmaster offered politely, as he nodded at the square-jawed man who stood before him, just outside the wards. "My name is Albus Dumbledore and I am the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I regret the circumstances of our meeting today, but wanted to assure you that your attempts to attack our school are quite in vain. Our protections are extensive. The first were the charms that made it so difficult for you to find the castle to begin with. Clearly, someone helped you, because once you know what to look for and where we are, even muggles, or non-magical people like yourselves, can see us. But the wards here, they can't be seen but I assure you they are quite impenetrable by anyone who isn't welcome at Hogwarts."
Several of the men in the group voiced a thought shared by most of them. "Then how did the giant get through?" someone shouted from the back.
Albus smiled benignly. "Ah, yes, Hagrid. He's our Professor of the Care of Magical Creatures, as well as the Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. I daresay, he's as well known to the wards as I am. They recognized and admitted him immediately."
The Brigadier asked "Are you the reason our guns won't fire and all the engines in our vehicles have stopped working, then?"
Another nod from Albus. "We did not want any harm to come to you people, despite your misguided mission. We knew that nothing was going to reach us in the castle, of course, but were concerned that you might injure yourselves. We cast spells to prevent your ammunition from igniting. We only just discovered that the spells also prevent your engines, as you call them, from working as well. The machines that fly – well, first let me compliment you on such fascinating machinery. We are all most impressed. The first one hit the wards, so it was damaged. But once we realized that those were going to fall to the ground, we used other spells to put them down gently so no one would be harmed."
Despite Albus' placating demeanor and the words that he intended to be conciliatory, he was still met with hostility from the troops. Several men ran hard toward Albus, angered even more when they slammed into the wards and fell back. Albus merely shook his head, and turned away. Over his shoulder, he added "I regret to inform you that the spells we used will linger for a number of days, so you will not be able to depart with the vehicles in which you arrived."
Sir Harold's troops eventually trudged off, back across the meadow. The Brigadier was able to radio back to Sir Harold's estate, and a small parade of busses was dispatched, with clear directions to meet up with the troops at the nearest road on the general maps. It was a good hour march, over some wild terrain, for the troops to finally reach the rendezvous point. During the march, individual stories were shared and the events of the day were crystallized in the group mind. The final reports made back at the castle were significantly different from the "battle" that the wizards had observed.
