Chapter 18 – Fall from Grace
Colonel Gray stood solemnly beneath the roof of a nylon tent, his eyes tired, his mouth working in some silent contemplation… All movement about him, halted. A steady rain beating down hard upon the scattered camp the muggles had set up beneath a large ridge, was the center of his attention. Gray had cursed his idea of setting up camp here, but it wasn't as though there remained any other alternative. Cold, penetrated his bones. How much he would've given just for something to keep the cold from him. Anything to stay warm was being taken faster than it could be thought of, because despite the rain, everyone remained on high alert. Following orders, Gray had persisted in moving closer to the wizards. His army moving slowly between trees, gullies, hills… anything and everything he could find so as to remain out of sight. And thus far, his approach had proved successfully undetected. Though the closer he got, the more frequent it became to encounter patrols, which had to be dealt with. The risk of detection increasing every moment.
He cringed slightly at his view of the falling rain. The water had effectively turned the ground into a churned up quagmire. No effect on his tanks of course (they numbered roughly thirty at this stage), but terrible for troops, who if not already knee deep in mud, fought their way tooth and nail to stop being sucked under, hence making them tired and inefficient. The only thing left to do was wait, though his mind, or rather, his sudden headaches every few minutes, dictated that he should press on regardless of the state his troops were in, and attack. He sighed. Too much on his mind to worry about. Too little time to do as he was ordered. And so far from home. He was sure others, whether they be officers or soldiers, were starting to feel the pinch of home sickness as well, though nothing could be done about it. Not now. He rolled another cigarette, his energy lost in the cold weather. A thought struck him then, how odd it was that with all the high tech gadgetry he possessed, weather could still make or break an offensive. Another thing he shouldn't worry about. He continued to puff idly.
The sloshing of boots in the mud caught his attention for a moment then, and he turned slightly, his lack of energy not warranting full effort. Before him stood a soldier, his khaki uniform stained somewhat from the mud, and Gray guessed he would be more than able to blend in with the earth should he cease movement. The idea left him as the man spoke in a harsh mannered tongue.
'Sir. Pardon my disturbance, but we have something we think you should see…'
Gray reacted quickly, and followed the soldier running into the rain. It didn't register immediately with him that his bones ached so much from the cold and inactivity, but the prospect of news brought some excitement from the old man. He was close to his enemy now. Too close for comfort, and yet his presence had thus far gone undetected, without so much as hide nor hair of the wizards being heard. He prayed that were still the case as he matched the grunt stride for stride across the rain beaten ground, picking up splashes of mud where ever his boots landed. If it were still so, he may take the wizards by surprise as planned. And that would give time for reinforcements to arrive from the south. God knew as he did that the meager forces he held under his command were not sufficient to take the land by force. It was necessary at times to be devious, perhaps even underhanded. Honor meant little to him so long as he completed his mission. The wizards had to be wiped from existence. There was no question to it.
After a few hurried moments the old man came over a tree covered ridge, the first thing meeting his eyes being a small gathering of soldiers and snipers, their attention focused on a small crumpled heap lying motionless on the ground. The word "scout" drifted quickly into Gray's mind, and he thought it hardly any news at all that the snipers had killed another stray wizard. They had afterall, been picking off about three a day for the past week and a half. Nothing special really. What was to say this one would be any different from the rest? A few curious glares studied Gray thoughtfully as he approached. Some were questioning, and Gray was taken aback by the doubt in their eyes. Something was wrong. He could sense it.
Pushing his way into the circle he looked down disdainfully at the disheveled heap of flesh and robes. A hand poked ominously beneath a sleeve, drawing his attention for a few short seconds.
'When did you shoot this one corporal?' he spoke menacingly to dark clothed man, a long barreled rifle slung deftly to his side. The man's mouth moved for a second before he replied; 'About five minutes ago sir…' as though it were a matter of fact. It still didn't seem odd to him that another wizard had been taken down. Probably for the best it seemed. Though that question still beat around in his mind. What was so special about this one that the snipers felt they should abandon their posts? Almost as though reading his mind, another man from the group, a short, stocky man by comparison to himself, took a hesitant step forward and knelt down next to the crouching colonel and pulled the robe from the scout's face. A sharp intake a breath followed.
A child! The scout was only a child! A boy that couldn't have been more than twelve years old if he guessed rightly. Gray couldn't believe this situation to get any worse… but now? A few men shook their heads in shame, muttering curses to themselves. Others, looking upward to the unforgiving sky as though God himself had abandoned them. A clear dissension beginning to spread amongst the men as to what purpose marching on the wizards would achieve… Gray eyed the dead youth without emotion, turning the boy's head this way and that, as if looking for something suspicious.
'Was he armed?!' the old man spoke suddenly, breaking the silence. Another man stepped forward and handed him a wand. Gray studied it intently, twirling the ancient tool between his fingers as if it were child's play.
'Interesting…' he remarked, to some curious glares, and he fingered the wand's smooth, lacquered surface.
'This is wrong Sir!' one of the soldiers said, his voice beginning to quaver, 'We didn't sign up to kill children! It's just… wrong! What are we even doing here?!'
Standing abruptly, Gray wiped beads of sweat from his face. It was all he could do to look as composed as possible about the death of a child, just so as to keep the men's confidence in him. But even he wasn't made of stone, and he couldn't bear to face the man who'd spoken such powerful words, let alone look to child's open eyes. Their glazed over stare seemed to be centered on him, asking why? The thought entered his mind that perhaps they really were wasting their time. And if a battle would ensue against children! Well, he could be sure that neither himself, nor his country, would ever forgive him for it, no matter how high the stakes were. All in all, it left him in the worst possible predicament. Should he press on? Even now that he knew he was possibly facing an army of children? Or should he end it now, and walk home the same way he came, taking all his men with him? For a few brief seconds he stood silent, as his men looked to him with mixed feelings on the matter. Perhaps it would be wise to end it now. Straining his mind, he tried to remember the precise reason he began this campaign to begin with… he couldn't remember. Everything that had transpired over the past few weeks seemed to be blocked from his mind as though shrouded in a cloud. He couldn't think straight, and with that he made up his mind. He had no choice but to leave. A commander who cannot even remember what he has done or why he has done it is not someone fit to lead an assault…
Just at that moment, drilling pain speared his head like a molten spike. Through his momentary cries of anguish he couldn't discern between his own shouts of hurt, and that of his men, who had all began writhing on the spot, clutching the heads in a similar pain. It was the most horrible feeling, that had come and gone from him now for the past few weeks, always when his thoughts went the "wrong way". He couldn't help but wonder what was causing this, and why he deserved it… A cold, evil voice seeped into his brain.
'You are foolish to disobey your master! You WILL move your troops forward and take the wizards where they stand. Nothing will bar your way. NOTHING! Serve and obey, or be burned alive with the rest of your kind!'
And then the pain was gone, taking with it any sense of doubt he had, or any memory of it for that matter as well. That all too familiar loss of thought struck him once more, but he felt nothing of the desire to act upon it as he had a few brief moments ago. He stared at his men, who were all standing there looking as white as ghosts, rubbing their foreheads gingerly. "What's wrong with them?" he thought to himself. Something told him he already knew, but his brain didn't seem to want to work at this moment, so he let the thoughts go. Only one notion seemed clear to him now, and that was his mission. The wizards must be destroyed. They must!
At that moment a sudden snapping of branches caught his attention, and he spun about quickly on the spot, just in time to see a swish of robe from behind a rock, and it's owner running for his life in the opposite direction up a stone covered hill. Gray felt as though his head was about to explode in fury. He couldn't let one scout escape. Everything he had hoped to achieve would be ruined.
'SCOUT!, KILL HIM!!!' he shouted at the startled soldiers, who instinctively turned on their heals and raised rifles. Several shots soon followed, piercing Gray's desperate shouts to take the man down. Small explosions of dirt flew into the air about the man's feet, as the wizard continued to run as fast up the slope as his legs could carry him. Gray could hardly believe what he was seeing.
'Can't you fools hit the man?! Aim straight you idiots!'
None of the shots seemed to have slowed the wizard down, or even hit him for that matter, and in an instant, he flung himself over the ridge with all the remaining energy he could muster, the rifles still echoing through the gully even after he disappeared to safety behind the ridge…
Gray stood there silent eyeing the hill, blue veins threatening to pop out of the top of his head. A cold rage consumed him, and several soldiers took a fearful step back, keeping a firm grip on their guns. There was no use in following the wizard now, they were far too close to the enemy to intercept him in time, and worse still, Gray's position had been discovered. All the suffering the men had gone through, and the precautions taken to make sure they remained undetected were for nothing now…
The rain began once more, freezing the men to the bone. It almost seemed to humiliate them there as they stood, drowning out whatever hopes the men may have had of swiftly ending this conflict, but to Gray, it was merely an insult to injury, salt in the wounds. And it did nothing to quell his fury, but rather, only seemed to intensify it.
The old man clenched his fists as tight as he could, his knuckles going white from the strain. His teeth bared in a clenched snarl at his own failure. And his eyes, almost bulging out of sockets in rage, looked as though any man who would talk to him would most likely be shot there and then. He arched back, facing the sky and let loose a howl of rage so deafening, his own followers shied back in horror…
'AAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!'
Hatred echoed throughout the land, his voice shouting curses that seemed he would indeed damn himself to hell. There was nothing for it now. Ready or not, the army had to march on the enemy the moment they were ready, there were no alternatives left…
Harry sat curled up beneath a stone ledge while rain poured down in sheets about him, a small fire kindling beside him, providing the only warmth he could muster. Others had done the same, preferring to keep clear of the deluge. The Slytherins however, were well dry and amongst the most fortunate of the students. Their own common room resided well beneath that of most others at Hogwarts, occupying the lower, colder depths of the castle. During the bombardment, theirs was amongst the rooms least affected by shockwaves or falling debris, and they seemed most happy to parade this fact around to everyone else who had no other choice but to sit half exposed to the elements. Harry shivered coldly. The fire was losing it's strength, and it might go out. Instinctively felt for his wand. And then a thought hit him…
Almost hesitantly, he reached forward towards the fire with his right hand, and concentrated… A few tense moments drew by until suddenly, the fire burst into life before him, the intense heat threatening to sear his eyes as he shied away. For ten seconds of unparalleled radiance, the fire burned with tenacity, until at last it withered once more to it's original, depressed looking state. A small kindling, not worth cooking sausage over. Harry withdrew himself then, and stared at his own hand with a sense of disbelief, wrought on by this seemingly unfeasible magic.
'Impossible.' He muttered under his breath, waving his fingers heart heartedly. Light from the fire caught his fingers, and cast eerie shadows across his small hovel. 'Just impossible…'
Gingerly he rubbed his other hand over the small of his back, and he cringed. Since the time he'd gone to see Hagrid only a few hours ago, the wounds he had, had healed to faint scars that wouldn't seem out of place with someone who'd fallen down a flight of stairs. It just wasn't right. And he wasn't sure if even Dumbledore could explain it properly to him. He felt more… alive. If that could be the appropriate expression to use. His own senses had grown more over the past few days, more than he'd ever expected within a lifetime. He could actually, sense the presence of magic, sometimes over long distances, and that alone scared him enough. What was happening to him?
Again he rubbed at his back. Nothing where just a few short hours ago there had been devastation wrought on flesh. And what was worse was that this wasn't the first time it had happened, he remembered vaguely when not too long ago, he healed over a rather nasty wound to his arm without so much as a thought. Perhaps that was it. It happened without him thinking about it. But that sounded stupid even to him. He knew that there had to be some sort of logic behind it. The fire for instance, was definitely not coincidence. A memory entered his mind that moment, of something said to him in sleep, and at once Harry's mind reeled in anguish.
… "You have not realized it yet, but you are one in a generation. A single being who has so much influence over the tides of magic that he can manipulate it without so much as thinking. Without even speaking… I mean wandless magic Harry"…
Harry shivered. He didn't want to remind himself of that horrible dream. Though his wounds were merely scars now, the memories of pain endured. The crack of studded leather over his back. The blood… everything. He repressed the wanting to shudder again. It did not do well to dwell on dreams, though what these dreams were, was still a mystery to him.
Out in the open, the rain had begun to die down to a light spray, and some adventurous people were waltzing aimlessly about. Most of the students were too chilled to bother, but many adults, a large portion of them refugees who'd fled to Hogwarts, were enjoying time outside, whereas they'd normally be spending their time helping the teachers right shattered areas of the castle. As far as Hogwarts itself was concerned, much of it still remained, and Harry supposed that it could be fixed in some way or another, though he didn't see how short of drawing all the magic in the world, which he thought was highly improbable.
Far across the field he caught sight of a man, running as though his life depended on it, and sporting a well ousted limp. He couldn't seem to recognize who it was, but he figured it was probably just someone who'd fallen over or something, and he didn't proceed to give it another thought.
"Not worth my time when I have bigger things to be worrying about." He thought reluctantly to himself, and he shot an unconvinced stare at his hand. Could his dreams really be true? Maybe he did have power afterall…
Snape stood rooted to the spot, overlooking a large expanse of green fields through a pair of binoculars. It hadn't occurred to him that binoculars were actually a muggle invention. It was the most trivial things you didn't think about that he used everyday. Yet had he realized, Snape may have thrown the contraption down in disgust, though his attention remained focused. Movement to the right caught his eye, and before him stood a wizard he'd never seen before. With a semi-torn cloak and ragged hair, he looked as though he'd been rolled down one too many hills in his time.
'Err… professor Snape?' the man stuttered out, quite evidentially not sure as to whom he was speaking either. The greasy haired man gave the stranger an insignificant grunt as he eyed his clothes up and down. Further inspection showed his robes bloodied, and his face seemed as pale as a ghost.
'I'm really sorry to bother you now professor… but, we have a problem, you should know about.'
Snape lowered his binoculars and looked the man in the eye, who swallowed hard.
'We?' the potions teacher asked incredulously, receiving a curious look as though he should have known it all along.
'Well… yes. We. Professor… err, McGonagall I believe her name was. Err, she sent people through the shield to scout the country side for muggles… Now, I wasn't one of those people, but I heard that very few were returning, so I went to investigate why.'
Snape arched a disbelieving eyebrow, a half snigger inching at the side of his mouth.
'She sent you through?' he asked with a splash of humor, 'I thought it was impossible to penetrate the shield.' He had rebounded a few curses off it for sure, though he wasn't game enough to simply walk through it. For a moment the man considered him, but gave the grease ball a small shrug.
'I don't know the ways of it sir, really I don't. Wizards seem to be able to move in and out of the shield at will, though muggles evidently can't. I found a few that tried it,' he visibly paled, 'Though I really don't see any other way that scouts could have been sent off otherwise.'
Snape offered another grunt and furrowed his brow thinking. The man continued on.
'And… what I saw there horrified me, to say the least. Hidden just beyond Saxon hill about two thousand muggles are massing troops. They seemed bogged down from the rain, despite only being half a kilometer away.'
Snape almost choked as the man said this. Half a kilometer was nothing. Even walking the distance could be made in under half an hour.
'Saxon hill?' he asked curiously, taking the stranger off guard, 'But, that's to the rear. What on earth are they doing over there?! Last I heard they were approaching from the north!'
The man shook his head vigorously, looking quite pleased his news had some effect on the greasy haired man afterall. Though even he seemed rather concerned that the muggles were so close to the castle.
'I watched the muggles for a number of days professor, even as other scouts unknowingly passed me and were killed by them. They've been moving in a arc around the grounds for ages now, avoiding the sentries and killing anyone who gets too close to report their whereabouts.'
Snape nodded as the man talked, piecing it together in his head one jigsaw piece at a time. It all made sense. All checked out. It seemed quite possible that nothing had been heard of them for so long because no one had gone close enough to see them and survived before being seen themselves. Snape breathed out haggardly.
'Well, we have an advantage over them then, we know they're coming now. Perhaps we can get prepared, the students will need to be moved elsewhere if possible, we've no guarantee that shield will hold. I think Dumbledore must be getting quite tired of supporting the thing…'
He suddenly cut off as he looked at the stranger. Within a few seconds he'd gone from pale to inhumanly white, looking as though he were prepared to throw up. Snape rounded on him.
'They are still stationary aren't they?' he asked through gritted teeth. The man, if possible, paled even more so.
'I… cannot guarantee it professor. I…' a stark realization hit Snape then, and his anger sky rocketed.
'You were seen?!' the man nodded ashamedly, pulling up the bottom of his robe to reveal a large bullet wound to his leg. 'YOU IDIOT! If they know they've been seen, they're probably on their way here right now. You should have died there with honor. Then perhaps we may have more time to prepare ourselves for the inevitable advance. You've as good as signed our deaths personally. GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!'
The man gave a humble, yet ashamed looking bow and scuttled off to Madam Pomfrey, limping his way across, leaving the disgruntled potions teacher to brew his own anger. He was furious now in knowing the muggles were so nearby. If he had any clue as to what the shield was that Dumbledore raised, he might have a better clue as to how to help organize the defense with McGonagall. Everything rested on their soldiers now. But beneath it all, he still broiled an unaffected scorn for one man in particular. One man who literally held all their lives in his hands…
'Where are you Marius!' he muttered, and headed off to rouse the teachers.
Activity about the castle grounds peeked within a matter of minutes. Snape successfully roused anyone who was sitting idly by and had them rushed to different positions. If they were students, they were sent to the Slytherin common room. If adults, they were lined up in rows behind ruined pieces of stone and marble that absolutely littered the ground from one side of the castle to the other, all of them brandishing their wands in fear. If need be that was where the line would be drawn, just incase the muggles did find some improbable method of taking down the shield. It became apparent that for too long now, people were beginning to believe themselves safe from attack, either because of the shield's existence, or the fact that no news to contradict their safety had come through for some time. At any rate, Snape's own form of badgered and curses, effectively cut many people down from their allusions, and made them think that they were once more on the verge of being attacked from above, however unlikely it seemed to them.
Vulnerability was Snape's main concern, as it was just as likely McGonagall's. Looking around at the rag tag group of men and woman around him, Snape knew in his heart that these people were raw. As raw as could be admitted to. None of them had been trained for anything like this, and had much less expected to fight and possibly die at Hogwarts of all places. It was the honest truth that these people were just refugees, and had come to Hogwarts for safety, for a place away from the fighting that was most certainly occurring everywhere else beyond Hogwarts grounds. The thought slipped through his head for a moment. No one had the slightest idea what the situation was like beyond the horizon. Was it as bad as what they faced? He didn't know. But he knew it would prove futile to think on such things when they could likely be dispersed at the drop of a hat.
"One evil at a time…" he thought gingerly to himself, as he harassed a small group of wizards to take places where the castle's courtyard had once been. It proved difficult to look upon Hogwarts now. Merely a shell remained of it's once proud exterior, but he promised himself quietly that he would fight to protect that burned out husk of stone, even if it took his own life to do it. He surprised himself to think that even. Without knowing, he'd grown as attached to Hogwarts as even professor Dumbledore, and that was saying something indeed.
Tapping his wand on his hip, Snape scanned the fields of crumpled stone and ash. No one was left standing short changed in the open now. Everything (if it had not proved lethargic) was ready in place. People crouched low behind physical barriers as they waited anxiously for whatever may happen. Some of them fought to control random wand sparks they let off in eagerness for battle. Others seemed more reserved, if not paralyzed with fear, praying to whatever god they worshipped that they might see their families and loved ones again before all this was over. It was sickening really, that some in their uncertainty, had adopted this controversial muggle habit. Praying! Of all things decent that a wizard should do…
Snape breathed a sigh of relief. At least everyone knew their places and their duty. He told everyone in roughly rehearsed tones, that if the muggles were to break the shield, they were to release curse volleys the moment it occurred. The more casualties they could take down, the better it would be for them in the end. Though for how long they should maintain those volleys, he was not sure. For all he knew, there could be muggle reinforcements approaching from any other direction. And if that was the case, then what? He had the dragons sure. Or at least, the ones that had survived the initial attack. They would be of good use for certain, though he prayed it needn't come to that. And there were the Heliopaths, yes he could… he thought briefly. "No…" he thought harshly to himself. He could not use the Heliopaths even if he wanted to. He had Marius to thank for that, and he didn't realize when he thought the wizard's name that he had begun grinding his teeth together sourly. If he had been there with them, the muggles might be repelled more efficiently. No, they were most definitely on their own, and as much as he hated to think of it, despite all the promises and expectations he told his people to have… Even regardless of McGonagall's own optimistic beliefs that Dumbledore would emerge in their time of need, Snape found it difficult to truly believe that he and everyone lined up with him would survive this encounter. Something had to happen, and it had to happen soon…
'MUGGLES!' a wizard shouted in the distance, drawing everyone's attention. 'MUGGLES ON SAXON HILL!…' Snape and McGonagall leaned forward over their positions with anxiety, squinting at the empty horizon before them, the giant blue shield's swirling energies providing a stark barrier between them and the outside world. Now everything that had occurred throughout the year would come to pass. Only destiny would determine who would be the victor of this conflict and leave the field alive. Thunder echoed in the distance. The rain began again.
McGonagall was the first to see them on the hill. She counted them… thirty so far. Not men… large, hulking machines of burnished metal plates… Tanks. Rolling unceremoniously to the height of the ridge, they stopped short of the shield by some one hundred paces, as though idly watching it for some kind of magical reaction with their presence. The wizards looked to them defiantly, trying to keep a brave face, but there was no denying the fear in their eyes. No one had been expecting this. Afterall, none of the scouts sent out had returned to tell anyone of the presence of tanks.
Putting binoculars to his eyes, Snape scanned the tanks one by one, as they spread their number across the horizon. As though wishing to wait their enemy out, the tanks stood motionless of the muddy ground, rain beginning to come down harder now, testing the forces of both sides for resilience. No one moved a muscle. The atmosphere was far too tense for mere calm. Picking out a muggle who sat within the command tower of his tank, he eyed him suspiciously through his eyepiece. A man of years he saw. By squinting he could discern a slight tinge of grey on both sides of his head, and a look of hard earned experience as well. Snape figured him for the leader of this troop, and he hoped to meet this man on the field… But time was beginning to take it's toll on the potions teacher. He wished they'd just get on with it. But what were they waiting for? Minutes drew by and still nothing happened. McGonagall started fingering the burnished sheen of her wand in frustration. The time was clearly getting to her too, and others as such that Snape could see, all looking at the invaders with still fearful, but now rather puzzled eyes as well. Perhaps the muggles were trying to break their spirit, or their positions before a shot was fired. Perhaps… Snape couldn't imagine what else the graying man in his binoculars was trying to achieve. But a single glance at the commander's face seemed to speak volumes of the man. He did not look the fool, but rather, the kind of man who had defeated more than one fool in his time, and also dispatched enemies far smarter than him…
Gray sat on his conical tower with two dark eyes glowering at the scene before him. From his vantage point he could see lines of people in rock outcrops, likely waiting for them to attack. And there was no determining how many remained hidden from his view amongst the ruins. He wondered briefly what the wizards were planning in their heads, he was sure they'd have something far more devious up their sleeves than what he'd encountered at Hogsmeade. Something more dangerous, he was certain. But all things would come in time, he would face that threat should it be presented to him, and conquer it. Breathing out deeply, he withdrew a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lighted it mechanically. One of these days he should quit the habit, yet it eased his nerves. Nerves that a man of his experience and years should not feel. Yet without them, he could no longer be certain of his humanity. Fear drove men to great deeds, or horrible endings. His actions today would decide which fate that would be. He HAD to make this battle count. Hogsmeade was a lucky victory, his enemy had been inexperienced and unprepared. But now they had seen action, and learned of his numbers, (the scout had made sure of that) the wizards were sure to be more challenging opponents. But he would not underestimate his enemy. Not ever.
Blowing out a puff of white smoke he gazed at the giant shield that blocked his vehicle's path. Troops who had scattered behind him in ranks all stood for the same problem, and could not advance unless the shield was lowered. At any other time he would have marveled at the shield, and how effective it had been at keeping him out. But that was another activity for another day. On a stray thought, he hoped that that day would be of much better weather than this. The rain condensed at the top of his head and rolled down his face in beads. Bad weather had plagued him the moment he set foot in these highlands, and he planned not to remain here any longer than he need to. The shield itself was the foremost barrier against the occupation he desired, and he planned to remove it. As though not thinking, a small voice echoed in his head, and he muttered it beneath his breath like a recording of sorts, despite it seeming quite familiar to him.
'One evil at a time…'
Letting out another deep sigh, he breathed another puff of white smoke, and took a sidelong glance to his supporting units. Their own commanders some ten meters apart, looking to him with anticipation, waiting patiently for his orders. Everything had come down to this. How ironic! Casually he buried his lighted cigarette into his left palm, extinguishing the flame to a grunt of discomfort at his skin burning away. And yet somehow beneath all that, he felt an urge to laugh, though he thought himself crazy for it. A small accepting smile twitched momentarily at the corners of his lips, and vanished at once, being replaced by his familiar, uncaring, unforgiving snarl as he looked forth to his hiding enemies, whom he was sure would rip him limb from limb if they had the chance.
"I must end this now," He thought to himself with a tinge of hatred, "This has gone on long enough." And he picked up a small radio with his hand that was linked to the commanders of the other tanks, clutching it tightly in his grip, his eyes never stopping their scrutiny of the shield. And as he spoke faintly into the mouthpiece, it felt for one awe inspiring moment as though sound itself had been banished to a dim murmur.
'Open fire…………..'
At once coinciding shells blasted from the Tank guns. The shots, deafening to the ear, put fear to the marrow as their whistling wake passed the distance quickly and slammed into the shield with horrifying force, discharging waves of magical energy across it's surface, like ripples in a pond. Each tank fired it's incendiaries in turn, pummeling the ancient magical barrier for all it was worth, not pausing to see effect, but continuing to fire shell after shell as though the rounds were limitless, the air quickly growing with the acrid stench of gunpowder. Gray knew that this battle had only just begun, even over the bone shattering blasts from the tanks, as though it were a deadly game of chess. He had placed the first move, it was up to his opponent to make the next.
One shell despite all odds suddenly breached the shield, traveled some, and then exploded within the ruins of the castle, launching solid debris in all directions. He couldn't hear the muffled cries of painful agony, or the screams of terror that were no doubt coming from the people on the other side of the barrier, but what he counted as fifteen wizards turned hide from their positions and fled in panic, their discipline broken like twigs underfoot. Definitely not trained like soldiers. Unconsciously, Gray smiled once more. The shield was not full proof it seemed, or was perhaps designed to repel a different form of attack, but the battle had indeed begun. He would have the honor of checkmating his enemy. He and he alone. The tanks continued to fire…
Deep underground, far from the battle raging above, serpentine flows of magical energy streaked around a conical shaped room. Dumbledore sat alone on the dry, dusty floor, glyphs on the walls around him glowing with a vigorous crimson ambience, pulsing every so often with energy as it was pulled unwillingly from his body. A small, yet significant laughter humiliating him within his own head, of Voldemort. The one person Dumbledore swore on his life would not bodily enter Hogwarts living or dead, had waltzed in uncontested beneath his nose as he forced all magical energy he could summon to protect the grounds above. It was all the white haired mage could do to mentally punish himself for his own foolishness, or perhaps the failing of age he had begun to notice even in his previous year. He had not foreseen the inevitable occurring when Hogwarts wards had broken for the first time since… ever. But even now, his strong mind was no longer the escape that he once held dear. Voldemort cursed him in a way he could not quite fathom, when he had been casting the spell to shield the castle ruins. The one time he himself had been so ignorantly vulnerable, and allowed himself to be, the dark wizard had struck. Only now were the effects becoming known to him.
Voldemort left the moment he had cast the curse, for the city of Narcissus Albus figured most likely, for what purpose he was yet unaware, but what he had done had slowly loosed the headmaster's control of the spell he'd cast. It gradually began clawing away at his energy piece by torturing piece, tugging at his own life force, never being content to receive what it had been given. Always demanding more from him, and taking it. Dumbledore no longer held any form of control over the shield above, but the shield continued to control him, pulling and pushing him like a puppet with it's demands of energy… and Albus was losing. With his cheeks hollowed out and his skin pallid, the old wizard's power was decreasing with every moment passed, and his feeble attempts at keeping the shield up were beginning to fail as well. How he had fought the need to bow to the pressure and let the spell take him, everyone above, the teachers, the refugees, even the children… especially the children, needed him to stay strong and support their protection. But he had no idea how long he could keep it up, the drain on him was taking it's toll. If he didn't stop soon, he would die.
One flow of energy flailed out of him suddenly and careened towards the ceiling before he could summon the strength to control it, and sure enough, a stray tank shell above suddenly pierced the shield in it's moment of weakness and landed with a dull, explosive thud on the surface. Did that one cost lives? He didn't know. But the explosions above continued on, shaking the earth like tremors. But Albus couldn't tell the difference anymore. He was too weak to feel anything of his surroundings, the trade mark of the dark lord most definitely. And yet even now the spell drew magic from him continually, seeming almost desperate to consume him spirit and all, regardless of his strength. Slowly the old mage began to sway from side to side, his vision starting to blur into a mixture of undefined shapes and colors, until all he was aware of was the mocking cackle of laughter inside his own head.
And with that, Dumbledore fell from grace, the swift inevitability that was unconsciousness driving deeply into himself as the spell spiraled out of control. Random bursts of energy starting to hack away at Dumbledore's slipping form until despite all odds, with his duty left unfinished and the shield left to fall…
Darkness took the man, and all was still………
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And with that I hope you're all satisfied with another LONG chapter. I'm surprised I myself don't curl up and die from the amount of work I put into it all the time, but then, satisfied reviews like the ones you've been giving me are all the support I need. For that, I thank my loyal fans, wherever you live. I woud've quit this project a lot sooner had I not had any support, that I assure you. Anyway, I hope you like the new chapter, I managed to begin the war between muggle and wizards at last. (Oooohhhh: now it's worthy of the summary I gave the story!) And it will prove just what I need to take the epic in a new direction, which you will all have to wait for the next chapter of course. But anyway, I was going to mention about Hagrid's voice in the last chapter. I knew when I was writing it that I was going to get complaints about him speaking with all the "T"s and all, I certainly wasn't stupid enough to forget something as important as Hagrid's voice. But then, you all try writing half a chapter leaving the T's off every second word. It gets to be annoying after some time, so I didn't bother with it. Just resided to leave him speaking like anybody else would. I'm lazy can you tell? :) But enough of this. Read, review or do what ever it is you like. I'll be strating on the next chapter as soon as time allows and I'll have it posted for you people just like the others. So until then, happy reading.
Colonel Gray stood solemnly beneath the roof of a nylon tent, his eyes tired, his mouth working in some silent contemplation… All movement about him, halted. A steady rain beating down hard upon the scattered camp the muggles had set up beneath a large ridge, was the center of his attention. Gray had cursed his idea of setting up camp here, but it wasn't as though there remained any other alternative. Cold, penetrated his bones. How much he would've given just for something to keep the cold from him. Anything to stay warm was being taken faster than it could be thought of, because despite the rain, everyone remained on high alert. Following orders, Gray had persisted in moving closer to the wizards. His army moving slowly between trees, gullies, hills… anything and everything he could find so as to remain out of sight. And thus far, his approach had proved successfully undetected. Though the closer he got, the more frequent it became to encounter patrols, which had to be dealt with. The risk of detection increasing every moment.
He cringed slightly at his view of the falling rain. The water had effectively turned the ground into a churned up quagmire. No effect on his tanks of course (they numbered roughly thirty at this stage), but terrible for troops, who if not already knee deep in mud, fought their way tooth and nail to stop being sucked under, hence making them tired and inefficient. The only thing left to do was wait, though his mind, or rather, his sudden headaches every few minutes, dictated that he should press on regardless of the state his troops were in, and attack. He sighed. Too much on his mind to worry about. Too little time to do as he was ordered. And so far from home. He was sure others, whether they be officers or soldiers, were starting to feel the pinch of home sickness as well, though nothing could be done about it. Not now. He rolled another cigarette, his energy lost in the cold weather. A thought struck him then, how odd it was that with all the high tech gadgetry he possessed, weather could still make or break an offensive. Another thing he shouldn't worry about. He continued to puff idly.
The sloshing of boots in the mud caught his attention for a moment then, and he turned slightly, his lack of energy not warranting full effort. Before him stood a soldier, his khaki uniform stained somewhat from the mud, and Gray guessed he would be more than able to blend in with the earth should he cease movement. The idea left him as the man spoke in a harsh mannered tongue.
'Sir. Pardon my disturbance, but we have something we think you should see…'
Gray reacted quickly, and followed the soldier running into the rain. It didn't register immediately with him that his bones ached so much from the cold and inactivity, but the prospect of news brought some excitement from the old man. He was close to his enemy now. Too close for comfort, and yet his presence had thus far gone undetected, without so much as hide nor hair of the wizards being heard. He prayed that were still the case as he matched the grunt stride for stride across the rain beaten ground, picking up splashes of mud where ever his boots landed. If it were still so, he may take the wizards by surprise as planned. And that would give time for reinforcements to arrive from the south. God knew as he did that the meager forces he held under his command were not sufficient to take the land by force. It was necessary at times to be devious, perhaps even underhanded. Honor meant little to him so long as he completed his mission. The wizards had to be wiped from existence. There was no question to it.
After a few hurried moments the old man came over a tree covered ridge, the first thing meeting his eyes being a small gathering of soldiers and snipers, their attention focused on a small crumpled heap lying motionless on the ground. The word "scout" drifted quickly into Gray's mind, and he thought it hardly any news at all that the snipers had killed another stray wizard. They had afterall, been picking off about three a day for the past week and a half. Nothing special really. What was to say this one would be any different from the rest? A few curious glares studied Gray thoughtfully as he approached. Some were questioning, and Gray was taken aback by the doubt in their eyes. Something was wrong. He could sense it.
Pushing his way into the circle he looked down disdainfully at the disheveled heap of flesh and robes. A hand poked ominously beneath a sleeve, drawing his attention for a few short seconds.
'When did you shoot this one corporal?' he spoke menacingly to dark clothed man, a long barreled rifle slung deftly to his side. The man's mouth moved for a second before he replied; 'About five minutes ago sir…' as though it were a matter of fact. It still didn't seem odd to him that another wizard had been taken down. Probably for the best it seemed. Though that question still beat around in his mind. What was so special about this one that the snipers felt they should abandon their posts? Almost as though reading his mind, another man from the group, a short, stocky man by comparison to himself, took a hesitant step forward and knelt down next to the crouching colonel and pulled the robe from the scout's face. A sharp intake a breath followed.
A child! The scout was only a child! A boy that couldn't have been more than twelve years old if he guessed rightly. Gray couldn't believe this situation to get any worse… but now? A few men shook their heads in shame, muttering curses to themselves. Others, looking upward to the unforgiving sky as though God himself had abandoned them. A clear dissension beginning to spread amongst the men as to what purpose marching on the wizards would achieve… Gray eyed the dead youth without emotion, turning the boy's head this way and that, as if looking for something suspicious.
'Was he armed?!' the old man spoke suddenly, breaking the silence. Another man stepped forward and handed him a wand. Gray studied it intently, twirling the ancient tool between his fingers as if it were child's play.
'Interesting…' he remarked, to some curious glares, and he fingered the wand's smooth, lacquered surface.
'This is wrong Sir!' one of the soldiers said, his voice beginning to quaver, 'We didn't sign up to kill children! It's just… wrong! What are we even doing here?!'
Standing abruptly, Gray wiped beads of sweat from his face. It was all he could do to look as composed as possible about the death of a child, just so as to keep the men's confidence in him. But even he wasn't made of stone, and he couldn't bear to face the man who'd spoken such powerful words, let alone look to child's open eyes. Their glazed over stare seemed to be centered on him, asking why? The thought entered his mind that perhaps they really were wasting their time. And if a battle would ensue against children! Well, he could be sure that neither himself, nor his country, would ever forgive him for it, no matter how high the stakes were. All in all, it left him in the worst possible predicament. Should he press on? Even now that he knew he was possibly facing an army of children? Or should he end it now, and walk home the same way he came, taking all his men with him? For a few brief seconds he stood silent, as his men looked to him with mixed feelings on the matter. Perhaps it would be wise to end it now. Straining his mind, he tried to remember the precise reason he began this campaign to begin with… he couldn't remember. Everything that had transpired over the past few weeks seemed to be blocked from his mind as though shrouded in a cloud. He couldn't think straight, and with that he made up his mind. He had no choice but to leave. A commander who cannot even remember what he has done or why he has done it is not someone fit to lead an assault…
Just at that moment, drilling pain speared his head like a molten spike. Through his momentary cries of anguish he couldn't discern between his own shouts of hurt, and that of his men, who had all began writhing on the spot, clutching the heads in a similar pain. It was the most horrible feeling, that had come and gone from him now for the past few weeks, always when his thoughts went the "wrong way". He couldn't help but wonder what was causing this, and why he deserved it… A cold, evil voice seeped into his brain.
'You are foolish to disobey your master! You WILL move your troops forward and take the wizards where they stand. Nothing will bar your way. NOTHING! Serve and obey, or be burned alive with the rest of your kind!'
And then the pain was gone, taking with it any sense of doubt he had, or any memory of it for that matter as well. That all too familiar loss of thought struck him once more, but he felt nothing of the desire to act upon it as he had a few brief moments ago. He stared at his men, who were all standing there looking as white as ghosts, rubbing their foreheads gingerly. "What's wrong with them?" he thought to himself. Something told him he already knew, but his brain didn't seem to want to work at this moment, so he let the thoughts go. Only one notion seemed clear to him now, and that was his mission. The wizards must be destroyed. They must!
At that moment a sudden snapping of branches caught his attention, and he spun about quickly on the spot, just in time to see a swish of robe from behind a rock, and it's owner running for his life in the opposite direction up a stone covered hill. Gray felt as though his head was about to explode in fury. He couldn't let one scout escape. Everything he had hoped to achieve would be ruined.
'SCOUT!, KILL HIM!!!' he shouted at the startled soldiers, who instinctively turned on their heals and raised rifles. Several shots soon followed, piercing Gray's desperate shouts to take the man down. Small explosions of dirt flew into the air about the man's feet, as the wizard continued to run as fast up the slope as his legs could carry him. Gray could hardly believe what he was seeing.
'Can't you fools hit the man?! Aim straight you idiots!'
None of the shots seemed to have slowed the wizard down, or even hit him for that matter, and in an instant, he flung himself over the ridge with all the remaining energy he could muster, the rifles still echoing through the gully even after he disappeared to safety behind the ridge…
Gray stood there silent eyeing the hill, blue veins threatening to pop out of the top of his head. A cold rage consumed him, and several soldiers took a fearful step back, keeping a firm grip on their guns. There was no use in following the wizard now, they were far too close to the enemy to intercept him in time, and worse still, Gray's position had been discovered. All the suffering the men had gone through, and the precautions taken to make sure they remained undetected were for nothing now…
The rain began once more, freezing the men to the bone. It almost seemed to humiliate them there as they stood, drowning out whatever hopes the men may have had of swiftly ending this conflict, but to Gray, it was merely an insult to injury, salt in the wounds. And it did nothing to quell his fury, but rather, only seemed to intensify it.
The old man clenched his fists as tight as he could, his knuckles going white from the strain. His teeth bared in a clenched snarl at his own failure. And his eyes, almost bulging out of sockets in rage, looked as though any man who would talk to him would most likely be shot there and then. He arched back, facing the sky and let loose a howl of rage so deafening, his own followers shied back in horror…
'AAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!'
Hatred echoed throughout the land, his voice shouting curses that seemed he would indeed damn himself to hell. There was nothing for it now. Ready or not, the army had to march on the enemy the moment they were ready, there were no alternatives left…
Harry sat curled up beneath a stone ledge while rain poured down in sheets about him, a small fire kindling beside him, providing the only warmth he could muster. Others had done the same, preferring to keep clear of the deluge. The Slytherins however, were well dry and amongst the most fortunate of the students. Their own common room resided well beneath that of most others at Hogwarts, occupying the lower, colder depths of the castle. During the bombardment, theirs was amongst the rooms least affected by shockwaves or falling debris, and they seemed most happy to parade this fact around to everyone else who had no other choice but to sit half exposed to the elements. Harry shivered coldly. The fire was losing it's strength, and it might go out. Instinctively felt for his wand. And then a thought hit him…
Almost hesitantly, he reached forward towards the fire with his right hand, and concentrated… A few tense moments drew by until suddenly, the fire burst into life before him, the intense heat threatening to sear his eyes as he shied away. For ten seconds of unparalleled radiance, the fire burned with tenacity, until at last it withered once more to it's original, depressed looking state. A small kindling, not worth cooking sausage over. Harry withdrew himself then, and stared at his own hand with a sense of disbelief, wrought on by this seemingly unfeasible magic.
'Impossible.' He muttered under his breath, waving his fingers heart heartedly. Light from the fire caught his fingers, and cast eerie shadows across his small hovel. 'Just impossible…'
Gingerly he rubbed his other hand over the small of his back, and he cringed. Since the time he'd gone to see Hagrid only a few hours ago, the wounds he had, had healed to faint scars that wouldn't seem out of place with someone who'd fallen down a flight of stairs. It just wasn't right. And he wasn't sure if even Dumbledore could explain it properly to him. He felt more… alive. If that could be the appropriate expression to use. His own senses had grown more over the past few days, more than he'd ever expected within a lifetime. He could actually, sense the presence of magic, sometimes over long distances, and that alone scared him enough. What was happening to him?
Again he rubbed at his back. Nothing where just a few short hours ago there had been devastation wrought on flesh. And what was worse was that this wasn't the first time it had happened, he remembered vaguely when not too long ago, he healed over a rather nasty wound to his arm without so much as a thought. Perhaps that was it. It happened without him thinking about it. But that sounded stupid even to him. He knew that there had to be some sort of logic behind it. The fire for instance, was definitely not coincidence. A memory entered his mind that moment, of something said to him in sleep, and at once Harry's mind reeled in anguish.
… "You have not realized it yet, but you are one in a generation. A single being who has so much influence over the tides of magic that he can manipulate it without so much as thinking. Without even speaking… I mean wandless magic Harry"…
Harry shivered. He didn't want to remind himself of that horrible dream. Though his wounds were merely scars now, the memories of pain endured. The crack of studded leather over his back. The blood… everything. He repressed the wanting to shudder again. It did not do well to dwell on dreams, though what these dreams were, was still a mystery to him.
Out in the open, the rain had begun to die down to a light spray, and some adventurous people were waltzing aimlessly about. Most of the students were too chilled to bother, but many adults, a large portion of them refugees who'd fled to Hogwarts, were enjoying time outside, whereas they'd normally be spending their time helping the teachers right shattered areas of the castle. As far as Hogwarts itself was concerned, much of it still remained, and Harry supposed that it could be fixed in some way or another, though he didn't see how short of drawing all the magic in the world, which he thought was highly improbable.
Far across the field he caught sight of a man, running as though his life depended on it, and sporting a well ousted limp. He couldn't seem to recognize who it was, but he figured it was probably just someone who'd fallen over or something, and he didn't proceed to give it another thought.
"Not worth my time when I have bigger things to be worrying about." He thought reluctantly to himself, and he shot an unconvinced stare at his hand. Could his dreams really be true? Maybe he did have power afterall…
Snape stood rooted to the spot, overlooking a large expanse of green fields through a pair of binoculars. It hadn't occurred to him that binoculars were actually a muggle invention. It was the most trivial things you didn't think about that he used everyday. Yet had he realized, Snape may have thrown the contraption down in disgust, though his attention remained focused. Movement to the right caught his eye, and before him stood a wizard he'd never seen before. With a semi-torn cloak and ragged hair, he looked as though he'd been rolled down one too many hills in his time.
'Err… professor Snape?' the man stuttered out, quite evidentially not sure as to whom he was speaking either. The greasy haired man gave the stranger an insignificant grunt as he eyed his clothes up and down. Further inspection showed his robes bloodied, and his face seemed as pale as a ghost.
'I'm really sorry to bother you now professor… but, we have a problem, you should know about.'
Snape lowered his binoculars and looked the man in the eye, who swallowed hard.
'We?' the potions teacher asked incredulously, receiving a curious look as though he should have known it all along.
'Well… yes. We. Professor… err, McGonagall I believe her name was. Err, she sent people through the shield to scout the country side for muggles… Now, I wasn't one of those people, but I heard that very few were returning, so I went to investigate why.'
Snape arched a disbelieving eyebrow, a half snigger inching at the side of his mouth.
'She sent you through?' he asked with a splash of humor, 'I thought it was impossible to penetrate the shield.' He had rebounded a few curses off it for sure, though he wasn't game enough to simply walk through it. For a moment the man considered him, but gave the grease ball a small shrug.
'I don't know the ways of it sir, really I don't. Wizards seem to be able to move in and out of the shield at will, though muggles evidently can't. I found a few that tried it,' he visibly paled, 'Though I really don't see any other way that scouts could have been sent off otherwise.'
Snape offered another grunt and furrowed his brow thinking. The man continued on.
'And… what I saw there horrified me, to say the least. Hidden just beyond Saxon hill about two thousand muggles are massing troops. They seemed bogged down from the rain, despite only being half a kilometer away.'
Snape almost choked as the man said this. Half a kilometer was nothing. Even walking the distance could be made in under half an hour.
'Saxon hill?' he asked curiously, taking the stranger off guard, 'But, that's to the rear. What on earth are they doing over there?! Last I heard they were approaching from the north!'
The man shook his head vigorously, looking quite pleased his news had some effect on the greasy haired man afterall. Though even he seemed rather concerned that the muggles were so close to the castle.
'I watched the muggles for a number of days professor, even as other scouts unknowingly passed me and were killed by them. They've been moving in a arc around the grounds for ages now, avoiding the sentries and killing anyone who gets too close to report their whereabouts.'
Snape nodded as the man talked, piecing it together in his head one jigsaw piece at a time. It all made sense. All checked out. It seemed quite possible that nothing had been heard of them for so long because no one had gone close enough to see them and survived before being seen themselves. Snape breathed out haggardly.
'Well, we have an advantage over them then, we know they're coming now. Perhaps we can get prepared, the students will need to be moved elsewhere if possible, we've no guarantee that shield will hold. I think Dumbledore must be getting quite tired of supporting the thing…'
He suddenly cut off as he looked at the stranger. Within a few seconds he'd gone from pale to inhumanly white, looking as though he were prepared to throw up. Snape rounded on him.
'They are still stationary aren't they?' he asked through gritted teeth. The man, if possible, paled even more so.
'I… cannot guarantee it professor. I…' a stark realization hit Snape then, and his anger sky rocketed.
'You were seen?!' the man nodded ashamedly, pulling up the bottom of his robe to reveal a large bullet wound to his leg. 'YOU IDIOT! If they know they've been seen, they're probably on their way here right now. You should have died there with honor. Then perhaps we may have more time to prepare ourselves for the inevitable advance. You've as good as signed our deaths personally. GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!'
The man gave a humble, yet ashamed looking bow and scuttled off to Madam Pomfrey, limping his way across, leaving the disgruntled potions teacher to brew his own anger. He was furious now in knowing the muggles were so nearby. If he had any clue as to what the shield was that Dumbledore raised, he might have a better clue as to how to help organize the defense with McGonagall. Everything rested on their soldiers now. But beneath it all, he still broiled an unaffected scorn for one man in particular. One man who literally held all their lives in his hands…
'Where are you Marius!' he muttered, and headed off to rouse the teachers.
Activity about the castle grounds peeked within a matter of minutes. Snape successfully roused anyone who was sitting idly by and had them rushed to different positions. If they were students, they were sent to the Slytherin common room. If adults, they were lined up in rows behind ruined pieces of stone and marble that absolutely littered the ground from one side of the castle to the other, all of them brandishing their wands in fear. If need be that was where the line would be drawn, just incase the muggles did find some improbable method of taking down the shield. It became apparent that for too long now, people were beginning to believe themselves safe from attack, either because of the shield's existence, or the fact that no news to contradict their safety had come through for some time. At any rate, Snape's own form of badgered and curses, effectively cut many people down from their allusions, and made them think that they were once more on the verge of being attacked from above, however unlikely it seemed to them.
Vulnerability was Snape's main concern, as it was just as likely McGonagall's. Looking around at the rag tag group of men and woman around him, Snape knew in his heart that these people were raw. As raw as could be admitted to. None of them had been trained for anything like this, and had much less expected to fight and possibly die at Hogwarts of all places. It was the honest truth that these people were just refugees, and had come to Hogwarts for safety, for a place away from the fighting that was most certainly occurring everywhere else beyond Hogwarts grounds. The thought slipped through his head for a moment. No one had the slightest idea what the situation was like beyond the horizon. Was it as bad as what they faced? He didn't know. But he knew it would prove futile to think on such things when they could likely be dispersed at the drop of a hat.
"One evil at a time…" he thought gingerly to himself, as he harassed a small group of wizards to take places where the castle's courtyard had once been. It proved difficult to look upon Hogwarts now. Merely a shell remained of it's once proud exterior, but he promised himself quietly that he would fight to protect that burned out husk of stone, even if it took his own life to do it. He surprised himself to think that even. Without knowing, he'd grown as attached to Hogwarts as even professor Dumbledore, and that was saying something indeed.
Tapping his wand on his hip, Snape scanned the fields of crumpled stone and ash. No one was left standing short changed in the open now. Everything (if it had not proved lethargic) was ready in place. People crouched low behind physical barriers as they waited anxiously for whatever may happen. Some of them fought to control random wand sparks they let off in eagerness for battle. Others seemed more reserved, if not paralyzed with fear, praying to whatever god they worshipped that they might see their families and loved ones again before all this was over. It was sickening really, that some in their uncertainty, had adopted this controversial muggle habit. Praying! Of all things decent that a wizard should do…
Snape breathed a sigh of relief. At least everyone knew their places and their duty. He told everyone in roughly rehearsed tones, that if the muggles were to break the shield, they were to release curse volleys the moment it occurred. The more casualties they could take down, the better it would be for them in the end. Though for how long they should maintain those volleys, he was not sure. For all he knew, there could be muggle reinforcements approaching from any other direction. And if that was the case, then what? He had the dragons sure. Or at least, the ones that had survived the initial attack. They would be of good use for certain, though he prayed it needn't come to that. And there were the Heliopaths, yes he could… he thought briefly. "No…" he thought harshly to himself. He could not use the Heliopaths even if he wanted to. He had Marius to thank for that, and he didn't realize when he thought the wizard's name that he had begun grinding his teeth together sourly. If he had been there with them, the muggles might be repelled more efficiently. No, they were most definitely on their own, and as much as he hated to think of it, despite all the promises and expectations he told his people to have… Even regardless of McGonagall's own optimistic beliefs that Dumbledore would emerge in their time of need, Snape found it difficult to truly believe that he and everyone lined up with him would survive this encounter. Something had to happen, and it had to happen soon…
'MUGGLES!' a wizard shouted in the distance, drawing everyone's attention. 'MUGGLES ON SAXON HILL!…' Snape and McGonagall leaned forward over their positions with anxiety, squinting at the empty horizon before them, the giant blue shield's swirling energies providing a stark barrier between them and the outside world. Now everything that had occurred throughout the year would come to pass. Only destiny would determine who would be the victor of this conflict and leave the field alive. Thunder echoed in the distance. The rain began again.
McGonagall was the first to see them on the hill. She counted them… thirty so far. Not men… large, hulking machines of burnished metal plates… Tanks. Rolling unceremoniously to the height of the ridge, they stopped short of the shield by some one hundred paces, as though idly watching it for some kind of magical reaction with their presence. The wizards looked to them defiantly, trying to keep a brave face, but there was no denying the fear in their eyes. No one had been expecting this. Afterall, none of the scouts sent out had returned to tell anyone of the presence of tanks.
Putting binoculars to his eyes, Snape scanned the tanks one by one, as they spread their number across the horizon. As though wishing to wait their enemy out, the tanks stood motionless of the muddy ground, rain beginning to come down harder now, testing the forces of both sides for resilience. No one moved a muscle. The atmosphere was far too tense for mere calm. Picking out a muggle who sat within the command tower of his tank, he eyed him suspiciously through his eyepiece. A man of years he saw. By squinting he could discern a slight tinge of grey on both sides of his head, and a look of hard earned experience as well. Snape figured him for the leader of this troop, and he hoped to meet this man on the field… But time was beginning to take it's toll on the potions teacher. He wished they'd just get on with it. But what were they waiting for? Minutes drew by and still nothing happened. McGonagall started fingering the burnished sheen of her wand in frustration. The time was clearly getting to her too, and others as such that Snape could see, all looking at the invaders with still fearful, but now rather puzzled eyes as well. Perhaps the muggles were trying to break their spirit, or their positions before a shot was fired. Perhaps… Snape couldn't imagine what else the graying man in his binoculars was trying to achieve. But a single glance at the commander's face seemed to speak volumes of the man. He did not look the fool, but rather, the kind of man who had defeated more than one fool in his time, and also dispatched enemies far smarter than him…
Gray sat on his conical tower with two dark eyes glowering at the scene before him. From his vantage point he could see lines of people in rock outcrops, likely waiting for them to attack. And there was no determining how many remained hidden from his view amongst the ruins. He wondered briefly what the wizards were planning in their heads, he was sure they'd have something far more devious up their sleeves than what he'd encountered at Hogsmeade. Something more dangerous, he was certain. But all things would come in time, he would face that threat should it be presented to him, and conquer it. Breathing out deeply, he withdrew a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lighted it mechanically. One of these days he should quit the habit, yet it eased his nerves. Nerves that a man of his experience and years should not feel. Yet without them, he could no longer be certain of his humanity. Fear drove men to great deeds, or horrible endings. His actions today would decide which fate that would be. He HAD to make this battle count. Hogsmeade was a lucky victory, his enemy had been inexperienced and unprepared. But now they had seen action, and learned of his numbers, (the scout had made sure of that) the wizards were sure to be more challenging opponents. But he would not underestimate his enemy. Not ever.
Blowing out a puff of white smoke he gazed at the giant shield that blocked his vehicle's path. Troops who had scattered behind him in ranks all stood for the same problem, and could not advance unless the shield was lowered. At any other time he would have marveled at the shield, and how effective it had been at keeping him out. But that was another activity for another day. On a stray thought, he hoped that that day would be of much better weather than this. The rain condensed at the top of his head and rolled down his face in beads. Bad weather had plagued him the moment he set foot in these highlands, and he planned not to remain here any longer than he need to. The shield itself was the foremost barrier against the occupation he desired, and he planned to remove it. As though not thinking, a small voice echoed in his head, and he muttered it beneath his breath like a recording of sorts, despite it seeming quite familiar to him.
'One evil at a time…'
Letting out another deep sigh, he breathed another puff of white smoke, and took a sidelong glance to his supporting units. Their own commanders some ten meters apart, looking to him with anticipation, waiting patiently for his orders. Everything had come down to this. How ironic! Casually he buried his lighted cigarette into his left palm, extinguishing the flame to a grunt of discomfort at his skin burning away. And yet somehow beneath all that, he felt an urge to laugh, though he thought himself crazy for it. A small accepting smile twitched momentarily at the corners of his lips, and vanished at once, being replaced by his familiar, uncaring, unforgiving snarl as he looked forth to his hiding enemies, whom he was sure would rip him limb from limb if they had the chance.
"I must end this now," He thought to himself with a tinge of hatred, "This has gone on long enough." And he picked up a small radio with his hand that was linked to the commanders of the other tanks, clutching it tightly in his grip, his eyes never stopping their scrutiny of the shield. And as he spoke faintly into the mouthpiece, it felt for one awe inspiring moment as though sound itself had been banished to a dim murmur.
'Open fire…………..'
At once coinciding shells blasted from the Tank guns. The shots, deafening to the ear, put fear to the marrow as their whistling wake passed the distance quickly and slammed into the shield with horrifying force, discharging waves of magical energy across it's surface, like ripples in a pond. Each tank fired it's incendiaries in turn, pummeling the ancient magical barrier for all it was worth, not pausing to see effect, but continuing to fire shell after shell as though the rounds were limitless, the air quickly growing with the acrid stench of gunpowder. Gray knew that this battle had only just begun, even over the bone shattering blasts from the tanks, as though it were a deadly game of chess. He had placed the first move, it was up to his opponent to make the next.
One shell despite all odds suddenly breached the shield, traveled some, and then exploded within the ruins of the castle, launching solid debris in all directions. He couldn't hear the muffled cries of painful agony, or the screams of terror that were no doubt coming from the people on the other side of the barrier, but what he counted as fifteen wizards turned hide from their positions and fled in panic, their discipline broken like twigs underfoot. Definitely not trained like soldiers. Unconsciously, Gray smiled once more. The shield was not full proof it seemed, or was perhaps designed to repel a different form of attack, but the battle had indeed begun. He would have the honor of checkmating his enemy. He and he alone. The tanks continued to fire…
Deep underground, far from the battle raging above, serpentine flows of magical energy streaked around a conical shaped room. Dumbledore sat alone on the dry, dusty floor, glyphs on the walls around him glowing with a vigorous crimson ambience, pulsing every so often with energy as it was pulled unwillingly from his body. A small, yet significant laughter humiliating him within his own head, of Voldemort. The one person Dumbledore swore on his life would not bodily enter Hogwarts living or dead, had waltzed in uncontested beneath his nose as he forced all magical energy he could summon to protect the grounds above. It was all the white haired mage could do to mentally punish himself for his own foolishness, or perhaps the failing of age he had begun to notice even in his previous year. He had not foreseen the inevitable occurring when Hogwarts wards had broken for the first time since… ever. But even now, his strong mind was no longer the escape that he once held dear. Voldemort cursed him in a way he could not quite fathom, when he had been casting the spell to shield the castle ruins. The one time he himself had been so ignorantly vulnerable, and allowed himself to be, the dark wizard had struck. Only now were the effects becoming known to him.
Voldemort left the moment he had cast the curse, for the city of Narcissus Albus figured most likely, for what purpose he was yet unaware, but what he had done had slowly loosed the headmaster's control of the spell he'd cast. It gradually began clawing away at his energy piece by torturing piece, tugging at his own life force, never being content to receive what it had been given. Always demanding more from him, and taking it. Dumbledore no longer held any form of control over the shield above, but the shield continued to control him, pulling and pushing him like a puppet with it's demands of energy… and Albus was losing. With his cheeks hollowed out and his skin pallid, the old wizard's power was decreasing with every moment passed, and his feeble attempts at keeping the shield up were beginning to fail as well. How he had fought the need to bow to the pressure and let the spell take him, everyone above, the teachers, the refugees, even the children… especially the children, needed him to stay strong and support their protection. But he had no idea how long he could keep it up, the drain on him was taking it's toll. If he didn't stop soon, he would die.
One flow of energy flailed out of him suddenly and careened towards the ceiling before he could summon the strength to control it, and sure enough, a stray tank shell above suddenly pierced the shield in it's moment of weakness and landed with a dull, explosive thud on the surface. Did that one cost lives? He didn't know. But the explosions above continued on, shaking the earth like tremors. But Albus couldn't tell the difference anymore. He was too weak to feel anything of his surroundings, the trade mark of the dark lord most definitely. And yet even now the spell drew magic from him continually, seeming almost desperate to consume him spirit and all, regardless of his strength. Slowly the old mage began to sway from side to side, his vision starting to blur into a mixture of undefined shapes and colors, until all he was aware of was the mocking cackle of laughter inside his own head.
And with that, Dumbledore fell from grace, the swift inevitability that was unconsciousness driving deeply into himself as the spell spiraled out of control. Random bursts of energy starting to hack away at Dumbledore's slipping form until despite all odds, with his duty left unfinished and the shield left to fall…
Darkness took the man, and all was still………
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And with that I hope you're all satisfied with another LONG chapter. I'm surprised I myself don't curl up and die from the amount of work I put into it all the time, but then, satisfied reviews like the ones you've been giving me are all the support I need. For that, I thank my loyal fans, wherever you live. I woud've quit this project a lot sooner had I not had any support, that I assure you. Anyway, I hope you like the new chapter, I managed to begin the war between muggle and wizards at last. (Oooohhhh: now it's worthy of the summary I gave the story!) And it will prove just what I need to take the epic in a new direction, which you will all have to wait for the next chapter of course. But anyway, I was going to mention about Hagrid's voice in the last chapter. I knew when I was writing it that I was going to get complaints about him speaking with all the "T"s and all, I certainly wasn't stupid enough to forget something as important as Hagrid's voice. But then, you all try writing half a chapter leaving the T's off every second word. It gets to be annoying after some time, so I didn't bother with it. Just resided to leave him speaking like anybody else would. I'm lazy can you tell? :) But enough of this. Read, review or do what ever it is you like. I'll be strating on the next chapter as soon as time allows and I'll have it posted for you people just like the others. So until then, happy reading.